Irene Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Sneak peek of Grace

  Also by Linda Ford

  Irene

  War Brides

  Linda Ford

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Sneak peek of Grace

  Also by Linda Ford

  1

  Alberta, Canada, 1919

  Irene Brighty took a deep, steadying breath and stepped from the train. Even before the man on the platform strode forward with the air of having a job to do and wanting to get it done, she knew it was him.

  “Miss Brighty?”

  Her throat tight, she extended her right hand and answered, “Yes. Zachary Marshall, I presume?”

  “Call me Zach.” Her hand became lost in the palm of a hand big enough to plug a small window.

  He studied her frankly, and she did the same of him, silently measuring this man, seeking clues to his character. Outwardly, he was nothing like what she’d expected—that he would be like his cousin, Billy, who had married her sister, Grace, or like other members of the family she’d met in Toronto. True, he had the same dark, probing eyes and fine head of dark hair, but there the likeness ended. This man lacked the slenderness of his cousin; indeed, he was built like a stevedore, with wide shoulders and thick arms. She looked straight into his eyes without having to tilt her head either up or down and discovered she liked being the same height as he.

  Irene stood straight before his scrutiny, her fingers digging into the material of her handbag as she resisted the urge to run her hand over her hair.

  She wondered what he saw: A woman past her youth? The angular build of her? Her too-long face, too-square jaw, or her prominent chin? A handsome face, Father always assured her, but Irene had no disillusionments about her overly strong features. She was no prize to be carried home for display.

  He jerked his head once as if to say she’d passed muster. “Are you ready?”

  She liked his voice, slow and deep like water running placidly over smooth rocks. Courage returned. “I’m as ready as I can be.”

  He gave her a startled look.

  She followed at his side, easily keeping step with him. She didn’t know why it should, but that one fact filled her with reassurance, and she relaxed.

  A few minutes later, she sat beside him on the hard wagon seat, her trunks stowed in the back—her whole life packed into two chests.

  “I’ve made arrangements with Reverend Williams. We’re to go directly there.”

  “Very good.” Her voice remained firm.

  He pulled up before a small frame house huddled close to the tiniest church she’d ever seen. A sign on the gate beyond read Westina Cemetery. Was this where Zach had buried his wife?

  “I’m not wanting you to have any wrong notions about this marriage,” Zach said, studiously keeping his gaze on his big hands from which hung the slack reins. “It’s not for me I suggested we get married. It’s for my boys.” She saw the depth of his need and understood, too, by the set of his jaw that he would never beg.

  “The loss of their mother has left them battered like a pair of old shoes. Harry—well, he tries so hard to be a man, but he’s only nine years old. And Donald—he’s four now and he’s. . . Well, you’ll see for yourself.”

  Irene waited quietly, letting the man say what he had to say.

  “They need a secure, stable home. They can’t have a continual going and coming of people.” He took a slow, deep breath. “Me. Well, I want nothing more than to be left alone. I will never love another woman.”

  Irene touched her handbag where the letter lay crumpled, the folds starting to crack from so much handling. “A housekeeper and someone to care for your children. You made it plain in your letter. I understand the conditions, and I agree to them. You’ll not find me wanting in the performance of my duties.” Her mouth went dry. He had not mentioned whether he expected those duties to include the marital bed.

  “If you are of a mind to give it another thought, now would be the time. Once we’ve had our ‘I do’s’ said in front of the preacher, I’ll not look kindly at either of us changing our minds.” His eyes turned dark with intensity. “I won’t be letting anyone hurt my boys.”

  “I’ll not be changing my mind.” She took a deep breath. “Perhaps you need to understand my situation. After all, if you’re to become my husband. . .” She half stumbled over the word. “You deserve some sort of explanation. I’ve given your suggestion a lot of thought. I’ve prayed about it, and I’m certain this is what I want to do. You said in your letter that you were a Christian. I only want to hear you say it aloud.”

  “I am a believer.” He stared at his hands.

  “That’s fine then.” She paused. “And if you have a mind to change your offer, now is the time. Before we give our vows.” His eyebrows lifted in question marks. “You see me. I’m an old maid. Maybe you’ll be wanting to change your mind.”

  “Old?” He seemed genuinely surprised. “How old is old?”

  She smiled at his philosophical question. “I’m twenty-eight.”

  A strange, deep sound rumbled in his chest. A chuckle? A grunt? Irene couldn’t tell. But his expression softened. “I fear you will be shocked, then, by my age.”

  “No, your aunt said you were thirty-four, near as she could reckon.”

  “My aunt is correct.”

  “Seems all my life I’ve been caring for people. First, my sister, Grace, and my father; when the war began, I worked as a nurse in a hospital. Fix them up, get them on their feet, and wave them good-bye.” Her smile trembled. “Maybe I’m a little like your boys. I’m tired of all the goings and comings.”

  He nodded. “Then let’s get it done.”

  Before she could answer, he jumped from the wagon, landing lightly. With a quick gait, as if he had springs fastened to the soles of his shoes, he strode to her side. Amazed that someone built like him could be almost buoyant, she barely managed to get to her feet before he lifted her down. The ease with which he set her on the ground beside him made her feel light and young again. A giggle tickled the back of her throat, but she restrained it, allowing only a wide smile.

  He watched her, his eyebrows again asking questions, but before she could explain her smile, the door above them flew open, and a red-haired woman raced down the steps. “Hello. I’m Mrs. Williams. Etta. Call me Etta. We’ve been waiting for you. I’m so excited. This is so romantic. Come on in.”

  Zach, at Irene’s side, murmured beneath the woman’s chatter. “Etta Williams, preacher’s wife. She’s all aflutter about the arrangements.”

  Irene pressed her fingers to her mouth to hide her amusement. This young, wild-looking woman seemed out of place in her role.

  She ushered them up the steps and into the parlor where her husband waited—a sandy-haired young man with a serious, kindly demeanor.

  Then Irene forgot everything else as the preacher faced them. “Marriage is a serious institution and not to be entered into lightly.” He stared hard into Irene’s eyes. “I know you’ve only met Zach. What you’re about to do is either foolish or very brave.” He shook his head. “I’m not prepared to say which.”

  “I’m past the age of being fooli
sh about marriage,” Irene murmured. “Besides, Mr. Marshall—Zach—and I have already had this discussion. We are both sure about what we are doing.”

  The preacher’s stern gaze shifted to the man on her right. “Is that right, Zach?”

  “Get on with it, preacher boy. We’re both old enough to know what we’re doing. And we aren’t getting any younger standing here waiting.” His voice was low and lazy, like he found the whole thing vastly amusing. Well, she supposed she couldn’t blame him. It was highly unusual to marry someone on first meeting.

  “So long as you’re both willing and have given it due consideration. . . Etta, bring me my book and call Mrs. Johnson.” He turned back to Irene and Zach as Etta hurried from the room. “I asked Mrs. Johnson to be the second witness.”

  He took the book his wife offered; Etta stood beside Irene, an older woman hovered on the far side of Zach, and then the preacher began, “Do you Zachary Marshall. . .”

  Zach’s hand engulfed Irene’s, as if to let her know that although only a marriage of convenience, he intended to take his responsibilities seriously.

  As did she.

  “I now pronounce you man and wife. You may salute the bride.”

  Zach’s grip tightened; his dark eyes glistened with purpose as he pulled her close and touched her lips in a fleeting kiss.

  Irene didn’t even have time to close her eyes.

  She pressed her tongue against her top teeth. The unexpected acknowledgment of their status as man and wife touched her in a way she could not have anticipated, filling her heart with a quivering, unfamiliar emotion.

  And then they were in the wagon, heading west out of town.

  Westina lay nestled in a hollow between rolling hills dotted with groves of trees exuberant in new spring growth. The road climbed gently as they left town. Since leaving Calgary, Irene had been drawn to the view. Mountains distant and stark, crowned with glistening snow, saw-toothed the horizon.

  “Oh,” she gasped, as they crested the hill. The mountains no longer were the horizon; they were half the sky. “I feel like I can reach out and touch them.” She filled her lungs with the cool, sweet air.

  “You like the sight?”

  “Very much. I can’t get over how majestic they are.”

  “Then I think you’ll like the farm. We have a great mountain view.”

  “Then I know I shall enjoy it.” She sighed her pleasure. “I could never get tired of a view like this.”

  He nodded. “Stirs a man’s heart.”

  “Yes, exactly.” His poetic words, plainly spoken, pleased her. She’d seen enough of brash young soldiers overimpressed with their own wonder. “What else will I like about the farm?”

  Again, that sound, deep in his chest. Was it amusement or derision?

  “Depends on what sorts of things please you.”

  “I suppose you could say I like plain, simple things. I like the morning air when it is cool and sweet. I like the mad display of color at sunset.” She gave a brisk chuckle. “And as you can tell, I like the sound of my own voice.”

  “Don’t apologize. We have a great deal of learning to do, one about the other. Continue. Please.”

  She shifted about, trying to find a position that relieved the hardness of the bench and finding none, leaned against her hands. “What else do I like? I like the smell of fresh baking and a clean house. I like taking care of people. I like walking in the cool of the evening. I like order.” She stopped, finding it difficult to tell a stranger so much about herself. A stranger? Her husband. It didn’t bear a lot of thinking about at the moment. She had made up her mind, and now she would face the future bravely. “How about you? What sorts of things do you like and dislike?”

  He stared straight ahead; the way his lips tightened were the only indication he’d heard her.

  She waited, sensing he’d never given the idea much thought.

  “Don’t think much about what I like or don’t like. Mostly I just do what needs doing.”

  “An admirable quality. ‘Joy’s soul is in the doing.’ It’s something I remember from school.”

  “Well said.”

  Zach seemed lost in thought. Irene could think of nothing more than what waited for her at the end of this journey.

  “Are the boys prepared for my coming?”

  “I’ve told them they’re getting a new mama.”

  Mama. She rolled the word around in her mind. “How did they respond?”

  He stretched his legs out. “Harry only asked for how long.”

  Irene frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  Zach fixed her with a hard, glittering look. “He was asking how long you’d be their mother. In their experience, even mothers don’t stay around long.”

  “Oh, I see.” She met his look as equally hard and determined as he. “Then I hope you assured them this mother is here to stay.”

  “I think that would be up to you.” His gaze never faltered.

  “Quite so. I’ll see to it.”

  Zach turned away. “This is the turnoff.”

  Irene perched on the edge of the bench, wanting to see everything at once.

  The road ducked between tall spruce trees, dark with winter’s sleep. Bright green of deciduous trees winked around the dark evergreens. The air danced with the spicy, sharp scent of poplar trees.

  The road curved and opened to a meadow. A low cottage lay to the right; behind it, the top of a hip-roofed barn.

  Zach stopped the wagon and pointed away from the buildings. She gasped. They faced a sweeping valley that rose to glistening, rugged mountains. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful,” she whispered. “I can’t imagine waking up to this every morning.”

  “It’s the best view in the country. The table is placed in front of a window so we can see the mountains while we eat.”

  Her heart had never been so full. The awe-inspiring view was a vivid reminder of God’s strength and power. No matter what the future held, one glance at the mountains would be enough to sustain her.

  Zach slapped the reins, jolting the wagon onward. “The boys are waiting.”

  Irene smiled. “No more than I.”

  As they approached the house, the door opened and a young woman, dark and slender with a striking resemblance to Billy back east, stepped out with two little boys ahead of her.

  Irene tried to study them without staring.

  Zach stopped the wagon, jumped to the ground, and again lifted her down.

  Her glance slid past his shoulder to the trio on the step.

  Zach led her to the young woman. “Irene, this is my sister, Addie. Addie Adams.”

  “Welcome, Irene. We’ve been waiting anxiously for you.”

  Zach pulled the boys toward him. “This is Harry and Donald. Boys, say hello to your new mama.”

  Harry, his brown hair damp and slicked down like his aunt had recently instructed him to tidy up, held out his small hand. “Hello,” he said, his light brown eyes troubled. With his other hand, he held tightly to his little brother.

  “This young man is Donald.” Zach touched the child’s shoulder protectively.

  “Hello, Donald.” Dark eyes, dark hair—the child was very much like his father in looks. He sucked three fingers of one hand, his dark eyes regarding her.

  “Come in. I’ve made supper,” Addie said.

  Zach restrained the boys, his huge hands on their shoulders. “The boys will help me unload the wagon.”

  Irene stepped into a large kitchen; the table was pushed close to the window as Zach had said.

  “You’ve got your job cut out for you here.” Addie studied her.

  Irene shrugged out of her jacket and hung it on a hook behind the door before she answered. “What do you mean?”

  Addie indicated the trio by the wagon. “Them. All of them. Seems like they can’t find their way back home.”

  “Home?”

  “I don’t mean here.” Addie’s arm swept the air to indicate the room. “I mean
here.” She pressed a palm to her chest. “Poor little Donald. He hasn’t said a word since his mother passed away. And Harry—I worry about Harry. He is far too serious for a child his age. It’s like he’s afraid if he relaxes, his world will shatter. Sit down. I’m sure you’re tired.”

  “Thank you. Overwhelmed more than tired.”

  “Zach, he’s changed a great deal, too,” Addie continued. “There’s no life left in him. Except where the boys are concerned.” She shook her head. “The three of them, so hurt. I don’t know if they’ll ever get over it. I know it’s only six months since Esther died, but they’re still so shattered by it all.” She scooped mashed potatoes into a bowl and poured gravy into a jug.

  Zach strode in with a trunk on his shoulder. When he brought in the second trunk, the boys followed him.

  “Supper is served,” Addie announced.

  The two boys pressed themselves against Zach’s leg. Zach scooped Donald into his arms. “I guess we should get washed up, right, boys?” He took them to the washstand.

  Irene watched the gentle way he took each pair of hands and rubbed them together, then checked to make sure they had dried carefully. He took the corner of the towel and swiped a streak from Harry’s face. “Good enough.”

  Irene felt the boys’ gazes on her.

  “How was your trip?” Addie asked.

  “It was long. Canada is a big country, but I enjoyed the scenery. Particularly the last day with the mountains to look at.” She shifted her gaze toward Harry. “Just as we crossed into Alberta I saw these little deerlike creatures that raced alongside the train for several miles.” Harry’s eyes grew wide. “The conductor said they were antelope. Prairie creatures. He said God made them with something special so they could outrun their enemies.” She waited, wanting to see if Harry would express any interest. “Do you know what that special thing is?”

  Harry edged to the front of his chair. “What?”