Bride Blunder (18 page)

Marge almost made it past him when his hand closed around her forearm.
Why won't he let me go? I've not harmed his chances with Daisy. Does he want my promise to put in a good word, help his cause?

The ache in her chest echoed at her temples as the thought hammered home.
Daisy changes everything, except the parts I most wish she could.
Her cousin's vivacious beauty snatched attention, admiration, and the marital aspirations of the one man Marge wanted. It seemed a cruel hoax that, in spite of everything taken away, Marge was left with the regrets and disappointments of all that came before.

“How can you think I'd transfer my attentions to your cousin so swiftly?” Gavin's grip tightened a fraction before easing, as though he fought the urge to shake her.

Marge put her hand over his and pulled his fingers away. For once, the contact didn't send spirals of warmth cascading through her. If anything, she felt colder once he let go.

“Why wait, Gavin? You planned to be married to her weeks ago. Don't postpone things for the sake of pride.”

“Pride?” A muscle jumped in his jaw. “You think I choose not to pursue your cousin out of misplaced pride? You sell us both short, Marge, if you can think of no other reason.”

“Some of the members in town will think you fickle.” The admission brought a kick of vindication she carefully didn't show. “Until we explain what happened. Then no one will see you poorly. I'll make sure they have no questions about your integrity, Gavin. I promise you that.”

“What of your integrity, Marge? As far as everyone is concerned,
you
are my fiancée.”

“Oh.”
He's worried about my reputation.
She dragged in a deep breath. “There are some who will be unhappy, maybe even hurt I didn't confide in them, but Clara and Opal will forgive me in light of the circumstances.”

“That's not what I meant.” Anger marched along the set of his jaw as he stared at her.

Lord, how is it that I'm reassuring the man I thought You'd sent me to marry that it's perfectly all right for him to abandon me? No, I know why. I know it's the right thing. But my heart doesn't understand why You've let me go through all this, if the outcome is so harsh.

“Midge already knows the truth, as does Ermintrude. The town council has been aware from the beginning that we might not become man and wife. In fact, this makes me a better choice for schoolmarm in a lot of eyes.” If Marge could have dredged up a smile, she would have, but it proved an impossibility.

He stepped forward, his boots brushing her skirts, his head tilted so she couldn't avoid his eyes or words. “Forget the rest of the town, Marge. They don't matter. What about you?”

Her heart clenched and collapsed at the intensity she read in his face, at how fiercely he asked after her well-being.
Why, oh
why couldn't he want me? Why is he only worried or showing any sort of tender feeling now, when it comes down to his ability to leave me behind?

“I don't blame you, Gavin.” She took a step to the side, pressing against the wall to sidle past him to the safety of the parlor ... of Ermintrude's company.

“You shouldn't. I tried my best to make it work. You're the one sending me to your cousin.” The more softly he spoke, the deeper his voice became and the darker his mood sounded. “If you've anyone to blame, Marge, it's yourself.”

She froze. “What?”

“I didn't say anything, Marge.” Daisy breezed through the door. “Though I am a bit tired after all that traveling. Would it be too terribly selfish to ask to be shown to our room for a little rest before supper?”

“Not at all,” Gavin answered for her, turning on his heel and stalking into the parlor. “Marge will be happy to show you. I'll let Grandma know before I get back to work.”

Marge watched him go, fighting the urge to stop him and demand what he'd meant by blaming her for anything when there was no possible way for her to be more understanding.
What good can come of it?
She tamped down the newfound spring of resentment and led Daisy up the stairs to the room she'd come to view as her haven.

Another thing I can't think of as mine anymore.
Shame flooded her.
It's little wonder hope left me—I don't deserve it. Gavin needs a better wife than I can be if I've become such a bitter wretch I begrudge my cousin anything. Daisy is the sister of my heart!

But no sooner did she open the door to the room than a traitorous voice added the sort of thought she most needed to avoid.
And going to be the wife of the man who holds that heart. Little wonder
you're not as pleased to see her as usual.

“How charming!” Daisy stood in the center of the room and did a little twirl. “Small, though I'm sure we'll manage.”

“It's a good-sized room when not filled with luggage.” Marge didn't just mean her own; for a girl who'd snuck out right beneath Aunt Verlata's nose, Daisy managed to pack an astonishing amount. “Between the two of us, we must have brought half of Baltimore to Buttonwood.”

“Good.” Daisy bounced onto the bed. “From what I've seen, the place could use a few more touches of civilization!”

“If by civilization you mean crowded streets, air filled with soot, and the smells of far too many people packed on top of each other, I far prefer the wild West.” Marge sank onto the chair positioned before the drop front desk that hid a few now-drying purple daisies.

“Don't be so negative. I'm talking about paved streets, shops and businesses, parks, and the like.”

“The general store here is enormous, and whatever they don't carry one can order via catalog. With the mill, the smithy, a church, the new schoolhouse, and even a café, Buttonwood has everything we could need. Besides”—Marge gestured toward the expanse of land and sky shown through the window—“the prairie puts any park to shame.”

“No dressmakers or cobblers or haberdasheries or confectioners or lending libraries...” Daisy frowned. “I'm glad you're content with so little, Marge, but you'll not convince me a place like this is any match for the comforts of home.”

“But ... you just learned that Gavin proposed to you.” A faint flutter signaled the return of a hope Marge began to feel she was better off without. “How can you decide against staying when you've only been here an hour?”

“Don't be silly, Marge.”

“When have you known me to be silly?”

That brought her up short. Daisy thought for a moment, and probably would have thought long and hard, but it seemed too important to waste the time on something as trite as thinking. “Never. So don't start now. Gavin might have written that letter to me weeks ago, but we both know I'm not the Marguerite he wants to marry anymore.”

Marge blinked but didn't say anything, which could be a good sign or a terrible one. To tell the truth, Daisy never saw Marge speechless, so she couldn't say for certain which way it went. She decided to be optimistic.

“We just have to make sure he realizes it.”

“Daisy, Gavin wanted
you.
He got the surprise of a lifetime when I stepped off that stage, and while he's acted nothing but a gentleman and offered to do his duty”—her cousin grimaced, and Daisy couldn't blame her—“by marrying me, I turned him down. That means he's more than free to pursue you. Since you're no longer engaged, it's the perfect situation.”

“You can't be serious.”
She isn't serious. That's all there is to it. Marge isn't offering me the man she wants to marry—the one she got so excited about building a life with she wrote endless lists of what to bring to the wilderness. The only thing that ever inspired her to care about what dress she wore. She isn't trying to convince me to take her place?

Belatedly, Daisy realized Marge had been talking the whole time she'd been lost in thought.
Oops. No matter. Whatever she said doesn't change the fact that, deep down, Marge wants to be Mrs. Miller. And I don't.
Guilt and shame tugged at her stomach.
Even if I did,
I couldn't ... now that I've been ruined.

“I cannot believe you're trying to convince me to spring from one failed engagement into the midst of another failed engagement, Marge.” When all else failed, Daisy learned long ago that tears worked. That proved fortunate, since they sprang up so very easily these days. “You and Gavin didn't work out, so you're trying to foist him off on me, when I'm still recovering from what happened with Trouston?”

“Oh, Daisy.” Marge got up from the spindly desk chair and walked over to sit beside her on the bed. “How thoughtless of me. I'm sorry. Tell me all about it.”

In an instant, Daisy realized her mistake in bringing up the fiasco that had been her abandoned engagement. She'd known Marge would ask about her reasons for breaking things off with Trouston, but she hadn't planned on bringing it up directly. Avoidance would have been best for as long as possible. Especially since she hadn't yet decided how much to tell Marge.

“It's just all so upsetting.” She indulged in a satisfyingly loud sniff. All right—a great galumphing snort of a sniff. The likes of which would horrify her mother, who wasn't here to remind her to be ladylike at all times.
Perhaps there are benefits to the West, after all.
The thought cheered her, but she refused to smile. If she did, Marge would expect her to be more forthcoming

“You used to be so devoted to him. Is there ... is there any chance you're put out with him now but you'll forgive him later?” Marge spoke slowly, softly, as though testing the waters.

“No!” Daisy's response came out sharp enough to make her cousin jump. “Absolutely not. I'll never go back to him, no matter what he says or does or promises.”

Marge slid an arm around her waist and rubbed her back. “I've never seen you so ... put out. What did he do?”

Her cousin's kindness proved Daisy's undoing. Everyone else had demanded to know, or asked in such a way as though making her out to be some sort of flighty chit out for attention. Not Marge—Marge understood just like she always had.

“You wouldn't believe it.” The tears burst forth—not gently sliding down her cheeks anymore but pouring out in great gushes that had her going through both their handkerchiefs in minutes. “He pretends to be such a gentleman, so upstanding, so considerate and attentive, as though he'd make a perfect husband. But it's all an act, Marge! If you knew what he's really like, how terrible a monster lurks beneath what he shows everyone else, you'd be positively horrified by how close I came to marrying the man. I know I am.”
And you'd be even more horrified to know that it's my fault for letting him ruin me.

“He's a fraud then?” Marge's tone indicated that she'd suspected as much.

No ... I'm the fraud.
But so was Trouston. In fact, hadn't Marge warned Daisy Trouston seemed too good to be true?

“I believe it. He seemed something of a ladies' man, but it looked like you had him in your pocket.”

“You're right.” Daisy seized on the opportunity to explain the problem without revealing her own lapse. “He's the most horrid womanizer, Marge. I can't live with that.”

“You don't have to. We should have known, Daisy. Trouston was too smooth and polished to be anything but a slippery eel.”

“A trout.” Daisy wallowed in the most gratifying blubber of her life. “Did you ever notice it's what his name sounds like? And sort of how he looks, if you truly think about it.” She gave a vindictive
honk
into her third handkerchief.

Her cousin didn't hesitate for an instant. “With his pale skin, thin whiskers, and the way his eyes bulge out when someone surprises him? Yes, I noticed, but you were so taken with him it seemed petty to point it out at the time.”

“Don't forget his weak chin.” She fought a smile at the memory of Trouston crumpling to the ground beneath Mr. Lindner's fist. “Surely that contributes to the entire impression of fishiness.”

“Without a doubt.” Marge handed her a fourth linen square, although Daisy didn't think she'd be needing it.

“I feel much more myself now.” She let out a small smile. “Coming to Buttonwood was the right choice.”

“So you figured it out.” Dr. Saul Reed ushered Amos into his exam room and diagnosed the trouble in one glance. “I wondered how long it would take. You strike me as highly observant.”

“She's not a believer.” He walked in but didn't take the seat the older man indicated. “That's not the sort of thing I expected to discover, Dr. Reed. It is the sort of thing I would expect a man to reveal to another man who asks permission to court his daughter.”

“As you pointed out at the time, when I remarked that it seemed like a conversation you should have broached with me in private, you weren't seeking her hand.” Reed raised a brow. “You sought permission to spend time with her and grow to know her well enough to determine whether or not you'd be a good match. Rest assured, had things progressed beyond this point, I would have made certain you knew of her beliefs.”

“Or lack thereof.” Now, Amos sat. “I doubt most of the town knows that she attends church more for your benefit than her own?”

“Very few are aware of where Midge stands spiritually. Her heart and the way she treats others speak for themselves in most instances, and folks take her at face value.”

“You mean they assume, as I did, that she believes in the Lord based on the way she lives.”

“Midge puts many Christians to shame when it comes to carrying through biblical precepts in daily life, though she doesn't realize it.” Reed took a seat across from him. “She is, however, all too aware of the hypocrisy of many Christians.”

“I see.”
Then the problem has more than one facet. The human witness and the divine evidence both present challenges to her.

“Do you? I'm not sure how much of her past she's discussed with you, Mr. Geer, but the Lord is working mightily in Midge's heart.” Dr. Reed leaned back. “And He has been for the four years since He entrusted her to my care.”

“We've not discussed her past. Any hint that the conversation headed that direction, she shut it down or changed the topic.” Amos bent forward to rest his forearms on his knees. “Nor did I suspect her lack of faith. Although once she mentioned her views on prayer, it seemed so obvious I couldn't believe I'd missed it.”

“We frequently miss what we don't look for. Midge counts on that to maintain her place in this town and protect my standing. It's what I believe Doreen referred to when she mentioned it being a good thing Midge attempted to avoid you. You see more than most.”

“Not enough.”

“Not yet. But you care enough to keep asking. That's good.” Dr. Reed rose to his feet. “I begin to think you might be the match we've prayed for.”

“I won't be unequally yoked, Dr. Reed.” Following the older man's cue, Amos stood. In truth, Dr. Reed didn't even have a decade on him, but his profession and his family lent him an undeniable maturity. “Midge's disbelief is an unanticipated obstacle.”

“Obstacles are created to be overcome.” The doctor opened the door. “The only question is whether or not you feel the reward is worth the undertaking.”

Amos didn't hesitate. “Undoubtedly. I take it.” He eyed the door as he asked, “This means you don't intend to enlighten me about Midge's past?”

Dr. Reed shook his head. “It's not my story to tell, and I won't do you or Midge the disservice of interfering in that way. Best you find her and convince her to confide in you.”

“I will.” Amos walked through the door and took his hat from where it hung on a peg in the hall. “You can be sure of that.”

“You want to come with me to visit Marge?” Midge gave Amos a dubious look the next morning. “Why?”

“To be honest, I'm more interested in having this sack of grain ground up.” Amos gestured to the bag on his shoulder. “I'll leave the socializing to you.”

She ignored the appealing grin. “Why are you here, Amos?” They both knew he couldn't be unequally yoked—that is, married to a woman who didn't share his belief in God. “I thought we decided I was a waste of your time.”

That doesn't sting. I won't let it sting. If I'm not enough for a man on my own, then it's his loss.
The bravado sounded hollow even in her head.
All right, it does sting. But I knew from the start I wasn't good enough for a man like Amos Geer, so I've no one to blame but myself.

“Midglet”—his use of the endearment tore through her—“you're never a waste of time.”

“Don't call me that.” She started off toward the direction of the mill. “And if you haven't realized I'm a waste of your time, it's only because you don't know me well enough.”

He fell into step alongside her. “I'll agree that I don't know you well enough, but I'm trying to fix that.”

“You've seen all the good, and it goes downhill from there. It's best to cut your losses, Amos.”

“The only way I can lose out is if I let you go without learning everything about you.” His words drove sharp spikes of dread and longing through her core.

A broken laugh seeped through her defenses. “Everything?”

“Everything.” No doubt clouded his answer. Just certainty, as pure and whole as the man himself—the opposite of anything Midge could offer.

“How about I sum it up for you?” She veered to the right, where she knew she'd find a grove of wild black walnut trees in a few moments. “Follow me and I'll show you exactly what you need to know about Midge Collins.
Everything
you need to know.”

He didn't say a word, simply increased his pace to match hers as she hurried to get this over with. What went through his mind she couldn't begin to guess, but before long he'd understand that he should keep far, far away from her.

“Here.” She slowed as they reached the trees. These were the oldest, largest plants in the area—just about the only trees aside from a few scrub oaks and cottonwoods. The only reason they'd been left standing rather than harvested by some pioneer for lumber was the walnuts they provided each fall.

“What?” Amos set down his sack of grain, peering around as though waiting for something to become clear. “All I see are walnut trees without any walnuts.”

Midge pointed to a stump on the far left, where wind and locusts did their damage until Uncle Josiah chopped it down and carted it away. There'd been no other method of saving the other trees. “That one. You like to observe and investigate. Look closely and tell me what you see, Amos. Everything.”

He made his way to the sawn-down tree, crouching before the barren stump and passing his hand across the weather-worn surface. “It's a stump. Walnut tree, same as the others, but one of the oldest—or would have been if it hadn't been cut down. Looks like the roots go deep, and whoever bothered to haul it away saw no need to remove the rest. It's sat here like this for a couple years, at least. The dark marks show folks have put walnuts here during fall harvest.”

“True. All true. But that's not the most important part.” Midge moved to stand beside him. She reached out, took his hand, and laid it on the dead bark roughing off in brittle flakes along the outside. “Locusts infested it, so they had to cut it down to spare the others.”

“This has nothing to do with you, Midge.” He started to straighten, but she put a hand on his shoulder.

“I'm explaining.” She guided his hand from the bark to the flat surface. “See how worn away, decayed, corrupted the outside is, but the farther inward you go, the more intact it becomes?” She slid their hands toward the center. “The evil attacked and destroyed the outside, making it ugly, but when they cut down the tree, they showed what was good and right went all the way through to the core.”

“Now I see.” He turned his hand in one swift motion, threading his fingers through hers. “You both have good hearts. Midge, I didn't need to look at a tree stump to know that.”

“No!” She yanked her hand from his, but he didn't turn loose. All she managed was to throw herself off balance, so she sat heavily on the stump she'd brought him to. “You didn't let me finish, Amos.” She swallowed back the anger and pride and sadness over how obtuse he insisted on staying—that he forced her to spell it out.

“Finish then.” He stayed crouched before her, his thumb rubbing circles at the pulse point on her wrist, making her want to lean forward and get away all at once.

“I'm nothing like this tree. I'm its exact opposite.” A ball of heat settled at the bridge of her nose, pressing against the backs of her eyes. “People can't tell when they look at me. I seem all right on the outside, but on the inside, I'm not like the others. They can't remove me or reveal me for what I really am, because it would destroy the Reeds. So instead of taking out the part of the group that's rotten, I stay.”

“Midglet, that's a lie.” Anger tightened his grip on her hand and deepened his voice. “A foul lie you're far too intelligent to believe, much less expect me to.”

“It's the truth.” To her horror, the hot ball broke into drops of salty tears she couldn't blink back. “I'm rotten on the inside, ruined by the bad things of the world early on. The pretty parts and smiles are just for show, Amos. Most people just don't bother to look closely enough to notice the truth.”

“No one's looked as closely as I have, and I'm telling you you're wrong.” He braced his free hand on her other side, closing her in. “The way you see yourself is wrong. No one who's been corrupted and lives with a decayed soul is able to love others the way you do, Midge ... is able to swallow back her feelings every Sunday and sit in church for the good of her family. Everything you do shows that you care about other people more than you care for yourself, and that makes your core beautiful.”

“Sin leaves stains same as the hulls of black walnuts.” She lifted her knees into the space between them, braced her heels against the surface of the stump, and pushed back out of his reach, standing up and hopping down as swiftly as possible. “And I already know the way you Christians think, Amos.” She kept walking toward the mill, knowing he'd need to go back for his sack of grain before catching up to her.

“You don't know everything, Midglet.” He spoke quietly enough for her to pretend not to hear, but his persistence in using that nickname balled her hands into fists.

“You only think a heart is beautiful if it belongs to God ... and mine doesn't.”