by Kit Morgan
Anson’s arms fell to his sides. “What happened?” he asked as an unfamiliar anger rose up.
“I slapped one, punched the other. Separate occasions, of course.”
He couldn’t help but smile. Yes, his wife was strong – in more ways than one. “I had no idea you had such spunk, my dear. I think I like it. Just so long as you don’t punch me.”
One side of her mouth turned up in a smile. “I don’t think you have to worry. For one, our house doesn’t have any hallways.”
Anson threw his head back and laughed. He put an arm around her and kissed her on the cheek. “I don’t need a hallway, sweetheart.”
She blushed crimson. “How did I know you were going to say something like that?”
He laughed again and they went inside. It wasn’t quite lunch time, so the place was still empty. A young Chinese boy came out from the kitchen and greeted them with a smile and a bow.
“Hello,” Anson said. “What’s on the menu today? I hope it’s stew and biscuits.”
The boy smiled and nodded rapidly. “Yes. You lucky day.”
“Two orders, please,” Anson said as he led Zadie to a table. He pulled out a chair, waited for her to sit, then sat himself.
“Right away, Mr. Jones,” the boy said and hurried off.
“Does a Chinese family run this place?” she asked.
“Well, Mr. Morgan owns the boardinghouse as well as the store. The cook, Bertha, runs this eatery, but some of the Chinese in town work here. Bertha’s an excellent cook.”
“So you’ve said before. I don’t suppose she’d give me lessons?”
Anson thought he heard a hint of sarcasm, but wasn’t sure. “We can always ask.”
“Somehow I doubt she’d have the time to come to our place, don’t you?”
“True,” he agreed. “But there’s nothing wrong with you coming into town.”
“What?” she asked in shock.
“Why not? It would give you a reason to visit with some of the other women. Then I wouldn’t have to …” He didn’t finish, instead fiddling with the silverware in front of him.
“You wouldn’t have to what?” she asked, suspicious.
“Nothing,” he said too quickly.
“Taste my cooking?” she said for him.
“Now, did I imply anything of the kind?”
“You didn’t have to – it’s written all over your face.”
He pressed his lips together and tried not to laugh. She was getting to know him.
“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to ask,” she said more to herself than him.
He reached over and took her hand. “No it wouldn’t. I’m sure Bertha would have no problem giving a few lessons. And even if she can’t, there’s no shame in asking.”
Zadie’s eyes wandered the room. “Funny, isn’t it? I’m not afraid to punch a man in the face, but I’m terrified of opening a cookbook.”
“Anyone can learn how to cook,” he said gently. “But it takes some real bravery to protect yourself. Of the two, I’d rather you know how to throw a good punch than make a fluffy biscuit.”
She looked at him and smiled. “Thank you, Anson. I needed to hear that.”
* * *
Anson chatted about this and that as they ate, but Zadie was more interested in meeting Bertha the cook. She dreaded the thought of disappointing her new husband. He was patient, kind and several times had smoothed over her insecurities. The least she could do was learn how to make him a decent meal.
After lunch she got her wish and met the woman who made some of the best stew she’d ever tasted. Bertha, a blue-eyed woman with a generous build, stared at the couple in surprise. “Cooking lessons?”
“Even a few pointers would help,” said Zadie. “I’m afraid I’m starting from scratch.”
Bertha looked up at the ceiling and sighed. “I have a few recipes that are easy to follow. I can write them down for you. You really wouldn’t need my help.”
“That would be most kind,” Zadie said. “I can only imagine how busy you are working here.”
“Yes, but not so busy that I can’t help a little.”
“We both appreciate it,” Anson said. “More than you know.”
Zadie had the urge to elbow him in the ribs. “Yes, my husband is especially anxious that I learn,” she added dryly.
Bertha caught their meaning and smiled. “You wouldn’t be the first man to eat at the hands of a novice cook. Or the last. Cooking is an art.”
“Thank you for clarifying that,” Zadie said and eyed her husband. “It will be like learning how to paint.” Anson raised an eyebrow, and Zadie knew he was holding his tongue. She liked when he had that look, and wondered if she could get him to do it again. “Surely you’d hang my first painting on the wall for everyone to see, wouldn’t you, dear?”
His other eyebrow went up before he pressed his lips together, closed his eyes and turned his face away. The man was about to bust a gut! If she kept up this banter, she might do the same thing. Instead she turned back to Bertha. “I’ll take whatever you can give me.”
“Are you going to be in town much longer?” Bertha asked.
“Long enough for you to write down those recipes for my wife,” Anson said, his face flushed. “In the meantime, I need to go see a man about a wagon. Do you mind if my wife stays here?”
“Not at all. She’s most welcome. I can write some things out before it gets too busy.”
“That would be wonderful,” Zadie said and turned to Anson. “I’ll see you later then?”
“Yes, this won’t take long.”
She watched him leave, then turned back to Bertha. “I have to tell you, I don’t have an oven, only a potbellied stove. I’d love to make biscuits or cookies but …”
“You can make biscuits on top of the stove. You just need a good cast-iron skillet. That’ll work for cornbread, too – and certain kinds of cakes.”
Zadie smiled in relief. At least she would have options! “I had no idea.”
Bertha gave her a quizzical look as if to say how can you not know that? but said nothing. Instead she gave her a curt nod and disappeared into the kitchen without another word.
Zadie sat down at the table she and Anson had shared and waited. Men started come into the boardinghouse to eat – miners, specifically. She knew there was a mine nearby but wasn’t sure where. Obviously it was close enough for them to walk into town for a quick meal.
Each of them studied her as they took a seat, some more intensely than others. For a moment she wished Anson was there, then remembered how she punched Zed Fremont in the face when he accosted her in the hallway one evening. If she really wanted to do Anson proud, it would be to show him she could take care of herself. After all, hadn’t she convinced herself to do just that on the journey from Sweetwater Springs? What better way than to sit in a room full of miners and not bat an eye?
The Chinese boy came out of the kitchen, did a quick head count and disappeared back inside. Within moments he reappeared with a tray heavily laden with bowls of stew. He served the miners, ran back into the kitchen and returned with plates of biscuits. Zadie got tired just watching him.
The men began to eat, but didn’t take their eyes off her. She fought the urge to get up and leave. What kind of coward would that make her? Too bad these men didn’t see her ride into town on Hamlet – what would they think of her then? She took a deep breath and gritted her teeth. She needed those recipes!
Thank Heaven Bertha came back into the dining room, a folded paper in her hands. “Here, this is all I had time to write down. One’s a soup recipe, one for biscuits and one for cornbread. The last two, you can make in a skillet.”
Zadie felt relief flood through her. “Thank you so much – you don’t know what this means to me.”
“You’re welcome,” she said with a smile. “Now I’d better get back to work.”
Zadie nodded her thanks and turned to leave. She felt every eye on her, but paid them no mind. What did sh
e expect, with so few women in town?
She reached the porch and stopped. Where was Anson? She suddenly realized she had no idea. Would he be at the store? The livery stable? No, wait – Anson had told her there was no stable. So where …?
“Hello.”
Zadie turned to find a woman standing at the base of the porch steps. She was full-figured with fluffy white hair and inquisitive eyes. “Hello.”
“I’ve not seen you in town before. You must be Mr. Jones’ mail-order bride.”
“Yes, I am,” she said, descending the steps. “I’m Zadie Jones.”
“I’m Mrs. Tisdale. It’s so nice to meet you. Is this your first time in town?”
“Yes it is. I’ve only seen the store and the boardinghouse so far.”
“Well, then you’ve seen the town,” Mrs. Tisdale said with a chuckle.
Zadie’s eyes skipped over the nearby buildings. There was a saloon across the street and a few more cabins. On the other side of the store was the building Anson told her was the meeting hall Father Frederick or Reverend Norton used for services when they came to town. “There’s nothing more?”
“Not unless you want to go into the saloon,” Mrs. Tisdale teased. “Don’t worry, we get along fine with what we have. But you live a few hours out of town, don’t you?”
“It took us a little over two hours to get here, though I suppose two is better than three.”
The woman nodded her agreement. “How long are you in town for?”
“My husband went to see about purchasing a wagon. Then we’ll need to pick up our things from the store. I’m not sure how long he’ll be.”
“Well now, Morgan’s Crossing is small enough that we’re sure to run into him. Would you like to meet some of the other ladies? I know Mrs. Garr and Mrs. Rossmoor are in the store right now.”
Zadie smiled. “I’d love to meet them.”
“Come with me,” Mrs. Tisdale said.
Zadie fell into step beside her and they went next door and into the store. The storekeeper looked up from behind the counter. “Back so soon?” he asked and looked around nervously. “Where’s your husband?”
Zadie realized he was addressing her. “He’ll be along.” Her voice caught the attention of two women standing next to the fabric selections. “Hello.”
They turned to face her. One was a plump, pretty blonde, while the other, though just as pretty and blonde, was much thinner and had a small child in her arms.
“This is Mrs. Garr,” Mrs. Tisdale said, indicating the larger one with her hand. “And this is Mrs. Rossmoor.”
Zadie smiled. “How do you do? It’s nice to meet you both. I’m Mrs. Bar … er, Jones.”
“Think nothing of it,” Mrs. Garr said in a thick Southern accent. “Happened to me too when I came as a mail-order bride. Takes awhile to adjust, you know.”
“I’m sure it does,” Zadie said and looked at the other woman. Mrs. Rossmoor gave her no more than a tentative smile, then looked away. She must be shy. “I hope I’m able to see you again when I have more time. This is all so new to me.”
“Don’t worry – you’ll see us the next time you’re in town, I’m sure,” Mrs. Garr said. “I’m glad your husband found you.”
“Found me?”
“Yes, poor man. I was here in the store the day he got the message that you’d arrived and were waiting for him in Sweetwater Springs. I’ve never seen a man so beside himself.”
Zadie gave her a bemused smile. “Oh?”
“Verna told me all about it,” Mrs. Tisdale said and turned to Zadie. “That would be Mrs. Copelin. You’ll meet her and the other women in town soon enough.”
“I can’t say when I’ve seen a man so … excited!” Mrs. Garr added. “We’re glad you’re going to be part of our little community.”
Zadie glanced between the two, then let her eyes settle on Mrs. Rossmoor. “It’s nice to be here.”
“I hope you can join us from time to time,” said Mrs. Tisdale. “We’d love to have you. And Prudence – that’s Prudence Morgan – loves to entertain. Maybe we can have a tea?”
Zadie’s heart leapt in her chest at the suggestion. Maybe living out in the back of the beyond wouldn’t be so bad after all, not if she could have some friendly female companionship now and again. “That would be lovely. But how will I know when you’re to have it?”
“Oh, don’t worry – we always manage to get the word out,” Mrs. Garr assured her. “In the meantime, is there anything you need help with?”
Zadie sighed. “You have no idea.”
Eleven
By the time Anson found Zadie with the other women, she’d already been promised several sewing lessons by Mrs. Tisdale and Mrs. Garr, was involved in a tea they wanted to help organize and host with Mrs. Morgan (subject to Mrs. Morgan’s interest), and even picked up tips on knitting from the shy Mrs. Rossmoor. Zadie couldn’t resist informing her, however, that her husband was more than happy to teach her how to knit – just as he walked in the door. All three women stared at him as he approached.
“Here you are,” he said, taking Zadie by the hand. “I was told I could find you here.”
“Yes, I’ve been having a lovely visit! You, of course, know Mrs. Garr.” She gave the woman a wink.
Mrs. Garr smiled. “Yes, your husband and I have met before. Mr. Jones, I’m so glad to have met your wonderful bride. May I congratulate you?”
“Of course. And I should thank you for your advice.”
Mrs. Garr tried to stifle a giggle and failed miserably. “I’m glad things worked out. We were just planning a few things with your wife, if you don’t mind. Of course this means she’ll have to come to town again.”
“I’m sure that can be arranged, so long as I know what day and time.”
“Make that days,” Zadie added.
“Which days, then?” he asked. He didn’t look annoyed. Not that Zadie thought he would, but she was still getting to know him.
“We’ve decided Thursday would be a good day to give your wife sewing lessons,” Mrs. Tisdale chimed in. “You don’t mind if we steal her for the day, do you?”
“Of course not. I’ll bring her to town in our new wagon,” he said proudly.
“Oh, Anson!” Zadie said in surprise. “You found one?”
“Bought it off of a gentleman who needed something bigger and sturdier than what he had, so he built a new one himself. Quite a handy fellow.”
“You must be talking about Freddy,” Mrs. Garr speculated. “He is handy – the man can build or fix anything.”
“He certainly can,” Anson agreed. “Which is why I’ve asked him to help me build some fences. I’m glad I remembered he was so skilled.”
“Not to mention him having a wagon for sale?” Zadie said with a smile.
“That was a fortunate break. I originally went to see him about building one for me. But now I don’t have to wait.”
“Things seem to be turning out fine for everyone today,” Mrs. Tisdale said with a happy smile.
Zadie watched as Mrs. Rossmoor turned away and feigned interest in a bolt of cloth. Zadie reached out and touched her arm. “Would you like to come join us on Thursday?”
Mrs. Rossmoor glanced over her shoulder, eyes wide. “Oh, no, I shouldn’t. But thank you for asking.”
Zadie opened her mouth to speak but Mrs. Tisdale gave a small shake of her head, indicating she shouldn’t press the matter. Now what was that about?
“If you ladies have concluded your business, then I’ll gather our supplies and we’ll be on our way,” he said with a tip of his hat. “Oh, and Mrs. Tisdale?”
“Yes?”
“Do you know if Mr. Morgan is home?”
“I’m not sure, but I know Mrs. Morgan is. I was just going over there to tell her about our idea.”
“Fine – we’ll go with you if you don’t mind. I’d like to introduce Zadie to at least one of them while we’re in town.”
They said their goodbyes, gathered their s
upplies and left the store. Anson had already hitched King Lear to the wagon, with Hamlet tethered by his reins to the back. Zadie studied Anson’s purchase. The conveyance was obviously older, judging by the weathered wood, but would serve them for now. At least she wouldn’t have to ride Hamlet home.
Anson put their supplies in the back of the wagon as Mrs. Tisdale headed down the street. “Where’s she going?” Zadie asked, wondering why she didn’t join them.
“To see Mrs. Morgan, of course,” Anson replied. “It’s not like she needs a ride.”
Zadie had to chuckle. “Oh, you’re right – the Morgans’ home is just up the street.”
“In a town this small, everything is just up the street. And I’m going to lead King Lear over there, as there’s no point in driving,” He took the horse by the bridle and gave him a pull to get him going. The horse followed obediently as Anson got him and the wagon turned around then headed down the street.
Zadie walked beside him. “Did this Freddy charge you anything for the harness?”
“He let me borrow it so I could drive you home. Otherwise I’d have had to go home and get my own. I’ll bring his back when we come to town Thursday.”
“Are you sure he doesn’t need it before then?”
“No, he has another. He’ll be fine.”
Zadie hoped she didn’t sound like she was nagging him, but she hated loose ends, no matter how trivial. “That’s good to know. At least you won’t have to come back right away.”
“What do you mean? Thursday is only four days from now. Besides, I’ll be ready for a bath by then, as will you.”
“Anson!” she exclaimed, scandalized. “Please don’t talk about such things in public!”
“Why not? The townspeople use the bathhouse too. But seeing as how we have the wagon, now we can buy something to use at home to bathe in.”
“Can we do that after we speak with Mrs. Morgan?” Zadie asked. “I don’t want to keep Mrs. Tisdale waiting.”
