I mean, yes. I’m turning you down.”
Tears spiraled in her eyes, but Pete pushed them out of his mind. He knew all about that particular female weapon, and its various uses against a man.
“Rebecca.” He growled past his impatience. “You have no choice in the matter.”
“There’s always a choice.” She blinked rapidly, controlling her emotions with a fierce determination that was admirable.
Nevertheless, Pete refused to be moved by her valiant efforts. “Your reputation—”
“Is my concern, not yours.”
She sniffed, rather loudly, but the tears remained in her eyes, shimmering just along the edge of her lashes.
Pete stood transfixed in the face of her internal battle. Even then, even sensing she was honestly trying not to cry, he waited for Rebecca’s inevitable breakdown with a cynical heart.
Remarkably, she didn’t give into her emotions. Oh, she blinked. And blinked. And blinked. And blinked. But no tears spilled from her eyes. Not one.
Pete pulled in a hard breath. If she’d give into her emotions, he would know what to do and how to feel.
Her lips pressed together into a tight line. Taking several deep breaths, she pressed the bridge of her nose between two fingers. Yet still, no tears.
He’d never been more baffled by a woman.
“We were both in my storm cellar,” he reminded her through a painfully tight jaw. “That means we share the burden of the consequences, equally.”
Blink, blink, blink. “My decision is final.” Blink, blink, blink.
“So is mine. We’ll be married by the end of the day.”
Her breathing quickened to short, hard pants. And then…at last…it happened. One lone tear slipped from her eye.
She might as well have slapped him.
Pete reached to her.
A look of horror crossed her face and she stepped out of his reach.
“Rebecca, please,” he whispered, knowing his soft manner came too late.
“No.” She wrapped her dignity around her like a coat of iron-clad armor. “We have nothing more to say to each other.”
Just as another tear plopped onto the toe of her shoe, she turned and rushed out of the kitchen.
Stunned, Pete stared at the empty space she’d occupied. “That,” he said to himself, “could have gone better.”
With a gentle hand on her arm, Emmeline stopped Rebecca before she could run up the stairs. “Rebecca, wait.”
Rebecca swiped at her eyes. The onslaught of tears was close at hand, and she didn’t want an audience when she gave into her emotions. She looked frantically around the parlor. “Are we alone?”
“Completely.”
She blew out a relieved sigh. “Good.”
“What happened?” Emmeline’s gaze narrowed. “Did Pete hurt you?”
“No.” Not in the way Emmeline meant.
“Well, he must have done something. You look like you’re about to cry.”
“He—he—” Words backed up in her throat. Her emotions were too raw to push them out in English, but she threw her shoulders back and tried once more. “He asked me to marry him to stop Matilda Johnson’s gossip.”
Emmeline drew her deeper into the room, then applied pressure on her shoulders until Rebecca was forced to sit in one of the wing chairs facing the brocade divan.
“Is that such a bad thing?” Emmeline asked.
Unable to explain why Pete’s proposal had hurt so badly, Rebecca leaned her head against the chair and shut her eyes.
It wasn’t that she expected him to love her, or forsake his feelings for his dead wife, but she wanted him to…to…know something about her. Her favorite color, her favorite recipe. Something. Anything. She didn’t want her marriage to be only about duty and honor.
She wanted…more. Affection, at the very least.
“Rebecca? Was he cruel with his words?”
“No.” She shook her head fiercely. “He was honorable. Noble, even. And…and…” She sighed. Heroic. Very heroic. He hadn’t cared what marriage to a Norwegian immigrant would mean to his own standing in the community.
“And?”
“And, nothing. He was very respectful, if a bit blunt.”
Emmeline let out an unladylike snort. “So he botched it.”
“I suppose he did. But his intentions were pure.”
If nothing else, Pete’s proposal proved that he was a man of Christian integrity and a true follower of the Lord. Unfortunately, the thought of his steadfast obedience made her a little sad. She didn’t want a marriage driven by duty alone.
“I don’t see the problem here.” Emmeline smoothed a hand down her dress, then plucked at a pleat until it fell neatly into place. “Marriage is a perfect solution to the gossip.”
“But Pete doesn’t know me. And I certainly don’t know him.” Not really. Not enough to build a life on.
“If you give it time, that could change.”
Time. The one commodity they didn’t have. Despite his noble intentions, Pete had told Mrs. Johnson of their impending marriage. The talk would get worse if they didn’t follow through.
She slumped forward, as reality settled over her. Her choices were limited now. No, they were nonexistent. What did it matter whether she and Pete knew each other well? By trying to defend her—which was really rather sweet—he’d tied her to him as no ceremony or vow before God could have done.
“I…” She fought back another onslaught of tears and stood. No. She would not cry over this horrible turn of events. Unfortunately, another lone tear made it past her defenses.
All right, maybe she would cry.
But not here. Not in front of Emmeline.
“I…” She glanced to the ceiling and pressed her fingertips to her temples. “Have to check on my pies.”
“Oh, Rebecca.” Sighing, Emmeline pulled her into a fierce hug. “It’s going to be all right. I just know it.”
Surprised at the relief Emmeline’s words brought her, Rebecca clung to her friend. “What am I going to do?” she choked out.
“You’re going to pray for guidance, and trust the Lord. He already has the particulars worked out, you just can’t see the solution clearly yet.” Emmeline patted her back. “And if all else fails, follow your heart.”
“Pray. Trust the Lord. Follow my heart,” Rebecca repeated, chewing on each word as though she was learning the language all over again.
Emmeline pulled back and gave her an encouraging nod. “It’s really that simple.”
And that complicated, Rebecca thought.
How could she explain to her friend that her greatest desire was to be loved solely for herself? She’d spent her entire childhood second best in her parents’ eyes. They had loved her, in their own way, but they had loved each other more. And when the hard times had hit, they’d turned to each other, ignoring Rebecca completely. With Edward already gone, she’d been alone in her own home.
She couldn’t live like that again. Pete’s heart would never truly be hers. After all, he hadn’t chosen to marry her. And, to be fair, she hadn’t chosen to marry him, either.