A Bride for Andrew

by Cat Cahill

  Although the circumstances weren’t what she would have ever wished for—she missed Lucy every day, and she ached for the thought that her sister wouldn’t see her children grow—what she had right now was more than she ever could have imagined. It was good.

  It was home.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Do I have to?” Oliver clutched the lunch pail, eyeing the little schoolhouse with trepidation.

  Sarah, meanwhile, danced from foot to foot, her ragdoll already forgotten in the wagon. If her brother took any longer to leave the safety of the side of the wagon, Andrew thought Sarah might sprint to the schoolhouse all on her own, any loyalty to her sibling forgotten.

  “You’ve gone to school before,” Ivy reminded him. “It couldn’t have been that bad.”

  Oliver screwed up his face in such a grimace that Andrew had to turn to hide his smile.

  “I’ll tell you what.” Andrew clapped a hand on Oliver’s shoulder, and the little boy looked up at him. “If you make it through a day at school, I’ll let you saddle up Henry on your own tomorrow, and we’ll ride into town instead of taking the wagon.” It would be easier, anyhow, not having to harness up the mules twice a day. And the children had grown more confident in riding over the summer.

  Oliver’s face lit up. He glanced back at the school building as Sarah tugged on his hand. “All right,” he said, sounding much braver than he had before. “I’ll look after Sarah.”

  “Good man,” Andrew said, nodding at the boy.

  Oliver threw his skinny shoulders back and let Sarah lead him to the schoolhouse doors, where the teacher stood waiting for her pupils.

  Oliver glanced back once, and Andrew nodded at him.

  When Ivy had broached the subject of schooling for the children with Andrew, he knew they needed to find a way for them to attend, although it meant him leaving his work and making a trip into town twice a day. It was too far for the children to walk, even if there wasn’t the thought of miners or other ill-intentioned men to consider. He’d warned Ivy there would be days, particularly toward the fall, when the work would be too much for him to be away, or in the winter, if the snows came in too fast or heavy. But he figured some schooling was better than no schooling, and Ivy agreed, insisting she could make up the difference teaching them herself on days they could not get into town.

  Andrew pushed his hat back to better see Oliver and Sarah as they greeted their teacher. His heart swelled about three sizes when Oliver removed his hat and gestured at his little sister. He couldn’t have been prouder if they were his own children.

  He felt Ivy’s eyes on him just a mere second before her arm looped around his. He tucked his hand around hers protectively. And when he glanced down at her, she smiled as if he were her entire world and she didn’t much care at all what any of the townsfolk who might be watching would think.

  Andrew wasn’t certain how it was possible, but each day she’d grown more beautiful. Her dark hair shone in the sunlight, and her skin seemed luminescent. His fingers curled around hers and she responded with an even brighter smile. Somewhere deep down, he knew he should feel badly about the way he encouraged her affection, but the thought disappeared almost as soon as it manifested, the same way it had as the days had passed this summer.

  In fact, the closer he’d grown to Ivy, the more the guilt had faded. He didn’t think too long on why, or whether it was the honest thing to do. If it was wrong, he was willing to pay the price.

  He was simply too happy not to.

  With the children inside the schoolhouse, he helped Ivy back into the wagon.

  “I hope Oliver does well,” she said as he nudged the mules into action.

  “He’ll be fine. He’s smarter than I was at that age, and I survived schooling.” As they passed the mercantile, a woman who had just exited paused to stare at them. Andrew glanced at Ivy. She was looking at him; she hadn’t noticed the woman at all. The usual guilt those stares caused flitted away before it roosted, and as they left town, Andrew’s heart was lighter than ever.

  “Mary wanted to be a schoolteacher. Before we married, I mean,” he said. He didn’t know where the words had come from, or why they weren’t accompanied by the usual ache that coursed through his body whenever he spoke of Mary. But all that came was a memory of her speaking of her childhood dream, cast in a warm glow with a tinge of sadness. It was as if he could finally remember how he’d felt when the memory had actually occurred, without every thought bathed in the heavy cloud of mourning.

  Ivy hesitated, and when he looked at her, he found her watching him with an assessing sort of look, as if she were calculating the appropriate response. Whatever she saw must’ve spurred her onward, because she said, “Was she able to teach at all before your marriage?”

  A warmth settled inside Andrew at Ivy’s curiosity. She and Mary might have been friends, if their paths had crossed when Mary was alive. It was an odd thought, and yet strangely comforting. “She did for a short time in Missouri, before we married and came here.”

  “Missouri,” Ivy said, her eyes on the trail ahead, the path that various farmers and ranchers and miners living below the Wet Mountains had worn down over the years. “I’d wondered where you grew up. Would you find it funny that I originally guessed you were from New York?”

  Andrew burst out laughing, both at her guess and at the ridiculous notion that he hadn’t shared that tiny, basic fact with her. He realized that in his effort to keep her at a distance, he hadn’t told her much about himself at all. He’d begun sharing bits and pieces of information hesitantly over the last few weeks. A warning, tiny and quiet, told him not to give too much away. It would be too much; it would draw her too close and would put her in jeopardy. It wouldn’t be right to Mary.

  But it faded quickly, as it had lately. He wanted to tell Ivy everything. If that made him a terrible person, then so be it. But something about her made him feel as if he were living again, and he wasn’t ready to let that go. In fact, he wanted more of it. Each time she smiled at him or let him take her hand, it was as if another part of him awoke from a long slumber.

  “Who do you suppose that is?” Ivy asked, looking forward.

  Andrew followed her gaze to two figures just ahead. He’d been so buried in his own thoughts, he hadn’t noticed them until now. “Miners, most likely.” What they were doing out here on a Monday morning instead of working, he didn’t know. He’d run into a few during his time in this valley. Most were friendly enough, despite their rough edges, while a few others had a bone to pick.

  It wasn’t long at all before they reached the men. Andrew nodded a greeting. One of the men said hello, but the other, a particularly dirty-looking fellow, offered no such greeting. Instead, his eyes went right to Ivy, and that was where they stayed until the wagon passed.

  Uneasy anger washed through Andrew like a storm. When he turned, the man still watched them. Andrew tightened his fingers around the lines, trying to ignore the urge to stop the mules, leap down, and show the man exactly what he thought of him staring at his wife in that manner.

  “Andrew?” A gentle hand laid itself on his knee.

  When he glanced up, Ivy was watching him, concern lining her soft features. “Is everything all right?” she asked.

  He forced himself to nod. “It’s been some time since those miners have seen a decent woman. Pay them no mind.”

  “All right,” she said, but she left her hand where it was.

  It was funny how such a simple touch could make his mind spin. He had to think harder to piece together two thoughts that made sense. Finally giving in, he transferred the lines to one hand so he could curl his free hand over hers.

  “Tell me more about your schooling. I can hardly picture you as one of those troublemaking boys I remember from my time in school,” Ivy said.

  Andrew laughed, the miners quickly forgotten. “I wasn’t a troublemaker. I was too quiet for that. I spent most of my time gazing out the window and wishing I was outside. I drea
med of coming West ever since I was a boy.”

  A little smile tugged at Ivy’s lips. “I can see that.”

  “I suppose you were one of those girls in perfect pigtails who always knew her recitations?”

  This time, Ivy laughed. Andrew wanted to close his eyes and revel in the sound of it. He settled for rubbing a thumb over the back of her hand instead.

  “I did know my recitations, but only because I worked very hard to remember them. And I wore a plait that was neat in the morning and a mess by the afternoon,” she said with a grin.

  Andrew could picture her easily as a little girl with her dark hair wisping around her face as it did now. The desire to stop the wagon right there and push those pieces of hair from her cheeks before kissing her reared up fiercely. He quelled the thought, urging the mules onward instead, toward home.

  Yet at the same time, he hoped this ride would never end. He wanted to stay in this wagon, with Ivy’s hand on his knee and his fingers curled protectively around hers, sharing stories about their childhoods, forever.

  A quick glance at Ivy made him wonder if she felt the same.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ivy hummed as she finished ironing the last of the week’s wash. Washing and ironing had always been her least favorite chores at home, and while she certainly hadn’t grown to love them, somehow they seemed much more palatable here in her own home. Andrew had finished the wardrobe a couple of weeks ago, and now it sat proudly in the room Ivy shared with the children. She placed their clothing inside of it now, running her hand over the fine wood and neatly carved decorations on the doors. It was a wonder that he’d created this all on his own. And all for her and the children. A happy smile crossed Ivy’s face as she returned to the kitchen.

  She debated what to do next. There was preparing supper, of course, and then the new skirt she was making for herself. Freshly harvested carrots, potatoes, and cauliflower needed cleaning and separating into what they’d keep to eat and what Andrew would take into town to sell to the Crest Stone Hotel, the boarding houses and restaurants, and to townsfolk unable to grow their own vegetables. And at some point this week, she needed to churn some butter.

  But right now, the dirt on the floor was calling her attention. It didn’t matter that she swept at least once a day; the sandy dirt clung to their shoes and found its way inside constantly. Ivy retrieved her broom and made quick work of the kitchen floor. In the parlor, she opened the door to let the air in as she worked. There was no sign of Andrew. He’d mentioned working in the barn this morning before making his rounds in the fields. A contentment stole over Ivy as she thought of how much he’d changed over the few months since she and the children arrived. She’d feared he would never warm to her, but in the past several weeks, he seemed to steal moments throughout the day to take her hand, to tease her about how spotless she kept the house, or to simply be near her. The more he warmed to her and shared more about himself, the more it seemed her own heart opened to him.

  It gave her hope.

  As she pushed the little pile of dirt toward the door, movement outside—just beyond the two wooden posts that marked the beginning of their property—caught her eye. Ivy looked up, assuming Andrew was coming to the house for something he needed.

  But it wasn’t Andrew.

  Ivy leaned the broom against the wall and stepped over the little pile of dirt. Aside from Maggie and her husband, they hadn’t received a single visitor since Ivy had arrived. Perhaps this was one of their neighbors, come to introduce himself. Ivy wiped her hands on her apron and stepped out onto the porch, ready to greet the man.

  But the moment she reached the edge of the porch, she knew something wasn’t right. The man wasn’t dressed as a farmer or a rancher, for one. His clothing was soiled, as if he’d worn it for too many days in a row without washing, and he had no horse. He must have come on foot, although from where . . .

  Ivy pulled in a breath. She did recognize the man. He was the one who’d so rudely stared at her a few days ago, when she and Andrew were returning from taking the children into town for school.

  “’Morning, ma’am,” he said, not bothering to remove his hat as he greeted her.

  Ivy gripped the porch railing. Her heart pounded out of control, and she tried to explain away his presence. Maybe he was just hungry or hoped to obtain a ride into town. Still, she wished Andrew might choose now to emerge from the barn or the fields. “Good morning,” she forced herself to say in as even a voice as possible.

  His eyes darted from her to the house and then across to the barn and the fields beyond. When his gaze returned to her, he smiled and said, “I don’t suppose you might have some water? I’m mighty thirsty.”

  Ivy nodded, although a little voice in her head wondered what the man was doing walking to town without a canteen. It was several miles from the mining camp to Crest Stone, after all. “Wait here and I’ll bring you a glass.”

  She turned and made her way inside, hoping he’d take the water and then go. Perhaps she ought to set it on the porch and then return inside and lock the doors. Was she wrong to be so distrusting?

  As she retrieved a glass and strode through the kitchen to the back door, she debated. She was helping him, after all, which was her Christian duty, but she needn’t invite danger by letting him linger. She filled the glass at the well, and, mind made up, returned to the house to walk back to the front door. But when she reached the parlor, she nearly dropped the full glass.

  He was waiting beside the little end table next to the settee.

  Fear chased its way up Ivy’s spine. “My husband would wish for you to remain outside,” she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking. What would she do if he didn’t leave? She could turn and run to the back door. That was her best option.

  He didn’t move. Instead, he watched her with an ugly smile. “Where is your husband now? Out working the fields?”

  “In the barn.” Ivy clutched the glass so hard she thought she might break it.

  His smile grew. “I don’t believe that.” He took a step toward her.

  Ivy didn’t think. She threw the water at his face, tossing the glass too for good measure. Then she ran. She’d reached the kitchen before she heard the footsteps behind her. If only she could make it to the door. Then at least she could scream for Andrew. Surely he’d hear her from outside.

  “Don’t you run out on me!” the man yelled.

  Ivy didn’t look back to see where he was. Her fingers reached for the door, but instead of gripping the doorknob, the door was thrown wide open.

  And there stood Andrew.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Andrew grabbed hold of Ivy and pushed her behind him on the porch. The miner had stopped inside the kitchen, his eyes wide as he took in Andrew’s presence.

  Andrew said nothing. He couldn’t have formed words if he’d wanted to. Instead, sheer anger drove him forward, leading him into the kitchen and balling his fists at his sides. He thought of the shotgun, sitting above the mantel in the parlor. The one he hadn’t used since Mary’s death. The one he couldn’t bring himself to touch again. Could he use it now, if it came to that?

  The man took a step backward, his beady eyes not moving from Andrew. He flexed his hands, and Andrew stiffened. He could fight, if he had to. In fact, he wouldn’t hesitate to land a blow right across this man’s face.

  He moved forward again. Without glancing backward, he knew that Ivy remained on the porch, just outside the door. Keeping her safe was the most important thing to him right now. Just thinking of this man, with his unwashed clothing and his dirt-encrusted fingernails, laying a hand on Ivy made a fury rise in Andrew, one so fierce and raw that he struggled to contain it.

  “Leave my house. Now,” he finally said.

  The man hesitated. Andrew took another step toward him, and that was all it took. The miner turned and fled through the door to the parlor.

  Andrew followed him, ensuring he left the property entirely. Stepping over a broken dr
inking glass and a puddle of water on the floor, he reached the front door. The man ran toward the north, presumably headed back toward the mining camp. Only when he was but a dot in the distance did Andrew’s shoulders finally relax.

  Ivy stood behind him, her hands clasped, and the mess in the parlor already gone. He’d been so fixated on watching the man leave the premises, he hadn’t even heard her sweep up the glass.

  “I threw a glass at him,” she said quietly, her voice strained.

  A smile tugged at his lips. She looked so small and vulnerable, standing there with wisps of hair about her face and the top of her head barely reaching his shoulders. But she’d fought. Of course she had. After all, she’d given up everything she’d known to marry a man she hadn’t met and to journey halfway across the country. She was the bravest person he’d ever known.

  He crossed the space between them, and without a second thought, wrapped her in his arms. She melted against him, her hands finding their way around his waist and her head nestling into his chest. He dipped his face to the top of her head, breathing in the scent of lilacs—letting her very existence fill his senses, his mind, his soul. Her warm tears soaked his shirt. The last of the wall he’d built inside after Mary had died deteriorated into dust. He clutched Ivy to him, even though he was very aware of the fact that she was helping him to remain standing as much as he was helping her.

  “I was so afraid,” she said, her words muffled.

  He ran a hand over her back to calm her. “I know.”

  “How did you know to come?”

  “I didn’t. I merely got hungry for the noon meal.”

  Ivy pulled away just far enough to look up at him. “What if the children had been here?”

  “They weren’t.” He moved a hand to her cheek, wiping away her tears with his thumb. “It’s no use imagining things that didn’t happen.”

  She shuddered and closed her eyes. He kept his hand on her face, marveling at how perfectly she was made. Dark eyelashes rested against smooth skin, and her lips, reddened from crying, seemed to call to him.