Читать книгу: «The Substitute Bride», страница 3

One thing was obvious. Unlike Sally Rutgers, Elizabeth Manning had courage. Courage based on desperation, not on the desire for a family. What had driven his wife to switch places with his mail-order bride?

What was she hiding?

What other lies had she told?

Chapter Four

Outside the parsonage, her new husband turned to Elizabeth, the chill in his steely gray-blue eyes raising goose bumps on her arms. “I’ve got to ask. Where are the clothes I bought?”

Elizabeth looked away. “With Sally.”

His mouth thinned. “When you said someone stole your trunk, you lied.”

She swallowed. “I didn’t know how to tell you the truth.”

Suspicion clouded his eyes. “If you’re lying about anything else, I want to know it. Now.”

Elizabeth dropped her gaze. She did have one more lie, a three-and-a-half-foot, blue-eyed whopper.

But if she told Ted about Robby, about the real reason she’d run from Chicago and into this marriage of convenience, he’d march her into the preacher’s and demand an annulment. What would become of her brother then?

“I’m sorry I lied. But Sally’s clothes wouldn’t fit me.”

His gaze traveled over her, bringing a flush to her cheeks, and a rosy hue beneath his tan. “Reckon not.”

He helped her onto the wagon seat, then scrambled up beside her, released the brake and pulled back on the reins. “We’ll stop at the mercantile to pick up what you need.”

As they rode down the street, Elizabeth’s focus settled on the rumps of the horses. How long before she could bring Robby here?

How long before Ted lost patience with her inability to handle a household? Or care for his children? Her stomach lurched. What would happen then?

Well, she wouldn’t fail. Couldn’t fail. Too much depended on it.

She scrambled for a change of subject, 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 silly reaction. Clearly she needed a meal, far more than a few cookies. “Then I’ll take this one,” she said, indicating the blue.

“Get enough for two, one to wear and one to wash.”

Laundry, another to add to the long list of chores she’d never done.

Thinking of the closet full of dresses in Chicago, she bit back a sigh. Then she remembered Ted’s concern about money. Offering two was generous. She motioned to her dress. “I can wear this.”

“To church maybe, but you’d make a pretty scarecrow wearing that in the garden.” He hesitated. “Get enough to make three.”

Had he just called her pretty? And offered three dresses?

Yes, and called her a scarecrow, too. Her new husband could use lessons in chivalry.

Heavenly days, she didn’t know how to make one dress. Still, she couldn’t refuse his gift. Under his rough exterior, Ted Logan possessed a soft heart.

A woman wearing her salt-and-pepper hair in a tight bun and a crisp white apron over a simple blouse and skirt lumbered over, her smile as wide as her hips. “Why, Ted Logan, who do we have here?”

Ted made introductions. The shop owner jiggled all over at the news.

“Well, I’ll be! Huuubert!” she cried, the way Martha had when, as a child, Elizabeth had ignored her calls to come inside. “Come here and meet Ted’s new wife!”

“I ain’t deef, missus.” A ruddy-faced splinter of a man, his suspenders crossing his humped shoulders, moseyed in from the back, carrying a bag of seed. He laid it on the counter then ambled to where they stood. Smiling at Elizabeth, he shook Ted’s hand. “Well, Ted, you married yourself a looker.”

“Oh, she certainly is,” Mrs. Sorenson said. “Resembles one of those ladies in the Godey’s book, all fancied up and pretty.”

Heat climbed Elizabeth’s neck. “Thank you.”

“How long have you two been married?”

Ted shifted on his feet. “We just came from the preacher.”

“Why, I saw you ride past. You must’ve been on your way to the parsonage then.” Mrs. Sorenson elbowed her husband in the ribs. “Tell them congratulations, Hubert.”

“I’m about to. Much happiness.” He turned to Ted and clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re a lucky man. Can’t say I recall seeing your missus before. If I had, I’d have remembered.” He smiled at Elizabeth. “Are you from around these parts, Mrs. Logan?”

Elizabeth’s new name socked her in the belly. She was a missus now. Her belly flipped faster than Martha’s Saturday pancakes. “No, I—”

“We’re here to buy a few things,” Ted interrupted.

He must not want people to know she was a mail-order bride, and not the original bride at that. Did he believe they’d think she popped up under a rosebush?

Mr. Sorenson waved a hand. “What can I get you folks?”

Ted motioned to the stack of bolts Elizabeth had selected. “She needs enough fabric to make a dress from each of these.”

Mrs. Sorenson stepped forward, her gaze running up and down Elizabeth’s frame, muttering gibberish about yardage and seam allowances. She grabbed up the three bolts Elizabeth indicated and lugged them to the long counter.

Elizabeth and Ted followed, watching as Mrs. Sorenson unrolled the blue gingham, sending the bolt thumping across the counter. Soon she’d cut and stacked all the fabrics in a neat pile. “Will you need thread, needles?”

Elizabeth glanced at Ted.

“Plenty of thread at home, needles, too.” He glanced away. “But Elizabeth does need…a…few other things.”

Mrs. Sorenson nodded. “Like what?”

Ted tugged at his collar, squirming like a liar on a witness stand. He may have been married, but as a gentleman, he couldn’t speak of a woman’s unmentionables. “Get her two of whatever she requires.”

“Of course.” Mrs. Sorenson grinned. “Right this way, Mrs. Logan.”

As Elizabeth followed the older woman to a table at the back of the store, she wondered if she’d ever get used to hearing herself referred to as Mrs. Logan.

Ted stayed behind, talking grain with Mr. Sorenson. Grateful not to have to select undergarments with her new husband looking on, Elizabeth unfolded a pretty white nightgown, a sheer, lacy thing.

“Oh, your husband will love that,” Mrs. Sorenson whispered, her voice warm with approval.

Glancing back at Ted, she found him watching her. She dropped the gown like a hot biscuit and grabbed a long-sleeved, plain, high-necked nightgown. Not exactly body armor, but close.

“It’s hot around here in the summer,” Mrs. Sorenson put in.

Heeding the hint, Elizabeth selected a sleeveless square-necked gown with no trim. Ugly and plain. Perfect.

“That’s serviceable, but this is beautiful.” Mrs. Sorenson pointed to the sheer, lacy gown.

“It’s too…too…” Elizabeth grabbed up the tag. “Pricey. You know new husbands.”

“Yes, I do,” the older woman said with a wink, “which is why I suggested this one.”

Elizabeth quickly gathered up two pairs of drawers, an underskirt and two chemise tops in cotton, all simple and unadorned, whether Mrs. Sorenson approved or not.

At the counter, the shop owner totaled the purchases. When Elizabeth heard the number, she gasped. A sudden image of her father harassed by creditors popped into her mind. Had she and Mama spent too much money on clothes? Jewelry? Had mounting bills forced Papa to gamble? If so, why hadn’t he gotten a job like most men?

“Add that to my account,” Ted said, his voice thick and gruff as if saying the words hurt.

Was she to witness yet another man’s financial ruin? She vowed to watch her pennies. Well, when she had pennies to watch.

Mr. Sorenson opened a book, the pages smudged and crammed with names and numbers; cross outs and additions. Elizabeth couldn’t imagine how he kept track of who owed him what in such a messy ledger.

Mrs. Sorenson wrapped the purchases, then handed two bundles to Elizabeth. “I look forward to seeing you again, Mrs. Logan.”

Elizabeth blinked.

Mrs. Sorenson chuckled. “Why, Hubert, she forgot her name.”

“Oh. Yes.” She gave a weak laugh. “Thanks for your help, Mrs. Sorenson.”

“Anytime! Enjoy the sewing.”

Ted took her elbow. If she could find an excuse to linger, Elizabeth could ask Mrs. Sorenson’s advice about dressmaking.

The store’s proprietor turned to Ted. “Are the children at the Harpers’?”

Ted grabbed up the seed. “Yes, Anna loves their new baby.”

“Hubert, get that precious child some candy.”

“I am, missus, if you’d stop issuing orders long enough to notice.”

Elizabeth bit back a groan. Another model of wedded bliss. Why had she taken such a drastic step?

Mr. Sorenson removed the lid from a large jar of peppermints on the counter, dipped out a brass scoopful and dumped them into a small sack, then handed it to Elizabeth. “These are for Anna.”

Ted raised a palm as if to refuse, then nodded. “That’s thoughtful. Thank you.”

“Give a kiss to Henry,” Mrs. Sorenson added.

These shopkeepers were warm and generous, different from those Elizabeth had known in Chicago.

“We’d better be on our way,” Ted said. “I promised dinner at the café.”

“Could I speak to you, Ted?” Mr. Sorenson asked.

“Sure.” He turned to Elizabeth. “Will you be all right for a minute?”

“Of course,” Mrs. Sorenson said for her. “That’ll give us a chance to talk. Maybe your wife will share a favorite recipe.”

Elizabeth gulped. Unless calling the maid for tea constituted a favorite recipe in these parts, she was in deep trouble. Surely only the beginning of her woes.

Chapter Five

Ted stowed the seed in the wagon, then took the packages from Elizabeth and wedged them in tight. For a man in a hurry, he had a patient way about him. She’d never been patient about anything in her life. A trait like Ted’s could either drive her to distraction or make life easier.

Right now, he dallied when her stomach demanded speed. “I’m starved.”

“Getting married must give you an appetite,” he said, giving her a smile.

Mercy, the man set her off-kilter with that lopsided grin of his.

They walked up the street to Agnes’s café. Inside the spotless, simple dining room, he led the way to a table in the corner. He murmured greetings to the diners they passed, but didn’t stop to introduce her. The way people put their heads together, the room suddenly abuzz, Ted must have lost his wish for privacy.

He sat across from her, studying his menu while she studied him.

Ted looked up. Met her gaze. A baffled expression crossed his face. “What?”

Her face heated and she grabbed the menu. “I’m thinking about my order.”

“Good evening, Ted.” Carrying glasses of water, a round-faced, dark-eyed woman with black curly bangs smiled at Ted. When she looked at Elizabeth her warm smile faltered. “This must be your wife,” she said, stumbling over the word wife.

“News travels fast. Elizabeth, this is Agnes Baker, proprietor of this establishment and the best cook in town.”

Agnes and Elizabeth nodded a greeting while Ted scanned the single sheet as though he’d never laid eyes on a menu before. “What’s the special today?”

“Your favorite. Chicken and dumplings.”

“I’ll take a plate of that.” He turned to Elizabeth. “Know what you want?”

Elizabeth’s stomach rumbled. The cookies and tea had kept her on her feet, but her stomach had met her backbone a long time ago. “I’ll have the same.” She smiled at Agnes. “I’m glad to meet one of Ted’s friends.”

A sheen of sudden tears appeared in Agnes’s eyes. “It’ll only be a minute,” she said, then sped toward the kitchen.

Elizabeth glanced at Ted, who fidgeted with his silverware. Did he realize this woman adored him?

If so, why had he sought a bride by mail?

The gazes of their fellow diners burned into Elizabeth’s back. Apparently everyone knew everybody else in a town this size. Well, she’d rather be here, the topic of speculation, than on the way to the farm with Ted. And the night ahead.

Her heart lost its rhythm.

A tall man loped over to their table. “Reckon this is your missus, Ted. Johanna came in earlier, making her rounds.” He cackled. “Thought I’d say howdy to your bride, seeing I’m the mayor of sorts.” He looked at Elizabeth. “Not that I’m elected, but mayor’s what folks call me.” He stuck out a hand. “Name’s Cecil Moore.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Moore.”

Agnes arrived, two steaming plates in her hands.

“I’ll let you lovebirds eat in peace,” Cecil said, moseying on to the next table where the occupants looked their way, smiling.

Agnes set Ted’s plate in front of him. “Hot and piled high, the way you like it.”

“Thanks, Agnes.” Ted blushed, actually blushed, no doubt aware of Agnes’s devotion.

Then the proprietor plopped Elizabeth’s dish down on the table without a glance and returned to the kitchen.

Elizabeth’s gaze dropped to her food. Her portion didn’t measure up to Ted’s but, far too hungry to fuss about it, she attacked her food. Mmm, delicious.

She glanced at Ted’s untouched plate and lowered her fork.

“I’ll say grace,” he said, then bowed his head.

Cheeks aflame, Elizabeth bowed hers.

“Lord, thank You for this food. Walk with Elizabeth and me in our new life as man and wife. Amen.”

Elizabeth’s gaze collided with Ted’s. She quickly looked away. Not that Elizabeth had neglected praying about her problems, but God had withheld His answer.

Well, she’d found her own. And he sat across from her now.

Ted picked up his fork. “How long since you’ve eaten?”

His words reminded her to take dainty bites, not pig-at-the-trough gulps. “I had tea and cookies at the parsonage.”

His brow furrowed. “You didn’t eat on the train, did you?” he asked softly.

She stared at her plate. “No.”

“Look at me, Elizabeth.”

She raised her chin and looked into his eyes, which were now clouded. Was it with dismay?

“I may not have much in the way of money, but my cellar’s stocked. You won’t go hungry. At least if you’re a good cook,” he added with a chuckle.

She fiddled with her napkin. “I’m sure I can.”

“You’ve never tried?” he said, his tone laden with amazement.

Elizabeth took a swig of water. “I grew up in a home with maids, a cook, laundress, tutor, butler, even a nanny.”

Ted frowned. “You said you were destitute.”

“I am. Of late.”

“What happened?”

“What happened isn’t a topic for good digestion.”

She wanted to ask how long it had been since Rose had died, but it didn’t seem like the right time, either. Instead she returned to her food.

Ted took a bite, obviously enjoyed the tasty dish and ate every morsel, and didn’t end the meal with a belch.

Uninvited, a memory invaded her mind. Of the three red-faced, ho-humming, toe-tapping times she’d sat in the parlor with Reginald after dinner, swishing her fan until her arm ached, trying to dissipate the silent belches rocking his spindly body and the unpleasant odors chasing after them. She’d tried to be kind, to turn the other nostril, ah, cheek, but he’d been…distasteful.

Papa had said Reginald Parks was short on manners but long on cash so he had to be forgiven. Instead of forgiving Reginald, she’d defied her father. A heavy weight squeezed against her lungs. Would Papa find it in his heart to forgive her?

Would Ted forgive her once he knew about Robby?

She looked up to find Ted studying her in that quiet way of his. He wiped his lips on the napkin. Nice lips. Full. At the memory of Ted’s kiss at the end of the ceremony, Elizabeth’s pulse leaped. His lips had been soft. Gentle. Enticing.

The one time Reginald had lowered his whiskered face to hers, he’d triggered spasms in her throat that threatened to make her retch.

Another point in Ted’s favor.

Though, at the moment, her stomach tumbled. Too many uncertainties churned inside her.

The door burst open and in marched Mrs. Van Wyld, followed by a knot of ladies, beaming like sunshine. Johanna led the procession to their table.

“The folks of New Harmony, leastwise those I could round up, are here to give you newlyweds a party.” She gestured to Cecil Moore. “If I know the mayor, he’s got his harmonica. His brother will be along with his fiddle.”

Grinning, Cecil flipped the instrument out of his pocket and played a few merry notes. Ted looked as if he wished the floor would open up and swallow him, but Elizabeth’s toe tapped under her skirts.

People came over, shook Ted and Elizabeth’s hands, offering their congratulations.

“Would you like a piece of Agnes’s pie?” Johanna said, once the crowd cleared.

Ted took a step toward the door. “We really need to be going.”

“My treat,” Johanna persisted. “Sorry it’s not cake, but it’s mighty good.”

In case she needed to escape tonight, Elizabeth couldn’t risk putting the sheets to the test. She turned to Ted. “Is your house one story or two?”

“One.”

“Oh, I’ll have a slice of pie, then. A big one.” She smiled at Ted, resting her chin on her palm. “Pie is my weakness.”

Johanna waved to Agnes. “They’ll have pie. I’m paying.”

Agnes appeared at their elbows. “I’ve got sugar cream and cherry today.”

“The sugar cream, please,” Elizabeth said.

Ted frowned as if he didn’t approve of the turn of events. “None for me.”

“Don’t be silly,” Johanna said. “This is your wedding day. Your bride shouldn’t eat pie alone.”

Ted sighed. “All right—”

“Cherry and coffee black,” Agnes said, obviously familiar with Ted’s tastes.

With Johanna issuing orders, diners moved the tables, opening space in the middle of the room. The mayor let loose on his harmonica. A heavyset, squat fellow strode in carrying the fiddle and joined in. Cecil’s brother Oscar, Johanna informed Elizabeth.

Four couples formed a square, moving up and back, square dancing or so Johanna explained.

Agnes arrived with coffee and pie. Flaky golden crusts piled high with luscious filling. Elizabeth thanked her, and then dug in. Mmm, cinnamon. Sugar. Cream. She licked her lips, capturing a speck from the corner of her mouth. “This is delicious.” She glanced at her husband.

Ted sat motionless, his fork hovering over his plate. Did the man pray before each course? No, he was staring at her lips. Had she missed a crumb? She dabbed at her mouth with the napkin.

His face turned a deep shade of red. Blue eyes collided, hastily looked away and then back again. He dropped his gaze to his plate, slicing his fork into his pie and then lifting a forkful of cherries and crust to his mouth. Her stomach dipped. When had pie ever looked better going into someone else’s mouth besides her own?

In all of Elizabeth’s years she had never been unable to finish a piece of pie. But tonight, her wedding night, she pushed the plate away. “I’m stuffed.”

Ted smiled. “Glad I finally got you filled up.” He glanced out the window. “Time to head for home.”

“We can’t leave.” She waved a hand. “Your friends have done all this for us. To celebrate our marriage.”

“Johanna’s turned our wedding dinner into a spectacle.”

“My dreams for my wedding day hardly match our ceremony.”

Ted had the decency to look contrite. He rose and offered his hand. “May I have this dance, Mrs. Logan?”

“If you’ll teach me the steps, Mr. Logan.”

“It’ll be my pleasure.”

Her pulse raced at the warm, steady pressure of his hand on her back. At the warmth radiating from his very masculine body. At the breadth of those powerful shoulders.

No doubt Ted could protect her from any danger. Yet she’d never felt more threatened. More out of control.

Surprisingly light on his feet for a hulk of a man, Ted led her through the dance. But even with the unnerving awareness that others watched every move they made, smiling and nodding approval at her attempt to join in, she wanted to stay. Leaving would mean being alone with her husband.

Right now, if she could, she’d stamp Cancel on their mail-order nuptials. But that meant she couldn’t give Robby a home.

So like a self-assured bride, she smiled up at her groom, but under her skirts, her knees were knocking.

What had she gotten herself in for?

Neither Elizabeth nor Ted said much on the trip to the farm. As dusk crept in and a full moon rose overhead, lights appeared in the houses they passed. Elizabeth kept her gaze off the man beside her, who took up more space than a mere man should, and focused on the fields. The turned-over earth exposed parched soil as cracked as old china. An owl hooted overhead, an eerie, lonely sound that crawled along her skin, raising the hair on her nape.

“You mentioned a weakness for pie. Any other flaws I should know about?” Ted said at last, his voice laden with humor.

No doubt an attempt to ease the tension crackling between them. Well, she’d do her part. “I’m emotional. A talker.”

He turned toward her, his pupils reflecting the moonlight. “What do you mean, emotional?”

She squirmed under his stare.

“Are you a weeper?”

“Just the opposite. I have a temper.” She pinched her fingers together then opened them a tad. “A teeny temper.”

“Ah, I see.” He chuckled. “Thanks for the warning.”

“Do you?” Elizabeth asked.

“Do I what?”

“Have a temper?”

“Nothing makes me mad, except deceit. How can you trust a man if he can’t be taken at his word?”

Fortunately for her, he didn’t say woman.

Elizabeth fidgeted with her ring. “Couldn’t there be a good reason a person would lie?”

“The truth sets people free.”

She’d be set free, all right. If Ted learned about Robby, he’d rip this simple gold band off her finger and get an annulment faster than Johanna Van Wyld could spread the news.

Ted shifted on the seat. “Seems odd to be married and know so little about you.”

“I feel the same.”

“It’ll take some getting used to, especially for my children.”

Elizabeth gulped. She’d forgotten about Ted’s children. From what she could remember about Robby, babies cried a lot and forever needed a change of clothes. “How old are they?”

“Anna’s seven and scared, I think. She understands a lot.”

Robby had been six when Mama died. Even though Martha had taken care of her brother when Mama took sick, Robby had cried for his mother. Rose’s death had to be even more traumatic for Ted’s daughter.

“Henry’s fourteen months. All he cares about are his meals and a soft lap.” He lifted a brow. “That is, if you’re one to cuddle a baby.”

She’d cuddled Robby. No problem there. Besides, a lap meant sitting and from all Ted’s talk about work, sitting sounded good. “I’ll have a lap anytime he needs one—at least when you’re not available.”

“As long as you’re gentle with my children, you have no need to worry about overstepping. I’ll expect you to mother them whether I’m in the fields or in the house.”

Elizabeth suspected little ones cared not a whit about who you were, how much you owned or where you came from. Long as they had that lap and a ready meal.

But cooking, well, she hoped Ted and his children had low expectations, bottom-of-a-burned-pan low.

Approaching a house near the road, a dog barked a greeting, leaping along the bank as they passed. Inside, people gathered around the table. Good people who lived by the toil of their hands. Not trying to make money without working for it like Papa had, and losing most every time.

Still, as furious as Papa’s gambling made her, she still loved him. He was an affectionate, jovial, handsome man who had a gift with words. In that careless manner of his, he loved her, too, and was probably worried about her now.

Tears pricked at her eyes. She’d propped a note on her dresser, assuring him of her love. But love might not heal the breach she’d crossed when she’d defied him.