Gormlaith didn’t know how one addressed a Protestant minister’s wife. Before she caught herself, she’d given a curtsy to the friendly woman. “Gormlaith McGowan. ‘Tis happy I am to meet you, Mrs. Norton.”
“Oh, you’re Irish. I suspect you’ll be Catholic then.” She hugged Gormlaith’s shoulders. “Don’t worry, my dear, you’ll be legally wed by this ceremony. Father Frederick conducts mass once a month in Morgan’s Crossing and you can repeat your vows before him if you wish.”
“You’re very kind. My head’s in a whirl because so much has changed and moved quickly. I hardly know what I’m about.”
“I’m sorry your plans were turned topsy-turvy. Aren’t you glad Mr. McDonald was in town today? I don’t know him well personally, but I’ve heard only good things about him. He’ll make a good husband.”
“Aye, ‘twas lucky for me he came into town today and is willing to marry me.” She faced the strong man beside her. “I’ll work hard to make a good wife.”
He shuffled from one foot to the other. “And I’ll try my best to be a good husband and provider.”
The minister cleared his throat. “Shall we begin? Mr. McDonald, stand here with your bride at your left. Sheriff, are you part of the ceremony or part of the congregation?”
“I’m strictly a witness. I’ll just park myself on the front pew and watch.” The sheriff sat and laid his hat beside him on the bench. Mrs. Norton played the pianoforte and the hymn was familiar.
Still, Gormlaith thought this an odd wedding. In spite of the strangeness, she gave thanks that Mr. McDonald had come to her rescue. She’d have been in desperate straits otherwise.
She did her best to follow Reverend Norton’s words, but her mind bounced in a dozen directions. When the minister asked if Mr. McDonald had a ring, she removed her own and handed it to him. He frowned, but returned it to her finger.
After they’d said their vows, Reverend Norton’s smile beamed at them. “You are now Mr. and Mrs. Garrett McDonald.” He directed his gaze at her groom. “You may kiss the bride.”
Appearing as if he wasn’t sure, he leaned forward and brushed his lips lightly across hers. She prayed he’d always be as gentle.
“Now I need the spelling of your name, Mrs. McDonald.”
“My middle name is Brighid, after the saint. My first is Gormlaith, just as it’s pronounced. G-O-R-M-L-A-I-T-H.”
Her husband signed the book then stared at her. “But you pronounce it as if it were G-O-R-M-L-E-Y when you speak.”
“To your English ears, aye, but my name is Irish.” She smiled at him. “We do confound outsiders with our speech and our spellings.”
She signed where the minister indicated, proud she could read and write, unlike many from Ireland.
Garrett thanked the minister and paid him folded money, though she didn’t know how much.
Mrs. Norton hopped up from the piano bench. “Don’t leave yet, folks. I always make a basket for newlyweds. I didn’t have much notice today, but I had some things on hand that will feed you on the way to the ranch.” She hurried to the back of the sanctuary and gathered a basket from the last pew.
Gormlaith accepted the container. “You’re thoughtful, Mrs. Norton. ‘Tis a fine welcome you’ve given me.” She took this as a good sign of things to come in her new home.
Garrett said, “Thank you, Mrs. Norton. I hope this doesn’t deprive you and your husband of your dinner. This will come in handy on the long drive ahead.”
Mrs. Norton waved away his protests. “I have all day to cook more. You’ve a long ride ahead of you.”
Mr. McDonald took the basket from his wife. “I’ll carry this.”
Chapter Two
Gormlaith’s new husband guided her to the center of town. “We’d best hurry to the mercantile and gather our supplies. You’ll need warmer clothes than those.” He guided her down the walk and across the street.
She glanced at her shabby coat, dress, and worn shoes. “I’ve no mind to be a burden to you, Mr. McDonald, so I’ll not be running up a big bill.”
He shook his head and strode quickly. “Call me Garrett. You’ve no choice, Gormlaith. You won’t be a help to me if you catch pneumonia. Winters here are severe and the clothes you’re wearing aren’t near substantial enough.”
“You mean your weather gets colder than in New York?” She’d arrived in America in February and she’d never been so cold as then and the next couple of months.
“Yes. The temperature drops and the wind is relentless. Snow will pile up in deep drifts. You’ll need sturdy boots and a warm coat.”
She shivered at the thought of facing such conditions in what few clothes she had. “If you’re sure the expense is justified. ‘Tis true this wrap doesn’t stop the cold.”
They’d reached the brick mercantile. He set the basket in the back of a wagon parked in front of the store. Then, Garrett held the door for her like a fine gentleman. She smiled her thanks and entered.
“Mrs. Cobb, my wife needs to be fitted out for our cold weather. I’ll trust you to see she has what she needs.”
The woman’s expression changed from taciturn to a wide smile. “Of course, Mr. McDonald. Come with me, Mrs. McDonald. Ladies’ things are right over here.”
Gormlaith was certain the woman took advantage of Garrett, but she allowed herself to be fitted for warm clothing from the inside out. Fabrics caught her eyes and she fingered lovely purple wool.
“Do you sew?” Mrs. Cobb asked.
“Yes, and these are lovely fabrics you have. Instead of readymade dresses, I could get cloth for a couple of dresses and save my husband money.”
She didn’t realize Garrett was behind her. “Get both, Gormlaith, take the two readymade dresses and fabric for three more. Make sure you have enough… um, warm under things. Clothes are slow to dry in winter.”
Without waiting for her to agree, Mrs. Cobb piled up two more sets of unmentionables, longhandles, and a wool petticoat.
He stared at a display of wool yarn. “We won’t get back to town for quite a while. You’ll probably want thread for sewing, yarn, and knitting needles. Winters are long and you’ll have time to knit or crochet and sew while I mend tools and harness and read.”
Looking at her husband, Gormlaith chewed at her lip for a few seconds before she turned back to Mrs. Cobb. “You can measure off enough of the purple wool, the green calico, and the blue muslin. I’ll need thread for tatting and crochet and yarn for knitting.”
She chose sewing thread to match the fabrics and added in a few other colors for mending and sewing buttons. Then she selected skeins of wool for socks, hats, mufflers, and sweaters. She looked forward to tatting lace collars and cuffs as well as crocheting decorative items for her new home.
Eagerly, Mrs. Cobb asked, “Do you need crochet hooks or knitting needles?”
“I have those, but I daresay I’ll need sewing needles and a packet of pins.”
“I’ll measure off the fabric while you browse in case you think of something else.” The storekeeper hefted the fabric to a measuring section of the counter.
Garrett tossed four bars of fancy soap on the pile of goods. “Gormlaith, walk up and down each aisle. We live almost two days ride from here. Soon the roads won’t be passable for the wagon. We may not get back to town for months.”
Scandalized at all she was costing her new husband, she did as he asked. So many items tempted her. He walked beside her.
When they reached the menswear, he picked up a flannel shirt and held it up to her. “Get this and a pair of men’s trousers to fit you. No one will know if you wear them for ranch work. They’ll be warmer and more comfortable.”
She held up a pair of overalls and gauged them to be her size. Thrusting them at her husband, she lowered her voice, “You take them up there with the shirt. Mayhap no one will notice they won’t fit you.”
He chuckled. “I’ll get a new shirt for myself while I’m here. He took them to the front and added them to the massive
pile of goods Mr. Cobb was busy writing down and packaging.
When Garret came back where she waited, he held her new boots and coat. “Put these on and I’ll add your cloak and old shoes to the wagon.” He grabbed a pair of leather work gloves. “Your hands will be better in these than the thin ones you’re wearing.”
She looked at the much-mended gloves on her hands. “You’re being that kind, Garrett. I’ll work hard so you won’t be sorry you’ve been out such a great expense.”
“Nonsense. Any married man takes care of his wife, Gormlaith.” He went back to the counter, calling to Mr. Cobb to add the gloves to the total.
He thought taking care of her so for granted he called her protest nonsense? She was that fortunate if that’s the kind of man she’d married this time. Little did her husband know what some other men did and didn’t do.
Many were the men who didn’t care about anyone but themselves, and couldn’t she testify to that? Already she was that happy she’d left New York when she had. And, happy she’d wed this man instead of Mr. Higgins, God rest his soul.
When all the new purchases were added to the wagon, she spotted a basket of eggs nestled in straw. “Don’t you have chickens?”
He met her gaze with a frown. “I haven’t had time to look after them.”
“I’ll do the caring that’s needed. I can’t cook good meals without eggs. Mrs. Murphy keeps chickens. Mayhap we could buy some of hers.”
He rubbed at his jaw as if undecided. “I’d have to build a place for them and buy feed.”
She watched his face, hopeful he’d come around to her way of thinking on this. “They can stay in the barn in the meantime.”
“All right, I reckon you can ask Mrs. Murphy, but the chickens will be your responsibility.”
She sent him her brightest smile. “Thank you, husband. I’ll go talk to her while you find something to haul them in and buy their feed.”
Garret strode back into the mercantile. “Mr. Cobb, I’ll need two bags of chicken feed and a roll of wire to cover their enclosure.”
“Looks like your wife is making a lot of changes in your life.” He went toward the back where animal feed was kept.
Garrett followed the store owner. “That she is. Having eggs means she can fix a grand breakfast and even make a cake.”
Mr. Cobb hefted a forty-pound bag of chicken feed. “She won’t be making a cake unless you have a cow. The few cans of milk you bought won’t stretch far.”
Cursing to himself, Garrett hauled a second sack of feed. “Better add a dozen more cans of milk. Not sure I can afford to be well-fed.”
“You’ll get used to having a woman around. Has a lot of advantages.” Mr. Cobb smirked, “Especially now that long winter nights have set in.”
The store owner’s comment annoyed Garrett but he chose to ignore the man. “I’ll have to rearrange things on the wagon to accommodate a roll of wire and a few chickens. What do you have that will hold the birds?”
“A couple of crates out back will do the trick. You’ll have to cover the crates to keep out the cold.”
“I’ve a tarp stowed under the seat. Carried it to keep the supplies dry in case of rain or snow.”
When he’d loaded the wagon so he could cart his supplies plus all the things his new wife needed, he climbed onto the seat and drove to the side of the Murphy house. As he hopped to the ground, he spotted his bride.
Beaming, Gormlaith hurried toward him. “She didn’t want to at first, but agreed to sell us six laying hens.”
“How much?” He reached into his pocket.
Her blue eyes sparkled. “I paid with what was left of the money Mr. Higgins sent me. I still have a dollar and twelve cents left.”
Surprised, he lifted the two crates from the wagon and carried them to the back where Mrs. Murphy kept her hens. “Which ones are yours?”
Mrs. Murphy met him and gestured to a spot near a small barn. “Put the crates there. I’ll help catch the birds your wife bought.”
After considerable chasing, six fat hens were loaded into the crates that were tied securely onto the wagon. He secured the tarp over the load then helped Gormlaith onto the bench before climbing up himself. With a wave at Mrs. Murphy, they departed Sweetwater Springs.
His wife wrapped a blue wool scarf securely around her auburn curls. The clouds overhead grew dark and bunched in a solid line to the north. He was glad she had the new warm coat and gloves and boots. When he’d put her cloak in the wagon, he was aghast at its flimsiness. She must have been uncomfortable all last winter and on the train coming here.
“Gormlaith is an unusual name. Do you mind if I call you Leigh?”
She bristled as if indignant. “Aye, I do mind. Sure and there’s nothing wrong with my good Irish name. Would you want me to call you Gare or Rett?”
Apparently he’d hit a sore spot. “Point taken. Gormlaith it is.”
She hunched on the seat beside him. “Your weather has grown worse.”
“Hey, now this is your weather, too.” He reached under the bench and pulled out a blanket. “Wrap this around your legs. I’m afraid we’re in for a cold drive to the ranch and it’s almost two days’ distance. There’s a cabin where we’ll spend the night so we won’t be forced to camp out in the open.”
She scooted closer and spread the blanket over both their legs. “When I was in New York, I had no idea this country was so vast. The train ride was astonishing for me.”
Frowning, he wondered if she’d lied to him. “But, I thought you said you had farming and ranching experience.”
“Aye, I grew up on a farm in Ireland. Our farm was a wee one compared to the land I saw on the way here. We had two cows, pigs, chickens, and a flock of sheep. And two cattle dogs to help with the sheep, of course.”
“Sheep?” He spat the words. “You won’t be finding any of those hereabouts. Ranchers don’t like them.”
She sent him a puzzled look. “More’s the pity for there’s nothing wrong with sheep. After shearing, Ma and I dyed the wool in batches of several colors. She and I spun the wool into yarn.”
“So you must have knitted a lot of your clothes.”
“Aye, we used some of the yarn to knit. We had our own loom if we needed fabric. But, I added yarn to your bill and I’ll see you have warm sweaters and socks.”
“I sure need the socks. Never seem to have enough.” Wiggling his feet inside his boots, he was too aware of the hole in the toe of his right sock.
“What are the names of your horses? They’re a fine team.”
“The one on the left is Brutus and the other is Caesar.”
She adjusted the blanket over her legs then slid her hands under the cover. “Tell me about your ranch.”
His mood always lightened when he thought of his home. “I bought it from a family moving to California. They left a lot of the furnishings, though we could use more dishes and pans and linens. Still, I was lucky to find a place I could afford to buy that had a good house, strong barns, and good water source. This part of Montana is very dry.”
“That is fortunate then.” She gestured to the distance. “Are you near those mountains?”
He chuckled. “Those are much further away than they appear. Tell me about your farm in Ireland.”
“We grew all our food except flour and Da had to buy that. We had a grand garden. Usually he traded some of our garden produce for part of the cost of other things at the store. Da sold most of the wool as well. Our wool brought a good price for we kept our animals clean as possible. Of course, we sold a few of the lambs or dams.”
Hearing her talk about her home farm reassured him. “How many acres was this farm?”
She tilted her head and appeared to concentrate for a few seconds. “I suppose about ten hectares.”
So small? “We use acres. Let’s see… a hectare is roughly almost two-and-a-half acres. Hard to make a living on a place that’s just under twenty-five acres.”
She met his gaze and he thought h
e saw regret in her blue eyes. “We thought it was large and were proud of our place. Now I see we were wrong compared to the vastness of this area.”
At least she had experience with a garden and a few animals. “So the wool was really your only crop?”
“Aye, that’s how we got by. The house was small for the number of people living in it, and there was no extra money for our family. ‘Twas why Da insisted I marry the son of his friend.”
“And was it a happy marriage?”
She stiffened beside him. “The opposite. I should never have agreed, in spite of Da’s urging and Conor’s bluster about how rich we’d be when we got to America. I have to admit I was curious about America, but New York was not a’tall as I’d imagined. And now, Garrett, I must ask you to stop the wagon so I can relieve myself.”
Drat the luck. He glanced at the sky as he halted the horses and set the brake. “We’re pressed for time, so hurry.”
“While I’m about my business, could you set the basket of food on the seat between us? I’m half-starved.” She climbed down but stood scanning the area. “There’re no bushes to shield me from view.”
He hopped down and untied the corner of the tarp to retrieve the food. “You’ll have to go behind the wagon. There’s no one about to see.”
“All right, but ‘tis odd I feel exposing myself with nothing to shield me.” She hurried behind the wagon.
Keeping his eyes averted from her, he cinched down the tarp so wind and water couldn’t spoil the goods. Unless they were lucky, they’d be caught in the approaching storm.
Soon she was climbing back onto the seat. “The breeze is that cold and I’ll be glad of the blanket.”
“You were telling me about coming to this country with your in-laws. Don’t you like America?”
She gave a sad laugh. “Aye, ‘twas the McGowans I didn’t like, especially after my father-in-law died.” Rummaging in the basket, she pulled out a piece of chicken and offered him access to the food.
“None for me right now. You were telling me how you like America.”
Between bites she talked. “I like it fine here, but not where we were in New York… We lived in a tenement, which is a word for too many people crowded into too small a place… I suppose large cities everywhere have such.”
Montana Sky: The Rancher And The Shepherdess (Kindle Worlds Novella) (Loving A Rancher Book 2) Page 2
