“Just Martha,” she smiled. “You’re in America now. Come into the parlor. The Judge is waiting for you.”
Swept forward by Travis’s arm around her, Regan was propelled into a pleasant room with clean, well-worn furniture covered in a soft green, the windows draped in a fabric of the same color. Before she could say any more, she was introduced to the Judge, a tall, nearly bald man who seemed to have no name besides Judge.
One moment Regan was shaking hands, and the next she heard the words, “Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here today in the sight of our Lord….” Bewildered, thinking her hearing was faulty, she looked at the people around her. Martha was smiling angelically at her husband, who had a book open in front of him and was reading a marriage ceremony. Travis, holding her hand, had an astonishingly solemn look on his face.
It took Regan several minutes to realize what was going on. Without having been asked if she agreed, she was being married to Travis Stanford! She was standing in front of these strangers, wearing a dark green traveling dress of heavy linen, her face dirty, tired, her brow creased with worry about her future—and she was going through a marriage ceremony! Glancing up at Travis’s solemn profile, she thought that for once he’d gone too far. When she got married, she was going to be asked, and she was going to wear her prettiest dress.
She realized that everyone was watching her. The Judge smiled and said, “Regan, wilt thou take this man for your husband?”
Looking up at Travis with the sweetest, most lovesick smile she could muster, she whispered, “No.”
It was a moment before anyone reacted. Martha gave out a giggle that showed she knew Travis’s domineering ways well, while the Judge hurriedly looked at his book. His face aflame with anger, Travis grabbed Regan’s upper arm and half dragged her into the entrance hall, closing the parlor door behind him.
“Just what the hell was that little display supposed to mean?” he growled, his face very near hers.
Involuntarily taking a step backward, Regan tried to keep her courage up. She was in the right, and she had that on her side. “You never even asked me if I wanted to marry you. You didn’t ask if I wanted to come to America either. I’m tired of your making all my decisions for me.”
“Decisions!” he gasped. “There are no decisions to be made by either one of us. Fate has made them for us.”
At her look of consternation, he groaned. “I’d try to shake some sense into you, but I’m afraid it’d hurt the baby.”
“Baby?” she whispered.
Closing his eyes for a moment, Travis seemed to be praying for strength. “You can’t be so damned starry-eyed that you didn’t realize that what we do in bed creates babies.” At her silence, he continued in a quieter tone. “You didn’t really think you’d been seasick these last few weeks, did you?”
Gently, he caressed her cheek. “Sweetheart, you’re carrying my baby, and I make it a rule always to marry the mother of my children.”
Stunned, Regan could form no coherent thoughts. “But employment,” she whispered. “And I can’t get married in this dress, and I have no flowers, and…and…oh Travis! A baby!”
Gathering her in his arms, he held her tightly. “I thought you knew. I thought you were just trying to keep it from me. I wouldn’t have known either, except my friend Clay’s wife threw up right in front of me one day. She told me a lot of women did that the first few months. Now, love,” he said, lifting her chin. “Will you marry me?”
When she hesitated, he continued. “You can do all the work you want at my place,” he smiled, “so you can satisfy any need you have to earn your keep. And as for your dress, I like you better wearing nothing, so whatever dress you wear is fine, and, besides, it’s only Martha and the Judge here. For flowers I could pick some from Martha’s garden.”
“No,” she whispered, blinking back tears. His words were so logical. Of course she was going to have a baby, and of course she’d marry him; there wasn’t much else she could do because she knew she couldn’t escape Travis when she had something he owned. As for her clothes, what did they matter? If she could get married without love, she could certainly do so without a pretty dress.
“I’m ready,” she said grimly.
“It’s not an execution,” he chuckled. “Maybe tonight I can make up for today.”
As she walked ahead of him into the parlor, she knew he’d never understand. A wedding was supposed to be a woman’s greatest moment, a time when she felt everyone loved her and wished her great happiness. For the rest of her life she’d remember this secretive, dreary little ceremony, surrounded by strangers, the marriage taking place not because of herself but because of what she carried in her stomach. Mechanically, at the proper time, she said she would take Travis for her husband and ignored the searching look he gave her. When it came time for him to place a ring on her finger, Martha offered her own, but Regan shrugged and said politely that a ring didn’t matter.
By the end of the ceremony no one was smiling, and when Travis turned to kiss her, Regan offered him her cheek. She barely tasted the wine the Judge offered and made no comment when Travis said they must leave.
Trying her best to smile, Regan bid them farewell and thanked them as Travis helped her back onto the wagon seat. The tension of the day, the wedding—if it could be called such—had exhausted her, and as she slumped in the seat Travis pulled her close to him.
“It wasn’t much of a wedding, was it?” he asked heavily. “Not something a girl can tell her grandchildren about.”
“No,” she said simply, not daring to say any more or she’d start crying. All she wanted now was to go to sleep, and perhaps tomorrow she could think happy thoughts about her baby and about being Travis’s wife.
By the time the wagon stopped, she was almost asleep, barely waking when Travis lifted her down and carried her up some stairs.
“Are we home?” she murmured.
“Not yet.” His voice was serious, without its usual hint of laughter. “We’re at an inn. In the morning we’ll start home.”
She merely nodded and snuggled against him. At least this was her wedding night. If Travis didn’t know how a wedding should be conducted, at least he knew how to make the night the best a woman could imagine.
Lying on the bed where he’d left her, she listened as he carried their trunks up the stairs. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad being married to Travis; at least now she didn’t have to worry about being abandoned.