A Mid-Summer's Mail-Order Bride (10 page)

Warren’s back went stiff. Was Grandpa purposely trying to back him into a corner over the girl? Yeah … yeah, he probably was. He glared at the old man, but said nothing.

“Well, we’ll see,” Grandpa chortled.

Warren wanted to look over his shoulder to see Miss Caulder’s reaction, but didn’t. He didn’t think he could stand it if she looked crushed. But what could he say, that wouldn’t be a lie or more hurtful than silence? He’d have to talk with Grandpa once they got home and get things straight between them concerning his love life – namely, that he stay out of it!

When they reached the Riley farm, Clayton was just coming out of the barn. “Howdy, Warren, Sam.” His eyes immediately sought Summer’s. “Is everything all right?”

“Miss Caulder wasn’t feelin’ well, so we done brought her home for ya!” Grandpa answered.

Warren took a deep breath. “She fainted. I took her to Doc Brown’s, and he said she’s just tired, but I didn’t think it was safe for her to walk home.”

“What? Miss Caulder! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, nothing to worry about,” she said as her cheeks turned pink.

Warren hopped down from the wagon to help her out, holding up his hands to her. She stood up and stared at them. “I won’t bite, I promise,” he said, his voice soft, coaxing. The poor girl had been through enough that afternoon and he didn’t want to make her feel any worse.

She leaned forward and his hands encircled her waist. He lifted her out of the wagon bed and set her on her feet with all the gentleness he could. She reminded him of a china doll, one that could break if not handled properly. Beautiful, delicate … and absolutely unsuited for hard labor.

“Thank you,” she told him and looked away.

He leaned down to her. “I’m sorry if I made you feel bad.”

She looked up at him. “You didn’t.”

“I … I didn’t?”

“No. Life did that.” With that, she walked away.

Ten

Bernice’s earlier embarrassment had turned to despair. She drifted toward the house and left Warren standing next to his wagon, a stunned look on his face. Well, it’s not as if he cared – his silence had told her that. An early bedtime sounded very pleasant right about now. Maybe if she was lucky, she wouldn’t have to wake up …

“Supper?” Warren’s grandfather said loud enough for her parents back in Oregon to hear. “Sure we’ll stay for supper!”

Bernice stopped dead in her tracks at the porch steps. She turned and met Warren Johnson’s eyes. Now he looked like
he
was going to faint! Well, at least she wouldn’t have to suffer the humiliation of serving him her cooking. He’d be eating Elle’s if they stayed.

Summer glanced at her, looking triumphant. She must have been the one who’d invited them – Bernice was so blue she hadn’t heard her say it. But it wasn’t as if it would matter. She took one last look at the lot of them, went up the steps and into the house.

“There you are,” Elle said as she came out of the kitchen into the hall. “Where’s Summer?”

“Outside talking with both Mr. Johnsons,” she told her and stared at the wall.

“Both? They both walked you home?”

“No, they drove us.”

“Drove? Whatever for? Is Summer not well?”

Bernice sighed and looked at her. “No. I fainted.”

Elle gasped. Bernice ignored her as she headed down the hall. “Summer invited them to supper,” she called out as she turned a corner and went into her room.

After closing the door, she flopped onto the bed, eyes locking on the ceiling as tears streamed down the sides of her face. She might as well pack up her things and head south to Independence. She didn’t relish the idea, but what else could she do? She turned over and put her face in her pillow. He was going to send her packing, that was obvious.

Or was it?

Bernice pulled her face out of her pillow and sat up. He hadn’t said that, after all – he hadn’t said anything! So that meant he could still decide to keep her. And even if he didn’t … who says she couldn’t be a mail-order bride to another man someplace else? The West was a big place, and growing all the time. If he didn’t want her, well … well maybe that was his loss. She might not be the shiniest belle at the ball, but there were plenty of other bachelors around, and surely one of them would take a liking to a pretty girl who could look nice on their arm and speak a little French.

She wiped what tears remained on her face and straightened. Sure, maybe she’d have to go home and eat some humble pie – her mother would be more than happy to serve it, that was for certain – but she was sure something sweeter would come along. Hadn’t Professor Hamilton said just that, that the world could be hers?

A wild thought popped into her head. Bernard Rudshaw was still available, his family hadn’t moved yet … maybe she could spite her mother and talk him into an elopement …

“Bernice?”

She looked up. It sounded like Summer. “Just a moment,” she called back. She wiped at her face one last time, got up and answered the door. “What is it?”

Summer sighed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have interfered the way I did.”

Bernice poked her head out of the room and peeked down the hall. “Are they gone?”

“No, they’re in the parlor visiting with Ma and Clayton.”

“Are they really staying for supper?”

Summer took the opportunity to inspect the floor. “I’m afraid so. Warren seems indifferent about it, but Old Man Johnson is ecstatic.”

Bernice smiled at that. She liked the old man, interfering though he was. At least she’d enjoy his company at the supper table. She wasn’t sure about Warren, though …

“He feels badly. I know he does,” Summer said in a low voice.

“Badly? Who? Oh …” Bernice waved a hand in dismissal. “That’s for him to worry about.”

Summer was stunned. “Well … could you give him another chance? I know he wants one.”

“How do you know?”

“He’s the one that said they were staying. His grandfather left the choice up to him.”

Bernice stared at her. “Oh my.” She glanced around. “What do you think I should do?”

“Just be yourself.”

Bernice took a deep breath. “Well …”

“Well what?”

Bernice closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Deep in her soul, she felt something, like a spark catching dry tinder. “I can do that, be myself. But …” She suddenly smiled. “But maybe it’s about time I did better than that. You’ll excuse me – I need to fix my hair.” And she closed the door, leaving a shocked Summer standing in the hallway.

* * *

Bernice sat across the table from Warren and did her best not to look at him. His grandfather sat next to her, a warm smile on his face. “Cain’t wait for the day I get to taste your cookin’, little lady.”

Bernice did her best to ignore the lump in her throat.
Confidence
, she told herself.
But not dishonesty.
“You might want to give me more time to practice first,” she told him. “I’m afraid I’ll need it.”

“Well, at least ya admit it!” he said. “Some women are disasters, but then they tell bald-faced lies ‘bout their cookin’ skills.”

Warren’s head came up to look at him. He’d been staring at the bread plate in front of him, and Bernice wondered if he was even hungry. “Who would do something like that?”

“Oh, I can think of a few ‘round here ...”

“Nellie Davis,” Mrs. Riley said with a smirk.

“What?” Summer and Elle said.

“Oh yes! When the Davises first settled here, that woman couldn’t cook a-tall! Of course, she bragged to all the other women how good her cooking was. But when harvest time came around and the actual baking began for the festival, she was found out!”

“Maybe we shouldn’t tell such stories,” Warren suggested.

“Ain’t no story, boy,” Grandpa Sam replied. “It’s the truth. I’d rather a woman, especially one I was plannin’ to marry, be upfront about matters.” He looked at Bernice. “So what else ain’t ya good at?”

“Grandpa!” Warren groaned, holding his head in his hand. Everyone else sat in shock.

Bernice had to remind herself to keep her mouth from falling open. She swallowed hard and stared him in the eye. He’d just handed her a golden opportunity to come clean about herself, let his grandson know what he was getting – or maybe be spared from it. Besides, wasn’t there a sermon she’d heard … something about glorying in one’s weaknesses. She could certainly do
that
! “Well,” she began, sitting up straight, “I can’t sew.”

“That’s not true,” Summer said. “She’s been helping with the mending ...”

“Helping,” Bernice stressed. “But if I had to sew something from scratch, I’d be lost.” She took a deep breath and noticed she had Warren’s full attention. “I can’t cook, for the most part. I can bake, but not without help, and really only cookies. I’ve never baked a cake, and pies at this point are beyond me – I don’t know how Elle makes hers so beautiful. I’ve never done laundry in my life –”

Warren stifled a gasp.

Bernice interpreted it like a call to battle. Her eyes narrowed. “I’ve never chopped wood, though I have brought it in from the woodshed. I’ve never had to gather eggs, because my family never kept chickens – or any other livestock.” She leaned toward him a fraction. “Ever.”

By now all the blood had drained from Warren’s face.

“Don’t even ask me about milking a cow – I wouldn’t know where to start – and I’ve also never churned butter. I’ve never harvested any crops unless you count an occasional bunch of wildflowers. I’ve never washed dishes or scrubbed a floor or hammered a nail. And,” she added, as if administering the coup de grace, “there are plenty of other duties a wife performs that I’ve never come close to doing. Though I hope that goes without saying.”

A long silence followed.

“Well now, those ain’t nothin’ ya can’t learn,” Grandpa told her, trying gamely to recover. “Why, I’d be happy to teach ya how to feed chickens and tend stock. Ya might find ya enjoy milkin’ a cow.”

“Grandpa …” It was all Warren could say. He looked like he’d just survived Gettysburg. And the look Bernice was giving him was unnerving, almost predatory. It was as if she was telling him,
here I am – love it or leave it. And make your choice quickly – I’m tired of your dithering.

This was a side of Bernice Caulder that he hadn’t seen before. He didn’t know what to make of it.

“Have ya ever picked an apple off a tree?” Grandpa asked.

She turned to him. “I beg your pardon?”

“I said, have ya ever picked apples?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Good – that’s the main thing ya need to know how to do ‘round here. The rest, ya can pick up along the way.”

She smiled in gratitude, then eyed Warren again. “Is that the case?”

Warren’s eyes darted between her and his grandfather, his mouth pressed in a firm line. “I must confess … yes. That’s the main thing.” He looked at his grandfather. “Thank you for reminding me, I think.”

“Don’t mention it, boy,” Grandpa said as he looked longingly at the pot roast. “Woo-ee, will ya look at that? Ain’t that about the prettiest thing ya ever did see on a supper table? Bet ya can’t wait to learn how to cook one of these, eh?” he asked Bernice.

Mrs. Riley had disappeared into the kitchen and now brought in a plate of roasted vegetables and set them on the table. “What’s everyone talking about in here? What have I missed?”

Warren had rallied enough to fire a salvo back. “We were just about to discuss the cooking lessons Miss Caulder is going to take from you.”

“Of course she is, dear! Why, by the time we’re done with her, you’ll have yourself the perfect picture of a wife! Won’t that be nice?”

He looked at Bernice again and gave her the tiniest hint of a smile. “Yes, Mrs. Riley, I suppose it will be.”

Bernice felt her body relax. But she didn’t dare allow herself to think that he’d changed his mind. Until he told her so, and everyone else, she wasn’t going to believe it.”

Spencer brought in a bowl of mashed potatoes, set it on the table and sat. “Nobody needs to tell me what was being discussed while we were in the kitchen. I heard it all.”

Everyone laughed, then focused on Clayton as he clasped his hands in front of him and bowed his head for the blessing. He said a quick prayer, then asked Bernice to pass the bread.

She looked at it, deciding whether or not take a piece for herself first, when Warren decided for her. He picked up a slice, handed it to her, then took one for himself before passing the plate down to Clayton.

She looked at the bread on her plate, then at him. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He did it again when the potatoes came, and the gravy, the vegetables and finally the pot roast. She didn’t have to lift a finger. Her heart jumped in her chest. What on earth was the man doing? Why was he serving her like this? Was it his form of an apology for how he’d been acting? Perhaps Summer was right. She supposed she’d better let him. “Thank you,” she said each time he put food on her plate.

“You’re welcome,” he said each time in return.

Only as she was about to start eating did she notice everyone watching them with interest – well, all except Grandpa, who was digging into his pot roast with relish.

The meal was uneventful after that. Everyone ate and chatted about simple things like the weather, how the orchards were doing this year and the two farms’ projected yields. Bernice understood most of what they talked about, but they spoke about varieties of apples she’d ever heard of before. Twice she wanted to interrupt and ask Clayton or Warren about them, but decided to wait and ask later. Maybe she could use it to get Warren to talk to her. After filling up her plate, he hadn’t said much.

Before she knew it, Elle was asking her to come into the kitchen to help serve the dessert and coffee. “I’m so happy for you!” Elle said as they reached the stove. “He’s like putty in your hands now!”

Bernice was skeptical. “I don’t know. He didn’t speak a word to me at supper.”

“No, but every time you weren’t looking at him, he was looking at you.”

Bernice’s face brightened. “He was?”

Elle nodded. “Yes, isn’t it wonderful? Didn’t we tell you he’d come around?”

Bernice shook her head. “I appreciate your enthusiasm. But until I hear it from him, I won’t be sure. For all I know, he’s going to town tomorrow to buy me stage fare.”

“Oh, he’ll do no such thing.” She grabbed the coffee pot off the stove and set it on a tray on the worktable. “But the only way you’re going to know for yourself is if you spend more time with him. Get some cups and saucers out of the cupboard, will you?”

Bernice did as she asked and set them on the tray as Elle got a plate of cookies ready. “How should I go about that?”

“Why don’t the two of you have your coffee and dessert on the porch? It’s not like you don’t have plenty of chaperones around.”

“Together? Alone?” Bernice mulled it over. It did sound workable.