Page 19 of Mail-Order Lady

Thomas had given Kate a full day’s notice, and she’d balked at such immediacy.

“I mean…we can delay if Clara⁠—”

“Four o’clock is perfect.” Clara’s voice sounded from behind Mrs. Wang. The sound held its usual clear, rhythmic cadence. And certainty. No hesitation in the words or tone.

He eased out a breath. “Four o’clock then.”

Mrs. Wang gave a nod and closed the door.

The hallway felt narrower when he turned back to his own room.

He let himself in, set his hat on the nail by the door, and halted in front of the unfinished letters on the desk. The ink had long since dried.

He should finish them. Should pick up the pen and complete the line he’d left mid-sentence.

Instead, he turned to the window.

The street looked the same as it had before. The freight wagon had moved on. A different pair of men loitered now near the trading post, neither one familiar. The Missouri still glinted dull and brown beyond the rooftops. Not much in the view had altered in the last hour.

Yet it should have.

He pressed his palm flat against the windowsill and made himself draw a full breath. Then another.

In an hour, he would marry Clara McKinney.

The thought sat in his chest like a coal too hot to hold. He turned away from the glass and went back to the desk so he would have something to do with his hands.

He sat down. Picked up the pen. Pulled the letter to Virginia City close. What had he been trying to say? He set the pen down again.

A man could only sit at a desk so long pretending to work.

He stood. Crossed to the washstand. Looked at himself in the small, foxed mirror.

The man staring back was the same one who’d ridden into Fort Benton yesterday—dark hair he’d never managed to keep tidy, the same plain features, the same unremarkable face he’d carried for twenty-four years. Nothing about it suggested that in less than an hour, Clara McKinney would stand beside him and bind herself to him by law.

Lord, let me do right by her.

The prayer surfaced before he could decide if he wanted it. This was bigger than what he could control though. Words and legal details he could manage. But a woman’s feelings? Her happiness?

He couldn’t fail Clara. Not when she was entrusting so much into his hands.

He poured water into the basin and washed his hands. Washed his face. Combed his hair through, though it would be doing what it pleased again before he reached the lobby. Took the cleanest shirt from his bag and changed into it. Brushed his coat down with the side of his hand.

When the clock on the dresser read five minutes to the hour, he left the room. The soft murmur of voices sounded through Clara’s door. Should he knock and escort the ladies down? Maybe better let them come when they were ready. He could ensure all was in order downstairs.

It was.

Someone—maybe the clerk—had drawn the curtains back from the front windows so the late afternoon light slanted through in long bars across the floorboards. The chairs had been rearranged. A small table near the hearth held a Bible and the marriage record book the sheriff had brought.

Sheriff Garrett stood by the table with his hat in his hand, in conversation with the young clerk. Both turned as Robert entered.

“Mr. Balfour.” Garrett gave him a nod. The lawman had donned a dark coat over the flannel he wore an hour ago. “Good timing. We’re set whenever the lady’s ready.”

“Thank you.” His voice came out level. So far, so good.

Henley—he’d finally caught the clerk’s name—offered a quick, almost self-conscious smile. “Pleasure, sir.”

Robert nodded.