The Substitute Bride

Right now, he dallied when her stomach demanded speed. “I’m starved.”

“Getting married must give you an appetite,” he said, giving her a smile.

Mercy, the man set her off-kilter with that lopsided grin of his.

They walked up the street to Agnes’s café. Inside the spotless, simple dining room, he led the way to a table in the corner. He murmured greetings to the diners they passed, but didn’t stop to introduce her. The way people put their heads together, the room suddenly abuzz, Ted must have lost his wish for privacy.

He sat across from her, studying his menu while she studied him.

Ted looked up. Met her gaze. A baffled expression crossed his face. “What?”

Her face heated and she grabbed the menu. “I’m thinking about my order.”

“Good evening, Ted.” Carrying glasses of water, a round-faced, dark-eyed woman with black curly bangs smiled at Ted. When she looked at Elizabeth her warm smile faltered. “This must be your wife,” she said, stumbling over the word wife.

“News travels fast. Elizabeth, this is Agnes Baker, proprietor of this establishment and the best cook in town.”

Agnes and Elizabeth nodded a greeting while Ted scanned the single sheet as though he’d never laid eyes on a menu before. “What’s the special today?”

“Your favorite. Chicken and dumplings.”

“I’ll take a plate of that.” He turned to Elizabeth. “Know what you want?”

Elizabeth’s stomach rumbled. The cookies and tea had kept her on her feet, but her stomach had met her backbone a long time ago. “I’ll have the same.” She smiled at Agnes. “I’m glad to meet one of Ted’s friends.”

A sheen of sudden tears appeared in Agnes’s eyes. “It’ll only be a minute,” she said, then sped toward the kitchen.

Elizabeth glanced at Ted, who fidgeted with his silverware. Did he realize this woman adored him?

If so, why had he sought a bride by mail?

The gazes of their fellow diners burned into Elizabeth’s back. Apparently everyone knew everybody else in a town this size. Well, she’d rather be here, the topic of speculation, than on the way to the farm with Ted. And the night ahead.

Her heart lost its rhythm.

A tall man loped over to their table. “Reckon this is your missus, Ted. Johanna came in earlier, making her rounds.” He cackled. “Thought I’d say howdy to your bride, seeing I’m the mayor of sorts.” He looked at Elizabeth. “Not that I’m elected, but mayor’s what folks call me.” He stuck out a hand. “Name’s Cecil Moore.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Moore.”

Agnes arrived, two steaming plates in her hands.

“I’ll let you lovebirds eat in peace,” Cecil said, moseying on to the next table where the occupants looked their way, smiling.

Agnes set Ted’s plate in front of him. “Hot and piled high, the way you like it.”

“Thanks, Agnes.” Ted blushed, actually blushed, no doubt aware of Agnes’s devotion.

Then the proprietor plopped Elizabeth’s dish down on the table without a glance and returned to the kitchen.

Elizabeth’s gaze dropped to her food. Her portion didn’t measure up to Ted’s but, far too hungry to fuss about it, she attacked her food. Mmm, delicious.

She glanced at Ted’s untouched plate and lowered her fork.

“I’ll say grace,” he said, then bowed his head.

Cheeks aflame, Elizabeth bowed hers.

“Lord, thank You for this food. Walk with Elizabeth and me in our new life as man and wife. Amen.”

Elizabeth’s gaze collided with Ted’s. She quickly looked away. Not that Elizabeth had neglected praying about her problems, but God had withheld His answer.

Well, she’d found her own. And he sat across from her now.

Ted picked up his fork. “How long since you’ve eaten?”

His words reminded her to take dainty bites, not pig-at-the-trough gulps. “I had tea and cookies at the parsonage.”

His brow furrowed. “You didn’t eat on the train, did you?” he asked softly.

She stared at her plate. “No.”

“Look at me, Elizabeth.”

She raised her chin and looked into his eyes, which were now clouded. Was it with dismay?

“I may not have much in the way of money, but my cellar’s stocked. You won’t go hungry. At least if you’re a good cook,” he added with a chuckle.

She fiddled with her napkin. “I’m sure I can.”

“You’ve never tried?” he said, his tone laden with amazement.

Elizabeth took a swig of water. “I grew up in a home with maids, a cook, laundress, tutor, butler, even a nanny.”

Ted frowned. “You said you were destitute.”

“I am. Of late.”

“What happened?”

“What happened isn’t a topic for good digestion.”

She wanted to ask how long it had been since Rose had died, but it didn’t seem like the right time, either. Instead she returned to her food.

Ted took a bite, obviously enjoyed the tasty dish and ate every morsel, and didn’t end the meal with a belch.

Uninvited, a memory invaded her mind. Of the three red-faced, ho-humming, toe-tapping times she’d sat in the parlor with Reginald after dinner, swishing her fan until her arm ached, trying to dissipate the silent belches rocking his spindly body and the unpleasant odors chasing after them. She’d tried to be kind, to turn the other nostril, ah, cheek, but he’d been…distasteful.

Papa had said Reginald Parks was short on manners but long on cash so he had to be forgiven. Instead of forgiving Reginald, she’d defied her father. A heavy weight squeezed against her lungs. Would Papa find it in his heart to forgive her?

Would Ted forgive her once he knew about Robby?

She looked up to find Ted studying her in that quiet way of his. He wiped his lips on the napkin. Nice lips. Full. At the memory of Ted’s kiss at the end of the ceremony, Elizabeth’s pulse leaped. His lips had been soft. Gentle. Enticing.

The one time Reginald had lowered his whiskered face to hers, he’d triggered spasms in her throat that threatened to make her retch.

Another point in Ted’s favor.

Though, at the moment, her stomach tumbled. Too many uncertainties churned inside her.

The door burst open and in marched Mrs. Van Wyld, followed by a knot of ladies, beaming like sunshine. Johanna led the procession to their table.

“The folks of New Harmony, leastwise those I could round up, are here to give you newlyweds a party.” She gestured to Cecil Moore. “If I know the mayor, he’s got his harmonica. His brother will be along with his fiddle.”

Grinning, Cecil flipped the instrument out of his pocket and played a few merry notes. Ted looked as if he wished the floor would open up and swallow him, but Elizabeth’s toe tapped under her skirts.

People came over, shook Ted and Elizabeth’s hands, offering their congratulations.

“Would you like a piece of Agnes’s pie?” Johanna said, once the crowd cleared.

Ted took a step toward the door. “We really need to be going.”

“My treat,” Johanna persisted. “Sorry it’s not cake, but it’s mighty good.”

In case she needed to escape tonight, Elizabeth couldn’t risk putting the sheets to the test. She turned to Ted. “Is your house one story or two?”

“One.”

“Oh, I’ll have a slice of pie, then. A big one.” She smiled at Ted, resting her chin on her palm. “Pie is my weakness.”

Johanna waved to Agnes. “They’ll have pie. I’m paying.”

Agnes appeared at their elbows. “I’ve got sugar cream and cherry today.”

“The sugar cream, please,” Elizabeth said.

Ted frowned as if he didn’t approve of the turn of events. “None for me.”

“Don’t be silly,” Johanna said. “This is your wedding day. Your bride shouldn’t eat pie alone.”

Ted sighed. “All right—”

“Cherry and coffee black,” Agnes said, obviously familiar with Ted’s tastes.

With Johanna issuing orders, diners moved the tables, opening space in the middle of the room. The mayor let loose on his harmonica. A heavyset, squat fellow strode in carrying the fiddle and joined in. Cecil’s brother Oscar, Johanna informed Elizabeth.

Four couples formed a square, moving up and back, square dancing or so Johanna explained.

Agnes arrived with coffee and pie. Flaky golden crusts piled high with luscious filling. Elizabeth thanked her, and then dug in. Mmm, cinnamon. Sugar. Cream. She licked her lips, capturing a speck from the corner of her mouth. “This is delicious.” She glanced at her husband.

Ted sat motionless, his fork hovering over his plate. Did the man pray before each course? No, he was staring at her lips. Had she missed a crumb? She dabbed at her mouth with the napkin.

His face turned a deep shade of red. Blue eyes collided, hastily looked away and then back again. He dropped his gaze to his plate, slicing his fork into his pie and then lifting a forkful of cherries and crust to his mouth. Her stomach dipped. When had pie ever looked better going into someone else’s mouth besides her own?

In all of Elizabeth’s years she had never been unable to finish a piece of pie. But tonight, her wedding night, she pushed the plate away. “I’m stuffed.”

Ted smiled. “Glad I finally got you filled up.” He glanced out the window. “Time to head for home.”

“We can’t leave.” She waved a hand. “Your friends have done all this for us. To celebrate our marriage.”

“Johanna’s turned our wedding dinner into a spectacle.”

“My dreams for my wedding day hardly match our ceremony.”

Ted had the decency to look contrite. He rose and offered his hand. “May I have this dance, Mrs. Logan?”

“If you’ll teach me the steps, Mr. Logan.”

“It’ll be my pleasure.”

Her pulse raced at the warm, steady pressure of his hand on her back. At the warmth radiating from his very masculine body. At the breadth of those powerful shoulders.

No doubt Ted could protect her from any danger. Yet she’d never felt more threatened. More out of control.

Surprisingly light on his feet for a hulk of a man, Ted led her through the dance. But even with the unnerving awareness that others watched every move they made, smiling and nodding approval at her attempt to join in, she wanted to stay. Leaving would mean being alone with her husband.

Right now, if she could, she’d stamp Cancel on their mail-order nuptials. But that meant she couldn’t give Robby a home.

So like a self-assured bride, she smiled up at her groom, but under her skirts, her knees were knocking.

What had she gotten herself in for?

Neither Elizabeth nor Ted said much on the trip to the farm. As dusk crept in and a full moon rose overhead, lights appeared in the houses they passed. Elizabeth kept her gaze off the man beside her, who took up more space than a mere man should, and focused on the fields. The turned-over earth exposed parched soil as cracked as old china. An owl hooted overhead, an eerie, lonely sound that crawled along her skin, raising the hair on her nape.

“You mentioned a weakness for pie. Any other flaws I should know about?” Ted said at last, his voice laden with humor.

No doubt an attempt to ease the tension crackling between them. Well, she’d do her part. “I’m emotional. A talker.”

He turned toward her, his pupils reflecting the moonlight. “What do you mean, emotional?”

She squirmed under his stare.

“Are you a weeper?”

“Just the opposite. I have a temper.” She pinched her fingers together then opened them a tad. “A teeny temper.”

“Ah, I see.” He chuckled. “Thanks for the warning.”

“Do you?” Elizabeth asked.

“Do I what?”

“Have a temper?”

“Nothing makes me mad, except deceit. How can you trust a man if he can’t be taken at his word?”

Fortunately for her, he didn’t say woman.

Elizabeth fidgeted with her ring. “Couldn’t there be a good reason a person would lie?”

“The truth sets people free.”

She’d be set free, all right. If Ted learned about Robby, he’d rip this simple gold band off her finger and get an annulment faster than Johanna Van Wyld could spread the news.

Ted shifted on the seat. “Seems odd to be married and know so little about you.”

“I feel the same.”

“It’ll take some getting used to, especially for my children.”

Elizabeth gulped. She’d forgotten about Ted’s children. From what she could remember about Robby, babies cried a lot and forever needed a change of clothes. “How old are they?”

“Anna’s seven and scared, I think. She understands a lot.”

Robby had been six when Mama died. Even though Martha had taken care of her brother when Mama took sick, Robby had cried for his mother. Rose’s death had to be even more traumatic for Ted’s daughter.

“Henry’s fourteen months. All he cares about are his meals and a soft lap.” He lifted a brow. “That is, if you’re one to cuddle a baby.”

She’d cuddled Robby. No problem there. Besides, a lap meant sitting and from all Ted’s talk about work, sitting sounded good. “I’ll have a lap anytime he needs one—at least when you’re not available.”

“As long as you’re gentle with my children, you have no need to worry about overstepping. I’ll expect you to mother them whether I’m in the fields or in the house.”

Elizabeth suspected little ones cared not a whit about who you were, how much you owned or where you came from. Long as they had that lap and a ready meal.

But cooking, well, she hoped Ted and his children had low expectations, bottom-of-a-burned-pan low.

Approaching a house near the road, a dog barked a greeting, leaping along the bank as they passed. Inside, people gathered around the table. Good people who lived by the toil of their hands. Not trying to make money without working for it like Papa had, and losing most every time.

Still, as furious as Papa’s gambling made her, she still loved him. He was an affectionate, jovial, handsome man who had a gift with words. In that careless manner of his, he loved her, too, and was probably worried about her now.

Tears pricked at her eyes. She’d propped a note on her dresser, assuring him of her love. But love might not heal the breach she’d crossed when she’d defied him.

Her attention drifted to Ted, which didn’t do much for her peace of mind. She shifted, trying to ease the tightness between her shoulder blades. How could she relax, knowing once they reached the farm, she and her new husband would be totally alone?

Ted had made no move to touch her, other than to help her from the wagon and a polite offer of his arm. Still, they’d signed a marriage license. And surely he’d noticed that baffling attraction between them at the café.

She wrung her hands in her lap while the pie and noodles waged war in her stomach. He’d better keep his distance. They’d only scarcely met.

Desperate to end the silence between them, she said, “I don’t mean to criticize, but Mr. Sorenson’s ledger could use some organizing.”

“Sorenson has a heart of gold, not a head for bookkeeping. He asks me for advice, but can’t seem to implement it. Sometimes I think the store is too much for him.”

Elizabeth’s heart skipped a beat. Could this be the solution for earning the money to bring Robby to New Harmony?

“We’re not far from my place.” In the gloom, Ted’s deep voice made her jump. “Sorry, did I scare you?”

“I don’t frighten that easily.”

“Me, either,” he promised.

She stiffened. “You should be scared, at least of me.”

“Oh, I thought you only had a teeny temper. I’m not afraid of that.” He chuckled. “Appears my wife’s the timid one.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.” He tipped a finger under her chin for a brief, heart-stopping moment and then went back to the reins. “I don’t see any other wives around, do you?”

“Well, maybe I am, a little.”

He laughed. “Thank goodness, because I’m terrified of you.”

Laughter burst out of her into the clear night air. For the first time in ages she felt more in control of her situation.

She cocked her head at her new husband. “You’re a handsome man, Ted Logan. And from what I’ve seen of New Harmony, probably the most eligible male in town.”

Eligible for Chicago, too. Anywhere. But she wouldn’t tell him that.

He looked mildly uncomfortable with her appraisal. “I’m a married man, remember?”

As if she could forget.

“Why would you advertise for a wife when I suspect you could’ve had Agnes, probably a number of other women, too, by simply saying the word?”

He cleared his throat. “I thought it better to marry for convenience rather than marry someone who’d expect love.”

Obviously Ted held no illusions that this marriage would lead to love. Good. Love wasn’t her goal, either. She only wanted a happy home for Robby.

“Would you be marrying anyone if you didn’t have two children to care for?”

The reins hung limp in his hands. “No.”

“That makes you as desperate as I am.”

He flashed some teeth, pearly white in his tan face. “Reckon so. So why did you decide to take Sally’s place?”

That quickly Ted gained the upper hand. Unaccustomed to feeling out of control with beaux, too young, too old or too self-absorbed to be taken seriously, Elizabeth’s brow puckered.

“I came to Iowa to…” She took in a deep breath. “To get away from a marriage my father arranged…to a much older man, a man I couldn’t stomach marrying.”

“Why would your father insist you marry someone like that?”

“Money. The man’s rich.” She sighed. “So I ran.”

“Into marriage with me. Guess I should be flattered you consider me the lesser of two evils.”

“To be honest, I’d planned to find a job here, not a husband. But one look at the town destroyed that strategy.”

He chuckled. “No danger of getting a swelled head with you around. Not sure I’ve ever met a female like you.”

Ted’s tone held a hint of awe. Did he understand the tedium of propriety, the yearning for something she couldn’t name? “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He reached across the space between them and brushed a tendril of hair off her neck. “You know, Mrs. Logan, this marriage might just be fun.”

His wife scooted about as far from Ted as she could get without tumbling from the wagon. Not a typical bride. But then not a typical wedding, either.

He stood over six foot tall. Hard work had broadened his shoulders and strengthened the muscles in his arms, an ox of a man, some people said. Was she afraid of him?

Well, if so, she needn’t worry. He was far more afraid of this slip of a woman from Chicago. If she smelled any sweeter, he’d need to sleep in the barn instead of the children’s room, his plan for tonight.

The decision made, he felt an odd sense of relief. Elizabeth might be his wife, but she was a stranger. A charming stranger at that. She made him laugh, something he hadn’t done in far too long. And as now, he could barely tear his gaze away from the curve of her neck, her tiny waist—

“What happened to your wife?”

Her question doused his interest like a glass of cold water in his face. “Rose died of nephritis.” He tightened his hold on the reins. “Her kidneys began shutting down after Henry’s birth.”

“I’m sorry.”

Nodding an acknowledgment, he turned the horses into the lane leading up to the house, relieved to reach his farm. And avoid the topic of his deceased wife.

As they bounced over the ruts, he remembered his citified wife’s complaints about the condition of New Harmony’s streets. He made a mental note to haul rocks from the creek to level the surface after he’d finished planting.

The road curved around to the back of his house. They passed the garden plot. In the barnyard, he stopped the horses and set the brake. Tippy bounced into view, barking. Ted climbed down and gave the dog a pat.

Night was falling, putting the farm in shadow, but Ted knew every building, fence and pasture. He’d earned all this off others’ pain. A straight flush had paid for the house, a full house repaired his barn and a four of a kind had bought his livestock.

Yep, the best poker player on the Mississippi, that had been him. Not that he’d planned on being “Hold ’Em” Logan when he’d joined the crew of that riverboat.

He’d seen men die over a game of cards, women toss their hearts after gamblers who loved their whiskey and the hand they held more than any female. He’d watched men and women lose everything they owned. Not a decent life. A life he now detested.

He’d started over here. Put his mark on this land. Everywhere he looked he saw evidence of his hard work, his daily penance for his past.

Shaking off his dreary thoughts, Ted walked to Elizabeth’s side. Even in the dim light she looked tired, worn to a frazzle, as his mother would’ve said. He encircled her waist with his hands and she laid a gentle hand on his shoulder for balance. Light in his arms, she surely needed fattening up if she hoped to handle the chores. Her hand fell away and he quickly released her. A strange sense of emptiness left him unsteady on his feet. Must be the strain of this eventful day.

Elizabeth bent and ran a hand along his dog’s shaggy back. His white-tipped tail wagged a greeting.

“Tippy is gentle as a lamb,” Ted said, “and the best sheepdog in these parts.”

While Elizabeth got acquainted with Tippy, Ted retrieved their purchases from the back of the wagon. When he returned to her side, she gave the dog one final pat, like she’d met a good friend and didn’t want to say goodbye.

“Go on in. The door’s unlocked.” Ted handed her the packages. “I’ll be along as soon as I bed down the horses and feed the stock.”

She turned to face him, hugging the bundles close. “I’ve got to ask…”

He waited for her to say whatever she had on her mind.

“Where will you be sleeping?”

Ted gave her credit for asking him straight out. “In the children’s room. If that’s agreeable with you.”

“That’s fine. Perfect.” She released a great gust of air, her relief palpable in the soft night air. “You’re a good man, Ted Logan.”

Would she still say that if she knew about his past?

Chapter Six

With the sleeping arrangements settled, Elizabeth walked toward the house with a light step, suddenly curious about her groom’s home. At the back door, a whiff of lilac greeted her, transporting her to the ancient, mammoth bush behind the Manning carriage house. To the gigantic vases Mama filled to overflowing, giving off the heady fragrance of spring. Home.

Tears stung her eyes but she blinked them away. Refusing to dwell on what she could not change, she whistled Tippy inside. She’d found a friend and had no intention of leaving him behind.

The door led into the kitchen, a huge room that ran the entire depth of the house, from back to front, cozy, if not for the chill in the air. A stack of newspapers all but covered the faded blue cushion of a brown wicker rocker.

In front of the chair, Elizabeth spied dried mud in the shape of a man’s boots. Didn’t Ted shed the footgear he wore in the barn before entering his house? Well, if he expected her to clean, that would have to change.

A large table, legs sturdy enough to support an elephant, dominated one end of the kitchen. Its porcelain castors sat in a sea of crumbs. “Come here, Tippy.” The dog made quick work of the tidbits. Elizabeth patted her personal broom.

A high chair was set off to one side of the table. A spoon was glued to the wooden tray with oatmeal and, from the smell of it, soured milk. On the back of a chair, a garment hung haphazardly.

“Oh, how cute.” Elizabeth picked up a tiny blue shirt that stuck to her fingers. “Uh, maybe not.”

She put the oatmeal-painted apparel back where she found it. Tippy sat on his haunches watching her every move, as if he wanted to oblige her by licking her hands clean.

At this preview of marriage to Ted, her knees wobbled and she slumped into a chair.

She should leave. Maybe Reginald Parks wasn’t so bad after all. Well, no, he smelled like sour milk. Far worse.