Having lost her own mother at sixteen, Ellie knew the sorrow Brody suffered as he helplessly watched his mother die.
Heart in her throat, she looked down at the Voss twins. They, too, had lost their mother, at a much younger age than Brody. How much of Lizzie did they remember?
No woman could ever replace their mother, but Ellie prayed that whomever Caleb married would love his daughters as her own. That woman wouldn’t be Ellie. Not because she couldn’t see herself loving Hannah and Grace, but because she could also see herself loving Caleb.
That love would only bring her heartache. Caleb wanted a very different kind of marriage than Ellie did. No good would come from building up hope that one day he’d change his mind.
She must focus on her own future. She’d already sent out queries for another teaching position. Though jobs rarely opened up in the middle of the school year, she was confident the Lord would provide in His time. She simply needed to have faith. And patience.
She set aside the towel in her hand. “All done.”
“Thank you, Miss Ellie.”
The girls hugged her, then ran off to find their father and Betsy. Ellie stayed behind, her mind traveling back in time to the pain and humiliation of being judged for something her brother had done.
When she’d told Monroe the entire story of Everett’s crime, she’d expected him to give her the same grace and understanding her father showed the members of his flock. Ellie had terribly underestimated the widowed preacher’s capacity for forgiveness.
It was telling that she missed Monroe’s daughters more than she missed him. In fact, she missed her teaching position more than the prospect of marrying him.
Even though matters hadn’t turned out as she’d hoped, Ellie’s dream of becoming a wife and mother still lived in her heart. Wiser now, she promised herself that whomever she eventually married, he would love her with his whole heart.
She would settle for nothing less.
Caleb stepped into the Wainwrights’ living room and took in all the Christmas decorations. A sense of homecoming slipped through him, calming his soul, reminding him of the kind of home he wanted to provide for his family, not only at Christmastime but all year long.
Standing here, looking at the festive living room, he tried to recall the last time he’d been in this house. It had to be before he’d married Lizzie. Not much had changed in the years during his absence.
The furniture, positioned in the same places, still looked comfortable and inviting. If he closed his eyes, he would still be able to navigate around the overstuffed sofa, the brocade-covered chairs, the piano and various tables. He could walk to the wallpaper and run his fingers along the swirling floral pattern.
He’d spent many happy days in this house, the family treating him as if he was just another Wainwright son.
Guilt clogged the breath in his lungs.
He should have kept in closer contact with Reverend Wainwright. The man had lost his wife to illness, his son to prison and then his daughter to a job in Colorado Springs.
As if his thoughts could conjure up the man himself, the reverend came up behind Caleb and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “I can’t tell you how happy I am you accepted my invitation. It’s been too long since you were in this home.”
“I’m sorry for that, Reverend.”
“Don’t be.” The man’s eyes held nothing but acceptance. “You’re in a busy season of life, still grieving your wife and raising five-year-old daughters on your own.”
“I’m not completely on my own,” he countered. “Your future wife has been a godsend these past ten months, keeping my house in order and caring for the girls.”
“My Betsy is a generous woman.”
Too generous, he knew. She had enough of her own concerns with her nephew and dying sister, yet she still managed to help out Caleb and his tiny family.
He really needed to find a wife, sooner rather than later. After the chaos Lizzie had brought into their home, after the long absences, the not knowing how long she would be gone, or if she would ever return, Caleb was determined to restore order in his home. His daughters deserved stability. They deserved a carefully controlled, ordered life.
There could be no more unnecessary upheaval in their lives.
As if reading his thoughts, Reverend Wainwright addressed the situation directly. “I hear you’ve enlisted Mrs. Jenson in your search for a bride.”
Caleb resisted the impulse to correct the other man. He wasn’t looking for a bride, but rather a mother for the girls.
To say as much would be splitting hairs. The important point was that the owner of the local boardinghouse was on the hunt for a suitable woman for Caleb to marry. “Mrs. Jenson seems confident she’ll have success soon.”
The woman knew his parameters, knew he only wanted a marriage of convenience.
Would she find him a wife in time for Christmas?
The holiday was three weeks away and Betsy was marrying Reverend Wainwright on New Year’s Eve. Even without the concerns with her sister, Caleb would soon be without help.
“Betsy and I have discussed your situation and we’ve decided she’ll continue working for you until you can find a suitable bride.”
Caleb blinked at the other man, humbled by the offer. Once she married Jedidiah Wainwright, Betsy would take on the role of a pastor’s wife, which would require all sorts of additional tasks besides simply running his home. She would visit the sick, as well as deliver aid to the poor and less fortunate.
No matter how desperate his situation, Caleb couldn’t take away from others in far greater need than himself. “If Mrs. Jenson doesn’t have success soon, I’ll figure something else out.”
Laughter came from his left. Out of the corner of his eye, Caleb watched Ellie direct his daughters to a spot on the rug, a ball and jacks in her hand.
“The offer stands, son.”
Son. The term washed over him like a warm summer rain. Caleb had done nothing to deserve this man’s kindness. The words from Reverend Wainwright’s sermon came back to him now. Grace is a gift undeserved and unearned, freely given to us by our Heavenly Father.
Caleb thought of his earthly father. Harold Voss hadn’t been a bad man, just a weak one, so swallowed up with grief after his wife’s death he’d had no problem abandoning his five sons to fend for themselves.
But Caleb hadn’t been completely alone. This man standing before him now had modeled the Heavenly Father’s love in too many ways to count.
The back of Caleb’s eyes burned and his throat closed up tight, too tight to push words past his lips. He thought of Brody Driscoll, of the difficult days ahead. At the boy’s age Caleb had his brothers, and Everett, and the Wainwrights.
Who did Brody have?
He had his aunt Betsy. But the boy needed a father figure, a masculine role model.
The thought had barely materialized when Betsy called her future husband into the kitchen to help her with moving chairs to the table.
Caleb attempted to join the reverend, but he shook him off with a smile. “I’ve got it covered. Go spend time with your daughters.”
“Thank you, Reverend, I believe I will.”
He found the girls still playing jacks with Ellie. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.