For Such a Time as This: A Women of Hope Novel

by Ginny Aiken

  She offered up a silent prayer then took a deep breath. “Yes, Mr. Whitman. I would appreciate a permanent position in your home. But please understand, it’s not for my sake alone. I care what happens to your children, and would love to be here for them as they encounter the normal challenges of growing up.”

  His shoulders appeared to relax a fraction, and a hint of a smile lightened the intensity of his expression. “That is excellent. It looks as though this will work out to everyone’s best advantage. Miss Moore, in view of all those benefits we’ve discussed, I would like you to marry me.”

  Olivia gasped.

  Gulped for air.

  Looked at the fireplace. At the rug. At anything but the man who’d just asked her to be his wife.

  “You—you what?”

  “I hope I haven’t offended you, but, yes. I did ask you to marry me.”

  “But, why?”

  “A number of reasons. The first, of course, is for my children. They need a mother, and you’re the only person they’ve begun to accept. Then, there’s my need for a social hostess. On occasion, I must entertain business guests. Those needs bring me to my last reason. And that’s you.”

  “Me!” She leaped up. “Pray tell, what do you mean, Mr. Whitman? I might be unmarried, but I’m no desperate spinster, pining after you. I’ll have you know, the very notion has never once crossed my mind.”

  To her horror, he laughed. “Indeed, Miss Moore. As you say, you might be unmarried—yet—but you’re no one’s notion of a spinster. That might be your finest quality. You’re intelligent, courageous, no one’s fool, and you’re willing to take a risk. But that’s not what I meant.”

  When he grew serious, Olivia guessed what he meant. She grew mortified. “Oh, dear. You’ve heard.”

  “If you mean about the gossip, then, yes. I have heard. Reverend Alton came to urge me to consider my options. This is the only one that makes sense. For both of us.”

  Olivia crossed her arms. “I’m glad you’ve come to that decision, sir, but you’ve done it by yourself. Not only have you thrust this idea upon me out of the blue, but you’ve also not considered what I might think of it. You must realize I cannot give you a serious response right away.”

  “I do. Because of the situation, however, I suggest you don’t take long to mull it over.” He sat in one of the armchairs. “There is… um… another detail to discuss. A very delicate detail.”

  Olivia just stared. She collapsed onto the sofa. How could he think to discuss something like that?

  “Oh,” he said, his cheeks as red as hers felt. “That. No, Miss Moore. That’s not a subject to discuss. Ours will be a business proposition. You need not fret about it.”

  Relief nearly drowned her. “Thank you. Then what?”

  He grew serious, grim even. “It’s business of another sort. My work, my business. My bank, if I must be blunt. I insist on keeping matters of the home and those of the bank completely separate. Under no circumstance will you involve yourself with the bank. Ever. It’s not a matter for negotiation.” His sudden smile appeared forced. “As my wife, however, you’ll have full authority over household matters and you’ll manage everything related to the children. Of course, I’ll retain normal authority as their father, but otherwise, you’ll be their mother and see to their daily needs.”

  “I see.” She didn’t, not really. “Again, sir. I must have time to pray about this before I can give you a response.”

  To her relief, he agreed.

  Then she fled to her room, where she could do nothing but think about his proposal.

  She also thought about Mama and Papa. She even thought about the scandal Addie had said swirled around her these days. Hours later, Olivia couldn’t believe she’d heard right. Mr. Whitman wanted her to marry him.

  His children needed a mother. She needed to salvage what was left of her reputation before it became damaged beyond repair.

  So… did she have a choice?

  More important, what was the wise thing to do?

  Finally, what was the Father’s will for her life? Did God intend for her to become the new Mrs. Elijah Whitman?

  Was she ready to marry?

  Was she ready to marry him… Eli?

  Chapter 11

  Dear God… Father in heaven. What have I done? What did I get myself into?

  Olivia stood before the altar at the Church of Bountiful dressed in a store-bought light blue dress with white stripes hurriedly fitted to her. She glanced at her groom, admiring his fresh-shaven good looks, the perfect fit of his black coat, the blue eyes that never failed to catch her attention.

  The whole congregation, including her family and the Whitman children, sat in electrified silence, drinking in her every word, her every gesture. It had only been a week since Eli’s proposal.

  She’d known the suddenness of their engagement, not to mention its planned brief duration, would raise many eyebrows. But, as she’d heard from Addie, it would seem she and Mr. Whitman had already raised more than their fair share. In spite of the chatter, she knew the reality. It spoke loudly of the reason behind their arrangement, and she hoped their wedding soon silenced all those who cared to look.

  Because that was precisely what their union would be. A business arrangement. She prayed their decision brought only beneficial consequences for everyone.

  She knew a number of successful marriages were born from emotionless decisions after tragic losses. Theirs was as good a reason to marry as any, the most common of all. A convenience-based endeavor, it would not involve matters of the heart; their union would never be the emotional entanglement many forged when they sought a partner for life. Neither was infatuated with the other. It was best if they kept things that way. Their handful of shared conversations gave her no illusions about a grand romance, certainly nothing like the deep love her parents shared. And yet, she couldn’t extinguish the flicker of anxiety in the back of her mind.

  Was this the right way to enter into the marriage covenant? Was this right in God’s eyes? The building of barriers to exclude any action on the Father’s part that might somehow, someday transform their marriage as He saw fit?

  Just as discomfiting, her family had only seen what they’d wanted to see when she’d told them she’d be wedding her employer. They’d wanted the illusion, a sweeping, starry-eyed fiction, much like what one found in the dime novels folks enjoyed reading. Olivia could afford to indulge in no such fancies.

  “… until death do you part?” Reverend Alton said.

  Olivia blinked. Oh, dear. She’d lost track of the ceremony, and now Reverend Alton was asking her to take her wedding vows. A glance at the man at her side increased her anxiety.

  She couldn’t deny he appealed to her… just as she couldn’t deny how odd their imminent marriage seemed to her, even in spite of the apparent logic to the entire thing.

  Could she do it? Could she enter into this covenant?

  “Olivia?” her pastor said in his gentle voice. “Are you well, my dear?”

  The memory of her parents’ ill-concealed relief when she’d announced her impending marriage and her dislike of the frills, bows, and fuss some girls favored for their wedding burst into her thoughts. Luke’s and Randy’s sweet faces joined those of the elder Moores. Finally, as unbidden as ever, the handsome features of her husband-to-be overlaid everything else.

  “Yes, Reverend Alton. I’m fine. And yes, sir. I do take my wedding vows. I will make Mr. Whitman as good a wife as I’m capable of being. I will also make Luke and Randy as good a mother as anyone could ever wish.”

  From behind the shelter of her eyelashes, she saw her groom’s eyes widen at her words. He turned his gaze full on her, and the blue of his eyes snagged her full attention. Nothing could have made her turn from him.

  They stood there for long moments, silent, staring at each other, a rare awareness flying between them. As though from a far, far place, she heard Reverend Alton voice Mr. Whitman’s vows. Then, in that deep, re
sonant baritone, the banker pledged his troth to her.

  Eyes still boring into hers, he said, “I do.”

  “By the authority vested in me by our heavenly Father and the laws of our nation,” the reverend continued, “I declare you husband and wife. You may embrace your bride, sir.”

  Olivia gasped.

  Mr. Whitman blinked. Slowly, with determined deliberation, he reached out and took Olivia into his arms. With that same purposeful gentleness, her new husband pulled her close to him then pressed a soft kiss on her cheek, unbearably close to the corner of her mouth.

  The heat of his lips… the power of his strength… the delicious sense of protection and shelter and comfort she found in his arms stunned her. It came at her like a revelation, one that sent her thoughts into a whirl, made her head spin, and snagged her breath in her throat. Olivia knew she’d never felt anything so exquisite in her life.

  For a moment, she let herself relish his warmth, his strength, his caress. How wonderful it would be if it were all real.

  If only…

  No! She couldn’t let herself play that disastrous game. She had to be thankful for the blessings the Lord had already poured down on her. She especially had to be grateful for Mr. Whitman’s willingness to bind his life to hers.

  She wouldn’t—couldn’t—go through that life longing for something that would never be, something that would only lead to misery. Their vows affected too many of their loved ones. None of them deserved misery.

  She had to trust the Lord. Only he could have brought them to where they were today. Only he knew what their future held. It was up to her to trust.

  And obey.

  Days after the wedding, Olivia placed a hand on the shoulder of each of her children, again filled with the glow of her sudden and, to her mind, miraculous motherhood. To her amazement, the pranks had disappeared. She didn’t know if they were gone forever, but she was enjoying the unexpected calm and the confidence she could handle any new pranks. “Time for bed.”

  She still struggled to believe the many changes three short months had wrought in her life. Not only had she wed Eli Whitman, but she’d also gained Randy and Luke in the bargain—an excellent bargain, as her husband—

  Oh, my! Husband.

  She gathered her thoughts again, refusing any tendency to drift down that fanciful path. Yes, she had made an excellent bargain by marrying Elijah Whitman. He had been right when he proposed, at the very least as far as that went.

  As she headed to the hall, Eli cleared his throat. “Would you care to join me for coffee once the children are in bed?”

  Her cheeks heated. “I’d be happy to.”

  His nod dropped a lock of thick black hair onto his high forehead. “Coffee and good company are always welcome at the end of a busy day.”

  Butterflies fluttered in her middle. “I’ll be back once Randy—” The girl’s dismay had Olivia squelching a laugh. A glance at Eli showed a matching twitch at the corners of his mouth.

  “Excuse me,” she said. “Miranda.”

  Her new daughter smiled.

  “As I was saying, I’ll return as soon as Miranda and Luke have washed and said their prayers.” She gave the children gentle nudges. “Come along, now. It’s getting late and you’ll regret dawdling in the morning.”

  Luke turned those Whitman blue eyes on Olivia as he went up the polished oak stairs. “It’s not the going to bed that’s the problem, Miss—Mama. It’s the rising and going to school.”

  Olivia chuckled, thinking she’d have to get used to her new role. To think, she’d gone from Miss Olivia to Mama in only a week. “Why am I not surprised to hear you say that?”

  At her side, Randy gave a sniff. “Because we’re fairly sick of hearing him complain about school every day, Mama. At least, I’m sick to death of it.”

  Olivia fought against another laugh that wouldn’t benefit their budding relationship.

  “Perhaps,” she told Randy. “But Luke knows his duty, wouldn’t you say? He goes each morning, even though he doesn’t relish it.”

  Reaching the upstairs landing, Randy rolled her eyes and bobbed her head from side to side. “I suppose. Still, he’s such a child.”

  Olivia lost her battle against the laughter. “We praise the Good Lord for that, don’t we? What else should a ten-year-old boy be but a child?”

  With a shrug, Randy sailed into her room. Out of the corner of her eye, Olivia caught sight of Luke’s protruding tongue and crossed eyes. “Now, Luke. Is that your most polite expression?”

  Luke shuffled on the fashionable hallway runner. “No, ma’am. But Randy’s not the most polite person, neither.”

  “Either.”

  “ ’S what I said.”

  Olivia placed her arm across his thin shoulders to guide him toward his room. “I meant that the correct word in your sentence was either, not neither.”

  “Oh. That again.”

  “Yes, oh. That again. And again until you remember more often.” She turned the boy to face her then dropped to her knees. “What do you think Jesus would say about that face you made at your sister?”

  Luke’s lids shuttered his eyes. “Oh.”

  “Once again, yes, oh. What would the Lord say?”

  He shuffled some more, his thin fingers knotting. “I don’t rightly know egg-zackly what he’d say, but I reckon he wouldn’t be too pleased.” Then Luke frowned. “Still, Randy’s the worst stuck-up goody-goody that ever was.”

  Olivia took the boy’s face between her hands. “Look at me, Luke. Would Jesus call Randy what you just did?”

  Again, those beautiful eyes closed. “No, ma’am, He wouldn’t.”

  “Then why don’t you worry about becoming more like the Lord than about your sister’s attitude? I can help her with that—it’s one thing mothers do well.”

  Luke clasped Olivia’s forearms. “Yeah, I guess I can.” He squeezed. “I’m glad you married us, Miss Olivia… Mama.”

  Sitting in a pool of her plum wool skirt, Olivia pulled the rascal onto her lap. “Oh, Luke, I am, too. I haven’t stopped thanking the Lord for you and Randy, especially since the wedding.”

  Thin arms wrapped around her neck. “Don’t forget Papa. You married him, too.”

  Olivia caught her breath. “No… I don’t forget your papa. I most certainly married him.”

  She shook her head a tiny bit. She really didn’t want to dwell on doubt. She’d understood his terms and had accepted them. She’d had no alternative. Well, she could have said no, but then she’d have been where she’d started. And… had she really wanted to say no? Yet, on a regular basis, the misgivings she experienced at the altar came back to haunt her.

  The morning she’d accepted his proposal, Eli had thanked her, and more. “You’ll lack for nothing as my wife…”

  Just then, she noted her new son’s heavy-lidded eyes and deep, slow breathing. “My dearest Mr. Lucas Whitman.” She tapped the tip of his nose. “Time has come to wash up and say your prayers. There’s no getting around that scrubbing—and make sure you work behind those ears.”

  He stood. “Aw… all right. I’m goin’. Will you still be coming in?”

  “I’ll come pray with you and tuck you in—after you’ve washed. As I always do.”

  With a lopsided grin, he scooted into his room.

  “G’night, Mama…” Luke and Randy’s voices echoed in her thoughts.

  Flushed with the joy the children brought her, Olivia hurried back to the parlor. The rich cocoa fragrance of Eli’s pipe tobacco teased her senses as she crossed the hall.

  She drew a breath and closed her eyes before stepping inside. I don’t know what Eli wants, Father God, but I know you can help me through the evening. Give me the best words and seal my lips against any others.

  Despite her trepidation, she couldn’t help but marvel at her blessings. She had a sturdy roof over her head, wholesome food at her table, fire in the grates, even lovely clothes. As Mrs. Whitman, the fine walnut and vel
vet furnishings were hers, as Eli had said a number of times. He’d suggested, more than once, that she move into the large guest room, but she preferred her own cozy, familiar bedroom.

  There was also the measure of peace she’d achieved when it came to her family. She was no longer a drain on them. Mama and Papa at first had objected when she’d given them her earnings, but she’d persevered, and her wages had bought the family a reasonable supply of food. She never could have dreamed of this future for herself.

  The Lord evidently had, and she thanked Him day after day for His provision.

  Eli waved her forward. “Come in, come in. You were gone a while. I hope those two didn’t give you much trouble.”

  Olivia sat on the wine velvet sofa and clasped her hands in her lap. “Oh, no. Not a bit, Mr. Whitman—”

  “Surely you can call me Eli now.”

  Her eyes widened. Call the president of the Bank of Bountiful by his first name to his face? The most respected man in town? The wealthiest?

  Her… husband?

  As she fumbled for a response, that spouse of only a handful of days smiled. “I’d be honored if you would.”

  The twinkle in his blue eyes invited agreement, even though she had to work to keep her voice from shaking. “I’ll try, but it might take some doing.”

  “I hope not from fear.”

  “Of course not. It’s just that you’re… well, you, and I’m… me…” Oh, dear, what a hash she’d made of that.

  Eli chuckled. “Well, I certainly hope we’re who we’re supposed to be. After all, we are home, and have family matters to discuss.”

  Family matters. Her new family’s matters. What a thrill!

  She smiled. “What might those be?”

  Eli gestured toward the steaming pot on the table by his easy chair. “Would you care for coffee first? Or Cooky could bring you tea.”

  “I drink both,” she answered, “but coffee’s fine. Thank you.”

  He handled the heavy silver vessel with confidence, underscoring the contrast between his sturdy fingers and the fine, graceful metal. Seconds later, she again thanked him for the cup of rich, dark brew.