Marriage by Mail (Grace Church Book 1)

by Jan Holly

  Finally, it was Friday. It was the day the train would arrive in Cutler’s Pass. Charles drove the wagon into work so that he could bring the trunk back home with him. All day, Rose had such an excited feeling, looking forward to opening her trunk and seeing her familiar, beloved items from home. She prepared herself for feeling an onslaught of homesickness, of grieving the loss of her family anew. Still, she knew it would be a great comfort to have her Bible, the photograph of her family, and her books. She hoped her neighbor had packed everything she possibly could have. No item was too trivial or too small, in Rose’s eyes. She just hoped the trunk arrived this day.

  Finally, she heard hoof beats. She hurried outside the front door and waited in front of the house. Her heart felt as though it sank when she saw the wagon was empty. She pressed her lips together and nodded. Well, so be it. Perhaps next week her trunk would arrive. Charles did not need to pull Rascal to a halt. The big horse slowed and walked quietly up to Rose, putting his velvety nose in her hand.

  “Sorry I don’t have sugar for you,” she said. “Hello, Charles.”

  “Hello, brave wife,” he said, climbing down from the wagon.

  “Brave?” She smiled.

  “I know you are disappointed, and you’re being brave about it,” he said, taking her hand and looking troubled.

  “Maybe next week,” she said, trying to keep her voice even as she smiled.

  “A letter came,” he said, reaching into his pocket. He handed her an envelope.

  It was from Sister John in Boston. Rose couldn’t wait. She sat down onto the porch step and opened it. Why would she receive a letter and not the trunk?

  The first thing she saw was a smaller page of note paper. “Charles, look,” she said, holding the page out to him. “This is it: the missing page from one of the letters I dictated to Sister John.” She handed it to him, and looked at it while Charles sat down next to her. “Look, Charles. See? I said all these things that Sister John wrote down for me. Right here on this page. I described how I got ill after my family passed on. And, how I was staying at the convent, getting well. How all my hair got cut off.”

  Charles took the page. “Takes me back, getting a letter from you. Well, a letter from you before I met you.” He smiled, placing his hand over her trembling one.

  Rose bit her lip, looking down and smiling, looking at the letter from Sister John. “Oh, she wrote that she had dropped that page of my letter to you along with many pages of medical files one day. She hadn’t realized that she had left out a page of the letter. It got tucked in with some other medical papers. She wrote that she is very sorry, and that she knows that she is all too often in too much of a hurry, which leads her to make mistakes.” Rose shook her head, smiling gently.

  Charles looked again at the page he held. “I never doubted you or Sister John. I knew there was some explanation. It didn’t matter to me, Rose. I just…” He trailed off, seeing her expression fall while she read the rest of the letter from Sister John.

  “Oh. Oh, dear.” Rose let the pages fall from her hand.

  “What is it?” He reached for her hand. “Rose?”

  She stood up slowly, walking over to Rascal. She didn’t turn back.

  “Rose?” Charles stood up and went by her side.

  She opened her mouth and couldn’t speak. Shaking her head, she closed her eyes.

  Charles went back to the steps and picked up the discarded sheets of paper. He brought them to her. “Something is wrong. Can you tell me?”

  She cleared her throat, then closed her eyes, gesturing to the letter.

  “I can read it?”

  She nodded.

  Charles read the lines swiftly and as he did, he felt such sorrow. “Oh, darling.”

  She tried to smile but couldn’t.

  “I’m awful sorry,” he said.

  She nodded. “It must have been for the best. I just didn’t expect it.”

  “I never would have guessed they’d go and burn everything,” he said angrily. “Surely they didn’t have to go and do that.”

  Rose turned away slowly and went into the house. She felt Charles watching her go.

  Inside the house, she let herself cry. Sister John had written that more neighborhoods had fallen ill with the fever. Families who had been struck by the sickness were required to burn their belongings. Sister John wrote expressing her deepest sympathies. Rose vowed to write back quickly, knowing the letter from Sister John would have been a painful one to write. She would reassure Sister John. Bowing her head for a moment, she said a quick but heartfelt prayer for those who had died, and those who mourned their deaths.

  Charles walked into the house quickly, his tread heavy on the wooden floor. He grabbed a piece of writing paper from the box under the saddle. He looked around for a pen, and picked it up when it saw it on a small table. “Here,” he said, handing both items to Rose. “You write down everything that was in that trunk. I’ll get it from Barney’s and have him order whatever he doesn’t have. Write it down, Rose.”

  Her eyes overflowed with tears as she gazed at her husband’s angry, handsome face. He knelt by her side. He wanted to replace every missing thing, as if that were possible. He wanted to do this because he wanted to make her happy. He felt angry that she was sad and that he could not make everything all right.

  She put her hand on his cheek, rough with the end of the day stubble. “Thank you, Charles.”

  “Write it all down, Rose,” he said, but softer this time. Sadder.

  She shook her head. “It’s all right.”

  “It’s not,” he said, shaking his head hard.

  She bent her neck and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. He reached up to cup her face. They stayed that way for a long moment.

  Finally, Rose got up and went into the kitchen. She quickly heated their meal and set out the crockery. Charles entered the kitchen, his footsteps heavy and slow, and he sat without saying a word, bowing his head. She set a bowl onto the table and sat, waiting for him to stretch out his hands. After a few moments, he did, but he did not say a word. Without lifting his face, he shook his head.

  “I can’t, Rose. You say it.” His voice was rough and sad sounding.

  Rose looked at him, feeling such a rush of tenderness. “Heavenly Father, for what we are about to receive, we thank thee. In Christ our Lord’s name…” She paused, opening her eyes. Charles kept his head bowed. “Jesus, thank you for everything I have, right here. My heart is overflowing. My life is overflowing. I feel so grateful. Thank you. Amen.”

  Slowly, Charles lifted his face, looking at Rose with a mixture of respect and concern. “You’re really all right?”

  “Yes, Charles. It was wise of them to burn any items that may have carried any contagion of that terrible fever. Hopefully, that did some good. I can only hope and pray. It was just a shock.”

  Charles hadn’t let go of her hands. “You sure?”

  She nodded. “I am still sad. I would like to remember everything that was in my trunk. May I tell you about the things I had hoped to see once again?”

  The food became cold as Rose recounted, her hands still clasped by Charles, each item: the cross-stitched framed sampler that was done by her grandmother that read: Home is where the Heart is. The photograph of her family, and how Matthew had moved his head to look back at baby Susannah when they sat for it, causing his face to be blurred. How ashamed he had been when they got the photograph, thinking he had ruined the family picture.

  “No, son,” their father had said. “It’s just right. You are always in motion. The photograph captured that. Just so.”

  They had all agreed.

  The look on Matthew’s face: Rose knew she would never forget it. She could see in her memory how he went from looking miserably ashamed, to reassured, and finally, grateful. It was as though he grew up, just a little, in that moment. He perceived how his family treated him with such kindness, and it went to his heart. Everyone in the family could see how his eyes softened
as he smiled.

  Rose wept as she shared this, and she didn’t try to stop her tears. She looked up as Charles let go of one of her hands. He wiped his own eyes, using his sleeve rather than his napkin. He shook his head, looking at her, and gently tugged her hand. He urged her toward him as he shifted in his seat. She took a step toward him and he pulled her down onto his lap. Cradling her close, he kissed her cheek over and over again. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him back.

  †

  Charles set his tongs down and went to stand in the doorway of the blacksmith shop. The sound of the hammer was ringing in his ears and his leather apron felt heavy. The scent of coal dust was everywhere and the dust itself seemed to coat him from head to toe. It was a hot day, and his mind kept straying from his work. Pastor James, leading his horse, walked up to Charles.

  “Star didn’t throw another shoe, did he?” Charles asked, beginning to look at the horse’s hooves.

  “No, he is keeping his shoes on,” said the pastor. “I was just in the area.”

  Charles straightened. “Oh, you were, were you?”

  “How is Rose?” Pastor James asked.

  “I truly think she is improving. She doesn’t shake or tremble anymore. She walks well, doesn’t seem dizzy or exhausted. Her color is better. She still gets real tired, though. She’s… she’s just a little bit of a woman, but she is eating well. Thanks to everybody helping out so much.” Charles said quietly.

  “That’s good to hear. That does ease my mind some.” He took a deep breath and let it out. “And how about you? How are you?”

  “Just fine.” Charles picked up his tongs and then set them down again. The pastor waited. “I already can’t imagine my life without her. Every day, more and more, you know?”

  The pastor nodded, compassion in his eyes. He was quiet.

  “She amazes me. All I want is for her to be all right. I just want her by my side.” Charles looked at the ground, unable to meet the pastor’s eyes. “If she can’t ever… if we can’t ever… I just want her to live.”

  “If you can’t ever…?” The pastor sounded confused.

  “Doc said, if her heart isn’t strong enough…” Charles searched for the words. “Carrying new life might put too much of a strain…”

  Pastor James closed his eyes, shaking his head. “Oh, Charles.”

  “If she is just all right,” said Charles. “That’s all that matters. But, I reckon she wants a child. Children.” He felt his throat hurt, thinking about this. He thought, too, of how she returned his kisses so tenderly, sitting on his lap, the night before. How she had flung her arms around his neck, with a kind of fearlessness, with trust.

  “Oh, brother,” said the pastor, and it sounded like a prayer.

  “Well,” said Charles, trying to smile. “Aren’t you going to start praying?”

  He opened his mouth and stared at Charles. He turned away and walked a few paces outside the forge and then stared out at Main Street. He walked back to Charles and shook his head. “All I can think of to say is: help.”

  “That’s a good prayer,” said Charles, smiling, trying to lift the mood. “You should hear Rose recite Psalms. She has such a quiet way of speaking, and she knows so much by heart.”

  The pastor stared at Charles and started to grin, although there was worry deep in his eyes.

  “What?” Charles asked.

  “You’ve gone and done it, Smith,” he said.

  “What?” Charles asked again, beginning to smile although he didn’t know what the pastor was talking about.

  “You’ve fallen in love. Haven’t you? It’s as plain as day. Plain as the nose on your face. Man, you have fallen and fallen hard.”

  Charles frowned and shrugged. Then he started to grin. “Heck, yes I have indeed, sir.”

  Pastor James slapped him on the back; mirth, worry, and hope battling in his expression.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Rose set the glass jar of daisies onto the kitchen table and paused, listening. She thought she heard Rascal’s hooves, but it sounded as though there were two horses, not one. Pulling off her apron hurriedly, she went outside. Standing on the front porch, she shaded her eyes. Sure enough, she saw Charles riding Rascal. However, it looked as though Charles led another horse behind them. Rose squinted. As they approached, she could see clearly that Charles held a rope that was attached to a horse’s halter. The horse was smaller than Rascal, bay colored, with a black mane and tail. Charles and the horses stopped by the porch steps and Charles dismounted.

  “Well, howdy,” he said, starting to smile.

  “Hello to the three of you,” she said, walking down the stairs. “It appears as though we have a dinner guest.”

  She glanced at Charles, raising her eyebrows, before she stretched out a hand to pat the new horse’s neck. Rascal blew air from his nose.

  “Jealous,” said Charles, shaking his head.

  Rose reached out so that she was patting Rascal, too. “What’s this guest’s name?”

  “Well, you could change it, but her name is Sweetheart,” Charles put his hands in his pockets and looked down at his boots.

  “Sweetheart, that’s… Wait, I could change it? What do you mean?” Rose stopped patting the horses and faced him.

  “She’s for you.” He looked up quickly, then got very busy checking something on his saddle’s stirrup. Rascal shifted his weight and sighed.

  “For me?” She looked at Charles’ profile, then at the horse, then back at him. “For me?”

  Sweetheart’s ears turned in her direction. Rose stroked her broad face as the horse blinked her lovely, dark eyes. Sweetheart sniffed her face and lowered her head, moving her jaw as though she were chewing on some feed.

  “She has taken a shine to you already. I figured she would,” said Charles, who had watched the exchange. He held out the rope for Rose to take, but she ignored it and walked into his arms. His slowly closed around her and she felt him bury his face in the space between her neck and shoulder. She pressed her head against his chest and tightened her hold on him.

  “She’s mine? For me?” She lifted her head to see his face.

  “Yes, Rose, if you’ll have her. I’ve been looking out for a nice, gentle horse ever since you asked to ride Rascal. Turns out, a family is moving back east. The lady of the house said she felt badly, hardly ever having time to ride Sweetheart, and didn’t want to make her take the long trip.”

  “So let me get this straight,” said Rose seriously, taking a step back from Charles, although he did not let go of her completely. She rested her hands on his chest. “I get to come out west, marry a wonderful man, am embraced by a circle of kind friends, and then… I get my own horse?”

  “What was that part about a man? Could you say that part again?” Charles started out joking, but by the time he had finished, his voice had softened.

  “A wonderful man,” she said quietly. “I married a wonderful man.”

  “If you say so, ma’am,” he said quietly, his expression serious and tender as he reached out to touch her face. He drew back. “Still got coal dust on me.”

  “I don’t care,” she said, grabbing his hand. “I don’t even care.”

  He lowered his face to kiss her.

  “Let’s get these horses settled,” he said, handing her the rope.

  Rose held the rope tightly and walked a few steps, watching Sweetheart. The horse stood still, her ears stiffly pointing toward Rose.

  “Walk on, but don’t look at her while you walk,” he said gently.

  “Really? How interesting,” she said. She turned away from Sweetheart and walked a few steps toward the barn. Sure enough, Sweetheart followed.

  Charles got both horses settled while Rose watched carefully, eager to learn everything she could about taking care of a horse. When all was done, she lingered.

  “Good-night, Sweetheart, good-night, Rascal. Charles, I hope she isn’t homesick.” Rose lifted her hand from the stall door and placed it
in Charles’ hand. He drew her under his arm.

  “Just look at that. Looks to me as though she is right at home.” He nodded his head toward the horses, who were touching noses over their stall doors.

  Rose smiled at the sight then looked up into his face. “Charles. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, darlin’,” he said as they walked toward the house.

  †

  Mr. Charles Smith

  Behind the Shaving Mirror

  Cutler’s Pass, California

  Dear Charles,

  Words do feel like inadequate vessels when one’s heart is full to overflowing. How can two little words such as “thank you” convey the depth of what I am feeling? A horse. You gave me a horse!

  God bless the westward yearnings that brought me to your door and into your life.

  Yours truly,

  Rose

  Charles read the letter after caring for the horses. He sat down and read it again, smoothing the sheet of paper against his leg. He folded it carefully and put it into a drawer in his wardrobe where he had saved the other letters that Rose had written to him since their marriage. He shaved as quickly as he could, finding it difficult to keep a straight face. He kept smiling.

  “Charles?”

  He stopped, hearing her soft voice. She sounded very close. He opened his bedroom door and she stood there, looking up at him.

  “I promise I won’t argue. Not today.” She blushed faintly and looked down, biting back a smile. “What do you think about my attending church today?”