The Springtime Mail Order Bride (4 page)

“Samijo,” he said. “I think I like it. But only one way to be sure.”

“What?” she asked confused.

“Your name, I gotta make sure it sounds right before I use it.”

She stared up at him. “And how do you do that?”

He smiled, and cupped a hand to his mouth. “Samijo!” he yelled at the top of his lungs. “It’s time for supper, Samijo!”

She jumped
at his loud, booming voice, and listened to its distant echo.  “
That’s
how you find out if you like it?”

“I’m not done.” He cupped his hand again. “Samijo, run!”

“Run from what?” she asked, a hint of concern in her voice.

He chuckled as he looked into her eyes. “Samijo, have you milked the cows yet?”

She gazed up at him, and smiled. “No.”

“Samijo,
have you cooked my supper yet?”

Her smile broadened
. “No.”

He leaned toward her. “Samijo,” he said, his voice low and soft. “Have you made my favorite pie?”

“Yes.”

He licked his lips and glanced away.  “What kind of pie have you made, Samijo?”

She was still looking at him when he turned back to her, their faces now closer than before.  “Cherry,” she guessed.

“You always kn
ow what I like, don’t ya Samijo?”

She swallowed, her entire body felt all wobbly and l
oose, like she was made of jelly. “I suppose so. We are married after all.”

He smiled, and his eyes took on a tender look she had never seen in the eyes of any man. “That we are.”

Her eyes closed of their own accord at the sound of his voice, and when he put an arm about her shoulders and pulled her against him, she thought her heart was going to leap from her chest. “It’s getting colder, Samijo,” he said. “Best you sit right next to me, you’ll stay warmer that way.”

She couldn’t speak, as her body continued to warm at his t
ouch, turning her limbs to water.  If she wasn’t careful, she’d slide right off the wagon seat! She’d never sat this close to a man before, and found the experience thrilling. Her heart was beating so fast she thought she’d die. Yet she felt so relaxed at the same time.  What
was
this?

“You know Samijo,” he began. “I think we’re gonna get along just fine.”
He looked down at her again, and smiled.

She had to make herself breathe. In, out, in, out, and concentrate on staying upright.  The urge to lean against him was overwhelming, his presence next to her like nothing she’d ever felt before. “Yes, I … I think we are.”

He smiled. “Even if you can’t sew.”

She smiled back, and they laughed together for the first time.

* * *

It was just after dark when they reached the Gunderson’s stage stop.  Arlan helped Samijo out of the wagon, noted one stagecoach near the barn, and guided her inside.  Passengers were already settled and sitting down to supper as they entered. “Well look who it is!  Arlan Weaver, where have you been?” Mrs. Gunderson called across the room.

Arlan smiled a
s he gave Samijo a gentle shove toward the nearest table. “Nowhere. Need a couple of beds for the night, you got any left?”

“I got a few,” she told him as
she looked at Samijo. “Who’s this?”

  “M
y wife,” he said quietly.

Mrs. Gunderson beamed. “Oh!” she exclaimed and clapped her hands before her. “I had no
idea!” she said in a low voice. “When?”

“Just this afternoon.”

“Oh, hearts are gonna break when folks find out you’re taken … wait a minute … what do you want
two
beds for?” she asked.

He smiled. Because I’ll spend my wedding night at home in my
own
bed.”

“But tonight
is your wedding night,” she argued.

“It’ll be my wedding night when I say it is,” he shot back.

“You always were a stubborn thing, Arlan.” She turned to Samijo. “Don’t you let him boss you around, and if he does, you give it right back, ya hear?”

She raised a single brow at the remark. “That’s twice I’ve been told the very same thing,” she said with a smile.

“And you’ll hear it again, no doubt.” Mrs. Gunderson remarked. “So long as you’re married to
him
you will!”

Arlan’s face was an expressionless mask. “Two beds, Mrs. Gunderson.”

She sighed. “Fine, but I still say it’s no way to treat your bride on your wedding night.”

He glanced around at the other passengers.  Several men were playing cards, their supper plates untouched. While two women, a mother and daughter from the looks of it, picked at their food at another table.  “With this many folks around, I’d say it is.”

She looked to the other passengers as well. “I see your point. Two rooms it is. Go take care of your team, and I’ll see about your supper.”

“Much obliged, Mrs. Gunderson.” He tipped his hat, then took Samijo by the elbo
w and steered her toward a chair. “You’ll be fine here until I get back.  Mrs. Gunderson will see to anything you want. I’ll bring in some of your things.”

She looked at him and smiled in acknowledgement. For some odd reason, she didn’t want him to go, even if it was only as far as the barn.  She’d grown used to his presence on the long drive
. “I’ll be fine.”

He leaned down to her. “Will you now? You’re not fibbing to me are you?” he said in a teasing tone.

She bit her lower lip and blushed.

“Ah, the truth at last.” With that he left to go tend the horses.

“I can’t believe it.”

Samijo looked up. Mrs. Gunderson stood with a plate of food in her hand. “Excuse me?”

“I can’t believe Arlan Weaver married. His mama’s been trying to talk him into marrying for as long as I can remember.”

Samijo felt herself blush again, but then curiosity caught up with her. “Why hasn’t he married until now?”

Mrs. Gunderson set the plate on the table. “Don’t know, there’s the farm of course, and then his brothers. Woo wee, they’re a handful.” She looked at Samijo, and her expression went flat. “You
do
know about his brothers, don’t you?”

“Uh, no … he didn’t mention
any brothers. Only his mother.”

  Mrs. Gunderson sat, and leaned back in the chair. “Oh dearie me, you mean he
hasn’t once mentioned the twins or Daniel?”

Samijo’s eyes widened at the sudden shocked look in the woman’s eye. “No,” she said, her voice weak.

“Well then honey, you’d best eat up. You’re going to need your strength come tomorrow when he brings you home.”

Four

By the time Arlan finished tending the horses and securing the wagon, Samijo had all sorts of scenarios running through her mind, all sparked by one question. What was wrong with Arlan’s brothers? There had to be
something
, otherwise why would Mrs. Gunderson have said what she did and acted so strangely?

She watched with trepidation as her new husband plopped down in a chair and eyed her untouched food. “You sick? That plate looks like you haven’t taken a single bite. I know we had some jerky earlier, but that can’t still be with you.”

She looked at her food, before raising her eyes to his. “I … have some things on my mind.”

He studied her, and smiled. “I like it when you’re honest. Makes you pretty.”

She gave him her full attention. “What?”

He smiled again. “I said it makes you pretty.  My pa used to say honesty brings out the best in people. With you, it  …” his words trailed off as he looked into her eyes. She fe
lt herself lean forward, drawn into their blue depths as she waited for his words, and became vaguely aware of  a hand sliding across the table to her own. One of his fingers brushed against hers as he leaned closer. “Makes you pretty,” he finished on a whisper.

“Are you
sure
you don’t want to get one room?”

Arlan and Samijo
flew back in their chairs at the sudden appearance of Mrs. Gunderson. She set a plate of food in front of Arlan. “I’ll even charge you half-price!”

Arlan press
ed his lips together and glared at her with one eye. “Mrs. Gunderson, did I not make myself clear the first time?”

“Yes you did. But I think you’re an idiot.”

  Samijo burst into laughter. Arlan opened his other eye and aimed his glare at her.  She met the look head-on, and forgot about the issue of his brothers.  She was beginning to learn her new husband’s sense of humor and found she enjoyed it.  He might come across as gruff and maybe even a little mean at the onset. But she was quick to discover that Arlan Weaver liked to play, in a subtle sort of way, that is, and she wanted to play too. “She thinks you’re an idiot,” Samijo echoed.

“What do
you
think?” he asked.

Touché.  She leaned forward again, her mind racing as to what to say. “I think … that …”

“
Yes
?” he drawled.

“That you have nothing but my best interest in mind.”

He cocked his head ever so slightly, studying her. “True. Now eat your dinner before it gets any colder than it already is.  Your new coat won’t be able to warm those potatoes up.”

She laughed at his joke,
picked up her fork, and they shared their first supper together.

* * *

When the meal was finished, Samijo watched her husband roam around the room and speak to the other guests while Mrs. Gunderson served dessert.  One man talked like he knew Arlan, as others listened politely and answered his questions about where they were from, where they were headed, and thanked him when he wished them luck in their travels.  His eyes said he was genuinely interested in them, and the men laughed when he told a joke.  The two women watched in fascination, especially the younger one, who, though older than Samijo, didn’t hide the fact she found Arlan a handsome man.  She looked at him the way Uncle Burr used to look at her, and Samijo’s stomach knotted with the unfamiliar fire of jealousy. It came out of nowhere and almost slapped the sense out of her.  For a moment, she wanted to march over to the woman and yank her hair.

She took a
bite of her dessert instead, and then a sip of coffee to still her mind.  She had no reason to be jealous, she was the one married to the man.  She blew some hair out of her eyes at her own foolishness, and continued to watch.

It wasn’t long before the woman who’d been staring at Arlan got up, and sashayed her way over to her table. “May I join you?”

Samijo’s jealousy reignited. “Of course,” she said stiffly and motioned to the chair Arlan had occupied. She picked up her coffee and took another sip to keep the jealousy at bay. The woman was very beautiful.

“I’ve been through her
e several times,” the woman told her. “But I’ve never seen you here before. Passing through?”

“Not really, I live in the area. We left Nowhere too late, and so stopped over.”  Samijo felt disjointed. Her words sounded calm, but her insides were in turmoil.  There was something about the woman she didn’t like, but couldn’t figure
out what it was, other than the obvious.

“H
ave you lived here long?”

“No, I just arrived.”

“I see. But how rude of me, I haven’t introduced myself.  I’m Olivia Bridger, and that’s my mother over there. We’re going home after visiting family east of here.”

“Where’s home?”

“It was Oregon City, but we’re meeting my father in Nowhere. We’re thinking of moving there.”

“Oh,” was the only word to come to mind.  Olivia Bridger had to be close to Arlan’s age, and Samijo wondered if she was married. “Do you have any other family?”

“Only my younger brother. He’s traveling with my father. See that man in the blue jacket? That’s my cousin. He’s escorting us.”

Samijo looked to the m
an. He in turn was looking back with the same look dear Olivia had been giving Arlan. Like a starving man staring at a haunch of meat cooking on a spit. She sank a little in her chair, and sought her husband.  Perhaps he sensed her discomfort, for in an instant, he was at her side. “How’s the pie?” he asked.

She looked to him, relief in her eyes. He glanced about the room, his gaze falling on Olivia’s cousin, who had gone back to the card game the men were p
laying earlier. “It’s good, you should try some.”

“I would, but
somebody seems to be in my chair.”

Olivia giggled. “Oh, aren’t you the smooth talker?” She raised h
er hand up to him. “I’m Olivia Bridger, and you are?”

Samijo stared at her, w
as she expecting him to kiss it? She looked at Arlan to see if he considered doing so, her jealousy spreading through her like wild fire. Her eyes then became fixed on Olivia’s triumphant smile.

He stared at her
hand before he took it in his own, and roughly shook it. “Name’s Arlan Weaver, and this is my wife, Samijo.”

Samij
o’s eyes flicked from the woman back to him when he spoke it, and she smiled.  So, he
had
made up his mind to call her that from now on.

“Yes, we’ve met,”
Olivia said in a flat tone. “Though I didn’t catch the name.” She turned to Samijo. “How … adorable. Sounds like a name you’d give a puppy.”
Samijo’s eyes flashed.  Was that an insult?  It was times like these she wished she’d been allowed to socialize more while growing up.

“I don’t think so,” Arlan disagreed. “It’s my
personal name for her, and I assure you, she is no puppy.”

Olivia’s eyes widened at his stern tone. “I meant no disrespect.” She stood. “I think I’d better head back to my mother now.”

“You have a pleasant evening, Miss Bridger. And I’ll have my pie.”  He sat, and watched as she sashayed her way back to her table.

When he turned back to Samijo, she was staring at him with new admiration in her eyes. “Thank you,” she told him in a soft voice.

“For what?” he asked as he sat then stabbed his pie with a fork.

“For telling her I’m not a puppy.”

He smiled. “No. You’re my wife, and no one is going to tell me otherwise. Now, let’s enjoy our pie.”

And so,
they shared their first dessert of pie and coffee together.

* * *

Arlan’s new bride was beautiful when riled, and he found he liked to tease her.  But in his world, there was teasing, and then there was
teasing,
and he figured it in his best interest to leave the latter alone. At least until he could gauge how much she could take, and how well she could sling it back.  She’d have to learn sooner or later, especially now that she was part of the Weaver clan.

They walked to her
room, and Arlan stopped her before she went inside. “You get enough to eat?”

“Yes, I’m fine. You can stop asking.”

“Just making sure.” He handed her a cloth sack, and a wrapped package. “I put some of your new things in here. You’ll need them for tonight. Are you cold? I could have Mrs. Gunderson give you extra blankets.”

She smiled as she
took the sack and package from him, and looked up into his eyes. “Thank you.”

They stood and stared at each other before he finally asked, “For what?”

“For everything. No one’s ever done so much for me before.”

He stood straight, his heart filling with pride. “I’m glad to do it. You’ll be warm enough?”

“I’m sure I will. I’ve slept in much colder circumstances than … er, never mind.”

He eyed her, her words grating. He hated when she became evasive, but wasn’t going to
push it tonight.  Right now, he wanted to gaze at her.  She had a contented look on her face, and he knew it was from the meal, and the fact she was finally warm.  He wanted to keep her that way.  He also had the sudden urge to kiss her, but swallowed hard and looked away. “I’d best go find my bed. I’ll see you in the morning,” he said and turned to leave.

She r
eached out and touched his arm to stop him. “Thank you again … for everything.”

He looked down at her, and could see the gratitude in her
big brown eyes. The sight made his heart swell, and he realized her hand was still on his sleeve.  He took it in one of his own, his eyes never leaving hers, then bent at the waist, and ever so gently kissed the tender skin.

She sucked in a shaky br
eath as her lower lip trembled. “Good night,” she said as she pulled her hand away, stepped into the room, and after one last look at him, closed the door behind her.

Arlan smiled, pleased with her reaction. He wanted his wife to know that it was
her
hand he would kiss. Not the hand of someone like that Bridger woman downstairs. 

“How romantic …
”

Speak of the devil.
Arlan turned around to face Olivia Bridger. He’d been so enamored with Samijo, he hadn’t heard her come up behind him. “Evening.”

“Separate rooms? Must be hard on a man, you being newly married and all.”

He glared down at her. “My business does not concern you, Miss Bridger. Good night.”

“You live on
the farm half a day’s ride east of here, don’t you?”

He’d
already begun to turn around, an obvious dismissal, but stopped. “Who told you that?” he asked over his shoulder

“Mrs. Gunderson talks a lot.”

He turned back to face her. “Mrs. Gunderson only talks about things when asked.”

She gave him a pouty look. “Can’t blame a girl for trying. I doubt your new little wife will last a month working that farm of yours. When she quits and leaves, I might turn up.”

  “The good Lord certainly didn’t spare the arrogance when it came to you, did He Miss Bridger?”

“It’s not arrogance, Mr. Weaver. It’s confidence.” She gave him a pretty smile, and
with a swish of her skirts, sauntered down the hall. 

He shook his head as he watched her go. “Whew,” he breathed as she ro
unded a corner and disappeared. He glanced to the ceiling overhead. “Lord, thank you for not letting
that
be what got off the stage to marry me.” He shuddered at the thought, and went to his room.

* * *

The next morning was crisp and cold, and Samijo was loath to leave the warm confines of her bed. She had her first decent night’s sleep since leaving New Orleans, and would have liked to stay snuggled and hidden away, but the knock on her door told her otherwise. “Yes?”

“Time for breakfast,” Arlan called from the other
side.

She smiled at the sound of his voice. “I’ll be right down,” she called back.

“I’m going to hitch up the team.  Try to hurry, we need to get going.”

She listened
as his footsteps faded away down the hall, then braced herself to leave the confines of her warm bed. She took a deep breath, grimaced, and threw back the covers.  “Oh! Brrrrr.” Her teeth started to chatter as she went to a small table and poured some water into a washbasin from a nearby pitcher.  The water felt colder than the room, and any sleep left to her was gone after she washed her face.  That done, she took her new comb from the sack Arlan gave her the night before, and ran it through her long hair. She then quickly braided it, stripped off her nightclothes, and was about to put on her old dress when she remembered the package Arlan gave her along with the sack. She hadn’t looked at it the night before; she was too intent on the bed; that and Arlan’s tender kiss on the hand. Even now she could feel his lips brushing fire upon her skin. Maybe the room wasn’t so cold after all …