Pleasance's First Love: A Six Brides for Six Gideons Novella (Book 3) (Grandma's Wedding Quilts 6)

by Kristin Holt

  But Mrs. Benton didn’t invite him in. Instead, she gave him the sternest of expressions. “One moment, Mr. Gideon.”

  Mr. Gideon.

  He squirmed in his boots. Always, from the time the O’Kanes had brought him home as a little boy, he had been welcome in this home. Mrs. Benton had enveloped him with warmth and kindness, fed him at every opportunity, hugged him, always asked after his wellbeing, his interests, his schooling.

  Today, she treated him with disdain. He deserved it.

  Mr. Benton came to the door. He, too, left Jacob on the front stoop. The older man looked Jake over, from the crown of his head to the soles of his boots. He’d cleaned up as well as he could after the train ride, cinders and all, but the heat of the plains had soaked through his shirt. He’d forgotten how much cooler the high mountain valleys were by comparison.

  Or maybe his intolerance of the July heat had everything to do with nerves.

  Mr. Benton straightened. “What are your intentions toward Pleasance?”

  Jacob started. The exact question Zeb had asked, perhaps in slightly different words, nearly a decade earlier when Zeb had caught Jacob and Pleasance kissing.

  Then, as now, Jacob had been captivated, wholly taken with the beauty next door. “Honorable, sir. I love your daughter. I’ve come to ask her to be my wife. If she’ll have me.”

  “I see.” Mr. Benton narrowed his eyes.

  Eyes so much the color of Pleasance’s, it made Jake’s heart ache to look at him directly, but he persisted. When he informed a woman’s father he loved his daughter and intended to propose marriage, he needed to look that man in the eye.

  “Papa—” Pleasance’s voice. Sweet, tender. Coming from all the way in the parlor.

  Mr. Benton hushed his daughter. “Pleasance, we talked about this. Give us a minute, please.”

  “Papa, stop. Please invite Jacob inside.”

  “I will, when I’m ready.”

  The old man turned back to Jacob, but he already felt significantly better. Pleasance would see him.

  “Might as well come in then.”

  A chillier reception he’d never known. He deserved it—he did. After the way he’d driven Pleasance from his home. He’d made her feel unwelcome, unloved, and…abandoned.

  He saw that now. He saw a great deal, now that he’d had a chance to think it through.

  He found the parlor as crowded as it had sounded. Every seat was taken by women—family, friends, neighbors. He knew them all. His own adoptive mother and sisters, scattered among the others.

  Ma glared at him. So did Frances.

  The women had gathered around a quilt, all trussed up in its frame. The quilt they stitched looked mighty familiar—the precise fabrics and design of his own sugan. But larger. This quilt would fit a marriage bed.

  Pleasance’s wedding quilt.

  Grandma Mary hadn’t given him the original after all, but a smaller companion. A reminder, so he wouldn’t be lost and lonely as a young cowboy, far from hearth and home. A reminder, Grandma had said, of the new, tender love he held in his heart for Pleasance. The Flying Geese pattern would remind him to return for her in the proper season.

  He cleared his throat, sought Pleasance’s face among the crowd. Of course, she had to be on the far side of the quilt frame, so joining him in the entryway would prove difficult if not downright impossible.

  She looked wonderful.

  If they were alone, he’d sweep her into his arms and never let her go.

  But they weren’t alone. Every woman focused on him completely, waiting.

  And she didn’t seem inclined to step into the back garden with him where they might have a private conversation, so he wouldn’t ask. He’d shamed her, hurt her feelings, and eroded her trust from the moment she stepped onto the train platform in Leadville. The least he could do was repair things in whatever way she chose.

  Holding her eye, he lowered himself to one knee. He rested his elbow upon it, held his big, Boss of the Plains Stetson in both hands—as if clutching his hat had a prayer’s chance of masking the trembling in his hands.

  Her expression softened.

  Just a little.

  One raindrop on parched soil.

  Love for this woman overrode nerves, fear, and embarrassment. “Pleasance Benton, you did me the great honor of a second chance. I needed that second chance, though my heart had always been yours. From the day I first heard you sing, I loved you. I love you still.”

  Several of the ladies cooed in that way that encouraged him to keep going. He must be on the right track. Somebody sniffled.

  “You gave me that second chance, and I swear I won’t need another, if you’re willing to take me back.”

  He meant it. Every word. He’d never felt such a hefty dose of humility in his life.

  “You were my first love,” he continued, fighting tears. “And you are my last.”

  His own Ma, who sat next to Pleasance, had put an arm about her shoulders and pulled her near. Tears filled Frances’s eyes. Now Pleasance cried too. Happy tears, he hoped.

  Despite the audience, he’d lay it all out. No doubt many already knew what he’d done. “I apologize—I sent for a catalog bride, knowing our mothers would make sure you knew. My reasons weren’t mean-spirited. I couldn’t think of any better way to bring you home. I feared if I wrote to you as myself, asking you to come home, you’d refuse. I was scared.”

  He moistened his mouth, his heart breaking. Weight of that long-ago decision, and the consequences of those actions pressed upon his chest with the weight of the world. She’d had every right to be angry with him. He’d manipulated her. He’d lied. He’d withheld information, trying to force her into action he wasn’t willing to take himself.

  Shame heated his cheeks and he couldn’t meet her gaze.

  “I’m sorry. So sorry. I learned more about myself through all that than I wanted to know. I swear on my honor I’ll never manipulate you like that, ever again. If I have something to say, I’ll say it. Like now—I love you, Pleasance. You are my forever.”

  She wiped her tears away on a lace-trimmed hankie but didn’t say a word.

  His knee ached. So did his heart. “Say something, sweetheart.”

  She slowly eased out his mother’s arms and stood.

  He remained where he was, silently pleading with her to forgive him.

  “Nice words,” she said, not unkindly. “But they’re only words, Jacob. Words won’t solve our problems.”

  He nodded, the pain of regret so sharp and poignant, he leaned harder on his raised knee. “These two weeks, since you left—” me, our home— “the ranch reminded me I’m not capable of living without you. I might breathe, eat, and manage an hour or two of sleep, but that’s not living.” Emotion thickened his words, filled his throat, and shoot, his eyes brimmed. “I want the happiness you bring. I want to live.”

  She nodded, more sadness than happiness in her expression. Maybe she understood the pain of separation? She felt it too?

  He tried to moisten his dry mouth. “Forgive me? Accept I’m an imperfect man who loves you perfectly. Say you’ll come home to stay.”

  She shook her head, sadness etching her face. “I can’t do that.”

  “You can’t?”

  “No.”

  No? Pain sliced through his gullet, deep and hot and intense. As if he’d been run through, he landed on all fours on that parlor carpet, her rejection too much to bear. A tear dripped onto his hand.

  He’d believed, no matter what, after he groveled, after he begged her forgiveness, she’d forgive him. She’d shown him that love could be forever.

  Not that he’d shown her the same courtesy, but…

  His throat closed. He couldn’t breathe past that lump of pain.

  “You refused to allow me to study music in France.” Pleasance had somehow made her way around the quilt frame. The toes of her city boots peeked from beneath the hem of her summertime cotton gown—a dress that would be ruined in fiv
e minutes on the Running G.

  Pain intensified. He couldn’t speak, so he nodded.

  “You refused to allow me to accept an invitation to sing at the grand opening of the Tabor Opera House.” Facts. Indisputable facts.

  Not his finest moments. If he could go back, do things over again, he’d make sure she understood his fear. He managed to look up, meet her eye, hold it—though the distress on her beautiful face doubled his agony.

  “Why?” Her sweet voice, so powerful in song, had diminished to a whisper. She sounded like a little girl. Scared. Uncertain. Anxious. “Why did you refuse to consider my wishes?”

  Dear God in Heaven…was that what she thought?

  She awaited an answer, and once again, he didn’t have the words. No way to explain, to show her he had listened, had considered, but fear of losing her… All he could do was try. “I was scared to lose you. Then and now.”

  She shook her head, a show of sadness. His reply hadn’t been good enough.

  “Ships sink. Trains derail.” He swallowed the dryness in his throat. “You’re priceless to me. I couldn’t afford to go with you. I was a penniless young man, unable to live in leisure while you trained. In my selfishness, I didn’t want to be without you.”

  She dropped her gaze to her clutched hands at her waist, but she was listening.

  “And Tabor’s place—Leadville is a terror since Duggan left the tin star to Kelly. Gunfire in the streets, unsolved murders, attacks in daylight, businesses wrested free of their rightful owners.” The thought of her in that…

  No, he had to explain. Everything. “I think of you in that city, on Harrison street, there as an honored guest. Even if I’m at your side, armed and watching, I can’t stop a bullet I don’t see coming—and most of those I do see. I could lose you in an instant.”

  She relaxed, her clutched hands falling to her sides.

  “I’ve just found you again. We’ve been apart too long. I vow, Pleasance, to love you, to honor your wishes, to listen to everything you say—your ideas, your plans, the things you want to do…and we’ll talk through it together.”

  “Why?” She offered her hand. Probably to urge him to stand, but he dropped his hat and took her hand between both of his. He kissed her palm, then pressed her hand to his cheek. He held her there, praying this wouldn’t be the end of their love story.

  “Why,” she repeated, “are you so sure you’ll lose me?”

  He’d asked himself that very question. Labored over it through more than one night. “The family I was born to came apart at the seams. Financial troubles led to my folks losing the farm. Something went wrong—my parents separated. I don’t rightly remember…I was too young. But I remember the desperation, living with a relative, or maybe it was a friend of my parents. I was with my brothers at first, then we were split up. I ended up in Denver, and by the grace of God, the O’Kanes found me, starving and half-wild.”

  She stepped closer, wrapped her arms about his head, held him to herself. Her embrace offered comfort, solace, and healing.

  He hugged her about the waist. “I promise you, sweetheart, I promise I won’t lock you up and treat you as a prisoner in our home. I’ll do my best to set the past aside, to let the past stay in the past.”

  Several seconds passed as she held him. His knees complained. But he wasn’t about to release her.

  Somebody sniffled and he remembered where they were…and that they had a large audience hearing every word.

  Pleasance released him and eased away.

  He tipped his head up and looked at her, at the sweet smile and contentment on her face. “I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  Love had never been their problem. “Will you forgive me?”

  “Yes.”

  “For all of it?” She knew he meant the way he’d gone about asking her to come home to him. He could see it in the sparkle in her eyes.

  “Yes. If you’ll forgive me. I shouldn’t have left you two weeks ago.”

  “Nothing to forgive. I understand now why you needed to go.”

  “Now that the trespassers are under lock and key—”

  “They are? That’s good news.”

  Her hands rested on his shoulders, his at her waist. He wanted to kiss her, which was a challenge, given his kneeling position on the floor, so he brought one of her hands to his lips. He kissed the inside of her wrist. He lingered, her pulse, steady and strong. “Will you come home?”

  Seconds passed. “I can’t.”

  Disappointment slammed into him, hard. “Why not?”

  “I can’t,” she repeated, “until your ring is on my finger.”

  Ring?

  He couldn’t help it—he laughed. But that wash of relief came out sounding a whole lot more like a bark. Or a sob.

  She offered him her hand, this time directing him to his feet.

  Pins and needles shot into his feet, but he didn’t care. Pleasance was talking about his ring upon her finger. Finally.

  “Our two-week trial is over.” She sounded serious—but her eyes twinkled with happiness. “I’ll have your decision, Jacob Gideon. Are we well-suited for marriage?”

  “We are.” He brought out a folded paper from his jacket pocket. “I have a marriage license, right here. I’ll marry you as soon as you’ll have me.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Father,” Pleasance said, never taking her gaze from her beloved Jacob. Love for this man, her man, had somehow doubled in strength. “May we have your blessing?”

  Her papa, a man who’d loved her through thick and thin, blew his nose, refolded his handkerchief, and tucked it into his pocket. She saw how touched he was by the declarations of love, and knew he’d agree.

  “Yes.” Papa clapped Jacob on the back, shook his hand with firm resolve. “Welcome to the family, young man. Better late than never.”

  Jacob’s smile was sunshine and summertime and a rousing crescendo at the end of a production, all rolled into one. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Mama?” Pleasance glanced at her mother, finding tears of joy upon her cheeks. “You’re pleased with my choice?”

  Mother nodded, accepting a hug from two of her dearest friends.

  With Jacob’s hand safely tucked between both of hers, she looked from Jacob’s mother to his sisters, to the ladies from the street. “It’s regretful my brother and sister aren’t here, but it appears nearly everyone else is. “Fran, Mrs. O’Kane,” she turned to Jacob’s family. “Would you be so kind as to locate as many of your family members as can be here in the next five minutes?”

  Fran glanced at her mother, who dissolved into tears. Fran chuckled and embraced her mother. “I’ll do it, Mama. You stay here.” Fran slipped behind the row of neighbors and friends seated around the quilt and through the front door.

  Only Jacob seemed at a loss. “Why do we need my dad?” He leaned nearer, his mouth to Pleasance’s ear. “I’d have guessed Ma’s tears are due to happiness.”

  “Yes, your mother is happy. I’m blessedly happy.” Pleasance couldn’t hold back her smile. “Who else is happy?”

  An immediate chorus of cheers erupted.

  Jacob laughed. “Count me in. I’ve never been happier.”

  “Good.” Pleasance turned to her father. “Papa, will you see if Judge Quick is at home this afternoon? If not, perhaps Pastor York? Their services are required immediately.”

  Jacob flinched, as if startled by sudden gunfire. His beautiful eyes rounded. “Now?”

  Her own happiness had swelled, so immense, she couldn’t control it. Finally, their time had come. “Now.”

  As if on cue, the women moved at once. They tucked their needles into the quilt, and leaned the frame against the parlor wall. Others set the chairs to all face the entrance hall, chattering all the time. Mrs. Corbyn whispered in her daughter’s ear, sending her on an errand.

  Papa followed her out, intent on his errand.

  Pleasance’s mama had taken Jacob’s mother—her
dear next-door neighbor—in her arms. The women were having a good cry, and celebrating the fruition of a lifetime of courtship.

  “Will you regret not having your men present, to witness our nuptials?” Pleasance searched Jacob’s eyes for the truth. “Would you prefer to wait for Tuck?”

  “No!” He laughed—nervous and elated and sincere. He kissed her, firm and solid and brimming with love. “Tuck will understand. ‘Sides, I don’t want to wait another moment, Pleasance. I can’t wait to make you my bride.”

  Amazing what could happen, when a neighborhood celebrated a wedding on fifteen minutes’ notice.

  Mrs. Corbyn’s daughter returned with a layer cake she’d baked for a family supper that evening.

  Mrs. Wilson scurried three blocks over to inform her husband he must come home from work, immediately, for they had a family emergency. The emergency, of course, was her husband and his camera were needed at the wedding of Mr. Jacob Gideon and his bride, Miss Pleasance Benton.

  The judge was in court, but the preacher was delighted to see to the nuptials.

  Pleasance barely had time to tidy up her hair, wash her face and hands, and allow her mother to pin a brooch at her throat. The piece had been a gift from Grandmother Robbins, the day Papa married Mama. With the wedding quilt from Grandma Mary—Papa’s mother—in its frame against the wall, the two heirloom treasures made it as though both grandmothers were in attendance for the glorious occasion when Pleasance finally, finally, wed her first love.

  When the minister asked Jacob if he had a ring for his bride, he brought out an engagement ring. Gold with gems, so beautiful Pleasance couldn’t hold back her tears. Jacob had knocked on her front door, fully prepared to propose marriage. He’d intended to ensure their plans to marry would move forward. He’d wanted an engagement. Instead he’d leave the Benton home a married man.

  The ceremony ended to cheers and applause all around.