Mail-Order Christmas Brides. Jillian Hart

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СКАЧАТЬ lumped in her throat, making it hard to speak. “I didn’t know I was getting a new sister.”

       “Tate is in real trouble now, since we can conspire against him.” Good-humored brown eyes glanced out the open doorway, where a frigid wind gusted and Tate’s shadow knelt to lower the trunk onto the tiny porch.

       Why did her heart jump at his shadow? Why did she strain to hear the departing crunch of his boots down the pathway? A moment later, horse hooves clinked a slow rhythm, growing faint.

       “I’m sure he heard me and didn’t like what I said.” Laughing, Ingrid closed the door against the wintry night. “Let me hang your coat while you get warm by the fire.”

       “Shouldn’t I fetch my trunk?”

       “Tate will bring it in when he’s done stabling the horse.” Ingrid, petite and slender, apple-cheeked and energetic, helped Felicity out of her wraps. “You must be frozen through. I’ve heard some of those railroad cars can be quite drafty. Was it exciting riding a train all that way?”

       “Very. The most exciting thing I’ve ever done.” She thought of Eleanor as she surrendered her coat. She glanced around and noted the secondhand sofa with fraying cushions, a scarred wooden chair and a battered table tucked midway between the sitting area and the kitchen. She set her reticule on a rickety end table. “Have you ever ridden the train?”

       “Sadly, yes. Many times.” Sorrow stole Ingrid’s smile as she hung the coats on a wall peg. Even Gertie bowed her head, as if saying anything more would dredge up a sadness neither of them could speak of.

       What had happened to this family? Questions burned on her tongue, but she stayed silent, not wanting to sadden them more. The scent of a baking roast rose richly from the range. In the shadows, the kitchen took up the other outside wall of the main room with a pair of tall cupboards and slanting shelves. Wilting muslin curtains hung on the windows, the only adornment in the plain, brown room. This place needed a woman’s touch. Good thing she’d spent time sewing, embroidering and crocheting preparing for this day.

       “What do you think of Tate?” Ingrid whirled away to light a lamp centered on the round oak table.

       “He’s—” Words failed her. She thought of his frown. She thought of his cold manner. Then she remembered the love he had for his daughter. “I think he will make a fine husband.”

       “He will. He is absolutely a good man.” Ingrid lifted the lamp’s glass chimney and brought a flickering match to the exposed wick. “I’m glad you see that in him.”

       Gertie sidled close and pulled off the overly large gloves one by one to watch her aunt light the lamp. The glass chimney clinked back into place like a bell ending the sadness. Light danced, driving the shadows from the room and Felicity was able to see more of her new home. Blue ironware plates sat on shelves, pots and pans rested on lower ones. The windows were large and bound to let in plenty of cheerful sunshine during the day. She could make this place feel cozy in no time.

      Bless this house with Your love, Lord. She smiled reassuringly into Gertie’s anxious blue eyes. Help me to make it into a home. That’s what Gertie needs.

       She needed it, too.

       And Tate? She felt his approach long before the rhythm of his boots reached her. Remembering his desolate shadows, she wondered what she could do for him, this man who had given her this dream of a real home.

       “Here are your gloves, Felicity.”

       “Thank you, Gertie. Do you hear that?”

       “It’s Pa!” Adoration illuminated her, making her as bright as a star in the heavenly sky. Her shoes tapped a beat to the door, which she flung open. “Pa’s got your trunk!”

       “So I see.” She couldn’t explain why her gaze searched the shadows for a glimpse of his face. She longed for the sight of him. The side of her trunk hid him as he lumbered into the reach of lamplight. Without a word he bypassed her and disappeared behind a door in the far wall.

       That’s it? Not so much as a hello, or where do you want your trunk? She folded her gloves in half, smoothing them absently. She felt Ingrid’s curiosity, and then sympathy as she slipped the gloves next to her reticule. His behavior didn’t hurt her, at least that’s what she tried to believe. In reality it did, down deep.

       A thump echoed through the lifeless rooms as her trunk hit the floor.

       “Don’t take it personally. Tate doesn’t realize how cold he can seem.” Ingrid set a steaming teacup on the edge of the table. “Sometimes a heart is broken too many times and there is no way to put it back together again.”

       Felicity considered those hushed words and her hopes sank. She’d imagined so much with each letter she received from Gertie. A wonderfully loving father, a happy home, a man lonely and in need of a caring wife. She could see now those were Gertie’s hopes, not Tate’s. It wasn’t reality.

       His boots struck like hammer blows on the wood floor, his cane tapping a counter rhythm. He shouldered into sight, shrinking the room. He looked immense with his broad shoulders and muscled girth. The power of his disinterest in her struck like a hard gust of wind, shaking her to the bones.

       “I gave you my room. I moved all my things across the street, to the room above the store.” An icicle would be warmer than his tone and a glacier friendlier. “You will live here with Gertie until we’re…married…and then I’ll move into the lean-to.”

       “Won’t that get rather cold?”

       “Probably.” A muscle jumped along his jaw line, a sign of strain. She hadn’t considered how hard this must be for a man to take on a wife he clearly didn’t want.

       She felt numb, suffocating in disappointment. How many times had she imagined this moment? Walking into her new home to see the happy future she and Gertie and Tate would share? She’d pictured every outcome but this one, full of awkwardness and the feeling of being unwanted. She had made a terrible mistake.

       She’d also made the right one. Gertie twisted her hands, a worried little girl in a wash-worn calico dress.

      Is this why You brought me here, Father? She didn’t need God’s answer to know it was true. Tate’s heart might be irrevocably broken, but Gertie’s spirit was beautiful, fragile and immeasurably precious.

       “Tate.” Ingrid’s scolding tone held disappointment, too. “I can’t believe you. She’s going to change her mind about marrying you.”

       “I told her that to reassure her.” The muscle twisted in his jaw, harder this time. “She has a place, respectful to her reputation as I promised.”

       “You could have said it more gently.” Ingrid shook her head, brown curls scattering. “You’re going to scare her into leaving.”

       “But you said she would stay.” Gertie took her father’s hand, small and frail standing next to the large, powerful man.

       “I’m right here, Gertie.” Felicity resisted the urge to rush to the child and wrap her in her arms. Commitment turned her to steel. “I don’t want you worrying, okay?”

       “Okay.” The child gulped, holding on to her father with white-knuckled need. Was she afraid СКАЧАТЬ