Reluctant Brides Collection

by Cathy Marie Hake

  “I’m going to get some of FannieMae’s blackberry cobbler.” Dora picked up her plate. “You’d better eat, young lady. You can’t live on love. And you’re going to need your strength.” Christa needed some now. She tackled the food before anything else could interrupt. Her solitude didn’t last long. While children ran off to play, women and a few couples came by to greet her.

  Dora returned with cobbler for them both. Uncle John and Grant were talking with several men.

  “From what I could overhear,” Dora said, “there’s trouble up the mountain. Rifle shots rang out. Jim thinks the revenuers might have found the still.”

  Christa perked up. This was more like the stories she had heard about these people. But she mustn’t judge. Likely, they’d heard unsavory stories about city folk, too.

  She finished her dinner and tasted the dessert. “Mmmm, this is good.”

  Dora nodded. “FannieMae is the expert with blackberries. She picks ’em all over the cove. Makes pies and cobblers and sells some down at Grey Eagle.”

  “Is she here?”

  “No. Her daughter, LulaMae, is expecting a baby any time now.”

  Christa noticed fewer children running around. The crowd had thinned. “Grant said there would be speeches.”

  “That’s the practice if a visiting preacher comes. And when Grant came back to us, we wanted to hear what he had to say. Oh, don’t look so worried.” Dora patted Christa’s arm. “We won’t do that since everybody has already met you, and your being John’s niece is recommendation enough. We’re just hoping you’re going to like us.”

  “Oh, I do like you,” Christa said. “Everybody is so nice.”

  Uncle John joined them, holding a plate piled high with food. “I’m sorry, Christa. Grant’s gone up the mountain with Jim.”

  Christa gasped. “He’s…gone?”

  “Now don’t you fret none, child,” Dora soothed. “He’ll be just fine. Neither the revenuers nor the moonshiners want to hurt Grant. He’ll be there to help in case anyone gets shot.”

  That wasn’t what worried Christa. She feared that if this tangled situation dragged on, Christa Walsh or Grant Gordon—or both—would get shot.

  Two hours later, horse’s hooves sounded outside Uncle John’s door. Christa opened it before the doctor had a chance to knock. At least this glum man took things seriously, unlike Uncle John, who had gone from a hearty laugh to intermittent chuckles over the misunderstanding about her being Grant’s fiancée and the schoolteacher.

  When Grant stepped inside the cabin, Uncle John’s laughter started again.

  Christa closed the door. “Uncle John, it’s really not that funny.”

  “Now, Christa, don’t deprive me of this. I haven’t had such a good laugh since before Sadie got sick. She got her dander up at the slightest thing, just like you.”

  Was that a compliment? She folded her arms across her waist. “I don’t consider this slight, Uncle John. Unless the doctor here…sets this straight, I can’t face these people again. They’re going to think I’m as devious—”

  Grant straightened. “Now wait just a minute.”

  Uncle John chuckled again. “Let’s discuss this over supper. You eaten, Doc?”

  “Nothing all day.”

  Uncle John turned toward the kitchen. “Dora made us bring home enough to last a week.”

  Grant motioned for Christa to precede him.

  Uncle John set a plate and milk on the table.

  Grant closed his eyes to pray.

  Christa waited for him to look up, then spoke. “It’s time for an explanation.”

  Uncle John held up his hand. “Now hold on a minute. Did anybody get shot up the mountain?”

  Grant chewed, then swallowed. “Nope. A black bear came down where children were playing. Men were shooting to scare it away. Apparently no revenuers are nearby, and the still’s intact.”

  “They weren’t trying to kill the bear?” Christa asked.

  “Just scare him away.”

  “Then maybe we won’t get shot.”

  Grant’s eyebrows lifted. “They’ll probably chase me up Rattlesnake Ridge or shoot me—whichever they have a hankering for.”

  Did the doc have a sense of humor? On second thought, maybe that was no joke. Christa watched Grant eat. He had manners, unlike a few people she’d seen at the potluck. After several bites, he took a gulp of milk.

  He licked his lips, then spoke. “The only explanation I have,” he said, “is that I went to Asheville to get Adelaide and instead was given a letter saying she couldn’t come today.” He stabbed a bite of tomato.

  Christa’s words halted his fork in midair. “When is your fiancée coming?”

  “In about a week when she and her parents return from Charleston.” He poked the tomato into his mouth.

  Uncle John leaned over the table. “Christa graduated from college.”

  Christa’s suspicions were alerted. “What are you saying, Uncle John?”

  Spreading his hands, he looked deceptively innocent. “You could teach for a week, Christa. That would keep both of you in these people’s good graces, and later they can laugh about the whole situation.”

  Christa could hardly believe the expectant look on her uncle’s face and the gleam of hope in the doctor’s eyes.

  “Well, I’m here for crafts, not teaching. Explaining the truth is”—she pointed at Grant—“his responsibility.”

  Uncle John spoke softly. “The Lord brought you here for a reason, Christa.”

  She slapped her hands against the table. “If the Lord brought me here, Uncle John, then He smokes a lot, chugs loudly around the mountains, and doesn’t smell too good.”

  Any other time, she might have thought the doctor had a nice laugh. But she didn’t want to give any indication she would consider Uncle John’s ridiculous suggestion. After the men’s laughter subsided, Uncle John said what one might expect from a preacher. “God doesn’t always do what we presume, Christa. He often works in mysterious ways His wonders to perform. That’s what the Good Book indicates anyway.”

  Rather than respond, she stood and walked to the window above the sink, taking in the view of red tomatoes on stakes, green cornstalks, and yellow squash peeking through huge green leaves.

  She’d tried to believe verses that said if you ask you’ll receive. She’d asked that Roland would come to his senses. She’d asked that she find crafts that would make her brother and sister-in-law think she could be an asset to the business.

  But that had all gone by the wayside.

  Chapter 5

  That blackberry cobbler seemed to call Grant’s name, however, his desire for a solution to his problem was greater. Christa’s reaction to Pastor John’s suggestion that she teach indicated she wouldn’t provide the answer.

  John’s next question presented further complications. “Just what is the situation between you and your intended, Grant?”

  Grant looked at a spot on the table. “Pride is part of it. I bragged too much to Clem’s son, Frank, when I bought that ring.” He looked up. “You see, Frank and I were rivals in our younger days, whether it was over school, coon hunting, or girls. Then Frank went to the city, got married, and got a good job.”

  He might as well admit the whole truth. “I told Frank I was marrying the prettiest girl in Asheville, the daughter of a well-known doctor. To prove it, I took Adelaide to pick out her ring.”

  John spoke kindly. “You mean you stretched the truth, Grant?”

  “I didn’t lie about Adelaide being lovely and charming, or about her dad’s status. But when I’d go to make payments, I gave the impression she’d definitely be coming to the cove to teach.” He unclasped his hands and felt the coolness of the wood beneath his palms.

  “The reality is that Adelaide was to come to Bear Cove to see the school and meet the people before making a decision. But when it became known that Adelaide was coming to the cove today—probably through Frank to Clem and Miz Dora—the news got
around, and everyone assumed she was coming to start teaching.”

  John stroked his chin. “Generally, I’d say this was not a church matter. But it’s come about because people jumped to conclusions. I can allow for your explanation after Sunday’s service. They’re expecting school to start Monday morning.”

  “Thanks.” Grant breathed easier. “I’ll be at school Monday morning in case anyone doesn’t get word.”

  John huffed. “The way news travels around here, I suspect they’ll hear.”

  Christa walked over to the table. “Not everyone will take this well—and those little children who were introduced to me…” She touched her forehead. “Oh, I can’t do this. I’m going home tomorrow.”

  Grant leaned back. “Afraid you can’t do that.”

  She had a pert way of lifting her chin. “And who is going to stop me?”

  He tried to conceal his amusement. “No train comes into or leaves Grey Eagle on Sunday. Unless you hitch a ride or walk, you’ll have to wait until Monday.”

  Her eyes sparked flaming arrows. She apparently did not find him amusing.

  Pastor John looked up at Christa. “Don’t make any decision until after church tomorrow. Why, I’ll even let you announce your purpose in being here. They’ll be disappointed about the school, but they’ve waited over a year already. Another week won’t hurt.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t do that. This was not my doing.”

  John sighed. “I think the good Lord just gave me a new sermon for tomorrow—on bragging, gossip, rumor, and jumping to conclusions.” He nodded, then gazed at Christa. “They’ll look upon you just as warmly as they did at the potluck. Many of them would love to sell their crafts in the cities. If this is the Lord’s will for you, Christa, it will work.”

  Grant watched her mouth open, but no words came. Was she about to cry? Suddenly, she walked past the table. “Excuse me. I’d like to take a walk before dark.”

  “Don’t go far, Christa,” John said. “As soon as the sun goes behind the mountains, darkness falls quickly and so does the cool night air.”

  Christa looked out the window and up at the sky, where the light was already fading.

  John’s gaze followed hers. “You have about thirty minutes or so of daylight. A nice walk would be up to the church and along the creek that runs behind it. A few cabins are out that way, belonging to some of the people you met today.”

  Grant heard the front door close, then brought the bowl of cobbler closer. “I’m sorry I’ve brought this on your niece, John.”

  “Give it all to the Lord, Grant. He works in mysterious ways. But do me a favor. Soon as you finish that cobbler, go find Christa and make sure she’s all right.”

  Christa walked from marker to marker, reading inscriptions. Many bore only a name and the dates of birth and death. She stopped at a larger tombstone that marked Sadie McIntyre’s grave.

  A twig snapped. She turned. Grant stood there.

  “If you want me to leave, I will.”

  “No.” She faced the tombstone again. “It’s all right.”

  “You must have loved her very much,” Grant said. “The cove people did.”

  “I didn’t know her well,” Christa confessed. “Before she became ill, they visited a couple times. She wasn’t able to come to my parents’ funeral, but Uncle John came. I was surprised and honored when he came to my graduation.”

  She touched the tombstone. “We couldn’t come to Sadie’s funeral because of the snowstorm.”

  “Yes,” Grant said. “We were isolated here for several weeks.”

  The tombstone felt cold to her touch. “All this reminds me of how different things would be had my parents lived.”

  “How different?”

  She saw no reason not to confide in him. They’d have no more than this brief encounter. “Had they not died, my brother would have remained in Charlotte as an accountant. But he felt obligated to take over the family business. According to him, a mere coed couldn’t handle it.”

  “It’s a crafts business?”

  “Yes. More tourists come in each year now that the trains run from major cities. They like to take back souvenirs.”

  “So your brother doesn’t let you work in the shop?”

  “Oh, I can work. But he manages it, and he has a new wife.” She looked toward the treetops.

  Grant’s “Hmm” seemed to confirm what she thought. A new wife would easily replace a sister in her brother’s heart.

  “Don’t get me wrong. William and Bettina are good to me. I get to live with them, help with the cooking, cleaning, and running the shop.” She regretted the resentment in her voice.

  “I see,” he said. “Your trip here is to make them sit up and take notice.”

  “Well, to show that I’m not just another hired hand. I have a better idea of how to handle that shop than Bettina.”

  “Bettina is your brother’s wife?”

  “Yes. She’s lovely and charming.” As soon as she said it, she recalled it was how he had described Adelaide. She turned quickly and tripped over a stone.

  He reached out and grasped her arm. “Charm has its place,” he said. “But you could match anyone in the lovely department.”

  Christa stepped away, and his arm fell to his side. This man who had ruined her chances to prove herself in this cove implied she was…lovely? He likely was trying to redeem himself for all the trouble he’d caused.

  For an instant, she was speechless; then she focused on the grave markers. “Most of these are for babies and young children.”

  “Too many children die because of ignorance, superstition, or lack of a doctor’s care. I want to help these people.”

  She looked at a marker. “This bears the name of Gordon.”

  “My little brother died of scarlet fever. There was no doctor to attend him.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Thank you. That was many years ago. Pastor John says the Lord works in mysterious ways. I don’t understand all that God allows. But I know my brother is in heaven. His death helped strengthen my resolve to become a doctor. Good comes from the worst of things, if we trust in the Lord.”

  She gave a short laugh. “That’s great advice from a man who can’t find a way to tell people his fiancée has been delayed. Where was your trust today, Doctor?”

  Chapter 6

  Grant stared at the ground. The changing light began to bathe the markers with color. “Come with me,” he said.

  A slight hesitation preceded the lift of her chin, but she walked beside him out of the graveyard and along the creek. Water rushed over the rocks, making small waterfalls and white foam, emitting a clean, fresh scent.

  Surefooted, he stepped on a rock and held out his hand, unconcerned with city protocol that a gentleman wouldn’t touch a lady’s hand without her wearing gloves.

  For an instant, her gaze rested on his hand; then she reached out. With one hand in his, and the other lifting her skirt to her ankles, she stepped out in her dainty shoes. They eased their way across the creek.

  On the other side, he let go and led the way through the thick forest, heady with the smell of pungent pine.

  “Oh my,” she said, when they walked out into a clearing. “This is so unexpected.”

  She steered clear of thorny stems to touch wildflowers in the glade. She stopped at a great outcropping of rocks that revealed treetops and other mountains far below and beyond.

  Her face lifted toward the brilliant sky where yellow became gold, orange turned red, and blue deepened. The orange sun peered over a mountain. The glow touched her face, shone in her eyes, and caressed her brown hair with a halo of reddish gold.

  All the emotions he had seen in her face—chagrin, resentment, hurt, irritation—flew away like the few birds in the sky. Her expression held perfect peace and awe.

  She whispered, “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.” She found a level spot on a boulder and sat down.

  He sat near her
, drew his knees up, and rested his forearms on them. “This is my favorite place. I can relax and be in tune with God. Remember how insignificant I am and how great He is. Coming here renews my trust in Him.”

  Her face turned toward his. With a slight movement, their shoulders would touch. He remained quite still, seeing the deepening color in her eyes, on her face, and the way the cool breeze blew a few strands of hair against her cheek. She had a perfect nose, lovely lips. They were slightly parted. He thought he knew why her eyes held a question and a challenge.

  “You asked me about trust,” he said. “When I was in Asheville and things didn’t work out the way I wanted, I failed to trust, to stand up like a man and speak out. I let pride get in the way.”

  Feeling her fingers lightly on his arm, he glanced down, and she moved her hand away.

  She spoke softly. “You were brave to go up the mountain, knowing your life could be in danger.”

  “That’s easy. It’s those women with their potlucks who scare me.”

  Christa laughed. Grant joined her and marveled at the sound echoing against the mountainsides.

  “Well, Doctor,” she said. “I’m afraid, too. They were pleasant, but when they find out I’m not the teacher, I’m afraid there’s going to be some righteous anger.”

  “They’ve already accepted you, Miss Walsh.”

  “Christa,” she said softly.

  “Christa.” The name tasted clean and cool in his mouth, like sparkling spring water.

  “What are you thinking?”

  He told her what he was thinking about her name.

  She opened her mouth in surprise, then looked out at the darkening landscape as the sun hid its face behind the mountain. “Thank you.”

  He stood. “It’s getting cool and will be dark soon. We should go back.” He held out his hand and helped her stand.

  Strange, he had planned to bring Adelaide here. Instead, she was more than three hundred miles away. Perhaps she had watched the sky change colors over the ocean.