“Oh dear,” Portia said, carefully considering her words. “I’m not one for gossip, and it isn’t my place to speak of others’ private business. But, there is something I should tell you… I don’t think it’s your scars that are troubling Joshua. I think it’s his.”
“What?” Amy asked, unable to make sense of Portia’s statement.
“Joshua was married before,” Portia began. “He’d married his long-term sweetheart, Lucy, and, five years ago, the two of them moved out here from Chicago. But, obviously, their marriage did not last.
“Two years ago, Joshua returned home early from a trip to Green Bush, and he walked in on Lucy in congress with another man. He and Lucy split up after that, and Lucy left Golden Gorge to pursue a life with that other man.”
“Oh my,” Amy responded. Suddenly, she understood why Joshua had been so concerned over seeing her speaking to the man near the bonfire.
“But, that’s not the worst of it,” Portia continued. “Naturally, Joshua was devastated to lose his wife, but that loss was even worse because it happened on top of another one… Not even four months before Joshua caught Lucy cheating on him, there was another tragedy.
“Lucy had come down with a terrible fever and became horribly ill. At the time, she was with child, and, though she survived the fever, her unborn baby did not.”
Amy’s heart ached, for both Joshua and Lucy. She’d though her own loss was horrible, but she understood that the loss of one’s parents was nothing compared to the loss of one’s child.
“After Lucy’s miscarriage,” Portia continued, “Joshua decided that he did not want to have children. The thought of losing another delicate soul was far too disturbing… And, I think that’s why he acted toward you the way he did and decided to call off the marriage.”
Amy closed her eyes and held back her tears. Indeed, she could understand how Joshua was scarred by what happened with Lucy, and she could see how that would spur his decision. But, as justifiable as his excuses were, they were not enough to influence Amy as she made her decision.
“Well then,” Amy said, opening her eyes again, “if Joshua does not want children, perhaps he is right that we’re not a good match—because I do want children. And, I want a husband who wants me and will not disregard me, for any reason… So, when the train leaves for the east coast tomorrow, I will be on it.”
Portia sighed and nodded her head. As much as she wanted her new friend to stay in Golden Gorge, she could fully understand why she was leaving.
TEN
Joshua sat on his front porch, staring at the sun. It was late morning, and he’d just finished the morning milking—and, according to his calculations, the train for the east coast would be leaving the station in approximately two hours, and it’d be leaving with the woman he truly loved on it.
Joshua leaned back in his chair and tipped his hat over his face. He’d had another sleepless night and hoped that rest would find him.
Just as Joshua began to doze off, however, he was stirred back to attention by the sound of a horse approaching. He pulled up his hat, looked out in front of him, and saw a young man riding up on a steed.
“Mr. Fuller,” the young man said, jumping down from his horse, “I’ve got a package for you.”
Joshua raised an eyebrow at the boy. He wasn’t expecting a package.
“Actually, the package was meant to be delivered to a Miss Amy Lawrence, care of your neighbor Portia Miller. But, when I went to the Millers’ homestead, there was no one there, and I didn’t want to leave this package there, given its nature… It’s Miss Lawrence’s wedding dress, and, even though I don’t know much about women, I know how important such dresses are to them. So, I didn’t want to leave it on their porch unattended, in case something happened to it.”
“Alright,” Joshua said, stepping down from his porch and taking the package from the boy. He wanted to send the package back and be done with it, but he didn’t want to go through the rigmarole of explaining himself.
As the young man got back on his horse, Joshua walked into his house and set the package down on the table. He stared at it for a good while before deciding to open it. He figured he might as well take a look at the dress before throwing it away. It was charged to his account after all, and this was his only chance to see it, since he wouldn’t be seeing it on Amy.
Joshua carefully untied the twine that bound the box, then slowly removed the lid—and, when he saw what was inside, his heart nearly stopped. It was the dress from the clothing merchant’s window—the fancy, fashionable one; the one he’d said he liked, though Amy rejected it; the one with short sleeves.
Joshua simply couldn’t believe it. He knew how embarrassed and insecure Amy was about her scars, yet she’d chosen a dress that so openly, unabashedly, displayed them, and intended to wear it in front of the entire town. That took such strength, such courage, such will power and resolve and proved, beyond any doubt, that Amy was an amazing, incredible woman.
Joshua grabbed the package, tied the twine around it hastily, tucked it under his arm, and ran out of the house immediately. He jumped on his horse and, as he stared up at the sun again, hoped that he could make it to the train station in time.
As Joshua’s horse galloped toward Parks, Amy and the Millers stood, waiting, at the station. The train was due in any time, and the three of them, especially Amy and Portia, stayed close to each other and cherished what little time they had left together.
“Thank you for everything,” Amy said as the train became visible on the horizon and its whistle cut through the dry air. “I’ll never forget you, or your kindness.”
A split-second after Amy finished her sentence, she heard a voice from behind her.
“You forgot something,” Joshua said, trying to catch his breath. He’d just sprinted to the terminal, after posting his horse, and was carrying the package with him.
“What’s that?” Amy asked, eyeing the package.
“Your wedding dress,” Joshua answered with a big smile.
“I won’t be needing that where I’m going,” Amy replied.
“Yes, you will,” Joshua retorted, walking toward her.
Amy shook her head and opened her mouth to speak, but Joshua continued before she could begin.
“I opened the package,” he said, “and my heart stopped when I saw the dress. It was the one I liked—the one you were afraid to wear—and, the fact that you’d chosen it, despite your insecurities, made me realize just how special you really are. You are a strong, brave woman, and I’m confident that you can handle whatever life throws at you.
“And, if you’ll have me, I’m confident that you’d be an excellent wife and… an excellent mother.”
“But,” Amy replied, “Portia told me about everything. She told me about Lucy, about her affair, and the baby. She said you’d vowed never to—”
“That’s in the past, Amy,” Joshua interrupted. “Just as you have embraced your scars, I’ve come to embrace mine, and I’m ready to move on—with you… I know that you are not Lucy, and that God will not deliver either one of us any more than we can handle… So, if you’re willing to forgive me for being so hasty yesterday, I’d like you to stay here in Arizona, become my wife, and start a family.”
At some point during Joshua’s remarks, Amy had begun crying. And, now that he was done speaking, she took a deep breath, ran her hand over her wet face, and responded.
“Yes, Joshua,” she said. “I’ll forgive you—and, I’ll have you. I will be your wife and will be mother to your children, and, together, we’ll tackle whatever life throws at us.”
“Enough chitchat,” Portia said, walking over to the couple. “Let’s leave this station now. We’ve got a wedding to prepare for.”
Three days later, Amy and Joshua were married, and, 15 months after that, they became the proud parents of a bright-eyed baby boy. They name him Jake, after the vagabond who’d saved Amy from the fire.
The End
5. Th
e Runaway Bride’s Salvation
TABLE OF CONTENTS
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ONE
“I won’t do it!” Daisy Robinson shouted at the top of her lungs. She stomped her foot on the floor, folded her arms over her chest, and shook her head from side to side.
It was not like Daisy to raise her voice or make such a fuss around her father, or to disobey, or challenge, his wishes. But, then again, the conversation that they’d just had wasn’t like any other they’d had before, or like anything she ever expected.
“Yes, child, you will,” Mr. Robinson seethed from behind his mug of coffee. It was evening and, arguably, too late for him to be consuming such an invigorating beverage. But, he’d had a long day and needed something to energize him for what he knew would be a very difficult discussion with his daughter.
“No, father, I won’t,” Daisy retorted. Her voice was softer, but she still held firm to her position. “And, there’s nothing you can say or do to change my opinion on the matter.”
Daisy bowed her head and tried desperately to hold back her tears. She glanced over at her mother, who’d been silent for well over 20 minutes, and, when she saw the look of resignation on her mother’s face, Daisy could hold back her tears no longer.
Daisy was the youngest of the five Robinson children, and, at 22, she was the only one who remained under her parents’ roof and unmarried. She had no job, no suitors, and no other promising prospects for her future. All of her friends from town and former schoolmates were now married, and most of them had already settled down and had children. Her only “ally” at this point in her life was her mother. So, when she saw the solemn, defeated expression on her mother’s face, she knew that this argument was, essentially, going nowhere.
“There’s plenty I can say and do,” Mr. Robinson replied before taking another sip of coffee. He set his mug down on the table, leaned over it, and stared across the room at his crying daughter.
“This is my home,” he went on, unmoved by her tears, “and I can close my doors to you. I can force you out and send you off to the streets, to live as a beggar.”
“You wouldn’t!” Daisy exclaimed, terrified by the idea. “You couldn’t! I’m your daughter. Surely you—”
“Try me,” Mr. Robinson interjected. “I could, and I would… Just try me.”
Daisy looked to her mother again, and her mother swiftly averted her eyes, which, like Daisy’s, were now full of tears.
“But—” Daisy began.
“But nothing,” her father said, interrupting her again. “My decision is final. You will marry Marcus Taylor—or, if you refuse, you’ll be on your own, with no further support from me or any other member of this family.”
“But Marcus Taylor is a boring, mean crow,” Daisy combatted. “I’d rather marry a penniless drunkard!”
“Keep pushing me, girl, and perhaps you will,” Mr. Robinson responded coldly as he took hold of his warm mug again. “That is, of course, if a penniless drunkard would even have you. Given the way you carry yourself—how you turn your nose up at polite society conversation and bury it in books when you should be doing something more productive—very few men would want anything to do with you.
“You may be pretty and easy on the eyes. But, you’re not that pretty. Your flaws far outweigh your attributes. You should consider yourself blessed that a fine man like Marcus Taylor is even considering making you his bride.”
The tears flowed from Daisy’s eyes again. Her father had just added insult to injury, and she was deeply hurt by the cruel things he said about her. Not that she expected anything better from him, mind you. He was a callous man, a stranger to kind emotions and compassion, and he rarely, if ever, showed his wife and children any signs of love, thoughtfulness, or understanding.
“Marcus would make a good husband,” Mrs. Robinson asserted. She’d wiped the tears from her eyes and was now looking at her daughter, who seemed surprised not just to hear her mother speak up, but also to hear the particular words she was saying.
“He has a good head on his shoulders,” Mrs. Robinson went on. “And he has proven himself to be very successful in business. He will be able to provide a good home for you and, should God grace you, your children.”
Daisy recoiled a bit. The thought of having children with Marcus Taylor made her stomach curdle.
“And, he will take good care of my business,” Mr. Robinson added, calling Daisy back to his attention. “I have taken him under my wing these past few years, and have since decided that, when I retire, Marcus will take over my business—and, with you as his wife, the profit, and reputation we have established, will remain a part of this family.”
“So that’s what this is all about?” Daisy cried out. Her head was spinning, and her heart was racing. “You want me to marry Marcus because of your business?”
“In large part, yes,” her father sighed, setting his empty cup down on the table and glancing over at his wife. Mrs. Robinson read his unspoken command and promptly stood up, grabbed his mug, and went off to the kitchen.
“Both of your brothers have moved out of state and are established in business elsewhere,” Mr. Robinson continued. “Your sister Sally’s husband is a mindless oaf. And Gloria’s husband is both careless and greedy. If there is any future for Robinson Linens, beyond my guidance, it rests with someone else—and, I’ve determined that that someone else is Marcus Taylor, which is why you must marry him. That way, the business stays in our family, and your own personal future is taken care of.”
Despite the fact that her father made mention of it, Daisy knew that her future was not of great interest to him. She knew that he was far more concerned with his textile manufacturing company than he was with her or her happiness, otherwise he wouldn’t have presented her with such an awful ultimatum.
“You’re not getting any younger, daughter,” Mr. Robinson went on with an uncalled-for, uncanny chuckle. “Soon, your looks will fade, your body will sag, and no man will give you a second glance. You’d be wise to marry now, while you still have your youth to your advantage, lest you end up a lonely old spinster.”
Daisy’s racing heart ached again at her father’s superfluous insult. And, it also ached because, at the bottom line, though what he’d said was harsh, it was also true.
Daisy knew that her clock was ticking, and that, if she wanted to marry and have a family, there wasn’t much time left for her to find a suitable husband. But, she certainly didn’t consider Marcus Taylor suitable. He, like the rest of the men she’d encountered in New York society, was uptight, uninteresting, and unexciting. He was solely focused on business and social appearances and had no interest in books or culture, which were some of Daisy’s strongest passions.
No. Marcus Taylor was not the type of man Daisy wanted to marry. The type of man she wanted to marry would bring more to the table than meat. He would bring lively conversation, an appreciation for the arts, and occasional adventure. He would be loving, sweet, joyful, and, dare say, romantic. He would greet each new day with enthusiasm, inviting life’s mysteries and beauties to unfold before him, and would close each day with an eagerness for the next, and with gratitude for God’s many graces. He would be nothing like Marcus Taylor… and nothing like Daisy’s father.
“But, there’s got to be another way,” Daisy sobbed plaintively. “There’s got to be another man I can marry instead. Maybe I can go to—”
“The east coast is running low on bachelors,” Mr. Robinson reminded his daughter with another uncalled-for round bout of laughter. “There aren’t many eligible men around, since the war and expansion out west. And, those that remain have very discerning tastes, which you, with your strange ways, have already offended—or will certainly offend again, if given the chance.
“Again, I’ll tell you:
You should consider Marcus’s proposal a blessing. He’s a better man than I am, for offering to take on a burden like you.”
That was it. Daisy had had enough. She couldn’t take her father’s unkind words, or the ridiculous idea behind them. She stomped her foot on the ground again, screamed out in frustration, and ran out of the room, nearly knocking her mother, and the cup of hot coffee she was carrying, over in the process.
TWO
“No, no, no, no,” Daisy mumbled as she buried her head in her pillow and slammed her fist against her mattress. “I won’t marry that boring prig Marcus Taylor. I won’t do it. There has to be another way!”
Daisy was alone in her bedroom, and, though she felt comforted to be away from her father, she was uncomfortable in general. Her head was pounding from the thoughts that ran through it. Her heart ached so badly that it effected, and exhausted, every other part of her body, and
“Dear God,” she said aloud, praying to the Heavenly Father, “please, I beg of you—help me find another way. Help me find a way to live a happy, productive life without marrying Marcus Taylor. Please, show me the way. Hear my prayer, and give me an answer.”
Daisy continued to cry and turned her prayers inward, repeating them in her head, rather than out loud, until she eventually cried herself to sleep. She slept somewhat peacefully for a few hours and awoke again during the middle of the night, well after her parents had gone to bed.
Daisy sat up on her mattress and looked around her room. After her eyes adjusted to the darkness that surrounded her, she made her way over to her desk, fumbled around in search of her box of matches, and, when she found them, lit the oil lamp in front of her.
The fire from the lamp illuminated Daisy’s room, and Daisy looked around, appraising her belongings. Though her father was a stubborn, cold man, he had provided a good life for her, and she had many luxuries and personal possessions, including the three dozen or so books that were proudly displayed on the shelf alongside her desk.
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