Nate pulled semi-clean dishes from the counter and filled them with soggy steak, and hard carrots. At least there was fresh bread and cookies from the bakery. He slapped the plates on the table, and grabbed silverware from the drawer.
“Papa, Julia-Rose doesn’t have any clean diapers.” Matt entered the kitchen, holding a naked Julia-Rose at arm’s length.
“Well, did you at least wipe her off?” Nate poured milk into glasses lined up on the counter.
“Yeah, I washed her. What can I put on her?”
“Put her nightgown on for now, and after we eat, I’ll find something. Let’s hope she doesn’t wet herself before then.”
Mark entered the kitchen and shoved John into Luke. The three laughed and pushed each other.
“Everybody sit down and eat.” Nate yelled as he grabbed the twins by the back of their shirts.
Matt came back with Julia-Rose, set her on cushions stacked on a wooden chair, and wrapped the leather strap dangling from it, around her. Nate buttered a piece of bread, and put tiny pieces on the table in front of the baby.
Silence prevailed as Nate bowed his head and offered thanks for the food, and his family’s health. Then the kitchen filled with the sound of five lively children shouting over each other while shoveling food into their mouths.
“Papa, these carrots are hard.” Luke banged the vegetable against the table.
“Carrots are good for you, whether they’re cooked or not. Eat them anyway.” Nate double-checked Julia-Rose’s carrot pieces to make sure they weren’t too big. Not happy with them, he scooped them up and put them on his plate.
John stared at him, food falling out of his open mouth. “Why did you steal Julia-Rose’s carrots?”
“I’m afraid she’ll choke on them.”
Mark immediately grabbed his throat. “I’m choking, steal my carrots, too.”
He glared at his son. “Never mind, just eat.”
Before long, the plates had all been emptied, and the boys devoured the cookies from the bakery. Nate cleared his throat, and looked at each boy in turn. “I want to talk to you about something.”
Four pairs of eyes met his. Julia-Rose, oblivious to the seriousness of her father’s voice, continued to bang the table with her spoon, a soggy cookie in her other hand.
“Things have been a little crazy around here since your mama died.” God, I hope I’m doing the right thing.
“I know it’s been tough for all of you. And for me, too.” Stiff fingers raked through his hair. “To make things better, I decided to get married.” He mumbled the last part.
“What?” Matt’s eyes grew wide.
“I said,” he cleared his throat again. “I’ve decided to get married.”
Nobody spoke for a moment. Four boys sat open-mouthed. “Does that mean we’ll have a new mama?” Matt wanted to know.
“Yes.” Nate’s voice strengthened. “You’ll have a new mama.”
“I like mamas.” Luke wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “They bake cookies, and kiss you goodnight. Sarah says her mama reads story books to her, too.”
“Is she pretty?” John asked.
“Well, I’m not rightly sure. I didn’t get a picture of her, just letters.”
“Where is she now?” Matt shoved the last of his cookie into his mouth.
“Right now, she’s on her way here. She’s coming all the way from New York City.”
“New York City?” Luke and John said at the same time, eyes wide. “That must be a million miles away.”
“No.” Nate chuckled. “Not a million miles, but a long way. Clear across the country.”
“What’s her name?” Luke climbed down from his seat and wiggled onto Nate’s lap.
Nate played with the soft, silky hair on his son’s head. “Her name is Angelina. Angelina Hardwick. However, she tells me she likes to be called Angel.”
“Angel?” John rolled his eyes, blushing.
“Is she an angel like our mama?” Luke’s serious eyes stared at Nate.
“No, son, she’s not an angel like your mama. Your mama is an angel in heaven. This Angel is right here on earth.”
Mark hadn’t said a word. Nate turned to him. “Mark, what do you say about this?”
“I don’t want no gol-darned new mama.” Red-faced, the boy pushed back his chair and ran from the room.
Nate sighed. One out of five wasn’t bad. He placed Luke on his feet and began collecting dirty dishes from the table. “All right boys, get washed up and into bed. It’s getting late.”
The boys dragged their feet, never anxious to end their day. Nate walked to the window, and, hands shoved into his pockets, stared at the darkening sky. This had not been an easy decision. Six months wasn’t a long time to grieve a wife of ten years, but his life had begun to fall apart.
His marriage had been satisfactory, if not great. Lonely after leaving the army, and miles from his home, Amy had filled a hole in his heart. He tried not to dwell on whether he would have married her if she hadn’t become pregnant. She did, so he did, and five kids later, here he was, ready for a new wife. He sighed and turned back to the table, grabbed the rest of the dishes.
He still had to deal with the no diaper issue, so he stacked the dishes in the sink. Mrs. Darby, his neighbor and sort-of housekeeper, would wash them in the morning. Julia-Rose grunted and thrust her head back, wiggling to get out of the chair.
“Come on, baby, bedtime for you, too.” He undid the strap, picked her up, and hugged her chubby little body to his chest. What is that?
He gaped at the warm, wet stream running down his leg from underneath Julia-Rose’s nightgown.
“Mama.” She smiled up at him. Then with the spoon she still held in her hand, she smacked him in the eye.
Chapter 2
A light tap sounded on Angel’s bedroom door as she closed the last trunk. Her eyes stung from all the tears she’d shed since yesterday. Sadness had turned to anger as she’d packed her clothes. If she could think of one other choice, she’d tell Sylvia she could go be a bride to a stranger with five children.
In reality, Angel had no choice. The newspaper this morning had carried a front-page story about her father’s bank disaster. It wouldn’t take long for the invitations to cease, and her friends to stop calling.
She whipped the door open. Sylvia stood in the doorway, having given up her mourning clothes for a brand new pale yellow and brown outfit.
“Here.” Sylvia shoved a packet into Angel’s hands. “These are the letters that were sent to the agency for you, or rather for me as you, from Mr. Hale. They will tell you a little bit about the man, and the life you’re going to.”
Her stepmother had the grace to look embarrassed when Angel didn’t take it from her.
“You’ll also see your tickets in there, and a bit of traveling money. You are to leave by train this afternoon. When you reach St. Joseph, Missouri, you will take a stagecoach the rest of the way.”
When Angel still didn’t reach for the letters, she grew impatient. “Take them, Angelina. As I told you yesterday, there is no other choice.”
Angel took the papers from her hand. They felt heavy. Sylvia made a move to leave, then hesitated and turned back. “I’m sorry we couldn’t stay together, and believe me when I tell you I wish there was another way. I’ve never had to make these kinds of decisions before. I really do hope it all works out for you.”
She cupped Angel’s chin in her hands. “You’re a strong woman, Angelina. Much stronger than me.” Sylvia leaned in and gave her a kiss on her cheek. With skirts swishing, she hurried down the hall.
Angel walked to the window, and pushed the curtain aside. The last person in her life hurried down the path to the coach her sister had sent. Daisy followed behind, sniffing into a h
andkerchief.
She spread her fingers on the glass, as if to touch Sylvia. Would she ever see her again? Not likely. She cursed the tears that rolled down her cheeks. Dear God, how am I going to handle this?
With sweaty hands, she picked up a black straw bonnet and tied it snugly under her chin. One last look around the room she’d slept in every night of her life, and she was ready to go. With the packet of letters from her future husband in one hand, and an already soggy handkerchief in the other, she left.
Angel dabbed at her eyes, watering from the smoke pouring in through the window on the train about to leave for St. Louis, Missouri. Her trunks had been loaded, and she settled in a seat across from a woman with a young child.
She studied the child. Having had no experience at all with children, Angel regarded her with the fascination one might have for a zoo animal. The little girl screeched when her mama set her in the seat. When the frazzled mother handed the child an apple, she threw it across the aisle, barely missing Angel’s head. The mother smiled a tired apology.
The poor woman’s hair hung loose from the bun at the nape of her neck. A definite stain of some sort of food had landed on her blouse. Fatigue was written all over her face.
The girl climbed onto the seat and began jumping up and down, ignoring her mother’s entreaties to settle down. Each time the woman sat the child back down, she would scream “No!” and climb back up again to resume her jumping. Several passengers in the vicinity scowled in the child’s direction, and shaking their heads in annoyance, changed to other seats. Embarrassed for the mother, Angel stayed put.
Sweat beaded her forehead. What in heaven’s name would she do if one of Mr. Hale’s children behaved that way? Her first instinct would be to hang the child out the window, but it didn’t seem likely Mr. Hale would approve.
She sighed and looked out the hazy window as the train jerked in its attempt to gain momentum. After several miles of smooth riding, Angel opened her reticule and withdrew the packet of letters from Mr. Hale to Sylvia. She untied the pink ribbon, and began reading.
Appalled at the lies her stepmother had told, she had a hard time fighting down panic as she read how Mr. Hale wanted a wife who knew her way around the kitchen, could take care of the garden, and put up the produce for the winter. Put it up? Where?
He was happy to know she adored children, and could help the little ones with homework. The last statement was the only truth in the entire exchange. She’d excelled in school.
How Sylvia could deceive this man was indefensible. Mr. Hale would get a wife whose only knowledge of the kitchen consisted of meeting with Cook to plan the menus. The woman would then turn these ideas into meals prepared by a kitchen staff, ruled by her iron hand. Angel’s idea of a garden was the lovely flowers the gardener took care of for the family’s pleasure that she cut and arranged in vases throughout the house. My loving stepmother led Nathan Hale to believe I’d be a competent wife.
She shivered.
This man expected a real wife, and instead, he was getting her. He sounded like a good person, very fond of his children. She had no idea what he looked like because he hadn’t sent a picture, but described himself as ‘not hard to look at.’ Whatever that meant. She sighed, then leaned against the seat, and looked out the window. Watching the scenery pass by, she wished, as in the fairy tale, she could sleep forever until Prince Charming—with no children—found her.
The train trip had been tedious enough, but at least the woman with the child got off after only a few stops. But now, traveling for the seventh day on the stagecoach, Angel was sure she had perished in a train crash and had ended up in hell.
Never in her life had she suffered such heat and blinding sun. Sweat poured off her in rivulets. She waved her lemon-scented handkerchief under her nose to avoid the nasty smell emanating from the man next to her. The odorous man—she refused to call him a gentleman—had joined the stagecoach at the last stop.
Besides smelling bad, he took up a lot of room, and kept a large cigar clamped between his yellowed teeth, moving the offensive stump back and forth as he spoke. Even though unlit, the constant shifting of the thing caused dribble to run down his massive chin.
“So, missy, where are you headed?” He turned in her direction, his foul cigar breath wafting over her.
“Oregon City.”
“You don’t say? Got a sweetheart there?” He stared at her breasts and leered. Her stomach churned.
“No.” The last thing she wanted to do was encourage this man. And she truly wasn’t lying. Nathan Hale might be her future husband, but he was not her sweetheart.
He then turned to the older woman on his other side who sat knitting. “What about you? Where you headed?”
Luckily, the woman was more than happy to regale him with tales of her daughter who just produced her third baby that she was going to visit.
Across from the three of them were a traveling salesman, a man who claimed to be a doctor, who kept taking sips from a bottle he kept tucked into his jacket pocket, and a young, very pregnant woman. Angel’s heart sped up every time the stagecoach hit a rut and the woman winced.
The stench was bad enough, but the added heat and red dirt that blew in through the window when she attempted to clear her head made for a miserable ride. She fought off nausea, and wished for the relief of a fainting spell to escape her misery for a while.
Angel leaned her head in the corner of the coach and closed her eyes. Not being at all familiar with stagecoach travel, she had no idea there wouldn’t be any overnight stops. The stage stopped at various stations along the way for about twenty or thirty minutes so passengers could get a meal, and stretch their legs.
They were expected to sleep in the coach as best they could. Too nervous to actually sleep with strangers surrounding her, she’d only managed to doze on and off. Her eyes burned with grit, and she could have done with a cloth and water basin.
Never in her life had she worn the same underwear for more than one day. Her dress was soiled, with stains under her arms. She shifted on the seat.
The heavy man gave her a dirty look. “You’re taking up a lot of room for a little slip of a thing.”
“Less room than you’re taking up,” the knitter on the other side commented, never looking up from her work.
Before he could respond, the driver bellowed. “Crooked Bend Station comin’ up, folks.”
The passengers gathered belongings in preparation for a short break. I hope this is where he gets off.
She peered out the window. The tiny station sat in the middle of nowhere. Weather and time had reduced the pitiful building to not much more than a shanty. Cracks between the boards that formed the structure were large enough for little animals to crawl through. A lean-to rested behind the building where several horses stood, lazily swishing their tails at flies.
Empty prairie stretched for miles in all directions, dry sagebrush dotting the area. The sun beat down mercilessly, and sweat dampened her face.
After the bright sunlight, she was momentarily blinded when she entered the building. It was thankfully cooler by several degrees. The scent of food drifted in the air. Instead of enticing her, the smell made her gag.
Her vision cleared enough to notice a worn counter at the end of the narrow building. A large man, with a stained apron tied around his even larger middle, wiped the counter with a filthy rag.
Her heart thumped as she approached the counter. His immense frame and scowling features rattled her. “May I please have a drink of water?”
“Sure ‘nuf, little lady, and we got a fine rabbit stew.”
Her stomach pitched. “Nothing to eat, thank you. Just the water, if you please.”
The counterman scowled, turned and dipped a dirty cup into a barrel of water and slapped the glass in front of her. Although afraid to drin
k in the dimness, lest there be unwanted items in the water, thirst won out. Any insects in the barrel would have sunk to the bottom.
She too, had sunk to the bottom. She released a burst of high-pitched laughter. No one paid attention.
A rickety wooden table in the corner drew her. She placed the glass on the table and eased her sore and tired body onto the chair. One leg shorter than the other three, the chair rocked as she settled.
A woman the size of the counterman came through a curtain separating the area from whatever was in the back. With a brisk nod in Angel’s direction, she headed her way.
“Y’all one of them new whores Dolly’s expectin’? She asked me to look out for ya.” She jerked her thumb in the counterman’s direction. “Jedediah’ll git you out there as soon as the stage pulls out. Dolly’s sure needin’ the help. She cain’t never take a break herself.”
Angel sat in silence, her eyes wide and mouth slack as the woman continued. “Ya’ll gonna have to git rid of them black clothes, though. Dolly’ll fix ya up nice and fancy.”
Tears sprang to Angel’s eyes and she gasped, vigorously shaking her head. “No, ma’am, I am not one of the new wh-whores.” She stumbled on the word, and backed the rickety chair against the wall.
“Well, gosh darn. Thadda be a pity.” The woman shifted a wad of tobacco from one cheek to the other, expelling a stream of juice right next to Angel’s shoe. Her gaze roamed over her. “A looker like you’d make a lot of money for yerself. Men around here are dying for new faces.” Then she thought for a minute and grinned. “And new bodies, too.” She threw her head back in laughter, spaces from missing teeth exposed.
“Jedediah, git yoreself back to work.” The woman shouted in the counterman’s direction as she returned to the back area.
Angel rose from the table and quickly headed for the door. I’d rather sit in the blazing sun. What have I gotten myself into?
An Angel in the Mail Page 2
