She breathed a huge sigh of relief. Thank goodness she’d been given that letter to bring with her. “You didn’t know I was coming? I’ve spent days on that horrible contraption, and Miss Bethany said...”
He interrupted before she could continue. “I’ve been at the station most of the day. If she telegraphed, I wasn’t around to get it.”
Brushing his flour-covered hands against his breeches, he reached out and shook her hand. “You look rather refreshed after such a long trip.”
“I managed to clean up when I arrived.”
He nodded but didn’t answer and Abigail wondered if she lived up to his expectations of his ideal wife.
“Let me take your bag.” He reached out and took it without waiting for a response. He frowned and she knew what he was thinking – it was too light to have much in it. She didn’t need much. Her father had told her that repeatedly.
“I’m afraid I need to finish up here before I can leave. Why don’t you rest on that bench over there?”
The last thing she wanted to do was sit down after enduring it for days on end, but she agreed anyway.
What she really wanted was to get to wherever she was going and have a long hot bath. She felt like a chimney sweep must feel after a day’s work.
He escorted her over to the wooden bench. “Have you eaten, Miss…? Forgive me, I don’t even know your name.” He grinned, as though it was hilarious they were to marry but he didn’t know what to call her.
“Abigail Martin,” she said quietly, and sat down at his indication. “No, I have not, Mr Harper. The last time I ate was yesterday breakfast when I had a few crackers.”
“No wonder you look so pale.”
Did she? Abigail hadn’t noticed when she looked in the mirror, but she was more concerned with being presentable.
“Patrick!” He called to his brother and waved him over. “Are we done,” he asked Patrick. “We need to get back to the store. Miss Martin, er, Abigail hasn’t eaten since breakfast yesterday.”
She felt herself heat at the embarrassment, and turned her head.
Patrick’s smile turned grim. “That’s not good,” he said. “I’m done here.” He began to pull the trolley laden with all the flour and other items they’d received.
Ethan helped Abigail to her feet, not that she needed his help, but it was nice to know she was marrying a gentleman.
Not that he looked much like one right now. His sleeves were rolled up, and not a tie or a jacket was in sight!
His face was covered with splatters of both flour and dirt, but she forgave him being out in public like that. But only because Ethan and Patrick had been loading their baking requirements.
One hand held a bundle of papers, and the other slid up her back and guided Abigail out of the railway station.
She looked back over her shoulder. It seemed larger than the station back home, and it was big. She shook her head – that couldn’t be right. They were out in the middle of nowhere in Dayton Falls.
“How long has your bakery been operating?” Abigail asked, not daring to tell him her father’s business. The last thing she needed was to be caught up in his business, and being leaned on for constant help in the store.
“We opened last week.” He turned to her and smiled. “Business is already very good.”
Great. She could see the writing on the wall. When it got too much for him to handle, he’d find a way to get her involved in the business.
Not that she reviled helping out. That wasn’t it at all. She just didn’t want to be taken advantage of like her father had.
As they made their way along the main street of Dayton Falls, Abigail looked about. It really wasn’t very big, but people milled about, going about their business.
Ethan stopped in front of a large store with floor to ceiling windows that showed the café part of the store. He pulled out a bundle of keys and unlocked it.
Her hands reached out to touch the painted sign on the large window. Dayton Falls Bakery.
Not very inventive, but it didn’t need to be. It said exactly what was needed, and there could be no confusion about the nature of the business.
Her father had chosen Martin’s Eatery for his signage and had almost instantly regretted it. Abigail was certain the wording had lost them many a customer. No doubt Peter Jones would eventually change it to something more suitable.
Had he even come through with the payment to buy the bakery? She highly doubted it. He would play her father for a fool given half a chance.
She shook her head trying to shake the thoughts away. The last thing she wanted was to fill her head with memories of Peter Jones and his dishonorable intentions.
Ethan held the door wide for her. “Are you okay? You seem to have paled even more, if that’s possible.”
He led her across to one of the café tables and sat her down.
Patrick pulled the trolley though the door and out the back to the storeroom, while Ethan headed to the large kitchen and proceeded to make tea for her.
He returned a few minutes later with tea and a buttered scroll. “It’s not much, but I’ll get you something further shortly. I don’t want you passing out on me.” He stared at her, waiting for a response.
She took a bite. “Mmmm, this is good,” she said, almost adding even better than my father’s. Luckily she caught her words in time.
“My food is good,” he said, pretending to be wounded. “Nothing but the best.”
She nodded and took another bite. It really was good, and she could sit here all day, but surely the store would be opening soon? “What time do you open? It must be getting late.”
“We open at noon.”
Abigail almost choked on her tea. Her father’s bakery opened at eight precisely, every day of the week. No wonder he looked tired.
“My father almost killed himself with his bakery,” Ethan explained. He began to prepare the food a little after midnight, and worked himself to the ground. The store closed at six, which left little time for rest.”
It echoed almost exactly what her father had done for as long as she could remember.
“This way, I get to have a good night’s sleep, and have some down time. I want to spend time with my wife, and family if we are blessed to have one.”
He grinned at her, and Abigail felt the heat creep up her neck to her cheeks. “Speaking of which, when you are finished eating, you can freshen up, then we’ll make our way to the church.”
She began to stand, but he waved her down again. “Do finish eating,” he said. “I’d never forgive myself if you became ill through lack of nourishment.”
He reached into the glass cabinet and retrieved an apple slice. After placing it on a sparkling white plate, he placed it on the table before her, with a similarly shining fork.
She stared at the plate.
“If you don’t like it, I can get you something else,” he said, a worried look on his face. He totally misunderstood her actions.
The plates in her father’s store were old and cracked. These were the most beautiful plates she’d ever seen.
She shook her head and smiled at him. “No, it isn’t that. It sounds silly I suppose, but I was admiring your crockery. They’re the most beautiful plates I’ve seen.”
He chuckled. “Then you haven’t seen many.”
She supposed he was right. Her father was too much of a miser to replace the plates, and she doubted Peter Jones would be any better.
“It is easy to see your bakery is new,” she said, gazing around and taking in the shiny floor and the cleanliness of the entire store. “Your customers must be enjoying it.”
“They’re certainly enjoying coming here for coffee and cake. The ladies are making it a regular occurrence, which is good for business.”
She nodded. It was exactly what her father needed. Stubborn old mule he was. She’d tried to tell him but he wouldn’t listen. The entire situation was becoming quite tiresome.
She swallowed down the last of
the apple slice, then gulped the last of the tea. Abigail looked up at him expectantly, and she noticed him staring.
“Is something wrong,” she asked, watching him continue to stare at her.
He shook his head as though chasing bad thoughts away. “Nothing is wrong. Nothing at all. I was admiring your beauty,” he said genuinely. No one had ever complimented her before, and it felt good.
It also made her blush.
He chuckled. “You are even more beautiful when you blush like that.” He had a huge grin on his face, which made her even more embarrassed.
She pushed back her chair and stood, reaching for her soiled dishes out of habit.
“Oh no, don’t do that. Allow me,” he said, snatching up the few dishes on the table. He carried them to the sink, then returned for Abigail.
He locked the front door to stop early customers, then took her through to the house that was attached to the bakery.
“This is home,” he said proudly. “Patrick and I have spent weeks renovating both the bakery and the house.”
She glanced around, taking in the features of the house. “You both did a wonderful job,” she said, more than a little impressed at their handiwork.
“To be honest, Patrick is a carpenter – it was a huge help.” He grinned like a little boy caught with his fingers in the honey jar.
She laughed. It was the first time she’d laughed for a long time, and it felt good.
“Patrick is living with me, er us, at the moment. I hope you don’t mind?” He glanced at her waiting for her reaction.
“It’s your house, and your decision,” she said. Her father had always made the decisions, and Abigail had no choice in anything.
“Once we’re married, all that changes,” he said. “Here’s the bathroom. Freshen up, and we’ll go and visit the preacher.” He looked down at himself. “I need to clean up too.”
He grinned and for the first time she noticed the dimples at either side of his face. Perhaps because he’d made her feel more comfortable and more relaxed, she was noticing more.
He handed Abigail the almost empty carpetbag and left her alone. She closed the bathroom door behind her and pulled off her bonnet. Despite having washed her face at the station, she could still feel the grit on her skin.
It felt horrible.
There was clean water in the beautifully decorated jug, and she poured some into the matching bowl.
Ethan had left a clean towel and face cloth for her, which was very thoughtful.
She soaked the face cloth and held it against her face. It felt so good, so refreshing. She sprinkled her neck with the rosewater she had brought with her. At least she would smell nice.
Her hair wasn’t bad, but she brushed it out and redid her chiffon.
The one thing she really wanted to fix was the now dirty gown she wore. She only had two other gowns with her, and they weren’t in the best condition, but they were the best she’d had.
She quickly undressed and pulled on a fresh gown. Abigail had no intentions of visiting the house of the Lord in a dirty gown. That would be incredibly disrespectful.
She snatched up her soiled gown and shoved it into the bag. Tomorrow she would wash it.
Try as she might, she couldn’t reach the last few buttons to secure them. She would have to ask Ethan to assist her.
She opened the door, to find him loitering in the hallway. “Would you mind,” she asked, indicating the buttons. “I can’t quite reach.”
She turned around and he lifted his hands, but they lingered. He leaned forward and breathed in her fragrance. “You smell nice,” he said, approval clearly in his voice.
“It was a last minute addition,” she said. “I almost didn’t bring it with me.”
She felt his fingers fiddling with the buttons. “I’m glad you did,” he told her, finally securing the buttons.
When she turned back around she finally noticed he’d put on a vest, tie and a jacket. He cleaned up quite well.
“You have a little…” She reached out and touched his cheek, brushing the flour away. Her fingers tingled where she touched him.
He jolted backwards at the connection. “I’ll fix it. Thanks,” he said, then disappeared into the bathroom.
He wasn’t in there long, when he reappeared. He put out his arm for Abigail to hook her hand through, and they walked toward the kitchen.
“We’re off to get married, Patrick. Are you coming?”
There was some rattling, and banging and then he appeared. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he said, grinning. The two brothers were very much alike, but Abigail knew she’d nabbed the most handsome of the two.
As they strolled toward the church, Abigail noticed the chill in the air. Christmas wasn’t far away, and soon it would be cold. Eventually it would snow. The cold would really set in then.
“Here were are.” Ethan’s distinctive voice rang out in the stillness of the day. “Nervous?”
She nodded. “A little. It’s not every day a girl gets to marry a complete stranger.”
His smile disappeared. “You don’t have to do this,” he said quietly. “I won’t force you.”
She stared into his eyes. “I know,” she said equally as soft. “It’s just…I hadn’t really thought much about it before. Desperation does that to you.”
He contemplated her for a few moments. “If you’re certain.”
She heard Patrick clear his voice behind them. She’d forgotten he was there. As it turned out, their private conversation wasn’t so private.
Abigail’s heart rate quickened. She wasn’t certain she was ready for this.
Chapter Three
Ethan held open the heavy church door for Abigail.
His eyes landed on her beautiful face, then he glanced across at her hair. She’d removed her bonnet when they arrived, and for the first time, he’d had a good look at it.
It was blonde with reddish streaks – it was all he could do not to reach out and touch it.
He was petrified of marrying a stranger, and even before he’d posted the letter to the mail order bride agency, was having second thoughts.
Right up until Abigail arrived this morning, he wondered if he’d done the wrong thing. Chatting to her in the bakery while she ate, his fears had been allayed.
She seemed like a nice person, and it had made him feel more comfortable about the whole getting married to a stranger situation.
She looked up at him. He had lingered too long and she was beginning to wonder why. At least he assumed that was how she was thinking.
As he continued to stare, he noticed the fine lines around her eyes. She was tired. Perhaps exhausted. She’d come a long way to marry him.
It made him wonder what she was fleeing from. Inevitably mail order brides were running away from something.
“Is everything alright?”
Her quiet voice brought him out of his wayward thoughts. As a small child his father was forever reprimanding him for daydreaming. He hadn’t done it for such a long time.
“Everything is perfectly fine. Are you ready?”
She nodded and proceeded him into the sacred building.
He glanced up and saw the preacher heading toward them. “Good morning, Folks,” he said warmly. He stared at them. “You’re new in town. I haven’t seen you before.”
Ethan reached out his hand and introduced himself to the preacher. “Ethan Harper,” he said. “I own the new bakery.”
Enlightenment filled the preacher’s face.
“I’ve been to your services a few times since I arrived, but sat up the back and snuck out before you had a chance to see me.”
The preacher stared him down. “Why on earth would you do that? We’re a friendly bunch here in Dayton Falls.”
Ethan shrugged his shoulders. He wasn’t the most social person. “This is Miss Abigail Martin,” he said, changing the subject as quickly as he could. “We would like to be married today. If you have the time, that is.”
The preacher looked them both up and down.
“Of course,” the preacher said, leading them to the front of the church. Patrick trailed behind them.
“Oh, this is my brother, Patrick,” he said. “He can be one of the witnesses.”
“Let me get my wife as the other witness.” He disappeared, but came back shortly. “Hold hands,” he instructed the couple. “And move closer together. Do you have a wedding ring?”
Abigail stared at him. “I totally forgot. Should I run out and get one?”
The preacher chuckled. “You’ll likely need to order one in. We can proceed without it.”
Before he knew it, the ceremony was over. The witnesses signed the paperwork, along with the newly married couple, and they soon left the church.
Once they were outside, Ethan pulled his pocket-watch out of his vest and checked the time. It wouldn’t be long and he’d need to open the bakery.
Abigail pulled her bonnet back on her head and they headed off. As they strolled along Main Street, he pointed out the various businesses along the way.
“Can you cook?” He hadn’t meant to blurt the question out, but it was too late now. It would be really nice to have a wife who could cook his meals. He was usually too exhausted to do it himself at the end of a busy day.
She grinned. “I can cook,” she said, and for some strange reason, he felt there was more to the answer than she was letting on. “Do you have plenty of supplies at home?” She blushed as soon as she asked the question. “I mean, in the house, not the bakery. I know you have plenty there.”
“Hmm, not a lot. Perhaps you could check it out when we get back. Anything you need, put on my account at the Mercantile.”
She looked down at her empty hand. “I’ll come in with you tomorrow, and we’ll order a wedding ring.”
Her head shot up. “I don’t need a wedding ring,” she protested. “It’s a waste of good money.”
The Baker's Christmas Miracle Page 2