A Bride for Sterling

by Parker J Cole

  They sat in companionable silence while Gijs set the coffee before them. Mr. Montgomery had yet to arrive back to the house. It felt nice to sit with her husband without having her father-in-law throw some sort of damp rag on the atmosphere.

  “Would you like to take another walk along the lake’s edge sometime today?” Sterling asked.

  “I would.” She’d enjoyed their walk the other day. It had been an unplanned outing and yet, when he’d suggested it, she agreed instantly. They’d taken the wagon to the forests which surrounded it. Going through the bramble, they came to the edge of Black Lake. Its vastness intimidated her. If she fell in, it would swallow her whole.

  Sterling’s arm came around her shoulders and she leaned into his strength. “I’ll never let anything happen to you, my angel.”

  Despite his lack of confidence with his father, she believed that to be true.

  “Moira?”

  She jerked her head up and caught his gaze on her. “Yes, Sterling?”

  “When will you sing for me again?”

  Her fingers drifted nervously to her throat. “I haven’t sung for quite a while.” Ten years, to be exact.

  “I would love to hear you sing, Moira.” He leaned forward in eager anticipation. “Will you sing for me?”

  Why did a look of fear cross her face when he asked her to sing? The eagerness he felt at being able to hear her voice again plummeted.

  “What is it, Moira?”

  She didn’t meet his eyes. “I haven’t sung for quite some time.”

  He stilled. “How long?”

  “Ten years,” she answered quietly, averting her head to study some point in the distance that only she could see.

  He sucked in a breath. “I’m sorry.” Sterling didn’t pretend that he didn’t know why she stopped singing. But her next words gave credence to what he already suspected.

  “My voice that my prince loved was my gift to him. When I thought I’d never lay my eyes upon him again, I vowed to keep it locked away. Forever.”

  “And now?”

  “What do I have to sing about, Sterling?”

  A fist punched him in the center of his gut. “Moira, are you unhappy here?”

  He waited, his breath lodged in his throat. No man wanted the woman he loved and cared for with all of his heart to be unhappy in his presence. For himself, he found new life in her presence. Joy in waking up every morning, knowing that he would see her again. Watching her spar with his father with such eloquence and tenacity made him wish he had her gumption. He could never be so dogmatic against Clyford but to see his wife hold her own made it all the much better.

  “Are you unhappy?” he asked again when she said nothing for a long moment.

  “I am not unhappy,” she replied finally. “Nor am I overflowing with joy.”

  “Why do you feel this way?” Was it the fact that she discovered the prince of her youth was really an imposter? That he wasn’t the gallant man he longed to be while he sat at her feet and made promises to her.

  Promises he’d broken over and over again.

  “It’s not something I can discuss with you at this time.” She ducked her head. “Maybe someday, I will confide in you.”

  “I look forward to it,” he answered back with all the sincerity he could muster. “Whatever I can do to fix it, please tell me. Above all things in the world, Moira, I want you to be happy.”

  And be happy by my side.

  “I’m going to get Jasper.”

  He hurried from the room and down the hall, for once ignoring the blank stares of his ancestors as he wondered about his wife. What was the source of her melancholy? What could he do?

  Mevrouw Van Dijk’s laughter drifted to his ears. He came into the kitchen and then shook his head at the spectacle. Jasper was on his knees before their housekeeper. In broken, horrible Dutch, Jasper begged for a slice of apple pie.

  “Noor, have pity on me. Just two slices and you’ll fill a poor man’s empty, grasping belly.”

  Sterling quipped, “If you’ve an empty, grasping belly, Jasper, then all our charity efforts for the poor are in vain.”

  Mevrouw Van Dijk’s double chin jiggled in mirth and with indistinct Dutch, she handed over a large helping of apple pie. “Dank je,” Jasper uttered with a somewhat dubious accuracy.

  The housekeeper shook her head and then shooed them away. Like an eagle, Jasper swooped down and gave a smacking kiss on the cheek to Mevrouw Van Dijk who swatted at him.

  Gijs happened to the doorway at that moment to see the innocent by-play but Jasper’s dark eyes widened in mock shock. “We’ve been discovered!” He picked up a long link of sausages that the housekeeper had been rolling together and held it out like a sword. Well, as much as one could hold a flaccid string of meat. “Be swift, Noor. You must take your cooking and run away with me. He can never eat your food as well as I!”

  Gijs’s lips twitched but gave no other sign of amusement. Sterling shook his head, glad for his friend’s buffoonery. It was a welcome release from his sarcasm and cynicism.

  The housekeeper, exclaiming in a rush of harried Dutch, snatched the link of sausages away and then said in halting English, “Go.”

  “You wound me, Mevrouw,” Jasper pursed his lips like a disappointed boy. “All I wanted was to spend the rest of my life eating your food. Alas!” He clutched at his chest and stumbled away. “Noor’s cooking is denied me! I shall cast myself into the depths of Black Lake and submerge my body within its icy clasp.”

  Sterling grabbed Jasper and dragged him away from a confused Mevrouw Van Dijk. “If you’re finished, let’s go, shall we?”

  Swiftly, Jasper yanked his wrist from his grip and lunged toward the counter to snatch up another slice of apple pie. “Not without this!”

  “Can you tear yourself away from your stomach and listen to me?”

  “Nothing will ever tear me away from my stomach, old chap.” He bit off a piece of the pie. “But I will listen to you. Obviously, something has distressed you in order for you to seek me out instead of being with your angel of music.”

  “You know me so well, Jasper.”

  “Of course, I do. Now, what is it?” He ate another piece of the apple pie.

  Sterling dragged his friend into the alcove just outside the kitchen which housed various goods for the home. “She told me that she is not happy here.”

  Jasper frowned. “Did she tell you why?”

  “No.” He spread out his hand. “When I asked her, she said she didn’t want to discuss it right now.”

  “You should have made her discuss it with you, old chap.” Jasper tore off a piece of flaky crust. “You don’t just let a woman sit there and tell you she’s unhappy and not try to discover what the reason is. You demand it from her.”

  “Demand?”

  Jasper sent his eyes rolling heavenward. “What I am to do with this old man?” He sighed melodramatically. “May the day be cursed when we both banged our heads together while playing in the snow which led to our lifelong friendship.”

  Sterling blinked. “Are you quite finished?”

  “You are my best friend Sterling, so I have to tell you this. For far too long, you have let your father browbeat you. You defied him once with me. Twice with Moira. Of the both of us, she is the most important.”

  “I know that.”

  “Do you really?” Any hint of mirth dwindled away, replaced by a seriousness which bid Sterling to pay attention. “I don’t think you do. The Almighty granted you the woman you desired for so long. She is your wife. Yet, you allow your father to verbally attack her. Challenge her. And, in some ways, insult her.”

  “Moira can hold her own against my father.”

  “That may be. And I have seen her go toe to toe with him without batting an eye. But for goodness’ sake, she shouldn’t have to. Why do you let this abuse continue? She left her home and her family to marry a man she thought she didn’t know. Shouldn’t you at least make her sacrifice worthwhile?”<
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  Sterling stared, his body like a solid block of river ice. How could he have been so blind?

  Before he could say more, the doorbell rang. An instant later, Gijs exited the kitchen and went to answer it.

  “I wonder who that could be,” Sterling murmured out loud.

  “Only one way to find out.” Jasper grabbed Sterling’s wrist and tugged him of out the alcove and back to the drawing room.

  They went inside to see Nethanja chatting with Moira.

  “Nethanja, an unexpected surprise,” Sterling greeted as he entered the room in front of Jasper.

  “I meant to speak to you earlier after service but there were so many in the receiving line that I deduced it would be better to meet you here.”

  She declined any refreshment and turned the full force of her gray gaze to him. “I was wondering when I can expect compensation for my services rendered.”

  “Oh! A thousand apologies, Nethanja. I have been meaning to give you your payment for all you have done. I’ll get it for you right away.”

  He went out the door once more and then to his father’s study. There was a safe hidden behind the bookshelf. He tugged on the commentary about the book of Numbers and the false shelf raised up to reveal the safe. Taking the little key from his father’s desk drawer, he inserted it into the tiny lock, and opened it.

  Stacks of paper bills, bonds, and other financial instruments lay in neat stacks and hidden inside. Counting out the requested amount, Sterling made a quick accounting of the money he withdrew into the ledger and then locked everything back in its place,

  Standing back, he surveyed the area. Nothing was amiss to his critical eye.

  Traveling back to the drawing room, he saw that Jasper had taken a seat across the settee looking intently at the two women as they discussed hats.

  “Here you are, Nethanja.” Handing over the bills, he went back to sit at the chair closest to the fire. “Thank you from both myself and my bride.”

  “Graag gedaan,” Nethanja said with a slight bow of her head as she took the funds. “I was just talking with your wife here and she says she’s something of a milliner.”

  “Are you, Moira?” Here was yet another aspect of his wife he didn’t know.

  Instead of answering immediately, she and Nethanja shared a long look. If he didn’t know better, he could have sworn there was something brewing between them that struck an odd note.

  Then Moira straightened her shoulders and said, “That’s true. My mother taught me so it’s a skill I’ve learned as well.”

  “I told your wife that if you permitted it, I’d like for her to make a hat for me.”

  Moira stared at him, her crystal blue eyes filled with an inscrutable expression. Was she trying to tell him something?

  “I’m sure my wife will create a lovely piece of work. If that’s what you want to do, my wife.”

  “It is!” Nethanja clapped her hand in triumph while Moira turned her head away. Had he said something wrong? “Now you and Jasper run along. We won’t bore you with the details.”

  Moira’s clear, blue eyes held his for a moment longer. Then, with a turn of her head, she said, “Yes, you both leave. I’ll take care of this myself.”

  Why did he get the feeling she was trying to tell him something but it was escaping his comprehension? Was he doing something wrong? He didn’t know. Jasper’s words held a whole new meaning to him.

  He had to discover the deeper depths of his wife and find out what he could do to make her happy. Sterling had no wish to lose the most precious person in his life a second time.

  CHAPTER SIX

  November 1870

  Moira wondered how long it would be before the mask she wore upon her face would crack. She glanced down at her work table to see the material she cut for the hat she was making for Mevrouw Ter Bane. It was her sixth hat in as many weeks. The matchmaker came every week without fail. Under the pretenses of admiring her work, she used the hats as a carrier for the money that was owed her.

  On the table lay the money she would sew into the lining of the hat before finishing it up. How often had she seen these hats on her mother’s table? Countless times. As a young girl, she found it very strange that her mother made a new one for Mevrouw Ter Bane almost every month. Searching her memory, she recalled how her mother’s dejected face would look, forlorn and lost as she took her needle and stitched the material together.

  Now she understood the amount of strain her mother had been under.

  Her hand shook and she set the needle down on the table.

  How long could she keep this up before she cracked? How long before Sterling and his father discovered her sleight of hand she used when it came to the housekeeping funds? They had allocated a certain amount for the household but she’d taken a small portion bit by bit.

  Mr. Montgomery had become ever more intolerable. Ever since that day he and Mijnheer Van Vonderen had spoken, his temper would flare at the slightest provocation. Dinner time at the table had become a routine of sarcasm and insult. He did what he could to ridicule her but she made certain to give it back in the same. With everything within her, she knew she could not back down from her father-in-law.

  And yet…

  “I just want a meal time where I don’t have to fight with him today while my husband watches on.” She spoke out loud in the silent room.

  Wearily, she lifted her hand and brushed a lock of hair away from her forehead. Sterling, her husband for more than a month now. Thinking of him, a little bit of sadness disappeared.

  No, he may not have learned to stand up to his father but over the past few weeks, his whole attitude toward her had changed.

  He made sure to spend some part of the morning with her alone. Whether it was breakfast, or some other meal before dinner, he monopolized her time. They talked about many things, from the mundane to the profound. He’d confided to her about not wanting to be a minister but he had a great appreciation for the scriptures and a reverence for God she found comforting.

  Unlike his father, who used scripture to try to manipulate, Sterling just wanted to study it to make sure he understood it. There was never anything under the surface of his interest.

  He, in turn, had taken her to Jasper’s home one day and had shared with her the numerous compositions he’d created for church worship. They had spent the day at Jasper’s home, away from the tyrannical presence of his father. She read through the music and tried to hum a few bars. Her husband had a wonderful gift. Superlative even. He’d taken words and music and wove together songs to stir the soul in anthems of praise.

  “These are wonderful!” she told him as they sat in the attic at Jasper’s home. “I wonder if you could ask Elder Collingsworth if they can be played during the service.”

  Sterling’s light blue eyes had taken on a sad expression. “No, I could never ask that. The elder believes that the Psalms should be the only songs to be sung in service. If I were to make music appropriate for him, it would have to be to the Psalms.”

  “But Sterling—”

  He reached out and touched her cheek, caressing her in the soft, gentle way she’d come to crave more and more. “No, let’s not talk about it, my angel. It is enough to know that you think they’re worthy. Perhaps one day—”

  His voice had trailed off and he’d busied himself with gathering his music and putting it away. Moira had stared at him. She knew what he wanted. What he longed for and desired.

  He wanted the gift of her voice.

  Moira got up from the work table and wandered over to the fireplace, gazing at the leaping flames which ate at the wood. Though she knew he wanted her voice, she was reluctant to give it to him. As a child, she would have sung herself hoarse, giving him the gift of her music without fail.

  Now, as a grown woman, she found she could not return to that place of giving so readily. Sterling, though he spent more time with her, had yet to stand up to his father. He had done other things—taken an interest in the busin
ess aspects of their holdings when she sat down and suggested it to him. Until that moment, he never had any inkling he should be more coherent about their wealth.

  Mr. Montgomery had frowned upon his son’s interference but surprisingly, he did nothing to naysay it. She suspected it was because he had no idea what to do about the business and so, deferred to someone who did.

  As such, Sterling had gone and spoken with the manager of the logging camps and started to implement some measures to create more profitability. Lumber being what it was, there was high demand from people all over the country. Taking a more active role in the business had changed Sterling in subtle ways.

  Even more so, he came to her for advice, something she enjoyed as working with her father had given her insights into business management. Over breakfast some days, they went over the accounts, orders, and strategized.

  She enjoyed those times. The bond between them strengthened during those times of working together.

  And even when he started to become bolder and steal kisses from her.

  They had not shared a bed and so their marriage had not yet been consummated. Though she knew Sterling desired her, she wasn’t yet ready to give in to that intimacy of her own free will. If he had asked her to give herself to him, she would have. But he never asked although she had seen the question in his heated gaze more than once.

  Moira touched her mouth, thinking of two nights ago. They had gathered in the drawing room after dinner. She, recovering from her latest bout with his father. Sterling, reading from the Bible as was his habit.

  “I’ve been reading the Song of Solomon lately, Moira.”

  “Have you?” she asked, knowing he would be discussing the scriptures with her.

  “I talked with one of the Dutchmen from one of the other churches in the city. He believed that the passages are a literary device meant to show Christ’s love for the Church.”

  She’d nodded. “And what do you think, husband?”

  “We all know Solomon’s downfall had everything to do with women.”

  “True.”

  Sterling set aside the bible and gazed at her with an expression she couldn’t quite identify. “I think it’s a song about a man desiring his wife. In the passage, I just read, he says, ‘Thou hast ravished my heart, my sister, my spouse.’”