The Bride’s Matchmaking Triplets. Regina Scott
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even after Amos gave him some excellent news he knew would make David McKay rejoice, Brandon’s feet drew him back to the boardinghouse that afternoon. This time, he didn’t even have to go inside, for Elizabeth and the babies were out front. She’d managed to wrestle the handcart down the stairs and was just rearranging the babies inside it, back bent and glorious hair hidden under a straw hat. But it was the person standing next to her that had Brandon hurrying forward to help.
Constance Hickey, church pianist and all-around busybody, was lecturing Elizabeth as he reached their sides.
“And cod-liver oil,” she said, shaking a bony finger at the babies as if scolding them. “One dose in the morning and one at night. It will help them develop strong constitutions.”
The babies all nodded, but Brandon thought it was more likely they were following the movement of Mrs. Hickey’s finger than agreeing with her recommendation.
“I’ll be sure to bear that in mind,” Elizabeth said. Brandon thought he might be the only person in Little Horn who would have detected the annoyance under the polite response.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Hickey,” he greeted the older lady. “How kind of you to take an interest in our triplets.”
The thin woman raised her head, aiming her pointed nose in his direction. “And did not our Lord demand that we help the poor and lowly like Miss Dumont?”
Elizabeth’s lovely lips tightened. It had to have been one of the first times she’d heard herself referred to as either poor or lowly.
“Oh, I doubt our Lord would have considered Miss Dumont in need of our charity,” he told the older woman. “Her skills in caring for the triplets are notable.”
Mrs. Hickey frowned. “And exactly where did she learn, a young lady like herself? Has no one checked her references?”
Brandon knew David McKay must have some knowledge, or he would never have sent for her when he’d thought he needed a mail-order bride to help raise his daughter, Maggie. But Brandon hadn’t been able to figure out a way to ask without raising questions.
Elizabeth cast Mrs. Hickey a glance. “I was a governess in Boston, and the household had two younger children along with my older charges. The nanny and I often assisted each other.”
Mrs. Hickey blinked her blue eyes. “A shame you were discharged.”
Where had that rumor started? Brandon frowned, and the babies gurgled as if in protest, but Elizabeth raised her head.
“I wasn’t discharged,” she told Mrs. Hickey, voice as tight as her look. “My charges were about to go off to school, and the youngest ones were not yet ready for a governess. And then my only living relative, my aunt Evangeline, died, and I simply wanted to be somewhere else.”
So she truly was alone in the world, like the triplets.
“I’m sorry to hear about your aunt,” Brandon murmured. “She was a grand lady.”
Mrs. Hickey turned to him, gaze avid. “Oh, did you know her, Pastor?”
“No!” Jasper declared.
While Mrs. Hickey frowned at the baby, Elizabeth’s look shot to Brandon, panicked. So she didn’t want the town to know about their past. He hadn’t been overly eager to share either. How did you admit that the only woman you’d ever wanted to marry had refused you? The fact called his character into question, or hers.
“Everyone from the Boston area knew Mrs. Evangeline Dumont,” Brandon said, and he felt Elizabeth relax. “The lady set a fine table, with only the best on it and around it.”
Elizabeth returned her gaze to the babies, who beamed at her. “She never lost her interest in people, even though the stroke left her unable to do the things she loved most.”
The stroke hadn’t just affected her aunt. It seemed to him Elizabeth had chosen a path much narrower than she’d once dreamed. All of society had been open to her, yet here she was, focused on three little boys. Why?
No way to ask that question with Mrs. Hickey watching them both so eagerly.
“Ah, I fear I have detained you, my dear Mrs. Hickey,” Brandon told her. “I’m sure you had business elsewhere this afternoon, industrious lady that you are.”
Her smile wavered. She couldn’t very well admit she had nothing better to do than vex Elizabeth. “Yes, well,” she said, taking a step back. “I am very busy. You will heed my warning about the cod-liver oil, won’t you, Miss Dumont?”
“I will give it due consideration,” Elizabeth promised her.
With another glance between Elizabeth and Brandon, the pianist turned and headed toward the doctor’s office, very likely intending to instruct the physician on some point now. The boys waved their fists in farewell.
“Do not tell me she means well,” Elizabeth threatened Brandon, “for I won’t believe it.”
“She delights in knowing more than anyone else, about everything,” he said. “So long as you remember that, you won’t have any trouble with her.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “You must not have noticed the way she looked at you. You better watch your reputation, Pastor. You wouldn’t want to be seen with a discharged governess who was left at the altar. People might talk.”
“I’ve never been particularly concerned about what anonymous people have to say,” Brandon told her. He bent and seized the handles on the cart, and the triplets started bouncing up and down in anticipation of the ride. “Now, where can I take you and the boys?”
That look in her eyes told him she would have preferred to tell him where to go, and it was as far away from her as possible. But she nodded across the street. “The triplets and I have been cooped up in the boardinghouse for three days now. I was hoping to cross to the grass and let them out on the quilt. If you would be so kind, Reverend?”
Of course she wouldn’t call him Brandon. They were supposed to be strangers. Besides, times had changed since they’d last known each other. They had changed. He wasn’t a man bent on courting her. He was her minister, just as he was the minister for everyone in Little Horn. His only concern should be for her spiritual growth and comfort. If she had been anyone else, he would have done his best to charm her, putting her at ease. But his winning ways no longer seemed to work on Elizabeth.
So he trundled the cart across the rutted street for the grassy field between the parsonage and the church, the creak of the wheels playing them along.
The good citizens of Little Horn had designed the church grounds, like the church and parsonage, with the community’s needs in mind. Between the two buildings lay a sweep of grass, wildflowers nodding here and there, just waiting for a church picnic or baseball game. Amos Crenshaw kept it in order, even going so far as to carry water to it during the drought so the grass wouldn’t dry out. Brandon positioned the cart in the shade of an old live oak and helped her spread the large brightly colored quilt beside it. Then they arranged the triplets in the middle.
At nearly eleven months old, they were crawling well. Jasper, as usual, was the most adventurous. Elizabeth must have realized it, for she positioned herself between the tree and the edge of the quilt as if to prevent his escape. Rolling over on his side, Eli tugged at a block of red gingham on the quilt as if eager to get to the grass beneath. Theo sat and regarded the nearby daisies as if suspecting they had designs on his brothers. Jasper set off across the quilt and paused a moment beside Elizabeth before attempting to scale her lap.
She smiled at him, making the day brighter. “Clever boy. You wait and see, Pastor. Jasper will turn out to be an explorer.”
Brandon smiled. “I think Eli’s going to end up mayor of Little Horn by the way he manages his brothers.”
She laughed, and the sound bathed his heart in light. “Can’t you just see them,” she asked, “tall and strong, crowding in the