Tabitha_Bride of Missouri

by Amelia C. Adams

  Once all the speeches had been given, the mayor came back front and center. “Our judges will now deliberate and present us with their decision.”

  Tabitha felt the scrutiny of every pair of eyes in town as she waited on that stage. Thankfully, the judges were quick, and Dr. Gideon whispered the choice into the mayor’s ear.

  “The judges wish to make it known that the fear of Mrs. Smith’s horsewhip in no way influenced their decision. The winner of the coveted title of Miss Atwater goes to Tabitha Phillips!” the mayor announced, and again, the crowd cheered.

  Feeling more awkward than she ever had in her life, Tabitha stepped forward and gave a little bow, then escaped off the stage as quickly as she could. Pastor Reed reached out and caught her elbow.

  “Congratulations, Miss Phillips. You deserve the win.” He let go of her arm. “I’m so terribly sorry, but I’ve just now received a note. One of my parishioners is dying and has asked for me. Do you mind terribly if I leave?” He glanced around. “Oh, look. There’s Mr. Scott. Perhaps he could see you home.”

  “I’m sure that would be all right,” Tabitha said, trying not to sound eager. “I’m sorry you have to leave.”

  “And I’m sorry to tear myself from your side. Congratulations again. Oh, and you should know that the voting was unanimous.” Pastor Reed gave her a smile. “Let me speak to Mr. Scott, and then I’ll be on my way.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Tabitha protested, but he was already making his way through the crowd. She followed along behind.

  “I wonder if I could prevail upon you for a very pleasant favor,” Pastor Reed said as he drew up alongside Mr. Scott.

  “Certainly. What do you need, Pastor?”

  “It seems that I’ve invited a young lady to a festival, but I won’t be able to see her home. May I turn Miss Phillips over to your care? I heard someone mention that you’re engaged to be married—would this compromise your situation?”

  “No, not at all. Miss Phillips and I are already acquainted, as you saw, and I’d be delighted.”

  The pastor looked relieved. “Excellent. I know she’ll be in good hands.” He turned to Tabitha. “Enjoy the rest of your evening, and I’ll see you at church tomorrow.” With a small bow, he was gone.

  “Well now, Miss Phillips—or should I say, Miss Atwater—it would appear that you belong to me now,” Mr. Scott said, a grin on his face. “What shall I do with you?”

  “I believe it’s time for the potluck,” Tabitha replied. “You could help bring my potato dish from the house.”

  “Then by all means, let’s go get it.”

  Tabitha pulled her shawl a little more tightly around her shoulders as they walked. The sun was lowering in the sky, taking the warmth of the day with it.

  “I’m not sorry the pastor had to leave,” Mr. Scott said. “I know very few people here, and I’m glad for someone to talk to.”

  “What about your friend—Hoss, was it? Isn’t he here?”

  “Naw. He’s at home snoozing in front of his fire. He doesn’t go for things like this. And if you don’t mind my saying so, you seem a bit uncomfortable as well. Didn’t you want to win?”

  “No. I was pulled into the whole thing. Although, I did enjoy the look on Darcy’s face when my name was announced.” Tabitha laughed at the memory. “I’m sure that makes me evil. I should probably talk to the pastor about it.”

  “Are the two of you courting, then? He seems like a good fellow.”

  Tabitha shook her head. “No. No, we’re not. For the thousandth time.”

  Mr. Scott looked at her curiously. “I didn’t ask a thousand times.”

  “You didn’t, but it seems like everyone else in town has. He asked to take me to the festival. That’s all.”

  Once at the house, Tabitha led the way into the kitchen and pulled a pan of bubbling potatoes from the oven. She’d kept them on the lowest possible heat while she was gone, and now they were perfect. She placed the pan inside a box to make it easier to carry, then picked it up. “Shall we go?”

  “Aren’t I helping you with that?”

  She looked at his arm.

  “Oh, that. Hmm.” He glanced around. “There must be something I can carry. Make me useful.”

  “You could carry the serving spoon,” Tabitha suggested.

  “A pity task? That’s the best you can offer me?”

  She lifted a shoulder. “I don’t need anything else. What would you like to carry?”

  “I would like to carry the potatoes. However, since I am somewhat incapacitated at the moment, the spoon it shall be.” He picked it up from the table and brandished it. “And I will wield it proudly.”

  She laughed. “As you should. Now, let’s get back before all the good food is taken.”

  Long tables were set up around the edges of the town square, and ladies from all over town were filling them up with food as fast as they could carry it in. Tabitha spotted the table where the other potato dishes were being set and put hers there as well, then tucked the box underneath the table so it would be out of the way.

  “Now, where does this line start?” she wondered aloud.

  As she and Mr. Scott waited their turn, they chatted merrily, and she enjoyed his humorous responses to nearly everything she said. Humor was important to her—having been raised by two people who rarely found anything funny, she appreciated every chance she got to laugh.

  “What are you doing clear back here?” the mayor boomed as he walked toward them. “Our new Miss Atwater should be at the front of the line!”

  “I’m perfectly fine to wait,” Tabitha said, but he wouldn’t hear any of it. He placed a beefy hand on the small of her back and guided her forward.

  “Make way! Make way for Miss Atwater and her escort for the evening!”

  People stepped to the side to clear a path, and Tabitha wished she could just disappear. That would be much more pleasant.

  “Here you are,” the mayor said, depositing her by the first table. “Enjoy!”

  As he walked off, Tabitha turned to the people behind her who used to be in front. “I’m so sorry,” she said quietly so he wouldn’t hear her. “I was just fine back there.”

  “It’s all right, dear,” the elderly woman said, and her husband nodded. “It’s part of the reward of being Miss Atwater.”

  Tabitha smiled, but then turned to Mr. Scott. “I didn’t even want to be Miss Atwater,” she whispered.

  “Might as well enjoy it while you can,” he replied good-naturedly. “What’s the prize, anyway?”

  “They haven’t said, but I’m sure it comes with embarrassment. Lots and lots of embarrassment.”

  As they moved down the line, Tabitha helped Mr. Scott fill his plate. What would he have done without her help? She was more grateful than ever that the pastor had put them together, and it wasn’t for entirely selfish reasons.

  ***

  “I didn’t realize a man with a cast could be such a good dancer,” Tabitha said as they crossed the street beneath the full moon.

  “And I didn’t realize that being with Miss Atwater would come with so many benefits. First in line at dinner, first on the dance floor, first at the punch bowl . . . If I’d realized all that, I would have asked to escort you right from the very beginning,” Mr. Scott replied.

  Tabitha laughed. “Well, let that serve to teach you a lesson.”

  They reached the walkway up to the post office and paused there. Tabitha balanced her much-lighter box on the top rail of the fence. “You performed your duties most admirably, Mr. Scott,” she said. “The pastor will be very pleased with you.”

  “I’m certainly glad to hear it. But don’t you think it’s time you called me Thomas? We’re friends, aren’t we?”

  “Of course we are.”

  He nodded. “All right then, Tabitha, I’ll see you at church tomorrow. And at the post office the day after that.”

  “I’ll look forward to it.”

  He saw her safely inside
, where she put the box on the table before locking the door behind him. This had been one of the most enjoyable days she’d ever had, but one of the hardest, too.

  The bundle of letters had been on her mind constantly for the last hour. The more she got to know Mr. Scott—er, Thomas—the more she liked him. Giving him those letters would make him a free man, and perhaps once he got over his heartbreak, he’d be willing to think about a relationship with her. But there was no guarantee, and it seemed unkind to hope for it. He loved Ivy, and Tabitha shouldn’t expect him to drift her way simply because he was available.

  If only the note on top of the bundle weren’t so harsh. If Ivy had any heart at all, she would have taken the time to write a decent letter and explain herself more reasonably. The way she’d handled things showed her to have no heart whatsoever—she didn’t deserve the emotion Thomas was putting into their relationship. Had she been playing him for a fool all along?

  Clara and Herbert seemed to have gone to bed, so Tabitha set the potato pan soaking, put out the lamp, and climbed the stairs to her room as quietly as she could. Once there, she put on her nightgown and climbed in bed, but her brain wouldn’t stop churning. If only she could somehow lessen Thomas’s pain. If only there was a way to let him down easy, a little at a time, instead of ripping his heart out with one swift motion.

  Tabitha’s eyes widened in the darkness as a thought struck her. Maybe there was something she could do. What if . . . No. She couldn’t do that. It was wrong, so very wrong. She could get in so much trouble. But even as she half-heartedly tried to talk herself out of it, her heart blossomed with hope. This was something she could do, something that would ease his burdens at a time when so many things seemed to be working against him.

  She could write to Thomas, pretending to be Ivy, and slowly begin to pull back from their relationship. Over the course of a few letters, she could drop little hints about how Ivy was changing her mind. Then, when it came time to break things off, he would have seen it coming, sensed that something wasn’t right, and it would feel like a welcome relief rather than an utter shock.

  But it would be wrong.

  Tabitha rolled over and punched her pillow, trying to get comfortable. It was one thing to write letters that Thomas dictated to her. That was done with full permission. It was quite another to write in someone else’s name. How would she mimic the handwriting? The only samples she had were the angry words scrawled on top of the bundle. How would she guess at Ivy’s style of correspondence? What if her first letter to Thomas had been long and detailed—he’d know right away that the second letter was from someone else, as they wouldn’t match.

  Again, even as she thought about it, the idea persisted. It would save him pain. It would save him grief. But would she be doing it for him or for herself? It seemed an impossible decision to make, and she was still wrestling with it as she fell asleep over an hour later.

  Chapter Seven

  Tabitha walked into church the next morning fully resolved to hand Thomas the bundle of letters and be done with it. He’d said he was coming into the post office on Monday—she’d do it then. She felt good about her decision. But then, when she saw him standing at the end of a pew in a Sunday suit, his hair slicked back, her determination crumbled. She couldn’t dream of doing anything that would wipe that grin off his face.

  Thomas shook hands with Herbert and nodded at Clara, and then they were seated. Tabitha slid into the pew first, thinking Thomas would follow, but Clara inserted herself between them, followed by Herbert, so Thomas ended up sitting on the aisle. At least they were somewhat sitting together, she supposed.

  Pastor Reed did preach well. His sermon was about charity, and his words were encouraging rather than condemning. She never had liked sermons that tried to convince her she was doomed for doing any little wrong thing. Rather, she preferred being urged to try again. She might find herself liking this congregation.

  After the service, the pastor stood at the door and shook everyone’s hand. “I trust Mr. Scott saw you safely home?” he asked as he greeted Tabitha.

  “He did. And thank you for being such a gentleman and arranging it,” she replied.

  “I wonder if I might stop by later this afternoon. To talk.” He looked a bit uncomfortable making his request, and she winced. Was he planning to bring up the topic of courting again? Hadn’t she been clear before?

  “I suppose,” she said hesitantly, wanting to refuse, but knowing that Clara was right behind her and probably listening to every word.

  “Excellent. I have a lunch invitation today, but I’ll be by afterwards.” He gave a slight bow, and she moved through the doorway and out into the autumn chill.

  “What was that about?” Clara wanted to know as they met up on the sidewalk.

  “I’m afraid I don’t know,” Tabitha replied.

  “Miss Phillips! Tabitha!” Thomas came up beside them. “It was a pleasure to see you today.”

  “And you. I trust your arm is feeling somewhat better.”

  “It is, a bit. I believe dancing may have done it some good after all.”

  Perhaps he caught the severe look on Clara’s face, or maybe he really did need to leave, but he raised his cap and took a step away. “Have a peaceful Sunday, and I’ll see you again sometime. Mrs. Wilcox. Mr. Wilcox.”

  “He seems a very impertinent young man,” Clara remarked as they headed in the opposite direction. “He certainly acts like he knows you.”

  “He escorted me home last night when the pastor got called away,” Tabitha explained. “We talked a bit, and we did get to know each other.”

  “And does he realize the pastor has set his sights on you?”

  Tabitha resisted the urge to sigh, although it was very strong. “The pastor knows that I’m not interested in marriage right now.”

  “And I think you’re being foolish beyond words.” Clara’s mouth set in a firm line, and the rest of the walk home was in utter silence.

  ***

  Tabitha waited until Clara was busy in the kitchen, then tiptoed into the post office and retrieved the bundle of letters from the drawer where she’d placed them. Seeing Thomas that morning had shattered her resolve, and now she believed she had to take action. She had just slipped the letters under her pillow when she heard Clara calling, and she went down to set the table.

  Herbert lowered himself into his chair with a thunk. His skin was more of a natural color, but he seemed weak, and Tabitha wished she had any notion what was wrong. She doubted he’d go see Dr. Gideon—Herbert was a very private man, and one who didn’t believe in doctors much anyway.

  “How are you feeling, Herbert?” Tabitha ventured.

  “Fine. Just fine.” His reply was almost a bark, and she winced. Something was wrong, but he wasn’t going to discuss it. Stubborn man.

  “Pastor Reed asked to come by this afternoon,” she said a moment later, trying to break the silence that hung over the room like a cloud.

  Clara looked up from her bowl of soup, a spark of interest in her eyes. “Coming to court, is he?”

  “No. He and I are just friends.” Perhaps if she kept saying it, eventually someone would believe her.

  “Foolish.” Clara went back to eating, and Tabitha reached for the butter. Why had she come back to town, exactly? Oh, that’s right—she’d had nowhere else to go. She wondered if she should have stayed in Massachusetts for another few weeks and advertised as a governess or something. Surely that would have been better than this.

  Herbert took one more spoonful of soup, then pushed back from the table. “Going to bed,” he mumbled before shuffling away.

  Clara didn’t acknowledge that he’d spoken.

  Tabitha weighed her options, then decided that if she didn’t say something, she’d most likely regret it. “Do you think Herbert should see a doctor?”

  “You know how he is. Wouldn’t see a doctor if he chopped off his leg and needed it sewn back on.”

  “I do know. It’s just . . . thi
s seems serious.”

  Clara plopped her spoon into her bowl. “It is serious, missy. His health, our debts, our entire situation. Don’t think I haven’t been trying to fix it, because I have. For twenty years, it’s been one thing after another, and some things won’t be fixed. Now, finish up and get ready for the pastor. And for heaven’s sake, don’t chase him away. He might be your best chance.”

  Oh, Tabitha certainly hoped not. He was pleasant to look at, and he was kind, but there was nothing more to it than that. If they were to marry, she’d likely have everything she needed—everything but the most important thing of all. She wanted to be in love.

  As soon as Tabitha finished eating, she prepared the dishwater. “I’m washing up this time,” she told Clara before the woman could protest. “Why don’t you go rest with Herbert?”

  Clara opened and closed her mouth a few times, but no sound came out. Finally, she gave a nod and left the room. Well, that was one way to render her speechless.

  Once the dishes were done, Tabitha went into the parlor and picked up a book. She’d just reached chapter two when Pastor Reed tapped on the door.

  “Thank you for letting me pay a call, Miss Phillips,” he said, still standing on the porch. “I wondered if you might take a stroll with me.”

  “Of course. Let me get my shawl.”

  Tabitha strolled down the sidewalk, the pastor at her side, wondering what he’d come to say. She wished she could just enjoy the beautiful fall weather, but until he satisfied her curiosity, she wouldn’t be able to think of anything else.

  “How did you enjoy the services this morning?” he asked as they rounded the corner onto the next street.

  “They were very nice. I especially appreciated your sermon.”

  “Thank you. I hoped it would be well received. I never know until after the fact if it’s what the people are ready to hear.”

  “I’ve never thought about it from the clergyman’s perspective, but I imagine it must be difficult to prepare a sermon week after week and to choose the topics.”