A Bride in Store (10 page)

Eliza’s tongue felt glued to the roof of her mouth, so she grabbed her drink and sipped the overly sweet liquid.

Then Mrs. Langston’s face fell, and she glanced between them. “Where’s Axel?”

William straightened and cleared his throat. “We don’t rightly know, ma’am. Didn’t your husband mention the letter I received?”

Mrs. Langston massaged her palm nervously. “No.”

William frowned. “Axel wrote that he fell off his horse and is recuperating at a farm near Atchison. Didn’t ask for someone to get him. Probably shouldn’t be moved.”

Mrs. Langston sucked air between her teeth. “This is my fault.”

“Do you know why he’s in Atchison?” He leaned forward in his chair.

Eliza couldn’t help but lean forward too.

“He’s out looking for stores willing to stock my ready-made
clothes. The seamstress in town is unhappy with the quality of my work.” She stared at her lap. “She’s stopped hiring me.”

Eliza frowned at William. “Why aren’t you selling them at your store?”

He scowled. She leaned back.

“I didn’t know anything about Mrs. Langston’s clothing.”

“You wouldn’t, honey. Until recently, I’ve only been doing dresses. I’ve been working on some men’s shirts and trousers Axel thought you could sell.” She rubbed a hand repeatedly over her other arm. “The more places we find for my work, though, the better I can support myself.”

William stopped munching and set his bread on the table. “Why would you have to support yourself?”

“Oh dear.” Mrs. Langston picked up a ladies’ magazine and fanned her face. A visible reddening crept up from her collar. “This is why I should be content with no visitors.” She reached over to pat Eliza’s knee. “But I’m quite thrilled you’ve come.”

Eliza clasped her hand. Though the woman’s cheeks were flushed, her hands felt like icicles. “Are you insinuating your husband’s planning to div—”

“Oh no.” Mrs. Langston’s harsh smile was anything but happy. “He don’t abide scandal. I’ve just been ‘put away.’ We attend church together, but other than the money he gives Axel to pay for my groceries and kerosene, I’m to fend for myself.”

“How horrible.”

She shrugged. “Caleb’s moved so far away he doesn’t know what’s goin’ on, but I still have Axel, and he’s a wonderful son. Better than I could have hoped for after he learned—” She abruptly stood. “I forgot my tea. Excuse me.”

Eliza nodded as if Mrs. Langston needed her consent. After her future mother-in-law walked out of the room, she wilted against her chair, closed her eyes, and smiled.

Axel treated his momma right. That’s why he’d been secretive
about where he’d been. His parents forced it upon him. “So he’s a good man.”

“I’ve misjudged him.” William stared at his feet. “I should’ve helped him more.”

“Well, as she said, you wouldn’t have known.” Eliza took a sip of her tea and relaxed. No reason to fret over Jedidiah Langston not liking her—Axel’s mother did. If Jedidiah could treat his wife so poorly, he wasn’t worth impressing.

Mrs. Langston returned and plopped down in her chair. “I’m sorry I rushed off. I’m out of practice hosting.” The tea sloshed as she set her glass on the end table. “We should talk more about you, not me.”

“Before you do,” William said, scooting to the edge of his chair, “is something wrong with your hands?”

Mrs. Langston clasped her hands tightly in her lap, stuffing them in the folds of her dress. “It’s nothing.”

“They seem to trouble you. Numbness? A sensation you’re trying to rub away?”

Eliza blinked at William. He’d figured that out in the few minutes they’d been there?

“Too much sewing, I suppose. That’s why the seamstress is unhappy with my work. She only wants expensive dresses, perfectly stitched.” She briskly rubbed her hands together. “Nothing seems to help, but I’m all right. I deserve worse for my sins.”

Worse than being abandoned by her husband and made to work when her hands wouldn’t cooperate? Eliza scooted forward in her chair. “Now, Mrs. Langston—”

“Call me Fannie.”

Eliza smiled. “Fannie. Maybe William can help.”

Fannie tucked her hands behind her back. “No more fussing over me. Tell me about you.”

William seemed content to drop the subject and fiddle with his ring.

She cleared her throat, but he said nothing more. “Well, I haven’t much to tell that I didn’t relate to Axel in my letters. My father died and left the store to my brother instead of me, and Zachary doesn’t want my bossy self telling him how to run things, though he never paid attention to the store before.” She rubbed her forehead, trying to contain the headache that always came from stewing over the unfairness and ignorance of her brother.

“Surely some man back home would’ve wanted your help.” Fannie reached over and put a hand on her arm. “Not that I’m sorry you came.”

She wrung her hands in her lap. “A man courted me while my father was sick, but he only wanted access to my father’s information—contacts, suppliers and . . . bank account. To my shame, his sweet talk enchanted me for a while.” She thumped the armrest. “No one should use a person like that.”

Did Fannie actually shrink into her chair and blanch?

“Sorry, just the thought of the man infuriates me.”

“Rightly so,” William muttered.

She startled. She’d nearly forgotten he was there. “Anyway, I figured someone out west might be open to my help, my experience, so I advertised, and your son answered.” She smiled at the memory of his first letter. Perhaps the robbery and the turmoil of his absence had jumbled her emotions too much to remember how pleasant he’d been in his letters and very interested he was in her help. “I figured we’d fit.”

A man who sacrificed for his mother and believed in a woman he’d never met? Axel couldn’t be too upset she’d be a penniless bride. She’d almost run away for nothing.

Will sighed at the sight of his parents’ homestead and slowed the borrowed horse and buggy. Eliza had whistled for nearly the entire two-hour ride.

She’d been humming, whistling, or singing to herself practically nonstop since they’d visited Mrs. Langston, making it pert near impossible to concentrate on whatever firearm he was supposed to be fixing. Her melancholy of the previous few days had disappeared. Now she was determined to unpack every box and arrange every last bit of inventory, pestering him to rearrange things so they were more “accessible” and “convenient.”

And ever since she’d asked him to describe Axel in detail, she’d been eagerly inspecting each customer the second they walked through the door.

He’d been looking forward to visiting his family after church so he might have a break from his seemingly constant need to keep tabs on Eliza, but his mother’s invitation for her to join them for Sunday dinner had wrecked his plans.

As they approached his parents’ house, Will’s brothers rushed up from nowhere and jumped into the wagon bed. Ambrose’s skinny body scrambled up behind him and he pointed. “Ma says to park on the other side of the barn. She’s putting the table outside.”

“Hey there, lady.” Thirteen-year-old John leaned over Eliza and reached for the basket at her side. “Whatcha got in there?”

Eliza snatched the basket away. “Does liver and onions sound good to you?”

John wrinkled his nose, but Ambrose’s curly head turned, tickling Will’s ears. “That don’t smell like no liver and onions to me. I smell sugar.”

Will laughed. “You can’t fool them. They’re sugar hounds.”

Eliza gave John the eye. “Maybe I season my liver with sugar.”

John reached for the green-checked cloth covering the basket, but Will pulled his horse up short beside the barn, and his brother chose to save himself from flipping over the seat instead.

John was a bit too friendly at times. Will beckoned for him to take the reins. “Why don’t you take care of the horse.”

“You oughta take care of him, don’t you think? I can escort the lady in.”

Will glared at his brother’s mischievous grin. “Because you want to steal the goodies.”

John flashed Eliza a smile. “I’ll be back.”

Will leaned over to whisper in her ear. “Run.”

She chuckled, her eyes dancing. Intoxicating. What wouldn’t a man do to keep this woman laughing? She transformed into a beauty with the slightest hint of merriment—scar notwithstanding.

“Admit it, William. You want Irena’s tarts for yourself.”

“Exactly.” He gave her a warm smile.

Maybe too warm, since she quickly schooled her playful look.

“Are you going to help me down, or do I have to employ this strapping young man to assist?” She squeezed Ambrose’s bicep. “What’s your name again?”

“Ambrose, ma’am.” He flexed his muscle.

“Don’t even think about it.” Will dropped the reins and hopped down. He caught John in a headlock, roughed up his hair, and playfully pushed him aside. He walked to Eliza’s side of the wagon. “Hand me the basket.”

“Not on your life.” She scrambled down without putting a hand out for assistance, as if she truly feared for the tarts.

He put his hands at her waist to help her down anyway.

A mistake. He wanted to wrap his arms farther around to feel the rest of her.

The second she hit the dirt, he let go and shoved his hands into his pockets. They felt as near to on fire as hands could without being engulfed in flame. If there’d been a water trough nearby, he’d have thrust them in. “Don’t worry. I won’t touch your basket until it’s fair game.”

And he’d try not to touch her ever again, because she’d never be fair game.

She looked at him with a cocked eyebrow. “I don’t trust you.”

For good reason. Will stepped back. “John, why don’t you take Miss Cantrell to the house? You’re small enough for her to pummel if you get too friendly with the tarts.”

“Mmmmm.” John licked his lips. “What kind?”

Eliza glanced over her shoulder as John escorted her toward the house.

If Axel knew the thoughts that had popped into Will’s mind while helping down his fiancée, he’d not be obeying his doctor’s order to rest—Axel would be racing home to take his friend out behind the barn for a good pounding.

Chapter 8

Near the tables the Stantons had set outside, Eliza spotted a woman she’d never seen before setting out plates. Eliza’s hand unconsciously covered her fresh pink scar. Even without facial flaws, she had never looked a fraction as beautiful as that dark-headed woman.

John jabbed her in the side. “She’s pretty, ain’t she?”

Eliza blinked. How long had she been staring? She nudged John. “Are you going to introduce us, young man?”

“Right.” He walked her closer and threw out his chest as if announcing royalty. “This is our neighbor, Mrs. Cline.”

The woman held out a hand. “Call me Julia.”

Eliza smiled. “Julia it is, then.”

Was this the mail-order bride who’d married the man Kathleen jilted? A woman this beautiful should have had her pick of men back east. She didn’t look as old as William’s parents or the Hampdens, only midtwenties maybe.

Eliza tried not to let the woman’s dazzling smile intimidate her. “I’m Eliza Cantrell.”

John rocked up on his toes. “She came from the East—just like you did—to marry Axel.”

Heat crept into Eliza’s face at his jumbled wording. “Somehow I don’t believe, if
you
came here intending to marry Axel, he’d choose me over you.”

Julia’s laugh lilted like a bird’s song at the beginning of spring. “No, not Axel.” She gestured to the table. “Why don’t you put down your basket.”

John gave the tarts a longing look, but when his father called him, he left immediately.

“Eliza!” William’s mother barreled out of the house.

The unexpected motherly arms around her felt good . . . and sad. Twelve years next month since her mother had abandoned her family to pursue theater. Had she been hugged once in those twelve years? Eliza squeezed her hot eyelids shut lest she embarrass herself over a simple gesture. Her father had loved her, but he’d never been a man to show affection, and her brother had been more concerned with proving himself superior.

When Rachel didn’t let go, Eliza let out the breath she’d been holding and returned the squeeze.

That seemed to satisfy her. Rachel pushed her to arms’ length and looked her over. “Glad you came.”

“Thank you for the invitation.” Did the dear woman notice the sheen in her eyes?

Julia laid a gentle hand on Eliza’s arm and tipped her head toward a blond-headed man carrying a dark-haired boy with grass-stained knees. “This is who I came to town for. My husband, Everett Cline, and our son, Matthew. He’s two. Everett, this is Miss Cantrell.”

Everett was older and definitely more handsome than Carl, in an earthy, rugged way. He leaned down to give Julia a quick peck on the cheek before handing Matthew to her. “Pleased to meet you.”

Dex called for everyone to come to the table, and Julia took Everett’s hand and flashed Eliza a parting smile.

William walked over. “Ready to eat?” He held out his hand.

And for a split second, she imagined intertwining her fingers with his as Julia had done with Everett’s.

William dropped his hand and frowned before turning away from her. “Why don’t you follow me?” he called over his shoulder.