Heartland Wedding

Pete stopped walking. “I don’t need a nursemaid.”

“Pete. My friend.” Will spoke in the slow cadence he usually reserved for small children. “Aside from the fact that I wouldn’t miss this confrontation for the world, I’ve known you since we were boys back East in Belville.”

“Yeah? No kidding. Thanks for reminding me.” He didn’t bother hiding his sarcasm. It was no secret that Will was the most level-headed man among their group of friends. Even when they were kids, he had prevented more than a few fights in their small Massachusetts community.

Pete usually appreciated Will’s ability to remain calm and think through any situation. But not today. Not with Rebecca’s tears still fresh in his mind.

“Pete,” Will said. “We both know when you’re this angry, words fly out of your mouth that make matters worse.”

Pete didn’t argue. The man had a point. “Fair enough.” He relented with only a mild dose of animosity churning in his gut. “But remember. This is my battle.”

Will’s gaze filled with mock seriousness. “I wouldn’t dare interfere.”

“Right.” Blowing out a hiss, Pete pushed open the door to the mercantile.

He looked around the store until his gaze landed on his quarry, who was staring back at him from behind a counter.

Matilda Johnson had the broad shoulders of a man, the small, beady eyes of a rat and hair the muted silver-brown of a hawk. Balancing on her toes, with her shoulders hunched forward, the woman looked like a coiled viper ready to strike. Even her narrowed gaze had the requisite predatory sheen.

A formidable foe. Perfect.

“Mrs. Johnson,” he said through clenched teeth. “A word, if you please.”

Only as he moved in her direction did Pete notice the other two ladies in the store. They whispered together, sending odd looks in his direction, but neither made eye contact with him. Rather, they scurried around him like frightened mice in a barn full of cats.

Dismissing them from his mind, Pete maneuvered in front of Mrs. Johnson and opened his mouth to speak.

She beat him to it. “Why, good morning, Mr. Benjamin. How may I help you this fine day?” She smiled at him sweetly. Too sweetly. Clearly, she was up to something.

He couldn’t imagine what had put that look of pure glee in the woman’s eyes. He feared Rebecca was the reason.

The muscles in his shoulders bunched. “I want to know what you said to Rebecca Gundersen just now.”

His blunt question sent words sputtering out of her mouth. “I, oh. I didn’t expect you to—”

“Tell me.”

“Now, see here.” She hitched her chin at him, no longer playing innocent. “You don’t need to get upset with me. I merely confronted the girl about that day in your storm cellar.”

Pete narrowed his gaze. “What day in my storm cellar?”

She leaned forward with a sly look on her face. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly discuss this here, in front of my customers. It might…embarrass you.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“All right, then. I heard—” she looked at the other ladies for a brief moment “—that you and Miss Gundersen took cover together during the storm. Just the two of you. Alone. Without a chaperone.”

That was what this was about? Mrs. Johnson putting a nasty spin on a harmless situation? Now he understood why Rebecca had run away crying. She must have been humiliated. Well, Pete would not allow this heartless woman to get away with ruining Rebecca’s reputation over a completely innocent, life-and-death situation.

“Yes, we took cover together,” he said. “But I dragged Rebecca below ground to protect her from the tornado. I gave her no other choice than to come with me.”

“Isn’t that just like you to take the blame?” She gave him a sympathetic look. “So noble. But don’t worry. I know it wasn’t your fault. That woman lured you into your storm cellar. I’m sure of it.”

“Lured him?” Will muttered from just behind Pete.

Pete raised his hand to stop Will from speaking further. Matters had just turned serious. Too serious to play word games. “What exactly are you suggesting, Mrs. Johnson?”

“Oh, Mr. Benjamin. I’m not blaming you for the incident in your cellar. I know how vulnerable your terrible loss has made you.” She patted his arm in an odd show of sympathy.

Pete yanked out of the woman’s reach. If he wasn’t mistaken, Mrs. Johnson had just blamed the entire “incident” on Rebecca Gundersen and had given him atonement because he was still grieving his dead wife and child.

Could the woman’s reasoning be that skewed? “Let me repeat. I dragged Miss Gundersen into the cellar. Our seclusion was completely innocent.”

Mrs. Johnson waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “You don’t need to defend your actions to me. It’s quite understandable that you would fall for the wiles of that…immigrant.”

“Immigrant? You’re judging Miss Gundersen simply because she was born in a different country?”

“Well, you have to admit the woman is different from the rest of us.” She cast a sly glance to the front of the store, smiled at her two allies and then leaned across the counter. “We all see how she sashays around town, batting those long eyelashes at every man in sight. Why, she doesn’t even wear a bonnet like a decent woman.”

For one black moment, Pete was tempted to reach out and shake some sense into the woman. “You dare to—”

Will cleared his throat, cutting Pete off in midsentence.

Losing his train of thought, Pete cast his friend an annoyed look. “I told you to stay out of this.”

Will gave his head one hard shake. “Think before you speak,” he warned.

Pete’s jaw tightened.

It was wise advice. Nearly impossible to put into action.

Taking a moment to calm his temper, Pete called to mind a verse from the book of James about the evils of a gossiping tongue. The tongue is a fire, a world of iniquity…

For Rebecca’s sake, Pete needed to extinguish Matilda Johnson’s gossip before it spread any further.

Placing both palms on the counter, he leaned forward and locked gazes with the odious woman. “You will not share what you heard about Miss Gundersen and me in my storm cellar. The gossip stops now.”

Her eyes widened, then narrowed as the woman pursed her lips. “You can’t order me to be silent about something like this. We both know that no innocent woman would spend time alone with an unmarried man in a storm cellar. Tornado or not.”

That did it. Pete’s patience snapped. He forgot all about holding his tongue, all about thinking before he spoke. Instead, he focused on the one solution that would salvage an innocent woman’s reputation.

“You will no longer speak about my future wife with so much as a derogatory word or an ugly insinuation ever again.”

“Your wife?”

“That’s right. I’m marrying Rebecca Gundersen as soon as I can make the arrangements.”

The woman’s gasp was all the response Pete needed. He turned to go, then stopped himself after only two steps.