His Substitute Wife

by Dorothy Clark

  * * *

  The cot squeaked. Blake flopped onto his back, laced his hands behind his head and stared up at the ceiling. The image remained—Audrey, neat and trim in that gray dress with her red curls peeking from beneath that little black hat and her eyes shining while she stood beside him and wrapped biscuits. He tried, again, to picture Linda in Audrey’s place and failed. Try as he might, he could not imagine Linda baking biscuits or standing beside him at the counter serving the customers who flocked into the store to buy them with the arrival of every train. Linda was too beautiful and coquettish for that. She would have been laughing and flirting with the soldiers, not wrapping biscuits for them. Linda. How he longed to hold her again.

  He frowned, rose from the cot and went out onto the porch fighting the memories. Clouds had rolled in earlier, turning the night as dark as pitch. The waterfall was only a whisper blending with the wind. A storm was brewing. But it was nothing compared to the storm of emotions churning within him. How would he get through tomorrow?

  Chapter Six

  Sunshine streamed through the windows in the plastered walls, chasing the chill from the sanctuary and rendering the light from the oil lamp chandeliers in the church useless. But even the sunny warmth after last night’s storm couldn’t calm her nerves.

  Audrey lifted her gaze from Mr. and Mrs. Ferndale sitting on the front bench, fixed it on Pastor Karl and pressed her hand against her roiling stomach. Every time she looked at the pastor she was assailed by memories of the marriage ceremony. Do you, Audrey Prescott, take Blake Latherop... Her pulse raced, beat so loudly in her ears she couldn’t hear the man’s sermon. And that meant more possible questions she would not be able to answer when they dined with the Ferndales this afternoon.

  The board across the back of the wood bench that served as a pew pressed into her shoulders, some small protrusion causing discomfort. She desperately wanted to change her position but feared it would draw attention. Her mere presence did that—judging from the surreptitious glances directed her way from the few men in attendance. How had she ever thought she could get away with pretending to be Blake’s bride? Mr. and Mrs. Ferndale were certain to see right through her act and—She couldn’t remember the story they had rehearsed! A band closed around her chest, held her lungs in a viselike grip that refused her breath. She stiffened.

  Warmth encased her hand. She looked down at Blake’s hand covering hers and her panic ebbed, the constriction eased. His warm breath tickled her ear. “Steady, Audrey. Remember, we’re in this together.” His hand squeezed hers, lifted.

  Together. Yes. Blake would help her. She drew a breath, focused on the agreed-upon story that came flooding back; she had come to Whisper Creek to tell Blake of Linda’s betrayal in person. When they had seen each other again, they had realized they had fallen in love with each other while exchanging letters, and—The letters. Guilt struck. Please help me, Lord. For Blake’s sake. I know I was wrong, but I meant no harm—

  Blake shifted on the bench and stood. Her prayer ended on another wave of panic. Church had ended. Mr. and Mrs. Ferndale were rising... The constriction in her chest returned. A spasm clenched her stomach. She looked up, read sympathetic understanding in Blake’s eyes and jerked her gaze away before it undermined what little self-control she had left.

  There was a shuffling and scraping of boots. Pastor Karl strode up the aisle and opened the door. Sunshine flooded into the sanctuary. Blake offered his hand. She slipped her trembling hand into his, prayed her shaking legs would hold her and followed him out into the aisle. Quick footfalls and the soft rustle of silk caused a hitch in her breath. She glanced at the older couple coming toward them and another spasm hit her stomach. Blake pulled her close, tucked her hand through his arm. She looked up at him standing tall and steady and calm beside her, and she couldn’t stop the wish that she had a fancier gown to make him proud of her. One with lots of lace and tiers of ruffles like Linda always wore, instead of this pathetic plain green silk whose only adornment was the narrow band of velvet that edged the collar, cuffs, waist and hem of the long skirt. She shifted her gaze back to the plump woman in the fashionable, ruffled gown and forced a smile.

  “My dear Mrs. Latherop, I have been eagerly awaiting this day since your husband put the Open sign in his store window!”

  The smile she’d pasted on her lips faltered.

  “What a lovely bride you have, Mr. Latherop.” Mrs. Ferndale beamed a smile at them. “I can quite see why she took your eye. She’s so very pretty.”

  Oh, poor Blake! She tightened her hand on his arm, hoped he’d understand her silent message of sympathy.

  His hand closed over hers. “I quite agree, Mrs. Ferndale.”

  He said it with such warmth she could almost believe him if she didn’t know better. Linda was the beautiful one. She could never compare to her—especially in Blake’s eyes.

  “You’ll have to forgive my wife’s fervor, Mrs. Latherop.” Mr. Ferndale sent an apologetic smile her direction. “It’s been lonely for her with no other women here in Whisper Creek. You have the unique distinction of being the first bride in our town.”

  “She knows that, John!” The older woman gave her husband a look of exasperation. “And you needn’t apologize for me—I’m quite capable of doing so myself.”

  “There is no need for an apology, Mrs. Ferndale.” She smiled, thankful for the change of subject. “I quite understand your situation.”

  “Nonetheless, John is right, Mrs. Latherop. I’ve let my loneliness override my manners. Please forgive me, my dear.” A smile deepened the creases alongside the woman’s mouth. “I promise not to overwhelm you with questions over dinner. Now, I must hurry home to tend to my meal.” The woman shifted her gaze to Blake. “We will expect you and your lovely bride in one hour, Mr. Latherop.”

  “It will be our pleasure, Mrs. Ferndale.”

  * * *

  “Everything is delicious, Mrs. Ferndale.”

  “Yes, it is.” Blake glanced across the table at Audrey. She sounded relaxed, but the stiffness in her shoulders betrayed her nervousness. Still, that shouldn’t make the Ferndales suspicious. It was natural for a new bride to be a little uneasy when meeting the important people in her husband’s life.

  “Thank you, both. I enjoy cooking.” The older woman’s round face creased in a smile. “But I guess that shows in both Mr. Ferndale and me.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with that, Dora.” John Ferndale patted his paunch. “Having a wife who is a good cook makes for a happy life, as Blake here will discover—if he hasn’t already.” The older man shifted his gaze to the other side of the table. “I understand you make an excellent biscuit, Mrs. Latherop.”

  Audrey went still, then lifted her chin in that little jut he was beginning to recognize as her defensive position. “I believe they are passable, Mr. Ferndale.”

  “They’re more than ‘passable’ according to Asa Marsh.”

  “John, you stop teasing our guest!” Mrs. Ferndale reached out and patted Audrey’s arm. “Pay him no mind, dear. He thought it was very clever.”

  “It was clever, Dora.” A chuckle rose from the region of John Ferndale’s potbelly. “Sending your wife to Asa with those biscuits was a good business move, Latherop. And having her give them to those conductors was sheer genius.”

  “I agree, sir. But you are giving credit to the wrong person.” He looked across the table and smiled, spoke the truth. “It was Audrey who thought of taking the biscuits to the station.”

  “But only because you said the soldiers would come to buy them if they smelled them, Blake. I merely thought of a way to make that happen.”

  “Well, it seems you two make quite a team. But I’m confused.” Mr. Ferndale looked up and impaled him with his gaze. “I thought your bride-to-be was named Linda, Latherop.”

  Linda. He finished
cutting off a bite of beef, fought back the pain hearing her name spoken brought flashing through him. “And so she was, sir. But that...didn’t work out.” She betrayed me. He tamped down a surge of anger and looked up, held his voice steady. “Linda married another.”

  The older man’s eyes narrowed, and he shoved his plate aside. “Now see here! What do you think you’re pulling, Latherop? It was little more than two weeks ago you were talking about marrying this Linda!” The man’s sharp gaze darted across the table. “Who are you, young lady? And how do you know Blake here? Or is this some sort of—”

  “Audrey is Linda’s sister! And I’ll thank you to speak with respect to my wife, sir!” Blake shoved to his feet, moved around the table and placed his hand on Audrey’s shoulder. She was as stiff as a board. He squeezed reassurance. “Audrey and I met and became friends when I was courting Linda. We...corresponded as such.” If you consider sending someone your regards correspondence. He took a breath, swallowed back another surge of anger and glided over the half-truth. “As for how we came to marry—well, that was a surprise to both of us. Wasn’t it, dearest?”

  “Indeed it was.”

  Audrey’s voice was soft, but steady and sure with truth. Her hand touched his; her fingers clung. He looked down, gave her what he hoped looked like a loving smile, then refocused his attention on John Ferndale. “When Linda ran off and married another, Audrey came to Whisper Creek to give me the news in person, rather than write it in a letter.” The words spilled from his mouth, dragging shreds of his heart with them.

  “Most considerate of you, dear.”

  He glanced at Mrs. Ferndale. It was considerate. Amazingly so. “Audrey’s warm heart is one of the things I most...admire about her.”

  “I quite understand that.” The older woman nodded, smiled.

  “That doesn’t explain how you came to marry her, Latherop.”

  Audrey’s shoulder tensed beneath his hand. He gave her another calming squeeze and shifted his gaze back to the town founder sitting like a judge at the head of the table. There was suspicion in the man’s eyes. “That was the surprise. When Audrey stepped off of the train, and I saw her again—” he blocked out the memory, concentrated on his story “—I realized I had fallen in love with the woman who wrote me those letters.” Misleading, but true. Linda... He pushed her image aside and pressed on.

  “I confessed my...feelings...to Audrey.” That was the truth. “She admitted she felt much the same, and, conditions being what they are here in Whisper Creek, we married.” He lifted Audrey’s hand to his mouth, placed a kiss on her soft fingers and added the last bit of the story he had prepared. “There was no reason for delay. Audrey has no family but her sister.”

  Mrs. Ferndale sighed and rested a plump hand on her ample bosom. “That is quite the most romantic story I have ever heard. How fortunate for you both, that Audrey’s sister married another.”

  The suppressed anger squeezed his chest and tightened his throat. He nodded and, again, pressed Audrey’s hand to his lips. It was the perfect excuse to not reply.

  Mrs. Ferndale smiled and rang the bell by her plate, then swept her hand over the table as a Chinese man dressed in a white smock coat hurried into the room. “Hung Wah, take these dishes away and bring in the cake, please. We have a wedding to celebrate!”

  * * *

  Audrey settled the bolero jacket of the red, white and blue narrow-striped cotton gown in place, then fluffed the closely gathered lace ruffles that formed the high bodice and sighed. The relief from having the Ferndale dinner over with made her feel like celebrating. And this dress was the most frivolous she owned. After all, it was red. And the color made her hair look lighter, more blond. She stepped closer and peered at her image in the mirror. Well, sort of. Mostly... The thin vertical stripes definitely made her look taller—like Linda.

  You will never be as beautiful and attractive as Linda. The thought swept through her mind like a dark cloud. She turned her back to the mirror. What did her failure to compare to her sister’s beauty matter? Why was she even thinking such thoughts? There were few men in Whisper Creek, and those who did live here were either married or betrothed, as Blake had been. And they all would know her as Blake’s bride.

  Blake. She drew a breath to settle a sudden flutter in her stomach. Blake had been wonderful at the Ferndales’. So steady and calm and...and husbandly. Of course! Blake had treated her as if he cared about her. That was why she was feeling this way. Foolish woman!

  She shook her head and lifted her black hat off the shelf, then stared down at it, debating the wisdom of wearing it on their trip to the waterfall. Would it snag on the tree branches? She couldn’t afford to have it ruined. It was the only hat she’d brought with her.

  “Are you ready, Audrey?”

  Her pulse leaped. “Coming!” She laid the hat back on the shelf, closed the wardrobe doors and hurried out into the U-shaped hall, her long skirts swishing around her button-up walking shoes. Her stomach flopped at the sight of Blake’s face. “You’re frowning. Is something wrong?”

  “Is that the warmest outfit you have? It’s cold by the waterfall.”

  “I’m afraid so. I didn’t bring a large selection of gowns with me.”

  His frown deepened. “What about that gray one you wore yesterday?”

  She shook her head. “That is for church and other occasions. I don’t want it to get ruined walking through the woods. I’ll be fine. See—” she held out her arms for his inspection “—long sleeves.” He didn’t look impressed. She took hold of the banister, lifted her skirts and started down the stairs before he changed his mind about the walk.

  The path opposite the store’s loading dock beckoned. She moved off of the steps, lifted her hems and followed Blake across the dirt road that ran behind the cluster of buildings.

  “This part of the path is narrow. We’ll have to go single file. I’ll lead the way.” He gave her a warning look. “Mind you don’t trip on a clump of dirt.”

  She nodded and trailed him along the mixture of dead, trampled grass and dried mud. Cool air hovered in the shade beneath the branches of the towering pines on either side, defying the sunshine bathing her in its warmth. In the distance, the object of their foray roared a muted accompaniment to the crunch of their boots against the dirt, and the twitter of birds. A squirrel, disturbed by their presence, chased up a tree and out onto a branch, stopped and chattered his displeasure. She laughed and halted to look up at the furry creature. “Don’t be so selfish! This is a vast forest. You can share this small bit of it with us.” An imperious twitch of its tail was her answer.

  “Do you talk to animals often?”

  There was an amused glint in Blake’s eyes that added to her pleasure in their excursion. She smiled and held herself from twirling about to release her exhilaration. “How else do you make friends of them?”

  “I don’t.”

  “More’s the pity.”

  “Well, please don’t try it with a grizzly bear or mountain lion.” He headed back up the path.

  A grizzly bear! Well, that took away her desire to whirl. Unless... She raised her hems and hurried after him. “You’re teasing...right?”

  “No.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I don’t want you to ever come into these woods alone.”

  He was serious. She stopped and looked into the shadows ahead that suddenly seemed darker, menacing. “Perhaps we should go back.”

  “No need. I’m armed.”

  “You have a gun?”

  “A Smith & Wesson revolver. I bought it when I first came.”

  She ducked under a branch he held up out of her way, then lifted her gaze to his face. “Do you know how to shoot it?”

  “Yes. I’ve practiced until I can hit what I aim at.”

  The idea of his skill with a pistol made her feel protected; so
mething in his eyes made her feel safe. “All right.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “I’ll be quiet.”

  “It’s better to make noise. It lets them know you’re coming, so they can slink away. I usually sing when I’m in the woods.”

  She played with that image, smiled and fell back into step behind him. “What songs do you sing?”

  “Any that come to mind.”

  His words were curt, bitter. Only one thing made him sound like that; he was thinking of Linda. The happy image she’d conjured of him walking and singing in the woods vanished. She wished she hadn’t asked the question.

  He gestured ahead. “The path widens after it curves around that big boulder. Come up and walk beside me when it does. One of the men that hunts for the railroad told me to look as big as possible when I’m in bear country, and you’re a little thing.”

  “I am not little!” She hated that description! All of her life she’d been Linda’s little sister.

  “All right then—slender. You’re sure not big.” He stepped around the boulder, looked back and motioned her forward.

  She hurried toward him, rounded the bend and gasped. Tall ferns and plants she couldn’t identify twined in and out and over stones and boulders that rimmed water with the surrounding mountains reflected on its surface. Sunshine danced on the ripples flowing down the center of the water to a stream that disappeared into the trees. “You didn’t tell me there was a lake here.”

  “A drain-off pond really. There’s another ahead—the one the waterfall drops into. It’s beyond that gap. We’ll start climbing these rocks now. Unless you would rather return to the store.”

  “Oh, no. I want to go on. I’ve never seen anything like this.” She gazed at the boulders rising in a steady grade that led to a stone shelf along the break he called a gap. “I may need your help...” She let the words trail off to give him the opportunity to refuse.

  “May?”

  She looked up, thankful for the teasing tone in his voice. At least he’d stopped thinking about her sister. “All right... I will need your help.” She lifted her chin a notch and threw his challenge back at him. “Unless you would rather return to the store.”