A Bride's Agreement

by Elaine Bonner

  He took so long to respond that she almost thought he wouldn’t answer. When he did, there was no anger left in his voice, only regret. “Is she really frightened of me?”

  Impulsively, she laid a hand on his arm. “She’s only afraid of disappointing you, not that you’ll punish her.”

  “When I saw that burn, I felt so guilty.” His groan seemed to echo through her chest. “I’d never realized the things that could happen to her and Grace while we’re out in the fields.”

  “They could happen even if you’re home.”

  He looked up at the expanse of dark blue above them, where a handful of stars were beginning to peek through. “It seems the last few weeks I can’t leave anyone I care about for even a few minutes without wondering whether I’ll ever see them alive again.”

  “I’m sure that’s only natural.” She wished there were something more soothing to say.

  “If it’s been hard for me, it must be more difficult for my brothers and sisters, being younger. How could Miranda think I would cause them additional pain by leaving them now?”

  Would his heart never heal from Miranda’s betrayal?

  “Do you agree with her, Pearl?”

  Her head snapped up. “No! Of course not. Your family needs you.”

  A sigh whooshed out of him. “That’s what I believe, too.”

  “Jason,” she started cautiously, “what if you sold the farm? Could you care for the family in town on what you can earn as an architect?”

  “Farms are going dirt cheap with the hard times the country’s experiencing. If we could sell it, we’d barely make enough to pay off Dad’s banknotes. Then, too, I’d like to keep the farm in case Frank or Andy wants it one day. Besides, I was only beginning as an architect—haven’t proven myself yet. Certainly couldn’t guarantee making enough to support five people.”

  “I only thought if there was a way you could stay in architecture and live in town, perhaps Miranda…”

  “She objected to my family as well as my vocation.” From the tautness in his voice, she knew this had hurt him more than anything else in Miranda’s rejection.

  He reached for her hand, squeezing her fingers so tightly she had to clamp her lips together hard to keep from crying out. “You’re a good friend, always have been. I’m afraid I took advantage of that friendship tonight and let a lot of the anger and frustration that’s built up in me the last few weeks tumble out on you. I’m sorry.”

  The niggling fear that their friendship had been lost in the recent happenings released. Her eyelids pressed tightly closed as she lifted a quick prayer of thanksgiving heavenward. “Our friendship is strong enough to withstand some onslaughts. You’ve forgiven a few faults in me over the years.”

  Lantern light revealed the tender smile in Jason’s eyes as he squeezed her hand once more, not so hard this time.

  The matter of her helping out on the farm hadn’t been settled, and when they’d entered Chippewa City and were nearing her adoptive parents’ home, she broached the subject again.

  “I promised Maggie I’d help with the laundry in the morning.” She hoped her tone said this was as natural as the sun rising.

  His chuckle was a relief. “Sometimes you’re so stubborn you make a Missouri mule look downright amiable by comparison. Guess I knew I was beaten before we even began discussing the matter.”

  She wished she’d known it!

  “But I’ll only agree to your helping until you’ve taught Maggie a few things,” he continued before she had time to savor her victory.

  “Yes sir,” she replied meekly, not about to let him know how her heart was racing with joy and anticipation.

  He laughed outright this time. Pulling up in front of her house, he bounced a broad, callused index finger off the tip of her nose. “I can see I’m in trouble now. You never act so humble without some mischief up your sleeve.”

  She grinned from the sheer joy of seeing laughter back in his eyes once more.

  His arm slipped around her shoulder, giving her a brief hug. “Thanks for standing by me, friend,” he said in a low, gruff voice. It was all she could do to keep from throwing her arms about his neck and telling him she would always stand by him.

  Over Pearl’s protests, Jason unhooked Angel and took her to the shed behind the house to brush, feed, and water while Pearl went inside and lit a lamp.

  Looking down from the saddle when he was ready to leave, he grinned at her. “That apple pie sure hit the spot tonight. Think you could teach Maggie how to make that, right off?”

  Without waiting for a reply, he turned his mount and started out of town. Pearl could hardly believe her ears when a whistled tune floated back to her. When she could no longer see his shadow or hear his whistle, she tilted her head back to take in the stars twinkling in the dark blue bowl of the sky.

  “Thank You, Lord, for beginning to heal him.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Jason Sterling leaned against a wooden support on the porch, hands stuffed into the back pockets of his jeans, and watched the rain pouring over the fields. It was coming down good and steady, but not hard enough to damage the unharvested crops. If he was as good at reading the weather as he thought, they wouldn’t be out of the fields more than a day or two.

  He was almost glad for the reprieve. The harvester needed repairing. So did his muscles. He lifted his shoulders, then rolled them back in a stretch, wincing. He’d grown soft the last couple years, at school and working in town.

  The wheat was good and plump. Harvest was going full blast. The hay crop was already mostly garnered and barley reaped. His father would have been more than satisfied with him and his brothers. Still, he thought, you can never count your money until the crop is completely harvested. Nature might have a surprise or two up her sleeve yet.

  Through the open windows, Pearl’s clear voice floated out to him in a sweet hymn accompanied by the parlor piano. The tension melted from his body as she sang. She’d been helping out for two weeks now, and he’d often heard her singing as she worked.

  He was glad he’d agreed to her coming out to help them. She’d been good for everyone. His chuckle blended with the patter of the rain and with Pearl’s clear voice. “Agreed” to her coming! It would be easier to stop a tornado than to stop Pearl once she’d set her mind on something.

  She’d always been that way. Once her brother, John, had tried to patiently convince her that girls did not go fishing. It had been impossible to persuade her, even when he and John had insisted she find her own nightcrawlers and learn to bait her own hook. The relish with which she had chased down the ‘crawlers amused them. She hadn’t liked putting the worms on hooks, but she’d set her small pink lips in a determined line and done it anyway. John had told him early in their friendship that their parents were gone. Jason had admired the way John looked out for Pearl, and the two boys had formed an unspoken pact to always keep her under their wings. He wasn’t sure she still needed their protection.

  Beat all how a girl who looked so sweet and fragile could be so tough underneath. He’d learned the fact years ago. It still amused him when one of the young men in town was deceived by her femininity. To look at her, she was all frills and lace and golden curls, yet in a difficult place, he’d as soon have her on his side as a band of hardened cowboys.

  His smile died. Well, he was in a difficult place now, and she was right here helping out as he should have expected. He detested himself for wishing it was Miranda instead.

  It’s not the real Miranda I want beside me. Surprise ripped through him at the thought. It was true. The woman he wanted was the woman he’d believed Miranda to be, not the woman she’d actually become.

  With a weary sigh that came from the very tips of his mud-covered boots, he pushed himself away from the wooden support. He couldn’t afford to waste his energy in self-pity. A woman who wouldn’t stand by the man she loved wasn’t worth all that regret anyway.

  He tugged off his boots at the kitchen door and crossed
the room to the parlor. Apple butter bubbling on the back of the stove made his mouth water. It was only the second year the apple trees, which had been planted in the ’80s had borne fruit. His mother had been so proud of those apples last year.

  Leaning against the doorframe, he slipped his thumbs beneath the suspenders at his waist. It was Maggie playing the piano, studiously concentrating on the pages in front of her. Grace was asleep on the plush forest green sofa that matched the tasseled draperies, one arm curled around her doll and the other thrown out in abandonment. Pearl was in his mother’s high-backed, upholstered spring rocker beneath the large hanging lamp with the rose-colored glass shade, mending one of his socks as she sang softly to Maggie’s accompaniment. The homey scene eased the familiar tightness in his chest caused by thoughts of Miranda.

  His mother had loved this room. He could still hear his father telling him that a farmer’s wife had a hard life and deserved whatever beauty a husband could give her in return. The up-to-date furnishings had cost his father plenty, but he’d never complained. Between the modern home and conveniences and the farm implements purchased during the affluent eighties, the bank held a good-sized note for Jason and his brothers to work off.

  “Sounds good, Maggie,” he encouraged when the song ended. “But don’t you think you should be helping Pearl with the mending?”

  Maggie flushed and stood quickly, setting the round top of the piano stool in a spin.

  “I asked her to play. The music relaxes me.” Pearl’s gaze met his, her blue eyes challenging although her tone was friendly.

  Maggie bent over the never-empty tapestry mending basket beside Pearl’s rocker. “I’m almost through with mending for the afternoon,” Pearl told her cheerily. “Perhaps you’d check the pantry to see whether there’s any of your mother’s wonderful rhubarb sauce to have with the pound cake you made for supper.”

  “Yes ma’am.” Maggie smiled. The smile disappeared as she edged past Jason with her eyes averted, and the change twisted something sharply inside him.

  “Maggie!” She stopped at his call, turning around slowly, apprehension filling her face. Was she always going to be afraid of him, he wondered in frustration? “You play well. Rev. Conrad will be asking you to play for church services soon.”

  The grin she flashed him was his reward.

  He settled into the overstuffed chair opposite Pearl, his head resting wearily against the lace tidy. Remembering his sweaty work clothes, he dropped to the hassock near the rocker instead. Even though his mother had insisted on using the parlor for the family sitting room, she never allowed them on the furniture in their field clothes.

  Elbows propped against his knees, he plowed his hands through his hair. “Did it again, didn’t I? Frightened Maggie. Thought things between us were almost back to normal.”

  Pearl glanced up from her mending. “Remember how fragile one’s pride is at that age? Besides, your compliment went a long way toward healing any bruises your earlier words may have caused.”

  He rubbed a hand across his jaw. “Don’t know how parents manage to discipline their children without losing their love altogether. I sure haven’t mastered the art.”

  “You’ve only been a parent for six weeks, and Maggie’s been a child for twelve years. You’re doing fine, Jason.”

  He studied the pattern of the Brussels carpet. “You were right about us needing you. We were all so wrapped up in our grief that we didn’t know how to smile or help each other anymore. You respected our loss but brought back some of the warmth the house had when Mom and Dad were with us.” He cleared his throat, thick from emotion. She glanced up at the oil painting of his parents over the settee. “I was admiring this painting of them earlier. I’m so glad you have it to remember them by. Johnny has a small picture of our parents on their wedding day. Sometimes I stare at their likenesses, trying to remember what they were like, how they spoke, how they moved. I never succeed.”

  Her lips trembled before she caught her bottom lip between her teeth, and the sight caught at his heart. He slipped a hand over one of hers. How can he be so incredibly self-centered? He could kick himself for being so stupid. “I’d forgotten that you lost your parents when you were two. Being here—it must bring back a lot of painful memories.”

  “It’s not the same as your loss. Only Mother died then. Father just left us.”

  He felt as well as heard the slight sigh that escaped her, and his stomach clenched at the thought of the pain she’d gone through as a child. It was impossible for him to understand a man abandoning his children, even if he believed it would be better for the children without him, as Pearl’s father had believed.

  She turned toward him with a bright little smile, and her brave cheerfulness made his voice gruff. “You make me realize how blessed we’ve been to have had our parents with us all these years. Been pretty wrapped up in self-pity, I guess.”

  Her soft fingers squeezed his where they still rested over her hand and mending. “It’s only natural to grieve for what might have been.”

  At her nearness and gentle sympathy, he had a sudden urge to draw her into his arms to seek comfort for his recent losses and to comfort her for old ones. In all the years of their friendship, he’d never experienced such a longing, and the intensity of it pushed all thought of conversation from his mind as he stared at her in wonder.

  Footsteps galloping down the stairway broke the silence. Frank burst into the room, stopping short at the sight of them. He brushed back the lock of his black hair that always insisted on dropping over the middle of his forehead and grinned at his older brother. “Forgot to tell you the big news I heard the other night at the Grange meeting. Chippewa City is going to build a combination town hall and opera house next spring. Thought you might want to submit plans for the building.”

  Jason’s chest felt like a bull had stomped on it. “No.”

  “It’s a great opportunity to show the town what you can do,” Frank urged.

  “I can’t be a successful architect and run a farm at the same time.” Wouldn’t he love to try to design that building! Sometimes his fingers positively itched for a pencil when a new design formed in his head. He couldn’t allow himself to dwell on the desire. He wouldn’t be able to get back to his career anytime soon, maybe never.

  “So you meant it when you moved back here. You’re really going to give up your vocation, after Dad saw to it you received the education you needed.” Frank bounced his fist off the wall beside him. “I suppose that means I won’t be able to attend Windom Academy in Chippewa City this fall, either, even though we both know it’s what Dad intended.”

  Jason wished Frank had chosen another time for this discussion, rather than bringing all the dirty laundry out in front of Pearl. “Not this fall, no.”

  Frank’s jaw jutted out. “Dad was willing to chance it.”

  “He wasn’t aware of the extent of what the newspapers are now calling the Great Economic Depression of 1893. Silver continues to fall; banks are closing all over the country. Saint Paul started something they call the Public Employment Bureau—their mayor is urging farmers to hire unemployed Saint Paul men,” he snorted, “and that with wheat at the lowest price ever.”

  His brother’s black eyes snapped. “Even with the price of wheat low, we’re not going to starve. Dad was always one of the wealthiest farmers around. Does it make you feel powerful, keeping your tight little fist on the purse strings?”

  Jason spread his palms against his thighs, trying to keep calm. “I haven’t the experience Dad had running the farm. Best to set aside what money we can. Harvest isn’t over; we don’t know what the future might hold.” He stood and reached for the newspaper on the table beside them, hoping Frank would drop the subject. “I’m going to drive into town with Pearl after supper. Would appreciate it if you’d get to work on that broken harvester.”

  “Why should I have to spend the evening working while you’re out for an evening drive?”

  Jason’s han
ds settled on his hips. “That harvester needs to be fixed before we can get back in the fields. As for my evening drive, I’m not about to let Pearl head back alone after an afternoon of rain. You know what that can do to the roads.”

  Frank’s square jaw tightened, and Jason groaned inwardly at the battle his brother insisted on waging. “You make all the decisions around here. I can dig a buggy out of the mud as well as you, big brother. Why shouldn’t you be the one to repair the machinery while I enjoy Pearl’s company?”

  “Fine, have it your way! You can spend the evening riding around in the mud and rain!”

  Pearl stepped between them with a palm toward each one. “Please! I can drive myself back.”

  “We’ve had this argument before. You don’t drive home alone.”

  A whimper broke through Jason’s words, and he felt a tug on his jeans. “Why are you yellin’? I don’t like it when you yell.”

  His heart caught in his throat as he lifted Grace. “Sorry, Pumpkin. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “You were loud.” She laid a soft little hand on his stubbly cheek, her pink lips in a pout. “I don’t want you to be mad.”

  Jason forced a smile. The things this five-year-old did to his heartstrings! He turned his face and kissed one of the tiny fingertips. “How could anyone be mad with you around, Pumpkin?”

  He hugged her close. How it cut into his soul whenever he saw her upset! He was doing a lousy job as a parent. If God was going to put him in his parents’ place, it would have been nice if He’d sent him a primer on how to do the job! Setting Grace down, he gave her a tap on the back. “Go wash up for supper.”

  “All wight!” She hurried into the kitchen, slightly wobbly yet from her nap.

  He swung his attention back to Frank. “I’ll work on the harvester, and you drive Pearl back to town.”

  Frank turned toward Pearl somewhat sheepishly, Jason thought. “Is that acceptable to you, Pearl?”