“We both know this marriage is one of convenience, a business arrangement.”

Exactly what Elizabeth wanted to hear, wasn’t it? Then why did Ted’s words sting? Well, business arrangement or not, how could she wed a stranger? “I…I can’t marry you.”

Ted turned to her, searching her face. His expression softened. He took her hand in his. His gentle touch gave her a measure of comfort…and far too much awareness of the man.

“This isn’t easy for either of us,” he said, his eyes filling with tenderness. “But I want you to know I’ll be kind to you. Work hard to provide for you. I don’t have much, but all I have is yours.”

Elizabeth didn’t want to marry, but what choice did she have? She didn’t have a penny to her name. Didn’t have a single idea what to do.

A proposal would solve all her problems.

Except this proposal was offered to another woman. What would Ted say once he knew her true identity?

JANET DEAN

grew up in a family that cherished the past and had a strong creative streak. Her father recounted wonderful stories, like his father before him. The tales they told instilled in Janet a love of history and the desire to write. She married her college sweetheart and taught first grade before leaving to rear two daughters. As her daughters grew, they watched Little House on the Prairie, reawakening Janet’s love of American history and the stories of strong men and women of faith who built this country. Janet eagerly turned to inspirational historical romance, and she loves spinning stories for Steeple Hill Love Inspired Historical. When she isn’t writing, Janet stamps greeting cards, plays golf and bridge, and is never without a book to read. The Deans love to travel and to spend time with family.

The Substitute Bride
Janet Dean

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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.

—Romans 8:28

To my wonderful Steeple Hill editors

Melissa Endlich, Emily Rodmell and Tina James.

Thank you for your encouragement and wisdom.

To my beloved grandchildren Tyler, Drew,

Lauren and Carter. God bless you for giving me

fresh eyes, endless joy and hope for the future.

To the Daves, our sons by marriage, and my

husband, Dale—your steadfast faith is a

role model for our family.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

Chicago, spring of 1899

Elizabeth Manning had examined every option open to her. But in the end she had only one. Her heart lurched.

She had to run.

If she stayed in Chicago, tomorrow morning she’d be walking down the aisle of the church on Papa’s arm. Then, walking back up it attached to Reginald Parks for the remainder of his life, which could be awfully long, considering Reginald’s father was eighty-two and still going strong.

Papa said she had no choice, now that their circumstances had gone south like robins in winter. He’d reminded her that as Reginald’s wife, she’d be kept in fine style. Probably what the keepers said about the tigers at the zoo.

She scooped her brush and toiletries into a satchel, then dropped it beside a valise crammed with clothes. No, she couldn’t rely on mortality to get her out of the marriage.

And as for God…

Martha had promised God would help her. Well, Elizabeth had prayed long and hard and nothing had changed.

Her breath caught. Perhaps God had washed His hands of her. If so, she could hardly blame Him.

The time had come to take matters into her own hands. Once she got a job and made some money, she’d return—for the most important person of all.

She dashed to her four-poster bed, threw back the coverlet and yanked off the linens, then knotted the sheet around the post, jerked it tight and doubled it again for good measure. That ought to hold her weight.

A light tap. She whirled to the sound.

“Lizzie?”

Elizabeth flung open the door. Skinny arms and legs burrowed into her skirts. “I don’t want you to go,” her brother said, his voice muffled by tears.

“I don’t want to, either. But I’ve explained why I must.”

Robby’s arms encircled her waist, hanging on tight. Her breath caught. Could she do this? Could she leave her brother behind? “I’ll be back, as soon as I find a job. I promise.”

With few skills, what job could she do? Could she find a way to support them? All those uncertainties sank like a stone to her stomach. Refusing to give in to her fear, she took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. She would not fail her brother.

“What if you can’t?” Robby’s big blue eyes swam with tears. “What if—” he twisted a corner of her skirt into his fist “—you don’t come back?”

Looking into her brother’s wide eyes filled with alarm and hurt, Elizabeth’s throat tightened. Was he afraid she’d die like Mama had?

“I’ll be back.” She knelt in front of him and brushed an unruly lock of blond hair out of his eyes. “We’re a matched set, remember?”

Robby swiped at his runny nose, then nodded.

“We go together like salt and pepper. Like toast and jam. Like—”

“Mashed potatoes and gravy,” Robby said, voice quavering.

“Exactly.” The smile on Elizabeth’s face trembled but held. “In the meantime Martha and Papa will take good care of you.”

“But—but when we move, how will you find us?”

One month until the bank tossed them out on the street. One month to forge a new life. One month to save her family. Her stomach dropped the way it had at nine when she’d slipped on the stairs and scrambled to keep her footing. She hadn’t fallen then and she wouldn’t fail now. “I’ll be back before the move.”

Tears spilled down his cheeks. “I want to come with you.”

If only he could. But she had no idea where she’d go. What conditions she’d face. “Eight-year-old boys belong in school.” Elizabeth forced the words past the lump in her throat.

Tugging him to her, she inhaled the scent of soap, thanks to Martha’s unshakable supervision. A sense of calm filled her. She could count on Martha, who’d raised her brother since Mama died, doting on him as if he belonged to her.

Robby’s eyes brightened. “Can you get a job on a farm, Lizzie? So I can have a dog?”

His request pressed against her lungs. What kind of a father gave his son a fluffy black-and-white puppy for Christmas, then turned around and sold it in January? Reversals at the track, he’d said. As always with Papa, luck rising then falling, taking their family and their hearts with it.

A chill snaked down her spine. What if Robby caught Papa’s fever for gambling? If she didn’t get him away from here, her brother might spend his life like Papa, chasing fantasies.

“I can feed the pigs and chickens,” Robby pleaded, his expression earnest.

“I don’t have the skills to work on a farm, sweet boy, but once we’re settled, you’ll have the biggest dog I can find.” She kissed his forehead. “I promise.”

Yet another promise Elizabeth didn’t know how she’d keep.

A smile as wide as the Chicago River stretched across Robby’s face. “You mean it?”

“Have I ever failed to keep a promise?” She ruffled Robby’s hair. “Now promise me you’ll be brave while I’m gone.”

His head bobbed three times. “I will.”

She wrapped her brother in one last lingering hug. “I love you.” She blinked back tears. “Now, tiptoe to your room and crawl under the covers.” She tapped his nose with her fingertip. “Sweet dreams.”

His lips turned up in a smile. “I’m gonna dream about a black-and-white fluffy dog.”

She forced up the corners of her mouth as Robby took one last look back at her then slipped out the door.

No longer able to hold back her tears, Elizabeth leaned against the wall, fingering the cameo hanging from the delicate chain around her neck, the last tie to her mother. She would miss her room, her home, the place she’d lived all her life. Her watery gaze traveled the tiered moldings, crystal chandelier and wood-planked floor. Once this bedroom had held a mahogany writing desk, hand-carved armoire and handsome Oriental rug.

Here one day, gone another.

Like her life.

“Elizabeth, we miss your company.”

Papa’s booming voice was followed by the muffled mumblings of her want-to-be groom.

She swiped the tears from her cheeks, then hustled to the half-open door and caught snatches of Reginald’s conversation. “Tomorrow…at my side…ceremony.”

“I assure you, Reginald, she’ll be there,” Papa said, his voice carrying up the stairs, putting more knots in her stomach than she’d tied in her linens.

He’d promised her to Reginald Parks much as he had the armoire he’d sold to Mrs. Grant last week and the cherry break-front he’d shipped to the auctioneer the week before. He expected her to bail him out as Mama’s fortune had, until he’d squandered every dime and worried poor Mama into an early grave.

How could Papa believe Reginald was the answer? She couldn’t abide the man. He had no patience with Robby, even hinted at sending her brother to boarding school, as if losing his mother hadn’t been enough upheaval in his young life.

Surely God had another answer.

She sighed. If only she and Robby could have a real home where a family shared their meals and the day’s events at a dining table that stayed put, where a man considered his family first, where love didn’t destroy.

“Elizabeth Ann!” Papa called. “Reginald is waiting.”

She heard the familiar creak of the first step—Papa was on his way up. With her heart thudding in her chest, she eased the door shut and turned the key until the lock clicked. Then she jammed her hands into her kid gloves, grabbed her handbag and the small satchel stuffed with necessities and tore to the open window.

She looked down. Way down to the lawn and shrubbery along the back of the house. She gulped at the prospect of following her possessions out that window. Now was not the time to lose her nerve. She dropped the satchel. It bounced but stayed shut. When the valise hit, the latch sprung, scattering clothing across the lawn. Praying she’d hold up better when she alighted, Elizabeth flung the rope of sheets over the sill.

A rap on the door. “Be a good girl and come downstairs.”

She grabbed the footstool and set it below the window.

“Reginald promised you a lovely matched team and gilt carriage as a wedding present,” Papa said, his tone cajoling.

Elizabeth hiked her skirts and took a step up.

He pounded on the door. “Elizabeth Ann Manning, I’m doing this for your own good!”

Papa might believe that, but in reality, her father had one goal—prosperity. Through the door, she heard him sigh. “Sweetheart, please. Don’t embarrass me this way. I love you.”

Her fingers fluttered to her mouth as tears filled her eyes. “I love you, Papa,” she whispered.

How could she abandon him? She stiffened her spine. He’d made the choice to gamble away their money, not her. Years of watching him take them on this downward spiral had closed off her heart. In her mind, he had only himself to blame.

Well, she and Robby wouldn’t go down with him. Together they’d start a new life. She’d find a job somewhere, then return for her brother. After they got settled, she’d find a way to help Papa. She’d find a way to save them all, a way that didn’t involve marriage to Reginald Parks. To anyone.

Papa slammed his body into the door. Elizabeth gasped. The hinges quivered but held, thanks to Mama’s well-built family home, a home far enough west to have survived the great fire. A home they’d soon lose.

With one leg in and one leg out the window, she clung to the sheet and somehow managed to get a knee up on the ledge. Soon both legs dangled from the second-story window. Gathering her courage, she lay on her belly, ignoring the metal stays of her corset pinching her ribs.

The pounding stopped. She heard a creak on the stairs. Papa must’ve gone in search of Martha and her ring of keys. He’d soon be back.

Holding her breath, Elizabeth relaxed her fingers, and down she went, faster than a sleigh with waxed runners—until her palms met a knot and broke her grip. She landed on the boxwood with a thud, and then tumbled backward onto the lawn.

For a moment, she lay sprawled there, dazed, then gathered her wits and scrambled to her feet. No time to gather her clothing. She snatched up her satchel and purse and darted for the cover of the carriage house. Slipping inside, she tore through it and out the back, easy to do since Papa had been forced to sell their carriage.

Out of sight of the house, she sprinted down the alley past the neighbors’, no small feat in silk slippers. By the time she reached Clinton Street, her breath came in hitches.

Once Papa found a key and got her door open, he and Reginald would be out searching for her. Two doors down, a hack rounded the corner and dropped off a passenger. She slid two fingers into her mouth and let out one of the peace-shattering whistles that had sent Mama to her bed with a cold compress draped across her brow.

The hack pulled up beside her. “Where to?”

Robby’s words marched through her mind. Can you get a job on a farm? So I can have a dog?

Her brother yearned to live in the country, a good place for a boy. Not that she knew the first thing about the life, but a farm would be far from Reginald.

Perhaps a farmer’s wife would want help with…whatever a farmer’s wife did. Elizabeth was strong. And she could learn.

She gave the driver her destination. Then she settled into the corner of the coach and wiggled her hand into the slit she’d made in the lining of her purse. And came up empty.

A moan pushed past her lips. Papa had taken the small stash of money she’d hidden for just such an emergency. How low would her father stoop to feed his compulsion? She dug to the bottom of her bag and found enough coins to pay the driver. She wilted against the cushions.

How would she buy a ticket out of town?

Well, she’d face that later. Knowing she had no money, Papa wouldn’t look for her at the depot, at least at first.

She wasn’t going to walk down an aisle tomorrow morning, so how bad could her situation be?

Right before dawn, Elizabeth woke. She’d tossed and turned most of the night, as much as the bench would allow, listening in the dark to every sound. But Papa and Reginald hadn’t come. In fact, no one had paid the least bit of attention to her.

She twisted her back to get out the kinks, sending three sections of the Chicago Tribune sliding to the floor. Thankfully the news that she’d bedded down at the depot wouldn’t make the Society Page. Not that anything she did these days merited a mention.

Carrying her possessions, she tossed the newspapers into the trash and strolled to the lavatory. Through the window, the rising sun lit the sky with the promise of a new day. What would this day bring?

In front of the mirror in the large, tiled room, she pulled a brush through her hair, twisted it into a chignon, and then pinned her hat in place.

The distant shriek of a whistle shot a shiver along Elizabeth’s spine. She grabbed her belongings and hustled to the platform. Porters hauled trunks and hatboxes to baggage carts while soon-to-depart travelers chatted or stood apart, sleepy-eyed. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest. A ticket. She needed a ticket. But tickets cost money. What could she do?

Smokestack belching and wheels squealing, the incoming train overshot the platform. Amid clangs and squeaks, the locomotive backed into position. Soon passengers flowed from the doors to retrieve luggage and hail hacks.

Elizabeth had to find a way to board that train. Her stomach piped up. Oh, and a spot of breakfast.

Near one of the station’s exits a robust, plainly dressed young woman huddled in the corner weeping. Passersby gave her a brief glance then moved on. The stranger met Elizabeth’s gaze. Her flawless skin glowed with health, but from the stricken look in her eyes, she was surely sick at heart.

Some inner nudge pushed Elizabeth toward her. “Can I help?”

“I…I can’t go through with it. I can’t marry him.”

Another woman running from matrimony. “Who?”

“The man who sent me this.” Out from the woman’s hand stuck a ticket, a train ticket. “Eligible bachelors are few and far between, but…” Tears slid down her ruddy cheeks. “I’m homesick for my family already and I’ve only come as far as Chicago.”

Pangs of longing for Martha and Robby, even Papa, tore through Elizabeth. She’d left a note, but that wouldn’t stop them from worrying. Worse, Papa and Reginald might appear at any moment.

“That’s my train.” The stranger pointed to the rail cars across the way. “I feel terrible for spending his money on a trunk full of clothes, then leaving him in the lurch. He’s a fine Christian man and doesn’t deserve such treatment.”

Elizabeth’s stomach tangled. A twinge of conscience, no doubt for neglecting church since Mama died. For not heeding the Scriptures that Martha read each morning while Papa hid behind the headlines and she and Robby shoveled down eggs. No doubt the reason God hadn’t heard her prayers.

Her gaze latched onto her means of escape. “I need to leave town. What are you going to do with your ticket?”

Brushing at her tears, the young woman’s sorrowful eyes brightened then turned thoughtful. “The ticket is yours—if you want it.”

“You’re giving your ticket to me with no strings?”

“Well, not exactly no strings.” The woman gave a wan smile. “More like a tied knot.”

“What do you mean?”

“My groom’s expecting Sally Rutgers…me. If you’re up to starting a new life, take my place.”

Elizabeth took a step back. “I couldn’t.”

“If you don’t like his looks, use this round-trip ticket to take the next train. That was my plan.”

As Elizabeth scanned the throng milling on the platform, her mind scampered like hungry pigeons after a crust of bread. Marry a stranger? There had to be another way to take care of Robby without marrying anyone.

Her heart skipped a beat. Not fifty yards away, Papa, looking handsome, vital and by all outward appearance, prosperous, stood talking with Reginald. From under Reginald’s bowler, white tufts of hair fluttered in the breeze.

Twisting around, Elizabeth grabbed Sally’s arm. “Tell me about this man.”

“He lives on a farm.” Sally sighed. “Oh, I doubt that appeals to a fine lady like you.”

A farm. Robby’s dream. Was this God’s solution? “How will I know him?”

Sally removed a stem of lily of the valley from the collar of her traveling suit and pinned it to the bodice of Elizabeth’s dress. “Wear this, and he’ll find you.” She checked the nearby clock. “Better hurry. Your train leaves in ten minutes.”

Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder. Papa and Reginald had stopped a porter, probably giving her description. She had nowhere to go except back to Reginald. She’d rather ride a barrel over Niagara Falls.

That left her one alternative. Wear the lily of the valley and take a gander at the groom.

“Where to?” she asked.

“New Harmony, Iowa.”

Where was that in Iowa? Did it matter? In Iowa was a farm, the answer she sought.

Clutching the ticket in her hand, Elizabeth thanked Sally, then dashed for the train. She boarded and found her seat, careful to avert her face. Within minutes, the engine worked up steam and lumbered out of the station. Once she’d presented her ticket to the conductor, she lost the hitch in her breathing.

The seat proved far more comfortable than the depot bench and she nodded off. Her last thought centered on the man who had sent for a bride.

What would she find in New Harmony, Iowa?

New Harmony, Iowa

Pickings were slim in New Harmony.

One last time, Ted Logan started down the list of the single women in town. There was the schoolmarm who’d bossed him like one of her errant pupils before they even made it out the door. He wouldn’t let himself be pulled around by the ear. Or subject his children to a mother who wore a perpetual frown.

And then there was Ellen, Elder Jim’s daughter, a sweet, docile creature who quoted the Good Book at every turn. With the church and all its activities at the center of her life, he doubted she possessed the gumption to live on a farm.

Strong as an ox, the blacksmith’s daughter could work alongside any man. But Ted couldn’t imagine looking at that face for the rest of his life. Well, he might’ve gotten used to her face, if she’d shown the least bit of interest in his children. From what he’d seen, she preferred the company of horses.

Then there was Agnes, the owner of the café, who came after him with the zeal of a pig after slop and appealed to him even less. Something about Agnes set his teeth on edge. Maybe because she forever told him he was right and perfect. Was it wrong to hope for a woman with a bit of vinegar? One who wasn’t afraid to set him straight when he went off on some tangent? And how would she handle his home, family and the café?

All godly women, but most weren’t suitable mothers for Anna and Henry. And nothing about any of them drew him.

That left his bride-by-post.

God’s solution. A woman of faith who loved children and life on the farm.

Ted tugged the brim of his hat lower on his forehead and scanned the passengers leaving the train. A young woman stepped to the platform, wearing the sprig of lily of the valley pinned to her clothing. His pulse kicked up a notch. Sally, his bride.

Gussied up in a fancy purple dress, not the garb of a farmer’s wife. Even gripping a satchel, she carried herself like a princess, all long neck and straight spine and, when she moved, as she did now, her full skirts swayed gracefully. He could hear the petticoats rustle from here.

She turned her head to sniff the flower, putting her face in profile. The plumed hat she wore tilted forward at a jaunty angle, revealing a heavy chignon at her nape.

He swallowed hard. Sally was a beautiful woman. He hadn’t expected that. She didn’t have a recent likeness. And he couldn’t have sent the only picture in his possession—of him and Rose on their wedding day. In the three letters he and Sally had exchanged, he had described himself as best he could, even tried to be objective, though he hadn’t told her everything.

It appeared she’d taken liberties with her description, too. Light brown hair, she’d said. Well, he’d call it more blond than brown, almost as blond as his.

Blue eyes, she’d written, though from this distance, he couldn’t confirm it.

Tall and robust, she’d promised. Tall, all right, but slender, even fragile.

He noticed a nice curve to her lips.

And a jaw that said she liked having her way.

Sally didn’t look strong enough to handle even part of the chores of a farmer’s wife. Well, he’d prayed without ceasing for a suitable wife and God had given him this one. He couldn’t send her back like he’d ordered the wrong size stovepipe from the Sears, Roebuck Catalog.

His stomach knotted. When a man prayed for wisdom, he shouldn’t question the Lord’s answer. Still, the prospect of marrying what amounted to a stranger was unsettling.

But Anna and Henry needed a mother to look after them. This morning, and countless others like it, left no doubt in his mind. He didn’t have what it took to manage the farm, the livestock and his children. Never mind the house and cooking.

Even if Sally couldn’t handle heavier chores, she’d said she could cook, clean and tend a garden, as well as Anna and Henry. That’d do. With all his qualms forming a lump in his throat, he moved out of the shadows. Might as well get on with it. The preacher was waiting.

He strode across the platform, nodding at people he knew. New Harmony was a nice town, though folks tended toward nosy. The news Ted Logan was seen greeting a woman down at the depot would spread faster than giggles in a schoolhouse.

When he reached his bride, he stuck out a hand. “I’m Ted.”

Not a spark of recognition lit her eyes. Had he scared her? He was a large man. Still, he hadn’t expected the blank stare.

“The flower…in the letters, we agreed—” He clamped his jaw to stop the prattle pouring out of his mouth. “You’re Sally, aren’t you?”

Her eyes lit. He gulped. They were blue, all right. Like forget-me-nots in full bloom.

“Oh, of course.” She offered her hand. “Hello.”

He swallowed it up with a firm shake. She winced. He quickly released his hold then held up callused palms. “Sorry, chopping wood, milking cows and strangling chickens have strengthened my grip.”

Her rosy skin turned ashen, as if she might be sick. How would he manage if he married another woman in failing health?

Chapter Two

Elizabeth swallowed hard. She’d never considered how fried chicken or cold milk arrived at the Manning table. Drat, she’d have to scrub her glove. Not that Sally’s intended looked as if he didn’t wash. He smelled clean, like soap, leather and sunshine.

Mercy, the man was brawny, wide at the shoulders with a massive neck, chest and powerful forearms. Not someone she’d care to cross. White creases edged his eyes in his tanned face, evidence of long periods spent in the sun. Those intense blue-gray eyes of his appeared to see right through her.

She hoped she was wrong about that.

But all the rest…well, she couldn’t find anything to complain about. She’d expected another Reginald Parks and another reason to run. But something about Ted Logan kept her rooted to the spot, unable to look away.

Decency demanded she tell him she wasn’t his bride. But if she did, would he insist she take the next train back? She needed time to think. To take a look at the town and see if she could find employment here.

She couldn’t forget the importance of that farm, the fulfillment of her brother’s dream. If only that didn’t mean she had to marry the man, and all that entailed. She shivered. Well, she wasn’t foolish enough to give her heart to this man.

Through narrowed eyes, he looked her over. “I expected you to have brown hair.”

She gulped. “You don’t like my hair?”

“The color of your hair doesn’t matter a whit.”

“Glad to hear it.” She leaned toward him. “And so you know, I happen to like the color of yours. It’s lighter than I expected, but it’s tolerable.”

His lips twisted up at one corner, as if they tried to smile without his approval. “I can’t decide if I like a woman talking to me like that. Especially one I’m about to marry.”

Elizabeth’s stomach flipped at the mention of matrimony, a subject she intended to avoid. Her gaze traveled to a field of cows grazing not far from the tracks. “It’s better than talking to the cows, isn’t it?”

With a large hand, he gently tilted her face to his. “Yep. And a far sight better view.”

A woozy feeling slid over her. Without thinking, she grabbed hold of his arm for support. And found rock-hard muscle. Beneath her feet, the ground shifted. She hadn’t eaten in what seemed like forever. That had to be the reason for her vertigo.

He gave her a smirk and pulled away. “I’ll get the rest of your things.”

“Things? Oh, my luggage.” Once he discovered she had no trunk, he’d send her back. Without money for food or housing, how would she take care of Robby? Moisture beaded her upper lip. “I, ah, left the trunk unattended in Chicago, only for a minute.” With guilt at her lie niggling at her, she added, “When I returned, it was gone.”

“Everything you bought with the money I sent—is gone?”

She nodded. Twice. “I’m sorry.”

“Didn’t you think to check it?”

“Didn’t you ever make a mistake?” she fired back.

“Sure have,” he said, arms folded across his chest, “but I’ve never lost all my clothes.”

She grabbed a fistful of skirt. “Well, neither have I.”

He sighed. “We’ll have to stop at the mercantile.”

If only she’d had time to gather her clothes scattered across the lawn. “I’ll make do.”

Waving a hand at her dress, he arched a brow. “With only that frippery to wear day and night?”

“That frippery is silk shantung, I’ll have you know.” She poked the rumpled lapel of his suit. “Do you think you’re qualified to judge my fashion sense?”

He grinned, a most appealing smile. Or would be if he wasn’t the most exasperating man she’d ever met.

“It’s not your fashion sense I’m questioning.”

Determined to stare him down, she held his gaze. Neither of them gave ground as travelers swept past them, tossing an occasional curious glance their way. “I’m smarter than you think.”

“Smart enough to sew a new dress?”

“I can sew.” She ducked her head. Did embroidering pillow slips count?

“We’ll purchase fabric, whatever you need later.”

Perhaps the store could use a clerk. The possibility eased the tension in her limbs. Instead of arguing with him, she’d better keep her head if she hoped to escape this mess. But without food she could barely keep on her feet.

Ted plopped his straw hat in place then took the satchel from her. “Better get moving. The preacher’s waiting.”

His words cut off her air supply as effectively as if he’d wrapped those large hands of his around her windpipe and squeezed. “So soon?”

“Did you expect to be courted first?”

She’d expected to remain single but wouldn’t say that. “Well…no.”

Behind them, the locomotive emitted a whistle, the call of “All aboard!” Wheels turned, picking up speed as the train chugged out of the station, taking with it her means of escape.

Elizabeth’s eyes roamed what appeared to be the town’s main street. Maybe she could find work here, though not a solitary establishment looked prosperous. She gnawed her lip and faced the truth. Unless a shop needed a clerk who could recite the multiplication tables while pouring tea, she had slim chance of finding employment.

Hysteria bubbled up inside her. She clamped her mouth shut, fighting the compulsion to laugh. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Thankfully, the giddy sensation passed, replaced with the heavy weight of responsibility. Robby was depending on her, not a laughing matter.

Ted took hold of her elbow and ushered her along the platform. “We both know this marriage is one of convenience, a business arrangement.”

Exactly what she wanted to hear, wasn’t it? Then why did his words sting like a slap? Well, business arrangement or not, how could she wed a stranger? Elizabeth dug in her heels and yanked out of his grasp. “I…I can’t. I can’t marry you.”

Ted turned to her, searching her face. His expression softened. He took her hand in his and ran his thumb along the top. Her stomach dipped. His gentle touch gave her a measure of comfort…and far too much awareness of the man.

“This isn’t easy for either of us,” he said, his eyes filling with tenderness. “But I want you to know, I’ll be kind to you. Work hard to provide for you. I don’t have much, but all I have is yours.”

Elizabeth didn’t want to marry, but what choice did she have? She didn’t know a soul in this town. Didn’t have a penny to her name. Didn’t have a single idea what to do. That made her—a desperate woman.

A desperate woman with a proposal on the table.

A proposal that would solve all her problems.

Except this proposal was permanent—and offered to another woman. What would Ted say once he knew her true identity?

“My farm isn’t much,” he continued, his voice steady, calm. “But with God providing the sunshine and rain, the earth gives back what I put into it.”

Such a simple yet profound statement. This man gave instead of took. He relied on hard labor, not luck. Ted Logan had planted his feet, appeared as solid as the earth he worked, the exact opposite of her father.

“I have cows, pigs, chickens, horses.” He paused, then chuckled. “A dog.”

Elizabeth’s heart skittered. “What does your dog look like?” She held her breath, every muscle tense as she waited for his answer.

“Black and white. Shaggy.” Ted shrugged. “Lovable.”

Goose bumps rose on her arms. The exact description of the puppy Papa had given Robby, then taken away.

Martha always said there was no such thing as coincidence, not for a praying believer. Could Ted Logan be God’s answer for Robby? Without a doubt her brother would adore this hulk of a man. Yes, Robby’s dream stood before her with the promise of a wedding band.

Ted held out an arm. “Are you ready?”

A business arrangement he’d said. Maybe if she dealt with the marriage that way, she could go through with the wedding.

For Robby’s sake she would.

She slipped her hand into the crook of his waiting arm. They strolled along the street. The occasional passerby gave them a speculative look, but by now most people had left the station.

Ted stopped at a weathered wagon with nary a speck of gild, nor springs or leather on the wooden seat to soften bumps in the road. Two enormous dark brown horses wearing blinders swung their heads to get a better look at her, their harnesses jingling a greeting. Her carriage waited. The matched pair were built for hard work not pretension, like Ted.

“That’s King and his missus, Queen. They’re Percherons,” Ted said, a hint of pride in his voice.

Elizabeth didn’t know much about breeds to work the farm, but Ted obviously cared for his animals, another point in his favor. She ran her hand along a velvety nose. “They’re beautiful.”

“And mighty curious about you.”

Clearly she’d traded a fancy carriage for a rickety wagon, but a far more suitable groom. Her fingers toyed with the lily of the valley pinned to her dress. Could she go through with it? Could she marry a stranger?

Before she knew what happened, Ted handed her up onto the seat with ease, as if she weighed no more than dandelion fluff, then swung up beside her. Elizabeth shifted her skirts to give him room, while the memory of those large hands, warm and solid through the fabric of her dress, spun through her, landing in her stomach with a disturbing flutter.

She glanced at Ted’s square profile, at this strong, no-nonsense man. The eyes he turned on her spoke of kindness. Even excluding Reginald Parks, she could do far worse. No doubt Ted Logan was a good man. He’d be kind to Robby. To her. That is if he didn’t retract his offer of marriage once she revealed her true identity.

He clicked to the horses. “I left my children at the neighbor’s. I’ll pick them up tomorrow after breakfast.”

Elizabeth swayed on the seat. “Children?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten Anna and Henry?”

Sally hadn’t mentioned children. “I’m just…tired.”

How old were they? Since Mama died, Robby’s care had been left to Martha. Sure, Elizabeth had read to her brother, taught him to tie his laces, but she had no experience caring for children.

What did she know about husbands for that matter?

And the tomorrow-morning part—did he intend a wedding night?

Well, if he had that expectation, she’d call on her touchy stomach. No bridegroom would want a nauseous bride.

Though if she didn’t get something to eat—and soon—there wouldn’t be a wedding. For surely the bride would be fainting on the groom.

Chapter Three

On the drive through town, Ted’s bride glanced from side to side, worrying her lower lip with her teeth. From the dismay plain on her face, the town disappointed her. Ordinarily he wasn’t the edgy type, but this woman had him feeling tighter than a rain-soaked peg.

Not that Ted thought the town paradise on earth, but he hoped she didn’t look down her aristocratic nose on the good people of New Harmony.

Silence fell between them while she plucked at her skirts. “I’m…I’m sorry about my clothes.”

“No use crying over spilt milk.”

Though money was always a problem. Because of her carelessness he’d have to spend more. Would he rue the day he’d advertised for a wife?

No, if Sally was kind to Anna and Henry, he could forgive her most anything. From what she’d said in her letters, she liked children and would be good to his.

If not, he’d send her packing.

His stomach knotted. He hoped it didn’t come to that. Since Rose’s death, his well-planned life had spun out of control.

Every day he got further behind with the work. Every day his children got less of his attention. Every day he tried to do it all and failed.

To add to his turmoil, he’d felt the call to another life.

A life he didn’t seek. Yet, the unnerving summons to preach was as real, as vivid, as if God Himself had tapped him on the shoulder.

Him.

He couldn’t think of a man less qualified. Yet the command seared his mind with the clarity of God speaking to Moses through the burning bush.

As if that wasn’t enough to leave a man quaking in his boots, his bride, the answer to his prayers, now harbored second thoughts.

Lord, if this is Your plan for our lives, show us the way.

Up ahead, Lucille Sorenson swept the entrance of the Sorenson Mercantile. The broom in her hand stilled as she craned her neck to get a look at the woman sitting at his side. He tipped his hat as they rolled past, biting back a grin at the bewildered expression on her face.

They passed the saloon. Mostly deserted at this hour.

“Does that tavern foster gambling?”

Ted’s breath caught. “Reckon so. Never been in the place.”

“I’m glad.” Sally smiled. “I’m sure I’ll like…the town.”

“I’ve lived a few places and the people here are good.”

“Good in what way?”

“Folks pitched in after Rose died. Insisted on caring for the children and doing my chores. They’ve kept us supplied with enough food to feed an army of thrashers. I owe them plenty.”

“People like that really exist?”

He raised a brow. “Aren’t farm folk the same in Illinois?”

A flash of confusion crossed her face, but she merely shrugged. A prickle of suspicion stabbed at Ted. Something about Sally didn’t ring true. Before he could sort it out, they reached the parsonage.

Ted pulled on the reins, harder than he’d intended. No reason to take his disquiet out on his team. “Here we are.”

“Already?”

“Doesn’t take long to get anywhere in New Harmony.”

He set the brake, climbed down and walked to her side, reaching up a hand to help her from the seat. She took it and stood, wobbly on her feet. Was she sick? He looked for signs she’d be depositing her lunch in his hat brim. But all he saw was clear skin, apple cheeks and dazzling blue eyes.

He’d never seen bluer eyes, bluer than the sky on a cloudless day. His attention went back to her skin—smooth, fair with a soft glow about it. He’d have no trouble looking across the table at that face.

Or across the pillow.

Why had he thought she wouldn’t suit?

He wrapped his hands around her waist, so tiny the tips of his fingers all but touched, and lowered her with ease. With her feet mere inches from the ground, their eyes met and held. Ted’s heart stuttered in his chest. His gaze lowered to her mouth, lips slightly parted…

“Are you going to put me down?” she said, color flooding her cheeks.

“Sorry.” He quickly set her on her feet.

She sneezed. Twice. Three times. Then motioned to the road. “This dust is terrible.”

Ted looked around him, took in the thick coat of dust on the shrubs around the parsonage, further evidence of the drought that held the town in its grip. Unusual for New Harmony.

“Is it always dusty like this?”

“’Cept when it rains, then the streets turn to mud.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Can’t something be done?”

“Like what?”

She waved a hand at the road. “Like paving it with bricks.”

“No brickyards in these parts.”

“Hmm. If the dust turns to mud, why can’t that mud be made into brick?”

An interesting point, one he hadn’t considered.

“Well, I shall have to think about the problem,” she said, tapping her lips with her index finger.

Thunderation. She sounded like the governor. Did she mean to send him out with a pickax and set to work making a road before sundown? “What are you, a reformer?”

She raised a delicate brow. “Would that bother you?”

“Hardly think you’ll have time to reform much more than my kitchen.” His gaze swept Main Street, mostly deserted at this time of day. Folks were working either at home, in the fields or the town’s businesses. All except for Oscar and Cecil Moore lazing on a bench in front of Pete’s Barbershop, whittling. “Even if you did, you’ll find nothing much gets done in New Harmony.”

“Why? Are people here lazy?”

“For a farmer’s daughter, you don’t know much about farming. Farmers don’t have time to fret about roads and such. We work and sleep. That’s about it.”

“What do you do for fun?”

“Fun?” He opened the gate of the picket fence and offered his arm. They strolled along the path to the parsonage door.

“Don’t you have socials? Parties?”

“Some, but this isn’t the city. We’re a little…dry here.”

The breeze kicked up another cloud of dust and she sneezed again. “That I believe.”

He chuckled and rapped on the wooden door, which was all but begging for another coat of paint. Jacob kept his nose tucked in the Bible or one of the vast number of books he owned. And let chores slide. Maybe Ted could find time to handle the job on his next trip to town.

Lydia Sumner opened the door, neat as a pin and just as plain, wearing a simple brown dress with a lace-trimmed collar, nut-brown hair pulled into a sensible bun. She had a heart of gold and, like now, a ready smile that she turned on Sally.

“Lydia, this is Sally Rutgers. My mail—Ah, fiancée.”

“Hello, Miss Rutgers. Please come in.” She stepped back to let them enter the small vestibule, then motioned to the closed door of Jacob’s study. “My husband’s working on Sunday’s sermon. He’ll only be a moment.”

Ted doffed his hat and they followed Lydia into the parlor, where dollies and doodads covered every tabletop. “Glad we didn’t hold him up.”

“Can I offer you a spot of tea?”

Ted shook his head. “No thank—”

“Oh, I’d love a cup,” Sally chimed in. “Do you have some cookies, perhaps? I’m famished.”

“Why, Ted Logan, you didn’t think to feed her?”

At half-past three? “Uh…”

Lydia patted Sally’s arm. “The ladies at church vie over appeasing my husband’s sweet tooth. I’ll just be a minute.”

Bald head shining like a beacon in the wilderness, Jacob passed his wife leaving the room. Tall, long limbed with the beginning of a paunch, most likely the result of that sweet tooth, his pastor beamed. “Sorry to keep you folks waiting.”

Once again Ted made introductions and he and Sally took seats on the sofa, leaving a chasm between them wide enough for a riverboat to navigate.

Jacob clapped Ted on the shoulder. “Shall we get started?”

“Yes,” Ted said.

“No,” Sally said.

Ted’s jaw dropped to his collar. “No?”

She gave a sweet smile. “I hoped to have that tea first.”

Used to cramming every waking moment with activity, Ted reined in his desire to hurry her along. Unsure this feisty woman would comply if he did.

Once Sally devoured two cups of tea and three cookies, she dabbed her lips with the snowy napkin. “Thank you, Mrs. Sumner.”

Ted lowered his half-filled cup to the saucer. “Now are you ready to get married?”

She shot him a saucy smile. “I thought you’d never ask.”

A chuckle rumbled in his chest.

Jacob slipped his glasses out of his coat pocket. “Do you have the license, Ted?”

“It’s ready to go, filled out with the information Sally sent me in her last letter.” He withdrew the neatly folded paper from the inside pocket of his suit and handed it over.

Jacob scanned the document. “Everything appears in order.”

Sally lifted a hand, then let it flutter to her lap. “Pastor Sumner, you…ah, might want to change one teeny thing.”

He readied his pen. “Be glad to. What would that be?”

“The name.”

All eyes swiveled to Sally. Ted frowned. What in tarnation?

The ticking of the mantel clock echoed in the sudden silence, hammering at Ted’s already shaky composure.

“I’m, ah, not Sally Rutgers. My name is Elizabeth Ann Manning.”

Had Ted heard correctly? The woman at his side wasn’t Sally? He frowned. That would explain her odd behavior on the way over. Clearly his children had come as a surprise to her.

No wonder she hadn’t remembered anything from those letters he’d exchanged with Sally.

He’d been duped.

Pulse hammering in his temples, Ted rose to his feet, towering over her. “Why did you lie about your name all this time?”

“I haven’t lied all this time.” She lifted her chin. “I’ve lied for less than an hour.”

Jacob stared at the bride as if she’d grown two heads, one for each name. Lydia wilted into a chair, her smile drooping.

“What are you talking about?” Ted shoved out through his clenched jaw, his tone gravelly.

“Have you ever been down on your luck, Ted Logan?”

The question caught him like a sharp blow to the stomach. He shifted on his feet. “Well, yes, of course.”

She ran a hand over her fancy dress. “Despite what you see, I’m destitute. So when the real Sally changed her—”

“What?” he bellowed.

“You’re making me nervous, glowering at me like that. It’s not my fault Sally got cold feet.”

His pastor laid a hand on Ted’s shoulder. “Let’s stay calm. We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

Ted staggered back. “Who are you?”

“I told you. Elizabeth Ann Manning, your bride. That is—” she hesitated then forged ahead “—if you can ignore a small thing like an identity switch.”

“A small thing?” He pointed toward the door. “Use the other half of that ticket. Go back to where you came from.”

Wherever that might be.

Tears glistening in her eyes, she slumped against the sofa, her face pale and drawn. “I can’t.”

Lydia hurried to the impostor’s side and patted her hand. She shot Ted a look that said she blamed him for this mess.

Him!

“I should’ve told the truth right off, but I was afraid you’d send me back,” she said, her voice cracking, tearing at his conscience. “I’ll get a job and repay you for the ticket.”

Unable to resist a woman’s tears, Ted bit back his anger. Something terrible must’ve happened to compel this lovely, well-bred woman to marry a stranger. Still, she’d deceived him.

Not that he hadn’t made plenty of mistakes of his own. God probably didn’t approve of his judging someone, especially someone with no place to live, no money and, in this town, whether she knew it or not, little prospects of either.

Still, something about her claim didn’t ring true. If she was destitute, then it must’ve been a recent development.

“Our marriage is one of convenience,” she whispered. “Weren’t those your words?”

“Well, yes,” he ground out.

She gave a weak smile. “Sally’s not here. I am. How much more convenient can I be?”

Lydia released a nervous giggle. Looking perplexed, Jacob’s brow furrowed. Obviously nothing in those books of his had prepared him for this situation.

Scrambling for rational footing, something Ted took great pains to do, he struggled to examine his options. He’d spent most of his cash bringing his mail-order bride to Iowa. He couldn’t afford the time or money to begin another search.

Still, could she be hiding something else? “Are you running from the law?”

She lurched to her feet and planted fisted hands on her hips. “Most certainly not,” she said, her tone offended.

Unless she was a mighty good actress, he had nothing to fear there. Trying to gather his thoughts, he ran a hand across the back of his neck. “Will you be good to my children?”

“Yes.”

“Do you believe in God?”

She hesitated. Her hands fell to her sides. A wounded expression stole across her face. “Yes, but God’s forgotten me.”

God forgot no one. Elizabeth’s forlorn face told him she didn’t know that yet.

Had God ordained this exchange of brides? Ted had prayed without ceasing for God to bring the wife and mother He wanted for him and his children. Had this woman been God’s answer all along?

Lord, is this Your will?

A potent sense of peace settled over him, odd considering the circumstances. “Well then, let’s get on with it.”

His pastor turned to Elizabeth. “You do realize the vows you are about to exchange are your promise before Almighty God.”

Elizabeth paled but whispered, “Yes.”

Though Jacob didn’t look entirely convinced, he changed the bride’s name on the document.

Lydia unpinned the flower on Elizabeth’s dress and handed it to his bride, her bridal bouquet, then reeled to the organ in the back corner of the room. Her voice rose above the strains of “Love’s Old Sweet Song” while Jacob motioned them to a makeshift altar. The song ended and Lydia slipped in beside Elizabeth.

“Dearly beloved, we’re gathered here today to…”

Ted considered bolting out the door. But he couldn’t plant the crops with Anna trailing after him and Henry riding on his back like a papoose. He had priorities that demanded a wife, even if he hadn’t picked this one. He trusted with every particle of his being that God had.

“Ted, did you hear me?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Join hands with your bride,” Jacob said in a gentle tone.

Ted took Elizabeth’s ungloved hand, soft, small boned, cold, like his. Under that forceful exterior lived a woman as uncertain and unsettled as him.

“Elizabeth Ann Manning, do you take Theodore Francis Logan to be your wedded husband, to live together in holy marriage?”

She swallowed. Hard. “I do.”

Ted gave her credit for not getting weepy on him. He couldn’t handle a woman’s tears.

“Do you promise to love him, honor and obey him for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and health, and forsaking all others, be faithful only to him so long as you both shall live?”

Elizabeth glanced at Ted, at the preacher, then back to him. “I’m…I’m not sure I can do the…obey part.”

A strangled sound came from Lydia. Jacob frowned into the book he held, as if searching for a clue on how to respond. Ted opened his mouth but nothing came out.

“But I promise to try,” Elizabeth added with a feeble smile.

Jacob yanked out a handkerchief and mopped his brow, then the top of his head. “Is that acceptable to you, Ted?”

He nodded, slowly. This woman had nerve, he’d give her that. She wasn’t one bit like Rose. Good thing they weren’t standing up in front of the congregation. If they were, after this, every man he passed would be guffawing.

Looking eager to get the knot tied, Jacob righted his glasses. “All right, Miss Manning, do you agree, then, to what I just said, except for adding the word try to the obey part?”

Elizabeth beamed. “I do.” Then she repeated the vows after the preacher, cementing her to him.

“Will you repeat after me, Ted?”

This marriage would be legal, binding like a business arrangement, but far more than that. As his pastor said, Ted would make his promises to this woman before Holy God, the foundation of his faith and his home.

Ted gave his “I do” promise, then Pastor Sumner recited the words, words Ted echoed in a voice hoarse with strain.

“I, Theodore Francis Logan, take thee, Elizabeth Ann Manning, to be my wife.” What was he letting himself in for? “To have and to hold—” Would she allow that? “—in sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer—” She could count on the poorer part. “—and promise my love to you until death do us part.” He’d try to love her about as much as she tried to obey him.

He turned his gaze from the preacher to his bride. She licked her lips, no doubt a nervous response, sending his stomach into a crazy dive.

Next thing he knew, Jacob had Ted digging in his pocket for the ring, a slender gold band he’d ordered from the catalog. It had cost him over a dollar, but he’d ordered fourteen-karat so the metal wouldn’t discolor her skin.

“Slip it on her finger. And repeat after me.”

Ted did as he was told, repeating the words, “With this ring, I thee wed.”

He released her hand. Elizabeth looked at the ring as if a ball and chain hung from her finger.

“Inasmuch as you have pledged to the other your lifetime commitment, by the power vested in me by the State of Iowa, I now pronounce you man and wife in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost.” Looking around as though he addressed a church full of witnesses, he warned, “Those whom God has joined together, let no man put asunder.” Smiling, Jacob rocked back on his heels. “You may kiss the bride.”

Ted had forgotten that part. He lowered his head as she turned her face. Their noses collided.

“No need…” she said softly.

Well, he had no intention of letting her believe he couldn’t manage a simple kiss. He cupped her jaw, tilted up her face. Her eyelids fluttered closed, revealing long, dark lashes. He leaned forward and brushed her lips with his. She tasted of tea and sugar, all sweetness with a bit of bite.

Her eyes opened. Startled, bright blue, a man could get lost in those eyes. He had an impulse to pull her to him and kiss her more thoroughly. But kissing her like that would most likely stand Lydia’s hair on end. And scare his bride. After all, she hadn’t married for love. And neither had he.

Like a racehorse crossing the finish line, Jacob blew out a gust of air. “I’ve got to admit, this has been the most unusual wedding I’ve ever performed.”

“And for the handsomest couple,” Lydia said, beaming. “We hope you’ll be very happy.”

The wary look in Elizabeth’s gaze no doubt mirrored his, but they murmured their thanks.

Jacob ushered them to a desk, dipped the pen into the inkwell and handed it to Ted. “Now all you have to do to make this legal is sign the license,” Jacob said, examining their faces as if expecting one of them to refuse.

Ted signed and passed the pen to Elizabeth.

She wrote her name with a wobbly hand, then glanced at Lydia. “Could I bother you for a couple more cookies?”

“Why, of course.” Lydia giggled. “You have quite the appetite.”

A few minutes later, Ted ushered his new wife, clutching a fistful of cookies, into the sunshine. A cardinal chirped a greeting from the top branch of the ancient maple sheltering the lawn. His horses twitched their tails, chasing away flies. The sun still hung in the heavens.

Around him, nothing had changed. Yet in less than an hour, everything had.

A troubling truth struck Ted. He knew more about his livestock than about the woman he’d just married. But then she must feel the same disquiet about him.

One thing was obvious. Unlike Sally Rutgers, Elizabeth Manning had courage. Courage based on desperation, not on the desire for a family. What had driven his wife to switch places with his mail-order bride?

What was she hiding?

What other lies had she told?

Chapter Four

Outside the parsonage, her new husband turned to Elizabeth, the chill in his steely gray-blue eyes raising goose bumps on her arms. “I’ve got to ask. Where are the clothes I bought?”

Elizabeth looked away. “With Sally.”

His mouth thinned. “When you said someone stole your trunk, you lied.”

She swallowed. “I didn’t know how to tell you the truth.”

Suspicion clouded his eyes. “If you’re lying about anything else, I want to know it. Now.”

Elizabeth dropped her gaze. She did have one more lie, a three-and-a-half-foot, blue-eyed whopper.

But if she told Ted about Robby, about the real reason she’d run from Chicago and into this marriage of convenience, he’d march her into the preacher’s and demand an annulment. What would become of her brother then?

“I’m sorry I lied. But Sally’s clothes wouldn’t fit me.”

His gaze traveled over her, bringing a flush to her cheeks, and a rosy hue beneath his tan. “Reckon not.”

He helped her onto the wagon seat, then scrambled up beside her, released the brake and pulled back on the reins. “We’ll stop at the mercantile to pick up what you need.”

As they rode down the street, Elizabeth’s focus settled on the rumps of the horses. How long before she could bring Robby here?

How long before Ted lost patience with her inability to handle a household? Or care for his children? Her stomach lurched. What would happen then?

Well, she wouldn’t fail. Couldn’t fail. Too much depended on it.

She scrambled for a change of subject, a way to smooth the rough waters between them. “Pastor Sumner performed a lovely service.”

Ted gave a curt nod.

Wonderful. A husband of no words. Well, she knew how to fill the gap. “He didn’t seem like one of those hellfire-and-brimstone preachers.”

“Jacob can rise to the occasion if it’s warranted.”

Elizabeth cringed. Would she be the topic of his next sermon on deceit? She tamped down the thought. Perhaps she had a way to get him to open up. “Were you born here?”

“No.”

Talking to Ted was like pulling teeth with a fraying thread. “Then where?”

“St. Louis.”

“What made you leave?”

“No reason. Just looking for something, I guess.”

Elizabeth couldn’t imagine what he’d been looking for that had stopped him here.

One street comprised New Harmony’s downtown. A blacksmith stood at a forge in front of his shop, hammering a redhot horseshoe while a young woman prepared the steed’s hoof. A few doors down, a man wearing bib overalls entered the bank.

Two women stood talking outside Sorenson Mercantile, the younger bouncing a baby on her hip. Signs tacked to the fading exterior advertised a post office and seed store in the back. Make one stop and you’d be done for the day.

The door to a café stood open to catch the afternoon breeze. A barber’s red-and-white-striped pole caught her eye among the other nondescript buildings. Not much of a town compared to Chicago, compared to most anywhere.

Still, New Harmony provided more chance to socialize than being tethered to a farm. That might be Robby’s dream and she’d done all this to give it to him, but she dreaded life in the country. How would she survive for the next ten, twenty, goodness, forty years? Still, her situation could be worse. She could be wearing Reginald Parks’s ring.

Once she handled Ted’s household reasonably well, she’d have the courage to tell him about Robby. At the prospect of reuniting with her brother, her mood lifted, putting a smile on her face. Robby was the warmest, sweetest little boy. He never judged. Never manipulated. Never let her down.

In the meantime, maybe a neighbor would befriend her. Or were these people as shallow and unfeeling as her so-called friends in Chicago, once word got out about the Manning reversals?

Ted said he’d be kind to her, take care of her and give her all he possessed. But if she didn’t fulfill her end of the bargain to his satisfaction, would he forget all his fine words? Were Ted’s promises as meaningless as Papa’s?

She fingered the gold band encircling her finger. Like most young girls, she’d dreamed of her wedding day, marrying a man she adored, a man who cherished her in return. But her parents’ marriage had taught her that real life didn’t measure up to fantasy.

The wheels caught in a rut in the street, jostling the wagon. Clinging to the seat, Elizabeth glanced at her husband, the flesh-and-blood man sitting next to her. Firm jaw, solid neck, wide shoulders. Ted had called their union a business arrangement, a binding contract. No matter what she told herself, Ted Logan didn’t look like a line on anyone’s ledger.

At Sorenson’s Mercantile, he pulled back on the reins, set the brake, then jumped down and tied up at the hitching post. His long strides brought him to her side. He lifted her to the street, his hands strong yet gentle. If only she could trust Robby’s future to this man.

Up ahead a plumpish woman made a beeline toward them, the ribbons on her bonnet flapping in the breeze. “Hello, Ted. Who’s this?”

“Afternoon, Mrs. Van Wyld. This is Elizabeth, my wife.”

Her blue eyes twinkled. “Well, imagine that? I hadn’t heard about your marriage.” She turned to Elizabeth. “Call me Johanna.”

Obviously this woman kept up with the news. Still, her warm greeting brought a smile to Elizabeth’s face. “We just came from the ceremony.”

“You did? Well, congratulations!” She beamed. “Why, I must be one of the first to know.” She said goodbye then rushed off, calling to a woman down the way.

Ted harrumphed. “No need to put an announcement in the paper now that Johanna knows.”

Elizabeth’s optimism tumbled at the expression on his face. They’d have no friends. No family. No party to celebrate. “Were you hoping to keep our marriage a secret?” In case it didn’t work out. But she didn’t finish the thought.

“No.” He opened the mercantile door. “It would’ve been nice to get used to it ourselves before the whole county knows.”

Inside, Elizabeth gaped at the wide array of goods filling every table and ledge. The scent of kerosene, vinegar and coffee greeted her. Behind the long counter, shelves stocked with kerosene lamps, china teapots, enameled coffeepots, dishes and crocks rose from floor to ceiling.

Barrels of every size and shape lined the front of the counter, leaving enough space for two customers at the brass cash register. Overhead, lanterns, pots and skillets hung from the ceiling. Picture frames, mirrors and tools of every size and description lined the walls.

Ted pointed to a table in the center of the room piled with bolts of fabric. “Get yourself some dresses.”

“I…don’t see any dresses.”

He gave her a curious look. “Uh…that’s because they aren’t made yet.”

“Oh. Right.” She marched toward the bolts. “I’ll take the fabric to the dressmaker’s—”

He laid a hand on her arm and then jerked it back, as if afraid to touch her. “Dressmaker’s?”

“Well, yes, won’t she—” The look on his face cut off Elizabeth’s protest. “Oh.” Her fingers found her mouth. “I’m the dressmaker?”

“You said you could sew.”

She avoided his eyes. “I may have…exaggerated.” She’d figure out how when the time came.

He chuffed but let it go. “Don’t take too long making your selection. It’s getting late.”

Elizabeth glanced at the afternoon sun streaming in through the front windowpanes. “Late?”

“I’d like to get us home before dark.”

A jolt of awareness traveled through her, squeezing against her lungs. She gulped for air then forced her attention to the material, trying to ignore the implications.

Lovely bolts of restful blue gingham, cheerful yellow dimity, sweet sprigs in pink twill. She ran a hand over a length of lavender checked cotton, cool to the touch. Not exactly the silks and velvets of her gowns back home, but nice.

“The blue would look pretty with your eyes,” he said, his gaze warm and intense.

His inspection set her hands trembling, a silly reaction. Clearly she needed a meal, far more than a few cookies. “Then I’ll take this one,” she said, indicating the blue.

“Get enough for two, one to wear and one to wash.”

Laundry, another to add to the long list of chores she’d never done.

Thinking of the closet full of dresses in Chicago, she bit back a sigh. Then she remembered Ted’s concern about money. Offering two was generous. She motioned to her dress. “I can wear this.”

“To church maybe, but you’d make a pretty scarecrow wearing that in the garden.” He hesitated. “Get enough to make three.”

Had he just called her pretty? And offered three dresses?

Yes, and called her a scarecrow, too. Her new husband could use lessons in chivalry.

Heavenly days, she didn’t know how to make one dress. Still, she couldn’t refuse his gift. Under his rough exterior, Ted Logan possessed a soft heart.

A woman wearing her salt-and-pepper hair in a tight bun and a crisp white apron over a simple blouse and skirt lumbered over, her smile as wide as her hips. “Why, Ted Logan, who do we have here?”

Ted made introductions. The shop owner jiggled all over at the news.

“Well, I’ll be! Huuubert!” she cried, the way Martha had when, as a child, Elizabeth had ignored her calls to come inside. “Come here and meet Ted’s new wife!”

“I ain’t deef, missus.” A ruddy-faced splinter of a man, his suspenders crossing his humped shoulders, moseyed in from the back, carrying a bag of seed. He laid it on the counter then ambled to where they stood. Smiling at Elizabeth, he shook Ted’s hand. “Well, Ted, you married yourself a looker.”

“Oh, she certainly is,” Mrs. Sorenson said. “Resembles one of those ladies in the Godey’s book, all fancied up and pretty.”

Heat climbed Elizabeth’s neck. “Thank you.”

“How long have you two been married?”

Ted shifted on his feet. “We just came from the preacher.”

“Why, I saw you ride past. You must’ve been on your way to the parsonage then.” Mrs. Sorenson elbowed her husband in the ribs. “Tell them congratulations, Hubert.”

“I’m about to. Much happiness.” He turned to Ted and clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re a lucky man. Can’t say I recall seeing your missus before. If I had, I’d have remembered.” He smiled at Elizabeth. “Are you from around these parts, Mrs. Logan?”

Elizabeth’s new name socked her in the belly. She was a missus now. Her belly flipped faster than Martha’s Saturday pancakes. “No, I—”

“We’re here to buy a few things,” Ted interrupted.

He must not want people to know she was a mail-order bride, and not the original bride at that. Did he believe they’d think she popped up under a rosebush?

Mr. Sorenson waved a hand. “What can I get you folks?”

Ted motioned to the stack of bolts Elizabeth had selected. “She needs enough fabric to make a dress from each of these.”

Mrs. Sorenson stepped forward, her gaze running up and down Elizabeth’s frame, muttering gibberish about yardage and seam allowances. She grabbed up the three bolts Elizabeth indicated and lugged them to the long counter.

Elizabeth and Ted followed, watching as Mrs. Sorenson unrolled the blue gingham, sending the bolt thumping across the counter. Soon she’d cut and stacked all the fabrics in a neat pile. “Will you need thread, needles?”

Elizabeth glanced at Ted.

“Plenty of thread at home, needles, too.” He glanced away. “But Elizabeth does need…a…few other things.”

Mrs. Sorenson nodded. “Like what?”

Ted tugged at his collar, squirming like a liar on a witness stand. He may have been married, but as a gentleman, he couldn’t speak of a woman’s unmentionables. “Get her two of whatever she requires.”

“Of course.” Mrs. Sorenson grinned. “Right this way, Mrs. Logan.”

As Elizabeth followed the older woman to a table at the back of the store, she wondered if she’d ever get used to hearing herself referred to as Mrs. Logan.

Ted stayed behind, talking grain with Mr. Sorenson. Grateful not to have to select undergarments with her new husband looking on, Elizabeth unfolded a pretty white nightgown, a sheer, lacy thing.

“Oh, your husband will love that,” Mrs. Sorenson whispered, her voice warm with approval.

Glancing back at Ted, she found him watching her. She dropped the gown like a hot biscuit and grabbed a long-sleeved, plain, high-necked nightgown. Not exactly body armor, but close.

“It’s hot around here in the summer,” Mrs. Sorenson put in.

Heeding the hint, Elizabeth selected a sleeveless square-necked gown with no trim. Ugly and plain. Perfect.

“That’s serviceable, but this is beautiful.” Mrs. Sorenson pointed to the sheer, lacy gown.

“It’s too…too…” Elizabeth grabbed up the tag. “Pricey. You know new husbands.”

“Yes, I do,” the older woman said with a wink, “which is why I suggested this one.”

Elizabeth quickly gathered up two pairs of drawers, an underskirt and two chemise tops in cotton, all simple and unadorned, whether Mrs. Sorenson approved or not.

At the counter, the shop owner totaled the purchases. When Elizabeth heard the number, she gasped. A sudden image of her father harassed by creditors popped into her mind. Had she and Mama spent too much money on clothes? Jewelry? Had mounting bills forced Papa to gamble? If so, why hadn’t he gotten a job like most men?

“Add that to my account,” Ted said, his voice thick and gruff as if saying the words hurt.

Was she to witness yet another man’s financial ruin? She vowed to watch her pennies. Well, when she had pennies to watch.

Mr. Sorenson opened a book, the pages smudged and crammed with names and numbers; cross outs and additions. Elizabeth couldn’t imagine how he kept track of who owed him what in such a messy ledger.

Mrs. Sorenson wrapped the purchases, then handed two bundles to Elizabeth. “I look forward to seeing you again, Mrs. Logan.”

Elizabeth blinked.

Mrs. Sorenson chuckled. “Why, Hubert, she forgot her name.”

“Oh. Yes.” She gave a weak laugh. “Thanks for your help, Mrs. Sorenson.”

“Anytime! Enjoy the sewing.”

Ted took her elbow. If she could find an excuse to linger, Elizabeth could ask Mrs. Sorenson’s advice about dressmaking.

The store’s proprietor turned to Ted. “Are the children at the Harpers’?”

Ted grabbed up the seed. “Yes, Anna loves their new baby.”

“Hubert, get that precious child some candy.”

“I am, missus, if you’d stop issuing orders long enough to notice.”

Elizabeth bit back a groan. Another model of wedded bliss. Why had she taken such a drastic step?

Mr. Sorenson removed the lid from a large jar of peppermints on the counter, dipped out a brass scoopful and dumped them into a small sack, then handed it to Elizabeth. “These are for Anna.”

Ted raised a palm as if to refuse, then nodded. “That’s thoughtful. Thank you.”

“Give a kiss to Henry,” Mrs. Sorenson added.

These shopkeepers were warm and generous, different from those Elizabeth had known in Chicago.

“We’d better be on our way,” Ted said. “I promised dinner at the café.”

“Could I speak to you, Ted?” Mr. Sorenson asked.

“Sure.” He turned to Elizabeth. “Will you be all right for a minute?”

“Of course,” Mrs. Sorenson said for her. “That’ll give us a chance to talk. Maybe your wife will share a favorite recipe.”

Elizabeth gulped. Unless calling the maid for tea constituted a favorite recipe in these parts, she was in deep trouble. Surely only the beginning of her woes.

Chapter Five

Ted stowed the seed in the wagon, then took the packages from Elizabeth and wedged them in tight. For a man in a hurry, he had a patient way about him. She’d never been patient about anything in her life. A trait like Ted’s could either drive her to distraction or make life easier.

Right now, he dallied when her stomach demanded speed. “I’m starved.”

“Getting married must give you an appetite,” he said, giving her a smile.

Mercy, the man set her off-kilter with that lopsided grin of his.

They walked up the street to Agnes’s café. Inside the spotless, simple dining room, he led the way to a table in the corner. He murmured greetings to the diners they passed, but didn’t stop to introduce her. The way people put their heads together, the room suddenly abuzz, Ted must have lost his wish for privacy.

He sat across from her, studying his menu while she studied him.

Ted looked up. Met her gaze. A baffled expression crossed his face. “What?”

Her face heated and she grabbed the menu. “I’m thinking about my order.”

“Good evening, Ted.” Carrying glasses of water, a round-faced, dark-eyed woman with black curly bangs smiled at Ted. When she looked at Elizabeth her warm smile faltered. “This must be your wife,” she said, stumbling over the word wife.

“News travels fast. Elizabeth, this is Agnes Baker, proprietor of this establishment and the best cook in town.”

Agnes and Elizabeth nodded a greeting while Ted scanned the single sheet as though he’d never laid eyes on a menu before. “What’s the special today?”

“Your favorite. Chicken and dumplings.”

“I’ll take a plate of that.” He turned to Elizabeth. “Know what you want?”

Elizabeth’s stomach rumbled. The cookies and tea had kept her on her feet, but her stomach had met her backbone a long time ago. “I’ll have the same.” She smiled at Agnes. “I’m glad to meet one of Ted’s friends.”

A sheen of sudden tears appeared in Agnes’s eyes. “It’ll only be a minute,” she said, then sped toward the kitchen.

Elizabeth glanced at Ted, who fidgeted with his silverware. Did he realize this woman adored him?

If so, why had he sought a bride by mail?

The gazes of their fellow diners burned into Elizabeth’s back. Apparently everyone knew everybody else in a town this size. Well, she’d rather be here, the topic of speculation, than on the way to the farm with Ted. And the night ahead.

Her heart lost its rhythm.

A tall man loped over to their table. “Reckon this is your missus, Ted. Johanna came in earlier, making her rounds.” He cackled. “Thought I’d say howdy to your bride, seeing I’m the mayor of sorts.” He looked at Elizabeth. “Not that I’m elected, but mayor’s what folks call me.” He stuck out a hand. “Name’s Cecil Moore.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Moore.”

Agnes arrived, two steaming plates in her hands.

“I’ll let you lovebirds eat in peace,” Cecil said, moseying on to the next table where the occupants looked their way, smiling.

Agnes set Ted’s plate in front of him. “Hot and piled high, the way you like it.”

“Thanks, Agnes.” Ted blushed, actually blushed, no doubt aware of Agnes’s devotion.

Then the proprietor plopped Elizabeth’s dish down on the table without a glance and returned to the kitchen.

Elizabeth’s gaze dropped to her food. Her portion didn’t measure up to Ted’s but, far too hungry to fuss about it, she attacked her food. Mmm, delicious.

She glanced at Ted’s untouched plate and lowered her fork.

“I’ll say grace,” he said, then bowed his head.

Cheeks aflame, Elizabeth bowed hers.

“Lord, thank You for this food. Walk with Elizabeth and me in our new life as man and wife. Amen.”

Elizabeth’s gaze collided with Ted’s. She quickly looked away. Not that Elizabeth had neglected praying about her problems, but God had withheld His answer.

Well, she’d found her own. And he sat across from her now.

Ted picked up his fork. “How long since you’ve eaten?”

His words reminded her to take dainty bites, not pig-at-the-trough gulps. “I had tea and cookies at the parsonage.”

His brow furrowed. “You didn’t eat on the train, did you?” he asked softly.

She stared at her plate. “No.”

“Look at me, Elizabeth.”

She raised her chin and looked into his eyes, which were now clouded. Was it with dismay?

“I may not have much in the way of money, but my cellar’s stocked. You won’t go hungry. At least if you’re a good cook,” he added with a chuckle.

She fiddled with her napkin. “I’m sure I can.”

“You’ve never tried?” he said, his tone laden with amazement.

Elizabeth took a swig of water. “I grew up in a home with maids, a cook, laundress, tutor, butler, even a nanny.”

Ted frowned. “You said you were destitute.”

“I am. Of late.”

“What happened?”

“What happened isn’t a topic for good digestion.”

She wanted to ask how long it had been since Rose had died, but it didn’t seem like the right time, either. Instead she returned to her food.

Ted took a bite, obviously enjoyed the tasty dish and ate every morsel, and didn’t end the meal with a belch.

Uninvited, a memory invaded her mind. Of the three red-faced, ho-humming, toe-tapping times she’d sat in the parlor with Reginald after dinner, swishing her fan until her arm ached, trying to dissipate the silent belches rocking his spindly body and the unpleasant odors chasing after them. She’d tried to be kind, to turn the other nostril, ah, cheek, but he’d been…distasteful.

Papa had said Reginald Parks was short on manners but long on cash so he had to be forgiven. Instead of forgiving Reginald, she’d defied her father. A heavy weight squeezed against her lungs. Would Papa find it in his heart to forgive her?

Would Ted forgive her once he knew about Robby?

She looked up to find Ted studying her in that quiet way of his. He wiped his lips on the napkin. Nice lips. Full. At the memory of Ted’s kiss at the end of the ceremony, Elizabeth’s pulse leaped. His lips had been soft. Gentle. Enticing.

The one time Reginald had lowered his whiskered face to hers, he’d triggered spasms in her throat that threatened to make her retch.

Another point in Ted’s favor.

Though, at the moment, her stomach tumbled. Too many uncertainties churned inside her.

The door burst open and in marched Mrs. Van Wyld, followed by a knot of ladies, beaming like sunshine. Johanna led the procession to their table.

“The folks of New Harmony, leastwise those I could round up, are here to give you newlyweds a party.” She gestured to Cecil Moore. “If I know the mayor, he’s got his harmonica. His brother will be along with his fiddle.”

Grinning, Cecil flipped the instrument out of his pocket and played a few merry notes. Ted looked as if he wished the floor would open up and swallow him, but Elizabeth’s toe tapped under her skirts.

People came over, shook Ted and Elizabeth’s hands, offering their congratulations.

“Would you like a piece of Agnes’s pie?” Johanna said, once the crowd cleared.

Ted took a step toward the door. “We really need to be going.”

“My treat,” Johanna persisted. “Sorry it’s not cake, but it’s mighty good.”

In case she needed to escape tonight, Elizabeth couldn’t risk putting the sheets to the test. She turned to Ted. “Is your house one story or two?”

“One.”

“Oh, I’ll have a slice of pie, then. A big one.” She smiled at Ted, resting her chin on her palm. “Pie is my weakness.”

Johanna waved to Agnes. “They’ll have pie. I’m paying.”

Agnes appeared at their elbows. “I’ve got sugar cream and cherry today.”

“The sugar cream, please,” Elizabeth said.

Ted frowned as if he didn’t approve of the turn of events. “None for me.”

“Don’t be silly,” Johanna said. “This is your wedding day. Your bride shouldn’t eat pie alone.”

Ted sighed. “All right—”

“Cherry and coffee black,” Agnes said, obviously familiar with Ted’s tastes.

With Johanna issuing orders, diners moved the tables, opening space in the middle of the room. The mayor let loose on his harmonica. A heavyset, squat fellow strode in carrying the fiddle and joined in. Cecil’s brother Oscar, Johanna informed Elizabeth.

Four couples formed a square, moving up and back, square dancing or so Johanna explained.

Agnes arrived with coffee and pie. Flaky golden crusts piled high with luscious filling. Elizabeth thanked her, and then dug in. Mmm, cinnamon. Sugar. Cream. She licked her lips, capturing a speck from the corner of her mouth. “This is delicious.” She glanced at her husband.

Ted sat motionless, his fork hovering over his plate. Did the man pray before each course? No, he was staring at her lips. Had she missed a crumb? She dabbed at her mouth with the napkin.

His face turned a deep shade of red. Blue eyes collided, hastily looked away and then back again. He dropped his gaze to his plate, slicing his fork into his pie and then lifting a forkful of cherries and crust to his mouth. Her stomach dipped. When had pie ever looked better going into someone else’s mouth besides her own?

In all of Elizabeth’s years she had never been unable to finish a piece of pie. But tonight, her wedding night, she pushed the plate away. “I’m stuffed.”

Ted smiled. “Glad I finally got you filled up.” He glanced out the window. “Time to head for home.”

“We can’t leave.” She waved a hand. “Your friends have done all this for us. To celebrate our marriage.”

“Johanna’s turned our wedding dinner into a spectacle.”

“My dreams for my wedding day hardly match our ceremony.”

Ted had the decency to look contrite. He rose and offered his hand. “May I have this dance, Mrs. Logan?”

“If you’ll teach me the steps, Mr. Logan.”

“It’ll be my pleasure.”

Her pulse raced at the warm, steady pressure of his hand on her back. At the warmth radiating from his very masculine body. At the breadth of those powerful shoulders.

No doubt Ted could protect her from any danger. Yet she’d never felt more threatened. More out of control.

Surprisingly light on his feet for a hulk of a man, Ted led her through the dance. But even with the unnerving awareness that others watched every move they made, smiling and nodding approval at her attempt to join in, she wanted to stay. Leaving would mean being alone with her husband.

Right now, if she could, she’d stamp Cancel on their mail-order nuptials. But that meant she couldn’t give Robby a home.

So like a self-assured bride, she smiled up at her groom, but under her skirts, her knees were knocking.

What had she gotten herself in for?

Neither Elizabeth nor Ted said much on the trip to the farm. As dusk crept in and a full moon rose overhead, lights appeared in the houses they passed. Elizabeth kept her gaze off the man beside her, who took up more space than a mere man should, and focused on the fields. The turned-over earth exposed parched soil as cracked as old china. An owl hooted overhead, an eerie, lonely sound that crawled along her skin, raising the hair on her nape.

“You mentioned a weakness for pie. Any other flaws I should know about?” Ted said at last, his voice laden with humor.

No doubt an attempt to ease the tension crackling between them. Well, she’d do her part. “I’m emotional. A talker.”

He turned toward her, his pupils reflecting the moonlight. “What do you mean, emotional?”

She squirmed under his stare.

“Are you a weeper?”

“Just the opposite. I have a temper.” She pinched her fingers together then opened them a tad. “A teeny temper.”

“Ah, I see.” He chuckled. “Thanks for the warning.”

“Do you?” Elizabeth asked.

“Do I what?”

“Have a temper?”

“Nothing makes me mad, except deceit. How can you trust a man if he can’t be taken at his word?”

Fortunately for her, he didn’t say woman.

Elizabeth fidgeted with her ring. “Couldn’t there be a good reason a person would lie?”

“The truth sets people free.”

She’d be set free, all right. If Ted learned about Robby, he’d rip this simple gold band off her finger and get an annulment faster than Johanna Van Wyld could spread the news.

Ted shifted on the seat. “Seems odd to be married and know so little about you.”

“I feel the same.”

“It’ll take some getting used to, especially for my children.”

Elizabeth gulped. She’d forgotten about Ted’s children. From what she could remember about Robby, babies cried a lot and forever needed a change of clothes. “How old are they?”

“Anna’s seven and scared, I think. She understands a lot.”

Robby had been six when Mama died. Even though Martha had taken care of her brother when Mama took sick, Robby had cried for his mother. Rose’s death had to be even more traumatic for Ted’s daughter.

“Henry’s fourteen months. All he cares about are his meals and a soft lap.” He lifted a brow. “That is, if you’re one to cuddle a baby.”

She’d cuddled Robby. No problem there. Besides, a lap meant sitting and from all Ted’s talk about work, sitting sounded good. “I’ll have a lap anytime he needs one—at least when you’re not available.”

“As long as you’re gentle with my children, you have no need to worry about overstepping. I’ll expect you to mother them whether I’m in the fields or in the house.”

Elizabeth suspected little ones cared not a whit about who you were, how much you owned or where you came from. Long as they had that lap and a ready meal.

But cooking, well, she hoped Ted and his children had low expectations, bottom-of-a-burned-pan low.

Approaching a house near the road, a dog barked a greeting, leaping along the bank as they passed. Inside, people gathered around the table. Good people who lived by the toil of their hands. Not trying to make money without working for it like Papa had, and losing most every time.

Still, as furious as Papa’s gambling made her, she still loved him. He was an affectionate, jovial, handsome man who had a gift with words. In that careless manner of his, he loved her, too, and was probably worried about her now.

Tears pricked at her eyes. She’d propped a note on her dresser, assuring him of her love. But love might not heal the breach she’d crossed when she’d defied him.

Her attention drifted to Ted, which didn’t do much for her peace of mind. She shifted, trying to ease the tightness between her shoulder blades. How could she relax, knowing once they reached the farm, she and her new husband would be totally alone?

Ted had made no move to touch her, other than to help her from the wagon and a polite offer of his arm. Still, they’d signed a marriage license. And surely he’d noticed that baffling attraction between them at the café.

She wrung her hands in her lap while the pie and noodles waged war in her stomach. He’d better keep his distance. They’d only scarcely met.

Desperate to end the silence between them, she said, “I don’t mean to criticize, but Mr. Sorenson’s ledger could use some organizing.”

“Sorenson has a heart of gold, not a head for bookkeeping. He asks me for advice, but can’t seem to implement it. Sometimes I think the store is too much for him.”

Elizabeth’s heart skipped a beat. Could this be the solution for earning the money to bring Robby to New Harmony?

“We’re not far from my place.” In the gloom, Ted’s deep voice made her jump. “Sorry, did I scare you?”

“I don’t frighten that easily.”

“Me, either,” he promised.

She stiffened. “You should be scared, at least of me.”

“Oh, I thought you only had a teeny temper. I’m not afraid of that.” He chuckled. “Appears my wife’s the timid one.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.” He tipped a finger under her chin for a brief, heart-stopping moment and then went back to the reins. “I don’t see any other wives around, do you?”

“Well, maybe I am, a little.”

He laughed. “Thank goodness, because I’m terrified of you.”

Laughter burst out of her into the clear night air. For the first time in ages she felt more in control of her situation.

She cocked her head at her new husband. “You’re a handsome man, Ted Logan. And from what I’ve seen of New Harmony, probably the most eligible male in town.”

Eligible for Chicago, too. Anywhere. But she wouldn’t tell him that.

He looked mildly uncomfortable with her appraisal. “I’m a married man, remember?”

As if she could forget.

“Why would you advertise for a wife when I suspect you could’ve had Agnes, probably a number of other women, too, by simply saying the word?”

He cleared his throat. “I thought it better to marry for convenience rather than marry someone who’d expect love.”

Obviously Ted held no illusions that this marriage would lead to love. Good. Love wasn’t her goal, either. She only wanted a happy home for Robby.

“Would you be marrying anyone if you didn’t have two children to care for?”

The reins hung limp in his hands. “No.”

“That makes you as desperate as I am.”

He flashed some teeth, pearly white in his tan face. “Reckon so. So why did you decide to take Sally’s place?”

That quickly Ted gained the upper hand. Unaccustomed to feeling out of control with beaux, too young, too old or too self-absorbed to be taken seriously, Elizabeth’s brow puckered.

“I came to Iowa to…” She took in a deep breath. “To get away from a marriage my father arranged…to a much older man, a man I couldn’t stomach marrying.”

“Why would your father insist you marry someone like that?”

“Money. The man’s rich.” She sighed. “So I ran.”

“Into marriage with me. Guess I should be flattered you consider me the lesser of two evils.”

“To be honest, I’d planned to find a job here, not a husband. But one look at the town destroyed that strategy.”

He chuckled. “No danger of getting a swelled head with you around. Not sure I’ve ever met a female like you.”

Ted’s tone held a hint of awe. Did he understand the tedium of propriety, the yearning for something she couldn’t name? “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He reached across the space between them and brushed a tendril of hair off her neck. “You know, Mrs. Logan, this marriage might just be fun.”

His wife scooted about as far from Ted as she could get without tumbling from the wagon. Not a typical bride. But then not a typical wedding, either.

He stood over six foot tall. Hard work had broadened his shoulders and strengthened the muscles in his arms, an ox of a man, some people said. Was she afraid of him?

Well, if so, she needn’t worry. He was far more afraid of this slip of a woman from Chicago. If she smelled any sweeter, he’d need to sleep in the barn instead of the children’s room, his plan for tonight.

The decision made, he felt an odd sense of relief. Elizabeth might be his wife, but she was a stranger. A charming stranger at that. She made him laugh, something he hadn’t done in far too long. And as now, he could barely tear his gaze away from the curve of her neck, her tiny waist—

“What happened to your wife?”

Her question doused his interest like a glass of cold water in his face. “Rose died of nephritis.” He tightened his hold on the reins. “Her kidneys began shutting down after Henry’s birth.”

“I’m sorry.”

Nodding an acknowledgment, he turned the horses into the lane leading up to the house, relieved to reach his farm. And avoid the topic of his deceased wife.

As they bounced over the ruts, he remembered his citified wife’s complaints about the condition of New Harmony’s streets. He made a mental note to haul rocks from the creek to level the surface after he’d finished planting.

The road curved around to the back of his house. They passed the garden plot. In the barnyard, he stopped the horses and set the brake. Tippy bounced into view, barking. Ted climbed down and gave the dog a pat.

Night was falling, putting the farm in shadow, but Ted knew every building, fence and pasture. He’d earned all this off others’ pain. A straight flush had paid for the house, a full house repaired his barn and a four of a kind had bought his livestock.

Yep, the best poker player on the Mississippi, that had been him. Not that he’d planned on being “Hold ’Em” Logan when he’d joined the crew of that riverboat.

He’d seen men die over a game of cards, women toss their hearts after gamblers who loved their whiskey and the hand they held more than any female. He’d watched men and women lose everything they owned. Not a decent life. A life he now detested.

He’d started over here. Put his mark on this land. Everywhere he looked he saw evidence of his hard work, his daily penance for his past.

Shaking off his dreary thoughts, Ted walked to Elizabeth’s side. Even in the dim light she looked tired, worn to a frazzle, as his mother would’ve said. He encircled her waist with his hands and she laid a gentle hand on his shoulder for balance. Light in his arms, she surely needed fattening up if she hoped to handle the chores. Her hand fell away and he quickly released her. A strange sense of emptiness left him unsteady on his feet. Must be the strain of this eventful day.

Elizabeth bent and ran a hand along his dog’s shaggy back. His white-tipped tail wagged a greeting.

“Tippy is gentle as a lamb,” Ted said, “and the best sheepdog in these parts.”

While Elizabeth got acquainted with Tippy, Ted retrieved their purchases from the back of the wagon. When he returned to her side, she gave the dog one final pat, like she’d met a good friend and didn’t want to say goodbye.

“Go on in. The door’s unlocked.” Ted handed her the packages. “I’ll be along as soon as I bed down the horses and feed the stock.”

She turned to face him, hugging the bundles close. “I’ve got to ask…”

He waited for her to say whatever she had on her mind.

“Where will you be sleeping?”

Ted gave her credit for asking him straight out. “In the children’s room. If that’s agreeable with you.”

“That’s fine. Perfect.” She released a great gust of air, her relief palpable in the soft night air. “You’re a good man, Ted Logan.”

Would she still say that if she knew about his past?

Chapter Six

With the sleeping arrangements settled, Elizabeth walked toward the house with a light step, suddenly curious about her groom’s home. At the back door, a whiff of lilac greeted her, transporting her to the ancient, mammoth bush behind the Manning carriage house. To the gigantic vases Mama filled to overflowing, giving off the heady fragrance of spring. Home.

Tears stung her eyes but she blinked them away. Refusing to dwell on what she could not change, she whistled Tippy inside. She’d found a friend and had no intention of leaving him behind.

The door led into the kitchen, a huge room that ran the entire depth of the house, from back to front, cozy, if not for the chill in the air. A stack of newspapers all but covered the faded blue cushion of a brown wicker rocker.

In front of the chair, Elizabeth spied dried mud in the shape of a man’s boots. Didn’t Ted shed the footgear he wore in the barn before entering his house? Well, if he expected her to clean, that would have to change.

A large table, legs sturdy enough to support an elephant, dominated one end of the kitchen. Its porcelain castors sat in a sea of crumbs. “Come here, Tippy.” The dog made quick work of the tidbits. Elizabeth patted her personal broom.

A high chair was set off to one side of the table. A spoon was glued to the wooden tray with oatmeal and, from the smell of it, soured milk. On the back of a chair, a garment hung haphazardly.

“Oh, how cute.” Elizabeth picked up a tiny blue shirt that stuck to her fingers. “Uh, maybe not.”

She put the oatmeal-painted apparel back where she found it. Tippy sat on his haunches watching her every move, as if he wanted to oblige her by licking her hands clean.

At this preview of marriage to Ted, her knees wobbled and she slumped into a chair.

She should leave. Maybe Reginald Parks wasn’t so bad after all. Well, no, he smelled like sour milk. Far worse.

She surveyed the smudgy oilcloth covering the table. Over the center Ted had tossed a blue-checked square, covering whatever lay underneath. Hide it and run—a cleaning plan she could relate to. She lifted the corner of the lumpy cloth, exposing a sugar bowl, a footed glass filled with spoons and one nearly empty jar of jam.

In the sink, a pile of oatmeal and egg-encrusted dishes filled a dry dishpan. As if waiting for her. Welcome home, little wife.

Obviously Ted needed help. Well, she might not know the first thing about housekeeping, but she could handle this clutter better than Ted. Couldn’t she?

A mirror hung over to one side of the sink. An odd place for it. She unpinned her hat and then couldn’t find an uncluttered spot to lay it.

Carrying her hat, she climbed the two steps leading to the living room. Nothing fancy here—two rockers around a potbelly stove, a kerosene lamp in the center of a round table stacked with Prairie Farmer magazines. On either side of the table a navy sofa, chair and ottoman looked comfy. A sloped-top desk stood under the window with a ladder-back chair tucked beneath. Not so much as a lace curtain to soften the glass.

Nothing like their parlor at home with its lavish velvet curtains, brocade sofa, wing chairs and prism-studded chandelier. Well, that room had been stuffy and suffocating.

Now it stood empty.

Shaking off the maudlin thought, she walked to the four-paned side door that opened onto a covered porch. The shadow of some kind of a vine blocked her view of the lawn and sheltered a wooden swing at the far end. A pleasant place to read. Though farmer’s magazines hardly interested her.

Well, she’d see about changing that on her next trip into town. Surely New Harmony had a library.

She crossed the room and opened a door. A small rumpled bed clung to one wall. A crib hugged another. Anna and Henry’s room—the place where Ted would sleep tonight. He’d surely be uncomfortable curling his massive frame onto that small space.

A bureau filled the niche between the beds. Tiny clothing dangled from three open drawers. Elizabeth stuffed the garments inside. As she pushed the drawers closed, her gaze rested on a framed photograph on top of the dresser.

She recognized Ted immediately. Wearing a suit, face sober, he looked vaguely uncomfortable, as though his collar pinched. In front of him sat his bride, her dark hair covered by a gauzy veil, gloved hands clasped in her lap. Rose. Elizabeth studied the mother of Ted’s children. She read nothing in her expression but quiet acceptance.

Along the opposite wall a rocker was positioned next to a washstand. A cloth floated in a bowl of scummy water and a still-damp towel hung from the rails of the spindled crib. Her new husband couldn’t be accused of fastidiousness.

When her father no longer had the money to pay servants, Martha had gladly taken over all the duties in their house. She’d be in her glory here. Elizabeth cringed. Now she’d have to play Martha. Well, she’d spiff this place up in a matter of hours. Show Ted she could handle the job of wife.

Back in the kitchen, she shivered. How long did it take to bed down a pair of horses? She should start a fire. She bent toward the black behemoth. Home Sunshine in raised letters on the oven door hardly fit her mood. She took hold of a handle and opened a door. Ah, ashes. Must be where the fuel should go.

She grabbed a couple of small logs from a large, rough-hewn box, then squealed when a bug crawled out of one of them. She tossed the infested firewood into the stove.

Where were the matches? Her gaze settled on a metal holder hanging high above little hands. A flick of the match against the side and it flared to life. She tossed it on the wood and stepped back in case of sparks.

The match went black. She needed something smaller than that log, something more flammable. She crumbled a big wad of newsprint, lit another match and tossed the whole thing into the stove. The paper lit and blazed. Soon the log would ignite.

She glanced at the dog. “See, nothing to it.”

Tippy whined.

Elizabeth shut the stove’s door. “You’re a worrywart.”

Once the fire took off, she’d heat water and wash these dishes. That would show Ted his new wife could carry her weight, and his, by the looks of this place.

The acrid odor of smoke reached her nostrils. Tippy barked. Elizabeth dashed to the stove and flung open the door. Black smoke poured out of the gaping hole, enveloping her in a dark, dirty, stinky cloud. She coughed and choked, waving at the smoke hanging stubbornly around her, stinging her eyes.

The screen door banged open. Ted raced to the stove, tossing his suit coat on the rocker as he passed. He turned a knob in the pipe and slammed the door shut. “Didn’t you know to open the damper before you lit the stove? You could’ve burned the house down!”

She sniffed and swiped at her burning eyes. “Are you going to yell at me on our wedding day?”

The sour expression he wore turned troubled. “No, I don’t suppose I should.” He met her gaze. “I’m sorry.”

He yanked up the windows over the sink and opened both doors, then cleared the smoke with a towel. She watched the muscles dance across his broad back. When he turned around, he caught her staring.

“Ah, thanks for taking care of the smoke,” she said weakly.

With a nod, he inspected the kitchen, as if trying to get his bearings. “As soon as the fire gets going, we can have a cup of coffee. Or tea, if you’d prefer.”

“Tea would be lovely.”

He swiped his hands across his pants, and then filled a shiny teakettle with water. “Sorry about this mess. I wanted the place to look nice.”

“It’s, ah…homey.”

“I meant to get the dishes done before we left, but things kept happening.” Ted set the teakettle on the stove. “Henry spilled his milk. Anna tried to wipe it up but slipped and bumped her head on the high chair. They both needed holding before it was over. Everything takes more time than I expect.”

Elizabeth smiled at the look of dismay on Ted’s face. This father cared about his children, loved them. Like Papa loved Robby and her. A nagging unease settled over her. Could Papa love her when he’d tried to use her to discharge his debts?

But of course he did. Hadn’t he always told her so?

“What’s the dog doing in here?”

Tippy hung his head, appeared to shrink into himself. “Doesn’t he live here?”

“Not inside, he doesn’t.” He opened the back door. The dog gave one last pleading glance at Elizabeth. “Out you go, boy. You know better than to come inside.”

“I don’t see why he can’t stay.”

“He’s a working dog, not a house pet. And the way he sheds and attracts mud, you’ll be glad of it, too.”

“Then that must be his mud in front of the rocker?”

He harrumphed.

She smothered a smile.

The teakettle whistled. Ted gathered two cups and a blue willow pot, then rummaged through a cabinet, mumbling. His broad shoulders filled every inch of space between the wall and table. Elizabeth squeezed past him as if she thought he would bite, then pulled a container marked Tea from behind a bag of cornmeal.

Her gaze lifted to his. She swallowed hard. “Here it is.”

He reached for the tin, his fingertips brushing hers. “I…ah.” He blinked. “Thanks. I spend half my time searching for things.”

She smiled, remembering Papa’s inability to find something right in front of his nose while she could spot a sale on gloves from three stores away. She picked up the kettle and filled the teapot with water, dividing the rest between the two round pans, then added dippers of cold. She chuffed. And Martha said she didn’t have a domestic bone in her body.

Ted waved a hand at the mess. “They’ll wait till morning.”

“No time like the present.” She sounded smug even to her own ears. But keeping busy meant avoiding her new husband.

The sink hung in a wooden counter supported with two legs at one end and a cabinet at the other, the space under the sink skirted. What an odd arrangement.

“What’s the mirror for?” she asked.

“I shave there sometimes. And it helps me keep track of Henry.” He smiled. “Like having eyes in the back of my head.”

In no time, Elizabeth worked up some suds by swishing a bar of soap in the pan, then dipped a plate through the bubbles, but dried yellow food still clung to the plate. She scrubbed with the dishrag. Still there. Running her thumb over the hardened mess, she crinkled her nose as the nasty stuff filled the space beneath her nail. Well, she wouldn’t let dried-on egg yolks defeat her. She rubbed harder. Her thumbnail gave way and tore. She dropped the plate into the pan. It hit bottom with an ominous clunk.

Ted stepped up behind her. “What was that?”

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