Love Finds You in Poetry, Texas (10 page)

Georg took a few pensive steps in Belinda’s direction. His mind was still reeling from yesterday’s wedding. Watching Corabelle take James’s hand in marriage had been difficult, but in the end, Georg had to conclude that it hadn’t exactly broken his heart. No, as the ceremony passed, Georg came to the obvious conclusion, the one he wished he’d come to before making a fool of himself over Corabelle. A bachelor’s life suited him just fine, thank you very much.

Still, there was that matter of the money he’d given Belinda the day of the church picnic. Surely she would return it now. He approached her desk and offered a firm smile. She looked up and batted her eyelashes.

“Georg.”

“Time for a lunch break,” he announced.

“Oh, I don’t dare.” She looked up at him, stunned. “I have so much to do.”

He extended his hand, gesturing for her to stand. “We have some things to discuss.”

Belinda sighed and then rose to her feet. They made their way to the back room, and he leaned against one of the empty barrels and gestured for her to do the same. She settled onto one and looked his way.

“What can I do for you, Georg?”

“Yes. Well. About this whole wife thing—” He never had a chance to say anything else, because she interrupted him.

“I’m so glad you brought that up! I was just looking in the Kansas City paper and stumbled across a woman who will be perfect for you.” She scrambled off the barrel, ran to her desk, and grabbed a newspaper, which she brought back and thrust into his hand.

“But that’s just it,” he argued. “I’m not looking for a perfect woman.”

“Well, good!” Belinda laughed. “Because you will be sorely disappointed if you are! There are no perfect women in the world, I assure you! I was just saying I’d found someone suited to you. A good match, as it were.” She opened the paper and pointed to a section he’d sooner avoid.

“I see. But, Belinda, about this whole arranged-marriages thing...”

“You know me better than almost anyone, Georg,” she interrupted. “I’ve always been the sort to arrange things.”

“Yes, but...lives?”

“Only the Lord arranges lives. I, well, I just offer any assistance I can to move things along.” She gave him a winsome smile. “Just consider me a marriage broker. Now let’s get to work, shall we?”

He sighed, unsure of what to say next. It looked like Belinda would persist with this matchmaking nonsense regardless. It might be easier to play along and then convince her in the end that he was a happy bachelor when no suitable woman could be found. Yes, that would surely work.

He glanced through the newspaper, reading blurbs about the various women. In the meantime, Belinda fetched a couple of apples and tossed one his way.

“What about this one?” She pointed at an advertisement in the paper as she took a bite.

Georg shook his head. “Look again, Belinda. She’s in her sixties.”

“Ah. No wonder she sounds so settled.”

He sighed. “Yes, very.”
And so am I. So why am I even looking?
“Belinda, I do not need a wife. That’s what I’ve been trying to say. I enjoy my life. I have friends, church, family.... My father and I run a good business. I’m doing well for myself.” He put the paper down and took a bite of the sweet, juicy apple.

The corners of her lips curled down in a pout. “Really? Truly?”

“I’m not lonely. I enjoy spending my days as I do. And if I got married, well, nothing would be the same.”

“Yes, you’re right about that.” She swatted him with the newspaper, and he grinned. Now this was the Belinda Bauer he remembered from school—playful, fun, often in trouble with Mr. Lott. Thinking of the schoolmaster, perhaps this would be the perfect time to change the direction of the conversation. He could talk to her about reimbursing his money later.

“I hear our old schoolmaster was in here looking for a wife.” Georg waggled his brows. “He came over to the barbershop just after, telling us all about it. What sort of woman do you have in mind for him?”

“Oh, I’ve found his match!” Belinda grinned and sprinted back into the store, coming back with yet another newspaper. She read about a woman in her forties from Philadelphia, and Georg’s interest was piqued at once. In fact, it almost sounded too good to be true.

“She sounds wonderful,” he admitted. Maybe there was more to this marriage brokering that he’d considered. Perhaps it really was, as Belinda said, a matter of science. Matching the right man with the right woman. Like-minded people with like-minded interests.

“Well, you can’t have her. She’s for Mr. Lott.” Belinda picked up another paper. “Now I have to find someone for the reverend.”

“The reverend? He’s looking for a wife?”

“Yes. You can help me.” She put down the Philadelphia paper and looked through the one from Kansas City once more. Georg drew near, more curious than anything else. “What sort of woman is he looking for, do you think?”

“Oh, sensible. Practical. Someone in her late fifties. Likely a widow. A woman who enjoys Sunday services, of course.”

“What about this one?” Georg read aloud an advertisement about a lady named Sarah Jo: “‘Petite widow seeks new life in quiet rural town. Searching for a man who loves the Lord, enjoys reading, and relishes Sunday afternoon strolls in the countryside.’ ”

“Georg!” Belinda looked at him, clearly dumbfounded. She turned her attention to the newspaper to read the rest of the advertisement. “You’ve done it! You’ve found the perfect wife for Reverend Billingsley. And look! She bakes pies. The reverend
loves
pies. And she plays the piano. Our church has a piano and is in dire need of a decent pianist. Oh, this is a match made in heaven! No doubt about it! Do you see now what I mean about a scientific match? These two have much in common!”

Georg laughed. Maybe it was a match made in heaven. Maybe this woman would come and sweep the pastor off of his feet. And maybe—with Belinda’s matchmaking skills at work—all the menfolk in Poetry would be happily married.

Well, all but one.

On the first Tuesday in August, Belinda met with several of the townsmen at the church. The pastor attended, of course, as did the mayor, who looked more than a little concerned. Georg came along as well. How she had grown to depend on him these past few weeks. She looked around the room, trying to figure out how to settle them down. They were quite excited. And spiffed up, to be sure. She’d never seen the menfolk this polished-looking outside a Sunday service.

Belinda clapped her hands to quiet the crowd in the church. “Gentlemen.” She raised her voice. “Gentlemen!” The roomful of excited clients looked her way, the noise level in the room dropping dramatically. “I need your attention, please.”

She drew in a breath, realizing the time. Any minute now, Papa would arrive from the station with potential brides for several of the fellows. In the weeks since she’d set out to find wives for the pastor, the schoolmaster, and two others, several other men had inquired about her services, as well. Most of those men had shown up today out of curiosity, no doubt. And perhaps a few thought they might steal one of the incoming brides for themselves. She would work diligently to make sure that did not happen. Still, with so many people to accommodate, Belinda wondered if she could keep everything straight in her head!

Reverend Billingsley looked at her with a twinkle in his eyes, no doubt excited about his incoming bride. Mr. Lott paced the room, occasionally pulling out his pocket watch and staring at it. Bucky Williams, who stood a good head taller than everyone in the room, was easy to keep track of. He stood off in the corner, talking to Charlie Grundy. Unfortunately, Mr. Grundy hadn’t gone to any special effort with his appearance today. Belinda prayed that it would not turn out to be a problem.

With the room now quiet, she made her announcement. “Gentlemen, we don’t want to frighten these women away. With that in mind, I believe we should have some sort of protocol. There must be a way to greet them without coming across as anxious. Agreed?”

A few of the men grumbled, especially Charlie. “I’ve waited thirty-eight years for a wife, Belinda. What would it hurt to act excited now that I’ve actually got one?”

“If you want her to stick around, you’d better give thought to a gentle welcome,” Belinda explained. “Your wife-to-be”—
should she agree to marrying you after seeing you in person
—“is accustomed to working in a library. A library is a quiet environment. We don’t want to frighten her away.”

He grunted but eventually took a seat.

She reached for her fan and began to work it in front of her face, overwhelmed by the mid-August heat. Hopefully the women wouldn’t be frightened away by it.

Belinda never had time to give it a second thought. She heard the wagon pull up outside and watched in horror as the men turned and stampeded out of the church and onto the grounds below, whooping and hollering as they went. Whispering a prayer, she turned to Georg. “Oh, help.”

He shook his head. “I daresay it’s out of our hands now. Only the Lord can manage this mob.”

“I know.” She swallowed hard. “That’s what scares me. They’re out of control.”

“Don’t let them see your fear, Belinda,” Georg instructed. “Just hold your head high, march out there, and take control. They are paying for your services. You have to be authoritative. Trust me on this. I don’t know much about many things, but I know a lot about how men act.”

“Okay.” She drew in a deep breath and then looked into his eyes for reassurance. “And, Georg, in case I haven’t said it before, I’m awfully sorry I didn’t find someone for you this time around.”

“Don’t fret over that.” He shook his head. “I’ve already told you, I’m blissfully happy single.”

“Well, I know, but...”

He put a finger over her lips, offering up a boyish grin. “No arguments. We can talk about me later. You have a passel of menfolk to quiet down. Better get to it.”

“Yes.” She offered up another silent prayer for help as she headed outside to take charge. She finally reached the wagon, where Papa sat with four unfamiliar women clustered around him. The two youngest ones looked terrified. One—the older woman—grinned from ear to ear. And one—probably the schoolteacher—well, she simply looked bewildered. Who could blame her?

The men continued their howling until Papa rose from the wagon, put his fingers in his mouth, and let out a loud whistle. “That’ll be enough of that!” he hollered. “Stop it now, or I’ll turn this wagon around and take these ladies back to the station!”

Belinda breathed a sigh of relief as the crowd fell silent at once.

The men took a giant step backward as the women began to descend from the wagon. The first—a woman in her late fifties with a mixture of red and silver hair—took Papa’s hand and stepped onto the ground below. She wore a colorful frock pinched in at the middle, but it wasn’t enough to hide the plump physique. Still, with such a whimsical smile and bright blue eyes, who would care about a few extra pounds?

The woman glanced around as she introduced herself in a loud voice: “Sarah Jo Cummings, at your service!” When no one said anything, she hollered, “Well, what’s everyone so quiet about? C’mon, now. Fess up. Which one of you fine fellas is my man? Don’t tell me I’ve come all the way to Texas to be stood up, now!”

She put her hands on her hips and stared out over the crowd. Belinda gasped as she saw the look of shock on the reverend’s face. He gingerly took a couple of steps in the woman’s direction and extended his hand. “I am Reverend Billingsley. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Sarah Jo.”

“And yours.” The woman’s whimsical smile faded as she looked at his collar. Slapping herself in the head, she said, “So it’s true. You’re a preacher.”

“Why, yes.”

“Well, if that doesn’t beat all! I was afraid of that.” She groaned. “Thought maybe you’d elaborated a bit in your letter like I did in mine. That verse from Song of Solomon sent shivers right down my spine!” She gave him a wink and then slapped him on his backside. The men apparently found this incredibly funny, and a roar of laughter went up.

The good reverend’s face turned all shades of red, and Belinda was pretty sure she felt her heart hit her toes.

Determined to stay focused, she turned her attentions to the women still climbing out of the wagon, summing them up as she went. The one in front must be Marta Schuller, the schoolteacher from Philadelphia. Behind her came Prissy Finkelstein, meant for Charlie Grundy, the blacksmith. So then, the short, rotund one in the very back had to be Katie Sue Caldwell, from Biloxi...Bucky Williams’s intended.

Instead of following her earlier instructions, the men drew near the ladies, much like a group of hunters coming in for the kill.

“Gentlemen! Gentlemen, please!” She tried in vain to quiet them, but they would not be quieted. A lump rose in her throat, and she tried to force it down. How could she regain control, now that it had been lost? Without divine intervention, this whole plan was suddenly destined to fail.