The Bride's Matchmaking Triplets

by Regina Scott

  “A parlor big enough to hold the ladies’ literary tea,” Brandon said, leading the way into the room. “Or a meeting of the Lone Star Cowboy League, should they need it.”

  It was a large space, with two windows looking out on the street and a wood-framed hearth with an iron arm to hold a teakettle.

  But surely Brandon had not been asked about the decor, for the wallpaper was a rosy color with fanciful cream medallions, and the braided rug was done in rose, pink and cream. Porcelain figurines and carved wooden animals decorated most surfaces, resting on lacy doilies. Though the room boasted six chairs, a camelback sofa and two sturdy wood benches, they were all different styles and sizes, from the delicate bentwood chair with the needlepoint seat to the solid armchair upholstered in brown leather.

  “Donations,” Brandon said, taking a step to the left to keep Eli from grabbing a tassel on the rosy drapes. “Every family who could manage it offered something to the house, from the furniture to the paintings to the dishes and linens. We’re a generous bunch in Little Horn.”

  So she could see. But for all the chaos of color and shape, it felt as if each part, each piece of the house had been settled in place with love.

  He nodded to the door opposite the windows. “The kitchen’s through there, with a door onto the field. The ladies used the kitchen for the reception, so it’s probably best not to disturb them as they clean it up.” He headed back toward the entry hall. “Let me show you the rest of the house.”

  Three more doors led off the hallway to the left. He led her to the end one. “This is my bedroom. If you need me, please come in.”

  She’d most likely knock. He might be her husband in the eyes of the law and the church, but they both knew theirs was a marriage of convenience. As if determined to be open and aboveboard, he juggled Eli to one side and managed to swing wide the door.

  A solid-wood four-poster bed, draped with a patchwork quilt, sat along the center of one wall. Pillows were piled against the simple headboard. A tall dresser stood on the wall next to the window, and a solid armchair rested by the fire, a book open on the table beside it. She could imagine Brandon taking his rest there, far from the demands of his position.

  How often would he retreat to it now that she and the triplets had come to live in the parsonage?

  * * *

  Why did his bedroom seem smaller than usual, as if he’d somehow outgrown it? Brandon turned from it and started back down the corridor, Elizabeth beside him. “There’s a second bedroom at the front of the house. It was meant as a guest room for grieving families. It’s large enough for you and the boys.”

  “That should be fine,” she murmured.

  He paused before the next door down the hall. Of all the rooms in the parsonage, this was his alone, and he found himself eager for her approval.

  “My study,” he said, opening the door.

  She wandered in, glancing about. Mrs. Hickey and the others had been in recently, so everything was neat and tidy, which probably meant he’d be hunting for his sermon notes come morning. Would Elizabeth be impressed with the number of books on the tall case by the window? His diploma hanging on the wall?

  “What an interesting desk,” she said, moving closer to the polished wood as Jasper shifted in her arms to keep Brandon in sight. Her fingers touched the wide plank surface, skimmed the finials that made up one side. “Who donated it?”

  “No one,” he told her. “I made it.”

  She glanced his way, brows up. “Why, Brandon, I had no idea you were so skilled at carpentry.”

  His face heated. “It was something I picked up from Russell Maynard, the man who taught Bo about ranching. He had a real love for carpentry. He used to say he could hear the wood talking to him, telling him what it longed to be. I saw this pine at Josiah McKay’s yard and it said ‘make me a desk.’”

  She smiled as if she could imagine it. She had always been able to see the potential in people. He hoped it wasn’t such a stretch to apply the principle to something inanimate like a plank of wood. Just saying his thoughts aloud made them seem foolish.

  “You fulfilled its wish,” she assured him, and suddenly it didn’t seem so foolish after all. “Have you made other pieces?”

  “A few,” he admitted. Eli and Theo started squirming, and he jiggled them up and down to amuse them. “I like to whittle. It clears my mind.”

  “Those animals in the parlor,” she said, smile forming. “They’re yours?”

  He nodded. “But I haven’t had much time lately.”

  She turned from the desk. “Well, perhaps I can help there.”

  He didn’t see how. Three babies would surely keep her plenty busy, and helping her with them would add more tasks to his overflowing list. But he couldn’t mind. Already the parsonage felt less silent, less empty.

  Almost like a home.

  “Things will let up soon,” he promised, stepping out of the doorway to allow her to pass. “I just have to help David finish the children’s home and make sure everyone gets through roundup.”

  “Roundup?” She frowned as she passed him, Jasper staring at him from her arms. “Does the minister have to help with roundup?”

  “Everyone helps with roundup,” he told her, following her down the hallway for the room at the front of the house. “I usually go to Bo’s Big Rock Ranch and do what I can, and the church sponsors a watering station near the rail for cowboys and their horses. And when it’s all over, there’s the Harvest Festival.”

  “You should have taken a wife sooner,” she teased.

  “The wife I wanted didn’t come West with me.” As soon as he said the words, he wanted to call them back. He’d said he’d make no demands on her, and that included emotional demands. He shouldn’t remind her of what he’d thought they shared.

  “How odd,” she said, reaching for the doorknob. “I heard you took up with Florence before you left. I would have thought she would follow you anywhere.”

  Florence? Why would he have asked Florence to marry him? He’d never thought of her as more than a sister. But then, his heart had been too broken when he’d left Cambridge to consider marrying anyone.

  “This will be your room with the boys,” he said instead, reaching past her to push open the door.

  She moved into the room, away from him, and suddenly he felt as if she’d gone miles. Perhaps it was the stiff back, the high head. He knew he shouldn’t have mentioned their past, but she hadn’t bridled when he’d talked about Boston earlier.

  Now she glanced around as if noticing the wide bed with her trunk at the foot, the high dresser, the crib and the boys’ cart in the corner. Three blocks of wood, cleaned and sanded, sat on the bed, as if waiting for the babies. He couldn’t see George or Amos putting them there. So who else had been in the room? With so many people coming and going at the reception, anyone might have dropped in unnoticed.

  “We can make do,” Elizabeth said. She bent to set Jasper on the rug, then eyed Theo and Eli.

  He knew dismissal when he saw it. He bent and set the boys down. As he straightened, he saw that Elizabeth was pulling the doilies and knickknacks off the furniture.

  “Here,” she said, handing them to him. “We’ll need to remove them from everywhere else in the house as well. Baby love can be hard on porcelain and lace.”

  So he would imagine. He juggled the pile even as Jasper started crawling toward the trunk, his brothers hard on his heels.

  “Good night, Brandon,” she said pointedly, and he had no choice but to quit the room and head for his own.

  Sleep was a long time coming, so it felt as if he’d barely closed his eyes when he heard a baby cry.

  Brandon bolted upright, heart pounding. By the time he’d thrown on his trousers, two voices were wailing. He dashed down the hallway and pushed open the door even as the thir
d joined in.

  Elizabeth, wrapped in a flowered dressing gown, hair falling around her shoulders like fire, had just lit the lamp and was attempting to calm them. “It’s all right! You’re safe.” She glanced at Brandon in evident appeal.

  He strode into the room. “Easy there, my boys. What’s all the fuss?”

  He picked up Jasper, who blinked big brown eyes, round cheeks shining with tears.

  “I think it’s the strange surroundings,” Elizabeth offered, patting Theo’s and Eli’s backs as they sat up in the crib. Both babies had trembling lower lips and gazed at Brandon accusingly, as if he was somehow to blame for the situation.

  In a way, he supposed he was. But he couldn’t regret having brought them here from the boardinghouse.

  “It probably doesn’t help that they’re all piled on top of each other like a pack of puppies,” Brandon reasoned.

  “When one wakes, they all do,” she agreed. “But they seem to take comfort sleeping next to each other.”

  “I’ll make them their own beds,” he said. “We can line them all up along the wall so they can see each other. Until then, maybe I should take Jasper with me.”

  “He’s the most likely to wake,” she warned him. “And the hardest to get back to sleep.”

  “All the more reason to separate him from the others.” He met the baby’s gaze. “What do you think, little man? Want to come sleep with the pastor?”

  Jasper patted his shoulder. “Papa.”

  Brandon stared at the baby, warmth washing over him. He looked to Elizabeth in awe. “Did you hear that? He called me his father.”

  “And so you are.” Elizabeth rose, smile watery. “I can’t think of anyone more dedicated. Thank you, Brandon. For everything.” She came and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

  Longing rose up inside him, fierce, strong. She and the babies were his to protect, his to provide for.

  His to love?

  Chapter Fifteen

  Over the next few days, Elizabeth and the babies settled into a routine. They were up with the sun, then fed and dressed for the day. Brandon usually fended for himself for breakfast, making coffee and eating some of the baked goods that had been left for him. Then he was out of the house and going about his duties as a pastor, visiting sick or hurting parishioners, meeting with various groups and helping to renovate the children’s home.

  Elizabeth kept the triplets busy while she did chores. After her narrow governess’s quarters in Cambridge and the boardinghouse in Little Horn, it was a delight to have a whole house to live in again. With the kitchen door open, she could let the boys explore the parlor, having removed all the dainty figurines and doilies, while she started something on the stove. Or she could prop the cart up in the yard while she hung the wash. The fully stocked parsonage kitchen made cooking, washing and cleaning so much easier.

  But, she quickly learned, such conveniences came at a price. She had already determined that Brandon’s congregation doted on him. Now she saw that that admiration meant they rarely left him alone.

  Whenever he was at home, men came to seek his advice about some situation. They’d sit with him in his study, the murmur of their deep voices reaching her where she played with the boys in the parlor. They joined him in the yard as he oiled the boys’ cart to fix the squeak and began building their new beds. Seeing their pastor in his shirtsleeves did not seem to trouble the men. Indeed, many pitched in to help, as did Gil Satler, who seemed to be very good with woodworking.

  Women came to request Brandon’s participation in some event and often to include Elizabeth and the triplets in the invitation. They brought food and firewood and lamp oil. They offered to help with the triplets, so Elizabeth often found she had an extra pair of hands or two, usually from Annie, Fannie or the Satler siblings. Each morning, Mr. Arundel delivered the newspaper from Austin. Each afternoon, one of the local farmers left fresh milk or eggs. And one evening she found a full bushel of peaches waiting for her on the kitchen table.

  The Good Samaritans were also in evidence. Who else would leave the little can of kindling on the back stoop every day? Louisa told her that she’d had the same thing happen when she’d been caring for the triplets. And the pile of wood blocks, each one sanded, was growing, to the point where the babies used them to build teetering towers on the rose-colored rug in the parlor.

  Still, she was surprised to hear voices in the hallway the first Thursday when she came inside from the yard. Annie was playing with the boys so Elizabeth could deal with the peaches. Knowing Brandon was out, she went to investigate.

  Mrs. Arundel was just fluffing up her puffy lavender sleeves. Four other women crowded around her.

  “Pastor Stillwater suggested we meet somewhere else for our literary tea,” she informed Elizabeth. “That would be entirely inconvenient.” Without waiting for a response, she swept into the parlor, twill skirts knocking the blocks aside, and took her place on the largest chair while Mrs. Crenshaw, Mrs. Hickey, Mrs. Bachmeier and Mrs. Henley found their places around her and looked expectantly at Elizabeth.

  “Tea?” Mrs. Arundel prompted as Elizabeth hurried to gather up the blocks.

  She was supposed to serve the tea? Who had served them before she’d arrived?

  “Pastor Stillwater must not have told her,” Mrs. Bachmeier murmured to Mrs. Henley.

  She certainly didn’t want to make Brandon look bad. So she hugged the blocks to her chest and hurried to brew some tea. She found them all waiting for her as she carried in a tray with a teapot and the dainty bluebell-painted porcelain cups someone had no doubt donated. She poured and handed the cups around, reserving the most-battered one for herself.

  “We are reading Pride and Prejudice,” Mrs. Arundel informed her, book open on her ample lap. “And we are on page 34. I don’t suppose you have read the book.”

  “Yes, quite some time ago and several times since. I believe Brandon even has a copy.” She went to the shelf and pulled it down, then returned to her seat, prepared to acquit herself admirably. “How are you liking it so far?”

  “I believe this Darcy fellow to be entirely shortsighted,” Mrs. Arundel declared. “He will come to a bad end. You mark my words.”

  “Perhaps he just needs the love of a good woman,” Mrs. Crenshaw put in dreamily.

  “Or to reform a bad one,” Mrs. Hickey said with a look to Elizabeth.

  She refused to acknowledge the comment. “I believe you will find him a different sort of gentleman in the end, one much misunderstood but entirely worthy.”

  Mrs. Crenshaw gasped, hands going to her mouth.

  What had she done now?

  “We are not allowed to read ahead,” Mrs. Hickey scolded her.

  Mrs. Arundel held up a hand. “No harm done. Mrs. Stillwater offered a point worth remembering.”

  Fire flashing in her eyes, Mrs. Hickey seemed far from mollified. She set down her teacup. “I wonder, what did you plan to serve with the tea today, Mrs. Stillwater?”

  All gazes swung eagerly to hers. Elizabeth gave the ladies her best smile but feared it was as chipped as the cup in her hands. “I wasn’t aware I was expected to bake for your meeting.”

  Mrs. Crenshaw offered a commiserating smile, but Mrs. Hickey shook her head, eyes narrowing, and Elizabeth had no doubt the entire town would soon hear of the deficiencies in the pastor’s new wife.

  “Normally, one of us would supply the victuals,” Mrs. Arundel acknowledged. “But now that you are here, that role clearly falls on you. Speak to your husband about your other duties. If he is too busy, I would be happy to instruct you.”

  “No need,” Elizabeth assured her, seething. “I’m certain Brandon and I can come to an understanding about my role. Now, I’ll leave you to your important discussions while I go check on the boys.”

  She made sure that effor
t took sufficiently long that she only had time to say farewell as the ladies were leaving. She could only be glad that Brandon was busy on the children’s home so that she did not see him until dinner. By then she’d had time to cool her temper. She couldn’t help noticing as she prepared the meal, however, that the preserves and baked goods on the shelves were dwindling. Very likely the citizens of Little Horn considered it her duty to bake and can for Brandon now.

  “Is there some book I should read?” she asked him that night. “Some canon that spells out the duties of the minister’s wife in Little Horn?”

  He smiled in obvious sympathy as he handed Jasper a slice of cooked carrot to chew on. He had arranged the three high chairs around the table so that Elizabeth and Brandon could each reach the boys as needed.

  Now that she had a kitchen, she’d all but eliminated the need for hand-feeding. Instead of relying on the canned foods, she could cook things the boys could eat for themselves. Elizabeth made sure to cut the food into tiny cubes for each so they could eat with their fingers, and she kept wooden spoons on hand to entertain them if they finished before she and Brandon did.

  Now she caught Jasper trying to imitate the look on Brandon’s face as her husband said, “I’m sorry, Elizabeth. The members of my congregation have no right to order you about.”

  “They aren’t ordering me exactly, but there are clearly expectations.” She raised her voice over the tapping of Eli’s spoon on the table. “And I’m certainly willing to contribute to the community. Aunt Evangeline managed a far more complicated social calendar while raising me. I can manage, if I know what I have to deal with.”

  He shook his head as he dug into his chicken pot pie. “You focus on the boys. I’ll make sure you aren’t troubled further.”

  Elizabeth frowned. Did he think her so lacking or so fragile? Once, perhaps, back when she’d had servants and wealth to support her. But she’d grown in the last four years, had had to fend for herself and see to Aunt Evangeline’s care. He would find her made of firmer stuff now.

  And so would the rest of Little Horn.