For the first time in her life, a man found her worth pursuing—and she had rejected him. Not because she found him unworthy, but because she felt herself unworthy of his love. Too plain. Too ordinary.
All afternoon, while working around the house, she prayed and thought and examined her heart.
When August had been a drunken, dying, filthy, hopeless wreck of a man, she had felt herself superior in every sense and therefore had been willing to offer loving words and tender caresses as a kind of balm to his spirit. But after he recovered, after the Lord repaired his broken spirit and transformed him into a spiritual giant, she feared that her paltry beauty could never satisfy him.
“I am afraid of love,” she whispered to an armful of firewood before stuffing it into the stove. Mr. Henderson offered a loveless marriage and an escape from any need to be beautiful. Yet in her heart, Jane knew she still craved romance and love enough that Mr. Henderson’s proposal had never tempted her.
“I want to be beautiful, God.” Her tears dripped amid the carrot peelings.
August had recognized and loved her beauty while he lay wounded and weak. The allure of her womanly spirit, not her appearance, had won his heart.
She dumped the peelings into a slop pail and started chopping vegetables for stew. Suddenly she sat down on a kitchen stool and pulled her apron over her head.
“Dearest merciful God, I have looked down on everyone else, trying to make myself feel superior. I wanted to be pursued and sought after, yet I spurned the man who valued me most! I expected August to ignore everything I said and only read my heart. Nothing he said or did would have satisfied me because I have hated myself all these years. Oh, dear Lord, how blind and foolish I am!”
Tears washed her face, and repentance dissolved the knot in her chest. “Forgive me, Lord. Teach me to love freely! Make me beautiful for dear August. Make me beautiful for Thee.”
Evening sunbeams touched the lake and islands, reaching between thick black clouds like long, glowing fingers. Frowning, Jane watched the approaching storm through her attic window. Surely August and his partners would return to a safe harbor when bad weather threatened.
Two days had passed since they sailed away. Two days Jane had spent reading her Bible, bathing her heart in repentance, worship, and blossoming joy. The Lord had assured her of His love and adoration. In His eyes, she was perfectly beautiful.
Now she longed for August’s return.
Hearing Lucretia’s plaintive call, she climbed down the attic ladder. Thunder rumbled, or had that been the ladder’s vibrations?
“Jane, I’m craving fried onions,” Lucretia said from amid a mound of pillows.
“Are you certain you could keep them down?” Jane asked. The poor girl had been dreadfully ill these past few weeks. Her stomach rejected almost everything.
“I don’t know, but I’m so very hungry, and fried onions is the only thing I want. Please make some for me.”
“Yes, dear.”
“Jane, you look different. What happened?”
Pausing in the doorway, Jane asked, “In what way do I look different?”
“I don’t know. You look almost … pretty, somehow. Glowing. Are you in love?”
A smile tugged at Jane’s lips. “I believe I am.” Before Lucretia could respond, she slipped away.
Onions crackled on the stove, filling the kitchen with their pungent aroma. Jane gazed out the kitchen window just in time to see lightning rip across the sky. An immediate crash of thunder shook the house. Rain pelted the roof and the windows, blown by strong gusts of wind. Jane pictured that little fishing boat being tossed by furious waves.
Dear Lord, please protect him!
Durant, McNaughton, and Wildcat crouched beneath a tarp lashed between tree trunks. The wind raged, and flailing trees groaned in protest. Branches and leaves showered around the flimsy shelter. Rain blew sideways, soaking the three men to the skin. Their eyes widened as a crashing sound came closer and closer; a huge aspen slammed into the earth, its crown thrashing the underbrush not twenty feet away. The three men jumped in terror. “Too close,” McNaughton shouted.
Durant thought of their little boat, which they had pulled up on shore as far as possible before the storm hit. Silently he begged God to protect the boat, as well, for without it, they might be marooned on this remote island for weeks or months.
In the future, he wanted to observe such storms from the safety of his solid little house, holding Jane in his arms until the winds stopped blowing. Lord, please soften her heart toward me. I’m willing to wait, to court her until she loves and trusts me. Just please don’t let her send me away forever!
Two days later, Durant steered the Silver Moon toward Mackinac Island, grateful for steady winds. Falling branches had scratched the little craft’s hull, and rain had nearly swamped her; but the three fishermen bailed her out, and the warm sun finished drying her. “Nothing a coat of paint won’t cure,” McNaughton finally said, stepping back to observe the craft in relief and satisfaction. “She’s a tough lady.”
“The Lord put a watch over her and over us,” August said, sliding his hand over the boat’s gunwales.
At last, the island appeared in the distance like a great green turtle afloat on the lake. Durant’s heart seemed to rise in his chest and beat too rapidly. How would Jane greet him? Had she worried about him during the storm?
Trees and branches littered the island’s shores. Several buildings appeared to be missing shingles, and the sound of hammering drifted on the wind. “Look like storm hit Mackinac hard, too,” Wildcat observed quietly. He pointed toward the bluff. “Woman come.”
Durant squinted and saw a figure moving rapidly down the path from the fort. White petticoats flashed in the sunlight. He was obliged to focus on sailing until the Moon was safely berthed, but as soon as possible, he searched the shore for another sign of that running woman. She was nowhere to be seen.
Fighting back disappointment, he climbed ashore with the other men, hoisting his pack upon the quay. Their small catch, a few whitefish picked up that morning, must be unloaded quickly before the sun spoiled it.
“August!” That faint cry might be a seagull. He paused to listen.
“Woman call you,” Wildcat observed. Durant detected a smile in his friend’s deep voice. “Best go meet her.”
There was Jane running toward the wharf. She tripped and nearly fell but staggered up and kept coming.
Amazed, Durant started toward her, his boots thudding on the wharf. As realization struck him, his pace increased to a run. He met her on the shore, swept her off her feet, and spun her in a circle. She clung to him, gasping for breath, laughing and crying. “You’re safe!” she repeated over and over.
Her bonnet hung on her shoulders, and her hair spilled over Durant’s arms in wild confusion. He kissed her face and her hair and her neck and her sweet lips.
“I was such a fool, August! I love you so very much.”
At that, he broke down and wept, clutching her to his chest, savoring the sweetness and softness of her. He felt ready and able to conquer the world.
Chapter 14
One week later, Jane stood arm in arm with August, gazing up at Rev. Ferry’s earnest face and repeating her vows. She wore her mother’s wedding gown, a coral-pink watered silk she had restyled to her own taste. She felt beautiful, and judging by the expression in August’s eyes, she also looked beautiful.
A clear blue sky arched overhead, and the murmur of an Indian chant from the encampment farther down the shore provided unique music. Only a few tribal members actually witnessed the ceremony, but others sang in August’s honor.
As soon as Rev. Ferry pronounced them man and wife, August threw his hat in the air and gave a ringing whoop. Jane knew the more proper guests would be scandalized, but she didn’t care. August picked her up and kissed her soundly.
For a moment, the world faded away, but when the kiss ended and August lifted his head and smiled, Jane became aware of app
roving whistles and shouts from his trapper friends. Gerard, Armbruster, McNaughton, and the other trappers crowded around, begging their turn to kiss the bride. Jane laughed like a young girl and kissed the cheek of each beaming man. Billy Armbruster sighed with satisfaction; then he kissed her noisily on the cheek in return.
She felt honestly fond of these rough, gruff men. They were so real and uncomplicated—virtues she was learning to value highly.
Jordan stepped forward and shook August’s hand. “I suspect I could not have given my sister to a man who would love her more,” he said with a suspicious break in his voice. Jane saw him quickly wipe his eyes before he gave her a quick hug.
Although Jordan’s first reaction to his sister’s betrothal had been unenthusiastic, he was learning to appreciate August’s qualities.
Jane held him a moment longer. “I love you, little brother,” she said into his waistcoat.
“I still wish you had married my father, but at least we’re still sisters,” Lucretia whispered into Jane’s ear while the two women embraced. Approaching motherhood had softened Lucretia’s spirit, and she was learning to accept August.
Jane patted her sister-in-law’s arm and smiled into her eyes. “Always sisters.”
Mr. Henderson avoided greeting the newlyweds, but Jane saw him speak with various important personages. She and August had agreed to forgive his interference and lies whether or not he ever apologized. Henderson’s disappointment was punishment enough, August said.
Dr. Beaumont approached, smiling. “I claim credit for introducing the two of you,” he said, bowing over Jane’s hand.
August chuckled and thumped him on the shoulder. “You claim credit after describing my wife as fat and old with five grown children? Fraud.”
The doctor’s mustache twitched. He coughed into his hand to cover a laugh. “I trust our village isn’t losing the services of our fine midwife.”
“I will continue working as long as I am able, doctor,” Jane said quietly. “You needn’t worry. Mr. Durant is proud of my abilities.”
Long before the wedding guests had finished congratulating them, August caught Jane by the hand and ran. Past the Indian encampment, along the shore, over sand and rock and grass and driftwood, they ran and walked by turns until only the murmur of wind and water disturbed the silence. Gasping and giggling, Jane begged him to stop. “You’ll ruin my gown!”
“Never!” He scooped her up and whirled her through the air to stand upon a rock, then gazed up at her with adoration in his eyes. Jane reached up and removed her bonnet, then pulled out her hairpins and shook her head. Wavy brown hair fell around her shoulders and uncoiled to her waist.
She gazed down at August’s beloved face. Sunlight bronzed his hair and gleamed on his tanned features. The wind caught her hair and swept it around him. His eyes met and held her gaze. Words failed her. She longed to share her beauty with her husband, to hold nothing back.
“So beautiful,” he groaned. “My wife. My Jane.” He pulled her close, and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He lifted her off the rock, letting her slide slowly through his arms until at last their lips met.
The hairpins fell from her hand, one after another to ping upon the rock.
Later that evening, Jane and August strolled along the shore, breathing deeply of fresh lake air. A bald eagle soared overhead. Sunlight sparkled on the waves, and the very earth seemed to share in their delight.
“How God has changed my life this past year! From despair to delight, from ruin to riches, from loneliness to love.” August pulled his wife close to his side, matching his stride to hers.
“That sounds like a song.” She pushed her hair from her eyes to smile up at him.
“A song?” He chuckled and began to sing. After the first line, Jane joined in:
“I would love you all the day.
Every night would kiss and play,
If with me you’d fondly stray
Over the hills and far away.”
JILL STENGL
Jill Stengl is the author of numerous romance novels including Inspirational Reader’s Choice Award-and Carol Award-winning Faithful Traitor and full length historical Until That Distant Day. She lives with her husband in the beautiful North woods of Wisconsin, where she enjoys spoiling her three cats, teaching high school literature classes, playing keyboard for her church family, and sipping coffee on the deck as she brainstorms for her next novel.
Lady-in-Waiting
by Erica Vetsch
Chapter 1
This mail-order bride venture wasn’t turning out at all like Jane Gerhard had planned.
“How far is it to the next place?” She glanced at the sky, wishing the thin sunshine held some warmth. The wagon hit a rut, jostling her against the driver.
“Coupla hours by road to Garvey’s.” Reverend Cummings slapped the reins. The breeze ruffled his long whiskers. He continued to scowl as he had since he’d first picked up the four sisters in Sagebrush that morning to deliver them to their prospective grooms.
Jane glanced over her shoulder at the ranch buildings receding into the distance, the Kittrick ranch where they’d left their oldest sister, Evelyn, and her son, Jamie, with Evelyn’s new husband and daughter. How many times on the journey from the East had they talked about what a blessing it was that the sisters would all be neighbors, helping, supporting, comforting one another in this cross-country move? But none of them had counted on the vast distances in this territory so far from the Massachusetts coastal town they’d grown up in. Now she would be two hours from her sister.
And if Garvey’s ranch was the next on their journey, she would be the next to marry. Harrison Garvey, her soon-to-be husband. Her insides squirmed like kittens chasing a ball of ever-unraveling yarn.
I wish his ranch was last.
Not that she was afraid, exactly, or wanted to put off getting married. She’d long dreamed of being a bride, of having a husband and house of her own to care for, though she had never expected it to actually happen. No, she wasn’t afraid. She just didn’t want Harrison Garvey to be disappointed when he realized he was getting the plain sister. If she was last, he wouldn’t have Gwendolyn and Emmeline to compare her to right off.
Evelyn, Gwendolyn, and Emmeline all possessed striking blond hair and brilliant blue eyes. Thick lashes, slender figures, beautifully curved lips. Their fair skin and delicate features were the epitome of feminine beauty and the picture of their departed mother.
Then there was Jane. Mouse-brown hair, eyes that were neither brown nor green, short, with a figure more curvaceous than willowy, and a chin that could only be described as stubborn. Jane was the plain sister, the one who melted into the background. The one who worked hard to be useful, since she couldn’t be decorative.
Shrugging, she tried to turn her mind to more productive thoughts, like what her new home would be like. Evelyn’s had been a log structure, sturdy and solid, with a wide, inviting porch. Would Mr. Garvey live in a log cabin? Scanning the stark prairie spreading in every direction, she couldn’t imagine where logs could be found for any structure, though when she’d put the question to Reverend Cummings, he’d jerked his chin to the mountains far in the distance and said, “Up there.”
Her thoughts returned to her groom, as they had nearly every minute since receiving his proposal by mail. Harrison Garvey. She ran quickly through the list of things she knew about him. Twenty-eight, four years her senior. Originally from Columbus, Ohio. In need of a wife.
Not much to go on. But then again, what did he know about her? Twenty-four, a spinster from Massachusetts, in need of a husband.
A familiar ache returned to her chest. It was all well enough telling oneself to be practical, but Jane knew, in spite of what her sisters thought, that she possessed feelings, fears, and dreams that weren’t remotely practical, things she kept squashed way down inside, things that only came out in weak or stressful moments.
She tugged her shawl around her shoulders and surve
yed the landscape. The terrain rolled in gentle hills covered with tall, waving grasses, showing a hint of spring green in their strawlike stems. To the right in the distance, blue-purple hills rose toward a pale, cloudless sky, reminding Jane of her Creator and Sustainer. Her mind prayed her most frequent prayer these days:
God, go before us. Sustain us, and bless our new marriages and homes. Smooth the way for us where You will, and help us over the rough patches. Remind us of Your goodness and our need of Your strength.
“Reverend Cummings?” Gwendolyn stood in the jouncing wagon, grasping Jane’s shoulder for balance. “Can’t you tell us anything about the men we are to marry?”
The preacher’s scowl deepened. “I told you you’ll find out soon enough.”
“But what are they like? Tall, short, lean, stout, learned, ignorant?”
Jane hid a smile. Gwendolyn and Emmeline had been the most enthusiastic about the prospect of moving to Wyoming Territory and becoming mail-order brides, and Gwendolyn had speculated almost constantly about what their prospective husbands would be like.
“What does it matter now what they’re like?” the reverend asked. “You’re here and you’re bound to marry them. You should’ve asked these questions before. All you need to know at this point is that they’re good, God-fearing men.” He hunched his shoulders, braced his elbows on his knees, and clamped his lips shut, an odd trait in a preacher to Jane’s way of thinking. The pastor of their church in Seabury had been well known for his ability to talk the leg off a Yankee mule.
Gwendolyn blinked, started to say something but subsided, her brow puckered and her arms crossed.
The reverend had a point. They should’ve found out more about the men they were to marry, but there hadn’t been any time. With money running out, the eviction notice hanging over their heads, and post–Civil War men in Massachusetts scarcer than honest politicians, when an answer to their advertisement in the Matrimonial News had come, they’d acted swiftly.
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