by Regina Scott
Constance Hickey, church pianist and all-around busybody, was lecturing Elizabeth as he reached their sides.
“And cod-liver oil,” she said, shaking a bony finger at the babies as if scolding them. “One dose in the morning and one at night. It will help them develop strong constitutions.”
The babies all nodded, but Brandon thought it was more likely they were following the movement of Mrs. Hickey’s finger than agreeing with her recommendation.
“I’ll be sure to bear that in mind,” Elizabeth said. Brandon thought he might be the only person in Little Horn who would have detected the annoyance under the polite response.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Hickey,” he greeted the older lady. “How kind of you to take an interest in our triplets.”
The thin woman raised her head, aiming her pointed nose in his direction. “And did not our Lord demand that we help the poor and lowly like Miss Dumont?”
Elizabeth’s lovely lips tightened. It had to have been one of the first times she’d heard herself referred to as either poor or lowly.
“Oh, I doubt our Lord would have considered Miss Dumont in need of our charity,” he told the older woman. “Her skills in caring for the triplets are notable.”
Mrs. Hickey frowned. “And exactly where did she learn, a young lady like herself? Has no one checked her references?”
Brandon knew David McKay must have some knowledge, or he would never have sent for her when he’d thought he needed a mail-order bride to help raise his daughter, Maggie. But Brandon hadn’t been able to figure out a way to ask without raising questions.
Elizabeth cast Mrs. Hickey a glance. “I was a governess in Boston, and the household had two younger children along with my older charges. The nanny and I often assisted each other.”
Mrs. Hickey blinked her blue eyes. “A shame you were discharged.”
Where had that rumor started? Brandon frowned, and the babies gurgled as if in protest, but Elizabeth raised her head.
“I wasn’t discharged,” she told Mrs. Hickey, voice as tight as her look. “My charges were about to go off to school, and the youngest ones were not yet ready for a governess. And then my only living relative, my aunt Evangeline, died, and I simply wanted to be somewhere else.”
So she truly was alone in the world, like the triplets.
“I’m sorry to hear about your aunt,” Brandon murmured. “She was a grand lady.”
Mrs. Hickey turned to him, gaze avid. “Oh, did you know her, Pastor?”
“No!” Jasper declared.
While Mrs. Hickey frowned at the baby, Elizabeth’s look shot to Brandon, panicked. So she didn’t want the town to know about their past. He hadn’t been overly eager to share either. How did you admit that the only woman you’d ever wanted to marry had refused you? The fact called his character into question, or hers.
“Everyone from the Boston area knew Mrs. Evangeline Dumont,” Brandon said, and he felt Elizabeth relax. “The lady set a fine table, with only the best on it and around it.”
Elizabeth returned her gaze to the babies, who beamed at her. “She never lost her interest in people, even though the stroke left her unable to do the things she loved most.”
The stroke hadn’t just affected her aunt. It seemed to him Elizabeth had chosen a path much narrower than she’d once dreamed. All of society had been open to her, yet here she was, focused on three little boys. Why?
No way to ask that question with Mrs. Hickey watching them both so eagerly.
“Ah, I fear I have detained you, my dear Mrs. Hickey,” Brandon told her. “I’m sure you had business elsewhere this afternoon, industrious lady that you are.”
Her smile wavered. She couldn’t very well admit she had nothing better to do than vex Elizabeth. “Yes, well,” she said, taking a step back. “I am very busy. You will heed my warning about the cod-liver oil, won’t you, Miss Dumont?”
“I will give it due consideration,” Elizabeth promised her.
With another glance between Elizabeth and Brandon, the pianist turned and headed toward the doctor’s office, very likely intending to instruct the physician on some point now. The boys waved their fists in farewell.
“Do not tell me she means well,” Elizabeth threatened Brandon, “for I won’t believe it.”
“She delights in knowing more than anyone else, about everything,” he said. “So long as you remember that, you won’t have any trouble with her.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “You must not have noticed the way she looked at you. You better watch your reputation, Pastor. You wouldn’t want to be seen with a discharged governess who was left at the altar. People might talk.”
“I’ve never been particularly concerned about what anonymous people have to say,” Brandon told her. He bent and seized the handles on the cart, and the triplets started bouncing up and down in anticipation of the ride. “Now, where can I take you and the boys?”
That look in her eyes told him she would have preferred to tell him where to go, and it was as far away from her as possible. But she nodded across the street. “The triplets and I have been cooped up in the boardinghouse for three days now. I was hoping to cross to the grass and let them out on the quilt. If you would be so kind, Reverend?”
Of course she wouldn’t call him Brandon. They were supposed to be strangers. Besides, times had changed since they’d last known each other. They had changed. He wasn’t a man bent on courting her. He was her minister, just as he was the minister for everyone in Little Horn. His only concern should be for her spiritual growth and comfort. If she had been anyone else, he would have done his best to charm her, putting her at ease. But his winning ways no longer seemed to work on Elizabeth.
So he trundled the cart across the rutted street for the grassy field between the parsonage and the church, the creak of the wheels playing them along.
The good citizens of Little Horn had designed the church grounds, like the church and parsonage, with the community’s needs in mind. Between the two buildings lay a sweep of grass, wildflowers nodding here and there, just waiting for a church picnic or baseball game. Amos Crenshaw kept it in order, even going so far as to carry water to it during the drought so the grass wouldn’t dry out. Brandon positioned the cart in the shade of an old live oak and helped her spread the large brightly colored quilt beside it. Then they arranged the triplets in the middle.
At nearly eleven months old, they were crawling well. Jasper, as usual, was the most adventurous. Elizabeth must have realized it, for she positioned herself between the tree and the edge of the quilt as if to prevent his escape. Rolling over on his side, Eli tugged at a block of red gingham on the quilt as if eager to get to the grass beneath. Theo sat and regarded the nearby daisies as if suspecting they had designs on his brothers. Jasper set off across the quilt and paused a moment beside Elizabeth before attempting to scale her lap.
She smiled at him, making the day brighter. “Clever boy. You wait and see, Pastor. Jasper will turn out to be an explorer.”
Brandon smiled. “I think Eli’s going to end up mayor of Little Horn by the way he manages his brothers.”
She laughed, and the sound bathed his heart in light. “Can’t you just see them,” she asked, “tall and strong, crowding in the doorway with daisies from the fields, come to wish their mother happy birthday?”
So she could still dream. He remembered the hopes she used to share—visiting Europe, opening a school for girls, driving a carriage across the whole country.
“What happened, Elizabeth?” he asked. “Why did you become a governess in Cambridge? I thought you wanted to marry.”
Her sunny smile turned stormy. “I did want to marry. The man I’d hoped would be my groom abandoned me. Or don’t you remember telling me your reputation was more important than I was, Mr. Stillwater?”
Chapter Three
She must have looked as angry as she felt, for Brandon recoiled from her. So did the triplets. Jasper’s face puckered. Eli curled next to him. Theo stuck his thumb in his mouth, a tear rolling down one chubby cheek.
Brandon reached out and scooped him onto his lap. “Easy there, Theo. Elizabeth isn’t angry with you. She couldn’t be. She thinks you’re going to grow into a fine man. I’m the one she doesn’t like. She said she couldn’t marry a country parson.”
Elizabeth stared at him. His eyes looked as sad as Theo’s.
“I never said I didn’t want to marry you,” she protested. “And I certainly never called you a country parson. You were going to serve at St. Matthew’s, a fine respectable position.”
Theo leaned against him as if ready to defend him. Brandon patted his shoulder. “You knew I wanted to go to Texas with Bo. And Texas wasn’t good enough for you.”
She spread her hands. “Look at me, Brandon. Here I am, in Texas!”
Her voice was rising again. Jasper let out a squawk as if determined to be louder. Eli’s gaze darted between her and Brandon. Theo plastered himself against Brandon’s chest. Even the bushes at the edge of the lawn rustled as if in agitation.
She forced herself to calm, to speak quietly and evenly. “I don’t understand why you have that impression of me. I never said money and position were important.”
He raised a brow. “That’s not how John Hood’s sister explained it.”
Poor Florence, to be caught in the middle of such a difficult situation. She’d been as caring as her brother, who had been in Brandon’s class at the divinity school.
“I’m sure it wasn’t easy for her,” Elizabeth said. “When my uncle was arrested, everything changed. I was so caught up in caring for Aunt Evangeline that I couldn’t do more than survive each day. Some of Aunt Evangeline’s more colorful acquaintances stuck by our side, but Florence was the only person who came by regularly.”
He nodded. “She was the one who brought me the news about your uncle’s arrest and your aunt’s stroke. I was surprised you didn’t come yourself.”
There was more pain than censure in his voice. Just thinking about that dark time made an ache rise inside her. She reached for Eli and pulled him onto her lap. The baby rested his head against her, a comforting bundle.
“I couldn’t leave Aunt’s side, so I asked Florence to help me reach you. I thought you would want to know what was happening, that you’d want to help. But Florence said you couldn’t risk being seen with me.”
He frowned. “Why would there have been any risk to me by being seen in your company? You weren’t the criminal. Your uncle was.”
She could not have misunderstood Florence. Her friend had been quite clear on the message. Her face had been anguished, dark curls trembling, and she’d barely been able to force the words from her lips.
“You were hoping for an appointment at a prestigious church, Brandon,” Elizabeth reminded him. “Having a wife associated with scandal might have hindered that.”
“I never considered that,” he insisted. “I wanted to go to you, help you any way I could, but Florence said you refused to see me. Because of the funds needed to pay for your aunt’s care, you had no choice but to marry a better connected, wealthier man. It sounded as if you had him all picked out. With your aunt’s parties, you had plenty of candidates to choose from, each more eligible than me.”
What was he talking about? Hadn’t he realized she had looked at no one else once she’d seen him? “I didn’t have another groom in mind. Florence knew that.”
He cocked his head. “I thought you needed money to pay for your aunt’s care.”
“I did. That’s why I became a governess. All my income went to fund nurses.”
Now all three babies were watching her, and Eli’s and Theo’s lips were trembling as if in sympathy. Jasper looked more as if he wanted to fight her battles instead, little hands fisted.
Brandon straightened, rubbing his free hand along his pant leg. “I don’t understand. You needed me. I wanted to help. What went wrong?”
What indeed? It was easy for him to claim all innocence now. Yet she could not convince herself he would lie to her face. No member of his congregation was present. The triplets weren’t likely to remember this conversation by the time they could speak enough to tell anyone about it. And no one in Little Horn would believe her over their beloved pastor. Why posture?
Elizabeth made herself shrug, then snuggled Eli closer. “It seems to have been very easy for us to believe the worst of each other. I’d say our attachment was never meant to be.”
He frowned as if unwilling to believe that. How could he deny it? Back then, she’d been unsure of herself, awed by everyone she had met at her aunt’s table. Why would the marvelous Brandon Stillwater find her worthy to be his wife?
But she was no longer that wide-eyed girl with dreams bigger than her capabilities. Now she knew just what she was made of, had been tested and survived. Now she knew what she needed.
A steady position or a steady husband. Brandon Stillwater would be willing to offer neither.
* * *
Once again she was calm, composed, the baby cradled in her arms, but this time Brandon thought Eli was more of a shield to keep him at a distance. Jasper, leaning on her legs, made another attempt to crawl over them for the freedom beyond, and Brandon grabbed the baby’s foot and pulled him into the scope of his arms. All the while he tried to orient himself to a world that had shifted.
Our attachment was never meant to be.
Though he’d thought he’d put it all behind him four years ago, though he was certain he’d moved forward with his life, something inside him rebelled. He’d believed her need for position and privilege had driven them apart. She seemed to think his need for a spotless reputation was to blame.
She was right—it had been easy to believe those statements and to think the worst of each other. Only, he knew that her assumptions about him were false.
Florence had been anguished when she’d brought him Elizabeth’s answer to his plea to reconsider her decision to throw him over. A slender, dark-haired girl with the appropriately pious attitude of the daughter and sister of clergy, she’d gazed up at him, blue eyes shining with tears, fingers pressed against his arm.
“I’m so sorry, Brandon, but Elizabeth is adamant that you will not suit. She needs a man of wealth and position to counter this scandal if she is to regain her place in society. Knowing how she was raised, I’m sure you understand.”
He’d understood. His family did not take part in society, for all his father had once been considered a gentleman. Marcus Stillwater had managed his affairs well. Everyone who met him at civic functions and during business considered him a determined, successful man.
But his father had doubted himself—his abilities, his place in other people’s affections. Brandon had never been sure why. His grandfather had died when he and Bo were little, but family stories told of a harsh man. Or perhaps the responsibility of building his business had weighed on their father. Either way, to bolster his flagging confidence, his father had cut down every other member of the family. Nothing Brandon’s mother could do was good enough. Nothing Brandon and Bo did was acceptable. It seemed only by making others feel small had his father been able to feel big. If Brandon had had a nickel for every time his father had called him worthless, he might actually have been the wealthy man Elizabeth had needed.
Given that upbringing, Brandon could well imagine he wasn’t good enough for her. Even while they were courting he’d wondered why she would settle for a divinity student when the very best of Boston society came to call. Still, he’d thought himself genuinely in love, had convinced himself she felt the same way. Florence had tried to console him, but he had pushed her and everyone else away, determined only to finish his stud
ies and escape the stifling confines of Cambridge.
“I don’t believe our love was never meant to be, Elizabeth,” he told her, alternating his gaze between the babies he jostled in his arms. Both were regarding him as if fascinated to hear how his story would end. “Circumstances prevented it from continuing. That’s all.”
He could hear her sigh. “Perhaps you’re right. But those circumstances haven’t changed. I still need a way to support myself, and you still have a responsibility to your congregation.”
A responsibility he took seriously. His kitchen was stocked by well-meaning young ladies who had hopes of one day changing their name to Stillwater. But he had an inkling that being married to the local minister would not be the glorious position they all envisioned. His wife would have to be willing to have her life interrupted for the illness, injury and death of others, the destruction of other people’s hopes, their property. She’d have to celebrate every wedding, birth and civic commemoration, be part of planning each church activity and contribute to every charitable cause. Women for miles around would call on her, expecting to find her house perfect, her life perfect.
He’d seen his mother wilt under impossible expectations, although of a different kind. He did not feel comfortable foisting that burden on another.
“For the moment, you have a way to support yourself,” he said, nodding to the babies. “But I’ll ask around, see if there’s another family in the area who needs a governess.”
Some of the fire seemed to have left her. “Thank you. I’d appreciate that.”
“It would be my pleasure. And I hope, Elizabeth, that, whatever our differences in the past, we can be cordial now.”