The Substitute Wife © 2015 by Amanda Barratt
One Way to the Altar © 2015 by Andrea Boeshaar with Christina Linstrot Miller
Keeper of My Heart © 2015 by Mona Hodgson
Blinded by Love © 2015 by Melissa Jagears
Bonnets and Bees © 2015 by Maureen Lang
A Groom for Josette © 2015 by Gabrielle Meyer
Wedded to Honor © 2015 by Jennifer Uhlarik
A Bride for Bear © 2015 by Erica Vetsch
Have Cash, Will Marry © 2015 by Renee Yancy
Print ISBN 978-1-63409-097-1
eBook Editions:
Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-63409-533-4
Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-63409-534-1
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted for commercial purposes, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher.
All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
Published by Barbour Books, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683, www.barbourbooks.com
Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.
Printed in Canada.
Table of Contents
The Substitute Wife
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
One Way to the Altar
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Keeper of My Heart
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Blinded by Love
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Bonnets and Bees
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Epilogue
A Groom for Josette
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Wedded to Honor
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Epilogue
A Bride for Bear
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Have Cash, Will Marry
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
THE SUBSTITUTE WIFE
Amanda Barratt
Dedication
To my sister, Sara.
For all the laughter, late-night conversations, and loving my characters almost as much as I do.
You are a blessing and a treasure.
Chapter 1
Bristol, Connecticut
June, 1883
If men were mosquitoes, Grace Whittaker would be surrounded by every eligible gentleman in Bristol.
Instead she knelt outside in the family garden, not a man in sight. Unless one counted old Timothy Taylor watering his orchids next door. Audrey, on the other hand, sat in the blissfully cool parlor, her fiancé beside her. Giggling like a schoolgirl of sixteen instead of a bride-to-be, while Dr. Raymond McNair attempted serious conversation.
He failed miserably. What with Audrey rattling on about her dress, her bridesmaids, and the traveling theater company currently in town, the poor fellow barely got a word in edgewise.
Grace stood, rubbing the small of her back. At least she had a basket of roses to show for her labors. Something fragrant and summery to decorate the parlor with.
So much left to do. Including making sure Dr. McNair left at a reasonable hour. It wouldn’t do for the groom to see the bride the night before the wedding.
A sigh found its way to her lips. Tomorrow her sister forsook her girlhood forever, leaving Grace the only Whittaker child still at home. Of course, she would never dream of going anywhere.
Not that there was any place to go.
Grace crossed the porch and pushed open the door. Sunlight streamed through the tall front windows and cascaded over the honey-wood floor, now polished to a gloss. With the help of their cook, Mrs. Ackerman, she’d spent most of the morning waxing it. That is, when she hadn’t been occupied with packing Audrey’s trunk, shining the silver, and laying out the family’s best china. And a million other things.
More laughter streamed from the parlor, mingling with the muted melody of a Beethoven sonata. Audrey did love to perform. Especially when she had a rapt audience.
She entered the room quietly, so as not to interrupt. Audrey perched on the piano bench, her pink lawn skirts spread around her, a neat ribbon holding back her thick cinnamon-colored hair. Her face wasn’t reddened by the sun, nor her hands cracked and chapped. She was a lady. No wonder Dr. McNair was enraptured.
Out of the corner of her eye, Grace chanced a look at the man on the settee. A gray pin-striped suit encased his broad shoulders, and his mahogany brown hair had been slicked back with some sort of pomade. He flashed her a smile, his eyes crinkling, before riveting his gaze on Audrey. Fixated. Entranced. Just like every man, after her sister laid on the charm.
With Dr. McNair she slathered it a mile thick.
Audrey finished the piece with a flourish and spun around.
“Well? What do you think?”
“Very nice, darlin’. Very nice.” He crossed the room and rested his hand on Audrey’s shoulder, in the possessive way of a husband-to-be.
Her green eyes narrowed. “Nice? Is that all you can think to say? I wonder if you even heard a note I played.”
“Why, darlin’, of course I did. I heard every bit of it. And ’twas fine indeed, sure it was.” He chuckled, though it rang false.
Grace pressed her hands behind her back. Audrey wasn’t about to have one of her tantrums, surely? Not with all the work that still needed to be done. Not in front of Dr. McNair, the night before their nuptials.
“Sure it was! Humph! I doubt you comprehended half of the emotion, the pathos of the piece. How could you, when you spend your days stitching people up?” Her cranberry lips screwed into a pout.
“Ah, darlin’. You know I love your music better than any sound in all the world.” He bent and kissed the top of her head. “You’re just edgy, ’tis all. Fretting about tomorrow.” Grace could easily imagine him in his role as doctor, soothing an irritable patient with that voice of his. It slid over her ears, rich music, punctuated with the lilts and slurs of his native Ireland. Like hot and creamy chocolate steaming in a mug.
Audrey smiled, obviously mollified. “Oh, get on with you, you silver-tongued charmer. I’ve got lots of things to do before tomorrow.”
“As m’lady commands.” He kissed the nape of her neck, his arms around her waist.
Grace looked away. She shouldn’t be here, witnessing this tender moment between an almost married couple. Yet no one ever seemed to notice her, continuing on with their lives whether she was present or not.
As inconspicuous as the wallpaper.
A strange ache pinched her heart. Perhaps if she were pretty and lively like Audrey, a man might notice her. Look at her with love and longing, the way Dr. McNair did.
No. Audrey was satin slippers; she a pair of work boots. Practical. Dependable. Well worn.
And the sad truth remained. Men as handsome and distinguished as Raymond McNair wanted satin slippers.
Never boots.
Today, he’d gain his treasure.
Audrey Whittaker would become his beautiful bride. He, her adoring and adored husband. At last, he’d have a family to call his own.
Raymond rubbed a brush across the front of his new frockcoat, purchased especially for the occasion. He’d spent a pretty penny on his clothes, even more on the ring and the special gift he’d bought Audrey for their wedding night. But for her, it was worth it. He’d give her the moon if she asked him.
There. He stepped back and surveyed the array spread across the bed. Everything in readiness. Too bad he had over five hours to wait before going to the church.
He crossed to the window, gazing out at the street. A horse and buggy rattled past—the Taylor rig. Up early to make their weekly trip north to visit their children, as they did every Saturday morning. He waved, then leaned against the sill.
Lord, I pray Your blessing upon our marriage. May we love richly and give generously. And I pray, that if it be Your will, we would soon have a child to call our own. Amen.
He couldn’t wait another minute. Of course there’d be no seeing Audrey, but surely Grace wouldn’t mind if he dropped by the Whittaker house. Sat in the kitchen drinking coffee and eating one of Mrs. Ackerman’s featherlight strawberry muffins. Just to be near the woman he loved, even for half an hour.
It didn’t take long to dress quickly, not in his wedding finery, but in a simple everyday suit. Then he went out of the small apartment at the top of his medical practice. It always amazed him—the practicality of living above his office. If a patient arrived at one in the morning, or nine at night, he’d be only a few steps away.
Sadly, Audrey didn’t share his view. She wanted a proper house. But what woman wouldn’t? Though his apartment boasted four rooms, it wasn’t what a girl like her deserved.
Once he added a wee bit more to his savings, he’d buy her the home she desired.
At length, he arrived at the Whittaker residence, a spacious brick house in the heart of town. His marriage to the eldest daughter of Mr. Bromley Whittaker, owner of the finest dry goods store in Bristol, was a step in the right direction. Of course, even if she’d been a pauper, it wouldn’t have made a whit of difference. Not when he cared for her so.
He stepped onto the porch and gave a brisk rap. A moment later the door opened.
Grace stood just inside, an apron around her waist, her light brown hair twisted in a serviceable knot. She smiled, her pale gray eyes lighting.
“And a fine morning to you, Miss Grace.” He tipped his hat. “Might I beg a cup of coffee from Mrs. Ackerman?”
“You’re not supposed to be here.” She placed her hand on the door frame as if to bar him entrance. Although if he’d wanted to get in, it would be an easy task. Wouldn’t take much more than a stiff wind to plow the petite lass over.
“Aw, come now, Miss Grace.” He gave her his most charming grin. “I’m marrying your sister in just a few hours. I just want to be near her, ’tis all.”
She stepped aside, reluctance crimping her brow. “Very well. But if Audrey comes down, you’ll have to hide.”
“Agreed.” He moved past her, catching the scent of lemons. She looked tired, poor thing, dark circles under her eyes, a pale cast to her skin. No doubt the past weeks had been exhausting, assisting her sister with the planning and all. Strange. Audrey never showed fatigue, her features always as bright and cloudless as a summer day.
The warmth of the kitchen greeted him. Tantalizing scents of meat sizzling and coffee brewing made his mouth water. The Whittaker’s robust cook stood at the counter, putting finishing touches on an enormous three-tiered cake.
“What do you think you’re doing here, young man?” Mrs. Ackerman turned, brandishing her spoon like a weapon. “Today of all days! When I have so much work to do too.”
He hid a smile. “Why, Mrs. Ackerman, where did you get that absolutely divine cake? Did some fine restaurant from the city come and prepare it?” He gestured wildly. “Just look at the intricacies of the icing. The elegance of the … the …” How else could one describe a cake?
She beamed. “I made it myself, Dr. McNair, as you well know. You handsome devil, you. Now sit yourself down and I’ll get you some coffee and one of my strawberry muffins.”
He settled himself in a chair and drank in the peace that always swept over him at the Whittaker house. A home well run and properly managed. Soon, he would have such a place for himself. So very, very soon.
“Dr. McNair?”
He turned. Grace stood by the table, her face pale as bleached muslin. Her hands … were they shaking?
“Whatever is the matter?” Fire and thunder, the lass looked ready to collapse. His medical instincts sprang into action. Get her a chair so she didn’t fall on the floor. Some water. Salts volatile.
Her words stopped him short. “It’s Audrey.” Her breath came out in a shudder.
His heart kicked against his ribs. “What about Audrey?”
“She’s … she’s …”
He stood and grasped her shoulders, forcing her to look into his eyes.
Grace swallowed hard. “She’s gone.”
Chapter 2
Her next words would tear this man’s world apart. Unravel it completely, link by link, strand by strand. Grace couldn’t bear to think of it. But she had to tell him. She’d already revealed the worst. The rest was just detail.
Her father chose that exact moment to lumber into the kitchen, glasses perched on his nose, paper beneath his arm. Like so many other mornings, he wore his faded velvet dressing gown over his vest and trousers. Unlike so many mornings, his carefully laid plans were about to change.
“More coffee in the dining room, if you please, Mrs. Ackerman.” Then his gaze landed on Dr. McNair. “What are you doing here, my boy? You should be at home. Not here where my daughter could come in and see you.”
“Father.” Grace did her best to steady her tone and speak with authority. “Audrey isn’t here.”
“What do you mean she isn’t here?” Her father’s brow knit until it seemed as if the two salt-and-pepper caterpillars under his forehead would plow into each other.
“She ran away. I found this.” Grace pulled the letter from her apron pocket. Audrey had left it in her chamber. Next to her wedding gown.
The contents had already stamped themselves indelibly on her brain, but she forced herself to listen as her father read aloud.
To my family,
Once you have received this letter, you will have already discovered my absence. I hope it shall not come as much of a surprise to you. Please do not take the trouble to search me out, as I have no desire for anyone to do so. I have grasped my future with both hands and have no intention of letting it go. Perhaps you may guess with whom I have thrown in my lot.
Please give Ray my sincerest apologies, and my dearest hopes for his health and happiness. Although he is not the man I love, I wish him only the best.
Love to all,
Audrey
The letter fluttered to the ground. Her father’s face reddened. Grace glanced from him to Dr. McNair. He stared into space, jaw clenched. Emotions battled in his formerly warm eyes, now cold as iron.
“Ungrateful little hussy. I know just where she’s gone. That traveling theater manager she’s talked so much about. Well, I hope she’s wretched indeed. Bringing this disgrace upon the family. The very day of her wedding to a decent, honest man.” Her father paced the room, arms swinging wildly. Mrs. Ackerman stood motionless by the cake, icing dripping off her spoon and pooling onto the floor.
Dr. McNair sank into his seat. He leaned his arms on the table, his strong, broad shoulders now crumpled in defeat. Grace’s own eyes filled with tears. Only moments ago, there had been so much happiness, such anticipation. Now it lay in a heap at their feet, a cold, dead pile of ashes.
Audrey was flighty, of course. Had flirted and flitted from beau to beau for years. It had been a relief to them all when she’d at last settled upon the new town doctor. She seemed so happy with him. No one would have ever dreamed she would do such a thing.
Except Grace. She’d seen the signs. The blushes whenever Mr. Ransom was mentioned. The excuses to stop by the theater company’s encampment whenever they passed that way. She should’ve known. Warned someone. Perhaps if she had, this never would have happened.
Her heart squeezed. Now this good, upright man had to pay the price. She was used to picking up the pieces after Audrey scattered them around. Dr. McNair wasn’t. How would he endure the shame and humiliation of being left at the altar? Would his medical practice suffer? Would the townspeople still look at him with the respect he had received so far?
No. Plain and simple. No.
Dr. McNair straightened his stance, as if drawing from deep within an ounce of courage. “I’m sorry about this, Mr. Whittaker, sure I am. Please let me know what I can do to assist you through this difficult time. I’ll go to the church and tell Reverend Hansen there will be no wedding.”
“Not so fast, young man.” Her father wheeled around. The same determination that had taken a simple country store and turned it into the best establishment in town now lined his features. “Why shouldn’t there still be a wedding?”
“But, sir.” Dr. McNair shifted in his seat, raw pain in his face. “How can there be? I have no bride.”
“Why not?” Her father strode across the room and stopped directly in front of her. Grace swallowed hard. “You forget, my boy. I have more than one daughter.”
The air choked from her lungs. Father couldn’t mean …? He couldn’t be suggesting …? He couldn’t actually be offering …?
Herself as Audrey’s replacement.
“Sir?” Dr. McNair stiffened. “I haven’t the pleasure of quite understanding you. What can you be meaning?”
“I mean that since my eldest daughter is ungrateful enough to reject your suit, my youngest will take her place.”
The world she’d known crashed down again. She, wed Dr. McNair? Little, unremarkable Grace? Had her father lost his mind? As a replacement for Audrey, she was laughable. Dr. McNair would never agree. Nor would she. Would she?
“You wish to give me Miss Grace’s hand in marriage?” Dr. McNair looked ready to bolt out of the room. She didn’t blame him. Right now, she wanted nothing more than to crawl back under the covers and forget this terrible morning ever happened.
“Why not? Grace is all of nineteen years of age. Although she may not be as … well … as noticeable, she is just as capable as Audrey in running a house. The man who weds her will be most fortunate. And after all the trouble and expense I’ve been put to, it seems shameful for it all to go to waste.”
Noticeable? Just say it, Father. Audrey is ten times more likely to capture a man’s attentions than I. The words burned deep within her throat.
“Do you not care to ask the lass if she be willing?” Dr. McNair’s gaze sought hers.
A tingle spiraled down her spine. His chocolate-brown eyes. His chiseled features. Strength and masculinity. He couldn’t actually be considering … her?
“Why, of course she’s willing. What better offer could there be for her?”
The words stung, more because of their truth than anything else. Father was right. She would get no other offers. Except perhaps from some desperate widower who simply wanted a housekeeper.
But of course, she would never be anything more to Dr. McNair. He’d chosen her sister.
“I want to hear what she has to say.” The doctor looked down at her. Nothing resembling ardor filled his gaze. Only deep, heartrending sorrow.
“I would do anything to make amends for what my sister has done.” Tears swam in her eyes. For this man who her sister had so carelessly wounded. He’d given her his heart. She’d tossed it in the rubbish heap.
“There you have it. Now, Dr. McNair. What do you say? Shall you take my Grace in her sister’s place?” Her father laid a hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him. Instead of the usual censure in his eyes, something else lingered. As if he might, for a moment, think her special. Something valuable.
“Well? Will there be a wedding today or not?”
If only one could reel in events as easily as fishing line. Raymond would reel it all back, starting with yesterday evening. If he’d known of Audrey’s plans, surely he could have convinced her to stay, work things out. Somehow. Then he’d take back the events of the morning from the moment Grace had stepped into the kitchen. The letter. Mr. Whittaker’s anger. His substitute arrangement.
Had Mr. Whittaker taken leave of his senses? Women weren’t horses. You couldn’t simply exchange one for another. Audrey was the woman he’d fallen in love with. Not Grace. How could he, in good conscience, marry a girl he didn’t love? He couldn’t. Could he?
Still, he needed a wife. Every respectable doctor did. Someone to run the house and assist in the practice. That, along with his attraction to her, was the reason he’d decided to tie the knot with Audrey. Now she’d jilted him for some slick theater manager. No doubt he’d have her in his act soon enough. She’d like that. Audrey did enjoy putting on a show. Apparently including one that, up until yesterday, had cast her in the role of a devoted bride-to-be.
He chanced a glance at Grace. She studied him, her large gray eyes troubled. He’d always thought her a sweet lass. Quiet and mousey, but sweet. But to make her his wife?
Yet, he must have a wife. He’d thought to have one of his choosing, someone he loved and who loved him in return. Now love was no longer a consideration. After his heart had been tossed in the dirt and trod upon, how could it be? If he married Grace, he would gain a respectable wife. One with whom he could form a successful partnership. Omitting romance, he would still get exactly what he wanted.
“Come now, my boy. We’re waiting.” For a man whose daughter had committed such a transgression, Mr. Whittaker’s tone was a wee bit over-impatient.
Raymond swallowed, the roof of his mouth dry and gritty as plaster. “No … yes.” Yes? Where had that come from? As if some force outside of himself had taken hold of his tongue and spoken the words for him.
“You’re agreed then?”
Every ounce of good sense he possessed begged him to retract the words. He glanced at Grace. A shy gleam lit her eyes, like the hesitant flicker of a candle.
He’d chosen Audrey. But she wasn’t here. He still needed a wife. Though he didn’t love Grace, perhaps they could make things work. A convenient arrangement of sorts.
“If Grace is willing, then yes. I’m agreed.” He tried to sound firmer than he felt.
“It’s all settled. I’ll go down and speak to the minster. He should have no objections. Since your sister is unworthy of the honor, Grace, you, instead of her, may wear your mother’s wedding gown. I know she’d be proud to see you in it, if the Lord in His Providence hadn’t taken her from us.” His eyes took on a faraway look for a brief moment. “You’d better go and finish your preparations, my boy.” Mr. Whittaker clapped his hands together and hurried from the room.
Raymond cleared his throat. Grace clasped her hands behind her back, seeming at a loss for words. Something her sister never had difficulty with.
“I’ll do my level best to be a kind husband for you, lass.” He offered her a smile. “Though we haven’t had time to get properly acquainted, we can be friends at least, can we not?”
“I’d like that.” She returned his smile tentatively. So timid. Like a little sparrow afraid to venture far from home. Contrast that with Audrey’s butterfly brightness. He should have known better than to trust a butterfly. Too many others were attracted to her color and beauty.
He nodded. “Later then?”
Her only answer was another smile, before she ducked her head and flitted from the room.
Fire and thunder be on your head, Audrey Whittaker. Faithless, faithless lass!
The Holy Word demanded he forgive her. He’d promised to obey God as a young lad and wouldn’t stop now. Sometimes though, when one’s heart had been trod upon and smashed to bits, fighting back seemed so much more satisfactory than turning the other cheek. For a hot-blooded man like himself, anyway.
He made his way out into the mocking sunlight. Why should it shine when inside his heart blew a cold drizzle of rain?
Chapter 3
Grace adjusted the lace veil with trembling fingers. It fell to her waist in thick folds, hiding her unremarkable brown hair. Though the gown had been altered for Audrey’s taller, less petite frame, she’d made do with a few pins. And she had to admit that bedecked in the cream-colored silk, a flush to her cheeks, she did look somewhat like a bride. Albeit a plain one.
It still seemed surreal that Dr. McNair had actually agreed to the wedding. Her heart thudded beneath the fine gown. Perhaps he was so much in shock he hadn’t quite realized what he promised to do. Then he would arrive at the church and realize there’d been a terrible mistake. Could she endure the embarrassment if that happened?
She had to. This was her chance to have a home and a husband. Even if they were Audrey’s castoffs. Kindness had lingered in his coffee-brown eyes as he asked if they could be friends. Maybe they could try. She wasn’t fascinating or beautiful like Audrey, but she’d try to make him happy. Someday he might grow to care for her. Be glad they had married.
Lord, guide me. Help me to be a good wife to Dr. McNair. I know I’m not Audrey, but help me to try. And to be brave whatever happens this afternoon.
She smoothed the front of her dress one last time then picked up the flowers waiting on the dressing table. With her veil down, perhaps no one would notice who the bride was. At least during the ceremony. But afterward, there would be curious stares. And many questions. The town gossips would want all the details and were never shy about getting them. Oh, how she hated it when people stared. Especially at her.
She wouldn’t be alone, though. Dr. McNair would be with her. They could be stared at together.
Her father waited at the foot of the stairs, looking every inch the successful storeowner in his dark suit and tie. He’d brushed his thinning hair back, and his gold watch gleamed bright. Her pulse sped up. Since she’d been a child, she’d spent countless hours dreaming of her wedding day. Wearing her mother’s wedding dress, her father walking her down the aisle. The love in her groom’s eyes.
She’d have the first two at least. She could make do without the third.
“Thank you, Grace.” Her father smiled. “At least I have one daughter worthy of the Whittaker family name. Your mother would be so proud.”
“Thank you, Father.” Tears gathered in her eyes. She’d always longed to please him, to be a daughter he could be glad of. Now, in a strange twist of fate, she’d accomplished just that.
The carriage waited outside, and in a matter of minutes they arrived at the church. The gray stone building with its tall steeple, a cross at the tip, always filled her with a sense of reverent awe. Today, even more so. Within these walls she would be transformed from Grace Whittaker into Grace McNair. A different person. One who could perhaps be something other than plain and unimportant.
Within the church, people laughed and talked, the strains of a piano intermingling. Clutching her skirt with one hand and her father’s arm with the other, Grace climbed the steps.
Another melody swelled from the piano, banged out by Mrs. Morgan’s knobby fingers. Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March.” She sucked in a breath. In mere moments she would pass the point of no return. There’d be no taking back this hasty decision.
Her hand delicately placed atop her father’s arm, Grace took the first step. The long aisle stretched before her, a sea of faces endlessly ahead. At the end stood Dr. McNair. So very handsome in a gray, double-breasted suit, his sun-bronzed face pale. She faltered as around her, people gasped, no doubt realizing the switch in brides. Still, she made herself keep going. One foot in front of the other.
At the altar, the minister waited, the small black book solemnly in his hands. Dr. McNair moved to take her arm. Her throat tightened as she gazed up at that firm, resolute face. No sign of love, only determination. She should expect nothing less, of course, but …
His large hand all but swallowed hers, and as moisture slicked her palm, her grip began to slip. She tightened her fingers around his and looked up at the minister.
“Dearly beloved …”
The ceremony passed in a blur as she pledged herself to a stranger. To love and cherish him till death did they part. Such lofty promises. Could she keep them? Would he keep his and care for her in sickness and in health? Forsake all others and keep only unto her as long as they both should live?
Had they both made a terrible mistake, entering into a contract so binding? Perhaps she should never have agreed. But the deed was done. She was in for a penny and in for a pound.
“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
He gave her a slight smile as he lifted her veil, throwing back the lace to reveal her identity to the entire assembly. More gasps and piercing stares. The piano burst into another piece. If she’d been Audrey, he would’ve kissed her in celebration. Instead, he simply took her hand.
Into the sunlight they went, racing down the steps as showers of rice streamed in their direction like hundreds of tiny good wishes.
If the first few moments of their marriage were any indication of how the rest would be, they’d certainly need them.
They’d survived the gauntlet of stares and questions and emerged basically unscathed. Thank goodness it was over. Raymond couldn’t imagine a worse three hours than those spent at the Whittaker home during the reception. Though few had actually asked outright, the hints and innuendos had been more numerous than he could count.
A dull ache pounded in his temples as the carriage stopped at the door of his practice. He jumped down and offered his hand to Grace. In silence, they climbed the steps. He opened the door. He’d always imagined carrying his new bride over the threshold before giving her a long and lingering kiss. For over a year, he’d dreamed it would be Audrey. Now, a small and silent girl stood in her place, so he simply opened the door and stepped back to let her inside.
The waiting room was deserted, of course, the books and periodicals stacked neatly on a small table, the clock ticking away above the frame that held his medical degree. That scrap of paper he’d slaved so hard for during four long years, an Irish kid from the coal mines who shouldn’t have amounted to a darn thing. He’d been determined to succeed in his career. With God’s help he’d succeed in marriage as well.
He climbed the stairs and unlocked the door. Twilight flickered across the carpet, the walls he’d so painstakingly re-papered, the sofa and easy chair he’d purchased. A vase of flowers sat on the kitchen table. Audrey’s favorite orchids. All of it done for her, only her, and she’d thrown it in his face!
An intense wish for an ax and a pile of wood to demolish came over him. Something to burn the anger and frustration hovering in the corners of his mind. Beasts rattling their chains of self-restraint, begging to be unleashed. His gaze landed on Grace, wavering by the door like a little sparrow who would take flight at the slightest threat. He had to put her at ease. Irish men were gentlemen, no matter the circumstances.
“This is the parlor.” He lit the lamp atop the fireplace mantle to give the room some light. “And sort of the dining room as well.” He opened the kitchen door. “Through here is the kitchen. I had a pump installed so you don’t have to go outside to get water. Audrey … your sister said your house had one. Then, across the hall is your room.” His, actually. But there was only one bedroom, and he wouldn’t have her sleeping on the sofa. It would do just fine for him.
She crossed the room in silence and opened the chamber door. A fist closed around his throat. He’d even bought new linens to replace the old sheets he’d been using, and covered them with a new quilt that the wife of one of his patients had made.
Raymond brushed past her, into the room. “Give me a moment to collect some things and then I’ll be out of your way.” He opened the closet and pulled his few suit jackets and trousers off their hooks.
“I’m sorry … to put you out of your room.” Her voice came out thin as a reed.
He grabbed his shaving kit and comb and added them to the top of the pile. “I’m fine.” One last sweep of the room. Only the things in the drawers remained. Those he would retrieve tomorrow. Good. He could get out of here now. “There’s leftover stew in the kitchen if you’re hungry.”
“Thank you.” She perched on the edge of the bed. “You’ve been very kind.”
He shifted the pile of stuff in his arms. “If there’s nothing else you’ll be wanting, then I’d best go see to the horses.” He all but ran from the room. The door clicked behind him.
Once in the parlor, he deposited his pile on the sofa then escaped down the stairs. The comforting scents of his clinic wafted over him. The spice of herbal remedies. The pungent antiseptic he cleaned with. The starch of the clean linens atop his examining table. After the events of the day, this at least remained unchanged. Something to throw himself into. A surefire way to forget the woman upstairs who now shared his name.
Lord, I need Your strength. In Your Word, it promises You never leave nor forsake us. Never am I more glad of that than now. Be with us in the days to come. And somehow, help us to make this work.
He ran his fingers through his hair. Enough. Despite his problems, Blarney and King still needed to be fed and stabled.
Thank heaven for work.
Chapter 4
Why couldn’t she be beautiful like Audrey? Why did her features have to be so small and unremarkable, her straight hair such a muddy shade of brown? Not blessed with effortless curls like Audrey’s, her tresses hung to her waist like a sheet. Leaving no practical way to style it, save in a knot at the nape of her neck.
She jammed in pins, smoothed her fingers over the chignon, then hurried from her room. No use looking in the mirror again. She’d only dislike what she saw.
Morning light streamed through the parlor windows. Grace stifled a yawn. She’d scarcely slept last night, overwrought by her change in surroundings and the nearness of the man in the next room. She opened the kitchen door. Deserted save for a table, two chairs, a stove, icebox, and dishpan. Where was Dr. McNair?
No matter. She smoothed the front of her apron. She’d simply have breakfast waiting for him. She opened the icebox and peered inside. A jug of milk, a bowl of eggs, and a rasher of bacon. Plus, the leftover stew he’d spoken of.
Either he ate breakfast food at every meal, or this man just plain starved. Perhaps there’d be some flour in one of the cupboards. She opened one and found it empty. The other held a set of china dishes and a few pots and pans. Thankfully, the last contained a bag of flour, some sugar, and salt. Perfect. Pancakes and eggs for breakfast.
Standing on her tiptoes, she managed to grab the jars of flour and sugar and set them on the counter then added the bowl of eggs and jug of milk. Now for mixing it all together. She’d seen Mrs. Ackerman make pancakes hundreds of times, surely doing it oneself couldn’t be that difficult. Could it?
She took down a bowl and scooped a couple handfuls of flour inside. There. Looked like enough. Now what? Oh, yes, three eggs ought to do it. She cracked each into the bowl and chucked the shells in the dishpan. One pinch of salt or two? Hmm. Perhaps she’d better use just one. Milk? She unscrewed the lid and dumped some in. A bit of sugar and she’d be all done. Cooking was easy. She’d be a gourmet in no time.
Wherever Dr. McNair was, he’d at least lit the stove. She placed the frying pan on it and poured in some of the batter. Now she could work on the eggs. And coffee. Men liked coffee.
How many eggs should she cook? Four perhaps. That made two for each of them. She cracked them into a pan and added the shells to her pile in the dishpan. Now coffee. But how in the world did one go about making that?
Grace found a box marked coffee in one of the cupboards and scooped a couple handfuls of the beans into the pot along with a cup of water. Then she placed the kettle on the back of the stove. She could set the table, and everything would be ready the moment Dr. McNair came inside.
Something smelled like … Oh, no! The pancakes. She grabbed a spoon and scraped them onto a plate. Not golden like Mrs. Ackerman’s, but burnt and black. Her nose crinkled. Doubtful even a dog would eat these.
With a sigh she added more batter to the pan. This time she’d be sure to watch them. She checked the eggs. Cooking nicely, thank goodness. Now she could set the table.
She carefully placed two plates on the table and added silverware and cups. If only he had a tablecloth somewhere. Then she could make it truly elegant.
A hissing sound emitted from the stove. She turned. A scream caught in her throat. The coffee bubbled over, overflowing its pot. Grace ran to the stove and grabbed it. As hot metal burned her skin, the kettle crashed to the floor. Water and coffee beans doused the kitchen and soaked her skirts. She snatched a towel and knelt to wipe up the mess.
Lord, whatever happens, I beg You not to let Dr. McNair come in just now.
Once the floor had been sufficiently dried, she returned to the stove and checked the eggs. Burned, along with the pancakes. She dumped the pots into the dishpan and sank into a chair, covering her face with her hands. Tears stung her eyes, and she let them fall. She wanted so much for breakfast to be a success, but instead flopped every last bit of it. Why hadn’t she ever asked Mrs. Ackerman for cooking lessons? Because she’d been too busy working at the store, that’s why. She’d never had a moment to spare, what with Father always asking her to balance the books or wait on customers.
Well, there was plenty of time now. She straightened her shoulders and dried her eyes.
Action was far preferable to crying. She’d learn how to cook, if it was the last thing she did.
Shadows darkened the house by the time Raymond arrived home. Ten house calls in one day and over twenty miles of travel. Thank goodness for dependable King. Without his faithful horse, these calls would be impossible.
Softly, he climbed the stairs and opened the door. His stomach growled at the thought of something to eat. His hastily packed sandwich and apple hadn’t been nearly enough. Sure and certain, he’d have a decent meal. Now he had a wife. One who, no doubt, had dinner waiting on the stove.
He opened the kitchen door and squinted in the darkness. Grace sat at the table, her head pillowed on her arms. He moved closer. Beside her sat an untouched plate of food. Stone cold.
He studied her in the twilight. Her hair had escaped its usual prim pinnings and cascaded over her shoulders and down her back. Soft, even breaths rose and fell from her chest.
Should he wake her? The poor thing looked exhausted. Best to let her sleep. Gently, he lifted her from the seat and carried her from the room. She sighed softly, nestling against his chest. Gossamer in his arms. The scent of lemons filled his senses. Wispy, delicate, like the young woman herself.
He kicked open the door and placed her gently on the bed. She barely stirred. For a long moment he stood over her, his heart twisting. In slumber, her features looked even younger, more innocent. She’d been entrusted to his care, and he would take care of her. As a gentleman, he could do no less.
Silently, he left the room and returned to the kitchen, lit a lamp, and surveyed the plate of food. Potatoes, gravy congealing in a lump. Some kind of meat, chicken perhaps. He picked up the biscuit and bit into it, wincing as he nearly broke a tooth.
Obviously cooking wasn’t among his wife’s finer skills. But how could it be? From what Audrey had told him, their mother died when the girls were but children. Mrs. Ackerman had consequently been hired to care for the house and do the cooking. Audrey also said that from the day Grace had graduated from school, she’d spent six days a week at the store, from the time the sun went up, to day’s end. No doubt it was cheaper for Mr. Whittaker to make use of his child than hire another employee. Audrey, on the other hand, had rarely worked at Whittaker Dry Goods. In fact, now that he thought of it, she never worked at all. Whenever he came to call, he’d always found her practicing the piano, reading a book, or writing a letter. Thus, no doubt, a great deal of housework also fell upon Grace.
He hadn’t given it very much thought at the time, he was so blinded by Audrey’s beauty. Perhaps too blinded.
Tomorrow he wouldn’t leave before Grace awoke. They’d have breakfast together, share conversation. He’d do his best to become acquainted with this wife of his, and perhaps she’d stop being so timid.
It would at least be a start.
Chapter 5
Dr. McNair cooked breakfast the next morning.
A flush heated Grace’s cheeks as she sat down to a table that seemed effortlessly prepared. Pancakes as golden as Mrs. Ackerman’s. Sizzling bacon that made her mouth water. Apple slices elegantly arranged in a bowl. He, a man, had done it all. Which only further compounded her failures.
He pulled back his chair and sat down, tucking a napkin into his shirt. She folded hers and laid it across her skirt.
“Everything looks delicious.” She managed a smile.
“It’s not very hard, and I’ve had years of practice.” He returned her smile.
Not very hard? Easy for him to say. She supposed he could also make biscuits fluffy as air and gravy creamy as pudding.
Dr. McNair asked the blessing before getting up from his chair and pouring coffee. Grace played with the edges of her napkin as steam swirled upward from her mug. She should be the one pouring while he sat and ate breakfast. Not the other way around.
“I’m going to be in my clinic most of the day.” He lifted a forkful of pancakes to his mouth.
She nodded and took a tiny nibble of bacon.
“If you need anything for the house or kitchen, don’t hesitate to go shopping. Just add it to my account. I pay the bills at the end of the month. Of course, in my profession, people often pay in trade, rather than in money. So things like eggs and milk I usually get in exchange for services.”
She nodded again.
“If you’d care to, you can come down to the clinic later and I’ll show you round.”
“Very well. After I do the dishes.” Though her empty stomach protested, she could scarcely eat a bite. What with him sitting across from her, able to observe her every move. They’d shared many meals together at the Whittaker home, but he’d always been Audrey’s betrothed. Not Grace’s husband.
“Fine. Fine. If you like, we could take a walk this evening, go visit your father. I’m sure he’d appreciate it. And if there’s anything you’d like to get from the house, you could do so.”
Like cookbooks? The old alarm clock? She hated being the last awake in the morning.
And a new set of brains.
“I’d like that.” She took a sip of her coffee.
He pushed back his chair. “Well, that’s settled then. We’ll walk over after dinner.” He tossed his napkin on the table beside his empty plate. “I’d best be getting downstairs.”
She nodded.
“Later, then.” He made a bow as politely as if they passed each other on the street.
As quickly and efficiently as she could, Grace did the dishes. Thank goodness, she at least had experience in that regard. After making sure the kitchen was in proper order, she untied her apron and went downstairs, stopping at the waiting-room door. This was his domain. Did she dare enter? Well, why not? He’d invited her, after all.
She pushed open the door. No patients sat in the waiting room, so she gave a rap on the closed examining room. She’d scarcely drawn her hand away before it swung open.
“Oh, thank the saints above you’re here, Grace. I need your help.” Dr. McNair dashed back inside. She followed him in.
And screeched to a halt.
A man sat on the exam table. Coughs and gasps emitted from his large form as he deposited the contents of his stomach into a basin Dr. McNair held. Vomit covered the floor, the man’s clothes, and the table. Grace pressed a hand to her mouth and took a step back.
“Don’t just stand there, Grace. Get that pitcher of water and a towel and help me clean this up!” Dr. McNair’s tone could have belonged to the captain of a warship. “Now, Mr. Cooper, I need you to take some of this. It will absorb whatever it is that’s upsetting your system.”
Dizziness swooshed over her. She gingerly crossed the floor and grasped the pitcher and a towel with shaking hands. Water splashed onto the floor. The man’s hacks and heaves rang in her ears. The rancid odor of bile sent nausea rising up in her throat. She looked helplessly at the mess on the floor then back at Dr. McNair. Spots danced before her eyes.
She couldn’t do this. Not wasting another second, she ran from the room and out the door. Kept going until she left the clinic and stood on the steps, gulping in fresh air, leaning against the edge of the building to steady herself.
Awful. It had been just awful. And he’d expected her to help with such a thing? How could she have summoned the nerves for it? She sucked in a deep breath, letting the warmth of the sun soak into her. She should go back in and assist. But how? Nausea threatened just thinking about it.
Tears needled her eyes. She was a failure. Not at all fit to be a doctor’s wife. She couldn’t cook, and she sure couldn’t handle medical matters. The only things she did well were run a first-rate dry goods store and keep a house tidy. The second might prove useful but never the first.
A strand of hair blew in her eyes. She swiped it away.
Lord, why am I so useless? Why can’t I be beautiful, brave, and an amazing cook? Why do I run whenever something upsets me?
She stared up at the cloudless sky. Obviously the Almighty didn’t know, either.
Then she’d just have to conquer it herself. Starting with going back inside and seeing if there was anything she could do to help.
This time, no matter what she faced, she wouldn’t run.
Now that he’d cleaned up the mess and had Mr. Cooper comfortably settled with some charcoal water to drink, a wave of guilt assailed Raymond. Who did he think Grace was? A Johns Hopkins intern? Her first introduction to his practice and he’d asked her to do something that made even him a wee bit queasy. She’d never want to come downstairs again. He’d acted without thinking, caught in the urgency of the moment, and she’d fled quicker than a frightened rabbit.
He needed to apologize and ought to do it quickly before she decided to pack her bags and go back to Whittaker Dry Goods indefinitely.
The door to the exam room opened. He turned. Grace stood outside. He followed her and closed the door, leaving Mr. Cooper resting within.
“You must think me a weak-kneed ninny.” She met his gaze, apology in her eyes. A strand of hair dangled near her ear, brushing her creamy skin. He nearly reached out and ran it between his fingers but drew his hand back before he could attempt it. Crazy thoughts like that shouldn’t be entering his head.
“On the contrary. I think you’re brave for staying as long as you did. Most first-time assistants would’ve lasted sixty seconds. You managed a full one hundred and twenty.” A grin tugged at his lips. “But in all seriousness, it is I who should apologize. I should have never asked you to help. Forgive me?”
Her smile warmed, reaching her eyes and turning them bright. She nodded. “How is Mr. Cooper now?”
“Resting comfortably at present. I’ll send him home in half an hour. You’ll be happy to know you’re not the only female who gets queasy. His wife left right after she brought him in, and I haven’t seen her since. Of course, she has the excuse of being in a delicate condition.”
“I’d still like you to show me around, if you want to.” She surveyed the waiting room. “Perhaps after your patient leaves?”
So the sparrow of a woman wasn’t quite as breakable as she first appeared. He had suspected there was more than first met the eye when it came to her. What other layers lay beneath the delicate tissue paper of her exterior? Would he ever know?
“I’d be glad to,” he answered. He needed to look away, avert his gaze from her smile and that distracting curl that brushed her cheek. Gazing at her wasn’t part of their convenient arrangement.
“I’d better go upstairs and make lunch. Will you have time to eat?”
“I’ll be up just as soon as Mr. Cooper leaves.”
She hurried away, and he returned to his patient. Yet, as he pushed open the windows to let in fresh air, a thought sprang to his mind and made him grin.
Audrey wouldn’t have lasted anywhere near a hundred and twenty seconds.
Chapter 6
She hadn’t expected him to be so gracious. Didn’t deserve it even. Still, he seemed to forget about the incident as he showed her around the clinic and later, as they had dinner with her father.
While the men discussed politics, Grace slipped from the room and went upstairs. She opened the second door down the hall and stepped into her room. Everything remained unchanged. Her girlish patchwork quilt lay across the bed, and the worn rag rug covered the polished wood floor. She moved toward her armoire and pulled the remaining dresses off their hangers. Taking a carpetbag from the depths of the closet, she packed the dresses neatly inside and closed the clasp, breathing in the lemon peel sachets she kept among her frocks.
A barely discernible knock sounded. Grace spun around.
“Come in,” she called softly.