animal had a stone bruise on the frog of his right front hoof. Mason dug out the stone, but there'd be no riding until the bruise healed.
Loosing a string of curses sure to singe the ears of anyone who heard, Mason set out leading-the horse toward town. Like most western men, he hated walk ing anywhere. His limp slowed him, and a rancher's boots favored stirrups, not the ground. By the time he reached town over an hour later, his uneven gait had jarred him so his hip and back near killed him and his feet begged for mercy.
"Whittaker, you hurt?" Watson polished the tufted leather buggy seat.
"Horse's injured. Had to walk a ways. Soon as I get him to the livery and seen about, I'll be back for my buggy."
Watson took the reins from Mason. "I'll do that for you. Know this is your wedding day." He looked at the clouds headed their way. "You'd better settle up for the buggy and be on your way."
The mare was already hitched and ready to leave. Careful examination of the vehicle met with Mason's approval. "You've done a fine job, Watson. Appreciate it."
Watson pointed out all the special features. "Too bad it don't have side curtains, 'cause you're in for a soaking."
"Reckon you're right. Water's already risen from rain upstream." The buggy required a carriage road way rather than the narrow trail he'd used getting to Medina, and he'd be longer on the return trip. Mason had stopped at his prospective father-in-law's bank in Ransom Crossing and withdrawn the cash due. He paid Watson, transferred his bag to the buggy, and climbed in.
"Best to you and your bride. She's sure to be proud of your gift." Watson waved as Mason drove away.
The rain started a few minutes later, a drenching downpour so hard Mason could hardly see the road. At the first water crossing, the horse balked. If this were the only place they had to cross a river or creek, Mason would have urged the horse into the water. There were at least four more, and the water in this one had risen almost too high for the buggy to navi gate.
Mason turned the horse and headed back to Med ina.
****
"Rachel, only three weeks ago you assured me you could wear the dress or we could have made a new one." Beth looked at the soft pink satin. The rip down the front spanned from neck to the carmago waist, and the fabric on each side frayed.
Rachel sobbed. "I thought I could. I t-t-tried."
"So I see." The jagged tear looked irreparable.
"C-can you fix it? 1-1 love that dress. It's the pretti est one I've ever owned."
Maybe the ruffles could be utilized. Beth turned the dress around. The buttons had popped off— maybe exploded better fit the appearance—and three had left torn fabric. Front and back, the top of the dress was ruined.
Mrs. Pendleton regarded her niece. "How on earth did you get it fastened?"
"It was hard, but I held my breath and Ben did up the buttons. Then, he said something funny, and I tried not to laugh. It-it sort of burst out in a huge cough." Rachel sobbed again. "That's when it happened."
"Maybe you could wear something else. Let's think what other dresses you have?" Beth looked at the green poplin Rachel wore now and remembered a bombazine her cousin saved for Sundays. "What about the lavender moire you wore last summer?"
"Jamie was sick on it all down the front. I can't get the stains out. I-I loved the dress, but it's ruined."
Beth remembered when Rachel's second oldest had been ill. Rachel had come home from the Pendletons' party to find the little boy burning with fever. She couldn't be blamed for picking up her sick son before changing clothes. His fever had lasted for days, and they'd all feared he'd die. "What else do you have?"
"None except the black Sunday dress. The others are pretty worn and not suitable for a wedding. A mar ried woman on an apple farm needs different clothes than a single woman who lives in town."
Beth sighed. Even in distress, her cousin couldn't resist an opportunity to flaunt her marriage. Beth folded the torn
Loosing a string of curses sure to singe the ears of anyone who heard, Mason set out leading-the horse toward town. Like most western men, he hated walk ing anywhere. His limp slowed him, and a rancher's boots favored stirrups, not the ground. By the time he reached town over an hour later, his uneven gait had jarred him so his hip and back near killed him and his feet begged for mercy.
"Whittaker, you hurt?" Watson polished the tufted leather buggy seat.
"Horse's injured. Had to walk a ways. Soon as I get him to the livery and seen about, I'll be back for my buggy."
Watson took the reins from Mason. "I'll do that for you. Know this is your wedding day." He looked at the clouds headed their way. "You'd better settle up for the buggy and be on your way."
The mare was already hitched and ready to leave. Careful examination of the vehicle met with Mason's approval. "You've done a fine job, Watson. Appreciate it."
Watson pointed out all the special features. "Too bad it don't have side curtains, 'cause you're in for a soaking."
"Reckon you're right. Water's already risen from rain upstream." The buggy required a carriage road way rather than the narrow trail he'd used getting to Medina, and he'd be longer on the return trip. Mason had stopped at his prospective father-in-law's bank in Ransom Crossing and withdrawn the cash due. He paid Watson, transferred his bag to the buggy, and climbed in.
"Best to you and your bride. She's sure to be proud of your gift." Watson waved as Mason drove away.
The rain started a few minutes later, a drenching downpour so hard Mason could hardly see the road. At the first water crossing, the horse balked. If this were the only place they had to cross a river or creek, Mason would have urged the horse into the water. There were at least four more, and the water in this one had risen almost too high for the buggy to navi gate.
Mason turned the horse and headed back to Med ina.
****
"Rachel, only three weeks ago you assured me you could wear the dress or we could have made a new one." Beth looked at the soft pink satin. The rip down the front spanned from neck to the carmago waist, and the fabric on each side frayed.
Rachel sobbed. "I thought I could. I t-t-tried."
"So I see." The jagged tear looked irreparable.
"C-can you fix it? 1-1 love that dress. It's the pretti est one I've ever owned."
Maybe the ruffles could be utilized. Beth turned the dress around. The buttons had popped off— maybe exploded better fit the appearance—and three had left torn fabric. Front and back, the top of the dress was ruined.
Mrs. Pendleton regarded her niece. "How on earth did you get it fastened?"
"It was hard, but I held my breath and Ben did up the buttons. Then, he said something funny, and I tried not to laugh. It-it sort of burst out in a huge cough." Rachel sobbed again. "That's when it happened."
"Maybe you could wear something else. Let's think what other dresses you have?" Beth looked at the green poplin Rachel wore now and remembered a bombazine her cousin saved for Sundays. "What about the lavender moire you wore last summer?"
"Jamie was sick on it all down the front. I can't get the stains out. I-I loved the dress, but it's ruined."
Beth remembered when Rachel's second oldest had been ill. Rachel had come home from the Pendletons' party to find the little boy burning with fever. She couldn't be blamed for picking up her sick son before changing clothes. His fever had lasted for days, and they'd all feared he'd die. "What else do you have?"
"None except the black Sunday dress. The others are pretty worn and not suitable for a wedding. A mar ried woman on an apple farm needs different clothes than a single woman who lives in town."
Beth sighed. Even in distress, her cousin couldn't resist an opportunity to flaunt her marriage. Beth folded the torn
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