Читать книгу Mistaken Bride - Renee Ryan - Страница 14

Chapter Five

Two. More. Days. Bridget thought she might go mad from the wait. She didn’t know what to do with herself. Rose of Rose’s Boardinghouse was friendly enough. She’d offered Bridget and Nora a place to stay until they discovered if Laird’s house was theirs free and clear. But sitting in someone else’s front parlor and sharing tea with a roomful of strangers, many also from Ireland, wasn’t how Bridget wanted to spend her first full day in America.

The decor didn’t help matters. The room was too ornate, the wallpaper too bold, the furniture too fragile. Taking tea in here, where she was afraid she might spill and ruin the brocade upholstery was—well, not something she wished to endure.

She decided to take a walk instead. She needed to be alone. To think. To plan. And, God forgive her, to worry. With their money running low, she and Nora would have to find jobs soon. But how many prospects were available in a town this size? Surely not many.

With nothing but her depressing thoughts to keep her company, Bridget allowed herself a moment to wallow as she made her way down the boardinghouse stairs. Five steps out she’d remembered God’s faithful promise: Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.

It was a good reminder. So she handed her concerns to the Lord as best she could and made her way around the tidy square. Birds sang a happy tune, the smell of fresh grass and wildflowers wafted on the air, children laughed in the distance. A horse whinnied.

Her heart was already feeling lighter. Oh, the worry was still there, working into a hard knot in the pit of her stomach, but she was able to shove it aside momentarily and focus on her new home.

What treasures awaited her here? Bridget couldn’t wait to find out. She quickened her steps, and stopped at the small building on the opposite side of the church.

The general store wasn’t much to look at from the outside, but it beckoned her forward all the same. Once she pushed through the door, the pleasant smell of spices and lavender filled her nose. The aroma was followed by the scent of grain and oats and—she sniffed—licorice.

There were no other customers that she could tell, only astonishing amounts of merchandise. Bridget swept her gaze across barrels of dry goods, past the sacks of flour and shelves filled with kitchen utensils, canned goods and so much more. The store seemed to have every item imaginable for sale. She noted a counter that not only had jars filled with colorful candy but all sorts of children’s toys. One whole row was dedicated to an array of dolls.

Delighted, Bridget decided to start there and work her way through the rest of the store at her leisure.

Her feet slowed, hesitated, then stopped altogether. She wasn’t alone in the store after all. Two small children studied the shelves of toys in complete silence. They had their backs to Bridget and were huddled close together, hands joined, bodies pressed side by side. By their size, Bridget decided they were somewhere between three and four years old.

A range of emotions sped through her, concern foremost. Their little bodies were unnaturally still as they stared upward.

Why weren’t they fidgeting? Or looking for trouble? Or reaching for the toys they wanted?

Why did they seem so solemn?

The urge to gather them close and comfort them surprised Bridget, especially since she hadn’t yet seen either of their faces to determine if her impressions were correct. They could simply be well-behaved children.

Where were their parents?

She looked over her shoulder. Nobody else seemed to be in the store. Concern took hold.

But then the little girl angled her head and reached up to pull one of the dolls free. Her hand fell short of its goal. The little boy whispered something in her ear then attempted to help her, but his arm was too short, as well.

Bridget couldn’t stand back and watch any longer. She approached the two with slow, careful steps.

“Hello.” She plucked a doll from the shelf, one with a porcelain face behind a cloud of silvery-blond hair and clothed in a lovely, pale blue dress trimmed with white. “Is this what you wanted?”

The child’s eyes widened. She didn’t move right away, as if afraid to touch the doll, but then she reached out and skimmed a fingertip along the sleeve.

While she carefully inspected the doll’s clothing, the boy watched. Bridget took the opportunity to study both children. They had the same color hair, a soft ginger, the same striking features and the same arresting blue eyes. These two were clearly related to one another.

No, not just related. Their similar size and nearly identical features, if a bit more delicate on the girl than the boy, indicated they were twins. They were as darling and as sad as she’d suspected.

The look in their eyes captured her sympathy. This time the feeling was so strong she nearly pulled them into a comforting hug. She didn’t, of course. Such a bold move might scare them.

Yet as Bridget continued looking at them she realized they reminded her of someone, someone she couldn’t quite place in her mind.

She stretched the doll closer to the child. “I’m sure it’ll be all right if you hold her awhile.”

The girl’s gaze darted over her shoulder then back again. Finally she reached out and took the doll.

At the same moment the boy took a step to his left, away from Bridget. She gave him an encouraging smile but didn’t make a move in his direction.

Shifting from one foot to another, he blinked at her with large, round eyes.

Bridget lowered to her knees and placed her hands flat on her thighs. “My name is Bridget.” She kept her voice soft, her tone gentle. “What’s yours?”

She directed the question at both children, but the little girl chose to answer.

“I’m Olivia.” She tugged on the doll’s dress with tentative fingers. “And that’s my brother, Caleb.”

“Well, Olivia and Caleb, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“You talk funny,” Caleb said, scuffing his foot back and forth on the floor in a nervous gesture.

Bridget hid a smile at the bold statement. She loved the honesty in children, how they spoke the first thing that came into their minds. There was never any doubt as to what they meant, or how they felt.

She thought of Daniel, how he’d hurt her with his change of mind and mean accusations and…

This wasn’t the time to think on such things.

“Well, Caleb,” she began, still smiling, “I suppose I talk funny because I’m not from around here. I just arrived in America yesterday.”

“You did?”

“Oh, yes, I came over from Ireland.”

His little eyes rounded even more. “Where’s that?”

“All the way across the ocean.” She made a grand gesture with her arm, sweeping it in a wide arc. “I sailed on a large boat, a ship called the Annie McGee and I—”

The front door swept open with a bang, sufficiently cutting off the rest of her words.

“Caleb, Olivia.” A deep, masculine voice rang out from the front of the store. “Where are you?” There was a note of worry in the voice.

Both children’s faces brightened, but they made no move to run toward the man, as Bridget would have expected. Had they come to the store without permission?

That hardly seemed likely, given their timid natures.

Well, whatever the situation, Bridget would not leave them to face their fate alone.

Reaching out, she waited for one child then the other to place their hands in hers. Only then did she rise to her full height and turn the three of them toward the front of the store as a single unit.

After the briefest of hesitations, both Olivia and then Caleb leaned in against her legs. Their tiny weight brought such a sense of completion Bridget lost her ability to breathe for a brief moment.

She’d always loved children, but this—this feeling of rightness, of being in the perfect place at the ideal time was entirely new. And thrilling, as though she’d finally come home.

“Children!” The man’s hint of worry was now full of unmistakable fear.

Yet all Bridget could think was that she knew that voice, had heard it before.

A thousand thoughts collided together in her mind. And then, as if this meeting had been destined from the beginning of time, planned by the Lord Himself, Bridget’s mind grasped on to a single word swirling above the jumble in her head: him.

She could feel his approach, in the reverberation of his heels striking the wooden floor, each step filled with grave purpose.

He was heading her way.

But she couldn’t see him yet.

And, thankfully, he couldn’t see her. She needed a moment to prepare.

When the rich, masculine voice called for the children a third time, Bridget forced herself to reply. “Over here, on your right, by the toys.”

The footsteps quickened.

She breathed in deeply and tightened her hold on the children. They responded in kind.

Half a heartbeat passed. And then…

He came into view. The one person Bridget hadn’t been able to get out of her mind since arriving in America. William Black.

The moment his gaze connected with hers he came to a dead stop. Surprise registered in his eyes first. Then confusion. Followed by something she couldn’t begin to decipher.

For several more seconds he stared at her, unmoving, not speaking.

Bridget was stuck in a similar state of shock.

Before either had a chance to recover, Olivia yanked her hand free of Bridget’s and lunged forward, her doll raised in the air. “Papa, Papa. Look what I found.”

* * *

Olivia’s excited words barely registered in Will’s mind. He struggled to moderate his breathing and calm his thoughts. But no matter how hard he tried to focus, he couldn’t fully accept that he was staring into the mesmerizing eyes of Bridget Murphy.

She was here. In Faith Glen’s general store.

Holding his son’s hand.

Will’s stomach performed a slow, unexpected roll. Was that confusion spinning around in his gut? A sense of foreboding? Nervousness, perhaps?

“Papa. Papa.” Olivia tugged on his pant leg. “I’m talking to you.”

Will lowered his gaze. A tiny frown creased the soft skin between Olivia’s slim brows.

Sometimes, he thought with a burst of affection, his daughter could be such a serious little creature.

In an effort to calm his child’s worry, or whatever had put that look on her face, he smoothed his hand over her hair. “What have you found, my darling? Show me.”

“A dolly.” She thrust the toy higher, a slow grin spreading across her lips. “I couldn’t reach her at first. The nice lady helped me get her down from the shelf.”

The nice lady. Did his daughter mean Bridget? Bridget Murphy?

Will looked up again. This time he felt an actual impact when his eyes met Bridget’s. Under her soft gaze something unexpected awakened deep within him, as though a part of him had been half asleep, poised and waiting to come alive until this precise moment.

Bridget smiled. The feeling dug deeper.

“Hello, Will.”

He managed a short nod. “Bridget.” He could think of nothing more to say.

Needing a moment, he dropped his chin and gazed at his son. Will had never seen Caleb that at ease with a stranger. In fact, the boy was holding Bridget’s hand with unmistakable confidence, as though he’d been doing so all his life.

“I see you’ve met my children.” Will spoke past the lump in his throat.

“I have.” Her gaze went blank a moment and then understanding filled her expression. The look said she’d put several missing pieces of the puzzle together in her mind. “Well, that explains it.”

“Explains what, precisely?”

“Their eyes.” Her voice softened. “They have your eyes.”

How often had he heard that before? Too many times to count. But spoken in Bridget’s soft Irish lilt, the compliment seemed to take on new meaning.

Olivia tugged on his pant leg again. “I like her, Papa.”

He did, too. God help him, he liked her, too. Perhaps a bit too much. He’d been down this road before, to devastating results. Had he learned nothing from his mistakes?

Will swallowed back a wave of unease.

Unaware of his discomfort, Olivia skipped back to Bridget and took hold of her free hand.

A brief moment of silence passed. The three stood there, looking back at him with smiles on their faces. Bridget and his children looked comfortable together, happy, as if they were a family.

The sight nearly brought him to his knees.

There was no denying that Bridget Murphy, in her simple muslin dress and hair confined in a neat bun, looked the picture of a happy young mother spending the day with her children. An illusion, of course. A trick of the eye.

Again Will wondered why the woman was here in Faith Glen.

Perhaps her appearance on the scene, at this particular moment in time, was no accident, but a part of God’s plan for all of them.

Is she our answer, Lord?

There was an easy way to find out. But not in front of the children. “Caleb, Olivia, have you picked out your toys yet?”

Olivia studied the blond-haired doll in her hand, looked up at Bridget, then shook her head decidedly. “I don’t like this dolly anymore. I want one with brown hair—” she pointed up to Bridget “—like hers.”

Although surprised, Will couldn’t blame his daughter for her change in preference. Bridget had the loveliest head of hair he’d ever seen. He was sorry for the perfectly neat bun, sorrier than he should be. “Then go on and pick out a different one.”

Olivia skipped off.

Caleb, however, wasn’t budging from Bridget’s side. He had that stubborn look on his face, the one Will knew all too well. The boy was staying put.

Before Will could decide how best to pry his son loose, Miss Murphy provided a solution of her own. “Caleb, I think I would very much enjoy a miniature boat to remind me of my trip across the ocean. Would you go pick one out for me?”

It was all the encouragement the boy needed. He rushed toward the display of toys with a promise to find her the very best one in the store.

Will’s heart twisted in his chest. He hadn’t seen his son that enthusiastic in a long time, maybe never.

He turned back to Bridget. She watched the children with a soft smile playing on her lips. She was really quite beautiful when she smiled like that.

The thought put Will immediately on guard.

The woman could be hiding a selfish heart behind that pleasant look. Or she could be exactly what she seemed, a lovely Irish lass worthy of his trust.

He was desperate enough to hope for the latter.

“When we met yesterday,” he began, keeping his voice even, “I hadn’t realized your final destination was Faith Glen.”

She turned to look at him. “Nor I, you.”

“You are staying with relatives?” He didn’t recall any Murphys in town, but Bridget could have family living here under a different name, perhaps on her mother’s side.

“No.” She shook her head. “My sister and I are renting a room at Rose’s Boardinghouse.”

Although that didn’t explain why she was in Faith Glen, Will nodded his understanding. “I see.”

Her features suddenly shifted with concern and her cheeks turned a becoming pink. “Oh, you must think me terribly callous. I haven’t yet asked you, what did you find out about your fiancée?” She touched his arm, the gesture full of compassion. “Please, tell me I was wrong about Miss Collins and that she is here in Faith Glen with you now.”

As if hoping to find the woman in the store, she looked over his shoulder and scanned the immediate area behind him.

Will shoved back the despair that tried to rise within him. “Unfortunately the woman who died in the accident aboard ship was by all indications my intended.” He had her baggage in his possession to prove it.

“Oh, Will.” Her hand tightened on his arm. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

He believed her, believed the sadness in her tone and the sympathy in her touch. Something in him, some need he hadn’t known was there, wanted to rest inside all that gentle concern. If only for a moment.

He didn’t dare. This wasn’t about him. It had never been about him.

“Thank you for your condolences.” His voice sounded as stiff as he felt. He hadn’t met Bridget Collins. Her death was surreal to him. But that didn’t mean he didn’t feel sadness and guilt. Especially guilt.

Bridget must have sensed his shift in mood because her hand fell gently to her side. “Do your children know their new mother is de—” She cut herself off before finishing the word. “I mean, do they know Miss Collins is…gone?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I thought it best not to tell them anything about her until she arrived, in case something happened on the journey over.”

And something had happened, the worst possible something. Had Will not sent for Miss Collins, had he not insisted she come immediately, she might not have been in the wrong spot at the wrong time. She might still be alive today.

Forgive me, Lord, for putting the innocent woman in danger.

“Keeping your bride a secret until she arrived.” Bridget’s expression turned thoughtful. “That was rather wise of you.”

Wise? No. He’d merely been protecting his children from the possibility of another disappointment. “Olivia and Caleb have endured enough broken promises in their short lives. I won’t be responsible for adding another.”

He hadn’t meant to speak that plainly, regretted doing so the moment he noticed the change that came over Bridget. It was subtle, of course, and could mean anything, but she was no longer smiling.

“Would you say, then, that you are a man of your word?” She asked the question in an odd voice.

It was clear his answer mattered to her but he couldn’t fathom why. “Yes. A man’s word is his most valuable commodity in this life.”

“I agree.” Everything in her seemed to soften then, her eyes, her shoulders, even her smile. “What will you do now that you know the truth about your intended?”

He answered without hesitation. “Find another bride.”

“I see.”

She fell silent. As did Will. He could tell Bridget wasn’t finished, though, by the way she studied him with her brows pulled together in a thoughtful expression. When she did speak again she seemed to choose her words with care. “Perhaps you should consider hiring a nanny, at least until you are able to find another bride.”