A Mistaken Match. Whitney Bailey

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      A shiver coursed through Ann’s shoulders. He wasn’t just talking about the handkerchief.

      James extended his arm toward the wagon, and helped her alight onto the seat. “Where’d you learn it?”

      “Hmm?” His strong hands had touched her lightly as he held her palm and arm, but the phantom sensation of his touch remained. Her other hand throbbed lightly from its burn, only serving as further reminder of the last time they touched.

      “The lace. Who taught you how to make it?” James hauled himself onto the wagon seat and flicked the reins.

      “We were instructed in basic embroidery at the orphanage. When I entered service, I took handkerchiefs out of my mistress’s dresser and studied the needlework. Later, I would copy it.”

      “Why were you in an orphanage?”

      James didn’t know he’d asked Ann two questions. She’d lived in an orphanage twice in her life, but for very different reasons each time. Explaining the reason for her first stay was easy. Even thinking of telling him about the second made her stomach hurt. “Why are American children sent to orphanages?”

      James squinted at Ann through dark lashes and nodded slowly. “Of course. I apologize for the callous question. You lost your parents. I’m sorry.”

      His voice grew soft as he apologized. She resisted the urge to reach out and touch his hand. To let him know she appreciated his words. The hand closest to her rested palm up on his knee, the reins slack upon his fingers.

      He caught Ann staring at them and gripped the reins.

      Ann averted her eyes. “Delia seems like a nice girl.” She’d seemed like more than a nice girl. A few minutes with her and Ann felt she’d found someone she could confide in.

      “All of the Ludlows—and the Renners, for that matter—are good people. You’ll get to meet many of them at church.”

      “You aren’t going to make me stay home? Hide me away until you hear from Mrs. Turner?” she teased.

      James blushed. “I told you we’d tell everyone the truth. Or at least most of it. We met through an agency and you’re staying with me and Uncle Mac to see if we suit. There’s really no other way to explain why you’re living in my house. Besides, half the people in town seem to know already.”

      He was right. Mr. Davis hadn’t so much as blinked when James directed him to charge her purchases to his account. She now saw how ridiculous her inquiries regarding positions of service in New Haven had been. To all of New Haven, she would always be the intended Mrs. James McCann. It would be too awkward for any of them to hire her on. If she wanted a new position, she’d have to leave. Not only would she be starting yet another new life, but it must be far away from here.

      Ann played with the hem of her sleeve and her breath caught in her throat. She must handle this next topic delicately. “We haven’t yet discussed the terms of my staying with you.”

      He shot her a quizzical look. “What do you mean?”

      Ann swallowed hard. “I—I don’t have much money at the moment, to pay for room and board. However, if my handkerchiefs fetch as dear a price as Delia believes, I can repay you for everything. My passage. The agency’s fee.”

      James waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t you worry about board. If you clean the rest of the house as well as the kitchen and keep it that way, I’ll consider it payment enough. The kitchen hasn’t looked like that since Mother died.”

      “Oh.” Had she detected a compliment? What a pleasant surprise.

      “Of course, I’d hoped you’d cook as well as my mother, but I guess that was too much to wish for.”

      Ann bristled. She bit her tongue to keep her retort at bay. This man was never going to relinquish his prejudice against her.

      “As for your passage and the agency,” he continued, “I wouldn’t worry yourself too much about that.”

      Ann cocked her head and puzzled over his comment. “Why not?” she asked finally.

      “I’m confident the agency will refund their fee. They’d have to after the kind of mistake they made. And once you’re properly matched with your intended, he can repay me for your ticket.” He laughed. “I’m sure he’ll be scandalized to discover I could only afford steerage. Maybe we’ll tell him I sprang for a second-class ticket? Get a few more dollars out of him?”

      He turned to Ann and his smile dropped. “I’m only joking, of course. I’d never be dishonest.”

      Ann barely managed a weak smile in return. If only he knew the cost of repayment rested squarely on her shoulders. Even if she procured money, she’d first have to think of supporting herself. “But you’ll be alright until then?” she asked hopefully.

      James cleared his throat and gave a nervous chuckle. “Yes, though the sooner we hear from Mrs. Turner and get you sent off, the better. Fact is, I used most of last year’s profits to pay the agency fee and your passage. Until this year’s crops are in, I’m stretched a little thin. I counted on a lot more help around the house and the farm this summer and fall. It’ll cost to hire a hand during harvest.”

      Her insides clenched. If only a wealthy suitor really did await her, checkbook in hand.

      “Did you post the letter to Mrs. Turner?” she asked, sure that he had.

      James chewed his lip. “I did.”

      So it was done. The countdown had begun.

      * * *

      Back at the farm, James let Ann off by the door before pulling the wagon into the barn and tending to the horse. He took the few minutes of solitude to mentally review their trip to town. When he’d invited Ann to stay with him, he never imagined he could be so weak. He’d prayed over and over that morning for strength to focus on the task at hand. Such a simple task. Patiently await the arrival of his intended bride—a helpmate for the farm and the future mother of his children—all while sharing a home with the most breathtaking beauty New Haven had ever seen.

      He stifled a chortle. Simple? This was the hardest task of his life. Every time he turned around, a compliment escaped his lips. Why did he keep doing that? The only antidote he could think of was to follow his praise with criticism. To remind himself he couldn’t be caught up in the deceit of beauty again. Yet each time he criticized her, Ann’s doe eyes reflected the wound. Then his chest would tighten to see he’d caused her pain, and he’d be caught up in her gaze all over again.

      No, he couldn’t do this to himself! His time with Emily would be for nothing if he repeated the same mistakes. From the moment they met, he’d been utterly blind to Emily’s flaws. He’d ignored every warning God gave him and plunged ahead, hoping she’d grow a heart for farm life and family devotion.

      The summer sun still hung high in the sky when he left the barn. His cheeks burned and his mouth felt dry as dust. He headed to the well pump for a drink of water and found Ann already there. She let the tin cup hanging by a chain drop with a clatter and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

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