The turkey was golden-brown, the aromas tantalizing enough for each one to declare they were starved for their feast.
Mary bent over to stir the gravy, then taste it. “A pinch more of salt,” she murmured, straightening and turning. She dropped the spoon as a wave of dizziness and an attack of nausea left her weak. She clutched the mantel with one hand as the room swirled around her.
“Rafe!” she called out, and felt herself falling.
When she opened her eyes, she discovered she was lying on the double bed, a wet cloth on her forehead and two anxious faces hovering over her. Her quilt covered her to her chin, and her shoes were gone.
“Mary, don’t worry. Papa said I could be your nurse.”
“What happened?” Mary asked. Rafe curtailed her attempt to sit up.
“Just lie still,” he ordered. “You fainted.”
“Fainted? I’ve never in my life—”
“They say there’s a first time for everything. This is one of those times.”
A frown creased Mary’s brow, and he quickly smoothed it with a gentle touch. “Don’t you know?”
“Know what?”
“Beth, be Papa’s angel and let me talk with Mary alone for a few minutes. Go make sure your kitten hasn’t eaten our supper.”
“But Mary might need me, Papa.”
“She will. I promise you that. But not right now. Go on.”
His look brooked no argument. Beth left them, and Rafe closed the door after her. He returned to sit on the bed and took hold of Mary’s hand.
“Don’t look so bewildered, love.”
“But I am. You’re being deliberately—”
“No. It’s not deliberate, Mary. I always figured it was a woman’s place to do the telling.”
Rafe slowly drew the quilt down until the edge rested across her thighs. He lifted the cloth from her head and set it aside.
“Rafe?” Mary was almost paralyzed with fear. She wanted to close her eyes against the blaze of tenderness in his. Tears welled in her eyes, tears she couldn’t explain. But he didn’t seem to find them exceptional. He simply brushed them away as they slipped down her cheeks, and waited.
And Mary knew she had run out of time.
“Rafe?”
She had to close her eyes. Somehow that would make the telling easier.
“I’m here. I’ll always be here for you, Mary.”
She reached up to take his hand and hold it tight with hers.
“Do you remember Beth’s tale of the ghoulies coming because she wished for too much?”
“I’d slay dragons for you.”
“But sometimes you can’t see them. They live inside the mind. I’ve wished too much. Wanted too long.” She squeezed his hand, finding the words so hard to say. “I thought I knew what love was. I thought I loved Harry when I married him. But I didn’t know. Love is you. And I’m afraid to believe, afraid to trust.”
“Ah, love,” he whispered softly, and leaned down to kiss her lips. “Don’t torture yourself like this. The past doesn’t matter, Mary. I won’t let it.”
“But it does matter. When I couldn’t conceive, Harry became bitter. I wanted to give him a child more than anything else. But that was a blessing withheld. He said—”
“Don’t I won’t let you do this to yourself.”
“But I need to tell you. I need to,” she repeated in an agonizing whisper. “He called me worthless as a woman, as a wife because I couldn’t give him a child.”
“But all I want is you. A man twice blessed to have you and Beth. It’s enough. I told you that. The love I have for you, Mary, has no conditions, no boundaries. Except for one—that you marry me. I want the world to know you are mine.”
“And if I could give you more?”
He wished she would open her eyes. He wanted to see love shining within their green depths. But his lovely lady required every ounce of patience he could command. Where they touched he felt her body’s tension.
“Hold me. Please hold me.”
He drew her up into his lap, holding her close and aching for the way she clung to him. Her hot tears fell on his shirt. He rocked her, as if she were Beth, giving silent comfort and willing her pain to pass. He asked nothing from her.
“I was afraid to tell you. Afraid you wouldn’t love me.” She was too distraught to be embarrassed by her noisy sobs, and the flood of tears that followed as she held on to him, trying to climb inside him for safety, as if she were a child and not a woman grown.
He ran a hand up and down her back, circling it slowly so that she gradually relaxed against him.
“It’s frightening to need someone so much, Rafe. I thought all I wanted was to have some small financial independence. I thought I was contented with my life.”
Mary lifted her head from his shoulder and gazed into his eyes. All the barriers were gone, all her defenses were shredded.
“I want to have your child, Rafe. I want so much to give you the most beautiful gift in the world. A gift that lives in endless beauty and endless promise. A child born of love.”
Rafe raised her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her palm. “Don’t you know yet that you are the gift of love to me?”
“I feel I am being given a second chance, Rafe. A chance to love you and Beth. But if I am wrong and there is no child—”
“Hush, love, hush. I’ll fill our home with all the children you want, if that’s what it takes to make you happy.” He kissed her softly and gazed into her eyes, which brimmed in wonder with all the love a man could ever want. And he smiled to see that there were no shadows of sadness.
“I’ll take you to New York, Mary. There are orphanages filled with needy children. We’ll adopt a dozen. Two dozen, if you like. We’ll live wherever you want. I’ll give you everything—”
“Rafe. Oh, Rafe, I want only you. And Beth. I’ve been—”
“Loved,” he finished for her. There was a brightness in her face that confirmed her words, despite the sheen of tears. He held all that was bright and beautiful within his arms.
“I love you, Rafe. I’ve wanted to say those words to you a hundred times. You once said that I made magic for you. It isn’t quite true. You are the one who makes magic.”
He watched her eyes grow luminous. He wanted to capture this moment and savor it for all of his days. He lowered his head and kissed her. Sweetly, cherishing her with tenderness. A kiss of love and of promise.
He gently ended the kiss. “I’m glad we came here,” he whispered, “to discover what we could have together. Tell me again. I need to hear you say the words.”
“I love you, Rafe.”
“That, too. But say you’ll marry me. For all the right reasons.”
She laughed and tightened her arms around his neck. “I will marry you for all the right reasons.”
There came a soft tapping on the door, and Beth’s hesitant voice calling them.
“Come in, Beth.” Rafe spread one arm to hold her close when she climbed on the bed. Mary’s arm came to rest above his around Beth’s waist.
“Is Mary better?” Beth asked. “She’s got tears.”
“Happy ones, Beth. Very happy ones,” Mary repeated, and hugged her closer.
“Beth, Mary is going to marry us.”
“Truly? Oh, Papa, you kept your promise.” She lifted her hand to Mary’s cheek. “I told Papa you’d be the best mama ever. I told him I’ll show you how.”
“Yes, Beth, yes.” Mary drew the child’s head to her shoulder. “I am the happiest and luckiest woman alive.”
Rafe’s hand stole between them and curved over Mary’s belly. He shook his head, then mouthed, “Not yet. Ours for a little while.”
Beth suddenly jerked her head up. “Oh! I must go and tell Wishes.” She squirmed free and ran to the door, then spun around. “I forgot something else, too! The turkey’s burning.”
“Beth, wait,” Mary called out. “Who is Wishes?”
“That’s my kitten’s name. I couldn�
��t tell till my wish came true, Mary. You said I could wish and wish and wish as much as I wanted. You gave me all the magic words so I could. I have to tell her.”
“Wise beyond her years, Mary. Magic. She’s right. You make that with me, for me. And the hell with the turkey. I’ve a fire of my own that needs quenching.”
Epilogue
“That man of yours was mighty sure of himself. Told him you were a lady and it weren’t right for him to be buying you fancy underpinnings. ‘Course, Mary, I got to admit those silk nightgowns are just about the prettiest things I ever did see. He’ll likely scold me for telling you, but Sarah said as how you were worried ‘bout not having time to make one.”
“Yes, I was. Nita, would you mind terribly if I had a few minutes alone?”
“Shucks, honey. I’m running on, when I should be getting downstairs an’ get me a good seat. Shame the church wasn’t finished. But Sarah sure fixed the parlor pretty for your wedding.”
Mary closed the door and turned to lean against it. She remembered so clearly that morning she had awakened to the dream. It seemed ages ago. She thought of the question she had asked herself. How would she cope with the days that stretched before her? Who would she be?
The mirror beckoned her. She glanced at the bed, but her quilt was no longer there. It waited for her at home.
Home. She loved the sound of the word. The thought of all it meant to her. And she looked at Mary, the woman she was now. Faint laugh lines at the corners of her eyes. She smiled, for their home was filled with laughter. The eyes that looked back at her were bright and filled with dreams.
She had thought, that long-ago morning, that she had so much to be thankful for. Then she had opened the door to a man and child who changed her life.
She touched the cornet of braids that Rafe had asked her to wear, for he, too, had remembered. She draped a length of wide lace in place of a veil over her braids and pinned it in place. She had made her own bouquet. Pine that Beth helped her pick, for hope. Dried sprigs of rosemary for remembrance, a corn husk for riches, and chervil for sincerity. Dolly had sent over a cutting from her ivy plant that made the bouquet complete. Ivy for friendship, fidelity and marriage. Pale green ribbons trailed down from the greens.
Mary smiled. Rafe had wanted roses, but she had told him she didn’t need that special flower. She kept his love in her heart.
A soft tap at the door interrupted her thoughts. She opened it.
“We have come to escort the bride,” Catherine announced. She made a quick turn. “What do you think? I couldn’t believe this still fit me.”
“You look beautiful enough to be the bride.” Mary meant it, too. A blue ribbon banded her throat where she had pinned on a cameo. The color almost matched the pale blue gown that fell from her bare shoulders in a wide ruffle.
Sarah, dressed in a gown of deep pink, came to stand beside her cousin.
“Your groom grows impatient,” she said, slipping an arm around Mary’s waist. “Happiness suits you. You glow like a candle, Mary.”
“It’s love. I never knew a body could have so much. And I’m glad we’re private for a few minutes. I want to tell—” Her voice broke, and she closed her eyes briefly.
“Don’t you dare cry, Mary,” Catherine warned, and she, too, came to stand beside her.
“I am expecting a child.”
“Oh, Sarah, we’ll be aunts. Bring on the knitting needles.”
“Joy, cousin. All the joy you richly deserve.”
There were hugs and kisses, with nary a thought to crushing gowns. Catherine said nothing more about tears, for she shed a few of her own.
But a breathless Beth arrived, her cheeks flushed, her blue satin sash undone. Mary knelt to retie it and smoothed the lace edge of her collar.
“Oh, Mary, you’d better hurry. Papa said Mrs. Hudspeth put too much starch in his collar. And Mr. Jobe built up the fire, so everyone’s hot. And—” she pressed a finger to her lips “—the marry man is here.”
The parlor was crammed full of neighbors. The mantel held a bank of candles amid boughs of pine tied with pale ribbons. Beth skipped ahead to take her place by her father’s side. Mary heard the whispers but not the words of those who had gathered to celebrate. She had eyes only for Rafe.
He looked so tall and handsome in his black suit She walked toward him with all the eagerness of a blushing young bride. The gray silk vest and white linen shirt held her gaze for a moment, but then she looked up into his eyes.
There were no doubts, no last-minute jitters. The whispers came to an end as they turned to face the minister. She didn’t hear the words of the service any more than she had the first time. But for a different reason. In her heart she was already wed to the man beside her. Her love for him glowed through her, and she longed to turn and face everyone as his wife.
She watched Rafe’s hand as it clasped hers. Strong, long fingers that showed her there was strength and gentleness. She listened to his husky voice, not quite hearing what he said, or her own replies. She watched as Rafe slipped the plain gold band she had asked for on her finger. It was so shiny and new.
Once again she looked up into his eyes. Gray eyes intent on hers.
“I now pronounce you man and wife.”
She lifted her face for his kiss, her first kiss as his wife.
“Papa, I take Mary, too. Can’t I, Papa? You said she’d marry both of us.”
“And so she did. All right, little one,” Rafe said as he lifted Beth into his arms. “Now you may take Mary, too.”
And in a very solemn little voice, Beth said, “Mary, I take you to be my new mama.”
“Oh, Beth, yes. I want that, too.”
“Didn’t I say it right, Papa?”
“You did just fine.”
“Then why is Mary crying?”
“She’s happy, Beth. Just like we are.”
They were surrounded by well-wishers. Sniffles and laughter, then someone struck up the fiddle and merriment prevailed. With most of the furniture pushed back against the walls, there was space for dancing.
In the kitchen, the table and counters groaned beneath the weight of food, for each woman had brought a dish to share.
Mary learned from Dolly that J.P. had made another larger contribution to the church building fund once her brother agreed to the idea of a plaque.
There were new people to meet, the Walkers, who had opened a lumber mill, and Peter Austin, editor of the new Hillsboro Bulletin. Julian Krausse and his wife, Adeline, now had a butcher shop.
Rafe lost track of Mary and went looking for her. He found her in the midst of a group of women and heard all the well-meaning advice from matrons on the best ways to keep him happy. When Mary caught his eye, he rushed in, to a great deal of teasing, to rescue her.
The hallway was empty, and Rafe held her. He had no need to ask if she was happy.
“You can still change your mind, Mary. We can take a wedding trip to wherever you’d like. Sarah told me again Beth can stay with them until we get back.”
She nestled her head against his chest. “I want to go home, Rafe. But there is one thing I’d ask. Can Sarah come in the spring?”
“If she’ll agree. But we can stay here until the baby is born.”
“No, I want to go home.”
His hands framed her face. “I can’t refuse you anything.”
“Nor I refuse you.”
“What more can a man ask?”
“That we were alone?”
His eyes crinkled with laughter that spread to his lips. “Ah, Mary, love, I knew you didn’t need all that advice. You once accused me of reading your thoughts. I turn the tables on you. That is exactly what I was thinking.”
“And I should be angry with you for being so sure of yourself, Mr. McCade.”
Mary saw the effort he made to appear contrite. He couldn’t carry it off.
“Took a great deal for granted, didn’t you, ordering—”
“But, Mary, love, you know I�
��m a gambler who only bets on a sure thing.”
He loved her smile, and her sweet scent that made him think he held spring within his arms. He leaned into her touch, brushing his hair from his forehead, and caught her hand to his lips.
“Do you know, Mrs. McCade,” he whispered in a rich, husky voice, “that in your arms I’m all the things I wish to be. Brave and strong and true.”
“And loved. Loved so much, Rafe.”
He saw the need within her eyes, a need that heated his blood. He swept her up into his arms and headed for the stairway.
“Rafe, we can’t just leave.”
“Oh, yes, we can. That party is getting rowdy. For sure they’ll be talking about the merry widows for a long time to come. But you and I, Mary, are going to taste magic.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Like the first time we kissed.”
“Like forever,” he whispered.
*****
Author Note
Dear Reader,
I hope you enjoy the “Merry Widows” trilogy.
Despite the problems that bring two cousins and their friend to live together in one house, each confesses to finding more joy in her widowed state than grief, for each woman carries a secret sorrow as a legacy of her marriage. Mary, as you have seen, was desperate to disprove a taunting curse, Catherine seeks the one thing denied her, then sacrifices it, and Sarah—she hides the blackest secret of them all.
As a year of mourning passes, the music and the laughter from their home brings the townspeople of Hillsboro, New Mexico Territory, to dub them the merry widows.
I hope you will come to care as deeply as I do about the widows and their courage in risking all for happiness.
More from Raine Cantrell
The Merry Widows Series
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