Bartered Bride Romance Collection

by Cathy Marie Hake

  “I don’t think you got it all off,” he whispered, lowering his face to her.

  Surely he wasn’t going to … Her arms slid around him of their own accord, it seemed. He kissed her slowly and tenderly then pressed her head to his chest. She stood in the circle of his arms, stunned at the feelings coursing through her mind and heart.

  Even in her brief marriage to Charles, she had never felt such things. This man seemed to bring out her innate tenderness and vulnerability. Nevertheless, what was she thinking? She would be breaking her promise to God and sinning against Him if she allowed herself to love James Parrish, even if he were her husband.

  She pushed her hands against his chest, her heart suddenly leaden. She could not break the vow she had made to God, not even if she wanted to. And, oh how I want to, she admitted to herself.

  He released her slowly, searching her face as if he sensed the change in her demeanor. “You’re precious to me, Abby,” he whispered.

  She gazed miserably at his beloved face. How could she have possibly thought she could live with such a man and yet not love him?

  “Forgive me if I hurt you,” he said.

  She reached a hand up to his bearded cheek, loving the feel of the soft bristly whiskers—loving him. “No, I’m the one who’s sorry, James.” She bowed her head then, ashamed that she should be so weak.

  “There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he told her, trying to draw her back into his arms.

  However, she had turned away from him, fussing with the food on the stove. He kicked at a hay bale that stood next to the barn door, watching as a cloud of dust rose and then settled in the still air. Why had she pulled away from him? She had felt so good in his arms. Just like God made her to fit there. He knew he probably shouldn’t have kissed her, but after all, she was his wife!

  Dear Lord, surely you haven’t brought me this woman just to torture me! I love her, Father. I want her to love me. To want me for her husband. He sighed as he lit the lantern in the chill of the rapidly approaching dusk. What had she meant that day when she said she wasn’t a free woman? Would her heart always belong to her first husband, Charles?

  Would James have to go on loving her, with no love returned, for the rest of his life? His shoulders drooped at the thought. How many times had he longed to lay close beside her at night, sharing secrets and feeling their hearts beat as one? Didn’t she know that he loved her?

  He trudged through the evening chores at a snail’s pace, his mind tormenting him with thoughts of what a true marriage could be.

  Each passing day brought the birth of Abby’s baby ever closer. Since the afternoon that he had kissed her, Abby had withdrawn even more from James. She is holding up well, he thought, yet he despaired every time he saw that wounded look in her lovely eyes.

  “You look tired,” he said one evening, watching as she sank into the rocking chair.

  She sent him a weary smile. “It’s been a busy day.”

  Indeed, it had been a busy week. Summer was in full swing, and it seemed every day when he came in for supper, there was another row of canned carrots or tomatoes in the pantry.

  “You’ve been working too hard.”

  She shrugged. “I want to get as much done as I can before the birth.”

  She looked more than tired, he observed as he studied her. Almost haggard. His conscience pricked him. How could he have let her work so hard, especially with the birthing so close? She was probably used to having someone wait on her, he suddenly realized. “Tell me about your life in New York,” he said. Maybe if she would at least talk to him, he could understand more of what she was thinking. After all, he really didn’t know her.

  She looked slightly startled. “What do you want to know?”

  I want to know you, his heart cried. “Anything you want to tell me, love,” he replied, moving his chair closer.

  She stared into the fire. “I grew up there,” she began, her voice soft, as if coming from a great distance. “Mama and Papa were so happy together….” She stopped then, as if that was the end of the story.

  “Were you happy?” he prompted.

  She twisted her hands together then apparently noticed what she was doing and held them quietly in her lap. “Yes,” she said. “I was happy. I had a wonderful family. I loved God. We went to church.”

  James nodded, feeling the “but” that must come next.

  “Then I met Charles.”

  The statement dropped into the room like a cold, unexpected shower.

  “He convinced me that we should get married.” Here she stopped and almost smiled. “So we did. He was a master of persuasion.” She glanced at James and shrugged. “Looking back on it now, I’m not sure I ever really loved him. But he convinced me into believing that I did.”

  James waited, alternating between fear and rejoicing. Fear at what she might say next, yet rejoicing that her heart was not bound to another man.

  She shrugged again. “We had only known each other a month before we wed. Papa was livid.” She gave James a sad smile. “I was with child soon afterwards. Then … a widow.”

  He grasped her cold hands in his. “What happened, Abby?”

  “No one is exactly sure.” She grimaced. “I had been over visiting Mama and Aunt Caroline while Papa went over to our house to talk with Charles about a business matter.”

  For long minutes the only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire and the squeak of the rocker blades on the smooth floor.

  “There was a terrible fire, and Papa and Charles both died.” Her voice was flat, devoid of emotion.

  What could he say to her? “I’m s—”

  “The constable said that Charles set it on purpose.”

  “What?” Was she saying what he thought she was?

  “Only Charles didn’t plan on dying in the blaze, too. He was supposed to live to ‘share’ in my inheritance.”

  James felt as if someone had punched him in the gut. No wonder she was reluctant to open her heart to someone again. But I’m not like that, he cried silently.

  She took a deep breath and gently pulled her hands from his. “So, now you understand why I vowed to God that I would never love again. It was all my fault.” She looked away. “I loved Papa, and he died. I thought I loved my husband, and he turned on me. Now, even Mama … she’s dying.”

  How could she think such things were her fault? His heart felt like it was breaking. That phrase had always seemed like a figure of speech to him, until now. What could he possibly say or do to convince her?

  Show her the way back to Me, the still, small voice said again.

  He bowed his head, surrendering again to the One who is all-seeing, all-knowing, and never-changing. “Our lives are in Your hands, Father God,” he whispered. “Take what we have and who we are, and use us for Your good. We are nothing without You….”

  He heard his wife softly weeping, and his heart rejoiced to hope that God’s Spirit was at work in her life. Hours later, James woke with a start. He could hear Abby thrashing around in the bed, her breaths coming in short gasps. Was it time?

  He flew to her side, his own heart pounding. Abby’s eyes were squeezed shut, her face contorted with silent terror. A chill traveled down his spine as he felt her fear.

  “Jesus!” he prayed aloud, a near frantic urgency in his voice. “Oh, dear Lord, please help my wife. Release her from this consuming fright.”

  Abby’s eyes flew open, and James held his breath, watching as the glazed look in her eyes cleared and her rigid body relaxed. Dropping to his knees, he pressed her limp hand to his face.

  “What happened, Abby?” His voice trembled as he spoke.

  Abby released a shuddering sigh. “Thank God,” she whispered. “It was just another bad dream.”

  She closed her eyes. “I’ve had similar nightmares, but … but …” She opened her eyes to search his face. “This was the worst, by far. Oh, James, I thought I was surely going to die.”

  He stared at her, his tho
ughts racing. Apparently she had more to deal with than he had thought. This wasn’t simply a woman going through grief. Father God, please guide my every word, he prayed. “What was the dream, Abby?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t….”

  “Yes, you can.” He tenderly took her chin in his hand. “God doesn’t want a child of His to be so tormented by fear.”

  “Maybe I’m not really God’s child.”

  His heart broke at the bleak words. “Abby, you know God’s Word. I’ve heard you quote the scriptures when I read at night.” He smoothed a wispy dark tendril from her forehead. “The Bible says that if you believe in your heart and confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord, that you are saved.”

  She nodded. “I’ve done that. But I don’t feel His love, James!” Her voice was pleading. “Why would He make all those terrible things happen to me?”

  He took her hand in his. “Abby—”

  “I’m so afraid, James! I’m so afraid.” Her hand tightened on his. “I just know that something is wrong with my baby. I just know—”

  “Hush, now. You mustn’t talk like that.”

  Pursing her lips together tightly, Abby turned her face toward the wall, but not before he caught the glint of betrayal in her eyes.

  “Abby, please look at me,” he pleaded gently. Minutes ticked by. The darkness in the large room slowly lightened by the break of dawn, yet she remained motionless.

  James prayed silently, waiting.

  Finally, she turned her eyes to meet his.

  “Abby, as God’s child, He says to you in Jeremiah 29:11 that He thinks thoughts of peace and not evil toward you. God does not do terrible things to us. Our enemy, Satan, is the one who does that.”

  She stared at him stonily. “Then why doesn’t God stop him?”

  “There will come a day when Satan will be bound and rendered helpless. You can be assured of that.” He pressed her hand. “But in the meantime, despite life’s most dire circumstances, if we saturate ourselves in the God’s Word, we can experience His peace. Still, a part of the responsibility is ours, too, sweetheart.”

  She shook her head questioningly. “How is that?”

  He smiled, patting Abby’s bulging middle lightly. “When our baby is born, he will be hungry. And you will have milk to feed him, right?” She raised her eyebrows.

  “What if this little one chooses not to open his mouth? Will you be able to give him any milk?”

  “Of course not. But—”

  “You’ve been doing that to God, Abby. He’s waiting for you to accept His peace and His mercy.”

  She turned her head away again, her long braid sliding over their joined hands. After a long time, her muffled words drew James’s attention. “I think He’s angry with me.”

  James gently drew her face toward his. “God is love, Abby. He is love.”

  “But I don’t—”

  “I know. You’ve thought and felt and said for so long that God is angry with you and that He doesn’t love you—you don’t feel or know the truth anymore.” He smiled into her eyes, letting all of his love for her show in his face. “You need to start speaking truth and life instead of lies and death. The Word of God says in Proverbs that the power of life and death is in the tongue.”

  “Oomph!” Abby put a hand over her stomach, her eyes wide. “That was hard!”

  James chuckled. “Nothing wrong with that little one.”

  Abby’s dark eyes grew wistful. “I wish I could feel as sure as you do about it.”

  James ached to kiss away the cares of this woman the Lord had given him, but she needed more than his human love right now. He caressed her face with his eyes. Couldn’t she see how much he had grown to love her? He picked up her small hands and placed them on her stomach, chuckling as the child within moved in response.

  “My dear,” he said, placing his hands on top of hers, “our Heavenly Father is the Creator of all life—including the life of this little one whom we are so anxious to meet. Don’t you think that the God who breathes His life in us can be trusted to watch over us all?

  “Listen, Abby. The next time you are tempted to allow fear to crowd your thoughts, why don’t you pray and ask God to remind you of a Scripture that will replace your fear with His peace.”

  As the sun rose and the light seeped into the dim room, peace filled Abby’s heart for the first time in a very long while.

  Chapter 6

  The love of God has been shed abroad in my heart by the Holy Ghost, and His love abides in me richly.” Abby hummed softly, the words of the scripture from Romans going over and over in her mind like the phonograph records that Mama played. Since James had taught her to use the scriptures to pray, a whole new spiritual world had unfolded for her.

  Abby finished rolling out the piecrust to her satisfaction then she carefully transferred it to the pie tin. Wouldn’t James be surprised to see that she had made him a rhubarb pie? She had gotten the recipe from Iris the last time they had gone to town.

  Sinking into a kitchen chair to rest for a minute before cleaning up the floury mess, she patted the warm lump that rolled underneath her apron. Surely this child would come soon!

  A familiar twinge of fear prickled in her heart. “Oh God, don’t let—” She started, then stopped, shaking her head. “For God has not given me a spirit of fear, but of power, and love, and a sound mind,” she said aloud. “Thank You God. I praise You for Your Word that gives me strength. Your word is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path.”

  She smiled as the child moved again. “I know, little one. I feel His peace, too.” Funny how she had known all these scriptures since she was a small child and yet never realized the power that she possessed as a child of God. It was amazing, really.

  She picked up the letters from Mama and Aunt Caroline. James had brought them home from town yesterday, presenting them to her with a smile. “You must be missed,” he had said.

  Her cheeks grew warm now as she recalled the tender way he had taken her into his arms. It seemed that he had begun to do that more and more often, she mused. Not that she minded, really, but he made it awfully hard to say aloof. Especially when he looked at her with such tender expression in his eyes. She dared not call this feeling “love,” but then what else?

  She turned back to the letters with a sigh, rereading each one. Apparently, that rascal Aunt Caroline wasn’t the least bit repentant of her shenanigans. Abby thought of the elderly woman and smiled. It was so good to hear from her family. Yet she didn’t yearn for home as she expected she would. Had she truly found a home of her own with James?

  Her heart warmed as her gaze fell on the cradle. James had brought it home in the back of the wagon, covered carefully with an old quilt.

  “I thought we might be needing this soon,” he had said, presenting the gift to her almost shyly.

  Abby ran her fingertips over the glossy oak. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered. There were even little heart cutouts in the headboard and a lovely white satin blanket. “You shouldn’t have spent so much money,” she said, fingering the coverlet.

  He chuckled, the sound making her heart sing. “I’m not very good at working with wood, Abby. If I made the cradle, the poor child would probably have fallen through the bottom the first time you laid him in it!”

  She laughed then succumbed to the impulse to run her fingers through his light hair. “I never heard of a farmer who wasn’t handy with a hammer,” she teased gently.

  He smiled down at her, the merriment in his eyes fading into a different emotion. Pulling her to him, he wrapped his arms around her carefully. She leaned against him, reveling in his closeness.

  “You must know that I love you, Abby,” he whispered into her hair.

  She stood still. Did she know that? She thought of him. Thought of all the little things that made up James Parrish. His attentiveness. His gentleness. The way he prayed for her and the baby, his handsome head bowed.

  Yes, she knew that he loved her
. Even more, she knew that she loved him. And yet, there was the problem. She couldn’t love him, or anyone. She had promised.

  She sighed now as she dumped the chopped rhubarb into the pastry-lined tin. It won’t help to keep going over and over it, she told herself sternly. She had made a vow to God, and she intended to keep it.

  Abby gathered up the large leaves she had cut off the tops of the rhubarb stalks. If she chopped them and fried them with a little bacon grease, she could serve the greens with the salt pork and boiled potatoes she was planning for supper. Feeling rather pleased with herself, she got out her sharpest knife.

  “I’m as hungry as a bear,” James said from outside the back door.

  She could hear him scraping the mud off his boots, and smiled. She would have liked to have met his mama and thanked her for raising such a thoughtful son.

  “I’m glad you’re hungry, because supper is on the table.” She couldn’t help smiling at him as he clumped through the door and rewarded her with a kiss on the tip of her nose.

  “You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he said, grinning at her. “When’s that baby ever going to come? He should have been here two weeks ago!”

  She blew out a good-natured sigh. “You weren’t supposed to ask me again, remember?”

  He poured water into the basin and plunged his hands into it, scrubbing vigorously. “A man can’t help wondering, you know.”

  Abby smiled behind his back. “I heard my aunt Caroline tell many an anxious woman, ‘The pear will fall when it’s ripe.’ ”

  He laughed aloud. “Sounds like your aunt Caroline’s a pretty wise gal.”

  “She sent me to you, didn’t she?” Abby could have bitten her tongue the minute the words were out of her mouth. Now he would think that she … oh dear. There he was looking at her like that again and …

  The kiss was slow and sweet. Abby thought maybe she had gone to heaven … except that there wasn’t any smoke in heaven, was there? Smoke? “Oh no! My pie!” She pulled out of his arms and rushed to yank open the oven door.