Brides of Iowa

by Stevens, Connie;

  In hindsight, he suspected her blue eyes were probably the first thing that caught his attention. Watching her eyes when she spoke, he saw tenderhearted compassion and the kind of joy that one can know only through a relationship with God. Her eyes spoke to him even when she didn’t say a word.

  He ran his finger over the carefully inked words of Everett’s letter—“the woman named Pearl …” His pulse accelerated at the thought of telling Everett about the lady who so captured his senses, he couldn’t direct his fingers to tie his own cravat. But what should he say? It would take a sheaf of paper to tell Everett about the woman named Pearl.

  Hubert pulled his watch from his pocket and his heart caught. Time to go pick up Pearl for their dinner date.

  Chapter 2

  The fireflies danced a captivating waltz in and out of the silhouetted garden, but Pearl shifted her eyes discreetly toward the front window overlooking the sprawling porch.

  “They’re staring at us.”

  Beside her on the swing, Hubert chuckled. “How can you tell when a firefly is staring at you?”

  She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Not the fireflies. My boarders. They keep looking at us through the curtains.”

  “Well now, I suppose they’ve never seen such a handsome couple.” Merriment threaded Hubert’s voice, and she resisted the urge to poke him.

  Pearl clasped her hands in her lap. “Every time I glanced up yesterday in church, Mrs. Pettigrew and Miss Frick were paying more attention to us than they were to the preacher. What do you suppose they’re all saying?”

  Hubert patted her hand under cover of the gathering twilight. “Does it make you that uncomfortable? Would you prefer that I not come and sit with you on your porch?”

  Pearl jerked her head toward him. “No! I would not prefer that.” Warmth crept up her neck. She certainly didn’t want Hubert to think her forward. “But it does appear that we are the center of attention. It must seem odd for two people of our age to be seen …”

  The word she started to say faded on her lips. What word should she use to describe their recent activities? Going to dinner at the hotel, taking strolls along the creek at the edge of town, and watching fireflies from the porch swing? Every Sunday for the past three weeks, Hubert had picked her up in his buggy for church, and instead of glancing shyly at each other from across the aisle, they now sat together. The picnic they enjoyed several days ago didn’t go unnoticed, and Pearl was certain the town gossips had plenty to discuss over the back fence while they hung up their wash.

  Being the talk of the town wasn’t one of her ambitions. Lately, however, a feeling she couldn’t label or explain away followed her like a shadow. After being so in love with her Jacob since childhood, marrying in their teens, and spending twenty-six years working side by side with him, how could her head possibly be turned by another man?

  Hubert quietly cleared his throat. “I believe the word is courting.”

  Pearl’s breath caught and her heart stuttered. A firefly pirouetted through the lilac bush, and Pearl followed its path as it laced its way across the yard. Would voicing her agreement with Hubert’s assessment be a betrayal of all she and Jacob had together? Jacob was her first love—her only love. Did it blur the lines between right and wrong to welcome Hubert as more than a friend? When her heart looked heavenward, God’s comforting nod of approval caressed her spirit.

  “Yes,” Pearl whispered. “I believe it is.” They sat in silence for a few minutes, the gentle swaying of the swing keeping time with her heartbeat.

  Hubert reached into his pocket. “I had another letter from Everett. He wants to know who you are.”

  “Mercy sakes, what are you going to tell him?”

  Hubert’s thick eyebrows rose slightly. “The truth. That you are a lady whose company I immensely enjoy.”

  A smile rose up within her chest and found a home on her lips. “Then I suppose you can tell him the feeling is mutual.”

  The fading light of the evening cast a soft glow over the pleasure on Hubert’s face. He stroked his mustache with one finger and answered her smile. The late spring evening suddenly became unseasonably warm.

  “Uh, why don’t we go inside and read Everett’s letter? I made molasses cookies this afternoon. Would you care for some of that tea you like to go with them?”

  Hubert’s deep, throaty chuckle tickled her ears. “You do know the way to my heart, my dear. Your molasses cookies and Earl Grey tea are my favorites.”

  Pearl composed herself as they rose and made their way inside. Crossing through the parlor on their way to the kitchen, she noticed two of her boarders peering at her and Hubert over the top of their books. She held back the sigh that gathered in her lungs.

  “Miss Frick, Mr. Hogan, would either of you care for some molasses cookies?”

  The prune-faced dressmaker pursed her lips and scowled. “No thank you.” The woman’s gaze flitted over Pearl for a fleeting moment before hiding behind her book again.

  Mr. Hogan snorted and flicked a glance at the spinster in the adjacent chair. “I’d like to, Miss Pearl, but I’m full up.” He patted his ample belly and gave Hubert a nod, waggling his eyebrows.

  “I’ll set out a plate on the kitchen table if you change your mind.” Pearl stepped into the kitchen and checked the glowing coals in the stove before setting the kettle to heat.

  “So, how is Everett?” Although they’d kept company for several weeks, she still knew little of Hubert’s life prior to his arrival in Willow Creek three years ago, other than the fact he recently retired from the Pinkerton National Detective Agency. Perhaps his investigator background made him wary of revealing too much of his personal life, but Pearl found herself wishing to know more about this man to whom she felt drawn. “Didn’t you tell me he mentioned in his last letter that his grandfather was ill?”

  Hubert opened the letter and laid it on the table. “I’m afraid his grandfather passed away.”

  “Oh Hubert, I’m so sorry.” Pearl set a plate of thick molasses cookies on the table. “Was this your father?”

  He looked up at her. “No, his mother’s father. Everett went to live with his grandparents when he was eight.”

  Not wishing to appear nosy, Pearl refrained from asking why Hubert’s son was raised by his grandparents. If Hubert wanted her to know the details, he’d tell her.

  “I imagine Everett is quite proud of you, in light of the number of criminals you’ve captured.”

  To her surprise, Hubert shook his head. “No, not really. My son and I haven’t had much of a relationship for many years. Up until recently, I’m afraid he wanted little to do with me. He wrote me about his grandfather’s illness a few months ago, and we have begun to correspond.”

  Sympathy filled Pearl’s heart at Hubert’s pained expression. “I had no idea. But you and he are exchanging letters now?”

  Hubert’s chin lifted and a small smile tweaked his mustache. “Yes. From what I gather, he has spent some time talking with a minister who came to see Everett’s grandfather. It was this minister who encouraged Everett to write to me.”

  “You must be very grateful.”

  Hubert studied her, his gray eyes softening. “You have no idea how much this restoration means to me. I think I understand a bit how the father in the book of Luke must have felt when he saw his son coming from afar off. Not that Everett is a prodigal, but the long separation has been very painful.”

  Pearl poured steaming water into the china pot with Hubert’s favorite tea and replaced the lid, letting the tea steep. “He was such a little boy—just eight years old. It must have been confusing for him. You mustn’t blame yourself for the estrangement.” She replaced the kettle on the stove. “Did his grandparents keep you apart?” She slipped a hand up to cover her mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry. That’s none of my business.”

  Hubert smiled and waved her apology away. “Don’t fret yourself. In some ways, yes, Everett’s grandmother did have a tendency to stand between us, espec
ially when he was still quite young.” He took a bite of a cookie and chewed thoughtfully, as though weighing what to say next. “My wife’s mother objected to our marriage, so when Lucinda—that was my wife—left Everett with her parents, her mother believed it was her duty to keep Everett from me. I suppose she felt she was protecting him.”

  Pearl sputtered. “Protecting him? From you? Why Hubert, you are a wonderful man. You would never harm your son. Why did she think she had to protect Everett from you?” She flapped her hands. “Mercy sakes, there I go again. I’m not usually this nosy. Don’t pay any attention to me.” She crossed the kitchen to take cups and saucers from the shelf and place them on the table.

  She poured the tea into both cups and slipped down into the chair across from Hubert. A troubling thought wouldn’t leave her alone, however, and nosiness had nothing to do with her question.

  “Hubert, your wife—Lucinda?” She left the rest of her question unspoken, but hanging in the air nonetheless.

  “She died some time ago. Her father, Everett’s grandfather, wrote me about it. They … didn’t know where she was. So by the time they learned of her demise, it was a few months after the fact.” Hubert hesitated and rubbed one side of his mustache with his finger. “Lucinda left me for another man. After she left Everett with her parents, she didn’t tell anybody where she was going. Her parents learned of her death when Everett was ten. Her father thought I should know, so he wrote me.”

  Pearl’s heart ached for the little boy whom she’d never met as well as for Hubert whose wife betrayed him. “I’m so sorry. That must have been painful. I apologize for bringing it up.”

  Hubert shook his head. “Do not apologize. You have every right to know about my past if you and I are going to be”—the familiar smile found its way back into his eyes—“courting.”

  “Well, one thing is certain.” Like they had a mind of their own, Pearl’s hands moved across the table, and her fingers interlaced Hubert’s. “You mustn’t allow anything to stand in the way of reconciling with your son.”

  He squeezed her fingers. “I don’t intend to.”

  Hubert crossed another day off the calendar hanging behind the mercantile storeroom door and frowned. June 18. If his order didn’t arrive within a few days, he’d have to do some quick thinking. Almost two months ago he’d ordered a silver music box from a distributor in Philadelphia. Mermod Freres created some of the finest musical boxes made, and Hubert chose one especially for Pearl’s birthday. But he had another reason for wanting her birthday to be special—a reason that tied his stomach in a knot.

  He’d imagined the delight in Pearl’s eyes, but his plans to make the day memorable might turn out less than perfect if the music box didn’t arrive. He rubbed his hand over his whiskered chin. For all he knew, the music box was sitting in some freight office in Dubuque. If only Willow Creek had a freight company, he’d likely already have his special surprise for Pearl in hand.

  “Nothing to be gained by fretting.”

  Hubert set to work unpacking crates and restocking shelves. Despite exchanging pleasantries with townsfolk who came in to make purchases, Hubert’s mind wasn’t far from the twinkling blue eyes that held his heart captive. But a disturbing cloud hung over him. It wasn’t the delayed delivery of the music box. This was deeper, more troubling.

  As a Pinkerton detective, he’d learned years ago to leash his emotions. Masking the turbulence occurring on the inside made him a successful detective for the agency. Pearl considered him some kind of hero for apprehending the unscrupulous man who’d defrauded many of the folks in Willow Creek three years ago, but doubt gnawed at him and regrets swirled over his head like vultures. Forgiveness was something for which he hungered.

  The mercantile was quiet for the moment. He stepped into the storeroom. “Lord, I never want to make those same mistakes again. I didn’t listen to You when I should have, and remorse has been my constant companion all these years. Can You use me now if I wasn’t usable then?”

  Everett’s letters, however welcomed, also reminded him of his shortcomings. He’d been able to keep the sins of his past buried for years to those around him, but there was one person who knew—Everett. The joy he savored over the reconciliation with his son brought with it a hint of bitterness.

  The bell on the front door jingled, announcing the arrival of a customer. Hubert blinked the moisture from his eyes and reentered the front of the store. Pearl stood there smiling, a market basket over her arm.

  “Good morning, Hubert.” Every smile she bestowed on him was a gift.

  His heart quickened and a tremble tiptoed through him. “Good morning. I was just thinking about you earlier, and I had an idea.”

  Pearl set her basket on the counter and adjusted her bonnet. “What kind of idea?”

  He cupped his chin between his thumb and index finger. “A little bird told me that Sunday is your birthday.”

  Pearl’s eyes narrowed. “Was the bird’s name Tessa?”

  A smile tipped the corners of Hubert’s mouth. “Possibly.” He clasped his hands together and laid them on the counter. “I would like very much to take you on a picnic to celebrate your birthday.”

  A small frown dented her brow. “But I have to make dinner for my boarders.”

  Hubert nodded and pressed his fingertips together. “Do you think they would mind fending for themselves just this once? Since it’s your birthday?”

  Pearl cocked her head and placed a finger on her chin. “I suppose I could ask Mrs. Russell to manage dinner. She keeps telling me what a good cook she is.” She bit her lip. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

  Hubert chuckled and took her hand, lifting it to his lips to deliver a kiss to her fingertips. “Then it’s settled. If Mrs. Russell is agreeable, I will look forward to our picnic on Sunday.” If she only knew how much. “Now what can I get for you today?”

  She handed him her shopping list and browsed around the store. While he measured coffee beans, cornmeal, and sugar, he watched her finger the edge of a bolt of calico. When he was in the same room with her, he could barely take his eyes off her. When they were apart, loneliness ached in his heart.

  He deposited the last item in Pearl’s basket. “Was there anything else?”

  “That’s all for today.” She paid for her purchases and gave him a modest smile. “Thank you, sir.”

  Hubert took the basket and walked her to the door. “May I pick you up for church at the usual time this Sunday?”

  “Of course. I’m looking forward to our picnic.”

  “As am I.” He handed her the basket. The memory of her smile would have to last him until Sunday. He prayed the music box would arrive in time.

  Hubert couldn’t remember being this nervous facing the most notorious criminal. If the church service had gone on another five minutes, he might have jumped out of his skin. As it was, he could barely remember what the pastor preached about, spending the time instead praying God would calm his pounding pulse. When the final hymn was sung, Hubert escorted Pearl to the front door of the church where they shook hands and exchanged pleasantries with the pastor. After assisting her into the buggy, he drove to a quiet grove of birches near the edge of town beside the tumbling creek. Several huge willows hung over the water like a curtain. He pulled a quilt and a picnic basket from beneath the buggy seat and extended a hand to help Pearl disembark. When she was safely on the ground, he didn’t let go of her hand but gave it a gentle squeeze as they selected a shady spot. Did she feel the tremor in his hand?

  They spread out their picnic near the willow trees where they could watch the creek play over the rocks. Despite the delectable fried chicken and potato salad prepared by Tessa, Hubert could barely swallow a bite, wondering if Pearl could hear his galloping heart. When they finished their meal, he reached into the basket and extracted a small beribboned box wrapped in tissue paper and set it on the blanket in front of Pearl.

  “For you, my dear.”

  Her mou
th formed an O. “Mercy sakes, Hubert, you’re going to spoil me.”

  “I hope so.”

  She opened the box and gave a soft gasp. She lifted the silver music box and found the tiny key on the side. Two gentle twists of the key and a Strauss waltz wafted on the breeze.

  “Hubert, this is lovely.” Moisture glistened in her eyes.

  Hubert’s breath shortened as his pulse raced. The time had come for him to reveal his heart to her. He took her hands in his. “I must tell you, dear Pearl, that this isn’t really a birthday gift.”

  Pearl blinked and looked askance. “It’s not?”

  Hubert shook his head and started to rise but halted midway and went to one knee, Pearl’s hand in his. Her eyes widened and her lips parted. His heart pounded like a blacksmith’s hammer on an anvil. Sweat dampened his palms. “I am hoping it will serve as an engagement gift. That is, if you will have me. I love you, Pearl Dunnigan, and I never wish to be parted from you. Will you consent to be my wife?”

  Chapter 3

  Pearl studied the floral print of the wallpaper in the boardinghouse dining room as she listened to Hubert’s pen scritch-scritching across the stationery. Apprehension knotted her stomach. When she accepted Hubert’s proposal one week ago, he suggested they write his son together, letting Everett know of their engagement.