Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Epilogue
Author Notes
Acknowledgements
The Proxy Bride Books
About the Author
Other works by Linda Ellen
Chapter 1
July 1883
Brownville, Nebraska
M ary Robinson avoided the stares from the patrons as she struggled to carry a heavily laden serving tray across the dining room of Huber’s Restaurant.
Holding her breath as she maneuvered between two tables, she worked valiantly to keep her recently sensitive nose from being assaulted by the various aromas emanating from steaming plates of fresh-caught river catfish slathered in pungent tartar sauce, fried cornbread seasoned generously with onions, and zesty coleslaw. It was Huber’s most popular meal.
What’s the matter with you, Mary Amelia? You love Bernie’s fried catfish…and you’ve carried dinner trays dozens of times, she sternly admonished herself as she pondered the fact that she was gagging from the smells and the tray felt like it weighed a hundred pounds.
On top of all of that, every time she turned around, it seemed as if she were on the verge of tears—what was that all about?
Managing to reach the customer’s table, to which she’d been headed, near the outer door, Mary bent to slide the tray onto the polished wood surface before lifting an unsteady hand to draw the back of her wrist across her suddenly sweaty forehead. With her lips and teeth clamped shut, she sucked in a shaky breath through her nostrils, immediately regretting the action as the overpowering scent of the fish came close to triggering the response she’d been trying so hard to stave off.
With a squeak, she quickly clapped both hands over her mouth and stood straight up while turning her back to the table just as black spots darkened her vision. Staggering a few steps forward, she felt hands reach out to steady her as a voice asked, “Whoa there, Mary. Are you all right?” It was as if it had come from a deep, dark tunnel.
Unable to utter a sound for several seconds, she stood unmoving until her surroundings finally began to come back into focus and the nausea thankfully began to subside. Hesitantly, she lowered her trembling hands and managed a tentative smile for her solicitous boss, Bernard Huber.
“I think so,” she whispered as she allowed a few more seconds to tick by. “Whew,” she finally let out a breathy laugh as she pressed one hand to her throat and wrapped her other arm around her belly. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately. Maybe I’m coming down with something.”
He placed a finger under her chin and gently tipped her face toward him as he eyed her features critically. “You look kind of flushed. Maybe you better go see Doc Reeves. Your leg got all healed up, didn’t it?”
She managed a nod and smoothed her dark hair back off her damp forehead. “Yes, he says my leg is fit as a fiddle now.”
Bernie glanced around at the nearly empty restaurant, and seeing that most of the diners had finished and left, he looked back at Mary with a fatherly smile. “Why don’t you go sit out on the back porch and get some fresh air? Rest for a few minutes. Put your feet up.” Drawing his watch from its pocket, he took a quick peek at the time and added, “No need to start helping with the cleanup just yet.”
Taking in a careful breath through her mouth, Mary sent her boss a small, but appreciative smile. “Putting my feet up sounds heavenly. I think I’ll do that.”
Slowly, she made her way through the hot kitchen, rife with all sorts of normally delicious aromas that had somehow turned rancid to her unexpectedly sensitive palate. Carefully making it to the porch and the glider that Bernie kept there for his employees to relax and take their breaks, Mary gratefully wilted down onto the seat and raised her feet up on a nearby crate. With a sigh, she allowed her head to fall back onto the glider’s curved top edge, closed her eyes, and willed her body to relax. Immediately, however, thoughts and fears began to crowd in.
What’s wrong with me? Is my corset too tight? Answering herself, she reached up to try and adjust the top of it. I hate the stupid thing…but it doesn’t feel too tight. I’ve never been the type to get the vapors. Maybe there is something wrong… She raised a hand and felt her own forehead, then touched the backs of her fingers to her cheek. I don’t feel like I have a fever and my leg don’t hurt anymore. But, why am I so dog-tired all the time, and the least little thing makes me feel as if I’m on the back of a steamboat in rough waters…
An idea of what the malady might be entered her mind, but she quickly pushed it away. No, it can’t be that. Absolutely not. Surely God wouldn’t make me go through that…would He? I mean…I’ve got a nice life here now. I’ve got friends. I’m happy here. If it’s…that…I’ll have to leave. There’s no way I’d be able to stay… Mary shook her head back and forth in a silent argument. No….no no no… Please God, no…
Determined to turn her thoughts away from the conclusion that was forcing its way to the surface, she curled her body to the side and took several deep, relaxing breaths.
Before she knew it, she was sound asleep.
The next morning, Mary looked up at the kindly face of Doc Reeves as he dried his hands after washing them in a bowl next to the examining table. He blessed her
