The Unlikely Wife

by Debra Ullrick

  Michael. This being her wedding night and all, just thinking about him sent shivers through her. She sighed. No sense pondering on him and making herself feel even worse than she already did. She needed to place her mind somewhere other than him. And she’d start with looking for a blanket or something to cover up with.

  She searched a trunk and found one. While Michael was out at the privy, she put on her patched-up nightgown, tossed herself onto the living room sofa and pulled the blanket over her chest. Surprised at how soft the sofa was, she wiggled her way down into it.

  The door clicked open.

  Michael stepped one foot in and stopped to stare at her.

  Selina yanked the cover up under her neck. “I hope you don’t mind me helpin’ myself to a blanket.”

  He shut the door behind him. “Selina, this is your home now, too, and I want you to make yourself comfortable here. And you don’t have to sleep on the sofa, my bedroom is—”

  “I ain’t gonna share your bed,” she blurted. Until I know for sure you’re in love with me and not Aimee, but she didn’t voice the last part. Thinking about what she’d said, white-hot flames licked their way up her neck and into her cheeks.

  With a sigh he took another step in. “What I was going to say was, my bedroom is over there.” He pointed to the door off of the living room. “If you’d like to sleep in there, I can move my stuff into one of the upstairs bedrooms. Or, if you would like more privacy, you can take one of them. Whatever you decide is fine with me.”

  What? No argument? No fight about his husbandly rights? She didn’t know whether to be relieved or insulted. Considering their situation, she was definitely relieved. “I’ll take one of the upstairs bedrooms. Ain’t no sense in you movin’ all your belongings.”

  He looked down at her flour sack, then back up at her. “Tomorrow, I’ll see if Leah can take you into town to purchase you some women’s shoes and material to make yourself some women’s clothing.”

  It didn’t get past her none that he stressed the word women’s louder and longer than the rest of his words.

  “I’m sure Mother and Leah would be more than happy to help you make a few dresses and bonnets and nightgowns and whatever else you may need.”

  She sprung into a sitting position. The blanket fell from around her shoulders.

  Michael’s eyes widened. He swung his attention away, looking everywhere but at her.

  She snatched the cover up and tucked it back under her neck. “Just you back up your horses, cowboy. I don’t need dresses, and there ain’t a thing wrong with my clothes. Why, they’ve still got plenty of wear left in them. Besides, I don’t cotton to wearin’ dresses. They’re just too confinin’ and troublesome. You can’t even hunt in them.”

  Michael’s attention flew back to her. He crossed his arms over his chest and spread his legs. His stare went clean through her, but she wouldn’t let him see that he unsettled her.

  “That might be so. But no wife of mine is going to wear men’s clothing.”

  “Listen here, Michael. I’ve been wearin’ them most of my life and I ain’t stoppin’ now. Men’s trousers are more practical.”

  “They might be more practical, but in case it’s slipped your notice, the women around here do not wear pants. They wear dresses.”

  “I ain’t other women. I’m me. And I won’t be puttin’ on airs for you or anyone else.”

  His eyes slammed shut for only a moment before bouncing open. “You’re a stubborn little thing, aren’t you?”

  “Ain’t tryin’ to be stubborn.” She wrapped the blanket around her and stood. “But I won’t be bullied into being somethin’ I ain’t, neither.” Michael wanted her to be something she wasn’t and never would be. A lady. Tomboy was more her style. She’d been one all her life and loved it. Maybe she was stubborn. But some things were worth being stubborn about—and wearing trousers was one of them.

  Before Michael could give her the wherefores about propriety and proper attire, his mouth spread into a wide yawn he couldn’t stop. After the trying day he’d had, a soft bed and sleep sounded good. So, for right now, he’d let the subject drop, but he would definitely pick it up again in the morning. “It’s been a long day, and I’m ready to go to bed. I’ll show you to your room first.”

  He motioned for her to precede him up the stairs, which she did after picking up her sack. At the top of the landing, he stopped and faced her. “There are three rooms. Take your pick.”

  She peeked inside the first bedroom, then the second and then the third. “Iffen you don’t mind, I’ll take this one here.”

  “That’s fine.” He managed to keep his head from shaking in frustration. “Whatever you want.” Somehow he had a feeling she would take the sparsest bedroom. The smallest room with the iron-framed bed, light blue quilt and matching curtains. Only a single dresser, a night stand with a lantern, a wash bowl and basin, three paintings on the wall, and one small closet occupied the room. The other two, which were larger and decorated as nicely as the rest of the house, didn’t seem to fit her. One thing for certain, she was a simple woman who liked simple things.

  “Well, good night, Selina. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Night, Michael,” she spoke softly in that melodic voice of hers, the one that in no way, shape or form matched her masculine attire or attitude.

  Trying not to think about any of it, he headed to his bedroom, undressed and slid between the new cotton sheets. He rolled onto his side and stared at the blank pillow next to him. Tonight was the night he was supposed to be sharing with the woman of his dreams. Yet he’d felt nothing but relief when Selina said she wasn’t going to share his bed.

  But he couldn’t bear the idea of spending his wedding night alone, without the woman he had dreamed about for five long months. A phantom woman who now only existed in his heart and his imagination. Grief barreled through him as the death of his dream came crashing in on him. Though he was exhausted, he dragged his weary body out of bed, threw on his pants and headed out onto the porch, where he leaned against one of the posts and stared up at the stars and the quarter moon.

  Mosquitoes and gnats buzzed around his head. He waved them away as he watched the fading and returning lights of the stars dancing in the darkness above him.

  Wind blew through the leaves of the trees and across his face, whispering a mournful sound that reflected the sad state he now found himself in.

  He had no idea how to deal with his swirl of feelings.

  Minutes ticked by while Michael berated himself for placing that ad in the first place. For not going out to meet her. For falling in love with a fantasy. If he hadn’t done that, then none of this would have happened. “Lord, I know I did this to myself, but what am I going to do about Selina? She’s a woman who is the complete opposite of everything I ever dreamed of. Imagined. Prayed for. She’s a woman—” He stopped and sighed.

  Selina was a woman. That much was obvious when the blanket had fallen from her shoulders. Through her thin nightgown, he could see the outline of her womanly curves, curves that would be the envy of most women. Yet the way she dressed did nothing to show her femininity.

  He sighed heavily and scratched his neck.

  “Lord, You know I’ve been talking to You for eleven years, asking You for a woman like Rainee. Why would You send me someone like Selina? Why? Please, help me to understand.”

  He listened for that still, small voice, but the only sounds he heard were coyotes howling in the distance, frogs calling out into the darkness and an owl hooting somewhere off in the trees.

  Selina stepped up to the door in time to hear Michael ask why God had sent him someone like her. Her heart broke knowing she was causing Michael so much pain and heartbreak. But there was nothing she could do about it. Still, it hurt something fierce that he didn’t want her. Her dreams of them becoming truly hitched disappeared like smoke in the wind.

  Careful not to make a sound, she backed away from the screen door and hightailed it
back upstairs and into her bed. Not one normally given to crying, she buried her head into her pillow, soaking it with her tears. Something akin to bear claws tore at her heart, shredding it to pieces.

  Being in love with a man who didn’t love her back hurt something fierce. Living with him every day was going to be the hardest thing she’d ever come up against. “Lord, give me the grace I need to survive. And I’d be right beholden to You, iffen You’d ease this awful pain in my heart and in Michael’s, too.”

  After a few hours of fitful sleep, Selina lit the lantern next to her bed and slid into her garments. She grabbed the lantern in one hand and her boots and stockings in the other and crept down the steps and into the kitchen.

  Careful not to make any noise, she made her way down the cellar ladder and cut off a slab of bacon and fetched a couple of eggs before she commenced to fixing breakfast. Coffee, bacon, eggs and fresh flapjack scents made her stomach growl.

  Selina stood in front of the dish cabinet. Back home, she had a handmade breadboard counter to hold her dishes. It sort of reminded her of this piece of furniture, but her breadboard counter had a flour bin and several drawers and it didn’t have glass doors like this fancy piece did. Plus, hers was covered with oil cloth and this one had a shiny finish to it. Made her afraid to touch it, it was so fancy. But she didn’t have any choice. Not if she wanted to serve Michael his breakfast.

  She opened the door, pulled out a couple of plates and froze at the sight of the dainty blue flowers and leaves. They were blue, not yellow, not pink and not any other color but blue.

  Her favorite color.

  Sure seemed like someone went to an awful lot of trouble to get dishes with blue in them. But, she sighed, they weren’t meant for her. She set the table and then sat down with a hot cup of coffee. Bowing her head and closing her eyes, she clasped her hands together and said her morning prayers.

  “Good morning, Selina.”

  Selina yanked her head upward to find Michael standing in front of her with a look of a man who didn’t know what to do.

  Bags sagged under his bloodshot eyes. His hair was all muffed up, and his clothes looked as if he’d slept in them.

  “Did you sleep well?” Jumpin’ crickets, Selina. That was a stupid question. Anyone could see he ain’t slept but a wink.

  His gaze slid over her face. “About as well as you, apparently.”

  Selina wished she had stopped in front of the looking glass before she came down. She had no idea what she looked like. Slowly raking a finger through her hair, she stood and put her back to him. Having him study her like that made her skittish. “Can I get you some coffee?” she asked, even though she had already grabbed him a cup and started to fill it.

  “Yes, thank you. That would be nice.”

  “You just sit yourself down and I’ll fetch ya some vittles.”

  Selina placed a plate with four pieces of bacon on it, six biscuits and a small mound of scrambled eggs onto the center of the table.

  He looked up at her. “Aren’t you going to have any?”

  Selina glanced at the food and frowned. “Yes, sir.” Confused by his question, she lowered herself onto the chair.

  Before she could ask more, Michael reached over and clasped her hand in his.

  Her attention flew right to him. Warmth spread up her arms and into her body as she yanked her hand away. “Wha—whatcha doin’?”

  “Getting ready to pray.” His eyes softened.

  “Oh.” She nodded, feeling dumber than a fence post for asking. She slid her hand back across to his.

  His eyes drifted shut.

  She knew she ought to close her eyes and concentrate on his prayer but her mind took a turn in another direction. While he prayed, she studied his face, wondering if those full lips were as soft as they looked.

  Strength flowed through his rough hand even though he held hers with the softest of touch. Having her hand in his felt right nice, a little too nice considering their circumstances.

  Her eyes trailed up his arms. Arms with muscles that were so big they pulled at the seams of his shirt sleeves. What would it be like to have him slip them around her and pull her close? Would she ever be close enough to his heart to hear it beating?

  Her attention slid up to his eyes. Heat barreled up her neck and her cheeks felt hotter than the red coals in the cook stove over yonder. Just when had Michael stopped praying and caught her stealing her fill of him?

  She looked at their hands, jerked hers from his and all but shoved the plate of food in front of him. “You—you’d best start eatin’ before—before it gets cold.”

  Eating was the last thing Michael thought about doing right now. When he’d reached for Selina’s hand, the instant he’d made the connection, warmth spread up his arm and slipped into his heart. He had no idea what that was all about nor did he want to know. Confused over what had just happened, he struggled to pull himself together so he could pray.

  When he opened his eyes and saw Selina studying his arms and chest, saw the longing on her face, something stirred inside him. That foreign feeling made him vastly uncomfortable.

  He rammed his fingers through his hair, but they snagged on some tangles. What had he been thinking coming to the breakfast table without combing his hair first? Even when he lived alone, he groomed himself before sitting down to eat. This whole situation had him so upset and confused he was no longer thinking or acting rationally.

  To get his mind off the situation, he looked at the paltry plate of food she had placed on the table. Selina said she hadn’t eaten yet. If they shared what little food was there, that amount wouldn’t hold him long at all. He normally required twice as much as that just to make it until lunchtime.

  He didn’t understand why, when he had a cellar full of food, she had made so little. His gaze snagged on the numerous patches scattered on her sleeves. Obviously, Selina had come from poverty. Could that be why she had made so little breakfast? Because that was all she had been able to fix back home?

  If that was the case, he didn’t know what to do or how to handle the situation with delicacy. How could he let her know that it was okay to fix plenty here without hurting her feelings or acting like some rich boy throwing his wealth around?

  Michael sighed inwardly. He silently prayed and asked God for wisdom concerning this situation. No answer came immediately, so in the meantime, he made do. He piled half of the eggs, three small biscuits and two pieces of bacon on his plate, then he moved the plate in front of her.

  “Somethin’ wrong with my cookin’?” She glanced at the center plate and then at his.

  “I don’t know. I haven’t tried anything yet. But everything looks and smells real good. Why do you ask?”

  “’Cause you only took half of what I fixed.”

  “Didn’t you tell me you hadn’t eaten yet?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “Well, that’s why I only took half.”

  Her forehead wrinkled, and her brown eyes narrowed.

  Michael had no idea why she appeared so confused. Women. Who could figure out what they were thinking? No man, that’s for sure.

  He picked up his fork, scooped up a mound of eggs and shoved them into his mouth. Flavor, unlike any he had ever tasted before, burst through his mouth. “Umm. These are delicious, Selina. What did you do to them?” He spoke around the eggs, then gathered up another rounded forkful.

  She smiled. “Fried them in butter and bacon fat. And added the tops of those things I found down yonder.” She pointed to the cellar. “They looked like the ramps back home, so I took a chance.”

  “What’s a ramp?”

  “An onion or a leek,” she said as she added one piece of bacon, one biscuit and a small spoonful of the scrambled eggs onto her plate. “Come springtime, you can find them all over the Appalachian Mountains.”

  “I see. I’m sure it’s beautiful there.”

  “Sure is.” Her face brightened. The woman was definitely easy on the eyes.

&
nbsp; “Do you miss home?”

  Selina shrugged. “Don’t know. Can’t rightly say. I ain’t been gone long enough to tell.” With only a few bites, Selina finished her meager portion, hoping Michael had gotten enough.

  “Have some more.” Michael pushed the rest of the servings toward her.

  “Thank you kindly, but I’m done,” she said even though her stomach was pinched with hunger pain and wasn’t near full enough. Then again, it never had been before. Now should be no different.

  His eyes, soft and questioning, held hers as strong as a foot stuck in a mud hole. “Are you sure?”

  Selina had made the decision, and she wasn’t backing out now. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

  Michael’s attention stayed on her face a spell before he heaped the rest of the food onto his plate and devoured it within minutes. He looked over at the stove with something akin to longing in his eyes before he averted his attention onto his coffee cup.

  “Somethin’ wrong?”

  “Well, I was just wondering something. Before I took the rest of the food you said I only took half of what you’d made. Does that include biscuits, too?”

  “Yeah. I wasn’t sure how many to make. I wanted to stretch the food so we’d have plenty to eat. I’m sorry iffen I didn’t make enough.” She looked down at her hands, fiddling with the patch on her pants leg. She’d wanted to be such a good wife, and already she felt the pain of his disappointment.

  Michael’s finger rested under her chin, tugging it upward. “Selina, look at me.” With the gentlest touch, he raised her head, forcing her to look at him, even though she wanted to look everywhere but at him for fear he would see the love she had for him in her eyes.

  “I’m a big eater. I want you to know that we have more than enough food. So you can make plenty all the time. And…”

  She watched him swallow and draw a breath.

  “I want you to eat more, too. What you ate this morning wouldn’t keep a baby chick alive.”

  She pulled her eyes away from his intense stare. It hurt to be so close to him, to feel he might care and yet know he didn’t.