Love in Independence (Holiday Mail Order Brides) (6 page)

Mrs
. Brock narrowed her eyes. “What other reason are you here? I don’t recall Maude saying anything about relatives coming to visit.”

Winnie swallowed. “I’m not a relative, I’m …” Drat! What
was
she? She couldn’t lie;
she was havi
ng a hard enough time with this fiasco! “I’m assisting the Smythes with their business.”

The women all took a step back and stared at her, their faces etched with disbelief. “What do you do for them?” Mrs. Peatman asked.

“I … I take care of people.”

“Oh, I can’t imagine what that must be like!” Mrs. Caulder croaked. “I’d faint if I ever had to … take care of one.”

Mrs. Gelsinger’s eyes were round as saucers. “Do you have to touch them?”

Winnie’s face screwed up in confusion. “Touch them?”

Mrs. Gelsinger nodded with a grimace. “The people, of course. Do you have to touch them?”

What sort of a question was that? Winnie thought. “Well, naturally when one is ta
king care of a person, you have to touch them. When they’re in a really bad way, they can’t change their clothes by themselves, or comb their own hair.”

“
Ohhhhhh, I think I’m going to faint!” cried Mrs. Caulder.

“Eunice!” barked Mrs. Peatman. “Get a hold of yourself! After all, more and more women are working these days!”

“Yes, but to do such a job!”

Winnie stared at them as she bit her lip. “It’s not so bad, once you get used to it. I took care of my mother for a long time.”

Mrs. Caulder took one last look at her, before her eyes rolled back in her head. 

“EEEKKK!” Mrs. Gelsinger cried. “She’s going down!”

And she did, with a loud thud.

“Mrs. Caulder!” Winnie exclaimed and ran to her side. “Someone help me get her up
!” Mrs. Peatman got down and, together, they sat the woman up and began fanning her face with their hands. “Mrs. Brock, bring some water, please.”

Mrs. Brock’s face was locked in indecision
for a moment before she got moving and hurried to the short hall. Within moments, Pastor Luke came running out. “What happened?” he asked, shocked.

“Miss Longfellow caused poor Eunice to faint with her tales of gore,” Mrs. Brock stated.

“What?” Winnie snapped. “Tales of gore? What are you talking about?”

“Any woman who handles dead bodies ou
ght to be ashamed of herself; speaking about such things to those of us with a more delicate and sophisticated nature,” Mrs. Brock sneered. “I think you’re positively ghastly!”

Eva, quiet all this time, cringed at her mother’s words but still said nothing.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t
speak of your work here, Miss Longfellow,” Pastor Luke suggested in a gentle tone.

Winnie stared at him, mouth agape. “Dead bodies?”

“There she goes again!” cried Mrs. Brock.

“Oh
, for Heaven’s sake!” said Winnie. “I do not handle dead bodies!”

Pastor Luke furrowed his brow in confusion
. “Then, what
do
you do for the Smythes? I know Mrs. Smythe takes care of the business’ bookkeeping, and arrangements, but Mr. Smythe handles the … ah … rest. Though, as he’s mentioned he needed help … I assumed …”

“You assumed what?” asked Winnie, totally flabbergasted at this point.

“That you were helping Mr. Smythe prep the deceased for burial,” he stated with a wave of his hand.

She stared at him a moment, before the cackling started. She couldn’t help herself
; the absurdity of it hit all at once, and then she remembered the conversation she’d had with him earlier. It all made sense now.  Mr. Smythe must be the town undertaker.

“How can you laugh at a time like this?”
screeched Mrs. Brock.

“Mrs. Caulder wil
l be fine,” assured Pastor Luke.

As if to confirm the statement, Mrs. Caulder moaned.
Her eyes fluttered open, and she stared up at the faces of those around her. “Mercy me! What happened?”

“You fainted,” Mrs. Peatman told her. “But you’re all right now.”

“She is not all right; none of us is all right!” Mrs. Brock announced with a huff.

“My dear
Mrs. Brock,” Pastor Luke said with what sounded like an extra dose of patience. “Let us move on. Everything’s fine.” He held out his hands to Mrs. Caulder and helped her to her feet. She stood, took one look at Winnie and shook her head.

“I believe there’s been
a horrible misunderstanding. I,I,I, I …”
Oh drat!
She took a deep breath. “I do not handle the … deceased for the Smythes, as you seem to think. I just help out … with whatever is needed. And right now, it’s the town’s Fourth of July celebration.” She let out what little breath she had left, and took another. “Let’s get to work, then, shall we?”

Six

  
Luke bit his lower lip to keep from laughing. The look on Miss Longfellow’s face was adorable. But it was also obvious she had no idea what they’d been talking about. How could she not realize their assumption? It was no secret that Jonathan Smythe needed help. He prepared the coffins, dug the graves, and got the deceased ready for burial so, of course, he needed help! But from a woman? Yet, he’d heard of stranger things, so why not? Some help was better than none, and perhaps Maude would assist her husband with whatever work didn’t require tremendous amounts of strength, and had brought Miss Longfellow to town to perform some of the other duties. The bookkeeping, for one, and also helping families with the funeral arrangements of the dearly departed.

He shook his head at how easy it was
for a misunderstanding to happen, and come to the wrong conclusion. He looked at her shocked face, his own full of mirth. “Would you like a little help?”

Winnie was still on the floor. Mrs. Peatman was pulled to her feet by Mrs. Gelsinger. She stared up at him as she sucked in a breath. “Yes, that would be appreciated.”

He held out his hand, and when she took it, he noticed how soft and small they were in his own. He helped her up, h
er hand still in his, and gazed at her. 

She was no great beauty by any means. Pretty
, yes, but she wasn’t a raving beauty like Eva Brock, not by a long shot. But she had a serene gentleness in her eyes, a kindness that could not be denied, and he felt something deep stir within him.

“Thank you,” she tol
d him as she looked at her hand still locked in his. “I think we’d best get back to work.”

“Yes,” he said, well aware of the fact
that he needed to let go of her, but those eyes …

She swallowed and looked away, a blush creeping into her cheeks. He took a de
ep breath and released her hand. “I’ll stay and help you ladies this time. I should have at least gotten you started. I apologize.”

“No apology needed
, Pastor Luke,” said Mrs. Peatman.

“Most certainly not,” added Mrs. Brock. “It wasn’t your fault Eunice fainted. It was hers.” She pointed an accusing finger at Miss Longfellow, her lips now pressed into a firm line.

“She can’t help it, Mother. Stop.” Eva said, speaking up for the first time.

“Help what?” asked Miss Longfellow.

Eva looked her up and down. “You’re not from around here,” was all she offered.

Mrs. Brock shot her daughter a dirty look before returning her attention to Luke. “I should think you’d be willing to work with us on a daily basis, Pastor Adams. The celebration is in less than two we
eks, and we haven’t a moment to waste!”

Eva rolled her eyes at her mother and smiled at Winnie. “I guess we’d better get to work.”

  Luke watched as Miss Longfellow gave Mrs. Brock a wary look, and then nodded her agreement. He took a step back, and sat on the nearest pew.  “So, Miss Longfellow and Miss Brock will be the organizers. The rest of you form your committees, if you haven’t already done so. We’ll need decorations, someone to put together the parade, and then, of course, the picnic.”

“And don’t forge
t the fireworks!” Mrs. Peatman put in.

He looked at Miss Longfellow, who wore a pained expression on her face. “Do you need any help with those?”

She glanced at the others. “No, it’s been decided that Mr. Peatman will handle the fireworks, as he’s always done.”

He glanced at Mrs. Peatman. “I had no idea someone was already doing that on a regular basis. Good. Let’s get started then. Miss Brock,
I’d like you to handle the picnic and decorations, while Miss Longfellow and I organize the parade.”

Mrs. Brock’s body shuddered. “That will never do. How can my Eva be expected to handle something as important as decorations without your input?”

Eva blew out her breath and turned her face away from her mother’s. Luke noticed the red creeping into her cheeks and felt pity for the poor girl. He knew how overbearing Mrs. Brock could be. He’d witnessed her in action often enough to instantly feel sorry for anyone having live with the woman.  But to see her in action in
front
of him, got his hackles up. “Miss Brock is capable of handling the job. I have every confidence in her abilities.”

“Then
why isn’t she organizing the parade with you?” Mrs. Brock shot back.

One, two, three, four
… Luke counted to himself. “Because I picked Miss Longfellow, who is equally capable, I’m sure. Now, to work.” He stood. “Miss Longfellow and I will be sitting over there. Let’s work for the next hour then see what we’ve all come up with.”

Mrs. Caulder took Eva by the arm. “I have
a lovely idea for the tables at the picnic!”

Eva smiled at her, and patted her hand. “I’d love to hear it.”

“Oh, and I think we should have a pie-eating contest!” added Mrs. Peatman. 

Mrs. Brock gave her dau
ghter a look cold enough to freeze a pond. It was clear she had an agenda, and wanted her daughter paraded before him in hopes that he’d be interested. It wouldn’t be the first time it happened. Before he left Chicago, it had happened all the time.

“Pastor Adams
?”

He turned. Miss Longfellow was looking up at him, a shy smile on her face. “Yes?”

“I … I …” she took a deep breath. “I want to apologize.”

“For what?”

“For not being clear with you about why I’m here.”

“Think nothing of it. We need the help and you’ve come to do just that. Now, let’s go see what we come up with for a theme for the parade.”

“Theme? Why do you need a theme? Shouldn’t it be obvious?”

  He smiled. “I suppose on the one hand, yes. But on the other hand, I like to be different. Help me figure something out,
and then I can get back to writing my sermon.”

She smiled, nodded, and let go
of the breath she’d been holding. The action caught his attention. Had she been holding it all this time? 

He shook off the thought and went to the pew nearest his office. They sat, and he again noticed her eyes when he looked at her. “Wher
e are you from?” he blurted. He hadn’t any idea why he asked; it just came out.

“North Carolina originally. After my mother died, I went to New Orleans.”

“Your mother? She really did … “Oh, I’m terribly sorry. All that misunderstanding earlier …”

She held up a hand. “No need to apologize. I’m getting along.”

“When did she pass?”

“Just a few months ago. It’s one of the reasons I came out here. I needed a fresh start.”

He gazed into her eyes. So, she was there for the same reason he was. “I understand more than you know about that.” She smiled before she looked away. He had the sudden urge to turn her around to face him, if only to gaze into her eyes again, but balled his hand into a fist instead. For one, it would be improper, and two, he wasn’t sure he could stop looking once he got started.

* * *

Winnie felt a deep blush color her cheeks, and looked at one of the stained glass windows that graced the building. Her stomach felt odd and a tingle was making its way up her spine. Good heavens! Where did this come from? She wanted to look at him again, but didn’t dare. She wasn’t sure if she could keep herself from outright staring at the man. He was a handsome man, no doubt about it. But her attraction to him felt strange, with was odds with itself. After all, she was his intended!
Was.

He’d cut her off before she finished telling him the truth. Was it for the best? Probably. She’d suffered enough embarrassment since arriving in town. No sense dragging him into it. Besides, who knew how much more she’d have to suffer at the hands of her three ‘benefactors’ during the rest of her stay. If she couldn’t make this work with Luke Adams, then what was she to do? Shouldn’t she come clean and tell him the truth? But if she did, would he reject her outright and send her packing?

“Miss Longfellow?”

Her head snapped around to face him. “Oh! I’m sorry. Did you say something?”

“I asked if you think we should use a flower theme?”

“Flowers?”

“Yes
; wouldn’t it be nice to have everyone decorate their wagons with flowers?”

The man liked flowers
… Winnie smiled at the thought. He must, since he’d made the suggestion. “I think flowers would be wonderful. How many flowers are you thinking?”

His eyes roam
ed her face. “Lots of flowers; as many as we can gather. The fields are full of them now, and there’ll be more in a couple of weeks.

A chill went up her spine. “I see, well then … we … we …”
Oh no! Not now!
She straightened in the pew and took a breath. “We should do it, then. I think it would make the parade beautiful.”

He smiled,
and then suddenly frowned. “Oh, I don’t have anything to write with. Excuse me a moment.” He got up and disappeared down the short hall leading to his office.

“I know what you’re about.”

Winnie jumped at the voice. She turned to face Mrs. Brock in the pew behind her. “I beg your pardon?”

“You and Pastor Adams, sitting so close together
; why, it’s shameful!”

“What?”

“I’m keeping my eye on you, Miss Longfellow, and if I see any immoral conduct displayed, I’ll see you’re run out of town.” With that, the woman hefted herself out of the pew and marched to the other side of the church where the other women were happily making plans.

Winnie sat, dumbfound
; her mouth hanging open like the village idiot’s.

“Here we are
; this will help,” Pastor Adams said as he returned with a pencil and paper. He sat and looked at her. “Is everything all right?”

She shook herself, closed her mouth, and nodded. She’d never known such women existed! How could Maude and Martha say Eva Brock was terrible?  If she was, it was probably because of her mother!

Pastor Adams grabbed a hymnal from the back of a pew, and used it as a writing surface. He scribbled a few things down, and then gave her his attention. “What else?”

“Huh?”

“What else should we have in the parade?”

  Winnie thought a moment, still trying to recover from Mrs. Brock’s verbal attack. “Uh, music?”

“Of course! Yes, we can’t have a parade without music.” He tapped the pencil against his chin a few times. “I’ll speak with the mayor; I’m sure he’s had folks play at different town functions. He can give me a list of people to contact. Would you like to speak with the musicians and round them up?”

She stared at him, tears in the back of her eyes. Mrs. Brock’s words had dealt her a solid blow. The woman was attacking her character and didn’t even know her! How could she say such things? Besides, she’d already been in the pastor’s office with him, and no one
had thought anything of it. Everyone saw them come out together, so what was all the fuss about?

“Miss Longfellow? Is something wrong?”

She shook her head, still unable to speak.

“I can round t
hem up if you like. You can see about getting some of the women together and planning when to gather flowers for the parade.”

She closed her eyes against the tears, and smiled. “That sounds good.”

He studied her and, without warning, took one of her hands in his. “Miss Longfellow, if you ever need someone to talk to, well, you know where to find me.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. She glanced over his shoulder at the other women. Mrs. Brock was busy
waving her arms and berating Mrs. Peatman about something. “What do you mean?”

“Your mother. You must still be grieving. I understand how that is.”

She looked into his eyes. No one had talked to her about her mother since she’d died.  When she showed up on Aunt Eugina’s doorstep, they’d not had much time to talk.  Her aunt had become withdrawn, and was preoccupied with the whereabouts of someone named Slade, a man who’d vanished into thin air. And, though she’d gathered from her aunt’s conversations with her assistants that he was no angel, her aunt obviously had a soft spot for him. Before Winnie had left New Orleans to come west, Aunt Eugina had contacted the law about the missing miscreant. “Yes,” she finally said. “I suppose I am.”

“I’m always here
; you can talk to me anytime,” he offered gently.

She l
ooked at her hand enveloped in his. Warmth crept into her bones as she stared and, for the first time since her mother had died, she felt her heart break from the loss. Winnie closed her eyes and turned her face away.

“Miss Longfellow?
” he asked, his voice soft and low. “Do you need to step into my office to take a moment to collect yourself?”