The Substitute Bride

Chapter Two

Elizabeth swallowed hard. She’d never considered how fried chicken or cold milk arrived at the Manning table. Drat, she’d have to scrub her glove. Not that Sally’s intended looked as if he didn’t wash. He smelled clean, like soap, leather and sunshine.

Mercy, the man was brawny, wide at the shoulders with a massive neck, chest and powerful forearms. Not someone she’d care to cross. White creases edged his eyes in his tanned face, evidence of long periods spent in the sun. Those intense blue-gray eyes of his appeared to see right through her.

She hoped she was wrong about that.

But all the rest…well, she couldn’t find anything to complain about. She’d expected another Reginald Parks and another reason to run. But something about Ted Logan kept her rooted to the spot, unable to look away.

Decency demanded she tell him she wasn’t his bride. But if she did, would he insist she take the next train back? She needed time to think. To take a look at the town and see if she could find employment here.

She couldn’t forget the importance of that farm, the fulfillment of her brother’s dream. If only that didn’t mean she had to marry the man, and all that entailed. She shivered. Well, she wasn’t foolish enough to give her heart to this man.

Through narrowed eyes, he looked her over. “I expected you to have brown hair.”

She gulped. “You don’t like my hair?”

“The color of your hair doesn’t matter a whit.”

“Glad to hear it.” She leaned toward him. “And so you know, I happen to like the color of yours. It’s lighter than I expected, but it’s tolerable.”

His lips twisted up at one corner, as if they tried to smile without his approval. “I can’t decide if I like a woman talking to me like that. Especially one I’m about to marry.”

Elizabeth’s stomach flipped at the mention of matrimony, a subject she intended to avoid. Her gaze traveled to a field of cows grazing not far from the tracks. “It’s better than talking to the cows, isn’t it?”

With a large hand, he gently tilted her face to his. “Yep. And a far sight better view.”

A woozy feeling slid over her. Without thinking, she grabbed hold of his arm for support. And found rock-hard muscle. Beneath her feet, the ground shifted. She hadn’t eaten in what seemed like forever. That had to be the reason for her vertigo.

He gave her a smirk and pulled away. “I’ll get the rest of your things.”

“Things? Oh, my luggage.” Once he discovered she had no trunk, he’d send her back. Without money for food or housing, how would she take care of Robby? Moisture beaded her upper lip. “I, ah, left the trunk unattended in Chicago, only for a minute.” With guilt at her lie niggling at her, she added, “When I returned, it was gone.”

“Everything you bought with the money I sent—is gone?”

She nodded. Twice. “I’m sorry.”

“Didn’t you think to check it?”

“Didn’t you ever make a mistake?” she fired back.

“Sure have,” he said, arms folded across his chest, “but I’ve never lost all my clothes.”

She grabbed a fistful of skirt. “Well, neither have I.”

He sighed. “We’ll have to stop at the mercantile.”

If only she’d had time to gather her clothes scattered across the lawn. “I’ll make do.”

Waving a hand at her dress, he arched a brow. “With only that frippery to wear day and night?”

“That frippery is silk shantung, I’ll have you know.” She poked the rumpled lapel of his suit. “Do you think you’re qualified to judge my fashion sense?”

He grinned, a most appealing smile. Or would be if he wasn’t the most exasperating man she’d ever met.

“It’s not your fashion sense I’m questioning.”

Determined to stare him down, she held his gaze. Neither of them gave ground as travelers swept past them, tossing an occasional curious glance their way. “I’m smarter than you think.”

“Smart enough to sew a new dress?”

“I can sew.” She ducked her head. Did embroidering pillow slips count?

“We’ll purchase fabric, whatever you need later.”

Perhaps the store could use a clerk. The possibility eased the tension in her limbs. Instead of arguing with him, she’d better keep her head if she hoped to escape this mess. But without food she could barely keep on her feet.

Ted plopped his straw hat in place then took the satchel from her. “Better get moving. The preacher’s waiting.”

His words cut off her air supply as effectively as if he’d wrapped those large hands of his around her windpipe and squeezed. “So soon?”

“Did you expect to be courted first?”

She’d expected to remain single but wouldn’t say that. “Well…no.”

Behind them, the locomotive emitted a whistle, the call of “All aboard!” Wheels turned, picking up speed as the train chugged out of the station, taking with it her means of escape.

Elizabeth’s eyes roamed what appeared to be the town’s main street. Maybe she could find work here, though not a solitary establishment looked prosperous. She gnawed her lip and faced the truth. Unless a shop needed a clerk who could recite the multiplication tables while pouring tea, she had slim chance of finding employment.

Hysteria bubbled up inside her. She clamped her mouth shut, fighting the compulsion to laugh. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Thankfully, the giddy sensation passed, replaced with the heavy weight of responsibility. Robby was depending on her, not a laughing matter.

Ted took hold of her elbow and ushered her along the platform. “We both know this marriage is one of convenience, a business arrangement.”

Exactly what she wanted to hear, wasn’t it? Then why did his words sting like a slap? Well, business arrangement or not, how could she wed a stranger? Elizabeth dug in her heels and yanked out of his grasp. “I…I can’t. I can’t marry you.”

Ted turned to her, searching her face. His expression softened. He took her hand in his and ran his thumb along the top. Her stomach dipped. His gentle touch gave her a measure of comfort…and far too much awareness of the man.

“This isn’t easy for either of us,” he said, his eyes filling with tenderness. “But I want you to know, I’ll be kind to you. Work hard to provide for you. I don’t have much, but all I have is yours.”

Elizabeth didn’t want to marry, but what choice did she have? She didn’t know a soul in this town. Didn’t have a penny to her name. Didn’t have a single idea what to do. That made her—a desperate woman.

A desperate woman with a proposal on the table.

A proposal that would solve all her problems.

Except this proposal was permanent—and offered to another woman. What would Ted say once he knew her true identity?

“My farm isn’t much,” he continued, his voice steady, calm. “But with God providing the sunshine and rain, the earth gives back what I put into it.”

Such a simple yet profound statement. This man gave instead of took. He relied on hard labor, not luck. Ted Logan had planted his feet, appeared as solid as the earth he worked, the exact opposite of her father.

“I have cows, pigs, chickens, horses.” He paused, then chuckled. “A dog.”

Elizabeth’s heart skittered. “What does your dog look like?” She held her breath, every muscle tense as she waited for his answer.

“Black and white. Shaggy.” Ted shrugged. “Lovable.”

Goose bumps rose on her arms. The exact description of the puppy Papa had given Robby, then taken away.

Martha always said there was no such thing as coincidence, not for a praying believer. Could Ted Logan be God’s answer for Robby? Without a doubt her brother would adore this hulk of a man. Yes, Robby’s dream stood before her with the promise of a wedding band.

Ted held out an arm. “Are you ready?”

A business arrangement he’d said. Maybe if she dealt with the marriage that way, she could go through with the wedding.

For Robby’s sake she would.

She slipped her hand into the crook of his waiting arm. They strolled along the street. The occasional passerby gave them a speculative look, but by now most people had left the station.

Ted stopped at a weathered wagon with nary a speck of gild, nor springs or leather on the wooden seat to soften bumps in the road. Two enormous dark brown horses wearing blinders swung their heads to get a better look at her, their harnesses jingling a greeting. Her carriage waited. The matched pair were built for hard work not pretension, like Ted.

“That’s King and his missus, Queen. They’re Percherons,” Ted said, a hint of pride in his voice.

Elizabeth didn’t know much about breeds to work the farm, but Ted obviously cared for his animals, another point in his favor. She ran her hand along a velvety nose. “They’re beautiful.”

“And mighty curious about you.”

Clearly she’d traded a fancy carriage for a rickety wagon, but a far more suitable groom. Her fingers toyed with the lily of the valley pinned to her dress. Could she go through with it? Could she marry a stranger?

Before she knew what happened, Ted handed her up onto the seat with ease, as if she weighed no more than dandelion fluff, then swung up beside her. Elizabeth shifted her skirts to give him room, while the memory of those large hands, warm and solid through the fabric of her dress, spun through her, landing in her stomach with a disturbing flutter.

She glanced at Ted’s square profile, at this strong, no-nonsense man. The eyes he turned on her spoke of kindness. Even excluding Reginald Parks, she could do far worse. No doubt Ted Logan was a good man. He’d be kind to Robby. To her. That is if he didn’t retract his offer of marriage once she revealed her true identity.

He clicked to the horses. “I left my children at the neighbor’s. I’ll pick them up tomorrow after breakfast.”

Elizabeth swayed on the seat. “Children?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten Anna and Henry?”

Sally hadn’t mentioned children. “I’m just…tired.”

How old were they? Since Mama died, Robby’s care had been left to Martha. Sure, Elizabeth had read to her brother, taught him to tie his laces, but she had no experience caring for children.

What did she know about husbands for that matter?

And the tomorrow-morning part—did he intend a wedding night?

Well, if he had that expectation, she’d call on her touchy stomach. No bridegroom would want a nauseous bride.

Though if she didn’t get something to eat—and soon—there wouldn’t be a wedding. For surely the bride would be fainting on the groom.

Chapter Three

On the drive through town, Ted’s bride glanced from side to side, worrying her lower lip with her teeth. From the dismay plain on her face, the town disappointed her. Ordinarily he wasn’t the edgy type, but this woman had him feeling tighter than a rain-soaked peg.

Not that Ted thought the town paradise on earth, but he hoped she didn’t look down her aristocratic nose on the good people of New Harmony.

Silence fell between them while she plucked at her skirts. “I’m…I’m sorry about my clothes.”

“No use crying over spilt milk.”

Though money was always a problem. Because of her carelessness he’d have to spend more. Would he rue the day he’d advertised for a wife?

No, if Sally was kind to Anna and Henry, he could forgive her most anything. From what she’d said in her letters, she liked children and would be good to his.

If not, he’d send her packing.

His stomach knotted. He hoped it didn’t come to that. Since Rose’s death, his well-planned life had spun out of control.

Every day he got further behind with the work. Every day his children got less of his attention. Every day he tried to do it all and failed.

To add to his turmoil, he’d felt the call to another life.

A life he didn’t seek. Yet, the unnerving summons to preach was as real, as vivid, as if God Himself had tapped him on the shoulder.

Him.

He couldn’t think of a man less qualified. Yet the command seared his mind with the clarity of God speaking to Moses through the burning bush.

As if that wasn’t enough to leave a man quaking in his boots, his bride, the answer to his prayers, now harbored second thoughts.

Lord, if this is Your plan for our lives, show us the way.

Up ahead, Lucille Sorenson swept the entrance of the Sorenson Mercantile. The broom in her hand stilled as she craned her neck to get a look at the woman sitting at his side. He tipped his hat as they rolled past, biting back a grin at the bewildered expression on her face.

They passed the saloon. Mostly deserted at this hour.

“Does that tavern foster gambling?”

Ted’s breath caught. “Reckon so. Never been in the place.”

“I’m glad.” Sally smiled. “I’m sure I’ll like…the town.”

“I’ve lived a few places and the people here are good.”

“Good in what way?”

“Folks pitched in after Rose died. Insisted on caring for the children and doing my chores. They’ve kept us supplied with enough food to feed an army of thrashers. I owe them plenty.”

“People like that really exist?”

He raised a brow. “Aren’t farm folk the same in Illinois?”

A flash of confusion crossed her face, but she merely shrugged. A prickle of suspicion stabbed at Ted. Something about Sally didn’t ring true. Before he could sort it out, they reached the parsonage.

Ted pulled on the reins, harder than he’d intended. No reason to take his disquiet out on his team. “Here we are.”

“Already?”

“Doesn’t take long to get anywhere in New Harmony.”

He set the brake, climbed down and walked to her side, reaching up a hand to help her from the seat. She took it and stood, wobbly on her feet. Was she sick? He looked for signs she’d be depositing her lunch in his hat brim. But all he saw was clear skin, apple cheeks and dazzling blue eyes.

He’d never seen bluer eyes, bluer than the sky on a cloudless day. His attention went back to her skin—smooth, fair with a soft glow about it. He’d have no trouble looking across the table at that face.

Or across the pillow.

Why had he thought she wouldn’t suit?

He wrapped his hands around her waist, so tiny the tips of his fingers all but touched, and lowered her with ease. With her feet mere inches from the ground, their eyes met and held. Ted’s heart stuttered in his chest. His gaze lowered to her mouth, lips slightly parted…

“Are you going to put me down?” she said, color flooding her cheeks.

“Sorry.” He quickly set her on her feet.

She sneezed. Twice. Three times. Then motioned to the road. “This dust is terrible.”

Ted looked around him, took in the thick coat of dust on the shrubs around the parsonage, further evidence of the drought that held the town in its grip. Unusual for New Harmony.

“Is it always dusty like this?”

“’Cept when it rains, then the streets turn to mud.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Can’t something be done?”

“Like what?”

She waved a hand at the road. “Like paving it with bricks.”

“No brickyards in these parts.”

“Hmm. If the dust turns to mud, why can’t that mud be made into brick?”

An interesting point, one he hadn’t considered.

“Well, I shall have to think about the problem,” she said, tapping her lips with her index finger.

Thunderation. She sounded like the governor. Did she mean to send him out with a pickax and set to work making a road before sundown? “What are you, a reformer?”

She raised a delicate brow. “Would that bother you?”

“Hardly think you’ll have time to reform much more than my kitchen.” His gaze swept Main Street, mostly deserted at this time of day. Folks were working either at home, in the fields or the town’s businesses. All except for Oscar and Cecil Moore lazing on a bench in front of Pete’s Barbershop, whittling. “Even if you did, you’ll find nothing much gets done in New Harmony.”

“Why? Are people here lazy?”

“For a farmer’s daughter, you don’t know much about farming. Farmers don’t have time to fret about roads and such. We work and sleep. That’s about it.”

“What do you do for fun?”

“Fun?” He opened the gate of the picket fence and offered his arm. They strolled along the path to the parsonage door.

“Don’t you have socials? Parties?”

“Some, but this isn’t the city. We’re a little…dry here.”

The breeze kicked up another cloud of dust and she sneezed again. “That I believe.”

He chuckled and rapped on the wooden door, which was all but begging for another coat of paint. Jacob kept his nose tucked in the Bible or one of the vast number of books he owned. And let chores slide. Maybe Ted could find time to handle the job on his next trip to town.

Lydia Sumner opened the door, neat as a pin and just as plain, wearing a simple brown dress with a lace-trimmed collar, nut-brown hair pulled into a sensible bun. She had a heart of gold and, like now, a ready smile that she turned on Sally.

“Lydia, this is Sally Rutgers. My mail—Ah, fiancée.”

“Hello, Miss Rutgers. Please come in.” She stepped back to let them enter the small vestibule, then motioned to the closed door of Jacob’s study. “My husband’s working on Sunday’s sermon. He’ll only be a moment.”

Ted doffed his hat and they followed Lydia into the parlor, where dollies and doodads covered every tabletop. “Glad we didn’t hold him up.”

“Can I offer you a spot of tea?”

Ted shook his head. “No thank—”

“Oh, I’d love a cup,” Sally chimed in. “Do you have some cookies, perhaps? I’m famished.”

“Why, Ted Logan, you didn’t think to feed her?”

At half-past three? “Uh…”

Lydia patted Sally’s arm. “The ladies at church vie over appeasing my husband’s sweet tooth. I’ll just be a minute.”

Bald head shining like a beacon in the wilderness, Jacob passed his wife leaving the room. Tall, long limbed with the beginning of a paunch, most likely the result of that sweet tooth, his pastor beamed. “Sorry to keep you folks waiting.”

Once again Ted made introductions and he and Sally took seats on the sofa, leaving a chasm between them wide enough for a riverboat to navigate.

Jacob clapped Ted on the shoulder. “Shall we get started?”

“Yes,” Ted said.

“No,” Sally said.

Ted’s jaw dropped to his collar. “No?”

She gave a sweet smile. “I hoped to have that tea first.”

Used to cramming every waking moment with activity, Ted reined in his desire to hurry her along. Unsure this feisty woman would comply if he did.

Once Sally devoured two cups of tea and three cookies, she dabbed her lips with the snowy napkin. “Thank you, Mrs. Sumner.”

Ted lowered his half-filled cup to the saucer. “Now are you ready to get married?”

She shot him a saucy smile. “I thought you’d never ask.”

A chuckle rumbled in his chest.

Jacob slipped his glasses out of his coat pocket. “Do you have the license, Ted?”

“It’s ready to go, filled out with the information Sally sent me in her last letter.” He withdrew the neatly folded paper from the inside pocket of his suit and handed it over.

Jacob scanned the document. “Everything appears in order.”

Sally lifted a hand, then let it flutter to her lap. “Pastor Sumner, you…ah, might want to change one teeny thing.”

He readied his pen. “Be glad to. What would that be?”

“The name.”

All eyes swiveled to Sally. Ted frowned. What in tarnation?

The ticking of the mantel clock echoed in the sudden silence, hammering at Ted’s already shaky composure.

“I’m, ah, not Sally Rutgers. My name is Elizabeth Ann Manning.”

Had Ted heard correctly? The woman at his side wasn’t Sally? He frowned. That would explain her odd behavior on the way over. Clearly his children had come as a surprise to her.

No wonder she hadn’t remembered anything from those letters he’d exchanged with Sally.

He’d been duped.

Pulse hammering in his temples, Ted rose to his feet, towering over her. “Why did you lie about your name all this time?”

“I haven’t lied all this time.” She lifted her chin. “I’ve lied for less than an hour.”

Jacob stared at the bride as if she’d grown two heads, one for each name. Lydia wilted into a chair, her smile drooping.

“What are you talking about?” Ted shoved out through his clenched jaw, his tone gravelly.

“Have you ever been down on your luck, Ted Logan?”

The question caught him like a sharp blow to the stomach. He shifted on his feet. “Well, yes, of course.”

She ran a hand over her fancy dress. “Despite what you see, I’m destitute. So when the real Sally changed her—”

“What?” he bellowed.

“You’re making me nervous, glowering at me like that. It’s not my fault Sally got cold feet.”

His pastor laid a hand on Ted’s shoulder. “Let’s stay calm. We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

Ted staggered back. “Who are you?”

“I told you. Elizabeth Ann Manning, your bride. That is—” she hesitated then forged ahead “—if you can ignore a small thing like an identity switch.”

“A small thing?” He pointed toward the door. “Use the other half of that ticket. Go back to where you came from.”

Wherever that might be.

Tears glistening in her eyes, she slumped against the sofa, her face pale and drawn. “I can’t.”

Lydia hurried to the impostor’s side and patted her hand. She shot Ted a look that said she blamed him for this mess.

Him!

“I should’ve told the truth right off, but I was afraid you’d send me back,” she said, her voice cracking, tearing at his conscience. “I’ll get a job and repay you for the ticket.”

Unable to resist a woman’s tears, Ted bit back his anger. Something terrible must’ve happened to compel this lovely, well-bred woman to marry a stranger. Still, she’d deceived him.

Not that he hadn’t made plenty of mistakes of his own. God probably didn’t approve of his judging someone, especially someone with no place to live, no money and, in this town, whether she knew it or not, little prospects of either.

Still, something about her claim didn’t ring true. If she was destitute, then it must’ve been a recent development.