Mail-Order Bride Switch. Dorothy Clark
strong arms slipped around her waist and beneath her knees, lifted her. Snow crunched beneath his boots as he carried her up the steps and across the stoop. The buffeting wind stopped. She blinked to clear her vision, looked at a red, snow-spattered door and blinked again as it was opened slightly.
“I thought I heard footsteps.” A slender man in a black suit pulled the door wide. Garret stepped into the church, and the man closed the door behind him.
“You’re supposed to carry your bride over your threshold, Garret.”
Heat flowed into her cheeks at the man’s smile. Bride. Her stomach churned.
“In this weather, we’re fortunate to have made it here at all. It’s blowing up a blizzard out there!” Garret lowered her until her feet touched the floor, stood behind her with his hands resting on her shoulders. “Pastor Karl, may I present my bride, Virginia Winterman. Virginia dearest, this is Pastor Karl.”
Dearest. She made note of the endearment, straightened and drew in a breath. She coughed and took another. Snow fell from the fur brim of her hat and melted on her cheek.
“A pleasure, Miss Winterman. Welcome to Whisper Creek. I promise this is not our typical weather. At least I hope it isn’t. None of us have been here long enough to know.” The pastor smiled, dipped his head in a small bow.
She shivered, tried to keep her teeth from chattering, and to return his friendly smile. “Th-thank you...”
“Hold still.” Garret brushed the snow from her hat onto his gloved hand and dropped it onto the rug they stood on, removed his gloves, slid his hands beneath the long curls dangling down the back of her head onto her shoulders, and shook them. His action kept the snow from melting on her neck and sliding down her back. Cold as it was outside, his hands were still warm. She resisted the urge to lean back against them.
“You and your bride must be freezing, Garret. Come stand by the stove and warm yourselves. Ivy will be along in a minute. She went to the house to check on the children.”
They followed him to the stove. The wind howled. The windowpanes on the side of the church rattled.
A door slammed somewhere in the recesses of the back of the church. Quick footsteps sounded. A short woman hurried into the sanctuary, ducked out from under a heavy wool blanket thrown over her head and shoulders, and gave it a brisk shake. Snow flew every direction. “Konrad, I don’t know if they—oh. You’re here.” The woman tossed the blanket over a pew and hurried toward them. “I wasn’t sure you could make it through the storm, Mr. Stevenson. This weather is the worst I’ve ever seen. The parsonage blocks the wind from the path or I’d never have made it back. I wouldn’t have tried if I weren’t needed...” The woman stopped beside the pastor, held her hands out to the stove and smiled.
“Miss Winterman, this is my wife. Ivy will be your witness. Ivy, Miss Winterman.”
She looked down into Mrs. Karl’s warm, blue eyes and some of the tension in her shoulders eased.
“Not for long.” Garret’s deep voice flowed over her. “I’m sorry to rush this, Pastor Karl, but it sounds as if the storm is getting worse. And Virginia is so slight, she had a hard time staying on her feet on the way here. I’d like to get back to the hotel.”
“Yes, of course. You’re right, Garret. I’ll get right to the ceremony. Step up beside your bride.” The pastor looked at his wife and smiled. “We’ll dispense with the song, Ivy.” He cleared his throat. “And I’ll just get to the important part. Oh, did you bring a ring, Garret?”
“No.” He looked down at her. “I’m sorry, dearest, I didn’t know the correct size. I’ll send for a ring after the storm passes.”
She stared up at him, taken aback by the look in his eyes, the warmth in his voice. Garret Stevenson was a good actor. Or a practiced lothario. The thought was discomforting. So was the silence. Her answer was expected. What would she say if this wedding were real? She pulled in a breath, spoke softly. “I don’t need a ring, dearest. It’s your love that is important.”
“Well said, Miss Winterman.” The pastor smiled at her, then shifted his gaze to her groom. “Garret Stevenson, wilt thou have this woman for thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s holy ordinance—”
She stared at the pastor, listened to his words. This ceremony was real. Garret Stevenson would be her husband!
“—forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”
“I will.”
She glanced up at Garret. How could he say that so calmly and surely? This was real.
“Virginia Winterman, wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband—”
She jerked her gaze back to the man in front of her. He was a pastor...this was his church...she was making a vow before God! Her breath froze in her lungs. A tremble started in her knees, spread through her. How could she do this? If she said yes, she would be married to Garret Stevenson. Her chance for love and happiness would be over. But she had given him her word. If she didn’t keep it, he would lose all he possessed. And she would go home to a forced marriage to Emory Gladen.
“—love, honor and keep him, in sickness—”
God knew she had given Garret Stevenson her word! And God honored those who kept their word. He that sweareth to his own hurt, and changeth not.
“—and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”
Changeth not... She had to keep her word. She buried her shaking hands in the folds of her damp coat and lifted her chin. “I will.”
“Garret, you may kiss your bride.”
No! Garret’s hands clasped her upper arms, turned her toward him. Panic surged. He lowered his head. She closed her eyes. His lips were hot, soft, gentle on hers, and then they were gone. She opened her eyes, stared down at the floor and resisted the urge to press her fingers to her mouth.
Mrs. Karl stepped into view, held her hand out. “Congratulations, Garret. You have a beautiful bride. I wish you every happiness.” The woman leaned forward, gave her a brief hug. “And for you, my dear.” The woman stepped back. “I made a cake to celebrate your wedding. It’s at the parsonage...”
“How kind of you.” She smiled at the pastor’s wife, then looked up at Garret to take her cue from him.
“Thank you, Mrs. Karl, but I think we’d better get home. I’ll need to borrow a lantern, Pastor.”
“Of course. There’s one on the shelf by the front door for just such a purpose. No hurry about returning it. You can bring it back on Sunday.”
Pastor Karl walked with them to the door, placed a hand on each of them. “May the Lord bless you both with ever increasing love, happiness and healthy children.”
Guilt rose, settled in her heart. She had kept her word, but all the same, she would be living a lie. There would be no such blessing from the Lord for her. Or for Garret Stevenson. Not now. Not even God could bless a pretend, in-name-only marriage.
Garret set the oil lamp on the shelf by his hat, slapped the snow from his leather gloves and shoved them in his coat pockets. “If I may, before you take off your coat...” He lifted her dangling curls and once again shook the snow off them. “No sense in letting this snow melt and wet your gown...”
“Th-thank you.” Lord, please let him think my stuttering is from the cold, not nerves.
He nodded, helped her from her coat and hung it on a peg. “Give me your hat and gloves. I’ll take care of them. You go warm yourself by the fire.”
“All right.” She handed them over to him and