Twice Promised (The Blue Willow Brides Book #2): A Novel (24 page)

“Really? Too bad, I love wedding cake. If you need anything, anything at all, just give me a holler. I’ll be going now and let you open your box.” He gave a nod to Cora, then hurried out the door.

“Jess.” Cora moved close to him beside the counter. “We need to talk about our wedding.”

He looked into her soft brown eyes, wondering how on earth he could break her heart. “Yes . . . we will soon. I think I’ll go open this package right now while I’m having coffee. You can leave and tell Caleb to lock up. We’re done for the day.”

“But don’t you want to have dinner or something?” She gave him a dubious look.

“Not tonight, Cora. You go on and have an evening to yourself and relax in that big room without Greta.” He hoped he sounded nonchalant since he wanted to be alone with the package, and he was glad that she removed her apron as he turned to take the stairs to their living quarters.

Once he set the coffee to boil, Jess pulled out a chair and laid the letter for Greta aside. He’d get Caleb to run it over to her. He stared at the box he held in his hands for a moment, then taking a deep breath, he ripped the brown paper off and lifted the shoe box lid. Inside was a letter from Major John N. Andrews on sealed Army letterhead.

Dear Mr. Gifford,

Let me express my sympathy again for the loss of your brother a year ago. Though his body was sent to you by rail for burial, his personal effects were somehow overlooked. A soldier found this box in the barracks under his cot. I’m sorry for the delay in mailing this to you, and I pray that receiving it won’t bring up old wounds but will bring comfort as you read his journal.

Sergeant Bryan Gifford was an excellent sergeant and well-liked by his comrades. I pray that this will help you and your family to have some peace and comfort regarding a deserving soldier who gave his life for his company.

Kind Regards,
Major John N. Andrews
Fort Bridger, Wyoming
August 1888

Jess bowed his head as a tremendous sadness slid over him. He heard the coffeepot boil over, splattering the stovetop, so he leaped up and hurriedly grabbed a dish towel to remove the pot from the fire. He let the coffee grounds settle, all the while eyeing the box on the table. He found a clean mug and poured himself some coffee. Picking up the box, he stepped over to his easy chair next to the window, took a swig of coffee, then settled down to look at the box’s contents.

There wasn’t a lot inside the box, and the first thing that caught Jess’s eye was the pocketknife he’d given Bryan one year for his birthday. He smiled when he saw that Bryan had kept the stripes he’d had when he was a private. A small Bible, a razor, a shaving mug, and a few loose buttons rattled around in the bottom of the box. Some letters tied with twine were nestled against what looked like a lady’s delicate handkerchief.
Could this be Greta’s?
He lifted it to his nose, and a delicate lavender scent filled his nostrils.

The last item was an unfinished letter in a writing tablet. Bryan must’ve been called to duty when he was writing it. It was addressed to Jess, and seeing it now gave him an eerie feeling, making the past feel more like the present.

With a deep sigh, Jess set the box on the floor and started reading his brother’s letter.

Dear Jess,

How’s my favorite brother? I hope this letter finds you doing well. While I miss home and Mama’s cooking, I’m learning to become more of a man with the duties entrusted to me, which will surely shape my life for the future. I plan to have a career in the Army.

Speaking of which, I told you about the girl I’ve fallen for in my last letter. We were courting frequently until I was called away to Fort Bridger. Since that time, we’ve become engaged! I know you, the folks, and Zach will love her too. Her name is Greta Olsen, and she’s from Holland. I can’t wait for you to meet her. We plan to be married soon and will make our way to Colorado when I get my next leave.

We are perfect for each other. But if I had to pick another person for her, I’d have to say you, Jess, since I hold you in such high regard. Yes, you would be a good match, but I am the lucky one this time! I intend to write Mama again, but I wanted you to be the first to know about Greta. I know you never wanted me to leave Colorado, but now I’ve found someone I want to share my life with. I’m sure Granny will enjoy getting to know her too. Oh, and please give my love to Granny.

We’ve had a few renegade Indians who have posed a threat in these parts of Wyoming, but we seem to have a handle on things in that regard . . .

Jess put the letter aside and wiped his eyes, thinking fondly of his brother. His hands curled around his coffee mug as he stared at the busy street below. Even when Bryan was knee-high to a duck, as his older brother Jess felt responsible for him. Zach was just too impulsive to think about anyone besides himself, but that was just Zach. It didn’t mean he loved Bryan any less. Jess might not be able to remember to place an order or put things back in their places, and he didn’t care one bit if things were organized or not, but he’d tried to set a good example for his brothers and worked hard to earn their respect as their older brother.

He could see why Greta had fallen hard for Bryan, with his dark, rugged good looks and gregarious nature. All the things Jess was not. Although he was flattered about what Bryan wrote. To think, his handsome younger brother thought enough of him to say that he was the only one worthy to love Greta. But how to convince her of that? He just didn’t know. He glanced over at her letters, tempted to open one and read of their words of love, but somehow he felt like that was betraying his younger brother. No, he’d give them to Greta.

He removed her letters and put his letters back inside the box. He’d show it to Zach tonight. Heading downstairs, Jess called out to Caleb. “You down here, Caleb?”

“Right here, Jess. What do you need?” Caleb rounded the store aisle as Jess came down the stairs. “Somethin’ wrong? You don’t look so chipper.”

Jess ignored his question. “Could you take my horse and run this letter over to Greta? It’s from her sister, and I know she’d like to have it. You can check on her and see how she’s faring.” He handed Caleb the packet of letters. “Tell her these came today.”

Caleb frowned. “Why would she want letters that were addressed to Bryan?”

Jess heaved a sigh. “She was engaged to my brother.”

Caleb stood still, holding the letters with a stunned look on his face. With an understanding expression, he said, “Jess, I’m sorry . . .”

23

Fortified by Granny’s fluffy biscuits and sausage, Greta was ready to work on cutting out Agnes’s dress. “My goodness, I’ve never tasted more delicious biscuits than yours, Granny. I need to learn how you make them.”

The older lady smiled and clapped her hands with pleasure. “When you’re better, you can drop by anytime for a lesson, but let me warn you there’s no recipe. Just a little buttermilk, an egg, flour, and baking powder. It’s all in how you stir it up. Same as with corn bread. And you’ll get a taste of that for supper with my hearty stew.”

Greta giggled, scooting back her chair. “I can hardly wait, but I don’t see how I’ll have room for another mouthful of food.”

Granny started clearing the breakfast dishes. “Oh, but you will,” she said with a firm nod, setting the dishes in the sudsy water. “I thought we could spread that material out on my dining room table, where it’d be easy to cut. What do you think? Are you up to it this morning?”

“Absolutely! It will take my mind off my foot.” Greta smiled at the older lady. She marveled at the energy that oozed from Granny. She zipped around like a woman half her age, despite the fact that she carried a little more weight than she needed as she hurried from the kitchen. Last night, Granny had made Greta keep her foot elevated and brought her a tray for supper with broth and hot tea. Granny’s attentiveness made Greta feel special, the way her mother used to dote on her daughters at the slightest cold or upset.

Granny held out a cane to her. “Here, lean on this for support till that swelling goes down. It does look somewhat better today.”

“It’s sore, but I agree it feels better.” She took the smooth, carved cane, then followed Granny to the dining room, where she had the fabric, a big pincushion, the pattern, and scissors waiting for them. “My, you’ve thought of everything. I placed Agnes’s measurements in with the pattern pieces, if you want to get those out. Do you have a tape measure?”

Granny reached into her apron pocket. “Right here,” she said, placing the tape on the table. “I think we have everything we need. Let’s get started.”

Granny hummed hymns while she pinned the pattern to the fabric, and Greta did all the cutting, barely noticing the ache in her foot as the morning flew by.

“This is going to be a very pretty party dress for Agnes. She has one of these barbecues at the end of every summer—and any other time she can find a reason,” Granny said. “Any reason to get my grandson to show up.”

“Do you mean Jess?” Greta’s heart hammered under her blouse, but she didn’t look up from her cutting task.

“Yes indeed. Don’t know if you and Cora were aware of it, but Jess courted Agnes for a while—that is, until a rich man came to town. She dumped Jess faster than ice melts in the middle of August. Trouble is, all of it came to naught. The smooth talker soon moved on to other adventures, but by then Jess’s feelings for her had gone cold.”

Greta straightened and stretched her back, which ached from leaning over the table. “But they seem like they’re still good friends.”

“Let’s just say Jess tolerates her, and Cole is a good friend of his. But I can tell where his affections lie.” Granny grinned, looking at her over the top of her spectacles.

Greta stood quietly, trying to keep the tremble in her voice at bay. “I’m glad to hear that. I . . . wasn’t sure about their relationship.” She lowered her eyes.

Granny looked at her with narrowed eyes, then motioned her to sit down. “You’ve been standing for too long.”

Realizing that she’d paused from her work, Greta was grateful to oblige. The older lady took a seat next to her. “Greta, I might be old and addle-brained, but I can see the writing on the wall, even if you can’t.”

“Granny, what are you trying to tell me?” Deep down Greta knew exactly what she meant but thought it best not to let on.

“My dear, I see the way Jess looks at you, and he doesn’t do that when Cora enters the room. You two may spar at times, but it’s easy to see that my grandson is completely taken with you.”

Greta felt warmth creeping into her face, but the knowledge that Granny had figured out the truth gave her hope. She stared down at her hands, trying to come up with something to say.

“Hmm . . . something tells me that I hit upon the truth. Tell me, dear,” Granny said, leaning closer. “Is it true then?”

Greta chewed her bottom lip before answering. “Oh, Granny, it is true, and I think I love him too, but Cora is my friend. I know she cares for Jess, but then I saw her and Zach kissing before I fell in the cemetery. I don’t understand! Zach told me he’s attracted to me and wants to be married right away.”

“Is that a fact, now?” When Greta nodded, Granny continued. “Well, my goodness! That changes things for sure. I guess Cora likes Jess, but if you saw her in Zach’s arms, then that tells the story. There’s no confusion. Pure and simple.” Granny set her fabric aside. “All I can tell you is what I see . . . so take your time. Since Zach forged those mail-order bride letters, it would serve him right if he fell in love with one of you, after all his big talk of being a bachelor.” Granny humphed.

“Granny, there’s more to the story than meets the eye.” Greta expelled air from her lungs. There, she’d said it. She would have to tell Granny about Bryan now.

Granny stood. “It sounds like the perfect timing for tea or coffee. I’ll fix it while you go settle yourself in the parlor,” she said, walking toward the kitchen. “I’ll meet you there, and don’t forget to prop your foot up.”

In Granny’s cozy parlor with a pot of tea and a dish of tea cakes, Greta was propped up on the settee, her foot on a cushion. Granny pulled her chair closer and spread a napkin over Greta’s lap, then poured each of them tea into delicate rose china.

“Now,” Granny said, settling in her wingback chair, “you can continue with your story. Somehow I think there are a few pieces missing in my view of my grandsons’ matters lately. I don’t want to pry, but whatever you have to say will be held in confidence, if you wish.”

Greta already knew that Granny didn’t miss much when it came to observing other people, and on some level she felt comfortable telling her about Bryan. There was no other way to do it but to launch right in. “This may come as a shock, but I was engaged to your grandson Bryan before he was ambushed.” She watched Granny, afraid of her reaction.