The Bride Backfire (12 page)

“Thanks.” Suddenly, without all the spunk and vinegar, she seemed what she'd been all along—a young girl trying to look out for her friend. “No warning, but ... Adam?”

“Yes, Midge?” He couldn't help but think Opal had chosen a good ally.

“Be good to her. She deserves better than you know.”

Waiting made time seem to unwind still more slowly on the Grogan farm. Opal knew she'd angered Adam and didn't want to push him about the times she could go over to her family's farm. If she asked after the stunt she'd pulled at the end of their last conversation, he might change his mind altogether. So she cooled her heels and took whatever task Lucinda shoveled out.

Her new mother-in-law seemed determined to account for every moment of Opal's day, as though in retribution for her very presence on the farm. Little did she know that the constant tasks keeping her busy were also what kept Opal sane.

Even so, she found it hard to hide her smile when Lucinda requested that Opal clean out the “winter accumulation” in the chicken coop.
Lucinda can't know I maneuvered this.
But, Opal reminded herself, no matter how she'd be glad the next time she gathered eggs, today would be far from pleasant.

Armed with her oldest apron, a broom, a scrub brush, thick gloves, a bucket of water, and an empty bucket for disposing of the waste, Opal marched up to the converted lean-to and shooed away the chickens. A cursory check turned up a single egg since she'd looked before breakfast. She set it aside and got to work.

Loading up the old nests, well worn after winter, into malleable bundles wouldn't have been unpleasant if it weren't for the pungent stench and accompanying ammonia fumes almost overpowering the now-empty coop. Opal toted the nests to the compost heap, gulping in the fresh air between. She judged the compost to be the less offensive of the two places.

When she returned to the coop, she stood as near the entrance as possible to wield her broom. Out whisked the old straw, dotted with the distinctive grayish-white of chicken waste, sodden and long overdue for replacing. Opal swallowed back her gags to haul bucketful after bucketful back to the compost heap until she couldn't tell which smelled worse.

Back into the corners, along the shelves, in the crevices of the wood, not a stick of straw escaped the purging. By the time she'd removed everything offensive, she felt distinctly lightheaded.
I breathed in too much of that ammonia,
she decided, turning over the now-empty waste bucket and sitting outside in the shade for a moment. She breathed deeply of the fresh air, letting her head lean against the wall of the coop and her eyes drift shut until the world stopped twirling.

“Enjoying the shade, are you?” Diggory's gruff tone dripped contempt. “Good to see my son married such a
hardworking
woman.”

“He did.” The criticism stung—both at its injustice and at the core truth she wasn't the woman for Adam. She stood up to face him but moved too quickly. The ground swayed.

“Whoa.” Diggory reached out to clamp his hands on her shoulders, keeping her at arm's length but supporting her nonetheless. “Easy there.”

When the ground stopped swaying, Opal realized it hadn't been the ground at all. She blushed. “The coop needed cleaning, and I got a little dizzy.”

“You stay too long in there the ammonia will do that to you.” He hesitantly removed one hand, as though seeing if she'd topple over. When she remained upright, he drew back the other. “Especially in your condition.”

The blush grew hotter and, if experience had taught her anything, brighter. “It's nothing, really.”

“You were right to take a minute.” His voice stayed gruff, but now it held no censure. “I can have Dave finish carting out the old bedding and straw. Plenty of other things for you to do.”

“It's already finished.” She reached for her water bucket. “I'm ready to start washing it down.”

“Good.” With that, he left her with her scrub brush ... and her thoughts.

Opal sucked in a deep breath before ducking into the coop. She stayed close to the entrance, letting the place air out before she ventured to the confines of the dark corners. The top roosts felt the rough swipes of her brush first as she worked her way back then down. Periodic stops to empty filthy water and fetch fresh kept her head from spinning.

Coming this far, and having Diggory see her struggle, Opal refused to leave a single nook not scrubbed. She couldn't poke a broom back and sweep out debris anymore. Only the deepest, darkest, bottommost corners of the lean-to presented her with difficulty. Getting back into the very corners for a thorough scrubbing necessitated lying flat on her stomach and reaching beneath the lowest roost.

She'd just finished the final one when she heard the heavy thud of men's boots race up to the coop. Opal didn't have time to wriggle out and stand up before he came inside and witnessed her indignity.

“Opal!”

Adam's shout gave her such a start she banged her head on the roost. “What?” Scooching backward so she could rise up on her hands and knees to rub the back of her head, Opal eyed her irate husband.

Whatever it is, it can't be good.

“I know I told that girl we wouldn't wait dinner on her.” Ma sniffed and wielded her ladle. “Diggory, why don't you go on ahead and say the blessing?”

“Because I'm going to check on the gal.” Pa stood up. “She close to fell over earlier, cleaning out that coop in her—”

The rest of his father's words were lost as Adam vaulted off of his seat and out the door, hitting the ground running and not stopping until he reached the coop. No sign of Opal anywhere around.

He stooped a considerable way to get inside but didn't see more than the outlines of empty roosting shelves after the brightness of outdoors. Adam squinted and made out a figure lying prone on the ground.

“Opal!” It came out as a howl as he hunkered down to help her. His chest constricted so tight, it was little wonder she'd had a hard time catching her breath in the confines of the coop.

Thunk.
The lowest roost shook as Opal backed out from beneath it, a scrub brush in her hand and a frown on her face. She scooted back until she could kneel then reached up to rub what would probably be a sizeable lump on the back of her noggin.

“What?”

“You didn't come to dinner.”
And I thought you might be passed out in here.
Now that he looked around, he saw that the coop hadn't been this clean since they converted the lean-to from its original purpose as a tool shed. Possibly even before that. In fact, the only part of the whole place anything less than pristine was Opal herself.

She'd shucked her bonnet at some point—a practical decision since there wasn't an overabundance of light in the place. Now the finest pieces of her hair wisped straight up around her face, decorated with the odd bit of straw. A smudge graced her left cheek. Her apron boasted more shades than a painter's palette. Those skirts she shook out stayed rumpled despite her efforts, and her brows almost touched in the middle while she scowled at him for invading her domain. No bows and lace could ever compare.

He leaned in for a quick peck but found his way blocked by a scrub brush.

“What do you think you're doing?” She scrambled to her feet.

How can any woman look that appealing and not expect to get herself kissed?
He wanted a chance to sweep her away again.

“Seeing if you're all right.”
True. You weren't passed out. Now I'd like a closer inspection.
He took a half-step forward.

She practically backed out of the lean-to. “Just didn't hear the bell from under there.” She waved the brush, bristles out, in the direction of the corner. “I'm fine.”

“Pa said you felt dizzy earlier.” Another half-step brought him the proximity he wanted.

She seemed to realize that backing up would be a mistake. For one thing, she'd fall out of the raised coop. “Only for a moment. It passed.” She spoke quickly, making him think his nearness made her nervous.

Good.

“Kind of him to be concerned, though.” Opal blinked those blue eyes of hers at him and added, “Nice of you, too.”

“I wasn't being nice.” A slight shift brought him even closer. “I was being your husband.” He leaned closer, his eyes fixed on her mouth.

“Good of you!” This time, she stepped out the door and down the step. “Now that I know they're keeping dinner for me, I won't make the family wait any longer!” With that, she hustled toward the well, ostensibly to wash up.

But Adam knew the truth of it.

His wife had flown the coop.

All through dinner, Opal battled a heightened awareness of Adam's closeness. His knee bumped hers beneath the table. His fingers brushed hers when she passed the salt. His smile reached out to her over their bowls.

Ridiculous. Smiles do not reach anything. And of course his knee bumps mine. The closer I scoot to Adam, the farther I am from Larry!

But no matter how she tried to apply logic and reason, her heart still beat in erratic excitement because her husband came to the chicken coop to check on her.

No. He thought I might be ill and he
ran
to my side. Genuine concern made him bellow so loud when he saw me on the ground like that.
Even the indignity of her activity paled in comparison to the significance of his actions. She snuck a peek at him from the corner of her eyes, only to have to ask for a roll when he caught her looking.

Then that look in his eye when he kept getting closer. Almost a predatory gleam, like he was moving in for ... a kiss?
She barely managed to suppress a scoff, knowing it would draw undue attention at the table. Opal'd caught a glimpse of herself in the water before she washed up. Hair sticking straight out as though making a run for it, a smudge on her cheek, and an old stained apron hardly made the image of an irresistible woman.

But what if he
had
wanted to kiss her? What then? Could it mean...

Opal dropped her spoon.

Can it mean he's ready to make this marriage real?
She ducked her head and focused intently on fishing her spoon out of her soup, then drying it on her napkin. Maybe if she took long enough, her blush would go away.

I've surely done enough turning red to last a lifetime by now.
But the thought didn't give her any hope she'd be spared further blushes. If anything, considering what lay ahead, she'd experience them more frequently.

“I like when you blush.” Adam's warm breath tickled her neck, his voice a low whisper as he caught her napkin from sliding off her lap. “Makes me want to know what you're thinking.” He leaned back, expression as casual as though he hadn't said a word.

Only Larry seemed to have noticed anything as, of course, warmth suffused Opal's face. Adam's brother looked from her to her husband then back, eyes narrowing as she all but scooted off the bench to move farther away from his gaze.

Adam's knee bumped hers again. Or maybe hers bumped Adam's. Really, who could tell? Opal, for one, occupied herself trying to think of chill streams, winter snows, breezy shade—anything that might cool the heat in her cheeks.

Anything that kept her from thinking about whether or not her husband wanted to kiss her. And if he did, if he wanted other things, too. And how if he wanted those other things maybe Midge's suggestion that she lure Adam into the marriage bed to avoid an annulment would be easier than she'd thought.

Unless I get so flustered just by him standing within a foot of me
that I run away like a scared rabbit!
She sighed into her soup and realized every last Grogan was staring.

“Mmmm, delicious!” She gave another sigh.
I am a ninny.

“Thank you.” Lucinda looked as though she'd searched the compliment for any hidden barbs and come up empty-handed.

“We'll teach you the recipe,” Willa offered. “It was Grandma's.”

The gesture of acceptance touched Opal. “I'd be honored.”

“Don't be. My ma's recipe ain't goin' to no Speck.” Diggory shoved his bowl away. “And don't you glower at me, boy. You may have married her, but you aren't living together as man and wife. She hasn't proved herself a Grogan.”

“Yet.” Larry's fierce utterance took them all aback, but Opal doubted he took note of his family's shock. He didn't so much as glance at anyone but her.

Memories of his advances came flooding back. Larry's hand imprisoning her wrist in the meadow. Larry following her toward the house until Pete saw him and told Pa. Larry's threat on the note that doomed Adam.

His gaze pinned her now, even as his actions had trapped his brother and left her with no options.

Your fault.
She thrust her hands beneath the table so he couldn't see how rage made them shake.
This is all your fault, and you dare look at me and all but announce you're not finished?
“How dare you?” She raised her head to look him in the eye.

“Don't take that tone, missy.” Lucinda's snap held no sting this time. “My son just stood up for you. He thinks you're not hopeless.”

“We can make her a Grogan.” The intensity in Larry's gaze sickened her. Whatever the man planned, she didn't want any part of it. Never had.

“You won't make me anything,” she vowed. “Adam married me as I am.”
He just doesn't know precisely what that means.

“That's right.” Adam's arm came around her shoulders, and she leaned into him, grateful for his solid strength. “Opal has nothing more to prove to me.”

Because the only thing I have to prove is that I can live on this farm and not tear Larry limb from limb, and Adam already understands that.
She closed her eyes.
Understands me.

It was then she realized her husband was still speaking.

“Opal already
is
a Grogan.”

“No, she isn't!” For a split second, Lucinda feared the words boiling in her heart burst from her own lips, but everyone at the table turned to her youngest son.

“Dave!” Willa gave her head a swift shake.

My own daughter, taken in by that Speck tramp.
Lucinda bit the inside of her cheek. Speaking against Opal now would only drive Adam further away from the family and closer to the source of all their discontent.

Time is running out. I've only two days until the Sabbath—until Parson Carter tells all of Buttonwood that Adam's shackled to this troublemaker for the rest of his born days.
The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth.

“Opal is my wife.” Adam spoke slowly, as though every person at the table wasn't painfully aware of the facts, with his arm slung around the hussy. “She carries the next Grogan.”

No blushes from his bride this time,
Lucinda noted.
The girl's gone red as an apple over anything and everything, but one mention of the child and her face goes pale.

“The child doesn't change me,” the chit remarked. “When I'm not expecting, I'll still be Adam's wife.”

I knew it! The Jezebel carries no grandbaby of mine! Otherwise, she'd seize on her claim to Adam with both hands and not let go.

“Adam's wife or not, we'll make a Grogan of you.” Larry hadn't stopped watching the girl beside him since the conversation began.

His overt, inappropriate fascination made for another mark against the woman whose very presence—no,
existence
—was tearing her family apart.

“Make no mistake, brother.” Adam's arm tightened around her shoulders. “Opal is my wife.”

“For now.” Her middle son either didn't realize or didn't care what he provoked. “Even should you set her aside, she can't go back to the Specks.”

Now there's a thought.
Lucinda's mind whirled.
Perhaps Adam is convinced the child belongs to him, and he's waiting to claim it? It stands to reason. My son would never abandon his own.

“I will never set her aside.” Adam's declaration shook her.

“No shouting at the table!” She sent him a sharp glance.
You'll set her aside when she reveals her true nature.
“I won't have you fighting with your brothers over nothing.”

“I am
not
nothing.” Where the girl found the gall to speak stumped Lucinda. Opal looked up at Adam in a nauseating display. “Thank you for defending my honor. I'm proud to be your wife, and though I claim the name Grogan, the Specks are my kin. That can't be changed, and I wouldn't want it to be.”

“You speak well of them under my roof?” A vein pulsed in Diggory's forehead. “After we've taken you in?”

“My husband brought me to his home.” Unbelievably, the girl kept speaking! “And I'd be a poor daughter and sister to speak ill of my family.”

“They are no longer your family.” A fanatical light came from Larry's grin.

Lucinda saw where this was heading and couldn't let it go a step further. “Neither are we.”

“Yes, we are, Ma.” Adam rose to his feet. “You will accept Opal as my wife or force me to make a choice. The Bible is clear to whom I must cleave.”

“No.” Her breaths came shallow, and she had to grip the table to stand up. “It's not about us accepting her when she still plays Speck games, causing division among us!”

God forgive me for the exaggeration I must use now. Adam won't see the more subtle ways a woman sows conflict within a home, so I have to give him something more concrete.

“What have I done?” Opal played right into her hands.

“As if you don't know.” Lucinda suppressed any sign of victory. “Did you think I wouldn't realize the reason for my aches and pains these last two nights? That I'd attribute it to old age and your secret wouldn't be found out? That the Grogans are so foolish we wouldn't notice such a blatant stunt?”

“I don't understand.” Her bewilderment came across beautifully—all the better to convince Adam what a liar he'd married.

“My mattress, Opal.” Lucinda bit the injured part of her cheek again, letting tears well up. “What will I find if I open the seams?”

“This is nonsense, Ma.” Adam's voice held the heat of anger.

“What are you implying?” The ice of winter, a direct contrast to her son, crept into the girl's tone.

“I want the truth, Opal. From your own lips. Confess now and we'll hear no more of it.” She moved to slide her arm through Adam's. “For my son's sake, we'll start afresh.”

“Cornhusks.” Willa sounded confused. “Opal and I put cornhusks in the mattresses, same as always.”

“Did seem lumpier than usual.” Diggory shrugged. “But not much to fuss about.”

“You'd sleep standing up if you had to,” Lucinda pointed out to her husband. “Others of us are more sensitive. But, Willa, were you with Opal the whole time?”

She asked knowing the answer full well. After all, hadn't she called her daughter away, asking for help moving the settee so she could sweep behind it? Then asking her to stay for the moment it took for the cleaning, so she could help put it back in place?

“Aside from helping you with the settee.” Willa slid a sideways glance toward Opal. “But I'm sure Opal wouldn't do anything wrong.”

“This is your last chance. Have the integrity to tell us why you wanted to hurt me.” Lucinda bit her lip as though anxious. “Be honest.”

“I did nothing.”

“So be it.” She raised her head high and swept toward the alcove where her and Diggory's bed rested behind a thick curtain. She pulled out the sewing scissors she wore on a chain at her waist and bent to snip the seams along the bottom edge of the mattress. Lucinda guided Adam toward the opening. “Reach inside, son. Let's see what you find.”

And she waited as, one by one, he pulled forth the stones she'd slipped inside earlier that very morning. Small enough not to be noticeable when carrying the mattress but large enough to cause discomfort when caught in the rope supports beneath the mattress, where she'd been careful to tuck them.

The gasps around him turned to glares, but Lucinda hardly paid them mind. Her focus was all for her oldest son.

He has to be shown....