A Proper Marriage by Dorothy Love Page A

after all he had done for her, but the prospect of another year in this hovel was unbearable. George might be careless, but deep down he must have felt something for her, something more than just a passing fancy. Besides, she was carrying his child. He deserved to know that, didn’t he?
    She closed her eyes and thought of the last day they’d spent together in the mountain cabin above Blue Gap. He was late. She waited as the late-winter light waned, fidgeting with her hair, smoothing her skirts, rearranging the handful of early-blooming trillium she’d found beneath an outcropping. At last she saw him coming up the wooded trail, his head bent against the chill wind. She went out to meet him, running across the clearing, boots crunching on the fallen leaves littering the path. George stopped and opened his arms. She stepped into his embrace, trembling as his arms went around her, his breath warm on her hair.
    “Olivia?” Delia’s voice cut through her reverie.
    Olivia started and opened her eyes. Delia was at the door holding a large covered dish. “Did I disturb thee?”
    “Oh, no. I was resting my eyes. Please come in.”
    Delia crossed the room. “I was teaching Charlotte to make dumplings this morning and thought I might as well make enough to share. Now don’t go to the trouble of getting up. I’ll put this in the kitchen.” She smiled. “I remember how I disliked having to move about in the months before my own children came.”
    “Thank you, Delia. I am tired today.”
    Delia bustled back into the room and settled herself on the other end of the settee. “I noticed the pie on the windowsill.”
    Olivia nodded. “I tried following your recipe, but I’m afraid the result is less than appetizing.”
    “It just takes practice.” Delia reached across and patted Olivia’s hand. “Next time will be better.”
    “Maybe, but in the meantime poor Luke has to live with the outcome. Not that he complains.”
    “He’s a good husband. My Samuel says Luke is forever talking about his plans for the baby and for the future.”
    “Well, it can’t come soon enough to suit me.”
    Delia frowned, and Olivia realized her mistake. “Not that we are ungrateful for everything you and Samuel have done. What I meant to say is that—”
    “No offense taken, child. Every woman likes to be mistress of a sturdy house, and I will admit this one leaves much to be desired. Yet Samuel and I were quite happy here when we were newly wed.” She smiled. “At the beginning of a marriage, nothing matters except one another.”
    Olivia pulled at a loose thread in the hem of her apron. This union was not real. Not to her, not to Luke, certainly not to God. With nothing but guilt and obligation to build upon, how could they ever hope to have a proper marriage?
    “I am not here just to bring dumplings,” Delia said. “I came to deliver an invitation.”
    “Oh?” Olivia felt a spark of hope. Perhaps there was to be a dance, a parade, a visiting troupe of acrobats. Anything to break the monotony and steer her thoughts away from her unhappiness.
    “Come with us to meeting on Sunday.”
    “To—”
    “It’s time.”
    “You’re very kind, but you know we are not Quakers.”
    The Millses, the Pierces, the Thornburgs—everyone she had met in the months since fate brought her here—were kind and hardworking. But the Quaker women, the Friends, as some in the valley called them, dressed as if wearing any color save drab green or gray was a cardinal sin. Their use of thee and thy made her feel strange and awkward. As if she’d somehow been transported back to Shakespeare’s day. She’d heard that the Quakers worshiped with neither music nor sermonizing to break the silence.
    Delia smiled. “Yes, we know. But you two are welcome at our meeting. And you must begin attending church somewhere. Otherwise people will talk.”
    “We will. We’ll go this Sunday. To the Baptists or the Presbyterians.”
    “The closest church is