The Promise Bride

by Gina Welborn

  Emilia studied her sister’s face as she told Seth about their chickens. The boy kept staring at Luci, in awe that a girl as pretty as her sister would willingly choose to speak to him. Luci didn’t look besotted with Seth, but how would Emilia know if Luci was or wasn’t? She couldn’t read her sister’s heart any more than she could judge Mac’s. He certainly didn’t look besotted when he looked her way.

  Emilia groaned inwardly. What was wrong with her? She should never have gone to the bride’s tea. If she hadn’t, she wouldn’t have spent yesterday afternoon and last night and this morning thinking about what she did and didn’t feel for him. Or what he may or may not feel for her. He hadn’t seemed bothered upon hearing of the numerous men who’d asked her to supper or to see a vaudeville performance or to go on a buggy ride. She’d refused flowers, confections, and every attempt at courtship because she’d needed time to grieve Finn’s passing.

  But what if Mac was the real reason for her refusals?

  What if she was falling in love with him?

  “I don’t know about you,” came Mac’s soft voice near Emilia’s left ear, “but I’d prefer not to stand during the service.”

  Emilia snapped to attention. She slid onto the pew and heard Luci say—

  “Hey, Mac, would you like to play croquet after the lunch auction? Please, please”—Luci pressed her palms together as if in prayer—“pleeeeese.”

  Emilia groaned under her breath. Playing with Roch had been torture enough. She jerked her gaze to Mac, sitting with a proper space between them, and started to say, “Please don’t feel obligated,” but stopped. He looked so utterly intrigued—so happy—to be invited.

  “Are you looking for a fourth to play teams?” he asked Luci.

  Leaning across Emilia, Luci cupped the side of her mouth and whispered, “Some people in my family don’t play nicely together. I need an adult to remind them to quiet their . . . uh, disagreements.”

  “Some of those people are right here,” Emilia muttered.

  Mac leaned toward Luci and whispered back, “Understood.”

  Luci squealed with delight. “Emme, can I also invite . . . ?” She nodded toward the boy in front of them. Seth, whose last name Emilia didn’t know.

  “Next time.”

  “You’re taking the game back tomorrow,” Luci grumbled. “There won’t be a next time.” Her lips clamped in a thin line, and that was when Emilia knew her sister’s invitation to Mac had been part of a ploy to have Seth come play croquet with them. More precisely, with Luci.

  “Where did you set up the wickets?” Mac asked Luci.

  Leaving the pair to talk, Emilia shifted on the pew in order to look around for Roch. Men lined the side aisles and back wall. Even the balcony was filled. Mr. and Mrs. Watson and their three adult children and four younger ones filled a pew. The Fisks sat behind them. The Palmers and Miss Palmer’s fiancé sat in their usual spot; so did Mrs. Hollenbeck, who smiled and waved. Emilia waved back. Mr. Gunderson and the blade smith, Mr. Buchanan, stood like guards on either side of the opened doors. Because of the overflow of churchgoers?

  Emilia squinted. Was that—?

  She leaned a bit to the left to get a better look through the doors, to where Jakob and Roch stood at the bottom of the church steps. Jakob gripped the back of Roch’s collar with one hand and was pointing at him with the other, hand shaking. His words had caused Roch’s face to redden. Maybe a stern lecture from a man he looked up to was what Roch needed.

  Not to say he wouldn’t receive another lecture from her later, once she found out what Roch had done.

  Or she could say nothing.

  Now that was an intriguing idea. She only lectured Roch because Da never gave him the what for. Roch had no reason to change if he never received any punishment for his actions. What if she didn’t ask him or Jakob about what was going on? Roch had spent more time of late with Jakob than with her or Luci. If she could trust Jakob to take Roch with him on a delivery to Fort Missoula and keep him out of trouble during the train ride there and back, then she should extend the same trust now.

  “What are you looking at?” Luci asked.

  Emilia whirled around. “Nothing.” Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Mac giving her an odd look. She grabbed the hymnal and studied the first page. Jakob could handle Roch. He could. And she would enjoy a holiday from having to manage her brother.

  “Hold my seat,” Mac announced. He was halfway down the aisle before she could tell him to stop. The crowd instantly stepped out of his path. He’d promised not to interfere and she believed him—or at least she was trying to—so what was he about?

  Luci stood, resting one knee on the pew and gripping the back. “Where’s Roch?”

  “He had to put our lunch basket with the others. Jakob’s probably with him.” Emilia looked over her shoulder in time to see Mac stop and say something to Mr. Buchanan. He patted Mr. Gunderson’s arm, then shook his hand.

  The second Mac stepped outside, Luci plopped back down on the pew. She grabbed a hymnal and turned the pages, humming to herself. Emilia faced forward, too.

  As the organist began to play, the center aisle cleared.

  Emilia resisted the urge to turn around again. She was going to trust Mac to honor his promise, even though it didn’t look as if he was at the moment.

  After a quick prayer, Reverend Neven welcomed everyone. He congratulated Miss Luanne Palmer and Mr. Roy Bennett on their upcoming nuptials next Saturday. And then he opened a hymnal. “Let’s stand and turn to hymn 276 ‘Sweet Hour of Prayer.’”

  Emilia turned the pages of the hymnal she held and stood.

  Luci stood, too, then gave her hymnal to the lady on her right. “Please, take mine, ma’am. I’ll share with my sister.”

  “Thank you, dearie.” The woman looked over Luci’s head, a tender look in her eyes. “Mrs. Collins, I was sorry to hear about your husband. Finn was a good man. In March, he helped my husband clear the bloated cattle off our land. We tried to pay him, but he refused to take anything.” Her voice caught. “Said God would bless him.”

  Emilia blinked at the sudden tears in her eyes. A choking feeling in her chest limited her response to a tentative smile. The woman nodded. She then opened the hymnal and turned to share it with her husband. Emilia didn’t mind. She was in grave danger of becoming a blubbering mess.

  She missed Finn—that wasn’t the cause of her morning lulls. Of her slothiness. Of her restlessness. Of wishing for more than her lot in life. She wanted respite from having to be the friend—the older sister, the surrogate mother—who lifted and carried another’s burden. Was it too much to wish, for once, to lie still on her mat and let someone carry her?

  If Finn hadn’t died, he would have.

  But he was dead, and until Da arrived in Helena, she was on her own.

  Falling into a fit of tears in the middle of church would do her no good, so Emilia turned her attention to the open hymnal in her hands.

  The singing continued for two songs before Mac returned. He slid into the empty spot on the pew. The man behind him patted his back. Mac turned and shook his hand. “Good to see you, Mayor Kendrick.” He faced forward. “Did I miss anything?” he whispered to Emilia.

  “Not much,” she whispered back. “Is everything all right?”

  He nodded. “Jakob dealt with it.”

  As he joined in the singing, Emilia studied him out of the corner of her eye. The more time she spent with Mac, the more she realized he wasn’t the type of man not to help. He breathed. He ate. He aided and protected people. So how could he have stood by this time and let Jakob handle Roch? Doing so wasn’t in his character.

  Because he’d promised her he would stop trying to fix their problems.

  Because he was a man of his word and wanted to prove it to her.

  Because he put the needs of others before his own.

  And maybe, just maybe, because he cared about her as something more to him than his best friend’s widow. Could th
at be? Or was it nothing more than her own wishful thinking? If so, she was asking for heartbreak. He would never court his best friend’s widow. Or was she wrong about that as well? She’d never been more confused about anything in her life.

  Emilia focused on the hymnal as the chorus drew to an end.

  Reverend Neven flipped several pages until he found what he wanted. “Here we go. Hymn 291, ‘Jesus Paid It All.’”

  The congregation began singing.

  Luci hurriedly flipped pages to find 291.

  Emilia pulled the hymnal back in front of her. “We have to share with Mac.”

  “No need,” he said. “I know the words.”

  Luci turned to Emilia. “He knows the words.”

  “I heard,” she responded.

  Luci and Mac’s voices joined the music, filling the sanctuary.

  “‘. . . Child of weakness, watch and pray, Find in Me thine all in all.’”

  As the chorus began, the singing grew louder.

  Emilia glanced around. The eyes of the woman next to Luci were closed, yet, like Mac, she sang every word.

  “‘Thy grace must make me whole.’”

  She frowned. How strange. Finn had written words close to those in several of his letters: God’s grace has made me whole. He had to have known this hymn, too. How could a man who believed so strongly that Jesus had paid his debts, indebt himself to so many people? Yet she’d heard Finn was a good man from many people, like the couple beside them. All because he’d helped clear their land of bloated cattle.

  Emilia drew in a sharp breath, her pulse increasing. What if the couple did something nice for her in recompense for Finn’s actions? Good manners dictated they do so. So did the Bible. Do unto others . . . Once this couple did something for her, she’d owe them.

  She turned her head just enough to see Mac. He’d stopped singing. Jaw clenched, he blinked rapidly. Slowly drew in a breath.

  The chorus rang out.

  “‘. . . all to Him I owe . . .’”

  Exactly! For all God had done for her, she owed Him. She owed Him good works. She owed Him a giving heart. She owed Him tithes and offerings. But faithful attendance in church, right now, was all she had to give. That and her basket lunch for the charity auction. Was it enough to pay God back? What if it wasn’t?

  Her heart pounded frantically. Her lungs tightened. Emilia touched her chest, yet the action did nothing to stop the pressure. What if she could never do enough to pay God back? Obviously she’d be forever in His debt. That wasn’t fair.

  Or was that God’s point?

  * * *

  The high branches of a tall pine tree provided shade while offering a full view of the church grounds. Mac surveyed the scene, keeping an eye out for trouble. Like Christmas and Easter, the basket auction drew people who never darkened the church’s door otherwise. And, like any holiday, there were certain trappings and traditions observed: Reverend Neven describing the contents of each basket in mouthwatering terms no matter how horrid he knew it would taste; Hamish VanDerCourt and Thaddeus Mueller—who only came to outbid one another over Widow Johnston—glaring enough hatred to restart the War Between the States; and Jakob Gunderson bidding up anyone who revealed his desire to win a particular lady’s basket.

  Five years ago, a disgruntled winning bidder demanded his money back after tasting what he’d bought. Four years ago, VanDerCourt and Mueller came to blows that landed both men in the county jail overnight. And two years ago, Jakob overestimated the pocketbook and underestimated the temper of Miss Landing’s suitor. Their shouting match ended when Mac threatened that, if either of them caused a ruckus in the future, they’d be treated to an overnight stay in the county jail.

  With any luck, Jakob would ignore the warning today. Clearly, he’d taken on the role of father to Roch Stanek, and Emilia allowed it. She’d turned her back on the exchange between her brother and Jakob without even a hint of the stubborn independence she insisted on whenever Mac tried to help. It made his neck itch with jealousy.

  Isaak Gunderson sauntered closer, the wooden chest tucked under his left arm looking like a toy. “Good afternoon, Sheriff.”

  Mac returned the greeting and shook Isaak’s hand. “I see you got saddled with the collection box.”

  “Only reason the elders put me on the Widows and Orphans Committee.” He said it with a straight face, discounting hours of volunteer work with either humility or some of his dry wit. “Will you be donating directly again this year?”

  Mac pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and slipped it in the rectangular slit at the center of the lid.

  “Thank you.” Isaak set the box on the ground. “So . . . what was going on between Roch Stanek and my brother earlier?”

  “Nothing to worry about. Roch wanted to take a few days off—something about researching planting alfalfa—and Jakob was calling his bluff.” Mac settled back against the tree. “Roch has discovered that Sally Blair works at the library.”

  “Jakob preferring work over play? I’ll have to mark today in my calendar so we can celebrate annually.”

  Mac snorted. “You underestimate him. He’s been”—a little too—“great with the Staneks.”

  “I’ll admit he’s lasted longer than I predicted, but I expect that has more to do with the company he’s keeping than the actual work.”

  Emilia Collins had that effect on men.

  “Despite their age difference, they seem to have formed quite a bond.” Isaak pointed to his brother.

  Mac opened his mouth to ask, What age difference? when he realized his mistake. Isaak was talking about Jakob and Roch, not Jakob and Emilia. Mac swept his gaze across the lawn. Emilia and Luci were conversing with Yancey Palmer. Jakob was on the other side of the lawn laughing with friends, breaking off conversation to shout a ten-dollar bid that drew an answering one of ten dollars and two bits.

  Was it possible Jakob and Emilia weren’t forming an attachment?

  The urge to arrest Jakob lessened. “Your brother’s doing a good job.”

  Isaak grunted. “Is he? When he can’t keep Roch from a flibbertigibbet like Sally Blair?”

  “I was talking about the auction.” Mac jutted his chin toward the lawn, where Jakob bid eleven dollars on a huge wicker basket with a yellow fabric bow in the same print as Mollie Fisk’s to goad Jefferson Brady up to eleven dollars and two bits.

  “I guess, but he’s going to need to back down soon if he wants to win Yancey’s basket.”

  Jakob and Yancey? Might not be hard to push Hale into running for mayor then judge after all . . . so he could be the justice of the peace to perform the ceremony. “Didn’t know Jakob was interested in courting her.”

  Another grunt. “He’s not—at least not any more—but everyone knows Mrs. Palmer supplies the food in Yancey’s basket, and he’s tired of my cooking.”

  Mac swiveled to look Isaak square in the eye, possible only because the taller man was downhill.

  “Since Ma left, I’ve taken over the kitchen. Jakob complains that having the same meal on certain days of the week is boring him to death.” Isaak shrugged. “Suits me fine.”

  A round of applause broke out. Mac returned his attention to the auction in time to see Jakob bow to a red-faced Brady as he stomped over to retrieve the basket that probably outweighed him.

  Jefferson Brady and Mollie Fisk. Now there was a match made at First National Bank. A new mansion would be going up on Millionaire’s Hill soon based on Brady’s continued glares at Jakob and Miss Fisk’s beaming smile.

  “I see Mayor Kendrick showed up today.” Isaak crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Lots of people here to see his piety.” Mac scanned the crowd again, locating the mayor and his wife standing next to Mrs. Hollenbeck. “Good for his reelection bid.”

  Isaak added a half cough to his grunt. “It’d be nice if the man was as good at running the city as he is at running his publicity. It never ends with him.”

  “So run against him next year
.” Hale wasn’t going to do it; someone like Isaak should.

  Isaak turned to look Mac in the eye but, before more words were exchanged, Reverend Neven lifted the lid on a small, battered basket with a simple red bow. “Looks like we have some biscuits so light you’ll think you’re eating a cloud, sweet apple butter, crisp dill pickles, hard-boiled eggs, and four slices of apple pie so juicy you’ll need a spoon. Who will give me two bits to start the bidding?”

  Luci Stanek let go of her sister’s arm to wave at Mac, then point to the basket.

  “Apparently, that’s Mrs. Collins’s basket,” Isaak drawled.

  He wasn’t the only one to notice. Mrs. Watson elbowed her husband, who then grabbed his eldest son’s arm and whispered in his ear. A few of the displaced ranch hands pushed through the crowd to get closer to the auctioneer’s table.

  “Wait a minute. Did he say there’s apple butter in that basket?” Isaak took a step forward. “Mrs. Neven delivered some to Jakob and me a couple of weeks ago. Why would Mrs. Collins put that in her basket?” Isaak turned to Mac for an answer.

  “Obligation.” The word tasted like burned coffee on his tongue. “The apple butter came with an invitation to contribute to the basket auction.”

  “And she took that as an obligation?” Isaak shook his head. “That’s about the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. Didn’t she understand that the invitation was only to make her feel included?”

  Mac chuckled in agreement and frustration. Emilia Collins was a riddle. If every assistance rendered to her resulted in a deeper sense of indebtedness, and if every problem she faced sent him scrambling for a way to fix it, where would they ever find common ground? And they needed to . . . to solve Finn’s murder.

  Nothing more.

  Luci Stanek looked across the church lawn at Mac with disappointment and incredulity. Why aren’t you bidding? she shouted without words.

  Because the women of the church had already noticed him sharing a pew with Emilia this morning and were giving him sheep-eyed looks that just as clearly and just as silently screamed, When’s the wedding?

  Mac tore his gaze from Luci’s. If she kept begging him to bid, he might succumb. Because he wanted to bid, wanted to spend the afternoon sharing a meal with Emilia, and then go back to the ranch with her to play croquet like he was part of the family.