The Substitute Bride. Janet Dean

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      Elizabeth bit back a groan. Another model of wedded bliss. Why had she taken such a drastic step?

      Mr. Sorenson removed the lid from a large jar of peppermints on the counter, dipped out a brass scoopful and dumped them into a small sack, then handed it to Elizabeth. “These are for Anna.”

      Ted raised a palm as if to refuse, then nodded. “That’s thoughtful. Thank you.”

      “Give a kiss to Henry,” Mrs. Sorenson added.

      These shopkeepers were warm and generous, different from those Elizabeth had known in Chicago.

      “We’d better be on our way,” Ted said. “I promised dinner at the café.”

      “Could I speak to you, Ted?” Mr. Sorenson asked.

      “Sure.” He turned to Elizabeth. “Will you be all right for a minute?”

      “Of course,” Mrs. Sorenson said for her. “That’ll give us a chance to talk. Maybe your wife will share a favorite recipe.”

      Elizabeth gulped. Unless calling the maid for tea constituted a favorite recipe in these parts, she was in deep trouble. Surely only the beginning of her woes.

      Chapter Five

      Ted stowed the seed in the wagon, then took the packages from Elizabeth and wedged them in tight. For a man in a hurry, he had a patient way about him. She’d never been patient about anything in her life. A trait like Ted’s could either drive her to distraction or make life easier.

      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.”

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