by Lisa Bingham
Willow found herself staring bemusedly at Lydia. “What?”
“Would you like to wear something other than your Sunday-best dress? Since the men haven’t found your second trunk yet, I thought you might like to wear something...brighter.”
Willow’s cheeks flamed. There was no second trunk—there never had been. She’d arrived in America with only two gowns to her name. Her Sunday-best dress was a staid, serviceable black faille, as shapeless and dreary as the dress she wore now. But when she’d announced that she would be leaving the Good Shepherd Charity School for Young Girls, the headmaster had forbidden her to take anything with her that the school had provided. She’d been reduced to supplying her meagre wardrobe from the charity barrels bound for a mission in New Guinea. Unfortunately, the recent donations had been heavily laden with maternity wear.
“I...yes, I...”
Lydia didn’t seem to need any more of an answer than that, because she left the room, closing the door behind her.
Iona gently pushed Willow into the chair and began unwinding her braid.
“You have such beautiful hair,” the older woman murmured, making Willow’s skin prickle with self-consciousness.
Willow shifted uneasily. The headmaster at the Good Shepherd had proclaimed her red tresses a sign of evil and had insisted that she keep them covered at all times with a scarf or bonnet.
Before she quite knew what had happened, Iona had divided the tresses into smaller plaits, which she wound in an intricate design around the crown of her head and in a swirling knot at the nape of her neck. By that time, Lydia had returned with a carpetbag, from which she removed a yellow day dress sprigged with tiny pink roses.
Willow couldn’t prevent the soft gasp of pleasure that escaped her lips as the women stripped off the shapeless garment she’d been doomed to wear for months and replaced it with the fitted cotton gown.
The waist proved too large for Willow and the hem too long. However, Lydia had come prepared. Taking a needle and thread, she artfully tucked up the skirt, drawing the fullness toward the rear in a mock bustle. Then she took a length of pink ribbon from the carpetbag and tied it around Willow’s waist.
“There.”
Both Lydia and Iona stood back to eye their efforts.
“Beautiful,” Iona murmured. “She looks every inch a bride.”
Lydia’s brow furrowed. “Not quite.” She opened the door and called out, “Greta!”
Greta Heigle had traveled to the Territories all the way from Bavaria. A plump, blond-haired woman with pink cheeks and snapping blue eyes, she’d boarded the train without knowing a word of English. After a month marooned with the other mail-order brides, she was beginning to learn how to communicate with hand gestures and a sparse English vocabulary.
Willow heard soft footfalls running up the staircase, then Greta burst inside and gasped, “Die Männer sind hier.”
When the women looked at her blankly, she offered, “Men. Men.” Then she pointed to the floor.
“The men are here?”
“Ja!”
Greta then held out a length of lace, and before Willow could fathom what they meant to do, Lydia and Iona began pinning it to the crown of braids.
“Now she looks like a bride,” Lydia breathed with satisfaction.
Iona took Willow gently by the shoulders and turned her to face the mirror.
For a moment, the air whooshed out of Willow’s lungs. She’d spent so much time in staid black school uniforms or charity day gowns that she couldn’t remember when she’d ever worn color. The soft yellow dress made her skin milky, her hair bright as a flame. And the veil...the veil softened the effect even more. She did indeed look like...
Like a bride.
Even more...she looked...
Pretty.
“Schön. Lovely,” Greta murmured. The stout woman drew her close for a bone-crushing hug.
When she drew back, Willow fingered the delicate veil. The lace was soft, fashioned from gossamer silk floss. “I’ll return this as soon as possible.”
Greta’s brow knitted in puzzlement, so Willow mimed the action of unpinning the veil and handing it to her. Greta shook her head. “Nien. Geschenk. Gift.” Then the woman beamed.
Willow’s eyes welled with tears. The piece of hairpin lace must have taken hundreds of hours to complete. The fact that it would now adorn a sham marriage made her inwardly cringe. Nevertheless, she couldn’t dim the joy shining from Greta’s eyes.
“Thank you, Greta. I’ll treasure it always.”
“Miss Granger!”
There was no mistaking the booming voice that reached them from the main room. Ezra Batchwell and his retinue had returned, and he was eager to see that the formalities were finished.
Lydia hugged her as well, then Iona.
“Best wishes,” Lydia said, before backing out of the room.
Iona took a handkerchief from where it had been tucked in her sleeve. Sniffling, she dabbed her eyes. “May this be the first of many happy days,” she whispered, her voice husky with emotion. “I always cry at weddings.” Then she hurried from the room, leaving Willow alone.
From below, Willow could hear the deep murmur of male voices combined with a few higher pitched ones. She knew she wouldn’t be given much time to think.
But even as she considered running downstairs, calling the whole thing off and confessing her deceit...
She couldn’t do it.
Not just because the thought of that many eyes turning her way in censure made her quake, but because Jenny had been her friend. Her first real friend. Those babies downstairs were Jenny’s and they were motherless and defenseless.
No. Not defenseless.
They had her.
And they had Charles.
Pinning that thought in her mind, she smoothed a hand over the ribbon at her waist, adjusted the veil around her shoulders, then headed for the door.
* * *
Charles shifted nervously from foot to foot, feeling as if a herd of ants were crawling beneath his skin. At Ramsey’s insistence, he’d taken time at the Hall to wash his face and hands, slick back his hair and don the clean shirt, vest and tie that Gideon had loaned him.
He swallowed against the dryness of his throat, easing a finger beneath the tie, which seemed to be cutting off his ability to breathe. He was sure that Gideon had tied it too tight—probably on purpose, since he’d joked that Charles would soon feel the noose of matrimony closing around his neck for the second time.
From the corner of his eye, he could see the two wee bairns being rocked in the arms of the Claussen twins.
Charles knew better than most what would happen to the babes if they weren’t claimed. If Ezra Batchwell had exploded at the idea of having women on the premises, there would be no containing his ire at the thought of a pair of children running about. As soon as the pass cleared, they would be taken to the nearest foundling home. Once there, they could be separated, or worse, live their childhoods in an institution—a fate that Charles had himself endured and wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy.
No. If Willow was agreeable, he’d see this charade to the end, then sort things out when they’d both had time to plan what was best for the youngsters.
As if she’d heard him, Willow suddenly appeared at the top of the steps.
For a moment, the air left Charles’s lungs. For a month now, he’d caught glimpses of the girl—at the Devotionals, behind the counter of the cook shack, or peeking between the curtains of the Dovecote. He was ashamed to admit that he hadn’t paid her much mind.
He regretted that now, because the woman who stepped toward him was beautiful. The soft cotton dress she wore seemed to highlight the fairness of her skin, the dusting of freckles across her brow and cheeks. And that hair...it shone in the lamplight like a blazing sunset.
She mov
ed to stand beside the fireplace, and then turned to face him.
Ignoring Batchwell’s scowl, Charles caught her hand and leaned to whisper next to her ear. “You don’t have to do this.”
Nevertheless, when he met her gaze, those cornflower-blue eyes blazed with determination.
“They need us,” she whispered.
“Enough!” Batchwell barked. “Let’s get this over with.”
Even then, Charles kept hold of Willow’s hand. Despite her bravado, he could feel the chill of her fingertips and the trembling of her extremities. When he repeated his vows, she clung to him even tighter. As she offered her own promises, he thought he heard a quaver in her voice. Then, before Charles could credit how quickly his life had altered course, there was a cheer and someone was pounding him on the back.
“Kiss the girl!” a deep voice shouted, and Charles could have sworn it was Gideon Gault. Knowing that all eyes were upon them, Charles brushed a light kiss over Willow’s lips.
When he drew back, her cheeks were pink with color, and he automatically drew her into the lee of his arm as the women rushed to offer their congratulations.
Soon, his home became noisy with chatter and laughter. For too long, his house had been a sterile, quiet place. He’d learned to endure the silence, but he’d never grown used to it.
However, when Ezra Batchwell pounded his walking stick on the floor, reality came rushing back as the row house became quiet again.
“It’s late and some of you need to be at your shift within a few hours. I think it’s time we all went home.”
There were murmurs of disappointment, but the women rushed to shake Charles’s hand and kiss Willow on the cheek. Then they gathered their wraps and reluctantly headed into the cold. The men followed more slowly, until only Batchwell, Bottoms, Jonah Ramsey and Gideon Gault remained.
Rather than offer his congratulations, Batchwell stomped toward the couple, his dark eyes blazing. “You broke the rules,” he growled. “You knowingly brought a woman to our valley and then lied to us all.”
Charles stiffened. He might not have invited Willow to join him in Bachelor Bottoms, but he had lied to his employers. Since there was no response he could offer at the moment to clarify the situation, he remained silent.
“Get out,” the man rasped through clenched teeth. “You, of all people, are aware of the directives of this mining community and the requirements for employment. I don’t care if there’s a blizzard or a blocked pass, you and your...wife...will get out of this house, out of this valley, out of this town. Immediately!”
Chapter Three
“I resign. From my job, my position as lay preacher, and member of this community!”
Charles couldn’t prevent the words that burst from his lips. It was as if they came from another person—another source.
“And as an outlier to the community, I claim the same ability to shelter in one of the row houses like the other families who were marooned here by the avalanche.”
Ezra Batchwell grew so red-faced that Charles wouldn’t have been surprised if the man’s head exploded.
“How dare you?” Batchwell whispered accusingly. “How dare you treat our rules so frivolously?”
Charles stiffened his shoulders. Batchwell was right. Charles owed the owners everything.
And yet...
He glanced at Willow, who hovered uncertainly near the twins’ basket. Unconsciously, she’d provided a barrier between the babes and Batchwell. Charles took in her wide, startled eyes, and that glorious hair limned by firelight. Behind her skirts, he could see the blankets moving.
Please, please protect my little ones and keep them as your own. They are in more danger than I can express.
Those defenseless babes needed him. Even if it was only temporary.
“As you can see, Mr. Batchwell, I’ve got a family to take care of, and their welfare takes precedence. If that means giving up my job, so be it.”
Batchwell opened his mouth—probably to offer another tirade. Jonah stepped slightly in front of the man, putting a hand to his chest. “You can’t fault a man for focusing on his family.”
Then Phineas added his own two cents. “If you ask me, the boy hasn’t done anything wrong, Ezra. It’s not against the rules to be married here at the Batchwell Bottoms Mine. Half our workforce is married—” he pointed to Jonah “—including our mine superintendent. It’s only against the rules for them to live together on company property. And seeing as how Charles has resigned...well, I don’t see as how you’ve got any right to be carrying on this way.”
A low rumble began in Batchwell’s chest, making it clear that he was ready for a rebuttal. Before he could speak, Phineas limped toward the basket a few feet away and drew aside the blanket so that the two sweet faces were exposed.
“There comes a time in every man’s life when his family has to come first, Ezra. What with the death of that young girl and the storm...seems to me there would be something amiss in Charles if he didn’t decide that he should protect the ones he loves.”
Phineas glanced up then, his shrewd gaze piercing straight into Charles’s soul. Charles prayed the older man hadn’t uncovered the deceit that lay there.
“Far as I’m concerned, you’re welcome to use the row house. It’s not like there’s anyone else waiting for it. Once the pass clears, we’ll see what needs to be done.”
Phineas lifted his arms and made a shooing motion. “Now, get out of here. Get! You, too, Ezra. You’re letting in cold air that these babes can ill afford. Even worse, it’s late and dark. Any of those conditions can make a man say things he oughtn’t.” He offered a bitter chortle. “And let’s just say that there’s nothing more that needs to be said until morning. Get!”
The men reluctantly turned and filed from the room. Phineas was the last to leave, poking his wizened head around the edge of the door.
“A good evening to you both. Charles. Mrs. Wanlass. You take good care of those little ones, you hear?”
Charles couldn’t be sure, but for a moment, Phineas’s eyes seemed to twinkle. Then the door snapped shut, and they were left in silence.
Alone.
Together.
There was a calm that fell over the empty row house. Then Willow shifted to adjust the blankets on the babies. Unsure of what to do, he walked to the door and bolted it, locking them in.
Unaccountably, his palms were sweating and he unobtrusively wiped them down the sides of his trousers. Truth be told, he’d never been in any woman’s presence for more than a few minutes, let alone locked in a room with one. He wasn’t sure what he was expected to do. Since he’d never lived in a family setting, he had no history to draw from.
Willow shivered, spurring him into action.
“I’ll throw more wood on the fire and warm things back up.”
She regarded him with wide eyes. “But...shouldn’t you ration your supplies?”
Ration his supplies?
There were plenty of logs next to the hearth and another pile stacked along the wall of the lean-to outside. Even if they managed to burn through the entire collection, thick stands of pine and aspen surrounded Bachelor Bottoms. It would be easy to gather more.
Willow stood wringing her hands, obviously as uncomfortable as he was with their situation, so he offered gently, “There’s plenty out back. I doubt we could burn through it in a month.”
“Oh. Oh, I see.”
Despite his reassurances, she seemed to regard the extra fuel as an extravagance, and Charles wondered if he’d somehow given her the impression that he couldn’t provide her and the children with basic needs.
But then, they didn’t know anything about one another, did they?
“We don’t want the children to catch a chill.”
“No. No, of course not.”
The fact that he’d put the needs
of the babies first seemed to dismiss her fears of wastefulness. Not wanting her to change her mind, Charles hurried to throw two big logs onto the fire, then fussed with them until he had no other option than to face Willow again.
She stood in the same spot, her hands clasped at her waist, her eyes wide and unblinking. A bit stunned. But not horrified. He’d been so afraid that he would have offended her with the pack of lies he’d been spinning—or worse, that she would be dismayed at being rushed into a marriage she’d never wanted.
“I, uh... I hope I didn’t upset you with everything...with what I said about...us already meeting and...”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Good. Because I didn’t want them—didn’t want anyone—thinking...”
Why was he so tongue-tied with her?
Her brow suddenly knit in consternation. “You shouldn’t have quit your job. Why did you quit your job?”
He strode toward her, then his arms around her. Willow was such a wee thing, fitting perfectly beneath his chin. She shivered and he pulled her closer to the fire.
“I haven’t done anything that can’t be undone eventually.”
She drew back to eye him askance. “Except marrying me.”
There was that.
Thoughts skittered through his brain like water on a hot skillet, but he was finally able to grasp on to one coherent thread.
“We can always get an annulment. Later. When the pass has melted and we’ve figured out how best to protect the children.” He drew back, bending so that she could meet his gaze. “I promise, Willow. I would never force you to do anything you don’t want to do. If you want, I’ll go out there right now and explain the whole thing. No one will ever blame you. All this was my doing from the very beginning.”
He took a step back, reaching for his hat. Before he could grasp anything but air, she stopped him.
“No, Charles! I’m as much to blame. And...” Her eyes grew huge, so blue and beseeching that he was rooted to the spot. “What happened to Jenny?” she whispered.
He wasn’t sure how much he should tell her. The two women had been friends. If anyone had been privy to Jenny’s fears and emotions, it would have been Willow.