“Well, as she said, you wouldn’t have known.” Eliza took a sip of her tea and relaxed. No reason to fret over Jedidiah Langston not liking her—Axel’s mother did. If Jedidiah could treat his wife so poorly, he wasn’t worth impressing.
Mrs. Langston returned and plopped down in her chair. “I’m sorry I rushed off. I’m out of practice hosting.” The tea sloshed as she set her glass on the end table. “We should talk more about you, not me.”
“Before you do,” William said, scooting to the edge of his chair, “is something wrong with your hands?”
Mrs. Langston clasped her hands tightly in her lap, stuffing them in the folds of her dress. “It’s nothing.”
“They seem to trouble you. Numbness? A sensation you’re trying to rub away?”
Eliza blinked at William. He’d figured that out in the few minutes they’d been there?
“Too much sewing, I suppose. That’s why the seamstress is unhappy with my work. She only wants expensive dresses, perfectly stitched.” She briskly rubbed her hands together. “Nothing seems to help, but I’m all right. I deserve worse for my sins.”
Worse than being abandoned by her husband and made to work when her hands wouldn’t cooperate? Eliza scooted forward in her chair. “Now, Mrs. Langston—”
“Call me Fannie.”
Eliza smiled. “Fannie. Maybe William can help.”
Fannie tucked her hands behind her back. “No more fussing over me. Tell me about you.”
William seemed content to drop the subject and fiddle with his ring.
She cleared her throat, but he said nothing more. “Well, I haven’t much to tell that I didn’t relate to Axel in my letters. My father died and left the store to my brother instead of me, and Zachary doesn’t want my bossy self telling him how to run things, though he never paid attention to the store before.” She rubbed her forehead, trying to contain the headache that always came from stewing over the unfairness and ignorance of her brother.
“Surely some man back home would’ve wanted your help.” Fannie reached over and put a hand on her arm. “Not that I’m sorry you came.”
She wrung her hands in her lap. “A man courted me while my father was sick, but he only wanted access to my father’s information—contacts, suppliers and . . . bank account. To my shame, his sweet talk enchanted me for a while.” She thumped the armrest. “No one should use a person like that.”
Did Fannie actually shrink into her chair and blanch?
“Sorry, just the thought of the man infuriates me.”
“Rightly so,” William muttered.
She startled. She’d nearly forgotten he was there. “Anyway, I figured someone out west might be open to my help, my experience, so I advertised, and your son answered.” She smiled at the memory of his first letter. Perhaps the robbery and the turmoil of his absence had jumbled her emotions too much to remember how pleasant he’d been in his letters and very interested he was in her help. “I figured we’d fit.”
A man who sacrificed for his mother and believed in a woman he’d never met? Axel couldn’t be too upset she’d be a penniless bride. She’d almost run away for nothing.
Will sighed at the sight of his parents’ homestead and slowed the borrowed horse and buggy. Eliza had whistled for nearly the entire two-hour ride.
She’d been humming, whistling, or singing to herself practically nonstop since they’d visited Mrs. Langston, making it pert near impossible to concentrate on whatever firearm he was supposed to be fixing. Her melancholy of the previous few days had disappeared. Now she was determined to unpack every box and arrange every last bit of inventory, pestering him to rearrange things so they were more “accessible” and “convenient.”
And ever since she’d asked him to describe Axel in detail, she’d been eagerly inspecting each customer the second they walked through the door.
He’d been looking forward to visiting his family after church so he might have a break from his seemingly constant need to keep tabs on Eliza, but his mother’s invitation for her to join them for Sunday dinner had wrecked his plans.
As they approached his parents’ house, Will’s brothers rushed up from nowhere and jumped into the wagon bed. Ambrose’s skinny body scrambled up behind him and he pointed. “Ma says to park on the other side of the barn. She’s putting the table outside.”
“Hey there, lady.” Thirteen-year-old John leaned over Eliza and reached for the basket at her side. “Whatcha got in there?”
Eliza snatched the basket away. “Does liver and onions sound good to you?”
John wrinkled his nose, but Ambrose’s curly head turned, tickling Will’s ears. “That don’t smell like no liver and onions to me. I smell sugar.”
Will laughed. “You can’t fool them. They’re sugar hounds.”
Eliza gave John the eye. “Maybe I season my liver with sugar.”
John reached for the green-checked cloth covering the basket, but Will pulled his horse up short beside the barn, and his brother chose to save himself from flipping over the seat instead.
John was a bit too friendly at times. Will beckoned for him to take the reins. “Why don’t you take care of the horse.”
“You oughta take care of him, don’t you think? I can escort the lady in.”
Will glared at his brother’s mischievous grin. “Because you want to steal the goodies.”
John flashed Eliza a smile. “I’ll be back.”
Will leaned over to whisper in her ear. “Run.”
She chuckled, her eyes dancing. Intoxicating. What wouldn’t a man do to keep this woman laughing? She transformed into a beauty with the slightest hint of merriment—scar notwithstanding.
“Admit it, William. You want Irena’s tarts for yourself.”
“Exactly.” He gave her a warm smile.
Maybe too warm, since she quickly schooled her playful look.
“Are you going to help me down, or do I have to employ this strapping young man to assist?” She squeezed Ambrose’s bicep. “What’s your name again?”
“Ambrose, ma’am.” He flexed his muscle.
“Don’t even think about it.” Will dropped the reins and hopped down. He caught John in a headlock, roughed up his hair, and playfully pushed him aside. He walked to Eliza’s side of the wagon. “Hand me the basket.”
“Not on your life.” She scrambled down without putting a hand out for assistance, as if she truly feared for the tarts.
He put his hands at her waist to help her down anyway.
A mistake. He wanted to wrap his arms farther around to feel the rest of her.
The second she hit the dirt, he let go and shoved his hands into his pockets. They felt as near to on fire as hands could without being engulfed in flame. If there’d been a water trough nearby, he’d have thrust them in. “Don’t worry. I won’t touch your basket until it’s fair game.”
And he’d try not to touch her ever again, because she’d never be fair game.
She looked at him with a cocked eyebrow. “I don’t trust you.”
For good reason. Will stepped back. “John, why don’t you take Miss Cantrell to the house? You’re small enough for her to pummel if you get too friendly with the tarts.”
“Mmmmm.” John licked his lips. “What kind?”
Eliza glanced over her shoulder as John escorted her toward the house.
If Axel knew the thoughts that had popped into Will’s mind while helping down his fiancée, he’d not be obeying his doctor’s order to rest—Axel would be racing home to take his friend out behind the barn for a good pounding.
Chapter 8
Near the tables the Stantons had set outside, Eliza spotted a woman she’d never seen before setting out plates. Eliza’s hand unconsciously covered her fresh pink scar. Even without facial flaws, she had never looked a fraction as beautiful as that dark-headed woman.
John jabbed her in the side. “She’s pretty, ain’t she?”
Eliza blinked. How long had she been staring? She
nudged John. “Are you going to introduce us, young man?”
“Right.” He walked her closer and threw out his chest as if announcing royalty. “This is our neighbor, Mrs. Cline.”
The woman held out a hand. “Call me Julia.”
Eliza smiled. “Julia it is, then.”
Was this the mail-order bride who’d married the man Kathleen jilted? A woman this beautiful should have had her pick of men back east. She didn’t look as old as William’s parents or the Hampdens, only midtwenties maybe.
Eliza tried not to let the woman’s dazzling smile intimidate her. “I’m Eliza Cantrell.”
John rocked up on his toes. “She came from the East—just like you did—to marry Axel.”
Heat crept into Eliza’s face at his jumbled wording. “Somehow I don’t believe, if you came here intending to marry Axel, he’d choose me over you.”
Julia’s laugh lilted like a bird’s song at the beginning of spring. “No, not Axel.” She gestured to the table. “Why don’t you put down your basket.”
John gave the tarts a longing look, but when his father called him, he left immediately.
“Eliza!” William’s mother barreled out of the house.
The unexpected motherly arms around her felt good . . . and sad. Twelve years next month since her mother had abandoned her family to pursue theater. Had she been hugged once in those twelve years? Eliza squeezed her hot eyelids shut lest she embarrass herself over a simple gesture. Her father had loved her, but he’d never been a man to show affection, and her brother had been more concerned with proving himself superior.
When Rachel didn’t let go, Eliza let out the breath she’d been holding and returned the squeeze.
That seemed to satisfy her. Rachel pushed her to arms’ length and looked her over. “Glad you came.”
“Thank you for the invitation.” Did the dear woman notice the sheen in her eyes?
Julia laid a gentle hand on Eliza’s arm and tipped her head toward a blond-headed man carrying a dark-haired boy with grass-stained knees. “This is who I came to town for. My husband, Everett Cline, and our son, Matthew. He’s two. Everett, this is Miss Cantrell.”
Everett was older and definitely more handsome than Carl, in an earthy, rugged way. He leaned down to give Julia a quick peck on the cheek before handing Matthew to her. “Pleased to meet you.”
Dex called for everyone to come to the table, and Julia took Everett’s hand and flashed Eliza a parting smile.
William walked over. “Ready to eat?” He held out his hand.
And for a split second, she imagined intertwining her fingers with his as Julia had done with Everett’s.
William dropped his hand and frowned before turning away from her. “Why don’t you follow me?” he called over his shoulder.
Was he angry she’d hesitated to take his arm? He should be. So very rude of her. If he could have read her thoughts though . . . if Axel could have read her thoughts . . .
William pointed to an empty chair. “They thought you’d want to sit between me and Julia.” He rushed over to help Nettie get up on the bench with her sisters.
Everett pulled out Eliza’s seat, then sat on his wife’s other side. “I hear you’re marrying Axel.”
“Yes, whenever he gets here.” She pulled her gaze off William and lowered her voice. “Though the wait’s quite nerve-racking. How did you handle meeting each other for the first time without fainting?”
Both Julia and Everett’s faces contorted in silent amusement . . . or maybe embarrassment?
Dex stood and clinked his glass with a spoon. “Let’s pray.”
Everyone at the table bowed their heads. Even Matthew, though he didn’t stop talking, but rather whispered quite loudly, “Leg hurt. Bad.”
Julia gave his knee a quick peck.
“Lord, thank you for good friends, your provision, and the beautiful weather you provided so Rachel didn’t natter my ears off all day stressing over dark clouds and wind. Keep the kiddos glued to their chairs. Bless our conversation. Don’t let me embarrass the newcomer so badly I receive a lecture tonight.”
Rachel snorted.
“Amen.” Eliza chimed in with the rest of them.
Everyone began passing around food, the adults fixing plates for the children. Julia handed her a bowl of potatoes.
“So, concerning your question about not fainting at your first meeting, have you written to Axel?”
“Oh yes, many times.”
“Everett and I hadn’t even written. In fact, he didn’t know I was coming.” She sent a furtive glance toward William’s mother. “Rachel played matchmaker.”
“So this mail-order-bride thing isn’t a completely stupid thing to do?” She took a glance at William’s mother. “My friend Ruth insisted I’d lost my mind when I told her why I was coming out here.” And maybe she had, considering she’d resolved to marry a man in order to run a store.
Julia cringed. “I’m not saying marrying a stranger is the wisest thing to do.”
Everett’s face showed up behind his wife’s back. “What she means is, I was very stupid.”
“When you’re stuck together, however, you’re forced to make things work.” Julia’s smile lit her soft brown eyes.
Everett shrugged as he dished some green beans onto two plates. “Or you don’t. Marriages don’t always turn out—even for people in love. A young friend of mine’s wife left after a few months, with no warning, and another mail-order bride near here was abused.”
Great. If only Ruth were here to add the horror stories she’d heard. But Axel wouldn’t be a horror story—no man who cared for his mother could be evil. Eliza took a platter of sausage and onions and spooned herself a small helping. “I was hoping for a little more reassurance.”
Julia squeezed her shoulder. “If two people are committed and have the Lord on their side, you aren’t doomed. Have you talked to Axel about your commitment to God? What you want from life? Why you’re marrying? If I’d advise anything, it’d be to talk about everything before you say ‘I do.’ If you have a secret, eventually the person you marry will find out.” Julia cast a glance at her husband, who gave her a sad smile.
What deep dark secret had this beautiful woman attempted to keep?
Julia kissed the top of her son’s head. “So the sooner the better.”
She had no secrets. Nor anything enticing to a man other than her experience running a store. Hopefully that would be enough. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”
“Then you’ll be fine.”
Unless, of course, Axel was hiding something. No, she needed to stop letting her mind go back to thinking the worst of him just because no one talked him up. He was laid up from an accident because he was helping his mother—he was a good man.
The conversation picked up around her, and she tried to concentrate on eating. Axel’s mother and his letter had explained his whereabouts, but her heart still wasn’t at ease. Maybe because William seemed so edgy. But why? She’d asked him if he thought her marrying Axel was a bad idea, and he’d said nothing terribly contrary. Though the drinking bit had her concerned.
The surrounding prairie grasses and the lowing of cows made the dirt yard possibly the prettiest dining area she’d ever eaten in. Smiles, laughter, and good-natured teasing swirled about her. Would she be able to manufacture this for her own children, since she’d not known such warmth? Could Axel? It seemed he hadn’t experienced a very loving family either.
On the other side of the table, William finished making a plate for his littlest sister. He pressed her nose with his index finger, and she scrunched her face but clearly enjoyed the attention.
Eliza’s stomach twinged. Would she be in Kansas hoping a man who didn’t love her would fulfill her vocational dreams and stay faithful if her mother hadn’t run and her father had been as affectionate as the Stantons?
A chill wrapped around her despite the unobstructed sunshine.
“Are you cold?” William stood beside her
, gripping the back of his chair. “I could get you one of Mother’s shawls.”
“No, I’m all right.” She shook her head and sat up straighter. “Didn’t Mrs. Langston say her hands felt cold all the time? Do you have any idea what is wrong with her?”
He sat and took the bowl of corn Ambrose passed him. “Unfortunately, I don’t. All I can do is search my medical books and hope to run across a remedy. She’s better off visiting Dr. Forsythe.”
Rachel’s head perked up on the other side of Ambrose. “What’s wrong with Mrs. Langston?”
“I don’t know.” William tore off a hunk of bread and stuffed it into his mouth. “She didn’t ask me for help, so I’m not going to push myself on her.”
“Why do you always give up so easily?” Eliza eyed him. “If something needs doing, or a goal is worthy, you should pursue it with your whole heart.”
“Sometimes no matter how hard you work for something, the dream hops in a wagon and leaves you behind.”
She bit her lip. He probably meant Nancy Graves. “Maybe a dream’s particulars need to be abandoned, but not the dream itself. Change the plan. Readjust your expectations. Take your doctoring for instance . . .”
The table grew quiet, and even little Matthew quit his monologue, though the tapping of silverware grew louder. Perhaps a close-knit family was not as free with criticism as hers had been.
“What about my doctoring?”
She glanced around the table. Besides the girls chattering away, everyone’s face was blank. Perhaps she needed to extricate herself.
But at the same time . . . “I don’t understand why you don’t practice medicine freely now. People want your help, and evidently, you’ve done a lot of good. Why not do the best you can—throw everything you have into your calling—despite not having a degree? Why not return to Dr. Forsythe and resume your apprenticeship rather than think yourself incapable?”
Ambrose coughed on something he must have swallowed wrong. John slapped him hard on the back while William kept his gaze on his plate.
“Maybe doctoring isn’t what I’m supposed to do right now.” He stood and took the empty pitcher from the table. “I’m getting more lemonade.”
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