RNWMP: Bride for George

by Kirsten Osbourne

  “Same as today probably. I’ll check on the girls, and I’ll do some reading. I might work a little more on the romance novel I started this morning.”

  “Romance novel? I’m not sure a Mountie should be seen with a romance novelist!”

  She laughed. “You’re only a Mountie for three more weeks. Take the stick out of your butt, and you’ll be just fine.”

  He laughed at her bluntness. “You know, Miss Hazel, there’s something about the way you are so free with your words that just makes me a happy man. Have you always spoken that way?”

  “Well, of course not. I’ve found that the older I get, the less people are scandalized by what I say. All those things I kept to myself for years and years I just say now. It makes me happy, and if I offend anyone, I blame it on the hot flashes.”

  George threw back his head and chortled. He had to hold his stomach after a moment. “And this is why I want to spend my life with you. You make me laugh in a way no one else ever has.”

  “I can’t say I’m opposed to having people laugh when I say something funny. Sometimes the people that are around me are a bunch of fuddy duddies, and what am I supposed to do then? They don’t laugh. They rarely show emotion. Ugh. I need someone who takes me for what I am. A crazy old bat with a great sense of humor!”

  “That you are. And I like it.” He got to his feet. “If I’m going to be up for my duty in the morning, I’ve got to get you home.” He held his hand down for hers. “I’ll walk you to your door. Are you cooking for me tomorrow night?”

  “Who fed you before I came here?”

  “Oh, I paid the Dandys for meals a lot. They don’t mind if I pay ten cents and eat with them. It made my life easier.”

  “I see. Sure, I’ll cook for you. I enjoy cooking when I’m not required to do it, and I sure enjoy being around you. You make me feel like I’m eighteen and being courted by a dashing young man again.”

  “How old are you?” George asked. He knew it wasn’t something men were supposed to ask ladies, but they were getting serious about each other.

  Miss Hazel laughed, patting his cheek. “Oh, George. That’s something I don’t even admit to myself anymore!”

  He grinned, leaning down and kissing her softly. “I’ll see you tomorrow evening if I don’t see you before. Have I mentioned how special you are to me, Miss Hazel?”

  “Yes, but keep telling me. I find I like it a great deal!” She hurried inside, shutting the door in his face. Rushing up to her room, she jotted down notes on the conversations they’d had. She knew she’d be able to use them in her novel somehow.

  Miss Hazel tried to imagine Teddy’s face if he discovered she was writing a romance novel, and the very thought of it had her laughing until there were tears in her eyes. It was too bad she couldn’t write something just a bit racy in the book. That would send him right over the edge.

  Instead, she wrote about her thoughts on the evening, taking down as much of the conversation as she could remember. She would spend the next morning visiting the girls, her afternoon writing her novel, and her evening with George. What more could a woman of a certain age, who refused to divulge that age, ask for in life?

  She fell asleep with a smile on her lips. George was as devoted to her as any man she’d ever met. She couldn’t be unhappy about that. It was hard to know what path she should follow, but she was leaning toward accepting George as her new husband. Teddy might be scandalized, but she knew Jess would bring him around. She deserved happiness after all. Her whole life had been devoted to making sure Teddy was happy. Now he had Jess for that. She could spread her wings and fly.

  7

  Miss Hazel fairly bounced out of bed the following morning. After breakfast, she hurried to visit all three girls, making certain they were happy with their marriages. She was pleased with what she saw and hurried back to the mercantile so she could spend the rest of her day on her novel.

  She couldn’t believe with all the romance novels she’d read over the years that she had never attempted to write one. When she had been much younger, she’d often imagined that she would one day be a writer, but after meeting Stanley, she had never again done anything about her dreams. Now was the time.

  If she married George, she had a feeling he wouldn’t care overmuch. Besides, writing kept her from thinking about George too much. She cared for him, but was it enough to build a marriage on? He made her body feel hot all over—unless it was the blasted hot flashes plaguing her whenever he was around—but they were usually less predictable than that.

  She wrote until it was time for her to figure out what to cook for supper. It was strange being responsible for feeding someone every day again. Even when she’d had the different classes of girls staying in her house with her, she had assigned them to figure out supper. Why wouldn’t she? She was the teacher after all!

  She decided on making just a pot of stew and fresh bread that afternoon. She scooped up her papers and took them to George’s house with her, knowing she would need to take them home with her after supper. Or hide them. She doubted he looked through his house every day after she left, but she would want them the following day.

  No, Miss Hazel would need to gather up her writings and take them home with her. She was rather proud of the book she was working on. For a first effort, it was quite good. She wished she could write about a woman of a certain age, but that wasn’t going to work for this first book. She’d get her readers loving her books before she attempted one about a frumpy middle-aged woman. They may quit reading her after it, but the truth was, she didn’t need the money from her writing or from anything else. Stanley had left her wealthy.

  For now, writing was something to keep her brain occupied, and she desperately needed that. She would do what she could with it, but more than anything, she knew it was for her enjoyment, not others.

  While the stew cooked and the bread rose, Miss Hazel read over everything she’d written so far. She found herself giggling aloud at different passages, and she thoroughly enjoyed reading it. That was a first for her. She had never found a romance novel with enough levity for her tastes, so she needed to write her own. How else would she be able to read just what she wanted to?

  When George came in around six, she was just pulling the bread from the oven. “I hope you’re hungry because I made enough to feed an army.”

  George smiled at that, washing his hands. “What are all the papers?”

  “Those are my romance novel, so keep your hands off. I worked on it while I cooked, and it’s the best novel I’ve ever written!”

  “Exactly how many novels have you written?” He knew he shouldn’t ask, but he really couldn’t help himself. He had to.

  “This is the first.” Miss Hazel threw her head back and laughed. She loved that he never knew what would come out of her mouth. It made her very happy.

  George just shook his head. She made him laugh with most of her insanity, but sometimes he wasn’t quite sure what to do with her. Other than kiss her. He was always willing to kiss her. “You scare me sometimes, Miss Hazel.”

  “Good. Let’s keep it that way. Sit down, and I’ll bring you supper.”

  George took his spot at the table and waited as she brought him a bowl and a hunk of fresh, hot bread. “I’d marry you just for the bread you’d make me.”

  “If I’m writing for a living and you’re retired, don’t you think you should be making me bread?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve never quite gotten the hang of it. I think you’d have to keep doing it.”

  “I’ve taught women who had never touched an oven before to bake bread. I assure you, it’s something I can teach you.”

  He sighed. “I’m sure you could.” He waited as she sat down across from him before taking her hand and offering thanks for the meal and for being able to spend time with her.

  “I am a better teacher than I thought I’d be.” She shrugged. “I do know I’m finished matching people, and I’m selling my home in Ottawa. I made
those two decisions today. Maybe someone else will do the work I’ve done. Maybe there’s no need for it any longer, but I suddenly don’t have the desire. I feel like I’m meant to move on.”

  “Where will you live if not in Ottawa?” He looked at her expectantly, hoping she would tell him she planned to move to Northwest Territories.

  “I think I’m going to find a home in British Columbia. Maybe not in Squirrel Ridge Junction like my family, but close enough that I can visit whenever I want. I do not want little Jack to grow up not knowing his grandmother. I want to be a face he looks forward to seeing.”

  “I’m sure you will be. Do you want to be called Granny or Grandma?”

  Miss Hazel couldn’t believe she hadn’t even thought about that yet. “I don’t know! Maybe Grandma Hazel. That has a nice ring to it!”

  “It does. I think you can choose anything, though, as long as you do it while Jack is still a baby. You never know, he might call you something else entirely.”

  “Oh, hopefully he doesn’t get the persnickety gene from me. No one needs to have an argumentative child running around.”

  George couldn’t help but grin. “So you admit you’re . . . rather stubborn.”

  Miss Hazel watched him over the water she was sipping. “There would be no point in denying it. Stubborn is putting it very mildly.”

  “So if I marry you, I can expect a lifetime of arguments?”

  She nodded emphatically. “Making up comes after every argument, you know!”

  He grinned. “I like the way you think.”

  “Good because the way I think scares most people. If you weren’t man enough to handle my thoughts, you certainly wouldn’t be man enough to handle me for a wife.”

  “Tell me about your romance novel.” George found he was fascinated by the fact she was trying to write a romance. He wanted to know exactly what she thought the perfect romance would be like. Maybe he could take some pointers from it, and the pointers would help him win her.

  “See there’s this boy and this girl . . . and they meet, and fall in love. Then they both live happily ever after.”

  “That seems rather simplistic . . .”

  “Have you ever read a romance novel, George?”

  “Well, I can’t say that I have.”

  “Then don’t make fun of my plot!” Miss Hazel got up from the table and took her dishes to the sink, her back to him as she grinned. He had to think she was losing her mind, and frankly, she liked it when people thought she was a bit batty. It made her feel good about herself.

  George frowned at her back. Surely romance plots had more to them than what she said, but she was right. He’d never read one and had no right to criticize anything about what she was doing. He reached over and picked up her first page, starting to read it, but Miss Hazel obviously had a sixth sense because she whipped around and took the page from him. “Hey! I was going to read that.”

  “And now you’re not. Be good or I won’t do your dishes.”

  “I’ll do the dishes since you were kind enough to cook for me.” He got to his feet only to see her shake her head.

  “Not tonight. You were at work all day, keeping Canada safe for people like me. I will do the dishes, and then we can walk again. Or we could play a card game. Do you play poker?”

  “Poker?” he asked. “Where did a lady like you learn to play poker?”

  “Oh, I don’t play. I was hoping you’d teach me. No one thinks ladies of a certain age should play poker, and I’m of that certain age, and getting here means I should be able to do whatever I want to do . . . within reason of course. I don’t think I should be able to behead a giraffe, but I would never want to!”

  Behead a giraffe? “You do know giraffes aren’t native to Canada, don’t you, Miss Hazel?”

  “Well, of course, I know that. Do I look stupid to you, George?”

  “No, you don’t look stupid, but I had to wonder when you mentioned beheading a giraffe. It’s not something people talk about every day.”

  “Well, of course not. Are you daft? Why would people talk about beheading giraffes? That’s just sick.”

  George decided his best practice at that moment was to refuse to engage. He had no idea why she’d said something so crazy, but he couldn’t ask. He’d just change the subject. It couldn’t be a bad thing to do. “What’s the weather like in Ottawa at this time of year?”

  Miss Hazel laughed delightedly. “Feeling the need to change the subject quickly?”

  “You have to admit, that topic was odd even for you.”

  “Even for me? Are you saying I tend to discuss odd things?”

  George was afraid to answer her. “Are the dishes almost done? Do you want to walk by the lake again?”

  “Almost, and no. Let’s walk in the other direction. We’ll walk out of town for a ways. I like the idea of a long romantic walk tonight. We could walk for hours.”

  George nodded. “Sounds good to me.” And he was surprised that it did. He was usually so exhausted when he got home from work that all he wanted to do was sit around, but being around her invigorated him. “What about learning to play poker?”

  “We’ll do that when it rains. It’s too nice out to want to stay inside playing cards. Don’t you think?”

  “Sure.” He watched as she put the last plate away and took her hand to walk with her. “There’s a good chance we’ll be eaten up by mosquitoes.”

  “I’ve been bitten before. They tend not to like me much.”

  George had never heard anyone put it that way, but he understood. Some people were just more prone to be bitten by mosquitoes than others were. As they walked out of town, he talked to her about the local tribes and what it was like to be a Mountie there.

  She loved the history lesson, pleased that he was someone who could teach her something. So many men only knew things they dealt with every day, and George seemed to have knowledge of many things. That pleased her more than she could express.

  They stopped beside a field of wildflowers, and she smiled. “Let’s pick some flowers.”

  “Do you like flowers, Miss Hazel?”

  “You find a woman who doesn’t, and I’ll show you a liar.” She walked into the field and picked an armful of the fragrant blossoms.

  George waded into the field after her, picking some of the flowers himself. “I never would have thought you were one of those ladies who felt the need to be surrounded by flowers all the time. Did Teddy bring you flowers when he was little?”

  She smiled. “He did. There were always wildflowers growing in the park near our house, and I would take him so he could play. He never came back to me without having his arms filled with the flowers. He told me they were almost as pretty as me.” She’d never forget the first time Teddy had run toward her, his chubby little hands full of flowers.

  “Did Stanley bring you flowers?” George asked.

  “Often. He usually stopped at a florist shop on the way home from the bank where he worked. Four out of every five days, he would bring fresh flowers. I would put them in the center of the table, and then I would rotate out with the next bouquet he brought me. My Stanley was a very practical man in every way, but he thought flowers should always fill our home because they made me happy.”

  George watched her face as she talked about Stanley. It seemed to be getting easier for her to open up about her late husband. He certainly hoped so. He wanted her to be free to move on and to marry him. Maybe it was asking for too much, but he didn’t think so. “Are you still in love with Stanley?” He regretted the words as soon as he asked them, but he knew he needed an answer.

  “Yes and no. I will always love the memories of my Stanley. He brought me a great deal of joy, and we had Teddy together. But I don’t know that I’m still in love with Stanley, if that makes sense. He has been dead for a very long time, and I’m ready to live my life without him. I just started being open to doing things without him a year ago, and I’m so happy I allowed myself to change.”

/>   George smiled at that. He was thrilled. If she could admit aloud that she was no longer in love with her Stanley, then they should be able to work. Now he just had to get her to admit that she was in love with him.

  As they walked further down the road, they talked more. Miss Hazel told him about her courtship with Stanley and the despair that filled her when it took her so long to be able to have a child. “I truly was starting to think I’d never have one, and then I found out Teddy was on the way. I was the happiest woman alive through that pregnancy. I wasn’t well, and the doctor put me to bed almost immediately, but he was so worth it. I lost many babies after him, and each time it happened, I would go and hold my Teddy, and I would know that God had given me a miracle. I accepted that.”

  “I can’t imagine you feeling that kind of despair. You seem like such a happy person.”

  “But I haven’t always been. I’ve learned that happiness can be chosen. You can spend all your time concentrating on the bad things that have happened to you, or you can concentrate on the good things. By concentrating on the good, I find that I’m a better person. I’m more pleasant to be around, and people genuinely enjoy me. I wouldn’t give up one of my negative experiences, though, because they’ve taught me empathy. I am able to relate to anyone, and I can truly understand intense grief because of the life I’ve lived.”

  George nodded. He didn’t like the idea of her going through difficult experiences, but he was very happy in the woman she was. “How many grandbabies are you hoping for?”

  “Oh, at least a dozen. I need to have at least one granddaughter to snuggle and make my own. I want to make her little tiny dresses and little bloomers with ruffles on the butt. I can’t tell you how much joy that would bring me.”

  He laughed. “How would your daughter-in-law feel about you putting bloomers on her daughter’s butt?”

  “Oh, she wouldn’t mind at all. She thinks I should do whatever I feel like doing for my grandchildren. She understands that I wanted children badly but could only have the one.”