Brides of Iowa (30 page)

“I’m coming,” she called out, scurrying down the short hallway to the foyer. When she opened the door, she blinked in surprise.

“Everett.” She stopped herself before blurting out “What are you doing here?” But the question stood front and center in her mind. “Please come in.” She stepped aside to allow the young man to enter.

“Mrs. Dunnigan.” He handed her his hat. “Since my father is quite busy today, I thought we might take this time to talk.”

“Why of course.” She hung the hat on the hall tree and gestured toward the parlor. A rueful pinch in her stomach told her Everett wouldn’t appreciate being invited to sit in the kitchen for a cup of coffee. “Please sit down. May I fix you some tea?”

“No thank you.” He sat in the maroon wingback chair closest to the door. Pearl speculated that he looked as if he wanted an unobstructed exit in the event he felt the need to escape. But an awareness pressed in on her that perhaps she might be the one wishing to escape by the end of this conversation. She schooled her expression and pasted on a warm smile.

“I’m so glad you stopped by. I’ve been hoping we could have an opportunity to get to know each other better.” The last time the young man graced her with his presence wasn’t the happiest of memories. Hopefully they could start out fresh this afternoon.

“I, too, have desired the chance to talk to you.” Everett propped his elbows on the arms of the chair and interlaced his fingers. “There are some things I’d like to clarify, and I feel the only way to do that is to meet the issues head-on.”

Pearl nodded and took a seat across from him. The thought winged through her mind that she was glad she’d just finished cleaning this room. “I like straightforwardness as well. There’s nothing to be gained by beating around the bush.”

Everett raised one eyebrow in a speculative arch. “That’s an interesting choice of words, Mrs. Dunnigan, because I’ve been wondering the same thing.”

His meaning was lost on Pearl. “What is it that has you wondering?”

He sent her a skeptical look as if he doubted the validity of her question. “I don’t presume to know the depth of your motives, but I can surmise.”

He glanced about the room, and for the first time, Pearl felt embarrassed by the simple furnishings. But that was silly. Why should she be ashamed of the blessings God had given her? She shook off the thought and directed her mind to focus on Everett’s puzzling statement.

“I’m sorry, Everett. Since we’ve agreed to speak plainly, perhaps you should come to the point and state the purpose for your visit.”

Everett pressed his fingertips together and looked straight at her without blinking. “I am wondering about your motives, Mrs. Dunnigan. What exactly do you hope to gain by marrying my father?”

The question stole Pearl’s breath. Was he implying what she thought he was implying? “Gain?” She paused to regulate her breathing. “I hope to gain a husband who loves me as much as I love him.”

A sardonic twitch lifted the corner of his mouth. “Mrs. Dunnigan, let’s not pretend we don’t understand each other. I’m sure you’re tired of working so hard here.” He waved his open hand in a sweeping gesture of the room. “My father was well paid by the Pinkerton National Detective Agency, which included a substantial retirement bonus.” He leaned his head slightly forward. “Of course, you already knew that. Why else would you pursue a man whose class is far above your own?”

Pearl couldn’t have been more shocked if Everett had slapped her. “Wh–what?” A tremor jolted through her and nausea stirred in her stomach. “What are you saying?”

Everett sat back in the chair, his chin raised, eyes narrowed. “I think you want to marry my father so you can live a life of ease. Marrying a man of substance would elevate your position in the community and afford you comforts you don’t currently enjoy.”

She sat, dumbstruck and paralyzed. Her mouth moved but nothing came out. The words stuck in her throat along with her breath. Even the muscles required to shake her head refused to work.

“Not that I blame you, you understand.” His condescending tone poured buckets of humiliation over her. “Running a boardinghouse must be drudgery. You certainly wouldn’t be the first woman who tried to improve her situation by marrying into money.” He lifted his gaze, as though a list of offending women was written in the air. “Those gold-digging creatures who prey upon wealthy, lonely men are rather pathetic in their own conniving way.”

Pearl’s protest froze within her. How was she to respond to such outrageous charges? Would Everett even allow her a defense? Did he truly believe she didn’t love Hubert, but rather sought to marry him for whatever material benefits might come her way? Before words could form logically in her mind, Everett rose.

“I would ask that you ponder the ramifications of your intentions. You understand, of course, that if you go through with the marriage, you will effectively drive a wedge between me and my father. Now that you know I am aware of your purpose, perhaps you’ll rethink your unseemly plan.” He stepped into the hallway and retrieved his hat. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Dunnigan.”

Long after the door closed behind him, Pearl sat unmoving on the settee, the words she couldn’t speak locked in her heart.

Pearl clasped her hands in her lap trying to keep them from trembling. During the hymn singing, she’d moved her lips in a vain attempt to add her voice to the worship, but no music rang in her heart and the ache in her throat hindered words from escaping. Her Bible now lay open in her lap, but the numbness in her mind prevented comprehension of the minister’s words when he announced his text. She could feel Hubert’s disconcertment as he sat next to her on the pew. She dared not look at him. One glance at his tender gray eyes would be her undoing, and she must not turn back now. The pressure in her chest built with every passing minute.

Everett’s presence on the other side of his father had an unsettling effect as well, and it sent shards of guilt through her. She should rejoice that Hubert’s son came to church with them, but his close proximity only caused her sore heart more torment.

She hadn’t closed her eyes all night, except in prayer. By dawn, she still had no peace about her decision, no clear leading from God, but she had no other choice. She knew what she had to do, and that knowledge was eating a hole through her from the inside.

People stood and moved about, and Pearl realized the service was over. She’d not heard a word of the sermon. Hubert’s hand touched hers and she startled, pulling back like she’d been stung by a bee.

“Pearl, are you all right? You’ve been acting rather peculiar this morning.” Hubert put a hand on her back and gently guided her ahead of Everett toward the door.

The trio stepped out the front door of the church and shook hands with the pastor. Since the summer day was clear and relatively mild for mid-July, Hubert had suggested they walk to church instead of riding in the buggy. The boardinghouse was a mere two blocks away, but Pearl felt as if she were walking to the gallows.

When they arrived at her gate, Everett remained by the street. She could feel his cold eyes on her while Hubert walked her to the door. It was now or never. She still couldn’t bear to look directly at him, so she studied the tips of her shoes peeking out from beneath the hem of her dress. She took a deep breath. It hurt.

“Hubert, I can’t go walking with you this afternoon.”

“I knew something was wrong. Are you not feeling well?” Concern resonated in his voice.

“I’m fine,” she lied. “Hubert, I…I’ve changed my mind. I don’t think the marriage is a good idea. We simply aren’t suited to each other.”

Several moments of silence ticked by. Finally Hubert reached to grasp her hand, but she folded them tightly together and tucked them close to her waist.

“Pearl, what’s this about? Are you nervous about the wedding? I’m told it’s not uncommon for a bride to feel uneasy. Perhaps you can talk with Tessa and she can—”

“I’m not nervous about the wedding.”

“What can I do to—”

“There isn’t going to be a wedding.” Her throat constricted and she couldn’t swallow.

Hubert took hold of her upper arms. “Pearl, what’s wrong? Why are you doing this?” A level of panic she’d never heard in Hubert’s voice before threaded his words. “There is nothing we can’t talk over, nothing we can’t pray about together.”

His plea for prayer almost did her in. She’d prayed—all night she’d begged God to tell her what to do. But His sovereign voice remained silent. She took a step backward away from Hubert’s reach and dared to raise her eyes as far as his beard. “Hubert, please try to understand, and don’t make this any more difficult than it already is. I cannot go through with this. I’m sorry.” Her throat closed the rest of the way, cutting off her words as well as her air. She snatched the doorknob and pushed it, slipping inside and hastily closing the door before Hubert could say anything else.

She was surprised to feel her heart hammering against her rib cage. She’d expected it to stop altogether.

As soon as she set Sunday dinner on the table for her boarders, she mumbled an excuse and slipped into her bedroom. How she wished she could latch the door and never emerge from this room again. If she did that, however, she’d lock herself in with nothing but her heartache for a companion. It was all she had.

She sank down on the bed. Her eyes instinctively moved to the silver music box on the bedside table. Picking up the treasure, she set it in her lap and raised the lid. The once angelic music now sounded like striated dissonance, haranguing against the shattered pieces of her heart. The tinkling notes mocked her. They’d become a requiem, harsh accompaniment for her own words.
You mustn’t allow anything to stand in the way of reconciling with your son.
She closed the lid and warm tears dripped onto the polished silver.

P
earl hung her damp dish towel on the wooden rod beside the stove and looked around the spotless kitchen. Her aching arms and shoulders and raw knees testified to the hours she’d spent scrubbing the place for the past several days. There wasn’t a square inch of floor that hadn’t seen her scrub brush or a window that didn’t sparkle. Every curtain had been washed, starched, and ironed, every rug hung out and beaten. Scouring the baseboards wasn’t her favorite activity, but being on her knees lent itself to communing with the Father, and her boarders couldn’t tell if she was wiping away sweat or tears. But keeping her hands occupied didn’t quell her pining for Hubert, nor did the activity so wear her out that she didn’t see his face in her dreams at night.

A knock sounded at the door, setting Pearl’s senses on alert. Hubert had already come by three times trying to persuade her to talk. Her heart was too shredded to endure another encounter with him. The knock sounded again.

With one finger, she moved the curtain on the parlor window just enough to see the person standing at the front door. A gentleman stood with his back to her. He appeared to be examining the front porch. Even though she couldn’t see his face, she could tell by his stature that he wasn’t Hubert.

She opened the door and the man turned around. When he grinned and swept his hat from his head, she sucked in a sharp breath. His auburn hair was a little thinner than she remembered and was now peppered with streaks of gray, but the green eyes were the same.

“Pearl Dunnigan, you are a sight for sore eyes.” He took a step toward her, and for a moment she thought he was going to take her in his arms.

She stepped backward, and he must have interpreted the movement as an invitation to enter. He picked up a carpetbag and crossed the threshold. Proper manners dictated that she greet him. “Mercy sakes! M–Mr. Cain, I’m surprised to see you.”

He released a merry laugh. “Mr. Cain? That’s rather formal, isn’t it, Pearl?” He set his bag down and reached toward her. “It’s good to see you, Pearl. Been way too long.”

She sidestepped away from his reach. The sound of his chuckle brought back memories, and she suppressed a grimace.

She allowed a small smile. “It’s…nice to see you, too…Silas. Please come in and sit down.”

Silas sat in the same chair Everett occupied over a week ago. He looked around the room. “The old place hasn’t changed much. Of course, neither has the town. After spending the last seven years in St. Louis and Chicago, Willow Creek is a nice break from all the noise.”