She shrugged. “It’s a toss-up between the way you ride to the rescue of women you find crying on benches and the way you kiss me.”
“Is that so?”
Beatrice refused to be embarrassed. “It is so. Does that shock you?”
“Shock me? No. Make me extremely happy? It does that!” He reached out and took her hand in his. “I think after all those dishes are done, you should stay off your feet for the rest of the day. Your ankle isn’t totally healed yet.”
“My ankle? You know about my ankle?” She thought she’d done a good job of hiding it.
“You limped into town, and then the first week we were married, you were careful not to let me see you limping. Yes, I know about your ankle. Be careful with it, would you?”
“I’m doing my best to be careful.” She frowned at him. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“You made it clear that you didn’t want me to know, so I didn’t feel the need to bring it up.” He pulled his pocket watch from his vest pocket, glancing at the time. “I need to go. Time for me to work some more.” He leaned down and kissed her softly. “I’ll see you in a few hours. Just the soup for supper, all right?”
She nodded, watching him leave. The man surprised her a little bit more every day. Of course, they’d only known one another for a little over a week, but still…she felt like she knew him quite well most of the time. She stood up and started working on the dishes again, hopeful that she could finish with enough time to finish her curtains that day. It was nice to feel like she had the right to take the afternoon off.
Over supper that evening, Beatrice said, “I think I want to do cookies for the men on Monday. I meant to do that this week, but the strawberries were too big of a temptation.”
Arthur put his spoon down, looking at her with surprise. “You don’t actually think you’re going to pass out sweets again, do you? There were shots this week!” She was losing her mind if she thought he was going to let her do that!
“But that was Archie. He probably had a vendetta. I’m sure everything will be totally safe this week.” She truly wasn’t concerned, and it didn’t make sense to her that he was.
“I’m not so sure. I don’t want you passing out treats again until this town is safer. We can’t risk our lives so you can wish people a happy Monday. It’s not safe.”
“But it was the only way I was around people other than you. I thought we were doing it together, so I could get to know people in town.”
“We were. We’re not now. Your life means a whole lot more to me than how many people you know in town. We’ll continue to go on Sunday picnics, but I’m not going to let you risk your life every Monday morning while you pass out cookies.”
She frowned at him. “You’re not going to give me a choice?”
He shook his head adamantly. “I’m not. This is one of those things I’m going to have to put my foot down on.”
Beatrice couldn’t believe he was being so stubborn about this. It wasn’t his right to make those choices for her. It was hers! “I don’t know why you think it’s okay for you to tell me I can’t do something you’ve already said was fine. That’s not right!”
“Circumstances have changed. Now I’m worried about your safety if you do it, so you can’t.” Surely, she could understand he was making this decision for her protection.
“So, I’m once again a prisoner in your home.”
“It’s our home. You’ve done a lot to make it yours.”
“Maybe I have, but this still isn’t fair. My only friend here lives too far away for us to visit every day, and that leaves me home alone almost all the time.” She frowned at him. “I really need more to do!” She was getting so frustrated with being cooped up in the house all day. She needed to do more! Without his books, she’d be going slowly insane.
“You’re not even finished with the pillows and curtains for the parlor yet. Why not work on those things and keep yourself busy that way? I can take a basket of cookies to work for you, but I just can’t worry about you on Monday mornings. It’s too hard.”
“Are you allowing me out of the house to go to the mercantile with you in the morning? Or am I restricted from that now too?” She was so tired of being alone all the time. It was really making her crazy.
“No, I’ll take you in the morning. I know you need out, and we’ll even talk to Mortimer while we’re out.”
She sighed. “If Mortimer had a wife, that would give me someone to do things with.”
“Yes, it would. But he doesn’t, so you’re going to have to get used to not having people with you all the time. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it has to be.” He wiped his mouth and set his napkin on the table. “And I’d appreciate it if you only did laundry on Sundays when I’m home with you as well.”
After he’d left the room, she rested her head on the table. Their first argument. She knew it wouldn’t be their last. Married people didn’t always see eye-to-eye and arguments were inevitable. She knew the right thing to do was to apologize, but she didn’t want to. Not yet anyway. She needed to be mad for a little while. It was good for her.
The following morning, Beatrice woke up, feeling contrite. She never should have gone to bed angry with Arthur, and she knew it. She went into the kitchen and used the last of the strawberries they’d picked together to make him some muffins to go with his scrambled eggs and bacon.
When he walked into the kitchen, his face was wary, and she finished putting their food on their plates, and then she walked over to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. “I’m sorry!” Her frustration with the situation didn’t need to be taken out on him. It wasn’t his fault.
He kissed the top of her head. “I am too. I can’t change my decision, but I’m sorry that it makes you unhappy.”
“I’ll survive. It’s more important that we both make it through the summer alive than me becoming a social butterfly.” Not that she needed to be one, but being able to walk outside on occasion would be very nice.
“It is. Do you have a shopping list of what you need from the store today?” he asked.
“I do. I think I want to add some yarn and knitting needles to it. I’d love to be able to make you a scarf for winter.”
“I’d like that.” He took her hand in his, praying over their meal. “You’re a good wife to me, and I’m sorry I can’t give you everything you want. I wish I could. I know it can’t be fun being home alone all the time, but hopefully some of the things Reverend Bing is doing will work out, and there will be more women in town soon. Then you can have your knitting circle.”
She laughed. “Quilting circle. I’ve never heard of a knitting circle.”
“Well, you could form the first! Wouldn’t that be something?” He didn’t understand why there would be a quilting circle and not a knitting circle. Weren’t they basically the same thing?
“The first knitting circle? I’m not sure. I’d rather go down in history for being the woman who turned this town around and made it a place where people could live in peace.”
Arthur sighed. “I do wish you could do that.”
“I do too. Maybe Millie and I can do it together. Along with whatever other women come to town.” She frowned. “Well, the ones who don’t get kidnapped. I don’t think the kidnapped women would be all that interested in helping us.”
“Kidnapped?” he asked, frowning at her. “Do you know something I don’t know? All I know is women have disappeared. If they’ve been kidnapped, that’s something else entirely.” Who could she have heard more about the topic from? Callum or Millie? She didn’t see anyone else.
“Well, isn’t either kidnapping or murder the obvious conclusion? I refuse to think they’re dead, so they must have been kidnapped. I hope they haven’t been harmed.” For some reason, Beatrice felt an affinity for those missing women in a way that made little sense. She wished she could explain it, but there had been a lot of things in her life lately that she had no way to explain. Perhaps it was because
she could have ended up missing as well if Arthur hadn’t married her.
“I hope you’re wrong. I want to think they all wandered out of town and got lost. They’re sitting together in a cabin somewhere, laughing, joking, and enjoying life. They can’t be hurt anywhere.” Arthur shrugged, grinning at her. If they were lost, then they were unharmed.
“I thought I was an optimist! With ideas like that, you should write children’s books. Don’t they always end in happily ever after?” she asked with a smile.
“If they don’t, they should!” Arthur told her. “Maybe you’re right. I’ll make my fortune in children’s books.”
Beatrice frowned at the word fortune. “You don’t worry about making a fortune, do you? You’re content with your life as it is?” She hated the idea that he might go chasing after the almighty dollar in the same way her father had. Look where it had landed him!
“I’m very content. Especially since you’ve come into my life. I don’t mind coming home anymore, because there’s someone here waiting for me. Usually with a hot meal. You’re the best thing to happen to me in a whole lot of years, Beatrice. I hope you know that.”
She smiled at him. “I feel the same way. I enjoy being with you. Thank you for being the knight in shining armor who rescued me from who knows what!”
After they’d finished breakfast, they walked to the mercantile together, gathering the things she needed. Mortimer watched them from behind the counter, a wistful look on his face. When Arthur joined him, he said, “I’m going to do it. I’m going to write to that matchmaker in Massachusetts. I need a bride. Do you think she could find someone just like your Beatrice? Or like my Grace?”
“I think God broke the mold after them.” Arthur watched as his wife rushed toward him, more purchases in her basket. “If you’re going to write, do it in a hurry, would you? My wife needs a friend who lives here in town. She has Millie, but she doesn’t get to see her enough.”
“I’ll write to her today so the letter can leave by tomorrow’s train.”
“Thanks, my friend.” Arthur took the armload of supplies from Beatrice. “Is there anything else you need?” He was glad that he had saved up money before marrying. His new wife sure needed a lot of things.
She grinned, shrugging sheepishly. “Every time we come here, I see more things that I think I need. You’ll be happy to know that I use them all, though.”
He put the things on the counter for Mortimer to ring up. “That does please me.” He looked through the things she’d selected. “You are buying things to make me more sweets, right?” Of everything he loved about Beatrice, her ability to make sweets was high on the list.
Beatrice laughed. “Of course I am. I know you need your sweets!” It had become a joke between them that he wouldn’t be able to make it through a day without one of her treats.
Mortimer looked at Beatrice. “Maybe you could make some of your baked goods for the store. I’m sure I could sell them, and I’d split the profits with you.”
Beatrice looked at Arthur, waiting for him to say no. He didn’t seem to want her doing anything. When he stayed silent, she smiled. “I like that idea a great deal. What kind of sweets would you like?” It would be good to have something to do for others. Not really a job, but she’d be making money, so maybe it would be a job. Yes, she loved the idea!
The man shrugged. “I would think any baked goods would be easy to sell. We don’t get a lot of that around here unless we happen to know how to make them ourselves. Bread, muffins, cookies, cakes, or pies. Some or all of them. They won’t last long.”
“I could bake all day and drop them off in the mornings.”
Arthur frowned. “Could you perhaps pick them up from the telegraph office in the mornings? I could take a crate with me every day for you to come and get.”
“I don’t see why not,” Mortimer said. “It’s not a far walk for me.”
Beatrice was a bit disappointed that she wouldn’t get to walk to the store every morning, but she was still happy to have something to keep her occupied. There were only so many times she could scrub the floors before the task made her want to rip her hair out. Something to do to make a little money and make the people of town happier? That sounded wonderful.
“I can have your first crateful ready tomorrow morning,” Beatrice told him. She’d get right to work as soon as she was home.
“You make a list of everything you’re including, and keep a copy for yourself. We’ll see what sells and what doesn’t.”
Beatrice nodded excitedly, hurrying away to get more sugar, flour, and brown sugar. When she got back to the counter, Arthur just smiled and paid for it all. “You might need to deliver this load,” he said to Mortimer.
“No problem! I’ll have it there within the half hour.”
“Bring it to my office,” Arthur said.
As they walked away, he told Beatrice, “You can pick it up from my office. Then you won’t be in any kind of danger.” He knew it was strange that he didn’t even trust Mortimer with her, but something held him back from trusting anyone where she was concerned.
She nodded, having expected him to say that. She’d never heard of a man who kept such a tight rein on his wife, but she understood that he did it for her protection, whether she wanted to be protected or not.
That morning, before she went to pick up her supplies, she was washing the breakfast dishes when she noticed that the strange woman was standing beside her. “Are you my guardian angel?” Beatrice asked, feeling that she needed to just ask it straight out. She needed to know who this person was and why she was always there to see her.
“If that’s how you want to think of me.”
“But is that what you are?” Why wouldn’t she just say things straight out?
“I’m an angel,” the woman said. “And I’ve been thinking about the name thing. I know you need something to call me, so I thought Gabriella would work. Do you like that name?”
“Like a feminine version of the angel Gabriel?” Beatrice shrugged. “I guess it works as well as anything.”
“You must stop arguing with your husband about keeping you cooped up inside. It hurts him, and he is only doing what he thinks is best for you.” Gabriella looked at her warningly.
“But is it what’s best for me?” How could it be when it was making her a little bit crazy?
“I believe it is. There are many dangers in this town that are not apparent to you. You see some of them, but not them all. I need you to heed your husband’s warnings and stay inside when he’s not with you.”
Beatrice sighed. “Where are the missing women?” If Gabriella was an angel, surely she knew.
“That’s not a way in which I’m allowed to interfere.”
“Will you at least tell me if they’re alive or dead?” Beatrice wanted to help them if there was any way to do so.
“It’s not my place to do so.” Gabriella picked up a dish cloth and started wiping the dishes dry. “I think you need to occupy yourself with this new job of yours and stop worrying about getting out of the house. You will get out when the time is right, and not before.”
“I will do my best.” Beatrice shrugged. “It’s all I can do not to go outside sometimes, just to soak up the warm spring air, or to meet some of the people who walk past. I hate that I’m not allowed to give out treats any longer.”
“No more treats. Without my interference, you’d have been taken by the Angel of Death on Monday. You must be more careful. Listen to your husband.” Gabriella wiped the last dish and put it into the cabinet. “Goodbye, Beatrice.”
“Wait! Will you not come to me again?”
“Only if you need me.” And with that, Gabriella walked into the parlor. When Beatrice chased after her, she was gone.
Beatrice walked back to the kitchen, just a bit befuddled by the most recent of her visits with Gabriella. The named seemed to fit the older woman.
She glanced at the clock and realized it was time for her to go pick up he
r supplies, so she opened the door that led to Arthur’s office. He wasn’t alone, so she waited patiently, her hands folded demurely in front of her. She didn’t want to be noticed by any men except her husband.
After the man left Arthur’s office, she hurried to him. “Are my supplies here?”
Arthur laughed. “I’ve never known a woman who was quite as eager to work as you are.” He watched as she hurried over and picked up the first crate, carrying it into the kitchen. “You do know that I get a ten percent tax on all things made in my kitchen, right?”
She frowned at him. “You want some of the money I make?” She was happy to give it to him, but she was surprised.
“No, I want some of the goodies you bake!”
“You and your sweet tooth.” She carried the last box into the kitchen and hurried back to close the door. “I’m sorry I disturbed you.”
“You always disturb me.”
Her eyes widened. “I do?”
“Not in the way you mean, though.” He winked at her, and watched as she snapped the door closed, her cheeks flaming.
Beatrice put all of the supplies away, and then she sat down and made a list of the things she would make for the next day. Because no one expected there to be baked goods at the mercantile, she should just make a few things this first day. She would gradually increase them as time went by.
She frowned, thinking hard. First, she’d make six loaves of bread. If they were all sold, she’d make more the next day. Then she’d make three dozen cookies and two pies. She could add in a cake if that all went well. Keeping it simple for the first few days seemed smart to her.
By lunchtime, she’d made a quick lunch for Arthur, had eight loaves of bread rising to be put into the oven, because they needed to keep two, and mixed up a batch of cookies. She also had two pie crusts rolled out, just waiting for the apple filling. She’d found dried apples and had decided to experiment with a pie. She was sure she could make it as tasty as it would be from fresh with just a little effort.
Beatrice the Bride (Cowboys and Angels Book 1) Page 8
