The Substitute Bride. Janet Dean

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СКАЧАТЬ avoided his eyes. “I may have…exaggerated.” She’d figure out how when the time came.

      He chuffed but let it go. “Don’t take too long making your selection. It’s getting late.”

      Elizabeth glanced at the afternoon sun streaming in through the front windowpanes. “Late?”

      “I’d like to get us home before dark.”

      A jolt of awareness traveled through her, squeezing against her lungs. She gulped for air then forced her attention to the material, trying to ignore the implications.

      Lovely bolts of restful blue gingham, cheerful yellow dimity, sweet sprigs in pink twill. She ran a hand over a length of lavender checked cotton, cool to the touch. Not exactly the silks and velvets of her gowns back home, but nice.

      “The blue would look pretty with your eyes,” he said, his gaze warm and intense.

      His inspection set her hands trembling, a silly reaction. Clearly she needed a meal, far more than a few cookies. “Then I’ll take this one,” she said, indicating the blue.

      “Get enough for two, one to wear and one to wash.”

      Laundry, another to add to the long list of chores she’d never done.

      Thinking of the closet full of dresses in Chicago, she bit back a sigh. Then she remembered Ted’s concern about money. Offering two was generous. She motioned to her dress. “I can wear this.”

      “To church maybe, but you’d make a pretty scarecrow wearing that in the garden.” He hesitated. “Get enough to make three.”

      Had he just called her pretty? And offered three dresses?

      Yes, and called her a scarecrow, too. Her new husband could use lessons in chivalry.

      Heavenly days, she didn’t know how to make one dress. Still, she couldn’t refuse his gift. Under his rough exterior, Ted Logan possessed a soft heart.

      A woman wearing her salt-and-pepper hair in a tight bun and a crisp white apron over a simple blouse and skirt lumbered over, her smile as wide as her hips. “Why, Ted Logan, who do we have here?”

      Ted made introductions. The shop owner jiggled all over at the news.

      “Well, I’ll be! Huuubert!” she cried, the way Martha had when, as a child, Elizabeth had ignored her calls to come inside. “Come here and meet Ted’s new wife!”

      “I ain’t deef, missus.” A ruddy-faced splinter of a man, his suspenders crossing his humped shoulders, moseyed in from the back, carrying a bag of seed. He laid it on the counter then ambled to where they stood. Smiling at Elizabeth, he shook Ted’s hand. “Well, Ted, you married yourself a looker.”

      “Oh, she certainly is,” Mrs. Sorenson said. “Resembles one of those ladies in the Godey’s book, all fancied up and pretty.”

      Heat climbed Elizabeth’s neck. “Thank you.”

      “How long have you two been married?”

      Ted shifted on his feet. “We just came from the preacher.”

      “Why, I saw you ride past. You must’ve been on your way to the parsonage then.” Mrs. Sorenson elbowed her husband in the ribs. “Tell them congratulations, Hubert.”

      “I’m about to. Much happiness.” He turned to Ted and clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re a lucky man. Can’t say I recall seeing your missus before. If I had, I’d have remembered.” He smiled at Elizabeth. “Are you from around these parts, Mrs. Logan?”

      Elizabeth’s new name socked her in the belly. She was a missus now. Her belly flipped faster than Martha’s Saturday pancakes. “No, I—”

      “We’re here to buy a few things,” Ted interrupted.

      He must not want people to know she was a mail-order bride, and not the original bride at that. Did he believe they’d think she popped up under a rosebush?

      Mr. Sorenson waved a hand. “What can I get you folks?”

      Ted motioned to the stack of bolts Elizabeth had selected. “She needs enough fabric to make a dress from each of these.”

      Mrs. Sorenson stepped forward, her gaze running up and down Elizabeth’s frame, muttering gibberish about yardage and seam allowances. She grabbed up the three bolts Elizabeth indicated and lugged them to the long counter.

      Elizabeth and Ted followed, watching as Mrs. Sorenson unrolled the blue gingham, sending the bolt thumping across the counter. Soon she’d cut and stacked all the fabrics in a neat pile. “Will you need thread, needles?”

      Elizabeth glanced at Ted.

      “Plenty of thread at home, needles, too.” He glanced away. “But Elizabeth does need…a…few other things.”

      Mrs. Sorenson nodded. “Like what?”

      Ted tugged at his collar, squirming like a liar on a witness stand. He may have been married, but as a gentleman, he couldn’t speak of a woman’s unmentionables. “Get her two of whatever she requires.”

      “Of course.” Mrs. Sorenson grinned. “Right this way, Mrs. Logan.”

      As Elizabeth followed the older woman to a table at the back of the store, she wondered if she’d ever get used to hearing herself referred to as Mrs. Logan.

      Ted stayed behind, talking grain with Mr. Sorenson. Grateful not to have to select undergarments with her new husband looking on, Elizabeth unfolded a pretty white nightgown, a sheer, lacy thing.

      “Oh, your husband will love that,” Mrs. Sorenson whispered, her voice warm with approval.

      Glancing back at Ted, she found him watching her. She dropped the gown like a hot biscuit and grabbed a long-sleeved, plain, high-necked nightgown. Not exactly body armor, but close.

      “It’s hot around here in the summer,” Mrs. Sorenson put in.

      Heeding the hint, Elizabeth selected a sleeveless square-necked gown with no trim. Ugly and plain. Perfect.

      “That’s serviceable, but this is beautiful.” Mrs. Sorenson pointed to the sheer, lacy gown.

      “It’s too…too…” Elizabeth grabbed up the tag. “Pricey. You know new husbands.”

      “Yes, I do,” the older woman said with a wink, “which is why I suggested this one.”

      Elizabeth quickly gathered up two pairs of drawers, an underskirt and two chemise tops in cotton, all simple and unadorned, whether Mrs. Sorenson approved or not.

      At the counter, the shop owner totaled the purchases. When Elizabeth heard the number, she gasped. A sudden image of her father harassed by creditors popped into her mind. Had she and Mama spent too much money on clothes? Jewelry? Had mounting bills forced Papa to gamble? If so, why hadn’t he gotten a job like most men?

      “Add that to my account,” СКАЧАТЬ