Her parents’ infatuation hadn’t lasted. Just because Will’s glance made her stomach churn more than Axel’s probing gaze didn’t mean she’d avoid her mother’s fate once those butterflies flew away.
She’d not relinquish her dream of a store because of flutters and hesitation. Marrying Axel meant she’d get her dream, and she wouldn’t have any reason to leave him a decade and two children later to chase it. “I have to go now.”
“I do want to give you something before you leave.” From the carved box she’d brought downstairs, Irena pulled out a strand of pearls. “I wore them when I married my first husband. They’re yours—for the wedding and for good.”
Eliza put a hand to her mouth. “I can’t take those.”
Irena opened the clasp. “I’ll never have a daughter to pass them to, and I’ve never had a friend treat me so normally, who sometimes makes me forget what I am.” Irena slipped behind her, most likely to hide her tears, since her voice sounded clogged. “Please.”
“All right,” she whispered. In the hallway mirror, she watched Irena’s beads slip a little beneath the modest V-neckline of her cream wedding dress. With her grandmother’s hair comb tucked into her pile of curls, she almost felt beautiful—if not for the pink scar marring her cheek. The swollenness was no longer noticeable, but her scar still felt puffy.
Irena squeezed both her shoulders, looking at her in the mirror. “Let me put some stage makeup on that. Just for today. You should feel as beautiful as you can.”
She nodded her head, continuing to rub her fingers against her cheek. Why had she been so impatient? If she hadn’t come early, not only would she have avoided being robbed of both her money and what little good looks she possessed, but she’d not have spent extra time with Will.
Picking at the big ruffled neckline almost covering her entire chest and smoothing the silk ribbon bow trailing down her front, Eliza tried not to think about running upstairs and hiding.
“Here we are.” Irena put a few pots on the mirror table and held up a brush. “I brought a little rouge too.”
“Oh, no.” She didn’t want to look like a bawdy-house woman.
“I won’t put on more than a subtle dab—but you, my friend, are paler than P. T. Barnum’s albinos. If I put on more than you like, you can take it off.”
True to her word, Irena applied only a soft touch of pink to her cheeks, but used a lot of the skin-colored powder to cover the scar. The coloring didn’t look natural, but neither did the scar. “Thank you. It helps a little.”
“Now, go on. You’re late.”
After grabbing a quick hug, knowing she’d never spend a quiet evening alone with Irena again, Eliza collected her matching parasol and headed to the church three blocks away. Thankfully, the light wind meant she wouldn’t have to redo her hair before walking down the aisle. She pushed herself to put one foot in front of the other.
Outside the large sandstone church on the edge of town, Will paced the bottom step, his feet twenty times more lively than hers. He glanced up for a second and briefly met her gaze before returning to his pacing.
She closed her parasol and let herself in through the churchyard gate, unsure if she should wait for him to finish pacing or push past him into the sanctuary.
But she wanted to wait. To talk to him one last time, alone and unmarried.
He glanced at her again, but this time stopped his frantic walk. “Eliza?”
Her lips twitched. She’d known she looked different, but he appeared incredulous. Did he find her as attractive as Axel seemed to—despite the makeup-caked scar? “Yes?”
“So, that’s . . . that’s a dress.”
She smothered a smile with her hand. “Yes, I do tend to wear those every day.”
“I mean, it’s just better than . . . I mean . . .”
“I’ll accept the compliment. Thank you.” She pulled at the sleeves that didn’t quite reach her wrists and joined him. “Is Axel inside?”
Will nodded and looked behind her. “Where’s Mrs. Lightfoot?”
Eliza sighed. “She chose not to come.” She’d not think of Irena’s reluctance as an omen of any sort. “I was hoping the pastor’s wife would be my witness.”
“I’m sure she will.” Will turned to face her, his hands behind his back. “Axel’s a lucky man.”
But was she a lucky woman? Was a store enough to make this worthwhile? She’d argued with Irena, but with Will in front of her . . . She twisted the parasol’s handle in her palm. “Maybe. That is . . . I mean, unless . . .” She sighed. “Can you give me any reason I shouldn’t marry Axel?” When they’d visited Mrs. Langston, Will had informed her of nothing she hadn’t observed for herself yesterday: Axel drank sometimes and wasn’t the hardest worker.
Did Will want her to go through with this? Yesterday when he’d caught them kissing, he seemed like he wanted to intervene. And that look in his eyes when she’d been covered in feathers . . . and now . . .
She dropped her gaze to the ground. Just because Will seemed attracted, just because her mind refused to relive Axel’s kiss in favor of imagining kissing his friend, didn’t mean Will would give up his friendship for her—not after only three weeks of knowing each other. She’d watched him with patients—he always chose to do the right thing, no matter how much it cost him.
Eliza forced her eyes to meet him square. Even if he did drop onto a knee and make her an offer, she would refuse. Hadn’t she told Irena that feelings could lead people astray? But with him staring at her like that . . .
Will turned to look toward the horizon. He licked his lips and gave a slight nod. Then he turned to look straight at her and blinked hard. “I can’t.”
She looked at her hands strangling her parasol’s handle. Her heart started beating again. “Then good.” It was good. It was right. It was moral. “Maybe with my help in the store we can get you to school very soon.”
He huffed and ran his hand through his hair, mussing whatever he’d used to make it lie flat. “That won’t be necessary. I’ve talked to a friend this morning whose great-uncle needs someone to take over his broom business, and I think—considering everything—I’ll buy him out.”
She tried to swallow a breath, but her lungs wouldn’t inflate. “You’re leaving?”
“Yes.”
She forced her mouth shut and stared at his feet. What he did or where he went didn’t matter. Or rather, it shouldn’t matter. Working alone together after getting married would have been awkward and uncomfortable and all kinds of wrong, but she’d have endured until everything felt normal.
But he didn’t plan to be around at all.
“Are you all right?” Will ducked his head to look at her.
She glared at him. “But that’s nonsense. You don’t have the money. If you did, you’d go to medical school. Neither Axel nor I have enough money to buy you out yet.”
“I don’t expect you to.” Will cleared his throat. “Consider my part of the store a wedding gift.”
She blinked. He was giving up his share in the store? She’d known he didn’t make great business decisions, but this . . . ?
He grabbed at his hair again but quickly dropped his hand. “The man’s going to pay me to work and learn the trade for the next six months. If I decide I want the business, I’ll take over and make payments.”
That sounded like a fair deal. She jabbed her parasol’s tip into a crack in the stair. “But if you agree, you’ll spend years buying a broom business.”
“Yes.”
She swallowed, a harder process than normal. “What about medical school?”
“Some dreams die a slow death. Others . . .” He clamped his jaw and looked away. “Others are ripped away before they begin.”
Her heart kathumped harder than when she’d contemplated tonight with Axel. The infernal organ was far more attached to this man than the man awaiting her at the front of the church.
But an infatuation was not worth bailing on a commitment. What kind of wife
would she be if she couldn’t keep her promises and her head turned at the sight of a handsome man? What kind of store owner would she be if she made business plans but changed her course with every new idea? What kind of pride had she, desiring to grab Will’s coat and beg him to reconsider when accepting the broom business offer was what he ought to do?
When he finally turned back to her, the look in his eyes was far more haunted than yesterday.
Was this truly good-bye? For a broom business? “Why are you really leaving, Will?”
The door opened and a balding man stuck his head out the door. “Ah, I thought I heard voices.” He smiled at her, seemingly unfazed by the scowl she turned on him. “Where’s Mrs. Lightfoot?”
Will cleared his throat. “She couldn’t come, but Eliza hoped your wife would stand in for her.”
She nodded, though she felt more like screaming at the pastor for interrupting their conversation.
Axel peered out from behind Reverend Finch. “Of course she will.” He bit the side of his lip and a toothy smile shone as Axel took in every inch of her. “You’re breathtaking, Eliza.” He held out his hand, but the pastor stepped in front of him.
“If you’re going to have my wife witness, she’ll want you to do the ceremony thing proper.” He turned Axel by the shoulders and pushed him inside. “Bride coming down the aisle and all the rest.” The pastor opened the door wider. “William, join him up front. Tillie, start the music!”
Eliza took a step forward to cut off Will’s retreat. “Are you going to answer me?”
He shook his head, his jaw tense, his eyes a touch wild. “You deserve nothing but the best, Eliza. The best.” He took the stairs two at a time and followed the pastor inside.
Alone on the doorstep, Eliza closed her eyes as chords from an ill-tuned piano grated the air.
She had to push one foot in front of the other again, stand on her convictions, chase her dream—a dream that did not involve brooms, kissing would-be medical doctors, or denying herself the store she’d wanted for as long as she could remember . . . despite the misgivings wreaking havoc with her soul.
———
Will stomped up the aisle sprinkled with wild flowers. Mrs. Finch found this whole mail-order bride thing way more romantic than he did. He shoved his hands into his pockets and kept his eyes on the floor as he crushed every pretty flower he came across.
He glanced over his shoulder at Eliza in the doorway, decked in fancy eastern finery, curls piled on her head. To think he’d once thought her plain. In a dress meant for a fine woman, her waist seemed overly delicate, and those pearls accentuated the pink in her cheeks, which in turn warmed her brown eyes.
And he’d just told her to marry Axel.
Which was the right thing to say. No matter how much his stomach had revolted at saying so.
He stomped up to where Reverend Finch pointed for him to stand and glared at the back of Axel’s suit jacket.
He worked to keep his heavy eyelids parted. He hadn’t slept a wink last night as he’d tried to figure out how he might encourage the two of them to push back the wedding—and figure out why he wanted it delayed so badly. Did he truly want to be in the groom’s shoes this morning?
If he stole his friend’s bride at the altar, there was no way they could continue working together. If he persuaded Eliza to jilt Axel, he wouldn’t be able to provide her with a store, or obtain a medical degree for himself. Together, they’d have nothing. And like Nancy, Eliza wanted him to be a doctor. Losing his only source of income would push school that much further from his reach. She’d have to follow him into the broom business, and she probably wanted to fabricate brooms as much as he did.
A woman with Eliza’s dreams would never be content with him. Any romantic attraction they might have would sour the longer she couldn’t rub two pennies together.
So he’d gift her with his share of the store—the best present he could give such a woman. She deserved to be blissfully happy, and Axel was her best opportunity.
So he would wish them well, and then disappear. Being stuck making brooms for years would give him enough time to forget her, and once he made enough money to sell the business—perhaps decades from now—he’d stop by and let her know he was finally headed to medical school. She’d be happy about that.
Eliza’s shuffling steps caused him to look up. Her gaze was pinned on him instead of her groom, a befuddled look in her eye. He tried to smile, hoping she’d not see the watery sheen obscuring his vision, nor the tension in his every muscle. He nodded to encourage her when she seemed to slow.
Axel held out his hand, and Mrs. Finch abruptly stopped the music.
“Come on over, Tillie. You’re to stand up with Miss Cantrell.”
The older woman popped off her bench, smiling as if nothing could give her more pleasure than to witness these two becoming one.
At least one witness was glad to be there.
No longer able to see Eliza, Will paced to the left but still couldn’t see her over Axel’s shoulder, so he tried from the right. Her jaw was set, her blushing neck exposed. Maybe he shouldn’t look at her anymore, but he wanted to, despite the overwhelming smell of flowers messing with his sinuses and blurring his vision.
He paced back to the left and tried to stand still as the pastor read from his book. When he fidgeted again to the right, Mrs. Finch gave him a frown meant for a wayward child. Sure he wasn’t acting right, but how could he?
He focused on nodding his head in rhythm with the pastor’s rote reading of the wedding ceremony. But Will couldn’t hear anything but the litany he chanted in his head to keep his mouth shut until the inevitable was over.
It’s not about what I want.
A patient’s needs come first.
Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.
Better a bit of pain now than a lifetime of unhealthiness.
This might sting, but it’s for the best.
Then the wedding kiss he’d dreaded happened. A stilted peck on the lips. Yet the memory of the kiss he’d witnessed yesterday weaseled its way into his brain and threatened to cut off his air supply.
Reverend Finch smiled brightly and held out his hand toward the communion table. “Now, all we need is everyone’s signature, and you two newlyweds can be on your way.”
On their way. She was now forever out of his reach.
The end of the story.
Axel leaned down to whisper into Eliza’s ear. The low rumble of his voice made Will want to gag. The blush he’d expected to flare up Eliza’s neck at whatever ghastly inappropriate thing he’d said while standing in the house of God didn’t happen.
Instead, her face paled.
Perhaps Axel had said something extremely vulgar. Will fisted his hands and waited for her to look at him. The slightest hint of indignation on her face and he’d pummel her groom. He positively itched to punch something.
Axel smiled at her and pulled her forward, reaching for the ink pen the pastor offered him. “Where do I sign?”
Eliza’s gaze fixed on Axel’s hand as he took his time signing all four of his names. Axel Reid Jedidiah Langston.
Eliza’s face was unworldly white.
Will looked to Mrs. Finch. Did the woman notice Eliza was surely about to faint? But the pastor’s wife had laced her arm into her husband’s, smiling as if she were about to sign her name on the bride’s line instead of the witness’s.
Stepping behind Axel, Will moved closer to Eliza. He could keep her from falling to the floor with a thump at least. He shot a glance at Axel. His friend needed to pay attention to his bride, because if she fainted, Will didn’t want her in his arms. The memory of her hair between his fingers and her thumb brushing a feather off his face was plenty enough touching to erase from his mind.
Axel turned with a smile and held the pen out for Eliza, but she didn’t take it.
“Eliza?”
Her hand crept up to her neck, and she shook her head slightly. Her eyes wer
e transfixed on his hand. “You knew.” Her voice was so raspy, Will couldn’t be sure what she’d said.
He leaned closer and tried to catch her gaze. Though the entire walk down the aisle she’d looked at him more than her groom, her eyes weren’t on him now, but narrowed on Axel.
Axel’s smile fell, but not his pen. “Here.”
“No.”
The pastor finally tore his focus off his wife, and his face drooped. “Do we have a problem?”
Axel spoke through his clamped jaw. “Darling, I—”
“Don’t,” she spit through gritted teeth, her eyes narrowing. She turned to the Finches. “I can’t marry him.”
The pastor’s wife put a placating hand on her shoulder. “You already did, sweetie.”
Eliza pointed to the ink pen still hovering between them. “That scar.”
Will looked to where she pointed. “The one on his hand? He got that the summer we were fourteen and sixteen. My first stitching job.” He’d sutured atrociously, not realizing how strange sewing through flesh would feel. He’d been proud his friend had enough confidence in him to let him try.
Axel dropped his hand and took a step back.
She turned to Will, her eyes as big as last night’s low-hanging moon. “I wanted to bite that scar.”
“What?” Had she taken leave of her senses?
“On the train. A perfect half circle that would fit my teeth . . . blond scruffy sideburns.” She took a step toward Axel like a guard dog threatening an unwelcome visitor. “And blue eyes. Light blue. When he whispered to me just now, I felt as if I’d heard that low, rumbly voice before.”
“What’s this?” The pastor dropped his wife’s arm and moved closer.
“He robbed me. On the train.” She pressed her hand against her cheek. “He hit me.”
Axel set the pen down, shaking his head. “You’re mistaken. You said they caught all three thieves.”
Eliza took a step back. “I never told you there were three.”
“Everyone in town knows there were three.” He took a step back and licked his lips. “I’m sorry my scar reminds you of somebody, but it’s not me.”
A Bride in Store Page 13
