Chapter Nine
Three weeks had passedsince Faith had somehow found herself married again. It was the height of summer, and each day dawned brighter and hotter than the one before. Bees buzzed in the wildflowers that grew near the river while large fluffy white and gray clouds rolled across the sky. Even when the afternoon turned stormy, Faith had never felt so light and cheerful as she did now. At least, not since last September, before Aaron had perished.
She was giving Beau a chance, as Celia had suggested, and day by day, it grew easier. He was a comforting presence, and each morning she awoke eager to see him at the breakfast table or already out in the office, preparing for the day. He kept conversations lighthearted, and Faith laughed regularly with his stories of New Orleans and the characters he’d met there, his life growing up with two sisters, and the foolish scrapes he’d found himself in as a young man. If she’d thought he was clever and witty in his letters, none of his written words held a candle to his ability to tell a story.
Even better, he set her completely at ease, and she found herself sharing stories of her own childhood and even fond memories of her times with Aaron. Josie had visited one afternoon and had remarked on how cheerful Faith appeared. Nosy Mrs. Purcell mentioned at the mercantile—in front of half the town—that married life seemed to agree with Faith.
And it was true. Faith had craved company, and now she had it. But every time her thoughts drifted to whether what she and Beau had was more than friendship, something stopped her. She still couldn’t fathom anything else, but she didn’t stop him when he held her hand or found a way to stand close to her. Those little moments made her heart speed up—and her guilt kick in.
She was Aaron’s wife. How could she be someone else’s?
And if she could, what did that say about her love for Aaron?
And so Faith tried hard not to think too much about it. She simply enjoyed Beau’s company, laughed at his stories, and was grateful for the help with the mail and the telegraph. That worked just fine until he started buying her gifts.
At first, it was little things. A sweet little carved frog he’d purchased from a boy he’d found whittling one day. A small bouquet of daisies. A simple silver brooch.
But today, it was something much larger. He held a package out to her as he stood there in a new, finely fitted suit. “Do you like it?” he asked, gesturing at the suit. “I hated the one I brought with me, so I had this one made. And I might have picked up something else too.” He nodded at the package she now held.
Itwasa nice suit, and Faith let her eyes linger far too long on him in it. By the time she drew her gaze away, she was certain she was blushing again. So she busied herself with opening the package, almost afraid to see what was inside. Whatever it was, it was surely something far more extravagant than he had any reason to buy.
Faith pulled away wrappings until something soft and white and sprigged with delicate green flowers appeared. That something turned out to be a skirt. Underneath, a bodice in a sage green that matched the flowers on the skirt lay in the wrappings, with a matching overskirt attached. Faith drew in a breath. It had been so long since she’d purchased or made anything new to wear. And if she had, it certainly wouldn’t have been this fine. “It’s . . . I . . .”
“Do you like it? I thought it would look nice with your eyes, and the seamstress agreed. She said it would be easy to adjust if it didn’t fit. She took the measurements from some of your existing clothing, which I must admit I pulled from the line one afternoon and brought to her.”
Faith swallowed a lump in her throat. He’d paid some exorbitant sum of money for this lovely creation, all for her. “I can’t accept it. It’s too much.”
“Of course you can. It’s perfectly acceptable for a husband to buy a new dress for his wife.”
She gently held up the skirt, and cascades of fabric fell to the floor. The craftsmanship was exquisite. It was far finer than anything Faith could make with her rudimentary sewing skills. She was only proficient enough to accomplish the most basic of tasks. Celia had always been finer with a needle. She actually enjoyed attending sewing circles and quilting bees while Faith only joined those activities for the conversation.
Beau was right. Theyweremarried, as odd as it seemed. She could keep this lovely dress and not cause one whit of scandal. “Thank you,” she said, beaming at him. “I’ve never owned anything like this.”
“I’m glad it makes you happy.” He took her left hand in his, and then lifted her knuckles to his lips and kissed them.
Faith giggled like a young girl. Whatever had gotten into her, she didn’t care at that moment. Giggling felt nice, as did the sweet kiss Beau had left on her hand and the fine fabric against the skin of her other hand.
