Reluctant Brides Collection

by Cathy Marie Hake

  “Wait!”

  He jolted up straight and gave Isabel a baffled look.

  “The needle,” she warned. “Alys stuck her needle in the cushion.”

  He chuckled. “Better this needle than one of the wicked-looking knitting needles that lively redhead was wielding!”

  Isabel hugged Betty a bit closer and reached to pluck the needle from the cushion. His fingers and hers met. “Better no needle at all,” she said as she pulled her hand back.

  He sat beside her, and Isabel tried to tuck in her full skirts, but holding Betty made it impossible. So did the horsehair crinoline and flannel petticoats. Seemingly oblivious to the way the full skirts of her Sunday-best, cabbage rose dress brushed his pant leg, he turned his wide shoulders a bit and gently threaded his fingers through Betty’s curls. “This must be Betty.”

  “Why, Carter, however did you guess?” Amy asked.

  “Miss Isabel described her perfectly.” He looked about the room. “She told me each of the girls at Kindred Hearts is very special.”

  Isabel let out a relieved breath. She’d feared for a moment that he’d accidentally say something about the dolls and ruin the girls’ Christmas surprise.

  “That’s Isabel, to be sure. Always has a kind word on her lips,” Amy said.

  “‘Specially at nighttime,” Kathleen tacked on. “Blow out the lamps, and she chatters like a magpie!”

  All the girls giggled, and Carter gave Isabel an amused look, then winked. “Some of us know when to keep quiet.”

  Isabel couldn’t help laughing. She relaxed a bit and watched as the girls hastened to show Mrs. Steadman their sewing projects. Amy and Kathleen kept a steady patter of conversation, so Isabel decided she’d better put this lone man in a room full of women and girls at ease.

  “We’re so grateful for the changes you’ve made at the mill, Sir.”

  “I’ve done nothing other than give the workers their due.” He let out a long, heavy breath. “I have a lot to atone for.”

  Isabel gathered Betty a bit closer and murmured softly, “Sir, you’re making changes—good, fair changes. None of us holds you to account for what your father did.”

  “God does.”

  She gave him a startled look. “I don’t understand—”

  “The sins of the father are visited upon the son. The Bible states it clearly. I’m doing my best to make amends.” His jaw hardened, and he shook his head. “I didn’t mean to mention any of this. Forgive me.”

  Isabel blinked at him in utter astonishment. His admission caught her completely off guard. Unsure what to think of such a declaration, she shifted her hand a bit to subtly pat his upper arm. “Please don’t apologize for saying what weighs heavy on your heart. The Bible tells us to bear one another’s burdens.”

  He wound one of Betty’s curls around his forefinger. “I still have plenty to do.” He untwisted the ringlet and started to play with another as he changed the subject. “Do you come here often?”

  “Every Sunday afternoon. Kathleen comes, too. I love children.”

  He looked about the parlor and studied the girls. One by one, they showed his mother their sewing projects and beamed at the praise she lavished upon them. “Sixteen girls,” he mused. “I don’t know how she manages it.”

  “Amy has them organized and does a wonderful job. We come to help with sewing, but I always go back to the boardinghouse feeling like she and her girls gave more to me.”

  Betty stirred, so Isabel readjusted her a bit and smoothed down her butter yellow frock. She still couldn’t quite fathom that an important man like him had remembered something as inconsequential as a little orphan’s name.

  “She must be heavy. Would you like me to carry her to bed?”

  “Oh, thank you, but no. Betty takes her nap in my lap each Sunday. The baby Kathleen is holding is Betty’s little sister. Someone offered to adopt the baby, but Amy wants to keep them together. Betty has already lost her parents….”

  “Excuse me, Mr. Steadman.” Ginger’s voice sounded over a chorus of giggles. “Susannah was asking you if you’d be takin’ a wee bit o’ cream or sugar in your tea.”

  “Now let’s see….” He drew out the words as he stared at the ceiling and tapped a finger on the cleft in his chin. That finger came away and delved into the pocket of his coat. He pulled out a small paper packet. A distinct, sweet fragrance wafted from it. “This time of year, I always like to have peppermint in my tea. Would anyone else like to try one?”

  Like a flock of sparrows after a fistful of crumbs, the girls flitted to him. He winked and told the first, “Give one to each of the ladies for me. If you put it in the cup before Mrs. Ross pours the tea—”

  “Who’s Mrs. Ross?” a little voice piped up.

  “Auntie Amy,” whispered another.

  Carter pretended not to notice and continued, “The hot tea will melt the peppermint and sweeten your cup.”

  “Auntie Amy,” Ruthie asked, “may we do the thing for them?”

  Amy gave her girls an indulgent smile. “Perhaps another time.”

  “What thing?” Mrs. Steadman asked.

  “They’ve been acting out parts of the Christmas story each evening.”

  “Could we do it, please?” Patty begged. “The man could be Joseph. We never got a real man to be Joseph before.”

  Carter leaned forward and looked past Isabel, straight into Patty’s big blue eyes. “I’ve never been Joseph. What do I have to do?”

  “You have to forget what everyone else thinks and care about what God wants you to do. You take Mary on a trip, but you walk and let her ride the donkey ’cuz she’s tired. Next, you get to kneel by Baby Jesus. Then you’re ’posed to feel lucky ’cuz He’s good, so He forgives you even when you done bad things in the past. See? That’s God’s Christmas present to us.”

  In a matter of moments, Carter Steadman, owner of the influential Steadman Textile Mill, had a clump of little girls surrounding him. He played his part with notable enthusiasm and skill. He didn’t even bat an eye when the wagon became a donkey. With true gallantry, he lifted “Mary” on and off the “donkey,” then tenderly helped her wrap a doll in a blanket. Isabel smiled as he calmly hiked one of the twins onto his shoulder so she’d stop whacking him whilst she flapped her arms as angel wings.

  When he knelt at the crate that served as the manger, he didn’t fold his hands in prayer. Instead, he spread his arms wide. The “animals,” “Mary,” and another angel all crowded in to be included in his hug. In a rich baritone, he began to sing, “While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks by Night.” Everyone joined in.

  Isabel mouthed the song, but the words didn’t register. Instead, she ached for her employer. He knew the Christmas story, but he hadn’t fully accepted its meaning. He’d been so busy trying to atone for his father’s wrongs and earn his place in God’s kingdom, he hadn’t allowed himself to accept the gift of grace God provided by giving His Son. If only he could understand God appreciated deeds done in love, but they weren’t necessary for atonement. The price was paid—and represented right there in front of him in the form of a blanket-wrapped doll.

  Carter Steadman’s rich baritone contrasted with the girls’ sweet sopranos, and the words finally registered in Isabel’s heart. “Good will henceforth from heav’n to men, Begin and never cease, Begin and never cease.”

  Lord, please loosen the chains in his heart and make him feel free to accept Your good will.

  After Kathleen blew out the lamp that night, Isabel heard her humming that same tune. She closed her eyes and promised herself she wouldn’t talk tonight—but it was so hard to stay silent. Memories of how her employer had humbly knelt on a tattered carpet and pretended with those girls tugged at her heart.

  He’d been trying so hard to prove to himself and everyone else that he wasn’t going to be like his father, and his methods of restitution could only be considered more than generous. In the past two weeks, he’d increased their pay, given them an extra day o
ff, provided cloth, and made sure the meals improved considerably.

  Couldn’t he see he’d never be like his father? Carter Steadman displayed too much integrity, too much humility to ever put himself or greed above others. Odd, how he’d already proven the vast difference between his ways and his father’s, yet he hadn’t proven it to himself.

  Isabel snuggled deeper under her covers. If only he’d stayed long enough to watch the girls open his packages! Instead, he’d escorted his mother from the orphanage without saying a word about the paper-wrapped bundles he’d delivered. Amy waited until the girls cleared away the teacups and plates, then she clipped the strings on the first package.

  A veritable rainbow of fabrics and ribbons and a wealth of buttons spilled out. The girls squealed with glee, and Amy’s pretty gray eyes went silver with tears of gratitude. If only Carter Steadman could have seen the joy his gift gave to others…and if only he could accept that God gave His gifts as freely. Just as the girls hadn’t earned a thing from their benefactor, so he would never earn a thing from God. No matter how hard he tried, how many good deeds he performed, God’s infinite grace was all that mattered.

  Father, reveal Yourself to him. Free him from the bonds of his past and let him come to understand the sweetness of Your Christmas Gift. Reach his heart and teach him we are reconciled through Christ, not through our works.

  “Isabel?” Kathleen propped up on her elbow and whispered, “Are you talking to yourself again?”

  “Praying.”

  Kathleen muffled a giggle. “I’m praying, too—that no one asks you to sing a duet in church with Mr. Steadman.”

  Chapter 7

  Production is dropping,” Jefford grumbled as he walked through the weaving room. “The carding, spinning, and weaving have all slowed down.”

  “Quality is much higher,” Carter countered. “With the No. 30 yarn, we get thirty yards of cloth per loom per day. It sells for more. Printworks are putting out extraordinary designs, too.”

  “Hmmpf.” Jefford cast a surly look out the window. “Winter means fewer hours at the looms. During summer, we get fourteen, but now—”

  “Ten now.” Carter’s voice went steely. “Eleven in the summer. No more.”

  “Profits are going to drop. Can’t run a successful business like this. You cut their hours, increased their pay, and slowed production. Your father—”

  Carter’s hands clenched into fists at his side. “My father’s choices are not mine.”

  Jefford shrugged. “You own the place.” He cast a look about the weaving room, then said, “We’re in for more change, too. Daisy is leaving to be married. I’ll need to appoint a new head weaver.”

  “Kathleen McKenna.”

  Brows furrowed, Jefford shook his head. “I had my eye on a few others.”

  I have no doubt you did, Carter thought sourly. He’d already considered several possibilities. Isabel was exceedingly patient—which made her an excellent trainer. Still, the women looked to Kathleen to speak for them. She’d represented them well regarding a concern over a problem with badly wound bobbins last week, and she had a level head on her shoulders. Carter wanted a Christian woman who would be diligent and loyal to him. He wasn’t about to let Jefford plant someone in that position.

  Jefford shifted and pushed the issue. “I know these women. Decisions like this take extensive knowledge—”

  “Kathleen McKenna,” Carter ordered implacably.

  “Your own father passed her by last year when the position opened.”

  “Mr. Jefford, if one of the employees goes counter to your order, what becomes of her?”

  “I dismiss her at once.”

  “In that aspect, we are alike.” Carter stared pointedly at the overseer. “I’ve given you an order.”

  Carter walked away. Machines around them muffled Jefford’s comment, but Carter made out, “just like your father.” Though tempted to wheel around and fire him, Carter resisted the urge. He refused to rage as his father so often had.

  His boots pounded out every step toward the office with determination. I will not be like my father. I refuse to. Bad enough, the sins of the father are passed on to the sons. I have enough to atone for. When I have a son, I want his legacy to be blameless. He looked around. What more could he do to expunge his father’s greedy acts?

  “How are you doing on the dolls?”

  Isabel looked up and gave her employer a smile as she swallowed a bite of fresh, fried codfish. He often passed by and spoke to the women. He frequently came to her table, but since he’d assigned Kathleen as head weaver, it made sense that he’d sometimes show up at their boardinghouse to contact her. Still, he must have a warm heart, because he not only checked with Kathleen about some detail about the day’s order or a problem, he’d also chat for a few moments about something quite ordinary and pleasant.

  He chuckled. “I caught you with your mouth full.”

  Isabel smiled after she swallowed. “We need to put the finishing touches on just a few more dolls, then we’ll be done. The girls will be so happy, sir.”

  “I’ve no doubt of that.”

  “Amy is allowing the older girls to stay up a bit later so they can make a dress for the dolls. That way, they get to be part of the secret.”

  He nodded, then asked, “What of those girls?”

  “Aprons. We’ve made one for each of them.” Isabel averted her gaze. Staring at this handsome man defied propriety.

  He lifted her hand and ran the pad of his thumb over her fingers. “You must be nimble-fingered to get so much done.”

  Isabel looked up at him, startled at his touch. Her hand tingled and her heart sped up at that light contact.

  “Aye, and look at how pretty her new dress is,” Kathleen chimed in.

  “Very becoming, indeed.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Isabel mumbled as she pulled her hand free from his disturbing hold. “All of us are grateful for your generosity.”

  “You have laudable skills with the loom and needle.” He never took his eyes off her. Though his words could have included every woman in the boardinghouse’s dining hall, Isabel fought the notion that he meant to aim them specifically at her. Yet he maintained eye contact. “You earned that fabric.”

  “Your surprise delighted Amy and the girls,” Isabel murmured.

  His mouth crooked into a rakish grin. “So I gathered. She wrote me a note, and the girls got together and drew a picture of our nativity play.” He turned to Kathleen. “As for you, Miss Kathleen—you displayed admirable expertise that afternoon when you organized them for the play.”

  Kathleen shrugged. “Amy needed to tend the baby. I’m accustomed to herding my brothers and sisters about.” She accepted the bowl of succotash. “Ma always said I had a bossy streak.”

  His lighthearted chuckle and the fact that he’d addressed another worker eased Isabel’s uneasiness. She spread butter on a slice of hot-from-the-oven bread. “You made a wonderful Joseph, Sir. It’s hard to say who enjoyed the Christmas pageant you put on more—the girls or the adults who served as the audience. Your voice is exceptional. If you attend church regularly, Parson Hull will be after you to sing a special.”

  He gave her a baffled look. “Of course I’ll attend each Sunday.”

  Isabel cringed. She’d meant no offense, but since his father rarely attended, she hadn’t been sure if the new owner was much of a churchgoer.

  Before she could say anything, he added, “Perhaps you’d like to make that a duet with me, Miss Isabel.”

  She felt her cheeks go hot as she laughed self-consciously. “Sir, my singing is likely to cause parishioners to seek repentance so they can put an end to such punishment.”

  He chuckled as he walked away.

  Kathleen nudged Isabel and murmured, “I think he’s sweet on you.”

  Isabel dropped her fork. “Kathleen!”

  “I’m serious. He’s quite a catch.”

  “Not for me. I’m just a worker; he owns the w
hole place.” Isabel hissed, “So help me, Kathleen, don’t you dare breathe another word of that nonsense. He’s far above my station, and that kind of scandal could get me dismissed. My family needs me to work—”

  “If you married him, you’d have plenty of money,” Kathleen singsonged under her breath.

  “The day I marry, it will be for love, not money.” She sighed. “But I doubt that day will ever come.”

  Isabel fingered the golden ribbon after she slipped Mama’s most recent letter into the packet. Just because Isabel wrote and told her of the changes at the mill, Mama’s letter now asked questions a simple mill girl couldn’t answer about her employer…she hinted such a man would make a fine husband. Between Mama’s note and Kathleen’s teasing, Isabel worried maybe she’d somehow revealed the secret feelings she’d begun to have for him. The very thought anyone might detect she felt a special fondness for him terrified her. What if she were so transparent, she was making a fool of herself and he detected it?

  In the privacy of her room, for just a moment, she allowed her imagination to fly free about Mama and Kathleen’s opinions regarding Mr. Steadman’s interest in her. Surely, they were wrong. Still, thoughts tumbled through her mind. Oh, to have such a fine man interested in me, to call me his own! I long to be married and have children….

  Isabel shook her head. Carter Steadman was so unreachable, he might as well be in China. He’d wed some wealthy young darling of high society. Imagining for even a moment that someone of his class would stoop beneath his station to court a mill girl would lead only to heartbreak.

  Isabel shoved the drawer shut, walked over to the small bedside table, and moved the candlestick aside. She took a sheet of foolscap from the drawer and dipped her pen. “Dearest Mama,” she began. A wave of loneliness washed over her.

  “Carter, I’m counting on you to come speak to my Missionary Benevolence Meeting this week.”