RNWMP: Bride for Joel

by Amelia C. Adams

  Well, he did know, and he figured now was as good a time as any.

  He stood up from the table. Her back was to him as she organized the dishes to be washed, and he thought he could come up beside her, thank her for dinner, and give her a nice kiss. That was a simple plan, yet it would be effective. It would break the ice, and might even lead to two kisses the following day.

  He stepped up beside her. “Violet?”

  She turned quickly, holding the skillet, and dumped drippings all down his front. “Oh!” she gasped. “Oh, I’m so sorry! You startled me, and I wasn’t careful, and . . .”

  Richard looked down at his shirt, then back up at her, and started to laugh. “At least it’s not hot,” he said, grabbing a dish towel and trying to sponge off the mess.

  “And I was planning to do laundry tomorrow,” she added. “You had everything nicely done when I got here, so I didn’t need to do it before, but now I do, and . . . I’ll wash your shirt. I promise.”

  She looked so upset and forlorn, Richard couldn’t help it. It wasn’t the way he’d envisioned it, but he leaned forward and gave her a kiss, careful not to let his shirt touch her. It was the softest, most tender kiss he’d ever experienced, and it set his senses reeling. When he stepped back, she looked up into his eyes, wonder on her face.

  “What did you need?” she asked.

  “What?”

  “When you came over here and said my name. What did you need?”

  “I wanted to kiss you.”

  She smiled. “It looks like you got your wish.”

  He smiled back. “Yes, I believe I did.”

  ***

  “And I don’t know how to get grease out of a shirt,” Violet finished, looking across her table at Miss Hazel, who had come for a visit and found Violet all flustered.

  Miss Hazel chuckled. “But you did get a nice kiss out of the bargain.”

  “Yes, I did, and I wouldn’t mind it happening again, but that doesn’t tell me how to fix his shirt!”

  Miss Hazel reached across the table and patted her hand. “It’s simple, my dear. Coat it with soap, let it sit while you wash the other clothes, and then give it a scrubbing. If the grease doesn’t come out, throw it away and get him a new shirt.”

  Violet blinked. “Throw it away? But isn’t that wasteful?”

  “I’m going to tell you a secret. A man who enjoys giving his pretty wife a kiss won’t mind if she has to replace a shirt once in a while. It’s a small price to pay for marital happiness.”

  Violet’s cheeks felt warm. When she thought back on it, it really had been a nice kiss, and she supposed that she didn’t need to feel as guilty as she’d been making herself feel. At the same time, though, she knew he didn’t have much income. Maybe she could buy the shirt with some of the money she’d brought with her and give it to him as a gift.

  “I see that you’re coming around to my way of thinking,” Miss Hazel said. “You’re not looking so much like a scared rabbit.”

  “I’ll try the soap and scrubbing, and if that doesn’t work, I’ll get him a new shirt,” Violet replied. “I just hope you’re right.”

  Miss Hazel gave her a look. “I’m not correct about everything all the time, but I’m almost shockingly right about the other things,” she said. “Matters of the heart? They’re so much easier than people make them out to be. Now, stop your fretting and get to work. It’s not the end of the world, and trust me, you’re not going to break his budget. You’re far too sensible for that.” She rose from the table and gave Violet a hug. “Thank you for the tea and cake, my dear. I enjoyed our visit very much.”

  “What are we going to do without you, Miss Hazel?” It was the question that the brides couldn’t stop asking. She’d done so much for them.

  The older woman smiled. “You’ll find your way as God intends. You’ll be fine.”

  Violet certainly hoped so—she didn’t feel capable of much of anything at the moment.

  After Miss Hazel left, Violet put a pie in the oven, then set to work on the laundry. There wasn’t a great deal, but she wanted to stay on top of things and not let them pile up—in addition to needing to wash Richard’s shirt. She rubbed the stains with soap and let the shirt soak while she washed the other things, then took the pie out of the oven. It looked perfect, but she wasn’t going to rest on her laurels. She would taste it, see what she thought, and then make a decision.

  While the pie cooled, she attacked the shirt, scrubbing it for all she was worth. Her forehead broke out into a sweat, and she wiped her face with her forearm. She would give this her best effort—no one would be able to say she did less. After it was rinsed and wrung out, she hung it with the other clothes, knowing she wouldn’t be able to tell if it was truly clean until it was dry.

  She washed her face and re-pinned her hair, which had come loose and was flying around, making her look like a crazy woman, and then she sampled a taste of pie. Hmm—she had done an apple/peach filling, and she thought it could use just a tiny bit more ginger. She’d try that next. First, though, she’d been working hard and she could use a break—she’d walk over to visit the Tremblay family and take them some pie.

  She looked down at the tin and gasped. Why hadn’t she thought of it sooner? She couldn’t give away a practice pie – it had a piece cut out of it! She could never give away a pie with a piece missing! She sat down at the table and rested her head on her hand. She needed to calm down. She’d been buzzing around in a tizzy all day, not knowing whether she was coming or going, and she was flustered. She took a few deep breaths and told herself to slow down and think reasonably.

  All right—the pie. She would let it cool completely so the apples and peaches were set in their sugary juices, and then she’d cut slices and set them on a plate. That would hide the fact that there was a piece missing, and since it was just a small piece—a sliver, really—she’d still be able to cut eight proper pie wedges without raising any eyebrows. That problem was now solved. The shirt—well, she’d done what she could, and now it was up to the sun to dry the shirt and reveal her answer.

  She stood up, got herself a glass of water, and decided to stop being so dramatic. As soon as the pie was cool enough, she sliced it, arranged it on a plate, and covered it with a clean dish towel, then began her walk to the Tremblays’ house. She only had a vague idea of where it was, so she asked a man she passed on the street.

  He raised an eyebrow and looked at her like she’d lost her mind. “What you be wanting them for?”

  “I’m just paying a visit,” she replied, wondering at his reaction. She had a right to go visiting, didn’t she?

  He shook his head. “If you be wanting to do that to yourself.” He turned and pointed, telling her to go straight and then take the right fork in the path and follow the log fence to the end.

  “Thank you,” she called out as he strode away, obviously eager to distance himself from this odd woman who wandered around town with plates of food, asking directions of strangers.

  She followed the right fork in the path and walked along the log fence, noticing that the trees were growing thicker and thicker the farther she walked. It almost felt like they were leaning in toward her, although she knew that was silly. The tops filtered the rays of sun, creating some pleasant shade and coolness. Maybe this was the way to experience darkness in the Northwest Territories—build a house in the forest where it’s naturally darker to begin with.

  After she’d been walking for what felt like an eternity, she saw a small cabin up ahead. She didn’t know what the proper protocol would be, so she called out, thinking to give the Tremblays fair warning that she was approaching.

  “Hello? Is anyone home?”

  There wasn’t an answer, and the place seemed still. She wasn’t about to be discouraged, though. She’d come quite a way, and she wasn’t leaving until she knew for sure they weren’t there. She walked up to the front door and knocked. “Hello? My name is Violet Murray, and I’ve brought you some pie.”
r />   The door opened a crack, and a dark-haired woman peered out. “Why are you here?”

  Violet held up the plate. “I’ve brought you some pie, Mrs. Tremblay, and I’d like to get acquainted.”

  The woman eyed her suspiciously, but finally said, “Your name is Murray?”

  “Yes. I just married Richard Murray, the Mountie.”

  Mrs. Tremblay nodded once and opened the door. “He’s a good man. Please come in.”

  Because the forest was so dark, Violet expected the inside of the cabin to be dark as well, but instead, she found it quite light and cheery. Lanterns were set in strategic places here and there, and the back of the cabin had a large glass window that let in some afternoon sun from the other direction. Mrs. Tremblay motioned to the table, and Violet placed the pie on it, then sat.

  “I hope you don’t mind my dropping by,” Violet said. “I’m looking forward to meeting everyone in the community.”

  Mrs. Tremblay shook her head. “Not that we’re considered part of the community.”

  Her voice was low and mellow, but held an understandably bitter note. Violet wanted to know more about this woman and her history. Just in glancing around the cabin, she saw a blending of cultures—animal skin wall hangings along with pictures framed with glass, a rifle over the fireplace with a small skull on the mantel below it.

  “What sort of animal is the skull from?” Violet asked.

  “A fox. My husband hunts them.”

  Violet nodded. She wouldn’t have had even a guess at identifying it. She turned back to her hostess and smiled. “You say you aren’t considered part of the community. Why is that?” She knew she was probably asking a question that should only be asked by a close friend, but she didn’t know how to create a close friend without asking questions. It was quite a confusing cycle, really.

  Mrs. Tremblay looked down at her hands, and then back up. “My husband is a white man,” she replied. “He came from a rich family in Toronto—his father was going to give him the business when he turned twenty-five. But instead, he came up here, we met, and we fell in love. He took me back home with him and introduced me to his family, and they disowned him on the spot. My family did much the same thing. Being Inuit carries certain responsibilities, and my father felt that I had not only gone against our cultural traditions, but that I had betrayed my family as well. I was confused—I’d never heard these laws, but apparently, I should have, and I was told to leave with my husband and never come back.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Violet replied. She’d heard the story from Mrs. Dandy, of course, but hearing it spoken with such emotion was an entirely different experience. “But isn’t Flying Squirrel a fresh start for you? Don’t the people here treat you differently than your families did?”

  Mrs. Tremblay shrugged. “The newer folk do, but the people who have been here for a long time can be cruel. They tell me I’m trying too hard to be a white woman, and they tell my husband he’s becoming an Inuit. They’d like to keep those lines firmly drawn.” She pointed at Violet. “Not your Mountie, though. He and the other men have been good to us. They’ve helped us settle a few arguments in the past, and last year, when we were having some difficulties, they arranged guards to see my husband to the trading post with his furs. He’d been threatened, but we needed the money, so the Mounties gave up a few days’ time to see to his safety. We’ve been indebted to the Mounties ever since.”

  “They are a good bunch of men,” Violet replied. She looked forward to getting to know them better as they met up as couples. She’d hardly spoken to Curtis at all, and Commander Jacobs seemed like a kind man.

  “Now, what’s this you’ve done?” Mrs. Tremblay asked, motioning toward the pie.

  “Just some dessert for your dinner. Apple pie.”

  The other woman smiled. “My husband and son will be glad to hear that. It’s their favorite. Thank you.”

  “It was my pleasure,” Violet replied. She was so glad she’d brought the pie out here instead of disposing it in some other way.

  “Let me put it on a different plate so you can take this one back with you.” Mrs. Tremblay began to stand up, but Violet held up a hand.

  “No, keep it. This way, I’ll have a perfectly legitimate excuse to come back. I’ll say I need to fetch the plate, but in reality, what I want is to sit and visit. Would that be all right with you, Mrs. Tremblay?”

  “You . . . you want to come back?”

  “Yes, very much.”

  “Well, all right, then. And you should call me Anna.”

  Violet smiled. “I’m Violet. And I have a feeling we’re going to become good friends.”

  Anna nodded. “I’d like that. I haven’t had a good friend in a very long time.”

  Chapter Eight

  Saturday morning dawned bright and clear. Violet finished ironing Richard’s shirt and held it up for inspection. All the spots had come out, thank goodness, and he’d be crisp and tidy for the fair. Her pie was ready to go, placed in a basket with a towel thrown over the top. Oh, she hoped the judges liked it, but even more than that, she hoped Richard would know which one was hers. She didn’t know why that mattered to her—maybe it would signify that they were meant to be together or some other such silly thing. At any rate, whether he guessed hers correctly or not, she knew she’d done her best, and Miss Hazel’s advice on how to make a flakier crust seemed to have paid off.

  Richard took the shirt from her outstretched hand. “Hey, it’s still warm,” he said, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. “That’s a nice treat.”

  “Better hurry and change,” she told him. “We need to leave in a few minutes.”

  “Yes, dear.” He flashed a saucy grin, then disappeared into the other room. She smiled, shaking her head. He hadn’t repeated the kiss he’d given her the other night, and she didn’t know why. Wasn’t she a good kisser? She didn’t know—she’d never done it before. It wasn’t the kind of thing she could ask for advice about, though—she didn’t imagine Miss Hazel was in the business of kissing lessons anyway.

  She brushed invisible lint from the front of her yellow dress and was ready to go when Richard reappeared, looking nice and crisp. He picked up her basket with a mischievous look on his face.

  “I wonder what would happen if I took a little peek inside here,” he said, reaching for the towel as if he planned to do just that.

  “No!” She lunged for his arm, but he turned away, laughing.

  “Don’t worry, Mrs. Murray. Your secret is safe. On my honor as a Mountie, I will not lift this towel.”

  “On your honor?”

  “As a Mountie.”

  She frowned for a moment, then relaxed. “All right, but I’m holding you to that. If you break your promise, I’ll report you to Commander Jacobs.”

  Richard gave her a salute. “Yes, ma’am!”

  The weather really couldn’t have been more perfect for an outdoor event. As they moved through the crowd, Violet overheard comments about the long winter, and how glad everyone was that summer had come. The town’s population seemed to have doubled, and Richard explained that people came from miles around for the chance to see each other and catch up on news.

  The churchyard was the center of activity for the day, with the pie contest being one of the main attractions. Violet took the basket from Richard and dodged people in her path as she made her way to the tables where the competing pies were being displayed. She set hers down and rotated it a bit, looking for its best side so it would be shown off properly. She knew she was being fussy, but she couldn’t help it. She noticed Caitlyn come up and put her pie on the table as well, but she didn’t obsess over it.

  “Do you think any of us stand a chance against Miss Hazel?” Caitlyn asked once Violet had finally stopped repositioning her pie tin.

  “I honestly don’t know. Her pie is something else.” Violet looked up and down the table. “These all look really good.” There were pies of every kind on display, and she wondered how her own humbl
e offering could possibly stack up.

  “Oh, look. Here’s Adele,” Caitlyn said.

  Adele waved at them, then hurried over to join them with her own pie. “I don’t remember the last time I was this nervous,” she said, looking up and down the table like Violet had done. “I paid close attention to everything Miss Hazel said, but what if I forgot something?”

  “Your pie looks delicious, and I’m sure it will taste that way too,” Violet told her.

  “I hope so. The last thing I want is to give anyone a tummy ache.” Adele laughed and nodded toward the spot where she’d left Liam. “The judges are taking a moment to confer before the contest has even begun.”

  Sure enough, Liam had been joined by Richard and Curtis, and they seemed to be discussing something quite serious.

  “We did put a lot of pressure on them, expecting them to know whose pie is whose,” Violet pointed out.

  “True, but it was fun.” Adele looped her arms through Violet’s and Caitlyn’s. “This whole day is going to be fun. Let’s make the most of it.”

  Just then, the Mounties jogged past the pie tables on their way toward a grassy meadow. “We’re going to play baseball with the boys!” Richard called out to Violet.

  Adele cheered. “I’ll come watch, Liam!”

  The three brides made their way to the meadow where the game was going to take place. Richard was rolling up his sleeves and getting ready to play, and Violet thought he looked just as young as the children they’d be joining. He looked carefree and relaxed—happy. She wondered if she had anything to do with that happiness.

  Adele nudged her. “Do you see that little girl over there? The one Liam’s talking to?”

  Violet glanced over. The child looked upset. “What’s the matter?”

  “I’m going to find out.” Adele went and joined her husband in talking to the girl. After a few minutes, the child brightened, and Adele dashed back over to the brides.

  “Either of you up for a game?” she asked. “I’m going to play, and Emily’s going to be on my team. Those boys had the nerve to tell her girls can’t play baseball!”