could see patrons glancing their way. John took the chair beside his sister, and her friend suffered herself to sit as well. Still, those lavender eyes were dark enough to look like storm clouds.
Beth put one hand on John’s shoulder and the other on her friend’s fingers where they rested on the table, as if ensuring they each sat still long enough to listen to her.
“John,” she said, “you know I worry about you, especially since last summer.”
He caught himself squirming and pulled out of her grip. “This is not the time or place to discuss that, Beth.”
“Yes, it is,” she insisted. “You’ve retreated into a shell, won’t listen to anything I have to say. You work yourself night and day for the betterment of the community, but you think nothing of caring for your own needs. You should have someone to help you, stand beside you, support you. So I took matters into my own hands and found you a bride.”
He heard the lady suck in a breath. “Didn’t you have your brother’s permission to write to me? To propose marriage?”
“No,” Beth admitted. “I’m sorry if I gave you that impression. But I can assure you that everything else in my letters about my brother and our family was true.”
John felt ill. “Beth, you proposed to this woman for me? An agreement for a mail-order bride is a binding contract. She’ll have spent money coming here in expectation.”
Before his sister could respond, Ciara approached the table, a plate of iced shortbread in each hand. Her eyes were bright as she beamed at John. “Hello, John. Maddie’s still singing your praises for helping her and Michael install the new ovens. Did I hear someone’s getting married?”
“No,” Beth’s victim and John said in unison.
Ciara set down the plates on the table and backed away as if she thought John and the lady might come after her.
His sister, on the other hand, didn’t look the least concerned as she drew one of the plates closer and picked up a cookie. “Yes, John, I invited Dottie to Seattle for a wedding, but I didn’t ask her to pay her own way. I used the inheritance Ma left me to fund her passage.” She took a bite of the shortbread.
She’d used her inheritance, money that was supposed to have gone toward building her future. It seemed his sister thought he needed it more. The very idea was lowering.
He would have to talk to Beth about what she’d done, find a way to pay back the money she’d spent. But at the moment, he was more concerned about the woman sitting beside him. How horrible this must be for her, how embarrassing. A woman had to be desperate to marry a stranger, from what he understood of the custom of mail-order brides. She had taken the ultimate chance in coming here, and now she had nothing to show for it.
He could not help feeling that it was partly his fault. If he had listened the many times Beth had tried to talk to him about taking a wife, he might have realized his sister’s plans before they’d come to this. He had to find a way to make things right.
“Miss Tyrrell—” he began.
“Mrs. Tyrrell,” she said.
She was a widow. Odd. She didn’t look much older than Beth. How tragic to have already lost a husband. His guilt over how she’d been used ratcheted up higher.
“Mrs. Tyrrell,” he acknowledged. “I can only commend you for your willingness to journey all the way to Seattle. My sister must have painted a very convincing picture.”
“Thank you,” Beth said, icing dripping off her chin.
John continued, undaunted. “But I am not prepared to marry.”
“Yes, he is,” Beth said, leaning forward, half-eaten cookie in one hand. “He has a nice house, a good farm and a steady nature. He just needs the right incentive.”
“Beth.” He had never been a man of temper. Indeed, his brothers were likely to tease him for being the peacemaker in the family. But his sister’s actions were making him feel decidedly less than peaceful.
“You cannot think that a few letters I knew nothing about will encourage me to offer marriage,” he told her. “I’m not interested in taking a wife.”
Beth’s lower lip and fingers trembled, sending a drop of icing to the table. “But, John, look at her. She’s sweet and pretty. She loves books as much as you do. She’d be perfect for you.”
He looked at Mrs. Tyrrell, whose eyes appeared suspiciously moist. Guilt wrapped itself around his heart.
Which was unfortunate, for his heart was entirely the problem. All his life, he’d tried to be the sort of man he’d read about in the adventure novels Pa had left them—bold, daring, determined, willing to brave great things for the woman he loved. His courtship last summer had made him painfully aware that he was no hero. That wasn’t how God had made him.
Besides, Beth seemed to understand that his last attempt at courting had only wounded him. Why would she think he’d be willing to try again, and with a stranger?
“Mrs. Tyrrell is lovely,” he said to Beth, though he kept his gaze on the woman who was supposed to be his bride. “I’m sure she’ll make some gentleman a marvelous wife. But I will not be that man.”
He could see Mrs. Tyrrell swallow even though she had not taken a bite of the shortbread Ciara had left in front of her.
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Mr. Wallin,” she said, her gaze holding his. “But I was promised a husband, and I won’t leave without one.”
Oh, but she sounded so bold! What had happened to the girl her mother and father had once called sweet? Under other circumstances, Dottie would have apologized immediately, tried to appreciate John Wallin’s position. Now all she could think about was Peter.
She could not return to Cincinnati and risk meeting Frank again. He’d been violent the last time she’d seen him, had warned her what would happen if she ever told anyone what she knew. The bruises on her arms where he’d grabbed her had taken weeks to fade.
Besides, she had no idea how he might react if he knew about Peter. He’d told her how much he wanted children. He might try to claim Peter. She’d used up the last of her money on the midwife to birth her son and most of John Wallin’s—Beth’s—money to reach Seattle, so she couldn’t afford to leave. And without a place to stay and some reliable income, she couldn’t make a new home here, either.
Across the table from her, Beth’s round face was puckering. “This is not how I imagined your meeting to go.”
Very likely not. Though she seemed about the same age as Dottie, Beth Wallin had clearly known little of the world. She still believed in love at first sight and happily-ever-after endings. Dottie had believed in all that, too, had dreamed of marrying the perfect man. She’d been a fool to accept Frank Reynolds’s promises. Now she’d been lied to yet again.
“I could have told you a lady wouldn’t fall in love with me after one meeting,” John said to his sister, his voice kind. “Women
