Emily handed her pad over and the color drained from Mr. Bartly’s face. “Miss Perry, come with me,” he said and darted out of the room. Margaret stood and followed him to the hallway.
“Pack your things,” he told her. “You’re leaving first thing in the morning.” He tore the drawing off the pad, crumpled it, and threw it to the ground. Then he stormed off.
Stricken, Margaret bent to pick up the drawing. She unfolded it to reveal a precociously fine portrayal of Mr. Bartly, Charles, and Emily. A woman stood beside Mr. Bartly with pale hair and light eyes; it must have been the late Mrs. Bartly. It looked as though she had been a beauty.
Emily walked out into the hallway. “Father didn’t like my drawing?”
Margaret shook her head, trying not to let tears escape her eyes, and flattened the drawing against the wall. “It just made him sad, that’s all.”
The next morning at dawn, there was a knock on her door. Margaret was already dressed in a pale blue frock and had her suitcases packed and ready to go. Charles’s rocks had made her bags quite a bit heavier, but no way was she leaving them behind.
Margaret opened the door to find Mr. Bartly dressed in a pale suit and a hat. He looked incredibly handsome all dressed up.
“You look awfully dressed up just to take me to the train station,” Margaret commented. She didn’t know what it was that had given her such a loose tongue around this man lately.
“That’s because I’m not taking you to the train station.” He stepped inside her room. “Miss Perry … Margaret. That’s what the children call you, isn’t it?”
She nodded, confused.
“I’m sorry I overreacted. It’s been a joy to see the children so happy again, but then that portrait reminded me so much of—well anyway, I’m sorry.”
Margaret nodded and curtsied. “Apology accepted.”
He smiled at her for the first time, and Margaret had to admit that he had a lovely smile. “I plan to take the day off to take the children rowing on the Red River. Would you like to join us?”
“I … to care for the children, you mean?”
“We can both do that,” he replied. “As you said, I need to spend more time with them.”
“I’m sorry about that, Mr. Bartly. I—”
“Don’t,” he interrupted. “I needed to hear it. And if I’m going to be calling you Margaret, it’s only appropriate that you call me John. Now will you come out with us today, Margaret?”
She gave him a small smile. “Thank you, John, I would love to.”
After breakfast, Margaret sat in the back of the carriage with a child on each side of her while John drove. Lone trees became forests as they rode and the sun shined on their faces. Once they arrived, John paid for them to rent two rowboats—one child-sized boat for Charles and Emily, and another for the adults.
Margaret sat at one end while John sat in the center and rowed the boat. Charles rowed his and Emily’s boat, and while Margaret called for them to keep close by, they weren’t close enough to be able to overhear her and John’s conversation.
When they got a far way down the river, John stopped rowing and sat at the opposite end of the rowboat so they were facing one another. “It’s a beautiful day,” he commented.
Margaret looked up through the branches of the trees that lined the river to the perfect blue sky above. “Yes, it’s lovely.” She looked back down at John, hesitating. “So, the woman in the picture that Emily drew…”
“Was the children’s mother, yes. Catherine,” he replied.
“What was she like?”
“About as warm as I am cold,” he said. “She was very artistic, singing all the time and doing the finest embroidery. She drew as well, you know. Just like you.”
“That must be where Emily gets her talent from.”
“That, and it seems she’s found herself quite a wonderful teacher.” He looked out at the water. “We’ve all had a rough time since losing Cathy. The children have had it worst of all. I’ve thrown myself into my work since losing her and it’s left me no time for them. They turned into such little devils, and you helped me to see that it had been all my own doing.”
“Oh, John—” Margaret began.
“Let me get this out, Margaret. Women kept answering my ad, then running off as fast as their legs could carry them; just like you said. But now you’re here and you have made the light shine within my children again. I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to repay you for that.”
“It’s not me who needs anything from you, John,” she told him. She looked over at Charles and Emily’s boat, where Charles was doing a tremendous job keeping the boat upright despite Emily’s many attempts to stand up. Emily settled for waving at Margaret and John instead. “Look, Father, Margaret!” she called. “We’re in a boat just like you!”
“Steady there, Charles!” John called back. “You’re doing wonderfully!”
Margaret stared at him as he looked across the water at his children. He barely looked like the same man as cold Mr. Bartly: this was John. She noticed again how very handsome he was and a blush rose to her cheeks.
The group rowed on for a few more hours then had a lovely picnic lunch on the shore in the sunshine. On their way to the carriage, John caught Margaret’s small hand in his and held on tight.
When they returned to the house, John lounged on the couch and took turns reading from Little Red Riding Hood with Margaret, Charles, and Emily. He even did voices.
Later, the children drew pictures, and John looked over each of their shoulders. “That’s a beautiful frog, Charles!” he said. “Is that … what was your pet’s name again?”
“Ribbit II,” Charles said with a wide smile.
“We’ll have to get some proper cages for them, or perhaps bowls, I wonder?” he said. Then he turned to Emily. “And what are you drawing?”
A little nervously, Emily handed her pad to her father. He looked at the pad for a long moment, then picked Emily up from the floor and hugged her.
“I want a hug too!” Charles exclaimed.
“Of course,” John replied, and piled both children into his arms. “Come, Margaret!”
Her cheeks flaming, Margaret walked over to John and hugged around the two children in his arms. She could feel the muscles in his broad shoulders and smell the fresh scent of soap mixed with something more musky and masculine.
Emily and Charles cuddled close to Margaret as she and John hugged around them. “We’re so glad you came to live with us, Margaret,” Emily told her.
“Yes, we love you,” Charles said.
“I love you, too,” she said. She accidentally caught John’s eye as she said it, and her cheeks burned even more. She hadn’t even been sure she’d liked John or his children a week ago. What was happening?
John withdrew and lowered both children to the ground. “Yes, well, I’m sure we’re all very glad Margaret’s here. In fact—”
“Dinner!” Mrs. Foster called, and whatever John had been going to say was left unsaid.
During dinner, Margaret half-expected him to be back to his old self—the day thus far had to have just been some sort of fluke, right? Surely, he would start being the old Mr. Bartly once he was around Mrs. Foster and his other servants. But instead he listened, completely engaged, as the children passionately tried to explain why either Ribbit II (Charles) or Ribbit III (Emily) was the better and more interesting frog.
Every so often, Margaret noticed John gazing across the table at her. When she caught his eye, he would smile and look back at the children, but she often caught his dark eyes wandering back toward her.
She had a hard time keeping her eyes off of him, too. He’d been distractingly handsome when he’d been a lump of ice. She didn’t have words to describe how attractive he’d become to her since he’d actually started to pay his children some attention.
After dinner, Mrs. Foster pulled Margaret aside while John read a story to the children in the drawing room. “Oh, goodness, Miss Perry,” she said wi
th a wide grin. “First you’ve tamed the children, and now their father as well!”
“I … I think maybe he’s just in an odd mood today,” Margaret replied.
Mrs. Foster shook her head. “No, no, you don’t understand. Mr. Bartly used to be like this all the time. It’s only since Mrs. Bartly passed that he’s become so unfriendly. You should have heard the songs he and Mrs. Bartly used to sing together! This was such a house of joy, once.” The maid grabbed Margaret’s hand and held it hard. “Please don’t leave like the others. I’ve not seen Mr. Bartly like this in so long.”
“I have no plans to leave,” Margaret said. She thought back to the beautiful light-haired woman in Emily’s drawing. “Although… do you really think he’s over Mrs. Bartly?”
“He has been ever since he first saw you. Why do you think he got so upset when Emily drew a picture of her mother? It made him feel guilty about the feelings he has for you.”
Mrs. Foster really did know everything, didn’t she?
John was there when Margaret tucked the children in, and he kissed each of their foreheads tenderly.
As they left Charles’s room, Margaret turned to speak to John and he ran right into her, which resulted in him kissing her forehead. He gripped her shoulders to steady himself, but his lips lingered near her hairline.
“Would you like to see something?” he asked into her hair.
“Uh, sure,” Margaret said, a little short of breath.
He withdrew, pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket, and handed it to Margaret. Margaret unfolded it and saw that it was what Emily must have drawn earlier that day. It looked very similar to the family portrait she had drawn previously—the one that had temporarily made John so angry with Margaret. But now the fourth person wasn’t a thirtyish woman with light hair; it was a younger woman with dark hair.
It was Margaret.
“What’s this?” Margaret asked unnecessarily. They both knew what it was.
John took the portrait, carefully folded it, and returned it to his pocket. Then he took Margaret’s hands in both of his. “It’s our future, should you choose to accept it. Margaret, will you marry me?”
Margaret wanted to hesitate, or to even say no. She’d spent a wonderful day with John, but she barely knew him.
Instead, though, her mouth split into a smile that felt too wide for her mouth—it was the smile that had once belonged to Janie and Thomas alone. Now it appeared to belong to John’s whole family. “Yes!” she said. “I will.”
John lifted her up and twirled her in a circle, and then he carried her to the doorway of her bedroom. As he let her down, he kissed her once softly on the lips. “I love you, Margaret,” he told her.
“I love you, too,” Margaret replied, and as she spoke the words she realized they were true. In her way, she had even loved cold Mr. Bartly, for she had been able to see the warm and loving man trying to escape that stone exterior. And she loved his children dearly.
He kissed her once more and neither party seemed willing to let go this time. He ran his hands through her hair and it fell free of its prim, no-nonsense bun.
“You are so beautiful,” he pulled back to tell her.
“You made that sound like a bad thing when I first got here,” she said with a grin. It made sense that the one man she didn’t feel shy around was the man she would end up marrying.
“Well, it was a very distracting thing.”
“You weren’t around long enough to be distracted by me,” Margaret insisted. “You were always off working on the farm or managing one of your others.”
“Oh, don’t you worry, Margaret,” he said. “I’ve been distracted by you since you got here.” He began to kiss her neck, then asked. “And what about me?”
Margaret leaned her head back against the wall. “Hmm?”
“Did you find me … distracting?”
She reached up to run a hand through his thick, dark hair. “Very. How handsome you are made it very difficult for me to hate you.”
He pulled away and frowned. “You hated me?”
“No, not really. I think I was falling in love with you this whole time, but the real you. Not old sour Mr. Bartly.”
He smiled down at her. “I promise you I will be simply John, now and forever.”
“And I promise to be Margaret, not shy little Miss Perry—now and forever.”
He gave her one last kiss before bidding her good night. Margaret floated into her room and fell into the first peaceful sleep she’d had since arriving at Bartly Farm.
Chapter 6
Part of Margaret had been afraid that John would be back to indifferent, reserved Mr. Bartly after their day on the river, but he kept his promise. He woke her the next morning with breakfast in bed. In a little dish to the upper left of her tray was an engagement ring, which Margaret happily slipped onto her finger.
Margaret spent the rest of the day lovingly watching over the children. Though she wouldn’t have thought it possible before, she’d come to love Charles and Emily every bit as much as Janie and Thomas. And unlike Janie and Thomas, Charles and Emily truly looked at Margaret as a mother.
The next day after he completed his day’s work on the farm early, John, Margaret, Mrs. Foster, and the children drove out in the carriage to a country church where a pastor was waiting for them. Margaret was dressed in a white frock and a veil she’d sewn for the occasion. Emily wore pink lace and Charles looked charming in a tiny little suit and bowtie.
John gave Emily a blue ribbon and instructed her to find a bouquet of the flowers for Margaret. Emily ran into the nearby countryside and did just that. Margaret expected to feel homesick watching Emily make her that bouquet, as Janie and Thomas had so often done. But all Margaret felt was happiness.
Emily came running back and handed the bouquet to Margaret. “Here you go, Mama,” the girl said.
I’m Mama? A few happy tears dribbled down her cheeks and she wiped them away. Red eyes wouldn’t do today. Not on her wedding day.
As the sun was setting, the pastor married Margaret and John. Emily stood by holding Margaret’s bouquet while Charles served as the ring-bearer (a duty he performed quite responsibly.) Mrs. Foster served as the witness and cried throughout the entire ceremony. Once the pastor pronounced them man and wife, Margaret and John embraced.
“How do you feel, Mrs. Margaret?” John whispered in her ear.
“Happy,” she replied. “How do you feel, Mr. John?”
“Happier than I ever thought I could be again, thanks to you.”
Back at the farm, they ate a scrumptious dinner and put the children to sleep (both children called Margaret “Mama” as she tucked them in.) Then Margaret moved into the master bedroom with John.
The next morning, John surprised Margaret with a wedding gift: he’d had Emily’s portrait of the family framed. They placed it above the mantelpiece in the drawing room where it would hang for many years to come.
Margaret looked over a drawing Emily had made later that day and found that the girl had drawn yet another portrait exactly like the first, except in this portrait there were two extra little girls, a boy, and a baby—all with dark hair. Some had light eyes while others had dark ones.
“What’s this?” Margaret asked.
“Oh, those are all the little brothers and sisters I’m going to have,” Emily said quite matter-of-factly.
Within their first month of marriage, Margaret was pregnant. Throughout the pregnancy, John was sweet and attentive—it appeared that cold Mr. Bartly was gone for good, just as John had said. In the spring of 1873, Margaret gave birth to Charles and Emily’s little sister, Louisa.
According to Emily, I’ve got three more to go, Margaret thought. She hoped she would get to raise at least that many children with her wonderful husband as she continued to watch Charles and Emily grow up alongside them. Though it had seemed the opposite at first, this really was the perfect home for Margaret, just as her mother had said.
THE
END
Mail Order Bride: Jane’s Story
Sisters Of Boston
Charity Phillips
Mail Order Bride: Jane's Story
Boston, 1865
Jane Adams is still reeling from the deaths of both her father and her fiancée in the War. Though it has been more than a year since Adam's death, and nearly two since her father's, she still cannot convince her mind to believe that it is real.
Her three sisters decide it’s time for the four of them to leave Boston and start new lives away from the pain and difficult memories that haunt them. When they tell Jane about their idea to become mail order brides for men in the Frontier, Jane finds it hard to accept at first; her heart is still with Adam, and she cannot bear the thought of leaving the only home she has ever known—and what's left of the life that they could have had.
In the newspaper, however, she finds an intriguing advertisement from a man in Oregon named John Grey. He has suffered heartbreak, too, and Jane thinks that perhaps this just might be the opportunity she needs after all. She makes plans to head out West to help him raise his daughter—which will get her out of Boston—but ultimately, his pain will keep him from wanting the type of relationship she thinks she can never have again. That is, until the letters start.
Can these two overcome their own heartaches and find that sometimes it’s what is behind us that keeps us going forward?
Chapter 1
December, 1865
Dear Diary,
It has been eight months since the War ended, and I am still reeling. I cannot get my mind around the idea that it is truly over. If I admit to myself that the fighting is finished, I will have to accept that Father and Adam are really gone.
For now, I convince myself that the fighting is still going on and that they are simply so far away that they cannot write back to me. I still write them letters, even though I know there is nowhere for the post to deliver them. I often find myself looking up and expecting one of them to walk through the door, for a moment forgetting that their bodies were buried where they fell, so far from home and where I will never be able to visit them.
Brides of Grasshopper Creek Page 36
