An Uninvited Bride on his Doorstep by Ava Winters
Chapter Two
“And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.”
The pastor closed his Bible and bowed his head as he stood at the head of the open grave. The graveyard behind the little clapboard church was small and windswept, and the scent on the wind spoke of more rain to come.
“Let us pray.”
Rose bowed her head and wept, and Miss Barrett silently slipped an arm around her shoulders as the minister prayed.
“Lord, we commend to you the soul of our dear sister Audrey Latimer, in the knowledge that she is now in Heaven with you, and in the sure hope of the resurrection. We look forward to the day when we shall all be together again in your house, and sorrow and crying shall be no more. Amen.”
“Amen,” Rose breathed sadly, and watched forlornly as other mourners stepped up to toss flowers into her aunt’s open grave. Last of all Rose took a step forward and dropped a white rose into the grave, and then young men with shovels began to fill it up.
The sight of it made fresh tears jump to Rose’s eyes, and she bowed her head and wept silently. Miss Barrett tightened her arm around her shoulders but let her cry without offering any words.
The crowd of black-garbed mourners stirred and began to slowly disperse. Their neighbors came over to murmur their sympathies, and Rose registered their sad faces dimly. She felt as if she was underwater. Everything seemed slow and dim and muffled to her, as if none of it was quite real.
As if she was imagining it all and would rise the next morning to find her smiling aunt in the kitchen, and everything at their farm just as it had always been.
Last of all the minister walked up and took Rose’s hand. “I’ll escort you and Miss Barrett back to your house, Rose,” he said kindly. “The ladies of the church will be by this evening with some covered dishes. You naturally won’t feel like cooking for a while.”
Rose allowed herself to be led to the pastor’s buggy by the hand, like a child, and she sat there in the back seat and stared at the flat countryside as it slowly rolled past.
The thought was just beginning to occur to her that she was in deep trouble. It was still dim and unreal, like everything else, but she was going to have to acknowledge it, even if that was much later.
Her Aunt Audrey was the only relative…had been the only relative she had left.
They pulled into the disheveled farm about twenty minutes later. Rose stared at the little white clapboard house, and for the first time since she’d come there, it looked empty and dark.
There was no one in it waiting for her.
The minister climbed down and walked over to help Miss Barrett down, and then Rose. Rose stepped down and pulled her shawl closer around her shoulders. The breeze had been cool on the little hill, but the wind had turned. It felt cold to her now.
They walked into the little front parlor, and Miss Barrett lit the lamps. The minister sat down on the settee, clasped his hands together over his knees, and stared at her earnestly.
“My wife is in Tremont with her sister this weekend, or she could’ve stayed here with you tonight,” he murmured apologetically. “Would you like her to stay with you a night or two when she gets back?”
Rose looked up at him. “Oh, that’s very kind of you, Reverend,” she murmured, “but no. I’ll be all right.”
His eyes were full of sympathy. “Are you sure?” he asked.
Rose nodded mutely, and he added, “Is there anything I can do for you, child, while I’m here?”
Rose shook her head again, and Miss Barrett put in, “I’ll stay with Rose a little while, Reverend.”
The minister nodded, then stood up with a sigh. “If there’s anything I or Mrs. Chalmers can do for you, Rose, you just let us know,” he told her, and put a hand lightly on her arm. “We’d be happy.”
“Thank you,” Rose replied, in a voice almost too soft to hear; and she stared at the floor as Miss Barrett walked the pastor to the door and saw him out.
A little while later the church ladies came, and Rose listened as Miss Barrett talked to them at the door.
“I’m glad she got to enjoy that trip before she passed. Poor Audrey, she had to work so hard, she didn’t get to go places much.”
“She’d been looking forward to that trip, all right.”
“Well, God bless her, she’s in a better place now. She deserves her rest.”
To Rose’s relief, the women did not come in, did not try to talk to her; but they left large, covered dishes filled with food. If it were any other time, she would have dug in because no one was a better cook than an elderly church lady, but her appetite had fled.
Rose listened to the little clinks and clanks of Miss Barrett puttering in the kitchen as she put the food away; and soon the older woman emerged carrying a glass of milk.
“Here,” she murmured. “Drink this and go to bed. Try to get some sleep. I’ll stay with you tonight.”
Rose took the glass but replied: “No, Miss Barrett, you go on home. I’ll be all right, really.”
The elderly woman’s frowning eyes searched her face. “Are you sure, child? It’s no trouble for me.”
Rose glanced up at her gratefully. “Thank you but, I’m sure,” she said almost too quietly.
The older woman sighed but nodded. “All right, if you’re sure. But just remember, I’m right next door. You can come on in anytime. Even spend the night, if you’d like to.”
Rose nodded and mustered a faint smile, and her neighbor walked slowly to the door. She paused on the threshold and added, “Just call out to me before you come in, if you come tonight. I sleep with a gun under my pillow, and I might shoot you if I don’t know who you are.”
Rose almost sputtered, but she swallowed her bubble of weak laughter, because she knew the older woman was not joking. “I’ll remember, Miss Barrett.”
The older woman nodded, hugged herself as if she was cold, and slowly shut the door behind her.
Rose stared at it for a while, then rose and built a little fire in the fireplace, even though it was late spring and cool rather than cold. Soon she had a cheerful fire leaping in the grate, just as the rain arrived and began to splatter the tin roof with big, noisy drops.
She settled into a stuffed chair facing the fire and pulled a book with a lurid cover off the table at her elbow. She opened it and submerged herself instantly into a world where love flourished, right always triumphed, and trouble was always short-lived.
“Help! Help me!”
The innocent Daphne Sweetwater wriggled helplessly against the cruel ropes tying her wrists and ankles. Her dastardly kidnapper, the evil banker Reginald Humphries, laughed cruelly.
“Sign the deed to your family farm over to me, and I will release you!”
“Never!”
Reginald leered down at her. “If you don’t sign over the deed, I’ll take you out to Loon Lake and throw you in!”
“Oh, help! Someone please help me!”
The door to the little cabin suddenly burst open, and both Daphne and Reginald turned to look—the former in hope, and the latter in rage. The door was filled with a tall, dark shadow—the fearless rancher, Dan Tremaine.
“Unhand that girl, you scoundrel!”
Rose closed her eyes and pressed the book to her chest. She was immersed in the book’s glittering fairy-tale world now, a warm, happy place far away from her own broken heart and empty house.
Rose smiled. She could see the handsome hero so clear in her mind—he was a tall, dark cowboy with beautiful brown eyes, a white smile, and a square jaw. His shoulders were like a door frame, he was made of muscle, and his heart was as pure and beautiful as solid gold.
He looked and acted just like the man she hoped to marry some day; and as she read, she could almost hear her Aunt Audrey sigh, “Have you got your nose in those books again? You ought to not to read that nonsense all the time, Rose. There is not a word of truth in those dime-store romances.”
She had always answered the same way.
“But they’re so beautiful!”
Her aunt had only shaken her head. “There’s more to love than moonlight and kissing, girl. The better part of marriage is not killing your husband with a skillet.”
“Oh, you’re laughing at me.”
“You might be surprised.”
Rose sighed and opened her eyes. A likeness of Aunt Audrey was propped on the fireplace mantle, and Rose stared up at the picture wistfully. Her aunt had been a blonde beauty in her youth, and her gentle blue eyes stared down at her.
Rose blinked back tears and returned to her book.
Reginald drew a knife from his belt with an evil laugh and pressed it to Daphne’s throat. “Come a step closer, and I’ll kill her!”
The dark shadow stopped. “You mangy coyote—only a coward would threaten an innocent girl!”
“Get back, I warn you!”