Flint Hills Bride

She took a step away. “You promised not to get serious.”

He smiled then, more tender than teasing. “You’re right. Are you ready to go back?”

“Yes, I think so,” she said.

He was quiet all the way home. Emily found herself lost in memories of their shared childhood. There had always been a gentleness about Jake she hadn’t truly appreciated as a girl. She was lucky to have such a friend.

He took her to the kitchen door instead of the back door where the coats were hung. “It’s warmer in here,” he said. Once inside, he took her cloak and gloves and turned her over to his mother, who recommended a cup of hot tea.

Emily warmed herself near the kitchen stove while she waited for the water to boil. She found herself wishing Jake would hang up the coats and return to share the tea with her, but he didn’t. He must have gone back outside to resume whatever chores he had interrupted for their walk. It was difficult to explain her disappointment. Perhaps he distracted her, kept her from dwelling on her worries, kept her from missing Anson.

Dinner was a quiet affair. Christian made no more reference to Anson than Jake had. Trevor was still shy of Emily, though he let her hold him and feed him for a little while. Willa declared the noodles Martha had fixed her favorite and was so busy eating she was noticeably less talkative. Christian and Lynnette talked and teased each other, making Emily feel even more lonely.

Escaping before dessert, she sat on her bed and stared across the room without seeing it. This place, with its memories and its laughter conspired to confuse her. Things had been so much clearer in town. There she knew she loved Anson and he loved her. They were meant to be together. Her parents were the enemy, keeping her from happiness.

Here, so far from Anson, her love—and his—were less certain. Their chances of having a future like Christian and Lynnette seemed remote. Anson wasn’t much like Christian. But then, she wasn’t just like Lynnette, either. They would find their own way, their own life.

Somehow, even to herself, the argument seemed weak. She felt tears spring to her eyes and brushed them away. Tears, there always seemed to be tears! And often at the oddest times. Holding Trevor did it the fastest.

Things had to work out with Anson. What would become of her if they didn’t? She rested a hand on her belly and swallowed the lump in her throat. If Anson didn’t come for her, she would have to go away alone. She would be too ashamed to face her family and too afraid they might make her give the baby away.

She wished there was someone she could talk to, someone who wouldn’t condemn her. She had come close to confiding in Rose who had been her best friend for so long. But Rose was married to Arlen, and he was worse than her mother when it came to propriety. He would have her packed off to a maternity home and spread the lie that she was on some European tour. A sister with a bastard could hurt his political career.

Lynnette was her next choice. She would be understanding at least. And so would Christian, maybe. But what help could she really expect from them? They couldn’t tell her how to magically make the baby go away, how to magically undo the past.

You’ve made your bed and now you have to sleepin it, had a whole new meaning now. She felt another tear threaten and brushed at it angrily. She hated feeling sorry for herself! She had no patience for it in other people. She would survive. She would be a good mother to her child, with or without its father.

But, she told herself sternly, there wasn’t any danger of that. Anson would come for her. They would be married. When her family saw how happy they were, they would relent and welcome her back. She tried to picture her family gathered at Christmas, her parents, her brothers and their wives, Christian’s children, her own baby toddling around. It was easy.

But putting Anson in the picture proved difficult. She couldn’t imagine him sitting with her brothers and finding anything to say to them. She couldn’t imagine him helping with the decorations, singing carols, playing with the children.

She shook her head to dispel the thoughts. She was setting limits on him, and it wasn’t fair. More than likely he would fit right in. She would just know a more exciting side of him that her family would only guess at. She smiled to herself and wondered if it was forced.

A tap on the door startled her. “Are you sleeping?”

Emily had never been so glad to hear Willa’s loud whisper. She ran to the door and opened it.

Willa flounced in and threw herself across the bed, her short full skirt billowing for a second to reveal a tear in her stocking. “I can’t stand another minute in the nursery!” she exclaimed.

Emily held back a laugh. “What’s so awful about the nursery?”

“Everything! Trevor’s such a baby. I don’t have any place for just me. Sometimes girls need time alone, you know. Can I stay here with you?”

Emily watched the little girl throw her arm across her forehead dramatically, a gesture she had probably learned from her Aunt Rose. Willa was just what she needed to distract her from her worries.

But only for one night. Sometime soon she would be running away with Anson. She couldn’t afford to lose her privacy.

She cleared her throat. “Willa, dear, how about being my sleepover friend tonight?” At the little girl’s eager reaction she added, “Just tonight, mind you. We’ll make a party of it.”

Willa sat up quickly. “Honest? Shall I run and ask Mama?”

“No. Let her write while your brother’s asleep. We can ask her later. I’m sure she won’t mind.” Emily sat down on the bed, and Willa scooted over next to her. “What do you want to do when you sleep over?”

Emily was trying to think of what games a five-year-old might like to play when Willa came up with a suggestion. “We can write love letters to our boyfriends.” She quickly stifled a giggle behind her cupped hands.

“Boyfriends? Do you have a boyfriend?”

“We can make one up,” she suggested with another giggle. “Or I could write mine to Jake.”

“Jake!” Emily eyed the child. “Isn’t he a little old for you?”

Willa shrugged. “Papa’s older than Mama.”

“Not twenty years older!”

Willa shrugged her shoulders until they touched her ears. “But he’s so-o-o-o handsome. And so-o-o-o strong. He can lift me onto a horse like that.” She tried to snap her fingers.

“Anybody can lift you onto a horse,” Emily argued. “You’re a little girl.”

Willa thrust out her chin. “But Jake does it better than anybody else. Even Papa.”

Emily eyed the little girl sternly, but she felt her lips twitch with a smile. In a moment they were laughing in each other’s arms. “All right,” Emily said finally. “We’ll write love letters tonight. What do you want to do now? Shall we see about making those cookies we never got around to the other day?”

“Cookies!” Willa cried, jumping off the bed. She quickly covered her mouth then whispered loudly, “Trevor’s sleeping.”

Willa remembered to whisper all the way down the stairs. In the kitchen, she tugged Emily’s hand and pointed. Jake was cleaning the ashes out of the stove.

He looked up at the little girl’s giggle. “Good afternoon, ladies,” he said.

Willa ran to Martha but gave Jake a sidelong glance before asking permission to make cookies. Emily intended to follow Willa but found herself walking toward Jake instead.

“Don’t come too close,” he said. “You’ll get ashes on your dress.” She stopped a few feet away. She couldn’t help thinking of Willa’s description as she watched him work.

“What were you two giggling about?” he asked.

“I wasn’t giggling.”

“I thought I heard two distinct giggles.”

“No. Only one. And it’s girl stuff. Secret.” The last she said in Willa’s exaggerated whisper.

“Oh,” he whispered back.

Willa joined them with her lower lip sticking out a good half inch. “Martha says we can’t bake cookies ‘cause she’s gonna make Christmas stuff.”

“Maybe we can help her with the Christmas baking,” Emily suggested.

Willa shook her head sadly. “She says it’s candy, and it’s too hot for me to help. What are we going to do?”