by P. Creeden
Brienne headed across the hall to her room, shut the door, leaned against it, and let out a big sigh. She was all too aware of the fetching man who now lived directly across the hall from her. If she opened her door and his was still open, he would spot her and she, him. At least his facial expressions thus far had been pleasant. He didn’t look at her with disappointment... at least not yet. She pushed away from her door and slipped off her Sunday dress.
She sat in front of her mirror and proceeded to wash what remained of the rouge from her cheeks. With this makeup on, she just didn’t feel like herself. It wasn’t much, but it still provided a mask—a small white lie. And Brienne was no liar. Once she had settled into her usual clothing, she hoped that enough time had passed that Mr. Miller... er Henry... would have gone on down the stairs to the kitchen.
But when she pulled open her bedroom door, she found Henry just standing in the hallway, at his door, pulling it closed. She swallowed and gave him a quick bob that was somewhere between a bow and a curtsy. She pulled her bedroom door shut and dashed ahead so that she could make it down the stairs before he did.
“Hold on a moment,” he called after her, making her freeze upon the steps with her hand on the banister.
She turned her head toward him. “Yes?”
“If you don’t mind showing me the way to the kitchen? I’d hate to take a wrong turn.”
She frowned. The ranch house had four bedrooms upstairs and a bathroom with a tub. The downstairs only had the kitchen, the parlor, Georgia’s quarters, and the sitting room. It wouldn’t be easy to get lost since the house wasn’t that big. Still, she nodded. “Certainly.”
Then she had to take slow steps down the stairs to allow the man to keep pace with her. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She glanced back and found him studying her. He lifted a brow. “You look like you belong in breeches instead of the dress you wore earlier. It’s not unbecoming.”
Her frown deepened, and heat rushed to her cheeks. She was unsure how to respond. That could almost have been mistaken for a compliment, but she didn’t want to allow herself the hope of seeing it for one. Instead she decided to say nothing in response, since he hadn’t exactly asked a question. Once at the bottom of the steps, she continued toward the kitchen, pushing in the door and holding it for Henry.
Georgia looked up from stirring something in the large pot on the stove. When she spotted Henry, she set the ladle on the trivet and wiped her hands on her apron. “Well, goodness me. What do we have here?”
Brienne blushed again, but this time she met Georgia’s gaze with her own, pleading one. After clearing her throat, Brienne finally answered, “Georgia, this is Henry Miller, my...”
“Husband,” Henry answered as she trailed off. He stepped forward and accepted Georgia’s offered hand with a bow and a kiss on the back of her hand like gentleman were wont to do up north. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Georgia.”
A blush filled Georgia’s cheeks as she giggled and covered her mouth with the back of her other hand. It made Brienne chuckle to see her maid like this. She’d never seen anyone bring that kind of color into Georgia’s skin. When Henry released her hand, Georgia said, “What a fine, charming gentleman you’ve turned out to be. The trip must have been tiring, no? I’m sure you haven’t been fed properly in ages. Have a seat at the table there, and I’ll get you some milk and biscuits. I think I might even have some peach preserves.”
“Thank you so much. Would it be too much trouble to have tea as well? Cal had said something about getting a cup… er glass earlier.” Henry took a seat at the table and met eyes with Brienne. “If you haven’t got plans right away, Miss Brienne, would you mind sitting with me for a short while? I’d appreciate the company.”
Brienne blinked at him, nodded, stuttered something unintelligible, and then took a seat at the table across from him, her back to Georgia. Her new husband was an interesting man. She’d not met anyone quite like him, she determined as she studied him. His smile was contagious, and the slightest dimple showed in one cheek.
He met eyes with her. “Were you born and raised here in Texas? Have you ever done any traveling?”
Slowly, she shook her head. “I’ve pretty much only gone from here to Collin and Plano. I haven’t found much need to go traveling yet.”
“Do you ever want to?”
She shrugged. “Not particularly. I’m pretty happy here on the ranch. There’s always something that needs to be done. Georgia is a fabulous cook, and I have everything I need here.”
He nodded. “Contentment is a good thing. I haven’t seen much of it in Baltimore. I was raised there, and never went much outside my city until the War took me down to Virginia.” He swallowed, his eyes getting distant for a minute before his gaze returned to her and his smile reappeared. “This is certainly farther south than I’d ever been.”
She nodded. His accent testified to that much. “Did you want to travel, I mean, before you came all this way, had it been a part of what you wanted to do... like you asked me?”
Why did she have to stumble over all her words to him?
His smile broadened. “Not particularly. When I was really young, maybe I thought about going overseas to England or something, but as I grew up and gained friendships, I became content where I was, too. I probably would have stayed in Baltimore, happily forever, if things hadn’t changed.”
His expression grew serious once more, and wrinkles appeared around his eyes. She wasn’t sure what he was seeing when his eyes became glassy again, but she figured he’d seen a lot of horrible things if he lasted for as many years in the War as he did. She couldn’t help but get fixated on one point of his conversation, though. “You had friends in Baltimore, then?”
Georgia came over and silently set a plate of biscuits in front of Henry along with two glasses, one of milk and the other of tea. He picked up the tea and looked at it. “So, you really do serve tea in glasses, then? It’s not hot though?”
Brienne shook her head and laughed. “Nope. Georgia is from the Tyree family. They serve green tea cold and sweet. Give it a try.”
His brow furrowed as he took a sip from the glass. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. He eyed the glass with a lifted brow. “That’s pretty good. I could definitely get used to having my tea like this.”
Georgia beamed. “It’s a family recipe. Up north, hot tea might be comforting, but down here, the weather’s hot enough. A cool tea is just what we need to keep things going right.”
He nodded and took another big gulp of the glass. Then he tore into a biscuit and met eyes again with Brienne. “I did have friends in Baltimore... before the War.”
She frowned, sorry that she’d brought up a touchy subject. She whispered, “Sorry. I only wondered why you would have come all this way if you still had friends up north. I’ve never really had a close friend. I’ve only been really close to my grandpa.”
He tilted his head at her. “It’s okay. I’m not sure that I would have ever called anyone a friend if I’d known then what I know now.”
Confusion overcame Brienne, and he must have seen it on her face, since he then shook his head. “I’ve been betrayed by my friends. I haven’t had a friend yet who didn’t betray me.”
She sucked in a sharp breath and apologized again.
“No need to apologize. I haven’t really talked about it to anyone at all. Somehow it feels good to get it off my chest now.” He shook his head once more, his smile returning as he spread some peach preserve on his biscuit and took another bite. “This stuff is really good. I’m going to get portly here if every meal is like this.”
Georgia came over and pinched the side of his arm gently. “You’re too skinny as it is. You need some meat on your bones.”
He laughed and took a sip of his milk this time to help him swallow down the biscuit. “I think you’re going to succeed there.”
Brienne laughed at their banter. It had been good for her to sit with Henry while he�
�d gotten a repast from his journey. The more time she spent with him, the more comfortable she got around him. He truly wasn’t much like other men. His outlook on life was decidedly positive. Then she remembered that his father had just passed away. “I’m sorry to have heard about your father. Were you close?”
He finished chewing the bite he’d had in his mouth before taking a quick sip of his milk. Then he nodded. “We were, but he’d been sick for so long and in so much pain, that it’s an honest relief that he’s been laid to rest. His sickness made him suffer greatly, and it was hard watching him waste away from the cancer.”
Her hands fisted under the table in her lap. “He suffered?”
His brow furrowed as he nodded and set down the last biscuit on his plate. “He did. No one should have to go that way.”
She nodded, sorry that she’d made him lose his appetite, but at least now she understood. If her grandfather hadn’t died suddenly in his sleep like he did, it would have been less of a precipitance to her. And if he’d suffered, she would have seen his death as something more of a mercy than an unforeseen circumstance. She wanted to apologize, but it seemed that every other thing she said was an apology, so she held her tongue.
He smiled at her. “My father was one to take care of everything. Even my marriage to you was his way of taking care of me. And he was rarely ever wrong. I’m hopeful that coming here was the right decision and am more than pleased with the company.”
Another blush rushed to Brienne’s cheeks, and she found herself looking away as she attempted to steady her heart. She needed to get a hold of herself and stop letting everything he said have such an effect on her. She cleared her throat and stood up slowly and pushed the bench back in. “Thank you for the conversation. I need to get to work on my chores. I’ll see you later this afternoon. If you need anything just ask Georgia and she’ll call for Cal.”
Without waiting for a response, she bobbed and headed for the back door. For now, she’d be satisfied with getting some space between her and the man who made her heart flutter with every other thing he said. Maybe it was just his way of doing things, since he certainly charmed Georgia as well. Brienne needed to learn not to take things so personally with him. After a deep breath, she jogged toward the main barn. The marriage was little more than a business relationship, she reminded herself. She couldn’t hope for it to become anything more.
Chapter 8
The next morning, Brienne helped Mable get the children loaded into the wagon for church services. The boys were rambunctious and wanted little to do with behaving like gentleman and sitting in the back of the cart while they waited for everyone to gather for the ride.
“Sit still, Junior, or Miss Georgia might not offer you a bit of pie after supper tonight,” Mabel threatened.
A smile tugged at Brienne’s lips. As if Georgia would ever withhold pie from anyone. The woman expressed her love with baked goods. And as Georgia headed to the wagon, loaded down with two baskets of goodies to give to the preacher’s wife, it made Brienne’s smile widen.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” a deep male voice, with a distinct northern accent, asked from behind Brienne.
She turned stiffly and shook her head. “I think we’ve got them. If you don’t mind sitting in the back of the wagon with us, though? It will make more room at the front for Cal to drive.”
He shook his head and grasped the side of the wagon, setting his cane on the floorboards. One of the boys picked it up and held it like a rifle. While Henry mounted the cart, little Cal Junior pretended to shoot him with the cane. Henry collapsed onto the floorboards, grasping his chest. “Oh, no! You got me.”
Boyish giggles filled the air. Mabel laughed as she pulled the cane from Cal Junior’s hands.
“Enough of that,” she said as she offered the cane back to its rightful owner. “I’m sorry about that, Mr. Miller.”
He accepted the cane back and then scooted farther into the wagon. “It’s no trouble, Aunt Mabel, and please, call me Henry.”
Her eyes crinkled as she smiled and waved a hand at him. “And just call me Mabel, I feel so old to have you call me Aunt.”
He laughed and nodded. “Okay.”
Once everyone made it into the wagon, Cal started down the road. Cal, Georgia, and Evan sat on the driver’s bench while Mabel, Brienne, and Henry sat with Evan’s wife, Beth, and the Cal’s two boys, Cal Junior and Joseph. Brienne found it funny to think of Henry as the boys’ cousin, since he was nearly old enough to be their uncle. As a member of the church’s chorus, Beth liked to practice her singing on the way to church. At least when she did, the boys tended to stay quiet for the few moments to listen, or sometimes they’d join in on the song. When everyone else began to join in, Henry sang as well.
Brienne sat close enough to Henry to make out his singing voice from the crowd of voices in the wagon. He carried a tune better than Evan and Cal up in the front, but that was to be expected since the ranch hands were tone deaf. Regardless, the group of them had a joyful time on the short drive to the church in Collin. Once they got to the church, Cal stopped near the front of the building to allow everyone else to dismount from the cart before he tied the horse up for the morning. Evan escorted Henry inside the building, introducing him to the deacons and elders as they went.
Georgia seemed overloaded with her baskets, so Brienne offered to give her a hand carrying in her baked goods. They took them to the back of the rectory where it housed a small kitchen area. The pastor’s wife, Mrs. Plum, stood at the counter, cutting up portions of apple and putting them into jars. Her peppered dark hair was pulled back in a loose bun. She looked up as Brienne and Georgia entered the kitchen. “Morning. What do you have there?”
“Nothing much,” Georgia answered, setting her basket on an empty space of table top.
Mrs. Plum set down her knife and wiped her hands on her apron as she pulled the basket from Brienne’s hands. After lifting the side of the basket and the covering towel, she breathed in the scent of the baked goods within. “Smells delicious, and I see you put in a bottle of preserves?”
Georgia nodded. “I didn’t want anyone to have to go through the trouble of finding some. I canned them earlier in the summer, so they’re perfect now.”
“Thank you so much!” Mrs. Plum nodded with a smile and went back to her cutting board. “I’m slicing these apples before the service starts for the little ones.” Then Mrs. Plum sucked in a breath and pulled her hand to her mouth, dropping the knife on the cutting board.
“Are you all right?” Brienne asked, when she saw the deep red splotch on the pastor’s wife’s hand.
Georgia rushed over with a towel and wrapped it quickly around the hand. “We need to get it cleaned up to see how bad it is.”
“There’s a bucket of water over there.” Mrs. Plum gestured with her chin.
Brienne dunked another towel into the water and brought it over. She watched as Georgia cleaned up the deep wound on the woman’s forefinger. She frowned. “Does it hurt?”
The woman grimaced and nodded. “This isn’t good. The service will be starting soon. Who will play the piano for the choir?”
The Collin church had a small congregation of a little over fourty-five members from the nearby farms and ranches. The town itself was not much more than a general store and church. If anyone nearby needed a post office or to send a telegraph, they had to go down to Plano. The chorus only had seven members in it. Brienne frowned. “Isn’t there anyone else who can play?”
Mrs. Plum shook her head and stood. “I’ve been teaching Sylvia to play some of the simpler songs, but she doesn’t know how to read sheet music yet. And she’s only eleven, so I think asking her to even play what she knows will give the child the vapors.”
Georgia pulled Mrs. Plum toward a chair. “No matter. You need to sit down. If we can’t find someone to play the piano, the chorus will have to do it without accompaniment.”
“Wait!” Brienne exclaimed as a thought sudde
nly occurred to her. “Let me go see if I can find someone who plays. I’ll be right back.”
She rushed out into the rectory, peering over the heads of the small crowd that stood and greeted one another. This short break before church started was always known as the best time to gather together for the latest gossip and news from around the farms, often disguised as prayer requests. And though most of the groups that had gathered into talking clusters were female, they all seemed to have their attention focused on one area. She followed their gazes until she landed upon the object of the curiosity, her own husband, Henry.
Once she spotted him, she continued to walk quickly over to him. He met eyes with her when she touched his elbow. His eyebrow lifted. She took hold of his arm gently and pulled him a little way away from the crowd before whispering to him. “Do you know how to read sheet music?”
He tilted his head in response, eyeing her a moment before nodding.
“There’s been an accident in the kitchen. The pastor’s wife has been injured and cannot play the piano for the choir this morning. No one else knows how to read the music,” Brienne whisper-shouted in a rush.
Both his eyebrows shot up. “I don’t know if I can really help. I haven’t truly played the piano in years.”
She swallowed, her heart squeezing in her chest. “I saw you playing at the music store.”
He nodded. “That was a song I’ve known forever. It just sort of came to me as I was playing, and it was full of mistakes.”
“It didn’t sound like it was full of mistakes. It was truly beautiful.” She offered him a wistful, encouraging smile.
He took a deep breath, his gaze shifting toward the back of the church. “Let me talk to her.”
She nodded and then realized she was still holding his elbow. Part of her wanted to pull away at the realization, especially when she looked around at the women who’d already been talking in hushed whispers about Henry. They all had bigger eyes and talked with more fervor. Brienne set her jaw, kept the hold she had on her husband and pulled him in the direction that they needed to go, taking heed of his slower gait due to his injury.
