Twice a Bride (30 page)

He reached for her satchel. “I like a woman who doesn’t keep a man waiting.”

She handed over her bag, mustering the sweetest smile she could manage. “I’m ready.”

At least it was partly true. She was ready to be in Cripple Creek but in no particular hurry to make the trip in this contraption.

“This is all quite sudden, and I’ll need to think on it.”

Sunday morning Hattie walked from the surrey to the church steps beside Willow and behind Harlan and Cherise. Tomorrow the sweet child would start her classes. With the new wardrobe Hattie had helped pick out. She sighed.

Cherise twisted and faced her. “Are you well, Miss Hattie?” The child had heard her sigh. Concern laced her brown eyes.

“
Je vais très bien
. I’m fine, dear.” Hattie smiled. “And I’m happy to be at the Lord’s House.” That much was true.

Harlan met her gaze, the question of marriage still evident in his handsome features. She looked away, and he resumed his walk to the steps.

Absent-mindedly, Hattie greeted her fellow parishioners. Four days and four sleepless nights had passed since Harlan had proposed. She’d spent the nights mulling over the same possibilities. She loved him and the child he intended to raise. The entire Sinclair clan, for that matter. But if she’d ever thought about a second marriage, she would have wanted it to be like the first—two people marrying because they loved one another and couldn’t imagine life without the other. Would her and Harlan’s love of Cherise be enough for a marriage of convenience? Was she being selfish? Should she settle for such a union for the sake of the child?

After greeting the Sinclair sisters and kissing their babies’ soft cheeks, she joined her friend Etta Ondersma. They sat on the same side of the building as the Sinclair family, but several rows behind them. Hattie’s heart ached. She could be sitting up there with them, part of the family.

Hattie opened her Bible to the third chapter of Proverbs and read the fifth verse in an attempt to capture her confusing thoughts.

“Trust in the L
ORD
with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.”

Nell’s husband, Judson Archer, was the singer in the family. He stood at the podium with a hymnal open in his hands. “Join me in singing to the God of our past, present, and future. Hymn number 177. ‘ ’Tis So Sweet to Trust in Jesus.’ ”

God knew what she needed, and she knew what she wanted. Hattie flipped through the pages of the hymnal and then settled into her alto part, surrendering her heart anew.

Lord, what do You will for me?

Trenton opened the flap window in his woodworking room. The first snowfall of the season Wednesday night had burdened the trees, but it had melted by Friday afternoon. The morning air was crisp and dry. He leaned toward the opening and breathed in the refreshment.

Sunday.

He tightened the miter clamp on a strip of pine. The day of the week never mattered much to him on the road. He was usually in the photographic van, headed to the next town, content to wander. Until Jesse suggested he put down roots in Cripple Creek. Maybe his current restlessness had nothing to do with wandering or roots and everything to do with what he’d left behind in Kansas—his dream of taking a wife and raising a family. He loosened the clamp and repositioned the board to cut the other end.

Tucker Raines wasn’t judgmental or pushy. The reverend had seen him through the small window to the foyer, but he hadn’t pointed him out and made a spectacle of inviting him inside.

He was a restrained
and
clever man of God. By inviting him to the men’s Bible study first, he’d made attending the church picnic seem harmless. He’d presented it as a job. But Trenton never should have agreed to participate, even if it afforded him the opportunity to see Willow in a social setting and taste her apple pie.

“Maybe this Sunday you’ll venture all the way into the sanctuary?”

He wasn’t ready for that, but he
was
curious.

Trenton laid the backsaw on the worktable and went to the trunk in his bedroom. Kneeling, he dug through the worn winter clothes to where his Bible lay. The best way to figure out what the reverend was talking about last Sunday was to read that fifth chapter of Romans for himself.

M
onday morning Hattie set her teacup in its saucer and looked across the small kitchen table at Harlan, an activity that had grown comfortable. The unanswered question between them, however, was most uncomfortable. She’d never been an indecisive person and hated that she’d kept Harlan waiting on her answer since Wednesday.

He’d sent Cherise for her schoolbag, and Willow hadn’t come down for breakfast yet, affording her an opportunity to give her answer. She smiled, praying for the right words and the courage to speak them.

Harlan set his coffee cup on the table, wrapping his hands around it. His eyes were a deeper blue this morning. “This afternoon I’ll find another place for me and Cherise to live.”

She pressed her lips together, willing herself not to object to his plans. It made sense that they not be under the same roof, given the personal nature of their relationship.

“Your silence is your answer,” he continued. “I shouldn’t have expected you to marry me out of your fondness for Cherise.”

Hattie set her cup in the saucer, its rattle stretching the silence. She should tell Harlan why she couldn’t marry him. That she loved him but refused to settle for a marriage of convenience, even though she loved Cherise and wanted to help him raise her.

A tear rolled down her cheek, and she brushed it away. “I’m sorry. I wish—”

Cherise dashed in, wearing her new green dress. “My bag is by
porte
.”

“Door.” Hattie offered her the English word. She’d miss these opportunities to help the child learn the language.

Harlan shifted his attention to his charge. “Very good.” He stood. “We’ll have our breakfast, little one, then see you off to school.”

Cherise gave Hattie’s neck a squeeze. “I like new dress.”

“And you look lovely in it, sweet girl.”

Harlan and Cherise left the room hand in hand.

At the stove, Hattie contemplated if being loved by a man was overrated. Women throughout history had settled for being cared for, and most had done quite well. Cherise loved her. Couldn’t that be enough to make them a family?

Midafternoon, Hattie pulled the tray of apple tarts from her oven and set it on a trivet. Cinnamon and apple scented the kitchen, and she breathed in its tantalizing fragrance.

Autumn had come to Colorado, her favorite time of year. She glanced out the window at the sycamore tree. Its swaying branches waved crimson, golden, and burnt-orange flags. The cooling winds signaled relief from summer’s heat. Hattie sighed. She knew better than to entertain schoolgirl notions at her age, but she’d let herself think Harlan Sinclair could be her autumn, that he’d swept into Cripple Creek, bringing a change of seasons with him.

Taking part in four weddings in less than two years had obviously softened her heart toward the prospect of a second marriage. But George had done too good a job of cherishing her. She wasn’t ready to be the wife of a man who didn’t love her, no matter how much she loved Harlan, Cherise, and the entire Sinclair family. She couldn’t settle for anything less than love.

A knock on the kitchen door alerted her that Boney had arrived for coffee and chatter. A well-timed visit, if her friend was ready for the insurmountable task of cheering her up.

“Come in.” She filled his coffee mug and met him at the door.

Boney stepped inside, wearing trousers and a coat with a new felt hat. He sniffed the air like a hound on a hunt. “You must have known I was coming.” She loved her whiskered friend’s boyish grin. “You’ve been baking again.” He lifted the tray off the countertop and took it and his cup to the table.

Baking usually helped her think, but she’d been doing far too much of both lately. She carried two plates and forks to the table, along with her cup of tea. “You’re all shined up for the second time in less than a month. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to woo me.” She smiled and seated herself.

Boney’s bushy eyebrows knit together. “I gave up on that a long time ago.”

Hattie nodded. And for good reason. She didn’t love him in that way.

He tugged on his neatly trimmed beard and sat down. “I have been seeing someone though.”

“It’s about time. You aren’t getting any younger.”

Boney opened his mouth as if to speak, but didn’t.

“Harlan asked me to marry him.” Hattie hadn’t meant to blurt it out.

Boney blew out a long whistle. “You win. Your news is bigger than mine.” He pointed a crooked finger at her. “You go first.”

“Wednesday was a heavenly day. Harlan took Cherise clothes shopping and invited me along. We had such a grand time picking out skirts, frocks, and shirtwaists, even a couple of bonnets.” She sipped her tea. “He bought my lunch at the café and took me and Cherise to the cabin to see Vivian’s twins.”

“It sounds like a cozy family time to me.”

“It was.” Dreaminess laced her voice, but she didn’t care. “Then he said he wanted to talk to me privately.” She stirred a little more sugar into her cup. “We went out on the porch swing. That’s where he proposed.”

Boney let out a low whistle. “And?”

“I said no.”

Boney hung his head and peered at her. “You still have that bad habit, do you?”

She swatted at him as if he were a buzzing fly. “This is different.”

“I would’ve thought so. You love him, don’t you?”

“I might.”

Boney slid an apple tart onto each of their plates and added forks. He looked at her, the lines at his eyes softening. “Remember, I’ve seen love on you before.”

“I remember.” Boney was there when she fell for George.

Boney sat back in his chair. “You love the little girl. And if you love Harlan Sinclair, why did you turn him down?”

“He needs a mother for Cherise. That’s why he asked me.”

He sighed and shook his head. “That’s not enough for you.”

“You know me well.” Hattie reached for her teacup. “Now it’s your turn. You said you’re seeing someone. Anyone I know?”

“Etta Ondersma.”

“Etta? I sat beside her at church yesterday, and she didn’t mention anything to me about a fuzzy old miner courting her.”

“Etta knows you and I are close friends. And I wanted to tell you myself. I knew I’d be coming over today.”

“That’s good.” At least one widow in the district would …

“Are you jealous?” he asked.

“Don’t be silly. We’re not children, and this isn’t the school yard.” No matter how they acted at times. She reached across the table and patted his hand. “Companions are important, and I’m happy to hear you and Etta are together.”

Boney raised his hand, his eyes wide. “Whoa. Back up the wagon. I haven’t proposed or any such thing. I saw her at the post office, and we got to talking. Mostly about you. We went to the ice-cream parlor and visited. She invited me to the church picnic Sunday.”