Ann’s heart jumped as James’s face fell. His eyes misted over and he moved ever closer to her on the porch swing.
“Don’t you see?” His voice was low and raspy now. “This isn’t about duty at all. I want to protect and provide for you from now until eternity because I love you in a way that I could never have imagined. I thought I loved you before, when I got the letter from Mrs. Turner, but I didn’t realize how deeply that love ran until you walked away. I would do anything for you. Absolutely anything.”
Her entire body trembled as the sincerity in his pleas washed over her. He did love her. But with that realization came the crushing reality that she still couldn’t give him the life he deserved. Ann buried her face in her hands and James pulled her close. She surrendered to his embrace and buried her face into his chest. The heat from his body pulsed through his shirt and scorched her cheek. “You say you’d do anything for me, but I can’t say the same in return. And you can’t make me believe you don’t want children. I’ve seen your heart for them, and I could never deprive you of that,” she explained.
His strong hands stroked featherlight touches over her hair and back so gently she shivered. He pressed his lips against the top of her head and murmured into her hair. “That’s what I was trying to explain. I don’t need to have children with you, Ann. I only need you. I was certain you wouldn’t believe me, so I had to find a way to prove this to you.”
She lifted her head enough to look into his eyes again. “But how could you prove such a thing?”
His full lips spread in a mournful smile. “George and Sadie need a home, Ann. Judge Vollrath has the paperwork all ready. The three of you are more than I could have ever hoped for in a family. The roads that brought us all together were paved with trials, but I believe God guided all our paths.”
Ann’s heart thudded. “You’re going to adopt them? I thought you said you found their family.”
He shook his head and a lock of sandy hair fell over his brow in the way that always made her heart quicken. “Their neighbor in Pittsburgh said Hal and his wife spoke often of being only children, and how happy they were Sadie and George had each other. And though we picked through every last letter in their house, not a one referred to relatives of any kind. So the new family I referred to was me—and you if you’ll only say yes.”
Without warning, he leaned down and placed the softest kiss on her lips. Flames ignited on Ann’s cheeks and spread down her neck. His hands slipped behind Ann’s head and pulled her closer. She never wanted the kiss to end. She never wanted their faces to part.
After an eternity and an instant, he broke his lips free. “Marry me, Ann,” he murmured as his mouth hovered over hers. “I don’t care about your past. I only care how it’s shaped you into the woman I love today. You think you can give me nothing, but your love is everything to me. Please tell me you love me, too.”
Ann sprang forward and returned the kiss. Her arms wrapped around his neck and her fingers entwined with his thick hair. She never wanted to let go, but he broke his lips free and locked his eyes with hers.
“Is that a yes?” He winked.
“I still can’t cook.”
He kissed her again. “I’ve come to believe there’s nothing in this world you can’t do. You are an extraordinary cook in the making, but if you never want to prepare another meal, you don’t have to. You can work on your needle lace, and I can teach the children how to cook. However—” he pressed his lips briefly to hers yet again “—I do hope you’ll still make your coffee. I don’t think I can survive much longer without it.”
She playfully pushed him away, but he only drew her closer. “Please, Ann. Say you’ll marry me. Tell me you’ll become Ann McCann.”
Only one thing about this moment kept it from being perfect. James knew very nearly all of her secrets, and yet he still loved her. She longed for him to know every part of her now. It was time for a true new start.
“James, I must tell you one more thing. My name isn’t really Ann.” Her heart thudded as she watched for his reaction.
He didn’t relax his embrace for a moment, but he did raise a brow. “You aren’t Ann Cromwell?”
“Ann Cromwell is my name, but it was not my given name at birth. Not exactly. You see, when a young girl in England enters service, sometimes the lady of the house objects to her name. So she bestows on her a new one. In some households the cook is always Mary, and all the chambermaids are Tillies.”
“So your name is Tillie?”
She laughed and impulsively kissed him. His ease chased away all her doubts. She could be herself with James. Even as she sat here still damp from the rain, she’d never felt more comfortable and content. “No, it’s not. Sometimes the girl’s name is deemed too fancy for a girl of her standing. Too regal. In my case, I shared a name with Mrs. Atherton, and she was not about to let a poor little maid go by the same name as she.”
James laughed softly. “How very vain. So she changed your name to Ann?”
“Decent, respectable and plain. The name Ann was judged to be far more suitable for me. It’s the name I’ve gone by ever since.”
“Please tell me what I’m going to call my wife for the rest of my life.”
Shiver upon shiver coursed over her spine. She felt so full of joy that she could hardly stand it. “I haven’t been called by my Christian name since I was ten years old, so it may take some getting used to.”
His arms tightened around her waist. “Enough stalling. What is it?” He kissed the tip of her nose.
“Elizabeth.” The name tasted strange in her mouth. “My name is Elizabeth.”
James’s eyes crinkled at the corners and he drew her so close his face looked fuzzy. His heart beat against her and matched her own heartbeat in perfect time.
“Elizabeth Cromwell, will you marry me?”
“Nothing could make me happier than being your wife. With all my heart, yes!”
Epilogue
Mr. Davis paused in sweeping the sidewalk in front of his store and took the bundle wrapped neatly with brown paper and tied up with a string. “Six handkerchiefs this time,” James told the shopkeeper. “This should be the last of them before you leave. She has your address?”
Mr. Davis nodded as he untied the string and peeked into the package. He whistled under his breath. “Beautiful as always.”
Sadie’s dark head bobbed up from the wagon bed. “I wanna see!”
James laughed and pushed the child gently back into the cocoon of blankets with her brother. Both Sadie and George had jumped at the chance for a trip into town, despite the biting February cold.
“You’ve looked at them more times than I can count,” James teasingly admonished. “I’ve no doubt you have them memorized.”
The little girl giggled as he tucked the blankets back under her chin. “When will Lizzy be back?” she asked.
Lizzy. Even after nearly half a year of marriage, the nickname they’d all come to adopt for his new wife still made his heart jump to hear it.
“I’m not entirely sure, Sadie girl.” Delivering the handkerchiefs to Mr. Davis had been the last of his many errands. Lizzy said she had just one. He turned to the shopkeeper, who was about to return inside. “My wife isn’t tucked inside your store, is she? She’s supposed to meet us here.”
“No, but you’re welcome to come inside and warm up while you wait. I have some candy that’s getting a little stale. Maybe someone can help me throw it out.”
George and Sadie popped up like jackrabbits and George scrambled over the wagon’s side. “Don’t throw it out!” the boy exclaimed, his dark brows knit in concern. “We can help you eat it!”
“Is that so?” Mr. Davis stroked his mustache as if deep in thought. James stifled a chuckle as both children danced about both from cold and in anticipation. He scooped Sadie
out of the wagon and into his arms.
“I think George has had a fine idea,” James announced, and both children sent up a cheer as they followed Mr. Davis into the store. Once inside, he set Sadie down and she dashed with her brother to the counter where they each received a paper sack of peppermint sticks, licorice rounds, butterscotch and lemon drops, all of which he suspected were not in danger of becoming stale anytime soon.
The warmth of the store and the children’s laughter settled over him like a soft blanket. The Lord had created a new family out of tragedy, and now James couldn’t imagine his life any other way. The children darted to the corner where Mr. Davis stocked the wooden toys, and James drank in the sound of their laughter as they played.
The bell over the door clanged. “Good to see you, Mrs. McCann,” Mr. Davis called from behind the counter.
James strode to the front of the store and wrapped an arm around his wife’s waist. They’d only been apart for an hour, but he’d already begun to miss her terribly. Her face was flush from the cold and her blue eyes sparkled. It took everything he had not to pull her into a dark corner and kiss her deeply right in the middle of Davis Mercantile.
“I thought I’d find the three of you in here,” she said.
“I was beginning to worry about you. I thought you might have gotten lost,” he teased.
She nudged him gently with her hip but he held lightly to her. She leaned back into him and sighed. “My appointment took longer than expected.”
“Were you with Mrs. Williams? I heard a woman from Philadelphia passed through last week and bought your last handkerchief.”
His wife didn’t react to this news, though she normally rejoiced at each and every sale. Instead, she pursed her lips and gazed deeply into his eyes. “No, I was at the Hendersons’.”
“Oh, was Mrs. Henderson commissioning something?”
Instead of answering immediately, she turned and drifted toward the children playing. James followed close and gave her a discreet hug from behind.
“Not exactly,” she murmured, so quietly he almost didn’t hear. “I was there to see Doc Henderson.”
The children both dropped their toys with a clatter as the couple approached and wrapped their arms around Lizzy’s waist before letting go to resume their playing.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were seeing the doctor? Is your stomach still bothering you?” James whispered in her ear. His chest tightened. She’d been unwell the past few weeks, but had repeatedly waved off his concerns. If she felt sick enough to see the doctor, her symptoms must be getting worse.
His wife ignored his questions. Instead, she plucked a piece of doll-sized furniture from the shelf and turned it over in her hands. James mussed his hair and willed his heart to slow. Ann didn’t appear sick or even concerned. If anything, her countenance was one of extreme peace. So why did he feel a strange charge in the air between them?
“Can the mill make me something like this?” she asked. Her eyes were wide and bright as they stared up into his. She looked to be the picture of health. But still his stomach knotted.
“You know we don’t make doll furniture.”
“Not doll-sized. I’d like one full-size.” She placed the wooden toy in his hands and then stood on her tiptoes to place a kiss on his lips. George snickered in the corner.
“What on earth are you—”
His exclamation was cut off as she lifted his own hands in front of him. The toy he held was a doll’s cradle.
Time slowed as his brain beat through the fog of confusion. Then realization ran through him like a shot.
“You need a full-size cradle for...”
“A baby,” she whispered. She flushed crimson and buried her face into his coat. He wrapped her in his arms, scarcely believing the news.
“How?” he finally managed to ask.
She shook her golden head and laughed. “Matthew 19:26.”
He pulled her tighter into his chest and blinked back tears.
With God all things are possible.
* * * * *
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Dear Reader,
The setting for this story is very close to my heart. As I write this, sunlight streams into the room through the wavy glass of the 150-year-old window in my office. When writer’s block strikes, I stare out that window toward a barn raised with hand-hewn timbers or out over rows of corn or soybeans growing just beyond.
My husband’s great-great-grandfather built this house, and we are raising the fifth generation to make it their home. Though James and Ann are fictional, I picture Ann scrubbing these same wooden floors as I buzz my vacuum cleaner across them and James toiling in the field as our tractor plows the same expanse with ease. Though life has changed dramatically since these walls were first erected, my one hope is for faith and family to be the focal point of our generation and each generation to come.
Whitney Bailey
Keep reading for an excerpt from MONTANA BRIDE BY CHRISTMAS by Linda Ford.
Montana Bride by Christmas
by Linda Ford
Chapter One
Bella Creek, Montana, winter 1890
Annie Marshall shook the sheet of paper. “Mr. Arness—I’m sorry, Preacher Arness—I’m here to apply for this position.”
Hugh Arness did his best to deliver God’s word every Sunday, and on numerous occasions between Sundays he faithfully helped those in need. At the moment he was the one in need of help but Annie Marshall was not the person to fill that need. “How old are you, Miss Marshall?”
“I’m nineteen but I’ve been looking after my brothers, my father, my grandfather and until recently, my niece since I was fourteen. I think I can manage to look after one four-year-old boy.”
That might be so and he would have agreed in any other case but this four-year-old was his son Evan, and Annie Marshall simply did not suit. She was too young. Too idealistic. Too fond of fun.
She flipped the paper back and forth, her eyes narrowed as if she meant to call him to task. He’d seen her reaction to things before. A little fireball was not what Evan needed. He’d also witnessed her riding about with her friend Carly Morrison. They were a wild pair who seemed to think they could do as they pleased.
“Are you going back on your word?” she insisted, edging closer.
Hugh was grateful for the wide desk between them. He glanced out the window. Her grandfather, Allan Marshall, whom most people called Grandfather Marshall, sat in the wagon waiting for Annie to complete her business. Poor man must be cold out there but he was too crippled to get down by himself and seek shelter indoors.
Hugh turned back to the girl opposite him. “I’ve not given my word to anything.” He meant to point out leaving her grandfather outside in the winter wind did little to prove she was as capable as she wanted him to believe but before he could, she read aloud the words he’d so carefully penned.
“‘Widower with four-year-old son seeking a marriage of convenience. Prefer someone older with no expectations of romance.
I’m kind and trustworthy.
My son needs lots of patience and affection.
Interested parties please see Pre
acher Arness at the church.’”
“I’m applying,” Annie said with conviction and challenge.
“You’re too young and...” He couldn’t think how to voice his objections without sounding unkind, and having just stated the opposite in his little ad, he chose to say nothing.
Her eyes—blue eyes like her three brothers—narrowed. She had blond hair like her brothers too. And she was tall like them, but completely feminine. He pushed aside that foolish thought. He didn’t need or want anyone that made him aware of such things. No sir. At twenty-seven, he was admittedly jaded but he wanted nothing to do with romance and love. His wife leaving him had taught him the foolishness of expecting such stuff.
“Are you saying I’m unsuitable?” She spoke with all the authority one might expect from a Marshall...but not from a woman trying to convince him to let her take care of his son.
He met her challenging look with calm indifference. Unless she meant to call on her three brothers and her father and grandfather to support her cause, he had nothing to fear from her. To answer her question, yes. Had he not seen her and her friend racing through the streets, seemingly unmindful of those in the way? Hadn’t he heard her father complain that she left them to fend for themselves on many a Sunday? No. He needed someone less likely to chase after excitement and adventure. She’d certainly find none here as the preacher’s wife.
“I would never say such a thing but like the ad says, Evan needs a mature woman.” And he’d settle for a plain one, and especially a docile one.
“From what I hear, he needs someone who understands his fears.” She leaned back as if that settled it.
He wondered what she’d heard and from whom, but living in a small town and being the preacher made it impossible to keep anything hidden. “It sounds like you think you would be that person.” He kept his tone moderate even though the girl was starting to get on his already tense nerves. “What would you know about being abandoned?”
“My mother died when I was younger. I’d venture to say I might know how little Evan feels.”
A Mistaken Match Page 23