Short-Straw Bride (14 page)

“You're a good man, Travis. An honorable man.” Meredith plucked at her sleeve. “You drew the short straw, and you're willing to stand before a preacher because you feel responsible for me. But you're not. I made the decision to come here, and I'll deal with the consequences. You deserve to have a wife of your own choosing, not one forced on you through circumstances outside your control.”

“It's not like that, Meredith. It's . . .” Travis sighed and rubbed his jaw. Why did she say nothing about what
she
deserved? He didn't know much about the workings of the female mind, but he knew one thing—she deserved a choice.

“I'm not going to force you, Meredith. If you believe leaving is the best option, I'll not stop you. But if you think you might be able to make a home for yourself here, with a bunch of unrefined men, we'd like you to stay.
I'd
like you to stay.”

Stretching his hand across the space that separated them, he caressed her cheek with his knuckles, then let his arm fall away. “You're a fine woman, Meredith Hayes. You're strong and brave and kind. And should you decide to take a chance on me, I'd be honored to make you my bride.”

M
eredith gripped the edge of the chair seat with her left hand as a new light-headedness assaulted her. Travis Archer had just proposed. Really proposed. Sure, he'd made no mention of love, but he had only been in her company for three days—four if she counted the day she stepped in that trap twelve years ago. The man needed time to catch up. After all, she'd been in love with him since she was ten. She had a bit of a head start.

But did he really want her? What if his pretty words were just flattery? Travis didn't strike her as the manipulative type, yet if she agreed to marry him, she'd be risking her entire future on an idealized impression. What if she was wrong?

“Meredith?”

She blinked and refocused on the man in front of her. The man who could be her husband if she gave the word. The man she wanted more than any other. The man who could hurt her more than any other.

She bit her lip and glanced at the other Archers spaced about the room. All eyes lingered on her. Waiting. Leaving the decision in her hands.

How was she supposed to know what to do? If she married Travis and he never returned her feelings, she'd be miserable for the rest of her life. But if she ran away when there
was
a chance for her and Travis to find love together, she'd be running away from her greatest hope.

“Meri? Are you all right?” Travis's rugged features softened in concern. He lifted his hand as if to touch her cheek again, and Meredith bolted out of her chair. Out of his reach. Her head throbbed at the sudden movement, and the floor seemed to roll beneath her feet, but she couldn't let him touch her again. His tenderness would cloud her judgment.

Recalling how Travis had extricated himself from her uncle earlier in the day, Meredith took a shaky step backward and employed the same tactic. “I'll give you my decision in the morning.”

Travis's eyes met hers for a long penetrating moment. Then he nodded. “Fair enough.”

He didn't offer to see her to her room, and though a small part of her was disappointed, a larger part was grateful. He seemed to sense her need to exert what little control she had over her situation and respected her choice to do so.

She limped back to her bedroom, the air taking on more of a chill the farther she moved from the kitchen. Logic said it was the loss of the cookstove's heat, but Meredith feared it had more to do with walking away from Travis.

A solitary tear rolled down her cheek as she closed the door. She leaned her back against it and sucked in a quivery breath. Why was this happening to her? How had things become so complicated? All she'd wanted to do was help Travis, yet instead, she'd trapped him—trapped him in his own honor, an honor more ironclad than the steel trap that had closed around her leg all those years ago.

She should grant him his freedom. Just as he had freed her from the steel jaws of that trap, she should free him from his self-imposed responsibility.

Stiffening her spine and her resolve, Meredith marched across the room to the bed. But when her hand closed around the bedpost and she sank down to the mattress, both her spine and her resolve weakened. She opened her right fist and stared at the short straw in her palm. Out of all the brothers, Travis had ended up with the short straw. Was it a sign that she should stay? God's will?

Meredith pressed her forehead against the curved wood of the bedpost and groaned. Why did the choice have to be so hard? Why couldn't God make his will simpler to discern?

“Seek the Lord, and his strength.”

Meredith lifted her head. Those words. They were from one of the Psalms her father had helped her memorize as a child.

“Seek the Lord, and his strength
.”

They ran through her mind again, eclipsing all other thought, resonating with her soul. The answer to her immediate dilemma remained as murky as before, yet a new clarity emerged. She'd been seeking answers within herself, not from the Lord.

No wonder none of this makes sense, God. Only you can see what the future holds. Therefore, only you can guide me in the direction that is best. Please make the way clear. Help me make the right decision.

Meredith tightened her grip on the bedpost and hoisted herself back to her feet. Travis had mentioned something about a Bible he kept in his bureau when he brought her that book of western tales yesterday—in case she preferred it to the male adventure novel. She hadn't thought much of it since, but suddenly her spirit hungered for the wisdom it contained.

She found it in the second drawer she opened, next to a mahogany keepsake box. The black leather cover was well worn, with cracks running parallel to the spine and part of the gold lettering rubbed away from the bottom of the
H
in
Holy
. It fit comfortably in her hand, as if it belonged there, and for the first time since she'd awakened, a hint of peace fluttered about her heart. It didn't fully alight, but its nearness brought her a much-needed assurance that she was on the right path.

Clutching the Bible to her chest, Meredith petitioned the Lord again for guidance and understanding, then crawled onto the bed, propped the pillows against the headboard, and settled in for a long night of prayer and searching. Whenever a verse tugged at her memory, she'd look through the Scriptures until she found it. She'd read it and reread it, trying not to form conclusions but simply absorb what God's Word was saying. On several occasions, she dozed off in the midst of a prayer, yet when she stirred, her fingers still marked the passages the Lord had led her to. As the first hint of dawn lightened the room, she read back over the verses she had marked.

“Be kindly affectioned one to another with brotherly love; in honour preferring one another . . . Distributing to the necessity of saints; given to hospitality.”

She flipped from Romans to Hebrews.

“And let us consider one another to provoke unto love and to good works: not forsaking the assembling of ourselves together, as the manner of some is; but exhorting one another. . . .”

Meredith turned a couple of pages to the next passage. “
Let brotherly love continue. Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.”

And finally, the verses from First Peter that filled her with purpose. “
Likewise, ye wives, be in subjection to your own husbands; that, if any obey not the word, they also may without the word be won by the conversation of the wives.”

Over the course of the night, a growing sense of certainty had blossomed within her as she meditated on the verses the Lord had led her to. A thread of similarity ran through them all—a theme of service, of love, of hospitality. She had thought her decision hinged on what was best for her, but as the approaching sunrise tinted the sky with pink, she finally understood that, in truth, it hinged on what best fit in with God's plan. A God who was faithful, a God who desired his children to serve one another in love and to spur one another on to good works, a God who could use a wife to gently sway a husband to a life of greater faith.

Even when sleep claimed her during the night, she'd dreamed in images and ideas. The Archers imprisoned on their own land. The sign at the gate threatening away all visitors. Loneliness. Isolation.
“Love thy neighbour.”

She'd found no promises of any love more than brotherly love. She'd found no assurance of happiness beyond the joy inherently found in hope. But what she had found was purpose and a belief that God could work through her to bring about good for Travis. And the rightness of it resonated in her soul.

Meredith turned the pages back to Romans, to where she had placed Travis's short straw as a marker. Once again she read the precious promise written in the eighth chapter.
“And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.”

She inhaled deeply through her nose, and her eyes slid closed. “I don't know if Travis will ever love me, but I pray you will help me to trust in your promise, Lord. Help me to believe that you will work things out for our good so that I will not fall prey to bitterness or discontent. I'm leaping, Lord. Please don't let me fall.”

Exhausted from the long night, yet oddly invigorated at the same time, Meredith climbed out of bed and padded over to the window to watch the sunrise brighten the trees. The dull ache in her head reminded her of her injury, but the floor respectfully stayed put instead of rising and falling as it had yesterday. She smiled and silently thanked God for small blessings. It wouldn't do for the bride to stagger around like a drunkard on her wedding day.

Travis stared at his jawline in the small square of mirror that hung in the bathing room and drew the straight razor down his cheek. He winced as the blade nicked the edge of his ear. Adjusting his grip, he rinsed the shaving soap from the razor and reached up for another stroke. His fingers trembled. Travis frowned. A lack of sleep combined with a prolonged sense of uncertainty had stolen his usual steadiness.

How was a man supposed to prepare for his wedding day when he didn't even know if the bride was going to show up? Not that he blamed Meredith for her indecision. A person needed time to settle something this big in her mind. It was just that he was accustomed to being the one who did the settling. He gathered input from his brothers, chewed over the ramifications, rendered a verdict, and put it into action. Simple. Direct. Practical.

Meredith, on the other hand, left him stuck in the chewing phase while she mulled through her problem without his assistance. He'd been tempted more than once to knock on her door and ask if she'd reached any conclusions, but good sense had prevailed and he'd left her alone. Now that the sun had crested the horizon and it was officially morning, however, the desire to know his fate had him back on edge.

The razor snagged a spot on his chin, and Travis scowled as a drop of blood beaded on his jaw.
Great.
With the way things were going, he'd end up with enough scratches on his face to have Meredith thinking one of the displaced barn cats had mistaken him for a mouse. Not exactly the impression one wanted to make on a woman who had yet to make up her mind concerning his worthiness as a mate. He'd dug himself into a deep enough hole last night without inviting more unfavorable scrutiny this morning.

“Coffee's on,” Jim growled in a sleep-roughened voice as he plodded through the bathing room, the wire egg basket dangling from his meaty fingers.

Travis had never really noticed how incongruous a picture the big man made carrying the thin basket, since Jim had been in charge of all food chores and cooking duties since the time he was ten. But as Travis held his razor away from his neck and watched his brother exit, he couldn't help imagining what it would be like to have Meredith squeeze past him with the basket, her skirt brushing his pant leg, maybe a smile curving her lips as their eyes met in the shaving mirror.

The sting of the blade biting into his neck brought him back to reality. “Thunderation!” He hadn't been this clumsy with a shave since he was Neill's age.

“Nervous, Trav?” Crockett stood in the doorway, one shoulder propped against the jamb. The fellow looked far too well rested and chipper for Travis's taste, and the teasing gleam in his brother's eye rubbed over him like sandpaper.

“Worried she'll turn you down, or afraid she won't?”

Travis glared at him in the mirror and swiped the razor under his chin for the final stroke. Ignoring the quiet chuckle behind him, Travis set the blade aside and rinsed the soap residue from his face before toweling dry. If he was lucky, Crockett would be gone by the time he finished.

He lowered the towel from his face and stole a glance toward the door.
Drat.
Luck never had favored him much.

“You know, I could stand in for you if you're not up to the task.”

The words lit a fuse in Travis. He twisted to face his brother fully and jabbed his finger into Crockett's chest. “Leave it alone.”

Tossing down the towel, he shoved his way through the blocked doorway and stormed over to the stove to check the coffee. As he reached into the cupboard to retrieve a mug, however, his conscience nudged him. Taking the cup in hand, he slowly reined in his temper. After a long moment, he reached for a second mug.

Travis poured two cups of coffee and motioned for Crockett to join him at the table. “Sorry I snapped at you.”

Crockett shrugged and slid into a chair. “I knew the spot would be sore when I prodded it.”

Travis shot a glare at him. “Then why'd you bring it up? For pete's sake, Crock, we're in enough of a mess without you stirring up more trouble. The matter's been decided. If Meredith chooses to marry, she'll marry me. That's the end of it.”

Instead of firing back, Crockett stared at him over his coffee cup as he sipped the steaming brew. The silent survey lasted so long, Travis grew uncomfortable and finally dropped his gaze, suddenly finding it imperative that he unroll his shirtsleeves and fasten the button at each cuff.