Gingham Bride

by Jillian Hart

  No, she did not want to care for him, but she did. She cared that he was not dressed well for the frigid morning. She cared that he hid it with a handsome smile. She cared that his limp was more pronounced today. Why had she never asked how he’d been hurt?

  He handled the horse with care and competence; Flannigan obediently stood and waited with a swish of his tail. No attempt to fight. No sideways kick. The animal nickered and pressed his nose into the man’s touch. Ian double-checked the knot securing Flannigan solidly to the iron ring of the post. “Almost done, boy.”

  Flannigan nickered, bumping Ian again. Something had changed. The horse no longer tried to bite men. He stood patiently, his defiance gone, swinging his neck to keep an eye on his caretaker as he circled to the back of the sled.

  Ian was changing things, changing her. She tucked her Bible into the crook of her arm. While he blanketed Flannigan, working the fastenings and smoothing the wool, she tried not to notice the care he gave the horse, or how handsome he looked with happiness softening the chiseled angles of his face. A born horseman, her grandmother had called him. He surely was that.

  “Do you miss your horses back home?”

  “Until it hurts. I have cared for them all, most since they were wee foals.” He gave Flannigan one final pat and a promise they would return to him soon. He joined her on the side of the road, where sleighs full of families whirred by on the ice. “They are my best friends.”

  “I can understand that.” She brushed a stray lock out of her eyes.

  “I thought you might. Nana always worried about me, growing up in the barn the way I did, always with Grandfather and the horses. She feared I would grow up to be an odd young man, and when we met you would refuse to marry me.”

  “Wise woman, your nana. She was right.”

  “Hey!” Their laughter mingled together, sweet and a perfect chord. “There’s a clearing in the traffic. Careful of the ice.”

  “I have been crossing icy streets for as long as I can remember. I hardly need help from you.” Her words could have been cutting, but they weren’t. Emotion hid in the layers, soft and shy.

  Maybe it was only his wishful thinking. He ignored the wince of pain in his thigh, leaned on his cane and caught her hand with his. “I’m your fiancé. It’s my right to help you across the icy street.”

  “What else are you thinking you’ve a right to?”

  Oh, he caught that flicker of a grin. She was teasing him, for she had no notion how the torch he carried for her could light up the darkest night. He prayed he could keep those feelings hidden. He suspected the lass would have nothing to do with him—even accepting his help—if she knew. They reached the side of the road, but he kept her hand and did not let go.

  “Oh, I was thinking I have the right to control your life. Order you around. Get you to do all the barn work.” He could tease, too.

  “Funny. You are hysterical, McPherson.”

  “Sure, but I’m serious. I’m taking charge of your life.”

  “Go ahead and try.” She did not seem alarmed. Perhaps because she trusted he would never leave the barn work to her. No, a mischievous sparkle gleamed within her, a hint at her untamable, beautiful spirit. “I’m not sure, but I think I could take you in a fight.”

  “You would win hands down, lass.” His laughter rang out, and pleased he was that they laughed together. Aye, but the girl was good for his weary soul. “I could not fight you.”

  “Because you are afraid of losing to a girl?”

  “Because I would want you to win.” The truth slipped out and hovered in the chilly air between them. He winced, afraid she could hear what he did not want her to know. The churchyard was up ahead, and the crowd that went with it. The cheery rumble of conversations broke the silence that fell between them.

  He watched her out of the corner of his eye, wondering if she could guess, if he had been too revealing. He steeled his spine, ready to take the hit if she figured it out and very plainly and fairly rejected him, as he knew she would do.

  “Fee!” A familiar voice called out above the hustle and bustle of the busy street. One of her school friends, the one whose family owned the mercantile.

  “It’s Fiona!” The second girl, the one with the red hair, joined the first one, waving from the snowy churchyard.

  “And you brought your beau.” The third girl, Mr. Schmidt’s daughter, looked so happy she couldn’t stand still.

  Oh, he saw exactly what they thought. They wanted Fiona happy. As he crunched to a stop on the snowy path, he realized how things looked. Him and Fiona walking side by side and hand in hand, like other serious young men and women headed to church—courting couples. Fiona must have come to the same conclusion. She dropped his hand and stepped away.

  “Ladies.” He tipped his hat and did his best to smile, so the lass wouldn’t guess how her reaction hurt him. “Good morning. If you will excuse me, I’d like to go in search of the minister.”

  “His name is Reverend Hadly, and you don’t have to leave.” A crinkle burrowed across the bridge of Fiona’s nose, an adorable furrow. “We’re going down to the church basement. I was going to introduce you to some other fellows.”

  “Oh, I think we could all do that, Fiona,” one of the girls answered, while another whispered, “Lorenzo,” making the first one blush.

  Girls. They were a mystery to him. But the only mystery he was interested in was Fiona. An apology shone in her eyes, true and lustrous. She hadn’t meant to hurt him, and she was handing him a peace offering to join the rest of her friends.

  “I will come find you after a bit.” He nodded toward the front steps where a line had formed. Mrs. O’Rourke was standing with another severe-looking lady, he noticed, waiting to speak to a white-collared older man. He tipped his hat, leaving Fiona before he had the chance to say more. He wanted to stay with her, but it hurt too much.

  “We have a surprise for you, Fee.” The girls grabbed hands. “Where is Earlee?”

  “She’s not here yet.”

  “Then we’ll show her later. C’mon, Fiona.”

  “Come where? What surprise could you possibly have?”

  He could not say why her voice followed him, or why of all the conversations surrounding him, her quiet alto was the one he heard clearly. The line had grown, and he took his place behind an elderly couple. His gaze strayed to the edge of the yard where Fiona was hopping up and down in excitement as another girl, one he had not seen before, joined the group. Their squeals of happiness and welcome made him smile.

  “Henrietta, I see your girls are back from their East Coast school.” A voice floated to him from farther ahead in line.

  “Yes, they arrived on yesterday’s train. With that dangerous storm, I feared they might have troubles with snow on the tracks. There was a terrible crash only last month. Thank the Lord the girls arrived safe. I do not like these modern contraptions, but they are convenient. A coach trip would have taken months.”

  “It’s good your family is all together for Christmas,” her friend replied.

  Christmas was coming. Aye, living on the joyless O’Rourke farm, he had nearly forgotten. But the memories of the blessed season blew through him like a chinook. As the bell in the steeple rang, he remembered the church back home, which he had attended with his grandparents since he was a boy. He would miss Christmas Eve service there this year, cutting a tree for his grandmother, the carols she would play on her beloved piano and the hymns on Christmas Day. He missed home, the ache soul-deep. He longed for what was—the beautiful horses grazing in the green pastures, the sense of rightness as he worked a colt in the paddock and the history of his family on the land, land now gone. Land his grandfather had loved and his grandmother grieved; land he was still hoping to get back.

  He was not the only one clinging to the past. He understood more what his grandmother felt. It was not the McPherson name that she wanted to establish, but the moments of love that time stole day by day, that were only memory now. Th
e caring looks Nana and Grandfather had shared over morning tea, across the blooming fields and beside the fire at the end of the day. As the Bible said, all things had a beginning and an end, all things a season. He felt alone as he stood, a solitary man among groups of family and friends.

  Across the way, Fiona was hugging another newcomer, a girl in finely tailored clothes. Must be one of the daughters home from the East Coast school, he reasoned, watching as his betrothed hopped up and down with excitement. He had never seen her this happy. A pretty picture she made with her braids bouncing and the skirt of her blue-checked dress swirling around her ankles. Snow dappled her, sweet as sugar. Gone were the shadows, the sadness and the troubles of her daily life. She was bursting with joy; not only could he see the evidence of it, he could feel it deep within. As if his spirit knew hers. His fingers itched to draw her, to try to capture her elusive spark. But the line moved forward, and the kindly minister was offering his hand.

  “I’m so pleased to know you,” Reverend Hadly said with great sympathy. “I have worried over and prayed for little Fiona. What a blessing your coming here must be for her.”

  “I hope so, sir.” He shook the minister’s hand and when he walked away, he felt something more, something like the notice of God. Nana always said that to find His will, all a person had to do was to look into his heart.

  When I do, Lord, I see Fiona.

  Her musical voice, wholesome and lovely, stood out from all the others. Aye, she looked her age for a change, laughing and carefree with her friends as girls were wont to do.

  Confirmation that the decision he had made was the right one.

  Fiona bowed her head for the final prayer, far too aware of the man at her side. The man who seemed to dominate the sanctuary. The man every one of her friends thought was in love with her.

  Love? She studied him out of the corner of her eye. With his head down, his rugged face poignant in prayer, he was the perfect image of faithfulness. As if every piece of his soul was focused solely on the minister’s prayer for peace and selflessness during this holy season. That’s what she ought to be focusing on, too, except her mind could not keep track of the what was being said. She concentrated, clearly hearing Reverend Hadly’s every word. But did they make any sense? No, of course not. Her brain was like her morning oatmeal, all mush and steam.

  “Fiona, stop fidgeting,” Ma hissed on her other side.

  I’m trying to pay attention, Lord. Even her prayer felt mired down next to the track her mind kept following.

  “Look at the way he stared down Lorenzo,” Lila had whispered over their Sunday-school table in the basement only an hour before. “Your Ian is serious.”

  “I’ll say. Did you see the way he gazes at her?” Scarlet had to voice her opinion—of course. “He can’t take his eyes off her.”

  “Only to glower at Lorenzo.” Kate beamed with happiness, as if that were proof of eternal devotion.

  “And the loving way he helped her with her coat and keeps watch over her.” Earlee’s sigh held with it great romantic hopes.

  “He loves her,” they all pronounced, practically in unison.

  He does not love me, she thought stubbornly. He couldn’t possibly. Her friends, as dear as they were, did not know everything. They were slightly unrealistic where romantic love was concerned, bless them. Her stomach twisted up like it did when she was afraid of something. And well it should, because believing something like that would be a big mistake.

  Someone touched her elbow and she jumped to stand. Ian.

  “Are you all right, lass?” His faint Irish brogue resonated gently.

  “Fine.” Fine? That was all she could say? She had no trouble speaking her mind usually, except her brain was still oatmeal. She managed to shuffle her feet forward toward the end of the row. It was all her friends’ fault for putting these fanciful notions into her head.

  She crept forward. The end of the row seemed miles away. Maybe it was because Ian was inches from her back, his six-foot height like a mammoth unwanted mountain behind her. Love, indeed. The man did not love her. Ridiculous idea. That’s what came from dreaming about romance all the time—you started seeing it whether it was there or not. Good thing she was not a fanciful sort. It was why she wanted a future she could depend on, relying only on herself.

  Finally, she reached the row’s end—escape. She slipped into the crowded aisle only to have Ian’s hand land on her shoulder, stopping her.

  “You aren’t going to stay after and help out?” He leaned close, his chin stirring her hair. Goodness, he was near and far too intimate.

  “I have to go home,” she confessed, but not the reason for it.

  Ma, having heard the conversation, whipped around. “Fiona spends far too much time with those girls as it is. Church is serious, not meant for idle play and garishness. Come along, girl.”

  “Yes, Ma.” Why wasn’t Ian following her?

  “Don’t you want to stay?” Puzzled lines dug into his brow as he leaned on his cane. “You can’t help decorate the tree if you leave.”

  She could see why her friends had drawn the wrong conclusions. He was simply a kind man, and it would be easy to see more if you didn’t understand. Ian was faithful; he did what was right. That was why he was helping her. He saw it as the correct thing to do. She liked that about him. Against her will, a wisp of admiration ribboned through her, as airy and pure as the daylight hazing the stained-glass window.

  Oh, it was something more than admiration, she admitted. She hardly heard Ma’s sharp words of reproach, ordering her to hurry up.

  “She will stay if she wants to.” Ian’s tone brooked no argument, but to her, he was gentle. “I will take your mother home and be back to get you.”

  “But Da will be mad—”

  “I will deal with your father, too.” Ian looked a great deal older than his nineteen years. He pressed something into her hand. A twenty-five-cent piece. “I heard the group goes up to town for the noon meal before they start decorating.”

  She stared at the quarter, but it wasn’t the gift that touched her. “You will come back?”

  “If you want me to.”

  “I suppose that would be tolerable.”

  His smile came slow as sunrise. He tipped his hat before he donned it and took a step away. “Have fun, lass.”

  The church crowd had thinned out; they were alone in the aisle. Ian turned on his heel and strode away, ever so strong and solitary. She did not know why she felt his wounds, the depth and breadth of them. She liked the man. Very much. She couldn’t help it.

  “I can’t believe you get to stay.” Scarlet’s footsteps echoed in the aisle behind her. “Thanks to your Ian.”

  “This is going to be so fun, Fee.” Lila grabbed her hand.

  “And to think, he’s coming back.” Meredith joined them. “If I were you, I couldn’t wait.”

  “If I were you, I would never let him go,” Kate added with a sigh.

  Fiona watched Ian as he pushed open the vestibule door. The falling snow tossed him in dark relief, and his silhouette made the real Ian much easier to see. They all thought Ian was a catch, but she knew the truth. There was true goodness in this world—goodness in the heart of the man who ambled out into the winter’s cold. The door closed shut behind him and his image stayed with her, at the back of her mind and the core of her soul.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Ooh, there he is, helping with the Christmas tree.” Lila left no doubt as to who “he” was. “Ian is a nice man.”

  “Nice and good-looking. I approve.” Meredith hooked her arm in Fiona’s. The group was walking back from a meal at the boardinghouse owned by a church member who had spoiled them all with delicious roast beef sandwiches and chocolate cake. “I hate being away at school. I’m missing the good times and soon they will all be gone. First Fiona, and then one of you is next. By the time I come back in May, every one of you will be married.”

  “Fiona wouldn’t get married so fas
t, would you, Fee?” Kate locked arms with her on the other side.

  “What about finishing school?” Lila asked.

  “I will be graduating.” Thanks to Ian. If she walked on tiptoe she could see a glimpse of him, standing alongside Emmett Sims’s teamster’s sled, talking with a few other young men. None of them seemed as fine or as handsome as Ian McPherson. “He and I are not discussing weddings. We are strangers. I do not want to marry a stranger.”

  “Some people you meet right away and know better than someone you have known forever.” Kate crinkled her brow thoughtfully. “True love might be like that. At least that’s the way it is in all the stories. You find the right one for you, the other half of your soul. It’s not about how much time you know someone.”

  “My parents were like that,” Lila confessed, lowering her voice. Up ahead their nemesis, Narcissa Bell, was walking with her friends, within earshot. “They were school sweethearts. Ma said the first time she saw my pa, it was as if she had known him forever. One year later, they were married. They were happy.”

  “That’s not a fairy tale, it’s real,” Kate said as if proof positive. “I have a feeling the same will happen to you, Fee. The way Ian has changed you—”

  “I have not changed.” Okay, maybe she said that a little too fast and with a telling ring of denial, but she was exactly the same girl she had been before Ian had rode into her life one snowy afternoon.

  A note rang in her chest, an emotional pang that felt like the perfect chord played by both heart and soul. It came from simply remembering how he’d galloped after Flannigan with lasso circling, like a myth.