Fire on the Plains (Western Fire) Read Online Free

Strong, of course.”
    “Certainly not!” Startled by her own vehemence, Lydia hastened to soften her tone. “Which is not to say that I don’t respect Mister Strong.” Plying her fingers to the ties on her crinoline, she intentionally avoided Ginny’s pointed gaze.
    “If you’re not in love with the man, then why marry him?”
    Although s he didn’t want to rain on Ginny’s romantic imaginings, Lydia thought it best to answer truthfully. “People do not always wed for love,” she quietly, albeit, firmly intoned. “More often than not, they wed for more prosaic reasons. Mister Strong has generously agreed to provide a home for Dixie and me. That is reason enough to marry him.”
    “ Well, since you are marrying him, do you know the story behind Ben’s hair?” Ginny next asked in a gossipy tone of voice.
    Lydia opened the armoire and removed her black kid boots. “His hair? Whatever are you talking about?”
    “I heard that he want gray –” Ginny loudly snapped her fingers – “just like that.”
    “And how, pray tell, did you come by this bit of knowledge?” Usually not one to encourage her sister-in-law’s loquacious ramblings, Lydia found herself unwillingly curious. Other than the fact that Ben had served for four years in the Union army and that he owned a farm in Kansas, she knew precious little about her betrothed’s background.
    “I overheard him tell his sister Mercy that he woke up a few months ago, looked in the shaving mirror and, lo and behold, he’d sprouted a thatch of gray hair.”
    A dmittedly troubled by Ginny’s disclosure, Lydia made no reply. In her experience, only those who’d suffered a terrible emotional shock went prematurely gray in so swift a manner. She could only wonder at the calamity that had befallen the stoic Ben Strong.
    As Lydia removed her frock from the armoire, Ginny groaned loudly.
    “ On today, of all days, please me that you’re not really going to wear that !”
    “That is precisely what I intend to do,” Lydia replied as she laid her silk glacé day dress across the bed. Fitted with velvet-banded pagoda sleeves, it was one of her favorites.
    “But it’s black ,” Ginny whined, disappointment writ large on her face. “Seeing as how today is such a special occasion, I just thought that—”
    “There is nothing special about today,” Lydia interjected. “Men and women get married all the time. I doubt that Mister Strong is making such a fuss over the occasion.” She lifted the dress above her head, the glossy fabric sliding over her und ergarments with a loud rustle.
    A few moments later, finished with fastening the row of tiny jet buttons, Lydia stepped over to the bureau and opened her inlaid mother-of-pearl jewelry box. Scanning the contents, she selected a large silver brooch that showcased intricately woven strands of her late husband’s hair behind a smooth piece of glass.
    Once she’d secured the brooch to her dress collar, Lydia turned toward her sister-in-law. “How do I look?”
    The corners of Ginny’s mouth lifte d in rueful smile. “Like a widow woman.”
     

     
    A lady must always comport herself with calm composure. A lady must never give in to extremes of emotion. And no matter how trying the circumstance, a lady must always endeavor to exude a courteous demeanor.
    As Lydia wended her way to the parlor, she silently repeated the familiar phrases. Admittedly, she’d always found a measure of security in following those deeply ingrained precepts. From an early age, she’d been taught that for every occasion, every social situation imaginable, there was an appropriate code of behavior. Even marriage, that most respected of institutions, had a set of rules intended to smooth the way between husband and wife.
    Now, only moments from exchanging marital vows with Benjamin Strong, she had every confidence that those deeply-rooted principles would serve her well in the coming days.
    Entering the crowded parlor, Lydia’s eyes