“It’s not that interesting of a story really,” she said. “My husband died seven months ago. I had no means of income and knew I couldn’t impose on my friends forever so I decided to become a mail order bride.”
He noticed the droop of her shoulders and wanted to encourage her some way, but she continued on with her story before he could say anything.
“Jack wrote to me and finally proposed last month. He made the arrangements for me to come then…” she halted, her gaze traveling to the mountains in front of them, “Then he died.”
The words were so soft he’d almost missed them but he could see the effect they had on her. He wasn’t sure how well they could have known one another in the span of six months, but Jack’s death had definitely taken its toll on her.
“I’m sorry,” he said. She surprised him by looking up and meeting his gaze. His thoughts scattered at the intensity of her deep brown eyes. He was drawn to her—this broken woman before him. He felt the overwhelming desire to care for her and protect her. To kiss her as well, but he’d have to resist that urge. At least for now.
“Flora and Lawrence think you are God’s provision for me.” She turned away as she spoke and he tried to hide his surprise, though he couldn’t keep it from his voice.
“Really?”
“I can’t stay here without provisions of some kind and Lawrence mentioned you were considering a mail order bride.”
Apparently Lawrence had told her of their conversation. He was shocked by Helen’s directness, but at the same time he appreciated her honesty. What did she have to lose by being honest? He was looking for a wife. She was looking for a husband.
He stopped to face her, the sun warm on his shoulders and gleaming against Helen’s hair.
“Helen,” he barely contained the smile that wanted to surface when he said her name. “This isn’t what I expected or how I’d choose for something this important to happen, but I recognize the situation you are in and the position I am in to help. I know you don’t know me and it’s likely difficult to trust me, but I’ll make a promise to you. I will care for you, protect you, and never demand anything from you. Would you consider becoming my wife?”
Her eyes opened wider in surprise and he almost laughed—had he just asked her to marry him? He hadn’t expected that nor had he planned on asking her, but something had prompted him. Perhaps his early prayer time?
She looked down at her hands then back at him. He could still see the hesitation in her eyes, but then she said it. “Yes.”
Helen felt every nerve ending in her body come alive, as if she was about to burst into flames. She was at once nervous, excited, slightly sick, and anxious. She had just agreed to marry Samuel Banks—a man she’d barely just met. A man who looked so much like Alexander…
“I don’t want to force you into anything,” he said, breaking the spell.
His voice was deeper than Alexander’s, and he tended to smile more from what she could tell.
“You’re not,” she said. And she meant it. She had agreed because it was a wise decision and the least obtrusive to everyone involved. The Grays wouldn’t have to care for her, and she could lend a hand to Samuel on his ranch. Flora was right, he did seem like a kind man, and she couldn't imagine finding another man as gentle and understanding as he seemed to be.
“I want you to be sure,” he said, stepping forward and cupping her arms lightly, just above her elbows. His touch shot through her, radiating warmth and strength.
“I’m sure,” she said, more firmly this time. “We can marry this week if you’d like.” She wanted to laugh at the look of surprise on his face.
What he didn’t realize is that she had already prepared herself to marry a stranger. Yes, she had gotten to know a little about Jack, but he hadn’t been much of a letter writer and had only waited six months in order to have enough money to bring her out west and to then make sure they had a place to live.
She’d prepared for this life over the last six months, realizing that nothing in her life would ever be easy or joyful again—it would just be. She would simply exist and that would be enough. She’d long felt numb, and she’d learned to accept that.
“I—oh, well…this week?” He looked shocked.
“The timing is up to you,” she said, turning her face toward the sun, seeking its warmth in the darkest places of her heart.
“I’d hoped…” he paused, “no, that sounds good.”
She wondered what he had been about to say, but she didn’t have the energy to find out. They turned and walked a little further when he asked, “Is it…hard still?”
She blinked, not sure what he meant. “Is what hard?” Her thoughts flew to Jack, but she’d hardly known him really. She was sad about his death, but not deviated like she had been with Alexander.
“Your husband’s death.” He said the words tentatively.
She swallowed, unprepared for this line of conversation. “Yes,” she finally managed.
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry. I just thought that maybe…maybe we could talk. If you—if you didn’t have anyone else to talk to.”
His kindness drew tears to her eyes. He was kind, but she couldn't share her heartache with him. She barely knew him. Then again, was that preferred? To share with someone who had an investment in her feelings, other than to listen.
She looked up at him, searching his eyes. “I can’t share about it now, but…maybe someday.”
He nodded rapidly. “Of course, I understand.”
She noticed a twinge of pink in his cheeks. Was he embarrassed?
They turned back to the parish house and she thought about what he had said. He’d been so genuine when he’d offered for her to talk with him. But it felt like betrayal to her. How could she talk with one man about another? Granted, Alexander was gone…
Samuel brought them to a stop in front of the house and looked down at her, his gaze steady. “I want you to know that I’ll be your friend. That may seem strange or maybe not something you want at this point, but I don’t believe a marriage of convenience is what either of us truly want.”
His words struck something deep inside of her. She wanted to believe him, but her heart couldn’t feel past the numbness that had become so typical over the months since Alexander had died.
“Thank you,” she finally said, unsure of what to say next.
He frowned but forced his features to steady. “All right then. I’ll talk with Lawrence and we’ll decide on a time. I have a home I think you’ll be comfortable in.”
She dipped her head, unable to speak.
“Good day, Helen.”
“Good bye, Samuel.”
She watched him walk off in the direction of the main street in town and let out a breath. This was far from what she’d expected…he was far from what she’d expected.
Chapter 5
Samuel helped Helen onto his horse and climbed up in front of her. Pastor Lawrence had just preformed the marriage ceremony with only Flora as a witness, and now he was taking Helen back to his home. Their home.
The last week had flown by. They hardly had time to talk, but she seemed to prefer it that way, as if marrying him was something she needed to get through to be settled. He didn't like that fact, but he hoped and prayed that it would ease her mind to be in her own space and not have so much of her future left up to chance as it had been.
Now, with her hands around his waist, he gave in to the smile that she wouldn’t be able to see from her vantage point. He liked having her close, and he liked kissing her even more, though the kiss to seal their vows had been much too brief. Someday he hoped to know what it felt like to kiss her long and deeply.
His log cabin, built with the help of a few hired hands from town, stood in front of them. He felt the surge of pride just seeing it sitting there, the logs rough-hewn by hand and placed with sweat and hard labor. It made the home that much more valuable to him.
He pulled the horse to a stop out front and hopped dow
n, helping her to the ground. She’d brought a small satchel with her, which she said was all she had. He’d remedy that as soon as his trades went through and he had a bit of extra spending money. No woman should feel like she didn’t have much in the world. And he wanted to give Helen everything.
He couldn’t describe the feelings he had for her, but they were deep and rooted much more firmly than he could have expected in such a short time.
“Here we are,” he said, flinging an arm out toward the house.
“It’s lovely,” she said with a small smile.
“May I?” he said, bending down and sweeping her off her feet.
She let out a surprised exclamation, grasping his shoulders. Then she laughed. The sound of it was free and easy, and it was something he’d been waiting to hear. He always wanted to make her laugh.
“Your castle, m’lady.” He said, bowing once he’d gently set her back on her feet.
She steadied herself resting her hand on his arm and he instinctively covered it with his own. Her eyes met his and he saw a faint blush fan out across her cheeks. They stood close, the heat between them palpable. Everything in him shouted that he should kiss her—needed to kiss her—but he resisted. She was still adjusting. It wouldn’t be fair of him to take advantage of that.
He stepped back, immediately missing the closeness, and turned away from her.
“There’s the kitchen in there,” he said, clearing his throat, “and the bedrooms back that way, he motioned down a narrow hall.” He wanted to add that he’d insisted on building two, even though the hired hands had said he was being frivolous, because he wanted children. That, too, he thought might frighten her.
“Thank you,” she said, her eyes connecting with his again. He noticed that she played with the fringe of the cuff of her dress absentmindedly. “I—it will take me some time to get used to…”
“It’s all right,” he said quickly, “Take all the time you need.”
She bit her lip and nodded.
Without thinking he stepped closer and eased her lip from between her teeth, cupping her face in his hand. “You’re safe here. You’re home.”
His words echoed between them in the silence, but just as he was about to step back, she reached up and placed her hand on his. “I know.”
Then, without another word, she stepped away and went to the kitchen. He watched her go, a longing deep in his core to know the woman he had marred. To care for her. To love her.
Chapter 6
Helen worked her way into a rhythm with Samuel. He left early in the morning to care for the stock then came in and ate breakfast with her. Then he went about his duties either around the house our out in the barn. A few hands came to help, but they usually left by early afternoon, and by evening when he came in he was starving and exhausted.
She watched how hard he worked and felt a sense of pride for him. He loved the ranch and the land. More than anything, he held a deep-seated pride in all that he did.
This evening, as the sun went down more quickly, she pulled a roast from the oven and mashed the potatoes that would accompany it. She’d made bread earlier in the day and cleaned every surface in the house—or at least it felt that way. She was exhausted as well, but, surprisingly, she looked forward to when Samuel would be home.
Soon the front door opened and he came into the kitchen.
“Evening, Helen,” he said, as was his tradition now.
“Good evening, Sam,” she said. Somewhere along the way she’d slipped into using a nickname. She’d felt foolish the first time it came out but the light in his eyes reflected his pleasure and she decided it would sick.
He washed up then pulled out a chair and slumped into it.
“Was it very cold out today?” she asked, fixing him a plate.
“Yes,” he said, yawning. “Looks like snow is coming soon. We’re high enough up that it should drop quite a bit.”
“We really should get into town for extra supplies then.”
He nodded slowly, eyeing the plate in her hand. “That looks mighty good.”
She smiled and set it in front of him, “Enjoy.”
“I will, and—” he grabbed her hand before she could turn away, “Thank you for the meal. It looks fantastic.”
She felt the blush and turned away quickly though she knew he’d seen her pleased smile. He always knew how to compliment her.
They ate amid pleasant conversation about what they would need in town and how the herds would do through the winter. After they were done and the dishes were cleaned, they made their way into the chairs by the fire in the front room.
These were Helen’s favorite times where they could sit and enjoy the warmth and a good book. She picked up the novel she’d started the night before, a thoughtful gift from Samuel, and began to read. Soon though, her heavy eyelids gave in to the temptation to close and she was fast asleep.
A gentle hand on her shoulder and warm breath fanning across her face caused her to wake. “Helen?”
The room was mostly dark and the glowing light from the dying fire was the only illumination. Turning toward the voice she smiled and leaned in to kiss him. Her hand wrapped behind his head, drawing him close. His arms slid around her waist, drawing her toward him. The muscles of his chest were solid, a reminder of his protection for her. His kiss was intoxicating.
But something was wrong. His lips weren’t familiar. What had happened to her Alexander—?
Helen drew back, gasping for breath and blinking to clear the fog of her sleepy mind.
“Alexander?” tears were running down her cheeks. When had she started crying?
“It’s me, Samuel,” he said, his voice low and husky.
“I—I’m sorry,” she pushed to her feet and tried to run to her room but her leg had fallen asleep, sending her crashing down to the floor.
Strong hands grasped her waist and steadied her, supporting her as she stood.
“Helen, wait,” Samuel said, his voice evening out now. “Please, talk with me.”
She stood, her back to him but his hands holding her steady. She couldn’t…could she?
“I—” her voice broke.
He stepped closer, wrapping her up in his arms and drawing her against him. “Talk to me.”
Samuel’s heart was still thudding from Helen’s kiss. It pounded in his chest like a herd of wild ponies running across the plains. But it hadn’t been real. The thought crashed over him again and again. She’d thought he was her husband—Alexander.
And now he stood with his arms round her, willing her to calm down enough to talk to him. As much as it hurt, knowing she didn’t want him, he would remain steadfast in his desire to care for her—and that meant her feelings as well.
“I…can’t.” She finally said.
He relished her nearness, but allowed his hands to loosen. When she turned to face him he felt the small victory.
“But you can,” he said. “Tell me what happened. Talk to me.”
She sniffed, her tears glistening in the dim light from the fire. She looked away but he gently turned her head back toward him, wiping the tears with a finger.
“You look like him,” she said.
He waited; wanting to ask questions but knowing now wasn’t the time.
“The first time I saw you, in front of the general store, you reminded me of my husband, Alexander.” She took in a shaky breath. “We were married four years when he died. It was a fire—at the factor he worked in. He was such a hard worker.” Her voice cracked but she continued. “I had nowhere to go, no one to turn to. I felt like I was abandoning his memory when I started to write to Jack, but I had no options.”
Fresh tears fell down her cheeks and Samuel fought every urge to draw her to him. She needed to talk, though. He wouldn't interrupt her until he was sure she was done.
“Then Jack died and I—I wondered if I was…” she sniffed again, “cursed.”
This poor woman, thinking it was her fault for the circumstances of
life.
“I’m sorry for—for everything.” She wiped at her eyes again. “I just don't know if I can love again.”
Her words slammed into him like a brick wall. Hearing the truth from her lips seemed to make his own feelings more apparent. He wasn’t sure how it was possible, but he loved her. But she didn’t love him—couldn’t.
“I know you took me in and you have provided for me but…I don’t know if I can ever…love you.”
He felt like a bucket of cold water had been splashed on his face. Her words sobered him. He’d been so sure they could learn to love one another. Then again, there was still time. But would she always be thinking of Alexander when she saw him? Would she think of her husband when she was kissing him?
No—if she ever kissed him again.
His hopes, usually unshakable, faltered. Had he made a mistake? Not in caring for her, because he would choose to do that over and over again no matter the consequences, but for allowing himself to fall so hard and so quickly for her.
He squeezed his eyes shut, shutting out all of the voices. At this moment she needed a friend and nothing more.
“Helen, the Lord does things we don't understand. None of that is our fault nor is it the cruelness of Him. The hard things—the bad things—happen so that other good things may happen.”
She shook her head, though no words came out.
“God does love you, despite what you may feel or believe at this moment, but know this,” he stepped forward, his hands running lightly down her arms to gently grasp them above the elbows. “I’ll be here for you.”
Then, taking a chance, he pulled her forward into a hug. She was rigid at first then slowly relaxed against him. Soon sobs wracked through her, her thin shoulders shaking like a lone leaf in the wind.
They stood there for a long time—longer than Samuel could keep track of—but more than anything he knew he was where he needed to be. God would take care of the rest.
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