The Substitute Bride (8 page)

He chuckled. His wife had a way of making the simplest task an ordeal…and life a whole lot more interesting.

Next thing he knew she strode toward him, stopping mere inches away, and folded her arms across her chest, the dustpan aimed skyward. And thankfully not at him. She must have heard him laugh. Appeared he was in for it now.

“From here on,” she said, “please take off your boots before you enter the house.”

“Seems to me that mess in the kitchen was your doing.”

“I couldn’t help that the flour exploded, but you and those boots you wear
in the barn
need to part company before you take a step inside.”

He smiled, enjoying her rosy-cheeked snit. An urge to pull her into his arms crashed through him. But in her mood, she’d likely crown him with that dustpan. “Is this that teeny temper you warned me about?”

“You haven’t seen anything yet, if you don’t cooperate.” She wagged a finger at him.

“In that case, yes, ma’am. From now on I’ll remove my boots.”

He doffed his hat and bit back a chuckle, then another bubbling inside him. If he laughed, she might get all teary on him as she had last night. The prospect squelched his mirth faster than a hailstorm could destroy a crop in the fields.

She nodded curtly. “Thank you.”

Without a word, she turned toward the house. Unable to take his eyes off his bride, he watched her sniff the lilacs, putting her pert face in profile. Upturned nose, slender neck…

He shook his head. This dawdling wasn’t getting the sheep moved to the north pasture. He whistled for Tippy. From the porch, the dog rose from his nap in the sun and trotted over, his tail wagging. Ted leaned down and scratched the canine’s ears, rewarded by a lick on the hand.

On the way to the barn, Ted took one last glance toward the house. Elizabeth was nowhere in sight. A peculiar sense of disappointment plowed through him and pushed against his lungs.

“Come on, Tippy,” he said, grouchier than he’d intended.

In the barn, he gave the ewe he’d bottle-fed as a lamb a pat on the nose. Tame as a dog, Suzie followed him everywhere, as she did now, out of the barn with the rest of the small flock falling in line behind like baby ducks trailing their mama. Tippy hung back, nipping at the heels of stragglers daring to stop and graze along the way.

At the north pasture, Ted lifted the wire loop then swung open the gate. His neighbors poked fun at him for raising sheep. But he liked the reminder they provided of the Good Shepherd and His wandering lost sheep.

A robin swooped from a tree, hopping across the grass, and then stopped, cocking his head toward the ground, listening. Suzie and Tippy did their jobs and Ted returned to the barn, which, from the odor, was badly in need of mucking. He could use more hours in the day. With Elizabeth here, he hoped to get caught up with the chores.

His gaze lifted to the haymow overhead. Not exactly pleasant accommodations, but Anna and Henry would be back in their room tonight. He needed to talk to Elizabeth about the sleeping arrangements. He’d compared their marriage to a business deal, though he doubted God approved his assessment. Still, a wise man wouldn’t push a woman into intimacy. Time would solve the issue. Or so he hoped.

As he strode into the yard, Elizabeth emerged from the back door, carrying a dress in her arms, her hair tied back with a length of twine. Water sluiced off the heavy fabric, dripping down the front of
his
shirt. The flannel plaid hung to her knees, making her look like a skinny sack, while
his
denims ended in rolled cuffs resembling feather-filled bolsters sagging at her ankles.

He stopped, dumbstruck at the sight. Rose might’ve worn pants under her dress on the coldest days, but this—

His pulse tripped in his chest at this woman standing before him.

Cocking her head, she met his gaze, all innocent-eyed while at her bare feet a puddle formed on the slab of concrete outside the kitchen door. One of her little toes was crooked. For some unknowable reason he found the slight imperfection endearing.

He chuffed at his silliness. He’d have to find those boots today.

“I washed my dress.”

As if he needed an explanation with all that dripping going on. “So I see.”

“I had to put on something. Knowing you weren’t too happy about me wearing Rose’s robe, I made do with these.”

He opened his mouth to argue the point, but couldn’t. Seeing Elizabeth in that robe had been a sucker punch to the gut. His resistance to Elizabeth using whatever she needed had not been fair.

How was she holding up his pants, anyway, with those slim hips and tiny waist? “Can’t figure how my pants would fit you.”

“Twine works for a belt.” She raised her chin. “I can improvise.”

“Which would explain your hair.”

“You don’t like how I look?” She parked a fist on her hip.

He liked how she looked, all right. “I didn’t say that.”

Lugging the dress, she headed for the clothesline, barefoot like a tot barely out of nappies. Didn’t she know she could pick up a nail or a thistle or get bit by a spider?

She heaved the bodice of the dress over the line and it hung from the waist, the skirt almost touching the ground. She turned back to him, a self-satisfied smile on her face. Behind her, the weight of the wet skirts pulled her freshly washed dress over the cord and onto the grass.

His expression must’ve alerted her. She spun around. “Oh, no!”

“Clothespins might help.”

He walked to the bag hanging on the line, pulled out a handful of wooden pins and sauntered to her. He took the dress from her clutches and pinned it in place by the hem as he’d seen Rose do countless times. Then he took the rod leaning against the post, raised and propped the line.

She grabbed a pin from the bag and stuck it in between two of his. “Five might work but six is better.”

Her gaze locked with his and her wide blue eyes dared him to disagree, setting off something that coiled in his stomach. This turmoil didn’t have a thing to do with breakfast and everything to do with the woman before him.

Well, he wouldn’t let those eyes make him lose sight of what he wanted from Elizabeth—a mother for his children—and help getting a grip on his off-kilter world.

He’d better remember, if he let this woman get close, she’d unearth his secrets and the open wounds he’d sealed.

“My children are coming home today.” He looked toward the barn. “I’ve rigged a bed in the loft.”

Color dotted her cheeks. “I appreciate it.”

Nodding, he glanced at the sun rising in the sky. “As soon as I haul my things to the barn and finish the morning chores, I’ll pick Henry and Anna up at the Harpers’. We’ll be back in time for dinner.”

She smiled. “That gives me plenty of time.”

“Dinner is at noon in these parts.”

“In Chicago we call that lunch.”

“Call it whatever you like but make it big—I’m plowing this afternoon. You’ll find canned food in the root cellar outside the front door. Oh, and don’t forget to ladle off the cream, then put the milk and cream in the icebox.”

She shot him a glare. “You’re good at barking orders, Mr. Logan. Have you forgotten I’m not so good at obeying?”

“How could I forget?” He ran a hand through his hair then plopped his hat in place. “Well, the children and I’ll see you at noon.”

A parade of emotions marched across her face. Apprehension. Uncertainty. Not that he could blame her for feeling nervous. He shared her qualms. The biggest—would his strong-willed daughter accept Elizabeth’s presence in the house?

By the time Ted drove the wagon down the lane, he whistled a tune. His relationship with his wife might be fragile, but at least he’d given his son and daughter a mother, a huge step toward returning their lives to normal.

Elizabeth pulled open the slanted cellar door and ambled down the stone steps, thankful a stream of sunlight lit her way. Bushel baskets of potatoes, wrinkly apples, onions—some
growing roots—lined the walls. Dried herbs hung from the ceiling, little upside-down bouquets. Elizabeth inhaled those fragrances mingled with the cellar’s musty smell. Not perfume, but not unpleasant.

Crude wooden shelves lined one wall and contained row upon row of filled glass jars of green beans, applesauce, tomatoes, corn and grape juice. Many with homemade tags hanging from the necks, identifying the friend or neighbor who’d sent it, wishing Ted peace, giving Bible verses or even a recipe. Apparently, friends and neighbors continued to look after Ted’s family. Elizabeth remembered how her family’s friends in Chicago had looked away, whispering behind their hands. Her heart squeezed. No doubt that was the difference between squandering wealth and losing a loved one.

She plopped four potatoes and an onion in the wide pockets of her apron, grabbed a glass jar of tomatoes and a crock of canned beef, ingredients for the soup she intended to make for lunch, and carried them up the steps.

Inside the kitchen, she added more wood to the red embers and got the fire going again. Following directions, she chopped the ingredients, regretting the onion the minute the tears started. Other than one cut on her index finger, preparing the soup went smoothly and it soon bubbled away on the stove, releasing a mouthwatering aroma.

From what she’d seen Ted consume at breakfast, he had a voracious appetite. Yet he didn’t have an ounce of fat on his solid, muscular frame. A man built for the work he did.

With the meal under way, she rushed outside to check her dress. The dog rose from the covered porch and ambled over for a scratch. A beautiful animal, he had a gentle disposition and eyes that settled on her with the warmth of an old friend.

Robby would love Tippy. How long before she could bring her brother here? Already she’d prepared two meals. Cleaned
up the kitchen twice. Tomorrow she’d gather the eggs. Why, she’d practically completed her list of chores. A week of egg money would surely pay for their train tickets. Wouldn’t it?

Soon she’d tell Ted about Robby. Her smile faded. How would a man short on cash react to the news that he’d have another mouth to feed?

At the line, Elizabeth found her dress still damp. Perhaps that would make it easier to iron. She carried it inside. The quiet of the house had her beckoning the dog to follow. Tippy hesitated, but only for a moment.

Elizabeth found the flatirons and the padded ironing board where Ted said they’d be. She placed both irons on the stove and wrestled the board upright. She didn’t know the first thing about ironing. If only she’d paid attention to the running of the Manning household. But she’d only thought about parties, fancy dresses and the latest hairstyle. Of late, that life had seemed meaningless and her friendships shallow.

Life on the farm provided food, an existence forcing people to rely on the basics, to look out for one another. But it had taken less than a day to discover the work was pure drudgery. How could she survive the endless tedium?

By remembering Robby would love the farm.

But would Ted’s children take to him? To her?

Elizabeth tightened her jaw until her teeth ached. What if she couldn’t manage to care for Anna and Henry? What if they resented her? What if her inexperience brought them harm?

Perhaps if she prayed about it, God would give her some of that peace Ted had talked about.

Well, she wouldn’t meet Ted’s children wearing anything but a proper dress. She picked up an iron and laid it on the collar, which had bunched up on one side. As she smoothed the fabric, a little hissing sound startled her into moving the iron. When she did, a scorch remained in the exact shape of the tip. “Oh, no!”

Elizabeth propped the flatiron and raced to the sink for a cloth, but no amount of scrubbing erased the scorch. Well, who needed a collar, anyway? A collarless dress would be unique.

This time she kept the iron moving. When one iron lost its heat, she exchanged it for the other. Pressing the yards and yards of fabric made her arms ache. Ted had called them sadirons. Good name for the heavy, ugly instruments of torture. Just when she thought she couldn’t stand the discomfort another minute, she met up with the pressed side of her dress.

Except for the collar, she’d done a fine job. She laid the garment over a chair while she set the table for four. When she’d finished, she grabbed up the dress, took the shears from the pantry and hauled them to the bedroom.

The waist was still dampish, but her dress smelled like sunshine. With endless stitches holding the collar in place, she didn’t have time to remove the seam. Using the shears, she trimmed away the lapel, slipped into her undergarments, and then donned the dress. From her reflection in the mirror she decided even with the missing collar, she looked presentable, except for her hair. She untied the twine, brushed and then twisted her tresses into a chignon. Now prepared to meet Ted’s children. Or so she told herself.

In the kitchen, Elizabeth stirred the soup. Some of the vegetables had stuck to the bottom. Well, it couldn’t be helped. How could she watch the soup and get ready? In an attempt to disguise the taste, she added pepper and salt. When she ladled up the soup, she’d avoid the bottom of the pan.

Suddenly exhausted, she flopped into the kitchen rocker. Tippy laid his head on her lap. She gave his nose a pat, and then leaned back against the chair, closing her eyes.

A sense of exhilaration slid through her, odd considering her fatigue. She’d never accomplished this much, never experienced this satisfaction.

In Chicago she’d lived like a sailboat without a rudder, without a compass, blown to and fro, getting nowhere.

Now as Ted’s wife, she had a ready-made purpose. A job. Responsibilities.

The weight of those responsibilities sat heavy on her shoulders. Yet they also gave her a new view of her life. One where waking up in the morning meant hard work, yes, but also…

Fulfillment. That was the word.

Elizabeth giggled. All that insight from preparing a bowl of soup.

But then reality reared its disagreeable head and the joy drained out of her faster than a bottomless jug.

Could she really do this? She knew nothing about motherhood, about anything outside of teas and balls.