Serendipity (28 page)

“Six. You filled six boxes with your treasures. I agreed to those and understood there would be clothing and cooking stuff. I agreed to
that much
and your legacy thing. I’ve kept my word. You took advantage.”

She let out an incredulous laugh that was precariously close to tears. “I didn’t agree to only six boxes. If you made an assumption, I’m not to blame.” She promised herself she’d say no more, but the next words escaped without her intention. “You promised to try to love me.”

“I am trying to, Magpie, but you are the most trying woman I know!”

“You can stop trying now.” She couldn’t take everything she’d brought to Texas, but she’d take the most meaningful. Her barrel of china came next. “Loving someone ought not be a miserable burden. I’ll leave the bribe that hooked you. With time, Adam will become obedient.”

Todd grabbed her before she lifted the barrel. “With time, you will be obedient, too.”

“Don’t liken me to a horse!”

He looked stunned that she’d screamed. “You vowed – ”

“You don’t hold to your vows, but you expect me to? Nay. That is no marriage at all. I’m putting an end to this now.” Embarrassment scorched a path across her face – joining the searing burn his rejection left in her heart. She had to speak the truth quickly, before her mortification and tears overtook her. “We’ve not yet become one in God’s eyes, so the marriage can be annulled.”

“Nein! No.” He wrapped his arms about her, clutching her as closely as he had that morning when they kissed. “You are my
wife.
A bed I have made in the loft. A love nest for us – ”

Her hands came up between them, and she tried to push away. “Possession is not love, nor is it honor.” Until now, she’d managed to speak with a measure of control, but that last line quavered and ended in a sob.

“Shhh.” Swaying side to side, he kept hold of her. “Shhhh.”

Ma’s ugly words shredded her memory. “You wanted the horses – keep them. The tools, too. So your barn will hold everything you want.”

“Only if you are inside it. I want you. It is you I am keeping.” Each time he said
you
, he squeezed tighter.

“You put your mother in our bed, and you offer me a bed of hay?” Hands flat on his chest, she tried to push away. Beneath the fabric of his shirt, she felt his solid chest and rapid heartbeat. He looped one arm more snugly around her waist, then slowly ironed the other hand up her spine and cupped her head to his shoulder. Maggie tried to pull away, but he didn’t yield in the least. She tried to stop crying, too – but failed at it, as well.

“I am lousy with words.” Fumbling to speak, he sounded . . . irritated? Anxious? “Shhh, my Maggie. Shhh.” He rested his cheek on her head, still swaying her. “I could handle only one fork and one skillet. Even then, I did badly with the skillet. I am finding it was much easier than handling a woman.”

How could he say something so ridiculous and disarm her? Why was she even listening to him?

He made that hushing sound again before sliding into a deep, wordless, monotone hum. Oddly, it helped. Her feelings were just as raw, but he’d soothed her enough to calm her weeping. “Margaret. You are mine, thus all that is mine is yours. Do you not see this?”

“You’re only saying so because if you don’t make concessions, I’ll go. But I don’t want to be the wife of a man who b-b-barters his values.” Her throat started to clog up with tears again.

“You are not.” His swift, confident reply gave odd reassurance. His large chest lifted as he shrugged. “Well . . . except for one thing. I loathe prune bread.”

A small watery laugh shivered out of Maggie. “Me too.”

“We make a good team.”

Snapping to her senses, she pulled away. She couldn’t let her emotions cancel out common sense.
That’s what got me here in the first
place.
“The truth stands. You agreed to my treasures. Those things matter to me, else I’d have left them behind. And my roses!”

“So . . . some roses – they would help this be like home? When you spoke your uncle’s name earlier, your voice ached.”

Todd confused her, and she confused herself even more by looking up into his steady eyes. “That’s only part of it.”

“You have so many feelings. Women – especially you – are a mystery. The wrong pronoun upset you. To me, it is understood: Whatever is mine is yours. Those were your words on the train when I discovered the money you tucked in my pocket.”

She’d said it back then, and he’d agreed. At least that much was true. Letting out a choppy sigh, Maggie allowed him take her hands. Then she decided better and took back one.

He rubbed his callused thumb on the back of her hand. “What little we have, we hold in common.”

Maggie gave him a fierce look. “I’m not sharing my specials and sparkles if you’re going to use it as an excuse to get rid of them.”

One eyebrow rose. “You brought more than treasures.”

The man was daft if he thought a businesswoman would leave behind all her stock! Especially since money was an issue, she needed her trade goods. But he had a point. She hadn’t specified that as part of the bargain any more than he specified a few paltry boxes.

“And so we did not have the same vision of what you would bring.” He had the nerve to wink. “The proof of a man lies in what he does. Here is proof of my honor, Wife – Adam and Eve each have a stall. You brought them, and you will stay here with them.”

“Then I’m bringing my bed out here.”

Amusement filled his voice and eyes. “You – and your bed – will stay in
our
home. And out here, for a while, you will have two stalls for your things.”

For getting off to such a terrible start, this might yet turn into a worthwhile negotiation. “What about my roses?”

“Roses require much care. To have fewer here and to share them with your friends – this is wiser. Margaret, you have too much to do.”

She shook her head emphatically. “Roses aren’t work. My legacy is a joy.”

He dragged her over to some hay bales and sat down. Maggie’s world tilted as he swept her into his lap. Ignoring her gasp, he ordered, “Explain these roses.”

“The roses must be kept and given only to my daughter. They’ve been passed down for generations. The roses, the recipes, the process for making everything is taught from mother to daughter. Or, in my case, from aunt to niece. It’s a sacred trust.”

“A trust, ja – but such things are not sacred.”

She struggled to express it clearly. “It’s a bequest of loving devotion. There are stories for every generation of my roses. Stories of a woman who lost her husband and all four children in one day to smallpox and was courageous enough to love again and have a daughter. Of one who was stone-deaf and could still sing hymns with perfect pitch. Of Moira Andrea, who counted the legacy so important she stood before an army and demanded they ride around the roses instead of through them – and the commander of that army came back and wed her.

“Generations from now a little girl will hear the stories as she tends the roses. The traits of courage and faith and fortitude take root early in life. As she grows, the virtues illustrated and wisdom borne of experience will guide her through thorny times, and she’ll blossom.

“My daughter will be told of my mama marrying a man who came to Carver Holler just to hear her people’s stories, and my aunt Maude who couldn’t have a daughter yet took me on as her very own.” Her voice shook. “I’ll be able to pass on their legacy, their lessons of virtue and strength and love. I’ll do it because I won’t give up my roses. They’re not just mine. They’re for all those who follow.”

He met her gaze and held it. Held her. “For this reason, I would have you plant a fraction now. That much . . . It is right and fitting.”

She closed her eyes. He didn’t understand. Couldn’t.

“There is much to do. The water . . . It will barely be enough to nourish such a large vegetable garden. Yielding to emotion when we have so many other considerations and needs would jeopardize everything, Maggie. We will plant three crates – one each in honor of your mother, aunt, and father. I cannot promise more today.”

Three. Only three. Then again, he’d already shown good faith by going up from two. She couldn’t agree to just three, but he’d proven he’d listen and be somewhat flexible.

“Rosebushes put down roots. You must, as well. You will stay by my side. And so all points of honor are kept.” He brushed his lips against her temple. “Someday, stories will be told of you marrying me and bringing the roses to Texas.”

The promise of that shimmered for a brief second, and then he spoiled it. “Margaret, there is only one Mrs. Valmer.”

Sadly, she shook her head. “You said the proof of a man is in what he does. You’ve shown your mother favor over me.”

Todd had the nerve to look baffled.

Then Maggie thought of how her uncles were oblivious to subtleties. The times Ma sniped at her and he’d been silent – had Todd been unaware? She could mention him seating Ma in her place . . . but that problem was solved. Deciding to name the most egregious and apparent, Maggie looked him in the eye. “You gave her the choice of where her bed went.”

He grimaced. “I didn’t realize it would crowd us. Since she is sickly, the window seemed like a reasonable request.”

“Reasonable?” She gave him a long, meaningful look. “As Mee-Maw said, ‘When a man says something is
reasonable
, any sane woman ought to run, screaming, in the opposite direction.’ ”

“You are sane, but you are not running in the opposite direction.” He was back to looking like a rascal. “So from now on, you will decide what will go where in the house.”

“Does that include me saying your mother is not napping in our bed?”

His chest rumbled as he groaned. “I will never do that again.” He heaved a mammoth sigh. “Magpies have special nests, beautiful. To share a nest of a feather bed or of humble hay – either would be beautiful because you are my Magpie.”

Reaching up to move a rakish lock of hair from his forehead, she whispered, “Don’t be expecting me to believe you the next time you say you’re lousy with words. I guess I’m staying, after all. I really do love – ” she caught herself – “my roses.”

“Some farmer I am. I will be growing sorghum, wheat, corn, vegetables – ”

“And roses!” She slipped off his lap.

“And children.”

Her cheeks suddenly went hot. “We’d better get to work.”

“Ja.”

Relief flooded her. They could cease this intimate talk and get back to the field. “We’ve wasted enough time.”

He gave her a sweet kiss. “But we will waste no more.” Suddenly he lifted her and carried her toward the ladder.

“Todd!”

Climbing up to the loft with her over his shoulder, he let loose a rumble of deep laughter.

A few seconds later, she gasped. “Oh, Todd! You brought Rose of Sharon up here.”

From the few bits of hay in Maggie’s hair and the way Todd’s hand lingered at her waist, Helga knew she’d better hurry up with transforming the magpie into a woman worthy of her son. Once Magpie became a mother, she’d be too busy to learn the proper way of doing anything.
My body might fail me, but my mind is sharp. I
can share my wisdom. Just as Titus exhorts in the Bible, I can edify her
in the ways of being a godly housekeeper.

Housekeeper. She meant housewife. But Helga couldn’t help drawing the parallels. Her grandparents had been well-to-do. They and Arletta employed servants – and every last one was Irish. Just the sound of Maggie’s lilting voice brought back memories of maids drawing baths, making beds, cooking and cleaning. When Maggie sat by her sickbed, changing the linen, tending her and feeding everyone, it seemed right. Temporarily being cared for by an Irishwoman actually comforted Helga.

But by marrying Todd, the girl reached far above her station. Arletta was the exception that proved the rule: When differing classes married, the better invariably sacrificed his standards and standing. Her own mother went from planning soirées to planting onions. Todd deserved far more than a horse-swapping hillbilly. Whipping her into a good farmwife – that was going to be quite a trick.

Unable to read any longer, Helga regretted her inability to snatch up God’s Word and go to a passage that would make her point. No doubt, that technique wouldn’t leave Maggie quite as touchy.