Love in Independence (Holiday Mail Order Brides) (3 page)

“Hush you,” Mrs. Vander chastised. “Take Miss Longfellow up to her room and help her unpack. I’ll need to see to a few things before Mr. Vander gets home.”

“Will someone please tell me what’s going on?” Winnie said as she dropped her satchel. “Who
are
you people?”

“Trust me
, honey,” Betsy said. “You don’t wanna know.”

Three

Winnie followed the maid up the stairs. Mrs. Vander had already disappeared, trotting down a hallway to who-know
s-where. Confused, disgruntled, and famished (the latter indicated by a loud stomach growl), she let herself be led into a beautiful room the likes of which she’d never dreamed of. “Oh, my … will you look at this?”

The maid glanced
at her and smiled. “Yeah, the mister and missus sure done good for themselves over the years. Paid off three times over.” She went to the window and pulled back the lace curtains. “Comes with a lovely view.”

Winnie walked to the window and looked out over the rose
bush-dotted front yard. “My, just look at that!” She turned to the maid. “I’m sorry, your name is Betsy?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Winnie studied her. She had a medium build, dark blonde hair, and blue eyes.  She also wore a light blue dress, white apron, and a cap that sat slightly askew atop her head. “Betsy, why am I here?”

Betsy sighed. “Honey, it’s not my place to say, but … Mrs. Vander and her friends
think they’re doin’ Pastor Luke a favor.”

“A favor?”

“I’ll let Mrs. Vander explain. Can I unpack your bag for you?”

Winnie glanced at the satchel containing her meager belongings. “Yes, that would be nice.”

“Why don’t you rest while I take care of this, then I’ll bring you some tea. You must be plumb tuckered out after your trip.”

“I am,” Winnie said as she wandered to the canopied bed and ran her hand over the pretty quilt. “It was a long journey.”

“Ma’am?”

Winnie looked up. “Yes
?”

“It ain’t
any of my business, you being a mail-order bride and all; but those three biddies … don’t let them push you around none.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Like I said, they think they’re doin’ Pastor Luke a favor. You just let things happen natural-like, ya hear?”

Winnie nodded, still not putting two and two together. To be quite frank, she was too tired to think. She sat on the bed, and let herself fall back
onto the soft mattress. “I’m here, Aunt Eugina,” she whispered to canopy above. “I made it.” She closed her eyes to rest them a moment, positive Mrs. Vander would be up to explain things. But Mrs. Vander didn’t come, and Winnie, unable to help herself, fell into a deep sleep.

When she awoke, she lay fully upon the bed. How she gotten there, she had no idea. Maybe Betsy pulled her the rest of the way, or she did herself in a half-sleeping state. Either way, it proved how tired she was.

Winnie sat up and studied her room. The position of the sun had changed
; she could tell by the shadows of the trees outside her window. Good Lord! How long had she been sleeping? She got up, smoothed her skirts, and went to the window. Indeed, the sun had slipped to the other side of the house, which meant it must be late afternoon. Her stomach rumbled, confirming the time.

Winnie put a hand to her belly. She was starving, and had to get som
e food in her or faint from hunger. She went to the door, opened it, and peeked into the hall. No one was about, but that didn’t mean the house was empty. She slipped out of the room, closed the door behind her, and tiptoed toward the staircase. “Oh for Heaven’s sake, what am I doing?” she muttered. “It’s not like they don’t know I’m here.”

“Who in blazes
are you?” a male voice boomed from behind her.

Winnie jumped
at the sound, losing her balance, and almost toppled down the staircase.  A large hand grabbed her by the arm and yanked her back. She turned and looked up into the face of huge man. “Oh, I’m … I’m … sorry,” She took a deep breath.  “I didn’t know you were there. Thank you.”

“Well?” he growled.

“Well, what?”

“Who are you? What are you doing in my house?”

Winnie froze. This must be Mr. Vander. She gulped. “I … I’m … a guest.”

“Guest? I see.” He let go of her arm. “Mercy!”

“Oh, now it’s not as … bad as … as … all that.”

“What?” he asked, his brow furrowed.

“What you said, I mean,” she took another breath for safety’s sake. “You don’t have to appeal to the Almighty just because …”

“I’m calling my wife!”

“Yes, dear?” came Mrs. Vander’s small voice from the bottom of the stairs.

Mr. Vander glared at her
. “Who in blazes is this? Don’t I have a right to know who comes and goes in my own house?”

Mrs. Vander glided up the stairs. “Horace, don’t strain yourself. You know what the doctor said.”

“I am not straining myself!” he bellowed.

“Well, if you must know, this is Miss Longfellow, just arrived. She’s … ah … a surprise for …” Mrs. Vander swa
llowed and smiled. “Pastor Luke.”

“A surprise for the pastor? Well, why didn’t you say so? His birthday is coming up, isn’t it? I suppose we’ll have to have him for dinner.” He looked at Winnie. “You a relative of his?”

Winnie glanced between the two. “Er, ah …”

“She’s a gift!” Mrs. Vander blurted.

“A what?” her husband growled.

“Oh, I mean a
special
surprise!” she countered.

Winnie stood dumbfounded. She still didn’t know what was going on or why Mrs. Vander was acting so strangely. But why would she? She didn’t know Mrs. Vander from her left shoe!

“All right then, now that that’s settled, I’ll inform Betsy to set another place for dinner,” Mr. Vander announced.

“Dinner?” his wife asked, confused.

“Of course, and how fortuitous you should have Pastor Luke’s
surprise
at the ready.”

“Horace, what are you talking about?” Mrs. Vander cried.
“Betsy already knows to set a place for Miss Longfellow.”

“
I’m talking about the pastor! Haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve said?”

Now she stood as dumbfounded as Winnie. “Horace, what have you done?”

“Invited the man to dinner! What did you think?”

Mrs. Vander took a step back, and Winnie grabbed her
, lest she topple backwards down the stairs. “Are you all right?”

Mrs. Vander started
to fan herself. “A bit faint, is all.” She looked at her husband. “Of all nights, you had to pick
this one
to invite Pastor Luke to dinner!”

He glared down at her. “Can’t a man do what he wants in his own house?” he huffed. He brushed past her and stomped down the stairs.

“Oh, dear; whatever shall I do?” Mrs. Vander said as she pulled a lace handkerchief from her sleeve and began wringing it in her hands.

“What’s the matter?” Winnie asked. “Why are you so upset he’s coming to dinner?  He
is
my husband-to-be.”

Mrs. Vander stopped her nervous wringing and stared at her, mouth agape.

“Well?” asked Winnie, sounding almost like Mr. Vander.

“You’d best sit down, my dear. There’s something you need to …” A loud knock sounded at the door. Mrs. Vander
jumped and started to rapidly fan herself with her handkerchief.  “Oh, with my luck it’s Maude or Martha!” She spun around and looked down at the front door just as Betsy walked across the foyer to open it. But neither Maude nor Martha stood on the other side.

* * *

“Pastor Luke, do come in,” Betsy said as she stepped to one side.

Luke crossed the threshold into the wide foyer. He’d never been to the mayor’s house before, and it took him a moment to view the splendor bef
ore him. He’d seen a fancy house like this when he was a small boy, and remembered the beautiful paintings it had.  This one had half a dozen hanging in different places on the walls, as if someone had sprinkled the grand entrance with them.  Remembering his manners, he pulled his gaze from a large painting of a hunting scene and turned to the maid. “You must be Betsy; I’ve heard all about you.”

She quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Well, you are the only maid in town. Out here it’s kind of …”

“Strange?” she finished. “Mmmmhmmm, I know.”

For some reason, he felt like
he’d just been corrected by a stern schoolmarm. “I’m early; I hope it’s not an inconvenience.”

“Not to me
, it ain’t. Don’t know about the rest of the folks in this house,” she said as she closed the door. “You can wait in the parlor.”

He nodded his thanks and followed her through a set of pocket doors, into an elaborate parlor to the right of the foyer. The house was so out of place in the tiny town. It stood like a giant at the end of Cherry Lane, and reminded him of a huge, white cake with pink frosting. “The Lord certainly has blessed your employers,” he muttered.

Betsy smiled. “That and the Vander
family silver mine. I’ll go let them know you’re here.”

“Thank you,” he said as he sat on a chair and continued to study the room.

  Moments later, Mr. Vander came into the parlor. “Pastor Luke! So good of you to come! Can I get you a drink … oh, never mind … er … how about a lemonade?”

Luke smiled. “A lemonade would be fine.”

Mr. Vander smiled, turned, and shouted “Bet …”

Before he could finish, Betsy appeared out of nowhere carrying a tray laden with a pitcher of lemonade and glasses. “I hear ya.”

“Oh, yes
, of course.” Mr. Vander huffed and turned to Luke. “Anticipates my every whim. I don’t know how she does it.”

“It’s
‘cause you ain’t too hard to figure out, Mr. Vander,” Betsy shot back.

Luke stifled a snort
of laughter, moved his neck as if he had a kink in it, and bit his tongue. The Vanders’ maid was witty and brash. No wonder Mr. Vander had kept her all these years. He was much the same.

“Mrs. Vander should be along in a moment,” his host told him. “She has a little surprise for you.”

“That ain’t the half of it,” muttered Betsy as she poured two glasses of lemonade.

Luke stared at her, puzzling
over the remark, when Mrs. Vander glided into the parlor. “Pastor Luke!” she greeted as she held both hands out to him. He stood and took them in his own. “Why, imagine my surprise when Horace told me he’d invited you to dinner!”

Betsy smirked as she poured a third glass of lemonade. She was about to pour a fourth when Mrs. Vander waved at her to stop. Bets
y eyed the woman, and then looked through the parlor’s pocket doors to the staircase beyond. “Mmmhmm.”

Mrs. Vander shot her a frantic look and gave a tiny shake of her head. She
then turned back to Luke and gave him her most dazzling smile. “I do hope you like roast chicken.”

“Of course,” Luke said as he glanced at Betsy, then Mrs. Vander. “Who doesn’t?”

“Mercy, what about your surprise?” Mr. Vander said. “I’m sure Pastor Luke is going to love it.”

“Surprise?” Mrs. Vander echoed,
putting a hand to her mouth. Betsy tapped her on the shoulder and gave a toss of her head toward the staircase. “OH!” Mrs. Vander cried. “Yes, my … oh, dear me,” she started to fan herself. “I’ll, uh, just go check on it!”

“No need for that;
send Betsy,” rumbled Mr. Vander.

“You didn’t have to get me a gift
, Mrs. Vander,” Luke said. “It’s not my birthday or anything.”

“But it will be, July the fourth, right?” bellowed Mr. Vander as he sat next to Luke and slapped him on the back. Luke almost lost his lemonade.

“I think I’d better go check on it,” Mrs. Vander said in a high chirp.

“I said
, send Betsy!” Mr. Vander groused. “What’s the matter? Your ears full of cotton?”

Mrs. Vander gulped. “No, dear,” she answered in a weak voice.
She then looked to Betsy, eyes wide, and pulled her out into the foyer. “Whatever you do,” she said in a desperate whisper. “Don’t let her out!”

Betsy raised both
brows. “Mrs. Vander! Don’t tell me you locked that poor child in her room!”

“What else was I supposed to do? He can’t see her yet! And I don’t dare let Horace find out what we’ve done!”

Betsy rolled her eyes. “Mmmhmm. You done got yourselves into a heap of trouble already. I thought she wasn’t supposed to be here until tomorrow.”

“I know, but Martha didn’t have time to purchase
the ticket that day, so I went. I knew I should have paid closer attention when I picked the date!”

Betsy shook her head. “I’ve said it once,
and I’ll say it again; you and your friends are some kind of trouble.”

“Remember, don’t let her out!”