Mail-Order Marriage Promise

by Regina Scott

  “Of course, we had a little trouble getting the firebox to draw properly,” Beth said, giving the pot a stir. “But John fixed it. He’s very handy, you know. Catherine told me she hopes to get him to fix the pump at the dispensary—it keeps hanging up. And Simon wants him to help level the road after the winter rains and frost. And we should really widen the road north so Drew can move timber through there easier.”

  “There is the matter of John’s library,” Dottie reminded her. How would the poor fellow ever move forward on it if everyone kept commandeering his time?

  As it was, he didn’t return until the others were arriving for dinner, and then his wet shirt and trousers clung to him as he headed for the stairs, dripping mud across the floor.

  Once more, it was a rowdy bunch, with children, parents and loggers crammed together around the table. Dottie found herself and Peter wedged between Harry and James, with John, now dressed in fresh clothes, down the table. While she and Beth had cooked, she’d taken the opportunity to quiz John’s sister about him but hadn’t learned anything new. As James had mentioned, it seemed the entire Wallin family found John easy to overlook.

  Harry stayed close to her side that afternoon, even going so far as to tickle Peter’s toes where they stuck out from under his shirt. Her son drew up his feet, little face scowling as if he was highly offended by the familiarity. John seemed to be the only one who had noticed, for she caught him fighting a smile. Though Harry showed every inclination of walking her home, Dottie made sure to latch on to John’s arm instead.

  He walked beside her now, gaze moving about the forest. Sunlight slanted past the broad trunks, and the air sparkled, full of a dry, clean scent. Birds flitted through the branches, and squirrels scampered up the bark. Seeing Peter watching him, John wrinkled his nose and stuck his tongue out between his teeth.

  Peter giggled so hard he wiggled.

  Dottie beamed at her son. “I love how he laughs with his whole body.”

  John relaxed his face and straightened. “So do I. Must be nice to feel so free.”

  She cast him a glance as they came out of the trees onto the field before his house. “Don’t you feel free, John? I’d say you have the best of all worlds—loving family, good farm and home, a dream to achieve.”

  His steps seemed to lengthen, as if he could outrun the image. “A dream that isn’t going anywhere without some more funding. It isn’t practical to house the books in the loft, piled up like that. They need to be in a building accessible to all, organized on shelves so people can find the right book when they need it. And we should keep adding to the collection. All that takes money.”

  “And time,” she pointed out as they approached the porch. “I believe that may be the larger impediment, with everyone coming to you for help.”

  She knew she should go inside, leave him to his reflections on this sacred day, but she was loath to lose his company. She sat on one of the chairs on the porch and settled Peter on her skirts. He waved his fists at John as if beckoning him closer.

  John came to sit on another chair. “Those are no impositions, Dottie. I like helping people.”

  “And you are tremendously good at it,” Dottie assured him. Peter babbled something that sounded like agreement. “But perhaps we’ve all grown too accustomed to your help. It’s easy to ask you, not even considering what else you might be planning that day. That’s what can happen with those we care about. We become so used to their presence in our lives that we take them for granted. Then one day, they’re gone, and the world seems harder and colder.”

  He put a hand on her arm, his face sad. “I’m sorry for your loss, Dottie.”

  She stroked Peter’s soft hair with her free hand. “My parents have been gone for more than ten years now. I’ve accustomed myself to their absence.”

  He frowned, and too late she remembered that she was supposed to be a grieving widow. Once more, the words pressed against her lips, even as her heart begged her to tell him the truth. How sweet to unburden herself, to cry against those broad shoulders, to feel his arms come around her as his warm voice told her she was safe and valued.

  How horrid to see those kind eyes darken with disgust.

  She rose, lifting Peter up in her arms once more. “I should practice what I preach and allow you to do whatever you had planned for the rest of your day.”

  John nodded, rising as well. “I had hoped to spend the evening with you and Peter.”

  And wouldn’t that be nice? She could imagine them going through the books together, sharing memories of reading the stories. She could picture the three of them around the table in the kitchen, talking. But that was for a married couple, a family. Much as she had enjoyed today, she had to remember she didn’t really belong to the Wallin family. She had to find a place for her and Peter.

  “Nonsense,” she said, making herself smile. “Look at the lovely sky. Surely you’ll want to be out in the nature you love so much. Peter and I will just take a nap, I think.”

  He darted in front of her to open the door of the house. Always the servant, always the helper.

  Dottie passed him, then paused in the doorway. “You are the strangest man I’ve ever met, John Wallin.”

  Hand still on the door, he raised his brows. “Ma’am?”

  Dottie held out Peter, and John immediately lowered his hands, catching the door with his shoulder as he took her son. He held him gently as if he knew more about holding babies than she did. Given the number of nieces and nephews he had, he might very well know more about babies than she did. Certainly Peter was comfortable in his hands. He gazed up at John and began telling him a long story, face turning from solemn to happy.

  “See?” she challenged. “Most men I know would have hesitated. You saw Mr. Yeager, Mr. Convers and Mr. Morgan this morning. I heard their excuses. Babies are an inconvenience. Babies make messes or get sick. Big, strong men don’t hold babies. You are a big, strong man, and you hold him as if you were born to the role.”

  His cheeks were pinking again. “That’s me. Nanny, cook, shoulder to cry on.”

  “That’s you,” Dottie agreed. “Kind, considerate, putting other’s needs before your own. You would make some woman a marvelous husband.”

  There, she’d said what had been building in her heart. She didn’t know what made John Wallin refuse to wed. Certainly he wasn’t afraid of Peter. He was clearly capable of courting if the way he treated her so respectfully was any indication. And that kiss!

  Better not think about that kiss. Already her gaze was moving toward his lips. She made herself focus on his eyes instead.

  He was staring at her as if she’d grown a second nose.

  “Are you saying you’d be willing to marry me?” he asked.

  Now she was the one who wanted to run. She could say yes. Simply forget everything that had happened to her and fall into life with the Wallin family. She and John and Peter could make a family of their own. But was that fair to him when she wasn’t sure where Frank was or whether he’d show up to claim Peter? When she couldn’t even bring herself to tell John the truth?

  “I don’t know,” she told him.

  He shifted Peter into one arm and laid a hand on her cheek. She thought he would kiss her again, and her body leaned toward him even as her pulse sped.

  But he swallowed, and she knew he was going to say something she wouldn’t like. He’d say it kindly, of course. He would never be cruel.

  “Dottie,” he said, gaze holding hers as gently as his hand cupped her cheek. “You deserve a husband who will love and cherish you. You don’t have to settle for me.”

  Tears were starting. She sniffed them back. “Then you don’t want to marry me. Still.”

  He looked troubled, brows drawing down and mouth dipping. “I don’t want you to regret marrying me. I’ve probably read too many advent
ure novels, but I think marriage should be between two people who love each other deeply. I sincerely doubt you love me.”

  Perhaps not yet, but she was beginning to believe it possible. “Cannot love grow over time?” she asked, hating the begging tone that had crept into her voice.

  “Certainly,” he acknowledged. “Under the right circumstances. I can easily see a man falling in love with you.”

  The tears were coming faster. John took a step closer and held out Peter, whose little face was crumpling as if he felt her pain.

  “Don’t cry, Dottie,” John said as she took her son. “I know there’s a husband for you. We’ll look at the May Day picnic. And we’ll keep looking if needed. I won’t rest until you have the life you deserve.”

  He turned, jumped off the porch and strode off toward the woods before she could tell him she was very much afraid the only husband she’d ever want was him, and that he wouldn’t want her as his wife if he knew about Frank.

  * * *

  John tore through the woods, feeling as if someone had branded his chest with an iron rod. The look on Dottie’s beautiful face, the tremor in her words, touched something deep inside him. He could see them making a marriage, working beside each other on the farm, partnering in raising Peter. But she wouldn’t be happy. He wasn’t the sort of man women came to love.

  And she had every right to marry a man she could love and respect, a man who would love and honor her all the days of her life. He knew giving her that chance was the right thing to do, the unselfish thing.

  But, for once in his life, he wanted to be selfish.

  He passed James’s cabin, making for the main house. The air stung his cheeks, and he realized he was crying. Crying! What was wrong with him? A man didn’t cry. He was tough, like Drew; stoic, like Simon. Even James passed off hurt with a quip. Why was John so different?

  “Hey, ho!” James bounded out of his barn, which leaned ever so slightly to the north. “I’ve been watching for you, brother. I could use a hand.” He skidded to a stop beside John and peered at him. “Is it raining?” He glanced up at the cloudless sky.

  John swiped the tear from his cheek. “Must have walked through a spiderweb. You know how they can hold the dew. How can I help you?”

  James lowered his gaze and clapped John on the shoulder. “That’s more like it. Come this way, and I’ll show you.”

  John drew in a breath, pasted on a smile and followed his brother up the slope behind the cabin.

  They had logged the area some years ago. Simon and James had extended the farm from the portion Nora had brought to her marriage onto the upper half of James’s claim. Now the fields stretched along the ridge, black and rich and ready for planting. The blue waters of the lake glistened below. He could see Simon’s house in the distance, a long, low affair with rooms for a half-dozen children.

  At least his brother had gumption.

  James led him to the edge of the field, where trees anchored the slope in place. Drew was seated on some tree roots, while Simon paced back and forth in front of him, boots making a dent in the moss of the path.

  “What’s happened that you need all four of us?” John asked as he and James joined them.

  Drew had a blade of grass between his teeth. Now he pulled it out. “Catherine seems concerned about Mrs. Tyrrell.”

  Simon paused to stare at John accusingly. “So does Nora.”

  As John glanced at James, his brother shrugged. “Rina feels equally concerned, but I told her you would work it out.”

  “So?” Simon demanded. “Are you working it out?”

  Never had a smile felt more difficult. “Certainly,” John said. “I am helping Dottie find the right man for her.”

  “Good,” James said with a nod. “Now go and marry her.”

  John pulled back. “I’m not the right man.”

  “Why not?” Simon stepped closer, eyes narrowing. That was Simon, facing every problem head-on, like a charging bull. “You’ve settled your claim, you’re respected in the community.”

  “Thank you for that,” John told him. “But she should marry a man she loves. She doesn’t love me.”

  “Oh, ho,” James declared, hands on his hips. “I beg to differ. The lady positively hangs on your arm.”

  “Because she doesn’t know anyone else,” John protested.

  “She knows Nora,” Simon countered. “She knows Beth. She shows a decided preference for your company.”

  “I’m good with Peter,” John said. “What she feels for me is ease and convenience. Not love.”

  Drew glanced up. “Do you love her?”

  John swallowed. It would be easy to claim he didn’t. But a part of him informed him that was a lie. How could he fail to appreciate her bravery, her beauty? It would take little to fall in love with her.

  And that way led heartache.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he told Drew. “Everyone knows I’m not the sort of man to inspire a woman’s heart.”

  Simon stiffened. “Who said that? Point him out to me, and I’ll be glad to show him his error.”

  “I don’t need you to fight my battles, Simon,” John informed him.

  Drew rose, towering over John and James. “No one can fight this battle but you, John. If you don’t believe you’re the man for Dottie Tyrrell, nothing we can say will convince you.”

  Finally, the voice of reason. “Thank you,” John said.

  “But I think you should ask yourself why you aren’t that man,” Drew continued. “Because from where I’m standing, you are the best of our brothers.”

  John blinked, stunned.

  “Well, I like that,” James teased.

  Simon was nodding. “Drew’s right. You understand logic.”

  “You have a sense of humor,” James said.

  Drew nodded, too. “You are the one we all count on for help. There isn’t a person at Wallin Landing who isn’t indebted to you in one way or another. At times, I’ve wished I had half of your ability to see the good in the world. Life might have been easier.”

  “And more peaceful,” James added.

  John looked from one face to another. Drew’s smile was kind, Simon’s determined and James’s commiserating. All stood ready to help in any way.

  “Funny,” John said. “I’ve always compared myself to you, Drew.”

  “Who hasn’t?” James complained with an exaggerated sigh.

  Drew shuffled on his feet as if uncomfortable with the idea. “Pa told me to raise you the way he would have. But you each had to find the best path for you. That’s just what you’ve done, John. Pa would be proud of the man you’ve become. I just want you to be proud of yourself as well.”

  “I am,” John assured him. When they all narrowed their eyes again, he laughed. “All right, I am sometimes. Then I look at the three of you and I ask myself where I went wrong. I’m not as strong as you, Drew. I’ll never be as clever as Simon or as charming as James.”

  James sighed again. “So few are.”

  Simon cuffed him on the shoulder.

  “We each have our talents,” Drew said. “There’s a passage in the Bible that talks about a hand not wishing to be a foot, an eye being content to be an eye. You’re the hands of Wallin Landing, John.”

  Was he? So many times he’d wondered why he was so different from his brothers. Had God needed someone like him to help the family?

  Did Dottie need someone like him?

  “I appreciate the compliment,” he told his brother, “but you have to admit that there are other men who could make Dottie a better husband.”

  “I’ll admit nothing of the kind,” Simon said. “She couldn’t do better than a Wallin.”

  “And since Drew, Simon and I are taken,” James reminded him, “and Levi’s off to parts unkn
own, she’s pretty much stuck with you.”

  Drew sent him a look, then turned to John. “You and Mrs. Tyrrell could make a strong marriage, John, if that’s what you want.”

  They were all watching him, waiting to see if their words had taken effect. He wanted to believe his brothers. Who knew him better than they did? But, in the end, it didn’t matter what they thought. It mattered what Dottie thought.

  “I’m not sure what I want,” he told them, “except that I want Dottie and Peter to be happy.”

  “That’s it, then,” James declared. “We better finish that church, because I see a wedding in your future.”

  Now if he could just make himself see that.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The next week gave Dottie much to think about. She had plenty of work from Nora, enough so that she began to wonder if she could make a way for her and Peter by helping the seamstress. Of course, she’d have to find her own house, and it wouldn’t come stocked with milk, eggs and canned goods. It might not even be out at Wallin Landing, unless she staked her own claim in the area. But how would she build a house, furnish it and manage it all alone?

  She certainly wasn’t alone very often in John’s house. The Wallin ladies stopped by to chat, snuggle Peter and offer extra food or bedding. While Tom and Dickie seemed to have given up the field, Harry continued his efforts to charm her. She had been ready to dismiss the fellow as a suitor, but he was so very constant. He left firewood for her every morning and came by after work to see what else she might need. As for John, he came by morning and evening to milk the cows, and, more often than not, he stopped by at least once during the day to check on her. Often he, too, brought something with him.

  One day it was a set of little wheels. She couldn’t imagine what they were for until he sat on the kitchen floor and began affixing them to the legs of Peter’s chair. Her son bounced up and down in her arms as if he knew the purpose.

  “And which brother should I thank for borrowing these?” Dottie asked.

  John’s gaze remained on his work. “None. I bought the wheels from Kelloggs’. This way, you can push Peter’s chair around to wherever you’re working.”