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Elizabeth’s gaze dropped to her food. Her portion didn’t measure up to Ted’s but, far too hungry to fuss about it, she attacked her food. Mmm, delicious.
She glanced at Ted’s untouched plate and lowered her fork.
“I’ll say grace,” he said, then bowed his head.
Cheeks aflame, Elizabeth bowed hers.
“Lord, thank You for this food. Walk with Elizabeth and me in our new life as man and wife. Amen.”
Elizabeth’s gaze collided with Ted’s. She quickly looked away. Not that Elizabeth had neglected praying about her problems, but God had withheld His answer.
Well, she’d found her own. And he sat across from her now.
Ted picked up his fork. “How long since you’ve eaten?”
His words reminded her to take dainty bites, not pig-at-the-trough gulps. “I had tea and cookies at the parsonage.”
His brow furrowed. “You didn’t eat on the train, did you?” he asked softly.
She stared at her plate. “No.”
“Look at me, Elizabeth.”
She raised her chin and looked into his eyes, which were now clouded. Was it with dismay?
“I may not have much in the way of money, but my cellar’s stocked. You won’t go hungry. At least if you’re a good cook,” he added with a chuckle.
She fiddled with her napkin. “I’m sure I can.”
“You’ve never tried?” he said, his tone laden with amazement.
Elizabeth took a swig of water. “I grew up in a home with maids, a cook, laundress, tutor, butler, even a nanny.”
Ted frowned. “You said you were destitute.”
“I am. Of late.”
“What happened?”
“What happened isn’t a topic for good digestion.”
She wanted to ask how long it had been since Rose had died, but it didn’t seem like the right time, either. Instead she returned to her food.
Ted took a bite, obviously enjoyed the tasty dish and ate every morsel, and didn’t end the meal with a belch.
Uninvited, a memory invaded her mind. Of the three red-faced, ho-humming, toe-tapping times she’d sat in the parlor with Reginald after dinner, swishing her fan until her arm ached, trying to dissipate the silent belches rocking his spindly body and the unpleasant odors chasing after them. She’d tried to be kind, to turn the other nostril, ah, cheek, but he’d been…distasteful.
Papa had said Reginald Parks was short on manners but long on cash so he had to be forgiven. Instead of forgiving Reginald, she’d defied her father. A heavy weight squeezed against her lungs. Would Papa find it in his heart to forgive her?
Would Ted forgive her once he knew about Robby?
She looked up to find Ted studying her in that quiet way of his. He wiped his lips on the napkin. Nice lips. Full. At the memory of Ted’s kiss at the end of the ceremony, Elizabeth’s pulse leaped. His lips had been soft. Gentle. Enticing.
The one time Reginald had lowered his whiskered face to hers, he’d triggered spasms in her throat that threatened to make her retch.
Another point in Ted’s favor.
Though, at the moment, her stomach tumbled. Too many uncertainties churned inside her.
The door burst open and in marched Mrs. Van Wyld, followed by a knot of ladies, beaming like sunshine. Johanna led the procession to their table.
“The folks of New Harmony, leastwise those I could round up, are here to give you newlyweds a party.” She gestured to Cecil Moore. “If I know the mayor, he’s got his harmonica. His brother will be along with his fiddle.”
Grinning, Cecil flipped the instrument out of his pocket and played a few merry notes. Ted looked as if he wished the floor would open up and swallow him, but Elizabeth’s toe tapped under her skirts.
People came over, shook Ted and Elizabeth’s hands, offering their congratulations.
“Would you like a piece of Agnes’s pie?” Johanna said, once the crowd cleared.
Ted took a step toward the door. “We really need to be going.”
“My treat,” Johanna persisted. “Sorry it’s not cake, but it’s mighty good.”
In case she needed to escape tonight, Elizabeth couldn’t risk putting the sheets to the test. She turned to Ted. “Is your house one story or two?”
“One.”
“Oh, I’ll have a slice of pie, then. A big one.” She smiled at Ted, resting her chin on her palm. “Pie is my weakness.”
Johanna waved to Agnes. “They’ll have pie. I’m paying.”
Agnes appeared at their elbows. “I’ve got sugar cream and cherry today.”
“The sugar cream, please,” Elizabeth said.
Ted frowned as if he didn’t approve of the turn of events. “None for me.”
“Don’t be silly,” Johanna said. “This is your wedding day. Your bride shouldn’t eat pie alone.”
Ted sighed. “All right—”
“Cherry and coffee black,” Agnes said, obviously familiar with Ted’s tastes.
With Johanna issuing orders, diners moved the tables, opening space in the middle of the room. The mayor let loose on his harmonica. A heavyset, squat fellow strode in carrying the fiddle and joined in. Cecil’s brother Oscar, Johanna informed Elizabeth.
Four couples formed a square, moving up and back, square dancing or so Johanna explained.
Agnes arrived with coffee and pie. Flaky golden crusts piled high with luscious filling. Elizabeth thanked her, and then dug in. Mmm, cinnamon. Sugar. Cream. She licked her lips, capturing a speck from the corner of her mouth. “This is delicious.” She glanced at her husband.
Ted sat motionless, his fork hovering over his plate. Did the man pray before each course? No, he was staring at her lips. Had she missed a crumb? She dabbed at her mouth with the napkin.
His face turned a deep shade of red. Blue eyes collided, hastily looked away and then back again. He dropped his gaze to his plate, slicing his fork into his pie and then lifting a forkful of cherries and crust to his mouth. Her stomach dipped. When had pie ever looked better going into someone else’s mouth besides her own?
In all of Elizabeth’s years she had never been unable to finish a piece of pie. But tonight, her wedding night, she pushed the plate away. “I’m stuffed.”
Ted smiled. “Glad I finally got you filled up.” He glanced out the window. “Time to head for home.”
“We can’t leave.” She waved a hand. “Your friends have done all this for us. To celebrate our marriage.”
“Johanna’s turned our wedding dinner into a spectacle.”
“My dreams for my wedding day hardly match our ceremony.”
Ted had the decency to look contrite. He rose and offered his hand. “May I have this dance, Mrs. Logan?”
“If you’ll teach me the steps, Mr. Logan.”
“It’ll be my pleasure.”
Her pulse raced at the warm, steady pressure of his hand on her back. At the warmth radiating from his very masculine body. At the breadth of those powerful shoulders.
No doubt Ted could protect her from any danger. Yet she’d never felt more threatened. More out of control.
Surprisingly light on his feet for a hulk of a man, Ted led her through the dance. But even with the unnerving awareness that others watched every move they made, smiling and nodding approval at her attempt to join in, she wanted to stay. Leaving would mean being alone with her husband.
Right now, if she could, she’d stamp Cancel on their mail-order nuptials. But that meant she couldn’t give Robby a home.
So like a self-assured bride, she smiled up at her groom, but under her skirts, her knees were knocking.
What had she gotten herself in for?
Neither Elizabeth nor Ted said much on the trip to the farm. As dusk crept in and a full moon rose overhead, lights appeared in the houses they passed. Elizabeth kept her gaze off the man beside her, who took up more space than a mere man should, and focused on the fields. The turned-over earth exposed parched soil as cracked as old china. An owl hooted overhead, an eerie, lonely sound that crawled along her skin, raising the hair on her nape.
“You mentioned a weakness for pie. Any other flaws I should know about?” Ted said at last, his voice laden with humor.
No doubt an attempt to ease the tension crackling between them. Well, she’d do her part. “I’m emotional. A talker.”
He turned toward her, his pupils reflecting the moonlight. “What do you mean, emotional?”
She squirmed under his stare.
“Are you a weeper?”
“Just the opposite. I have a temper.” She pinched her fingers together then opened them a tad. “A teeny temper.”
“Ah, I see.” He chuckled. “Thanks for the warning.”
“Do you?” Elizabeth asked.
“Do I what?”
“Have a temper?”
“Nothing makes me mad, except deceit. How can you trust a man if he can’t be taken at his word?”
Fortunately for her, he didn’t say woman.
Elizabeth fidgeted with her ring. “Couldn’t there be a good reason a person would lie?”
“The truth sets people free.”
She’d be set free, all right. If Ted learned about Robby, he’d rip this simple gold band off her finger and get an annulment faster than Johanna Van Wyld could spread the news.
Ted shifted on the seat. “Seems odd to be married and know so little about you.”
“I feel the same.”
“It’ll take some getting used to, especially for my children.”
Elizabeth gulped. She’d forgotten about Ted’s children. From what she could remember about Robby, babies cried a lot and forever needed a change of clothes. “How old are they?”
“Anna’s seven and scared, I think. She understands a lot.”
Robby had been six when Mama died. Even though Martha had taken care of her brother when Mama took sick, Robby had cried for his mother. Rose’s death had to be even more traumatic for Ted’s daughter.
“Henry’s fourteen months. All he cares about are his meals and a soft lap.” He lifted a brow. “That is, if you’re one to cuddle a baby.”
She’d cuddled Robby. No problem there. Besides, a lap meant sitting and from all Ted’s talk about work, sitting sounded good. “I’ll have a lap anytime he needs one—at least when you’re not available.”
“As long as you’re gentle with my children, you have no need to worry about overstepping. I’ll expect you to mother them whether I’m in the fields or in the house.”
Elizabeth suspected little ones cared not a whit about who you were, how much you owned or where you came from. Long as they had that lap and a ready meal.
But cooking, well, she hoped Ted and his children had low expectations, bottom-of-a-burned-pan low.
Approaching a house near the road, a dog barked a greeting, leaping along the bank as they passed. Inside, people gathered around the table. Good people who lived by the toil of their hands. Not trying to make money without working for it like Papa had, and losing most every time.
Still, as furious as Papa’s gambling made her, she still loved him. He was an affectionate, jovial, handsome man who had a gift with words. In that careless manner of his, he loved her, too, and was probably worried about her now.
Tears pricked at her eyes. She’d propped a note on her dresser, assuring him of her love. But love might not heal the breach she’d crossed when she’d defied him.
Her attention drifted to Ted, which didn’t do much for her peace of mind. She shifted, trying to ease the tightness between her shoulder blades. How could she relax, knowing once they reached the farm, she and her new husband would be totally alone?
Ted had made no move to touch her, other than to help her from the wagon and a polite offer of his arm. Still, they’d signed a marriage license. And surely he’d noticed that baffling attraction between them at the café.
She wrung her hands in her lap while the pie and noodles waged war in her stomach. He’d better keep his distance. They’d only scarcely met.
Desperate to end the silence between them, she said, “I don’t mean to criticize, but Mr. Sorenson’s ledger could use some organizing.”
