Page 40 of Short-Straw Bride

Smiling to herself, she tossed the shirt over the line for a moment, then pushed her palms into the small of her back and turned her face up toward the sun as she stretched. The sound of a door shutting brought her head around.

Jim clomped down the back steps, his stocky build making his stride heavier than Travis’s loose-limbed gait. His hair was a shade lighter than her husband’s, but his eyes were similar, only they didn’t have the intriguing touch of green she saw in Travis’s.

Meredith raised a hand in greeting as he walked down the clothesline. The taciturn man favored her with a lift of his chin but not much else. He was a bit of a curmudgeon, but she didn’t let it bother her since he acted the same way around his brothers. The only one he didn’t act that way with was Cassie. But Cassie had that effect on men. She could charm a rock into floating on water with one of her smiles.

“I’ve got some stew simmering for supper,” Meredith called out as he passed. He stopped and turned, but instead of answering her, he grabbed one of the trouser legs from the line and held it to his nose.

Was he . . . sniffing it?

He released it with a grunt, one that sounded rather like the ones her father used to make when he’d find the answer he sought in one of his research books. Then he glanced up and briefly met her gaze.

“Stew needs salt.” And with no further commentary, he strode on to his shed.

Meredith didn’t know whether to be offended at his opinion of her cooking or pleased that he’d actually spoken to her.

Turning back to her task, she pulled a clothespin from her apron pocket and fastened one shoulder of Travis’s plaid flannel shirt, the one he had loaned her, to the line. As she worked to pin the other side, a ray of sunlight glinted off the gold band on her left hand. Meredith paused to admire it.

A married woman. Her. Meredith Hayes.

No, she corrected, Meredith Archer.

Her smile widened as she reached into the basket at her feet and retrieved her nightdress. A sigh escaped her as she shook out the wet, wadded cotton—the virginal white fabric a reminder that she was not yet a wife in all respects, only a bride. She forcefully flicked her wrists, snapping the gown into its full length.

She’d spent her wedding night alone.

Oh, it was out of consideration for her feelings. Travis had explained all that. And in her mind she understood his kindness and even appreciated the time he was giving her to truly get to know him before their relationship became more intimate. But in her heart? Well, deep down his consideration felt a lot like rejection.

Had he not felt the pulse-stopping current she had when their lips met during the ceremony? She guessed not, since he seemed in no hurry to repeat the experience. Travis hadn’t kissed her once since the wedding three days ago.

She’d waited twelve years for that kiss, and now that she’d had a taste, three days without one felt like an eternity. Maybe Travis was the one who needed time. Meredith tilted her head as she pondered that idea. Perhaps he’d suggested they wait to consummate their marriage because he needed time to adjust. It wouldn’t be surprising, really. Her uncle had practically forced the man to the altar. Meredith let out a sigh. She supposed she’d have to be patient.

At least Travis didn’t seem adverse to her touch. His hand had a tendency to brush hers when they passed food around the supper table. And when they’d shared the sofa yesterday during the worship service the Archer brothers conducted in their parlor on Sundays, Travis had held the hymnal and sat close enough to her that she could feel the length of his leg whenever she leaned to the side to get a clearer view of the page.

The Lord probably didn’t appreciate her feigning nearsightedness in order to repeatedly lean into her husband when she should’ve been concentrating on the meaning behind the hymn she was singing. It was no doubt her shameful behavior that prompted his divine hand to intervene in the song selection. When Neill accidentally announced the wrong song number, he decided to lead the unplanned hymn anyway. After three verses of “Nearer, My God, to Thee,” Meredith’s vision miraculously improved.

She reached for another garment, the green calico she’d had to scrub three times on the washboard, thanks to all the soot stains. When she straightened, the tune from that convicting hymn found its way to her lips. As she hummed the lilting melody, she recommitted her priorities. God first. Husband second. Yet when the words of the refrain ran through her mind, they brought with them recollections of a verse from James. “Draw nigh to God, and he will draw nigh to you.” Meredith couldn’t help wondering if such a strategy would work on husbands, as well.

Two shots fired in close succession rent the air. Meredith startled and dropped the clothespin she’d just extracted from her pocket. Then she remembered the sound was her husband’s version of a doorbell and ordered her pulse to settle.

“One of these days I’m going to convince Travis to get rid of that awful sign,” Meredith muttered as her hand closed around another wooden pin.

Just yesterday, Crockett had preached a fine lesson on the parable of the Good Samaritan. He’d kept looking at her with those twinkling eyes of his, leaving her to wonder if he saw her in the role of the Samaritan, performing a good deed in warning Travis of Mitchell’s attack, or if he’d cast her in the role of the poor traveler who’d ended up half dead upon the road. Either way, Jesus clearly told the story to teach his followers to love their neighbors through acts of kindness and charity. How exactly did Travis think he and his brothers would fulfill this calling if they closed themselves off from anyone who might be considered a neighbor?

That sign had to go.

“Meredith?” Travis called out to her as his long strides ate up the distance between the shed and the trees that supported her wash line. “I need you to go into the house.”

“I only have a few things left to hang. It’ll just take a min—”

“Now, Meredith. Do as I say.” The hardness in his voice surprised her, and the firm set of his jaw made it clear he expected her to jump to his bidding.

She had vowed to obey her husband, but she’d made no promise to jump like a scared rabbit every time he took to ordering her around.

Meredith lifted her chin. “Why must I go into the house, Travis?”

“Because,” he gritted out, “there might be a threat, and I want to ensure that you’re safe.”

“What kind of threat?”