The Convenient Mail Order Bride (6 page)

She nodded and decided it might be in her
best interest to get back into the house. She didn’t think there
was anything she could say or do to make things better. At least
not right now. Besides, her mother would be getting up soon, and
when she did, Phoebe wanted to help her with the evening meal.

Chapter Five

W
hen Abe was done repairing the roof and feeding the animals,
he went into the cabin. He’d gotten used to coming into a dim room,
which was either hot or cold, depending on the weather. But this
time when he opened the door, there was a breeze blowing in through
the open windows and the smell of biscuits and stew were in the
air.

The two women were busy setting the table,
so they didn’t notice him. He took a moment to watch them. For a
moment, he was reminded of the times he’d come in from finishing
the chores to see his mother making dinner. The place hadn’t been
the same since she died.

Phoebe and her mother stopped talking and
looked over at him. Feeling self-conscious, he gave them a nod as a
greeting and shut the door. He wiped the sweat from his brow,
trying to think of what he could say to make things less
awkward.

None of them asked to be stuck in this
situation. Carl had written the ad, pretending to be him. Phoebe
and her mother were probably as nervous about this new setup as he
was. But since he was the man, he figured it was up to him to say
something first.

He cleared his throat. “It
smells good in here.”
Wonderful, Abe. Just
come out and state the obvious.

“Thank you,” Phoebe’s mother said. “Why
don’t you sit on down, and we’ll start eating in a moment.”

Since she patted the chair next to her, he
went over to the chair. He glanced at Phoebe, but she was gathering
the biscuits onto a tray. He swallowed. The last time that tray had
been used, his mother had put tea on it to entertain his father.
She had wanted so much to please him that she had only the best
things out whenever he came over. To this day, he didn’t understand
her mindless devotion to him.

“I hope you like stew,” Phoebe’s mother
said.

Turning his attention to her, he nodded.
“Yes, I do.”

“I couldn’t help but notice your garden when
we came in,” she continued as she put the large pot in the middle
of the table. “Back in Cincinnati, we didn’t have room to grow
anything. Not even a small plot. Out here, though, you have so much
space, and I notice you make good use of it.”

“It is the way of my people to use
everything we’re given,” he said. “To waste anything is wrong.”

“Your people?”

“Ma,” Phoebe quickly said, “where did you
put the tea punch?”

Her mother’s gaze went to the worktable.
“Oh, over there, I think.”

While Phoebe went to get the pitcher, he
glanced at her. Did she interrupt her mother on purpose? Wasn’t she
the least bit curious which tribe he came from?

Phoebe returned with the pitcher. “Have you
ever had tea punch before, Abe?”

“No, I can’t say I have.”

“It’s a recipe we used to make quite a bit
back home. I couldn’t help but notice your tea bags. I thought it’d
be a good way to use them. I hope that’s alright. Would you rather
have regular tea?”

“No.” He didn’t want to ever drink tea
again. It only reminded him of the white men who’d forced his
people off their land and, in so doing, forced his mother and uncle
out here. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to drink tea punch. But he
had a difficult time disappointing an old woman. If nothing else,
he’d do it out of respect for her. “I look forward to trying it,”
he finally said.

She smiled, and he felt better on her
behalf. She went through a lot of trouble to make this meal with
her daughter. The least he could do was eat it.

Soon, they began the meal. For a good five
minutes, they ate in silence. Phoebe, who was sitting across from
him, refused to look at him. Earlier that day, she’d made an
impassioned plea for him to marry her. And considering the fact
that she made it a point to come out to the barn and sit on the
roof while he worked, he had no idea why she chose to avoid eye
contact with him now.

Women were difficult to figure out. He
wasn’t likely to understand Phoebe any more than he understood his
own mother. He forced his attention back to his food, choosing to
listen as Phoebe’s mother told him about all the places they’d been
on their way here. Apparently, they’d started out on a train, and
after making a transfer to a different one, they spent the night in
a town whose name he couldn’t pronounce. From there, they took the
stagecoach, which ended up being an eight-day journey.

“The important thing is we’re here now,” her
mother finished with a wide smile. “You got a real nice place, Abe.
It’s much better than some we saw along the way. Even the houses in
town weren’t quite as nice, though I recall the yellow one being
adorable.” She took a breath then asked, “Is the tea punch
satisfactory?”

Surprised she’d stopped her discourse on the
trip to ask the question, he didn’t answer right away. After taking
a moment to clear his throat, he nodded. “It’s much better than
plain tea.” Her eyebrows furrowed, so he clarified, “I like
it.”

“Oh good,” she replied, looking relieved.
“There’s so much tea I didn’t want to waste it.” She stood up and
took his plate. “Don’t mind me and Phoebe. We’ll clean up. You go
on and do whatever you need to, right Phoebe?”

Though Phoebe nodded, she still didn’t look
over at him. She only got up and helped her mother collect the
dishes.

Deciding he had nothing to contribute, he
rose to his feet and headed for the door. He might be better off
getting chores done early. Then when he got back, he’d go to bed.
It was awkward enough sitting through a meal with the two women. He
didn’t need to sit out in the main room with them.

Just as he reached the door, her mother
called out to him. He turned back toward her, and she walked to
him, moving faster than he thought possible for a woman her
age.

When she stopped in front of him, she put
her hand on his arm and gave him a reassuring smile. “You can call
me Viv. My name is Vivian, but my family and friends call me
Viv.”

“Alright,” he replied, not sure what else he
was supposed to say. Except for maybe one thing. “The meal was
good.”

“I’m glad you think so. Whatever Phoebe and
I can do to make things easier for you, let us know.” She paused
for a moment, glanced over at Phoebe who was washing dishes, and
said, “Give her time. She’s always been shy around new people.
She’ll come around to talking more as she gets comfortable.” She
patted his arm again then went back to help her daughter.

That was funny. Phoebe hadn’t struck him as
shy earlier that day. Oh well. He had better things to do than
wonder why she’d been so quiet during the meal. He opened the door
and stepped outside.

On a whim, he glanced back. There was no
doubt how close Phoebe and her mother were. Viv said something that
made Phoebe chuckle. Phoebe had a nice laugh. He guessed it would
be even better when she burst out into laughter. The sunlight
streaming in through the window settled on her hair, making it
shine like the gold so many white men valued. Valued so much they
drove out anyone in their way so they could get to it. He swallowed
the bitter thought, shut the door, and went to the barn.

***

“Phoebe, what’s wrong?” her mother asked as
soon as Abe left.

Phoebe should have known her mother would
pick up that something was wrong. Well, not wrong, really.
Just…difficult. And she didn’t know how to adequately explain that
to her.

Since her mother was standing right next to
her and giving her that all-too-familiar look that insisted Phoebe
had to tell her, she did.

“Alright,” Phoebe relented, putting the dish
in the bucket and turning to her. “This is going to be harder than
I expected. Abe thinks a lot of white people are evil.”

“Evil?”

“He didn’t use those exact words. He said
that white men take things from Indians, and because of this, it’s
hard to trust them.”

Her mother took a moment to consider her
words before answering. “Well, I can’t say I know much about
Indians and how they’ve been treated. Did someone do something to
Abe because he’s got Indian blood in him?”

“Carl’s claimed some acreage and the stream
Abe said is rightfully his.”

“The stream? You mean the one Carl wrote in
that missive saying Abe owned?”

Phoebe nodded.

Her mother shook her head. “Given the fact
that Carl pretended to be Abe, it shouldn’t surprise me he lied
about the stream.”

“But the stream and land with it is Abe’s.
Abe’s uncle came here and claimed it, fair and square, before
Carl’s father came out here. I think Carl’s father just wanted the
gold.”

“I’ve heard of gold rushes. Only a few
strike it rich. Everyone else ends up worse off than they were
before. Is Carl’s father still alive?”

“I don’t think so since Carl owns the land
and stream now. At least, Carl says he owns it.”

It was hard to know what the truth was, but
if she had to guess, she’d say Abe was right. Abe, after all,
hadn’t been deceitful enough to send a mail-order bride ad in
another man’s name. Phoebe glanced at the dishes in the bucket and
picked up the wet cloth she’d been using to wash them. But instead
of resuming the wash, she only stared at the cloth.

“Do you think Abe can look beyond the fact
we’re white?” Phoebe finally asked her mother.

“Oh, I don’t see why the fact we’re white
should make a difference.”

“I wouldn’t think so either, except if he is
having trouble trusting white people, then where does that leave
us?”

“You should ask him.”

“I can’t do that!”

“Why not? You’re going to be married to him.
If you can ask anyone anything, it should be the person you’re
married to.”

Her mother was right, of course. Phoebe
couldn’t argue the point. But she barely knew him. How could she
come right out and ask him if he trusted them? Besides, didn’t it
take time for people to trust each other, regardless of their skin
color?

“Phoebe,” her mother began, “is that why you
interrupted me tonight when I asked Abe about his tribe? Were you
afraid it’d remind him we’re white?”

“He was upset when he was talking about
white men stealing things from others. I thought he might go into
that again, and it would be hard to enjoy a meal with that as the
topic of conversation.”

“But not everything in life is pleasant,”
her mother tenderly told her. “There are bad things that happen. I
don’t mind if Abe tells me about them. You don’t have to shelter
me. We’ve had it better than most. I don’t have to know what’s
happened to his tribe to know this. Your father and Phillip took
good care of us. And I have a feeling Abe will do the same. We’ve
been blessed far more than most.”

Noting her mother’s yawn, Phoebe said, “Why
don’t you go on to bed? I’ll finish up the dishes.”

“Tomorrow, I should be able to do more.”

“You’ve done a lot today. The trip wore me
out, too, but I’m younger and can handle it better.”

“Youth does have its advantages.” She placed
her hand on Phoebe’s arm and squeezed it. “It’ll work out. Just
give it time. Being a bride soon, you’re likely to have doubts.
Sometimes you have to think with your head, and you and I both know
Abe is a good man. Don’t give fear a foothold.”

Her mother released her arm and retreated to
the bedroom. With a sigh, Phoebe turned back to the dishes and
picked one up. As she ran the soapy cloth over it, she dared a peak
out the window.

Abe was leading a horse toward the barn. He
gave it a friendly pat on the neck, and though she couldn’t hear
him, she saw him talking to it. The horse, as if understanding him,
neighed and shook its head.

Releasing her breath, she turned her
attention back to the dish. Alright. So she had to talk to Abe.
Only then would her doubts be settled. But how on earth was she
going to do it?

Chapter Six