Twice a Bride (24 page)

Perhaps she’d earned the right to mention her concern about Cherise’s education. But she’d wait until this evening after the child was tucked in for the night. In the meantime, she’d talk to Vivian about making something new for Cherise to wear. Hopefully to school, where she’d learn more English.

When the white steeple came into view, Harlan slowed the two horses to an even gait. Despite the rain, folks milled about outside under umbrellas. Hattie pulled two umbrellas off the seat. She’d found the small one for Cherise. One of the many things people tended to leave at the boardinghouse when they departed.

She glanced back at the round-faced Cherise.
“Êtes vous allée à l’église en France?”
Her French was a little rusty, but hopefully the girl understood she was asking about her church attendance in France.

“
Oui
. With Papa and Monsieur Sinclair.”

“Our church services … umm … 
réunions de l’église
are a little different here, no?”

“
Oui
. More fun.”

Hattie smiled and nodded. Tucker was definitely less formal in the structure of the services. She’d heard Morgan refer to it as Holy Spirit–inspired spontaneity. As she turned back around, she met Harlan’s gaze.

His smile revealed perfectly even teeth. “How is it that you know French?”

“Camille, my best friend on the trail, was French.”

“The Oregon Trail?”

“Yes. My family traveled in a wagon from Missouri to California.”

He looked at the road ahead, then back at her. “Another story you can tell me over coffee.”

Willow watched as Mr. Sinclair jumped down and rushed around the surrey. He held his hand out to Miss Hattie and helped her to the ground.

It seemed her landlady had at least two good prospects for a husband, even if she wasn’t in the market for one. Hattie obviously enjoyed an ease and a history with Mr. Boney Hughes since their youth. But Mr. Sinclair had a flair for genteel manners and a definite family connection. A family Hattie already loved as her own.

“Thank you, kind sir.” Smiling, Miss Hattie straightened her floral straw hat.

“You’re most welcome, ma’am.”

They may not realize it yet, but there was an undeniable attraction between her landlady and Ida’s father.

Willow helped Cherise down from the surrey, but as soon as her feet touched the ground, it was the older woman’s hand that Cherise snagged. A broad smile filled Mr. Sinclair’s face as he captured the child’s other hand.

Perhaps Ida wouldn’t need to make a decision about taking in the child.

Willow followed them to the church steps. Mr. Sinclair steadied Miss Hattie’s large umbrella over their heads while Miss Hattie held the small one until the two umbrellas collided. Their laughter stirred Willow’s heart. She and her father liked to walk in the rain. He called the raindrops angel kisses.

Watching the older couple climb the stairs together with Cherise made her question her certainty that Sam had been her only chance for love. For the first time, she found herself hoping he wasn’t.

At the door, Miss Hattie glanced over her shoulder. “Dear, you said Tucker invited Mr. Van Der Veer to church. Are you expecting he might attend this morning?”

“Tucker did say he extended an invitation, but Mr. Van Der Veer and I haven’t talked about his church attendance.”

What made Miss Hattie think of the photographer in this moment? Ah, the matchmaker in her must have decided Mr. Van Der Veer was a candidate.

Was that such a bad notion? He certainly had some noble attributes. Not the least of which was his commitment to hire an employee based upon his or
her
qualifications for the job. His appreciation for her work certainly counted. And for some reason the pecan fudge he’d bought for her tasted even better than that she’d purchased for herself the day before.

At the back of the sanctuary, she found herself inspecting the congregation for a man with broad shoulders and hair parted down the middle.

Trenton leaned back in his porch chair, watching a steady rain spit into the pools of mud forming across the road. Before five o’clock that morning, big drops had pounded his roof and woken him.

Sundays were his toughest day of the week. His one consistent day off work, and he didn’t know what to do with his time. He’d already scrubbed the kitchen counter and washed out the icebox, changed the sheets on his bed, unpacked a box of books, and written his mother a letter. And it wasn’t even ten o’clock. He lifted his second mug of coffee to his mouth.

He’d thought about seeing if Jesse wanted to ride to Dome Rock with him. He’d heard talk about the landmark and wanted to photograph the monumental rock. But it was Sunday. His friend would be in church.

And so would Willow Peterson. Seeing how her brother was the pastor, church attendance was probably a family requirement. He took a long swig of hot coffee, then felt a smile spread across his face. What was he thinking? His employee wouldn’t attend church just because a man told her to, even if the man happened to be her brother. No, she was a woman of faith in her own right. He couldn’t say why he knew that, but something about her told him she’d relied on God when her husband died. And her ongoing confidence in God drew him to her.

Sitting beside her on the bench in front of the post office on Thursday had felt right. He thought better of himself when she was around. He didn’t feel judged or condemned. When he thought he’d chased her off and lost her as an employee … well, he didn’t want to think about it. She’d forgiven him for the flea imbroglio. Even if it was something neither of them was likely to forget.

“I could be persuaded. I like the pecan fudge.”
Her green-eyed smile had weakened his knees, like to have knocked him on his backside.

Straightening, Trenton set his coffee cup on the side table. After locking
the front door, he pulled the collar up on his coat and took quick steps around the mud puddles toward the First Congregational Church.

The white steeple reminded him of the little cabin-church his family had attended in Maryland. His pulse quickened. He couldn’t help but wonder how different his life would have been … would be, if he’d been able to put that experience behind him. If he hadn’t lumped all pastors and believers together. If he hadn’t blamed God.

Trenton noted the matching brick parsonage set behind the church, then made his way up the steps. Singing drew him through the outer doors. Wiping his shoes on an entry rug, he listened to the voices blending on the refrain:
“Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine!”
Assurance—a feeling he’d never experienced.

He wiped rainwater from his face and glanced at the closed door leading into the sanctuary. This was his first church service since that December day right before his tenth birthday. The pastor’s condemning pronouncements and hellish cries still echoed in his memory.

The foyer here was close enough.

I
da hadn’t seated her father beside Hattie at the supper table, but that’s where they belonged—together. Even though the two of them had talked through their foibles, they had yet to figure out they were a good match. Her father sat at the end of the table. Cherise sat between him and Hattie, who was quite attentive to the child’s needs. As a mother might be.

Father hadn’t said any more to Ida or her sisters about taking in Cherise as their own. He seemed more comfortable caring for her. Perhaps he—

“Miss Ida.”

Ida looked across the table at Cherise. The little girl’s dark hair, topped with a bright pink ribbon, cascaded over her shoulders. Probably Hattie’s doing. “Yes?”

“I will.…” She glanced up at Father.

Stilling his fork midair, Father smiled at her. “Attend?”

“Yes, attend.” Cherise copied his pronunciation to the letter. “I will attend school.” Excitement and apprehension etched her brow.

Ida’s heart ached again for the fatherless child. How could she have been so petty to have entertained jealous thoughts toward Cherise? “Going to school will be wonderful.”

“Yes, I liked school very much.” Kat sipped her water.

“Monsieur Sinclair is a wise man.” Miss Hattie leaned forward and gave Father a warm smile before returning her attention to Cherise. “School will be
good for you, dear. You’ll meet girls and boys your own age and learn more about America.” She repeated it in French, stumbling over only a couple of words.

Ida met the little girl’s timid gaze. “You’ll do fine.”

Cherise smiled, taking Ida back in time to her days as the
big sister
to little Vivian, now swollen with a child of her own.

Ida blinked back a tear for the baby she’d lost and scooped a spoonful of chilled pea salad. Cherise felt more like a little sister to her than a daughter.

An hour later, Ida carried a stack of dirty dishes to the kitchen. They’d finished their supper, and the men had retired to the parlor. Vivian remained in the dining room with Cherise, Hope, and William while Willow, Kat, and Nell helped Ida clean up. Hattie had taken a tray of coffee to the men.

Kat lifted her hands out of the dishwater and looked at Willow. “It may be wishful thinking, but it looks to me like your landlady may be smitten with my father.”

“I’ve been thinking the same thing.” Willow added a bowl she’d just dried to a stack on the countertop.

Ida slid a plate with two slices of leftover roast beef into the icebox. “You live with her. Has she said anything about him?”

“Only that they’d been talking and she thought much better of him.” Willow cleared her throat. “But actions can speak louder than words.”

“It doesn’t hurt to hope.” Kat dipped her hands back into the water.

Nell set the stack of bowls in the cupboard. “What about you, Willow?” She pinned Willow with the look of a desperate romantic.

Willow gave Nell a shy smile. “Your father is nice enough, but not my sort.”

Nell didn’t miss a beat. “And how about Mr. Van Der Veer? A man who buys pecan fudge for a woman seems like a good sort.”

Willow shot Ida a look that could melt a block of ice.

“I might have mentioned something about it,” Ida said. “I thought it was awfully sweet of him and didn’t think you would mind my sharing it.”

A loud gasp pulled Ida and the others back to the dining room. Vivian stood beside the table. Her face bright red, she stared at the floor. “I’m wet.”

Liquid tinged a light pink had formed a puddle on the wooden floor.

“Your baby is ready.” Kat stepped forward and wrapped her arm around Vivian’s shoulders.

Vivian glanced at the children. “I can’t have the baby here! I need to go home.”

Carter rushed into the room and stared at the puddle. “Is it safe to move her?”

“Your floor. I’m so sorry.” Vivian’s forehead glistened with perspiration.

“I can mop it.” Ida brushed Vivian’s arm. “I’ll do anything for my new niece or nephew.”

Kat laid her hand on Vivian’s swollen abdomen. “Are you having any pain?”

“Yes. My back aches, and I feel tight.”

Her hand still on Vivian, Kat looked at Ida. “We’ll use your bed.”

Where she’d lost her baby just weeks ago. “Yes.”