“I’m very grateful for all you’ve done,” she said.
How could he tell her he didn’t care about gratitude? That the notion of someone feeling indebted to him made him uncomfortable? Perhaps in some communities this was acceptable, even desired if there was hope of some give-and-take. But the society he knew best was that of the bees, the one where every member did their work, knew their place, and was rewarded—or not, and often with startling consequences for a society that outwardly worked so well. Nature, human or otherwise, could be cruel. Which was why he’d always sought to remove himself from human society.
A cloud passed overhead, drawing his eye when it blocked out the sun for some time. “Bees don’t like rain,” he said, once again surprised to hear his own voice.
“No?”
“No.”
He slid a sideways glance at her. He didn’t need to talk to pass the time; there were days on end when the only other person he spoke to was Mrs. Higgins, and some when he didn’t even speak to her. The farm ran itself, his overseers knew their places and their jobs, just as dedicated as worker bees. Far be it from him to know if any woman, this one included, liked conversing. But that was what he always believed of females, if he could judge from the way Mrs. Higgins always talked to the others in his employ. He’d given Virginia two opportunities to hold a conversation—blast it all, to give this thing called holy matrimony a tiny, if timid, step forward. But she simply didn’t seem interested.
It was just as well. She’d be going back to the city just as soon as her shop was rebuilt.
Chapter 12
Mrs. Higgins dropped the basket of apples she’d been holding when she caught sight of Virginia sitting beside Paul in his buggy. Virginia watched as the red fruit rolled every which way, and both she and Paul hurried to help pick them up after they emerged from his buggy in front of Paul’s home.
“Well, well, this is quite a surprise you’ve brought home, Mr. Paul,” she said as they filled the basket. “Mrs. Turnbridge, welcome home!”
Now it was Virginia’s turn to gape, as Mrs. Higgins had upon sight of her. Paul hadn’t even recognized her the first time he’d seen her since the wedding, yet this woman did, who’d only greeted her a moment before the ceremony?
“Thank you for remembering me, Mrs. Higgins,” she said, glad Paul had mentioned the woman’s name so she could somewhat return the familiarity.
“How could I forget you, ma’am? I’ve thought of you often since that day, wondering when the good Lord would bring you back. And here you are!”
“Have you, Mrs. Higgins?” she asked. “You weren’t offended by the whole thing?”
“Now, what right have I to judge anyone else? Come inside, both of you, before the rain comes. We’ll be like bees to the hive, isn’t that right, Mr. Paul?”
Virginia recalled the protective gear Paul had worn just before the ceremony, guessing it likely had something to do with his obvious interest in bees. She had been sorely tempted to ask him further about such things when he’d briefly commented about rain earlier, but had refrained.
It wasn’t easy trying to be invisible.
She was more than relieved by Mrs. Higgins’s welcome. At least with her she could be herself. Inside, she felt welcomed all the more. If Paul liked being a hermit, at least he was a comfortable one. The door opened to a large room with plush furniture: a long sofa, two overstuffed chairs in front of a wide fireplace. A table held an oil lamp, a neatly stocked bookshelf boasted countless hours of reading nearby, and beyond that room appeared to be a small dining room and an open door to what she guessed must be the kitchen. A stairway tucked to the side at the end of a corridor likely led to bedrooms upstairs.
Someone else had joined them outside, but no one had introduced him until he brought in Virginia’s two trunks. One was filled with several items of new clothes, from sleepwear to day dresses. The advantage of having a half-dozen apprentice seamstresses nearby was the incredible speed they had been able to create everything she needed. The other trunk was her bonnet-making goods.
“This is Tim,” Mrs. Higgins said, “who is everything from footman to handyman. My nephew.”
Virginia reached out her hand, which seemed to surprise him since he wiped his palm on his trousers as if he hadn’t prepared himself for human contact. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”
“Now I suppose you’re hungry after that long trip from the city, so I’ll just take these to the kitchen”—she held up the basket of apples—“then see about dinner. How does roasted chicken sound to you?”
“Lovely! I’m famished.”
“Mrs. Higgins won’t disappoint,” said Paul, having just come in from outside. Virginia had last seen him checking on the horse after his long job of hauling them so far. “You wouldn’t happen to be using those apples for a pie, would you?”
Mrs. Higgins laughed, already on her way from the room. “What else would I be doing with them?”
Tim stepped closer to the door to make his exit, but Virginia detained him. “I suppose I should have asked your aunt,” she said, “but is there a pump where I can get some water to freshen with? I’m afraid the road was a little dusty.” She looked past him, out the open door. “Although I suppose I could just stand outside in that rain!”
“I’ll fill a pitcher for you, ma’am. And bring it right upstairs to—” He stopped abruptly and looked at Paul. “Aunt Leah said you got married awhile back, Mr. Paul. I expect this is the woman who came out here for the nuptials. Should I bring the water to your room for her, then?”
Virginia’s heart leaped right to her throat, and she eyed Paul, who seemed every bit as uncomfortable with Tim’s assumption. “No, Tim. To the guest room, although I suppose I should go up there and see if it’s dusty. It hasn’t been used since John and Sarah’s last visit, and that’s years ago now.”
“My aunt don’t allow dust, Mr. Paul, in a room used or not.”
Judging by the gleaming surfaces around them, Virginia had no reason to doubt him. Likely Paul knew that as well and had been hoping for an opportunity to flee upstairs as an excuse to free himself of her company.
“Could you take her trunks up there, then? I’m sure you’re right about the dust.”
When Tim left with his first trip carrying one of her trunks, Virginia wandered to the bookshelf rather than stand in awkward silence, alone with Paul. She hoped he didn’t think her nosy, but she’d regretted not bringing any reading material from the city. She’d simply forgotten, in the haste of the decision, to purchase anything to replace what she’d lost in the fire.
Since he didn’t protest, she assumed she was free to investigate. Many of the thicker volumes were natural science books, which might prove interesting considering there was so much more room out here for nature than in the city. But it was the second shelf that interested her most. He owned nearly every Dickens book she’d ever heard of!
“Oh!” she said with delight. “Do you mind if I borrow some of your Charles Dickens books on occasion? I do love his way of telling a story.”
“Help yourself. They were my mother’s.”
“Well, then,” she said as she pulled off her gloves, “you might have Mrs. Higgins toss a book into my room now and then, along with that crust of bread.”
His returning smile warmed her heart. Perhaps her concentrated silence had been worth it to build his trust, after all.
Paul couldn’t have been more relieved that Virginia seemed to be more herself since they’d arrived. But if it wasn’t dejection over leaving the city that had her so quiet all day, what could it have been?
He decided not to worry about it overmuch. As long as she looked as content as she did just now, he would be content as well.
And all it had taken was the promise of a Dickens novel.
Chapter 13
For the next two weeks, Virginia kept to herself, hiding away in a bedroom that was far more comfortable than the one that had burned to the ground. She’d always lived i
n the same room she’d grown up in, never having taken over the larger quarters her parents had occupied. Her room had offered a narrow bed with a lumpy straw mattress, supporting ropes that were forever loosening, a small stand with pitcher and basin, and a worktable she used when she wasn’t working in the back of the shop. In the winter, her small upstairs apartment was warmer and so she often worked there by gaslight. Even on sunny days it was a little dark, but the warmth contained inside the thick walls compensated for its lack of light.
She must tell Mr. O’Shea, the builder John had hired, to make sure the new rooms upstairs had bigger windows and a way to keep the space warm even on the coldest days.
But this bedroom had a generously wide double window graced with lacy curtains, a feather bed larger even than her parents’ bed had been, fluffy pillows, down-filled blankets, two bright lamps, an ample armoire for all her clothing, and a writing desk she could easily use to hold material for each bonnet she made. It was both homey and safe, under a solid roof that resisted even the prairie wind that came after that first day of her arrival.
The first bonnet she’d created in her room had been for Mrs. Higgins. It didn’t take long to guess the woman favored blue, since both her work dresses and apron carried the shade. She’d been delighted, and so, she hoped, was Paul when he saw how happy the woman was to receive it. She’d given her the hat just before dinner one night, the only time of day she was bound to see Paul. The only time she left her room was when she spied him from her bedroom window, carrying some sort of equipment, including his veiled hat, off into the woods that weren’t far from the end of their garden.
She’d asked Mrs. Higgins where he’d gone, and the housekeeper had been a wealth of information. He studied bees, she’d been told, and sent his observations to a university in New York, a service for which they paid him on a regular basis. Mrs. Higgins sang his praises whenever she had the opportunity, telling her the name Paul Turnbridge would live in history as prominently as Mr. Huber’s and his bee observations.
In the two weeks since her arrival, Virginia had learned a great deal about Paul. About his mother, who had been sickly and so Mrs. Higgins had been both housekeeper and nanny to Paul and John. About his father, whose sole enjoyment had been to work the farm and hire others who would expand his efforts so they could all share the spoils and sell the surplus. He’d set the farm on a firm foundation, so that it practically ran itself. And mostly about how Paul had stayed in the same routine he’d established long ago: wake up, study nature, send in reports to the school he’d attended, if only for a short time, back East. He hadn’t liked the school because it was in a city, and far preferred nature as his tutor. The school agreed, eventually finding his chronicles so valuable they paid him as if he were on staff. The best part, at least for him, was that he never had to interact with humans.
“Nature,” Mrs. Higgins had told Virginia, “is how Paul communicates with God.”
That statement, coming from the person who undoubtedly knew Paul best, had been more than just a relief to Virginia. It had been the beginning of a new struggle for her, not to think of him day and night.
Mrs. Higgins offered little help to dispel Virginia’s thoughts of Paul. She was convinced he didn’t realize his life was going by. “A man can’t really go by himself all the way through, now can he?”
And yet, Virginia had to admit, Paul seemed intent on doing just that. She was here in his house, even his legal wife if one wanted to be technical about it, and yet he never sought her out. Dinners were amiable enough, but quiet.
Perhaps tonight she would ask him about his bee work. Would that be too much of an imposition?
Paul shut the front door, thanking Tim for retrieving the mail. It was more than an hour trip back and forth to the nearest town, one Paul rarely made but which either Tim, Mrs. Higgins, or both made twice a week, at least while the weather was fine. And this fall continued to be fair, even this far into October.
There were two letters from Milwaukee, besides his usual communication. And one of them was for Virginia. He smiled, tucking it into his pocket along with the one that had come for him. She would be coming downstairs for dinner soon, and they could read their letters from John and Sarah together. Perhaps that might be a way for her to stay in his company a little longer, rather than hurrying back up to her room as she normally did. She must have enough finished bonnets up there to fill a warehouse.
Not that he didn’t know she spent some of those hours reading, too. She’d happened to take the Dickens novel he’d been reading himself a few days ago, and wondered how long it would be before she returned it to the shelf for another.
Dinner, Mrs. Higgins informed him, would be delicious, with stuffed eggplant from the garden, escalloped tomatoes, and even a pastry puff to end the meal the way it ought: with a sweet.
All thought to the meal passed when he saw Virginia coming down the stairs. She really was lovely. He reminded himself yet again her presence was only temporary, but if he was honest with himself he would admit he liked having her here. More than that. He wished, somehow, he could get her to stay. But that wasn’t very likely, since she was at her most quiet when in his company.
He’d heard her laugh and chat with Mrs. Higgins, even with Tim. But with him? If she didn’t hurry away, she rarely initiated any conversation and shortened whatever feeble attempt he made to extend her presence with him.
He knew he had a lot to learn about charm, but something in him, some long-lost memory of his father doing the same for his mother, made him hold out an arm in the hope of escorting her properly to the dinner table. To his delight, she smiled and took his arm just the way he’d hoped.
“I have a surprise for you,” he said before he seated her. Then he slipped the letter from his pocket. “From Sarah.” He held up the other. “And I have one from John. I thought we might read them together.”
“Oh! How wonderful!” She snatched up the letter but stilled suddenly, watching him take his seat on the opposite end of the table. “And how wonderful of you to want to share this with me. I’m glad you waited, Paul.”
His heartbeat ticked a bit faster. She certainly didn’t seem eager to flee his company at the moment, even if it was truly due to letters from those they both loved. He might as well take advantage of it. “It’s my pleasure. Shall we?”
With a smile and a nod, they took up their knives and sliced into the envelopes.
Chapter 14
Virginia read Sarah’s letter eagerly, fully intending to share every word with Paul if he gave her the chance. And why wouldn’t he? Mrs. Higgins was only now delivering their meal, and they each continued to read in silence until she disappeared back into the kitchen.
But he did set aside his letter long enough to say a traditional prayer of thanks for the meal, something she noticed he’d begun doing only a few days after the first meal they’d taken together. It was possible, though she hadn’t the courage to ask, that he’d noticed her silently pray before each meal then took the initiative himself to say one aloud for them both.
She recalled the Pastor’s words last spring, his hope that she might be the influence needed to bring Paul to church. But Paul’s prayers before meals, brief though they were, had quickly convinced her his faith was as real as Mrs. Higgins had claimed it to be.
“Is your letter as filled as mine with boasting about the baby?” he asked as he began eating.
She hadn’t quite finished her letter, which was considerably longer than what looked like a single sheet of paper John had sent to Paul.
“Oh, yes! How much he’s growing already, how he’s changing every day. That Sarah is feeling much stronger now, and that the girls will soon be moving out now that they have jobs elsewhere. I hope the tailor shop will have enough workers once the building is finished!”
“Did Sarah mention the progress they’re making? John made it a point to tell me they’re concentrating all work on your building first and may even have the roof on bef
ore the end of November.”
Was it her imagination, or had his voice grown more serious at the mention of such unexpectedly swift advancement of the rebuilding plans? She had a hard time swallowing Mrs. Higgins’s excellent meal; something was in the way that had nothing to do with its taste.
“Yes, she did mention it. I’m glad, but I did have a few improvements in mind that I wanted to mention. Perhaps we could send a note to John about it?”
“What sort of improvements?”
“Nothing too major. A larger window in the rooms upstairs. Perhaps some improvement to the heating. And more room behind the shop instead of the front. Bonnets don’t take up much display space, really. I occasionally hire seamstresses to help me, and I need more room when I’m not working alone.”
“I suppose we ought to write immediately, before changes are too difficult to make. We’ll send off a letter tomorrow.”
“Thank you.”
A moment of silence followed as they ate, then Virginia asked, “Does John say anything else? I suppose he’s meeting with his clients at home until his building is available.”
“Yes, he is. And Sarah’s letter?”
She read it aloud, intending to do so in its entirety, and for the first two pages that was fine, even though her meal was likely growing cold. But on the third page, the paragraph she hadn’t already perused offered a polite question about how she was adjusting to life in the country. After that Virginia cut herself short and read silently.
…And how are things between you and Paul? I know he’s an odd sort, him and his bees, and that he can go for days without saying a word. But he has a good heart, Virginia. If there is a way you could imagine yourself staying, perhaps making a life in the country, it might make you very happy. And me miserable, of course, to have my sister-in-law-and-heart too far away, but it’s likely better for you to have someone in your life twenty-four hours a day than just the limited time any sister, no matter how fond, can have in your life.
The Convenient Bride Collection: 9 Romances Grow from Marriage Partnerships Formed Out of Necessity Page 31