“I knew I saw a spark between you two. Yes, I surely did. I said so to the ladies at our church meeting.” Mrs. Anderson crossed the planked floor with a hand extended. She shook Burton’s. “Congratulations. Aren’t you the lucky man? I’m sure Miss Maila will warm your heart and help ease the loss of your dear wife.”
Maila’s stomach twisted at the sudden stricken expression on Burton’s face. He wasn’t ready for another wife. The poor man hadn’t been a widower for more than a few months.
Mrs. Anderson extended a hand to Maila as well. “When are the nuptials?”
Maila saw it now. Mrs. Anderson couldn’t have meant to be malicious with her gossip. Even in her own loss, she seemed to believe in happy endings. “I, uh, we—” For a girl who couldn’t stop arguing with her mother, Maila couldn’t find the words yet again.
Mama supplied the answer. “Just as quickly as we can prepare for it. Ja, very soon. A good man like this must not be left to idle.”
Mrs. Anderson smiled with kind understanding. “Yes, you’re most certainly right, Mrs. Holmes.”
No! No, no, no! Maila fought to find her voice.
Burton added, “Yes,” looking at Maila. “It will be as soon as we can. But we’ll keep it very small and private. It’s best this way, out of respect for my dearly departed.”
“Oh yes, indeedy. One must be appropriate with a loved one gone so short a time.”
Burton’s lips thinned as if it took every bit of willpower in his body. “Yes.”
Maila had no intention of marrying without love. Oh Benjamin, I must get back to you—and not as a married woman! She’d find a way to quietly scoot out of town on the train. After all, she wasn’t truly wanted here—she was just filling someone else’s shoes. But…could Burton’s store take it if he lost more customers? Would Mama ever forgive her for leaving without a good-bye? She sighed. No, she couldn’t scurry away like a mouse fleeing into a field.
The sun glared through the curtain corner, waking Maila. Groggy from the short night, she dug deeper into the quilts, but the ray of light burrowed behind her eyelids as if it were a mole in the vegetable patch. Why hadn’t she fixed that curtain last night? She groaned and sat up. “Fine already. I’m up, Lord. Is this really what You want from me?”
Someone rapped on her door. “Maila, do you want breakfast before the ceremony?”
Burton. How normal. How very normal this would be, asking each other about the day-to-day moments of life.
He rapped again. “Are you up? We need to leave soon.”
She clasped her hands together. “Yes, I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
“Did you want breakfast, then?”
She’d need something to give her strength. “Yes, I’ll have some coffee and a biscuit. You go ahead and eat.” She’d made drop biscuits the night before. That’d be a good way to settle her flip-floppy stomach.
Burton’s footsteps faded down the hall and then clip-clopped down the stairs to where the sitting room and kitchen cojoined.
Maila slipped into her best dress, the one she wore for special occasions, then ran a brush through her long chestnut hair until it shimmered and crackled. She pinned it up, adding the small veil her mother had worn many years before. The only nice piece of jewelry she owned, the grape cluster necklace, added a splash of lavender and sparkle to the light pink gown’s neckline.
“I’m sorry, Benjamin,” she whispered into the mirror. Benjamin! He’d have no idea. The last letters they’d exchanged talked of a makeup dinner. How utterly inappropriate after… Maila swallowed and closed her eyes. Today she’d become the second Mrs. Burton Rutherford.
Maila gathered her stationery and tried to pen a letter. How did one say such things that had transpired in less than a few weeks? Dear Benjamin, it grieves my heart… She scratched through the line. She thought for a moment. I must tell you… She scratched through that line, too. I wish it could have been different… Maila struck two lines through that phrase. Now what? It had been easier to send for her things and write a letter of resignation to her boss than it was to write this letter to Benjamin.
She glanced at the newly arrived boxes. She would settle in no time—there wasn’t much to unpack. But her heart would take a bit longer to get used to the new arrangements.
“Maila, are you coming? You’re not going to have time for this coffee.”
He’d made the coffee already? She sighed. This letter would take more thought and time than she had right now. The man she would call husband, until death do we part, must be first from here on out. “Yes, coming.” She raised her voice so he could hear her through the door and downstairs.
With a deep breath, Maila opened the bedroom door to the narrow hall. The tiny upstairs apartment closed in on her. Would her life feel as hemmed in as it did right this moment?
Chapter 4
You look beautiful, Maila.” Randa’s eyes sparkled the compliment. “Where did you find that dress? Rosy pink is the perfect color on you!” She flounced the gauzy white veil passed first to herself and then to Maila. “It looks so pretty with Mama’s veil, too. Just the right shade.”
Maila fingered the edges of the veil that fell below her shoulders. “I’ve always loved her embroidery. I can’t believe how fine a stitch Mama can make.” Would she and Burton come to love each other? Or would it be a tightly woven prison as intricate as these golden threads? Maila blinked back the shimmer in her eyes. No sense in crying over spilled milk. That’s what Mama always said. But the cow kicked over the whole pail this morning.
Randa walked over to the vanity in the church’s dressing room. “What’s this?” She picked up a small card on top of a thin triangular box. “It’s addressed to you.”
Opening the miniature envelope, Maila brushed away the mist from her eyes. Burton’s familiar handwriting. So familiar now after a few weeks in his store pouring over customer accounts. Long, thin lines and loops that looked more artistic than utilitarian. Maybe he cared more than she’d given him credit for since Mama’s edict.
For my bride, may your tears be few and only caused by joy. But should I cause them, may God grant them to evaporate quickly. Yours, Burton.
Maila lifted the slim cardboard lid and gasped at the most delicate handkerchief she’d ever seen. The elegant tiny satin ribbon matched the lavender grape clusters on her necklace. She couldn’t tell where the lace insets were sewn in and the nearly transparent cotton began. The dainty thing would be perfect to hold as she said her vows. Maila tucked it carefully into the pages of Romans, the book she’d studied recently.
She’d carry her small Bible and the handkerchief. It’d taken only a short time to fashion a white silk cover for the holy book that helped her practice her faith. She prayed the Lord would help her become close to Burton. Maybe if they practiced acting like a married couple they’d build up their relationship to become a real married couple. She’d show the kind of love she’d always wanted for herself. She cast a glance toward heaven. “I’m sure that idea came from You, Lord. Thank You.”
Randa smiled at her sister and handed over a nosegay of marsh marigolds. “I found a few of these and thought they’d be the perfect bouquet.” She hugged Maila. “Are you ready?”
“Yes.” Maila tucked the yellow flowers against the Bible. The handkerchief, Bible, and flowers—all little symbols of hope for the future. What would her husband see when she walked down the aisle? Maila glanced in the mirror. Pink dress, lavender necklace, yellow flowers, and a white veil. How appropriate. With the holiday only a few weeks away, she looked like an Easter egg. Maila rolled her eyes heavenward.
A moment later, Randa walked to the altar on the arm of Burton’s nephew, Charles. Her two children, Inga and James, acted as the flower girl and ring bearer. Inga’s little fingers clasped the basket of yellow flowers as if they’d gallop away like a herd of horses if she didn’t hold them back. She stopped to touch the petals.
Her big brother called in a stage whisper for all to hear, “In
ga! You’re s’posed to be up here.”
Inga tossed a grin to her grandmother and copied the stage whisper she’d learned from James. She cupped a small hand around her mouth. “Mormor, I gots pretty flowers in my basket.” A burst of laughter came from the family gathered to witness the wedding.
“Ja, so pretty.” Maila’s mother grinned back as she leaned forward to motion with both hands. “Go on now, flicka.”
James scooted back to the middle of the church and tugged his little sister forward by her elbow. More titters scattered through the sanctuary.
A wistful smile passed across Maila’s lips at the antics. Would this be a story to tell her own grandchildren someday? At least these two were fully recovered and able to create such a ruckus. Thank You, God, for answering my prayer. She watched with a grateful heart as they moved up the short distance, to the adults near Burton. Then she lifted her gaze to him—and her breath caught at his handsome smile. His open admiration propelled Maila forward toward the hand he held out to her. An invitation into an unknown adventure.
“Will you take this woman…” Pastor Peterson began the ceremony.
Burton opened the door and turned to his new wife. The breeze picked up, swishing through her skirts until they rustled like the leaves in summer. None of this was her fault. He’d learn to love her. In the meantime, he’d be kind. “You are a lovely bride.”
Maila’s cheeks flushed to a becoming rosy shade.
He liked that about her, her true modesty. Maila stood out from other women because of her character. He’d been blessed a second time, and yet in such a very different way. Yes, he could learn to care for her. In time, they’d make a happy life together. “Every bride deserves traditions. Would you like me to carry you over the threshold?”
“I’m not sure. I—”
“There’s no need to worry.” He held out his strong arms. “I won’t drop you.” Then he winked. “I’ve built up some muscles working the farm lately.” He looked over her shoulder and spotted the same two women who’d caught their spat weeks ago. “But it might be a good idea to smile and wave.”
“What?” She followed the tip of his head. Then she whispered, “Pick me up, quickly!”
He chuckled as she jumped toward him full of trust that he’d catch her. He wrapped an arm about her. “Impeccable timing, those two. Don’t you think?”
“Now, please.” She laced her wrists behind his neck.
The panic in her voice tugged at his heart. He swung Maila up into his arms with pink fluff flouncing into his face. He waited for the second it took Maila to smooth the finery. And to solidify the scene for their gawkers, he turned so the ladies could see as he dropped a peck onto Maila’s cheek. Her bemused expression made him laugh again. For all of Fergus Falls, Burton Rutherford would make a show of carrying the new Mrs. Rutherford over the threshold.
Burton strode through the doorway and kicked it shut behind him. “There you go, Mrs. Rutherford.” He set her down carefully so as not to tear her gown on his buttons. Then he turned to lock the door again. The women stood as still as the otter statues dotted down Lincoln Avenue. He pointed at the closed sign and winked through the glass pane before drawing the shade. If that didn’t help the word spread that he’d made an honest woman of Maila, nothing would.
“I suppose we should get out of these duds and get comfortable.”
“Now?” Maila squeaked out. “It’s barely four.”
Burton felt the heat crawl up his collar as if poison ivy spread under his shirt. “No, I didn’t mean that.” He backed up into the counter. “I meant work clothes. I don’t want to stay in my Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes. Do you?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“How about we both go change and meet back down in the kitchen for some dinner?”
She gave him a searching look and then started toward the back stairs. She turned at the first step. “Wait, we haven’t talked about room arrangements.” She paused as if a little uncomfortable. Then she finished in a pinched tone, with her eyes lowered, “Now that we’re married.”
He stood straight as a tree, though that tree might be a quaking aspen, whose leaves shook at the slightest of breezes. He wasn’t ready for this. To touch another woman so soon after losing the one he’d loved with every ounce of his being. And Maila couldn’t be any more prepared to give herself to him. He’d only been aware of her as an adult for a few short weeks. He remembered the day he’d held the jump rope for Maila outside the schoolhouse when Rose had been delayed with another of her students. Ten years Maila’s senior, Burton realized he hadn’t come to terms with her as a woman—or learned to desire his new wife.
He looked over at her with a new perspective. A woman of stunning character and a beautiful heart. Yes, perhaps he did have a pretty wife, after all.
Burton swallowed. “Maila, let’s leave our arrangement be for now, shall we?” He tucked his hands into his pockets—as mothers told their children, to keep them from breaking expensive items in his store. A marriage, no, a wife was the most precious and priceless. How did he keep from breaking her in this marriage?
“You keep the guest room. Rose and I shared the other. I’ll just stay there.” She’d understand it was too soon after his wife’s death. He glanced at her face. Was that hurt in her eyes? Why wasn’t she relieved?
Maila studied Burton without giving him a hint of what she was thinking. She tossed a glance at Rose’s picture above the alcove breakfast nook. Then she lifted her frothy pink skirt and climbed the stairs.
How had he offended her when he meant to ease the pressure on both of them? “Ah, Rose.” Burton ran a hand through his dark hair and looked up at her portrait. “You always knew what to do with your people. Now what?”
Burton’s voice halted Maila at the top landing. She leaned on the railing and dipped down to see him addressing Rose. Her people? This was a really bad idea. Married to a man who loved his dead wife too much to let her go. So much so that he asked her two-dimensional paper likeness for advice.
Maila straightened and slipped down the short hall. She looked around the small room. Somehow this marriage had to have a chance. They had to work together and learn to love each other for a lifetime. Hopefully a happy one.
A tear dropped onto the small ruffle at Maila’s décolletage. Lord, what’s my part in this whole thing? What am I supposed to do? She sat at the vanity and let the tears roll.
As she dabbed the droplets off the papers, the unfinished letter to Benjamin caught her attention. If Burton had to learn to let go of Rose… Maila picked up the pen to end the letters coming from Benjamin. This would be the last one. Then she’d turn her attentions toward the man whose heart she still had to win from the cousin she also loved like a sister.
“Rose, if you can hear Burton, then I hope you can hear me. I promise to take good care of him.” Although it felt a little dramatic, somehow the whispered vow gave Maila resolve. “But it’s time for you to let him go for this marriage to work.” If at all within her power, she would live at peace with Burton even if he never came to love her. Maybe if she first loved him, it would be easier for him to love her.
Dear Benjamin, I write with regret for any distress this letter may cause you….
The ham steaks sizzled on the stove with cut potatoes beside them. Maila set out a jar of green beans Rose probably canned in the fall. The fluffy biscuits nearly done, she added the butter crock and a bottle of honey to the wedding supper. She didn’t believe the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, but she would show Burton love through actions. Something tangible every day.
“It smells good in here.” Burton leaned over the cast-iron frying pan. “I didn’t mean for you to do all the cooking. And so fancy. I’m impressed.”
Maila smiled. “Ham and potatoes aren’t all that fancy. But I think we both need a good solid meal after all the excitement today.” She handed him the spatula. “Want to help serve?”
“Delighted.” He lifted
the potatoes out of the pan and onto the platter while scooting to the side so Maila could pull the golden drop biscuits from the oven with a folded towel. “Would you mind if we talked a bit about getting to know each other?”
She stopped halfway to the corner alcove. He’d been thinking of ways to make this work, too. With a glance over her shoulder, she said, “I’d like that.”
They settled in for the delicious meal. Burton folded his hands, elbows on the table, country style. Maila copied him, though she’d always folded her hands in her lap up till now. Small moments like this might build a huge foundation if they found a way to live in agreement. A tiny spark lit. She’d look for anything they had in common to put as many bricks in the foundation as possible. He’d have to meet her halfway, but look at the camaraderie in the kitchen already.
“Lord, for these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive, we thank Thee.”
Was he done? She peeked through her lashes at his uncommonly short prayer and found Burton peeking back at her. “Thank You, also, for this good woman You have brought me. I will treat this gift with respect. Amen.”
“Amen.” Maila stared at him. “You think I’m a gift?”
“Of course you’re a gift. I may not seem to be much of one to you, but you are to me.”
“No, I mean, yes.” She shook her head. “I didn’t mean it that way. I—I don’t know what I thought.”
“Maila, I’ve performed marriages and preached sermons as a speaker in the Methodist church. I’ve read the Bible all my life. If I know anything, it’s that God gives a woman to a man as a gift.” He swished his cotton napkin through the air with a flourish. “We men don’t always know what to do with a gift first off. Have you ever received a present and not known what to do with it?”
Maila cut her ham into bite-sized pieces. “Yes, that one.” She put her utensils down and pointed at the amethyst glass pitcher on the table, “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Quite.” He examined the blue and white Swedish toll painting designs on the handblown purple glass. The scalloped top formed by a skilled artisan.
The Lassoed by Marriage Romance Collection Page 9