His Substitute Wife

by Dorothy Clark

  “One more thing.” Blake stepped to the cot, lifted the head of it and tucked the ends of the sheet under the legs.

  “What are you doing?”

  He straightened, looked at Garret. “It’s a trick I learned from Audrey.” The day she moved me into my bedroom. “It keeps the bed linens in place.” The muscle along his jaw twitched. He closed his mind to the memory, dropped the head of the cot and moved to the end.

  “Well, I’ll be...” Garret stepped closer, watched him trap the corners of the sheets and blankets under the legs at the foot of the bed. “That’s clever! Why’d you leave the quilt corners free?”

  Because she did. The muscle in his jaw twitched again. “No need to trap them as long as the other blankets stay put.” He headed for the door, turned. “I truly appreciate this, Garret. I’ll make it up to you.”

  “I’m not doing anything but letting you use the room. It’s not costing me anything as long as Ferndale doesn’t count it as my hotel opening and start the counting days until—”

  The words stopped. Garret stared.

  Blake met his astounded gaze, watched him working through unspoken thoughts—putting two and two together, realizing their concerns were the same.

  “So that’s what happened. I wondered...” His friend shook his head and gave him a look he could only read as admiration. “It’s none of my business, Blake, but how did you get Audrey to agree to marry you?”

  “I didn’t. It was her idea. She found out about the contract, that I had signed it on the strength of Linda’s promise to marry me, and that I was in danger of losing the store.” Bitterness soured his stomach, sharpened his voice. “She felt guilty about Linda’s part in my dilemma, so she came to Whisper Creek and proposed that she marry me in Linda’s place—to save my investment.”

  “Audrey did that? That’s...amazing. I’d almost consider getting married if I found a woman like that.”

  He straightened, eyed his friend. “What do you mean almost? Are you saying you’re not planning on marrying? If you’re not betrothed, how will you—”

  “Haven’t figured that out, yet.” Garret frowned, tugged at his ear. “So you and Audrey married without Linda knowing. And now Linda’s come—uninvited?”

  “And unmarried. She got an annulment.”

  “So that’s why Audrey left so suddenly.” Garret let out a long, low whistle. “What are you going to do?”

  He blew out a breath and shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  * * *

  Darkness hid the scenery outside the window. The conductor moved through the car, dimming the light of the oil lamps that flickered with every bump. Silence settled over the passenger car. Snores, low murmured conversations and the rustle of people changing to more comfortable sleeping positions vied with the clack of the wheels against the rails.

  Audrey leaned back and closed her eyes, tried not to think. The past was too painful, the future too empty for contemplation. Every clack of the train wheels carried her farther from Blake and the home she’d come to love at Whisper Creek and closer to the empty house awaiting her in New York City. Her heart ached. Her eyes burned. Her temples throbbed. She rose, grabbed for the back of the seat ahead of her when things went out of kilter. Her legs threatened to give way.

  A few deep breaths cleared away the light-headedness. She made her way to the washroom at the front of the passenger car, managing to evade the long legs and booted feet stretched out into the aisle. Nausea washed over her, made worse by the swaying of the train. She leaned against the wall and took deep breaths, fighting the urge to purge an already empty stomach. A splash of cold water made her eyes feel better. She dampened her handkerchief, made her way back to her seat and sank down onto it, held the wet cloth to her forehead. The coolness of the handkerchief soothed some of the pain.

  The thoughts returned despite her effort to hold them at bay. Had Blake and Linda enjoyed their first meal together? Had Linda found the beef soup she’d left simmering on the stove? Had she kept the fire going? Blake liked his food hot. Tears welled. It was not her place to worry about Blake’s meals. It was Linda’s responsibility now. Still, she should have insisted Linda learn how to work that stove.

  I’ve told you that I don’t have to learn to cook or to do any other household chore. When we are married, Blake and I will leave this boring place where there is nothing to do and move back to his father’s house in New York.

  Linda had her plans made. And she knew her sister well enough to know that she could coax Blake into giving her exactly what she wanted. Men always did what Linda wanted—except Nigel. How terrible for Linda to be cast aside once her money was gone. To find out that she’d never been married, only used. But that was what Linda was doing to Blake. The only difference was, Blake’s love for Linda was true, and their marriage would be real. If only...

  A useless dream.

  New York. The house Blake had inherited was not far from her family home. A matter of a few blocks only. The roiling in her stomach increased. She hadn’t considered that. What should she do? She could not face seeing them together. And she knew Linda would be calling on her, showing off her luxuries and bragging about her life with Blake. Her stomach knotted at the thought. She would sell the house and—

  The passenger car jolted. Her neck jerked. Pain shot through her head, stabbed deep behind her eyes. She winced, turned the handkerchief over to the cooler side and leaned her head against the padded seat back again. If only morning would come and end this torturous night.

  A baby’s wail rent the silence.

  “Shh, little one, shh...”

  She opened her eyes, glanced across the aisle. A woman shared a seat with two small children—a toddler curled up asleep on her one side, a small girl sitting at her other side. She rocked the crying infant in her arms.

  “I’m tired, Mama.” The little girl rubbed at her eyes.

  “I know, dear, I know. Our journey will be over tomorrow, but I need you to be a good girl tonight.” The woman jiggled the crying baby. “Shh, little one, shh...”

  “I wanna lay down.”

  The little girl was close to crying.

  “Shh, Carolyn, don’t disturb your brother. He needs to sleep, and I need to feed the baby. You lean against me.”

  “But I wanna lay down!”

  The plea ended in a sob. The woman needed help. Audrey laid her handkerchief on her valise, set it on the floor and slipped across the aisle. “Excuse me. I couldn’t help but overhear...” She smiled at the exhausted-looking woman. “And, if it’s acceptable to you, my seat is there, across the aisle, and I would be happy to share it with your little girl. She could lie down and be comfortable.”

  “That is so very kind of you!” The woman tucked a blanket more securely around the infant in her arms. “But I noticed you haven’t been feeling well. I don’t want to trouble you.”

  “Please, it’s no trouble at all.”

  “Well, if you’re sure.” The woman looked down at her daughter. “Carolyn, this nice lady has offered to let you sleep on her seat. You go with her. Mama will be right here.”

  The little girl’s lower lip quivered; she wiped at her teary eyes with her small, fisted hand. “Can you tell me a story?”

  “I think I can manage that.” She smiled and held out her hand. The little girl scooched off the seat and took hold of it.

  “Be a good girl for the kind lady, Carolyn.” The mother gave her a grateful smile. “Thank you, miss.”

  “My pleasure.” She lifted the little girl to her seat, slid in beside her.

  “Can I lay down?”

  “You certainly may. Would you like to rest your head on my lap?”

  The child yawned, nodded and lay down, blinked and looked up at her.

  Her fingers twitched to smooth back a tress of h
air that was clinging to the little girl’s chubby cheek. “Would you like to hear a poem about a kitty?”

  “I like...kitties...” Carolyn’s round brown eyes closed.

  “All right.” She smiled, shrugged out of her jacket and spread it over the small body.

  “‘Pussey-Cat lives in the servants’ hall,

  She can set up her back, and purr;

  The little Mice live in a crack in the wall,

  But they hardly dare venture to stir;’”

  “’Cause they’re...scareded...”

  “Yes.” She smiled at the child’s word, took a breath and continued.

  “‘For whenever they think of taking the air,

  Or filling their little maws,

  The Pussey-Cat says, “Come out, if you dare;

  I will catch you all with my claws.”’”

  She smoothed back the silky hair. Carolyn didn’t open her eyes. She softened her voice to a whisper.

  “‘Scrabble, scrabble, scrabble, went all the little Mice,

  For they smelt the Cheshire cheese;

  The Pussey-Cat said, “It smells very nice,

  Now do come out, if you please.”’”

  Her whisper faded into silence. She glanced across the aisle. The mother was fast asleep, the baby nursing in her arms. She looked down at Carolyn, at her small little nose, chubby cheeks, soft pink mouth and hair the same brown color as Blake’s. The pang in her heart stole her breath. She leaned back and closed her eyes, but there was no way to close out the hurt.

  * * *

  “This is your room.”

  Blake balanced Linda’s trunk on his shoulder, opened the door and stepped back.

  Linda glided into the room, stopped, turned and looked at him. “Blake darling, surely you do not expect me to sleep here? On that?” She waved her hand toward the cot. “I thought you said this was a hotel.”

  “A hotel under construction.” Blake set the trunk down between the wardrobe and the dressing table. “This is the only habitable room. I’m sorry about the cot, but—” He stopped, looked down at her hand resting on his shirtfront.

  “Don’t be sorry, darling. I understand.” She looked up at him, smiled then pouted out her lips. “I know you don’t want me to be uncomfortable, so...” Her fingers walked up the row of buttons on his shirt, stopped and played with his tie. “...why don’t you take my things back to our home and you can sleep here. Hmm...” She tilted her head back.

  The invitation was there. But memories of Audrey cooking and baking and cleaning the kitchen, smiling up at him as she poured his coffee every morning, made Linda’s presumption in calling the living quarters over the store our home irksome. He smoothed down his tie and moved away. “I can’t do that, Linda. I have to be there to take care of the store and tend to customers.”

  “But surely you want—”

  He looked at her, and whatever she had been about to say died. She smiled and removed her wrap, dropped it on the dressing table bench. The light from the oil lamp glowed on her throat and bare shoulders. His pulse quickened.

  “You’re right, of course, Blake dearest. The store must come first.” She looked at him through her lashes, glided toward him, the silk of her ruffled gown rustling softly. “After this...”

  Her hands cupped his face, gave a gentle tug. He slipped his arms around her, met the invitation. Her lips were soft, warm and wrong. He released his hold on her, lifted his head. “It’s time for me to go. I have work to catch up on at the store after being gone.”

  “Of course, darling. I understand.” Linda gave him a coquettish look, took hold of his arm and walked beside him to the door. “I’ll dream about that kiss all night.” Her voice was soft, husky, enticing, but not entirely convincing.

  He lifted her hand to his mouth, pressed his lips to the backs of her fingers and walked off down the hall.

  * * *

  The floor was swept clean. The shelves and tables neat and orderly with not a speck of dust on them. Blake stepped behind the counter, his footsteps loud in the silence of the empty store. He pulled the oil lamp down to brighten the circle of light on the counter. The looped chains clinked softly against one another. He scowled, scanned the counter. Every item was in its proper place. The ends of the paper rolls were aligned with the cutter bars. The cone of string was wound, the end tucked into the hole at the top, the scissors on the counter at its base. The flowers in the pitcher were arranged in a pleasing mixture of colors.

  He frowned, grabbed the ledgers, tossed them onto the counter and flipped the top one open. The last three pages were filled with the brief notations of items sold while he was gone. He opened the ledger that listed the supplies he had on order. The items that had come in while he was gone were checked off. He compared the two lists, made note of the items that would need to be included in his next order and closed the books.

  The till was close to overflowing. He left enough money in it for operating costs, stuffed the rest in a cloth bag and carried it upstairs to his office. The door to his bedroom gaped open, a reminder of the upheaval in his life. He started toward his dresser, the only piece of furniture left in the room. A vision of Audrey looking up at him, her neat hairdo and clothing all askew, her cheeks pink with embarrassment from having rammed him in the stomach with his dresser drawer, filled his head. It was the only time he’d ever seen her...undone. And the day he’d learned she was not as timid and compliant as she’d always been around Linda. The woman could outstubborn a rock!

  He clenched his hands and walked to the kitchen to stoke the hot water heater, then jolted to a halt and swept a disbelieving gaze over the room. The supper dishes were still on the table, uneaten food dried on them. The stew pot sat on the stove, the lid and ladle beside it. Spilled food had dried on the stove’s cast-iron surface. The remainder of a loaf of bread sat uncovered among crumbs scattered all over the worktable. What had Linda been doing while he was carrying the furniture and her things to the hotel?

  He stacked the dishes, carried them to the worktable and scraped what hardened-on food he could remove into the waste bucket. The hot water was almost cold. He scooped up a shovel full of coal and opened the firebox door on the water heater. A pile of gray ashes mixed with a few black clinkers rested on the grate. He stared at the cold cinders, reached over and turned off the water. He’d have to wait for it to heat once he got the fire going again.

  A few live coals flickered among a pile of ashes on the grate in the stove firebox. He coaxed them back to life, added a scoop of coal and slid the scraped dishes into the dishpan of cool water to soak while he waited for the coal to start burning. He took care of the leftover soup, filled the stew pot with water, then wet a cloth and scrubbed at the spilled food on the stove surface before it got too hot.

  How did Audrey keep it so clean and shiny? She’d loved the stove since that first day—the morning after they married. He paused, remembering the way she looked as she brushed her hand across the gleaming cast-iron cooking surface, then raised it to touch the blue porcelain doors on the warming ovens. Her hazel eyes were shining—

  He pulled in a breath, shoveled a few of the hot coals from the stove to the water heater, added chunks of coal to both fires, closed the doors and adjusted the drafts. Anger simmered in the depths of his gut. How could she just leave him like that? How could she walk away from the home they—No. That wasn’t fair. Audrey had left because she thought he still loved Linda.

  He turned his back on the work, walked to the window by the dish dresser and looked out. It was too dark to see the train station. He shoved his hands into his pockets, hunched his shoulders and stared at the stars. His betrothed had come back to him. Where was his elation? Why did his gut knot at the thought of Audrey’s desertion? He had what he’d wanted. So why was the joy and anticipation of his homecoming gone?

/>   Chapter Eighteen

  The horse’s hoofs clopped against the cobblestones, the sound blending with the rumble of the carriage wheels. The cab slowed. Audrey looked out at the hustle and bustle of trolley cars and carriages, pedestrians walking by on the sidewalk and crossing the street. She’d forgotten there was so much activity in the city. The carriage moved close to the curb, stopped.

  “We’re here, miss.”

  “Yes. Thank you.” She lifted her valise from the seat and stepped down from the carriage, handed the driver her fare and turned to face the row of houses. The red brick exteriors looked harsh after the wood buildings of Whisper Creek. She frowned and closed her mind to the memory. That part of her life was over. She needed to concentrate on the future—on selling the house and moving somewhere out West. She had decided that much while watching the scenery pass by on the journey home. She had discovered an affinity for the raw, rugged land. And, though their house was smaller, both narrower and shorter than its attached neighbors, it still should bring a price large enough to enable her to make a new start out there...perhaps open a boardinghouse. There was no reason not to sell the house. Linda would never have need of it—she had Blake to provide a home for her.

  She crossed the sidewalk, gripped the cold iron railing and climbed to the front door, every step increasing the horrible hollowness within her. An emptiness nothing in New York could fill.

  She set her valise on the stoop, searched through her purse for the key and unlocked the door. The musty smell of a closed, unoccupied house greeted her. She stepped into the small entrance hall, swept her gaze over the table that held an oil lamp and two chalk flowers. Her stomach knotted at the sight of the silver tray beside them. There would be no letters from Whisper Creek resting there waiting to be opened now. She took a breath and closed her eyes. Please, Lord, let the house sell quickly, before Linda and Blake return to New York.

  The silence taunted her. The rustle of her long skirt and the click of her boot heels against the polished wood floor punctuated her movements. She carried her valise up the stairs to her bedroom and unpacked, choking back the tears stinging her eyes.