Brides of Iowa

by Stevens, Connie;

  Everett’s presence on the other side of his father had an unsettling effect as well, and it sent shards of guilt through her. She should rejoice that Hubert’s son came to church with them, but his close proximity only caused her sore heart more torment.

  She hadn’t closed her eyes all night, except in prayer. By dawn, she still had no peace about her decision, no clear leading from God, but she had no other choice. She knew what she had to do, and that knowledge was eating a hole through her from the inside.

  People stood and moved about, and Pearl realized the service was over. She’d not heard a word of the sermon. Hubert’s hand touched hers and she startled, pulling back like she’d been stung by a bee.

  “Pearl, are you all right? You’ve been acting rather peculiar this morning.” Hubert put a hand on her back and gently guided her ahead of Everett toward the door.

  The trio stepped out the front door of the church and shook hands with the pastor. Since the summer day was clear and relatively mild for mid-July, Hubert had suggested they walk to church instead of riding in the buggy. The boardinghouse was a mere two blocks away, but Pearl felt as if she were walking to the gallows.

  When they arrived at her gate, Everett remained by the street. She could feel his cold eyes on her while Hubert walked her to the door. It was now or never. She still couldn’t bear to look directly at him, so she studied the tips of her shoes peeking out from beneath the hem of her dress. She took a deep breath. It hurt.

  “Hubert, I can’t go walking with you this afternoon.”

  “I knew something was wrong. Are you not feeling well?” Concern resonated in his voice.

  “I’m fine,” she lied. “Hubert, I…I’ve changed my mind. I don’t think the marriage is a good idea. We simply aren’t suited to each other.”

  Several moments of silence ticked by. Finally Hubert reached to grasp her hand, but she folded them tightly together and tucked them close to her waist.

  “Pearl, what’s this about? Are you nervous about the wedding? I’m told it’s not uncommon for a bride to feel uneasy. Perhaps you can talk with Tessa and she can—”

  “I’m not nervous about the wedding.”

  “What can I do to—”

  “There isn’t going to be a wedding.” Her throat constricted and she couldn’t swallow.

  Hubert took hold of her upper arms. “Pearl, what’s wrong? Why are you doing this?” A level of panic she’d never heard in Hubert’s voice before threaded his words. “There is nothing we can’t talk over, nothing we can’t pray about together.”

  His plea for prayer almost did her in. She’d prayed—all night she’d begged God to tell her what to do. But His sovereign voice remained silent. She took a step backward away from Hubert’s reach and dared to raise her eyes as far as his beard. “Hubert, please try to understand, and don’t make this any more difficult than it already is. I cannot go through with this. I’m sorry.” Her throat closed the rest of the way, cutting off her words as well as her air. She snatched the doorknob and pushed it, slipping inside and hastily closing the door before Hubert could say anything else.

  She was surprised to feel her heart hammering against her rib cage. She’d expected it to stop altogether.

  As soon as she set Sunday dinner on the table for her boarders, she mumbled an excuse and slipped into her bedroom. How she wished she could latch the door and never emerge from this room again. If she did that, however, she’d lock herself in with nothing but her heartache for a companion. It was all she had.

  She sank down on the bed. Her eyes instinctively moved to the silver music box on the bedside table. Picking up the treasure, she set it in her lap and raised the lid. The once angelic music now sounded like striated dissonance, haranguing against the shattered pieces of her heart. The tinkling notes mocked her. They’d become a requiem, harsh accompaniment for her own words. You mustn’t allow anything to stand in the way of reconciling with your son. She closed the lid and warm tears dripped onto the polished silver.

  Chapter 8

  Pearl hung her damp dish towel on the wooden rod beside the stove and looked around the spotless kitchen. Her aching arms and shoulders and raw knees testified to the hours she’d spent scrubbing the place for the past several days. There wasn’t a square inch of floor that hadn’t seen her scrub brush or a window that didn’t sparkle. Every curtain had been washed, starched, and ironed, every rug hung out and beaten. Scouring the baseboards wasn’t her favorite activity, but being on her knees lent itself to communing with the Father, and her boarders couldn’t tell if she was wiping away sweat or tears. But keeping her hands occupied didn’t quell her pining for Hubert, nor did the activity so wear her out that she didn’t see his face in her dreams at night.

  A knock sounded at the door, setting Pearl’s senses on alert. Hubert had already come by three times trying to persuade her to talk. Her heart was too shredded to endure another encounter with him. The knock sounded again.

  With one finger, she moved the curtain on the parlor window just enough to see the person standing at the front door. A gentleman stood with his back to her. He appeared to be examining the front porch. Even though she couldn’t see his face, she could tell by his stature that he wasn’t Hubert.

  She opened the door and the man turned around. When he grinned and swept his hat from his head, she sucked in a sharp breath. His auburn hair was a little thinner than she remembered and was now peppered with streaks of gray, but the green eyes were the same.

  “Pearl Dunnigan, you are a sight for sore eyes.” He took a step toward her, and for a moment she thought he was going to take her in his arms.

  She stepped backward, and he must have interpreted the movement as an invitation to enter. He picked up a carpetbag and crossed the threshold. Proper manners dictated that she greet him. “Mercy sakes! M–Mr. Cain, I’m surprised to see you.”

  He released a merry laugh. “Mr. Cain? That’s rather formal, isn’t it, Pearl?” He set his bag down and reached toward her. “It’s good to see you, Pearl. Been way too long.”

  She sidestepped away from his reach. The sound of his chuckle brought back memories, and she suppressed a grimace.

  She allowed a small smile. “It’s…nice to see you, too…Silas. Please come in and sit down.”

  Silas sat in the same chair Everett occupied over a week ago. He looked around the room. “The old place hasn’t changed much. Of course, neither has the town. After spending the last seven years in St. Louis and Chicago, Willow Creek is a nice break from all the noise.”

  Pearl flipped back the pages of her memory to the last time she’d seen Silas Cain, recalling the less than pleasant circumstances. She couldn’t help wondering what he was doing here. Alone.

  “How is your wife, Silas? Rebecca, wasn’t that her name?”

  A ripple of stiffness squirmed through him, and the smile on his face turned wooden. “Now Pearl, I tried to tell you seven years ago that was all a misunderstanding. Rebecca and I were never married. She—how shall I put this charitably? She was anxious to find a man to marry, due to her…um, delicate condition.”

  Heat flushed into Pearl’s face at his words and her eyebrows rose. “That’s not what she told me.”

  Silas uncrossed and recrossed his legs. “Of course she wouldn’t admit something like that to a respectable lady like you.” He shook his head, an expression of pity filling his face. “I actually felt sorry for her despite her fabrications. That’s why I had given her some money when I first met her in Dubuque. She was in trouble and I wanted to help her. After all, I’m old enough to be her father. I never dreamed she would follow me, claiming to be my wife.” He shook his head again. “Quite sad, really.”

  Since there was no way to confirm or deny Silas’s explanation, Pearl couldn’t very well argue, and she quite honestly didn’t care. Even though Silas had tried to court her seven years ago, going so far as asking her to marry him, Pearl had no inclination to entertain him as a suitor then or now.

/>   As if reading her thoughts, Silas’s expression turned solemn. “You know you broke my heart, don’t you, Pearl? After you turned down my marriage proposal, I wasn’t certain what to do. I just knew I couldn’t stay on here and see you every day, knowing you didn’t return my love. So I tried to move ahead with my life.” He sighed. “For the past seven years, I’ve been working with an investment firm out of St. Louis. I’ve done rather well, if I do say so myself.”

  Pearl had no desire to discuss the past with him. His dramatic explanation of the reason he’d left town almost made her roll her eyes.

  Another question posed itself. “So what are you doing here, Silas? Surely cities like St. Louis and Chicago have much more to offer than our little town.”

  Silas cleared his throat. “Yes, well, it so happens I was glancing through the Chicago Daily Tribune last week and came across this.” He pulled a scrap of paper from his suit pocket and held it out to her.

  She took it and the words on the torn-out newspaper ad sent another slice of pain through her. “For sale—well-established business in Willow Creek, Iowa. Seven-room, fully furnished boardinghouse. Contact P. Dunnigan in care of Willow Creek post office.” She swallowed hard and handed it back to him.

  “When I read it, I knew it was your place. After all, how many boardinghouses are there in Willow Creek?” He chuckled like his reference to the town was a joke. “This is just the type of investment that interests my business associates.” Silas tucked the scrap into his pocket and took another sweeping assessment of the room. “Could use a bit of fixing up, but if the price is right, I’m sure we can do business.”

  Pearl ordered the lump in her throat back down where it belonged. “I’m sorry you came all this way for nothing, Silas. The place is no longer for sale.”

  Disappointment flickered across his face. “You’ve already sold it?”

  The muscles in her neck tightened with her effort to show no emotion. “No, I’ve decided not to sell.” She fixed her eyes on the newly laundered curtains.

  Silas harrumphed. “Well, I can be pretty convincing. Perhaps I can change your mind.”

  “No, I don’t believe you can, Silas.” She raised her chin and straightened her shoulders.

  He sat forward. “You do still run this place as a boardinghouse, don’t you?”

  Her aching hands and sore knees affirmed his inquiry. “Yes.”

  He grinned. “Well, I hope you have a vacancy because I’d like to rent a room.”

  The truth was she had three rooms available and renting one of them would certainly help with her finances. There were a number of things that needed to be fixed or replaced, and having one more boarder might enable her to pay for those repairs. But a warning sounded in her head. She wasn’t sure having Silas Cain under her roof again was a good idea. What would the town gossipers say when they found out Silas Cain was back in town? She shook off the thought. She was in the business of renting rooms and Silas was offering to rent one.

  Something didn’t make sense. “If you are doing so well with this investment company, why aren’t you staying in the hotel? The rooms there are much nicer than mine.”

  He raised one finger in the air to make his point. “Ah, but the hotel is lacking in one very special area.” His eyes took on a mischievous look. “They don’t have Pearl Dunnigan. So—” He rubbed his hands together. “Do you have a room available?”

  She still hesitated, wishing she could tell him no. But the need to rent the room was greater than her desire to send him away. “Yes, I do have a room.” No sense in admitting to him she had three empty rooms. If he thought she was desperate, he might use that to his advantage. “It’s not my best room, and it’s rather small. There’s only one window and it has a northern exposure, and the bed is—”

  Silas’s booming laugh interrupted her litany. “Pearl, my dear, you are the world’s worst businesswoman. You’re supposed to tell me how nice the room is so I’ll have to pay a higher rent, not tell me everything that’s wrong with it.”

  “My dear.” She wished he had used any other term but that one. The only man she wished to call her dear was Hubert. Another painful dart stabbed her, but she stood and pulled in a breath. “The room is upstairs, the last door on the left. May I assume you will be taking breakfast and supper here as well?”

  Silas stood and picked up his bag. “You may. If your cooking is still as good as I remember, that’s another reason for staying here instead of the hotel.” He pulled out his wallet, extracted several bills, and handed them to her. “Will that cover the first week, plus meals?”

  Pearl’s eyes widened as she looked at the money in her hand. “This will cover three weeks, Silas. You know my rates aren’t this high.”

  He grinned and started toward the stairs. “Consider me paid up for three weeks.”

  She watched as her newest boarder climbed the stairs and turned the corner. Silas Cain—she’d all but forgotten he ever existed. Had she just made a mistake?

  Hubert glanced out the storefront window, looking for a wagon or some other conveyance that might belong to his customer. The rather sizable pile of goods and clothing stacked on the counter would make an unwieldy load were the gentleman to carry it.

  Before Hubert could ask, the man set a pair of boots on the counter beside the other items. “Add these as well.”

  “Yes sir.” Hubert jotted down the price of the boots. “Are you going to be settling into our community?”

  The gentleman glanced up. “Why do you ask?”

  Hubert studied his customer with quiet perception. “You’re obviously a chap from the city. Looks like you’re outfitting yourself to accommodate our more rural way of life.”

  The man gave a curt nod. “I didn’t have time to pack much before I left Chicago. Do you deliver?”

  “Yes sir. I can deliver these things this afternoon as long as it’s in town.” He added up the grand total. “That all comes to fourteen dollars and twenty cents, Mr.…”

  “Cain. Silas Cain.” Mr. Cain counted out the money and laid it on the counter. “Can you deliver it to Pearl Dunnigan’s boardinghouse?”

  Hubert almost choked on his own breath. “Uh, yes. I can…have it delivered there.”

  “You know where the boardinghouse is?” Mr. Cain pointed down the street.

  “Yes sir, I know where it is.” Hearing Pearl’s name caused his stomach to roll and pitch like waves on the ocean. “I’ll see to it right away.”

  Mr. Cain bid him good day and left just as Hubert’s friend Gideon Maxwell came in.

  “Good morning, Gideon.”

  Gideon glanced over his shoulder at the departing customer. “That guy looks familiar.… Cain, isn’t it?”

  Hubert came out from behind the counter and nodded. “Yes. He said his name is Silas Cain. Do you know him?”

  Gideon nudged his hat back and scratched the top of his head before tugging the hat back into place. “I sorta know him. He lived here for a short while some years back. I was only in my teens, but I remember…” He paused, his finger tapping his chin, and then turned back to Hubert. “It was back when my father still owned the mercantile. I remember Cain coming in the store from time to time. He stayed at Miss Pearl’s place, and as I recall, he was pretty sweet on Miss Pearl.”

  Hubert’s insides jerked into a knot. He shot a glance in the direction Cain had taken, but the man was out of sight. Had Pearl taken up with an old beau?

  “Look, Hubert…” Gideon shuffled a booted foot. “Tessa told me what happened between you and Miss Pearl. I’m really sorry. I wish there was something we could do to change her mind.”

  Hubert shook his head and walked back behind the counter. “She won’t talk to me. I’ve tried to see her, but she told me not to come back. All she said was she thought the marriage wasn’t a good idea and we weren’t right for each other.” He pounded a fist on the counter in a rare display of frustration. “Did you ever hear such nonsense? Not right for each other. There isn’t
a woman on the face of the earth who is more right for me than Pearl Dunnigan.” He took a slow, steadying breath. “She won’t give me a real explanation.”

  Gideon stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Tessa told me that Miss Pearl wouldn’t talk about it—just kept saying it was something she had to do. Is there any way I can help?”

  Hubert gave a huff and tipped his head at the stack of goods still sitting on the counter. “There is. Can you deliver these things to Mr. Cain at the boardinghouse when I get them wrapped up?”

  Gideon frowned at the items and then glanced out the door again. “This is Cain’s stuff? He’s staying at the boardinghouse?”

  Hubert pulled out a length of store paper and began wrapping the pants and shirts. “That’s what he said.”

  Gideon gave a low whistle. “Yeah, I’ll take them by there. I have to stop at the Feed and Seed, but I’ll come back here in about a half hour.” He started toward the door. “Oh!” He stopped and pulled a piece of paper from his vest pocket. “Here’s Tessa’s list. She’d be mighty put out if I came home without these things.” He handed the list to Hubert. “Don’t bother wrapping any of it. I have a couple of empty crates in the back of the wagon.”

  Just as he reached the door, Gideon stopped again. “You know, I seem to remember…”

  Hubert looked up from pulling a length of string around the package. “Yes?”

  Gideon put his hands on his hips. “Now I remember why Silas Cain left town all those years ago.” He walked back to the counter. “Cain had asked Miss Pearl to marry him. It was all over town.”

  The string slipped from Hubert’s fingers and fell to the floor. “Are you sure?”