Tara's Gold (14 page)

“Marry you? I. . .” For a moment, she was lost in his gaze and couldn’t speak. So much had changed since she’d left Boston. She’d believed that coming to Iowa would strengthen her worth. Instead, she’d found that the strength she’d longed to find was already within her—through Christ.

And now Aaron wanted to marry her!

He moved away from her. “I’m sorry. I have spoken too soon and out of turn. I know we haven’t known each other long, but—”

“No. It’s not that at all.” She took a step forward into his arms. “Have you ever had a dream, and when it came true, you couldn’t believe it was actually happening?”

He held her hands and rubbed the backs of her fingers with his thumbs. “I guess I’ve felt that way with you since the day we met. I had a hard time believing you were real.”

“What do you mean?”

He lowered his face until she could feel his breath tickling her cheek. “I’ve spent my life waiting for God to send me someone who would make my life complete. Once I found you. . .well, it’s sufficient to say that I don’t ever want to lose you.”

His kiss left her breathless. For once, something out of her dreams measured up in real life. After a lingering moment, he pulled away and ran his thumb down her cheek.

“You’re beautiful.”

“I never answered your question.” She laughed as he matched her smile.

“Will you?”

“Yes. Of course I’ll marry you.” Her gaze swept across the picturesque landscape surrounding the farmhouse that had come to feel like home. “Does that mean I get to live in Iowa the rest of my life?”

“Not necessarily. I’ll move to Boston if it means being with you.”

She shook her head and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I might be a city girl, but if you have your heart set on a farm in Iowa, then I don’t want to be any other place.”

There was no denying the joy in his expression. “So you’re becoming a country girl?”

She grabbed his hat from the post beside her and shoved it on top of her bonnet. “What do you think?”

“Now all you need is a pair of denim overalls.” Laughing, he pulled down the brim until it covered her eyes. “I have to ask you one thing, or it’s going to nag at me forever.”

She pushed the hat back out of her face. “What’s that?”

“Mrs. Meddler said she saw you wearing my Stetson one afternoon—”

“What?” Tara covered her mouth and giggled. “She actually saw me?”

“That’s what she said, but you’re always so impeccably dressed, I simply couldn’t think of a reason for you to be walking down Main Street wearing my hat.”

Tara eyed him from beneath the wide brim. “I must confess. In all the confusion during the shootout, I picked your hat up off the floor and, since I was crawling, I set it on my head for safekeeping. Then I completely forgot what I had done until I was greeted along the boardwalk with a few odd looks.”

“I imagine you looked rather stunning. Like right now.” Aaron hung the Stetson back on the post rail before bending over and brushing her lips gently with his. “What are your parents going to say about me?”

Tara felt her stomach tense, but she was determined not to worry about a reaction from them that had yet to take place. “They weren’t happy about my excursion to Iowa, as they call it. My mother especially. She has a heart of gold but can be rather difficult at times. They believe I’m simply going through a phase and expect me to come running home to the ease of city life after a few weeks on the farm.”

He pulled her toward him and nodded. “So now that I’ve managed to convince you to marry this besotted lawman, I’m going to have to try my hand at convincing your parents?”

“Exactly.”

Sixteen

“I simply won’t allow you to marry him, Tara
Rachel
Young.
There is nothing more to discuss.” Tara’s mother leaned forward in the walnut-framed settee that had recently been
re
upholstered and took a nibble of chocolate-dipped shortbread.

Tara sat across from her in the parlor of her parents’ fashionable Boston residence and bit her lip. Somewhere in the Bible there was a verse on being slow to speak and slow to anger. If ever there had been a time to heed such advice, it was now.

She ran her hand across the polished armrest. She’d always loved the room with its ruby colored walls, fringed swag window coverings, and ornate furniture. But today even the whatnot cabinet that displayed her mother’s china, daguerreotypes, and prized Staffordshire dogs and figurines seemed overdone and made her long for the simplicity of the farm.

She watched her mother calmly pour a cup of tea as if they were discussing this year’s weather or what play was currently running at the Boston Theatre. Two topics about which Tara cared nothing at the moment. Smoothing down the fabric of her violet chambray gauze dress, she didn’t miss the irony of how completely unfit the new gown would be on the farm. She was certain her mother had meant the gesture as a peace offering, but to Tara it had become a reminder of what she missed. Gathering the eggs in the morning while watching the sun make its daily appearance, making jam for the tenants’ wives, or knitting on the front porch while chatting about what was happening in town. She missed the Carpenters, Sampson, Mrs. Meddler, and especially she missed Aaron.

“Have a cup of tea.” Her mother waved her hand at the table laden not only with the hot drink, cream, and sugar, but a large assortment of sandwiches, cakes, and scones, as well.

Tara eyed the tempting array placed artistically on the doily-lined platter. “Father and Aaron haven’t arrived yet.”

Her heart trembled as she spoke Aaron’s name. With Mrs. Meddler’s oldest daughter agreeing to take over her employment at the Carpenters’, Tara had arrived home two weeks ago, believing that the only way to share the news of her engagement was in person. After setting a wedding date for late November, Aaron had promised to join her as soon as he completed his work for the government. Now all that was left to do was convince her parents, her mother in particular, that marrying Aaron was the right thing to do.

“They’re late, and the tea is getting cold.” Her mother reached out a pudgy hand and poured a second cup from the Chinese porcelain pot that had belonged to her great-grandmother. That one item was worth more than all the Carpenters’ serving dishes put together.

Tara took the still-steamy drink that perched on the edge of the side table and managed a sip. Her mother believed in tea at four and wanted no excuses for tardiness. But there was more to today’s bad-temperedness than simply a delayed guest. Her mother’s testy moods were getting more and more difficult to handle, and Tara knew the source to be her unexpected engagement to a man her parents had never met.

Tara breathed in the orange fragrance of the tea and frowned. “So that’s it? Subject closed?”

Her mother added a scone topped with Devonshire cream to her plate. “You can’t be serious about marrying a man from Iowa of all places—”

“He’s not from Iowa.” Tara leaned forward. “He’s from Philadelphia, he works for the government, and—”

“—he wants to run a farm. I know.” Her mother settled back into the sofa. “Tara, please. How many times do I have to tell you that the idea is absolutely ridiculous? It’s one thing to be a guest on a farm for a few weeks and perhaps help with some of the simple tasks, but running a farm is an entirely different matter.”

Tara set down her teacup, afraid she might throw it across the room. She was tired of all the questions and nagging she’d endured since her return home. She needed her mother to understand that she had fallen in love with Aaron Jefferson, and such a sentiment was not a passing phase.

She glanced at the carved clock that hung on the wall. Her father and Aaron were thirty minutes late. Tardiness was an intolerable offense to her mother, despite the fact that one had little control over trains and other public sources of transportation. Still, Tara needed Aaron to arrive before things progressed from a one-sided battle of words to something more lethal where she said something she’d regret.

Determined to keep her mouth shut, she took a bite of a cucumber basil sandwich. The savory hors d’oeuvre the cook made used to be her favorite, but today the dainty snack tasted as dry as a pile of hay. No doubt her father was giving Aaron a similar lecture right now on why his daughter, who had been educated to live among Boston’s society, would never adjust to life on a farm.

How to prove her parents were wrong was the question.

Tara couldn’t help but try again. “Mother, all I ask is that before you pass judgment on someone you’ve never met, please just wait until you meet Aaron. I don’t want to argue with you, but I came to love Iowa. And it’s true that farming is not for everyone, but it’s for us. For Aaron and me.”

Her mother patted the back of her coiffed hair that had been tastefully dyed to cover the gray she would never admit existed. “I raised you to marry someone in a position of influence and authority. This trip to Iowa was supposed to be a short stint to show you a bit of the world and prepare you to settle down.” Her mother’s teacup clanked inside the saucer as she placed it on the side table. Her eyes, rimmed in black kohl, widened in anger. “But instead you agreed to marry, without our permission, the first ruffian who shows the least bit of interest in you.”

Tara scrunched up her cloth napkin between her fingers. It was no use. She would never convince her mother that marrying Aaron was what was best for her life. She’d have to wait until he arrived and pray that he could somehow charm his way into her mother’s heart the same way he’d won her over.

The door in the front hall opened, and Tara felt her stomach clench. She had no plans to disrespect her parents, but she was nineteen and certainly old enough to make her own decisions. Why, she was practically an old maid!

A moment later, Aaron stood in the doorway. It had seemed like forever since she’d seen him, but his presence in the room only made her more certain of her decision.

His eyes brightened at the sight of her, and he offered her a broad smile. “Tara. It’s so good to see you—”

“You all are late.” Her mother stood and pushed her skirts behind her. “Come and sit down before your tea turns stone cold.”

Her father set his hat on the back of a chair. “Darling, I want to first introduce you to Mr. Aaron Jefferson from Philadelphia.”

Tara rose slowly to stand beside her mother, wishing she could have a moment alone with Aaron before facing her parents. His face was freshly shaved and as handsome as ever. Black hair lay curled against his collar, and his white shirt showed off his tanned skin. After a moment, she managed to tear her gaze from Aaron to look at her father who was smiling as he rubbed the edges of his mustache. Her gaze went back to Aaron. He was smiling, as well. Something had obviously transpired between the two men on the route from the train station to the house.

Aaron stepped up to greet her mother. “Mrs. Young. I’m pleased to finally make your acquaintance.”

“Likewise, Mr. Jefferson.” Her mother’s frown had yet to vanish. “I’ve heard so many things about you.”

“All good, I hope.” Aaron laughed. “And I must say, if I didn’t know better, I would have thought the two of you were sisters, Mrs. Young.”

From her mother’s expression, Aaron’s words did little to ease the tension in the room.

Her mother sat back down. “Flattery and smooth talk should be left at the door, Mr. Jefferson. Neither are welcome in this house.”

“Mother.” Tara’s eyes widened as the four of them sat down in silence. The rhythmic ticking of the clock became the only sound piercing the heavy mood that circulated though the room.

❧

Aaron stole a glance at Tara perched beside him on the edge of the sofa. Her expression had paled at her mother’s comment, but he didn’t miss the determination in her eyes. Somehow, he’d forgotten how beautiful she was. Her hair was swept up under a new hat with purple flowers on top and velvet ribbons hanging down the back. Her matching dress was just as stunning. But that’s not what he had missed. He’d missed her laugh, her conversation, and the way she always managed to make him smile. He longed for a moment of privacy to take her into his arms and tell her how much he loved her.

With her mother’s piercing gaze fixed on him, he instead studied the painted wall that was covered with framed floral drawings and struggled with how best to approach the woman. While Mr. Young had seemed agreeable with the proposed wedding, he had told Aaron quite plainly that he was going to have to find a way to charm his wife if she was ever to agree to the marriage. The older man had given him two hints. Flowers and politics.

Aaron cleared his throat and managed a smile. “I understand you have a passion for gardening, Mrs. Young.”

“I do, in fact.” Mrs. Young’s words were clipped as she stirred her tea. “Azaleas, roses, violets, morning glories, orchids. . .”

Aaron clasped his hands together in front of him and leaned forward. “I don’t think I ever mentioned this to Tara, but my uncle was an orchid hunter. He was sent to South America to find a particular rare species for a wealthy Englishman.”

Mrs. Young quirked an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yes, and let me tell you, such a job was not for the faint of heart.” He waved his arms in an exaggerated gesture. “When my uncle was twenty years old, the demand by the wealthy for orchids had grown to such frenzy that it was necessary for those wishing to acquire different varieties of the rare flower to send well-chosen gardeners and other such qualified men on a remote quest to find them. To many, money was no object, so they offered a huge reward to those who would risk their lives in search of a new breed of orchid.”

He allowed the intensity in his voice to grow. “Their travels took them around the world to places like the Far East and South America, and through it all they had to deal with the ever-present dangers of disease, venomous snakes, wild animals, and savages.”

“Savages?” Mrs. Young jumped back.

“Oh yes, and the competition was fierce. These men were often corrupt and had no qualms about stooping to spying, an assortment of unlawful activities. . .and even murder.”

Tara stifled a giggle beside him, while Mrs. Young sat speechless. Even Mr. Young seemed intrigued by the tale.

“Whoever managed to survive these perils,” Aaron continued, “and bring the plants back safely to Europe were bestowed with riches, and at times the orchids were even named for the one who found them.”

“I’ve always had an interest in growing things.” Tara’s mother didn’t try to hide the excitement on her face. “And the orchids. I’ve seen a few rare samples myself. They have such breathtaking colors.”

“I, too, have an interest in horticulture.” Aaron picked up a bite-sized crab puff off his plate and popped it into his mouth.

“You do?”

He nodded and swallowed. “I know Tara has told you about out plans.”

“She spoke of farming.” The smile on Mrs. Young’s face disappeared. “I must say quite honestly, Mr. Jefferson, that a farm in Iowa is not what I had in mind for my only daughter.”

Aaron sampled a slice of cake next, forcing himself to stay calm and focused. “Have you ever been to Iowa, Mrs. Young?”

The woman’s expression hardened. “No.”

“This is delicious, by the way.” He held up the marbled sweet. “Imagine this, if you will. While the country might not have all the conveniences of the city, one awakes each morning to a sunrise unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. And that’s just the beginning. Quiet prairies, dotted by wild-flowers, stretch on mile after mile. The soil is fertile enough to grow an ear of corn twice the size of my hand.”

“Really?” Mrs. Young glanced at her husband. “What kind of farm are you proposing?”

“We have many different options, really. Cattle, horses, pigs, and of course, corn, to name a few.”

“From what I’ve gathered, Mr. Jefferson is quite a lawman.” Mr. Young spoke up for the first time since their arrival. “Worked on government cases in Washington until more recently when he was commissioned to work an important field assignment for them. And there’s one other fact that might interest you, darling. Did Tara ever mention to you that Mr. Jefferson is related to former President Thomas Jefferson?”

“President Jefferson.” Mrs. Young set down her teacup and pressed her hand against her chest. “Why, I do believe you have a bit of political blood running through your veins, then, after all.”

The smile on Mrs. Young’s face was subtle, but he didn’t miss it. She rose from her chair and strode to the bookshelf located on the far side of the room. “I just happen to have a book on the man in my collection, and to think that you’re related to him.”

While Mrs. Young searched the bookshelf, Tara turned to Aaron. “You never told me you were related to President Jefferson.”

“You never asked.” He reached out and boldly squeezed her hand. “I didn’t think that fact would matter to you.”

“It doesn’t, but. . .”

He leaned forward to whisper. “Your father told me that we were going to have to pull out every trump card I had to offer.”

Mr. Young cleared his throat. “I think there’s really only one question left to ask the young man, darling.”

Mrs. Young turned with the book in her hand. “And what would that be?”

Mr. Young caught his gaze. “Mr. Jefferson, do you love my daughter?”

There was no doubt in Aaron’s mind. “Yes, sir, I do. And I’m willing to spend the rest of my life making her happy.”

“Tara, why didn’t you tell me that your Mr. Jefferson was such a charming man? I’m pleasantly surprised.” Mrs. Young waltzed back across the room. “And Mr. Jefferson, I do hope you’re planning to stay for dinner so we will have a chance to further discuss your. . .and my daughter’s plans for the future. November, you said?”