The Substitute Bride. Janet Dean

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СКАЧАТЬ a way to smooth the rough waters between them. “Pastor Sumner performed a lovely service.”

      Ted gave a curt nod.

      Wonderful. A husband of no words. Well, she knew how to fill the gap. “He didn’t seem like one of those hellfire-and-brimstone preachers.”

      “Jacob can rise to the occasion if it’s warranted.”

      Elizabeth cringed. Would she be the topic of his next sermon on deceit? She tamped down the thought. Perhaps she had a way to get him to open up. “Were you born here?”

      “No.”

      Talking to Ted was like pulling teeth with a fraying thread. “Then where?”

      “St. Louis.”

      “What made you leave?”

      “No reason. Just looking for something, I guess.”

      Elizabeth couldn’t imagine what he’d been looking for that had stopped him here.

      One street comprised New Harmony’s downtown. A blacksmith stood at a forge in front of his shop, hammering a redhot horseshoe while a young woman prepared the steed’s hoof. A few doors down, a man wearing bib overalls entered the bank.

      Two women stood talking outside Sorenson Mercantile, the younger bouncing a baby on her hip. Signs tacked to the fading exterior advertised a post office and seed store in the back. Make one stop and you’d be done for the day.

      The door to a café stood open to catch the afternoon breeze. A barber’s red-and-white-striped pole caught her eye among the other nondescript buildings. Not much of a town compared to Chicago, compared to most anywhere.

      Still, New Harmony provided more chance to socialize than being tethered to a farm. That might be Robby’s dream and she’d done all this to give it to him, but she dreaded life in the country. How would she survive for the next ten, twenty, goodness, forty years? Still, her situation could be worse. She could be wearing Reginald Parks’s ring.

      Once she handled Ted’s household reasonably well, she’d have the courage to tell him about Robby. At the prospect of reuniting with her brother, her mood lifted, putting a smile on her face. Robby was the warmest, sweetest little boy. He never judged. Never manipulated. Never let her down.

      In the meantime, maybe a neighbor would befriend her. Or were these people as shallow and unfeeling as her so-called friends in Chicago, once word got out about the Manning reversals?

      Ted said he’d be kind to her, take care of her and give her all he possessed. But if she didn’t fulfill her end of the bargain to his satisfaction, would he forget all his fine words? Were Ted’s promises as meaningless as Papa’s?

      She fingered the gold band encircling her finger. Like most young girls, she’d dreamed of her wedding day, marrying a man she adored, a man who cherished her in return. But her parents’ marriage had taught her that real life didn’t measure up to fantasy.

      The wheels caught in a rut in the street, jostling the wagon. Clinging to the seat, Elizabeth glanced at her husband, the flesh-and-blood man sitting next to her. Firm jaw, solid neck, wide shoulders. Ted had called their union a business arrangement, a binding contract. No matter what she told herself, Ted Logan didn’t look like a line on anyone’s ledger.

      At Sorenson’s Mercantile, he pulled back on the reins, set the brake, then jumped down and tied up at the hitching post. His long strides brought him to her side. He lifted her to the street, his hands strong yet gentle. If only she could trust Robby’s future to this man.

      Up ahead a plumpish woman made a beeline toward them, the ribbons on her bonnet flapping in the breeze. “Hello, Ted. Who’s this?”

      “Afternoon, Mrs. Van Wyld. This is Elizabeth, my wife.”

      Her blue eyes twinkled. “Well, imagine that? I hadn’t heard about your marriage.” She turned to Elizabeth. “Call me Johanna.”

      Obviously this woman kept up with the news. Still, her warm greeting brought a smile to Elizabeth’s face. “We just came from the ceremony.”

      “You did? Well, congratulations!” She beamed. “Why, I must be one of the first to know.” She said goodbye then rushed off, calling to a woman down the way.

      Ted harrumphed. “No need to put an announcement in the paper now that Johanna knows.”

      Elizabeth’s optimism tumbled at the expression on his face. They’d have no friends. No family. No party to celebrate. “Were you hoping to keep our marriage a secret?” In case it didn’t work out. But she didn’t finish the thought.

      “No.” He opened the mercantile door. “It would’ve been nice to get used to it ourselves before the whole county knows.”

      Inside, Elizabeth gaped at the wide array of goods filling every table and ledge. The scent of kerosene, vinegar and coffee greeted her. Behind the long counter, shelves stocked with kerosene lamps, china teapots, enameled coffeepots, dishes and crocks rose from floor to ceiling.

      Barrels of every size and shape lined the front of the counter, leaving enough space for two customers at the brass cash register. Overhead, lanterns, pots and skillets hung from the ceiling. Picture frames, mirrors and tools of every size and description lined the walls.

      Ted pointed to a table in the center of the room piled with bolts of fabric. “Get yourself some dresses.”

      “I…don’t see any dresses.”

      He gave her a curious look. “Uh…that’s because they aren’t made yet.”

      “Oh. Right.” She marched toward the bolts. “I’ll take the fabric to the dressmaker’s—”

      He laid a hand on her arm and then jerked it back, as if afraid to touch her. “Dressmaker’s?”

      “Well, yes, won’t she—” The look on his face cut off Elizabeth’s protest. “Oh.” Her fingers found her mouth. “I’m the dressmaker?”

      “You said you could sew.”

      She 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 СКАЧАТЬ