The Kitchen Marriage

by Gina Welborn

  Now people would believe she had been flirting with both brothers.

  They would view her as a strumpet.

  Zoe let out a harsh laugh to release the painful pressure of anger growing within her. They had treated her as if she was nothing more than a bride-by-mail delivery. A prize to be won. If either of them truly cared about her, they would have considered her feelings. If they cared, they certainly would not have proposed to her in front of a crowd.

  Was she that weak and malleable that they thought she would accept either proposal for fear of looking bad? She would rather look like a fool than agree to marry for the sake of appearances.

  Never again would anyone say she had no backbone.

  Zoe hurried across the intersection, then turned south toward the boardinghouse. She had known Jakob was hiding something. She had from the moment she saw him at the depot, but she had allowed herself to be swayed by his charm and happy eyes and she ignored her inner voice. She never had anticipated his secret to be as small and petty as feeling second-best to his brother.

  And Isaak? From the day they met, she had recognized his arrogance. That should have been enough of a warning. If anyone was going to win a competition, it would be him. People listened to him. People followed him. People did what he said because he was Isaak Gunderson, a man who literally stood taller than them all. A king among men.

  . . . you slipped under my skin and into my soul.

  Pretty words, but how could he expect her to believe his profession of love while he was humiliating her in front of a crowd? If Isaak truly loved her—if he knew her—he would have known she was going to refuse his brother. If Isaak had truly listened to her words at the opera house, he would have understood her decision to end the contract with Jakob.

  Isaak had heard nothing of her heart because his focus was on himself.

  . . . you slipped under my skin and into my soul.

  He loved her. Every word in his proposal professed his love. His desperation to stop her from agreeing to marry his brother professed his love.

  And she had said no!

  Good heavens, all she wanted was to say yes and marry him. But not like this. Not while there was no unity with his brother.

  Her lungs grew tight and she fought to breathe.

  Mrs. Forsythe grabbed Zoe’s arm, stopping her. “Zoe! Weren’t you listening to anything I said for the last two blocks?”

  Zoe stood there, jaw clenched tight. She would not waste a single word defending why she had refused both twins, or why she had been ignoring Mrs. Forsythe’s lecture.

  Tears suddenly welled in Mrs. Forsythe’s eyes. “I’m so sorry. They shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Ze damage is done.”

  “But it can be fixed,” she said with blatant optimism.

  Zoe gave Mrs. Forsythe a look to convey the exact amount of hope she had for that to happen.

  “I know things look dour.” Mrs. Forsythe cradled her hands around Zoe’s. “Give Isaak and Jakob a few days to make things right between them and with you. Instead of cooking in Marilyn’s kitchen, you can use mine. I’ll help as much as I can. I’ll keep the boys away from you.”

  Zoe felt as if she had been slapped. “You wish me to stay and cook for them?”

  For a moment, Mrs. Forsythe looked unsure of herself. “I do.”

  “Why do you zink I would help zem after”—Zoe jerked her hands free of Mrs. Forsythe’s hold and pointed in the direction of the still-burning building—“after zat? Zey humiliated me.”

  “I know, and I’m ashamed of their behavior.”

  “Zen why do you ask me to stay? Because of your love for zem?”

  Mrs. Forsythe’s lips trembled. “Because of my love for you.”

  Zoe flinched.

  “I can’t lose you.” Mrs. Forsythe’s eyes showed bright with tears. “I can’t. I’ll say and do whatever it takes to convince you not to leave me. I need you to be my daughter, Zoe. Jonas needs you to be his daughter, too.” A sharp whistle cut through the air. Mrs. Forsythe looked in the direction of the boardinghouse.

  Zoe did, too.

  Mr. and Mrs. Deal stood outside, a handful of male boarders on the second-floor balcony looking in the direction of the fire, all using their hats or hands to shield their eyes from the midday sun.

  “You can come live with us,” Mrs. Forsythe said softly. “Jonas and I have already discussed adopting you. Oh, don’t say you’re too old to be adopted. What matters is, we want you to be a part of our family forever.”

  Forever.

  No word could be more bittersweet.

  She could have the parents she dreamed of—a father and mother who loved her. If she stayed.

  No. Not if she stayed. She could have had the family and home she yearned for if Isaak Gunderson had done the considerate thing and not proposed because he failed to trust her to refuse his brother. Because he failed to believe she could say no.

  He had ruined everything.

  Zoe stifled the cry that rose from her throat. She held her breath, reining in her broken heart. “I treasure you and Mr. Forsythe”—she looked away, unable to bear Mrs. Forsythe’s hopeful expression—“but staying in Helena is not possible for me. Your godsons saw to zat. I am sorry.” She placed a kiss on Mrs. Forsythe’s cheek. “Je t’aime,” she whispered, and then walked away.

  As she neared the boardinghouse, Mr. Deal opened the front door. Neither he nor his wife said anything as she strode past them and up the stairs to her room.

  * * *

  Knock, knock, knock.

  With strange detachment, Zoe turned her head far enough to look up at the doorknob but lacked the energy to rise from her seat. She rested her head against the door. “Who is it?”

  “It’s me, dear,” came Mrs. Deal’s voice. “I brought you some tea . . . and your brother. He’s concerned. Said you were at the fire at The Resale Company.”

  Zoe sniffed, then, with the back of her hands, dried her eyes. She looked to the clock on the table beside her bed. Eight minutes of crying because, as angry as she still was with Isaak, if circumstances had been different, she would have said yes.

  “I am pathetic,” she murmured.

  She scrambled to her feet and opened the door.

  Mrs. Deal stood there holding a tea service. To her left stood Nico. Neither were smiling.

  Zoe stepped back for them to enter.

  Mrs. Deal took the service to the bedside table. Nico grabbed the wicker rocker and the chair from the secretary and dragged them to the bed. Once Mrs. Deal sat in the chair, Nico motioned to the rocker for Zoe to sit there. She closed the door. He sat on the edge of the bed.

  With a sigh, Zoe sat in the rocker. “Milk, no sugar.”

  Mrs. Deal stopped pouring tea and looked to Zoe. “You always take your tea with sugar.”

  “Zat is how you serve it.” Zoe took the teacup from her. “I saw no reason to make a fuss. But in ze last few moments, I have come to realize I can say milk, no sugar if zis is what I want. I have no obligation to drink tea with sugar so you will see me as a nice person. I have a backbone. I mean no offense when I say I prefer tea with milk, no sugar.”

  Mrs. Deal’s mouth opened, then closed, as she looked from Zoe to Nico . . . before saying to Zoe, “I appreciate your honesty.”

  Nico studied Zoe.

  Uncomfortable with his perusal, Zoe looked away.

  “Miss de Fleur, what’s wrong?” Mrs. Deal spoke gently. “You look like the weight of the world is on your shoulders.”

  Zoe stared at the tawny liquid in her teacup. There had to be a way of saying, I wish to be left alone in this pit of despair so I can bemoan my rejection of Isaak’s romantic declaration of love, and not crush Mrs. Deal’s feelings.

  “Zoe’s been humiliated.” Nico’s teacup ting-ed against the saucer he held. “Her suitor asked her to marry him, but before she could answer, his brother ran over and asked her to marry him instead.”

  “I see.” Mrs. Deal’s tone wa
s more grim than curious.

  The silence was awkward, yet Zoe welcomed it. That a crowd of people had witnessed the most mortifying moment of her life was bad enough. Why relive it inside her mind?

  She was about to say, It has been a long day and I wish to be alone, when Mrs. Deal looked at Zoe and asked, “Which one did you choose?”

  “She turned them both down,” Nico answered.

  “Oh. Oh, my.” Mrs. Deal sat her teacup and saucer back on the tray. “Isaak I understand. He’s rather pious and snooty. If anyone deserves a comeuppance, it’s him. But Jakob? Humph.”

  Nico’s eyes widened. “You like him?”

  “He reminds me of Mr. Deal”—she sighed—“twenty years ago.”

  Zoe stared stunned at the boardinghouse owner. Isaak, unlike his brother, was steadfast, organized, dependable, conscientious, and—Zoe clenched her jaw. She was still too angry with him to defend his better qualities to anyone.

  “If I were you . . .” Mrs. Deal’s slow, deliberate tone drew Zoe’s attention. “Oh, I don’t know if I should say this, but . . . considering how people in this town talk, if I were you, I would want to leave without anyone the wiser.”

  “If I could leave immediately, I would,” Zoe admitted.

  Nico handed Mrs. Deal his cup and saucer. “I’ll go get train tickets.”

  “The train to Denver left the depot at eleven-fifteen.” Mrs. Deal set Nico’s teacup onto the tray. “Better check the stage instead. There should be one leaving in a couple of hours.”

  Zoe released a weary breath. “I cannot simply leave today. Zere are things to pack. I must close my account at ze bank and collect my knives and rolling pin from ze Pawlikowski house.” She shook her head. “Ze earliest I can leave is tomorrow morning. Nico, you also need time to pack and tender your resignation to your employer. Doing so is most gentlemanly.”

  Mrs. Deal twisted her hands together. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I know the Gunderson boys. They don’t give up easily. Miss de Fleur, you and Nico are treasures to me. If you wish to go somewhere the Gundersons can’t find you, Mr. Deal and I have friends in Idaho we can send you to who will help you and Nico find good, reliable work.”

  Perhaps she should not go to Denver. Her heart ached too much to consider another man’s courting now. In time, once her heart healed, she would be open. The Archer Matrimonial Company simply had too many connections to Helena.

  Zoe looked at Nico. He had said nothing since offering to buy the train tickets. They had played enough chess matches for her to know when he was analyzing moves ahead of hers. According to him, he found it challenging to see how many ways he could fit the various pieces of the whole together. She always hoped his silence meant he saw no way to beat her. That was never true. His silence meant something bothered him.

  His silence meant something failed to fit.

  “Nico, what is it?” she asked softly.

  He met her gaze. Something—she almost believed she saw anger—flickered in his eyes. “Nothing.” He grinned. “I was thinking of the things I need to do before I can leave.”

  “Are you sure zis is what you want to do?”

  He nodded. “We’re family. We leave together, we stay together.” He smiled at Mrs. Deal. “You’re swell for helping us.”

  Mrs. Deal touched her chest, her eyes growing watery. “Breaks my heart to see you go, but I understand that it’s for the best.”

  Zoe swallowed to ease the tautness in her throat. If Nico had no misgivings, she would choose to have none. “Mrs. Deal, Nico and I would like to accept your offer to help us find a new home where no one can find us.”

  “Wonderful!” Mrs. Deal stood and collected the tea tray. “To make things easier for you, I’ll send Mr. Deal to the Pawlikowskis to collect your things.”

  Nico stood. “Meet you at the depot in the morning?”

  She nodded, then watched as Nico and Mrs. Deal left the room. Once the door closed, Zoe slid onto the bed. She stared up at the white-painted tin ceiling. In all her twenty-two years, she could never remember calling one place home.

  Until now.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Later that afternoon

  “There’s nothing more can be done, Mr. Gunderson. I’m sorry.”

  Isaak nodded at Mr. Booker, the fire chief. “I’m grateful for all your work and that no one was hurt.” At least not physically . . . and not by the fire.

  The firemen had worked hard to save what they could, but when the roof caught, they shifted their efforts from The Resale Co. to the surrounding buildings. Four hours later, the store was a soot-stained stone shell with gaping holes providing an unimpeded view of charred rubble and shattered glass. Oddly, the stairs remained, only they led nowhere.

  Isaak shook his head. Were he a poetic man, he’d say it was a perfect representation of his life. “Do you know how it started?”

  Booker waggled his head, neither a nod to affirm nor a shake to deny but somewhere in-between. “We suspect someone set it deliberately, but the damage is so bad, we’ll have to wait a week or two to sort through the debris before we can say for sure.”

  First the vandalism at The Import Co. and now arson. Someone was intentionally sabotaging their businesses. To pressure Isaak into exiting the mayoral race? Or could it be a coincidence?

  Isaak stuck out his hand. “Sir, thank you for all your work. You and your men deserve a raise.”

  Booker brightened, took off his leather glove, and shook hands. “Now that, young man, is the type of talk I like to hear from politicians.”

  “Again, thank you.”

  “My pleasure.” Booker released his grip, then trudged toward his exhausted crew, who were coiling leather hoses back into the fire wagon.

  Isaak swung his gaze left and right. Clusters of gawkers gathered on the south side of Helena Avenue, a few more at the point of Helena and Fourteenth Street. What was left of the store blocked any who might be on Joan Street.

  He waved at the ones he could see, and they scurried off. He needed to be alone, a desire he’d expressed to the friends who’d stopped by to offer their condolences on losing the store.

  No one had mentioned losing Zoe, either because they were too embarrassed or because they knew it was the deeper pain. No one except Nico, who—directly after Zoe had run off—had delivered hard punches to Jakob and Isaak’s abdomens, along with a declaration that they were bad eggs for humiliating her.

  Isaak spied his father driving the family wagon. After Zoe had stormed off, Pa had limped in between his sons, ordering Jakob to guard The Import Co. against more vandalism and Isaak to stay at The Resale Co.—the equivalent of being sent to their rooms until Pa was ready to dish out punishments.

  Isaak stood straight. He’d take his scolding like a man.

  Pa pulled the reins, bringing the wagon to a stop. He set the brake. “Climb on up here. My ankle is throbbing, and I promised your mother I’d stay off it.”

  Isaak obeyed.

  “I’ve spoken with Jakob and heard his side of the story. Now I’d like to hear yours.”

  Isaak didn’t know where to start.

  “Why don’t you begin with your first impression of Miss de Fleur,” Pa encouraged, as though he could read Isaak’s mind.

  “I thought she was a fraud.”

  “What changed your mind?”

  Isaak spread his hands. “A hundred different things.”

  “Start with the first one.”

  He pictured her smile when she snapped the bank notes against the counter to pay for the primers and the set of La Fontaine books. “She gave me a dressing down that I richly deserved.” And then the words flowed. For ten or twenty minutes—maybe more—Isaak recounted all the ways Zoe wriggled past his distrust until he’d recognized she was a ruby beyond price.

  Pa nodded. “Between your story and Jakob’s, I have to say I like this girl. She’s exposed Jakob’s feelings of inferiority and humbled your pride in less than two months, someth
ing your mother and I have been working on for years.”

  Isaak released the breath he’d been holding. “I’m glad you approve.”

  “Of her,” Pa stressed. “Not of what you and Jakob did to the poor girl. I never thought I’d be more disappointed in the two of you than the day you stole money from the cash register because you wanted matching kites.”

  It was the day Isaak determined to never again fail his parents. “I’m sorry for being a disappointment both then and now.”

  “I expect you to also offer your apologies to Miss de Fleur and your brother.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Pa nodded. “Jakob will be making his apologies, too.”

  “Good.”

  Pa’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you say good?”

  Isaak stared at his father. “Jakob should have known better than to write away for a mail-order bride. Did you even know about Zoe before Jakob decided to play the hero and pressure her into marriage?”

  “Stop right there, because you”—Pa pointed his finger at Isaak’s nose—“are the one most at fault.”

  Isaak’s jaw sagged.

  “Son, I can’t imagine loving you more if you were my own flesh and blood, but it doesn’t make me blind to your faults. You’re so busy being a respected businessman, exemplary church member, and dutiful son, you’ve never considered that you take unholy pride in your righteousness.”

  The accusation left Isaak speechless.

  “Have you ever considered,” Pa continued, his voice softer but still convicting, “that God needed to humble you, so He used Jakob’s impetuous nature as a tool?”

  Isaak closed his eyes while wave after wave of shame crashed over him. If that had been God’s plan, He couldn’t have chosen a more effective means. Isaak pictured Zoe’s face when she’d said no to his proposal. He was so afraid of her desire to please others, he’d used it against her by proposing publicly to force her to say yes to him. The very thing he was angry at Jakob for doing!

  Oh, Lord. I’m sorry. I never saw it. I never . . . You know I didn’t mean to . . .

  Even his prayers were in shambles.