by Kit Morgan
“Land sakes,” Summer said as she walked to the porch. “How’s a girl supposed to get married when the groom isn’t at home?”
“I thought we were delivering cookies,” Bernice said.
“Nonetheless, if you and Warren never see each other, how’s he supposed to make up his mind about you?”
“Maybe he already has.” Bernice’s mood was dropping like a rock.
“Nonsense.” She glanced around. “Maybe we ought to go look for him.”
“Where? Just how big is this farm?”
“Not as big as ours, but big enough. Since we didn’t see him on the way here, they must be working the back of the property.”
“How far away is that?”
“I’m not sure, but it must be that way,” Summer said, pointing in the likely direction.
Bernice followed her off the porch, across the barnyard and into the orchards. They walked for about five minutes when Bernice stopped. “Summer, what’s Mr. Johnson going to think when we show up with cookies at the far end of his property? Isn’t that going to look like I’m … well, desperate?”
Summer stopped and turned to her. “One, stop calling him Mr. Johnson. If you’re going to be married, you might as well call him by his given name.”
“Isn’t that improper?”
“Not around me, it isn’t. We refer to him by his first name, so you might as well too. When you’re in his company, call him Mr. Johnson, but with me or the rest of us, just call him Warren, okay?”
Bernice nodded. “I like calling him Mr. Johnson.”
“Why?”
“Maybe because I won’t be as disappointed if he sends me back.”
“Bernice, stop it this instant.”
“I can’t help it! You saw what he did yesterday – he wouldn’t so much as offer me his arm when we left the house.”
“He did once we were in the orchards.”
“Because he didn’t want me to fall on my face.”
“I thought it was chivalrous.”
“I thought he didn’t want to be embarrassed by me.”
“You see? There you go again.”
Bernice raised an eyebrow. “Go where again?”
“You look at yourself in the worst possible light in every event! Why do you do that to yourself?”
Bernice gaped. Oh dear, the woman was right! She did automatically look at the dark side of everything, always expecting the worst. When had that happened? She never used to be so melancholy about things …
Oh, wait … she knew when it had started, and with whom. Morgan Tindle.
Bernice sighed. Morgan had been her secret love for as long as she could remember. When his aunt Eunice Brubauk suggested they marry, and her parents wholeheartedly agreed, she thought she’d died and gone to Heaven. Unfortunately, Morgan had other plans – and another bride, a very nice one too. Now she couldn’t imagine Morgan being married to anyone else but Daisy – the woman was sweet and kind and always treated Bernice with the utmost respect.
Miss Brubauk, on the other hand, didn’t think much of Daisy and let everyone know about it. She even tried to get her out of Morgan’s life by offering the girl her own house in Portland to live in while she looked for a job there. She’d tried to clear the way for Bernice to have Morgan, but it didn’t work. Then she set her sights on matching Bernice with Garrett Vander, telling her she needed to aim high and do whatever it took to get her man. That failed even more spectacularly, to the point that Miss Brubauk’s own sister put her on the next stage out of town!
Bernice had gamely kept on, but her solo efforts were no more fruitful. Bernard Rudshaw had been a possibility – the blacksmith’s son was kind and strong and always a little smarter than people gave him credit for, and he certainly liked her. But her own mother had thought a smith was beneath them, and had scotched the potential match. And by the time she did, Jess Templeton, the only other eligible bachelor in town, had not only sent away for a mail-order bride of his own, but married her the day she arrived! It was like one last door being slammed in her face.
Good grief, no wonder she looked at things in such a negative light. She was so used to being disappointed, she was now instinctively waiting for the other shoe to drop!
“I’m sorry,” she told Summer. “I’ll try not to from now on. I guess I’ve been unlucky when it comes to finding and keeping a beau. It’s one of the reasons I became a mail-order bride.”
Summer smiled compassionately. “It’ll be different this time, you’ll see.”
Bernice forced a smile back, afraid that if she said anything, it would come out badly.
“Now, let’s find Warren and give him his cookies,” Summer said.
“By the time we do, won’t we have to head back to get supper ready?”
“Elle and Ma can take care of supper tonight. We have our own work to do.”
“Work? You call this work?”
“Of course. You didn’t think this would be easy, did you? That makes it work.”
Bernice stared after her as she headed deeper into the trees. “I had no idea,” she said to herself and followed.
They hadn’t gone much farther when Summer spotted a ladder against at tree and a pair of legs halfway up it. “Warren Johnson! Is that you?” Summer yelled.
“Ow!” he said as a small branch fell from the tree, followed by two more.
Summer stepped back a pace. “What are you doing up there?”
Warren climbed down far enough to bend down and peek at them through the branches. “Pruning. What are you doing here? Did something happen at your farm?”
“No. Bernice baked you some cookies and we thought we’d bring them over.”
Bernice felt her belly drop to her toes. Was he angry they’d found him? She held the basket up and faked a smile.
“Oh. I see.” He made his way down the ladder. “Hello, Miss Caulder. It’s nice to see you again. I trust you made it through the orchards unscathed?”
“Yes, thank you,” she answered, delighted he didn’t appear perturbed at them.
He jumped off the ladder and went over to them. “What kind of cookies?”
“Molasses,” she said, her heart in her throat. The sun glinted off his hair and he had a smudge of dirt on his cheek and down one side of his neck. It made him appear ruggedly handsome, and her chest warmed at the sight of him. Oh dear …
“I appreciate you bringing me something so delightful. I’m afraid if I eat some it will have to be with soiled hands. There’s no place to wash them except up at the house.”
“Are you ready to head that way?” Summer asked.
“I was giving it some thought,” he said as he stared at Bernice.
Good heavens, he was looking at her like she was a snack! Elle had kept her promise – fixing her hair in a pretty braid, wrapping it around her head like a crown, even putting a few flowers in for good measure. She wore a red and cream-colored dress that, truth be told, was too nice to be traipsing across the countryside in. But Warren obviously liked it, if his staring was an indicator.
She noticed him snapping his mouth shut, clearing his throat, then looking at the ladder. “We could … take these back to the house and leave them,” she suggested.
He took the ladder from the tree and leaned it against another. “No need – I can finish here tomorrow. I’ll walk with you.”
Bernice’s heart leaped in her chest. “Oh … how nice.”
“Unless you prefer to leave them and go,” he said.
“Go? No, no … I was just …”
“You didn’t sound very sure of yourself.”
“Of course she’s sure,” Summer quickly interjected, while aiming a look at Bernice. Buck up, girl!
“So you did the baking this time?” he asked.
“Yes, I hope you like them.”
“I’ll like them better once I’m washed up. Shall we?”
Bernice smiled and turned from him to head back, but he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.
When she looked at him, he offered her his arm. “Better safe than sorry.”
She couldn’t help it – she laughed. “Yes, I’ll be the first to agree with you on that.”
He smiled at her, a wonderful warm smile that could melt chocolate. If she didn’t know any better, she’d say he’d changed his attitude toward her overnight. What could have happened to make him so much more attentive from one day to the next?
Whatever it was, Bernice hoped it kept happening. Maybe then she’d feel better about the situation.
Nine
What in tarnation was wrong with him? For hours Warren had pondered how he was going to break it to Miss Caulder that he wasn’t ready to marry, no matter what Grandpa said. If he was going to wed, he’d do it because he wanted to, when he wanted to. But when he saw her …
His eyes flicked to the brunette beauty at his side. With her hair done up the way it was, she reminded him of a fairy princess. Tiny wisps had escaped the braid and framed her face to give her a magical look. She walked next to him with the utmost care to not trip like she’d done the day before. He knew she’d been embarrassed by it and had felt bad for her, but she was able to joke about the incident afterwards.
What was it about this slip of a girl that gave him pause? His logical brain said sending her on her way would be best for them both. If he married just to please Grandpa, he’d hate himself later and would probably take his resentment out on her. That wouldn’t make for a good husband. But today he couldn’t seem to tear his gaze from her. He tried to be nonchalant about it, glancing at her only when he thought she wouldn’t notice.
Problem was, they weren’t the only ones there – and Summer Riley most certainly noticed. “So tell me, Warren,” she said with a smile. “When would you and Mr. Johnson like to join us for supper? I’m sure Miss Caulder would love to cook a meal for you.”
Miss Caulder almost tripped.
Warren tightened his hold on her arm to steady her and gave her a reassuring smile. He hadn’t counted on an invitation to the Rileys’! “Er, I’m not sure. I’m rather busy of late.”
“Not so busy you can’t walk us home and protect us from wild beasts!” Summer teased.
“Mrs. Riley,” he said, more firmly than he intended, “a skunk is hardly a wild beast.”
“I don’t know. I remember when my papa got sprayed by one,” Miss Caulder replied. “He had to sleep out in the back shed for a week – Mother wouldn’t let him in the house.”
“How horrible!” Summer exclaimed. “See? What if we were to have a run-in with such a monster?”
Miss Caulder giggled. A shiver went up Warren’s spine at the sound. It reminded him of a story he’d read in college – something about wood nymphs … “I can only imagine,” he said. “Having not had the, ah … experience.”
Summer walked on. “Sunday, then. I’ll let Clayton and the rest of the family know you’ll join us for supper after church.”
“What?” Warren and Miss Caulder said in unison. They looked at each other in panic, and swallowed at the same time. “Um, didn’t he just say he’s too busy?” Miss Caulder asked, never taking her eyes from his.
“I did? Oh – yes, I did!” He looked at Summer, who now eyed them both with amusement. “Far, far too busy.”
“Sunday, Warren. After all, I’m sure you and Miss Caulder have much to discuss.”
Another mutual gulp. He wondered what she had to be worried about! With him it was obvious: he was going to have to make up his mind on what to do with her before then. But then, wouldn’t that be reason enough to cause her discomfort?
He studied her and sure enough, she’d gone pale … well, even paler. And he was the cause. Guilt stabbed him, and once again he wavered on his earlier decision to send her away. She was so darn cute with her big brown eyes gazing up at him the way they were ...
… yeah, cute. But you couldn’t run a farm on “cute.” What on earth was he going to do?
“Sunday it is, then,” he heard himself say in resignation. But that only made Miss Caulder blanch further. “Are you all right?” he asked, trying to keep the fear out of his voice.
“I … I’m fine,” she said as she wobbled.
“Oh no, you don’t!” he ordered.
She looked up at him, eyes wide. “Don’t … what?”
“Faint.”
“Oh,” she said, just before her knees buckled.
“Bernice!” Summer gasped, lifted her skirts and hurried over to them.
Warren already had her cradled in his arms. “Great Scott, what happened?”
“She fainted, obviously! Warren Johnson, what did you do?”
Warren’s hackles went up. “I didn’t do anything! You’re the one that started all this talk of Sunday supper! I don’t think Miss Caulder was real keen on the idea!”
“Oh, never mind about that!” she snapped as she stared at the woman in his arms. “Well?”
“Well, what?” he shot back
“Oh for Heaven’s sake, Warren, don’t just stand there! We have to get her to the house.”
“Mine’s closer – maybe we should take her there.”
“All right, but let’s hurry in case something’s really wrong.”
He nodded and, tightening his grip on Miss Caulder, headed back the other way toward home. Thankfully, she was light, so he wouldn’t be spent by the time they got there.
By the time they did, Grandpa was just arriving at the house. “Jumpin’ Johnnies, what happened?” he said as he came off the porch. “Is she hurt?”
“Nah, she just fainted,” Warren grunted as he hurried up the porch steps.
“Maybe she’s sick,” his grandfather said and followed him.
Summer brought up the rear. “I hope not. She’s been fine all day.”
Warren gently lay Miss Caulder on the sofa in the parlor. “Grandpa, bring some water.”
“Yessiree!” he said and went to fetch a glass.
Summer kneeled down, took one of Miss Caulder’s hands and patted it. “Bernice? Can you hear me?”
“Of course she can’t hear you, she’s out cold,” Warren pointed out.
Summer glared at him just as their charge moaned.
Warren’s eyes went wide at the sound. “Miss Caulder?”
“Bernice,” Summer corrected.
“She’s Miss Caulder to me.”
“She’s Bernice to everyone else, so she might as well be to you too.”
“Oh for Heaven’s sake, I’m not going to argue over a name!”
Another moan, softer this time.
Warren leaned toward the noise as if against his will, and stared into two big, soft, brown, beguiling eyes as they fluttered open. “Ber … Miss Caulder?”
Summer rolled her own eyes and shook her head.
“Where am I?” Bernice whispered.
Warren leaned in closer. “My house.”
A delicate gasp escaped her. “Wh-what? How did I get here?”
He leaned closer. “I carried you.” His voice had dropped in pitch. It was all Summer could do to keep a straight face.
Grandpa came into the parlor, a glass in his hand. “Here, Warren. Oh, I see she’s recovering. Good.”
Warren reached up and took the glass from him. He turned back to Bernice with a warm smile. “How do you feel? Do you think you can drink this?”
Summer and Grandpa both watched in fascination as her eyelids fluttered. “Thank you.”
Warren put a hand behind her shoulder and helped her up to a sitting position, then held the glass to her lips. “Take a small sip. Don’t drink it too fast.”
Summer and Grandpa leaned toward them like the rapt audience they were.
“I won’t,” she said, and did as he’d told her.
When she was done, he took the glass from her and held it out to no one in particular. Summer took it, then stepped back, a pleased look on her face.
“I think I’d like to go home now,” Bernice said. “I don’t know what came over
me.”
“Maybe we ought to have Doc Brown take a look at you,” Warren suggested.
“What for?” Grandpa blurted. “Seems to me you’re doin’ enough lookin’ as it is!”
Warren turned and glared at him.
Grandpa chuckled and left it at that. Summer handed the glass to him. “How do you feel? Can you make it home?”
“I’m so sorry, I really don’t know what happened ...”
“It’s all right. You’ve had a lot happen to you in a very short amount of time.”
“Happen to her?” Warren croaked. “What’s happened to her?”
Summer took the opportunity to glare back at him. “You did!” She reached down, took Bernice by the hand and helped her off the sofa. “Let’s go home, Bernice.”
Warren stood. “Now see here, Summer Riley! You can’t just drag the poor girl home like that when you don’t know if she’ll be all right.”
“Maybe she will be once I get her away from you!”
He consciously kept himself from making a fist. “I beg your pardon?”
“You’re the one that had her so upset she fainted!” she fired back, eyes blazing.
“I had nothing to do with it! It was you and your talk about Sunday supper – not to mention dragging her all that way out into the orchard.”
“Dragging her …” Summer wasn’t about to back down, let alone admit guilt. “You’ve been torturing her all this time, letting her life hang in the balance –”
“Hang in the … now see here!” Warren declared.
“I think I feel better now,” Bernice interjected.
“Stay right where you are!” Warren ordered her.
“She will not!” Summer countered. “She’s perfectly capable of making it home on her own.”
“She couldn’t even make it back from the orchard after you wore her out!” Warren shot back. “And then you’re going to force her to cook Sunday supper? Gads, woman, what did your last slave die of?”
Summer stiffened, and Warren almost regretted playing the “slave” card – almost. He’d learned in college that bringing that up with a Southerner was an invitation to a fight.
But Summer was showing no inclination toward avoiding a tussle. “Fine!” she yelled. “I’ll run home myself and get the wagon!”