“What will you do?” Maude asked at last, when neither of them seemed able to say anything more. Would they choose to go on living as if James MacLaren were indeed dead? Or had the Lord come into their lives just in time for them to realize what grace really meant?
She saw Jonas look at his mother and realized that he was waiting for her to speak. She’d been James MacLaren’s wife, after all—still was, come to think of it. But it seemed she wanted him to speak first—he was the MacLaren, after all—at least for the time being. He must cede that title back to his father now, Maude realized.
“I believe I am quoting Holy Writ when I say, this is the Lord’s doing, and it is marvelous in our eyes,” he said, his lips beginning to curve upward at last. Coira was beginning to smile, too.
“Then you’ll go to Galveston and meet with your father?” Maude asked, hoping she had understood him correctly.
“We will go,” Jonas corrected her. “You, me, Mother, Juana and wee Hannah, for aren’t you about to be family, sweet Maude, you and Hannah? And if all proceeds well, and you wouldn’t mind delaying the wedding till afterward, he could be present for it.”
“Oh, Jonas...” His mother sighed and had gone quite misty-eyed.
Maude was feeling pretty warm and misty-eyed herself at the thought that Jonas wanted her to be present on such a momentous occasion as this proposed reunion. But she managed to rally and make a daring request.
“I won’t mind waiting,” Maude said, “but there’s a condition—I want you to wear Highland dress at our wedding.” Perhaps, she thought, if James MacLaren was the sort of man his letter made him seem, she might even ask him to give her away, since she had no father to do the honors. But perhaps she should wait and see how things went when the MacLarens reunited.
At that, Jonas roared with laughter. “So my sweet Texas bride is already making conditions about marrying me? Liked the look of your groom-to-be in a kilt, did you now?”
“’Twill be the wedding of the decade,” Maude said sweetly, thinking of the sensation it would cause in Simpson Creek, especially among her fellow Spinsters’ Club members. All the Spinsters who had married thus far had wed handsome men, but no one else’s groom had been so spectacularly attired as Jonas would be, if he went along with her idea.
“Done, sweetheart, if you’ll wear a MacLaren tartan sash across your dress.”
“It seems only fair,” Maude said, and raised her lips for a kiss.
Chapter Twenty
Galveston, Texas
James MacLaren was the last person to disembark from the Victoriana, and Maude sensed that Jonas and Coira had already begun to despair that he hadn’t come after all, or perhaps had died on the voyage. But Maude kept watching and was rewarded by the sight of the elderly man making his way down the gangplank, leaning only a little on a silver-knobbed cane. He wore full Highland dress, right down to a jaunty hat in the MacLaren tartan over a still-thick thatch of silver hair. An ocean breeze threatened to carry it away, but the gnarled hand that reached out to clutch it to his head was quick.
“There he is, Mother. That’s him, isn’t it?” Jonas asked, gripping Maude’s shoulder tighter now.
“Aye, and he’s still wearing that Glengarry hat of his,” Maude heard Coira say, her voice tremulous. “He had that same hat when we married.”
He had the same eagle-eyed gaze as his son, and he used it now to sweep over the crowd gathered to welcome those who had sailed on the Victoriana.
“He looks like you, Senor MacLaren,” Juana observed.
Maude held Hannah, who was staring enthralled at the huge steamer, pointing at it and uttering little baby cries of excitement, totally unaware of the drama about to unfold.
Jonas had not worn full Highland dress, but today he’d worn a sash of MacLaren plaid, as had his mother, and Maude saw the moment when James MacLaren caught sight of them and the gleam of joyous recognition in those golden hazel eyes. Having reached the end of the gangplank, he hastened toward them, and Maude had time enough to send a quick prayer Heavenward that all would go well.
“Coira, Jonas, is that you?” the old man asked, his Scottish brogue thick with emotion and held-back tears.
“Yes, Father, it’s us,” Jonas replied as Coira gave a little cry and threw open her arms as if the past years had never intervened.
Feeling close to tears herself, Maude watched as the old man embraced and kissed first his wife, then, after eyeing him up and down, his son, murmuring, “You’ve come, both of ye—I had not dared hope so much.” Then, throwing one arm each around wife and son, he pulled both of them close again and let his tears flow.
It was several minutes before any of them could bring themselves to let go.
Maude could see the scar that began under James’s hair on his right temple and creased his cheek, and a smaller, fainter one that streaked down his other temple, but otherwise there was no evidence of the terrible event that had happened so many years—certainly not in the love that gleamed from each of their eyes.
“And who’s this, then?” James MacLaren asked, when he had caught his breath, nodding toward Maude. “The bonny lass with the red hair, and the wee bairn in her arms? Is the child yours, then? Is this your wife? And how about this other lady?” he said, indicating Juana.
“She’s about to be my wife,” Jonas said, pulling Maude close. “Father, I’d like you to meet my betrothed, Maude Harkey, the sweetest lass in Texas, and her adopted daughter, Hannah, who already seems like a daughter to me. Beyond her is Senora Juana Benavides, who takes care of Hannah.”
“Your Maude looks like a feisty lass, with that red hair,” the elder MacLaren said with a laugh, and grinned at Maude so engagingly that she couldn’t help but grin back.
“Aye, that she is, but she’s also a woman of faith, and the reason we’re here today,” Jonas told him, smiling proudly. “’Tis Maude who’s been taking care of Mother and who got us to see our need of the Lord.”
“Well, then, God bless ye, Maude,” James MacLaren said, cupping Maude’s cheek with a gnarled hand. “And your little lass, too.” He chuckled as Hannah made a grab for his hat, and reached up and plopped it on her head, laughing more as the child giggled, not at all afraid of this interesting stranger.
The sea wind picked up then, blowing coldly through the crowd.
“Son, yer mother and I are no’ so young as we used to be, and it’s December, after all. Could we find a place that serves hot coffee and soup to warm our bones, and we’ll begin to catch up on the years?”
“Our hotel isn’t far, Father, and there’s a restaurant next to it. I’ll help you to our carriage, then see to having your baggage delivered to the hotel.”
Within the hour, they were sipping hot broth and tea at a table in Chez Campeche, a restaurant whose name bore tribute to the headquarters of the infamous pirate Lafitte, who had once made Galveston his base of operations. James declined the waiter’s offer of a glass of whiskey, saying later to his son, “’Tis a teetotaler I am now, son, and have been since that awful night back in Scotland,” he murmured. “I find I’m a better man without the influence of spirits. I wish I’d gained that wisdom before the drink tore us apart.” It was the only reference he ever made to that terrible time, but determined to lighten the moment, he added, “’Tis not as if America would have a good whiskey, anyway.”
Jonas laughed. Then James changed the subject.
“Ye say ye two are about to marry?”
“Aye, Papa. We might have done so already, but once we heard of yer coming, we wanted to wait so ye could be there.” Exposure to his father’s thick brogue had strengthened Jonas’s Scots accent, too.
“Did ye now? And isn’t that a wonderful thing for an old reprobate like me to hear? ’Twas generous of ye two,” he said, and impulsively reached for Maude’s hand and kissed it.
She smiled shyly at him, knowing she would indeed ask him to walk her down the aisle when they had a private moment.
“So ye’re a prominent rancher, son? ’Twas what my agent told me, the one who located ye,” James asked his son.
Jonas grinned modestly. “Aye, well, I’m a relative newcomer to the area, having bought Five Mile Hill Ranch just earlier this year, but I’m the only one around there raising sheep as well as long-horned cattle. Fine Blackies and merino sheep they are, as good as any in the Highlands.”
“That’s wonderful, son. And how about ye, wife? Will the town be scandalized to find ye’re a married woman after all this time?”
Coira chuckled. “We live at some distance from Simpson Creek, so the town and I have not exactly gotten familiar with one another. But I imagine it’ll be a nine days’ wonder. Small towns soon find something else to talk about.”
Juana took her leave with Hannah at this point, for the baby had gotten fussy, needing her nap.
“Ye say Hannah is yer adopted daughter, Miss Harkey?” James inquired, obviously puzzled as to Juana’s role.
Maude took this opportunity to explain how she had come to adopt Hannah, and how Juana had just lost her baby, which enabled her to feed Hannah. James listened to it all, his head cocked like a bird’s as he took in the details.
“Well, isn’t all this a wonder,” he said with a sweeping gesture that included all of them and all that had happened, “the way God works to knit us all together again after we’re foolish enough to tear everything apart?”
To which Jonas, his mother and Maude could only say in unison a hearty “Amen.”
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from THE TEXAN'S INHERITED FAMILY by Noelle Marchand.
Dear Reader,
Thanks for buying this latest installment in my Brides of Simpson Creek series. I hope you have enjoyed it.
I once had a great-aunt named Maude, for whom my heroine is named. Maude in my story and Maude, my great-aunt, are nothing alike except for their red hair—which my aunt kept till the day she died, thanks to Lady Clairol—and their peppery spirit. One of my treasured memories is of my great-aunt teaching me how to fish for perch and bluegill on the Concho River in Texas, where it ran past the tiny town of Christoval. I lost my elderly Aunt Maude too soon in my life, but I hope this story does justice to the spirited lady she must have been when she was young.
Those who have read others of my Brides of Simpson Creek stories know that I like to mix characters from the British Isles with my Texans, as I have done here with my Scottish hero, Jonas MacLaren. I really have eaten haggis in Scotland, though it wasn’t properly “piped to the table” in my experience, either. It’s something everyone should try—once, at least! :-)
Blessings,
Laurie Kingery
P.S. You can reach me via my website at www.LaurieKingery.com, or via Facebook, or Twitter (@LaurieKingery).
We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Love Inspired Historical title.
You find illumination in days gone by. Love Inspired Historical stories lift the spirit as heroines tackle the challenges of life in another era with hope, faith and a focus on family.
Enjoy four new stories from Love Inspired Historical every month!
Connect with us on Harlequin.com for info on our new releases, access to exclusive offers, free online reads and much more!
Other ways to keep in touch:
Harlequin.com/newsletters
Facebook.com/HarlequinBooks
Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks
HarlequinBlog.com
http://www.harlequin.com/harlequinexperience
Chapter One
October 1888
Peppin, Texas
Quinn Tucker was not a smart man.
If he was, he would have realized he needed to get married as soon he’d found out he was going to be a foster father to a group of orphans. Three whole weeks had passed since then. Three weeks in which he’d struggled to be both father and mother to four children he hadn’t even known existed until they’d been dropped on his doorstep by a stranger named Jeffery Richardson. The man had said the children had belonged to his brother, Wade, who along with Quinn’s father, had gone off to seek a fortune for their poverty-stricken family. Quinn had been eight years old at the time, so he’d been left behind to be raised by and eventually take care of his ailing grandmother. Nana had died when he was fourteen. Quinn had been on his own. Until now...
Now, he was afraid to be on his own long enough to visit the outhouse for fear that one of the children would get hurt or wander off in his absence. Not that he regretted taking in his own kin. He didn’t. Each of them had become real special to him during the short time that they’d lived with him. It was just that their entrance into his life had changed everything faster than he’d imagined possible.
He was still trying to get his bearings, which must have been why it had taken him seeing his friends Lawson Williams and Ellie O’Brien exchange vows yesterday for him to realize that he needed a wife. After all, a wife was supposed to be a helpmeet and he needed help—desperately. There was only so much bathing, washing, mending, braiding, baking and cooking a man could handle on his own with a farm to run.
Maybe he ought to ask Ellie for some advice on finding a wife. The town’s newest bride was also its most successful matchmaker. Even as busy as he’d been lately, Quinn hadn’t been able to escape hearing all the ruckus she’d caused over the past two months by gradually compiling a list of the town’s most eligible bachelors and the ladies Ellie saw as their matches. Her intent had merely been to find her own match through the process of elimination. However, it seemed everyone had been hankering to get a peek at what had been deemed the “Bachelor List” to find out who their match was.
Quinn needed to know if he had one, but he wasn’t sure what qualified a man to be considered “eligible.” If it was looks, education or riches, he didn’t have a chance. Women never seemed to get silly or swoony over him—at least not that he’d ever noticed.
Of course, that didn’t mean one hadn’t captured his attention.
Helen McKenna, the town’s schoolmarm, caught him watching her from across the crowd of folks who’d gathered for a good old-fashioned shivaree at the ranch where the newlyweds lived. Her mahogany eyes seemed to sparkle in the lantern light as she tilted her head inquisitively and stared right back at him. A blush spread just below her high cheekbones, making him wonder just how long he’d been staring. He sent her a nod as if that’s all he’d been trying to do in the first place, then glanced away.
He’d noticed her in church the first Sunday after she’d arrived in town, but hadn’t met her until he’d enrolled his eldest nephew and niece in school. That first meeting had confirmed everything he’d feared about the schoolmarm. She was beautiful, refined, intelligent and far too good for him. Every time he looked at her, Nana’s warnings rang in his ears. Chasing after more than you deserve will only get you hurt or dead.
Hadn’t his pa and his brother proven her right? No need for Quinn to follow their example. He’d best stay far away from Miss McKenna—not that he actually had a chance with her, anyway.
Staying away from her tonight would have been a sight easier if she hadn’t hung back to talk to him. The rest of the group followed Sheriff Sean O’Brien, who was the bride’s brother and Quinn’s closest neighbor, toward the cabin where the newlyweds lived. Quinn’s grip tightened on the neck of his banjo in his left hand as Helen’s generous smile set his heart thumping in his chest. Not wanting her to stumble in the dark, uneven field they traipsed across, he dared to place a cautionary hand near the small of her back. She angled closer to his side and chanced a whisper.
“I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight. Who’s with the children?”
“The groom’s parents were kind enough to insist on watching them for me,” he whispered back. “You can’t get much better than the town doctor and Mrs. Lettie Williams for temporary caregivers. They even brought us supper.”
Her lips tipped upward in a brief smile. “What about Reece? How is his black eye?”
“All right, I suppose, but it’s turning an awful shade of green.” Reece was Quinn’s oldest nephew at nine years old and was the self-designated protector of the siblings. He hadn’t taken kindly to one of the other schoolboys picking on his younger sister Clara. The seven-year-old was a true sweetheart and destined to be a heartbreaker with her rich brown curls and big blue eyes. “I’m not sure what to do. I don’t want to encourage him to fight, but I don’t want Clara to be bullied, either.”
She nodded with understanding and concern written across her face in a frown. “I’ve already spoken to the other student’s father about it. Hopefully, the teasing will stop. As for Reece, I’m sure he’ll settle in soon.”
“I hope so. He’s been through a lot with his father and stepmother dying in that boating accident on their honeymoon only two years after his mother died in childbirth. Then he traveled thousands of miles to live with an uncle he’d never even met.”
“It couldn’t have been an easy transition for you, either.” The empathy in her tone wrapped around him like a warm blanket.
“I manage well enough.” At least, that’s what he kept telling himself. Helen started to respond but someone shushed them, so she just nodded. He counted about twelve or thirteen people creeping along beside her to where a cozy cabin for two sat at the edge of the woods. Even the katydids stopped singing. A snicker sounded above the soft rustle of grass but was quickly drowned out by more shushes.
Sean lit the lantern he held and gave a single nod. A cacophony of sound shattered the stillness. Quinn’s lightning-fast fingers picked an out-of-tune melody on his banjo. On his right, Helen banged an old frying pan with a mangled metal spoon while her good friend Isabelle Bradley rang the bell that usually sat on the Bradley Boardinghouse’s front desk. On his left side, his best friend, Rhett Granger, played a jumbled assortment of chords on his harmonica before settling in on a single warbling note. Beside Rhett, Chris Johansen’s fiddle screeched. Other folks added to the discordance by banging more pots and pans, whooping, hollering and whistling.
Hill Country Courtship (Brides of Simpson Creek Book 8) Page 22
