Mail-Order Christmas Brides Boxed Set (55 page)

At least he prayed it was true. He bowed his head, a man who knew for a fact God had turned His back on him, and prayed.

Chapter Six

T
he cold bedroom shivered around her as she pinned up her braid. An Iowa girl, she was used to frigid mornings but this one was made worse by nerves. They popped in her stomach as she buttoned up. Facing Tate wasn’t going to be easy but after a good night’s sleep and more than a little prayer, she felt stronger. One more hairpin and her braid was secure. She gave one last look in the mirror and lifted her chin, ready to face the day. Except for the hurt in her eyes, she looked the same. No other outward sign she was hurting.

Good. The last thing she wanted Tate to know how hurt she was. A girl had her pride. Her primping done, she took the lamp from the chest and opened her door the same moment the front door burst wide in a blaze of ice and wind. A dark figure broke through the storm. Tate. Seeing her, he stiffened and drew up to his full six-foot height. Formidable, he shouldered
the door closed, frothed with white. He did not look happy to see her.

“Morning.” He shouldered away to the potbellied stove in the sitting area and disregarded her entirely.

“Good morning.” She spoke to his back as she skirted around the back of the couch, bringing the light with her. Awkward silence settled between them as she set the lamp on the round oak table. Why was she aware of every sound he made? The squeak of the stove’s hinges, the crush of the shovel sinking into the coal, the rush and tumble of sizzling-hot ashes.

Would every morning be like this? With both of them wordlessly going about their work? Images long forgotten rose to the surface, memories that whispered and nudged her as she pulled the metal ring in the floor, lifted the door and descended the few steps into the cellar.

Faint light lit her way. The memories followed her as she lifted a bowl of eggs from a shelf and a slab of salt pork. She recalled her mother’s voice calling the family to breakfast. Stockinged feet paraded across the braided rugs, little girls’ voices sang out gleefully one on top of another, “I want pancakes” and “I do, too!” Chairs clattered, Pa’s deep chuckle accompanied the flurry as he swept the littlest onto her chair and gave her plump cheek a kiss. “Sorry girls, but I get all the pancakes.”

“No, Pa!” They would all squeal.

Smiling in memory, she tucked the butter bowl into the curve of one arm. The happy sounds followed her up the steps, fading to silence in the kitchen light. A
few feet away, Tate hunkered down in front of the range, feeding the growing fire.

“Ought to be going good in a few minutes.” He didn’t look at her. He closed the door and grappled for his cane. “I’ll make sure you have enough coal to last the day.”

“Thank you.” She set her load onto the table. “Should I wake Gertie?”

“Later. When the house is fully warm.” He took the hod and disappeared into the lean-to.

How could she feel more alone than she’d ever been? She couldn’t explain it. She squared her shoulders, gathering all the determination she could and chose a fry pan from the shelf. It clunked to a rest on the stovetop. There would be no pancakes this morning, she decided, haunted by her memories. She hadn’t realized how deeply she’d wanted to find that past and recreate the joyfulness of her long-ago family.

Maybe I can do that for Gertie,
she decided, lining a pan with slice after slice of salt pork. She would salvage what contentment she could for herself and give her new daughter the happiness and joy she deserved.

Her decision made it easier to crack the first egg and watch the white bubble when it met the hot pan. Footsteps and cane rapped closer. What about Tate? What did he deserve? She tapped a second egg against the lip of metal, watching a crack creep across the delicate shell.

Hopelessness clung to him like the cold draft from the lean-to as he sidled close to the stove with the load of coal. A living arrangement, that’s what he wanted,
as if she were nothing more than a cook and a maid, but she knew that wasn’t right. That wasn’t what he meant. Grim, he lowered the hod, nodded once to her. The apology poignant in his unguarded eyes made her thumb pierce the shell too hard. Egg innards tumbled into the pan in an untidy clump.

“I need to feed the horse and harness him, but I’ll be back by the time you’re finished cooking.” No emotion carried in his tone, he sounded like a dead man walking as he gave a heavy sigh and turned away. “I’ll take my meal with me. I’ve got a long work day ahead of me.”

“I’ll have it waiting for you when you’re done at the barn.” She reached for another egg from the bowl. Glancing over her shoulder, she watched him limp across the room, proud shoulders braced, powerful back straight, a man holding on to his dignity.

She knew what hardship could do. She knew how it felt to believe all the good in life was behind you. Was that what he thought? Didn’t he know that you never knew what the good God had waiting for you somewhere up ahead? It was what she had learned holding out hope that her sisters would find her. She may not have found her first family, but she had the chance for another.

Aching filled her, a soreness that radiated from heart to rib, from soul to bone. She breathed out slowly, all she could manage with the fresh emotion lodged in her chest. She cracked the egg, placing the last runny white and bright yolk carefully into the pan. A little salt and pepper, and the salt pork was ready to
turn. After giving everything a flip, she set last night’s leftover biscuits in the oven to warm.

Cooking was all he would let her do for him. For regardless of her disappointment, he’d been honest with her. He was doing his best. This man would be her husband, and she would not stop caring.

* * *

What if he’d been too hard on her? The question troubled him as he fastened the harness buckles. Old Patches stood obediently, not complaining when a mean gust of wind hit. He wished he had some gentleness to spare for both the horse and the woman. The way she’d looked at him this morning twisted through him. He didn’t like what he’d become.

“I won’t be long, fella.” He patted the gelding’s neck and dreaded the few steps that would bring him to the house where Felicity was, going about her work in the kitchen, trying to hide her feelings. At least the woman was an open book, honest with her emotions. He appreciated it as he patted the horse’s neck and headed toward the house.

It wasn’t easy turning the doorknob, knowing she would be there. Fresh coffee and sizzling salt pork scented the air and he kept his gaze low to the floor so he wouldn’t have to see that look. The one that told him she had come here looking for more than a convenient marriage, hoping for much more of a man than him. He didn’t blame her. He steeled his spine, doing his best.

“I have your meal ready to go.” Her step tapped toward him, a blue skirt swirled to a stop, and he had
to look at her. Slender, soft hands held out a bundle wrapped in a dishtowel. His breakfast. He looked into her caring eyes, which were eager to please and his throat closed up. “I appreciate it.”

“Here’s a cup of coffee, although it’s going to cool off fast in that cold.” She spun around, moving like a waltz the few steps from door to table. Steam curled from the ironware cup she handed him along with a small pail. “And your lunch.”

“My stomach will thank you come noon.” Something jammed up tight in his chest. Probably another muscle spasm. He didn’t know how to thank her well enough, so he smiled. “Maybe having a wife won’t be such a bad thing, after all.”

A smile blossomed across her face, glorious like the first rays of a new dawn rising. “I’ll likely be a trial to you, but you were the one who advertised for a mail-order bride.”

“So you’re saying I get what I deserve?”

“Yes, and you will just have to accept the consequences.” Little sparkles of gold flashed in her irises. “I shall try not to vex you too much.”

“Too late for that,” he quipped, meaning just the opposite and he suspected she knew that. Uncomfortable with the lightness, he turned away. At least the pinch of pain had vanished from the sweet curve of her rosebud mouth. Some of his guilt eased. Life had been hard for so long, he’d forgotten how kindness felt. He searched for it now in the empty places where his heart used to be and could not find it. Gruffly he
turned, words tangling in his throat. Work waited, and he had one more person depending on him.

“Have a good day.” Her words sailed behind him, undaunted by wind or snow, toasty in spite of the sub-zero temperature. Her brightness blinded him. It was too much to endure. He could not answer as his cane slipped on a patch of ice; he jerked to the right to keep his balance and pain slammed through his left side. The lunch pail crashed into the snow. He recoiled, wobbling on his feet, looking like a fool.

No, like a cripple. He hardened his defenses, making them unbreakable as he heard her skirts rustle behind him. The aftershock of pain lashed through him but he gritted his molars together and bent toward the pail. Slender fingers wrapped around the metal handle before he could. Felicity smelling of roses and butter plucked his lunch from the icy accumulation.

Humiliation gripped him, but it was nothing compared to his pride. He set his shoulders, unable to meet her gaze as he accepted the handle she offered him. Coat thrown on, unbuttoned, nothing on her hands or head. She would catch her death in this weather.

“Button up.” He meant the words to be soft but they boomed out of him, sharp enough to cut glass. He wanted her to get back inside where she would be warm and snug, but when he opened his mouth nothing came out.

“I’ll see you at supper time.” Her fingers found his arm and squeezed gently, a silent communication of understanding. Was it possible she could sense what
he meant? That she could hear what he hadn’t been able to say?

He nodded, his throat entirely closed, unable to do more than limp away. Why didn’t she mind the cane and the physical disability that made him less of a man? Out of the corner of his eye, he caught her goodbye wave, a dainty flutter of her finely sculpted fingers.

She really ought to get inside, he worried, troubled at his concern for her, touched by her kindness to him. No, it wasn’t his heart thawing. Nothing could do that. As if in confirmation, the wind gusted, the snowfall thickened and all he could see was her faint outline against the glow falling through the doorway. That image stayed with him all day long.

* * *

“What is your pa going to think?” Felicity climbed off the chair and dragged it away from the sitting-area window. Her back ached slightly from all the heavy lifting and her muscles burned pleasantly from the day of work.

“He’s gonna love it.” Gertie clasped her hands together, pure sweetness. “It’s the prettiest home ever.”

“I’m glad you think so and I agree.” She couldn’t help reaching out to the child and brushing blond bangs from dazzling eyes. “It’s the only real home I’ve had in a long time.”

“Because your ma and pa died.” Gertie nodded with sympathy, her forehead furrowing with thought. “I remember that from your letters. Do you know what?”

“What?” She gave one twin braid a loving tug.

“It’s mine, too. There was a boardinghouse and before that a room above the tannery.” Gertie heaved out a painful sigh, as if lost in tough memories. “After that Aunt Ingrid found me, and I lived with her over the feed store. That’s where Pa’s staying now. I was real glad she came for me.”

“I’m glad, too.” The poor child. She dropped to her knees, Gertie’s misery palpable. Would it be better to change the subject? Why hadn’t she been with Tate? “I’m glad you’re right here with your pa and with me.”

“Me, too.” Gertie rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. “I didn’t like the orphanage. Not at all. Did you like it there?”

“No.” Shock twisted her in half until she crumpled inside. Gertie had been a ward of the territory? She thought of Tate’s cane and disability, the one he fought hard to hide. Had he been unable to take care of her? How had he been injured? Questions itched on her tongue longing to be asked but she held them back.

Poor Gertie. She pulled the child to her, breathed in her little-girl scent sweet like Christmas cookies and honey soap, and gave thanks that God had brought her back together with her family, with her father.

Lord, I know why You brought me here.
She raised the thought in prayer. Never would she have guessed that her past and Gertie’s were similar.

“When I was a little girl and wanted cheering up, my ma would make chipped beef on toast. I don’t know if you would like it—”

“Oh, it’s one of my favorites.” Gertie sniffled,
straightened her shoulders and her throat worked, as if struggling to put her sadness behind her.

“Then it’s settled. I’m fixing you a special supper. Here’s hoping your pa likes it, too.” Grief for the child snuck inside her, stubbornly refusing to let go. Vowing to be all that Gertie needed, she brushed away a single tear from those satin cheeks. “Is Merry still napping? Or does she want to watch me make supper, too?”

“I’ll go get her.” Gertie slipped away, the past trailing her like smoke. The hardship that had touched this family was worse than she’d realized. And poor Tate, separated from his daughter. He had to have been torn apart.

Sunset squeezed the daylight from the sky, drawing shadows into the cheerful room. Felicity lit the lamp and turned up the wick so that the golden glow shone on the calico tablecloth and shimmered on the curtains at the window. Satisfaction filled her as she studied her handiwork. The colorful braid rugs brought out the sheen of the wood floor. The wicker basket and quilted wall hanging she’d pieced cheered up the space between the windows. She’d spun dreams stitching the things for the home she would have one day.

That day was here. She felt heaven’s touch like a comforting weight on her shoulders. A girl’s dreams might not turn out the way she’d envisioned, but she had nearly everything she’d wished for. A little girl who shared her heart, who was a kindred soul. A home to fill with love. A place and people who needed her. This is what she had longed for. This was her answered prayer. Just one thing was missing.