Mail Order Mistletoe (Brides of Beckham Book 17) (9 page)

Chapter Nine

Lars went out to the barn carrying the lunch pail Meg had given him.  Something was wrong with her, and he didn't know what.  Already she was worming her way into his heart.  Her upbeat attitude made a difference for him after the sadness that permeated Olga for years before her death.

He had taken on her sadness once she died, almost feeling as if it was a vigil he must carry on to keep her alive in some way. 

Yes, there had been necessary sadness right after her death, and after the death of their son, but it was time for him to move on with his life.  Time for him to be happy.  His sweet bride was so good for him, and he knew he needed to do what he could to keep her happy.

He didn't think it could be the Dakota prairie that was bothering her, because then she'd have been upset when he got there.  No, it was something to do with him.  He wanted to get her a nice gift to make her feel better, but it was a three hour trip into town and back by horse.  That was too far.

He saw one of the blocks of wood he kept there for his whittling and picked it up, turning it over in his hand.  He couldn't pick flowers in November, but he could make her something just as nice.  He found a knife that he used to cut bales of hay for the horses and sat down on a bale with his back to the barn wall.  How long could it take to make a sweet surprise for his bride?

He closed his eyes for a moment and thought about what he wanted to make her and smiled.  Yes, she would like it.

*****

Meg did her chores in a bit of a daze that afternoon.  How had she fallen in love so quickly?  She'd thought she was more practical than that. 

She baked a cake for him, knowing he would be thrilled for the sweet treat after supper.  No longer was she willing to try to make him love her with food.  No, she would wait for it to happen naturally if it ever did.  But how could it?  He obviously still loved his Olga, the woman he'd married young and emigrated with from Norway.

She sang softly as she worked, a song of unrequited love that her mother had always sung on days she was sad.  It felt good to sing the old Irish tune, and she felt less alone in the world.

When the bread had been baked and the soup was boiling on the stove, she sat at the table in the kitchen darning all of her husband's socks.  She couldn't find a single pair without a hole in them, and she'd already noticed he needed new boots.  When he bought them, he would surely get blisters.

She wished she had some yarn so she could knit him some new socks, but that was something she would have to get from the mercantile in town.  She wondered if Lars would let her take the wagon to get some yarn and some yard goods so she could start making Christmas presents for him. 

The whole while she worked, she sang sad song after sad song, realizing they were making her feel better quickly.  She had a voice that was clear and pretty, and she knew it, having taken many singing lessons from the pastor's wife of her church when she was younger.  The lessons were grueling, but she'd been a willing pupil, always enjoying singing for her congregation.

She looked up when the door opened at five, thirty minutes earlier than he usually came in.  She jumped up, dropping socks everywhere. "Oh, I'd have cleaned this up if I'd known you were coming home earlier than usual today.  I'm so sorry!" 

He shook his head.  "You did nothing wrong.  I—I spent the afternoon making you a gift instead of working." 

Meg stared at him in disbelief.  Why, Lars seemed almost shy to her, something she'd never seen from him.  "You did?" 

"Close your eyes," he said, seeming much younger than his years to her.  It was almost as if he was—well, as if he was trying to court her.  Was that possible?

She closed her eyes and waited, wondering what he could have possibly made her while he was outside all day.  She felt a soft kiss brush across her lips, and she smiled.  A kiss that sweet was a perfect gift.

He took her hand, watching her face to be certain she didn't open her eyes, and put his carving into it.  "You can look now."

She held up the object, obviously wood, to see it.  "Oh my," she whispered softly, her fingers tracing the small wooden cat. "You made this today?"  She'd had no idea such an intricate carving could be made in such a short time.  "Why, this is the work of a true artist."

Lars blushed a little at her praise.  "I thought you might like something hand-carved by me." 

She flew into his arms, hugging him tightly.  "I love it.  Thank you so much!"

She knew then that he was developing feelings for her.  Maybe it wasn't love yet, but he wouldn't have gone out of his way to make her something so special if he hadn't cared at least a little.

She walked to the sink and put the small cat on the windowsill of the window she looked out while she did the dishes every day.  "I'll treasure it always," she told him, a bright smile on her face.

He rubbed the back of his neck, a little embarrassed by her enthusiasm.  "Ah—I'll go and milk the cows." He grabbed the bucket and walked outside, surprised by how much her happiness thrilled him.

As he walked he thought about her smile, and how he never again wanted to see her without it.  And then it hit him.  He loved her.  Not in the way he'd loved Olga, because that love had faded when he'd had to hold her up during her sadness.  He'd always loved her, up until the end, but he'd loved her more as a friend than a husband loving his wife.

Every time he looked at Meg, he realized how strong she was.  He could see that she was a happy person deep inside. Olga had been given to fits of melancholy even before she'd lost the first baby.  She'd wept copiously when they'd left the village where they'd both been born and raised.

No, his Meg would grieve the loss of a baby, as any woman would, but she wouldn't dwell on it the way Olga had.  She wouldn't lose the ability to smile entirely.

When he went back to the house, he stood outside the door for a moment, trying to get his courage up. It was the first time he'd see her since realizing his love, and that made it more difficult for some reason.

Her pure sweet voice came through the door and he stood listening for a moment.  The song she sang was in another language.  Gaelic maybe?  Whatever it was, the notes were beautiful.  He'd had no idea she could sing that way.  Was there anything his darling wife couldn't do?  Other than deal with unruly children in a schoolhouse, of course.

He opened the door to her beautiful smile, the notes fading from her lips.  "Supper's ready.  Wash your hands and sit down, and I'll serve us."

He nodded, washing his hands and going to his spot across the table from her, nervous still. 

She put a large bowl of soup on the table in front of him, and a loaf of fresh bread.  "Every time you bake bread, and I come home and smell it filling the air, I want to get down at your feet and kiss them."

She laughed.  "Instead of kissing my feet to thank me for the bread, you're welcome to kiss my lips or even my cheek.  That would do just as well."

He chuckled, liberally slathering butter on a piece of bread.  "Are you sure that's showing the depth of emotion I feel for you?  I know it's not enough emotion for the bread."

She poured his milk before moving to sit across from him.  "Just eat it.  It makes me happy to see you enjoying something I've made for you."

While she ate her dinner, she felt something new between them.  It wasn't just her newly realized feelings for him.  It was knowing he cared for her as well.  If he didn't, he wouldn't have made the cat for her.  She glanced over at the wooden cat and smiled.  He was courting her. 

Maybe he didn't love her yet, but she thought it was possible for it to come if he cared enough to make her something frivolous.  If he'd made her something useful for the house, it would have been something else entirely in her mind.  But he made something that would just look pretty.  She couldn't ask for more

He was thrilled by the cake, and she sat down with a large serving of it herself.  He gazed at her plate with a grin.  "You like sweets too!"

"Of course I do.  I'm just not fond of pumpkin pie.  I'll make it as often as you would like me to, though."

"Any other sweets you don't like?  Just so I don't ask for them and force you to cook something you won't eat."  He already knew she would do anything to make him happy.  How God had known he needed her, he didn't know, but she was the woman he was meant to spend his life with.  He could feel it.

After she'd finished the dishes, he caught her hand and pulled her down into his lap.  He didn't know if he should be as nervous as he was.  Would she send him off to his lonely room again?

He kissed her, his hands stroking her back.  He couldn't let it get out of hand without knowing what her plan was.  Finally, he broke off, resting his forehead against hers.  "Are you sleeping with me or upstairs tonight?"

Meg took a deep breath.  She knew what her answer needed to be.  She loved him, and she was married to him.  Was there any reason left to deny his husbandly rights?  "I'll sleep with you."

"Thank you," he breathed reverently, getting to his feet, and taking her hand, leading her to his bedroom. 

He knew she'd been in his room, because it was clean, but he hadn't been in there with her.  It was different.

"I'm nervous," she whispered softly, unsure of what she was supposed to do.

He sat at the foot of the bed, catching her waist in his hands.  "There's no reason to be.  We'll take it as slow as you want."

She smiled, winding her fingers through his dark blond hair.  "Thank you.  I'm blessed to have you for a husband."

He pulled her down onto the bed, kissing her sweetly.  "Just keep that in mind the next time I make you angry."

She laughed, pulling him down for another kiss.  "I'll do my best."

Chapter Ten

The Saturday before Christmas had Meg terribly excited.  There was going to be a Christmas party at the church, and the pastor himself had found them when they'd gone into town for supplies, inviting them both.

"I know it's a far drive for you two, but it would be a good way for Margaret to get to know some of the local ladies."

Meg looked at Lars, trying not to get her hopes up.  She wanted to go so badly, but she didn't know how he'd feel about it.  He'd told her shortly after she arrived that he hadn't been to church since Olga and the baby had died.

Lars looked at Meg's face, knowing immediately she wanted to go, and not seeing a good reason to deny her.  He did want her to be able to make friends with others in the area.  She missed being around other women, although she never complained.

Meg was dressed in her prettiest Sunday dress for the church party.  "It's starting to snow!"

Lars looked out the window, needing to be sure it wouldn't be a harsh snowfall, but it wasn't.  It was just a light flurry.  "Are you ready?" he asked.  She looked prettier than he'd ever seen.  Her skirt was a bright red, and she wore a pretty pink blouse with it.  She had a red coat with a black trim to wear with it, and he knew he had the most beautiful bride in all of the Dakotas. 

She nodded, putting her hands to the sides of her head to be sure her hair hadn't fallen from its carefully arranged bun when she put her red bonnet on. "I think so.  Do I look all right?"

He grinned, pulling her to him and kissing her softly.  "You didn't look kissed before, but you do now.  That's important."

She laughed, pushing against his chest, but not really wanting him to let go of her just yet.  "Why do I need to look kissed?"

"We can't have any of those other men around here thinking you're available.  You, my dear Meg, are taken." 

She shook her head.  "No one else will look at me as you do.  How could they?  I look kissed now."

"I may have to kiss you before you go into the church again.  Just to be sure."

"I might even ask you to kiss me again.  I can't have my lips looking unkissed!"

Beth watched them from her vantage point in front of the stove, her eyes seeming to scold them for planning to leave her.  Meg wished she didn't have to leave the kitten alone, but she knew she would be much better off at home.  "Let me get my dish for the potluck, and we'll go."

"What are you taking?" he asked, trying to peek at the dish she'd just removed from the oven.

"Stop that!  People are going to think I never feed you!"

He laughed.  "You've had to take my pants out, so I think they'll know you've fed me."  He patted his belly, not complaining a bit about the weight he'd gained since their marriage. He'd needed the extra pounds and wasn't a bit embarrassed that his wife cooked so well. 

She had fashioned a quilted covering for the dish, so that it wouldn't cool too much on the way into town.  She gripped it by the handles, stepping out into the snow.  "It's so pretty!"

"You like snow?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.  She had gone out and built a snowman and made snow angels with their first big snowfall of the year. He'd come home from work and wondered if she'd done anything at all while he'd been out, but the answer had been a resounding yes.  The woman seemed incapable of sitting idle.

He helped her into the sleigh.  The snow was just deep enough to make the sleigh necessary, and she'd been excited to travel in it.  He'd hung jingle bells on the horses reins, knowing it would make her happy.

As they drove, she sang every Christmas carol she could think of, happy to be alive and celebrate Christmas.  There would be a Christmas gift exchange at the church, and she'd made a small lap quilt for covering on cold winter nights, sitting by the fire, as well as two dozen cookies.  Everything was wrapped together behind the seat of the sleigh.

She sat under the lap blanket that covered her and Lars, snuggling up against him.  "I'm so excited to meet everyone.  I don't think I've talked to more than three women since I came to marry you."

"I wanted to keep you all to myself," he told her with a grin, turning to kiss her forehead.

She sighed.  "I love our house, but I do wish we had someone close by that I could be friends with."

"I do too."  He didn't really care much for himself, but he did for her.  She was everything to him, and if it would make her happy to have neighbors, then he wished they had them.  The two months they'd been married had been the happiest time of his life. 

When they got to the church, he helped her down, taking the dish from her.  "You go in with this, and I'll get our present," he said.

She nodded, hurrying into the church and moving to put their dish on the long row of dishes the women had all brought for the pot luck.  They'd been told to bring dishes and utensils enough for themselves, and a dish to share.  That way everyone could take their own dirty dishes home to wash, and the woman would be able to join the festivities instead of having to spend all evening washing dishes.

She turned away from the dish, and she spotted a sprig of mistletoe hanging above the doorway.  As soon as she saw it, she looked around to see if Lars had made it inside yet.  When she didn't see him in the small crowd, she hurried over to wait for him in front of the door, loving the idea of kissing him under the mistletoe.

When Lars walked in, he frowned at Meg standing all alone beside the door.  She'd wanted to go so badly, yet she wasn't even trying to talk to anyone.  "Are you afraid to meet new people?" he asked.  "Do you want me to introduce you?"  She didn't seem the type to him to need to wait for an introduction, but he was willing to do it if she wanted.

Meg grinned up at him, pointing above his head to a piece of greenery.  "Mistletoe," she said with a laugh.

He grinned. "So that's why you're over here by yourself.  You're trying to force me to kiss you."

She nodded emphatically.  "You can't escape it.  You must do your duty and kiss me under the mistletoe."

He caught her by the waist and pulled her to him, kissing her thoroughly.  After a moment he heard the applause start.

Meg giggled as he released her, and Lars smiled around at everyone.  "My friends, this is my wife, Meg."

The women rushed over to greet Meg, while the men shook his hand.  One older woman with blond hair and green eyes took Meg's elbow, ushering her off to the side of the room and away from Lars.  "Oh, you're just what that man needed."

Meg smiled, happy for the compliment. "What makes you say that?"

"It's your smile.  It's contagious.  Everyone could see by the way he looked at you when he came into the room that you have touched his heart."  The woman sighed.  "I'm Belinda Martin.  I'm the midwife around here."

Meg smiled. "I'm happy to meet you."

"I'm sure you'll need my help before too long."

Meg blushed.  "Not yet, but soon I hope.  Lars wants a son."

Belinda introduced her around and she had a wonderful time.  It wasn't long before it was time to eat, and Lars came to lead her to the table. 

"All the men are envying me tonight," he said with a smile. 

She laughed.  "And all the women envy me." She had rarely seen him dressed up, and she was startled by just how handsome he was, standing beside her in his black dress hat. 

"Oh, I don't know about that."  Honestly he didn't care if the other women envied her, because he knew he would never again have the desire to look at another.  Meg filled his heart with so much love, there was no room for another woman.

They ate, talking to the people around them, and Meg was thrilled to learn a newly married couple had moved in just a couple miles south of them.  "We could visit!" Meg exclaimed excitedly.  "You should come over for tea some afternoon."

"Oh, I'd love to!" Alice, her new neighbor, told her.   "We'll make arrangements before we leave tonight."

After all the food had been eaten, and the gifts exchanged, a man pulled out a fiddle, and the room filled with music.  The tables were pushed out of the way, and Meg found herself pulled into her husband's arms.  He danced her around the room, finally stopping under the mistletoe. 

Meg's gaze went up to it, and she grinned.  "You're not planning to kiss me
again
, are you?"

He cupped her face in his hands, lowering his lips to hers.  "I plan to kiss you every day for as long as I live.  I love you, Meg Borgen.  I'm so glad you came here and married me."

Meg snuggled close to him.  "I love you too, Lars.  I was so worried you'd never be able to love me."

"Well, I never intended to, but how could I help it?  When you find yourself married to the woman God made just for you, you can't keep fighting it forever." 

Meg couldn't believe he loved her as she loved him, but it brought her heart joy.  No longer would she feel as if she were a replacement wife.  She was his bride, and she would love him forever.

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