Bartered Bride Romance Collection (70 page)

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bby stared after him for a long moment, wondering what was going through his mind. He had seemed to be such a gentleman, although she was obviously not what he had expected. What in the world had Caroline told the poor man?

He was a lot younger than Abby had expected.
Yes, quite a bit younger
, she mused.
And handsome, too. With hair the color of sun-kissed wheat, eyes—

“Come on in, dear,” Iris repeated, breaking into Abby’s wandering thoughts. “I guess James forgot to tell me your name.”

Abby looked up to find Iris’s brilliant eyes, eyes the same bright blue as her brother’s, fastened on her face. “Abby Cantrell. I’m so sorry….”

“Nonsense.” Iris gave an unladylike snort, accompanied by a friendly grin. “You’re tired from your long trip, and James brought you here so you could rest. That’s no reason to be sorry.”

Abby sighed as she slogged into the house after Iris, feeling as if she might collapse if she remained on her feet much longer.

“Now, you just sit down here and put your feet up on this stool,” Iris commanded. “I’ll bring you a cup of tea.”

Abby obeyed, her heart warming at the genuine friendliness of the woman.

Iris reappeared with two steaming cups. Handing one to Abby, she settled herself comfortably on a floral tapestry settee. “Now, tell me all about yourself, Abby.”

James clenched his teeth against the jarring of the wagon as it bumped over the dirt road. How could the day’s events have taken such an unexpected turn? He sighed as he pulled up in front of the farmhouse. He should have been bringing a bride home. But instead of a bride, he had a problem. A big one.

He did his chores mechanically then sank down in his favorite rocker in front of the hearth. Since she—no, since Caroline—answered his newspaper advertisement, he had dreamed of his bride sitting next to him in this very room, sharing treasured moments from the day, just being together. Now that’s all it was—a dream.

God, I thought you were leading me. I thought I was doing Your will
. He pictured Abby’s face. She was all he had hoped for in a wife. Even in the short time he was with her, he could sense her gentle spirit. And she was beautiful, too, of course.

But what of the child? He wished he’d had the presence of mind to ask her more questions. How could she possibly even think that he would marry her? It wasn’t just the fact that she was carrying a child, but that he felt somehow deceived. Had it been their plan all along? Was she running from some sort of trouble?
Maybe her family sent her away when they learned the shameful truth of what she had done—or had done to her
, he thought.

He felt his head begin to throb. What did she want from him? A sudden horrifying thought came to him. What if there really was no Aunt Caroline, and what if Abby was already married? Maybe she was running away from her husband. He had heard of such things happening. But then … he thought again of the wounded look in her expressive eyes, her shy smile, the way she carried herself with womanly dignity, and he couldn’t believe anything sordid about her.

“Well, Lord, I guess You will have to show me what to do with this young lady,” he said aloud. “All I know is, I prayed long and fervently for a wife … and Abby Cantrell is the one that arrived on the train.” He picked up his well-worn Bible from the hearth. “If she’s the one You sent me, I need to know.”

“Lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.” The oft-read verse from Proverbs jumped out at him. He closed his eyes, remembering the still, small voice that had spoken earlier.

Show her the way to Me. Show her the way to Me
.

After a long while, James rose and went to bed. Tomorrow should prove to be a day he would remember for years to come—his wedding day.

His heart began a slow thump when he saw her sitting on Iris’s porch steps, the morning sun glinting off her dark, shiny hair. She smiled at him, and he couldn’t seem to remember anything he had planned to say.

He swiped his hat off as he neared the porch. “Good morning, ma’am. Did you sleep well?”

She nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

He gestured to the step. “May I?” At her nod, he seated himself next to her, immediately assailed with her scent that he remembered vividly from yesterday, from that brief intoxicating moment he had held her in his arms. She smelled like a sun-drenched field of wildflowers. He scooted a little farther away, trying to regain his train of thought. “I, uh, thought we’d better discuss a few things,” he said, feeling like an awkward schoolboy.

She darted an amused glance at him. “I’m not going to bite you, Mr. Parrish.”

He grinned sheepishly, fascinated with the way her hazel eyes were smiling at him. “I’ve decided that we can still get married,” he blurted.

Her mouth dropped open. “M–married?”

What is going on here? Surely she—

“Isn’t that why you came here?” he asked cautiously.

She stared at him wordlessly for a long minute. “I … no. I did not come here to get married. Caroline told me …” Her voice trailed off, and her gaze turned compassionate. “That’s why you were so disappointed when you saw me.”

Disappointed? That wasn’t the word I would have chosen
. ”

No, no,” he said hastily. “Not disappointed. Just … surprised.”

She didn’t look convinced.

“I just never imagined—” He stopped as he noticed her lips beginning to twitch. Was she … laughing? He smiled into her eyes, a chuckle working its way up to his throat. “I guess it is kind of funny,” he said.

She glanced back down at her protruding belly, but not before a soft giggle escaped. “Forgive me. It’s just that—” She giggled again, and this time he laughed with her. Soon they were shaking with laughter, tears running down their faces.

He finally caught his breath. “Perhaps we should introduce ourselves all over again,” he suggested.

She dabbed at her eyes with a lacy handkerchief. “All right.” Her eyes still danced with laughter as she gave him her hand. “I’m Abigail Cantrell, your new housekeeper.”

He bowed over her hand then captured her gaze with his. “Pleased to meet you, Abigail Cantrell. I am James Parrish, your future husband.”

The light in her eyes dimmed, and he felt her small hand tremble beneath his. “I’m not so sure that’s such a good idea, Mr. Parrish. You see, I’m not a free woman.”

She felt him start. “I wasn’t going to tell you all this, but I guess I owe it to you.” She gently withdrew her hand from his. “I suppose you’ll put me back on the train once you hear my story.” It had taken all the courage she possessed just to leave home and all she had known to come west. And now—

He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

She moved restlessly, feeling the weight of the babe in her womb and the still greater weight of her guilt bearing down on her. Why, oh why had she gone against Papa so willfully? Then none of this would have happened. She would still be enjoying the peaceful life she had always known.

She finally remembered the silent man sitting next to her, and she turned to gaze at him. Why couldn’t she have met someone like James before—? She noticed the tiny laugh lines around his eyes and the gentle peace written there, drawing her like a magnet. Something deep within her reached out to him, as it had from the first moment they had met.

He watched her quietly as she studied him, and suddenly she knew that she could trust him with her life. “I’m not sure where to begin,” she said, searching his blue eyes again just to make sure. “I guess I should tell you that I’m widowed.”

He nodded, an unreadable expression on his face.

“My husband died six months ago.” Her flat, emotionless voice matched her feelings. “We were just suspecting my condition at the time of his death.” Shifting her weight, Abby tried unsuccessfully to find a comfortable position on the hard porch step.

“But if the truth be told, I don’t regret the fact that Charles never knew about our child. You see, when my husband died, I learned that he wasn’t the man I thought he was….”

James frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

She smiled ruefully. “I’m not sure I do, either, Mr. Parrish. And I’m not sure I’m up to explaining it all to you now. Perhaps some other day. But, suffice to say, my husband …” She stumbled over the word then began again. “My husband was involved in something … unlawful.”

“And so?”

Abby raised her eyebrows, wondering why he hadn’t made the obvious connection. How could she make it plainer? “My husband committed some crimes. Then he died. Someone has to pay for what he did.”

He frowned again. “Pardon me for saying so, ma’am, but as much as I know about the law, I don’t think that a widow is expected to be punished for her husband’s crimes.”

“Oh no. Not the law.” She took a deep breath. “It’s God that I’m concerned about.”

“God? But God doesn’t require—”

“I, too, did some things that I regret. And so I made a vow to God, Mr. Parrish, the day that Charles died. It cannot be broken.” She could see the shock written on his face, but she plunged ahead, wanting to get it over with. “I will not allow someone else to be hurt because of my sins.” It sounded so stark, so melodramatic. But it was the truth.

“And the vow was?” His voice was grave, his gaze unwavering.

The question reverberated in the quiet morning air, a cricket chirping under the porch the only sound for a long minute.

She closed her eyes briefly then opened them to look directly into his. “I have vowed that I will never love anyone again.”

James took in the earnestness of her sweet face, and his heart ached for her. How had she missed the fact that love is the very essence of God? How could she think that a loving God would want her to live life without love?

He gently reached for her hand, holding it firmly between both of his. “Abby, I would be honored if you would accept my hand in marriage.”

She stared at him as if he had suddenly gone daft. “But I just told you—”

“You didn’t promise God that you would never let anyone love you, did you?”

She dropped her gaze, but not before he saw the blush that colored her smooth cheeks. “No,” she whispered.