40
Cassie sat up in bed and slid her feet to the floor. Perhaps a glass of water would help her fall asleep. After lighting the candle on her bedside table, she padded through the cabin to the shelf where she kept a filled pitcher, then sighed and turned back to her bedroom without the glass. Water wouldn’t slow her tumbling thoughts.
She flopped back on the bed and tried to find a comfortable spot within the tangled sheets. She’d been so sure Patrick was wrong that she’d never given serious consideration to the alternative. If she couldn’t have Jacob, she didn’t want anybody. Being a spinster forever would be better than marrying a man she didn’t love.
When she awakened at daylight, she longed to stay locked away in her cabin until time to meet with Reverend French. Such a choice wasn’t possible. Becca had been given the day off.
She groaned. Jenny would be full of chatter about the wedding. Jacob would . . . She didn’t know what Jacob would do. Their parting last night had been strained.
As she left her cabin, she prayed for strength to last the day. Without Becca she’d have to bake all the pies herself as well as help Jenny with the meals. Then after work Mother and Patrick would be waiting.
One step at a time. If she didn’t heap all her worries in a pile, they might seem less overwhelming.
Jenny paused in her breakfast preparations when Cassie arrived. Her round cheeks shone like apples from the heat radiating off the oversized range.
“Didn’t Becca look nice in that yellow dress my daughter gave her? What a fine thing Mr. West did to let them get married in his house.” Jenny swiped perspiration from her forehead. “Not too many folks around here would’ve been so open-minded.”
“No, I suppose not. He’s a kindly man.” She lowered her head to hide the tears stinging her eyes. What if the reverend agreed with Patrick?
“Here, now. What’s the matter?” Jenny slid her arm around Cassie’s shoulders. “Did you two have a tiff?”
She leaned against the other woman’s side. “Not . . . not exactly. My mother arrived unexpectedly yesterday afternoon and—”
“Say no more. She may be your mother, but I must say that woman’s a trial.”
“She can be. But she was a different person before the war. Content, busy with her needlework and overseeing our home. That’s the mother I see when I look at her.”
Jenny sniffed. “We were all different before the war, but we don’t take our griefs out on other folks.”
“I know.” To change the subject, Cassie took an apron off the shelf and tied the starched waistband around her middle. “What would you like me to do to help with breakfast before I start the pies?”
“Get the tables ready, please, then chop up a mess of potatoes while I fry the ham steaks.”
Grateful for tasks to keep her hands occupied, Cassie paused in front of her new range and stuffed kindling into the firebox, then headed for the shelves where they kept the crockery.
Jacob stood in the entrance to the grocery watching her with a somber expression as she arranged place settings on the tables. A sheet of paper dangled from his fingers. She suspected he held the letter she’d left for him after her return from Price City.
Her hands trembled. His steady gaze reminded her of her first days in the kitchen, when she could do nothing right. When he had the power to dismiss her from her job. Now the threat was greater. If Patrick was correct, Jacob might be forced to dismiss her from his heart.
Cassie trudged home at the end of the workday, dreading the visit from her mother and Patrick. There had to be a way to make both of them understand she had her own plans for her life. As soon as she made herself clear, she’d hurry to her meeting with Reverend French.
Her heart raced. She couldn’t remember a time when she’d been so fearful. Then a verse she’d memorized slipped between her ragged thoughts.
For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.
What would she do if she weren’t afraid? She’d face her mother. She’d talk to the reverend. She’d trust in the Lord for the outcome.
When she stepped onto her gravel walkway, she saw her mother and Patrick waiting in the shade of the oak tree next to her front door. She squared her shoulders.
Mother held out her hand. “My dear, I hope you’re not totally exhausted.”
“No, I’m not,” she said, surprised at the truth of her response. “Let’s go inside. I’ll brew some tea if you like.”
“No thank you.” Patrick moved between them. “We wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble. You’ve spent a tiring day working in that kitchen.”
She frowned at him as she opened the door. “Then please sit and tell me the important matter that brought you here.” She knew why he’d come, but she wanted the opportunity to tell him no with Mother as a witness.
Patrick sat across the table, with her mother between them. “I came to formally ask for your hand. I can provide you and your mother the type of life you deserve.”
Mother folded her hands in her lap and beamed at him.
“Do you love me?” Cassie held her breath, waiting for his answer. What would she do if he said yes?
“I know love will grow after our marriage.”
She heaved a relieved sigh. “Without love, and given the fact that we hardly know one another, I cannot accept such a proposal.” She clenched her hands in her lap so tightly the nails bit into her palms. If this didn’t send him on his way, nothing would.
“I was afraid you’d feel that way. Unfortunately, Scripture is clear.” He sent her a pleading glance. “It’s my duty to take you as my wife.”
God had opened the door and she’d step through it. She pushed her chair away from the table. “Since you’re so sure, I’d like you to come with me.”
“Where?”
“We’re going to the parsonage in the next block. I want you to explain your reasoning to Reverend French.”
“Cassie . . .” Mother scrambled to rise.
Patrick touched her arm and she settled back on the chair. “This will only take a moment, Mrs. Bingham. You stay here and rest. We’ll be back quite soon, I assure you.”
Reverend French opened the door at her knock. “I’m pleased to see you again, Miss Haddon.” He cocked an eyebrow at Patrick. “And you’ve brought a guest?”
“Yes. This is Mr. Fitzhugh. He’s raised an issue that I pray you can settle.”
After the men shook hands, he led the two of them to his study. By now Cassie felt comfortable enough in his presence to relax somewhat when she seated herself on one of the upholstered chairs.
He moved several papers and an open Bible to one side before placing his hands flat on the desktop. “Well, Miss Haddon, what’s the issue you’re concerned with?”
She shot a glance at Patrick. He sat with his hat on his lap and an expectant expression on his face. Lamplight gleamed on the Macassar oil in his hair.
Her fingers tightened on the arms of the chair. “Mr. Fitzhugh is the brother of my late fiancé, Garrett Fitzhugh. I met Patrick quite by accident when I first escorted my mother to Calusa. Then yesterday afternoon, the two of them arrived unexpectedly as I was preparing for Wash and Becca’s wedding . . .” Her voice faltered.
Reverend French nodded. “Please go on.”
“Yes, Miss Haddon. Please do. I’d like to hear your version.” Patrick’s mouth tightened.
She glared at him. “To put it bluntly, Mr. Fitzhugh believes it is his scriptural duty as Garrett’s brother to marry me. I’ve refused on more than one occasion, but he persists.” She slumped against the chair back and drew a shaky breath.
The minister stared at Patrick. “Your scriptural duty? Where did you get that idea?”
Patrick’s fair skin turned a mottled red. “My good friend, the Reverend Alfred Greeley, supplied me with the verse. As a matter of fact, I heard you quote the same verse right here in your church.”
“What verse might that be?”
Cassie leaned forward. She should have asked that question long ago, instead of trusting Patrick’s word.
“Deuteronomy 25:5.” He gave a haughty lift to his chin. “Scripture is quite clear on the matter.”
“Let’s see about that.” Reverend French lifted his Bible and riffled pages toward the front, stopping when he found the verse in question. As he ran his finger along the lines of print, a wrinkle formed between his eyes. “Have you read this for yourself, or did you rely on your friend’s interpretation?”
“Of course I’ve read it.” Patrick’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Why?”
“Here’s what the verse says: ‘If brethren dwell together, and one of them die, and have no child, the wife of the dead shall not marry without unto a stranger—’”
“Exactly what I’ve told Miss Haddon.”
“Let me finish. ‘—her husband’s brother shall go in unto her, and take her to him to wife, and perform the duty of an husband’s brother unto her.’”
“Precisely.”
She sank lower in the chair. Her doom was sealed.
Reverend French tapped his index finger on the page. “In your haste to interpret Scripture to suit your desires, you’ve overlooked one important fact.”
“And what would that be?”
Cassie sat taller, head cocked to hear the reverend’s reply.
“The verse pertains to the wife of the dead brother, not his fiancée. There’s no reason Miss Haddon should be required to marry you.”
“But Reverend Greeley said—” Patrick stood, clenching his hat brim. “I see.” Without another word, he pivoted and left the room. His footsteps thudded along the hallway. The front door slammed.
She leaped to her feet. “Oh, thank you!” She felt like twirling around the room for joy. Free of Patrick, free to marry Jacob.
“You’re more than welcome, Miss Haddon. Please come to see me whenever you have questions. Misapplied Scripture has been the cause of far too much unhappiness in our world.”
“Thank you again, for everything.” She held out her hand and he took it in both of his.
“I’ll look forward to discussing wedding plans with you and Mr. West when you two are ready.”
Cassie wished she could run to Jacob’s side right now, but her mother waited at the cabin.
She wouldn’t take the news well.