Margaret Brownley, Robin Lee Hatcher, Mary Connealy, Debra Clopton

by A Bride for All Seasons

  Clay was trapped. By her words. By the fear in her eyes—not to mention by his own limited funds. He didn’t have the money to send her back east, let alone all four of them. And she had come to him in good faith. There was that too.

  Faith . . .

  He’d been so convinced this idea—finding and taking a wife—had come to him as a result of prayer. He’d imagined it clearly, a marriage between two people who wanted to be a force for good in a raw land. But children? No. Children weren’t part of his future. He wasn’t cut out to be some kid’s father or stepfather or even an uncle by marriage. He wouldn’t wish that on anybody.

  But if he got his hands on whoever at the Hitching Post was responsible for this fiasco, he would wring their neck. He would make them regret the day they were born. He would—

  Reining in his anger a second time, he took a step back from the tail of the wagon and cleared his throat. “I guess we’d best be on our way. We’ll figure something out later on. Nothing we can do about it now.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Birch.”

  “Do you feel well enough to sit on the wagon seat with me? You’ll be more comfortable there than in the back. The road to Grand Coeur is kind of rough.”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  He helped her sit up. Then he placed his hands on her waist—he was right; he could span it with his hands—and lifted her to the ground. The blush he’d seen earlier returned.

  When he’d sent for Luvena Abbot, he’d thought he knew all he needed to know about her—young, healthy, strong, never married, and some experience with the operation of an opera house. Now it seemed neither one knew what had been truth and what had been fiction in the letters each received. Not that discovering truth from fiction would make him willing to marry her. She still had those three kids, and kids still weren’t part of his carefully made plans for the future.

  What am I to do? What will become of us? However shall I take care of these children if I don’t have a husband?

  The wagon left Boise behind them, and only after the capital city was out of sight did Luvena realize she hadn’t noticed anything about it. Except for the sign that had read Wells, Fargo. She remembered it because she had seen it above Clay Birch’s head.

  The silence—and her uncertainty—began to press in on her. “There is an opera house, isn’t there, Mr. Birch?”

  “Yeah, there’s an opera house. Guess whoever tampered with our letters didn’t leave out that bit of information.”

  “Would you tell me about it?”

  “Not much to tell. Yet.” He glanced at her, then added, “It’s still undergoing renovations.” Clay looked straight ahead and slapped the reins against the horses’ rumps, asking more speed from the team as they began the ascent up a winding mountain road. “Maybe we should just start at the beginning, like there never were any letters.”

  “That would be helpful.”

  “I was born and raised in Illinois. The only child of Tom and Clarissa Birch. My father . . . died when I was six and my mother married John Thompson not long after. I’ve got four younger half brothers. I fought for the Union during the war. I was in one of the first battles and one of the last. The brother closest to me in age, Jacob, joined up before he turned eighteen. He was killed in ’sixty-four.”

  Luvena knew what that felt like, losing a beloved sibling, although her sister had died in a much different way. “I’m sorry.”

  “I wasn’t interested in going back to work for my stepfather. He owns a couple of stores in the town where I grew up. So I struck out on my own. Went to California first, then slowly moved north. Worked in a number of mining camps along the way. Finally wound up in Grand Coeur, still thinking I might strike it rich someday. But eventually I learned, as most do, that that’s a fool’s dream for all but a very few. Who knows where I would have gone next if I hadn’t won the old theater in a lucky hand of poker.”

  “Do you gamble frequently, Mr. Birch?”

  He laughed, no doubt at the shock revealed in her question. “Not hardly, Miss Abbott. Not at all anymore.”

  Could she believe him? Could she believe anything he said?

  “The truth is I won that place by blind luck or divine providence. Not by any skill on my part. And when it came into my hands, all I wanted to do was sell it, take the money, and move on. But then an upright man of God helped me see a truth that changed my life.” His voice softened, as did his expression. “I got religion, as some folks call it. The truth of the Bible became real to me. Jesus too. Time was, getting rich was the most important thing to me, but now I’m hoping to do something good for others.”

  Luvena’s breathing eased a bit. Only a good man would want to do good for others.

  “I got the idea to turn the old theater into an opera house where fine actors and singers could come to perform.” He clucked to the horses. “I don’t pretend that it will change the world, but it might change Grand Coeur a little at a time. Sometimes just giving folks a glimpse of something beautiful can make all the difference in their lives.” He was silent for several moments before he added, “I realized soon enough that I needed someone who was willing to work beside me to make the opera house a success.”

  “A partner?”

  “A wife.” He looked at her again. “It made sense to me at the time.”

  “There was no woman in Grand Coeur who interested you?”

  “I didn’t want to marry just any woman, Miss Abbott. Unmarried women of quality and virtue are in short supply in towns like Grand Coeur, and I didn’t have the time to try to find and court someone in Boise City. So I decided to advertise for a wife. I’ve known a few men who found wives from the East through advertisements, and they seemed happy with how things turned out.”

  “And out of the responses you received to your advertisement, you chose me.”

  “Yes.”

  Perhaps he would change his mind if given enough time. Perhaps he would remember the reasons why he’d chosen her and—

  “Miss Abbott, Grand Coeur’s no place to raise children.”

  Luvena Abbott seemed to be everything Clay had asked for in a bride—and many things he hadn’t dared hope for. Without question she was beautiful. But she also was genteel, educated, well mannered, well spoken. He suspected she was stronger than she looked, her fainting spell notwithstanding, and she believed in taking responsibility for her family. An admirable quality, he begrudgingly admitted.

  He jerked his head toward the bed of the wagon and lowered his voice. “What happened to their parents?”

  Sadness flitted across her face. “It was an accident at sea. My sister and brother-in-law were sailing with friends when a violent storm caught them by surprise. The boat capsized. Their friends managed to hang on until they could be rescued, but Loretta and Oliver drowned.”

  “Leaving you the only one to raise their children.”

  “Yes.”

  “But without the means to do so.”

  Softly, “Yes.”

  There was something about Luvena that spoke of refinement and money. Perhaps it was the way she carried herself or the proud tilt of her chin or a certain tone in her voice. Whatever it was, something didn’t add up. Why didn’t she have the means to care for them?

  As if she’d read his mind, she said, “I was raised in Boston and my family spent summers in Newport. Both of our homes were built by my paternal grandfather when he was not much older than I am now. I suppose the Abbotts were quite rich, although it certainly wasn’t something young ladies of good society were supposed to discuss or even think about. Then my father”—she looked into the distance—“lost his business and all of our money. He lost all of my brother-in-law’s money as well. Father did not deal well with the shame of it all. He used a pistol to take his life.” She paused again, clearly trying to control her emotions.

  Clay held his breath.

  “Mother and Loretta and I became outcasts among most of our friends after that, though there were a few who were k
ind to us.” She drew in a deep breath and let it out. “When Mother learned we were to lose both of our homes, she took to her bed. She died of the shame, I think. In some ways, it was almost like what my father did . . . only slower. After the funeral, I went to live with my sister and brother-in-law.”

  Clay wasn’t sure what to say—and so he said nothing.

  Luvena looked at him again. “I couldn’t support my nieces and nephew, Mr. Birch. I received an education but not for anything so practical as a means to make a living. Marrying was my only real option. I was raised for it. But no man of good society was going to ask for my hand in marriage. It seemed that everyone up and down the Eastern Seaboard knew of my family’s disgrace. Then I saw a copy of the Hitching Post.” A tremulous smile curved her mouth. “I decided to answer an advertisement. As it turned out, your advertisement. I needed to take the children away from the gossip as well as provide them with a place to live. They’d lost too much already to remain where they were as outcasts. Your letters . . . your photograph . . . your opera house . . . you were the answer to my prayers.” Tears welled in her eyes, and this time she couldn’t keep them from falling.

  The answer to her prayers. The words hit him like a fist to his gut. Not to mention the way her crying made him feel. Like a snake.

  What did I get myself into?

  One thing for certain. He was going to write to the publisher of that catalogue and demand his money back. And while he was at it, he was going to give whoever interfered with their letters a piece of his mind.

  GRAND COEUR WAS NOT THE SORT OF PLACE LUVENA had imagined. She hadn’t expected a smaller Boston, but this was so . . . so much less. It was a frontier town, rough-hewn and dirty. She’d expected small. She hadn’t anticipated . . . this. Why would anyone want an opera house here?

  She lost count of the number of saloons they passed on their way from one end of town to the other. And in all that way, she didn’t see a single female on the boardwalks. Worse yet, most of the men she saw were unwashed and unshaven, many undoubtedly crawling with vermin.

  “Whoa, there.” Clay drew in on the reins, stopping the team. Then he looked over at her. “Well, we’re here.”

  Weary, hungry, despondent, Luvena turned to see his home. The place she’d expected to be her home as well. But what she saw was a three-storied building made of red brick. The only brick building she’d seen on Main Street.

  “Is this the opera house?” she asked, already knowing it must be.

  “Yes. Want to see the inside?”

  She was too tired to care, but she nodded.

  Clay hopped to the ground and turned to help her descend more gracefully.

  “Children.” She looked at them. “Come with us.”

  “I’m hungry, Aunt Vena,” Ethan said.

  “I know. We’ll get something to eat soon.” She hoped she spoke the truth. They were dependent upon Clay Birch’s charity at this point.

  Clay frowned. “Maybe we’d better have supper and get the kids settled for the night. I can show you the opera house tomorrow.”

  “Thank you.” Relief flooded through her. “That might be for the best.”

  Clay tied the team to a hitching post, and the five of them walked two blocks to Polly’s Restaurant. They discovered only a couple of tables were empty when they went inside. They moved to the larger one farthest from the entrance.

  Clay held out a chair for Luvena. “The food here’s plain but good. Restaurant’s been around almost from the start, although this is their second building. First one burned down in a fire years ago.” He sat in the chair next to her. “That’s why the owner of the Grand Theater built it from brick. Costly, but less likely to be destroyed in a fire.”

  The Grand Theater? More than a little pretentious. But perhaps no more so than Clay’s intentions to start an opera house in this little backwater town.

  A waitress arrived. At least Luvena knew that there was one other female in Grand Coeur besides her and her nieces.

  Clay ordered the first choice on the menu for all of them—boiled ham, cheese, carrots, corn bread, and mince pie. They waited in silence for the food to arrive.

  Luvena was almost too weary to look at her surroundings and, when she did, became uncomfortable from the stares of men at other tables. “Why are they all looking at me like that?” she whispered to Clay.

  “I reckon because they haven’t seen a woman as beautiful as you in a month of Sundays.” He winked, then smiled. “If ever.”

  It was strange, the way his comment made her feel. Although some had called her “pretty enough” in years past, she’d come to believe her eyes were too far apart, her brows too arched, her mouth too wide, her lips too full, and her teeth too large for anyone to consider her beautiful. Those flaws in her features might have been overlooked if there wasn’t a scandal attached to the Abbott name or if the family still had their wealth. But with the scandal and without the Abbott fortune, being “pretty enough” wasn’t enough. She’d become completely unattractive to the men of her acquaintance, and she’d grown used to thinking of herself as unattractive too.

  But Clay Birch thought her beautiful, and something warm blossomed inside her heart because of his words.

  Clay wasn’t sure what just happened. It was as if the earth shifted beneath his chair. His pulse quickened. His mouth went dry. Voices in the restaurant receded to a dull hum in his ears. And he felt an almost irresistible urge to kiss Luvena Abbott, if only to discover if she tasted as sweet as she looked.

  Heaven help him!

  Apparently God was listening, for their supper arrived at that moment. As plates were set before them, Clay’s world righted itself again. Conversations throughout the room returned to their normal level.

  Luvena and her wards looked at him expectantly, but it took a moment to realize they were waiting for him to bless the food. Living alone, he was used to saying a quick, silent prayer before eating. It seemed that was a habit that must change if he was to marry her.

  If he was to marry. Where had that “if” come from? Everything had changed when she’d arrived with children. He didn’t intend to marry her now. He couldn’t. It wouldn’t be prudent. It wouldn’t be fair to them or good for him. Only, how was he to be rid of them? That was the most pressing question in his mind.

  He closed his eyes and gave thanks for the food. Then he focused his attention on his plate, making certain not to invite any further conversation around the table. Even the youngest girl—Elsie?—seemed to understand. Few words were exchanged throughout the meal. Perhaps they were all too tired or perhaps his mood warned them to be silent. He didn’t much care the reason as long as they kept quiet.

  When everyone was finished eating, Clay paid for the meal and escorted the little group back toward the opera house. The sun had fallen behind the mountaintops in the west. Long shadows darkened the town. Prospectors were already filling up the saloons. This was what he hadn’t wanted his bride to see. Not yet. He’d hoped to bring her to town, get her settled in for the night, give them time to get better acquainted, and help her understand what he wanted to accomplish in Grand Coeur.

  But what did any of that matter now? Luvena needn’t know or understand. They wouldn’t be married. She wouldn’t be staying. Not any longer than it took him to figure out what to do with her and those children.

  WHEN LUVENA AWAKENED THE NEXT MORNING, SUNLIGHT spilled through the window of the small bedroom. Next to her in the bed, Merry and Elsie slept soundly, the older girl cuddled up to the younger. But sounds from the front of the house told her she was not the first one to rise. She sat up and looked at the floor. Buried beneath a couple of blankets, Ethan slumbered on. Which meant it must be Clay Birch who was rattling pots and pans beyond the bedroom door.

  Nerves fluttered in her stomach.

  Clay had slept in his office at the theater. Or at least that was where he’d said he was going when he left her and the children in the house the previous night. But now he’d retu
rned, and if her nose was correct, he was preparing breakfast.

  She rose from the bed and slipped her arms into a dressing gown before smoothing the wild appearance of her hair with a brush. One more glance at the children told her even hunger wasn’t likely to wake them for another hour or so. She would let them sleep.

  When Luvena stepped into the kitchen doorway, Clay had his back to her as he turned sausage in a hot skillet. The meat sizzled and hissed.

  “Can I help, Mr. Birch?”

  He looked over his shoulder. “No need. I’m used to fending for myself.” He motioned with his head toward the table. “Sit yourself down. This won’t take much longer.”

  She moved to comply.

  “Want coffee?”

  “Yes, please.” She covered her mouth as she yawned.

  “This will help.” He set a large mug of coffee on the table, along with a sugar bowl. “No milk or cream. Sorry.”

  “That’s all right.” Cream and sugar were luxuries she’d learned to do without.

  Clay turned back to the stove, and a short while later he set a plate of eggs and sausage before her. Then he sat opposite her with a plate of his own. After a quick blessing, he picked up his fork and began to eat.

  How did you sleep? What are you thinking about us? How much longer before our belongings arrive? The questions tumbled in her mind. Where do you mean to send us if we can’t stay? Whatever shall we do to survive? No family. No friends. No money. No skills. She played with the food on her plate, worry stealing her appetite.

  Clay’s voice intruded on her thoughts. “Would you like to see the opera house?”

  “Yes,” she answered, surprised by her quick agreement.

  “We’ll go as soon as you’re dressed.”

  His words made her feel strangely exposed, even though she knew she wasn’t. She fingered the top button of her dressing gown at the base of her throat.

  “But you better eat some of that breakfast first, Miss Abbott. Can’t afford to waste it. And besides, I’m pretty sure a good wind could blow you away.”