Rebecca’s mouth formed an O. She started shaking again, but this time it was with quiet laughter. “You must think I’m a mindless twit, babbling on like a romance junkie or a—yes, Wyatt! Yes, I’ll marry you.”
Joy flooded his soul. Rebecca had agreed to be his wife! He grabbed her up in an exuberant embrace, laughing and kissing her and exulting in her equally enthusiastic response. Then he held her close, savoring the beat of her pulse and the white vapors of breath that rose around them in the crisp, cold air.
“I have looked for rings,” Wyatt said apologetically, “and the jewelers nearby don’t carry anything I want to give you, Rebecca. Maybe we should go to Kansas City, or St. Louis, or—”
“Oh, Wyatt.” Rebecca’s face glowed as she gazed at him in the fading daylight. “My romantic fantasy belonged to a starry-eyed girl who fell for gushy movies and fairy tales. Now that I’ve lived in Willow Ridge among Plain folks, I know a strong marriage has nothing to do with a ring. I’d feel really out of place going to Mamma’s with a big diamond on my hand.”
Wyatt’s eyes widened. “You would?”
Rebecca shrugged. “Nobody I spend time with wears jewelry—except my English dad, and his ring’s a simple gold band.”
Wyatt considered this for a moment. Money was no object, so if Rebecca wanted a big, showy diamond he’d be delighted to have one specially designed for her . . . but maybe that was his fantasy. He’d always figured on having a wife to be seen with at racing events and social gatherings—but he’d left that lifestyle behind. Maybe he needed to rethink his vision of a trophy wife, because Rebecca would never be that sort of woman.
“But if you want to exchange rings, that’s perfectly all right, Wyatt. We both grew up with that tradition, after all.”
Rebecca’s offer brought him out of his thoughts. He’d always admired her open-minded way of looking at life—it was just one more reason he loved her. Wyatt smiled as an idea occurred to him, thinking the fading daylight and falling temperature were good reasons to enjoy a warm dinner as they continued this conversation.
“I occasionally wear a ring that belonged to my adoptive dad, but when I’m working I prefer not to have anything on my hands,” he mused aloud. “My sister kept our adoptive mother’s rings, but she never had them resized because they’re understated and no longer stylish. As you might recall, Vanessa has a flare for flashier accessories.”
Rebecca laughed. “How can I forget the day I pitched a cobbler in your face because I thought Vanessa was your lover? Lucky for me, she understood that my jealousy meant I was serious about you.”
Wyatt gently removed one of her gloves to study her hand. It was slender yet strong, with clipped fingernails devoid of polish. “What if I ask Vanessa to bring our mom’s rings someday soon?” he asked softly. “My two favorites belonged to our grandmother, an opal and a garnet, both set in gold bands so narrow you barely see them beneath the stones. And if you don’t want them, I’m fine with it.”
Rebecca’s smile softened. “I like that idea,” she murmured. “It would mean something to wear a ring that belonged to your adoptive mom or your grandmother. My adoptive mom wore a plain band that matched Dad’s, and we buried her in it.”
Feeling very much in love, Wyatt slipped his arm around Rebecca’s shoulders. “Let’s go in and enjoy that casserole and we’ll call Vanessa,” he suggested. “She’ll be delighted that I finally popped the question.”
“We’ll need to tell Mamma and Ben and my sisters—and Dad—our big news, too,” she said as she walked alongside him. “All of a sudden, we have plans to make! And dates to set! And decisions to make about where we’ll live and—well, life just got a whole lot more exciting, didn’t it?”
Wyatt smiled. “Who knew what I’d be getting myself into when I sought you out to design my new website!”
“You were a big surprise, Wyatt,” Rebecca replied fondly. “Only God could bring a man like you my way.”
He stopped in the middle of the snow-covered yard to kiss her, because sometimes her insights left him absolutely speechless.
Chapter Fourteen
Wednesday morning, Nora eagerly awaited Rosalyn’s arrival at the store. She found herself speculating as she set a dozen evergreen and pinecone wreaths on the table where Rosalyn had been working while customers watched her—they’d often purchased her wreaths before the sealant was even dry. Although Loretta was much more outgoing and comfortable dealing with the public than her older sister, Rosalyn was an invaluable employee, as well—dependable and mature, determined to learn about merchandising and to overcome her shyness around English folks.
The bell jingled and Rosalyn entered, quickly shutting the door against the snow that was blowing in. “Gut morning, Nora,” she called out as she removed her black wraps. “Do you suppose we’ll have many shoppers today, what with all this snow?”
“We won’t know the answer to that question until the day goes along, dear!” Nora replied. “Sometimes bad weather keeps customers at home, and sometimes they’d rather shop than be cooped up all day.”
“Ah. I hadn’t thought of it that way. It’s a gut thing Ira and Luke are shoveling the driveway and parking lot.”
Rosalyn’s sigh made Nora look more closely at her employee. Judging from her downcast eyes and somber air, Cornelius had been in a foul mood before she’d left home. When Rosalyn passed the worktable on her way to the office, however, her eyes widened. “My word, where did all these wreaths come from?”
Nora laughed. “I think you know,” she teased. “I was surprised to learn he had such a way with greenery and pinecones—and to catch a hint of romance in the air when he dropped them off for you.”
Rosalyn gaped. “Marcus made all of these? I—I didn’t leave him nearly enough evergreen cuttings to make so many.”
Nora slipped her arm around Rosalyn’s shoulders. “I suspect he enjoyed having something to do—and I sensed he was making them to please you more than to help you,” she confided. “I could be wrong, but I think Marcus is coming around. Growing up.”
Rosalyn looked away. “That’s all well and gut, but Dat was on another tirade this morning,” she said softly. “He was saying I should be grateful to have a home and a purpose—meaning that I should devote my life to looking after him rather than getting ideas about marriage. Especially with a bad apple like Marcus, he said.”
Nora frowned. “Why does your dat say such harsh things about Marcus? I doubt the two of them have spent much time in the same room, let alone—”
“Marcus came to church on Sunday,” Rosalyn explained with a shake of her head. “Dat accused me of getting all moony-eyed when he showed up. He believes Marcus wasn’t sincere about worshipping God—that he had a hidden agenda for being there.”
Nora’s eyes widened. When Marcus had delivered the wreath bases, he’d mentioned how pale and nervous Cornelius had appeared when Preacher Ben had spoken about keeping secrets and not getting caught. She hadn’t told Marcus that she and Drew had spotted the deacon entering a casino in September—just as she’d kept Marcus’s suspicions about Cornelius’s visit to the bank to herself. It sounded as if Rosalyn’s dat was afraid of what Marcus knew, and he was lashing out at Rosalyn to keep her away from the handsome young man.
Life would be easier for a lot of people if you’d just come clean, Cornelius, she thought. Not that she could see him confessing of his own free will.
Nora set aside her dark thoughts as she watched Rosalyn at the worktable. Tenderly she lifted each wreath and looked it over, nodding her approval. “Marcus was right about being an old hand at this,” she said. “Maybe he should be the one working in your store instead of me, considering—”
“Don’t go thinking that way!” Nora joined Rosalyn at the table to reassure her. “You’re doing a beautiful job of waiting on customers—and they love your work, sweetie,” she insisted. “Don’t put yourself down just because your dat said hateful things this morning. It’s you I want working her
e, Rosalyn—”
Rosalyn’s sigh suggested that she had more on her mind. Nora stood quietly beside her, waiting for whatever she wanted to get off her chest.
“I’ve spent my entire life living by the rules, being a gut girl,” Rosalyn said sadly. “I—I’ve held the family together since Mamm died—”
“Jah, you have,” Nora agreed.
“—and I kept the checkbook balanced, at least until Dat insisted he would do it,” she continued in a faraway voice. “The clothes have been laundered and the meals have been cooked, the eggs have been gathered and the garden’s been tended, even as Edith and Loretta were courting and getting married.”
“They couldn’t ask for a more supportive, more loving sister,” Nora put in gently. “You’ve been a model daughter, too, Rosalyn. I believe your mamm’s looking down on you from heaven with a pleased, proud smile on her face.”
Rosalyn blinked rapidly, trying not to cry. “Why isn’t that enough?” she whispered. “Is it so wrong for me to want more—like a husband and a family? Am I a bad person if I want to live somewhere other than with Dat, or—or if I just want to have some fun?”
Nora’s heart clutched with sympathy. She couldn’t imagine how lonely and desperate Rosalyn must feel, reaching the age of twenty-eight with both of her younger sisters married, and feeling she had nothing happy to look forward to. “You’re not a bad person, Rosalyn—”
“And am I blind and stupid to have . . . ideas about Marcus?” Rosalyn asked sadly. “Jah, he did some bad things before he came here, but does that make him a bad person? Are we not to forgive him, and give him a chance to do better?”
“He is doing better,” Nora put in quickly. “Marcus told me he’d opened a bank account and is paying down his credit card debt, with the intent of paying back what he stole from his former girlfriends, too.”
Rosalyn’s brown eyes widened with surprise. “He’s told you all these things?”
Nora shrugged, her cheeks heating with pleasure. “He and I had a nice little chat when he brought these wreaths in,” she admitted. “Sometimes folks feel they can confide in me, I guess—”
“Jah, like I just did.”
“—but while Marcus was taking these wreaths out of his car,” Nora continued quickly, “I got the impression that he thought you were changing, too. And I think he likes you, Rosalyn. A lot.”
Was she wrong to say such a thing? Was she giving poor Rosalyn false hope? It wasn’t as though she’d lied, because Marcus had been wearing a telltale grin while he’d spoken with her—much like the love-struck smile that was brightening Rosalyn’s face.
Nora thought twice, but decided to reveal one more little detail. “He mentioned something about a cream puff, too.”
“Oh, no! I—” Rosalyn’s face turned crimson, yet she was laughing. “Marcus is anything but a cream puff in his tight jeans and leather jacket. But those clothes are all for show, you know?” she asked demurely. “He looks like he should be roaring down the road on a motorcycle, covered with tattoos, yet I suspect he’s as lonely as I am. He just doesn’t want to admit it.”
“Not many men do,” Nora said. She sensed a big improvement in Rosalyn’s mood, so the jingling of the bell above the door was a good reason to turn the conversation to a lighter mood. “Gut morning—and thanks for braving the snow to visit our store today!” she called out to the trio of women who were shaking snow from their coats.
“When your husband’s retired, you look for all sorts of excuses to get out of the house—no matter what the weather’s like!” one of the ladies teased.
Nora laughed. She saw that Rosalyn was bringing spools of ribbon and other materials to her worktable. “If you’re in the market for a live Christmas wreath, you’ll not find any fresher than what Rosalyn’s decorating today,” she told the women. “And if you tell her how you’d like it customized, she can probably have it finished by the time you’ve done the rest of your shopping.”
Rosalyn smiled gratefully at Nora and held the ladies’ gazes as they approached her table. “Jah, I can do that! I’ve got all sorts of ribbon candies and shiny little balls and silk poinsettias to dress them up,” she said cheerfully. “I can make you a special wreath that won’t look like anyone else’s.”
Nora smiled. With a bit of reassurance, Rosalyn was becoming quite a salesperson.
* * *
That afternoon Marcus stood in the Simple Gifts parking lot, checking his watch, only to find that the hands hadn’t moved since the last time he’d glanced at it. Should he go in to speak with Rosalyn as soon as the last car left? Or should he stay outside? He didn’t want her to think he’d been hanging around like a school kid—or stalking her—yet he didn’t want to embarrass her in front of Nora or the day’s last customers, either.
No, it’s you who’ll be embarrassed if she shuts you down, Hooley, his thoughts taunted him. Stay out here. Since when have you felt so nervous about asking for a date?
He’d worn the wrong shoes for standing in the snow that was accumulating on the lot only half an hour after Luke and Ira had cleared it. He was getting cold feet in more ways than one, and his leather jacket wasn’t nearly warm enough to handle the dipping temperature, so he quit waffling and stepped inside the shop.
The infernal bell above the door sounded like a fire alarm to a man who was trying not to draw attention to himself. Marcus stomped his snowy feet on the doormat, relieved to see that Rosalyn and Nora were talking with the day’s final two customers as they rang up a tall stack of pottery plates and serving pieces. Rather than helping Rosalyn wrap each dish in heavy paper, he waved at her and Nora and headed to the loft as though he intended to shop.
Marcus realized immediately that the creaky wooden floor would give away his nervousness if he paced. He sat down in a handsome upholstered chair, not surprised to see Drew Detweiler listed as the consignee. From his seat, he commanded an awesome view of the floor’s main level, so he watched the seamless way Nora and Rosalyn wrapped and packed each piece of pottery.
Marcus almost offered to carry the boxes to the customers’ car, but he thought again. He was jumpy enough to drop a box and cause a major disruption in everyone’s afternoon. Only two wreaths remained on Rosalyn’s worktable, and that tickled him. Marcus hoped she’d given him extra points for gathering enough additional greenery and pinecones to complete a dozen wreath bases rather than just six—
“Marcus, what a nice surprise to find you here. How can I help you?”
He sat bolt upright. How had Rosalyn reached the loft area without his being aware of her approach? Had he been daydreaming—or had she sneaked up on him by knowing which creaky spots on the steps to avoid?
Rosalyn asked you a question, dummy. Don’t act as though you’ve never realized how low and pleasing her voice is, or how wide and soft her brown eyes look in the shadows—
“Hey there, Roz! Guess I got so comfortable in this chair, I didn’t hear you come up here,” Marcus blurted with an adolescent-sounding laugh. “Just, uh—just thought I’d stop by and see how your wreaths are selling.”
Rosalyn began straightening a stack of embroidered tea towels. “Thanks to you, I’ve had enough wreaths to stay ahead of the folks wanting to buy them,” she replied graciously. “How can I ever repay you for making more of them than I gave you materials for?”
How can I ever repay you . . .
Half a dozen totally inappropriate replies raced through Marcus’s mind as heat rose under his collar. She’d given him the perfect opening for the question he’d been rehearsing, hadn’t she?
“How about if you join me for a sleigh ride Saturday night?” Marcus said in a rush. “There’s enough snow on the ground to make it, well, perfect, so I was thinking—”
“A sleigh ride?” Rosalyn whispered. “Oh, Marcus. You—you have a sleigh?”
Her wide eyes and pink cheeks—the childlike wonder in her voice—stopped his heart. Hoping to regain control over his responses, Marcus rose from the ch
air. “I do now,” he said, congratulating himself on his purchase. “And Wyatt just acquired a Percheron mare that should be perfect for pulling a sleigh!”
“I’d love to go,” she murmured, glancing away. “But if you come to the house and Dat sees that I’m going out with—”
“I could pick you up right here, after you get off work on Saturday,” Marcus suggested. “If you tell Loretta you won’t be home for supper—”
“What’ll I tell Dat, though? He’ll know it in a minute if I don’t tell the truth—it’s not like I ever go anywhere of an evening,” she admitted with a shake of her head.
Marcus had anticipated this problem, and he wasn’t about to let Cornelius call a halt to their date. “What if you don’t tell him anything?” he suggested breezily. “Sometimes it’s best to sin first and confess after the fact. It’s more fun, and it saves a lot of explaining.”
Rosalyn’s eyes widened in disbelief, and Marcus thought he’d blown any chance of getting a positive answer. Then she covered a soft giggle with her hand, as though he’d shared his juiciest secret with her. Her face turned a girlish shade of pink and she straightened a few more towels while she considered her response.
“Just this morning I was wondering if I’d ever have any fun again,” she said in a voice that quivered with excitement, “and now Mr. Fun himself is asking me to ride in his sleigh. And jah, I’m going, too! I have three days to think of a story for Dat . . . or not.”
Marcus had the sudden urge to kiss her—but Nora might see them. His body was twinkling like the string of lights along the loft railing, even as he reminded himself that Rosalyn was his means of getting more information about her dubious father’s secrets. “I can’t wait,” he said. “We’ll grab some supper somewhere and ride around the countryside—”
“And laugh with the jingle of the sleigh bells, and catch snowflakes on our tongues,” Rosalyn put in wistfully. She appeared deliriously happy. “It’ll be like old times, but with a—a boyfriend. Oh, Marcus, this is so exciting!”
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