Travis shook his head. “No, don’t be. I am the one who should be blamed, blamed for everything. You deserved a proper wedding like girls dream. You also deserve a proper wedding night, but I . . . I cannot give it to you.”
Josie looked down, pulling a strand of hair behind her ear. “It doesn’t matter to me.”But it does, Josie. Think of your baby. Its life depends on this night.
“It does matter,” Travis said sharply. “A family isn’t enough for you.”
Josie took a step forward, gripping the coat more tightly around her body. “A familyisenough for me.” She bit back the half-lie. She wanted to say what her heart screamed.I just needyour cooperation, Travis. To save me—to save us all.Instead, she continued what she could say. “This family has welcomed me with open arms, and I don’t deserve it. I feel like . . . I feel like I’ve known your children forever.”
Travis sniffed and rubbed his nose. “Don’t give up on them, please. Ivy she . . . she is having a tough time, but she’ll come around.”
“I understand. I would have felt the same way if my father had remarried.”
Travis patted his thighs and stood. “I must go.”
He didn’t hesitate, swiftly gathering his clothes with an urgency that left no room for second thoughts. Before Josie could even muster a protest, he was out the door, closing it firmly behind him. Josie clutched the coat tightly around her petite frame, the warmth doing little to soothe the chill creeping through her bones. For the first time in what felt like ages, she let her tears flow freely.
She had one option now, knowing Travis couldn’t be seduced. She’d have to tell him the truth and be at his mercy. Even so, how could she—knowing there was a possibility her child would be at risk?
Tomorrow would be a new day, and she’d try again. She’d fight for this baby, even if it meant more humility and shame.
Chapter Nine
Josiehuggedherselfnervouslyafter the church service concluded, and curious eyes turned from the pulpit to face her direction. It was her second day as Mrs. Blythe, yet nothing felt different. The newness of the title didn’t fit, like a dress tailored for someone else. The looks she received in the church made her feel like a guest, as people tried to uncover who she was and why she sat with a widower, holding his son.
Hours ago, she had woken alone in the medium-sized bed, the sheets cold beside her. Travis had indeed kept his word, avoiding her with his choice to sleep in the barn. The house was quiet, almost too quiet, without the usual chaos of getting the children ready and Aunt Polly cooking breakfast. It should have been relieving, but Josie had never felt more alone, waking up in her new bed that was big enough for two. But she didn’t want Travis there, only to use him as the cover for her child’s father. She didn’t even see Travis until he drove her to church. He had risen early, left out a pot of coffee, and gone to feed the livestock.
Gideon squirmed in Josie’s arms as the church service concluded, and she instinctively pulled him closer to her chest while older women approached with bright, warm smiles. Josie’s pulse raced, each of their steps making her cheeks grow hot and her head feel lighter. For the first time, Josie wanted to be close to Travis now. Not romantically, but as her shield from the three elderly ladies who walked towards them.
As the women, dressed in her bonnets and Sunday best, reached Josie and Gideon, Travis gently nudged Lillian forward, positioning himself closer to Josie. His elbow brushed against Josie’s, and the unexpected contact nearly made her gasp.
“Good afternoon,” one of the ladies greeted.
All three had graying hair pulled back into tight buns. However, what caught Josie’s eye was the neatly curled bangs of the woman who first approached her. The style was familiar, reminiscent of the fashions she had seen down South. Her mother wore the same updo, which helped settle Josie’s nerves.
“How is Mr. Gideon doing?” the one on the left asked, tickling the baby’s feet. He let out a loud squeal, lightening the mood with follow-up laughs.
“He’s doing well,” Travis answered stiffly. “He’s still trying to get the hang of crawling.”
The woman’s eyes widened with surprise. “Crawlingnow? What is he, ten months? My eldest was crawling by six, walking by ten.”
“Now, now,” the lady in the middle with curly bangs gently interjected, her smile warm as she gazed at Gideon. “Every baby is different. I’m certain Gideon will be walking soon enough.” Then she turned her attention back to Josie. “My name is Rebecca Scott. My husband, Harland, and I live half a mile from the Blythes. These two are Mrs. Wilma McHenry and Mrs. Geraldine Kent.”
Josie shook each of their hands in turn. “I’m Josie Blythe.” Months ago, she would have introduced herself as Josephine, but having the children call her by her family’s nickname made her feel as though Josephine was dead. She was now Josie Blythe, taking on a brand-new beginning—mother of five and wife of a humble wheat farmer.
“Blythe?” the three women all said in unison, their eyes widening and jaws dropping.
“You mean you’re hiswife?” Mrs. McHenry asked, her forehead creased in disbelief.
Josie’s face turned hot, bouncing Gideon on her hip. “Yes, ma’am. We were married yesterday.”
“Yesterday?” they repeated in harmony once more, their shock only growing.
“Travis, I had no idea you were courting, you silly goose,” Mrs. Scott teased, her curly bangs bouncing as she playfully elbowed his shoulder. “How’d you two meet? And how come I never knew about this sweet girl? Is she from Bozeman?”
Josie opened her mouth to answer the truth that she was ashamed of—being a mail-order bride from down South—but Travis interrupted her.
“I met my wife through some relatives. We corresponded by letters for a good while and extended a courtship. I proposed over a month ago, and we married yesterday.”
The three women sighed in unison, their expressions softening with the romanticized version of their story.
