Читать книгу Mail-Order Christmas Brides Boxed Set - Jillian Hart, Janet Tronstad - Страница 17

Chapter Eight

“Yep, that’s the dress,” Amelia declared with a decisive nod in the sunniest corner of Mrs. Cora Jones’s dress shop. The girl gave her braids a toss. “I knew it the second I saw it in the front window. It makes you even more beautiful, Ma.”

Ma. Mercy’s hand flew to her throat. She would never get over how good that felt. She smiled at her daughter, held out the green skirt and slowly twirled. “Isn’t it a little festive for a wedding? I was expecting something sedate and very somber.”

“Oh, no, this is just right.” Amelia tilted her head to one side, considering, absolutely serious. “It’s a Christmas dress. See the sprigged holly on the bodice? And the velvet skirt is my absolute favorite. Pa won’t let me wear velvet. He says I’m too young, but I’m dying to.”

“Perhaps together we can sew a dress for you. I’m thinking we can find a way to put some velvet on it.” Loving that idea, Mercy turned to eye the plentiful bolts of fabric in this upscale shop. She’d never stepped foot inside such a fancy establishment before or worn a dress like this, with mother-of-pearl buttons and trims of dainty lace and silk.

“Why, that looks lovely on you.” The shop owner bustled over with genteel grace and genuine friendliness. “The perfect dress for your wedding in, what, two days?”

“One and a half now,” Mercy said shakily. “It’s counting down more quickly than I thought.”

“A Christmas wedding is terribly romantic.” Cora Jones selected a red velvet bonnet from the nearby display and set it on Mercy’s head. “I met my husband during the Christmas season. It’s a time for joy. I’ve known Cole a long time. You couldn’t have found a more wonderful man.”

“I think so, too.” Mercy squinted at herself in the full-length mirror, hardly recognizing her reflection. Was she really this woman with a twinkle in her eye, looking slender and elegant in a finely tailored, fashionable dress? Her cheeks were rosy, her skin glowing. She felt so full of life.

The last time she’d felt this way had been her first wedding day. The realization slammed into her, forcing the air from her lungs. She gasped, covering her mouth to hide her dismay. No one noticed. Amelia was busy conferring with Cora about the hat. Cora had turned around to choose a different bonnet. Mercy felt her heart break, remembering that girl she’d been, so full of hope. Love hadn’t turned out quite like she’d expected. She and Timothy had struggled, and while they’d loved one another, they’d grown apart a little more each year of their marriage. She’d longed to be closer, working hard to repair the distance between them up until death took him.

Love and marriage were complicated and not easy, and she’d loved Timothy deeply. Her grief had healed over time, and a new wish had taken hold of her, that one day she would find love again, but this time with a man who loved her at least as much as she loved him. That it could be even better next time around. Of course, it had been only a hope. George’s welfare and happiness came first, which was why she’d agreed to look for a husband when she’d caught the boy climbing down from the backyard tree last summer, wiping tears from his eyes. It hurt not having a pa, he’d said. Agreeing to find a good man to marry hadn’t been about her dreams.

It had been about George’s. Her gaze went to the front window, where the boy was visible bundled in the new winter coat Cole had let him choose from the dry-goods display. George was keeping their mare company, the one Cole had bought for her and given to her earlier in the day. George’s blue knit hat bobbed around as he petted Polly’s nose. The red mare, the gentle lady she was, patiently kept her head low so the boy could easily reach her.

Mercy slipped off the hat and handed it to Cora, who had consulted with Amelia to choose a dark green velvet bonnet. As Mercy took it from them and angled the simple, tasteful hat onto her head, she watched a boy approaching on the boardwalk wave to George. They looked to be about the same age. The other boy had his mother with him. They appeared to be Christmas shopping, judging by all their packages. The boy greeted George with a smile and they instantly started talking as if destined to be friends, the new boy petting Polly, too.

Yes, this was everything she’d hoped for her son. What were her needs compared to that?

“That’s perfect on you,” Cora breathed. “You’re a vision.”

“I’ve never seen anyone so beautiful,” Amelia agreed. “Not ever.”

“You’re sweet.” Mercy gathered the girl in her arms and gave her a quick hug. Definitely sweet. “What about you? Do you have a special dress for the wedding?”

“We already have that taken care of.” Cora patted a wrapped bundle on the counter behind her. “Now that we have a dress for the wedding squared away, we need to get you some everyday things.”

Mercy started to protest, but then she remembered how important this was to Cole. Last night he’d broken her heart with his story. She’d seen a side of the man that moved her still. Last night, he was all she’d thought about when she’d been tossing and turning, trying to sleep. All through the morning he stayed on her mind as she’d gone about wedding preparations and Christmas-type errands in town. She couldn’t forget the brush of his kiss to her forehead, so infinitely gentle, making her fall in love with him even when she knew there was no chance he could ever return her love.

A kiss on the forehead was all the affection she would ever receive from him.

But this wasn’t about her, she reminded herself. It was about George and Amelia. Another glance at the window told her George’s new friend had moved on, but he appeared happier, smiling away as he petted Polly.

“Ooh, finding new dresses for you is gonna be so much fun,” Amelia said, diving toward a rack of lovely winter dresses. “Hmm. George is gonna get real cold if he stands out there for much longer. Mrs. Jones, would it be all right if I got him a cup of hot chocolate?”

“Absolutely.” Cora brightened as if she liked the idea very much. “In fact, I’ll be happy to make you both a cup. Mercy, would you like some, too, or would you prefer a cup of tea?”

“Tea, please.” She took one last took in the mirror as she removed the bonnet. The Lord had answered every one of her prayers. He’d found a good husband for her and a fine father for George. They had a safe home, plenty of food, basic necessities met. They even had Howie and Polly.

I’m so thankful, Father, she prayed silently, her gaze fastened on the window and on her son. Am I wrong for wanting more?

She felt that way. She felt selfish, when as a mother her only concern should be her two children. As if heaven agreed, the sunshine chose that exact moment to dim, fading away to gray shadow. The first snowflakes fell, chunks of white plummeting straight to the ground. No-nonsense, as if driven by a sense of duty.

It felt like an answer.

* * *

“So thrilled for you, Cole.” The young Mrs. Ruby Davis beamed at him from the other side of the store’s front counter. “Eberta told me all about your upcoming marriage. Best wishes to you.”

“Thank you.” He did his best to force a smile, as he’d done throughout the afternoon whenever a customer had gushed about his good fortune. Looked like he’d best give Eberta another talking-to or she’d be unstoppable, telling any customer who would listen about his impending marriage.

He grimaced, handing over the new bride’s purchases. Happiness lighting her up, Mrs. Davis accepted the package, likely a Christmas gift for her husband, Lorenzo. She looked like the very picture of what a joyful wife should be, and it brought to the forefront all his doubts.

“Merry Christmas, Cole!” Ruby said over her shoulder on her way toward the door. “I’m looking forward to meeting your bride.”

“So am I.” A woman with a heart-shaped face, curly brown hair and compelling eyes stepped up to the counter and plunked down a bundle of wooden train tracks from the toy section. Mrs. Christina Gable, glowing from her pregnancy, radiated another kind of happiness he remembered well.

And reminded him of the man he’d become. He was aware of that a lot lately, he thought as he tore paper off the roll to wrap the purchase. The nearness he’d allowed with Mercy yesterday troubled him. It had been too close, too familiar, too everything. Frowning, he handed the package back to Christina Gable and reached for his account book.

“What a blessing a new wife will be for you,” Mrs. Gable said kindly. “You’ve been alone for so long.”

“Intentionally,” he said without thought, wincing because the truth felt so harsh.

“Broken hearts can mend,” she merely said, as if he hadn’t been rude at all. She tucked her package under her arm, understanding etched into her face. “Remember that. Maybe the best is yet to come in your life.”

“Merry Christmas,” he said with a nod, ignoring the wrenching crack of pain in his chest. Thinking of Mercy and a future with her made him hurt with the same strident, unrelenting pain of his long-ago grief. He gritted his jaw so tightly his teeth ached. That was a good thing. It distracted him from his troubles.

“That’s the last customer of the day,” Eberta announced the moment the door closed behind Mrs. Gable, and she turned the lock. “Whew, what a day we’ve had. My feet are complaining.”

“You’re welcome to quit at any time.” He scribbled Mrs. Gable’s purchase onto her account and closed the ledger. “It would be preferable to you telling everyone in this store about my wedding.”

“Why wouldn’t you want everyone to know?” Eberta asked slyly. She knew him well enough to guess why he’d been silent all day, except for necessary conversation with customers. She tapped toward him, concerned. “You’re having second thoughts, aren’t you?”

“No, not second thoughts.” He tucked the ledger into place on the back shelf. “Fifth, sixth, seventh thoughts maybe.”

“I see.” Eberta sighed heavily, her disappointment in him echoing in the store. “What about Amelia? What are you going to tell her?”

“I haven’t decided for sure.” The pain behind his ribs wrenched harder at the thought of disappointing his daughter. Of having to let go of George. The children weren’t the issue.

Mercy was.

“Well, you think long and hard before you turn away that nice woman.” Eberta’s tone held a note of understanding. She’d been his employee back then, too, stood beside him during the double funeral where they’d lowered his wife and his son into the ground.

Emotion clogged his throat and he swallowed hard, trying to force it down. But the sorrow stayed. He’d never had the strength to deal with it. The grief had been too huge, too much to handle; it would tear him apart, destroy him, leaving nothing of him.

So he coped by turning to his work. He opened the small closet door behind the counter and hauled out a broom and dustpan. “I’ll take care of cleanup. You get home before the storm worsens.”

“A little snow won’t hurt me, I’m too tough for that.” Eberta marched around the counter and stole the broom from him. Her jaw was set, but her gaze compassionate. “I insist on closing up and I won’t take no for an answer. Amelia is waiting for you. George will be there. Mercy is fixing supper.”

Oh. His step faltered. He hung his head. She’d been haunting him all day, sneaking into his thoughts, tormenting him. And that kiss. He’d let his guard down too far last night. He was in danger of letting her in. In the decade since he’d become a widower, no one—no one—had gotten this close. At a loss, he blew out a breath, fisted his hands and unfisted them.

“Thanks for all your hard work today.” The words croaked past the tightness in his throat as he headed toward the back door. The frantic urge to stay and keep working, to remain busy to delay the inevitable, overtook him, but Eberta was right. He needed to go home. He had to figure out what the right thing to do was—and he feared it wasn’t marrying Mercy.

In the back room, he shrugged into his coat, hardly noticing what he was doing, and launched out the door into the alley. Thick, busily falling chunks of snow hailed toward the ground, and he knuckled down his hat to shield his face. Mercy. He wasn’t looking forward to facing her. The sick feeling in his gut told him he already knew what he had to do.

She was young and beautiful, and regardless of what she’d agreed to, she wanted a loving marriage. She deserved that. As he trudged down the alley between buildings toward the intersecting street, snowflakes struck his face like tears. He cared about her. He couldn’t help it. Last night, talking with her, sharing his painful past, had opened up a door to that pain he could no longer close. He could not live like this day after day, with the agony of what he’d lost wringing him out over and over.

“Why, it’s Cole Matheson,” a friendly voice called out. Reverend Hadly climbed out of his sled in front of the livery stable. “I was just thinking about you and your upcoming wedding. Christmas Eve ceremonies are my favorite. There’s something special about them on such a sacred night.”

“I agree.” His throat closed up and he was barely able to squeeze out the words. Seeing the minister reminded him of the commitment he feared he couldn’t make. That failure troubled him. “I hope you are on your way home. The temperature is dropping.”

“It surely is. I’m trying to keep my teeth from chattering. Now, what about you?” Hadly’s round face crinkled with concern. “You look troubled. It’s natural to have a hard time moving on. Amelia brought Mercy by the church this morning, and anyone can see she is a gift from God. A much-needed blessing for your life.”

“God doesn’t need to bless my life.” The confession felt like an anvil on his chest, the truth of it was something he’d kept inside since he’d lost wife and baby. “I’m fine. I don’t need anything. It’s the children who matter.”

And Mercy. He ached more thinking of what he couldn’t be for her. He could not be what she needed, what she deserved. He’d lost his heart, so he could not love her. He was no longer a man capable of deep feeling. He swiped snow off his lashes and spotted one of the stable workers, who nodded at him and disappeared, hurrying to fetch Frosty. Another appeared to take the reins of the reverend’s horse.

“An arrangement for the children’s sake can be a blessing for you, too.” Hadly brushed snow off his hat, turning to head home. “Maybe God has been waiting all this time to bring the right woman into your life. He knows your heart.”

Then He knows my failings, Cole thought, watching the veil of snow close around the minister, stealing him from sight. The jingle of a harness speared his attention. The sight of his gelding clomping toward him, led by the stable worker, reminded him of where he was headed next. Home. There was no more delaying it. No more denying it.

He mounted up, riding bareback through the outskirts of town. The driving snow chilled him and hastened Frosty’s quick gait along the snowy road. When he’d proposed to Mercy, he’d imagined her to be hardened by the world, weary of hardship, content to find the sanctuary of a convenient marriage and a good home. From her letters, she’d sounded like a practical, no-nonsense kind of lady. A good mother, gently spoken, proper to a fault.

Just what he’d been wanting. Instead, he’d gotten a beautiful young woman full of hopes and full of life. He could still picture her zipping down the hillside on Amelia’s sled, skirts flying. The music of her laughter, the pull of her heart on his, the way she’d dismantled half of his defenses with a single, caring touch. She was tearing his world apart.

Worse, he acknowledged as the countryside rolled by, she was tearing him apart.

The house came into view on the knoll just outside of town. The windows glowed golden with lamplight, drawing him like a candle in the darkness, the only light by which to see. He rode close enough to spy a figure pass in front of the kitchen window and linger.

Mercy. She must be preparing supper, he reasoned, noticing the way she leaned slightly forward, intent on a task before her. Light gleamed on her blond hair, polished the lovely curve of her cheek, highlighted her soft full bottom lip as she turned to smile at someone else in the room. Likely his daughter. Mercy’s face lit, radiating a mother’s love. Nothing could be more beautiful. His pulse stammered, affected, and his heart vibrated with agonizing pain.

It was too much. He tore his gaze away, dismounted and led Frosty into the barn. The horses, who’d retreated to their stalls for shelter from the storm, poked their heads over their gates to welcome him with neighs and nickers and curious eyes. Howie looked especially dapper, his brown gaze shining with happiness. Cole didn’t need to guess why. Clearly George had spent part of the day with him.

As he put up Frosty and closed the rest of the horses into the barn, he held himself as still as he could, letting his broken heart rest. No thinking of Mercy, or the wedding or the decision he had to make. He shook his head, bit his lip. How could he marry her like this? He could not be what she wanted, and he was sorry. Very sorry. He didn’t even know how to be the man of deep feeling he’d once been, when he’d been whole, when wife and baby hadn’t taken the best part of him with them. He was left with the shell of the man he used to be, and it was no good for anyone. Not Amelia, not George and especially not Mercy.

He’d wanted a wife to step in and be the parent he could not be, caring and involved, emotionally there for Amelia. At her age and with the changes of womanhood coming, she needed that. But he couldn’t endure a wife who reminded him of the emptiness within him, the hollow place that remained where his heart used to be. Where his love used to be.

He couldn’t endure the knowledge of what that would do to Mercy.

The minute he stepped foot outside the barn, closing the doors behind him, her light drew him through the storm. He tried not to look up; he tried not to be moved by her. The anguish inside him strengthened until it felt as if every bone he owned was breaking. Snow tapped against his hat, brushed his cheek, clung to his coat as he marched up the hill toward the house. The minister’s words stayed with him, too. She is a gift from God. A much-needed blessing for your life.

A blessing shouldn’t hurt, he thought, his mind reaching upward as if in prayer. The God he still believed in would not lead him to more pain.

He stepped into the fall of light from the front window. Standing on the steps, ready to knock the snow from his boots, he saw into the house. A green spruce tree stood proudly in the drawing room, grandly holding up paper chains and popcorn strings on its evergreen boughs. George went up on tiptoe to hang a paper snowflake by a yarn loop. The boy bit his bottom lip, button face scrunched up in thought, before choosing the exact spot he wanted for the decoration.

Amelia breezed into view, bubbly and bouncing, happier than he’d ever seen her. Relaxed, delighted, somehow more mature and elegant as she handed George another snowflake to hang. The boy took it gladly and the two of them contemplated where to place it. At their feet lay brightly wrapped presents tied up with ribbons and adorned with bows. The scene looked like something out of a Christmas dream.

This was Mercy’s doing, Cole thought, hand to his chest, grimacing at the soul-breaking crack of his heart. She was changing everything with her love and gentle kindness. Bringing life back to his house, bringing Amelia to her better self, making a home for her son.

Mercy waltzed into sight, resplendent in a new dress, obviously from Cora’s shop. The finely tailored garment, as red as a holly berry, skimmed her slender shape and brought out lustrous red tones in her blond hair. She looked taller somehow, as if no longer bowed down by hardship, her beauty more radiant. Joy polished her with a rare luster.

The sight of her changed him. The faint, muffled lilt of her laughter penetrated the walls and seemed to burrow within him, touching his agonized heart. He swore he felt a hand on his shoulder, a touch of reassurance, but when he looked there was no one there, nothing but the snow.

The rending of his heart deepened. It felt as if he were breaking all the way to the bottom of his soul. He splayed a hand against the siding, holding himself up when the pain became excruciating. Tears burned behind his eyes, and he realized it was not tears, but feeling. Emotion, raw and pure and true. The last stone walls around his heart fell, tumbling and crashing into bits, leaving the broken emptiness within him exposed.

“Cole.” Mercy’s voice, muffled by the wall, drew him, and when he looked up she was crossing toward the door, her loving smile the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

Or felt.

The door whisked open, and the warmth and light of home tumbled over him like grace. Mercy smiled up at him. “You’re home.”

“Pa!” two children cried out, turning to run at him, pounding across the room.

But his attention remained on Mercy, her quiet welcome saying so much more. When her hand lit on his sleeve, he felt everything. The gentle weight of her touch, the impact of her caring, the potential of her love. The world was no longer filled with ice and snow, but with merriment and hope, with children running to throw their arms around him and pull him into the house, talking over one another telling him about their day and the tree and the decorations.

The sensation lifted from his shoulder, leaving him alone, his heart whole. He realized the pain had been his heart coming to life, that he was no longer empty. That the pain was gone and Mercy was there, so he took hold of her hand. Her surprised gaze met his and without words, without the need for them, he knew she felt with her heart what he could not say.