The Bride's House by Sandra Dallas Page A

liked to hurt her. After Nealie came into young womanhood, her pa began to look at her with greedy eyes, staring at her breasts. Sometimes, he came into the barn and touched her there, his eyes hard with longing. Once, he’d put his hand under her skirt, on the inside of her leg and slid it upward. Nealie had run off, but Pa had found her and whipped her, cursing her for being a temptation. Her ma, that sweet, gentle woman worn down from overwork, protected her as much as she could from the beatings, the railings, explaining that Nealie’s father had been a good man before hard times turned him sour. Nealie, knowing her mother was fragile, kept her pa’s fumblings to herself, although she suspected that dear woman knew and subjected herself to the old man’s brutality to keep him from Nealie.
    Then her mother died, leaving Nealie alone with her pa, and the girl knew she had to get away. The day came when Pa brought home Hog Davis from two farms over. He raised pigs and leered at her, following her along the fence whenever she passed on the road. Hog had a jug of silly-bug, and the men went into the barn and got drunk. Nealie had to milk the cow, but she stayed in the house until she figured the two had passed out. Instead, they were lying in wait for her, and her pa grabbed her as she went into the barn, gripped her in a hand of iron, and said, “The girl’s been devilin’ me, although I give her a flailin’ every time or two. Makes me feel better.”
    “She’s a scoundrel for temptation, all right.” Hog ran his tongue over his wet lips. “Red-haired women’s as devilish as they can be. I guess I wouldn’t mind trying to take it out of her.”
    “You’d have to pay me something, a dollar maybe.”
    “I ain’t had a dollar in my life. Hell, I don’t have two bits. But I got a shoat I could let you have.”
    “Have at her then, if you can. You’ll need sharp luck. She’s a vixen.” Nealie’s father pushed her toward Hog, but Hog was clumsy and didn’t get a good hold of Nealie, and she broke and ran for the house.
    “Get back here, or you’ll get a cowhidin’,” her father called. But Nealie barred the door of the house and wouldn’t let her father in until he was sober. That night, she made plans to leave, and it wasn’t more than three days later that she’d taken the seed money and lit out.
    With a pa like that, Nealie had learned to be careful, and instead of schooling herself to flirt and simper like most girls her age, she had taught herself to watch out for men for fear of being disgraced. She was only just now learning there were others—gentlemen like Will Spaulding and even Charlie Dumas.
    So the girl had not considered that she could make a man jealous, and the idea confused her. If she liked Will Spaulding, why not let him know it? But Mrs. Travers had had more experience with men, and Nealie decided the woman might be right. Maybe it was best Will knew there were others anxious to escort her places. Maybe next time, he wouldn’t take his time asking her out.
    So Nealie went to the performance with Charlie and was so delighted with it that she forgot who sat beside her. The girl could scarcely believe the play wasn’t real. For a moment, she hated the villain as much as if he’d been her pa, and although she wasn’t a church person, she prayed—prayed that the girl would end up with the handsome man. “Oh, it was wonderful, Mr. Dumas,” she said when the gaslights were turned up, careful not to call her escort Charlie.
    Charlie beamed. “If you’re not too tired, Miss Nealie, we can take supper at the hotel.”
    “Truly?” Nealie asked. Imagine eating dinner twice at the Hotel de Paris, when Mrs. Travers had never been there even once. She followed Charlie out of the theater, casting about for Will. He was seated in the front row, a woman beside him, but Nealie wasn’t sure whether Will had escorted her or she was with the man on the other side of her.
    At the hotel,