Page 32 of Short-Straw Bride

How was she supposed to know what to do? If she married Travis and he never returned her feelings, she’d be miserable for the rest of her life. But if she ran away when there was a chance for her and Travis to find love together, she’d be running away from her greatest hope.

“Meri? Are you all right?” Travis’s rugged features softened in concern. He lifted his hand as if to touch her cheek again, and Meredith bolted out of her chair. Out of his reach. Her head throbbed at the sudden movement, and the floor seemed to roll beneath her feet, but she couldn’t let him touch her again. His tenderness would cloud her judgment.

Recalling how Travis had extricated himself from her uncle earlier in the day, Meredith took a shaky step backward and employed the same tactic. “I’ll give you my decision in the morning.”

Travis’s eyes met hers for a long penetrating moment. Then he nodded. “Fair enough.”

He didn’t offer to see her to her room, and though a small part of her was disappointed, a larger part was grateful. He seemed to sense her need to exert what little control she had over her situation and respected her choice to do so.

She limped back to her bedroom, the air taking on more of a chill the farther she moved from the kitchen. Logic said it was the loss of the cookstove’s heat, but Meredith feared it had more to do with walking away from Travis.

A solitary tear rolled down her cheek as she closed the door. She leaned her back against it and sucked in a quivery breath. Why was this happening to her? How had things become so complicated? All she’d wanted to do was help Travis, yet instead, she’d trapped him—trapped him in his own honor, an honor more ironclad than the steel trap that had closed around her leg all those years ago.

She should grant him his freedom. Just as he had freed her from the steel jaws of that trap, she should free him from his self-imposed responsibility.

Stiffening her spine and her resolve, Meredith marched across the room to the bed. But when her hand closed around the bedpost and she sank down to the mattress, both her spine and her resolve weakened. She opened her right fist and stared at the short straw in her palm. Out of all the brothers, Travis had ended up with the short straw. Was it a sign that she should stay? God’s will?

Meredith pressed her forehead against the curved wood of the bedpost and groaned. Why did the choice have to be so hard? Why couldn’t God make his will simpler to discern?

“Seek the Lord, and his strength.”

Meredith lifted her head. Those words. They were from one of the Psalms her father had helped her memorize as a child.

“Seek the Lord, and his strength.”

They ran through her mind again, eclipsing all other thought, resonating with her soul. The answer to her immediate dilemma remained as murky as before, yet a new clarity emerged. She’d been seeking answers within herself, not from the Lord.

No wonder none of this makes sense, God. Only you can see what the future holds. Therefore, only you can guide me in the direction that is best. Please make the way clear. Help me make the right decision.

Meredith tightened her grip on the bedpost and hoisted herself back to her feet. Travis had mentioned something about a Bible he kept in his bureau when he brought her that book of western tales yesterday—in case she preferred it to the male adventure novel. She hadn’t thought much of it since, but suddenly her spirit hungered for the wisdom it contained.

She found it in the second drawer she opened, next to a mahogany keepsake box. The black leather cover was well worn, with cracks running parallel to the spine and part of the gold lettering rubbed away from the bottom of the H in Holy. It fit comfortably in her hand, as if it belonged there, and for the first time since she’d awakened, a hint of peace fluttered about her heart. It didn’t fully alight, but its nearness brought her a much-needed assurance that she was on the right path.

Clutching the Bible to her chest, Meredith petitioned the Lord again for guidance and understanding, then crawled onto the bed, propped the pillows against the headboard, and settled in for a long night of prayer and searching. Whenever a verse tugged at her memory, she’d look through the Scriptures until she found it. She’d read it and reread it, trying not to form conclusions but simply absorb what God’s Word was saying. On several occasions, she dozed off in the midst of a prayer, yet when she stirred, her fingers still marked the passages the Lord had led her to. As the first hint of dawn lightened the room, she read back over the verses she had marked.

“Be kindly affectioned one to another with brotherly love; in honour preferring one another . . . Distributing to the necessity of saints; given to hospitality.”

She flipped from Romans to Hebrews.

“And let us consider one another to provoke unto love and to good works: not forsaking the assembling of ourselves together, as the manner of some is; but exhorting one another. . . .”

Meredith turned a couple of pages to the next passage. “Let brotherly love continue. Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.”

And finally, the verses from First Peter that filled her with purpose. “Likewise, ye wives, be in subjection to your own husbands; that, if any obey not the word, they also may without the word be won by the conversation of the wives.”

Over the course of the night, a growing sense of certainty had blossomed within her as she meditated on the verses the Lord had led her to. A thread of similarity ran through them all—a theme of service, of love, of hospitality. She had thought her decision hinged on what was best for her, but as the approaching sunrise tinted the sky with pink, she finally understood that, in truth, it hinged on what best fit in with God’s plan. A God who was faithful, a God who desired his children to serve one another in love and to spur one another on to good works, a God who could use a wife to gently sway a husband to a life of greater faith.

Even when sleep claimed her during the night, she’d dreamed in images and ideas. The Archers imprisoned on their own land. The sign at the gate threatening away all visitors. Loneliness. Isolation. “Love thy neighbour.”

She’d found no promises of any love more than brotherly love. She’d found no assurance of happiness beyond the joy inherently found in hope. But what she had found was purpose and a belief that God could work through her to bring about good for Travis. And the rightness of it resonated in her soul.

Meredith turned the pages back to Romans, to where she had placed Travis’s short straw as a marker. Once again she read the precious promise written in the eighth chapter. “And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.”

She inhaled deeply through her nose, and her eyes slid closed. “I don’t know if Travis will ever love me, but I pray you will help me to trust in your promise, Lord. Help me to believe that you will work things out for our good so that I will not fall prey to bitterness or discontent. I’m leaping, Lord. Please don’t let me fall.”

Exhausted from the long night, yet oddly invigorated at the same time, Meredith climbed out of bed and padded over to the window to watch the sunrise brighten the trees. The dull ache in her head reminded her of her injury, but the floor respectfully stayed put instead of rising and falling as it had yesterday. She smiled and silently thanked God for small blessings. It wouldn’t do for the bride to stagger around like a drunkard on her wedding day.

Travis stared at his jawline in the small square of mirror that hung in the bathing room and drew the straight razor down his cheek. He winced as the blade nicked the edge of his ear. Adjusting his grip, he rinsed the shaving soap from the razor and reached up for another stroke. His fingers trembled. Travis frowned. A lack of sleep combined with a prolonged sense of uncertainty had stolen his usual steadiness.