Reluctant Brides Collection

by Cathy Marie Hake

  Percy smiled. “I assure you, I have no intention of doing any such thing.”

  “But you are curious, aren’t you?” Josh walked slowly toward her between the tomatoes and the bean stalks.

  “Yes, I confess I am. I want to know if there really are carrots under there.”

  “Mama always told me that I had to have more patience and give God time to do His work.”

  “I guess that’s one way to look at it.” If you believe in God, she added silently.

  Josh sat in the dirt beside her. “Some things you just have to take on faith and wait.”

  “For how long?”

  “Until it’s time.”

  “And how will I know when it’s time? I suppose Lacey will tell me when it’s time to dig up the carrots.”

  “The carrots, yes. The other things you’ll have to figure out by yourself.”

  Percy fell silent. Josh knew her whole story now. So Percy knew that he meant what he said.

  Josh ran his fingers in the soil and let the dirt drizzle through his fingers. “I remember the day you rode into town, so to speak,” he said, “with that crotchety carriage driver.”

  “Mr. Booker.”

  “Yes, Mr. Booker. I remember thinking that there was something remarkable about you right from the start. After all, you talked him into bringing you up here against his better judgment. After everything you told me last night, I think you are all the more remarkable.”

  “You do?” Percy looked up to catch his eye.

  “Absolutely. You’re determined, hardworking, resourceful, organized, and brave.”

  Percy had no response. Her heart beat faster at the thought that Joshua Wells thought she was all those things.

  “Do you remember the night I walked you to Lacey’s, after you were brave enough to help me with Troy?”

  Percy nodded.

  “We talked about the stars,” Josh continued. “I remarked that the Maker of the Stars had been in your little bedroom that night, helping us care for Troy. I may think the world of you, Miss Percy Morgan, but what the Maker of the Stars feels about you is what really matters.” Percy pursed her lips. “As I recall, on that same night you also told me that I was just as much trouble as that wretched Troy Wilger.”

  “That’s right. I did say that. None of us is really any different than Troy.”

  “How can you compare yourself to Troy Wilger?” Percy protested. “You risked your life when Bert Richards burst into the dining hall. You tried to save Bert’s life when the others were ready to leave him to die. Troy wouldn’t have done that.”

  “No, probably not,” Josh agreed. “But Troy doesn’t look at the stars much. He doesn’t know the Maker. That’s the real difference.”

  Percy was silent for a long time. She remembered the well-thumbed Bible she had seen on Joshua’s nightstand that night. At last she said, “And you do know the Maker?”

  He nodded. “When I look at those stars, I don’t just see their light. I see the One who gave them light. And that’s who was in that room with us that night with Troy, and at that table in the dining room with Bert. And in the forest with you last night.”

  Percy sniffled and held back her tears.

  “The Maker sent me to you last night,” Josh said, “just as He sent Lacey to TJ and Alvira eight years ago. You’ve been afraid I would turn my back on you if I knew the truth, haven’t you?”

  Percy nodded. “Everyone else has,” she croaked. “I’m sorry for all the times I rebuffed you. I knew you were trying to be my friend. It’s just been so long since anyone did that for me. I didn’t know what to do.”

  Josh shook his head. “Your father failed you, Percy. Your cousin, Louise, failed you. Your friends failed you when you needed them most. But not the Maker. It’s understandable that you would hesitate to trust other people to care for you. You’ve had to look out for yourself all these years. But the Maker of the Stars is on your side, Percy Morgan. You haven’t tried depending on Him.” Josh put his hand on a carrot top. “I believe there is a carrot growing in the ground under this. And so do you, or you wouldn’t be tempted to dig it out early. Some things you take on faith.”

  “You say that so easily.”

  He shrugged. “I’m preaching far more than I meant to. But when I saw you hovering over the carrots with that hopeful look on your face, I couldn’t help myself.” Josh stood up and brushed the dirt off his trousers.

  Percy squinted up at him. “Did you and Alvira plan this?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She practically chased me out of the kitchen, as if I was going to be late for an appointment, and almost as soon as I sat down here, you came along with your little sermon.”

  Josh’s brown eyes twinkled. “No, Alvira and I did not plan this. Someone else did.” He turned and strolled away, hands leisurely in his pockets.

  Percy watched him walk away. Once again, relief washed over her.

  Chapter 28

  The garden gave a good harvest. Percy learned to can. The cellar was stocked for the winter. And Alvira prepared for her wedding.

  As the summer sun burned through July and August, Percy labored in the heat of the day and sought refreshment in the cooler air that came with nightfall. Her garden became a favorite spot, because it was out in the open, away from trees or structures. From the carrot patch, she could easily see the night sky. Resolutely, she resisted the temptation to check on the carrots’ growth. Lying on her back in the garden, against the cool earth, sometimes with Josh next to her, she dared not even try to count the stars she had not noticed during the spring and early summer. Caught up in work and anguish, she had not raised her eyes often to the gemmed, sparkling field of black in those weeks. Now she often would stare at the stars, wondering, was the Maker of the Stars looking back at her?

  When she pondered Joshua’s growing companionship, which she no longer rebuffed, Percy celebrated a gift. A gift of friendship; a gift of confidence; a gift of faith and hope. Laughter, not the cautious sort but free laughter, returned to her face. Her grandmother’s Bible had been promoted from the bottom of the trunk to the bedside table. A great deal of what she read still puzzled her, but she continued to read.

  Still, she ached for Ashley and kept herself from surrendering to happiness without word from her cousin, Louise. Joshua had carried through on his promise to help find Percy’s sister. In the most official language he could muster, he had written to Louise, imploring her to reveal information about Ashley’s whereabouts. When his letter was not immediately returned, as all of Percy’s had been, Percy allowed herself a glimmer of hope. But the letter eventually was returned, unopened, by the postal service, with the notation that Louise was now deceased.

  That night, Percy huddled in her room in blackness, the curtains drawn against the moonlight, the lamp extinguished, until Josh came to her to insist that they had not reached the end of the trail. There were other relatives, he said, and there must have been an attorney to settle Louise’s estate. They would persist until they found Ashley. With his arms around her, he lifted her to her feet and led her outside to see the night sky. The Maker of the Stars, he repeated, had not abandoned her. She longed to believe.

  Daniel and Alvira chose to marry facing the western sky at sunset, in the meadow behind the lighthouse, on an early autumn evening. The visiting minister joined Peter and Joshua’s dream of a church for the emerging town, but for now, the people would have to settle for his occasional visits for official acts.

  Daniel and Alvira faced the minister, with Lacey and Travis, Peter and Abby, Josh and Percy, TJ, Sally, and Micah gathered around them. Abby’s children squirmed some, but Adam and Caleb Gates were ecstatic about acquiring a grandmother, and they paid rapt attention to the brief service. The same minister had presided over the unions of Peter and Abby, and then Lacey and Travis two years after that.

  Looking past the minister while he gave a brief homily, Percy’s eyes wandered to the lighthouse. Against the
glowing orange sky, it glimmered in the evening air with freshness and life. Daniel maintained an immaculate tower. Josh and Lacey had both told her stories of ships that had crashed around in dark, treacherous, winter waters below, depending on the light that came from the top of the tower to beckon them toward safety. Somehow she knew what those shipmasters must feel like—the anxious searching in the midst of a swirling storm, the unpredictable heavings of a craft powerless against the wind and waves. Would a small light at the top of a distant tower really be enough to guide the way to safety and calm sailing?

  The minister said, “You may kiss the bride,” and Daniel gladly complied.

  Adam tugged on Alvira’s skirt. “Are you my grandma now?”

  She scooped him up. “I would be delighted to be your grandma.” Caleb clamored into her embrace as well.

  Percy felt Josh at her elbow. “It was a lovely ceremony,” she murmured, “and a lovely time of day for it.”

  “Papa has always liked the sunset,” Josh explained. “He knows that the darkness comes next, and says that should make us appreciate the gift of light all the more. I think finding Alvira after all these years alone, well, it’s a new dawn for Papa, a new gift of light.”

  “Yes, a gift of light,” she echoed softly. “The ships must feel that way about the lighthouse when they pass at night and the weather is bad.”

  “The trick is not to look at the weather, not to mind the darkness,” Josh replied. “They have to watch the light at all times, keep it in their sight, aim toward it.”

  “I imagine the night can be very long out there.”

  “Yes, but the lighthouse is a beacon of safety and the dawn always comes.”

  “Yes, I suppose it does,” Percy murmured. “If they make it through the night.”

  Josh paused. “You’ll make it through your night, Percy. The dawn will come.”

  She looked at him, wordless, suddenly filled with belief. Perhaps he was, after all, right about the Maker of the Stars.

  The small wedding entourage began making its way toward the house for cake and refreshments. Josh put his hand on Percy’s elbow to guide her. “I talked to Peter about modifying the plans for the personal quarters behind the clinic,” he said casually.

  “Oh? But he hasn’t even finished building the clinic yet.”

  “That’s why I thought I should talk to him now,” Josh explained. “I want to add several more rooms—a proper kitchen, another bedroom, maybe even a dining room.”

  “That sounds more like a house than a clinic.”

  “Perhaps you’re right. But I’m going to need more space, at least enough for two people to live in without falling all over each other. And I hope there will be children later.”

  She stopped in her steps and turned to stare at him.

  “We can always add another story. I wonder if you would like to see the new floor plan.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you. I was rather hoping that you would consent to being the other person living behind the clinic. Perhaps the next time the minister comes around, it will be our turn.”

  “Our turn?”

  “To marry.”

  “Marry?”

  “Yes.” He took her hand in his. “Percy Morgan, will you marry me?”

  She fell into his arms and only when she heard clapping did she realize that the others were listening.

  “Does this mean the lady from the street is going to be my aunt?” Adam asked his mother.

  Lacey grinned at Percy expectantly.

  Percy smiled at Adam. “I would be delighted to be your aunt.”

  THE RELUCTANT SCHOOLMARM

  by Yvonne Lehman

  Study to shew thyself approved unto God, a workman that needeth not to be ashamed, rightly dividing the word of truth.

  2 TIMOTHY 2:15

  Chapter 1

  As Christa Walsh started down the steps of the train, the man in front of her turned to race back up. She reached for her hat lest it be jarred off.

  Male voices began singing, “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow” accompanied by a harmonica. Looking ahead, she saw two men, one tall and one short, beneath the sign above the depot, confirming this was Grey Eagle, the closest she could get by train to her destination high in the Blue Ridge Mountains of western North Carolina.

  The man in front of her cast furtive glances over his shoulder while stammering, “Pardon me…I…” The greenish cast on his face wasn’t caused by the reflection of the vest he wore over his white shirt. Maybe he was motion sick. The train had chugged higher and higher around curves. The smoke and people odors in the coach hadn’t been all that pleasant either.

  A man’s voice behind her sounded annoyed. “Ma’am, sir, could you step aside, please?”

  The tall singer rushed to her. With a slight bow, he held out his arm. She had the strange feeling she should respond by placing her hand on it. The green-vested man now held her suitcase. The short singer grabbed his arm.

  At least the strap of her smaller bag still lay across her shoulder. Her arm pressed the bag closer to her body in case the singers weren’t as innocent as they seemed. She’d heard tales about highlanders not liking their territory being invaded by flatlanders and referring to city folks as highfalutin’ with their 1910 conveniences that hadn’t reached the mountains.

  The logical explanation for the singers, however, was that they were welcoming some important personage. No thanks to her fellow passenger, they stood in the way of others trying to exit the train.

  Christa placed her gloved hand on the tall man’s arm and moved forward, not wanting to mess up their parade or this welcome.

  She and the panicky-looking man were being escorted across the yard toward the depot, where the bearded man in overalls was still playing the “Jolly Good Fellow” tune.

  The welcoming committee was quite small—only three people. The depot was small, too, compared with her hometown of Hendersonville. A welcoming committee there would have been a band of a dozen or more men in uniform and perhaps a chorus of women and children. Horse-drawn taxis would meet an important personage. Men and women would dress in their finery. These men wore simpler attire—everyday work clothes.

  When they reached the depot porch, Christa took her bag from the strange man. Now that they were out of the way, she thought it exciting that she might see a celebrity while waiting for Uncle John to show up.

  The short singer began talking to the weird man, but before Christa could catch what he was saying, the tall singer said, “Jeb Norval here. Ah!”

  His “Ah!” kept her from introducing herself. Her gaze followed his. Coming up the road, raising a cloud of dust, was a horse-drawn wagon with a big red ribbon tied around the horse’s neck.

  “Whoa!” The driver drew up and looked down at her. “Black Bear Mountain, next stop!”

  Christa looked up. He nodded like he knew her. Was this her transportation? “You…know John McIntyre?”

  He looked as if the question were an affront to his intelligence. “Why, ma’am, I don’t just know him. I beat him in a game of checkers ever now and then. Can outhunt ’im, outshoot ’im, and if need be outrun ’im.” He laughed heartily, jumping down from the wagon.

  Christa thought he might have out-aged ’im, too, considering his head of snow-white hair and the cottonlike puffs on his jaw.

  He bowed, then stuck his thumbs behind his red suspenders. “Clem Carmichael at your service, ma’am.”

  Christa responded favorably to the smiling man with his twinkling eyes. He obviously enjoyed life. She hadn’t…in a long time. But this was not the time for thinking about that.

  She offered her gloved hand. “I’m Christa Walsh. So pleased to meet you. This is some taxi service.”

  “The least we can do, ma’am. Here, let me help you up.”

  “I need to get my suitcase.”

  “Which one?” the weird man asked. “I’ll get it for you.”

  Surely this man wouldn’t want to steal
a woman’s luggage. “The tweed one.”

  Clem Carmichael took her small bag and set it in the wagon, then held out his hand to help her up. She lifted her skirt slightly, stepped up, and took the seat behind the driver’s. The man who’d gone for her suitcase hoisted it and a black bag into the back of the wagon, then jumped up and sat beside her.

  She stumbled on her words. “You…you’re going to Black Bear Mountain?”

  “Don’t have much of a choice.” He made it sound like a fate worse than death.

  Clem Carmichael spoke briefly with the singers. Christa wished she could stay longer to see the important person emerge from that train. Why would they come here? From the few things she’d heard about Black Bear Mountain, she’d concluded it was a backwoods place.

  Well, for whatever reason, her uncle John couldn’t meet her, but he sure made nice arrangements by sending his friend to fetch her. How sweet of him to think of the red ribbon.

  To her surprise, when the driver climbed up into his seat, the two singers and harmonica player went to the side of the depot, unhitched horses, and rode out in front of them.

  She looked back. The conductor shouted, “All aboard!” and a couple got on. The train began grinding away, puffing smoke from the stack. Leaving the station.

  Had she missed something?

  “Giddy-up,” Clem Carmichael said, flicking the reins. “The real celebration is at Bear Cove,” he explained, looking back over his shoulder. “You know my Dora, Doc.”

  Now what did that mean? His doradoc? Was that a name? A person? Place? Or was…

  She slowly turned her head toward the green-faced man, who quickly turned away. “Are you ill?”

  He took a deep breath and faced her. His dark eyes seemed to say that was an understatement. He exhaled heavily. “Quite!”

  “Perhaps,” she said with a lift of her chin, “you should see a doctor.”

  His growl was not happy. Looking worse by the moment, he leaned back against the seat and mumbled, “I can’t believe it. This can’t be happening.”