by Renee Ryan
“Good afternoon, Rebecca.” His smile almost touched his eyes. Almost. She supposed that was something. Not quite a triumph, but close enough. For now.
“Hello, Pete.” She forced her lips into an answering smile, praying hers made it to her eyes.
His expression turned curious as he dropped his gaze to the two bags flanking her. “Is that all you brought with you?”
Her mouth went dry, leaving an unpleasant, rusty taste for her to swallow. “This is all I own.”
She quickly lowered her head, afraid he would consider her somehow defective with this new bit of information.
By no means was Pete the richest man in town, but everyone relied on him for something. Whether it be for the latches, tools or kitchen utensils he made in his smithy, or for a stall in his livery to board a horse.
She was just a cook, with all her earthly possessions able to fit inside two small bags.
“Well, good.” His voice filled with an emotion she couldn’t quite decipher. “That’ll be less for you to unpack.”
Because he touched her shoulder gently, she found the courage to lift her head. He was looking at her with genuine kindness in his eyes.
Her heart dipped.
With little effort, he lifted her luggage into his big hands. “Let me help you with these.”
Unable to form a coherent thought, Rebecca nodded her assent. She followed him silently inside the house and stopped dead in her tracks at the sight that greeted her.
Oh, Lord. What have I gotten myself into?
Chapter Eight
Rebecca would not allow the hopelessness creeping down her spine to take root. Although…
Who could blame her for despairing?
Certainly no woman she knew. Nor most men.
How could Pete stand to live like this? The interior of his home was so…so…bleak.
If she narrowed her eyes—a necessary feat to get through the next few moments without breaking down into tears—this room could pass for a kitchen. A kitchen that was hardly serviceable.
A giant stove spread its squat body from end to end across an entire wall. Bulky, intimidating, the black beast had a menacing look about it, as though it was going to growl at her any minute. She wasn’t sure the ugly monster didn’t belong in Pete’s smithy.
The rest of her senses awakened with dangerous speed and Rebecca wrinkled her nose. What was that smell? She decided it best not to pinpoint its origin. She was pretty sure a dead animal was involved.
After another moment of utter speechlessness, Rebecca realized what disturbed her most.
She couldn’t find Sarah here.
Rebecca had expected to meet Pete’s first wife today, in the kitchen at least. But there were no signs of the woman. No frills or lace. No curtains to keep out the hot sun in the summer and the bitter cold in the winter. No cooking utensils hanging from hooks. Nothing to prove a woman had ever lived and worked in this room.
Had Pete removed all signs of his first wife? Or had there been none to remove?
“I…” She couldn’t form words into English. Or Norwegian, for that matter. What could she say, anyway? That she was sorry? Sorry for whom? Her? Pete? Both of them?
Her eyes started to sting as the reality of her situation began to inch through her efforts to hold her emotions at bay. No. She would not cry. Not now. Now she would simply absorb. She’d give into her emotions later.
She lifted her chin a fraction higher. Unfortunately, her audible intake of air ruined her attempt at putting on a brave face.
Pete cleared his throat. “Would you like to see the rest of the house?”
Eyes widening of their own accord, she turned her head. She’d nearly forgotten he was in the room. Blinking into his gaze, she was surprised to note the apology staring back at her. Clearly, he was seeing his home from her perspective and didn’t like what he saw any more than she did.
Feeling a need to reassure him, she reached out to touch his sleeve, but he broke eye contact and exited the kitchen ahead of her.
Rebecca reluctantly followed. Although better prepared this time, the next room still managed to fall below her expectations. She prayed the smile she forced on her lips didn’t look as false as it felt.
But again, there was nothing to recommend this part of Pete’s house. Was it a parlor? It wasn’t dirty, precisely. In fact, the home was rather neat, practically untouched. And painfully barren.
A stone fireplace with a clunky mantel filled a large portion of the far wall. An upholstered chair that had faded to a dull gray drooped in front of the hearth. An unremarkable wooden table was positioned next to the chair, while a threadbare carpet of indeterminable age rested off center in the middle of the room.
How long had Pete lived like this, in a house with no warmth?
Too long, Rebecca. He’s been alone too long.
Well, she was here now. If nothing else, she could make him a home to live in, rather than this miserable, depressing house. In the process, maybe she would help Pete pick up the shattered pieces of his life.
Her heart fluttered with resolve, convinced this was why the Lord had led her to this sad man. If she provided him with a home, he would come to appreciate her, to rely on her. And maybe, just maybe, in time, he would grow to love her as her own parents had never been able to do.
After all, she was older, wiser and more capable than she’d been as a child. Surely her efforts would have a better result this time.
Lord, I pray You give me the courage to rebuild and nurture this home. Use me as Your instrument of healing in Pete’s life and bring us closer through the process.
With her mind full of ideas, Rebecca looked around her once again. Her gaze stopped on a book sitting on the table next to the chair. How had she missed that?
Reaching out, she ran her fingertip along the foreign script on the cover. The leather binding was cracked and well worn, as though opened often. If only she could decipher the letters, she would know what sort of book it was. Sadly, she couldn’t read in English, and only passably in Norwegian.
Pete’s voice broke through her silence. “That’s the Benjamin family Bible.”
Ah, yes, of course. She flattened her palm over the scrolling, ornate letters. It was really quite beautiful.
Pete moved a step closer and peered over her shoulder. “My mother used to read the Scriptures to my father and me every night before bedtime.”
“What a lovely tradition,” she said without hesitation, her fingers shaking slightly. That one statement revealed much about Pete’s childhood. He’d grown up in a very different world from hers.
“It was a lovely tradition,” he said. “I miss those days.”
The wistfulness in his voice had her turning her head to look at him. Before she could stop herself, she blurted out, “I’d like to carry on that tradition.” Desperately. It spoke of family in a way she’d never known, but craved deeply.
He looked at her oddly, with an expression she couldn’t quite decipher. “That would be…nice.”
“Oh, but I…” She let her words trail off and stepped back. How did a woman go about telling her husband she couldn’t read in his language, especially after stating she wanted to do just that?
A hot fist of shame grabbed at her stomach. She ignored the unwelcome emotion and quickly redirected the conversation. “I’d like to see the rest of the house now.”
He nodded. “Follow me.”
In silence, Rebecca trailed Pete through one of the two doorways leading off this gray little room.
This time she wasn’t surprised to discover the lack of any signs that a woman had once lived here. The room had a bed, fully made, with a blanket draped over the end. A sturdy wooden chair held vigil at a position halfway between the head and foot of the bed. How long had it been situated at that odd angle?
There was a small dresser against the right wall. But most disheartening of all, a thin blanket had been nailed above a window in place of a curtain. As if in defianc
e, a sliver of sunlight knifed through the miniscule crack between blanket and wall.
Rebecca prayed she would become similar to that rogue sunbeam in Pete’s life, a ray of hope and a reflection of God’s light in this gloomy house.
Glory, she had a lot of work ahead of her, and wasn’t sure if she had it in her to accomplish the feat. She couldn’t even read—how could she expect to make a home for Pete and herself?
Chewing on her bottom lip, she turned her attention back to the bed. Her heart beat hard against her ribs. She wanted children and a husband that loved her. Would she get any of that from Pete?
There was one way to find out. “Are you…that is…” She broke off, realizing too many questions ran through her head to voice only one. But she commanded her mind to focus and continued as boldly as she could. “Will you sleep in here, too?”
“No.” His quick response said it all. “I’ll sleep in the room next door.”
“I…see.” Except, she didn’t see anything at all. How would they ever start a family if they didn’t share a bed? But maybe that was her answer. Maybe he didn’t want to build a family with her.
Pete must have sensed her concern, because he set her bags on the bed and moved closer to her side. In the process, she noticed that he wasn’t wearing his wedding ring. Had he taken it off to work in the smithy? Or had he decided not to wear it for another, more personal reason? One that kept them apart as profoundly as separate bedrooms.
Clearly, he was still in love with Sarah and couldn’t bear to be with another woman. How could she blame him for such devotion? It was one of the reasons she admired him. A sob broke through her effort to swallow it down.
Frowning, Pete reached out to drag his thumb over the curve of her cheek. “It’s for the best, Rebecca.”
What was for the best? That they had separate rooms? That they wouldn’t live as man and wife, ever? “But—”
“My decision is final.” The regret and sadness in his eyes made the chiseled planes of his face all the more compelling.
He dropped his hand and exited the room without another word. The click of his heels on the hard wooden floor echoed in Rebecca’s ears, matching the dangerous rhythm of her heartbeat.
“But what about my decision?” she whispered into the empty room. “What about what I want? Don’t I have a say?”
She couldn’t leave things as they were. She couldn’t allow her new husband to desert her after one day of marriage. She couldn’t lose him before she’d ever had the chance to win him.
Breaking into a run, Rebecca caught him before he could escape out the back door. “Pete, wait. I thought we were going to talk.”
His hand froze on the doorknob. “Another time. I still have to work in the smithy awhile before I close it down and head out to meet Will and some of the other men from town.”
He had to meet with Will Logan this late in the day? For what? “I…I don’t understand.”
He closed his eyes as if in pain, but his voice came out clear and steady. “We’re searching for the missing twins tonight, like every night.”
“Oh. Yes. Yes, of course.”
How could she object to his leaving her now? As much as she wanted to discuss their future together, Mikey and Missy Clark had been missing for a month. With each passing day, the likelihood of the children being found grew smaller. But the town couldn’t give up hope. They had to keep searching.
“When will you return?”
He didn’t turn around, and for a dreadful moment she feared he would leave without answering her. But then he blew out a long breath and said, “Late.”
Late? “As in, after dark?”
He took another deep breath, but still kept his back to her, his hand immobile on the doorknob. “Yes.”
A jolt of fear had her clutching at her throat. “Isn’t that dangerous with the Kansa Indians out there?”
At last, he glanced at her from over his shoulder. His eyes were sad, while his lips plunged into a frown.
“Yes, Rebecca.” He turned fully around. “It is dangerous for us to search at night, but not as dangerous as it is for Mikey and Missy to be out there alone.”
His eyes looked so tired, she thought. And yet very, very determined.
The search for the missing twins was obviously personal for Pete. If only she knew why. Was he thinking of his own child? Was that terrible loss what drove him to look for Mikey and Missy at such a hazardous hour?
There was so much she didn’t understand about her new husband.
“You’re right, of course.” She placed a shaky hand on his shoulder. “Will you allow me to pray for you before you leave?”
He opened his mouth to speak but closed it and gave her a short nod. The quick movement sent sunlight gleaming off something around his neck. Squinting, she leaned forward for a closer look. He was wearing his wedding band, on a piece of leather tied around his neck.
Why did something that simple give her such pleasure?
Sighing, she curled her fingers around his shoulder and then closed her eyes.
“Heavenly Father, I pray for Missy and Mikey. I pray You continue to protect them, wherever they are. I also pray for the safety of our men tonight. May they succeed in their search and return home unharmed. We ask this in Christ’s name. Amen.”
She opened her eyes to find Pete gazing down at her with an unblinking stare. Smiling slightly, he closed his hand over hers. “Thank you, Rebecca.”
Before she could respond, he spun on his heel and exited the house without a backward glance or a single word of farewell.
Alone in her new kitchen, Rebecca had nothing left to do but stare at the closed door and worry. Neither activity would do any good.
“I might as well make myself at home,” she said to the empty room.
What a miserable prospect.
Pete couldn’t get out of his house and away from his new wife fast enough. He’d married Rebecca to stop Matilda Johnson’s mean-spirited gossip, and to protect her good name from further scandal, but he hadn’t thought much further than the immediate. He should have known she would have expectations for their marriage. Unfortunately, he couldn’t give Rebecca what she wanted. At least, not yet. Too many memories stood between them. Too many failures on his part.
He wasn’t even sure he had what it took to make any woman a good husband.
Weren’t the last few moments proof enough? He hadn’t thought to prepare Rebecca for what she would find once she entered his home. And now that he’d seen the house through her eyes, he felt ashamed. Embarrassed.
His pretty new wife deserved a home of her own, a real home, not a rented room in a boardinghouse or a dreary little building with only a few pieces of worn-out furniture to recommend it.
He wouldn’t have blamed her if she’d run right back to the boardinghouse.
And yet not only was she staying, she wanted to read to him from the Bible like his mother had done for his father. He didn’t know what to think about that. Sarah had never offered, and Pete had never thought to ask her. But now he wondered…
Would something as simple as reading Scripture together have made a difference in Sarah’s final days? Would she have been happier and thereby stronger, strong enough to survive the birth of their child?
He would never know.
Heavy-hearted, Pete went through the motions of shutting down the smithy. He moved mechanically through his routine, first clearing away the debris and impurities that had formed into worthless clinker and then pulling apart the fire. While the heat dissolved, he sorted the coke from the coal, setting the coal farthest away from the pot.
As he worked, his mind returned to Rebecca. He hadn’t been fair to her. There’d been plenty of time for them to have their talk. But he hadn’t known where to start, hadn’t known how to tell her why he’d lived in such pitiful conditions.
If he started with the “why,” then he’d have to explain the rest. How Sarah had refused to decorate their home for reasons he s
till couldn’t discern, but figured had to do with her desire to get him to take her home to Belville. It was as if Sarah had been holding out for him to change his mind, to admit that this wasn’t really their home. If only he had, perhaps she would still be alive.
No, not perhaps. Definitely. No matter what others claimed, Pete knew that he hadn’t tried hard enough to make Sarah happy.
And now he was married again, to a woman forced to be his wife this time around. Would Rebecca grow to resent him, as Sarah had?
Frowning, he returned the tools he’d left spread across the forging table to their respective hooks on the wall, then exited the smithy.
He glanced at the house, wondering what Rebecca was doing right now. Probably unpacking.
At least he’d thought ahead enough to make sure the main bedroom was clean. And in a last-minute stroke of genius, he’d nailed a blanket above the window to give Rebecca some semblance of privacy.
His efforts hadn’t been enough. He knew that now. He’d seen the horror in her eyes. And then the sorrow. And then the pity.
He slammed his fist against his thigh in frustration. He didn’t want his new wife pitying him.
What would she think if he told her his house had never been a home, that Sarah had never had the energy or the will to put her mark on any of the rooms? Not even the one that had been set aside for their newborn child.
Thoughts of his dead son spread conviction through him and he turned his focus to the missing twins. Rebecca had been unmistakably worried about the children a few moments ago in his kitchen. He’d heard the genuine fear in her voice as she’d prayed. Perhaps tonight would bring success to their efforts at last.
With renewed resolve, Pete strode toward the official meeting place for volunteers—the sidewalk in front of the skeleton that would eventually become the new town hall.
Over the past month, the members of the search party had varied night by night, with one exception. Pete was always among them. Even last night, after he’d said farewell to Rebecca and checked on Edward, he’d joined the search.
There’d been too much loss in his life, too much tragedy in this town, for him to sit in his home while others searched for the twins. Perhaps if they found the children, real healing could take root in High Plains and put everyone’s mind on the future instead of the past. Including him.
