The Substitute Bride (13 page)

“Being a wife is hard work.” His attention dropped to her lips. She forgot to breathe. He leaned closer and closer still, until she could see every eyelash. She’d never noticed that narrow circle of silver, stunning against the black of his pupils. “But I could name some benefits of the job.”

Before she could ask for a list of those benefits, his hand encircled the back of her neck. With gentle fingers, he tilted her face to his. She got lost in his intense gaze, asking permission. As with a will all their own, her eyelids fluttered closed. A feathery touch of his lips, gentler than butterfly wings, caressed her lips. The kiss grew, deepened, sending tremors to the core of her.

And a sense of rightness she refused to accept.

Love had destroyed Mama.

She clasped his hand and removed it. “Let’s get one thing straight. You were the one who called our marriage a business deal. I may be a substitute bride, but a business deal doesn’t include love.” She took a step back. “Or kisses.”

His eyes turned stormy. “What do you have against affection? I’d hate to live the next forty years without it.”

“I’d rather be hitched to a team of oxen than yoked by that burden.”

“That can be arranged, wife,” he muttered.

Elizabeth spun on her heel and raced to her room, matching the speed of her pounding heart, taking with her a void she didn’t know how to fill.

She closed the door and leaned against it, sliding her fingertips over her lips, reliving his kiss.

Her demonstrative father had kissed Mama as often as she’d let him. Elizabeth had always known Mama loved Papa. Loved him to
death.
Kisses meant nothing. She’d put no trust in Ted’s.

Elizabeth was grateful for the time alone while Ted drove Anna and Jason Harper to school. Well, not exactly alone with Henry in the house, but somehow she managed to read the Bible for a few minutes, hungry for words to guide her. She’d just breathed a prayer to God to help her handle each day when behind her the door creaked open.

Ted’s gaze lit on the Bible, then her. “I’ll set up the laundry for you,” he said.

“I’d appreciate it.”

She took Henry from his high chair and plopped him in the pen Ted had fashioned from chicken wire while Ted lugged laundry tubs and carried water to fill them. All the while he avoided her eyes, obviously still angry over last night’s stalemate. Having fulfilled the role of a good husband, he said goodbye and then walked to the barn.

Watching his retreating back, Elizabeth sighed. Except for providing the roof over her head and the food on his table, she dared not count on Ted. He needed a mother for his children. The reason he’d married her. She needed to give Robby a home. The reason she’d married him. Assuming Ted agreed to bring Robby here, they’d both get what they wanted.

So why did she feel so hollow?

Sleeves rolled up to the elbows, Elizabeth pushed the first load of clothes under the sudsy water. An hour passed, maybe more. Elizabeth arched her back, then blew out a puff of air and once again bent over the washtub. Ted had called this warm, sunny, breezy weather a perfect laundry day. She couldn’t imagine doing this chore when the weather turned cold.

Lois Lessman washed clothes and took in ironing to pay the family’s bills. If only Elizabeth could help her. Surely if the proprietor of the saloon understood that gambling was damaging a family in town, he’d put a stop to it.

She chuffed. How likely was that when it came to bringing in business? But even if it were, Joe Lessman would find a game somewhere else. Hadn’t Papa?

Her sore knuckles struck the ridge of the scrub board. Elizabeth grimaced. Washing Henry’s diapers had rubbed them raw. “I hope you’re grateful, young man.”

Henry hung over the fence, gnawing on a wooden spoon, showing no appreciation for the pain he’d caused. Poor tyke probably had enough of his own with those teeth pushing through.

She boiled the diapers, and then dropped them with a stick into the rinse water. At the line, she used one clothespin to fasten the diapers together, saving time and pins. Anna had made a family of clothespin dolls, decreasing her supply. Flapping in her face, the diapers smelled fresh, clean.

She refilled the tub with clean water for another load. The
time dragged by as she stirred, scrubbed, pinned. She fished in the tub and pulled up Ted’s white shirt, his Sunday best.

Now pink!

Something was definitely wrong. But what?

With all her might, she scrubbed the shirt on the board but the new color remained.

Heat zipped through her veins. Her dress. Her
only
good dress! She shot a hand into the washtub and yanked it out.

Her beautiful dress was streaked with shades of maroon. She moaned, dropping it into the rinse water, then brought up her head scarf, now faded. Under the suds, the water was red.

Tears stung her eyes. She had to get far away from all this hated work.

“What happened to my shirt?”

Elizabeth jumped.

Ted stood across from her, arms folded across his chest, staring at the pink garment draped over the washboard.

If she’d had the strength, she’d have thrown her dress at him. Right now, she wanted nothing more than to use that return ticket to Chicago. Even Reginald Parks sounded good.

Ted surveyed the damage to their clothing then the world of hurt on Elizabeth’s face. He loped to the house. Nothing could be done about her dress, but perhaps he could save his shirt. He returned with the blueing mixture Rose kept on hand. Gradually the garment lost its pink hue, giving him optimism he’d be able to wear it on Sunday.

Elizabeth whirled to him. “Will that concoction fix my dress?”

“It would ruin the delicate fabric. Next time sort the clothes, darks in one pile, whites in another.”

“You’ve got all the answers, Ted Logan.” Her anger at Papa, her concern for Lois Lessman, all of it rolled inside her. She thrust her hands on her hips. “How about figuring out a way to
get gambling out of New Harmony? I can’t stand the idea of Mrs. Lessman doing this chore every day.”

After hearing Elizabeth’s emotional remark on Sunday, Ted had no doubt of her hatred of the gambling lifestyle. Not that he approved. He’d seen what compulsive gambling had done to others—the desperation, the lack of any human emotion other than greed. What it had done to him, a man who earned his living at the expense of others. Now Joe’s family suffered because he couldn’t pass up a game.

He’d try to talk to Joe on his next trip to town. “Cleaning up a man isn’t like cleaning up New Harmony’s streets, Elizabeth. Shutting down a saloon won’t put a stop to what a man’s determined to do. The only way for Joe to control his gambling is to repent and seek God’s help.”

Elizabeth eyed him. “You know a lot about the subject.”

Ted’s stomach knotted. “I’m speaking about what the Bible teaches, no matter what issue is taking over a person’s life.” He rinsed his shirt. “I’ll talk to him, but if you want to help Lois, help her find a better-paying job.”

Elizabeth returned to the line. From here, he could practically see her mind working. His suggestion seemed to pacify her. But what would she do if she found out about his gambling past? His chest squeezed. Most likely leave him.

Not that he blamed Rose for dying, but losing her hurt. He and Anna still grieved. For different reasons. Rose had been the center of Anna’s world. Meeting Rose had been a turning point in his.

But he somehow knew that if he and Elizabeth ever found their way in this marriage, they’d share a bliss he and Rose never had. He couldn’t forget the experience of holding Elizabeth in his arms, of the feel of her lips moving under his.

Yet she’d shown not one whit of reaction since. What man knew what went on in a woman’s mind? If Elizabeth wanted
his touch, wouldn’t she give him a smile or say something that would tell him which way the wind blew?

He suspected she kept things from him. How could he condemn her? He lived his life doing the same. One day the secrets would come out. What would happen then?

T
he days rolled by, until one week had passed since Elizabeth had arrived in New Harmony. Each day during Henry’s nap, she made those mainstay biscuits. The cookbook had promised that “good biscuits had saved the day for many a housewife.”

The
good
had been the tricky part but practice made perfect, or so Papa used to say, so she always made one batch, sometimes two. Much to her surprise, the batch she pulled from the oven was flaky, golden—perfection. She smiled, anticipating Ted’s reaction to her success.

At dinner, she carried the bread plate to the table with her head held high like one of the Magi bearing gifts.

Ted took one look at the pile of biscuits and shook his head. “Biscuits. Again?”

“What do you mean
again?
”

“Nothing, I’m just…full.”

“How can you be full? You haven’t eaten yet.”

He looked at Anna, then at Henry, but neither of his children said a word, leaving Ted on his own. Whether he knew it or not, he was heading into dangerous territory.

“I’m full of biscuits,” he said, ducking his head.

“These are perfect. Really. They’re not burned on the bottom or hard or bitter or crumbly. Try one.” She thrust one at him, but he held up his palm.

“I’m up to here with biscuits,” he said, indicating his throat. “Sorry, I can’t face another one, no matter how good.”

“What do you mean, you’re sick of biscuits? You said you had hollow legs that needed filling three times a day.”

He had the grace to look sheepish. “I do, but you’ve given me biscuits for breakfast, dinner and supper for a week.”

“Well, that takes the cake!”

“Now, cake, that I could eat.”

She swatted at him. “I slaved over perfecting the biscuits you’re so fond of and now you won’t eat one? Not even a bite?”

“I’m sure in a few days, I’ll get over it and—”

“Get over it? Well, see if you can get over this!” She dumped three biscuits on top of the mound of meat and potatoes on his plate. “At this table we’re having biscuits.”

Ted closed his eyes then rose. “I learned long ago when a woman gets in a snit, a man better head for the hills. In my case, the barn works fine.” With that, he walked out the door.

Elizabeth folded her arms across her chest. No one appreciated anything she did around here. She opened her palms and rubbed a finger across a callus. Her hands were a mess. Her feet ached from hours at the stove, sink or washtub. She slaved from dawn to dusk—and for what? To be unappreciated and criticized? To give her brother a good life, she’d tried to mold herself into the perfect housewife. But the apron didn’t fit.

She didn’t fit.

She walked to the mirror and peered at her reflection. A smudge marred her cheek. Tendrils of her hair drooped at her neck. She never had time to primp. She turned away from the face in the mirror, so different from her own that she almost didn’t recognize it.

Returning to the table, she grabbed one morsel of perfection and buttered it, but when she took a bite and tried to swallow, it stuck in her throat. Her shoulders slumped. Why not admit it? She was sick of biscuits, too.

Grabbing a couple, she walked outside to the stoop and whistled for Tippy. He came loping from the barn. She dropped the biscuits into the iron skillet that served as his dish. He walked up, sniffed at them and backed away, tail tucked between his legs.

“Traitor.”

Back in the kitchen, she found one biscuit lover. Henry. He’d stuffed half a biscuit into his mouth, flinging crumbs on the floor. Of course, Martha had once said babies would eat dirt and drink kerosene; not much of a recommendation.

She plopped into her seat with a sigh.

Across from her, Anna leaned on her elbows, a glum look in her eyes. “Mommy didn’t shout at Daddy.”

Rose, the saint. Well, Elizabeth was no saint and not the mommy, never would be. Still, she’d grown tired of hearing about the perfect Rose.

Anna turned those light blue eyes on her. “You made Daddy’s ears hurt.”

Elizabeth guessed Daddy’s tummy was empty, too. Just because Ted didn’t want biscuits didn’t mean he didn’t want to eat. She’d riled him into leaving the house without his supper. “I guess I’ll have to say I’m sorry.”

“Yep,” Anna said, then went back to her meal.

Another thing Elizabeth didn’t do well. But since she’d been reading the Bible regularly, she no longer could cling to her old habits. And for some reason she couldn’t fathom, she cared what Ted thought of her, cared if he forgave her.

Why? She’d never apologized that much to Mama and Papa.

As she forced down her food, never tasting a bite, the real
ization dawned—every day she lived with regret for not having apologized to Mama. Once she got the chance, she’d apologize to Papa for disobeying him, even though he’d been wrong to try to marry her off for profit.

But Ted was different. Ted was…

Well, she wouldn’t think about that now. He was her husband. She’d leave it at that. They needed peace. Peace that came with the price of one gritted out
I’m sorry.

Elizabeth plopped some blocks on the tray of the high chair then grabbed Ted’s plate. “Will you watch Henry for a few minutes, Anna?”

Amazingly, Anna nodded her agreement.

Elizabeth dumped the biscuits on Ted’s plate into the slop jar and headed out the door. A man who liked harmony must find living with her unsettling. She met Ted halfway between the house and the barn.

His troubled eyes collided with hers. “I forgot—”

“Your dinner.” She motioned to the towel-covered plate. “I’m bringing it to you.”

“Thank you.” His eyes darkened. “Sorry about the fuss I made over the biscuits.”

“I tossed them in the bucket for the pigs. If
they
dare to reject my biscuits, I’ll pull their tails.”

He peered over his shoulder, craning his neck as if looking at his backside. “In that case, I’ll eat whatever you say.”

She laughed. “Your food’s getting cold. Come on inside.”

Stepping around her, he held the door. “You look tired. Get off your feet while I put the children to bed.”

Elizabeth
was
tired. Tired to the bone.

Still, she didn’t have to make all those pointless calls on people she didn’t like. Or wear a tightly cinched corset every single day of her life or feel so bored her skin crawled.

Or sit across from Reginald Parks.

Elizabeth set Ted’s plate on top of the cookstove to keep it warm, and then cleaned up the dishes. When Ted returned to the kitchen, she and his dinner sat at the table waiting on him.

“I’m saying it right out. I’m sorry I got mad.” She plopped her chin on her hands. “I
have
made a lot of biscuits. Truth is I’m sick of biscuits, too. Even Tippy wouldn’t touch them and he usually wolfs down every scrap I give him. Sort of like you.”

Ted took his place at the table and smiled. “Was this another example of that teeny temper you warned me about?”

She bit her lip and nodded.

“Seems it’s less teeny than you promised.”

“Seems you’re less of a biscuit fan than you said.”

He laughed. “That’s what I like about you—you’re never at a loss for words.” A crooked grin eased the tension between them. “I accept your apology. And offer one of my own.” Taking her hand, he ran a finger over her reddened palm. “You’ve worked hard taking care of us and I appreciate it. I should have eaten the biscuits, even if it gagged me.” He chuckled, then sobered, regret filling his eyes. “I’ve been expecting too much.”

She pulled away from his touch, studying the chipped nails on her left hand and the narrow gold band still shiny and new—a symbol of promise. “I’m not one bit like Rose.”

“No, you’re you—Elizabeth Manning Logan. My wife. And I’m proud of you.”

Ted’s words slid into the lonely emptiness inside her, balm to regrets she didn’t know she carried. What if she started to care about this man?

A chill slid down her spine, an icy reminder not to foolishly put her heart in Ted’s hands.

She leaped to her feet and poured a cup of coffee she didn’t want, putting distance between her and Ted, vowing not to let her husband get close.

Elizabeth glanced at the clock. Half past four and Henry still slept. Home from school, Anna played on the porch with her clothespin dolls, dressing them with scraps from Elizabeth’s new dress. Potatoes bubbled on the stove. A jar of beef and noodles from the cellar simmered away. Peace reigned.

She had time to rearrange the kitchen. The upper shelves were mostly empty, but well within Elizabeth’s reach. She cleared the table, putting all the clutter away, and then organized the cabinet and cupboard to suit her.

From the bedroom, Henry set up a howl. Smiling with satisfaction at her newly arranged kitchen, Elizabeth hustled to his crib. For once, Anna didn’t beat her. Apparently she hadn’t heard her brother.

Arms outstretched, Henry leaned against the rail, grinning at her.

“What a long nap you had, little man.” She swung him into the air. He squealed, releasing a dribble of drool onto the bodice of Elizabeth’s new dress. Ah, babies. Nasty little creatures. The reason God made them cute.

She changed his diaper, then gathered Henry to her chest. One plump arm cradled her neck, his soft baby face nuzzling her cheek. The feel and scent of him filled her nostrils, putting an odd hitch in her breathing.

“Mama.”

Her breath caught.

He said “Mama” again.

Elizabeth carried Henry to the dresser. “
This
is your mama, Henry,” she told him, holding up the picture of Rose and Ted.

“Dada.” He pointed to Ted with a wide grin revealing six tiny teeth. Raring back, Henry patted her cheek. “Mama.”

Elizabeth shook her head. Surely Ted would set Henry straight.

Only a month old when Rose died, Henry wouldn’t remem
ber his mother. Still, Elizabeth didn’t want the toddler to forget the woman who gave him birth, probably destroying her health with the effort. She replaced the picture, promising to show Henry his mother’s likeness every day.

In the kitchen, she put Henry on the floor to play with some wooden spoons and a pan. But within a matter of seconds, he’d crawled to a chair and pulled up, then toddled toward her.

Ted appeared at the door for dinner in his stocking feet, dewy and fresh from cleaning up at the pump. Sniffing the air, he swept Henry into his arms. “Mmm, smells good.”

“Better than smoke and burned biscuits.” She grinned, moving to the stove. “As soon as I mash the potatoes, we’ll eat.”

“You’re looking mighty cheerful.”

“Well, I am. I had a good afternoon.”

“Here, let me do that.” He walked to the stove, exchanged Henry for the potato masher and went after the lumps, biceps bulging with each stroke.

She swallowed hard. Those potatoes didn’t have a chance.

Ted glanced up, catching her watching him, and winked at her. “Tell me about your day.”

Anna dashed in the door, and before Elizabeth could tell Ted anything, she prattled on about school, proudly showing him her growing family of clothespin dolls.

“Using straw for hair’s clever of you, Anna. Why don’t you lay them down and set the table for supper.”

Anna put a pout on her face but did as Ted said. He looked over his daughter’s head at Elizabeth. “Looks like you finished that hem.” His gaze roamed over her. Something about his expression made her insides flutter. “Does this mean you won’t be wearing my pants anymore?”

“Only in the chicken coop and garden.”

Ted paused in the mashing and gave her a searing look that had nothing to do with fashion. “Pity.”

Heat filled her cheeks. She ran a finger around her buttoned-up collar. Gracious, the kitchen was warm.

“Where’s the spoons?” Anna asked.

For a moment, Elizabeth had forgotten about Anna. She dragged herself back to reality. “Oh, I put the flatware in the drawer over there.”

“Mama kept them in the spooner.”

“Well, with everything put away, I don’t have to cover the table in case flies sneak in.”

Anna folded her arms across her chest. “Put them back.”

Elizabeth looked at Ted for support, but his lips had thinned. He took Henry from her arms. “After you add salt and butter, they’re ready to eat.”

Ted sat in the rocker with Henry on one knee and Anna leaning against the other, explaining how much ground he’d planted in oats, and taking Anna’s mind off the argument.

Recalling the disapproving set of his mouth, all the joy of the day slid out of Elizabeth. She’d worked her fingers to the bone taking care of Ted’s house, meals and children, but she had no say in anything.

Ignoring Anna’s lack of obedience, Elizabeth set the table herself. Why hadn’t Ted taken her side with Anna? Was she merely some maid? Well, if so, she should earn a wage.

At dinner, the food was good, and without a single biscuit, but Ted said very little except a polite, “Will you pass the potatoes?” or “Anna, eat your meat.”

Anna chattered away while the meal churned in Elizabeth’s stomach.

After dinner, Ted told Anna to wash the dishes then went out to the barn to milk and bed down the animals. Elizabeth prepared the dishwater, and then moved aside for Anna. Surprisingly she pulled over a chair and set to work.

“This water is too hot,” she complained.

“Put in a dipper of cold.”

“You do it,” she said in a bossy tone. “My hands are drippy.”

Elizabeth added the cold water without comment, too tired to deal with Anna’s attitude.

Ted hadn’t supported her attempt to make things more convenient, as if she had no right to make changes. Rose lived in the house with them. Elizabeth understood Ted and Anna still mourned her. She felt bad herself about Rose’s early death and all she missed, but how long would it be before what she wanted mattered? Five, ten years? Maybe when Rose’s children were grown and gone?

Maybe never.

She slumped against the sink. Ted made promises as easily as her silver-tongued father. Empty promises. Why had she believed him?

Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to anger.
She’d read the verse in the Book of James that morning. But didn’t that Scripture include Ted?