Beauty for Ashes Page 0,46

way to Chicago when Reverend Patterson could have married you right here.”

“That was Rosaleen’s idea.”

“I’m sure.”

“She wanted a nice honeymoon away from people who might gossip about the two of us. How sudden it was and all.”

“Don’t think people won’t talk now. They will. But you mustn’t let it ruin your happiness.”

Nate squeezed her hand. “I’ve never had a better friend than you.”

“I feel the same. Maybe we were meant to be friends and not husband and wife.”

“I sure hope the two don’t turn out to be mutually exclusive. I reckon it’d be hard to go through life married to someone you didn’t like.” He shifted his weight on the narrow stair. “This doesn’t have to change things at the shop, you know. You can go on working there, just as before. Only now we’ll have Rosaleen to help too.”

Carrie stared at him. It was the situation with Mary Stanhope all over again. Husbands and wives building their lives two by two, and Carrie the odd one out. “I don’t think so,” she said. “Having two women in charge of anything never works out very well.”

“But Rosaleen doesn’t know anything about running a bookshop. I thought you could teach her.”

“You can teach her what she needs to know.”

“What about your ladies’ book society?”

“It wasn’t much of a success.” The realization still stung. She felt as if the women of Hickory Ridge had rejected her, not just her idea.

“But it might catch on,” Nate said, “if you stick with it.”

Just then Rosaleen crossed the parlor and hurried up the stairs, her pink skirts rustling. She nodded to Carrie and smiled at Nate. “I’m going up to pack the rest of my things. I won’t be long.”

Nate beamed at his bride. “Take your time, my dear.”

Though Carrie was quickly becoming resigned to the situation, hearing Nate’s endearment and seeing the adoring way he and Rosaleen looked at each other was more than she could take. She got to her feet. “I must help Mrs. Whitcomb.”

He rose. “Carrie—”

“I left a few of my things at the shop. I’ll get them in the morning.”

“I know this has been a shock. But I wish you’d take some time to reconsider.”

“I could think on it a hundred years, but I won’t change my mind.”

“How will you earn a living?” Nate asked.

“I still have a few dollars. Now that Rosaleen won’t be living here, perhaps I can work for Mrs. Whitcomb. She plans to fix the place up before the Race Day visitors hit town. She’ll need help with scrubbing floors and washing curtains.”

“Such work is necessary, but it’s a waste of your intelligence.”

She shrugged. “It’s honest labor, no different than working the farm. Besides, with so many people around here out of work, I’ll be thankful to have anything.”

“True enough, I reckon. I heard your brother went up north to look for a job. How’s he getting on? Any luck?”

Rosaleen appeared above them dragging a battered trunk and a smaller suitcase. “Nate honey, can you give me a hand?”

“Coming, sweetheart.”

Nate bounded up the stairs, grabbed the luggage, and bumped it down the stairs. Rosaleen followed. When she reached Carrie, she put one arm about Carrie’s shoulders and whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

“Are you?” She and Rosaleen weren’t exactly friends, but Carrie still felt betrayed. Had Rosaleen talked about her to Nate? Had they laughed about her together? Did Rosaleen feel sorry for her, the jilted would-be bride, or did she feel only triumph at having so easily stolen Nate away?

Carrie watched them leave the hotel. Arms akimbo, Mrs. Whitcomb turned to Carrie. “If this isn’t a fine kettle of fish. I can’t imagine what in the world possessed Nate Chastain. I thought the two of you were . . .”

Carrie shook her head. If she tired to speak, she might cry. And what use were tears?

“It don’t make a lick of sense if you ask me.” Mrs. Whitcomb made a tsk-tsk sound. “Well, I reckon it’s not for me and you to figure out. God moves in mysterious ways, and this marriage surely must be the mystery of the ages.”

Before Carrie could reply, Rachel Ryan hurried into the hotel, her eyes shining. “They did it. They actually eloped, and nobody suspected a thing.”

Mrs. Whitcomb frowned. “What do you know about this deception?”

Rachel grinned. “It was just about the most romantic thing I ever heard. I had to help. So I made up the story about needing a new dress to cover for Rosaleen while she caught the

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