His Substitute Wife

by Dorothy Clark

  The kitchen was as she had left it, her rinsed teacup sitting on the wood drain board awaiting washing. The stove was black and cold and uninviting. Thoughts pounced, painful and unwelcome. Had Blake taught Linda how to use the stove? Was he cooking their meals? He must have learned by now that Linda was helpless in the kitchen. Not that he would care.

  She clenched her hands, turned and hurried from the room, but it was too late. The memories swarmed. The truth ripped at her heart. She wanted to make Blake his morning coffee, to see the smile in his eyes when he took his first swallow. She wanted to cook his meals and sit across the table from him while they ate them. She wanted to help him in the store. And she wanted to share that bedroom with him, and to fill the other bedroom with brown-haired, brown-eyed babies. She wanted to be his wife. To truly be his wife!

  Tears gushed from her eyes. Sobs burst from her throat, raw and unstoppable. She ran up the stairs, threw herself onto her bed and buried her face in a pillow.

  * * *

  The train whistle blew twice, the shrill notes of the “all aboard” warning muted by the heavy fall of rain on the porch roof. The bell on the door jangled as the last of the soldiers, who had feared running out of chewing tobacco more than getting a wetting from the storm, left the store. Blake recorded the last purchases, placed his ledger and the till on the shelf out of sight and walked upstairs to the sitting room. He’d learned not to look for Linda in the kitchen. “That’s the last of the customers, until the next train comes in. I doubt anyone else will brave this storm. Unless Mitch runs out of something he needs for one of his jobs.”

  “Well, I hope he doesn’t.” Linda rose from the settee, shook out her ruffled skirt and glided toward him. “You work too hard, darling.” She glanced at him through her long lashes, put on a pretty pout. “I’ve hardly seen you today.”

  He accepted the wordless invitation and kissed her. “I’m a storekeeper, Linda. My time belongs to my customers during store hours.”

  “But there’s nothing for me to do.”

  You could help me. Audrey did.

  “You needn’t scowl, Blake.”

  “Was I? I didn’t realize it.” He smiled, lifted her hand from where she’d rested it on the front of his shirt and kissed her fingers. “I was wondering if there is any coffee?”

  “You were thinking about coffee. And after I put on my prettiest new dress for you.”

  The pout increased. She moved a step away, wrapped a blond curl dangling at her temple about her finger and gave him a sidelong look that once would have had him groveling for forgiveness. The emotion that rose in him was irritation. What was wrong with him? He stepped forward, rested his hands on her bare shoulders and placed his mouth close to her ear. “Forgive me, Linda. I should have told you how beautiful you are.”

  She turned, smiled and slid her arms around his neck. “I forgive you, darling. How can I not, when I love you so much?”

  She touched her lips to his in a teasing kiss that should have made his blood boil and his arms pull her close for a real kiss. But an image of Audrey, neat and resolute, blushing as she announced she’d come to Whisper Creek to marry him, destroyed any possible response but the right one. He cleared his throat, set Linda back away from him. “We’re forgetting that I’m a married man, Linda.”

  “Not truly married, Blake. Your union is—”

  “Legal and binding.”

  Her blue eyes flashed. “Then perhaps—”

  “Yes?”

  “Nothing, dearest. You’re right.” She touched his arm, sighed and gave him a smoldering look. “It’s only that I so long to be your wife, I forget about...propriety.” She stepped close, played with a wrinkle in his sleeve. “I thought that was what you wanted, too...for us to marry and share a life together.”

  Did he? Was this apathy he felt toward her because of his anger at her betrayal? Could he get beyond it to feel for her as he once did? “Yes, of course. But I have saving this store to think about. I have to do this the right way.”

  “I understand. But surely this store isn’t—”

  “Isn’t what?”

  “Isn’t as important as me.”

  That wasn’t what she’d been about to say before she stopped herself. He stared at her. She smiled, but there was a gleam in her eyes he’d never seen before. Selfishness?

  She laid her head on his shoulder, her soft lips brushing against the skin on his neck. “But please hurry and annul this pretense of a marriage you have with Audrey, so we can have a real marriage together.”

  Pretense of a marriage? It didn’t feel that way. “I’ll do my best—for all of us.”

  Linda lifted her head, gave him a quizzical look, then smiled and strolled to the window. “You poor darling, suffering through all of this, just so we can have a comfortable life together.”

  “Suffering through what?”

  She gave a delicate wave. “Everything. Staying here under brutal conditions while building the store and these living quarters. Being lonely for your friends. Having nothing fun or exciting to do. Missing me...”

  He thought back, remembered. “I was lonely for you. But your letters kept me going forward.” He moved close to her, took her in his arms. “I thought I loved you when I asked for your hand in New York before I signed that contract and came to Whisper Creek to build a life for us. But the truth is, I really fell in love with you through your letters. You were different. So...” Interested in me and my life. So caring. He pushed the thought away, determined to rekindle the love between them. “I can’t describe it. I only know your letters captured my heart.”

  “And yours, mine, Blake darling. I lived to read them.”

  He gave her a gentle kiss and stepped back. “I have to eat before the next train comes.”

  She sighed, pushed her blond curls back over her shoulder. “Surely, the store makes enough profit you can hire a cook and servant for us until—”

  He stopped at the door, turned. He was getting tired of her unfinished sentences. Linda was hiding something. “Until what?” His tone demanded the truth.

  She widened her eyes and pressed a hand against the creamy skin above her low, square-cut neckline. “Why, until we can return to the exciting life we will have in New York.”

  “In New York!”

  She laughed, rushed into his arms. “You stop teasing me, Blake Latherop!” She gave him another of those coquettish looks through her long lashes.

  He clenched his jaw to keep from telling her to stop it. Audrey never resorted to such behavior. She just lifted that little chin of hers and gave as good as she got. Audrey. Just the thought of her took his breath. “I’m not teasing.”

  She laughed, gave him a playful pat on the arm. “Of course you are! I know you want to go back to New York now that you have that beautiful big house and the means—”

  “Meester Blake. Where is laundry?”

  Blake scowled, pivoted toward the stairs and stepped to the railing. “I forgot. I’ll bring it right down, Ah Cheng.” He strode to his empty bedroom, opened the wardrobe and yanked out the bag of dirty clothes. There was a folded letter on his dresser. He pushed it into his suit coat pocket and hurried downstairs. “Here you are, Ah Cheng.”

  “Bring back two days, Meester Blake.”

  He nodded, following Ah Cheng to the loading dock. His wife stood holding an umbrella. He watched the two of them walk away, the heavy laundry bag now carried by Ah Cheng’s wife while Ah Cheng held the umbrella.

  He shook his head, wondered how long Ah Cheng’s superior behavior would continue now that the Chinese were in American territory. From what he could tell, Yan Cheng was an intelligent, observant woman. And soon, she would have many American women customers aghast at the way Ah Cheng treated her, and not at all reluctant to say so. But that was neither his problem nor his
business.

  He turned back to the storage room, shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out the letter. He unfolded it and looked down at the signature. Audrey. His heart lurched. He jerked his gaze to the beginning, hungry to read what she had written.

  Dear Blake,

  By now, you know I am gone from Whisper Creek, and from your life.

  How happy you must be to have Linda for your own once again. I am glad for you both, and wish you every happiness.

  I am uncertain as to what must happen now as far as the store is concerned.

  Please know that I wish you every good fortune in that endeavor. I enjoyed working in the store. And our time together as “pretend man and wife” was pleasant.

  And now to the purpose of this letter. I am writing to tell you that I will not, in any way, oppose an annulment of our in-name-only marriage. You may take whatever action you deem necessary to dissolve those matrimonial bonds.

  Goodbye, Blake. I wish you and Linda a long and happy life together.

  With affection,

  Audrey

  His stomach knotted. His jaw clenched. He crushed the letter in his hand, then thought better of it and smoothed it out and folded it. He would need it.

  He scanned it once more, shoved it back in his pocket and scrubbed his hands over the back of his neck. She just gave up! The feisty Audrey he had come to know just gave up! Obviously, she didn’t think their marriage worth fighting for!

  Shock jolted his thoughts to a halt. Did he? The truth slammed into him, sent his heart racing. That was what was wrong. He loved her. He loved his wife!

  He yanked the letter out and opened it, read it carefully seeking any slight indication that Audrey might feel the same toward him. He could find nothing, but something about the letter nagged at him. He read it again.

  “Blake darling, are you coming?”

  Linda. He whipped around toward the stairs, plowed his fingers through his hair. What was he to do about Linda? How could he tell her that he didn’t love her and would not marry her when she’d annulled her marriage in order to marry him? When she had lived for his letters? He owed her his fidelity, if not his love.

  “I’m coming.” He climbed the stairs, faced a pouting Linda.

  “I’m hungry and there’s nothing to eat.”

  He looked at her standing there waiting for him to serve her. Fidelity was one thing. He would not be her servant. “There’s ham and beets and pickles in the refrigerator.”

  She gasped, gazed at him, put her hand on his arm. “What’s happened, Blake darling?”

  If this relationship would work, it had to start with honesty. He took a breath, controlled the tone of his voice. “I found a letter from Audrey.”

  “Oh. The one where she told you she would not oppose an annulment of your pretend marriage.”

  “It’s not pretend.”

  “Whatever it was, it will soon be over.” She smiled, slipped her hand into his. “I’m sure you’re relieved to have the letter so you can go forward with—”

  “The letter!”

  “What about it?” Linda’s eyes flashed. “What is wrong with you, Blake?”

  “It’s not what she wrote. It’s the writing!” Anger churned in his gut. He yanked his hand from hers, clenched it to keep from shaking the truth from her. “You didn’t write those letters to me. Audrey did.”

  “Blake darling, how can you say—”

  “The truth, Linda!” Her face blanched. Her lips compressed.

  “Very well. I didn’t write you those letters. I asked Audrey to answer them in my name. But only because Audrey is better at that sort of mundane thing than I, and I didn’t want you to be disappointed in me.” She stepped into his arms, slid her hands to the back of his neck and tilted her head in invitation.

  Her charms left him cold. He grabbed her wrists, pulled her hands away from his hair and moved her back away from him. “Why did you come here, Linda? And I want the truth. I’ve had enough of your games. Where is your husband?”

  “Very well! If you want the truth, you shall have it!” She whirled away from him, her long ruffled skirts flaring out around her. “I don’t know where Nigel is. He gambled away all of my inheritance and then left me with a note that said our marriage was bogus, that his friend had performed the ceremony.” She pulled a long blond curl forward to dangle against her bare shoulder. “Everyone says that with my beauty I should be on the stage! I came here because I was penniless. And I was sure you would give me enough money to get to San Francisco.”

  “Because of my love for you.” He knew it for a fact before she nodded her head.

  “That’s right.”

  “And then you discovered that Audrey was here. And that we were married.” He read the answer in her eyes. “She’s your sister! Why did you change your—” I know you want to go back to New York now that you have that beautiful big house and the means—“My inheritance! That’s the reason you decided to stay and marry me. Audrey told you I was in New York because my father had died and you—”

  He couldn’t look at her. How had he ever found her beautiful? He walked to the window beside the dish dresser in the kitchen, looked at the coursing runnels of rain on the small panes of glass. Her hand touched his back. He tensed.

  “Audrey still has her inheritance, Blake. Mine was gambled away by Nigel. I need—”

  “Stop! Don’t say another word, Linda.” He pulled in air, clenched his hands to control the burn in his gut. “You came to me for money to go to San Francisco and become an actress. Very well. I will purchase your train ticket to California, and give you expense money enough for the journey and one year in a hotel.”

  “Blake darling! I knew—”

  “Halt right there, Linda!” He turned and looked at her, allowed his disgust to chill his voice. “I’ll not have you misunderstanding the reason for my assistance. I’m doing so because you are Audrey’s sister, and I don’t want her worried about you. It has nothing to do with your beauty—that exists only on the outside. I’ve never known anyone uglier of character. Your sister shines like a jewel in comparison! Now go and pack your things. You’ll want to be ready when the next train headed for San Francisco arrives. I will come to the hotel and take you and your trunks to the depot.”

  * * *

  “Your shipment of supplies is being stacked in the shed out back, Blake.” Asa squinted up at him, spit tobacco juice from the side of his mouth.

  “Garret will pick up the supplies tomorrow when the road dries out.” He reached in his pocket, pulled out some bills.

  “What do you need this time?”

  “A ticket for one to San Francisco.”

  “Pullman passenger car?”

  “Yes. There are two trunks here on the platform to be loaded.”

  “Gimme a minute.” The stationmaster slid off his stool, opened the back door, gave a shrill whistle, pointed toward the platform, then returned. He slid onto his stool and picked up one of the bills, passed the ticket and change back to him.

  “And a ticket for one to New York City.”

  Asa peered out at him, then shrugged, took another bill and slid the ticket and change back to him.

  He pocketed the New York ticket and change, walked to where Linda stood at the side of the platform and handed her the ticket for San Francisco, a packet of money and a note on a San Francisco bank he did business with for the store. “You’d best get aboard while the rain has slacked off a bit. The train will leave in a few minutes.”

  “We’ve only been waiting for you to bring me my ticket.” She smiled at a portly gentleman standing beside her. “This kind gentleman is riding the same train and has offered me the shelter of his umbrella as well as his personal protection on my journey. I told him of my destination, and he has assured me that wit
h my beauty I will be a star of the stage in no time. He has friends with the theater, and is eager to help me achieve my dream.” Linda glanced at the banknote, smiled and tucked it into her purse with the other items. “Goodbye, Blake. Tell Audrey I will send her tickets for my first show when I become a famous actress.” She took hold of the man’s proffered arm, lifted her hems and walked away.

  He took a long deep breath, trotted down the platform steps and ran for the store to pack.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Audrey fastened the ties on the bodice of her pale green silk dressing gown and slipped her feet into her cream-colored silk slippers. She stared at her reflection in her dressing table mirror and wished, again, that her long curly hair was blond like Linda’s instead of red. And that her eyes were blue instead of hazel. And that she was beautiful. And curvaceous. And all of the things that her sister was that she wasn’t. But she was improving. She hadn’t burst into tears. She’d cried them all away.

  She frowned and gathered her still damp hair at the nape of her neck, tied it loosely with a ribbon, fluffed it across her back so it would dry and left her bedroom. The wayward curls falling on her forehead and dangling at her temples no longer mattered with Blake not around to see them.

  The smells of linseed oil and lemon juice hovered in the hallway. A faint trace of the ammonia she’d used to scrub the hall runner teased her nose. She gripped the polished banister and descended the stairs, the hint of various scents bearing witness to the days she’d spent scrubbing, cleaning, polishing and washing.

  She cast a satisfied look about the small entrance hall, then turned and made her way down the short hallway to the kitchen. The smell of the vinegar she’d used to wash the windows and make them shine was fading. It would be gone by morning. And there would be no more. She was finished. The house was clean and polished from the top to the bottom. Or almost. She couldn’t make herself go down into the cellar.

  She pumped water into the teapot and filled the reservoir on the side of the stove, replacing the water she’d used for her bath, added wood to the fire and adjusted the dampers for a slow burn. Tomorrow she would go to see Mr. Ferguson. Her father’s old friend would tell her how to proceed with the sale of the house. And then what? She held her thoughts to that question, refused to think of Blake and Linda, and the emptiness of her life.