The Bride Backfire (8 page)

“If that girl takes sick in my vegetable garden, she'll regret it.” Lucinda knew no one heard her mutter, but it made her feel a little better to say it anyway.

Who wanted to hear the sounds of someone emptying her stomach of a morning—or anytime. No matter if the girl was carrying or not.

I didn't toss my turnips over any of my babies.
Just went to show those Specks weren't made of the same stuff as she—and her children—could claim.
And if I were of a mind to be generous, I'd even say I understood why Opal would want Adam. My son would make any woman a fine husband.

Pity she wasn't in the mood for generosity. She hadn't raised a fine boy like Adam to be wasted on the likes of Opal Speck.
And it's not too late.

All she needed was to get rid of the girl, and her spawn, before they did any more harm. She brushed away a shiver of unease at the thought of the baby.

Despite her weak stomach and Adam's confidence, I'm not convinced she even carries a babe.
Her paring knife moved more quickly, a flashing menace in the morning sun.
Even if there is a child, there's no way to vouchsafe it belongs to Adam. You can't trust a hussy.
She'd make short work of the upstart, just the same as she did these potatoes.

Because she had a plan. For the first time in over twenty years, Lucinda hadn't minded her husband's snores. His wheezy grunts hadn't interfered with her sleep one bit.

No, she'd been wide awake, going over ways to make the Speck girl so miserable she'd hightail it before all was lost. If Parson Carter kept his word—and the man saw the wisdom of not crossing the Grogans, though Lucinda would be paying him a visit that morning as a reminder—they had until Sunday before all of Buttonwood would hear of this disaster.

Which meant she had five days to fix things and keep Adam from being ruined. Keep it contained, erase it from existence, make things right. Five days.

Opal would be long gone by then. Of course, running back to her family would be out of the question.
It's not far enough. If she stays close, Adam will go after her. And Larry ...
Well, Lucinda had enough to deal with already before speculating on what went through her middle son's head. He fancied Opal, too. That much was obvious. How far he'd go and what it would mean for the family—those were paths she didn't want to tread.
Difficulties I won't have to handle if I get rid of the girl. And it shouldn't be too hard, either!

After a fitful night full of false starts and impossibilities, the solution presented itself early this morning. With her mother gone so young, Opal had been the only woman of the house for most of her life. And Lucinda had seen firsthand the chit's boldness, the way she tried to make decisions for her family, how she talked back to the Grogans. Hadn't she even dared to strike Diggory the day before?

At the very thought, Lucinda's hand slipped, the knife nicking the fleshy part of her palm.

Now look what the brat made me do!
A ribbon of red spooled around her wrist before she staunched the flow with a clean rag.

No matter.
Lucinda could handle the hard things in life, but Opal ... she'd given orders for so long, she wouldn't be able to manage when someone else took over. Oh no, the girl didn't have a meek bone in her body. She wouldn't like it one bit when she didn't have her hands on the reins.

But on the Grogan farm, Lucinda ruled. At least ... in every way that would matter to Opal.

A slow smile spread across her face as she set the first batch of potatoes in the skillet, hearing the hungry crackle of hot grease. It was one of the little things she enjoyed—the sound of doing something right. Every woman learned, sooner or later, that the little things mattered a great deal.

Lucinda looked up as her daughter and the interloper walked through the door.

It was time to teach Opal Speck just how much those little things could add up.

The next morning's wash water splashed on his face as cold as the reality he awoke to. Adam'd always thought mornings were the best part of day, when the world stretched its legs to see what it could accomplish before the sun sank low.

He fought the impulse to sit this one out. Today would be a gamut the likes of which few men deserved to face. As a matter of fact, he'd be hard pressed to come up with the name of even one man meriting a shotgun wedding to his enemy's daughter who carried another child that may or may not belong to his very own brother.

Though Adam didn't see fit to question God's judgment about the necessity of all this, he took exception to the idea he might be that one deserving male.

Which didn't mean the barn would muck itself, or the cattle feed kindly appear in the troughs. The lump in his brother's bunk told him Larry wasn't going to do it.

Obviously he was taking Opal's marriage hard—much harder than Adam could have foreseen. It would be so easy to shake him awake, demand an answer to the question Larry wouldn't answer last night.
Could you be the father?

As he stared down at the sleeping form of his brother, rage surged through him. “Get up.” No response. “I said,
get up.
” He reached out, grabbed hold of Larry's shoulders, and shook. Hard.

“No.”

“Tell me how far things went with you and Opal.” He hadn't stopped shaking his brother. “Tell me if there's a possibility you're the father of my child.”

My child.
The words struck a chord, sounded so right that when his brother shook his head, Adam lifted him from the bed by the front of his drawers.
He's threatening everything, and he may just be doing it out of spite.
“Do you have any claim to her?” Dread ripped the words from his throat.

“Yes.” Larry shoved his hands away. “More claim than you. I wanted her first.”

I doubt it.
He'd always noticed Opal, and it had only gotten worse since he carried her from the flames that threatened to take her life. But these were thoughts he'd squashed, things he'd never said, because they'd only do harm.
Not anymore. I won't keep quiet. She's mine now.
“I doubt it.” The words seemed to transfer his animosity to Larry.

“Believe it.” If his brother were a dog, Adam would have said he bared his teeth. “Opal always looked pretty, but after she helped save my life I realized what truly lay between us.”

“A feud?” Adam considered himself too good a man to put down his brother by pointing out Opal's own worthiness would lay between her and Larry ever being anything.

“Destiny.” All but vaulting from the bed, Larry shoved his face too close. “We belong together.”

“Parson Carter might say different.”

“But would Opal?” The sneer cut down Adam's triumph. “Did you ask her? Did she really have a choice about marrying you?”

“Yes.”
More of a choice than I did, that's for sure.

“You lie!” Flicks of spittle flecked from his mouth. “Opal only married you to avoid a feud! She did what was necessary.”

“That's—”
possible. More than possible.
The realization stopped him mid-sentence.
Why didn't I consider that she lied about the baby being mine to save my life and spare her family from Pa's vengeance?
Instead, he'd assumed she didn't want to marry the father, or was unable to. The idea she'd fornicated with a married man sat ill, but Adam far preferred it to this option. Had Opal wed him both to stop the feud and because she'd been unable to wed the father of her child, all right ... because that father was Larry?

“I went after her first.”

Larry's shove caught him off-balance in more ways than one, but Adam held his ground. “I saved her life.”

“So she could spend it with me.” He moved in for another shove. “You aren't God. You can't give and take away what's mine!”

“Is the child yours?” Adam knocked his brother's hands away. “Tell me now or lose your chance.”

“How can any man know he's the father of any child with absolute certainty?”

“Opal wouldn't play a man false!” His defense of her erupted before he considered the ramifications. If only Larry wouldn't catch on...

“Then why do you ask if I could be the father?” A crafty gleam lit his brother's gaze, but more disturbing was the wild hope behind it. “You say she wouldn't play a man false ... then you'd know you're the father if you'd claimed her.”

“You're not the father.” Adam knew it in the way Larry evaded the questions. Assurance settled over him like a blanket.

“No, Adam”—he rocked back on his heels—“
you
aren't. Opal wouldn't play a man false, it's true. And you wanting to know what lies between us shows there's nothing between the two of you. Release her.”

“She's my wife.” Adam spoke slowly, letting the words drop like stones. “We'll raise our child together, make no mistake.”

“No!” The howl pierced his ears. “It's not too late to let her go.” Larry's hands scrabbled at Adam's collar. “Give her back to me. She doesn't belong with you, and no matter what you say, you know it. You can't fool me!”

“I don't have to.” Adam turned and headed for the door. “You're fooling yourself if you think I'd set aside my wife.”
Not without anything less than absolute proof you sired the babe in her belly. And you want her so badly, you would have told me immediately if that were the case.

His step lighter, he headed for the barn. But by the time he arrived, not even the familiar scents of animals and hay could lift his spirits.

Larry didn't say he wasn't or couldn't be the father. He said no man could know for sure ... which would be true if he thought Opal and I were together, as well.
He recalled the fervent gleam of hope in his brother's gaze when he noticed Adam's slip.
The triumph in his voice when he announced I wasn't the father ... Can I really be sure it's not because he just learned the woman he loves hadn't betrayed him?

And if that's so, can I keep them apart?

“What are you doing here?” Opal could scarcely keep the question in until she and Midge were out of sight of the house.

“Who would believe me if I told them you greeted me at the Grogan farm, and
you
asked me what
I'm
doing here?” Her friend's grin all but demanded an answering smile. “Anyone in Buttonwood would tell me the world's gone mad and taken us along for the jaunt!”

“I'll not complain that our jaunt takes me away from Lucinda.” Opal's voice lowered despite the distance they'd covered. “But what did you tell Clara and Saul about where you were headed, and why?”

Does the whole town know of my hasty wedding?
Parson Carter promised not to breathe a word, instead allowing the “happy couple” to announce the “glad news” at a time of their choosing, but better plans had failed.

“We need more honey for the store, so I hurried up and volunteered to visit you.” Midge winked broadly, with the complete lack of ladylike decorum that Pete swore made her so appealing.

“Can't abide a woman who puts on airs.”
Opal's heart clenched at the memory of her younger brother in happier days. Pete probably stayed at home now, saddled with the lion's share of her chores.

“Of course, Clara wanted to come along, but little Maddie's fussy over teething, and I reminded her she'd had a nice long visit with you earlier this week when I was at the Warrens'. So it's my turn.” The laughter faded from her face. “She didn't need to know the other part—that she wouldn't find you if she headed to the Speck farm. I know you're not telling folks yet about ... everything.”

A hard swallow and a nod were all Opal could offer her friend, whose gaze held a shrewdness that made her uncomfortable. Midge had never been a typical young girl, and Opal couldn't shrug away the feeling she saw more than she should even now.

“Which is, of course, why I've come.”

Because I haven't told you everything?
Opal bit her lip. There was no chance she could confide in Midge the full, sorry truth about what she'd done. Her chest ached at her own betrayal.
I can't tell her what Adam thinks I've done, either.
Pain streaked upward, intensifying the ache.
Or what the Grogans think of me.
The heat of anger burned away some of her remorse.

The sight and sounds of her apiary further dispelled some of the gloom that had settled around her heart since the day before. No matter how much it seemed the world had come crashing down about her ears, her bees disproved her self-centered fancy.

All around them, thousands of striped workers went about their business. Springtime meant a flurry of comb-making and scouting, each colony focusing on the home containing its entire existence. Each hive a self-contained, well-run world unto itself.

In those small worlds, so tight knit and busy, everyone had a role to play. Tasks to perform. A purpose among all their relations.

Oh God.
The now-familiar thickness of impending tears clogged her throat. The memory of her father denying her, refusing to acknowledge her as part of their family sloughed at her soul.
“Not anymore.”
Two words robbed her of her home, leaving her nothing and no one to call hers.

Oh God.
Opal couldn't seem to get past the pained cry to the Father she knew hadn't abandoned her. The only one she could still claim.
Oh God ...
Nothing more came. No way to express the need within her save the simple supplication of calling His name, a constant cry within her heart.

I can't ask Him to take it all away, undo my mistakes. There are so many. Too many...

She should have held back after Larry's accident—mentioned the ice to Clara and left it alone. Instead, she'd jumped at the chance to help Dr. Reed. Now look where her foolish hopes that their families could lay aside old differences under new kindnesses had gotten her!

Maybe she could have told Elroy about Larry's increasing attentions, have her brother put a bug in Grogan's ear and keep him away. But she'd been too afraid of sparking the feud.

At the very least, she shouldn't have let Adam keep the threat she'd found in this very apiary. A chill of guilt stole over her as she remembered the moment Pete drew the thrice-cursed thing from Adam's pocket. Resignation dimmed his handsome features. He'd known in that instant, just as she had, that he may as well have been carrying his own death decree.

Why, oh why didn't I insist on burning it immediately?
Without that final piece of damning “evidence” against him, Adam might have suffered nothing more than bruises and bluster at the hands of her family for his trespassing. Instead, the die was cast.

Because she'd do anything to protect her family—even marry Adam. And her family would do anything to protect her.
Even if it meant letting me do it.

If the scenario weren't so dire, the irony would have made her laugh. Even for someone as practiced at finding the bright spot in any situation as Opal, the search turned up nothing to make her smile. The thought flitted across her mind that she'd managed to keep her family safe, but too many threats loomed over that accomplishment like a Sword of Damocles for her to take any comfort in it.

Though Adam didn't know it, he could still annul the marriage. Lucinda, for all her silence this morning, hadn't accepted the wedding yet—her lack of chatter spoke of schemes to instill foreboding. No, the victory she'd won yesterday—if Opal could call losing her family, her freedom, and the respect of everyone she'd ever met in one fell swoop any sort of victory—constituted a minor skirmish.

She looked over her shoulder, knowing she wouldn't see the Grogan farm, nor any of her new in-laws, but unable to quell the impulse. Opal held back a sigh at the thought of battles and ambushes she'd face for years to come.

Oh God,
she finally found the words she needed,
give me strength to make it through this war!

Midge waited. She didn't mind letting Opal sort through her thoughts while they stood surrounded by the energy of the hives. Their restlessness matched something inside her, made her feel like she didn't have to move so much when other critters were so busy.

Normally, though, she wasn't very good at waiting. Anyone who ever met her could tell in a blink that patience wasn't her strongest virtue.

Come to think of it, she wasn't all too sure she showed particular strength in any of the virtues.
No, that can't be right. I'm a good person. There's got to be one....

Patience got chucked from the list right away, but there were a heap of others to pick from, weren't there? Like peace. Peace definitely ranked as a virtue.
Nope. Sitting still chafes me something awful.
She crossed peace off the possibilities.

Wasn't mercy on there, too? Midge wrinkled her nose. To her way of thinking, justice trumped mercy any day. People lied, cheated, hurt others all the time and got away with it. They deserved to be
punished.
But she didn't remember justice being on the list. As a matter of fact, she couldn't quite recall what the other virtues were supposed to be.

Sure hope memory isn't one of them. I ought to ask Aunt Doreen about it later. I'm running out of options.
Funny how that gave her a sinking feeling.
Me not having any virtues fits in with that whole idea I had about my prayers not being good enough.

But what's the use in being good enough if I can't be me anymore?
Saul and Clara kept trying to lead her to God, but something deep inside Midge balked. Because when it came down to it, if she let Jesus in, it sounded like there wouldn't be any room left for Midge.
And it's been real hard making sure I got this far.

She started pacing. This was why she didn't like staying still—left a body too much room to think about things that didn't do anyone any good.
Seems to me that “not giving up” ought to be on that list of virtues.
She perked up at the thought.
Maybe that's the problem! I'm going by someone else's list. I ought to make my own—just fill in some important things those folks long ago forgot.

Who knew? Maybe if it was on a list, it would matter more. And then she'd be closer to being good enough....

“Oh, Midge!” Opal's voice jerked her away from the trap of her thoughts. “I didn't mean to ignore you. Here you've been so quiet...”

“We both had a lot on our minds,” she shrugged away the discomfort. “You more'n me, that's for sure.”

Now that Opal was ready to talk, she wouldn't let a minute go to waste. “Lucinda has it in for me.” Opal settled on the safest topic. “She stayed almost completely silent all morning.”

“That's scary,” Midge couldn't help but agree. Lucinda Grogan simply didn't do quiet. “You've got trouble on your hands if she's thinking that hard. She's bound to turn up something you don't want her to.”

“What do you mean” The quick-fire response told her Opal hid more than one secret.

“We both know your new mama-in-law has a nose for unpleasant tidbits and a habit for sharing them.” They strolled through the rows of hives, the whitewashed boxes gleaming in spring sunshine. “You marrying Adam will bring out the worst in her.”

“There's nothing she can do about it.” The declaration lacked strength.

“Depends on what she finds.” Time to put away the kid gloves and work the truth out of Opal. “Folks give away a lot without saying a word, without ever meaning to or knowing they've done it. And Lucinda will be looking.”

“What do you think she'll find?” The scoff showed bravado, but her friend's fear seeped through.

“Cut line, Opal.” Midge grabbed her hand and plunked down in an inviting spot. “Lucinda will have you under her thumb, watching you squirm until you give up something she can use. And we both know it's only a matter of time because you're too good and too honest to keep up a pretense for very long.”

“Pretense?”

“If you're going to dodge reality, do it with someone else, Opal. I know you better, and I know you don't have the time to waste trying to fool me.”

“What do you think you know?” Apprehension settled like a death mask across her friend's features.

“You're not going to make Adam a father, for one thing.” No sense sugarcoating it.

“Midge Collins, if you even think about suggesting that I'm about to bear the child of another man, you can march yourself straight back to town and ... and...” Tears burbled out the rest of whatever Opal tried to say.

“So that's what Lucinda's been on about, eh?” Midge slung an arm around her friend's shoulders and let out a satisfying snort. “Featherbrain.”

“Then you don't think—”

“There's a better chance baby Maddie could sing opera. I should've seen it coming that the Grogans would accuse you of something like that the instant they heard you've a little one on the way.”

“Don't care.” Opal let loose a long mumble into her handkerchief that sounded oddly like “Schack dig he four sane it.”

Which, of course, made absolutely no sense. But when Midge told Opal so, her friend lifted her head with a stubborn glower to declare—quite clearly this time—

“He deserved it!”

“Who des—” and suddenly it fell into place. “You smacked Diggory for saying it!” Midge tried to choke back her laughter but just ended up choking. When she got her wind back, she managed, “Good for you!”

“I shouldn't have struck him.” Now that she'd finished defending her actions, Opal looked properly penitent. “He's my elder, and when we're angry, we're supposed to turn the other cheek.”

“Oh, good.” Midge leaned back and grinned. “I hope he did that, then. That way, you could get him again!”

“She's got spunk,” Pa grunted, raking the dried stalks of last year's corn into windrows. “I'll give your new wife that much.”

“Don't I know it.” Adam searched for a way to shift the conversation to the topic most on his mind while his father seemed inclined to be amiable and Larry worked clear on the other side of the field.

A devilish grin creased his face. “And you nabbing her has got to be giving old Murphy absolute fits. That's not to be discounted. Especially when the dupe can't do a thing about it!”

“That's not why I married her.” He pushed prickly, dried out husks of plants into more orderly piles, trying to organize his thoughts.

“Naw.” Pa whipped his hat off and fanned his face with it. “You married her because you found yourself on the wrong end of a shotgun.”

“That's not what I meant.”
But it's truer than you can ever imagine.

“Doesn't matter what you meant. Things happen when a man lets a pretty face overrule his common sense.” He slapped his hat back on. “I'm sure you didn't mean to get her in the family way either.”

Adam held his peace on that one. The truth—that he absolutely was
not
responsible for Opal's predicament—would only get his family hopping mad. Ugly accusations would be flung, honor defended, shots fired ... and lives lost.

“Didn't think you had it in you, son.” Pa resumed raking. “Takes gumption to go after something like that. I'd wondered if Larry's sneaking hadn't been headed that direction, but never so much as suspected you'd be the fox in the Speck henhouse.”

“You thought Larry might be after Opal, and you didn't stop it?” Splinters dug into his palms from where he gripped the handle of his rake, but Adam ignored them. “You'd let him prey on a vulnerable woman, just because of her last name?”

“Give your brother some credit. The Grogan men have always had a way with the ladies.” Pa straightened. “Glad to see it didn't pass you by, that's all.”