His Substitute Wife

by Dorothy Clark

  “As long as you don’t call me ‘redhead’ again.”

  Her eyes held the glow of the friendship he remembered. “Well, I can’t promise, but I’ll try not to.”

  “You’d best do better than ‘try.’”

  He chuckled at the implied threat, tossed her a mock salute and strode from the kitchen. The tightness he’d carried in his chest since she’d told him about Linda’s betrayal had eased with their casual bantering and the warmth of Audrey’s smile.

  * * *

  Audrey frowned at her limited dress selection and reached for the dove-gray light wool walking dress with the bolero jacket. It was the warmest outfit she had brought with her, and, even when the sun was at its peak, it would be cool in the shade of those towering pines or walking beside that frigid water. A frisson of pleasure spread through her at the thought. “Blessed Heavenly Father, please let Blake’s words be true. Please let this walk renew our friendship so that the strain of this pretend marriage is over and we become comfortable in each other’s company again.”

  A whistle, muted but sustained, trembled on the air, froze her hand on the soft wool fabric of her dress. Another train. Perhaps it would be different this time. Perhaps Mr. Marsh would tell the conductor and passengers about Blake’s store.

  She turned from the wardrobe and hurried to the kitchen window, placed her fingertips on the crosspiece and waited. The blue of soldiers’ uniforms flashed among the somber colors of men’s suits and the bright hues of women’s dresses as the passengers milled about on the station platform. The road between the station and the town remained bare. Blake was right. Mr. Marsh did not intend to make an effort to tell the conductors about the store. If only there were something she could do to—She caught her breath, glanced down at her fingertips pressing against the window ledge.

  Perhaps I should open the window. The train passengers would come running if they smelled these biscuits.

  Was Blake right? She gazed at the passengers and worried the corner of her lower lip with her teeth, considering the idea that had popped into her head. Would it work? She turned from the window and walked to the shelf by the door, studied the Union Pacific Railroad schedule leaning against the wall by the small dinner bell. There were six trains a day; three going west and three going east. That gave her plenty of time.

  Excitement rippled through her. Perhaps there was something more she could do to help Blake regain his investment. She closed her eyes, visualized her actions and laid out her plan. Two short, sharp whistles announced the train’s departure. Her pulse jumped. It was time to get started. Please let this work, Father God! Please let this work.

  She opened her eyes, took a breath and hurried to the pantry. She carried the flour, baking powder and salt to the worktable, added a jar of vinegar, then set out the baking tray she’d used yesterday. Two would be much better, but she could make do with the cast-iron griddle for now. She added it to the assembled items. What else? There was butter and milk enough in the refrigerator for this first batch. And that was all... No! She needed a container large enough to hold the biscuits.

  A search of the cupboards turned up nothing appropriate. She stood by the worktable with her hands on her hips and surveyed every inch of the kitchen. The enameled dishpan! With a clean towel to line it the dishpan would be perfect! She crossed to the wash cupboard, filled the dishpan with hot water, swished the soap holder around to make suds, gave the pan a good washing, dried it and carried it to the table. Now, all she needed were some towels and a small basket. And a good hot fire!

  * * *

  Everything was ready. And the next train should arrive any minute. Audrey pinned on her small, flower-trimmed black hat, tugged the bolero jacket that matched her dove-gray dress into place and turned from the mirror. The long whistle that announced the train had entered the valley and was approaching the station echoed through the bedroom and reverberated along her nerves. It was time!

  Please let Blake be right, Lord! Please let this work! The smell of freshly baked biscuits drifted out from the kitchen into the hall. She hurried to the stove, pulled the covered bowls from the warming oven, placed the biscuits they held into the towel-lined dishpan and covered the heaping mound. Now for the basket. She divided the last of the biscuits between two towels, placed them into the lidded basket she’d found in the pantry, grabbed the dishpan and hurried down the stairs, the basket swinging from her arm.

  Blake was in the store at the counter writing in some sort of ledger. She stopped and stared at him through the doorway. Another ripple flowed along her nerves—this one regret for her impulsive action. She should have told him about her plan—asked him if it was all right. Too late now. She blew out a breath, lifted her chin and walked into the store, pausing as he sniffed, then straightened. His head turned toward her.

  “I made biscuits. A lot of them.”

  His gaze lowered to the towel-covered mound in the dishpan. His eyebrows rose. “What—”

  “They’re for you to sell.” She hurried forward, set the dishpan on the counter, then stepped back, gripping the lidded basket. “I’m sorry I simply barged ahead with the baking without asking you. I’m used to making all the household decisions at home. And, well, you said if the passengers smelled the biscuits they would come to the store to buy them. These are for them to smell!” She waved the basket through the air, whirled and headed for the front door at the two quick whistles that announced the train’s arrival at the station. “I’ll explain everything when I return. I have to hurry to catch the passengers so they can come to the store before the train leaves...” She wrenched the door open.

  “Audrey, wait!”

  She paused, glanced over her shoulder.

  Blake shoved the ledger beneath the counter. “You can’t barge off to the station by yourself. I’ll come—”

  “No, you can’t do that! You have to be here when the customers come.” She tore her gaze from his astonished one, stepped out the door, then, struck by a thought, stuck her head back inside. “You might want to put some crocks of marmalade on the counter beside the biscuits where the passengers will see them.”

  She shut the door and headed for the station, her long skirt swishing about her shoes, her breath coming quick and shallow. She’d done it now. It had been bad enough banishing Blake from his bedroom yesterday—but ordering him about in his own store! Where was this boldness coming from? Not to mention the ideas that prompted it. An image of Blake staring at her with that astounded look on his face formed against the path. Her stomach clenched. No matter the source, this idea had better work!

  She snagged her lower lip with her teeth and raised her gaze to the passengers moving from the train to the station, the blue uniforms of soldiers predominant among them.

  Those soldiers would love these biscuits.

  Hopefully, Blake was right. She swept her gaze over the milling people, searching for the uniformed conductor. He was nowhere in sight. She took a deep breath, climbed the steps to the platform and made her way to the ticket window.

  * * *

  The aroma from the biscuits wafted through the store. Blake clasped his hands behind his back and rocked up on his toes, scowled out the window. He should have gone with Audrey. He was responsible for her now, and that train would be carrying troops west. All of those soldiers! And Audrey, with that air of innocence about her, looking so...so attractive in that gray dress.

  His scowl deepened. He pivoted from the window and strode to the counter, stared at the dishpan heaped with biscuits. The memory of Audrey walking out the door carrying that lidded basket knotted his stomach. Whatever she was doing, it was because of him.

  You said if the passengers smelled the biscuits they would come to the store to buy them. These are for them to smell! He stiffened, stared at the biscuits. Surely she didn’t think he had meant for her to—You have to be here when t
he customers come. She did. The realization shot through him like a lightning bolt. He had to go after her! He strode to the door, reached for the Closed sign and froze, staring at the soldiers trotting down the station road toward his store. Whatever Audrey had done had worked.

  Boots thumped on the porch steps. He shook off his troubling thoughts and hurried back to pull a few small crocks of marmalade off the shelf and set them on the counter. The bell on the door jingled. Soldiers trooped into the store, sniffing so deeply he could hear them.

  “This the store that sells the biscuits?”

  “It is.” He uncovered the fluffy, lightly browned biscuits, his mouth watering at the rich aroma that rose from them. Soldiers crowded against the counter.

  “What’s the cost?”

  “Who cares?” The soldier in front slapped a fistful of coins on the polished wood beside the dishpan. “I’ll take as many biscuits as that will buy.”

  “And I’ll take a dozen of them. And that orange marmalade.” A gloved hand slapped a folded bill on the counter.

  “Save some for the rest of us, Sarge!” A man wearing a buckskin shirt pushed forward to the sergeant’s side. “I’ll have six biscuits and a pouch of that Bull Durham chew.”

  Soldiers muttered a chorus of protest and pressed closer to the counter.

  “One at a time, gentlemen.” Blake tore off a strip of brown paper, did some rapid calculating in his head, wrapped up seven biscuits and tied the package. The soldier peeled away from the counter and headed for the door. He jotted down the sale and swept the coins aside to put in the till later.

  “And one dozen for you, Sergeant.” He tore off more paper and tied the package, snipped off the string, made change and smiled at the man in buckskins. “That’s six for you, sir.” He packaged them, placed the pouch of tobacco on top and slid them across the counter, listening to the steady jingle of the bell as the soldiers entered and exited.

  “And you, sir?”

  “I’ll have a half-dozen biscuits, some of that cherry toothpaste—” the soldier leaned forward over the counter “—and four packages of that water closet paper.”

  The muttered words brought forth a chorus of hoots. The private behind the soldier thumped him on the shoulder. “Delicate, are we, Johnson?”

  The soldier scowled. “No, just smart, Taylor. And don’t be asking to borrow any like you did on our last sortie!” The hoots and laughter swelled.

  Blake handed over the packages and added the money to the growing pile. The soldier shoved away from the counter, and another pushed into the void. “And for you, sir?” He tore off more paper.

  The door opened. The bell jingled loud in a silence that spread over the joshing soldiers like a ripple in a pond. As if in cadence, they straightened and whipped their hats from their heads. He looked toward the door. Audrey. He glanced back at the cluster of staring soldiers and started toward the door, stopped as she swept a wide-eyed gaze over the crowded room then moved toward the open space behind the counter. She could make her way to the back room from there. He turned his attention back to the business at hand. “Did you want biscuits, Private?” No answer. “Private?” The soldier jerked, looked at him, his expression blank. “Did you want biscuits?”

  A flush crept over the young man’s face. “I’ll take six. And some chew—” a callused forefinger jabbed at the glass display cabinet sitting on the counter “—and one of them straight razors. Some sneaking polecat helped hisself to mine.”

  He nodded and tore off a length of the brown paper. From the corner of his eye he saw Audrey near and pressed against the counter to give her space to pass between him and the wall of shelves at his back. Her long skirts brushed against his pant legs as she stepped into the narrow gap.

  “Hurry it up, storekeep, or that train’s gonna leave afore I kin git some of them biscuits!”

  “Yeah, an’ my stomach’s fair tumblin’ over itself at their smell!”

  He glanced at the soldiers at the back of the massed group. “I’m doing my best, gentlemen.” He reached for the biscuits, paused as Audrey’s shoulder brushed against his arm.

  “I’ll wrap the biscuits for you.” She set her lidded basket on the counter, then placed six biscuits on the paper, folded it and reached for the string.

  He shook off his surprise and took a straight razor from the cabinet, slid it and the chewing tobacco into a small bag, handed it and the wrapped biscuits to the soldier and accepted payment. Another soldier moved forward, hat in hand.

  “I’ll have me a dozen of them biscuits. They smell just like my ma’s. An’ I’ll take these gloves.”

  He made note of the sale and made change, handed the biscuits Audrey wrapped to the private and looked at the suddenly polite line. The next soldier slid a coin on the counter.

  “I’ll have a bar of Wright’s soap, a bag of chew and as many biscuits as this will buy.”

  Audrey looked up at him. He did the calculations in his head and answered the question in her eyes. “Five biscuits.”

  He grabbed the soap and chewing tobacco, slid them into a bag and handed them to the soldier along with the wrapped biscuits.

  “Blake.” He glanced down. Audrey gestured toward the dishpan. “I didn’t make enough. There are only—”

  The door burst open.

  “Train time, men! Move out!”

  The soldiers pivoted and headed out the door.

  A corporal shoved a bill at him. “I’ll take the rest of them biscuits, storekeep. No time for wrappin’, miss, jist drop ’em in my hat.”

  “On the double, Saunders!”

  “Comin’, Sarge!” The young soldier grabbed his change, clutched his hat full of biscuits close to his chest and ran out the door, the sergeant at his heels. The door banged shut. The bell jingled, faded away.

  Blake looked from the empty dishpan to Audrey. She was rewinding the loose string on the cone. “What did you do at the station?”

  “Only what you said.” She laid the scissors by the cone, brushed a few crumbs off the counter and tossed them in the dishpan.

  The concern for her rushed back. He frowned, shoved his fingers through his hair. “That was only my way of complimenting you on your baking, Audrey. I certainly didn’t mean for you to go to the depot with all of those soldiers milling about.”

  “How else were they to smell the biscuits?” She lifted the lidded basket she’d carried off the counter, placed it in the dishpan and looked up at him. “Anyway, you were right. One whiff was all it took.” She picked up the dishpan and started for the storage room.

  His frown deepened to a scowl. “You walked around among that crowd of soldiers letting them smell the biscuits?”

  She stopped, turned about. “Well, of course not! I’m a lady. I wouldn’t do that.”

  “Then how—”

  “I took the biscuits as a gesture of friendship to Mr. Marsh and the train conductor.” A soft laugh bubbled from her. “And when I opened the basket and placed the biscuits on the ticket window shelf, the soldiers standing nearby smelled them and asked if they were for sale. I, of course, explained they were a gift for Mr. Marsh, but that they could buy biscuits at your store. They, not I, told the other soldiers.” She slanted a look up at him. “The conductor was most appreciative of the biscuits. He said he would certainly tell the passengers on his trains about your store.”

  “And Mr. Marsh?”

  “Oh, Mr. Marsh appreciated the biscuits, also. Though he gave most of them to the engineer when I told him I would be back with another gift of biscuits for him when the next train comes.” The gold flecks in her eyes flashed. “No sign indeed!” She turned and walked to the storage room, the empty dishpan clutched in front of her. “Oh! I almost forgot.” She stopped, turned. “I need a few more supplies—flour and such. If it’s all right?”

&n
bsp; “Yes, of course. Take whatever you need. Just—No, wait...” He shoved aside his shock and ordered his thoughts. “Did you say you were going back to the station with more biscuits when the next train arrives?”

  She nodded, halted with her hand still on the sack of flour she’d placed in the dishpan. “That’s why I need more supplies. I used all that was in the kitchen.”

  “Replace what you used. But that’s all.” He stepped to her side and took the dishpan from her. “I’ll carry this upstairs.”

  She shot him a measuring look. “I’m afraid merely replacing the supplies won’t be enough. There are two more trains and—”

  “No more baking for the trains—that’s too much work for you.”

  “But it’s not! And it’s the only way to get the news of your store opening to the conductors. Mr. Marsh won’t—”

  “No more, Audrey.” His tone left no room for argument.

  Her chin lifted. “Have you a better plan?”

  He stared, too astounded by this resourceful Audrey to speak. He’d thought her reserved and meek. The way she was when Linda—His stomach knotted. “No. But the work—”

  “It’s not hard to make biscuits, Blake. Please let me bake them for the trains. It’s only for today. After that all of the conductors will know about your store, and there will be no need for me to continue.”

  He looked down at her standing before him with her head held high waiting for his answer. “I don’t like you doing all that work.” No response—no coaxing or coy behavior. Obviously, Audrey did not use womanly wiles to win her way. Linda would have—He thrust aside the thought, nodded. “All right, take what you need. But no more biscuit making after today.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Has anyone ever told you that you are a most persuasive young woman?”

  Her lips curved. “No. Father’s word was ‘stubborn.’”

  “Apropos.” He growled the word.

  She laughed, placed another sack of flour in the dishpan and reached for the canned milk.