Brides of Virginia

by Hake, Cathy Marie

  The door flew open, and Titus dashed out. “Don’t you hear the bells? Come on!”

  “Bells?” Duncan and Brigit repeated the word in unison.

  “Hurry. Dad and Tim are saddling horses.” Titus slapped Duncan on the arm. “The church is on fire!”

  Brigit clutched Emily’s hand and bowed her head. “Heavenly Father, please watch over our men. Keep them safe. Oh, please keep them safe. A pretty church can be rebuilt, but a fine man—I can’t replace Duncan. I’m asking You not to take him away from me just when You’ve brought our hearts together. Be with Mr. John and Timothy and Titus and all the other men, too….”

  After praying, Brigit sat in the kitchen with Emily, sharing a pot of tea. She spent considerably more time stirring her cup than drinking from it. The grandfather clock chimed the quarter hour, and she remarked on the obvious. “They’re still not back.”

  Emily said nothing.

  “I’m worried,” Brigit confessed. “Duncan is there—he could get hurt. I’m supposing I ought to have faith; but the truth is, faith isn’t a shield against bad things happening.”

  A melancholy smile chased across Emily’s face. “That’s true. Believers still have problems. Sickness and death visit their homes.”

  Brigit took a gulp of tea and stared at the rim of the cup. The tea had grown tepid, and she couldn’t even warm her hands around the cup. “I can’t imagine living with the worry and not having God to lean on. I’m scared, but I know He’s with Duncan right now—and with Mr. John and your sons.”

  “And the Lord is with us, too.” Emily stood and added more hot water to the teapot. “Love puts your heart at risk. There’s always the danger of the one you love hurting you or being hurt. The thing that gets us through is knowing that grace redeems us. Whether it’s God’s grace and forgiveness through Christ or the forgiveness we grant one another, it’s what gives us another chance.”

  “The way Duncan gave me another chance, even when I looked guilty.”

  “And the way you’ve forgiven his doubts.”

  The cup clinked softly as Brigit put it on her saucer. “My father is fond of telling me nothing good comes easy. If he’s right, I’m supposing my marriage to Duncan ought to be the finest ever.”

  Emily cried out delightedly, “He asked? I thought maybe he hadn’t had a chance to propose yet.”

  Brigit started to giggle. “Aye, he asked. But I didn’t have a chance to answer him before he ran off. Should I be wondering if he’ll keep running in the opposite direction now that he’ll have a chance to reconsider his offer?”

  “Not at all. If anything, that’ll bring him back. You’ve given him every reason to come home.”

  They went through another pot of tea. The clock chimed again. And again.

  “Even with the rough start you’ve had, you and Duncan are a good match.” Emily smiled. “You’ve both lived through being rich and poor, you both love the Lord and want to serve Him, and the very height of emotions that sparks between you proves much is possible—if only you give it a chance.”

  “I do want to. Just as we were saying: God set the example; forgiveness grants the gift of redemption.”

  “That’s right.” Emily sweetened her next cup of tea. “John and I stayed up late into the night talking about that very thing. He tracked down Edward today.”

  “Well, praise be!”

  “Duncan sent a wee gift along—he and I decided Edward ought to have the little golden hearts on the red cord that he’d given to our Anna. John told me Edward was speechless.”

  Cook walked into the kitchen. “The gentlemen are back and stabling their mounts. I presume they’ll be hungry.”

  The front door opened. “Brigit!” Duncan yelled.

  “Oh dear. Now what did I do?” She stood up.

  Emily rose and pushed her toward the entryway. “From the way that brother of mine is bellowing, the whole world is about to find out.”

  Soot-covered and disheveled, Duncan was halfway up the stairs. “Where is she?”

  “I’m down here,” Brigit called.

  He jumped over the banister and strode up to her. “Before I raced off, I asked you a question, lass. I haven’t heard an answer.”

  “The church burned down,” Timothy advised. “If you always wanted a church wedding, you’d best tell him no. He’s too impatient to wait for them to rebuild.”

  “He ran into the church and carried out the altar.” John chuckled. “That ought to count for something.”

  “They’re pests, but I love them.” Duncan took her by the hands and started to pull her toward the parlor so they could have some privacy. “Putting up with me might be hard, but do you think you can stand them?”

  “I love you, Duncan O’Brien. I’ll gladly wed you and take them in the bargain.”

  “He got her under the mistletoe!”

  “Fitting it is, too,” Emily said. “She’ll be a Christmas bride.”

  Brigit didn’t hear another thing, because Duncan took her in his arms and kissed her senseless.

  Epilogue

  Mr. Duncan asked that his bride be given this.” Goodhew stood in the doorway and handed Emily an envelope. He stood on tiptoe, looked over Emily’s head, and smiled. “And might I say, Miss Brigit, you look radiant.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Everything is ready downstairs. Mrs. Murphy, the cloth you stitched for the altar is exquisite. It covered the burned edge so no one can see the singe marks at all.”

  Brigit’s mother beamed. “’Tis kind of you to be saying so.”

  Nonny and Emily both fussed with one last bow on Brigit’s gown. They’d been stitching it in secret since Duncan had brought back the satin from his trip to Lowell.

  Brigit waited until Goodhew escorted Nonny, Emily, and Mum out; then she opened the note.

  Beloved Brigit,

  The day John married Emily, he gave me a shiny new quarter to signify that I was one-fourth of their family. Through the years, it’s been a reminder to me that I was wanted. I’ve enclosed a brand-new gold Indian Princess dollar. I’m trading up. You are my whole world, my princess, and our future is golden. Let it serve as the first of many reminders that you are loved, my bride.

  —D

  Late that evening Duncan carried his bride across the gangplank and onto the Redeemed. Just yesterday the bride had christened the vessel. Tonight the captain’s cabin would be their honeymoon suite. In two days the Redeemed would go on her maiden voyage, carrying cotton to Ireland. In accordance with the family tradition, the bride would sail with her groom.

  Anna Kathleen had caught the bridal bouquet, and she’d tossed it back into the carriage as Duncan and Brigit departed. Brigit put the bouquet down on the table in the cabin, and it made an odd sound.

  “What was that sound?” Duncan looked around.

  “It’s a wedding wish.”

  “Oh?” He wrapped his arms around her waist and nuzzled her temple.

  Brigit urged, “Look at the ribbon on my flowers.”

  “I’d rather look at you.”

  “’Tis the coin you sent me. I tied it to my flowers for our wedding.”

  “And God tied our hearts together at the altar. I’m going to love you forever, Brigit-mine.”

  Ramshackle Rose

  Dedication

  To my dear friends, Sulynn Means and Cathy Laws— I’ve known you for ages.

  You give of yourselves unstintingly, and with nothing less than your whole hearts.

  Chapter 1

  Buttonhole, Virginia, 1897

  Rose Masterson knelt by her picket fence and carefully culled a few more withering leaves. She stopped her tuneless humming as she got to her feet. For a moment, she wrinkled her nose at the way the white paint cracked and peeled on the slats of the fence that leaned inward toward her house. It would be lovely to paint the wood and brace it so it would stand upright like everyone else’s did … but then, that would uproot the morning glory, and she couldn’t bear to d
o that.

  Turning her back on the fence, Rose started to hum again. She lifted a wicker basket and headed toward her cottage. Along the way, she picked some foxglove to give to Doc Rexfeld. He said it helped three of his patients who had heart palpitations, so Rose made sure she always kept some on hand. While she was at it, she cut some daisies and decided to drop them by Old Hannah’s place.

  Just before going inside, Rose lifted the hem of her cream-and-olive-striped wash-day dress and scraped the mud off her high-top, Vici kid, lace-up shoes. She ought to polish the durable, soft-as-glove leather, but that could wait until Saturday night so they’d look good for church.

  “Miss Rose! Miss Rose!”

  Rose turned and smiled at the freckle-faced towhead who stumbled up her brick path and stopped mere inches from her. “Bless my soul! If it isn’t Prentice, I’m not sure whom I’m looking at.”

  He giggled and opened his grubby hand. “Lookit! I lost two teeth!”

  “Gracious! You’re halfway to being a man already. I’ll have to talk to your daddy about putting a brick on your head to keep you from growing up so fast.”

  Prentice jigged from one foot to the other. “Iff’n you tell him I’m that growed up, p’rhaps he’ll get me a pocketknife.”

  Rose set her basket aside and crouched down. It wasn’t exactly a ladylike position, but it let her get close enough for Prentice to see her face a bit better. Walleyed and nearsighted to boot, the six-year-old missed much of what went on around him. Rose knew he’d settle down if only she’d take a moment with him. She cupped her hand around his shoulder and carefully considered what she should say next.

  “I really want a pocketknife,” Prentice told her breathlessly. He stopped wiggling and gave her a toothless grin. “Lotsa boys got ’em.”

  “I suppose that’s true.”

  “They can do stuff—whittle, carve—do all kinds of nifty stuff.”

  The image of Prentice clumsily slicing his fingers with a sharp blade made Rose shudder. Inspiration struck. “You’re right about the other boys having knives, though I think most of the ones who do are a far sight older than you. Seems to me that’s fine for them, but you …” She squeezed his shoulder. “You, Prentice, are an exceptional young man. It seems to me, you ought to think more along the lines of something a bit more extraordinary.”

  “What’s ‘strod’nairy?”

  “Extraordinary means something different and wonderful.”

  He scratched his side and heaved a sigh. “I’m already different ‘nuff. I wanna be like all of the guys at school.”

  “Prentice, God wants you to be the person He made. If you’re busy trying to be like everyone else, who’s going to do the job the Lord has in store for you?”

  “D’ya really think Jesus has something for me to do? I’m … different.”

  “Seems to me, God needs special people to do special jobs. Why don’t you think about that for a while?”

  “I reckon I could.” He tilted his head to the side and turned a bit so he could focus on her more easily. “Just seems a fellow could use a pocketknife to do ‘strod-’nairy things.”

  “I’ve seen men do extraordinary things with paintbrushes. In the right hands, any tool can be made to do beautiful things. The trick is, each person has to discover what the tool is that God has in mind for him.”

  He scratched his side and heaved a sigh. “Can’t think of nothing like that. I figured a pocketknife does lotsa stuff, so maybe I’d get good at doing something.”

  “Hmm.”

  “You stitched up my pocket. I wouldn’t lose a knife.”

  Rose gave him a quick hug. “Oh Prentice, I’d rather stitch your pocket shut than to have you put a knife in it just yet. There are other things a fine boy like you ought to keep in his pocket.”

  “You got something in mind, don’tcha?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do.”

  His little head wagged a bit from side to side as he tried to get a closer look at her. In his excitement, he could scarcely stay still. “You gonna tell me what?”

  “Better than that.” Rose playfully tapped the tip of his nose. “Come in and look at my catalog with me. I’ll show you!”

  Prentice scrunched his freckled nose. “You mean, we’d send away, mail order?”

  “Certainly. It makes it so much more fun. Each day, you get to wonder if it will come. Anticipation means waiting with excitement for something to happen. You’ll get to anticipate your …” She paused for a moment, then said with hushed, drawn-out relish, “Harmonica.”

  “Harmonica? A harmonica!” Prentice tugged on her full leg-of-mutton sleeve and confessed, “I don’t know how to play one.”

  Rose nodded. “I know. That’s what makes it even better. You’ll come to my house every day, and you can learn in secret. It shouldn’t take much time; then you’ll be walking down the street, astonishing everyone with your grand talent.”

  “I’d leave it here?” His features fell for just a moment. “But I can come every day?”

  “There might be a day every now and then when I’m not at home, but you know you are always welcome, Prentice. Why, you could come right after school.”

  “Hurrah! Will you have cookies sometimes?”

  Rose laughed as she stood. “Of course I will.”

  “Won’t it take forever for the harmonica to come?”

  “Just about the time you decide it’s never going to arrive, it comes. Besides, you’ll need a tiny bit of time to start letting those new, grown-up teeth come in.”

  “Stinky Callahan tole me they’re going to come in all bucktoothed.”

  “No one can foretell the future.”

  Prentice kicked a pebble and sent it skittering away. “He said my teeth would be as crooked and ugly as your fence.”

  Rose sat on the stoop, and Prentice flopped down next to her. She slid her arm around his thin body, and he wiggled closer. From the way he dipped his head, she knew he was trying to hide the tears that threatened to fall. Rose threaded her fingers through his corn silk hair.

  “I could change my fence if I wanted to, Prentice. I could, but I won’t. Weak and wobbly as it is, it does a very special job right now. When I think on that, it gives me joy. It makes my fence beautiful to me.” She bowed her head and kissed his hair. “I don’t care if your teeth come in straight as a row of soldiers or crooked as can be. As long as you smile at me, you’ll be handsome.”

  His little arms wrapped around her knees. “You make me wanna smile, Miss Rose.”

  Garret Diamond dusted the last shelf of canned goods and nodded to himself. His emporium already looked better. Then again, that wasn’t saying much. When he’d bought it two weeks ago, the emporium qualified as the most pitiful business he’d ever seen. As Buttonhole’s only mercantile, this place should have been a thriving concern; but between the lack of customers and the abysmal figures in the books, the place simply wasn’t turning anything close to a profit.

  Ever ready to tackle a challenge and wanting to put his mark on the world, Garret took ownership and promptly locked the doors upon the completion of the transaction three days ago. Since then, he’d scrubbed, dusted, swept, sorted, and ruthlessly cut his losses. A list of things to order that ran at least two sheets long sat on the counter each evening. A heap of things sat near the back door—items that were of inferior quality, badly outdated, spoiled, or even chewed on by mice. Tomorrow he’d haul it all out to the dump. Come Friday, the wagons would arrive bearing his new merchandise.

  The post office occupied a back corner of the mercantile. In fact, the small rent the post office paid and the fact that its customers would have to wander through the store influenced Garret’s decision to buy this particular store. He and the gnarled old postmaster, Mr. Deeter, got along well.

  Garret hefted a box of canning jars and hauled them to the back door. Carefully, he set it down next to a crate of sun-faded fabric. The lids on the jars bulged, warning him if he jostled them and the g
lass broke, he’d end up with a stinky, explosive mess. As he straightened, someone rapped smartly on the glass window of the storefront.

  Wiping his hands and face clean with a damp cloth, Garret headed toward the waiting customer. He knew the Pinaud’s Brilliantine in his hair must have attracted an appreciable layer of dust, but that simply couldn’t be remedied. Hastily readjusting his leather work apron to disguise the streak of dirt over his heart, Garret decided this was all he could do for the moment. It wasn’t the best first impression, but …

  He opened the door and couldn’t think of a word to say to the woman standing there.

  She wore a worn-out, striped dress that might have been pulled from a missionary barrel. What could have passed as a becoming hairstyle that morning now featured a wheat-colored topknot that slid precariously off to the left and a good dozen wisps and coils corkscrewing around her face and neck. Midafternoon sun illuminated her from behind, making her hair glow like a golden halo. Her eyes were more green than gray—definitely her best feature. She held a little towheaded boy in front of herself.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but we’re closed still. The mercantile will open for business again on Saturday.”

  “We’ve come just to visit the post office. Surely, we can purchase a few stamps and mail a letter.”

  “Mr. Deeter is out to lunch.” He couldn’t very well send them away or leave them standing out in the sun, so Garret opened the door wide and gestured for them to enter. “You’re welcome to wait a few moments if you’d like. Please watch your step. I’m rearranging things and trying to establish some order. Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Garret Diamond.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. I’m Rose Masterson. This is Prentice—”

  “Man, oh man!” The little boy gawked about. “It’s all different in here!”