The Convenient Bride Collection: 9 Romances Grow from Marriage Partnerships Formed Out of Necessity

by Erica Vetsch, Amanda Barratt, Andrea Boeshaar, Mona Hodgson, Melissa Jagears, Maureen Lang, Gabrielle Meyer, Jennifer Uhlarik, Renee Yancy

  Margaret sniffed and glared across at her husband. “See, even she thinks we need one.”

  They definitely didn’t need one. If they hadn’t needed one with ten people in the house, then they didn’t need one now. But Don not caving to her sister’s whining for one? Impressive.

  Had they even eaten every night? Margaret hadn’t done much more than bake bread and boil tea since Helen had moved in with them.

  “And a hired cook would actually listen when I say the fried chicken needs more salt.” Margaret gave her a glare.

  Helen kept her hands under the table where she wrung her napkin as if it were her sister’s neck. Why couldn’t Margaret be a smidgen grateful for all the cooking she’d done?

  With Neil’s perpetual silence these past few weeks, she’d forgotten how many underhanded insults she’d endured every day at her sister’s house.

  Why not tell Margaret right now how that’d felt? She didn’t have to live here anymore. But venting would only ruffle her sister’s feathers. She’d not stoop to her level just because she no longer relied on her good graces to keep clothed and fed.

  Even so, she couldn’t just give up on her family. Who else could help them change?

  Sighing, she passed the cinnamon to Jeffrey, who’d pointed at the shaker since his mouth was too full to ask politely. Maybe she didn’t deserve her sister’s gratitude for helping raise her family if this was an example of her nephew’s best table manners. What other childish habits had he not shed despite being five and twenty?

  “Did you see this sale advertisement, Jeff?” Don smoothed out the newspaper he’d been reading and slid the paper over to his son. “Isn’t this the property you sold to Mr. Oliver?”

  Jeffrey leaned over the paper and read the ad. “Yes, that’s the block. He’s added another building though, but wait—” He pulled the paper closer. “He’s asking five times what that property’s worth.” He glanced over at Helen for a second before shaking his head. “That’s highway robbery.”

  Her lips twitched, like they had for decades when she worked to keep her thoughts to herself at the Abernathy table. Just because Jeffrey didn’t like the price didn’t mean Neil was forcing people to buy.

  “Well, Helen is supposed to be Mr. Oliver’s go-to now.” Margaret pointed her fork at her sister. “Why don’t you ask your aunt for a deal. That’s all Mr. Oliver married her for.”

  And now her throat was dry and her face aflame, but the two men didn’t even blink at the insult.

  She was supposed to do business on Neil’s behalf, yes, but she wasn’t yet comfortable with it all. Still, what would Margaret think of her if she refused to do the one thing she’d bragged about Neil needing her for?

  Though if he’d taken more time to adjust to his vision loss, he would’ve realized he didn’t need her at all. How long until he figured out marrying her was a mistake? She forced herself to stop twisting her napkin. “I’m sure if you wanted the property, he’d sell it back to you.”

  “I thought you could make decisions.” Margaret’s broad grin irked.

  “I can make decisions, but—”

  “What would you want to pay for it, Jeffrey?” Don wiped the apple pie crumbs from his mustache. “You certainly know what it’s worth.”

  The young man sighed then gazed at the ceiling as if calculating. “A third of that price would be fair. It’d cover the improvements he made since I sold it.” He reached over to touch his mother’s hand and smiled. “Have I told you I’ve decided to stay in town for good? If I can find property I’m interested in, that is.”

  Margaret’s mouth quivered. “Oh, Jeffrey. I’m so pleased.”

  Helen bit her lip. How could she not help Jeffrey? He’d always been her sister’s favorite.

  Margaret grabbed Helen’s hand. “You will help him get it, right?”

  “I’m sure I can.” What did it matter who bought the property? If she kept Jeffrey from buying this piece of land, her sister would never let her hear the end of it.

  And with Neil as quiet as he was, could she let go of the only family she had over a deal that wouldn’t hurt Neil much one way or the other?

  “Well, since I sold it to him for spittle, he shouldn’t be upset about going down two-thirds in price for me.” Jeffrey scratched his chin and looked at his father. “If you drew up papers, then they wouldn’t even have lawyer’s fees to contend with.”

  Don leaned back and shrugged. “Sure, we could go to Mr. Oliver’s secretary as soon as we’ve finished lunch and start the process.”

  “At least half, Jeffrey.” Helen bit her lip. Why had she just blurted that out? Jeffrey would give her a fit now if she tried to negotiate higher. But him thinking he could just decide the price for her made her tongue stupid. “Granting that’s enough to cover any debt Neil has on the place.”

  Jeffrey smirked and looked sideways at his father, who smiled back before folding up his newspaper, tucking it under his arm, and standing. “I’m finished eating. Why don’t we head over to Oliver’s office?”

  The apple pie all of a sudden felt heavy in her gut. Would it be worth fighting these two? Neil wasn’t in any financial distress. One sale below market value wouldn’t hurt him, and he was generous with his tenants. “What do you intend to do with the property, Jeffrey? I hope you won’t bet it in a card game again.”

  The room stilled.

  “No, Aunt Helen, I’ve grown wiser in five years. Please don’t keep me from making a good start in this town because of one mishap in my past.”

  How could she not offer the boy a second chance? “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Chapter 5

  I’ll see you tomorrow. Is seven too early?” Neil shook the hand of the man he’d corresponded with for decades, amazed at Professor Larson’s frail bones, since his strong personality had leaped out of his letters. Dusk had just crept into the sky, and the older man was flagging. They’d been conversing for over four hours.

  Probably the longest Neil had ever spoken to another person in his life.

  He’d used Helen as his excuse to leave the professor to rest, though he could have easily continued with their conversation had his mentor not been fighting to keep his eyes open.

  Professor Larson smoothed down the long wispy white hairs that flopped in the wind instead of covering his freckled bald head. His hand trembled, but not his smile. “Seven is fine, Neil. I’m up before the sun whether I want to be or not. I can’t wait to meet your wife. I do admit, that was the last reason I expected for tonight’s visit to end. Why had you not told me you were courting a woman?”

  Neil’s cheek muscle jumped to life. Thankfully the man’s eyesight seemed about as good as his, so he’d likely not notice the twitch, but would he hear it in his voice? “I didn’t exactly court the woman.”

  “Oh?”

  The silence following made his cheek jerk even more.

  If it had been anyone else, he’d have ignored the questioning silence, but this man was only here for a few days, and if he trusted anyone in the world to give him advice… “You know how my eyesight’s been in decline. And Helen was a woman needing a future. Since I don’t have anyone to provide for, I figured I could provide for her, and she’ll be a great help to me once I can’t see anymore.”

  “And what if you never go completely blind?”

  Not likely, according to the doctor. “Then she’s no longer a spinster without means.”

  A minute of silence passed, and Neil worked hard not to jump in and defend himself. That last sentence sounded pretty cold. But what if he admitted wanting more of a relationship despite the fear of how much he’d have to change to have it? Would the professor fill his future letters with questions of how things were going between him and Helen?

  What if he failed to become the kind of man Helen wanted? Could he truly transform into someone different than he’d always been?

  He’d only just admitted to himself that he wanted to love her as she should be loved. He did ind
eed want her as happy as he was himself, even if that meant forcing himself to talk more. But what if she never wanted anything beyond a decent dinner conversation?

  The professor thumped Neil on the shoulder. “You’re taking the easy way out, aren’t you?”

  Neil shook his head. “I’m finding nothing easy about this at all.”

  “Reading your letters, I’ve pictured a man stalwart and strong in his convictions and set in his way of life. That’s why you surprised me by mentioning a wife just now.” Professor Larson rubbed the white stubble on his chin. “I was married for thirty-four years before Bernice passed away. You can’t keep a woman under your roof with some altruistic thought of only providing for her—not if you want to remain happy. You have to open up, allow yourself to be vulnerable, and love her like Christ—that was in the vows I assume you took.”

  “Yes, to lay down my life for her. She mentioned the other day that my books were my life, so I’m trying to give her more time than my reading.” Or he would anyway. He forced himself not to kick at the dirt. He’d not done well the last two days—only attempting theological debates with her again. But since she’d brought up her disappointment with his books at dinner two days ago, she hadn’t seemed interested in discussing verses.

  “Christ didn’t just give up His time or His life. He gave up everything to make Himself nothing because we needed the kind of love only He could give. He cared. Cared enough to let mankind kill Him, despise Him, reject Him.

  Neil ran his tongue around his mouth. It wasn’t that he didn’t care, but if he cared more … What if Helen didn’t like what she found when he opened himself up?

  A giant yawn took over the professor’s face. He covered his mouth with a scrawny hand, taking a step back with the yawn’s intensity. “Oh my, I think this old bird better hop in his nest before he falls off a branch.”

  “See you in the morning then.” Neil shook the man’s hand.

  “You have to care, Neil, in order to change. Let it happen, though it might hurt. If you don’t, no matter what you do, it won’t be enough.”

  He’d known his mentor wouldn’t be happy with his marriage of convenience.

  But then, was he happy with it himself? “All right.”

  After climbing onto the buggy’s backseat, he waved at the professor as Mr. Ferguson drove away.

  As was typical, his driver wasn’t concerned with pleasantries. The man had learned not to bother.

  But if he were going to stretch himself and start talking to Helen, maybe he should practice with someone who wouldn’t be as intimidating to impress. “Mr. Ferguson, I’m sorry to keep you out so late.”

  “No problem, Mr. Oliver.” The man got the horses up to speed then relaxed.

  The buggy swayed, tempting Neil to lean back and revisit the stimulating discussion he’d had with the professor over Hebrews chapter six. But he drew breath into his lungs and tried again. “I hope you don’t have family waiting on you.”

  “Well, I do, but they aren’t upset when you keep me late, since you pay me more.”

  “They? Children, I assume. How many do you have?”

  “Twelve, sir.”

  “Twelve? How did I not know you had so many?”

  “You never asked, sir.” A sparkle of merriment infused Mr. Ferguson’s tone. He was a rather happy chap.

  But a quick calculation of how much he paid Mr. Ferguson raced through Neil’s mind. How could he be happy on his salary with fourteen at home? “How do you keep them all fed and clothed?”

  “Well, two of them are out of the house. The oldest girl helps the wife with the laundry they take in from the men at the mill next door. The next oldest girl watches the little ones, and the next two oldest boys chop and deliver firewood around town.”

  “Are they not in school?”

  Mr. Ferguson shrugged. “Can’t afford to keep them in school past twelve.”

  Neil played with his lip. “Did any of your children wish to stay in school?” How he’d loved school as a child—still did, if he counted the studying he did. Books were wonderful escapes whenever he felt too exposed talking to others.

  Exposed.

  The professor told him he needed to become vulnerable with Helen. He’d have to take down his shield of books, but besides the business talk she was surely tired of by the end of the day and the theological debates they’d always engaged in, what else could they talk about?

  Mr. Ferguson clicked to his team and they turned onto Eighth. “My eleven-year-old is certainly not looking forward to joining his brothers hauling firewood. He dreams of becoming some fancy word for a scientist who studies bugs. Since there can’t be money in that, he’ll just have to keep it as a hobby. So if you find any interesting dead moths or beetles, he’ll happily take them off your hands.”

  “What’s he do with them?”

  “Well, he drowns live ones in the alcohol his mother can’t believe I bought for him, and he goes around to the stores that sell cigars, hoping for more boxes for his collection. The wife puts up with all the dead bugs in the boys’ room, even leaves up spiderwebs for him to watch after he’s done with chores if there’s a spider on it.”

  “What an interesting hobby.” And quite the dedication. Maybe he could help the boy somehow. At least he paid Mr. Ferguson more than most, but still. Twelve children. “Sounds like you have a great wife.”

  “She is that.” Mr. Ferguson clicked his tongue to the horses, who turned in simple obedience down the lane.

  What if Mr. Ferguson could help him figure out how to woo a woman? Considering he had twelve children … “And how did you capture Mrs. Ferguson’s heart?”

  “Ice skating.”

  “What? Where can one ice skate in California?”

  “We grew up in Michigan. A young man can capture a lot of female attention cutting patterns in the ice and zipping around everyone else on the pond.” He chuckled. “Carved Lucy’s name in the ice with a heart around it to propose.”

  The buggy halted and Neil blinked. They were home already? Darkness had descended and he didn’t see any lights in the windows.

  Usually he found conversation so tedious. But after his talk with the professor and now his driver … maybe talking wasn’t so bad.

  What if courting his wife wasn’t as intimidating as he’d feared it to be?

  Helen wiped her clammy palms against her shirtwaist as two men maneuvered several large pieces of furniture around in their small house. Neil hadn’t told her there’d be a shipment of things coming today. In fact, she hadn’t even seen him last night. He’d spent the entire evening at the hotel with his friend.

  What should she tell them to do with the bed she’d been sleeping on? The men had propped it up in the kitchen to create room to wrangle the larger frame through the bedroom door.

  “Where do you want this, Mrs. Oliver?” The taller man pointed to the small slumped mattress in question. Oh, how her cheeks burned to know they knew about her and Neil’s sleeping arrangements.

  Which Neil must be ready to change.

  And the movers knew his intentions at the same time she learned of it.

  Pressing a hand against the swirl of her stomach, she desperately looked around for an answer. “Uh, why don’t you leave it? My husband failed to tell me what he wanted done with it.” Failed to tell her anything about the furniture he’d evidently custom ordered.

  “All right, ma’am.” The man pulled on the brim of his slouch hat and exited the house with the brawny youth who’d helped him lug in the bed, wardrobe, chest, and cedar trunk they’d crammed in around the other furniture in her room.

  Or rather, Neil’s room.

  Their room.

  She sagged against the door she’d shut behind the movers and let out a shaky breath. What should she do now?

  The door jiggled behind her. She moved to open it. “Did you forget—”

  She held her breath, seeing the bunch of daisies in Neil’s hands.

  “I saw the New
ton boys drive away. Did the furniture come?”

  Her throat refused to work, so she nodded.

  “Great.” He moved forward, and she couldn’t help the sneeze.

  “Bless you.”

  She wiped at her watering eyes, her nose tickling again. “Please don’t bring those in.”

  He frowned at the flowers. “These?”

  “Achoo! Yes, those.”

  “I’m sorry, I thought all women liked flowers.”

  “I think they’re pretty—from far away. But you won’t find me strolling through a flower garden.”

  He tossed the bunch toward the road then flipped a red box over and over in his hands. “I talked to Mr. Ferguson on the way home last night.”

  Did he think that was newsworthy? But then, he was talking about something other than the book of Hebrews, which was a nice change.

  “It wasn’t so bad actually. He’s interesting.”

  She let out a silent chuckle. Did he think no one talked about anything beyond the weather? But then, her sister’s family really didn’t talk about anything interesting, unless one cared about the goings-on of the Abernathy household.

  “We talked for the whole ride home this afternoon as well.” He was beaming like a child who’d just won the spelling bee.

  “I’m not sure I believe you.”

  He shrugged and smiled. “I need to practice. Here.” He held out the little red box. “This is for you.”

  She took the box, trying not to sneeze again from the tickle the daisies had left in her nose and throat. After untying the lid, she peeped in to see shards of peanut brittle. With a small smile, she nodded. “Thanks.” She’d have to remember to take the box to her sister’s. Jeffrey was the only one in her family who ate the candy. Fishing for her handkerchief but not finding one in her pocket, she headed into the kitchen, slipped the box onto the table, and went to retrieve a tissue from her room.

  “I got that wrong, too, didn’t I?”

  She wiped her nose and came out of the room. “What’d you say?”

  “You don’t like peanut brittle.”