Brides of Iowa (25 page)

“Hubert, you know I never had children of my own. I’d always hoped to give Jacob a son, but the Lord didn’t see fit to allow it. Tessa Maxwell is like a daughter to me, and I’m delighted to play the role of step-grandma to little Susan.” She paused and bit her lip. “But I must admit the idea of suddenly becoming a stepmother makes me a bit nervous, even if Everett is a grown man.”

Hubert’s thick eyebrows rose as he looked at her with surprise. “Now why should you be nervous?”

She tilted her head to one side and huffed out a soft breath. “He’s never met me. His father is marrying a complete stranger. What if he doesn’t like me?”

A mirth-filled chuckle bubbled from him. “That, my dear, is quite impossible.” He dipped the nib into the inkwell. “So, today is June twenty-ninth. If you want a June wedding, we’ll have to get married tomorrow or wait a whole year.”

A June wedding. Dreaming of being a June bride was for young girls, not matronly women, but even as the romantic notion filled her mind, she giggled. “At our ages, waiting a whole year probably wouldn’t be a good idea.” She smiled and allowed the picture to form in her mind. Wouldn’t it be lovely for her and Hubert to stand amid the apple blossoms in her backyard?

Her backyard. “Oh.” She placed her fingers over her mouth. “Hubert, we haven’t discussed where we’ll live after the wedding.”

A twinge of regret flicked across his features. “I’m sorry, Pearl. I’ve been making decisions for so long, taking nobody but myself into consideration. I suppose I need to work on changing my habits.” A repentant grin tilted his mouth. “When I had my house built last year, I didn’t exactly design it with the idea I’d one day bring a wife home, but it surely could use a woman’s touch. When I first imagined asking you to marry me, I just assumed you’d move to my home.” He laid the pen aside. “It was boorish of me to be so presumptuous. Did you have other thoughts?”

Pearl looked about the boardinghouse dining room. “It didn’t occur to me until now, but I suppose I’ll have to sell the boardinghouse.”

Hubert’s gaze turned apologetic. “Would that distress you?”

More than a decade of memories filled the walls of the old house. Some happy, others not so. Several of the boarders who’d resided there over the years had become like family to her, and the house itself symbolized God’s provision, the means He gave her to support herself after Jacob’s death. Running the place was hard work, especially after Tessa married and moved out. Even though Tessa had only resided at the boardinghouse for a year, Pearl enjoyed her help while she was there and missed it when she left. Every passing year new repairs had to be performed. Hubert’s proposal meant a new chapter in her life. She contemplated the answer to Hubert’s question. Would she regret selling the place?

“No, not really.” Her spirit agreed with her response. “Sometimes it’s hard to say good-bye to one’s yesterdays, but I believe God is telling me it’s time to build some tomorrows with you.” She gave him a wobbly smile. “I’d love to be married as soon as possible, but what if it takes awhile to sell the boardinghouse?”

Hubert waved his fingers. “There’s no need to fret over that.” He stroked his chin. “What would you think about asking one of your lady boarders to take over the operation in exchange for free rent and a small stipend?”

She pondered the possibility and nodded. “Yes, I suppose that’s a possibility. Miss Pendergrass, the schoolteacher, has moved out now that school has closed for the summer, so there are currently only four boarders. Mrs. Russell might be interested in such an arrangement. I’ll talk to her this evening.”

He returned her smile and picked up the pen. Speaking the words aloud as he wrote them, he continued the letter to Everett. “We are hoping to be married soon. I hope you can come, as I am anxious to introduce you to my bride. With warmest regards, Father.”

Hubert blew on the page to hasten the drying of the ink. “Would you like to add a personal note?” He held the pen out to her.

Pearl’s breath caught. What should she say to the young man she’d never met, but whose father had stolen her heart? She hesitated, then took the pen from Hubert and dipped it into the inkpot.

Hubert folded the letter and tucked it into the envelope. “You know, there were many days—many years, actually—that I thought I’d never be this happy again.” A tiny muscle twitched downward on the corner of his mouth, and he rubbed his finger over his mustache. Pearl had grown accustomed to the gesture. It seemed to be an unconscious habit Hubert did whenever he contemplated a matter. She waited in silence for him to continue.

“The weeks and months after my wife left were terribly painful.” He hesitated as though carefully weighing his words. “As the months turned into years, I thought it would become easier to deal with the loneliness. By the time I got word of Lucinda’s death, Everett had already built up a rather formidable dislike of me.” A troubled, faraway look crept into his eyes and the tone of his voice changed, like he was speaking to some unseen person. “I wondered if perhaps God had decided I wasn’t worthy of happiness.”

“Hubert, how can you say such a thing?” Pearl’s heart pinched as she listened to Hubert’s words. “You are as well-acquainted with God’s love as I am.”

As if someone snapped their fingers, Hubert abruptly returned his attention to her. He picked up her hand and kissed her fingertips. “Indeed, I am. What do you say we go for a walk to work off your delicious Sunday dinner?”

“Just let me get my shawl.” She rose and hurried to her bedroom, anticipating the late afternoon stroll in the early summer air. But Hubert’s pensive speculation echoed in her heart. How could he think God didn’t desire his happiness?

Pearl gave the worktable one last wipe and hung the damp rag on the back of the pantry door. Hubert’s troubling words dogged her thoughts all evening. When she’d attempted to bring up the topic again, he’d brushed it off as inconsequential, and she could only wonder at the past memories that must have prompted such a statement. He’d bidden her good night earlier than usual, claiming a headache.

“Lord, maybe I do understand a little of how Hubert must have felt.” She slipped into her bedroom and closed the door. Lowering herself to the chair at her dressing table, she began unpinning her gray hair. “When Jacob went home to be with You, I never thought I’d love again.” But she suspected it was something more than loneliness that induced Hubert’s ponderings.

Her hands paused as she stared at the crow’s-feet around her eyes. Anyone who’d lived long enough to have wrinkles had unpleasant memories of hurtful times. “I suppose everyone has things from their past they’d rather forget.”

She pulled out the rest of her hairpins and picked up a maple-handled hairbrush. Pulling the brush slowly through her hair, she stared at her reflection in the oval mirror. Truth be told, Hubert wasn’t the first to make her an offer of marriage since she became a widow. Seven years ago a man had attempted to court her while neglecting to mention he was already married. The very recollection made her sigh with the desire to erase not only the memory, but also the distrust that lingered from the experience.

She brushed a bit harder and pushed the dark image of the former would-be suitor from her mind. “And just because—it doesn’t mean—” She drew her lips into a tight line, annoyed with her own thoughts. “Hubert has never been anything but a perfect Christian gentleman. I have no reason to imagine he could be deceitful about his past.” She narrowed her eyes at her reflection. “He’s told me about his first marriage, and I believe him.”

She gathered her hair over one shoulder, and her fingers began deftly twisting it into a braid. “Lord, Your ways are far above my understanding. I trust You, Father. My heart is overflowing with happiness that the path You’ve designed for me includes Hubert.”

She changed into her nightgown and robe, and sat in the old rocker with her Bible in her lap. “Father, the plain truth is I love Hubert, and because of my love for him, I want him to be happy. Thank You that You’re bringing him and Everett back together after so many years. It fills me with joy to see his happiness. I pray that You will bless our marriage, and if it’s Your will, let Everett come to Willow Creek so he and Hubert can be reunited.”

Hubert stirred honey into his tea and crossed the room to sit beside the fireplace. Despite the mild temperature, he wanted the comfort of a fire. He stared into the flickering fingers that wrapped around the logs while guilt gnawed at him. Telling Pearl he had a headache wasn’t entirely true. Oh, he had a headache now, but it wasn’t the real reason he’d taken an early leave this evening. The annoying pain in his brow was born of regret.

When they were writing the letter to Everett, Pearl had assumed his hesitation about inviting his son to the wedding was because of their long estrangement and the uncertainty of Everett’s reaction to the marriage. His heart pulled in opposite directions. His arms ached to embrace his son again. So much time—time he could never reclaim—had slipped away, and the father’s heart that beat within him longed for reconciliation. Every letter that arrived from Everett flooded him with joy. Reuniting with his son was an answer to many years of prayer.

On the other hand, the one person in the world who knew why Hubert’s wife left him was his son. If Everett came to Willow Creek for the wedding, would he disclose the details of that doomed marriage to Pearl? He’d felt like a fraud telling Everett in the letter that he was anxious to introduce him to Pearl. Perhaps he should rewrite the letter.

Reaching into his pocket, he extracted the envelope addressed to his son. The personal note Pearl had written was at the bottom of the last page—the same page that included his invitation for Everett to come to the wedding. He gazed at the graceful script of Pearl’s hand. Sick in his heart, he slowly crumpled the page and tossed it into the fireplace and watched the flame consume it.

He stood and picked up his teacup and carried it across the room to the desk in the corner. Hubert uncovered the pot of ink and tapped his pen on the edge. Struggling to find the right words, he dipped the pen into the ink and carefully rewrote the last page, noting that he’d understand if Everett couldn’t come to the wedding.

“Ah Lord, I’ve learned over and over that even if one is forgiven a transgression, the consequences remain.” He closed his eyes and leaned back against the oak desk chair. God had blessed him on so many sides, but this thorn festered in his flesh. He never dreamed God would give him another woman to love, but doing so created a paradox. Reuniting with Everett fulfilled one longing of his heart, but it also ran the risk of Pearl learning of his past sins. If only he’d listened when God spoke all those years ago—if only he’d heeded God’s direction. But being young and ambitious, he’d allowed the dream of success to blind him.

He took a sip of tea and discovered it had grown cold—just like his relationship with God had grown cold years ago. He’d long been comforted by the forgiveness God graciously bestowed and was diligent to never again permit the lure of worldly desires and aspirations to divide him from his loving heavenly Father. But the mistakes made during the broken fellowship could not be changed.

He returned to the fireplace and picked up the poker and prodded the logs, encouraging the flames to devour them. How he wished he could do the same with the regrets that had haunted him for twenty years. The loneliness that shadowed him for so long cast a reminder of the price of his disobedience. Sinking once again into the comfortable chair, he studied the blazing logs and pictured the sweet face of his intended.

“Pearl, my love, I want to be completely honest with you, but to do so, I have to admit that my failed marriage to Lucinda was the result of my selfishness and greed.” Not exactly what a bride wanted to hear from her groom.

H
ubert engaged in mortal combat with the grime tracked from the street and up the steps in front of the mercantile. Using his broom, he attacked the miniature cloud of dust that billowed across the boardwalk and back down the steps. Impatience drove him as he slung the dirt back where it belonged. The activity served to work off some of the frustration of waiting to make Pearl his bride. Almost three weeks had passed since they’d written Everett telling him of their plans, and he and Pearl had still not decided on a specific date for the wedding. Since posting a F
OR
S
ALE
sign on the front porch of the boardinghouse and sending advertisements for publication in several newspapers in the larger cities, they’d not received a single inquiry. He swiped the broom at one last spot of dirt and clomped back up the steps, dragging his grumpy disposition with him.