The Rails to Love Romance Collection

by Brandmeyer, Diana Lesire; Cabot, Amanda; Carter, Lisa

  Jeffery felt his temper start to flare and fought to keep it under control.

  She pulled her hands from the soapy water, dried them off as she turned to face him, and wrapped her arms around him.

  The anger dissipated. He wrapped her in his arms and pulled her close, praying he wasn’t being disrespectful to his wife. She rested her face against him, and he wanted to kiss the top of her head but held back.

  “I need this,” she mumbled into his chest. “I haven’t had a hug in so long.”

  Jeffery held her tighter. He could do this. She wanted and needed this physicalcontact. Yes, he could do this, and it felt too good to not want to hug her for the rest of his life.

  She stepped out of his arms. “Promise me to be honest with me always, and we’ll make it.”

  “I promise. I’ll admit it won’t be easy. I’ve been raised to hold my thoughts.”

  “I understand.” She grabbed his hands, stepped back, and searched his eyes. “Why are we in separate bedrooms?”

  Jeffery paled. His eyes widened as round as saucers. “You don’t mean that your parents slept in the same room. Did they?”

  Tilda giggled, in part to hide her shock that his parents didn’t but in part to lighten the tension she sensed in him. “Yes, they did, and they shared one bed.”

  “Ah, well, ah… I think I better get ready for bed.” His neck reddened. “I mean.” He closed his eyes. “Tilda.” He opened his eyes and focused on her again. “I want us to get to know one another more before…”

  “I know. And I do not want to shock you, but I can see that our upbringings will shock one another for a while. I look forward to getting to know you, Jeffery.”

  He relaxed. “As do I, my sweet.”

  “Sweet, huh?” She reached up and touched his cheek now thoroughly red with embarrassment. “I like that.”

  He took her fingers from his face and kissed them. “Then I bid you adieu. I shall try to be home by five tomorrow. Good night, and Tilda, I look forward to getting to know you.”

  He stepped away and exited the kitchen as if the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels.

  “Jeffery,” she called out to him. “Read the Song of Solomon. My mother said it was a great book of poetry and explained married love very well.”

  He nodded and headed out of the room. She could hear his footfalls on the steps. She turned back to the sink and plunged her hands back into the warm soapy water. She thought back on her day. On her anger this morning and packing her bags, to the conversation she had with Jeffery before his parents came to dinner, the dinner, and most importantly, the moments they shared with each other in the kitchen. She was exhausted. Her emotions had run the full spectrum. Yet she was excited about the future. They seemed to connect with one another. Could this marriage really work?

  The possibility played on her mind as she finished her chores, washed, and dressed for bed. A smile curled up her cheek remembering the horror on Jeffery’s face when he learned that her parents actually shared a room and bed together. Then the smile slipped. Would he ever be able to open up and be free with her, or would his upbringing prevent them from having a future?

  The next morning she found a note on the table informing her that he had hired Mercy to help around the house and any other tasks that Tilda needed help with. He signed it “affectionately, your husband.” Tilda smiled.

  “Good morning, Miss Oliver. How can I help you this morning?” Mercy said as she dropped a tray of fresh-cut flowers on the table.

  “Good morning, Mercy. Please, call me Tilda.”

  “No, ma’am, it ain’t right. I calls you miss as a form of affection rather than Mrs., but I can’t use your first name.”

  Tilda puckered her lips. “All right, I understand. Miss it is then.”

  Mercy’s brown eyes sparkled. “Thank you, miss.”

  “The first thing we need to do is stock this kitchen. Let’s make a list, and I’ll speak with my husband about the budget to fill the cupboards.”

  “I’d be happy to. Every good kitchen needs its herbs.”

  “Amen to that,” Tilda said. She pulled out a pad of paper and a pencil. “Let’s get started.”

  They worked until noon going over all the details of the kitchen, taking stock of what Jeffery had purchased and what he hadn’t. Amazingly, the cookware and dishes were fairly well planned and stocked.

  “Mercy, I need a dozen eggs and some cake flour. Where is the best place to get them? Oh, wait. Mr. Oliver said he opened an account at—what was the name?” Tilda nibbled her upper lip up under her teeth.

  “Maciel’s?” Mercy asked.

  “Yes, that’s it. Maciel’s Fresh Foods.”

  “They’ll have the eggs, but the cake flour you will find at Barnes Grain Market. They have all the grains you want to cook with. You can have them milled there, as well. Of course, you might ask at the bakery where they get their cake flour.”

  Tilda nodded. “Shall we go shopping at Maciel’s?”

  “What about your laundry? I really should get started on that.”

  “Oh. You’re right. Tell me how to get to Maciel’s.”

  Mercy did, and Tilda ventured out toward the business section of the city. From the way Jeffery had eaten the banana pudding last night, she knew he had a sweet tooth. Personally, I would love a good angel food cake. But that required eleven egg whites… And I could use most of the yolks to make more puddings for Jeffery!

  Tilda spent the next couple of hours going in and out of shops. Fortunately, Maciel’s provided a delivery service, saving her the trouble of carrying around the purchased items. She stepped into a small shop near the river’s edge where a fine variety of trinkets and other items were available for sale. Tilda fingered the quilts, her thoughts focused more on the various skills she could put to work. A middle-aged woman with graying hair and an unusually wide hip span came up beside her. “How may I help you?” she asked.

  “I’m just browsing. I’m new to Savannah.”

  “Oh! What brought you to our fine city?” she asked in her rich southern accent.

  How does one answer that? I’m a mail-order bride? “I recently married, and this is my husband’s hometown.”

  “Congratulations! Who is your husband? Perhaps I know him.”

  “Jeffery Oliver.”

  “I know of the family, but I’ve never met the son.” The woman smiled. “In either case, it is a pleasure to have you in Savannah. I trust you will find it suitable.”

  “I love history, and there is so much here to explore.”

  “My name is Mrs. James,” she offered, her hand extended, “and there is plenty of history here. From the American Revolution, and before there were pirates who made their homes here. The Savannah River has helped make our city prosperous. Not to mention Sherman didn’t burn our city down, thanks to some creative thinking by our townsfolk atthe time. The War of Aggression was a bad time, but we’re recovering. Did you know the first steam-powered boat to cross the Atlantic left from Savannah?”

  “I didn’t know that.” She smiled, appreciative of the woman’s friendliness. “My name is Tilda Gr—I mean Oliver.”

  “Does take some getting used to, doesn’t it?” Tilda nodded as Mrs. James continued on. “The S.S. Savannah left here in 1818. She was both sail and steam ship. She sank in 1821 off the coast of Long Island. But she was from here and made history from here.”

  Tilda looked to the wall clock. If she was going to get the angel food cake done in time for dessert, she would need to get started. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. James.”

  “Ya’ll come back and see me sometime. I also love history and can tell you a tale or two.” Mrs. James winked.

  “Thank you. I might just do that.” Tilda hurried back to the house, all in a sweat as she rushed through the humid air. She made a mental note: Plan more time and a slower pace for errands, or else plan time to bathe after each trip.

  Chapter Five

  Jeffery glanc
ed at the clock. It was already past five. He penned a note. “Max, would you hire someone to run this over to my wife?”

  Max took the proffered paper. “I’d be happy to. Do you mind if I do it? I have some guests coming to the house this evening and, well…”

  Jeffery waved him off. “Fine.”

  Max grinned. “Thank you. I’ll drop this off for your wife before I go home.”

  Jeffery turned back to the paperwork in front of him. He’d been working all afternoon on his analysis of the figures and reports concerning California Assets. Everyone in the market seemed to be jumping on board with this company’s expansions, and several of his clients wanted to support the business. But Jeffery had reservations. Huge reservations—the kind that sent knots in your intestines—but he couldn’t put his finger on any particular problem. The facts and figures seemed to indicate the company was poised for rapid growth. Investors could expect to double or triple their money in six months. But… Jeffery pushed his chair back and started to pace. “Why don’t I have peace about it?” he mumbled.

  The company wanted to expand out their California holdings. It even made sense. Still…

  Again, he felt the check in his spirit.

  Jeffery groaned. Then his stomach groaned in protest. He hadn’t eaten lunch. He hadn’t really eaten breakfast. His mind drifted to the meal Tilda had prepared for him. He put the papers together and slipped them in his case. He could work on this at home with a full belly rather than remain here producing nothing.

  Ten minutes later he was walking up his street toward his house. Jeffery smiled. He’d purchased the house with all its contents from the widow Hoffman. She had moved in with her daughter and family because she was unable to stay by herself, not to mention she could no longer handle the stairs.

  The first couple of weeks following the sale, Mrs. Hoffman and her daughter had come by daily, removing family mementos. A few items still remained in the attic and carriage house, but the house furnishings were all his now. The gardens need work, he thought. I wonder if Tilda likes gardening or if I should hire a gardener?

  Even as his thoughts shifted to the amazing creature who just so happened to be his wife, she appeared on the back steps, carrying a hot pan. “Hello, Mrs. Oliver,” he called out.

  Tilda jumped.

  “Jeffery, what are you doing here? I received your note.” Her cheeks turned a brilliant shade of crimson.

  “I was frustrated with this current project and thought I might as well be frustrated at home with a full belly than at the office with an empty one.”

  Tilda giggled. “Ah, so your tummy has a stronger will than your mind.”

  Jeffery grinned and shrugged. “Possibly. If whatever you’re making tonight is as good as last night, I’d say my ‘tummy,’ as you put it, has an astute mind of its own.”

  Tilda nearly doubled over in laughter. “Come on in, Husband. I have a surprise for you. It is for dessert, however. I have not started our dinner.” She wiped her hands on a towel. “Actually, that isn’t quite true. I have made a potato salad to go with corn on the cob and beef patties called podovies.”

  “I don’t believe I’ve had podovies before. Are they similar to lamb or veal patties?”

  “Yes. Just different spices.” Tilda went to the counter. It was cleaner than last night after making pasta, but he could tell she’d been baking.

  “What did you set outside to cool?”

  “A raspberry sauce.” She turned and winked at him. “For dessert. So tell me, what wasn’t going well at work?”

  He clenched his jaw. A part of him wanted to open up and tell his wife about his day but… “Several clients want to invest in a company poised for expansion, and well, I don’t believe it is a wise investment at this time.” He lifted his case and tapped it. “On paper it appears to have the right balance of assets and liabilities planned out, but…”

  “It doesn’t sit well with you?” she asked.

  “Yeah, but I can’t tell my clients that. I have to have a logical reason for my concern, and I can’t find one, at least not yet. And I’ll admit, the idea of enjoying a meal with you after eating hardly anything all day sounded a lot better than sitting at the office accomplishing nothing.”

  Tilda smiled. “Then I shall have your dinner ready in fifteen, twenty minutes at the most. Go ahead into the study and lay out your paperwork. I’ll bring you some southern sweet tea.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. And Jeffery, I’m glad you’re home.”

  “It is good to be home.” He squelched the desire to give her a hug and headed to his office. He could hear her working in the kitchen and fought the desire to turn around and watch her work as he had last night. There was something in the way she moved that captivated his attention. She was a marvel to him. His mother had never worked in the kitchen, content to organize social engagements and fundraisers to occupy her time, while the servants did all the cooking and cleaning. His father had always worked for banks, so running figures seemed to be a trait he’d inherited from his father and grandfather. Each man had done well for his family. Jeffery was the first to branch out and own his own company. His parents and grandparents were proud of him and his accomplishments. Truth be told, however, he knew his grandfather wanted him to enjoy life more.

  Jeffery laid the paperwork out on the desk.

  Tilda came in with a tall glass of iced tea.

  “Thank you.” He took the glass from her and sipped the sweet drink. Perfect, just the way I like it, he thought, realizing the surprise showed on his face. “How’d you know?”

  “Your mother mentioned it in passing last night, so I asked Mercy how to make it.”

  “It’s perfect.” He smiled. Like you, he wanted to add but refrained. It wouldn’t be proper.

  “How long have you lived here?” she asked.

  “Not long, why do you ask?”

  Tilda shrugged. “Curious, is all.” She turned to head back to the kitchen then faced him again. “Actually, it is more than curious. Who set up the kitchen? It has nearly every tool and pan a woman would want. There are a few minor things but—”

  He held up his hand. “I purchased the house from Widow Hoffman. She could no longer handle the stairs. The attic still has some of their family items, as well as the carriage house, but everything left in the house is ours.”

  Tilda smiled. “I would like to have known Mrs. Hoffman. She and I seem to share a lot of the same tastes.”

  Jeffery relaxed. “So you like the house?”

  “Yes. I would like to make one change.” She blushed.

  Did he dare ask? “What?”

  “When we are… fully married, I would like for us to share one room.”

  Jeffery could feel his eyes widen. He had read the Song of Solomon last night. He couldn’t understand how he’d never understood the imagery in its poetry before, but now he couldn’t help but see it. “I shall consider it.”

  “Thank you.” Tilda scurried off to the kitchen. Jeffery’s feet felt as if they’d been nailed to the floor. He liked his wife—more than liked her, he was beginning to realize—but could he get used to her ideas of married life?

  Tilda knew she was pushing her husband into uncomfortable territory. But if they were ever going to have a true marriage, one she’d be happy to stay in, both would need to make some changes.

  She finished preparing dinner and served it in the dining room. As the night before, Jeffery came and sat at the head of the table. Tilda set her plate, silverware, and glass to the right of her husband—his mother’s place at dinner—and sat down. This was their first time to sit down and eat with one another alone.

  She fiddled with the linen napkin in her lap.

  “Shall we pray?”

  Tilda nodded.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I…” She cleared her throat. “I don’t want to be a pest about how I was raised and how you were raised, but in my house we held hands when w
e asked the blessing over our dinner.”

  “Isn’t that disrespectful?” Jeffery straightened his shoulders. “I mean, praying is an act of being holy and righteous.”

  “I understand.” Tilda swallowed a sudden rush of tears, angry with herself at being so sentimental. She knew many families who didn’t hold hands when they prayed. “I’m sorry.”

  Jeffery reached over and took her hand. “Tilda.” He waited until she glanced up at him. He continued. “I know you’re missing your father and mother, and I am willing topray holding your hand on occasion. Perhaps in time I will grow more comfortable with such intimacy during an act of holiness. But for now I shall hold your hand because you would like me to.”

  “Thank you. And I know there are things I will need to change from how they were done in my childhood home. And I, too, am willing.”

  “Good. Then let us proceed.” Jeffery bowed his head. “Father, thank You for this meal, and lead us not into temptation, but help us create a marriage that honors You. In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.”

  “Amen,” Tilda said. He released her hand, and the relative cool of the evening swept across her fingers. She liked his touch. The realization struck how far different it felt from her mother’s or father’s, even though it calmed and comforted her in a similar fashion.

  He picked up his fork and cut into his beef patty. “This smells wonderful. It was difficult concentrating on the figures smelling these delightful aromas coming from the kitchen.”

  “I hope you like it. I do love cooking.”

  “I can tell. I’m sorry I waited so long to figure that out. And I apologize again for not coming home on time last week.” He bit down on his first forkful of the beef patty. Tilda held her breath in anticipation. A gentle smile spread across his face. “Yum. This is excellent.”

  “You’re welcome. We need to discuss what you like and don’t like with regard to food. I would prefer to plan meals I know you would like.”

  “Truthfully, I haven’t met a dish I haven’t liked.” He paused. “I take that back. I do not like dried fish. The taste is just too fishy for me. Otherwise, I believe I like all other foods.” He took a forkful of the potato salad.