Always and Forever

by Wendy Lindstrom

  Sighing, he turned and leaned against the railing. “I don’t know what you’re running from, Miss Mitch—Nancy, but I hope it won’t come back to cause problems for us or our friends.”

  His comment stunned her and weakened her knees. If her past found her, they both stood to lose. Her father would crush Hal Grayson if he ever learned that Hal had compromised his daughter. Nancy had knowingly compromised herself, but her father would place every bit of blame at Hal’s door. Hal was older. He was a man who should have known better. In her father’s mind it was the man’s place to protect a woman regardless of the situation.

  “My past will stay where I left it,” she said, but that was another empty promise. If her father ever learned where she’d gone, he would commandeer the quickest conveyance to carry him to her doorstep. “I’m more concerned about our future.”

  “That makes two of us,” Hal said, his gaze floating off across the orchard as if trying to see what was ahead of them. “This is a fine kettle we’re in.”

  For several minutes they stood there together lost in thoughts and roiling emotions. Nancy’s gaze strayed to the rebellious waves of black hair that meandered below her husband’s white shirt collar. His black hair shone in the late day sun, clean and soft and... tempting. Hal Grayson was an extremely handsome man. Even his scowl lent him a rugged and rather dashing look that had her heart galloping.

  Heaving a sigh, Hal pushed off the rail. “Shall we go home... Mrs. Grayson?”

  Her heart thundered and she couldn’t answer him. His dark gaze delved deep into her own as he held out a hand. The breeze ruffled his hair, and she thought of a swashbuckling pirate beckoning her aboard his ship. His eyes promised passion and adventure.

  Her tongue felt tied and she couldn’t respond.

  He seemed not to care. Silent, he lifted his hand to her hair. She felt his fingers gliding over the plaited and loosely pinned braid as he inspected it. “This is... like a piece of art, intricate and beautiful.”

  Her lips parted on a small gasp.

  “It suits you.”

  His gentle touch raised gooseflesh on her neck and created havoc in her heart.

  One side of his mouth tipped up in a half-smile and he tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. “Let’s go home.”

  Her heart thundered the entire walk across the orchard.

  Stepping inside, the mess of clothing and haphazardly placed furniture in the parlor had remained untouched. Having been out of the house overnight, Nancy was now able smell the lingering hint of charred wood that Martha had noticed. Tomorrow she would scrub the parlor clean. For now, though, she sought the nearest chair to relieve her trembling legs.

  Grateful the wedding vows were spoken and behind them, she perched on one of the worn parlor chairs. “I’m afraid I don’t know what comes next. I must confess I’m... most apprehensive.”

  “Understandably. Being swept into an unexpected wedding is nerve-wracking.” Hal took the chair opposite her. “I suspect we’re both a bit on edge.”

  Their eyes met, but neither of them spoke.

  What now? Nancy rubbed her arms, suddenly chilled. What was a wife to do after the wedding service? She hadn’t thought this far ahead and now she wished she’d asked her mother or Mary Tucker for advice.

  “Are you chilled?” Hal asked.

  She sighed and met his eyes. “Perhaps a little.”

  “I’ll lay a fire. You should watch how it’s done.” With that he got to his feet and retrieved the needed items, explaining how to weave tinder and starter fuel, be it straw, sticks, or paper to create a loose pile. “Always be sure to leave room for the fire to breath,” he said. Atop the pile of straw and kindling he added a small log about the diameter of Nancy’s calf. “Notice I’ve only added one medium sized log. Once that catches I’ll add another one or two, if needed. Start light and layer the heavier wood only after you have a hot fire or bed of lively coals.”

  She nodded and watched intently as he lit the stack from the bottom. He sat back on his heels and gently fanned the flickering fire.

  Nancy clasped her palms together as she watched the lively flames devour the straw and smaller kindling. “You are an artist, Mr. Grayson!”

  “It’s simply the smartest way to build a fire,” he said, but there was no gloating in his voice. He seemed... tired.

  “Well, I shall endeavor to learn this art and spare us another incident like we had my first morning here.”

  One side of his mouth lifted. “That would be of benefit to both of us.”

  His grin... his small concession toward softening gave her hope. “If I can master the art of building a fire, why I might even learn to cook,” she said, hoping to keep their conversation light and let him know she intended to try to be a good wife.

  His smile fell away. “You’ll need to learn, Miss—Nancy. I can’t afford to provide you with a household staff.”

  “I know,” she said, crestfallen. “I had thought to make light of my shortcomings, not add another burden to your shoulders.”

  As if he realized that he’d misunderstood her comment, he stood and took the chair opposite her. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to be offensive.” He nodded toward the blaze in the fireplace. “Warmer now?” he asked.

  “Much, thank you.” She sat for a moment feeling a little wounded and yet knowing he had every right to think the worst of her. Determined to meet their situation head on and with as much honesty as she could risk, she said, “Thank you for being so kind today. I know you don’t want our marriage, but I appreciate you not sharing your feelings with your friends.”

  “They’re your friends now, too, Nancy. We’re going to live in this town. I’d like our neighbors to look kindly on both of us.”

  She nodded. “I thought your anger would show. You’re a much better actor than I.”

  “You were expected to be a nervous bride and I an eager groom. We both played our parts admirably.”

  “But you’re not an eager groom, are you?” she said, stating it as a fact rather than a question.

  His gaze roved her face, dipped to her lips and fell away on a sigh as he leaned back in his chair. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re only sixteen?”

  Startled by his question she didn’t have a ready answer.

  Hal pinned her with his gaze. “John Radford believed you were twenty years old and would be adept at being a wife. But our marriage papers indicate you are sixteen. How would John have come to that conclusion unless you lied to him about your age?”

  “I didn’t lie. He was seeking a bride of twenty years who could manage a household. I simply replied to his advertisement and stated that I’m adept at managing a staff, which I am. I’d hoped your brother would see that and honor his agreement despite my age.”

  “My brother would have felt betrayed by your omission. He would have sent you straight back to Buffalo. Then John and I would have gotten back to business and he might have forgotten about his ludicrous idea of ordering a wife.”

  “I’ll be seventeen in just over a month at which time my father felt me old enough to engage in a one-year courtship that would have culminated in an arranged marriage. Ordering a wife isn’t ludicrous if you actually want one.”

  “Well, you apparently didn’t want the marriage your father arranged for you, so why answer my brother’s advertisement?”

  She didn’t answer. Instead, she asked him a question that had been burning in her heart all day. “Have you ever been in love? Did you get your heart broken? Is that why you haven’t married?”

  His bark of laughter echoed through the parlor. “I haven’t had time to think about courting much less marriage. My plan was to build a sawmill business with my brother, but that plan has... changed.” Hal shook his head and looked at the fire. “You’ve walked yourself straight into a life of hardship, Nancy.”

  “Our situation may be difficult at present, but together we can improve our circumstances.”

  “Do you really believe
that?” he asked, cutting his eyes back to her. “We’re strangers to each other. You can’t cook or even build a fire. How is that supposed to help us prosper?”

  His comment hurt, but she lifted her chin unwilling to be a burden to anyone. “I’ll learn those duties, Mr. Grayson, just as I’ll learn to ignore your hurtful words.” With that she lunged to her feet intending to shut herself in the bedchamber to escape his harsh comments.

  He caught her hand and stopped her. “I’m sorry, Nancy.” He stood, towering above her, close... overwhelming her with his manly presence. “My name is Hal. Not Mr. Grayson.” The flickering flames reflected in his eyes. “For good or bad, I’m your husband now. I’ll do my best to be gentle with my words and to support you, but I’m certain it won’t be in the luxury you’re accustomed to.”

  “I’m not asking for luxury,” she said, her voice trembling from emotion. “Kindness and understanding would be enough.” She couldn’t finish because there was no easy way to say she wanted love. From where she stood that wish seemed impossible.

  He released her hand and shoved his fingers into his hair. “I’m not thinking clearly and I’ve been unintentionally harsh. I just... I want you to understand that I can’t give you much.”

  “Simple friendship would be enough,” she said. “I hope we might someday become friends.”

  “Friends?” He laughed and pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closed as if he couldn’t bear to see the truth of their situation. “What a mess John Radford has wrought.” He groaned and shook his head. “No. This is all my doing.”

  Their lives were indeed a mess, but stewing in their problems wasn’t going to solve anything. Nothing they said seemed to be improving their situation, so Nancy changed the subject. “We’re in need of provisions, but I think there’s a little of the tea left that Mary brought by. Would you care for a glass?”

  “No, thank you.” He sat and leaned back in the chair. “I’ll leave some coins on the table and you can fetch some of your needed items tomorrow.”

  “Thank you. Shall I... shall I prepare for bed then?” she asked, her voice so tremulous and uncertain it came out as a whisper. She had only the vaguest idea of what was expected of her, but she wanted her new husband to see that she was trying to be a good and dutiful wife.

  As if she’d stuck him with a hot poker, Hal shot to his feet. “No! I mean, if you wish to retire then please feel free. I have work waiting for me in the barn. I’ll be late. Don’t wait up for me.”

  “But—” She gazed up at her husband, a stranger and yet a man she felt drawn to. “It’s our wedding night. That is... shouldn’t we spend the evening together?”

  He towered above her, a dark, brooding look in his eyes. “You’re sixteen, Nancy.” As if that statement answered every question she could pose, her husband bid her goodnight and left the house.

  Alone, she sank onto the armchair, vowing she would find a way to pry open Hal Grayson’s eyes and his heart. He had openly admitted he’d never been in love. His heart wasn’t spoken for, so she would claim it for her own. She may only be sixteen, but she’d spent her life dealing with her strong-willed father. Hal Grayson was about to see what kind of woman—yes woman—he’d married.

  Chapter Six

  As Hal trudged to the barn, his mind swirled with thoughts. For better or for worse he was now married. He was determined to make a good life for himself and for Nancy, but how to do that eluded him. He stepped into his woodshop and sighed at the number of unfinished projects strewn across the shop bench and out into the barn. He sank down on a nearby crate, needing a moment to think through everything he had to do if he was to make a good home for his wife.

  He was honest enough to admit he was entirely enchanted and intrigued by his wife, but being a husband entailed a whole lot more that he hadn't planned on. He needed time to settle the arrangement in his mind and warm up to the idea of being a husband.

  He had little to offer Nancy, barely enough for her to purchase provisions for their pantry. He’d cashed in her return ticket to Buffalo, but that money wouldn’t feed the both of them for long. If he didn’t get more pieces out to Edwards and find a way to squeeze more production and hours out of his day at the mill, both of his businesses were destined to fail.

  And so he set to work, sawing and sanding and joining pieces of a kitchen cabinet, working until his back and neck ached and his eyes burned from fatigue. At four o’clock in the morning, he stumbled into the house and collapsed on the sofa.

  It seemed he’d just fallen asleep when the delicious scent of eggs frying in bacon grease woke him just before dawn. His stomach twisted with hunger and for just a second he reconsidered that having a wife would bring some advantages, and then he remembered that Nancy had no domestic skills.

  Groaning, he sat up and dropped his head into his hands. What a mess. He missed his brother with every fiber of his being, but at the moment he wanted to throttle John Radford.

  “Are you all right, Mr. Grayson?”

  He wasn’t. Not by any stretch. But he said, “I’m fine.” His voice sounded gruff and irritable and he was only half sorry to greet Nancy in such an ornery mood.

  “All right then. I made breakfast for you without smoking us out of the house,” she said, a tremulous smile touching her lips.

  Surprised, he cocked his head and eyed her. “I thought you couldn’t cook.”

  “I can prepare eggs. Please come to the kitchen and I’ll prepare your plate.”

  He watched her duck back into the kitchen. He used to cook breakfast for himself and John Radford, and every meal was wretched. And every memory of his brother was agony. And every look into Nancy’s dazzling brown eyes made his thoughts spin.

  The scent of fresh coffee wafting through the parlor helped Hal settle down. John was gone. Nancy was his wife. This was his life like it or not. Drawing in a deep breath to clear his head, Hal got to his feet and crossed the parlor. From the doorway he surveyed the kitchen. “I’d meant to ask how you managed the enormous feat of cleaning the kitchen in one short day, but there were more important matters to discuss when I arrived home that particular evening.”

  Nancy stood in the middle of the spotless kitchen in a blue frock, her hair swept back in a tidy chignon, her dark gaze on him. She lifted one shoulder in a small shrug. “I wanted to make myself useful.”

  Useful? The mountain of dirty dishes he and John had piled up in the sink and on the surface of a rickety old sideboard was gone. The grease spattered cook stove had been scrubbed clean and a pot of steaming coffee now sat atop the hot plate alongside a huge pot of steaming water. Three eggs sizzled in a large frying pan. Nancy stood watch over them, a spatula in one dainty hand, and a singed potholder in the other.

  He inspected her from chignon to boot heels. She’d been wearing a hat when he met her at the station, but yesterday in the orchard she’d only worn a ribbon in her rich copper hair. When her parasol was angled just so and sunlight splashed across her head, all he could think about was sliding his hands into the dazzling mass of shimmering copper strands.

  “Are you quite all right, Mr. Grayson?” she asked, snapping him back to the present and their awkward situation.

  “I’m fine, Miss—” He sighed and shook his head. “I’m afraid it will take some time for me to get used to addressing you as my wife.”

  “Likewise,” she replied. “Would you like the egg yolks cooked through or just lightly done?” she asked, a slight smile tilting her lips. “This is only thing I can cook and I’d like to do an admirable job of it. So please state your preference before they cook through.”

  “Anything in between will do.” He gestured to the sparkling kitchen. “It looks even cleaner than when John and I moved in.” He nodded toward the canning jar with lilac blossoms that she’d placed on the scarred planks of the oak table, giving the kitchen a homey look that it had lacked. “You’ve been busy.”

  “You left me to my own devices quite early last night, so I took a
short walk and picked a few of the remaining lilacs from out front.” She slid the eggs from the frying pan onto a clean plate, and then added two thick slices of bread. After she slathered them with the last of the butter she put the plate on the table and gestured for him to sit in one of their slat-backed chairs.

  He waited for her to be seated first.

  She sat and rested her hands in her lap. In place of an apron she wore a scrap of linen tied around the waist of her blue day gown. She wore no jewelry that he could see, and yet she seemed out of place and too beautiful for his humble home. The lady, with her grand expectations of having a staff to manage, was obviously from a wealthy family. Had she thought John had money? If so, she must be sorely disappointed.

  “I cooked the last of the eggs this morning,” she said. “I’m afraid I’ll have nothing to serve you for supper if I can’t purchase a few items today.”

  “I’ll leave you funds. I apologize for the oversight last night.” Hal filled his mouth with a forkful of eggs. The semi-soft yolk melted like warm butter on his tongue, perfectly cooked, lightly salted and generously peppered. “Are you certain you don’t know how to cook? These are delicious.”

  Although his praise made her smile a little, she nodded. “I’m afraid this is the extent of my cooking abilities. I only learned to cook eggs because they were Daddy’s favorite—” She clipped off her words as if she’d bitten her tongue. “I thought I might ask Mary and Martha for some instruction in preparing meals.”

  Hal nodded as if he hadn’t noticed her slip. “It would be a nice way for you ladies to deepen your friendship.”

  “I’d like that.” Nancy was silent for a moment as if something troubled her. “You know, I’m not without skills, Mr. Gray—Hal. I can stitch and dance and play the pianoforte quite well. I can manage a household staff and host tea for several guests. I also have a fairly good head for numbers and business, much to my father’s consternation. Unfortunately, not one of those skills seems remotely relevant now.”