Brides of Grasshopper Creek Page 25

  Chapter 2

  Jacob’s eyes darted between his pocket watch and the scenery rushing by the carriage. He pushed one hand through his brown hair, thankful that the day was so cool; when he became anxious, he tended to sweat, and he didn’t want to sweat through his suit jacket. The driver had showed up fifteen minutes late, but he didn’t want Cynthia and Abby to wait a moment more than they needed to.

  The last two years of Jacob’s life had been such a whirlwind that he still felt like he was dreaming. Growing up in Davinia, he’d always assumed he’d follow in his uncle’s footsteps and become a lawman of some kind. It was the only noble profession, his fraternal twin brother insisted; everyone respected a man with a gun.

  “And a badge,” Jacob remembered saying to eight-year-old Hank. “Don’t forget the badge.”

  “Yeah, but it’s the gun that’s got the real power,” Hank insisted. “Everybody fears a man with a gun.”

  Everybody feared Hank already, however—especially Jacob. Hank was fiercely jealous of Jacob’s physical prowess and the attention it got him, especially once a small wrestling club started up when the boys were fourteen. Hank got left in the dust to study and train alone while the other boys bonded, each of them slowly inching down the path toward being a man of the law. The boys stopped speaking to each other, even once their parents died of their long illnesses when they turned eighteen; they spoke to each other at the funeral, and kept on moving down their separate paths.

  But Jacob wasn’t cut out to be a lawman, it turned out; though he was faster and stronger than any other boy in town, his eyes might as well have been mole’s eyes. He was nearsighted, got confused by movement, and he couldn’t aim to save his life. He failed every test that wasn’t written or based purely on physical strength and reaction time, and his brother swooped in and took top marks in every category. Hank became a junior deputy while Jacob was still just starting to work on farming the land their father left to them. Their rivalry was put to bed, but they still avoided each other, unsure of how to rekindle their bond. Then Hank got engaged to a girl with dreams of dancing in a theatre company overseas, and soon after they were setting sail to join a dance troupe in England before Jacob’s first crops had matured. It hurt Jacob even more than seeing his parents fade away, because this had been preventable; he had known that Hank wouldn’t want to hang around Davinia forever, and part of him knew he had just been running out the clock until that time got there. Then the time passed, and Jacob realized he might never see his brother again. After having ample time to himself so he could reflect on the situation, he swore he would learn to deal with change and disappointment better, and let himself be happy.

  Four years later, he stopped hoping his grade-school crush would move back to town and took matters into his own hands, placing an advertisement for a bride:

  30-year-old farmer with plentiful acreage and a three-bedroom farmhouse seeks a gentle heart and a curious mind. Age 20-30, sweet and willing to explore the bond we create, willing to marry. Photograph to follow.

  He expected to receive a few replies, if any; he hadn’t expected earnest interest, let alone from a lovely lady like Cynthia. If he was hesitant at first, it had disappeared by the second month, and he knew he’d found the woman to marry. She was bright, caring, and fiercely loyal to family; Jacob didn’t even mind that she wanted to wait to announce the marriage, in case one of them was uncomfortable. He’d gone to the most impartial person he knew to make sure he wasn’t making a mistake, knowing that Willy the butcher would give him a fresh perspective to consider, if nothing else.

  “I agree that you’re ready,” Willy said to him in his back room. “And this young gal sounds sweet, but make sure you don’t scare her with your…excitement. Not everyone is used to people being so open, and it might complicate things.”

  Jacob had stared at Willy blankly until the man began to grow red in his cheeks.

  “I mean…you’re already invested in this,” Willy tried again. “Ever since I’ve known you, you’ve had your head in the clouds about love; when we were teenagers, you could never see that Selma Springer was only leading you along so you’d scare off the scoundrels in town, you never noticed that your eyesight wouldn’t let you be a Deputy, and you never saw that your brother was winding up to leave until it was too late. You know already that everything changes; you told me yourself—why not live in this moment until it does? Notice things. Stop to smell the flowers, especially the ones you planted yourself. Don’t be so anxious to get out of your lane and prove anybody right or wrong.”

  Jacob left the shop with three chickens and a lighter heart; that same day, he’d come home to find the letter from Cynthia, explaining that she needed to bring Abby along. It felt like a sign from the universe—Willy had thrown him a challenge, and now he had a chance to face it exactly as instructed: head on, calmly, one thing at a time. With that in mind, Jacob wrote back a light-hearted response, trusting that he could handle another mouth to feed. Besides, seven-year-old girls are easy to have around, aren’t they?

  And now he was rushing to meet Cynthia, already late for their first ever encounter. The red rose was in his left hand, and Jacob was ready to push the door open as soon as the carriage slowed. He braced himself, preparing to hit the ground at a run, but the door wouldn’t open.

  “Vincent! Your door won’t open,” Jacob called, pulling the handle frantically as the carriage slowed. He set the rose on his lap and pulled harder on the door, but the old carriage driver shouted at him to stop.

  “That door’s barred while we’re in motion, so you stop that now!” He twisted around as the carriage stopped and fixed Jacob with a watery glare, his few teeth visible while his face formed a damning expression. “Had too many tots tumble out while I was driving. Had to install a safety mechanism.”

  “What? Just let me out, will you?”

  “Now, what about payment?” Vincent drawled.

  “You’re taking us right back, I’ll pay you then.”

  Vincent’s weathered face grew thoughtful. “Now, I suppose I could accept that answer,” he said. “The other fella said that too, though; then he jumped right out. Another reason I’ve got the bar across the door.”

  Jacob could hear voices just outside the carriage, and his heart started to pound. Vincent’s mouth was quirking up at the sides, and Jacob realized that the old man was pulling his leg; the ancient carriage driver was notorious for becoming mysteriously dense and unhelpful at the worst times, supposedly in retaliation for silly rumors whispered around town. Jacob had no idea how Vincent found out each time he was chattered about, but the younger man was now sorely remorseful for gossiping over the Widow Rutherford’s famous sugar cookies and tea.

  “Listen, Vincent—”

  “Hold on,” the older man cut in. “Let me get out and get that bar open for you.”

  Vincent opened his door and shuffled around the carriage, moving as slowly as he dared. By the time he removed the bar from the door and the wedge-shaped opening swung forward, Jacob’s palms were covered in sweat.

  “Thank you,” he said curtly, running his hands over his jacket nervously before plucking the rose from the seat. “Now I’ll be right back. I have to go and find Cynthia and Abby; I’ve told them I’ll be waiting with a rose.”

  Vincent snorted. “Couldn’t just tell them to head for the big carriage?”

  Jacob opened his mouth to give a reply, but he had none; it hadn’t occurred to him to simply ask her to meet him by a coach. Now she’ll be thinking I’m some romantic fool, or worse: some insincere rake only out to take advantage of her. What was I thinking?

  But it was too late to hide the rose, because Cindy and Abby were already there, moving toward him from slightly in front of the carriage. Cindy was wearing a true-blue riding habit with a powder blue bonnet over her reddish-blonde hair, her long braid thrown over one narrow shoulder. She couldn’t be taller than five foot five, and her niece was wearing a similar outfit in green, with
lace ribbons tying her pigtails. Abby looked very much like a mini-version of Cindy, but Cynthia’s blue eyes were a shade darker than her niece’s, and her taller frame was noticeably that of a woman’s. She was breathtaking; just beautiful. Jacob’s heart beat so hard that it hurt for a moment, but when Cindy’s gaze fully met his, it stopped completely. His eyes moved over every detail of her face: every lash around her eyes, the lines around her pointed nose, even the sudden rush of color in her cheeks—each spot of pink and red blending together to make a pleasing hue that Jacob couldn’t name. Then she smiled, and his heart started galloping like a wild horse again.

  “Hello,” she said shyly, dropping into an odd little curtsy. “I’m Cynthia—you can call me Cindy—and this is Abby.” She gestured to the girl in green, who dipped her chin forward bashfully and looked away. “And you must be Mr. Everett.”

  “Jacob,” he heard himself say, and his voice sounded higher than usual. He cleared his throat. “I’m so sorry I was late, the coach showed up past time.”

  “It’s quite alright,” Cindy said. “A very nice gentlemen helped us with our bags.” Cindy shot Abby a look, and they both smiled at a joke he wasn’t part of.

  “Who was it? I’ll have to thank him.” Jacob started to load the trunks in question in the back of the carriage, balancing Abby’s on top of Cindy’s larger bags.

  “A fellow named Richard Greene.”

  Jacob spun around, surprise showing on his face before he could hide it. “Really?” No wonder the girls were giggling.

  Cindy laughed, pressing one hand over her mouth as she chuckled. “He was surprised to hear your name, too. Why are you shocked?”

  “Richard is…” Jacob began, his mind flashing over images of the man in an attempt to find a nice way to describe him. Most of his encounters ended with the carpenter striding away with his cheeks red from embarrassment, and that was when he could get him to speak at all.

  “Selective,” Jacob said at last. “He keeps to himself, mostly, and takes a while to warm up to people.” Then he remembered seeing him at the schoolhouse with Mia, smiling at the children, even throwing a ball around with some of the more energetic ones. “But I guess he does like kids.”

  “He mentioned a school,” Cindy said as she climbed into the carriage. “He said his wife teaches there.”

  “Right, Miss Mia. You’ll like her, Abby,” Jacob said, finally turning his gaze to the 7-year-old. Her eyes went wide with fright, and she gulped, but didn’t respond. Cindy smiled and placed one hand atop her head.

  “She takes a bit to warm up, too,” she said to Jacob. Abby was siting closest to the window, staring at the scenery as it zipped past the open shade. Vincent was taking a healthier clip now that there was no time restraint, and Jacob was relieved; he didn’t want to make a bad impression in front of his new bride.

  Bride-to-be, he corrected himself. As long as there’s chemistry.

  By the way she kept stealing glances at him, Jacob knew there was potential—but she was nervous and wound up from their long journey. He watched her fuss with Abby’s shoes and re-tie her ribbons as the carriage zipped down the streets, winding past the Widow Rutherford’s property, where Richard was trotting by on his way home. He didn’t acknowledge them as they sped past, but Jacob saw him veer off sharply as the carriage turned, and he realized he was heading up to the hill overlooking the county, not to his own land.

  “You gals like stargazing?”

  Abby looked at Cindy and nodded shyly at her encouragement.

  Jacob smiled. “There’s a hill that’s perfect for it, as long as it’s not being used. I’ll have to ask our Mr. Greene, but I’m sure he won’t mind us borrowing it.”

  “It’s his hill?” Cindy asked curiously.

  “Sort of; it’s on his land, but other people can use it, so long as he’s not up there. It’s just that he liked to be up there for a few hours a day, to think and let himself decompress.”

  Cindy blinked, and the girls exchanged another look. Jacob suppressed his smile. You girls haven’t seen strange from him yet.

  Chapter 3

  An hour later, Abby was settling down for a nap in her new room. Jacob had given them a tour of the farmhouse, and they’d oohed and aahed over its sprawl and relative grandeur, and especially at the huge tub, a luxury the girls had never had before. Cindy had taken Abby into her room after she grew fidgety and anxious; she emerged ten minutes later, her hair unbound and her eyes shining. Jacob felt his heart wrench in his chest, and Cindy noticed the urgency of his gaze and blushed.

  “She likes brushing my hair when she’s anxious,” she explained. “It calms her. “

  Jacob nodded. “Does she get anxious a lot?”

  “Ever since her mother died,” Cindy said. Jacob had brewed a pot of coffee while the two girls were alone, and she sipped at her steaming mug now. “Her illness was so sudden, I couldn’t prepare her for it. She’s never been the same. She’s happy, but she’s not the same.”

  Jacob was silent, staring down into his mug as Cindy’s words filtered through his mind. “Death changes you,” he said. He raised his eyes and was startled to find Cindy gazing at him intently across the table.

  “Who did you lose?” Cindy asked softly. “You never told me in your letters.”

  “My parents, when we were eighteen. They’d both been sick a long time…but I hated watching them go. Knowing there was nothing I could do about it, that was the worst.”

  “Feeling hopeless is a horrible thing.” She sounded sad and sure when she spoke, and Jacob wanted to hold her hand, but he was afraid it was too familiar a gesture. “It’s awful. You’d do anything to avoid feeling that way again.”

  What got you feeling that way? Jacob wondered, but he already knew. The world did; the world had shown Cindy that it had no hope for her. He wanted so badly to change that.

  “You know, Richard also knows a lot about flowers, and he got me started on my own rose garden.” He stood and offered Cindy his hand, putting as much warmth into his smile as he could. “Want to see what I’ve got so far?”

  Cindy looked at his hand, and for a moment Jacob thought she was going to reject it. Then she put her palm in his and let him pull her up from her seat. By the time she stood, she was smiling, too, and the vice around Jacob’s heart loosened a little.

  He only had red and pink roses in full bloom behind the house, but the front was lined with white roses, huge and fragrant on either side of the porch. He watched Cindy stoop and lower her nose to their centers, inhaling their heady aroma and smiling blissfully as she exhaled.

  “These are lovely, Jacob.” She gazed around at the yard and the farmland stretched beyond—acres of wheat, corn, and potatoes, with tomatoes and peas starting to push through the soil. “You have such a wonderful home. Thank you for sharing with us—and on such short notice.”

  “My pleasure.” And he meant it; his mind was filled with all the activities they could do together as a family—apple picking, pie-making, swimming in the lake; to think he’d been afraid of finding a mail order bride. “This is your home now, and I think we’re going to be happy together, as long as you’re comfortable.”

  She smiled, and Jacob’s heart started to beat faster again. Settle down! he urged himself, but it was no use; Cindy was stepping toward him now and reaching for his hands. As soon as she touched them, he felt a current of longing rip through his body, and her blue eyes widened as though she’d felt it too; then the moment passed, and Cindy was speaking, her voice a little breathless, but steady. She inhaled deeply, apparently gathering her courage to speak.

  “You don’t have to do this if you feel obligated.” Her eyes were boring into his, and the intensity of her gaze made him shiver. “I would rather you send us off now, no hard feelings, than you get too antsy after Abby gets attached to you. Okay?”

  “Cindy,” Jacob said, the shock clear in his voice. “I said I was happy to have you both, and I meant it. Please believe me. I know you’re
used to disappointment from the men in your life, but I’m here to stay.”

  He watched her full lips curve up into a genuine smile and had to fight the urge to kiss her. “Okay.” She released his hands and stepped away, and Jacob regretted not dragging his speech out longer. Already his hands missed hers, like they’d been made to hold each other. Cindy was gazing at the roses again, and his mind rooted around for something to say, anything at all to get her to be near him again.

  “My brother Hank used to say our mother was in every rose,” Jacob said suddenly. “We buried her next to a field of wild roses, and they crept over her grave. Before we stopped talking again, he would say that she could go wherever the roses could go. Sometimes I’d pick some and throw some right off of High Hill, so her soul could see how her favorite place was doing.”

  Cindy was gazing at him and smiling in soft amazement. “That’s so sweet. I’ve never heard anything so wonderful.” She touched his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Do you still do it?”

  “Not as much. I think Richard needs the space to decompress more than I do.” He didn’t move, not wanting Cindy to take her hand away from his shoulder.

  But she did, and she started walking back into the house. “Shall I whip us up some supper? I saw some chickens in there while you were giving us a tour. Does chicken and peas sound alright?”

  “That does sound good,” Jacob said, “but I thought I’d cook for you two, not the other way around.”

  Cindy laughed, pressing her hand to her lips again. Then she saw that Jacob was serious.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just that, no man has ever cooked for me before. Especially not the men capable of cooking in my old hometown.”

  “But you worked in a bakery,” Jacob said. “Didn’t anyone help you?”

  Cindy sighed. “You’re the first man to give me so much as a blade of grass since my father died, Jacob. I’m not sure you know just how used to disappointment I am.”