Bride Blunder (21 page)

Grandma cornered him a few days after the mill fire, while Daisy paid yet another visit to the mercantile and Marge ruled over the new schoolhouse. “Have you decided whether you take after my side of the family yet, or do you fancy the flibbertigibbet who pulled in here last week?”

“It would help if you let me know whether you leaned toward one or the other.” Gavin kept a straight face as he answered. “Unless, of course, you bear no preference.”

“Very well.” The old woman chuckled and wandered over to her rocking chair. “If you've brains enough to be smart to your grandmother, I trust you've sufficient intelligence to choose the right Marguerite.” She paused long enough to make Gavin wonder whether or not she'd leave it at that. “
This
time, at least.” The final jab, when it came, earned her a smile.

“You can be sure of it, Grandma. I know how fortunate I am that Marge misread the letter and came here. I don't plan on letting her leave.” With that, he grabbed his hat and headed toward the schoolhouse.

Truth of the matter was, he couldn't blame Grandma for starting to wonder which cousin he'd decided to wed. Marge avoided him like the plague, whereas in direct contrast, Daisy seemed to pop up everywhere. Like a weed. It'd become ludicrous, the way he'd hunt out one cousin only to wind up stuck with the wrong girl.

The girl I thought I wanted to marry.
Gavin shook his head.
Lord, I was blinded by a pretty face and cheerful laugh, when the true value stood right beside. Thank You for giving them the same name. I praise the day Marge stepped out of that stagecoach instead of Daisy.

He wasn't sure he'd timed it right to arrive at the schoolhouse just as Marge let class out for the day, and as it turned out, he was early. Gavin glanced through the open door at the twenty or so students sitting inside—boys and girls ranging in age from five to about twelve—and decided to wait outside. Going inside would just disrupt things, and he didn't want a single thing to go wrong this afternoon.

Wandering around the side of the building, he heard Marge's voice through an open window and stopped to listen. It took him all of a moment to figure out she was reading a story to her students. Gavin rested one shoulder against the reddish brick of the schoolhouse and settled in to listen.

Marge spun the story of a boy named Henry Bond, whose father died and whose mother struggled with the cost of sending him to school. Her voice grew sad, her pace slow as she told of how Henry needed a grammar book but his mother couldn't afford one. A note of hope entered her reading, which picked up speed, as Henry woke to find freshly fallen snow and took the initiative to clear paths for his neighbors until he'd earned enough money for his schoolbook.

Satisfaction shimmered in the syllables as she read the end of the tale. “‘From that time, Henry was always the first in all his classes. He knew no such word as
fail,
but always succeeded in all he attempted. Having the will, he always found the way.'”

Just as I've the will to find my way into marriage with a certain schoolmarm.

Gavin straightened up as he heard Marge tell her students she would read a section of a poem to them and then they'd be dismissed for the rest of the day. Her voice took on a lilting cadence as she recited the first stanza to a familiar rhyme.

“Now remember, students, you can't expect to learn everything all at once. Sometimes you'll forget, sometimes you'll make mistakes, but that's all right so long as you do your best and don't give up. I'll see you all tomorrow!”

Gavin watched as the children filed out the door in clumps of two and three, some lingering far too long for his liking, before finally they'd all left. Only then did he venture inside the schoolroom, where he found Marge wiping down the blackboard at the front of the class. He walked up behind her and waited.

“Gavin!” The little shriek and hop made him smile. “You startled me!”

“I'd apologize, but the truth of the matter is I enjoyed it.” He waggled his brows. “I've never seen you jump before.”

“Sneaking up on someone tends to have that effect.” With her surprise fading, she became all brisk and businesslike—as though brushing him away. “What brings you here, Mr. Miller?”

“I should think that would be obvious, Marge.” For the moment, he ignored the way she'd reverted to using his proper name. Perhaps it had something to do with their standing in the schoolhouse. “I came for you.”

“There's no need to walk me back to the house.” Marge fiddled with the stack of readers on her desk, stalling for time.
Why is he here now? How do I talk to him about Daisy?

“I want to.” Somehow, his broad-shouldered frame swallowed all the space inside the one-room schoolhouse that managed to accommodate twenty children. “It's been difficult to spend time with you these past few days.”

“With the start of school and Midge busy caring for Mr. Geer, there's been much to keep me busy.” She skirted around the far edge of the desk—away from Gavin. “Besides, you've been repairing and replacing things as needed for the mill and haven't had much time to waste standing around talking.”

What little time you've had, I've done my best to make sure you spend with Daisy.
Thus far, however, Marge saw no signs that her plotting bore any fruit. For a man who'd written and sent for Daisy to come out west and marry him, Gavin showed precious little inclination to woo her cousin. When it came right down to it, he showed no interest whatsoever. Marge fingered the chain to her glasses.

“You wear them when you teach?” His voice interrupted her thoughts, and it took her a moment to realize he referred to her spectacles.

“Only when reading.” She snatched her hand away from the chain.
How many times has Daisy told me not to draw attention to my spectacles, not to wear them unless absolutely necessary? Men find them off-putting.
Except ... Gavin didn't seem put off by her glasses in the least. Even now, he looked at where they hung near her waist as though wishing she'd don them.

Surely that can't be so. Marge blinked.
Even if it is, it shouldn't matter. Not anymore.

“I've got a question for the teacher.” A mischievous smile played at the corners of his mouth. “Will she explain something I've been wondering about for a while?”

“I'll do my best.” It took a moment for her to identify the tingling feeling in her stomach as nervousness.

“Why is it,” he began, tapping one knuckle on her desk with each word, making his way toward her while he asked his question, “that every time I turn around, you're foisting me off on your cousin?” By the time he finished, he loomed directly in front of her, brows raised in expectation of her answer.

“Foisting?” she squeaked. There really wasn't another word for it. “I don't know what you mean.”

“Wrong answer.” He took a step closer—a step she couldn't afford to give him without retreating a small measure herself. “Try, try again, Teacher.”

She gasped. “You heard my reading to the children!” Heat swept up her cheeks at the idea he'd been watching her without her knowledge. It seemed so ... intimate.

“I was waiting on you.” Gavin ate up the step she'd retreated. “I still am.”

“Daisy's the Marguerite you want.” Marge couldn't believe she had to spell it out for him. “She doesn't think she wants to stay in Buttonwood, but you can change her mind.”

“Who says I want to change her mind?” This time, he didn't move forward. He looked ... puzzled. “Daisy's not the wife I want. You should know that, Marge.”

The faint flutter of hope reborn made her giddy. And nauseated.
Not again. I can't keep going through the disappointment, Lord.
A dismaying notion chased away the other feeling. After all, he and Daisy had been spending more time together the past few days. Had her cousin confided in him?

“Is this because of what happened with Trouston?” She blurted out the horrible suspicion before considering the ramifications if he didn't know. “Because—”

He rested a work-roughened finger against her lips, effectively hushing her. “This is because of what happened with you, Marge. I don't want Daisy. I want the Marguerite who came to Buttonwood to meet me more than halfway.”

“Daisy's in Buttonwood.” It emerged slightly muffled, the words working around his finger before Marge tilted her head back. “Surely that counts for something.”

“I'm not interested in counting. I'll leave the arithmetic to your students.” One giant step on his part had her backed against her desk. “I care more about other things.”

“Such as?” She found it difficult to breathe all of a sudden.

“Reading.” He reached between them, plucked her spectacles from the clasp at her waist, carefully unfolded the wire frames, and set them upon her nose with a tenderness Marge never would have expected. “I want you to read my face and see clearly which bride I want.”

“No.” She shook her head, spectacles sliding down her nose until he pushed them back into place with one finger. “You can't have changed your mind, Gavin. I'm—”

“Godly, kind, intelligent. Brave and foolish enough to wade into a millpond and scale sluiceway braces to stand at my side and fight a fire.” His gaze didn't leave hers, staring with an intensity that gave the eerie impression he saw beyond her glasses and all the way through to the woman beneath. “You're many things, Marge. It shouldn't have taken me so long to see it.”

She blinked.
Daisy is the beautiful, vivacious one every man wants.
“But I'm not—”

“Mine.” He braced his hands on the desk, bracketing her. “Not yet.” Then his lips found hers, warm and firm as they silenced her doubts. His hands slid from the desk to curve around her back, holding her close. When he finally let her go, he rested his forehead against hers. “Marge, I've only one more question to ask.”

“Hmm?” She really ought to gather her wits, but they'd scrambled beyond repair anyway. “What is it?”

“How much longer will you make me wait before you become my wife?”

Her smile started slowly and spread until it felt as though every inch of her glowed with it. “Exactly as long as it takes for you to arrange the wedding.”

“Done.” Gavin angled his head for another kiss. “You'll be mine before the week is out.”

“I love weddings.” Midge sat stock-still in the pew beside Amos, waiting for the ceremony to begin.

“Good.” His smile could almost convince someone who didn't know him better that his eyes saw more than the varying shades of gray lightening the absolute black he'd walked in for a few days after the incident at the mill. Darkness still dodged his steps, but now Midge knew it wouldn't last.

God is faithful.
She would've squeezed his hand but knew the burns there hadn't healed nearly so quickly as those on his face, so she settled for patting his shoulder.

“So do I.” Daisy Chandler, the cousin who Midge could scarcely believe was related to Marge, much less shared her name, giggled from directly behind them, where she sat beside the Lindners. Midge didn't know precisely why the Lindners followed Daisy to Buttonwood, but if the admiring glances Mr. Shane Lindner cast in Daisy's direction were anything to go by, she'd assume he had marriage on his mind.

Parson Carter cleared his throat. “Before we begin the vows, Marge and Gavin have chosen to add something of their own.” So bear with us as they do something they want to call “Meeting in the Middle.”

The entire town started murmuring when they realized Gavin and Marge both stood at the front of the church—on opposite sides of Parson Carter's pulpit.

“She's wearing sky blue silk with simple lines—none of that overblown, fancy nonsense.” Midge whispered the details so Amos wouldn't feel left out. “She's standing to the far right of the pulpit, he's to the far left, and they're looking at each other instead of walking down the aisle.”

“I said I wanted a wife who'd be willing to meet me in the middle,” Gavin spoke loudly enough to hush the crowd, “but the man is head of the household, so I take the first step.” With that, he took a giant step toward the center of the church.

“For a man who's willing to give as much as he receives, I take another step.” Marge's gown shimmered as she moved. “And add a second one in faith that he will match me.”

“Two steps make a small price to pay when the reward is a wife who will stand by my side for the rest of our days.” Gavin moved forward again, reaching the pulpit as he spoke. “And I add a third in thanks she's come this far.”

“One step to tell you no thanks are needed, only a promise to continue as we've begun.” Marge's smaller stride meant she lagged slightly farther behind. “And three more to represent the three members of this marriage. Myself.” She stepped forward with each name. “My husband.” Another step, and she almost reached the pulpit—and a waiting Gavin. “And the Lord, who brought us together.” The final step brought her to her fiancé's side, before the man of God.

“And so we meet in the middle.” Gavin beamed as he spoke words that must have a special significance to the couple.

Midge thought about how lovely the whole thing was as they exchanged more traditional vows, waiting until Parson Carter pronounced them man and wife before whispering to Amos once more. “I'm sorry you couldn't see it.”

“I liked what I heard.” He shrugged. “Besides, I'm only concerned with seeing one wedding.”

“Are you?” Midge couldn't tear her eyes from him even as Marge and Gavin rushed down the aisle. “Which one?”

For the first time, he slid his arm around her shoulders, keeping her in the church for a moment after everyone else followed the newlyweds outside. He leaned forward, and even without the benefit of being able to see, unerringly found her lips with his in a brief, sweet kiss before answering her question....

“Ours.”

Without another word, keeping his arm looped around her shoulders, he guided her outside. “I want to hear this surprise you've been working on with the children.”

“All right.” Midge called them all around. “Is everyone ready?” She waited for them to nod, knowing that this would be their present to Marge every bit as it was her gift to the town—a way of sharing what filled her heart since the day Amos led her the last bit of the journey to Christ.

After all, she wouldn't have been on the path without Saul, Clara, Opal, Adam, and all the friends who'd prayed and showed her Christian love for four years. Their patience still astounded her, now that she knew the peace they'd wanted her to share. But if they'd pushed, she wouldn't have stayed.

Wouldn't have been here when Amos came calling.

Wouldn't be here now to listen to the students she shared with Marge recite the prayer she'd found in one of the McGuffey's Readers. Their voices blended in a celebration of the wedding, of the town, and most of all, of the Lord who watched over them all. When the townspeople insisted on an encore, Midge mouthed the words along with her pupils.

“We know the Lord watches over you, Marge and Gavin”—Midge tucked one arm through Amos's—“so you'll have far more joy than tears.” She couldn't hold back a tiny sniff as she leaned close to add something only Amos could hear....

“And so will we.”