Garrett stood motionless, not sure he’d heard correctly. Had she finally agreed? For an instant he struggled with misgiving and wondered again if the late hours he kept at the mill office had made him a little loco.
Perhaps he shouldn’t have offered marriage. Perhaps he was being too hasty.
True, he did know more about Cecily than she knew about him. Zeke had been most forthcoming with her letter—the sole correspondence received, that one letter. It had been a many-paged missive sharing a goodly portion of her character. Garrett knew from those lines that she was loyal, hardworking, God-fearing. Resilient. Determined. That she was a pleasure to the eyes was a bonus. Still, she was a slip of a girl, much too thin, and he wondered if she possessed the stamina to take care of a lively two-year-old. But she had spirit, and deep in his being, he sensed this was the right choice.
He owed it to Zeke.
“Well, then.” Garrett cleared the hoarseness from his throat. “We might as well do this. It’ll be dark before you know it.” He had no wish to sully her reputation by giving her shelter without first having a ceremony.
Cecily’s eyes went huge with apprehension, but she nodded her agreement.
“I must return to the hotel for Gwen and—and to pack our things.”
“I’ll accompany you then make the necessary arrangements.”
“Yes, all right.”
She kept quiet during the walk and barely acknowledged him when he left her outside the hotel door with a parting remark that he’d return within the hour.
Preacher Dawson and his wife both questioned him, sure they’d heard wrong. Despite that he had interrupted their supper, they were both beside themselves with what amounted to stunned glee.
“You’re sure, Garrett, you want to get married? Tonight?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And it’s one of Asa Mercer’s girls, from the boat?”
“It is.”
“Oh, my.” The preacher’s wife patted her ample bosom as if she’d become short of breath. “But you hardly know her.”
“I know enough,” he said decisively.
The preacher chuckled. “When you get it in your head to do something, you don’t waste time.”
“No, sir.” Garrett smiled, aware his request was a lot to absorb. The well-meaning matrons had tried to interest him in taking a wife for over a year. Those suggested were the Widow Abercrombie, ten years his senior, and Chelsea Ritter, barely a woman, just turned sixteen.
“Will you do it?” Garrett asked, not having received a solid answer.
Preacher Dawson considered. “We can waive the preliminaries. You’ll still need to see the registrar, but yes, we can manage a wedding.”
“If you hurry,” Mrs. Dawson added, “you and your bride can share a nice slice of buttermilk pie with us after the ceremony.”
“Thank you kindly, ma’am.”
He replaced his hat and exited their tiny parlor.
Generous souls that they were, they likely wouldn’t have balked to take in Cecily and her sister, ignoring rumors, unfounded or not, of the child being ill. Yet the Dawsons had no true room to spare, and what food they received was often given in charity. Garrett owned a cozy cabin and provisions, certainly enough to share with two waifs in need of both.
He looked up the road toward the hotel, lowering the brim of his hat against the setting sun. In less than an hour, he would again be a married man, this time to a woman he barely knew.
God help them both.
The next hour passed like a dream most bizarre.
Cecily at least felt reassured that Garrett was a good Christian man, from what little she’d seen and heard. Gwen showed no surprise or reservations at the new arrangement. One near stranger for her sister’s husband was quite equal to another, Cecily supposed.
Preacher Dawson and his wife were a congenial pair, and Mrs. Dawson surprised Cecily when she slipped a posy of bright blue wildflowers into Cecily’s damp hand.
Vows were exchanged—if not from hearts of love, at least with earnest giving—and before Cecily knew it she was Mrs. Garrett Hunter. In the two weddings she’d attended in her nineteen years, the groom kissed his bride at the conclusion of the ceremony. She felt relieved when Garrett made no move in that direction, only giving her a slight nod and smile. The nervousness in his eyes oddly calmed her fears somewhat, to know he was just as apprehensive of their future together. No longer a farfetched notion, but now ordained by God and carved in stone.
At the invitation to dessert, Cecily declined, certain her churning stomach wouldn’t hold a bite, but at the hopeful glint in her sister’s eye, she nodded for Gwen to go ahead. Garrett also declined pie but waited patiently while Gwen shoveled forkfuls of the pastry into her mouth, barely swallowing before taking another bite. Now that they were on dry land, her appetite had thankfully returned.
Garrett made small talk with the preacher while waiting for Gwen to finish. Once she did, Mrs. Dawson rushed to intercept them before they could make their farewells and exit through the door.
“You can’t leave without a lantern to light the way.” She thrust one toward Garrett. “It’s as dark as a bat’s wing out there. You may know the way with your eyes closed, but you wouldn’t want your new wife stumbling about, since she can’t say the same.”
He reddened slightly but took the lantern. “I’ll return it tomorrow.”
“Will we see you at Sunday meeting?” Mrs. Dawson looked at Cecily. “We gather in a nearby clearing on sunny days and inhabit the schoolhouse on rainy ones.” Without missing a beat, she brought her attention back to Garrett. “I should be most pleased to introduce your lovely new wife and sister-in-law to the other ladies.”
“Della, my dear…” Preacher Dawson’s amused words came from behind. “Perhaps we should let the newlyweds hasten on home? The little one looks tuckered out.”
In concern, Cecily glanced at Gwen, thankful she didn’t appear ill, only tired.
With the lantern that Mrs. Dawson had given them, along with her well wishes and offer of help should Cecily ever need anything, the new family made its way along the path to Garrett’s cabin.
Cecily felt grateful for Gwen’s hand in hers as they walked behind Garrett, her qualms getting thicker the farther they traveled into the dense wood. The moon barely made a dent through the branches, and she was thankful for the lantern’s light. It put her in mind of a favorite psalm of Aunt Jocasta’s: “Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path.”
God’s light certainly would be useful to cut through the encroaching darkness of confusion that seemed intent on spreading through her mind. Not for the first time Cecily wished for the strong faith her dear aunt possessed. Her imagination took wild tangents impossible to curb. Had she been too hasty? She had heard of incidents where strangers turned out to be murderers, and here she walked, following a man she barely knew deeper into the dark wood.
Garrett turned suddenly, the lamplight going full in her face, and she jumped back, keeping a tight hold on Gwen’s hand.
He remained silent. Cecily, blinded by flame, couldn’t make out his expression in the shadows.
“The cabin is just beyond that rise,” he said. “Not much farther.”
Cecily managed a nod, and Garrett resumed leading them.
Telling herself she was being foolish, she managed to calm down. The storekeeper had nothing but good things to say about Garrett, and the preacher and his wife treated him as a favored son. Again, she was letting her fears get the better of her, and she stiffened her shoulders in resolve to show some common sense.
Couples often wed, sight unseen, through arranged marriages, and from what she knew, they turned out all right.
Her heart pounded like a trip-hammer once his cabin came into view.
Built of logs, it looked small, and once he led them inside, her assessment did not waver. One room. A stone hearth. Shelves with staples and dishes. The furnishings consisted of a table with benches, a woodstove, and a rocker. Behind that, a wool blanket acted as a curtain that hung from ceiling to floor and must hide the sleeping area.
Seeing no bed, she could not wrench her focus from that blanket, with the sure knowledge of what lay beyond. Gwen suddenly yanked her hand from Cecily’s, wiping it on her dress. Cecily’s palms had gone from damp to drenched, and surreptitiously she wiped them on her own skirts.
“You mentioned you had a son?” Cecily worked to keep the tremor from her voice.
“Paul, yes. The Widow Brown is looking after him for the night. She does that when I work late. I’ll leave word in the morning for her to bring him home.”
“And when you’re not working late?”
“When Paul was an infant, I took him with me. I laid him in a bin at the mill office, but he’s at an age where he gets into everything, and that’s no longer possible. He stays at the Widow Brown’s during the day. If I’m not working late at the books, I bring him home. I expect that will change now, the need to leave him there.”
He studied Cecily as if uncertain she could manage. Small wonder, since his first impression had been for her to swoon from exhaustion and have him need to catch her.
“Would you like anything to eat before retiring? There’s not much in the larder. We’ll need to replenish supplies, but there’s bread and a slab of butter, along with some dried pork.”
“Thank you, no.” Cecily had barely eaten all day but dared not make the attempt now. “Gwen, are you hungry?”
Her sister shook her head. “I’m sleepy.”
“The bed is back there.” Garrett motioned to the blanket.
Gwen did not wait to be told twice. Cecily watched her pull back the drape and crawl onto the mattress.
“I should see to her.” Cecily excused herself.
“Go on to bed as well. You’ve had a long day.”
“Oh, but—” She brought her words to an awkward halt, suddenly uncertain of what she intended to say.
“You needn’t keep me company,” he reassured her, saving her from the need to speak. “I could use an early night. I’ll sleep in the rocker until I can rustle up something better.”
“All right, then. Good night.”
Cecily followed her sister into a cubbyhole, barely large enough for the bed. The mattress was lumpy but soft, and big enough to fit two comfortably. A long cradle sat at the foot. She kissed Gwen’s forehead and covered her with a blanket, noticing a second one. Thinking a moment, she grabbed the spare and pulled back the curtain.
Now hatless and coatless, Garrett stood with his back to her and stared into the fire. The flames brought out golden and bronze highlights in his hair, a softer brown than she’d first thought, and the damp air caused it to curl more tightly at the ends.
At her step, he turned. She held out the blanket.
“So you don’t get cold,” she whispered.
A half smile twisted his lips. “The fire will warm me. You don’t have that advantage. Keep it.”
“No, please, I insist.”
It was bad enough she was kicking him from his bed, when the law—both God’s and man’s—decreed that she should be reposing on that soft, lumpy mattress with him.
Flustered by the thought, she thrust the blanket at his chest.
He grabbed it, to keep the coverlet from falling to the floor when she abruptly let go. His eyes, luminous in the lamplight, caught and held hers a breathless moment before she wrenched her focus away.
“Well, then, good night.”
Cecily took hasty refuge behind the blanket before Garrett could echo the sentiment.