Deeply Devoted

by Maggie Brendan

  “Yes. Those attached buildings are the jailhouse and the sheriff’s office.” Peter hopped down and set the brake, then turned to help Catharine down. His hand was warm and strong, and their eyes locked briefly, his crinkling at the corners with delight. Catharine smiled at him, feeling her pulse leap at the touch of his hands on her fingers.

  “It won’t be long now and you’ll be my very own. You make me very happy, Catharine,” he said softly. His eyes were sincere and filled with longing, and Catharine felt a strange quiver in the pit of her stomach.

  “I surely hope so, Peter,” she whispered in his ear. His aftershave lotion smelled good and tickled her nostrils.

  Peter assisted her sisters, then ushered them through the heavy doors and down the hallway, stopping in front of the door that read Justice of the Peace, the Honorable Joseph M. Carey.

  “Are you ready to become Mrs. Andersen, Catharine? Are you certain?” Peter stammered, doubt reflected on his handsome face.

  Catharine heard Greta and Anna giggle, but she ignored them and looped her arm through his. “Peter, I’m very sure. Otherwise I wouldn’t be standing here.”

  “Very well then.” He swallowed hard and his Adam’s apple bobbed. He swung open the door, and Catharine saw another young couple standing near the front of the room.

  “There you are!” A heavyset man with an Italian accent and a curling mustache strode toward them. “Right on time, I see. And this has to be your wonderful Catharine.” He stuck out his hand and shook hers enthusiastically. “I’m Mario Cristini, a good friend of Peter’s. He talks incessantly about you.”

  “Hallo. Is that right? I know from his letters that Peter holds you in high regard,” Catharine said.

  Mario laughed. “Is that so? Well, good friend or not, if he gives you the least bit of trouble, you’re to let me know.” He pulled a dark-haired, pretty lady to his side, though she barely reached his shoulder. “Catharine, this is my wife, Angelina.”

  Angelina had a wide smile with friendly, dark brown eyes. “How are you? I’m so glad to meet you. I hope we’ll become good friends, Catharine. Welcome to Cheyenne.” She too had a rich accent, and it intrigued Catharine.

  “Hoe maakt U het? How are you? Thank you so much for your warm welcome.” Catharine turned to introduce her sisters, but Peter beat her to it.

  “And these are her sisters, Greta and Anna,” he said, leading them forward. “They’ll be living with us.”

  “Oh . . . how . . . interesting. You never told us that Catharine had any family.” Mario looked at them squarely, assessing the couple, and Catharine saw Peter shift uncomfortably. Angelina cleared her throat and gave her husband a “don’t say another word” look, then clasped Greta’s and Anna’s hands in friendship.

  The girls seemed uncomfortable but murmured a greeting to the Cristinis. Catharine felt their embarrassment. She knew they probably felt like they were a bother. Later she would reassure them that it would all work out. She was determined not to let anything get in the way of taking care of her sisters until they were old enough to find either suitable husbands or jobs, if at all possible. She intended to be completely devoted to their welfare because she had promised herself to do all she could for Greta and Anna. Now if she could just convince Peter of that. She would tell him again that she was sorry she hadn’t brought up the fact that they would be coming with her.

  The sound of heels against the walnut floor caused the group to turn as the judge entered the room. Catharine was shocked that the judge was a woman who stood about six feet tall. And I thought I was tall. She looked to be in her early seventies and walked with regal dignity and a no-nonsense attitude as she made her way to the small group. Her hair was stacked high on her head, and prominent cheekbones etched her weathered face.

  “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. I’m Judge Ester Morris, presiding in Judge Carey’s absence today.” Her piercing blue eyes looked over their group as she asked, “Who’s the lucky couple getting married today?”

  Peter stepped forward and pulled Catharine with him, a big grin on his face. “We are, Judge Morris,” he said, handing her the marriage license.

  She opened the folded paper. “I see you have the proper paperwork, Mr. Andersen.” She looked at Catharine and smiled. “You are Catharine then?”

  Catharine finally found her tongue. “Ja. I’m Catharine Olsen.”

  “Ah . . . first marriage for both of you, I take it?” Judge Morris adjusted the lacy collar of her black robe.

  Catharine’s heart pounded, and suddenly the room felt warm and stuffy, making her light-headed.

  Without waiting for an answer, the judge continued. “I love seeing the first blush of love on a bride’s face. Well, congratulations to you both! What are we waiting for? Who are your witnesses? I see you’ve brought more than enough.” She cackled loudly.

  “Mario Cristini and his wife, Angelina, Your Honor,” Peter answered. “They’re my best friends. And these ladies are Greta and Anna, Catharine’s sisters.”

  “How do you do, young ladies? I believe I detect a foreign accent?”

  “Ja. We are from Amsterdam,” Greta was quick to answer. “I’ve never met a female judge before,” she said, unabashedly staring at the judge.

  Judge Morris laughed again and crossed her arms across her tall frame. “I was somewhat of a rebel in my younger days. Maybe somewhat like yourself,” she answered, her eyes twinkling in merriment.

  “You have that correct, Your Honor.” Anna poked her sister in the side and squinted affectionately at her.

  “Follow me to the front and we’ll get started. I have another matter at 3:30.”

  Moments later, all the joking aside, Judge Morris began commencing the vows. It all seemed so rushed. But I don’t deserve anything else for not being totally honest with Peter, Catharine thought. How she wished she had. But it was too late now. If Peter knew the truth, she was sure he would change his mind about marrying her.

  She heard the judge ask if Peter had a ring, when suddenly the door swung open and Peter’s mother came charging down the aisle, waving her hand. “Wait, Peter! I have your grandmother’s ring right here—the one that you were planning on giving to Dorothy!”

  Peter’s face drained of all color as Clara stepped up to him and pressed the ring into his palm. Anna and Greta gasped, and Angelina whispered something to Mario.

  Who was Dorothy?

  “Peter, what is she talking about?” Catharine managed to speak as the color returned to his face.

  “No one, Catharine.”

  “Humph! No one? No one? He intended to marry Dorothy Miller before you came!” Clara’s voice rose slightly, her nostrils flaring.

  Catharine felt all of her earlier joy drain from her being, and the old familiar ache followed and burned in its place. Greta and Anna hurried to her side.

  “Peter, alstublieft, is this true?” Catharine asked, but he was staring with shock at his mother.

  “Mother, what are you doing?” Peter said through clenched teeth.

  Clara gasped and took a deep breath. “You know perfectly well, Son.”

  “I had no such plans—”

  Judge Morris interrupted, clearing her throat loudly. “Mrs. Andersen, will you please step aside and observe the ceremony or remove yourself from my courtroom? You have interrupted a holy matrimony, and the last time I looked, there were two consenting adults.”

  Clara sputtered as everyone watched the judge staring her down. Catharine was shaking now, though Anna held her hand. When she looked at Peter, his eyes were pleading.

  “Well . . . I . . . only wanted to be certain Peter was ready to marry someone he’d never even met until today—”

  “Madam, I won’t ask you again. Either stand back while we proceed or leave now.”

  Clara harrumphed and took a step off to the side, apparently intending to stay for the ceremony. Peter took a thin gold band out of his coat pocket.

  Judge Morris whispered under her breath to
Catharine, “Do you wish to have a few moments alone to confer with your groom?”

  “Catharine, believe me, I haven’t been courting anyone but you these last months. My mother had plans, but they were not mine! Please listen to me and trust me.” Peter’s look was genuine, and his mother did seem to be a smidgen of a busybody. He squeezed Catharine’s hand so tightly that her fingers were beginning to hurt.

  Could she trust him? All through their correspondence, he’d professed his desire to take care of her and be a good husband to her. She looked over at Mario, who was nodding his head as though to vouch for his friend’s faithfulness, and Angelina gave her a sweet smile of confirmation.

  Catharine finally answered, “Goed. Okay, Peter.” She gave him a feeble smile, and Peter’s eyes softened as he squeezed her hands.

  Judge Morris looked at the watch pinned to her black robe. “Shall we get on with it?”

  “Your Honor, would you indulge me? It’ll only take a moment. I have something I want to read before the ceremony,” Peter said.

  Judge Morris nodded. “Yes, Mr. Andersen. What would you like to say?”

  Peter removed a piece of paper from his coat pocket and turned to face Catharine. “I want to read a letter that I penned for you but didn’t mail before you left Holland.” Peter’s eyes caressed hers, and Catharine felt her face flush.

  For my bride-to-be,

  It’s with great excitement that I look forward to meeting you face-to-face. Your loveliness comes through your letters, overshadowing any doubts I could have because of never meeting you before. We are destined to be together. You see, dear Catharine, I’ve prayed for someone like you in my life. Someone to share my heart’s desire for children to fill the home with happiness and teach them our values, and to work side by side with to bring our dreams about. My heart is pounding with anticipation that you might be feeling the same way as I, and my fingers tremble as I struggle to hold my pen. Soon my dreams will be reality, and I believe the best is yet to come the day you’re mine.

  Peter folded the letter and handed it to her, and she felt the warmth of his hands on hers. She could barely see his face through her tears. Speechless, she squeezed his hand. She hoped she could live up to his expectations. She heard Clara snicker, but Greta and Anna were sniffling into their hankies, and Mario and Angelina smiled at Catharine and Peter. Another couple was waiting their turn in the back of the room, and the young lady turned to her groom and said, “Why haven’t you ever written me anything like that?”

  “Well, I’ve never had that in a ceremony before,” Judge Morris commented, “but I declare you may have started something new, Mr. Andersen.” She gave Peter a smile of approval. “Is there anything you want to say?” she said to Catharine.

  Catharine shook her head, and her sisters breathed a sigh of relief, then moved away and stood next to the Cristinis. The judge began speaking once again.

  Within ten minutes the ceremony was over, and Peter shyly leaned in to plant a kiss on Catharine’s cheek. Her sisters and the Cristinis surrounded them with congratulations. No turning back—the ink was dry. She was Mrs. Catharine Andersen now.

  “I wish you had told me about your sisters coming with you, Catharine,” Peter said for her ears only, leaning closer to her on the buggy seat.

  Catharine swallowed hard, focusing on his strong hands holding the reins. Without looking at him, she answered. “I was afraid that you might not let them come, Peter. If you’d said no, I’m not sure what I would’ve done. I just couldn’t leave them behind to fend for themselves.” She looked over and caught his level gaze. “Can you forgive me for not telling you beforehand?”

  Peter looked away, then made a clicking sound to the horse to step up the pace. “I don’t see how I have a choice now, but somehow we’ll work it out.”

  Figuring there was little else to say about the matter, Catharine stared off at the rolling prairie grasses, praying she wouldn’t be a big disappointment to her new groom.

  As Peter’s farmhouse came into view over the gently sloping hill, Catharine was not disappointed. It was larger than she expected, and she hoped that meant there would be plenty of room for Greta and Anna. The white clapboard Victorian home with a wraparound porch was trimmed in delicate fretwork along the porches, columns, and windows. The front door had a beautiful insert of beveled glass. The shutters stood out with deep green against the stark white clapboards. Huge trees lined the drive leading up to the house, offering plenty of shade for enjoyment on the porch. A spacious red barn with surrounding corrals stood at a distance from the house. She thought it all utterly charming. The only thing missing was flowers. She’d have to do something about that, wouldn’t she?

  “Peter, your home is nice,” she said. “I like the trees.”

  “Our home now.” He grinned, watching her take it all in. “Those trees are elm trees, and over yonder”—he pointed to trees that led down a path to a well made of stone—“are box elders. Fortunately, the elm trees help give shade out here on the prairie in the summer. In the winter, they offer protection from the constant wind.” Peter stopped the carriage in front of the white picket fence. “We’re here, ladies. Make yourselves at home.” He helped Catharine down, and Greta and Anna scrambled down behind them.

  He carried the first pieces of luggage to the porch, then put his hands on his hips, shoved his hat back, and looked around at the surrounding land. “So what do you think?” he said to his bride. “I know it’s probably not what you all were used to in Holland, but I think you’ll be comfortable here once you’re settled.”

  “You have a lot of land. Is that the wheat you’ve planted?” It seemed to go as far as her eye could see. The wind blew gently through the field, bending the short blades.

  “You’re right. I have a hundred acres of wheat planted and will start harvesting in about three months. It’ll be waist high by then.”

  Greta lugged her suitcase to the porch and heaved a breath of air. “I think you were right, Sis, my bag’s pretty heavy.”

  Peter scooted over to take Greta’s bag. “Here, let me help you and Anna. Why don’t you just get the things we bought and I’ll take care of the rest? We’ll have a light supper since I’m sure you’re tuckered out, and then you can retire.”

  Anna fairly skipped up the porch steps, headed directly for the porch swing, and plopped down. “Ooh, this is a perfect place to enjoy the outdoors. I think I’m going to be very happy here.”

  Catharine and Peter exchanged glances and Catharine could only wonder what he was thinking. Before she had time to think about it, Peter swept her up into his arms and, with a slight kick of his boot, swung open the front door. She squealed and he laughed, then he carried her across the threshold. Anna and Greta cheered him on and followed them into the large foyer.

  He set Catharine down and gave her a quick kiss. “Welcome home, my beautiful bride. Have a look around. If there’s anything you don’t like or would like to change with the furnishings, let me know. This used to be my parents’ home and I just never changed anything.” Peter stood back and observed her with an adoring look that made Catharine smile.

  Catharine stepped into the sitting room furnished with floral chintz-covered chairs and cherrywood tables. A light, fresh, lemon smell lingered in the room, telling her it had been recently dusted. The room was delightfully inviting, and she could see herself at the small lady’s writing desk drinking tea out of her Blue Willow china. She clasped her hands together. “Oh, Peter, it’s very lovely,” she said, running her hand across the smooth desk.

  He beamed. “And here I was worried . . . but just the same, you can add your own personal touch, Catharine. It’s all yours.”

  “Ja. It’s all very nice.” Anna had followed them and openly admired the cozy room.

  “Can you show us to our room, Peter?” Greta asked with one eyebrow quirked upward as she peered into the sitting room. “Mmm . . . nice.” She looked about with a decisive eye.

  “Yes, come wi
th me and I’ll show you the upstairs.” At the second floor landing, he swung open the first door and swept his arm aside for them to enter the room they’d be sharing. “If you want to freshen up, I’ll bring your things up once I get Catharine’s luggage.”

  Greta touched his arm. “Oh, I can get mine and Anna can get hers. It’s those big trunks that will be heavy.” The two sisters headed back down the stairs, leaving them alone.

  “You can just leave it downstairs for now, Peter. We’ll go through it this week and unpack,” Catharine told him. “But I’d like that smaller brown bag if you don’t mind. It has most of what I need.”

  “Will do, but first let me take you to our bedroom.” He took her hand and walked to the end of the hall.

  Catharine felt a shiver slide down her spine but wasn’t sure if it was excitement or tension. The bedroom had its own fireplace in the corner and a cherrywood tester bed with a canopy of white tatted lace draping its sides. The windows boasted creamy sheers that crisscrossed with a pleasing effect as late afternoon sunlight filtered through. Next to the bed, a crystal vase was chock-full of pink roses. They looked like climbing roses. Had Peter placed them there? She hadn’t seen a maid and Peter hadn’t mentioned one.

  Silly, of course, she chided herself, there wasn’t help or he wouldn’t have bought the items he said we need on the farm. Ladies of leisure have no reason to wear work clothes. This might be quite a challenge for them, especially her younger sister.

  Peter stood at the doorway, watching her response. “Do you like it, Catharine?”

  Catharine dragged her eyes from the thick matelessé covering the bed and felt her face go pink. “I do, Peter.”

  He closed the door, flung his hat on the bedpost, and kissed her hands. “I intend to make you very happy, my beautiful Catharine. It’s my greatest desire that I can be all that you expected of me.”