The Bridal Swap. Karen Kirst
Passing the last business on the right, Leighton Barbershop, he led her across a quaint, wooden bridge overlooking the river.
The shaded lane enveloped them in a vibrant cocoon, leaves hanging mere inches from their heads. To the right and left stood an endless parade of stately trees reaching for the Heavens, the thick, dark trunks anchored in a sea of gold created by the shorter tulip trees’ golden leaves.
What beauty! How many are your works, O Lord! In wisdom You made them all; the earth is full of Your creatures.
She wished suddenly for a cushioned chair, a steaming cup of Earl Grey and a copy of Scientific American. She’d stay here in this lane for hours if he’d allow it.
Around the bend, the trees opened up to an expansive clearing, the green grass a lush carpet leading to a two-story cabin with a long, narrow front porch and beyond, a weathered barn and several outbuildings. It was just as he’d described, but of course the reality far surpassed her imaginings.
Pigs squealed in the distance. The sizable garden was bursting with jewel-toned vegetables—plump orange pumpkins, glossy eggplant, striped squash of different sizes and shapes, and green peppers.
Temporarily forgetting her dilemma, Kate grinned, ecstatic to see a real farm up close for the first time.
Pointing to impressive rows of trees, she asked, “Are those apple trees?”
He nodded. “McIntosh apples. They’ll be ripe in about a week.”
“That’s a lot of apples.”
“We won’t eat them all fresh. They’ll be used to make cider, vinegar, applesauce and apple butter, not to mention pies and other desserts.”
“You have a beautiful home,” she breathed, a note of wistfulness in her voice.
He glanced over at her. “The good Lord has blessed us.”
As they drew nearer to the house, Kate’s nerves assailed her. How would his parents react to her presence once they learned her awful news? Mouth dry and palms damp inside her buff-colored lace gloves, she slowed her steps.
The front door opened. A man and woman emerged, their faces alight with anticipation. “It’s about time, Joshua!” the woman exclaimed. “We were beginning to think something had happened.” Advancing down the steps, she crossed to meet them, her husband not far behind.
“Sorry to worry you, Ma,” Josh said. “This is—”
“Francesca!” To Kate’s surprise, Mrs. O’Malley clasped her hands in hers. “I’m so pleased to meet you!”
Oh, no. This was not good.
“I—”
“This isn’t Francesca.” Josh ran a finger beneath his shirt collar as if to loosen it. “May I present Kate Morgan? My ex-fiancée’s little sister.”
“Ex-fiancée?” his mother repeated, brow wrinkling in disbelief. “What’s happened, Joshua? Isn’t Francesca coming?”
More than once during her long journey to Tennessee, she’d faced Josh in her imagination. Rehearsing what she’d say. Envisioning what he might say. She hadn’t considered his family’s reaction. Standing here with Mr. and Mrs. O’Malley regarding her as if she were a creature from another planet, she regretted the omission. Not a word came to mind.
Josh’s level gaze was on her as he spoke. “Francesca changed her mind about the marriage. Kate thought it best to bring the news in person.”
“I’m sorry, son,” said Mr. O’Malley, as he placed a comforting hand on Josh’s shoulder.
His mother approached, questions lingering in her eyes. Her tremulous smile lessened Kate’s apprehension a notch. “Kate, I’m Mary. And that’s my Samuel. It’s a brave thing you did, coming here in your sister’s place. Thank you.”
Kate released the breath she’d been holding. She wasn’t going to be berated, after all. “I regret to have to deliver such dreadful news.”
Unlike Georgia Morgan’s cool, aloof beauty, Mary O’Malley’s appearance was one of sweet femininity, her wavy brown hair styled in a casual upsweep and a simple gold chain with a cross to complement her blue calico dress. And tall, lean Samuel O’Malley, with brown hair much like Josh’s, had a pleasant face.
“We appreciate your consideration of Josh’s feelings,” Samuel added.
The tips of Josh’s ears reddened. “I’m sure Kate would appreciate something to drink after her long trip.”
“Where are my manners?” Mary gasped. “Come on in! I’ve a fresh batch of crybabies already cooling on the table.”
Crybabies? What on earth?
Josh’s parents went inside first, and he gestured for her to go ahead of him. She felt the weight of his gaze on her back as they passed through the doorway.
Her first impression of the O’Malley home was that it could’ve fit inside the dining hall of her parents’ estate. Instead of silk damask wall panels, these walls were bare wooden planks. There were no ornate candelabras or wall sconces, only kerosene lamps placed in key areas about the room. Compared to her estate’s marble hallways, plush Oriental rugs and the finest furnishings money can buy, this home was indeed humble.
However, there was no denying it was an inviting space, cozy and cheerful and decorated with care. Blue-and-white gingham curtains hung at every window, and landscape scenes of mountains and meadows hung on the walls. A serpentine sofa with blue brocade cushions and walnut trim, along with two matching chairs, were situated around a charming stone fireplace.
“Not exactly what you’re used to, is it?” Josh stopped at her side.
“It’s lovely.”
He studied her, weighing her words and expression as if trying to gauge her sincerity.
“Please, make yourself comfortable.” Mary gestured to the sofa. “I’ll get the refreshments. Samuel, can you give me a hand?”
The couple passed through the dining area and rounded the corner into what she assumed was the kitchen. She couldn’t make out the words of their quiet conversation, but no doubt they were discussing her sister’s cowardice and lack of decency.
“Would you like to have a seat?”
Kate swallowed hard. Josh’s steady assessment set her nerves on edge.
“Yes, thank you.”
Moving to the nearest wingback chair, she sank gracefully onto the cushion and arranged her skirts with care. He didn’t join her. Instead he began to pace the length of the couch, hands in his pockets. Every now and then a muscle in his cheek twitched.
She could just imagine his thoughts. Wringing Fran’s neck, perhaps?
His parents returned at last with a tray of glasses filled with ginger water and a plate piled high with cookies, which they placed on the low coffee table in front of her. The sweet aroma of molasses teased her nose. Were these the crybabies, perhaps?
Mary handed her a glass. “Here you are.”
“Thank you.” The tart liquid washed the dust from her throat.
When they were settled in the sofa across from her, Mary said, “You’ve traveled a great distance, haven’t you, Kate? What are your plans now that you’re here?”
“I’m actually here to take photographs. And to visit my former governess, Charlotte Matthews.” Her gaze shot to Josh, who was still pacing. “Everything was arranged and she knew to expect me. She wasn’t at home, however.”
Absently, she rubbed the tender spot on her wrist where Tyler had held her.
“We thought you might know her whereabouts.” Josh had stopped pacing. Resting