“Asking for it?” George shrugged, not quite understanding. “Asking for what?”
The mayor gestured to Sarah Jo. “Asking for it, that’s all.” He turned and walked away, chuckling all the while.
George pondered the mayor’s statement for a moment. Was it possible Peter was secretly enamored with Sarah Jo? Had he cleaned himself up to seal the deal? Though it seemed preposterous at first glance, stranger things had happened, especially lately.
And speaking of stranger things... George shifted his attention to Reverend Billingsley, who stood on the boardwalk, deeply engaged in conversation with Marta Schuller. The look of pure joy on the reverend’s face spoke volumes. In fact, George couldn’t ever remember seeing the man so content.
For whatever reason, seeing the two of them together made George feel a little wistful. Not sad, really. But every day, with each new match, he secretly longed for the one thing he insisted he did not need. A wife. Yes, he could argue the point all day with Belinda, but in the end he had to admit the truth, if to no one but himself.
He needed—and wanted—a wife. Someone to greet him at the end of each tiring day. Someone to laugh with, to share stories with. Someone he could bring flowers to and perhaps even write a poem for. Someone who would understand his dry sense of humor and not laugh at his wardrobe choices. In short, someone who would love him just the way he was. Day in and day out. Year after year.
The more George thought about this possibility, the more real it became. Perhaps Belinda had been right all along. Maybe he shouldn’t have given up on the idea of bringing in a bride from out of state. Yes, perhaps he’d jumped the gun in saying she should stop looking. Look how well it had worked for the others. Prissy and Charlie were happy as larks. And George didn’t know when he’d ever seen Bucky Williams more at peace. Samuel Bromstead and the widow Hanson had been seen taking a stroll through town earlier in the day, hand in hand. Why, even the reverend and Marta appeared to be matched. And Corabelle and James? Much as George hated to admit it, they were perfect for each other.
He dropped down onto the bench, watching as Reverend Billingsley and Marta rounded the corner together, with the reverend’s hand on Marta’s back. What would it be like to have a woman reach for your hand? To slide your arm around a woman’s waist and escort her through town? What would it feel like to have someone greet you at the door every evening and kiss you good-bye in the morning?
For some reason, every time he thought about any of those things, the only hand he could envision in his own was Belinda’s. The thought of this so startled him that he couldn’t think straight for a moment. Was it possible he’d really fallen for her and not known it?
George quickly reached for his broom then headed inside, trying to act as if everything was normal. On the inside, however, he wondered if he would ever feel normal again.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
In the weeks following Peter’s physical transformation, George wrestled with his aching heart. Oh, how he longed to deny the obvious, but he could not. By the end of the second week, after several restless nights, he came to a conclusion that should have been clear from the beginning. He didn’t need a mail-order bride. Never had. Never would. He needed—and wanted—Belinda Bauer. Wanted her kiss first thing in the morning. Wanted her smile to greet him after a long day’s work. Wanted to hear her laugh at his jokes and reach for his hand as they walked down Main Street. He suddenly wanted the one thing he’d never even known he wanted...until now.
This revelation both terrified and thrilled him. Now if only he could manage to convey his thoughts in a way that would not terrify her, then all would be well.
Bright and early on a Thursday morning, George worked up the courage to visit Belinda at Poetic Notions. All night long he’d wrestled with the sheets. Every time he thought about sharing his feelings with Belinda, he felt ill. Nerves, most likely. As a result of his wrestling, George had awakened feeling stiff and sore, but still very much enamored with Belinda Bauer. And now that this fact was clear in his mind, he had to know if she felt the same.
George took a few steps inside Poetic Notions and found it full of customers. So much for a private conversation.
Belinda looked up from the register and waved. “G’morning, George!”
“Good morning to you, too.” He flashed a smile then headed her way.
“What can I do for you on this fine day?” she asked. “Need razor straps?”
“No, I, um...”
“Shaving mugs? A new batch just arrived.” She reached into the glass case under the register and pulled out one in a style he’d never seen.
“Sure. I’ll take four of those.”
The corners of her lips curled into a smile. “I thought you might like them. I was thinking of you when I ordered them from the catalog.”
Somehow knowing she’d been thinking of him made his heart want to sing. “So, how do you feel about the new opera house?” he asked, making small talk. “Seems a lot of townsfolk like the idea.”
“And why not?” she queried. “Poetry is becoming quite the place to be! Why not an opera house?”
“I only hope Sarah Jo doesn’t try to dress me in tights and put me up on the stage.”
Belinda giggled. “Surely she won’t humiliate you with the costume, but you do have a nice singing voice.” She paused and gazed directly into his eyes. “I remember that from our school days. So don’t be surprised if she calls on you to participate. I do hope you’ll join in the festivities.”
He shook his head. “I don’t think I’m quite ready for that, thanks all the same. But from the sound of things, they’re going to start building right away. That’s progress for you.”
“I daresay.”
He paused, trying to think of something else to say. Anything to spend a little more time with her would suffice. “So who are you matching up today?” George asked, hoping to ease his way into the conversation.
Her face lit into a smile as she leaned in to whisper, “Doc Klein was in a while back, looking for a bride. I believe I’ve found the perfect person for him. Listen to this.” Belinda read an advertisement from a woman named Rebecca Morgan, a nurse from Virginia.
“Interesting,” George said.
“Yes, I sent off the letter in today’s mail. Hopefully she will be agreeable.”
“Sounds too good to be true,” George said. “A nurse? For Doc Klein?”
“Yes, have I not explained my scientific formula to you? I try to find women with similar likes and dislikes. That way, the happy couple will be suited to each other. Doc Klein and Rebecca Morgan will make a lovely match.”
“Perhaps too lovely,” George said. “Have you not already figured out that pairing up folks who have too much in common may not be a good thing? Haven’t you learned from Myles and Marta?”
“Hmm.” She thought about that for a moment. “I don’t know. As you know, I’ve always believed that matching people was scientific. The doctor gets his nurse. The preacher gets his piano player.”
“Oh, but he didn’t.”
“True. But that was a fluke.” She paused and then groaned. “Oh, all right. I’ll admit, my plans are riddled with flaws, but I have the strongest sense that Rebecca is supposed to come to Poetry. Call me crazy, but—”
He flashed a smile as he interrupted. “Belinda, I would never call you crazy. Impulsive, maybe, but not crazy. Your ideas are a bit far-fetched, but they appear to be working to everyone’s advantage. Our fair town is filled with happy-go-lucky couples, and we have you to thank for that.”
“Thank you.” She leaned in to whisper, “Have you heard about Prissy and Charlie?”
“That they eloped?” George nodded. “Heard all about it at the barbershop. They ran off to Dallas and found a justice of the peace. Who would have thought such an unlikely thing possible?”
“Me!” Belinda grinned. “Deep in my heart, I knew.”
He paused a moment, contemplating her words. Perhaps this would be
the perfect opportunity to shift the conversation. “So, who else are you matching up these days?”
“Mr. Ogilvie.”
“The butcher?” He could hardly believe it! “Why, I didn’t know John Ogilvie was looking for a wife. He’s always been sort of a loner, hasn’t he?”
“I think his mother convinced him to do this. He still lives with her, you know. I get the feeling he’s a bit of a mama’s boy.” Belinda quirked a brow, letting him know her opinion on that matter.
“Ah yes.” George cleared his throat, realizing for the first time how it sounded for a man in his late twenties to still live at home with his parents. He wondered if Belinda thought of him as a mama’s boy. “Who have you paired John Ogilvie with?” George asked, more than a little curious.
“A woman named Cassie from Charleston. She’s a seamstress. I thought it would be nice because they both have a trade. Do you see now what I mean about having common interests?”
“Yes, though I’m not completely sure I agree with the theory, in general. If a man and a woman have too much in common, they might be bored with each other. A little variety is nice.” Take the two of us, for example. We are different in nearly every respect.
Belinda squinted her eyes and appeared to be deep in thought. “Perhaps you’re right. Still, I feel they will be a good match. Cassie made it clear in her advertisement that she hopes to go on working after her wedding, and John told me he would be happy with a wife who works.”
“I suppose that’s all that matters,” George said with a nod. “Making sure both the men and the women end up happily paired.” He drew in a deep breath, trying to work up the courage to change the subject.
“Oh, they will be happy, I can assure you. And it looks as if I’ve located a match for just about everyone,” Belinda said, clearly oblivious to his thoughts. “Oh, speaking of matches, I want to talk with you about something personal.” She gave him a wink, which sent his heart in a hundred different directions at once. Then she leaned in and whispered, “Something I think you’re really going to like.”
“Oh? That’s ironic.” He reached out and took her hand, and she looked at him, confusion registering in her eyes. “I want to talk to you about something personal, too. Something I’m hoping you’re going to like.”
“Truly?” She gave his hand a squeeze, and her eyes took to sparkling even more than usual. “Oh, George! I can guess, and I’m so pleased! You want to talk about finding someone for you? Because, actually—”
“No, no. I want to tell you that—”
“Oh, but George, I’ve done it!” She clasped her hands together, clearly pleased with herself. “I’ve done it...again!”
“You’ve done what?” He looked at her, perplexed.
“Found her. Found your perfect match!”
“You—you what?” Everything he’d wanted to say slithered away like a snake in the grass. He released his hold on her hand and stepped back, horrified at this revelation.
Belinda clamped a hand over her mouth but then quickly pulled it away to speak. “Please, oh please, don’t be angry, but I’ve written to someone on your behalf. A young woman named Adeline Jewett from Boston. I have every reason to believe she’s the one for you.”
“But...” What could he say now?
“She sounds ideal, George. Absolutely ideal. She’s pretty and young and genuinely loves the Lord.”
“You can sense all of that from an advertisement in a newspaper?”
“Yes. When I read her words, I just knew she was supposed to be here. And you will know it, too. Once you meet her, that is. She’s set to arrive next week. On Monday.”
He stared at Belinda, unable to think of a sensible thing to say. Could she not see that he didn’t want her to bring any women to Poetry on his behalf? That he was finally trying to say the one thing he probably should have said weeks or even months ago? That he was interested in courting Belinda and Belinda alone? That he’d stayed up half the night trying to figure out how to tell her?
Obviously not.
George shook his head, but she never seemed to notice. Instead, she gazed at him with the same excitement he always saw on her face these days. When she was up to something, anyway. He finally managed to squeeze out five words: “So you’ve done it again.”
“I have.” Her hands trembled as she reached to brush a loose hair from her face. “Sent for her two weeks ago, in fact. Oh, but don’t be mad. I couldn’t sleep at night if I knew you were mad. You are absolutely the last person I would ever want to hurt, and I mean that with my whole heart.”
“Why?” He asked the question hoping she would speak her thoughts clearly.
“Why what?”
“Why am I the last person you would want to hurt?” Go on. Say it.
“Well, I...” She fussed with her collar, finally offering up a shrug. “You’re my friend. I would never want to hurt a friend.”
“I’m your friend?” He stressed the last word, just for emphasis.
“Of course you are!” Her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, you are mad at me, aren’t you? You don’t want my friendship?”
“Of course I do.” He reached to take her hand once more and gave it a gentle squeeze. It’s just that I want more than that, don’t you see? His heart thumped madly, but no words would come.
“George, I know I have let you down on more than one occasion. I’ll be the first to admit that. But please don’t stop being my friend just because I’ve done some foolish things. It would kill me. I would die a thousand deaths. I wouldn’t be able to look at my own face in the mirror ever again. I would give up all of this in a heartbeat if I thought it was somehow hurting you. That’s the last thing I want to do, trust me. How could I hurt you?” She shook her head. “Next to Greta, you are the dearest person in the world to me.”
He drew in a deep breath and shook his head, trying to figure out what to say next. Though he took some comfort in her words, he still couldn’t come up with a sensible response. No, she would surely misunderstand anything he might say at this point. Perhaps it would be easier to play along with this ridiculous scheme of hers until he could figure out what to do. Besides, it already looked as if she’d fetched him a bride from halfway across the country, whether he wanted the woman or not.
Not that it really mattered. No, this one would probably end up married to the butcher. Or the baker. Or the candlestick maker. Anyone and everyone but him. He did not—he would not—he could not—fathom going through any more heartbreak. Other than the obvious one facing him right now.
George gazed into Belinda’s misty eyes and sighed. “I need to get back to work, Belinda.” He fished in his pocket and came up with the money for the shaving mugs. “I hope you have a nice day. See you at church on Sunday.”
***
Belinda eyes filled with tears, and she tried to swallow the lump in her throat as she rang up George’s purchase. She could tell from the look on his face that she had somehow hurt him. But how? Sure, she’d acted impulsively, but surely he knew to expect that from her by now. Her news shouldn’t have startled him. After all, she still owed him a bride. He’d given her money to fetch a bride, for heaven’s sake. How could she not deliver, especially when so perfect a match came along?
As she watched him walk out of the door, she tried to console herself. “He will be fine once Adeline arrives on Monday’s train,” she whispered.
“Who will be fine?” Aunt Hilde said, approaching.
“Oh, I...” Belinda turned away, dabbing at her eyes. “No one.”
“Mm-hmm.” Hilde’s one-word response spoke volumes.
“What?” Belinda turned back, suddenly not caring if her aunt saw the tears.
“You’re smitten with George Kaufman, that’s what. I’ve known it for months now but never spoke my mind about it.”
“W–what?” Belinda’s eyes widened. She stood in shocked silence. “Of course I’m not!”
“Of course you are,” Hilde said. “It’s as pla
in as the nose on your face. To everyone but you, apparently. It’s about time you admitted it to yourself, Belinda. Otherwise you’re sure to bring more pain to George and to you.”
“But, Aunt Hilde, I’ve never even contemplated such a thing.”
Perhaps that wasn’t altogether true. There was that one moment, when the blue sapphire ring had gotten stuck on her finger. She’d thought perhaps she might end up married to him simply because she couldn’t get the ring off. But that was just foolishness. She’d never given a serious thought to George Kaufman in all the years she’d known him. Right?
“Sometimes we can’t see the forest for the trees,” Aunt Hilde said, placing a hand on Belinda’s shoulder. “At least that’s why my mama used to tell me. I think you’ve got so many brides coming and going from Poetry that you don’t see yourself as one.”
“Well, I don’t. That’s true.” Belinda nodded. “I’ve already told Greta that I don’t believe I will ever married. I’m to stay single...for the greater good.”
“Whose greater good?” Hilde gave her a pensive look.
“W–what?”
“Whose greater good? Yours? God’s? Whose?”
“Well, I don’t rightly know.” Belinda sighed. “For the community, I suppose. I have to give my life in service to others.”
“We all give our lives in service to others. That’s what the body of Christ is called to do. But that doesn’t mean you should deny your own happiness, child. The Lord has a husband for you out there. I know it in my knower.” Hilde put her hand on her heart. “And one day you will know it, too. So don’t be so quick to discount your own happy match, all right?”
“A–all right.” Belinda stumbled over the words, but not as much as she stumbled over the idea. Did the Lord have someone out there for her? Was she, as Hilde said, missing the forest because of the trees? Had God already sent her the perfect man and she’d assigned him to another?
Boxed Set: Deep in the Heart of Texas: Hurricane, Mismatched in Texas, Christmas at the Crossroads Page 35