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

by A Bride for All Seasons

  The boy missed Merry’s first pitch, but he connected with the ball the next time, surprising his older sister as well as himself.

  “That’s it!” Clay shouted. “You did it!”

  Looking as proud as if he’d hit the ball over the roof of the theater, Ethan held the bat toward Clay. “You do it, Mr. Birch.”

  “Maybe later. Right now I’m hungry. I thought I’d fix something for lunch.” He turned on his heel and started toward the house. To his surprise, the three Browne children left their game and followed him inside.

  Merry said, “Aunt Vena was going to make lunch after she finished writing to the Hitching Post catalogue.”

  Clay stopped in the middle of the kitchen. “The Hitching Post? Why was she writing to them?”

  “Same reason as before.” Merry shrugged. “To find herself a husband.”

  “To find herself a husband.”

  The words reverberated through Clay.

  “To find herself a husband.”

  So what had he thought she would do? He’d offered her and the children this house to live in temporarily. He was paying her a modest salary, one he could ill afford to pay. And he’d promised her a bonus if the opera house turned a good enough profit after its opening—which would take a miracle. Short-term fixes, all of them.

  “To find herself a husband.”

  When he’d burst into the office a short while ago, proclaiming the good news about Ada May Innsbruck, he’d wanted nothing more than to pick Luvena up and spin her around in celebration. Well, maybe he’d wanted one thing more than to spin her around. He’d wanted to kiss her. Truth was, whenever he was with Luvena, he wanted to kiss her. Sometimes when he wasn’t with her, he still thought about kissing her.

  “To find herself a husband.”

  It wouldn’t be hard for Luvena to find a man willing to marry her. She was beautiful and intelligent. Despite her being only twenty-three, she was a capable and caring mother to her wards. She wasn’t afraid of hard work. A man would be a fool not to—

  “My goodness.” Luvena’s voice rescued him from his thoughts. “I didn’t expect to find all of you in the kitchen.”

  Clay turned toward the parlor. Luvena stood framed in the doorway, looking even lovelier than she had in the theater office. How was that possible? She wore the same dress and her hair was unchanged. Perhaps it was the way the light fell through the parlor window. Or perhaps—

  “We’re helpin’ Mr. Birch make lunch,” Elsie said.

  A quick glance told him the kids had, indeed, started while he’d stood there lost in thought.

  “Sandwiches,” Ethan added, slapping a slice of cold roast beef onto bread.

  Luvena took a step into the kitchen. “I hope they weren’t in your way, Mr. Birch.”

  “No. Not at all.” He cleared his throat. “I guess you got your letter posted in time.”

  “Yes.”

  For some reason he didn’t understand, he wished she would tell him what she’d written to the catalogue. He didn’t want secrets between them.

  “And I met Shannon Dubois,” she continued. “She invited all of us to dinner after church service tomorrow.”

  “Guess what, Aunt Vena?”

  “What, Ethan?” She looked toward her nephew.

  “Mr. Birch taught me how to swing my bat better. And I hit the ball Merry threw!”

  Luvena’s eyes widened as they shifted back to Clay.

  He shrugged. “I learned a little about the game during the war. Just shared it with the kid.”

  There was a warmth permeating the kitchen. Not one caused by the sun overhead or the stove against the opposite wall. No, it was a warmth created by the people in the room. All of them. The Browne children too. It came from their hearts and their laughter and their smiles. It made the small house feel like . . . like a home. It made all of them feel like a family. Clay hadn’t felt that way in many, many years. Maybe never.

  A gentle smile played around the corners of Luvena’s mouth. “You continue to surprise me, Mr. Birch.”

  She couldn’t be any more surprised than he was himself.

  LUVENA HAD ENJOYED THE PREVIOUS SUNDAY SERVICE at the Presbyterian church. Reverend Adair was an excellent preacher with a fine, clear voice. But today melancholy wrapped itself around her heart as she sat in the same pew as Clay Birch, her nieces and nephew between them—Ethan next to Clay, Elsie next to Luvena, Merry in the middle.

  Like a family.

  Would she have preferred that Clay sit elsewhere? No. She wouldn’t. In truth, she wished she was beside him. It would feel so right, even if it made her sad. Soon enough she and the children would leave Grand Coeur, and it wasn’t likely she’d see him again. She would miss him. She would miss him more than she should. The letters they’d exchanged hadn’t been many. Her time in Grand Coeur hadn’t been long. But she would miss him. Terribly so.

  Reverend Adair began the closing prayer. Luvena closed her eyes, but rather than attending to the minister’s words, she pictured the five of them as they’d been in the kitchen yesterday. They’d all been happy in that moment. Even Clay. She was sure of it.

  Why isn’t that enough for him, Lord? What could I do to change what’s happening?

  Clay liked her. Perhaps his feelings for her weren’t as strong as her feelings were for him, but he did like her. But that wasn’t enough to change his mind.

  Don’t go.

  The words stirred inside her heart. Her own thoughts? Or God’s voice?

  Don’t leave.

  The reverend said, “Amen,” and the congregation repeated the word. Clay rose and stepped into the aisle, waiting for the children and Luvena to exit the pew.

  What choice do I have but to leave? I must marry. I’ve no other option.

  Outside, the air was golden on this late September day. While they waited for the Dubois family to come out of the church, Clay introduced Luvena to a few people she hadn’t met the previous Sunday. He should have been introducing everyone to her as his wife instead of as Miss Abbott.

  The thought stung, and her melancholy increased with each forced smile, each nod of the head, each shake of the hand.

  Ask him. Talk to him.

  Ask him what? Talk to him about what?

  Shannon Dubois—holding a toddler of about one year, the little girl wearing a frilly dress and bonnet—stepped into the sunshine. Matthew followed right behind his wife, bent at the waist as he held the hand of a small boy, perhaps three years of age. Shannon said something to her father, then came down the steps to the street. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

  “You didn’t,” Luvena replied, glad for the interruption from her thoughts.

  “Come along then. We’ll make the rest of the introductions once we reach the house. That’s it on the hillside there.” Shannon pointed toward their destination.

  They set off walking, the two women leading the way.

  “I’m so glad you agreed to come.” Shannon shifted the little girl in her arms, now bracing her on a hip.

  “What’s her name?” Luvena asked.

  “Adelyn, after my mother. We call her Addie.”

  “She’s adorable.” Luvena touched the little girl’s soft cheek with her fingertips.

  Shannon laughed softly. “You won’t hear any argument from me.” She cast a quick glance behind her. “You have a fine family too. Your sister’s children. Is that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “My husband’s sister was widowed in the war, and after she died, her son came to live with us. He was like our own son from the very start. I promise you, raising your nieces and nephew will be worth whatever sacrifices you have to make.”

  “It’s no sacrifice.”

  “I know better, Luvena. You must have given up a great deal to care for them after their parents died.” Shannon’s expression was both kind and solemn. “There is always sacrifice involved when one loves another. Child or adult. Always. But as I said, it’s worth it.”

&nbs
p; Luvena missed having someone to confide in, someone she could trust with her deepest secrets and most private thoughts. Her sister had filled that role in her life for as far back as she could remember. But Loretta was gone; Luvena felt so alone without her. If she could have stayed in Grand Coeur, she and Shannon would have become fast friends. She was sure of it.

  As if reading Luvena’s thoughts, Shannon asked in a near whisper, “Why aren’t you staying?”

  Because Clay doesn’t want to marry me, and I must find a man who does. She swallowed the ache that rose in her throat.

  Shannon’s discernment continued. “You could change his mind, Luvena.”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Have you tried? Have you told him how you feel?”

  How I feel? I’m not sure how I feel.

  Perhaps Shannon would have said more, but they arrived at the Dubois home right then.

  Luvena didn’t know if she was glad or sorry for it.

  Dinner was a slightly chaotic event with so many children seated around the table, especially the two Dubois youngsters, but Clay couldn’t help thinking this was how families were supposed to be. Not the chaos, in particular. He’d seen plenty of that as a boy growing up with four younger half brothers. But the laughter, the smiles, the genuine affection evident on everyone’s face.

  Happy families. Lucky kids. The way Matthew and Shannon loved their children and nephew. The way Luvena loved her sister’s children. Did they know how lucky they were?

  “You’re just like your father!” His mother’s words echoed in his memory. “You can’t be trusted. Get out! Go!”

  Hurtful words, but also true ones. He remembered his brother Jacob as he’d looked on that Tuesday in April of 1861—split lip, missing tooth, blackened eyes, cut cheek, swollen jaw. Not the first time Jacob had come out on the losing end of a fight with Clay, but the last one. Four years later Jacob was dead.

  Clay had allowed Luvena to think he left Illinois after the war because he hadn’t wanted to work for his stepfather. The truth was, he hadn’t been welcome there.

  “You’re just like your father!”

  “Clay?” Reverend Adair broke into his thoughts. “Is something troubling you, son?”

  Clay looked at his friend. “No, sir. My mind was wandering, I guess.” Eager to escape the reverend’s sharp gaze, he looked around the table and added in a louder voice, “Did Matthew tell you we’ve found our performer for the grand opening of the opera house? Thanks to Miss Abbott, I must add. The details were confirmed yesterday.”

  “Matthew didn’t say a word to me.” Shannon gave her husband a scolding glance down the length of the table, but it lost its force when she smiled. “Tell us more.”

  Clay obliged, giving them as many details as he could. Then he looked toward Luvena in a silent invitation for her to conclude the telling.

  “Ada May was a friend of my sister, Loretta. She often attended parties and dances in our home. She and I even sang together once. That must have been terribly difficult for her, for I haven’t her talent.”

  “Do you sing opera, Luvena?” Shannon asked.

  “I did, years ago. Not professionally, of course. Just for my own pleasure.”

  “Perhaps you could sing something for us after dinner. We have a wonderful piano in the front parlor.”

  A blush colored her cheeks as she lowered her eyes. “I’m afraid I’m long out of practice.”

  Clay wanted to hear her sing. It surprised him how much he wanted it.

  Shannon said, “It doesn’t have to be opera. Sing anything you wish. A hymn perhaps. I could play for you. I used to play the organ at church, before the children were born.”

  Luvena’s gaze lifted to meet Clay’s.

  “Please,” he said softly.

  In that moment, Luvena discovered a truth she hadn’t known earlier in the morning. She didn’t simply like Clay Birch. She wouldn’t simply miss him. She’d fallen in love with him. She loved him, and there wasn’t much she would deny him if it were in her power to give what he asked. Even when that something would open a wound in her heart. Still looking at him, she answered, “All right.”

  Clay grinned. “Thanks.”

  Love always involved sacrifice. Wasn’t that what Shannon had said earlier? And Luvena loved Clay. More than their short acquaintance should have allowed. More than their circumstances should have allowed. She loved him, and yet—

  Fight for him.

  The breath caught in her chest as clarity washed through her. She’d allowed circumstances to determine the direction of her life. Oh, she’d tried to make good decisions for the sake of her nieces and nephew. She’d prayed for God’s guidance. But had she fought for anything she wanted? No. Not in a long, long time.

  But she was going to fight for this man.

  AS EVENING APPROACHED, CLAY STOOD ON THE NEWLY rebuilt stage in the theater, looking toward the rows of seats where in a few weeks, God willing, a large audience would sit. Silence surrounded him, but in his head, he heard Luvena singing “Amazing Grace” in her beautiful, clear voice. Like the song of an angel.

  Even now, hours later, the memory of it brought tears to his eyes. He knew the hymn. Had heard it many times, both before and after he’d come to faith. Why had it affected him so much more this time than ever before? Why did it still affect him, hours later, in some deep and secret corner of his heart? It seemed to Clay that God wanted to show him something, tell him something, and yet he wasn’t able to understand what. The knowledge seemed just beyond his reach.

  “Clay?”

  His pulse quickened at the sound of his name, and he turned stage right. Dim light shrouded Luvena in the wing.

  “May I ask you something?”

  He cleared his throat. “Sure. I guess.”

  “Why must I go?” She took a couple of steps toward him.

  It seemed a fair question, but one that was suddenly without an answer.

  “Why must we go? You don’t dislike the children. I’ve seen you with them.”

  Ah. He remembered now. Children. Those children were the reason she had to leave.

  “You’re so good to them. I don’t believe it has anything to do with Grand Coeur not being a suitable place for them to grow up. Maybe it’s still a rough gold town, as you warned in your first letter, but Shannon and Matthew have done all right raising their children here. And you believe it will get better. That’s why you’re investing yourself in this opera house. Because you believe in this town’s future.”

  Reverend Adair had said almost the same things to him a week ago. Had the reverend and Luvena talked about him?

  She took another step closer. “There’s something you aren’t telling me. It . . . it’s something you’ve hidden in your heart. Maybe you haven’t even told God what it is.”

  His jaw clenched, and it took effort to relax it.

  “Please tell me the truth, Clay.”

  The truth. She’d traveled over twenty-six hundred miles by rail and by coach to get here. The least he owed her was the truth. Once she heard it, she’d be ready to leave.

  “Let’s go outside,” he said. “It’s stuffy in here.”

  Clay led the way in silence toward the back of the theater, past his office, and out the rear door. Twilight had fallen while he’d been inside, and the evening air had cooled. Music spilled from a saloon or bawdy house from somewhere down Main Street.

  He helped her sit on the back stoop, then sat beside her. He thought she might say something to encourage him. She didn’t.

  “I don’t remember much about my pa except for the size of his hands. They were really big. He had long fingers.” He raised his right arm and bent his wrist to show his hand. “Like mine. And when he made a fist, it was rock hard. Like mine.”

  The music from the saloon fell still.

  “He was an angry man, and he took most of that anger out on me. He broke my nose and my left arm when I was five. That’s when my ma told him to get out and
never come back unless he learned to hold his temper. He left. I never saw him again. He died of pneumonia that same winter.”

  Silently, she reached out and took hold of the hand he’d shown her, her skin warm against his.

  He looked toward the sky. Stars had begun to appear in the darkening expanse. “I’m like my pa. I was an angry kid. I got into fights with my half brothers all the time. Especially with Jacob. It was like something shut off in my head when I got mad. I’d just start swinging until I couldn’t swing anymore.”

  “Oh, Clay.” The words came out on a breath.

  “The last time I saw him, I beat on him hard. I was twenty-two. He was only fifteen. I wanted to tell him I was sorry, but I didn’t. He was my brother and I loved him, but instead of saying I was sorry, I just left. I went off and joined the army.” He paused, then added, “War changes men.”

  Images flashed in his head. Faces of the soldiers he’d served with, fought with, laughed with, and cried with for four years. Some had died in his arms. Too many hadn’t lived to see the end.

  Softer now, he continued, “War changed me. I wanted to be done with fighting. I wanted to make amends with my brother. But my ma didn’t want me to come home. Jacob had died in the war, and she blamed me for his death. She was certain I’d start brawling with one of my younger brothers if I was there again.”

  He glanced toward Luvena. There was enough light left to see tears streaking her cheeks. His chest tightened.

  “She said I was just like my pa. She was probably right. I am like him.”

  “I don’t believe that’s true.”

  “You don’t know.”

  She stared at him for a long time. “It was more than the war that changed you, Clay Birch. It was faith in God.” Her voice softened. “‘Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.’ That’s what the Bible says about you.”

  Hope stirred in his chest. Hope and something more.

  “I never knew the man you were before, Clay, the one you’ve just described to me. I only know the man who sits beside me now. The one with dreams for the future. The one who wants to make a difference for good in a world that can be very bad and sometimes ugly.”