The Kitchen Marriage

by Gina Welborn

  “Geddes,” someone whispered.

  Zoe jumped to her feet, clenching her cape with her left hand. She turned around and pointed at Carline, and then at her own vacated chair in the front row. As Carline moved to Zoe’s seat, Zoe motioned for Yancey to move to the left, to Carline’s now-empty seat. Once Yancey obeyed, Zoe patted Mr. Buchanan’s shoulder. He peered up at her. She flicked her gaze to the center chair in the back row, silently conveying her wish for him to move to Yancey’s now-empty seat. He moved. After he settled into his new seat, Zoe focused on Isaak and Mr. Palmer in the first and second row, respectfully. Both leaned against the wall.

  “Stay,” she ordered.

  Mr. Palmer nodded.

  Isaak’s gaze lingered on her face. Nothing in his expression indicated his thoughts or feelings. But then the corners of his mouth curved. Once his smile reached his eyes, she knew he was impressed with her actions.

  A familiar warmth inched up her spine and spread through her body, causing her pulse to skip a beat. Fearful the others in the box would see what she felt for him in her eyes, Zoe claimed the seat between Carline Pope and Isaak. She straightened her shoulders, rested her cape and then her hands in her lap, and tried fruitlessly to look at the stage.

  “Here we go,” Yancey said in breathless anticipation.

  Carline squealed in delight.

  Sounds from the orchestra permeated the opera house. The gaslights on the stage brightened, and the curtains opened.

  * * *

  Isaak sat in the dark paying no attention to the performance on the stage. The conflict raging inside him surpassed the enmity between the Montagues and Capulets. The air inside the theater thickened. He inhaled but couldn’t satisfy his need for oxygen.

  He loved Zoe. Had loved her for weeks now, although he’d kept fighting it as a mere attraction because nothing about their relationship fit the way he’d always planned to court the woman of his choosing.

  He almost laughed aloud at his arrogance, deciding beforehand when and how he would allow love into his life. His certainty that a reasonable person didn’t trip and fall into love. His pity for Yancey because she’d set her sights on Hale when, with a little effort, she’d find any number of men who were suitable husbands. Then Zoe de Fleur arrived with both a shout and a whisper. Isaak understood Yancey’s tenacity now. He knew in the deepest place of his soul that he belonged—would always belong—to Zoe de Fleur. God must be laughing in His heaven. Pride goeth before a fall.

  Isaak stole a glance at her. She was enraptured by the play, her lips parted and her chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. No artist’s brush could ever capture what he saw. She was beautiful, yes, and so much more. Her gentle spirit urged him to soften his opinions. She’d talked him into slowing down to hear birds sing and to dig in the dirt. Her touch brought out the best in everything, from food to children.

  He clawed his fingers into his knees, remembering how she’d confided in him that she ached for something more. He ached, too, in every joint and sinew holding his body in place.

  I wish for you to stay.

  Those six little words wreaked more havoc in his heart than when she’d called him Isaak last Saturday in the garden. He’d refrained from responding by calling her Zoe because it was a line he shouldn’t cross, and yet he had crossed it less than an hour ago in the carriage.

  Where was the line between love and duty? Between what he owed to himself and what he owed to honor? Because chasing after his brother’s woman betrayed every code of decency.

  Loving Zoe changed everything and nothing for him. If circumstances were different, he would pursue her until she fell in love with him, but what was the point? The only way they could be together was to run away—to turn his back on his family, the Widows and Orphans Fund, and his promise to make Helena a better place when he became mayor. But then what? A new job in a new town would be easy, but no woman should trust her heart to a man who gave up on his commitments.

  Even if Zoe could, she valued family and harmony. Loving him in return would go against her gentle nature. She would never—never—make herself the cause of an irreconcilable rift between him and Jakob.

  Isaak gripped his hands to keep from reaching over and wrapping an arm around her. To say without words how much he loved her. How much he wanted to protect her with his life.

  He didn’t know what he was supposed to do, and before, he’d always known the right and honorable course of action. Always.

  Not now.

  If only Jakob hadn’t entered into that stupid contract. As usual, in thinking only of himself, his twin was making a mess for everyone around him while he skated off undamaged. Because, out of all the things Isaak didn’t know, there was one he did.

  His heart would vacate his chest if Zoe left Helena.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  By the time Lady Capulet and the Nurse beseeched Juliet to consider Paris’s suit, Zoe accepted the strange and shocking truth: This dark, bawdy, and tragic play was not the one she had seen in Paris. Romeo and Juliet married in secret, without—not with—their families’ blessings. Their families were enemies! Juliet’s cousin Tybalt killed Romeo’s cousin Mercutio, and then Romeo killed Tybalt. What was all this killing about? And friar Laurence? Like the Nurse, he was absent from the play she had seen. What possessed a friar to convince Juliet to “borrow death”?

  Somewhere between Juliet’s parents demanding she marry Paris and the friar delivering Juliet’s eulogy, Zoe’s tears began. They did not stop when the curtains darkened the stage.

  Or when the orchestra fell silent.

  Or when the applause died a death befitting poor Mercutio.

  Zoe fought to collect herself as she stared at the tear-soaked handkerchief she clutched. Someone rubbed her shoulder in slow, circular motions. Carline, most likely, because she was sitting to Zoe’s left.

  “That was so romantic,” Carline said in a dreamy voice.

  Zoe stared at Carline. How could she view the play as romantic?

  “You must have slept through the ending,” Isaak said matter-of-factly. “The play is a tragedy, not a love story.”

  “You say that only because the hero and heroine died,” Yancey argued.

  “That’s one reason,” he replied. “The lords Capulet and Montague should have learned their lesson by play’s end. Instead, they continued the feud, the same thing that led to Romeo and Juliet’s deaths.”

  Carline stopped massaging Zoe’s back. “I still think it’s a love story.”

  “Me, too,” Yancey put in.

  A cough of breath came from Mr. Palmer.

  Zoe turned around.

  His gaze shifted back and forth between his sister and Carline. “You two do know you’ll never convince Isaak to change his mind when he believes he’s right?”

  Carline and Yancey turned to Mr. Buchanan in hopeful support.

  He held up his hands. “I’ll always have Isaak’s back.”

  “Zoe, what about you?” Carline asked.

  Zoe dried her eyes with the handkerchief. What Romeo and Juliet felt for the other was infatuation, not love. Real love needed more than three days to develop. Real love was gracious and kind, while Romeo’s “love” was envious, boastful, and dishonoring. Real love was patient. Infatuation led to hasty decisions. Marrying a man the day after meeting him epitomized haste. Marrying a person in secret epitomized selfishness. There had been enough quarreling tonight. Zoe would not add to it by pointing out the error of Carline’s views. So instead, she offered a polite, “It was a nice performance.”

  “Surely you know what you liked,” Carline argued in a tone that implied Zoe should grow a backbone and stand up for what she thought.

  Zoe stared at the handkerchief’s black monogram: Isaak’s. She had enjoyed the play far more than she expected to. Shakespeare’s work should not be gutted of its potentially offensive elements, which she realized had been done to the performance she and Papa had seen in Paris. Amid the tragedy a
nd moral ambiguity of the play, a warning could be found, which was why she stared at her lap and said nothing.

  “Let’s give Miss de Fleur a moment to collect herself,” she heard Isaak say. “Geddes, take the ladies downstairs. We’ll be down shortly.”

  “I’ll have the carriage brought around,” came from Mr. Buchanan.

  Isaak uttered, “Thank you,” and then another, “Thank you.”

  How long Zoe sat there, she knew not. The voices of those in attendance lightened as the hall emptied until the only other sounds she heard were muffled voices and the closing of music cases and an occasional door.

  “Here.”

  She looked up. Isaak now sat in Carline’s chair. Two white folded handkerchiefs lay in his outstretched palm.

  “They’re from Windsor and Geddes,” he explained.

  She took the top handkerchief, then laid the tear-soaked one atop the second one. She glanced around the box. Of course everyone had left. People always did what Isaak Gunderson asked them to do.

  He folded the dry handkerchief over the wet one. He laid it on the chair Yancey had vacated. “If you need a shoulder, I have one you can borrow,” he said, but she could tell by his lighthearted tone that the offer was nothing more than an attempt to be polite.

  Zoe dried her wet cheeks. “I am not usually so . . . emotional.”

  “That’s good to know.”

  She focused on the brass railing, unable to bear his scrutiny. She had never been easily moved to tears. Oh, she felt things. Sometimes she ached with loss, with heartbreak, with pride, joy, pity, loneliness, and even anticipation. When the tears came, she rarely succeeded in containing them. What she felt as the Montague and Capulet tragedy unfolded hurt terribly.

  Grudges ruined families.

  The welcome-home dinner was in two days.

  Two days until she had to run away from Helena and the foolish de Fleur-Gunderson courtship contract.

  Two days to hide her growing feelings from everyone she knew, especially Isaak. And Jakob. He could never know. The betrayal would crush him.

  Zoe dried the last of her tears. “You need not feel obligated to sit with me,” she said without looking Isaak’s way. “I would prefer a moment alone.”

  “You need to talk.”

  Zoe shook her head. What was in her heart needed to stay her secret. As casually as she could, she stepped to the balcony wall to put needed distance between herself and Isaak. The lights in the opera house had dimmed. She gripped the railing, the brass cold against her skin.

  “Please,” Isaak said softly. “I need you to talk to me.”

  The entreaty in his tone drew her attention to him. Isaak Gunderson might not love her, but he certainly cared. For that, he deserved as much truth as her heart could bear sharing.

  “I am fearful,” she whispered.

  “Of what?” Isaak sounded almost shy. This was not the Isaak Gunderson she knew—so confident, so in control of everything in his world. Nothing frightened him.

  Though . . . maybe something did.

  Zoe turned around. He was leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. And her chest tightened. “Of becoming my mother. Maman left Papa when I was nine to live in Italy with ze man she decided was the true mate to her soul. Every night, for years, Papa read First Corinthians before leading me in an evening prayer. He promised zat God would return Maman to us.”

  “She never returned.”

  Even though his words were a statement, Zoe responded with a small shake of her head. “Papa also promised one day I would find someone I would wish to spend ze rest of my life loving, as he loved Maman until his death.”

  “Have you found that someone?” Isaak asked in a painfully hoarse voice.

  You, she wished to say.

  And if she did, where would that lead them? She would never pit brother against brother. To the victor would go no spoils.

  Better to leave now, before love had time to grow to full bloom.

  “Would you . . . ?” He stared absently at the balcony, his lips moving as if searching for words. “Could you ever love a man who failed to live up to his commitments?”

  “My heart would not be safe with”—Jakob—“such a man.” Zoe released a weary breath. “I would never marry a man as fickle with his commitments as my Maman was with hers.”

  Isaak’s hands were clenched so tightly, the whites of his knuckles showed. “You couldn’t give him a second chance?”

  “No. Zis play has confirmed zat Jakob and I are unsuited.” The lack of feeling in her tone impressed—and saddened—her. “Once ze welcome-home dinner is over, I will discuss with him ze reasons why we should agree to end ze contract before ze agreed-upon sixty days.” And then in a softer voice, she added, “It is as you said—ze contract was foolish of us.”

  “Once the contract is ended, will you return to Denver?” Isaak turned his head to meet her gaze.

  She nodded. “Better to leave now before anyone’s feelings grow too deep to be contained. I will have no one’s heart crushed because of me. Jakob will understand. I hope you understood, too.” She hated how heartbroken her voice sounded. The words hurt to say, hurt to feel.

  Isaak was looking at her most intently, studying her, likely measuring her words and tone to determine if all she had shared had been the truth.

  “We should go,” he said abruptly.

  Zoe nodded. She stepped forward and reached for her cape, but he swiped it away. His right hand captured her left one. She tried to pull away, but he held firm.

  “For once in your life, oblige me.”

  “Zere is no need to hold my—”

  And then, just like that, they stood there. Looking at each other. His lovely green eyes had darkened, and when his gaze lowered to her lips, Zoe’s breath quickened and her legs quivered. It was a strange sensation, one she had never felt before. But Papa had warned her about it . . . and what would likely follow. A kiss.

  She would let Isaak kiss her.

  Oh, she would still leave Helena with a broken heart . . . and with the glorious memory of her first kiss.

  She waited in anticipation.

  He turned away. “The lights are off in the stairwell,” he explained, leading her forward out of the box and toward the balcony stairs. “Stay close.”

  With her free hand, Zoe lifted the front of her skirts to keep from tripping as they descended the steps. “Isaak, please. I am capable of—” At his growl, she fell silent. While the lights were indeed out in the stairwell, those in the foyer provided ample viewing.

  There, at the bottom of the stairs, stood Jakob.

  With unhappy eyes.

  * * *

  The accusation in Jakob’s eyes sent Isaak’s temper flaring. Zoe tugged to free her hand, but Isaak stopped it by gripping her fingers and holding tight. He wasn’t risking her well-being on account of Jakob. There’d been enough of that already.

  When they’d descended the stairs, Isaak was surprised to see Windsor standing a few feet behind Jakob. “I thought you and Geddes took the carriage.”

  Windsor shook his head, his beard brushing against his chest. “I sent Geddes with the girls. I thought you might need some help.” His gaze flickered toward Jakob.

  Isaak led Zoe past Jakob and placed her hand on Windsor’s arm. “Please see her back to Deal’s Boardinghouse.” In case Jakob planned to object, Isaak added, “I’m sorry the play upset you, Miss de Fleur. I hope you feel better in the morning.”

  She glanced back and forth between him and Jakob, her indecision evident. Windsor wrapped her arm around his and escorted her outside before she could utter a word.

  Isaak turned around to face his brother. “Let’s go home before we make a public spectacle.”

  Jakob fisted his hands. “Like you didn’t already do that.”

  Clinging to his resolve to act like a gentleman by a solitary thread, Isaak looped his arm through Jakob’s, pulling him toward the opera house doors.

  Jakob yanked free. “
I’m not a child who needs to be told what to do.”

  “Could have fooled me.” The moment the words left his lips, Isaak wished he could take them back. Not because they weren’t true, but because they would provoke Jakob.

  Sure enough, his cheeks filled with splotches of red. “Am I about to hear another you’re-so-irresponsible lecture? Because I’m tired of them.”

  “Then grow up,” Isaak growled. “Think about the consequences of your actions before you embroil others in your messes.”

  “I just spent all day cleaning up a mess without embroiling you or anyone else, so don’t pull that same trick out of your hat.”

  “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. A little paint is nothing compared to the damage you’ve done by bringing Zoe to Helena.”

  Jakob reeled back for a punch, but Isaak was ready. He caught Jakob’s fist with his open palm inches from his chin. They pitted their muscles against each other in a farcical arm-wrestling match.

  Isaak exerted every ounce of strength to force Jakob’s arm lower while leaning close to whisper, “Stop it, Jake. We’re making a spectacle of ourselves.”

  “I think you already did that by cozying up to my girl in a theater box and holding her hand.” Jakob stopped pushing against Isaak’s fist.

  Isaak lurched forward. Gasps from the theatergoers who remained in the lobby and were being treated to a second show of family rivalry snapped his last thread of patience. Isaak righted himself, his nostrils flaring when he saw the smirk on his brother’s face. He tugged his coat back into place, grabbed Jakob by the arm—this time denying him the opportunity to pull free—and dragged him outside into the cool evening air.

  The instant they were beyond the cluster of people waiting for carriages, Isaak let go. He strode across the street, his pace too fast for anyone but Jakob to keep up. When they were alone on Fourteenth Street, Isaak said, “You don’t get to play the injured suitor when you’re the one who asked me to escort Zoe tonight.”

  “Escort, not steal her away from me.”