“I didn’t know what to do with that.”
Burton handed it to Maila. “It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it? It’s an expensive water pitcher. What didn’t you know?”
“How I’d survive with only that as my inheritance. What kind of an inheritance gift is a water pitcher and one matching tumbler?” Maila reached out and caressed the frosted belly of the piece. “But do you know what I learned, seeing that every day on my nightstand?”
“What?” He seemed to hang on her words. God, please, let it be the case that we enjoy each other’s conversations.
“Where I came from.” She picked up the pitcher, looked at it from several angles, and held it out until Burton slipped the glass under the spout. “I never forgot who I was or who my people were. I never forgot my family.” She poured water into the tumbler. “I realized when my mother gave that to me and told me to go make my way in the world, she wanted me to remember home and tradition. You’re part of my family and tradition now.”
Burton drank deeply from the small glass. “I’m honored.” He handed the glass to her. “I’m honored to have you share my home and join my family.”
She smiled into his earnest eyes and sipped from the glass. Could they share so easily the rest of their lives?
“But I have one request.”
“Anything.” The memory of how this marriage came to be flashed into her mind. “Well, anything within my power.”
“Today, as we married at your family church…” Burton took her hand. “A lot of the service was in Swedish. Then most everyone spoke in Swedish.”
“Well, we are Swedish.” A tremor started in her knees. Things didn’t tend to go well when a person stated the obvious. At least not in her experience. Her mother’s send-off when she was sixteen had started, “You know we have thirteen mouths to feed…”
“Maila…” He rubbed his thumb across the top of her hand.
A flutter started deep in her belly at his gentle touch. She watched his thumb like a clock pendulum, mesmerized. How could such a simple gesture flip her insides all around like that?
“I’m asking you not to speak Swedish around me and to please ask your family to speak English also.”
“What?” The flutter dropped like a wagon of hay breaking a wheel. She yanked her hand out of his. “I just told you how important my heritage is and you respond by telling me not to speak Swedish? You were married to Rose for fifteen years and you never learned the language?”
“I didn’t.”
“I spoke Swedish until I turned eight. In our family, to preserve our history, that’s how it worked.” Images of childhood and traditions and then the schoolroom flashed through her mind. “My family all speaks Swedish. They’re going to come here and visit and shop. It’d be impossible to never speak my mother tongue. You know how hard it has been for me to communicate with my mother as it is.”
“Please listen.” Burton captured her hand again as she fluttered it at him. “This isn’t about your heritage or your family. I’m asking because I don’t understand it. Rose used to translate for me. But even then it was irritating to rely on someone else.” He released his hold. “I don’t know what to do without her.”
He looked so lost. Maila’s heart went out to him even as a pang of jealousy stunned her. “Burton, she’s gone. I’m so sorry.” Taking time to get to know each other was a wonderful plan. “But you can’t ask me not to—”
“Then I won’t ask.” His face set into stern lines. “I am done with not understanding.”
“Then learn it. I’ll help you.”
“No. This is America. You’ll need to speak only English here.”
“But—”
“I said no. This is my home. I’m the captain of this ship, and I’ve chosen the course we’re to follow.”
Maila clamped her mouth tightly to hold back words she’d regret. Who went around ordering people not to speak their native tongue? Did he need her to be so different from Rose that she couldn’t be herself—her Swedish self? Loving this man was going to be a lot harder than she thought. Gud, hjälpa! Or help him if she didn’t walk away right now!
Burton shook his head at the empty kitchenette. An angry stream of Swedish trailed behind a departing Maila. He groaned. Women were even harder to understand than Swedish. “Maila, come back,” he called at her retreating figure.
The words stopped. A moment of silence.
Then he flinched at the slam of the upstairs door. “Good job, Burton. You’ve just gotten the cold shoulder on your wedding night.” He plunked his chin into a palm and leaned on the table. “She’s certainly not you, Rose.”
He told Maila he respected her heritage but didn’t understand the language. Rose had understood any contention between them had been misunderstandings caused by their language barrier. In her soft way, she’d learned to translate for him and to only speak English at home. She hadn’t been offended by his request. So why was it such a problem that he wanted to start this marriage off without confusion?
He rubbed his neck. But then again, he hadn’t ordered Rose not to speak Swedish altogether. Maila must think she married a boor. Pushing back from the table, he put away the food and set the dishes near the sink. Things would look better in the morning. But the image of Maila’s stricken face played over and over in his head. He’d have to apologize for his heavy-handedness and try again to explain himself.
“Let me know when you want dinner.” Maila worked briskly at the sink.
“Please stop for a moment.” Burton touched her elbow.
She inched away. “I’m not sure what else you could want.”
He leaned against the counter and folded his arms. “Maila, I’m trying to apologize.”
She finally paused, folded the towel over the wooden dowel, and turned to face him. “Go on.”
“I thought if we started off speaking the same language all the time, we could avoid a few of the, uh, challenges Rose and I weathered.”
Maila looked at the beautiful woman watching them from above the mantel. The warming stove reflected off the corner, and the room closed in on her. “There’s your first mistake.”
“How can that be a mistake?” Burton’s confusion played across his handsome features. “I just want to start us off on the right foot. Don’t you want to avoid unnecessary arguments?”
“Certainly. But this marriage is not the same as your last. I am not the same.” She held out a hand toward the photograph. “There cannot be three of us in this—whatever this is.” She closed her eyes. “I really want to make this work, Burton.”
He stepped close and lifted her chin. “I do, too, Maila. Really I do.” He leaned in and touched her forehead with his lips. “Please forgive me for the way I spoke to you last night.” Then as quickly as he’d dropped the kiss, Burton crossed to the mantel. “I think it’s a difficult situation we find ourselves in. Me, only months a widower, and you, married to your cousin’s husband.”
He took the sepia photo off the wall. “This can hang in my room. Maybe it’ll feel less like we’re trying to re-create something I lost”—he lowered his voice—“and more like we’re trying to become the couple we are now.”
“Do you mean we’re going to work on making this a real marriage? Not just something that pacifies my mother and the town gossips?” The portrait still had a hold over her husband, but at least Rose wouldn’t watch over them as they ate anymore. Her constant presence at the dinner table kept a reserve between them.
“In time, Maila. In time.”
She bobbed her head. “Yes.” At least he’d apologized. She could, too. “Burton?”
He waited.
“I shouldn’t have stormed off like that last night. I’ll work on calming my temper.”
He grinned at her. “You certainly made me think.”
Maila took a good look at him. “Did you sleep last night? You’re looking a bit tired today.”
He laughed. “Not really.” He looked down at his shoes and th
en back at Maila. “I was a little concerned you wouldn’t be here when I woke up.”
“It crossed my mind.” She stared at the back door. “But it was cold out.” Then with a sideways glance under her lashes, the grin spread across her face.
He let out a guffaw. “Then I hope it stays downright frigid so you’ll stay right where you belong.”
Belong. Oh, that word soaked into her being like melted butter on biscuits. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Tucking the portrait with its domed glass under one arm, Burton drew Maila in for a one-armed hug with the other. “I’m glad. In case you couldn’t tell, I really need a wife.”
“Oh goodness, I can tell.” She looked around at the jumbled state of the kitchenette-sitting room and said with an impish wink, “But we’ll get this place whipped into shape in no time.”
Burton took the picture upstairs. A few minutes later he descended. “Shall we say six for dinner?”
“Six it will be.” Maila wrung out the dishrag and dropped it over the edge of the washing bowl she used to conserve water. Time to put her plan into action. She met him at the bottom landing. “Burton, I’d like us to do something each morning.”
“Take turns with breakfast?”
“No.” She giggled at his logic as she placed fingertips on his freshly shaven cheek with a featherlight touch. “I’d like us to practice being a married couple till we figure it out. When you go to the farm or out for the day, would you please say ‘I love you’ and give me a good-bye kiss?” She rose on tiptoe.
“I, uh, a kiss?”
“And a hello kiss when you come home.” She placed her hands on his shoulders. This concept seemed to be a little too far on the advanced side for Burton to digest.
“A kiss?”
“That’s what I said.” If she had to hold this position much longer her feet would start to cramp. “If we practice acting like we love each other, then maybe one day we will.”
“Practice kissing?”
“Oh Burton, pish posh. Yes, practice. We have to learn to love each other, don’t we?” She dropped back to flat feet. “Isn’t that what married people do? Am I so distasteful?”
“No, uh…” Burton waggled his head. “I mean, yes.”
“Oh.” Maila’s eyes widened and she backed up into the tabletop. “Never mind, then. I’m sure that was just a silly idea.”
Burton reached out, circled her waist with his arms, and drew her to him. “I mean, yes.” He lowered his head as he spoke. “But just a kiss right now. To practice.” Then he gave Maila a sweet kiss that shot sparks to her toes.
Maila stammered, “I—I—” She cleared her throat and tried again. Her voice stayed on the husky side. “I think that’s a good plan.”
He kept looking at her as if stunned himself. “Well?”
“Well what?”
“This was your idea. Aren’t you going to say it?”
She fought back the fear that he might not say it back. That it was phony. That the pretense wouldn’t work. “I love you, Burton.”
“I love you, Maila.”
Chapter 5
Each morning, Burton kissed Maila good-bye. Each evening, he kissed her hello. At the end of the first week, the awkward start became a distant memory as the habit cemented. Maila looked forward to Burton’s arrival for dinner—and to receiving her kiss, albeit a reserved one. A kiss that led to comfortable conversation about the farm, the store, and family.
“So James left the door open when he fed the chickens. Evidently a barn kitten found himself a cozy nap spot and woke up surrounded by a bunch of sleeping chicks in the henhouse.” Burton’s eyes lit up as he shared. “The mother cat and the harried hen got themselves into a frenzy squawking and yowling at each other.”
“What happened?” Maila put her fingertips across her lips, fearing the grizzly ending for at least one of the animals. She spoke from behind her hand. “Did the poor little chickens get away safely? No, wait. Did the cats get pecked to death?”
Burton vibrated with laughter as he tried to finish the story. “I’ve never seen anything like it. The two mamas were squaring off for the defense,” he snorted. “You never saw a hen or a cat puff up so big!” He laughed so hard Maila couldn’t help but join the contagious humor. “When the hen hopped off to the side, the little kitty up and scurried away. All the fuzzy chicks ran after him cheeping to beat the band!”
“No!”
“It’s true. Both the cat and the hen were so busy trying to round up their own young they completely forgot the other.”
Maila clapped her hands. “Now that’s a tall tale! I fear no one will believe you.”
“Ah, but I have a witness.” He held up his forefinger.
“You do?”
“Yes, my good woman.” He pointed to the door as if someone stood there. “The mule saw it all happen.” He kept a straight face, though his eyes glimmered with mischief. “Pretty stubborn old guy. He won’t budge from his opinion no matter how you bribe him.”
Maila doubled over in laughter at his imagery. “That can’t be true.”
“I’m telling you, ask the mule.”
No wonder the church leadership had asked him to replace the retiring pastor. Burton could spin a tale and keep his listeners on tenterhooks, all while teaching an excellent lesson. Would she be expected to be a proper preacher’s wife? The thought sobered her mirth.
Maila wanted to celebrate the appointment with him. Anyone who knew Burton knew the pulpit fit him like a hen in her nest. He farmed because the family needed him, not because he wanted to be a farmer. Burton’s regular support as a substitute minister had finally earned him the permanent position. His flock would be well tended, and he could think about selling the store.
But what did this mean to her and her attendance at Augustana Lutheran Church? Didn’t pastors’ wives have go to the same church as their husbands—like Rose had? Rose played the organ. Rose taught Bible study. Rose had the biggest funeral the town ever saw, according to Burton, because she was so well loved.
Maila’s shoulders drooped. She wasn’t the beautiful, revered Rose. People still offered their condolences to Burton, although they quickly followed up with uncomfortable congratulations on his marriage. But Maila could see from the look in their eyes that she wasn’t good enough to fill Rose’s shoes.
She bit the inside of her lip. “When do you add pulpit duties to your schedule?”
“Next week.” He beamed. “Holy Week takes a lot of planning. This will be Pastor Gilcrest’s last one, so I’ll shadow him in the evenings.”
“I know you’re busy helping with planting, and I know it’s almost Easter.” She folded her hands. “But I don’t know how you’ll do it all.”
He looked confused. “You know I’ve wanted this for a long time. I told you that.”
“But is now the right time?”
“I’m thirty-five. If not now, when will this opportunity come again?” He shook his head. “Did you know the pastor delayed his retirement when Rose passed? All to give me time.”
She didn’t know if he expected her to agree or disagree. “But that’s the point. You still don’t have time.”
“Maila, I’ll manage for the short stretch. A little less sleep won’t kill me while the family works through getting a farmhand.”
How did he not see this was a “we” situation and not an “I”? He’d already accepted the position without consulting her. Without discussing their needs as newlyweds. Was she a wife and partner? No. This roommate situation was getting out of control. She had to do something to change the situation before it became insurmountable.
“I just want you to know how much I enjoy dinner with you each night.” Feeble. No, Burton, don’t realize your dream because I want to eat dinner with you. She picked up the dish towel and wiped imaginary crumbs off her fingers. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
“Is that your worry? Maila, we’re not going to lose our dinnertime.” He reached over and stil
led her hands like a doting brother. “You’ll see.”
“All right.” She stood to clear the table of their dishes. What else could she say? He’d already made up his mind. And clearly, his was the only mind that mattered. “But when are you going to write and rehearse sermons?”
He took her answer as agreement. “At night, after we go to our rooms. You can hear them on Sunday mornings, unless I’m too noisy when I practice them.” He winked.
The Lutheran church she’d grown up in and the Methodist church Burton attended weren’t far apart. But attending two services a week seemed difficult at best. “I thought I’d keep going to my church.”
Oh, she did not like conflict. Why couldn’t she avoid it even when she tried?
“Rose—” He cleared his throat.
The dishes rattled in her hands. Maila kept her back to Burton and closed her eyes.
“I’m sorry, Maila.” He stood and turned her around by the shoulders. “I need you to support me as my wife. I’ve explained to the church board that we married to stop the appearance of evil. That nothing improper happened between us.” He sent her a tentative smile. “They believed me and blessed our union. They said a pastor needs a helpmeet.”
At least he figured out she existed, if only to support his dreams. What about hers? Maila clenched her teeth. Did he have to tell a whole bunch of strangers they’d married for appearances? Her face burned.
“Did you tell them we still haven’t done anything improper?” She emphasized the last word as it scalded her tongue.
“No, Maila—”
“That we aren’t living as a husband and wife because you don’t love me? You only want one woman”—Maila’s throat thickened her words to a husky whisper—“and she’s dead. Or did you leave that part out?”
Her memory of Rose clouded. She was no longer the person Maila wanted to emulate. The cousin she’d loved became a ghostly adversary. Jealousy? Plain and simple. Jealousy of a woman whom she’d loved and admired. Jealousy of a woman who no longer breathed. The pain hit hard. Maila sucked air into her lungs.
The Lassoed by Marriage Romance Collection Page 10