The Substitute Bride: A Novella

by Carrie Fancett Pagels

  Sonja blanched.

  Louis held out his hand, palm up, across the table. “Is that your father?”

  Eyes wide, she nodded.

  “I wanted to talk with you about a letter I received.” Louis grasped her hand and squeezed it gently. “One letter I received this week I believe is from you.”

  She pulled her hand free. “I’m sorry, I can explain.”

  Mr. Hoeke’s voice grew louder. “I’ve got my house back to myself. No infernal daughters taking up space and good money.”

  Tears trickled down Sonja’s fair cheeks, and Louis fished out his handkerchief and offered it to her. She dabbed away the tears. “Louis, I shouldn’t have…”

  He raised a hand to silence her and then in a voice he hoped the entire restaurant, now hanging on Mr. Hoeke’s every word, would hear, announced, “Never have I had the privilege of knowing a more giving, beautiful, and godly woman than you, Sonja Hoeke.”

  The titters in the room stopped, as did Mr. Hoeke’s barrage of words behind them. Sonja’s jaw dropped open.

  Louis slid out from the booth and rose to his full height. “If you, Sonja, would only show me the great honor of becoming the woman who’d live with me the rest of our lives, I would be the happiest man on earth.” He pressed a hand to his chest, reveling in the dramatic proposal that Mr. Hoeke’s noxious words had pushed him into.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw Sonja’s father scoot to the edge of the Inglenook.

  “Only say you’ll be mine, my love, and I shall seek out your father’s approval—once I meet the man who has produced so fine a lady as you.”

  Next to him, Mr. Hoeke stood, only a tad shorter than Louis. “I’m right here.”

  To his surprise, the man hustled to his wife’s side of the table, assisted her out and presented her to Louis. “This is my wife, Sonja’s mother. And the one who should be credited with any good you see in my daughter.”

  Sonja wished she could slide under the table and disappear. How humiliating. While Louis was kibitzing with her father and then hugging her mother, she slipped from the booth and ran from the restaurant. She headed straight to the back, where her dog awaited. Her pretty new coat brushed her boot tops. The surprise gift, apparently from her father, had shocked her. Perhaps he’d not sent it after all. And Father’s comments in the restaurant had first mortified her and then astonished her. Perhaps mother was right. Maybe his diabetes was the cause of his erratic behavior.

  Darren barked happily in greeting and shook his long tail as she approached. The man who’d brought him must have inhaled his food before he departed, for Darren was tied with a rope to a pole, his bowls of water and food barely touched, but an ironstone platter on the step had been emptied by the human who’d been there.

  She looked around, but the dog tender was nowhere in sight.

  Louis strode up the side alleyway and joined her. “It fits you perfectly.” He gestured to the length of her new coat.

  “So it was from you?”

  “Consider it my engagement gift to you—although I have another.”

  “Oh, Louis. I’m so embarrassed.” She shook her head.

  “No need. Your father needed to be reminded of what a treasure he and your mother were losing!”

  Sonja sniffed back tears. “So your offer of employment at the Poor Farm came with additional stipulations, did it?”

  “Indeed!” He chuckled.

  She feigned dismay.

  Louis bent and petted her dog’s head. “Glad you got back here, big guy.”

  Patting Dar’s back, two tears rolled down her cheeks. “I’ve missed you so much,” she murmured to her dog.

  They stood there, their breath forming mist and mingling. In the distance, a train whistle tooted and they startled. Darren barked at the noise and Louis laughed. “That’s right, old boy, you tell those railroad men!”

  “Speaking of which, how did you get Dar back from my sister?”

  “It took a bit of convincing—and a purebred Irish setter—to convince your brother-in-law that you needed Darren at the Poor Farm.”

  She laughed, too. “He’s wanted a setter for hunting for the longest time. I imagine he’s over the moon.”

  Louis rubbed his chin. “I think he was, in fact.”

  “Thank you.” She’d not realized how terribly she’d missed her pet until she had him right there with her.

  “I’d be over the moon, too, if you’ll say yes to me.” His dark eyes twinkled, and then took on that certain look—one that promised a kiss.

  “Only over the moon?” She pressed a finger into the dimple in her cheek. “I think my response should garner more than the same reaction a hunter gets over receiving his favorite setter!”

  Louis closed the gap between them, and pulled her into his arms, the warmth a comfort and thrill. “I’d be far beyond the universe—in the heavenly realms—if you’ll be my wife.”

  He covered her mouth with his, the heat spiraling down to the toes of her boots. As he deepened the kiss, he drew her closer and she trembled.

  Darren nudged his snout between them and whined. Children’s voices carried from nearby and they broke their embrace.

  Sonja giggled. “That’s quite the offer…”

  A line formed between Louis’s dark brows.

  “I mean, about being over the universe—considering that you’ll have us living at the Poor Farm.” Sonja burst into a fit of laughter.

  Louis bowed at the waist. “Madam, let us establish that I do have a penchant for slight exaggeration.”

  Chapter 9

  Sonja stood with the pastor’s wife at the sanctuary’s exit. Christmas was feeling merry after all. She adjusted the ecru lace collar on the new burgundy silk moiré gown from her mother and father. Rows of rosy lace covered the bodice over the full skirt. Beneath, her new white satin petticoats swished every time she made the slightest movement. She couldn’t help grinning.

  “The pageant couldn’t have gone any better, Miss Hoeke.” Mrs. Mathews clutched little Joshua’s hand.

  “Thank you.” Sonja squeezed in as close to the beautiful, ebony-haired woman as she could, but both of their festive gowns could have filled the entranceway had they stood there, instead of to the side. Teresa Mathews wore her prettiest gown today, constructed of velvet in a soft violet that perfectly matched her striking eyes. Satin piping edged the wide cuffs and the high collar. The entire bodice was embellished with tiny beads and embroidered roses.

  The Mathews other son, little Daniel, raced toward the church vestibule, where candy boxes were being distributed to church members.

  “Daniel Mathews! Only one!” The preacher’s wife turned and called out as the three-year-old grasped a box in each hand and turned, grinning.

  Mrs. Mathews shook her head. “Boys can be trying.”

  Other parishioners chatted with each other and greeted Sonja and Teresa as they exited the sanctuary and headed down to the church hall, where a reception awaited.

  “I’ve never seen the church so packed for our children’s program.” Mrs. Mathew’s violet eyes twinkled in merriment.

  A twinge of unease traveled up her spine, making Sonja aware of the hundreds of buttons on her dress’s back. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  Her friends, Lila, Mamie, Christina, and Letitia, rushed toward Sonja, all dressed in their finest and giggling.

  Mrs. Mathews arched a slender, dark eyebrow and laughed.

  Her pals grabbed Sonja’s arms and pulled her to the choir room.

  “This is scandalous,” Sonja protested as they locked the door, Mamie pressing her bustle toward it and laughing.

  “What is scandalous, my friend, is a young woman living at that farm with a gentleman and no benefit of marriage.”

  “Indeed.” Lila turned and lifted an ethereal lace veil from a square white box.

  Christina laughed. “Time to put that on for the wedding.”

  “What wedding?” Heat flushed Sonja’s
cheeks and she pressed her hands to them.

  Mamie opened a box on a table positioned against the back wall. She pulled out four small floral bouquets.

  Then Mamie handed Letitia a larger bouquet. Gorgeous hothouse flowers spilled out of the arrangement, trailed by burgundy ribbons that matched Sonja’s gown.

  She accepted the flowers and drew them to her nose, inhaling the perfumes of the roses and lilies. “These are beautiful!”

  “Pastor Mathews found them in the reception hall when he arrived.” The girls glanced between one another.

  “The washerwoman your parents hired told him they’d come in by rail this morning and delivered directly to the church.”

  A chill coursed up Sonja’s arms as she examined the perfect blossoms. Her parents hadn’t hired anyone to clean the hall—the churchwomen had cleaned and prepared it for the pageant when the janitor fell ill. But if he was sick, why was Mr. Zinker seated out there watching his daughter, dressed as one of the sheep?

  Louis’s stranger had to have managed this somehow. He’d shared over dinner how she’d been in his office. Sonja laughed. Would the mysterious woman be there even now?

  “It’s like a reunion in here.” Mr. Wenham gestured to a nearby couple, his British accent thickening.

  A strongly-built man and slender woman joined them.

  Thomas gestured to each. “This is my sister, Emily, my brother-in-law, William.”

  Louis extended his hand and shook William’s hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

  Emily nodded and Louis did the same. No hand shaking for this lady. He was firmly back in the Midwest now and the Wenhams were English immigrants, brought there by the land grant program as many farmers had been.

  “This is Louis Smith Penwell, the young man made good who I’d told you about. The whole community has come out to welcome him back.”

  “Nice to meet you, son.” William’s gray eyes met his own as the older man shook Louis’s hand. His clipped accent differed from Thomas’s, which held more of a note of the English countryside.

  “We live in Palo,” Emily said shyly, her accent less pronounced than her husband’s and brother’s. “We farm.”

  “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

  “Lloyd!” Mr. Wenham’s brother-in-law turned and ran after a blond-haired boy who rushed toward the cake table, where other boys gawked over the seven-tier creation.

  Emily pressed a hand to her chest. She turned to her brother. “Your nephew is a rapscallion—he takes after you!”

  The cake rescued, William returned with the squirming boy tucked under his arm.

  Louis tweaked the boy’s ear gently. “I suspect your only punishment on this festive day shall be to remain seated between your parents until cake is served!”

  The family laughed and another group moved toward Louis.

  Now, one after another, as Louis waited in the church hall, festooned with swags of holly and ivy and bits of lace, old friends—yes friends who’d remember poor Louis Smith—had come forward and congratulated him on his immediately impending nuptials. He’d be exhausted before the vows were ever said.

  Tables were covered with evergreen and berry arrangements, the punch bowl attendants giggling as they pointed at him. Louis’s collar suddenly felt too tight.

  A silence settled over the large rectangular room as Reverend Mathews was assisted up onto a sturdy chair.

  “Attention everyone! The wedding will take place in here because our bride was a little busy in the sanctuary until now.” He pointed to Louis. “And apparently the groom may not have informed her about the wedding part of the reception!”

  Laughter erupted.

  “Although I didn’t know Louis when he lived here before, I’m delighted to welcome him to our membership.”

  People clapped and several men moved forward, all dressed in suit jackets. Mr. Hood, Ronald, Mr. McLaughlin, and Dr. Queen leaned in. “We’re your groomsmen, in case you’d not figured that out yet.”

  Louis shook each man’s hand.

  Four young women, in pretty church dresses, their hair upswept, jewelry adorning their necks, preceded Sonja into the room. He strained to see her, his heart pounding. Would she be angry with him? Was he presumptuous? Of course he was, but he couldn’t help grinning.

  Louis fingered the note in his jacket pocket. The third book had been marked by the note. Make Christmas future the best ever, Louis. Don’t give up love when it is right before you. Don’t make the mistakes I made. God gave you a second chance at love—I just helped Him out with those plans. No signature. But he knew it was from the stranger.

  He’d given up the nightmares, he’d rested easy, he’d forgiven. And now Louis knew—God had brought him healing via his substitute bride. Thanks be to God—who’d placed Louis in Shepherd to restore him. This was the beginning of the best Christmas ever—and of the first day of his new life—in the one place he’d never have chosen. But who was this woman? He’d be troubled until he knew who had intervened in so many ways on his behalf.

  Mr. Hood came alongside Louis, standing between him and Ronald, who was to be his best man. He reached into jacket pocket and pulled out a telegram. “This arrived earlier. I think it is from your grandmother.”

  “Grandmother?” Both grandmothers were both gone. Louis accepted the message, as the men looked on.

  The telegram operator’s ruddy cheeks grew redder. “Isn’t Nona a name an Italian grandmother uses?”

  “Yes, but I’m not Italian. And I have no surviving grandmothers.” That he knew of, anyway. And when the county officials contacted his grandparents’ last known address, all indications were that they’d passed away. Louis scanned the telegram.

  May God restore all you have lost. Until we cross paths again, Non un Angelo.

  Louis stifled a chuckle. So the philanthropic stranger wasn’t an angel, after all. “It’s not Nona, Mr. Hood—it’s Italian for ‘Not an Angel.’ It’s from a rather mysterious friend.”

  “Too bad—Italian grandmothers are the best,” Mr. Hood elbowed Louis good-naturedly.

  Ronald pointed to the preacher, who was waving them forward. “I think we best get a move on.”

  Sonja’s knees shook. Thank goodness no one could see them beneath the full skirt of her beautiful gown. They were about to marry yet she’d not heard the words she’d been waiting to hear from her sweetheart. Did he feel as she did?

  “I love you.” Louis took her hand in his and probably would have kissed her had Reverend Mathews not cleared his throat loudly.

  “I love you, too.” Sonja’s whispered reply was lost amid the titters of laughter in the room.

  “Dearly beloved…”

  She heard Reverend Mathews as he spoke, and she repeated her vows at the proper times, but Sonja wasn’t sure she’d remember any of that part of the marriage ceremony. But when Louis was allowed to kiss his bride, that part seared into her soul. His warm lips covered hers, claiming her as his wife. He’d held her for what seemed like an eternity, when Teresa Mathews tugged on Sonja’s arm and pointed to the cake.

  “Darlin’, if you want there to be any left for you two to cut, you’d better shorten this part and take it up later.” She winked at Louis, who actually seemed to blush.

  A half dozen boys, mostly Wenhams and their cousins, darted out from behind the cake table, all with various amounts of frosting on their faces.

  Louis guided Sonja over to the table, the crowd parting, and applauding as they walked. Her cheeks heated and she lowered her gaze to the wood floor ahead of her, strewn not with rose petals or rice, but bits of wedding cake. Would their home be filled with little boys who loved cake?

  After they’d cut pieces of cake for one another, Sonja’s maid of honor slipped in, along with Ronald, to continue serving.

  “I want to show you something that Mr. Hood gave me.” Louis handed her a telegram and she scanned it, her Latin coming in handy.

  “Not an angel.” She laughed. “I did wonder.”

/>   “He thought that it had been signed Nona, but as much as I wish I had a grandmother, I do not.” Louis drew in a deep breath. “Although I have no surviving kin that I know of, I do now have a mother-in-law and father-in-law, sisters and brothers-in-law, nieces, nephews, three wards—including Ronald here until he turns eighteen—and a huge dog!”

  “Might as well count him too, he eats enough.” She kissed his cheek.

  They watched as Lila and Ronald served cake to her parents. Her father fairly burst at the seams with pride. He held the plate aloft and called to Sonja, “Mother’s letting me have cake today!” He cackled as he headed off with her mother, who rolled her eyes.

  Her eldest sister and her husband turned from where they stood by the punch bowl, beaming. Sonja thought she’d spied them alighting from a carriage earlier, but Mother had convinced her that it must only be someone who looked like her sister. Had she spied her in the pageant she’d have known something was definitely afoot.

  Sonja tapped the name on the telegram before handing it back to her husband. “Although this lady may not be an angel—as her signature indicates—you certainly do have angels looking over you.”

  “You’re right. I do. I have you.” Louis pulled Sonja into his arms and kissed her. “My beautiful wife. Not a substitute bride. But the wife I’ve chosen. The one God had planned for me all along.”

  The End

  Thank you for reading The Substitute Bride, a finalist for the 2016 Maggie Award for published novellas! If you enjoyed it, would you please consider posting a review? ALSO, if you’d like to read more about some of the characters – The Wellings and our Mystery Woman – please consider picking up a copy of my novel, My Heart Belongs on Mackinac Island: Maude’s Mooring (Barbour, July 2017).

  Author’s Notes

  Historians will note that the cover, with the lovely snow globe, isn’t consistent with the time frame of this novella. Snow globes were thought to have been created near the year 1900, after this story is set. But for the sake of unity for cover design for our entire O’ Little Town of Christmas collection, I hope the reader will overlook this. I’m thinking my heroine, Sonja, would have loved the snow globes when they came out!