***
Forty-five minutes later, Griffin stood the broom by the wash tubs. He’d shown Laurel how easy it was to collect the eggs after the hens had gone to bed, and then, after he closed the door to the coop, they secured the barn for the night. He shut the back door behind them, after she’d gone into the house, and when he turned around, she stood in the middle of the kitchen, her hands clasped together.
“I’m dying to try a slice of Edna’s pound cake, how about you?”
“Yeah, I’ll have some with you. Although, I have to warn you it’s addictive.” He was amused at her enthusiasm over the thought of cake, and he enjoyed watching her. He knew from her second letter she was twenty years old, but right this minute, she seemed much younger. “Is there any coffee left from this morning?”
“I think so.” She went to the pot on the stove and checked. “There’s enough for each of us to have a cup. I love coffee with cake.”
After a few minutes, Griffin sat beside her on the floor in front of the fire he’d built, enjoying the moment, along with his coffee and cake. He finished both quickly and then watched her as she ate hers.
“Do we really need the fire?” She tried to mask her anxiety, but her eyes darted toward the fireplace, betraying her.
“The house seemed damp and a bit chilly, and I thought you might enjoy it. Are you too warm?”
“No, it’s all right.”
He wondered if she was telling him the truth, because for his part, he was sweating and it had nothing to do with the fire.
The firelight danced across her face, highlighting her eyes, and setting her hair ablaze. He’d been a gentleman so far, but he swore if she licked her fingertip one more time to gather cake crumbs from her plate and then lick them off, he would either take her right here or die on the spot. To keep from doing either, he cleared his throat and picked up their conversation from earlier.
“How’d you end up in Massachusetts?”
She licked her finger again to pick up the last crumb. Her lips wrapped around the tip of her finger and she glanced up at him with a smile. “I know that isn’t lady-like, and if I were still at home, my mother would rake me over the coals for it. But I just couldn’t leave any bits on the plate.”
For his part, he’d be better off if she’d left the crumbs alone and quit licking her finger with that cute pink tongue of hers. He didn’t know how much more he could take. His groin tightened and he settled his plate strategically on his lap. He drew in a ragged breath. “I understand that. I like sweets, too.”
She leaned against the settee and turned slightly to face him. “Now, let’s see, why did I leave home? The reason is quite simple actually. My father began to make his plans for my future and I wanted my independence. I refused to marry any man he picked out for me.
“After much discussion, he agreed to let me live with my mother’s sister, Carlotta Carlisle, at her home in Lawrence, at least for a while, to get me in line. Had he known what she was up to, he never would’ve allowed it. Aunt Lottie was a member of NAWSA.”
“What’s that?”
“National American Woman Suffrage Association, a women’s movement.”
Griffin chuckled. “He certainly wouldn’t have. Was your mother aware of her sister’s affiliation?”
“I’m sure she must have been and I never realized it until this minute. I always thought my mother was ruled by my father, but Adelaide Carlisle Weidner was and is a force to be reckoned with as far as handling my father is concerned.” She grinned and shook her head. “She has the gift of being able to direct him in whatever way is the best for the family.”
“I see.”
“Aunt Lottie helped me develop my independence and made me feel like I had a level head on my shoulders.” She finished her coffee and set her cup and saucer on the floor between them. “Then, last July, everything changed.”
He noticed she’d changed as well. She’d lost a bit of her spark and, for some reason unbeknownst to him, he didn’t like it. “I’m assuming that’s when your aunt died?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“A tornado hit Lawrence and Philadelphia, but Lawrence got the worst of it. The house was leveled, and Aunt Lottie disappeared.”
“What do you mean, she disappeared?” He’d been through a couple of tornadoes in Texas, but he’d never heard of such a thing. People had been injured or killed, but no one had flat-out vanished.
“I mean her body was never found. There’s not even the smallest trace that she ever existed, other than this locket.” She wrapped her fingers around the gold jewelry piece and closed her eyes apparently deep in thought.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Laurel. I know how hard it is to lose someone you loved.” He hadn’t lied to her. While he hadn’t missed his wife after her death, he’d lost custody of his children. They’d both suffered a tragedy. “And that’s when you found my ad?”
“Not exactly.” She glanced over at the fire, stood, and picked up their dishes. “Can we go outside to sit on the porch?”
“Of course.” He got up and took the cups and saucers from her when she shoved them his way. “Go on, I’ll be right out.”
“Thank you.”
He watched her go outside. Something had her nervous and upset, and it had to do with the fire in the fireplace. What had caused her fear and how deep did this fear go? Somehow he had to figure out what he needed to do to help her work through it.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Laurel sat on the top step of the front porch. The cooler air was nice and helped her think beyond the jitters she developed every time there were open flames or closed-in rooms. She’d never talked to anyone about the fire at the mill, except for some of the women she’d worked with. She’d often wondered if Violet, Rachel, or Cora ever experienced dreams or moments of panic due to being trapped in that back room.
She’d hoped by putting distance between herself and the burned out remains of the mill, that she’d be able to put the incident behind her. But she’d already had one episode in the parlor at the parsonage and a smaller one just now. She should tell Griffin so he’d understand her problems, but talking about that day was the most difficult thing she’d ever had to do.
He came out and sat across from her. “Feeling better?”
“I believe so.”
“Good.” He looked out into the distance, obviously deep in thought, and then, as he studied a scar on his left palm, he said, “I‘ve found out through the years that it’s better to confront a problem head on rather than letting it fester. It almost always turns out worse if we don’t. Do you agree?”
“Yes?” She had no idea where he was going with this.
“I want you to know you can talk to me anytime about anything. There should be no secrets between a wife and her husband.”
“That should be a given in a marriage, but it’s good to hear it said out loud.” Laurel realized, even though he didn’t know what her demons were, he was giving her an opportunity to talk about them. Could she do it? Could she tell him about the devastating incident?
“Whatever it is, you can tell me.”
She sat there another minute or so remembering the fire at the mill and looked up when his hand covered hers. A few more seconds passed before she said, “I moved to Lawrence to live with Aunt Lottie, and after a while, she introduced me to her friends. Eventually, I became involved with the women’s movement.
“Last March, I took steps to further ensure my independence from my father by taking a job at the Brown Textile Mill. The work was hard and the hours were long, but it allowed me the ability to give money to the movement and help Lottie with the bills. I also developed friendships with the other women there.”
“I’ve heard of work in the mills and how hard and dangerous the work is. Were you a seamstress?”
“No, my position was along the line where the thread was loaded onto the large spools.”
“Is it dangerous work?”
&
nbsp; “Yes, it can be. You has to stay alert so as not to get your hands and fingers caught in the machinery.” She shuddered. “My second day on the line, the girl sitting beside me lost two fingers in the blink of an eye. I learned quickly to pay attention.”
He let go of her hand to run his fingers across the scar on his palm. “It’s the same in logging. One distraction and you’re injured or dead.”
“Is that how you were hurt?”
“No.” He rolled his fingers into a fist, and urged, “Go on.”
Well wasn’t that interesting? Mr. Griffin Benning, it appeared, had his own secrets. Plainly, he needed to practice what he preached.
“One day last month the building caught fire.”
He grabbed her hand again. “Were you hurt?”
“No, I wasn’t and, other than some minor burns, neither was anyone else. But it was chaos getting out of the building.” Her heartbeat quickened and the awful memory of acrid smoke filled her nose. “I had gone to a back store room for more supplies when I heard screams and women shouting. The force from an explosion knocked me into the shelves and, by the time I fought my way out from under the boxes of spindles to leave the room, something had blocked the door keeping it tightly closed.
“I pushed and shoved against the wooden slab, my only exit, but to no avail. When the room filled with smoke, I was certain I would die.”
“Thank God you didn’t, but how did you escape?”
“I picked up one of the spindles and started hitting the door and yelling for help. After a few minutes I heard someone shouting for everyone to get out, and then, someone pulled the door open enough for me to squeeze through and escape. I could hardly see or breathe, the smoke was so thick, but, two women helped me crawl over the ceiling beam that had fallen in front of the door and we found our way outside.”
“No wonder you were uncomfortable sitting in front of the fireplace.” Griffin moved quickly to her side and gathered her into his arms, holding her tightly. “That’s a horrible thing to have to go through.”
Having come from a family who never showed their emotions, she found she liked being held. His arms were strong, no doubt due to the hard work associated with logging, and warm.
“Do you know how the fire started?”
“By the time I left Lawrence, there was no official report, but there were rumors it may have been arson.”
He cursed under his breath. “Who would deliberately torch a building and risk killing hundreds of people?”
“There was speculation for that, too. I had heard that several employees suspected, Bob Brown, the owner of the mill, but no arrests were made before I left Lawrence.”
He released her from his embrace and reached for her hand. Pulling her with him, he sat with his back against the porch railing, and drew her into the semi-circle of his legs. His arms encircled her once more, holding her against his chest.
“You’re trembling.”
Turning slightly, she looked up at him. “I’m better now.” She didn’t know why exactly, but shivers had overtaken her when he’d let her go. They’d subsided almost immediately as his warmth penetrated through the barriers of their clothing. His knee supported her back as his hand cupped her jaw, and his mouth found hers. The warmth of his kiss heated her further, his hands branded her everywhere they touched.
“I won’t let anything or anyone frighten or harm you ever again,” he promised.
His vow, while not practical, meant everything to her, and she counted herself among the extremely lucky mail-order brides. She reached her hand up, pulled him closer and pressed her lips to his again. She decided she quite liked him kissing her.
Griffin reveled in the taste of her. Sweet, yet slightly salty, he realized he wanted more. He’d tried to convince himself in the last few years he didn’t need this, would never need this again. But he’d been wrong. This woman was exactly what he needed. He broke the kiss, but remained close enough that her breath fanned his face and teased his mouth.
He swallowed hard and, with his voice barely above a whisper, he asked, “Laurel, shall we go upstairs?”
“Yes, but . . .” She glanced toward the inside of the house.
“Don’t worry,” he quickly answered. “I’ll put out the fire, and then follow you.”
When she started to protest again, he covered her mouth with another thorough kiss. “I’ll keep you plenty warm tonight.”
The next morning, Griffin laid on his right side watching Laurel sleep. Her cheeks were pink and her lips slightly plumped from their kissing. At some point during the night, he’d discovered that kissing her just might be his new favorite past time.
She opened her eyes, blinked a few times, and said, “Good morning.”
“Morning, Sleep good?”
“Wonderfully so.” She smiled broadly. “You kept your promise.”
“That’s good to know. What’d I do?”
“You kept me warm.”
“Ah,” he smiled. “Easiest thing I’ve ever done.” He leaned closer to her and kissed her nose. When he pulled away his stomach growled. Laughing loudly, he rolled away from her, sat on the edge of the bed, and pulled on his pants. “Come on, woman, get dressed. I’ve worked up an appetite.”
***
Laurel met him in the kitchen. Since it took her longer to get dressed, he was already in the process of fixing breakfast, but he didn’t seem upset. It’s just as well, since I had a little more to do than put on my pants.
He had bacon frying in one pan, the coffee pot was heating on a back burner, and grease sat in another skillet waiting to be heated. Glancing over at her, he grabbed the loaf of bread that Edna had sent, and then handed her the bowl of eggs
“Here, take care of these for us.” Picking up the knife, he asked, “Do you want one slice or two?”
“One, please.” She stood beside him holding the bowl, watching him intently. What in the world was she supposed to do with these? How did he want them cooked? She could break them and stir them like Cook had done, but she didn’t have any fancy ingredients, or she could consult Aunt Jennie. But he’d see her, and he’d know that she couldn’t cook. In reality, though, how long could she keep up the charade? Their conversation from last night about secrets echoed in her head. “Griffin, this may not be a good time, but I have to tell you something.”
“Now’s as good a time as any.” He turned to face her, holding four slices of bread and with a broad smile on his face. “What is it, my little mountain flower?”
Her face warmed at his use of the name he’d called her last night and she lowered her eyes. She couldn’t think about that right now. She had to tell him she’d come here under false pretenses. She’d perhaps been over confident sitting in her room at the boardinghouse, crafting her letter, trying to sound positive about her abilities, but not specific. In the end, she’d lied. What would she do if he sent her to back to Massachusetts?
She had to face the consequences of her actions, so she might as well confess now rather than later. Holding her breath for a few seconds, she let it out, looked up at him and announced, “I can’t cook.”
He threw his head back and laughed out loud. “That’s it? That’s what you wanted to tell me?”
“Well, y-yes, I . . .” She stammered. This was not the reaction she’d expected. “Why are you laughing?”
“Because I knew.”
“How did you know? I said in my letter that—”
“That you could run a household.” He set the bread slices on the counter top. “If you had any skills, you’d have said so in order to make sure I thought you’d be a good candidate for my wife. And then there was that first time I saw you standing there on the platform.”
“What?”
“Everything about you screamed quality. You looked like a woman who was used to being spoiled and pampered.”
“But I’m not.”
“I know that, now, don’t I?”
She folded her arms at her waist and glared
at him. “Then why didn’t you immediately put me on the next train back East? Why did you go ahead and marry me?”
“Because I couldn’t believe my good fortune at having such a beautiful woman answer my advertisement.” He mirrored her stance and matched her glare. “I was intrigued.”
“Intrigued?” She bristled.
“Yes. I’d been married for five years to a woman who had been spoiled and pampered. Ora Lee was unkind and vindictive and a woman who used every feminine trick she could to manipulate and control. She was deeply troubled and made everyone around her miserable.” His stance relaxed and he leaned his hips against the counter’s edge and sighed. “I wanted to know if you were the same.”
Laurel empathized with him. She’d known women like his wife and had never understood their actions, for no matter how much misery they inflicted on others, they were rarely content. She felt like she should apologize to him for all women’s behavior. “I’m sorry, she treated you so badly.”
He reached for her and pulled her to him. “Me, too, but I’m pretty tough.”
She pressed her hands against his chest to stop him from pulling her into his arms. “So, what do you think?”
“About you?” He leaned back as if sizing her up. “I think you’re smart, independent and enterprising, and you don’t back away from problems.”
“I try not to.”
“Know what else I think?”
“No, what?”
“That I’m starting to like having you around, but I’ll change my mind if you let my bacon burn.”
She pushed away from him, took the fork he handed her and turned the bacon strips in the pan. They were a little brown, but still edible. After she’d rescued the bacon, he showed her how to fry the eggs and make pan toast.
When they finished eating, she looked across the table. “I like being here, too, Griffin, and I promise to be a good wife to you and a good mother to your children. Thank you for being intrigued.”
“Sometimes even a blind hog finds an acorn, and I’ve found you.”
After their meal, she sat down at the table with her stationery, a pencil, her glasses and a lamp. She finally had some time to write a few letters to the girls she’d worked with, while Griffin worked on one of his projects.
Laurel: Bride of Arkansas (American Mail-Order Bride 25) Page 6
