Page 66 of Short-Straw Bride

“I need you to help me end my husband’s courtship.”

29

The cold musta done froze your brain, Miss Meri, ’cause you ain’t making a lick of sense.” Myra took Meredith by the arm and drew her into the house. “I got water on in the kitchen. I’ll make some tea. Maybe once you thaw out, I’ll be able to understand what in the world you’re sayin’. I could’ve sworn I heard you say you wanted to stop your husband from payin’ court to you.”

“Yes, but that’s not exactly—”

“Uh, uh, uh.” Myra held up a hand and shook her head. “Not until we get that tea.”

She bustled Meredith into the toasty kitchen, collected her cloak, and directed her into a chair, then reached into the cupboard and took down a tea canister.

Grinning at her friend, and a little at herself, Meredith dutifully kept her mouth closed as she unwound her scarf and slid her hands free of her mittens. The strains of a familiar hymn wove through the air, so quiet at first that Meredith couldn’t tell if she actually heard them or if they resonated only in her mind. But when Myra turned to set a teacup on the table in front of her, the melody rose like the sun cresting the horizon.

“Father of Mercies.” A stillness came over Meredith. Little by little, her frantic desperation dissolved as her mind filled in the lyrics extolling God’s abundant blessings. She became so caught up in the prayerful attitude of the song, that when Myra stopped humming in order to pour tea into their cups, she had to blink several times to return her focus to her surroundings.

“Take a sip, Miss Meri. Then tell me what you come here to say.”

Meredith did as instructed, then set her pink-flowered teacup back on its saucer and faced her friend. “I find myself in need of advice—from someone accustomed to dealing with a husband.”

“I see.” Myra paused as she lifted her cup to her lips. “Travis causing you trouble?”

“Not really, it’s just that . . .” Meredith sighed. “We married under unusual circumstances, and Travis thought I deserved a proper courtship. So for the last few weeks he’s been courting me.”

“Honey, if you got yourself a man who’s willing to pay court to you even after the vows are spoke, you got yourself a treasure, not a problem.”

“You don’t understand. He’s courting me like a suitor, not like a . . . a husband.” Meredith dropped her gaze to the tabletop. She toyed with the corner of her napkin as she revealed the rest of it. “He sleeps on a cot in Neill’s room. Not with me.”

“And you’re ready for that arrangement to change?”

Meredith bit her lip and nodded.

Myra set her cup on her saucer and scooted them both out of the way. “Miss Meri, if your man is attracted to you at all, I can promise you he’s been thinkin’ of little else than changing that arrangement. He’s prob’ly just waiting for some kind of signal from you to let him know he’d be welcome.”

“That’s the problem. I feel like I’ve been signaling more than a flagman on the rails, but Travis fails to notice. I respond to his kisses, I come up with excuses to be near him, I never pull away from his touch. How many signals does a husband need?”

A mild laugh rumbled in Myra’s chest. “Oh, Miss Meri. You gotta remember them Archer boys grew up with only themselves for comp’ny. They ain’t been around womenfolk to learn how to interpret them quiet signals of yours. You’re gonna have to take a more direct approach, I reckon.”

Meredith’s hand shook as she reached for her teacup, setting it to rattling against the matching saucer. She managed to get the cup to her mouth without dribbling anything on Myra’s tablecloth, but the brew did little to fortify her.

“How direct?” Meredith glanced around the kitchen to ensure they were still alone. She’d be absolutely mortified if Joshua were to overhear their conversation. The rhythmic thwack of a hatchet splitting wood outside, however, gave her the courage to continue, albeit in a whisper. “I don’t want Travis to think I’m some sort of . . . loose woman.”

Myra smiled, but this smile was different. Far from the friendly, open grins Meredith was accustomed to receiving, this one spoke of secrets—seductive secrets. “A lady can be direct and still be a proper lady, Miss Meri.”

Meredith leaned forward. “How?”

“Have you ever been the one to start a kiss?”

Heat climbed up Meredith’s neck. “Not really. I did kiss him on the cheek earlier today, but Travis has always been the one take the lead with . . . well, real kisses.”

“Then the next time the two of you are alone, surprise him. And not with some little buss like his ma woulda given him. Take his face in your hands and kiss him the way your heart tells you. Slow. Sweet. Full of all the love you been storin’ up.”

Could she do something that bold? Meredith ran her fingertip around the rim of her cup. Even if she could find the nerve, would she be able to find him alone? There always seemed to be another Archer around once the evening chores were finished.

“Even when you’re not alone, you can make it feel that way,” Myra continued as if she had read Meredith’s mind. “Meet his gaze from across the room. Let down your guard and show him the truth of your feelings in your eyes. Men fear rejection, too, you know. Give him every reason to believe you’ll say yes, and he’ll find a way to ask you the question.”

“But what if I can’t get him alone or he can’t read my eyes? Is there anything else I can do?”

“Honey, if the man is that dense, you can drag that cot he been sleepin’ on into your room, nab his clothes, and lay in wait for him. When he comes lookin’ for his things, lock the door and settle the matter once and for all.”