“Elizabeth Brown, there are some people I would like you to meet,” Ballard said, pushing her away as he introduced Clover’s family and Molly. He quickly put his arm around Clover’s shoulders. “And this isClover—my wife.” Clover watched with interest as Elizabeth’s eyes grew wide and her cheeks flushed with anger.
“Youmarriedthis child?” she snapped.
“I told ye I was going to find me a wife.”
“I thought those were just words, said to spite me.”
“I dinnae play those kind of games, Elizabeth. Ye have kenned me long enough to realize that.”
Clover was tempted to ask for how long and how well, but bit the inside of her cheek to stem the words. Ballard did not look very welcoming. It would be unfair to assume immediately he had lied when he had said there was no one for him in Kentucky. She just wished that this particular “no one” did not look so fulsome and sultry. She wondered crossly if Ballard knew any slender, small-breasted women besides herself.
“I certainly did not think you would be fool enough to up and wed some scrawny chit from back east. You were gone barely more than a fortnight,” Elizabeth exclaimed.
“I told nearly the whole town what I planned to do and I did it.”
“Well, this pale child will never survive out here. You made a very poor choice, Ballard MacGregor.”
“I dinnae happen to think so. And if ye cannae welcome her and her kin, there isnae any reason for ye to linger here.”
“No? You owe me—”
“I owe ye nothing, lass. I never made ye a promise or even hinted that I would. ‘Tis all in your head, a product of your own vanity. Now, either wish us weel or leave and let that be the end of it.”
“The end of it? I think not.” She glared at Clover, then marched away.
Ballard sighed. “Sorry about that, lass.”
“You said you had no one in Kentucky,” Clover murmured.
“I didnae lie. That fool lass thinks every mon in the state is fairly pining away for her.”
Clover watched the woman disappear down the road, invitation in every swish of her skirt, and suspected that Elizabeth Brown had some sound reasons for that vanity. A part of Clover wanted to know every detail of Ballard’s past relationship with her, no matter how sordid, but a larger part of her desperately wanted to brush the matter aside. She could not stop thinking that Elizabeth Brown was probably an excellent cook too.
“She seemed very sure that you would be one of those pining men,” Clover said.
“Aye, but as I said, ‘tis all in her head. There was a wee tryst atween us after the harvest frolic, but I ne’er even hinted it would be more than that. I took a quick taste of what she offers half the men in the area, and she decided I was the one who wanted to marry her. I spent nearly all winter trying to make her understand she was mistaken. I thought I had been successful. Weel, she must see the truth now. ‘Tis the last we will see of her, lass,” he said. “She has plenty of beaus ready and willing to soothe her bruised vanity.”
Ballard winced when Clover gave him a look that clearly said he was being either naively optimistic or extraordinarily stupid. “Shall we go into the store?” He took her hand in his.
“Do we need to buy anything?” she asked as he ledher inside, noticing from the corner of her eye that Jonathan Clemmons fell into step next to Molly.
“Some seed. I didnae think I would return in time to plant a full crop, but I have, so I need a wee bit more seed. I thought there might be a few items ye need. Mayhap some cooking supplies. Have a look about, lass, while I talk with Jonathan.”
As soon as Ballard tugged Jonathan away from Molly’s side, Clover told her, “I get the distinct impression you have already selected your next husband.”
“He certainly is a promising prospect.” Molly winked at Clover. “Do not be fretting, miss. I will not be leaving you till you know all you need to know about housewifery. If Jonathan Clemmons be the one for me, he will be standing by when I am done.” She took Clover’s arm and glanced toward Mabel, who was sitting in a rocker next to a cast-iron stove, talking to Agnes. “His mother saw that I be considering her boy and said not a word against it, so that be the first step taken.”
“We ain’t got no Papist church ‘round here,” Mabel called over to Molly.
“That be fine, ma’am, as I am of a Protestant bent meself.”
As Molly led her around the store, explaining some of the less obvious items for sale, Clover listened carefully. She had shopped before, but now realized her ignorance with painful clarity. She had always taken a list and let the shopkeeper fill her order, or left the shopping to the housekeeper. There was clearly a great deal she had to learn about making selections according to quantity, quality, and price.
When they passed a table stacked with bolts of material, Clover paused and looked down at the gown she was wearing, a green brocade with a lace fichu at the neck. The day’s journey had been hard on the lace trim as well as on the delicate material. She knew the work she would have to do as Ballard’s wife would be even harder on her gowns. She needed sturdier ones made of kersey, wool, and even homespun. If she had a few more serviceable gowns, she could keep her silks and brocades for any festive occasions, at least until they were so out of fashion that no amount of clever reworking would salvage them.
Molly helped her pick out material that would hold up well yet not be uncomfortable. After a quick glance at her mother’s attire, she selected enough fabric to make her mother two gowns as well. She was not sure she would get much assistance from her mother in the more menial chores, but did not want the lack of a sturdy gown to be the reason.
Clover was just walking over to Ballard to make sure that she was not spending too much when a man, two youths, and a boy entered the store. Ballard, Jonathan, Lambert, and Shelton barely acknowledged the group, who were dressed in stained buckskins. Mabel glared at the big man and spat into a spitoon. The way the man and two youths eyed Clover made her hold the bolts of cloth a little tighter against her chest. Although they were at least a yard away, she could smell the acrid scent of long-unwashed bodies. With his bushy black and silver beard, the man reminded her uncomfortably of Big Jim, and she edged toward Ballard.
