With a smirk Essie said, “Her pa’s gonna hear about this.”
Silently, exchanging not so much as a glance, Hannah hurried out after Essie. Mark made a halfhearted attempt to stop her, but Hannah dodged his outstretched hand and scurried along after her stepmother. Mark could do nothing but follow.
They finished toting the furniture, getting separated as Hannah practically ran back and forth between Claasen’s and her room. Mark hustled to keep up so she wouldn’t do it all herself. Rosella watched them from the bottom of the steps the whole time.
Hannah got so far ahead of him that they were meeting on the street, and each time they did she’d give him an insincere smile. It was more than their getting caught “whirlwinding” by Rosella. Mark could tell she’d had time to think things over and was horrified that she’d let him kiss her. Hannah had always been perfectly polite to him, but she had sent out clear signals that she wasn’t interested. Now she’d had a weak moment and was shamed by her behavior. Mark hurt for her discomfort at the same time he felt like his heart was breaking.
It was worse than all the years of not knowing. It was worse than all the frustrating dreams he held in his heart. At least he’d been able to lie to himself and think somehow, someday, God would open her eyes. Well, now her eyes were wide open, and she was horrified at what she saw.
His steps slowed as he carried the table to the bottom of her steps. He didn’t want the job to be over because he was sorely afraid it was the first and last time he’d ever do anything with Hannah. He got to the alley door of the diner just as Hannah came down the stairs dragging the ugly chair that had been in the room when Mark had first entered.
He said in a voice that sounded pitiful to himself, “I’ll bring the old bed down and haul it and the chair for you.”
She nodded without looking up and passed by him wordlessly. He hefted the table upstairs. He lingered a moment, hoping she would follow him up and he could say something, anything, to put her at ease. Forget what happened between us, Hannah. It’ll never happen again. I know you think I’m a poor excuse for a man. Please, can’t you love me anyway, like I love you? Marry me . . .
But she didn’t come, which was probably just as well. He finally left and found her standing on the landing near the alley door—along with Rosella, who was standing like a watchdog at her side.
Mark walked down the steps and faced her. There was no possible way he could have even the briefest private word with Hannah.
“Thank you for your help, Marcus,” Hannah said primly, staring at her feet.
“I was glad to be of service,” he replied.
Hannah looked up and their eyes locked for a moment. Mark searched for some indication she wanted to spend more time with him. He only saw that she’d risked her respectability and her livelihood for a kiss she regretted with all of her heart. It was too much. He walked past her without another word.
Chapter 8
There were only a few folks gathered for church. It was early but Mark hadn’t been able to sleep after the disaster with Hannah, so he’d been up and ready for services early. Rudy was there. He was a good friend. Clayton Weber had arrived, too. He’d married Grace, who used to teach with Hannah, before Grace lost her vision. Grace now stood talking with Nelda, her belly round with a baby. The two women stood close to the church door, chatting while the men gathered by the hitching post.
Somehow Clayton and Grace were making their marriage work in tough circumstances, while Mark couldn’t even find the nerve to ask Hannah to spend some time with him.
Mark walked toward his friends, wondering how he was going to live without even the hope of Hannah ever loving him. He’d never been able to work up the nerve to talk to her before. And now, after yesterday’s humiliation, talking to her had passed into the realm of the unthinkable.
He felt the air stir as he caught the sweet floral scent that moved with her. Or he was just so fiercely attuned to her that there was some kind of connection between them—apparently a connection that went only one way. He wasn’t sure how he knew, because he hadn’t seen her yet, but Hannah had just arrived.
How come every other man had the nerve to go after the woman he wanted? He pondered that until he wanted to punch himself in the head.
Hannah would pass them and say hello politely, and Clayton and her brother-in-law would say hello back, while Mark’s throat would clamp shut so he could only nod or touch his hat or make some vague noise that she probably wouldn’t hear. Then she’d go off to huddle with the women until the church bell called them inside.
Except she didn’t do that this morning. When Mark spotted Hannah, she wasn’t anywhere near. She stayed well away from him to get to Nelda and Grace. Mark took her avoidance as a direct blow and was still reeling from the implications of how unhappy she was about his oafish kiss. He didn’t hear what Rudy said.
Rudy shook Mark’s shoulder. “So, did she?”
Mark shook his head to try and clear it. He stuttered as he forced the words out, “Did she w-what?”
Rudy laughed loudly, a trait Mark had always thought was crude, but then Clayton joined in only slightly less raucously, which wasn’t like him.
Finally Clayton said, “He asked you about Hannah. I heard the two of you were caught . . . uh, canoodling.” Clayton tried to look serious, but he couldn’t quite stop chuckling.
“Canoodling?” Mark shook his head.
Rudy said, “High time.”
Mark gripped Rudy’s shoulders. “What did you hear?”
“In her room,” Rudy added.
“I . . . I helped her carry a chair,” Mark sputtered. “We didn’t—”
“With the door closed.” Clayton raised his eyebrows and grinned.
“The door swung shut by itself,” Mark protested.
“Late at night,” Rudy said.
“It wasn’t even dark yet. We hadn’t—”
“You were in there with the door locked for hours,” Clayton said.
“Hours!” Mark realized he was yelling and dropped his voice to a whisper. “We weren’t in there for hours. More like two minutes. Who said—?”
“Now, Mark,” Clayton said, dismissing Mark’s anger with a wave of his hand, “nobody believes Hannah would have a man in her room. Even the gossips who are embellishing the story know it can’t be true. It’s just so fun.”
“Fun?” Mark felt his stupid head start to heat up with a blush. It was like a curse!
“We’ve been waiting for her to show up, to see if she’d come and throw her arms around you for all the world to see,” Rudy said with a laugh.
“She didn’t,” Clayton pointed out. “As a matter of fact, she seems to be avoiding you. That’s going to be a problem.”
“A problem? What . . . how . . . why is that a problem?” Mark was still trying to believe what he’d just learned.
“It’s a problem because it’ll be hard being married to a woman who won’t come near you,” Rudy said.
“Married!” Mark felt a thrill of joy race through his body, heavily spiced with panic.
“C’mon, you’ve been in love with her for years. She needs a husband. It makes perfect sense.” Rudy said it so confidently that it made Mark’s stomach twist. He’d never told anyone how he felt about Hannah. Well, his father and mother knew, but how did Rudy know?
“But she doesn’t . . . I can’t . . .” Mark didn’t know what to say. All he could think about was Hannah’s reaction to kissing him. She’d been disgusted. It would kill him to see her look at him that way for the rest of her life. Still, Mark knew how it worked. Rudy and Clayton were right. Hannah’s reputation would be in shreds by day’s end if they didn’t announce an engagement. Her job would most certainly be taken away. Even if they got the school board to see the story had been blown way out of proportion, they could never allow her to teach again in their town.
A hard hand clamped on his shoulder and wheeled him around.
Hannah’s father.
It was too bad Mark’s instinctive reaction to Hannah’s presence hadn’t warned him about Jerome Taylor.
Jerome jabbed one of his fat fingers right in Mark’s face. “There’ll be a wedding this very day, Whitfield.”
Mark shook his head, again trying to clear it. He saw Hannah look up from her little circle of women friends. She had the same frantic expression he must have had on his face. She was learning the same gossip he was. Their gazes locked for a split second before Hannah looked away.
Mark turned back to Jerome Taylor. “Mr. Taylor, sir, nothing inappropriate happened between Hannah and me.” Well, a little inappropriate maybe. “She bought some furniture. I helped her carry it home. The door to her room swung shut. That is all—”
“Shut your mouth, boy!” Jerome was a full head shorter than Mark, but his belligerent attitude didn’t give an inch.
He’d said it so loudly that Mark glanced up. They were still alone, though more parishioners would begin arriving soon.
“Now, Jerry, Mark didn’t do anything to deserve . . .” Rudy began in a conciliatory tone to his father-in-law.
Jerome wheeled around to face Rudy with a glare so hostile that Rudy, who was a stagecoach driver and a mighty tough man, backed up a step and fell silent.
Turning back, Jerome jammed his finger so close to Mark’s face he almost poked him in the nose. “I know nothin’ happened because I know my girl. She’s a decent woman. All I want to hear about is when you’re plannin’ to have the wedding. If I thought anything like what you’re talking about happened, I’d be coming for you with a shotgun! The fact is you were in that room alone with my Hannie, the door shut and locked, and now you’ll do right by her or . . . or . . .” Hannah’s pa stumbled over his threats, but he didn’t need to go on. Mark was getting the message loud and clear.
“Mr. Taylor, please. Of course I’ll do right by Hannah, but nothing happened and . . .” Mark glanced around again. Rudy and Clayton were listening with rapt attention, big grins on their faces.
Mark took Jerome’s arm and pulled him aside. Jerome Taylor had been banking at Whitfield Bank for years. Mark knew him well and considered him a friendly acquaintance, if not a friend. Mark had always thought Jerome Taylor was a self-centered old coot. His treatment of Hannah was insensitive and at times outright cruel. His desire for male children had brought about his late wife’s untimely death as far as Mark was concerned, and now his next wife was continuing the tradition. Standing there being lectured by the ornery old codger didn’t sit well at all.
Mark’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Mr. Taylor, it’s not a question of me wanting to marry her, sir. I have admired Hannah for some time now. But she doesn’t share my feelings. And I don’t want to be responsible for forcing her into a marriage she doesn’t want.”
Because he was off-center from leaning down to whisper to Mr. Taylor, Mark was knocked sideways a few steps by a blow to his shoulder. He turned to see that Hannah had been pushed up beside him. Mark swallowed hard when he saw who had a firm grip on her arm.
His father had joined the fray.
“There’ll be a wedding after church today.” Loyal Whitfield was given to making pronouncements during the best of times, which this wasn’t. He looked from his son to Hannah’s pa, and the two of them nodded in satisfaction.
“Agreed,” Mr. Taylor said.
“Parson, there you are,” Mark’s father said. “Mark and Hannah are getting married. Today. We’d like you to perform the ceremony.”
The pastor’s gentle smile spread wide. “This is wonderful news, and it comes as no surprise to any of us.”
“Some of us are a little surprised,” Hannah mumbled.
“I’ll be ready to officiate the ceremony immediately following church. Right now it’s time for services, folks. Let’s all go on in.”
Mark looked around and saw the whole congregation had arrived while he’d been having his little meeting.
Mother came up at that moment and said, “Welcome to the family, Hannah.” Mark looked at his mother and thought she looked far too cheerful for a woman whose son was involved in a scandal.
Mark had a notion to ask her why she was taking this so well, but before he could do so, he was pulled one way by his father while Hannah was pulled another way by hers.
There would be no moment alone. There would be no quiet talk between Mark and Hannah. Mother was poking him in the back, forcing him to move. He hoped Hannah didn’t adopt that habit.
“Hannah!” Mark cried.
She turned back as she was towed along.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “but I guess there’s no other way.”
“We’re stuck with it.” She threw her arm—the one not in her father’s grip—wide as he dragged her toward the church.
As far as proposals went, it left a lot to be desired.
Chapter 9
Hannah watched in amazement as her wedding turned into a celebration. She suspected everything to do with the Whitfields was done on a grand scale. Tables were dragged outside of homes and carted over to the church to line the walls.
With the slightest of nudges from Prudence Whitfield, every woman in town went home and brought her Sunday dinner to the church. Hannah saw roasts and hams suddenly appear on the tables. She saw a mountain of fried chicken and bowl after bowl of vegetables and salads. There were several tables of cakes and pies. Coffee boiled happily on the church’s heating stove, sending out its enticing aroma.
Adding to the party were Christmas treats. Everything that could be called a Christmas decoration or Christmas candy was purchased by the Whitfields from Claasen’s General Store. The ladies hung up the decorations, and the children were lavished with candy, which made the day into a festival.
Someone even rode into the woods near town and cut down a Christmas tree. Greenery decorated the church inside and out and draped the borrowed tables.
The weather could be moody during a north-Texas winter, but it picked today to be lovely, as if the Whitfields could even command that.
After the couple had spoken their vows, Pastor Eldridge said, “You may kiss the bride.”
Marcus leaned forward and clumsily bumped his lips against the corner of Hannah’s mouth. He smelled nice, and for a second Hannah remembered that she’d enjoyed kissing him. Marcus pulled back instantly. The whole town applauded. Hannah noticed Rosella Bindle, Essie, and Mrs. Claasen clapping hardest of all while they whispered together.
She thought she saw a bit of a smug smile on Grace’s face, and Hannah was reminded of her own meddling and Grace’s whispered remark, “I know you’ll have your own happy event soon.”
It was now more than clear that all the outrageous accusations had been part of a scheme to force this marriage. Hannah liked to think she’d been much more subtle in her meddling than any of these ladies.
Hannah and Marcus walked down the aisle after the applause died, and before they had a second of privacy, Prudence Whitfield took Hannah under her wing. Essie fussed over her as if she were the mother of the bride. Then all the church ladies bustled about serving food.
The whole town stayed, spilling out onto the churchyard and stretching the party into the evening. As dusk settled, lanterns came out, several fiddles and banjos were produced, and lively renditions of every Christmas carol Hannah had ever heard lilted on the early-evening air and raised everyone’s spirits. A bonfire was built up as the setting sun lost its power to warm the crowd.
First planned for all of one hour, Hannah’s wedding had turned into the biggest thing to ever happen in Dry Gulch, Texas.
Hannah went through it in a daze, unable to grasp all that had transpired in the course of a single day. She had to listen to Mack Danvers, just back in town from a visit with his grandson, brag up a storm about little Harrison toddling around and how he loved the pup his grandpa had brought him. Hannah found it a relief to listen to Mack’s bragging about Neill and Clara having their own ranch now. It took her mind off the astonishing fa
ct that she’d gotten married today.
She managed a fairly rational visit with Grace, who was excited about a book to help her read by touch, called a Monsieur Braille alphabet.
Dottie Brighton spent a few moments talking about a letter she’d received from Lucy and Andrew Simms. They lived in North Fork now. Andrew’s business of selling and installing windmills was flourishing, and they had a bright future ahead of them. And Andrew’s aunt Martha was on a world tour. Dottie even had postcards from Paris that Lucy had sent along with her last letter.
Hannah wasn’t really in Marcus’s company until Clayton appeared with the Whitfields’ fine black buggy. Hannah and Marcus were unceremoniously tossed into it.
Clayton drove them home, all of three blocks. Hannah and Marcus sat silently side by side. Hannah was careful not to make eye contact with him for fear of what she’d see. Instead she kept her eyes firmly fixed out the window.
They came to a halt and Clayton climbed down, tilting the buggy. He opened the door and reached his hand out to Hannah. She had no choice but to let him help her alight.
She noticed she was at Marcus’s house. She hadn’t even considered where they were going, but of course they were going here. She knew he had his own home. She would need to abandon the room she’d spent yesterday making pretty. Her head started spinning—as it had a hundred times this day—to think of how drastically her life had been changed in twenty-four hours. In fact, it was probably almost exactly twenty-four hours since Marcus had set the chair down and pulled her into his arms. She heard the creaking of the buggy as Marcus climbed down behind her, and she took a few steps forward to make room for him. Then she heard Clayton call a cheery good-bye over the hoofbeats of the departing horses.
Marcus stood silently beside her. She was only distantly aware of the fact that he was staring at the house as intently as she was. Floating through the darkness came the beautiful refrain of “Silent Night,” accompanied by the voices of the faithful of Dry Gulch.
A Match Made in Texas Page 28