Jeffery glanced at the clock. It was already past five. He penned a note. “Max, would you hire someone to run this over to my wife?”
Max took the proffered paper. “I’d be happy to. Do you mind if I do it? I have some guests coming to the house this evening and, well…”
Jeffery waved him off. “Fine.”
Max grinned. “Thank you. I’ll drop this off for your wife before I go home.”
Jeffery turned back to the paperwork in front of him. He’d been working all afternoon on his analysis of the figures and reports concerning California Assets. Everyone in the market seemed to be jumping on board with this company’s expansions, and several of his clients wanted to support the business. But Jeffery had reservations. Huge reservations—the kind that sent knots in your intestines—but he couldn’t put his finger on any particular problem. The facts and figures seemed to indicate the company was poised for rapid growth. Investors could expect to double or triple their money in six months. But… Jeffery pushed his chair back and started to pace. “Why don’t I have peace about it?” he mumbled.
The company wanted to expand out their California holdings. It even made sense. Still…
Again, he felt the check in his spirit.
Jeffery groaned. Then his stomach groaned in protest. He hadn’t eaten lunch. He hadn’t really eaten breakfast. His mind drifted to the meal Tilda had prepared for him. He put the papers together and slipped them in his case. He could work on this at home with a full belly rather than remain here producing nothing.
Ten minutes later he was walking up his street toward his house. Jeffery smiled. He’d purchased the house with all its contents from the widow Hoffman. She had moved in with her daughter and family because she was unable to stay by herself, not to mention she could no longer handle the stairs.
The first couple of weeks following the sale, Mrs. Hoffman and her daughter had come by daily, removing family mementos. A few items still remained in the attic and carriage house, but the house furnishings were all his now. The gardens need work, he thought. I wonder if Tilda likes gardening or if I should hire a gardener?
Even as his thoughts shifted to the amazing creature who just so happened to be his wife, she appeared on the back steps, carrying a hot pan. “Hello, Mrs. Oliver,” he called out.
Tilda jumped.
“Jeffery, what are you doing here? I received your note.” Her cheeks turned a brilliant shade of crimson.
“I was frustrated with this current project and thought I might as well be frustrated at home with a full belly than at the office with an empty one.”
Tilda giggled. “Ah, so your tummy has a stronger will than your mind.”
Jeffery grinned and shrugged. “Possibly. If whatever you’re making tonight is as good as last night, I’d say my ‘tummy,’ as you put it, has an astute mind of its own.”
Tilda nearly doubled over in laughter. “Come on in, Husband. I have a surprise for you. It is for dessert, however. I have not started our dinner.” She wiped her hands on a towel. “Actually, that isn’t quite true. I have made a potato salad to go with corn on the cob and beef patties called podovies.”
“I don’t believe I’ve had podovies before. Are they similar to lamb or veal patties?”
“Yes. Just different spices.” Tilda went to the counter. It was cleaner than last night after making pasta, but he could tell she’d been baking.
“What did you set outside to cool?”
“A raspberry sauce.” She turned and winked at him. “For dessert. So tell me, what wasn’t going well at work?”
He clenched his jaw. A part of him wanted to open up and tell his wife about his day but… “Several clients want to invest in a company poised for expansion, and well, I don’t believe it is a wise investment at this time.” He lifted his case and tapped it. “On paper it appears to have the right balance of assets and liabilities planned out, but…”
“It doesn’t sit well with you?” she asked.
“Yeah, but I can’t tell my clients that. I have to have a logical reason for my concern, and I can’t find one, at least not yet. And I’ll admit, the idea of enjoying a meal with you after eating hardly anything all day sounded a lot better than sitting at the office accomplishing nothing.”
Tilda smiled. “Then I shall have your dinner ready in fifteen, twenty minutes at the most. Go ahead into the study and lay out your paperwork. I’ll bring you some southern sweet tea.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. And Jeffery, I’m glad you’re home.”
“It is good to be home.” He squelched the desire to give her a hug and headed to his office. He could hear her working in the kitchen and fought the desire to turn around and watch her work as he had last night. There was something in the way she moved that captivated his attention. She was a marvel to him. His mother had never worked in the kitchen, content to organize social engagements and fundraisers to occupy her time, while the servants did all the cooking and cleaning. His father had always worked for banks, so running figures seemed to be a trait he’d inherited from his father and grandfather. Each man had done well for his family. Jeffery was the first to branch out and own his own company. His parents and grandparents were proud of him and his accomplishments. Truth be told, however, he knew his grandfather wanted him to enjoy life more.
Jeffery laid the paperwork out on the desk.
Tilda came in with a tall glass of iced tea.
“Thank you.” He took the glass from her and sipped the sweet drink. Perfect, just the way I like it, he thought, realizing the surprise showed on his face. “How’d you know?”
“Your mother mentioned it in passing last night, so I asked Mercy how to make it.”
“It’s perfect.” He smiled. Like you, he wanted to add but refrained. It wouldn’t be proper.
“How long have you lived here?” she asked.
“Not long, why do you ask?”
Tilda shrugged. “Curious, is all.” She turned to head back to the kitchen then faced him again. “Actually, it is more than curious. Who set up the kitchen? It has nearly every tool and pan a woman would want. There are a few minor things but—”
He held up his hand. “I purchased the house from Widow Hoffman. She could no longer handle the stairs. The attic still has some of their family items, as well as the carriage house, but everything left in the house is ours.”
Tilda smiled. “I would like to have known Mrs. Hoffman. She and I seem to share a lot of the same tastes.”
Jeffery relaxed. “So you like the house?”
“Yes. I would like to make one change.” She blushed.
Did he dare ask? “What?”
“When we are… fully married, I would like for us to share one room.”
Jeffery could feel his eyes widen. He had read the Song of Solomon last night. He couldn’t understand how he’d never understood the imagery in its poetry before, but now he couldn’t help but see it. “I shall consider it.”
“Thank you.” Tilda scurried off to the kitchen. Jeffery’s feet felt as if they’d been nailed to the floor. He liked his wife—more than liked her, he was beginning to realize—but could he get used to her ideas of married life?
Tilda knew she was pushing her husband into uncomfortable territory. But if they were ever going to have a true marriage, one she’d be happy to stay in, both would need to make some changes.
She finished preparing dinner and served it in the dining room. As the night before, Jeffery came and sat at the head of the table. Tilda set her plate, silverware, and glass to the right of her husband—his mother’s place at dinner—and sat down. This was their first time to sit down and eat with one another alone.
She fiddled with the linen napkin in her lap.
“Shall we pray?”
Tilda nodded.
“What’s the matter?”
“I…” She cleared her throat. “I don’t want to be a pest about how I was raised and how you were raised, but in my house we held hands when we asked the blessing over our dinner.”
“Isn’t that disrespectful?” Jeffery straightened his shoulders. “I mean, praying is an act of being holy and righteous.”
“I understand.” Tilda swallowed a sudden rush of tears, angry with herself at being so sentimental. She knew many families who didn’t hold hands when they prayed. “I’m sorry.”
Jeffery reached over and took her hand. “Tilda.” He waited until she glanced up at him. He continued. “I know you’re missing your father and mother, and I am willing topray holding your hand on occasion. Perhaps in time I will grow more comfortable with such intimacy during an act of holiness. But for now I shall hold your hand because you would like me to.”
“Thank you. And I know there are things I will need to change from how they were done in my childhood home. And I, too, am willing.”
“Good. Then let us proceed.” Jeffery bowed his head. “Father, thank You for this meal, and lead us not into temptation, but help us create a marriage that honors You. In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.”
“Amen,” Tilda said. He released her hand, and the relative cool of the evening swept across her fingers. She liked his touch. The realization struck how far different it felt from her mother’s or father’s, even though it calmed and comforted her in a similar fashion.
He picked up his fork and cut into his beef patty. “This smells wonderful. It was difficult concentrating on the figures smelling these delightful aromas coming from the kitchen.”
“I hope you like it. I do love cooking.”
“I can tell. I’m sorry I waited so long to figure that out. And I apologize again for not coming home on time last week.” He bit down on his first forkful of the beef patty. Tilda held her breath in anticipation. A gentle smile spread across his face. “Yum. This is excellent.”
“You’re welcome. We need to discuss what you like and don’t like with regard to food. I would prefer to plan meals I know you would like.”
“Truthfully, I haven’t met a dish I haven’t liked.” He paused. “I take that back. I do not like dried fish. The taste is just too fishy for me. Otherwise, I believe I like all other foods.” He took a forkful of the potato salad.
“Then what are your favorites?”
“Hmm, this is also good. What is in there? Something a bit different…”
“Bits of apple. Very small pieces really, so you should only pick up on the sweetness of the apple, not the apple itself.”
He munched another forkful and nodded. “I’m going to gain twenty pounds.”
“You could afford it.” The words were out before she realized. “I mean, you’re handsome and all.” She could feel the heat on her cheeks. “I mean, you’re just a little thin, is all.”
Jeffery laughed. “I am. I don’t eat a lot. With the dishes I’ve tasted the past two days, however, that just might change.”
“What about breakfast? I see you leave early in the morning. I’d be happy to make your breakfast before you go into the office.”
“I arrive at the office before dawn. I wouldn’t want to impose upon you.”
“Why so early?” Tilda relaxed, seeing his enjoyment over the food, and started to eat her dinner.
“My grandfather used to say I was obsessive. Perhaps he is correct. However, I am not quite thirty years old and own my own business. I purchased my own home and still have money in the bank. I make a profit for my clients and have established a respectable name in business. I believe my attention to detail, arriving to work early and staying late, has helped me in this endeavor.”
Tilda mulled over what to say next. “That is impressive. Is that why you sought for a mail-order bride? Because you couldn’t take time to court a woman?”
Jeffery wiped his mouth and pushed back from the table. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were talking with my grandfather. To answer your question, I’d say yes. I sought a mail-order bride because I didn’t have time in my schedule to court a woman as customs tend to dictate. I do wonder, though, why would you answer such an offer?” Tilda felt the tables turn on her. “As I mentioned before, my parents died. There was a man who sought my affections, but his interest lay in my property, not me.”
“Your parents’ home?”
She nodded in the affirmative. The family property included more than the house, but she wasn’t ready to tell him that. She didn’t know how the laws in Georgia worked, but she knew that some states required the husband to hold legal control over the wife’s property. Frankly, she didn’t want Jeffery or anyone else in control of her parents’ affairs at this time. “Reginald was only after the estate. He had no interest in me.”
“Well, as you can tell, I have no need for your parents’ estate.” He scooted back to the table and continued to eat his meal. “If we are to stay married, you will eventually need to sell your parent’s property.”
“I know but—”
“I understand. You want to wait and see—”
“If our marriage grows,” she finished for him.
“Yes,” he agreed. “So tell me about your childhood.”
“Not much to tell, I guess. I grew up in New York City. It’s an exciting place with the theaters, museums, and such, and we would travel to Cape Cod for summers. That is where my parents were headed when the accident happened.”
“Why would they go there in the wintertime?”
“Father wanted to open the cottage early. They were considering an early retirement and living on the Cape year round.”
“What did your father do? I mean, I understood from your letters he was a professor. Professors don’t make that much, do they?”
“He was a professor, and you are correct, he didn’t have an extravagant salary.” She nibbled her lower lip then looked up at him. “Father and Mother had other income sources.”
“Obviously you don’t trust me enough yet to tell me everything, and I shall not push you to reveal more than you wish. Just answer me one question, if you would. These other revenue streams—nothing… illegal?”
Tilda giggled. “No, nothing illegal. And yes, I do need to trust you more before I reveal everything to you.”
“Fine.”
She knew she was hurting him by not revealing the complete truth about her parents. But she’d already experienced enough in her life to see how friendships could change once people learned who her parents were.
Jeffery decided not to push the matter. She would tell him when the time was right, he hoped. He prayed. For now, he needed to pursue a friendship. Something he’d really never had with anyone. He could investigate and discover on his own who her parents were and what properties or other assets they held. Of course, I own half a dozen of my own. He sighed. Best to drop this puzzle and wait on Tilda.
After dinner, he went back to the frustrating paperwork in his study. Tilda came in about thirty minutes later. “Do you mind if I read?”
“Of course not. I know little of the books on these shelves. Mrs. Hoffman had most of these shelves filled. They took several volumes with them, mostly first editions I believe, but left all of these.” Jeffery stood and scanned the books. “Honestly, I haven’t sat down to enjoy a novel since I was in school.” He clasped his hands behind his back and walked over to the shelves. “Perhaps I should take up reading as a pastime.”
Tilda perused the volumes for a bit, then looked down at his desk. “What seems to be the problem?” she asked, picking up a paper.
“As I mentioned earlier, I don’t feel this company represents a good investment. Even so, I can’t find any indication from the figures…”
She put the first paper down and picked up another, scanning each page carefully but quickly, then moved on to a third.
He held back from voicing his concern over her attempt to make sense of such complex financial documents. What would it hurt to let her look? he mused.
“Where is the budget for the projected expenses for this project?”
Jeffery rifled through the pages. “Here.”
She scanned the columned pages and went back to the other papers. Fifteen minutes later, she spoke. “I see your concern and agree. Several steps are missing in their projections.”
“Several? I found one. What did you see?”
“My father invested in a venture out in California three years ago. He lost money not because it was a bad investment per se but because the business suffered an earthquake before they reached a profit. They hadn’t raised enough capital to absorb the loss they incurred. This company you are reviewing is seeking substantial investment, offering low payout, and showing rather high expenses. The salaries alone are nearly double those reflected on the profit-and-loss sheets of the similar company my father invested in two years ago.”
“Ah, I didn’t know that about the salaries in California. I thought they were high but…” He turned to his wife. “Thank you. Notice that the ratio of money going back into the company is very low for the first year. In most cases, the greater share goes back into the company in the early years rather than into the owner’s pockets.” He pointed to the figures on the page.
She nodded. “Yes. I see your point, although I wouldn’t have picked that up. I have not had formal business training, just what my father has shown me over the years.”
“Well, you are quite astute. I may just bring home more of my work when I find myself stuck.”
Tilda’s green eyes sparkled as she smiled.
“I know I said I would not push you for the source of your parents’ income. Obviously he made investments. But if you should need my advice…”
She cut him off. “Thank you. Yes, he had investments. Most were profitable; occasionally, some were not. I appreciate your offer to help.” She paused and looked into his eyes. He felt the heat of her gaze piercing his heart. “Jeffery, I want to trust you.”
He opened his arms and stepped toward her. He’d been missing her closeness allday. She might be the one feeling the need for a hug, but he now found them equally comforting.
She stepped into his arms and wrapped hers around him. A warmth spread through his entire body, a peace that calmed him, a love that engulfed him. She leaned in, her head up.
He brushed stray hair from her face and focused on her delicate pink lips. “May I?” he whispered.
“Yes,” she whispered back.
He brought his lips on to hers. A wave of passion, fire, and calmness converged as he lost himself in her arms.
“ ‘Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth: for thy love is better than wine.’” Tilda whispered.
He’d read that passage last night from the Song of Solomon. “Tilda…” His voice cracked. He hadn’t done that since he was thirteen.
Her eyes flooded open, then flickered with fear.
“Shh,” he whispered. “It is fine. But we have promised to get to know one another first.”
She stepped out of his embrace. “Forgive me.”
He reached for her hand. “There is nothing to forgive. We are married.”
The gentle pink rose on her cheeks.
“I am surprised by my own desires. I promise I will not dishonor you.”
She tilted her head to the left.
“Now it is I who needs to ask your forgiveness. I am attracted to you, Tilda. But I want my—I mean our—love to be genuine, not sparked by a momentary pleasure.”
“I think I understand.”
He prayed she really did. He was still trying to figure it out for himself as well. His reading of the Song of Solomon showed there was more to marriage and love than he’d ever thought possible. This was not his parents’ love. And though he knew his parents truly loved one another, they were not demonstrative in their affections. Yet here standing before him was a woman who thrived on affection, offered affection, and Jeffery decided he liked it. “I want our union to be special. I can’t explain it. I just know that if I were to press for our union now it might not be for the right reasons. What little I know of you intrigues me—in fact, I am in awe of you. I believe I could easily fall in love with you. But I feel you need to be certain that I love you. Does that make sense?”
“Yes. And I will be patient.” She stepped away and picked a book off the shelf. “If you’ll excuse me, it is getting late. I have some chores I’d like to start early tomorrow morning.”
“Good night, Tilda.”
“Good night, Jeffery.”
She left, her footsteps barely audible on the stairs.
Each day throughout the following week it seemed to Jeffery that they drew closer and closer. Each night he tried to read through the Song of Solomon. The second verse of the tenth chapter kept repeating over and over in his mind: “Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away.” The verse had been permanently branded upon his heart. “Come away,” it said, and he contemplated a trip out to California. We could enjoy a bit of a honeymoon, he thought, his excitement rising, and I could look into some of my clients’ investments while we’re there.
But events early the following week caused him to pause. He came home to find a stranger in the house, a Mr. Reginald Murphy, the solicitor for Tilda’s father.
“How may I help you, Mr. Murphy?” Jeffery said as he walked toward the man and ushered him to a seat in the parlor, then sat as well.
“I’m here for Tilda. Her father and I had an agreement. She is to be my wife.”
“I’m afraid she cannot be your wife, since she has married me,” Jeffery declared, coming to his feet.
“Mr. Oliver, I’m certain I can persuade you to change your mind. Would a thousand dollars do?”
Jeffery leaned back on his heels. “No.”
He heard the back door slam shut and Tilda call out to Mercy.
“Tilda, would you come to the parlor?” Jeffery ordered more than requested.
She came in, and her smile faded as she realized who was sitting on the sofa. “Reginald?”
“So you do know this man?”
“Well, yes. He was Father’s solicitor. I mentioned him to you when I first arrived.”
Jeffery searched his memory. Was this the same man…? Yes, of course. “He claims that he had an arrangement with your father.”
“He did not. He has taken liberties with the agreement. He was to help me with Father’s estate in the event that something were to happen to him and Mother. Reginald presumed that meant he was to become my husband, which he is not, and he has been told in no uncertain terms on more than one occasion that I am not interested.”
“Tilda, I love you,” Reginald protested. “I came all this way to prove my motives are pure.”
“Then you won’t mind if I transfer all of my assets to the oversight of my husband, Jeffery Oliver.”
Reginald paled.
“How much have you spent?” Tilda asked.
Jeffery put his arm around his wife and examined the man.
“Of Father’s money,” she added.
“I purchased a house for us in New Rochelle. I spent it for us,” he defended.
“Without my consent and in spite of my repeated refusals to marry you, which means you had no authority to spend those funds. I should have you arrested.”
“Mr. Murphy,” Jeffery spoke up. “I believe my wife has made the matter quite clear. You will be hearing from my attorneys in the morning. We will be transferring oversight of my wife’s assets to my firm as soon as you return to New York. You will have ninety days to return the funds you spent without my wife’s or her parents’ consent. If you have not returned all the funds by that time, I will have an arrest warrant secured by the New York authorities. Do you understand?”
Reginald Murphy nodded.
Jeffery motioned for him to leave.
“Are you certain, Tilda?” Reginald pleaded one more time.
“I do not love you, Reginald, and I am married.”
He nodded and slipped out the front door.
“Just how large is your estate?” Jeffery asked.