Gingham Bride

by Jillian Hart

  I’m starting to believe, she realized as the road brought her to the churchyard, where he stood talking to other young men near to his age. Every step brought her nearer, making it easy to see the details. The snow building on his hat brim, the dimples bracketing his cheeks, the lean line of his jaw, the laughter softening it.

  She forgot that he was only a year older than her. Ian had become the head of his household when his grandfather passed away. He provided for his grandmother. Somehow he had managed his grandfather’s debts and survived losing great wealth and valuable land, all with his dignity and spirit intact. He had not walked an easy road, and yet he’d done so without complaint or bitterness and with an injured leg.

  Shame filled her because she had never asked him about it. She had wanted to keep distance between them; now, she no longer cared about that. She had been so concerned with what she wanted and couldn’t have that she’d failed to see how he had tried to help her. He was having a hard time of it and she could have offered him an ear to listen and a friend to care.

  He lit up when he saw her, and something within him was open, like a door letting in the light. He turned from his discussion with the Sims brothers and the reverend’s son. Pure blue sparkles twinkled in his irises, like a rare jewel she had never seen before. There was much to admire about this man, more than she had let herself notice. Maybe—just maybe—she had noticed all along. She didn’t want tender feelings for him taking root, but her will didn’t seem to stop them. Affection for him kept struggling to life.

  “I invited your fiancé to join us, Fiona,” the reverend’s son explained as he hefted the base of a cut fir tree from the teamster sled. “Something tells me you won’t mind.”

  She blushed, feeling the weight of all eyes turning to her. But it was Ian’s silent question she noticed, the one that she heard without a single word. She did want him with her. She wanted him to have fun. “I was going to ask him to stay, too.”

  “Then grab a hand, McPherson.” Austin Hadly was joined by the other young men in lifting the tree.

  The fresh scent of evergreen sweetened the air, or maybe it was something else that made the afternoon perfect. She was hardly aware of other kids from her class clamoring up the street to help; Ian was all she could see. The ease as he grabbed the tree’s trunk midway, his easy conversation with the other men, and the capable way he did everything. His baritone stood out from all the other voices in the yard, deep and rich and far too dear.

  “Oh, you really do care about him.” Kate squeezed her tightly.

  “It’s written all over your face.” Meredith squeezed, too. “I’m happy for you, Fee.”

  “We all are,” Scarlet added.

  “But the real question is who will stand up for you at your wedding?” Lila’s question, meant to tease, was a loving one.

  “I do not know what I am going to do with the lot of you.” Fiona rolled her eyes. “We should be thinking of decorating the tree and raising donations for the orphanage. Not thinking about something that will never happen. You all are putting the cart before the pony.”

  “Sure, but we keep hoping for you, Fee.” Scarlet led the way to the front stairs.

  “Hoping and praying,” Kate added.

  “Just because you have planned one future, doesn’t mean something better can’t happen.” Meredith sounded as if she spoke from personal experience. “God might have other plans for you, Fee. Better ones.”

  “That’s right. Maybe He is planning to give you a good family,” Lila added as she followed Scarlet up the steps. “Maybe He wants you to have true love in your life, after all.”

  But I don’t believe in true love. She bit her lip to hold back the words. The last thing she wanted to do was to spoil her friends’ good cheer. Besides, they knew how she felt about placing her life in a man’s hands. Even if they were Ian’s. She slipped through the doorway toward him. He and Lorenzo were holding the tree upright while the reverend’s son drove nails through the base and into the stand.

  When his gaze met hers, she did not need words to know what he was thinking. She started to chuckle, just a little, and across the sanctuary he joined her. It felt as if their laughter lifted like prayers all the way to heaven.

  He could have dreamed up the afternoon, drawing it with the soft slants of light through the windows—not harsh straight lines, but gentle, broken ones. The scene could have been something he had captured on paper, the regal tree and the hopeful young people surrounding it. The dance of lamplight on happy faces. Handmade and donated ornaments, some of fine crystal and porcelain, others of calico and lace, twirled on strings of red satin ribbon amid the dark stands of small white candles.

  He moved the chair over a few feet and climbed back onto it. Through the boughs, he caught Lorenzo frowning at him. It took a bit to fight off another surge of jealousy. Those had been plaguing him all afternoon, ever since Fee stepped into church, snow dappled and luminous, more beautiful in her simple gingham dress and coat than he had ever seen her before. He feared he would never tire of seeing her; forever would be a long dark place when she was gone from his life. So he intended to cherish this time he had with her.

  Judging by the adoration on the smitten Lorenzo’s face, Ian was not alone in that wish.

  “You have a good eye, McPherson,” Austin Hadly commented from the next chair over. He finished twining a small candle holder to a sturdy bough and gave it a test to make sure it held tight. “Next year you should volunteer for the Christmas committee. We could use more men. I feel mighty outnumbered with all those matrons in the group.”

  “I suppose some of them will be by to inspect our work?”

  “Without a doubt.” Good-natured, the reverend’s son chuckled, as if he enjoyed his work. “I saw that fine mare you were driving around town on Friday. I’ve never seen an animal like her.”

  “She is rare, my Duchess.” He absently hung a porcelain angel on a branch. He heard Fiona’s name murmured in the chorus of voices. His senses sharpened, aware when she spoke. In the dull roar of conversations, her alto was the one he heard above all the others.

  “They did turn out very well this year.” Fiona held up a snowflake, a fragile lacy concoction of thin white thread and air. He had hung ornaments just like the one she held up, one she had made, he realized. “I am finally getting the knack of tatting. Thanks to you, Scarlet.”

  “You are better at it than I ever was. I should have made snowflakes, too.”

  “I love your little embroidered manger scenes.” Fiona, bent over her work on the front pew, tied a red ribbon into an ornament and fussed with the bow, tugging until it was perfect.

  She made a picture with her china-doll face flushed pink and relaxed. Only the fading bruise of her black eye remained. He hated that she’d been hurt, but it would be the last time. He vowed it.

  “Uh, Ian?”

  He blinked. Austin was waiting, as if for an answer. Embarrassed to be caught watching the lass, with his feelings—he feared—revealed.

  “The candles are up. Why don’t you go fetch the last of the ornaments from the girls, and then we will all be done.” Austin cleared his throat, probably trying not to laugh.

  Sure, he felt like a sap as his feet hit the polished wood floor. The rest of the men gathered around the tree knew it, and he didn’t miss the choked-back laughter as he walked away. Just wait, he wanted to tell them. Wait until a pretty lass comes along who turns your priorities upside down. Until there wasn’t anything a man wouldn’t give to make her life better.

  “Are you glad you stayed to help?” Fiona asked, unaware of how vulnerable she made him with that curve of her smile and her sweet spirit.

  “Aye. I haven’t had this much fun since I was in school.” Before Grandfather’s illness had taken him out of the classroom for good. Life had been far too serious.

  “You have made friends.” She looked pleased, as if that was her hope. “I mean, if you are going to be staying here, it might be nice for
you to know people. So you aren’t so alone.”

  His throat closed, and he could not speak. Ah, but her caring touched him and made the losses in his life smaller and the hardships easier.

  “That is the last of them.” One of the girls—the red-haired one—shoved the box into his hand. He suspected Fiona’s friends saw right through him to his eternal devotion. To his enduring, lifelong love.

  A love that likely would never be returned.

  He clutched the box, realizing he still could not speak. He feared Fiona, too, could see far too much. It was for her that he gave a shrug, as if to make up for his silence, and turned away.

  “I will take those.” Lorenzo took the ornaments, his manner gruff, although Ian sensed he did not mean to be.

  He knew how it felt not to have affection for Fiona returned. He felt an odd empathy with the young man as they stood side by side, hanging the last of the decorations in the uppermost branches.

  The chairs were pulled away and all in the room gathered close to admire the tree. Everything passed in a haze for him: the cacophony of movement and noise, the joyful discussions, the call to join hands in prayer. Fiona slipped into line beside him, her soft hand finding his. That surprised him, as did her tight grip. All through the prayer, he did his best to keep from asking the Lord above for what he wanted most. As the group prayed for compassion and peace and for the welfare of others, he did, too.

  He prayed for Fiona. Not that he would win her love, but that she would have her heart’s desire. Beyond all that he wished for himself, none of it mattered a bit in comparison with all he wanted for her.

  Coziness clung to her and chased away the shocking cold as they sped toward home. The town was a shadow in the falling twilight behind them, and the road ahead ribboned across the gently rolling prairie. Tonight the wind did not whisper to her as she drew the blanket up to her chin. Whatever the world held out there could not be as rosy as what Ian had given her here.

  “Do you think you will like staying in Angel Falls?” She felt shy, her voice strangely thin, but she attributed it to the bitter temperatures.

  “I like it just fine. This place will be a new start for me, different from all that I knew. Maybe I can find my future here in this land of wide-open prairie and of mountains that hold up the sky.”

  “Spoken like a man who is thinking of drawing those mountains.”

  “How did you know?”

  “You are less and less a stranger to me.”

  “I feel as if you never were, lass.”

  It was pure kindness, plain and simple, a sign of his compassionate nature, that was all. Fiona fisted her hands inside her mittens, determined to be practical and sensible.

  “What kind of start did you have in mind?” Snowflakes sifted through the air between them, perhaps hiding what she really wanted to know. “Will you move north if you get a job at the mill?”

  “I need wages, lass, but I can ride the five-mile stretch and live here.”

  Why could she see the colors of his dreams? Green like the fields in May, sapphire-blue like the Montana summer sky and dotted with horses of every color, their velvet coats gleaming in the sun. “You will work to buy horses again. To build another stable.”

  “Once, we had more than two hundred horses grazing on our land. More than a few of them were champions. Now, the twelve are all I have left.”

  She felt his loss, not for the former prestige of his family but for the horses he had loved. “You helped to raise and train them, didn’t you?”

  “The hardest losses are of the heart, it’s true.” His throat worked, and his jaw turned to iron. “The horses I have left were the ones I could not part with.”

  “Where are they now?”

  “A neighbor is boarding them for me. He’s a good friend, and he bought all of my family’s land. It is his house where my grandmother is staying.”

  “Have you heard from her?”

  “No, but I expect a letter in the mail any day. This is the first Christmas we will spend apart.”

  “What was Christmas like for your family?”

  “Nana would always serve a roasted duck, candied yams and her mother’s baked bean recipe. Buttermilk biscuits light enough to float in midair. Hot chocolate and angel food cake afterward by the fire. That was Christmas dinner.”

  “You mean there is more?”

  “Presents piled under the tree. Christmas Eve service the night before, of course. We would have dinner in town at the hotel after a day of stringing popcorn and making cookies. When I was a little tyke, I would help my mother decorate the Christmas cookies. After she passed, Nana and I carried on the tradition. Nana would spend part of both days playing Christmas carols on her piano. We would gather round with eggnog or tea and sing until we were hoarse.”

  “You have lived a dream, Ian. Or at least, a dream to some people.”

  “I’ll not argue.” The rundown shanty where Fiona’s friend lived came into sight, the few windows glowing across the ever darkening landscape. He gave Flannigan more rein, letting the horse run some, as he seemed to want to do.

  “One day I pray you have that again.” Her hand covered his, and through the layers of wool and leather, he could feel the depth of her wish for him.

  The heavens were kind to him and saved him from answering, for the driveway rolled into sight and beyond that the joyless shanty with one window aglow with light.

  “We’re home.” She breathed the words out like a sigh, and it was as if the twilight fell with her happiness.

  “I pray that one day home will be a welcome place for you, pretty girl.” He reined the horse toward the barn, drawing him gently in from his run. Because he did not want to reveal anything more, he let silence settle between them. Her hand remained on his until the sled came to a stop.

  “Next time, Fee, be kinder to the poor young men who have lost their hearts to you.” He dragged away from her side, hating to put distance between them.

  “What are you talking about?” She scowled, her face scrunching up adorably.

  Sad that he was falling ever harder for her. Love was not finite, he realized. It was an infinite place that kept pulling a man apart. Resigned, he offered to help her from the sled, but she hopped out on the other side.

  “Lorenzo.” He patted Flannigan before kneeling to unbuckle the harnessing. “And those other school boys. What were their names? James and Luken and that blond-headed kid.”

  “Funny. What could have possibly given you the idea that half the graduating class of boys is carrying a torch for me? Surely.” She rolled her eyes, laughing at him, unaware of the doting man who stood right in front of her. Of course she had not noticed the others, either.

  “I am telling you the truth.” He worked one buckle free and circled around for another. “You are breaking hearts, Fiona, right and left. Think of the poor fellows, would you? It is all I am asking.”

  “No one is ever going to love me.” She looked vulnerable in the thickening twilight, certain as she tucked her Bible into the crook of her arm. “I don’t intend to let anyone close enough to try.”

  “What? Not even me?” Instead of working the harness free, he ambled closer. “I heard you and your girlfriends. It sounds like you’ve already let me far too close.”

  “They were talking about weddings and forever, not me.” Her voice trembled. “I hope you don’t think I told them—”

  “No,” he interrupted, saving her from having to say the words aloud. “We both agreed there would be no wedding. Just a long engagement.”

  “Yes.” She didn’t move away. She didn’t look away. She couldn’t. “I hope this will be a benefit for you, too. I hate to think that your staying here for me would hinder your dreams.”

  “I am exactly where I want to be. Trust that.” His knuckles grazed her cheek tenderly. “You are wrong about my dreams, Fiona. The only ones I have are for you.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  What was the man doing to her? He made
it impossible to forget him. All night long he had snuck into her dreams like a bandit, out to steal her heart. I could not make myself ride another step east, so I followed my heart back to you. I’m going to make sure you are never frightened like that again.

  All morning his velvet-coated promises and declarations drove out all other thoughts. Standing at the front of the classroom, she gripped her hands, trying in vain to find historical facts in her head. But all she could locate were Ian’s startling confessions. You are wrong about my dreams, Fiona. The only ones I have are for you.

  What did that mean? Surely she was not part of his dreams. No, that could not be right. He had meant that he wanted her happiness. As a friend might.

  A friend. That’s what she was to him. That was exactly what she wanted to be. And if disappointment whispered through her, she was determined to ignore it.

  “Miss O’Rourke,” the teacher scolded, her frown as severe as her tone. “I’m afraid you will have to study this lesson again.”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Lambert.” Miserable, she hung her head. She could not remember what she had learned about the battle of Gettysburg. There was nothing in her mind but Ian.

  Lila grabbed hold of her hand and squeezed in sympathy.

  “That is all, class. You may return to your seats.” Miss Lambert laid her history book on her desk, watchful as the twelfth-grade students filed down the aisles, quietly so as not to disturb the others who were studying industriously.

  Fiona slipped into her desk. She had never failed a lesson before. She wanted to blame Ian, but the fault was hers. She was the one who could not stop the images of him in the barn doing the evening chores, of how relaxed the horses and the cow were in his presence and how happy they seemed. She hardly recognized Flannigan, who no longer looked prairie-ward with longing in his eyes. Ian, who had walked her to the house and with one stare at her da, ensured that not one cruel word was spoken to her. Ian, who had driven her to school in the morning, helping her from the sled at the schoolyard, tipping his hat in goodbye to her like any courting man.