The Substitute Bride. Janet Dean
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leaving the train. A young woman stepped to the platform, wearing the sprig of lily of the valley pinned to her clothing. His pulse kicked up a notch. Sally, his bride.
Gussied up in a fancy purple dress, not the garb of a farmer’s wife. Even gripping a satchel, she carried herself like a princess, all long neck and straight spine and, when she moved, as she did now, her full skirts swayed gracefully. He could hear the petticoats rustle from here.
She turned her head to sniff the flower, putting her face in profile. The plumed hat she wore tilted forward at a jaunty angle, revealing a heavy chignon at her nape.
He swallowed hard. Sally was a beautiful woman. He hadn’t expected that. She didn’t have a recent likeness. And he couldn’t have sent the only picture in his possession—of him and Rose on their wedding day. In the three letters he and Sally had exchanged, he had described himself as best he could, even tried to be objective, though he hadn’t told her everything.
It appeared she’d taken liberties with her description, too. Light brown hair, she’d said. Well, he’d call it more blond than brown, almost as blond as his.
Blue eyes, she’d written, though from this distance, he couldn’t confirm it.
Tall and robust, she’d promised. Tall, all right, but slender, even fragile.
He noticed a nice curve to her lips.
And a jaw that said she liked having her way.
Sally didn’t look strong enough to handle even part of the chores of a farmer’s wife. Well, he’d prayed without ceasing for a suitable wife and God had given him this one. He couldn’t send her back like he’d ordered the wrong size stovepipe from the Sears, Roebuck Catalog.
His stomach knotted. When a man prayed for wisdom, he shouldn’t question the Lord’s answer. Still, the prospect of marrying what amounted to a stranger was unsettling.
But Anna and Henry needed a mother to look after them. This morning, and countless others like it, left no doubt in his mind. He didn’t have what it took to manage the farm, the livestock and his children. Never mind the house and cooking.
Even if Sally couldn’t handle heavier chores, she’d said she could cook, clean and tend a garden, as well as Anna and Henry. That’d do. With all his qualms forming a lump in his throat, he moved out of the shadows. Might as well get on with it. The preacher was waiting.
He strode across the platform, nodding at people he knew. New Harmony was a nice town, though folks tended toward nosy. The news Ted Logan was seen greeting a woman down at the depot would spread faster than giggles in a schoolhouse.
When he reached his bride, he stuck out a hand. “I’m Ted.”
Not a spark of recognition lit her eyes. Had he scared her? He was a large man. Still, he hadn’t expected the blank stare.
“The flower…in the letters, we agreed—” He clamped his jaw to stop the prattle pouring out of his mouth. “You’re Sally, aren’t you?”
Her eyes lit. He gulped. They were blue, all right. Like forget-me-nots in full bloom.
“Oh, of course.” She offered her hand. “Hello.”
He swallowed it up with a firm shake. She winced. He quickly released his hold then held up callused palms. “Sorry, chopping wood, milking cows and strangling chickens have strengthened my grip.”
Her rosy skin turned ashen, as if she might be sick. How would he manage if he married another woman in failing health?
Chapter Two
Elizabeth swallowed hard. She’d never considered how fried chicken or cold milk arrived at the Manning table. Drat, she’d have to scrub her glove. Not that Sally’s intended looked as if he didn’t wash. He smelled clean, like soap, leather and sunshine.
Mercy, the man was brawny, wide at the shoulders with a massive neck, chest and powerful forearms. Not someone she’d care to cross. White creases edged his eyes in his tanned face, evidence of long periods spent in the sun. Those intense blue-gray eyes of his appeared to see right through her.
She hoped she was wrong about that.
But all the rest…well, she couldn’t find anything to complain about. She’d expected another Reginald Parks and another reason to run. But something about Ted Logan kept her rooted to the spot, unable to look away.
Decency demanded she tell him she wasn’t his bride. But if she did, would he insist she take the next train back? She needed time to think. To take a look at the town and see if she could find employment here.
She couldn’t forget the importance of that farm, the fulfillment of her brother’s dream. If only that didn’t mean she had to marry the man, and all that entailed. She shivered. Well, she wasn’t foolish enough to give her heart to this man.
Through narrowed eyes, he looked her over. “I expected you to have brown hair.”
She gulped. “You don’t like my hair?”
“The color of your hair doesn’t matter a whit.”
“Glad to hear it.” She leaned toward him. “And so you know, I happen to like the color of yours. It’s lighter than I expected, but it’s tolerable.”
His lips twisted up at one corner, as if they tried to smile without his approval. “I can’t decide if I like a woman talking to me like that. Especially one I’m about to marry.”
Elizabeth’s stomach flipped at the mention of matrimony, a subject she intended to avoid. Her gaze traveled to a field of cows grazing not far from the tracks. “It’s better than talking to the cows, isn’t it?”
With a large hand, he gently tilted her face to his. “Yep. And a far sight better view.”
A woozy feeling slid over her. Without thinking, she grabbed hold of his arm for support. And found rock-hard muscle. Beneath her feet, the ground shifted. She hadn’t eaten in what seemed like forever. That had to be the reason for her vertigo.
He gave her a smirk and pulled away. “I’ll get the rest of your things.”
“Things? Oh, my luggage.” Once he discovered she had no trunk, he’d send her back. Without money for food or housing, how would she take care of Robby? Moisture beaded her upper lip. “I, ah, left the trunk unattended in Chicago, only for a minute.” With guilt at her lie niggling at her, she added, “When I returned, it was gone.”
“Everything you bought with the money I sent—is gone?”
She nodded. Twice. “I’m sorry.”
“Didn’t you think to check it?”
“Didn’t you ever make a mistake?” she fired back.
“Sure have,” he said, arms folded across his chest, “but I’ve never lost all my clothes.”
She grabbed a fistful of skirt. “Well, neither have I.”
He sighed. “We’ll have to stop at the mercantile.”
If only she’d had time to gather her clothes scattered across the lawn. “I’ll make do.”
Waving a hand at her dress, he arched a brow. “With only that frippery to wear day and night?”
“That frippery is silk shantung, I’ll have you know.” She poked the rumpled lapel of his suit. “Do you think you’re qualified to judge my fashion sense?”
He grinned, a most appealing smile. Or would be if he wasn’t the most exasperating man she’d ever met.
“It’s not your fashion sense I’m questioning.”
Determined to stare him down, she held his gaze. Neither of them gave ground as travelers swept past them, tossing an occasional curious glance their way. “I’m smarter than you think.”