The Bride's House by Sandra Dallas Read Free Book Online Page A

you not to talk like that,” she said. Then she spoiled the reproof by laughing.
    “I suppose you’ve saved me from their clutches, for where else could I find a woman to talk to? And one who is so unpredictable. I’ve never met a girl like you.”
    “Oh, there’s a plenty of ladies here.”
    “None so fetching as you are.”
    “Mr. Spaulding, I think you overspoke,” Nealie replied, because his remark was obvious even to her—not that she didn’t like it.
    “Would you call me Will? I’d like that so much better.” When Nealie nodded, he asked, “And may I call you Nealie? It’s a prettier name than Bent. I suppose it’s short for Cornelia, isn’t it?”
    “I guess you could. And Nealie isn’t short for anything. It’s just Nealie. I never liked it, or Bent, either.”
    “Why didn’t you change it when you ran away? It would make it harder for your father to find you.”
    Nealie had never thought of that. “What name would I pick?”
    “Evangeline or Gertrude, maybe Mary or Pearl. I always favored Pearl.”
    “What about George? I’m partial to it. I could call myself George.”
    Will, who had taken a sip of his wine, sputtered. He wiped his mouth with his napkin and replied, “And would you have changed your last name from Bent to Straight?”
    “Why, that’s the funniest thing I ever heard!” She began to laugh, too, until she realized that people had turned to stare at them and looked down at her lap. “I guess I’m too loud. Well, I had to be to get heard over the hogs,” she said.
    “I don’t care. I haven’t had this much fun since I arrived here. You keep me from loneliness. I didn’t want to come here, you know.”
    “Did your grandfather whip you to make you come?” Nealie asked, because of course, she knew old Mr. Spaulding controlled the Rose of Sharon.
    He looked at her curiously. “Whip me? Hardly. My grandfather would never whip me, nor my father, either. My family is not that barbaric. They convinced me that firsthand knowledge of the Sharon would help my career. They’re right, of course. It’s just that I thought I wouldn’t like it here. But I do.” He smiled at Nealie.
    Then Nealie asked him what name he would have chosen for himself. Will thought that over and replied, “General Ulysses S. Grant.” They laughed again, not stopping until the waiter removed their plates and set down silver cups, and Will explained, “Raspberry ice.”
    “This time of year?” Nealie thought she had never tasted anything so fine. But when the waiter set down coffee in demitasse cups, she frowned. “You’d think they’d give you a decent cup of coffee. This isn’t any more than a sip.”
    “You can have all you want, but you may not like it. This is strong.”
    Nealie sipped and decided the coffee was indeed strong—too strong. She could tell the waiter a thing or two about making coffee, but of course she didn’t. She put the coffee aside and sipped the last of her wine. It made her feel fine, and she wished the day would last forever. In fact, it already had lasted far longer than she had expected, and when the two of them left the dining room, the sun had gone behind the mountain range. The mud in the streets was hard again, and the air was chilly. Will took off his coat and put it around Nealie, asking if she wanted to go home or walk a bit.
    “Walk. I like to look at the houses,” Nealie told him. So they climbed the mountainside, then circled around and walked back past the hotel, down Taos Street, stopping to see a house that was under construction. “My, I’d like to live in a house like that, with an upstairs and a tower and a yard that’s all grass and flowers instead of a pigpen.”
    The site was deserted, and the two of them circled the house, whose back door was on Griffith Street. “It’s a splendid house,” Will observed. “A bride’s house.”
    “Oh,” Nealie breathed. “So it is. Fit for a bride. It’s just about perfect.” The girl tried to