The Mounties were accosted by Mrs. Obregon as they tried to reach the platform. She was one of White Fox’s more interesting characters. After Marshall reassured her that they’d do what they could to solve the alleged murder of one of her hens, hopefully tiding her over for another day or two, they turned their attention to the train.
As the women disembarked and the older woman of the group began their introductions, Peter’s eyes kept straying to the cautious-looking blonde who hung back from the others. She kept her hands clasped tightly in front of her, the strings of her reticule tangled up in her fingers, and she kept moistening her lips as though she was thirsty. He was curious about her—why was she more nervous than the others? And why had such a pretty girl needed to travel such a long way to find a husband? Surely she’d had offers galore back home, wherever home was.
Of course, he chided himself, not every mail-order bride chose that life because they were out of options. He was doing her a disservice by assuming this was her last hope for marriage.
“And you must be Peter,” the older woman said at last. “I’m Miss Hazel. You look just like the others in your family—I’d recognize you on any train platform anywhere.”
He tipped his hat. “It’s a pleasure,” he said. “I’ve heard a lot about you. Welcome to White Fox.”
“It looks like a charming community, and I’m sure our girls will settle in quickly.” She turned and motioned for the blonde to come to her side. “This is Callie. I know you were expecting a Barbara, but she decided at the last moment not to join us after all.”
“I hope she’s all right,” Peter replied.
“Oh, she’ll be fine. She just needs to make up her mind once and for all what she wants out of life, and maybe to be willing to work for it.” Miss Hazel brightened. “But that’s neither here nor there. Callie was delivered almost to my doorstep, as it were, and I believe the two of you will suit very well.”
Peter pulled his hat all the way from his head. “Miss Callie . . . er . . .”
“Brown, but Callie’s fine,” she replied. Her voice was soft and sweet, and he almost had to strain to hear her.
“Miss Brown, I’m pleased to meet you.” Peter didn’t know why, but he felt more comfortable being formal with her. He glanced around. The other Mounties were chatting away with their brides, talking as if they’d known each other for ages. Miss Brown didn’t seem quite ready for chatting as of yet, and certainly wasn’t ready for hugging—Marshall’s bride had all but flung herself at him, much to Peter’s amusement. Marshall could use a little shaking up. Peter supposed they all could. They’d gotten too stuck in their ways as of late.
He held out his arm for Miss Brown, and they followed along behind the others as they walked to the small church that was situated not far from the train station. Of course, in a town the size of White Fox, everything was situated pretty near everything else. Her green dress swished from side to side as she walked, making a pleasant sound.
Bert and his bride went in first. Peter was about to guide Miss Brown inside, but she tugged at his sleeve. “Just . . . just a moment,” she said, sounding a little breathless. “Before we do this, I think you ought to know that when I met Miss Hazel, I’d just been left at the train station by the man I was going to marry. I was very much in love with him, and I can’t promise you that I’ll ever be able to chase him out of my heart. I’ll cook and I’ll clean and I’ll be a good wife, but I don’t know what my feelings for you will be. Love seems a bit out of the question for me right now. I hope you don’t mind my candor.”
Peter felt a little lurch of disappointment, but he smiled. “We only just met a few minutes ago, Miss Brown, and it would be foolish of me to expect that you’d fall in love with me the second you stepped off the train.” Yes, he’d been foolish—that’s exactly what he’d wished for. “We’ll take it a day at a time, all right?”
She returned his smile. “All right.”
“And I appreciate candor. It makes things so much easier.” At least she didn’t believe in stringing him along. That was a very admirable quality.
They stepped inside and were scowled at by the pastor, who didn’t believe in marriages of convenience, but who performed their ceremony anyway. It was over in just a matter of a few minutes, and that was disappointing to Peter as well. He’d always enjoyed attending weddings with a little more pomp and circumstance and importance assigned to them, but there were no parents or flower girls here, no one to throw rice or confetti at them as they exited the building. Those things weren’t necessary, he supposed, but they were nice when they were available.
Once they were back outside, he spotted Miss Hazel chatting with one of the other couples, and he went over and took her arm. “May I speak with you for a moment?” he asked softly.
“Well, of course,” she replied. She followed him a few steps away. “What’s the matter? Does she have a hideous mole on the end of her nose that I somehow overlooked?”
“No,” he replied with a chuckle. “I just need some advice on how to get her to fall in love with me.”
Miss Hazel gave him a compassionate look. “You’re already well on your way,” she replied. “The first step is to fall in love with her.”
Peter swallowed and nodded. “I do care for her very much already. Isn’t that crazy? I only laid eyes on her a few minutes ago.”
“It’s not crazy at all. It’s sweet and romantic, and I’d say that you’ve got all the instincts you’ll need to navigate this relationship. Just show her the tender feelings in your heart. It’s not complicated—you’ll discover how natural it really is.”
“Thank you, Miss Hazel. I just want to make her comfortable. I want her to be happy here.”
“And so she will be because you’re working toward it on her behalf,” Miss Hazel said. “I have every confidence in you.”
Peter nodded, tugged down his jacket, and turned back to join his new wife. He wished he felt even a particle of the confidence Miss Hazel spoke of. He’d never been so nervous in his life.
Chapter Three
Callie couldn’t keep up with Peter’s long strides as they walked away from the church, and she found herself trotting. After a moment, he seemed to notice, and slowed down to match her stride instead.
“I’m sorry,” he said with a chuckle. “I’m not used to walking alongside a woman—it’s been a while since I’ve had the pleasure of a female’s company.”
“That’s all right. I believe my legs are shorter than most. Meaning that I walk slower.” Her face grew warm, and she wished there was somewhere to hide. She hadn’t meant to call attention to herself that way—her mother would have said it wasn’t seemly. Peter didn’t seem to notice, though.
When they reached the small cabin where she assumed they’d be living, she wondered if he’d pick her up and carry her over the threshold, but he didn’t. In a way, she was relieved. That would have seemed too personal, but at the same time, she’d always dreamed of being carried over the threshold on her wedding day. No . . . she’d always dreamed of Victor being the one to carry her. It was a very specific dream.
“I’ll head over to the train station and grab your bag while you look around,” Peter said. “You’d probably like a few minutes alone to pull faces at my housekeeping skills anyway.”
“No, it’s not that bad,” she replied. It was true that the furniture was arranged in a rather odd way and that the curtains were faded, but she didn’t see any obvious dust or dirty dishes. She’d likely want to rearrange the kitchen to be more serviceable, but that could wait for a day.
“That’s a relief.” He flashed her a grin. “I’ll be back in around fifteen minutes, all right? Feel free to poke around, look in the bedroom and the cellar—this is your home now.” He pulled the door closed behind him and was gone, leaving her standing in the middle of the floor.
Her home.
She pulled in a deep breath and looked around. For better or worse, for richer or poorer, this was her hom
e.
She took off her hat and set it on the table. Peter was everything she’d dared hope he would be. He was handsome, with dark auburn hair and green eyes. He was kind—she felt that after they got to know each other, they’d become friends. And he was strong, which was something she definitely liked. Yes, she believed they’d get along well. If she had to tie her life to someone else’s, if she had to endure an existence without love as the castoff flirtation of a selfish man, Peter was an excellent choice.
The town was small, but as she’d looked around, she’d spotted a store, and that was comforting. They wouldn’t have to go far for basic necessities. The cabin seemed snug and tight, and there was a stove with an oven. Off to the side was an ice box, and she could see several dishes on the shelves. It looked like he was prepared for a wife. She just hoped he had some herbs and spices as well—or that she could get a good variety from the general store. At any rate, she’d be putting in an herb garden as soon as she could. There was nothing like fresh herbs to perk up a meal.
She found the door that led to the cellar and opened it, then descended the steps carefully. She was sure to wedge the door so it wouldn’t slam shut on her—that was one of her greatest fears in life, being trapped somewhere cold and dark. By the light of the lantern she’d found to carry with her, she saw quite a lot of food that had been laid up, and it pleased her immensely. She made a basket out of the front of her dress, filled it with goods, and returned upstairs. She believed she’d have everything she’d need to make a nice supper for their wedding day.
She filled a pot with water and set it on the stove, then washed and cubed some potatoes and dropped them into the water. Then she mixed up some biscuits. She didn’t have time to bake a chicken or a roast, but she found some bacon and got it sizzling in the frying pan.
Peter entered the cabin and set her bag on the table, then grinned. “You certainly got right to work. What do you think of the cabin?”
“I actually didn’t look around much—I found the cellar, and that made me realize I was hungry.”
He laughed. “I take my stomach very seriously, so I’m glad to hear that you do too. There will be plenty of time to look around later. Not much more to see, anyway—just the bedroom and the outhouse.”
“The outhouse?”
“That’s right.” He paused. “You’re probably used to indoor plumbing.”
She forced a smile on her face. “I am, but that doesn’t mean I can’t adjust.”
“Well, we won’t be stationed here forever, and maybe our next post will have nicer cabins.”
She could see that he was trying to be kind, and that meant a lot to her. “I’ve faced much tougher things than an outhouse. It will be all right.”
He nodded, then rested his hand on the back of one of the kitchen chairs. “Thank you for coming all the way out here to share your life with me,” he said softly. “This decision can’t have been easy.”
She pulled in a breath. “It wasn’t, but I can see that I ended up in a good place. I hope you like bacon. Of course, if you didn’t, you wouldn’t have it here in your kitchen, so I can just assume that you do.” Gracious. She must sound like a complete nincompoop.
“I do like bacon, but I’m prepared to like anything you make because I’m grateful you’re here. I’m going to take a moment to change and clean up—do you want me to set your bag on the bed?”
“Yes, please,” she replied, not wanting to think about how there was likely just one bedroom. She turned back to the stove and flipped the bacon over. Dinner first, and then they’d figure out all the logistics.
She had the food on the table when Peter came back into the room. He’d put on a fresh shirt, and his hair looked neatly combed. He smelled like soap, and she found herself leaning just a bit closer for another sniff before she scolded herself. She wasn’t here to sniff Mounties. She was here to make biscuits.
They each dished themselves a full serving, but Callie couldn’t eat yet. Not until she had everything off her chest.
“Thank you for being so understanding with me earlier at the chapel,” she said. “I wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d packed me right back on the next train.”
“You’re making it sound as though you’ve done something wrong,” he replied with a chuckle. “That’s not the case, so why should I treat you that way?”
She shrugged. “I don’t suppose any mail-order bride situation is ideal, is it? We all have our pasts and our stories to tell. If you don’t mind, I’d like to tell you mine just so you know where I’ve been and so I don’t feel as though I’m keeping any secrets from you.”
Peter set down his fork and met her gaze. “I’ll listen to anything and everything you want to tell me, but only after you’ve eaten at least five bites of food.”
“What?”
“You’ve been traveling for hours on end, and you’ve just met and married a stranger. To top it off, you made dinner. You need to eat something.”
“I don’t know if I can eat until we’ve talked.”
“Well, I don’t know if I can listen until you’ve eaten. It would seem that we’re at an impasse.”
He didn’t seem the sort of man who would back down. That was likely part of why he’d been made the commander over this post. “Very well. I’ll eat. But I won’t enjoy any of it.”
“Well, that’s too bad because it’s quite enjoyable. I especially like the bit of onion you fried up with the bacon.”
She shook her head in exasperation as she buttered her biscuit and ate it. Then she ate a strip of bacon, and another, and finished her potatoes before she knew what she was doing. Peter had resumed eating as well, but it was obvious that he was watching her, and it made her nervous.
“Have I eaten enough to satisfy you, Mr. Murray?”
He grinned. “I’m appeased. You may proceed.”
She shook her head. “I’m going along with this only because you’re right—I was quite hungry. In future, though, I’ll expect to speak as soon as I have something to say.”
“And so you shall.” He motioned toward her. “I’m all ears.”
“Thank you.” She folded her hands in front of her on the table. “I was an only child, orphaned at age twelve. Well, I assume I’m orphaned—my father left at some point during my eighth year, and when my mother died, he didn’t miraculously show up to claim me. I was taken in, so to speak, by a man and his wife who ran a restaurant in town. She taught me how to cook, and he taught me how to run fast when he was in a temper.”
Peter raised an eyebrow. “Did he beat you?”
“Several times, yes. But after a while, I learned how to stay on his good side.”
Peter pressed his lips together. “A man who would beat a child . . . I’m sorry. Please, go on.”
Callie’s heart warmed that he immediately leaped to her defense. “I stayed there until I was fifteen. By then, I’d learned how to run the kitchen as well as the owner’s wife could do it, and I was hired on by another restaurant in town.”
“So, you’re telling me that you’re actually a cook? It’s not just a fluke that you created this marvelous meal out of the simple things I had laying around?”
“I’m a cook.”
He grinned. “This day just gets better and better. But I’m sorry—I keep interrupting you.”
“That’s all right.” She couldn’t blame him for being enthused. He was probably more than sick of cooking for himself all the time. “I worked there until one of the waitresses decided she had it in for me. She accused me of stealing food from the kitchen. I had no way to prove my innocence, but she had no way to prove my guilt. I avoided any sort of jail time, but I lost my job.”
“My goodness.” Peter moved as though he’d take her hand across the table, but his fingers stopped just shy of hers. “You’ve been through so much.”
She lifted a shoulder, unused to being shown compassion. It felt odd, like the words were directed at someone else and not her. “After that, I was f
ortunate enough to be at the market and overhear a conversation between a woman and her friend. She worked at a mansion in town and needed to bring on an assistant cook, and was having trouble finding anyone sufficiently qualified. I introduced myself, she agreed to give me a try, and that’s where I’ve worked ever since.”
“But that wasn’t a happy ending either,” Peter said. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here with me.”
“That’s right.” Callie picked up her fork and toyed with it. Telling the story of her misfortunes wasn’t difficult—it was simply a recounting of her life experiences. However, telling how she’d been duped would be bruising to her ego.
“This family had a son named Victor.” It couldn’t hurt to use his real name, especially when she hadn’t mentioned the family name. “He was tall and dashing, very charming, and I met him as I was passing down a back hallway with my arms full of tablecloths. He took some of them from me and carried them to the laundry for me. I didn’t know who he was at the time—it was my first day, and I thought he might have been one of the footmen. We talked for a few minutes and he invited me to go out on a walk the next day. It wasn’t until we got back from that walk that I found out who he was, and I was mortified.”
“Is it so bad to go for a walk with the son of the house?” Peter asked.
“If you ask the house, yes, it is.” Callie shook her head. “The cook acted as though I’d committed a cardinal sin. She pulled me aside and told me that if I wanted to keep my post, I’d better not step one toe out with him again. I was flabbergasted—I had no idea who he was and I told her so, but she didn’t believe me.”
“And she didn’t know you well enough yet to trust you,” Peter supplied.
“Exactly. She was going to fire me on the spot, but she needed kitchen help so badly that she decided to give me another chance. The next time I saw Victor, I told him we couldn’t see each other again, but he said he’d find a way, and that he couldn’t let me go so easily. I was terrified, but I was also secretly pleased—I’d fallen in love with him on that first walk when I had no idea who he really was. And knowing that he’d fight for me or do whatever it took to be with me . . . well, it was thrilling and romantic and all those other things girls dream of when they’re young and silly.”
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