Chapter 2

Paul entered his home through the kitchen, a habit he’d had since childhood. Although his father had farmed so that his heirs could be what some from the old country might call “gentleman farmers,” Paul hadn’t quite lived up to the man of leisure his father had provided for. Paul blamed his father that neither Paul himself nor John had ever spent a day chasing idleness, since Father himself had so well modeled working.

He hung his equipment on the pegs designed for such use, his net and jar, the veiled hat and thick gloves he wore when investigating a hive. At his feet were already the smoker and drumming sticks he used to temporarily drive bees away from the investigations he carried on in the hives themselves. Normally he would have passed through the kitchen with little more than a greeting to his cook and housekeeper, Mrs. Higgins, but she was bent over the most extraordinary cake, and he was caught not only by the care she took to add a pink dollop of frosting on the bouquet of flowers decorating its top but by the concentrated effort on her pleasantly lined face.

“And what have we here?” he asked, reaching a finger toward the base of the cake to snatch a taste of the sugary creation.

She slapped away his hand, not as gently as she might have had the cake been for him. Obviously she was serving this masterpiece for a very special occasion.

“It’s your wedding cake, Mr. Paul, and I don’t want it sampled before this afternoon!”

“My wedding cake,” he repeated, bewildered. “Mrs. Higgins, you realize this isn’t a real wedding?” John had made all of the arrangements yesterday, assuring Paul he needn’t do a thing except be home at one o’clock. At least he’d known Paul wasn’t likely to go to the city to do this favor! “The minister will provide the service in the garden, we’ll sign a paper, and the woman will return on her way. I doubt she’ll stay for cake.”

Mrs. Higgins shoed him away, waving a small spatula in his face. “You leave this to me. There won’t be a wedding in my garden without a cake. Now off you go.”

“Your garden! Well, I like that. You, who complain every day that the flowers attract too many bees.”

“Out! Go straight up to your room for a shave and a freshen, and wear that shirt I put the iron to. I’ve left it laid out on your bed.”

Paul opened his mouth to protest over being treated like a child, but since Mrs. Higgins had mostly filled the role of mother even before his own mother died, he did her bidding.

He would have this favor done with, and tomorrow things would return to the peaceful, quiet routine he’d cultivated in his life.

But at least there would be cake today. While he enjoyed the honey that his industrious bees produced, he seldom thought to ask Mrs. Higgins to do any baking.

Virginia peered through the carriage window at the countryside lined with fields of grass broken by the occasional cluster of bushes or trees, and even more occasionally a field of wheat or corn or some other vegetation she couldn’t name. Having been born and raised in the city, she couldn’t understand why anyone would choose to live so far from others on these remote oases called farms.

She was tempted to look at her watch pin but caught herself before doing so. No sense in being teased by Sarah again. Yes, she was counting the moments until she would meet John’s brother, even if it was ridiculous to spend a moment wondering what he would be like. It simply did not matter. This ceremony would take place for one reason, and that was to fulfill the demands of her father’s well-meaning but obviously misguided will. After today, she would likely never see this about-to-be husband of hers.

Yet another lump formed in her throat, this one larger than the last. Swallowing nearly brought tears to her eyes. Marriage was a covenant of God, a symbol of the devotion He extended to those He’d made in His image. A symbol to me, a promise that His love will last forever!

Was she treating it shabbily, this rite that was clearly meant to be a holy union? God forgive her if she was—and yet, hadn’t her father done the same with this absurd demand, using the one thing—her bonnets—that meant anything to her?

“Don’t worry,” Sarah whispered, patting Virginia’s gloved hand with her own. Virginia stole a glance at John across from them, who broke away from his own perusal out the glassed window, as if surprised by Sarah’s soothing tone. What had she to worry about, after all? Wasn’t this ceremony meant to banish all of her worries?

“I’m just eager to have it over, I suppose. So I can get back to work.”

John shook his head. “You don’t know it yet, Virginia, but what you’ve just said has convinced me that we’re absolutely right in this whole farce. If ever there were two people who deserve a marriage in name only, it’s you and my brother.”

“Why do you say so?”

“Because he’s likely thinking the same thing you are.”