Wed by Necessity

by Karen Kirst

  His cobalt gaze wary, he left his hat and a crinkly brown sack on the table. “What’s this?”

  “I don’t think we can manage to eat all these cucumbers before they rot, do you?”

  “I don’t like them enough to risk a bellyache, no.”

  Coming to stand beside her, he bent and peered at the large open tome she’d borrowed from Cook’s kitchen. Her gaze ate up the strong planes of his face, the hint of stubble along his jaw and the curve of his eyelashes. His shaving soap wafted up to her, and she inhaled the pleasing scent before she could stop herself.

  He picked up the packet of dill seed. “Do you know how to preserve them?”

  Still upset over his high-handed attitude, she snapped, “I’m a reasonably intelligent woman. I can figure it out.”

  He slowly straightened. “I’m sure you can do just about anything you set your mind to.”

  The air seemed to shimmer with leftover frustration from their encounter in town. Duncan was staring at her like a sailor contemplating uncharted waters. His direct gaze made her feel self-conscious about her creased blouse and less-than-perfect hair. With him more than anyone else, it was imperative she keep her guard in place, not easy when she no longer had a personal maid or an extensive wardrobe.

  “The instructions are forthright,” she said to splinter the silence. “I sterilize the jars and lids first. Once the cucumbers are cut and placed in the jars, I’ll boil the brine that goes inside. At the end, I’ll boil the entire jars in order to seal them.”

  He replaced the dill seed with the garlic bulbs. “Doesn’t sound too complicated.”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  With an exaggerated grimace, he ran a hand through his hair. “Caroline, I’m sorry for making a spectacle earlier. My stance hasnae changed, but you had a solid point. I’ve been on my own for a long while now. I’ll have to learn how to compromise.”

  Caroline’s lips parted. Her proud husband was apologizing? She couldn’t think of a single sane response. Not once had she heard her father eat humble pie.

  Clearing his throat, he retrieved the sack. “I brought you a gift.”

  Her astonishment deepening, she unrolled the top and lifted out a thick bundle of fabric. “Um, it’s pretty.”

  “You can use it to make curtains. Maybe a tablecloth.”

  The vulnerable light in his eyes suppressed the retort forming on her lips. Her idea of an exceptional gift was a piece of jewelry or a scarf. A sentimental trinket or a unique, edible treat from a distant locale.

  This wasn’t a gift. It was a project.

  Lowering her gaze, she tested the fabric’s sturdiness with her fingers. “Thank you, Duncan.”

  Outside the window, a woodpecker drilled into a nearby tree.

  “You don’t say my name very often,” he said quietly.

  “I—I don’t?”

  His expression solemn, he took a step closer. “I like hearing you say it.”

  Lifting his hand, he righted the edge of her collar, the feather-like sweep of his fingertips showering her with shimmery tingles.

  In that moment, Caroline didn’t see him as the enemy. The destroyer of dreams. He was merely a human being with faults and strengths, hopes and fears like everyone else. Since learning of their impending vows, she’d been so busy feeling sorry for herself that she’d rarely considered how he must be feeling. Her defenses cracked.

  Father God, I’m so lost. I don’t have the slightest clue how to be this man’s wife. Before her life became entangled with Duncan’s, she’d handled everything on her own. Why bother God with manageable problems, she’d thought. She’d prayed for other peoples’ issues—illnesses, farming disasters, families grieving for a deceased loved one, couples worried about impending births. But this marriage was showing her how wrong such thinking had been. She needed the Lord’s strength and guidance in the mundane tasks and the big, overwhelming, obviously-too-much-for-her difficulties. Help me, God, please.

  “I should’ve discussed my plan with you before hiring Sylvia. Seeing as you feel so strongly about it, I won’t enlist her help in the future.”

  The words weren’t easy to say, but she felt better for having said them.

  “Thank you, Caroline. We’ll make this work somehow,” he said with determination.

  She hoped he was right, but she couldn’t help the doubts pelting her.

  Chapter Twelve

  Duncan had plenty to occupy his time. He wasn’t a lovesick newlywed who couldn’t bear to leave his bride’s side. And yet he found himself offering to help her. Maybe it was her obvious trepidation at trying something new. He had to admit he found her current state adorable, the way she nibbled on her lip as she reread the directions, her fine brows tugging together in concentration.

  He knew she didn’t feel presentable. She kept reaching up to check her braid, her fingers exploring the interwoven strands at the back of her head and riding the thick, shining length that fell over her shoulder. She smoothed her blouse, ensuring it was tucked into her skirt’s waistline. Duncan was tempted to blurt the truth—that he preferred her this way, her harsh, hands-off elegance softened to lush, touchable femininity.

  Caroline wasn’t interested in what he thought about her, so he kept mum.

  Choosing a knife from the hutch drawer, he picked up a cucumber. “How would you like these? In coins or spears?”

  A look of confusion stole over her features. “Don’t you have things to do?”

  “On the farm, there’s always something to do.” He waggled the vegetable. “So?”

  “I guess spears.”

  “Spears it is.”

  He set to slicing. When she didn’t move, he paused. “What?”

  “Why are you helping me?” she said softly. “Is it because you think I’ll mess something up?”

  “What if I said it’s because I want to spend time with my wife?”

  Her eyes grew round, the initial surge of wonder eclipsed by suspicion. Concern filled him. Why would she doubt him? The wounds of her upbringing must be more serious than he’d thought. Right then and there, he prayed for wisdom in how to proceed. If they were ever going to reach a state of mutual respect and, dare he hope, affection, they had to build a foundation of trust.

  “I don’t know much about you. I’d like to remedy that.”

  Her wariness lingering, she pulled the garlic to her and began to peel the papery skin from the cloves. “What do you wish to know?” she said, her attention on her work.

  Since he’d yet to see a sincere smile, he said, “What gives you joy?”

  “Joy?”

  “My maither used to ask us that when we were young. For her, it was needlework. She worked on her samplers every spare moment she got.”

  “What did she do with them all?”

  “Shared them with friends and neighbors. She gave me and my brothers some for our future wives. Mine are at home in storage.” Like his grandmother’s ring. He’d thought to bestow it on the woman who captured his heart. He could ask his mother to send it, but giving it to Caroline seemed wrong.

  With a start, he realized he’d neglected to contact his family. They knew he had come to Tennessee for work. They had no idea he was a married man.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” he said.

  “I like to plan and organize.”

  “Organize what, exactly?”

  “Items. Events. People.”

  He recalled her role at the Independence Day’s event, how she’d appeared to be in charge of the vendors.

  “You’re a natural leader and problem solver.”

  “In certain areas, I suppose.” She pushed a cleaned clove aside and started on another. “I enjoy the outdoors. I like helping Wendell with the flowers. Before him, I didn�
�t know a chrysanthemum from a pansy.”

  “I caught you snoozing in the lake with a book. You’re a reader.”

  “I was not snoozing or snoring.” She waved her paring knife for emphasis. “My eyes had grown heavy, so I decided to daydream for a bit.”

  “If you say so.”

  Her forehead creased. “I don’t really snore, do I?”

  “Tell me what you do in that secret room of yours, and I’ll answer that.”

  Resistance was written across her face. “You’ll think it’s silly.”

  “You’ve made it clear you don’t care about a humble stable manager’s opinion,” he countered, then wished he hadn’t. “Forget I said—”

  “I like to create things,” she blurted. “Things no one besides Wendell has seen.”

  Duncan stared at her. Remembering the feather, he said, “Hats?”

  “No.” Finished with the garlic, she wiped her hands on a towel. “Maybe someday I’ll show you.”

  “I hope you will.”

  Duncan hoped for more than that, he realized. He longed to know her, this woman who’d invaded his home and life, to know how she thought and reacted and felt, to know what she liked and what she didn’t, what frightened her and what made her laugh with abandon. He wanted to see what happiness looked like on Caroline. The prospect unsettled him a little. Instinct warned that if she ever let herself dismiss others’ expectations and relax enough to enjoy life on her own terms, she’d be impossible not to fall in love with. Loving a woman who embodied the very life he’d turned his back on would lead to misery for both of them.

  * * *

  Farm life was exhausting. Caroline’s upper back and arms were sore, and her feet cried out for a hot salt soak. She would’ve retired for the night if she thought sleep would claim her. Pacing from the window on the east wall that had a view of the barn and chicken coop to the one beside the main door, she watched as fireflies blinked on and off above the garden rows. Dusk lent a yellow haze to the pastoral scene. Among the thickness of trees, shadows lengthened and nocturnal animals stirred.

  The whisper of pages turning ceased. “Something on your mind?”

  Duncan lounged at the table, a thick book open before him. Locks of fire-kissed hair slid over his forehead. He’d unfastened the top buttons of his shirt, revealing the strong column of his throat and a V of firm, suntanned skin. He fit here in this rustic cabin. It wasn’t a stretch to picture him in more refined surroundings, however. He may have the appearance of a common laborer, but his manners told a different story. From his speech and reading habits, she could tell he was an educated man.

  “What are you reading?” She countered his question with one of her own.

  Picking up the book edges, he showed her the cover. “Robert Burns. Many consider him to be Scotland’s national poet.”

  “Didn’t he write ‘Auld Lang Syne’?”

  Smiling, he nodded. “Among other things. My father’s favorite Burns quote is ‘There is no such uncertainty as a sure thing.’”

  “Your father is an educated man?”

  He blinked and shifted in the chair. “Aye, he is that.”

  “Did you attend university?”

  “I did.”

  “University isn’t cheap. Your brothers attended, as well?”

  “Yes, they did.” His gaze faltered. “It was important to my grandfather that we go. He made it happen.”

  It was suddenly imperative she learn more about her husband. “Where did you attend? What did you study?”

  Inhaling deeply, he aligned the attached ribbon to hold his place and closed the book. “Boston University. I earned a degree in business.”

  Why wasn’t he putting his education to good use? Before she could voice the question, he stood and retrieved a long, skinny stick from the corner beside the wardrobe.

  “Would you like to go for a walk?”

  She glanced outside. “Right now?”

  He chose a kerosene lamp from the kitchen shelf and handed it to her. “Nighttime’s the best for fishing. If we hurry, we can get there in time to dig up a few worms to use as bait.”

  “You want me to go fishing?”

  “You’ve been actin’ like a caged animal this hour past. The fresh air will do you good.” Lifting the lid of his cedar chest, he took out an old, tattered wool blanket. “You willnae have to worry about pesky insects thanks to the bats.”

  Wendell had built homes for them on tall posts surrounding the pond for that purpose.

  “Bats are active at night,” she pointed out.

  Humor graced his mouth, and she noticed he had a nice smile. Whenever he smiled, his blue eyes danced with mirth. “Never fear, fair lass, I’ll protect you.”

  Flustered, Caroline preceded him onto the porch. Would he really go out of his way to keep her safe? Had he gotten over his anger at her? She wondered sometimes if he’d resent her for the rest of their lives. The thought saddened her.

  As they headed for the main property and the pond, Duncan shortened his stride to match hers. “Did you attend university?”

  “I wanted to. Mother considered it a waste of time and resources, considering I was to apply myself in securing an advantageous marriage. To that end, she hired a qualified tutor to teach me until I was eighteen, my own personal schoolteacher.”

  He glanced over at her. “You didn’t go to school with other kids your age?”

  A dry laugh escaped. That was one of many childhood dreams that had been dashed. “Not once.”

  When they’d moved to Gatlinburg, she’d asked if she could go to the one-room schoolhouse. She could still see Louise’s horrified expression. Attend school with rustics? she’d exclaimed. We may live among them, Caroline, but we will never be like them. People with simple upbringings have simple minds. They couldn’t possibly relate to us. Why, you have more knowledge inside your head than I suspect their teacher does.

  “It must’ve been difficult to make friends. New to town. Isolated from the locals.”

  “I wasn’t completely isolated. My parents and I have been faithful church members. Once they appointed Mother the head of the benevolence society, we began to interact more with the other ladies and their daughters.”

  Emerging from the wooded lane into the wide, open pastures, they walked past the paddocks. The last fingers of sun gilded each blade of grass with gold. Several horses were out grazing, their tails swishing from side to side. Summer was her favorite season. She loved the long days and the comforting heat that seeped deep into her skin. To her creative senses, the world came alive with inspiration...lush forests and fields teeming with wildlife and intricate plants.

  A pair of blue-black butterflies flittered ahead of them. She’d never made a butterfly mask before. She’d have to remedy that.

  “Is that how you became friends with the twins? Through church work?”

  “We knew of each other, of course. Gatlinburg’s too small not to know everyone’s name, except for the more reclusive residents who stick to their hidden coves. Anyway, Jane and I sort of wandered into each other’s paths a time or two. I rode almost every day. She took contemplative walks and wrote profound thoughts in her journal. After running into each other a couple of times, she invited me to stop and talk. We started planning our meetings and a friendship was born.”

  At the pond’s edge, he arranged the blanket on the bank and gave her the stick to hold.

  “Is she someone you can count on?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Everyone needs someone like that in their life.”

  As he crouched to scout for worms in the mucky soil, the sunlight slanting through the trees hit his close-cropped hair and made it shine like red-tinted gold. She stood off to the side and observed him, strange, wondrous feelings blossoming to l
ife inside. This gorgeous, compelling, good-hearted man was her husband. Hers. In the past few days, she’d spent more time with him than she had any other man. He’d seen her at her worst—had witnessed frustration and ill moods and ineptitude—and was still talking to her.

  He doesn’t exactly have a choice, does he? He’s spending time with you because he’s shackled to you against his will.

  Taking a seat on the blanket, tucking her legs to the side and arranging her skirt, she ceased soaking him in to gaze over the mirrorlike water. Cattails stood tall along the oblong perimeter. Water lilies joined bits of algae on the surface. Her father had had this dug out shortly after they moved here. Next to her preferred mountain riding trails, this was her second favorite spot on the property. Her parents seldom came out here and only to appease their guests.

  Duncan settled on the blanket beside her, his hip wedged against hers and long legs stretched out in front of him. The blood in her veins turned to thick syrup. She became attuned to his movements, sucking in air each time his upper arm brushed hers. Folding her hands tightly in her lap, she called herself a fool. He wasn’t interested in her that way. He’d refused to kiss her on their wedding day. She was grateful he hadn’t pressed her into intimacy she wasn’t ready for, of course. But the more time she spent in his company, the greater her yearning for at least a token of affection from him.

  He glanced over and caught her staring. He flashed a smile that made her heart trip over itself. “Want to try hooking a worm?”

  Her answering smile felt tight. “No, thanks.”

  Duncan shrugged, completely unaffected by her proximity. “You dinnae know what you’re missin’.”

  When he had the line affixed to his pole and the bait ready, he lobbed it in the water. “Now we wait. Anthony said your father keeps it stocked. Let’s see if he’s right.”

  The sounds of crickets chirping and cicadas buzzing pulsed through the evening. Minutes passed without a word spoken. It wasn’t uneasy, exactly. Or tense, which was good. Still, her restlessness increased the longer they sat there.