by Merry Farmer
“I’m heading to the Oregon Territory to buy myself some land,” he explained, chest swelling with pride at his plans. “I’ve been saving up for years, ever since I was old enough to work. I grew up on a farm in Ohio, so I know how to work the land. We had cows too, so I thought about heading to the Dakota Territory to start a ranch.”
“But you decided on a farm instead?” she asked.
“Yep,” he nodded, then tipped his head to the side. “Well, maybe. I’ve got all the money I need to buy a nice parcel of good farmland near the coast in Oregon. I figure I could work that for a few years on my own until it’s producing well, then I can start to hire boys to expand it with me. Either that or I could start off buying land and a few head of cattle. I figure I’ll decide when I get there. Either way, it won’t be easy, but owning land the only thing I’ve really wanted to do for as long as I can remember.”
“I admire you,” she said, speaking up through the patter of the rain. “To go so far from home and all on your own.”
“And I admire you,” he complimented her in turn. “It takes a lot of courage to answer an advertisement in a newspaper from a man looking for a bride without ever having laid eyes on him. Braver than earning money and heading west to buy land.”
“I didn’t have much choice,” she said. Greg found himself wanting to know more, but before he could ask why, she went on with, “And why haven’t you sent back East for a bride?”
He grinned at the boldness of her question. Something about it set his heart beating.
“I’ve got a plan,” he answered. “First, go west. Second, find land. Third, work the land. Fourth, expand. And then, finally, once all of that is taken care of and I’m established, then I might find a bride, if one strikes my fancy. But I wouldn’t do it sight unseen.”
“Oh.” She checked on Jupiter, stroking his side. Her bonnet hid her face. “You wouldn’t consider looking for a bride before then?”
“Nope,” he answered, a little too quickly.
He didn’t understand the twist of guilt that lodged in his chest at his response. It wasn’t as if he was the one who had let her down by refusing to marry her. There were no promises between them.
“Of course, that doesn’t mean that a dozen men or more in every town we pass won’t be looking for a bride,” he went on, as if that could make things better. “I’m sure you won’t have a problem finding a husband that suits you, if that’s what you want.”
She sent him a wary sideways look. “That may be, but it doesn’t solve the problem of Mr. Huber’s money. I owe him.”
Those words sounded so wrong coming from Darcy that Greg flinched. What did a sweet woman like her owe to a stubborn bully like Conrad?
Before he could ask her just that, Darcy said, “I have to convince him that I am the woman he thought I would be when he sent for me. If nothing in the letter I wrote when I answered his advertisement suited what he was looking for, then why would he send me the money in the first place?”
“I don’t know,” Greg said, frustrated for her.
“There has to be something else going on. There has to be something I can do,” she continued.
“I’m sure there is,” Greg agreed, though if he had his say, he would tell her to do whatever it took to pay Conrad off, then run in the opposite direction. It wasn’t really up to him, though. He was a man. He could save his money and buy a farm. Sad though it was, women didn’t have those same options.
Another crack of thunder rumbled in the distance, still on the horizon but a bit of a way behind them, now. The rain was as fierce as ever, though. The ground was soft with mud, but the stalwart oxen lumbered on.
“So what made you decide you wanted to be a mail-order bride in the first place?” Greg asked when he felt the silence between them had gone on too long. “Why that instead of, I don’t know, going to work in a shop or something?”
“I did work in a shop once,” Darcy replied in a grim voice. “I enjoyed it, but the shop went out of business. Then I worked as a maid in the house of one of Baltimore’s finest citizens.”
“Oh? What was wrong with that?”
She peeked at him from the corner of her soaked bonnet. “My employer had a roving eye and wandering hands,” she said, even more grim than before.
“Oh,” Greg answered. He balled his hand into a fist at his side. Men who acted like that were no better than… than men like Conrad Huber, making promises and then leaving women in the lurch. “What about your family, then?” he asked.
She sighed. “I don’t have any left, unfortunately. There was an influenza outbreak a few years ago. I was the only one who made it through. I nursed my poor mother and sister after Papa and the others had gone, but….”
She lowered her head. Greg didn’t know what to say except, “I’m sorry.”
That may have been all he could think of to say, but one of his neighbors who was walking close enough behind him to overhear their conversation said, “You know about nursing the influenza?”
Greg turned at the same time as Darcy did. “Yes,” Darcy answered the woman.
A strange, desperate kind of relief washed over the woman behind them. “Thank the Lord. I wish you’d said something sooner. The whole McTavish family is sick as can be, and this rain is making things worse. Could you come and take a look at them?”
“I… I guess.” Darcy glanced to Greg, eyes round with anxiety, but also with hope. Greg nodded to her, though he didn’t think he really had to give her permission. She turned back to the woman. “Where are they?”
“A few wagons back,” the woman answered, resting a hand on Darcy’s arm as she fell behind. “I’m Millie. I’ll take you to them.”
“Let’s hurry,” Darcy said.
Greg watch over his shoulder as Darcy and Millie slogged off in their soaked clothes toward the back of the train. He caught himself hoping that she knew everything that the McTavish family needed her to know to make them better. Along with that, he caught himself hoping that Darcy’s fortunes would turn around once she proved how wonderful she was. He had a deep feeling that she was far more wonderful than he could imagine. It didn’t feel quite right to think that, though. He wasn’t the one who had sent for her as a bride, after all. But maybe he could use her own strength and skill to help her reach the goal she had in mind.
Chapter Three
The rain let up just as it came time to stop for the night. As exhausted as Darcy was after the hard going of the day—and after seeing to the unfortunate McTavish family—she couldn’t rest. Not yet.
“Let me cook supper for you,” she approached Greg as he took care of his oxen, making sure they had food and water.
“Supper?” He stood straight from where he was freeing Jupiter and Hero from the wagon’s harness. “I was just going to eat the rest of the beans I cooked for lunch.”
“I can do better than that,” Darcy insisted. “Let me give it a try.”
“Well, all right,” Greg agreed slowly. “Think you can find everything?”
“I’m certain I can.”
As Greg led his oxen to a fat, rushing stream near where they’d stopped, Darcy went to work. Everything she needed to cook as grand a feast as was possible on the trail was in the back of Greg’s wagon. She climbed in and squatted, her dress dripping with rainwater, and searched through his food supplies, planning a menu. Greg hadn’t brought much with him on his journey west. She’d caught glimpses of furniture and large chests, even some farming tools, in some of their neighbor’s wagons, but Greg’s only held the standard flour and beans, rasher of bacon and strips of dried meat that served as trail food supplies, and a single small chest that she assumed held his worldly belongings. There were a few blankets and a bedroll as well, but overall, the wagon felt strangely empty compared to the others she’d seen.
Then again, after the cramped and stifled conditions of the stagecoach, an empty box would feel spacious.
She gathered what she needed, deciding a hearty st
ew and biscuits was the best that could be done with such limited supplies, and went to work. The ground all around was wet and muddy, and the air was thick with humidity. Starting a fire was far more of a challenge than it would have been on a dry day. Greg, like many of their fellow travelers, had kept a bucket of buffalo chips covered and out of the rain for just such a purpose. They were dry, but finding a spot that was dry enough to place them on and getting a fire to start took up too much of Darcy’s time.
“Do you want some help with that?” Greg asked as he ambled back from seeing to the oxen.
“No, no I can do it,” Darcy said, glancing up long enough to send him a smile.
She could do it too. The chips were already smoking, and with just a little more effort, she was able to get a small blaze going. It wasn’t much, but it would be enough to cook a stew. She let the fire heat and turned her attention to measuring out dried meat, beans, and a tiny handful of old, dried vegetables into the pot, then mixed up biscuit dough.
“You’re a crack hand at cooking,” Greg remarked as he watched her.
Darcy let herself feel a little bit of pride at how impressed Greg looked.
“I’ve always loved cooking,” she said. “My mother was a fantastic cook. I learned from her.”
“Have you ever had to cook over an open fire before?” Greg asked.
“Not really,” she answered, “but the basics are the same no matter what kind of fire you’re using.”
She focused on her work, kneading and rolling the biscuit dough on a wide board she found with Greg’s supplies. Greg let out a breath and shook his head.
“I don’t know why you’re so dead-set on finding a husband,” he said. “You don’t need one. With skills like these, you could survive on your own out here on the frontier. You could open a kitchen or a boarding house, or go work as a cook on a ranch or a mining camp.”
Darcy shook her head, growing serious. “It’s not as simple as that,” she said. “Having a husband isn’t just about having someone to provide a roof and food for you. It’s security against all manner of things.”
“Security?” Greg frowned, leaning forward where he sat and resting his elbows on his knees. “How?”
“Men are allowed to work at jobs that pay them a man’s wages,” she told him. “Women could work just as hard and barely earn enough to rent a room in someone else’s house. Society is set up so that having a husband provides legitimacy for a woman. Mrs. Somebody is treated with much more respect than Miss Nobody.”
“I see,” Greg said, staring into the fire.
“It doesn’t matter how industrious a single woman is, she will always be looked at with suspicion by those who wonder how she sustains herself. And she will be a target for men who think they can take advantage of her.” Her voice dropped nearly to a whisper. A chill at the memory of the way her former employer had leered at her made her shiver. Never again.
“So the alternative is to find a husband, no matter what?” Greg asked.
Darcy shrugged. “I’ve never been taken over by romantic notions of love. It’s nice if a husband and wife love each other, but both can be perfectly happy without love. Marriage is a partnership.”
Greg made a face as though he disagreed with her, but didn’t say anything more, so Darcy went on.
“A woman needs a husband to have children too,” she said.
“With Conrad Huber?” Greg sounded more doubtful than ever.
“The having is worth the getting,” Darcy replied with a smile. It wasn’t enough to fight off the wary ache in her stomach at the thought of the getting with Conrad. She would worry about that when she got there.
“If you say so,” Greg said, but looked more than a little disturbed.
“Like I said, I don’t have any romantic notions about marriage being the same as love. I answered Mr. Huber’s advertisement because I wanted a new life in a new land. I wanted the legitimacy of being someone’s wife and the protection that would provide me. I still want that. I’m still determined to have that. I could bear putting up with a less-than perfect husband in exchange for the position that comes with it.”
She thought about clarifying her words to add that she wasn’t seeking a high social position or anything that would allow her to lord over her neighbors, but the acceptance in Greg’s expression told her he’d gotten the message. It was an imperfect world and she was in an even less perfect situation, but she wouldn’t shy away from any part of it. She would take what she could get in life and enjoy it for what it was.
She continued with her cooking, and soon the savory scents of beef stew and baking biscuits filled the evening air.
“I can’t say I’m happy about the lot that women have,” Greg spoke after a long silence, in which he had stared at the fire and the pot of stew as it bubbled.
“I’m content with it,” Darcy reassured him. “My life could be so much worse.”
He met her eyes, and for a moment she had it in her head that he didn’t agree with her. He took a breath and went on.
“This is what I think. I think that if you try hard enough and if we put our heads together, we could convince Conrad to change his mind and marry you after all.”
The thrill of hope filled Darcy’s chest, but with it a strange twist of something sad and desperate, as if she didn’t want Greg, of all people, to make that suggestion. She swallowed to push that away. Winning Conrad back was what she wanted, after all.
“What should I do?” she asked.
Greg scooted forward on his seat. “I think you should start by taking him a bowl of this fine stew and some biscuits,” he said. “It all smells delicious.”
Darcy blushed. “I just hope it tastes as good as it smells.”
“I’m sure it will. And I’m sure Conrad will think so too.” He stood and moved to the back of his wagon. He searched for a few minutes, then came back with a spare bowl and a napkin. “Here. Spoon some of that into this, and wrap up a few biscuits. I think Conrad has his wagon close by.”
Darcy took the bowl. Her fingertips brushed Greg’s hand, and for a moment she thought the lightning of that afternoon would come back. That simple touch was electric. She cleared her throat and ignored it, focusing on the mission before her. She spooned stew into the small bowl and picked a couple of biscuits out of the pan she had cooked them in, careful not to burn her fingers. They already felt burned enough.
“There you go,” Greg said once she stood. “Now all you have to do is take those to him and show him how brilliant a cook you are.”
Darcy gave him a doubtful look. “I’m not sure it will be enough. Mr. Huber has proved that he’s awfully stubborn already.”
Greg waved a hand to dismiss her worries. “It may not win him over completely, but it sure will help sway him.”
“You’re right.” She smiled. “I’ll give it a try.”
With her heart full of confidence—and, oddly, twisting with angst as well—she took the bowl and the napkin of biscuits and set out down the line of wagons. She’d seen Conrad stop his wagon near the back of the pack. There was a group of rough types that stayed on the fringes of the train that she had seen him and his buddy, Bruce, talking to a time or two. As she’d hoped, she found him there now, and thankfully, Bruce wasn’t anywhere in sight.
“What do you want?” Conrad asked as Darcy approached, a smile plastered in place on her lips. Conrad sat on the back of his wagon, no fire in his camp. In one hand he held a jug that probably contained some kind of spirits, and in the other a strip of jerky.
“I’ve brought you supper,” she said, striding boldly forward and presenting him with the bowl and the napkin.
Conrad sniffed and perked up. He set his jug and jerky aside quickly and grabbed for the bowl and napkin. Darcy’s hopes rose as he sniffed at the stew, then let out a long, satisfying hum of approval. He fished in the supplies behind him for a spoon, then dug in.
“Do you like it?” she asked, keeping her smile as firmly in place as s
he could.
Conrad ignored her, devouring the stew. He opened the napkin and his brow flew up in delight at the sight of the biscuits. He bit into one, crumps flying from his mouth, and chuckled in approval.
Within five minutes, the food was gone. Conrad let out a satisfied breath, then belched, a smile on his face. He thrust the bowl back at Darcy.
“Now go away,” he said.
“What?” Darcy’s smile dropped.
“I said go away. I told you I didn’t want you.” He paused in the middle of turning his back on her. “Unless you’ve got my money.”
Darcy’s shoulders dropped. “No. I don’t have it. I was hoping that you might reconsider.”
“No.” Conrad sniffed. He hesitated, then said. “You got any more biscuits?”
“No,” Darcy replied, her heart heavy.
“Then go away,” Conrad repeated. This time he shut her out completely, retreating into the shelter of his wagon.
Darcy watched in angry disbelief for a few seconds. How could he dismiss her like that? She couldn’t hold onto that anger for long. Greg had told her he didn’t think one meal would be enough. He’d been right. Maybe he was also right in saying that stew and biscuits would be the start of something more.
Bolstered by that thought, she turned and headed back up the line of wagons to where Greg still sat by the fire she’d made, eating her stew and biscuits himself.
“This is amazing,” he told her as she drew near. “You are truly gifted with a wooden spoon.”
“Thank you,” she said, though her smile could only last for a few seconds.
Greg studied her. “He wasn’t receptive, was he?”
“Not really.” Darcy shook her head. Being gloomy wasn’t going to get her anywhere, though. She took in a breath and forced herself to look at the bright side. “At least he liked it. That’s a step in the right direction.”
“It is,” Greg agreed. His expression was as hesitant as it was encouraging.
She couldn’t let herself think too much about it. With a sigh, she took Conrad’s empty bowl to the back of Greg’s wagon and fetched another bowl. When she returned to the fire, she spooned out the last of the stew for herself and sat on an old crate by Greg’s side with her supper. It wasn’t half bad. If she had better ingredients, she could have made a grand feast. It had been too long since she’d had a truly sumptuous supper.
