Marriage by Mail (Grace Church Book 1)

by Jan Holly

  “Do you feel well enough?” he asked quietly.

  “Yes,” she said, looking up at him with surprise.

  “Well, let’s go,” he said, nodding.

  “I’ll get dressed!” She hurried to her room.

  Soon they were in the wagon, being pulled to church by both Rascal and Sweetheart. Rose had watched him hitch the horses to the wagon. She had tried to make sure she petted Sweetheart and Rascal equally. Charles had made plans to trade the wagon for the Petersen’s buggy after church, if Rose felt well enough to take a short trip.

  Arriving at the church, he hitched both horses and went to Rose to help her down from the buggy. His heart felt as though it skipped a beat, seeing her smile as people in the congregation came over to greet them. He kept hold of her hand until they sat down in a pew.

  Bowing his head, he felt his eyes smart and his throat swell with emotion. Right beside him sat his wife. It stunned him, how quickly his life had changed. All those lonely times, craving connection, he had never expected he could feel so much. He truly hadn’t understood what marriage could mean to him. His regard for Rose kept growing as they shared their lives together. He tried to articulate a silent prayer of thanks and as he did he felt her hand slip into his. He opened his eyes and looked at her, knowing that his emotions were right there, plain as the nose on his face, as the pastor would say. She held tighter to hand and leaned closer to him. He bent his head to catch what she would whisper to him, but she was silent. She sat back. He looked at her, a question in his eyes. She smiled tremulously and he saw a shine of tears in her eyes. She felt the same, he thought. Suddenly, he wished it was late afternoon and they were outside the barn. He longed to take her in his arms and press his lips against hers. She smiled bigger and her face flushed. He ducked his head, grinning, trying to school his wayward thoughts. I’m in church, he said to himself. It’s Sunday.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Our Father which art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.

  Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven.

  Give us this day our daily bread.

  And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.

  And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil: For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever. Amen.

  Rose kept her eyes closed, letting the words settle in her heart. It felt so good to say the Lord’s Prayer aloud in a church on a Sunday morning once again. She had a pang of homesickness, remembering her late family and their friends in the old brick church at which they had worshipped. Grief threatened to engulf her. She hated how it seemed to grab her suddenly. Closing her eyes more tightly, she prepared to pray harder, then remembered the pastor’s words about not forcing faith. Instead, she took a shallow breath and kept her head bowed. What hurt the most in that moment, she realized, was the recurring notion that she was going further and further away from her loved ones. Although she knew it was unreasonable, it seemed as though with the distance she traveled and the time that passed, she left them behind. They seemed so very far away. Their absence was impossible to comprehend. Each new experience was one they could not share. Each day she grew older, they could not. She reached into her pocket and got her handkerchief, wiping her eyes while keeping her head lowered. Charles’ arm came around her shoulders and he pressed his lips to her temple.

  “Remember, Rose. They’re with Jesus,” he whispered into her ear.

  Her tears came faster, then, and her shoulders shook. His understanding and tenderness got to the heart of her, making her cry. She took a steadying breath and felt a sweet sense of peace enfold her. They’re with Jesus. Charles’ words reverberated within her and it was as though a sunbeam broke through a heavy cloud, slowly at first, and then brighter and brighter. She felt a warmth infuse within her spirit and she lifted her face as though reaching for sunshine. They’re with Jesus. It was true. Her beloved family members’ lives went on in Heaven. She would miss their presence in this world, but they’d be reunited once more. She pressed her handkerchief to her mouth, afraid she would cry out half in joy, half in sorrow. She pictured them all: Matthew and Susannah, far from any care. Mother and Father, together. She breathed in and out, missing them, yet quietly happy to remember them and to think of them in a place where there was no suffering, no illness.

  “You all right, Rose?” Charles whispered against her hair.

  She nodded, leaning against him, her heart too full for words.

  Later, she was almost too busy talking with new friends to eat the cookies and coffee she held in her hand. She was standing with Mrs. West and Mrs. Robles when Charles came to her.

  “Got the buggy all set. You ready for a little adventure?” He hitched his thumbs in his pockets and smiled down at her.

  “Yes, I am,” she said eagerly. After putting away her cup and plate, she shook hands with her friends and said goodbye. Her heart was pounding with excitement.

  Doctor and Mrs. Petersen stood by their buggy, now hitched to Sweetheart and Rascal. Doctor Petersen took Rose’s arm and helped her up into the buggy.

  “Wasn’t that such a marvelous sermon?” Mrs. Petersen asked.

  “Oh, yes,” said Rose.

  “He mumbles a bit, but he’s got sense, I’ll grant him that,” said the doctor.

  “Oh, Lloyd. You think everyone mumbles!” Mrs. Petersen smiled, shaking her head.

  “We’ll see you back here for dinner.” Doctor Petersen called out as Charles urged the horses forward.

  “What direction are we headed?” Rose asked Charles after they waved good-bye to the Petersens.

  “West,” he answered, flashing a smile at her.

  “West,” she repeated, closing her eyes and savoring the word. “West.” She looked around at everything. “The hills are so golden!”

  “They’ll stay that way until winter. Then everything will get bright green from all the rain.” Charles said.

  She tried to imagine it.

  The time went by quickly as they traveled, and they spoke of many things. Charles would not reveal their destination. Rascal and Sweetheart appeared merry, often touching noses as they trotted.

  Rose shaded her eyes, grateful for her darkened spectacles even with the buggy’s roof providing a canopy. She thought she saw a flash of blue in the distance. Yes, there it was again, through the trees. They turned a corner and there it was: the ocean, spread out in all its sparkling blue glory, gulls rising and diving overhead.

  “The Pacific Ocean,” said Rose, sitting up straight. “The Pacific!”

  The surf was wild, great waves crashing upon the sand. Charles drove the buggy to a hitching post on a bluff above the beach. Rose took her glasses off and left them in the buggy. She wanted to see everything as it was, every vivid hue and dazzling sparkle of light. She jumped down, unable to wait for Charles to assist her. Looking down at the shore, she could barely take in all the beauty before her. Charles fed and watered the horses and then stood by her side, putting his arm around her waist. She pressed against him.

  “We can go down,” he said, gesturing. “There’s a path.”

  “Let’s go,” she said.

  When they were on the sand, Rose looked around. There were no other people. “I want to put my feet in,” she said.

  He smiled and shook his head. “It’s too rough, Rose. Waves come up real sudden like.”

  “Oh,” she said in disappointment. “It is much wilder than the surf in Massachusetts. Well, it is the wild west!”

  Charles laughed and took her hand. They walked for a ways until he expressed concern that she would tire herself without realizing it, suggesting they go back to the buggy.

  “When, oh, when will I be entirely well?” Rose asked in frustration. “It’s appalling to have this internal constraint when all I want to do is run and run until I can’t take another step. And then, I’d fall onto my back and look at the sky.”

  Charles’ smile disappeared and his eyes looked dark and s
erious. He faced her, holding onto her shoulders. “Rose,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Can I kiss you?”

  She lifted her face, wrapping her arms around him. His kiss was solace and a promise of more adventures to come, all at the same time.

  “Can I carry you up the path?” Charles asked, still holding her close.

  “All right,” she said breathlessly. “I suppose there are some consolations in convalescing. Being carried up a little hill seems quite romantic.”

  He lifted her up and she looked away, out toward the ocean. She felt too shy to look at him, held so closely in his arms.

  “I’ll carry you anytime,” he said. “Even when you are well. Anytime.”

  “All right,” she said softly, still looking away. She was thrilled. As he began to walk, she darted a look at him. He was looking straight ahead, mindful of his footing on the path. She looked at him again.

  “Well?” he asked, looking as though he were trying not to laugh.

  “I beg your pardon?” Rose was flustered, and looked away. She realized she had been staring.

  “Just checking. You like what you see?” He glanced at her and grinned.

  She felt her cheeks heat up. “Yes,” she whispered, biting her lip.

  His grin fell away. “Truly?”

  She laid a hand on his face and then put it back on his shoulder, and she nodded. She wished she were bolder and could say what was in her heart.

  He stopped and set her down gently, although they were only halfway up the hill. Leaning back against the bluff, he looked out at the ocean.

  “I’m too heavy,” she said, smiling. “I’ll walk the rest of the way.”

  He took a breath and shook his head once, looking at her and smiling ruefully. “It’s not the carrying that made my legs weak at the knees. It’s who I’m carrying. Rose, you make me feel as strong as an ox and wobbly as a newborn calf, all at the same time.”

  “Oh,” she said, feeling torn between amusement and dismay. “I’m sorry.”

  He straightened and took a breath. “Don’t be. I find I like it.”

  “Oh!” Rose laughed in surprise.

  “I reckon it’s a natural feeling for courting couples. Or those who are married,” he said, shrugging. “Do I make you feel like that?”

  Rose caught her breath and looked down at the sandy path. What could she say?

  “I’m sorry,” he said earnestly. “I didn’t mean any rudeness by my question.”

  “I feel as though I’m running until my breath is gone, and then I’m on my back, feeling the Earth turn beneath me, and seeing the sky overhead, feeling as though I’m spinning, falling,” she said quickly, not looking at him.

  He was silent for a long moment, holding her hand. “Is that good?” he asked finally.

  She nodded, still looking down.

  “Sounds scary,” he said, tugging on her hand.

  She took a step closer to him.

  “You scared?” His voice was very soft, and very close. “My brave, traveling-west wife?”

  She nodded once and shrugged, glancing up at him. She tried to smile but her mouth would not cooperate. He put his arms around her and kissed her cheek. She pressed her head against his chest. He held her closer.

  “I love you,” he whispered.

  Rose heard the crash of the waves and the cries of the gulls. She knew she would treasure this moment forever. “I love you, too, Charles,” she whispered against him.

  He wrapped his arms around her even closer. She could feel how his chest rose and fell with his breathing and she could hear how loudly and fast his heart beat.

  After a while, he lifted her and carried her the rest of the way. They barely spoke the entire way home, but when they did, their voices were tender and low. Charles’ eyes were dark and soft when their glances met and held, which was often.

  Even when the reached the home of the Petersens, Rose found it difficult to speak at any length, and Charles seemed to be feeling the same way, for he was very quiet, only saying what was needed and no more. Rascal and Sweetheart rested in the stable while Rose and Charles ate Sunday dinner with Doctor and Mrs. Petersen.

  It was still quite light outside when they finally arrived home. While Charles groomed the horses, she washed away the dust from their travels. Charles came into the house, at first not seeing her. She saw how he lifted his face, looking for her, and she walked to him quickly. Without a word he gently pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. Rubbing his cheek against hers, she felt the day’s growth of his whiskers. She reached up a hand to stroke his cheek and he stilled.

  “Rose,” he said, against her hair.

  She moved her hand into his hair and heard him make a sound, low and full of yearning. She felt frightened yet very daring as she pushed her fingers through his hair, which reached his collar. My husband, she thought. My love.

  Charles took a shuddering breath in and held her upper arms, stepping back from her. She looked up and his eyes met hers. She saw such longing in his expression, but determination, too, as he took another step back.

  Feeling suddenly cold, she twisted her hands together and turned away.

  “Reckon you’re tuckered out after the long day,” he said, sounding hoarse. “Best turn in.”

  Wordlessly, she reached out her hand.

  He looked at it and she saw him swallow, saw his face tighten. He took her hand, just briefly, bringing it to his lips then releasing it as if scalded. He turned and went into his room.

  Rose felt choked by sorrow and confusion. Crushed by the sense of being abandoned and rejected, she blinked back tears. Slowly, she walked into her room. She undressed, her movements slow and awkward. In bed, she pulled the covers up to her chin. She had left the curtains open, and she looked out at the starry sky. All day she had felt closer and closer to Charles. She had felt as though something was drawing them toward one another, and felt that it was good, and right. When he turned from her, she didn’t understand. She did not want to part from him, not even at night. Perhaps, especially at night, she thought, her face burning. Hurt, bereft, she wished she had counsel. She turned over and sighed, a deep sigh that seemed to express all the questions she could not ask. Wasn’t she pleasing to him? Didn’t he feel the same, and wish to hold her close? Why had he left her?

  Patience.

  The word seemed to come from without and within at the same time, and filled her with surprise.

  Patience.

  She felt the worried lines on her brow smooth and she sighed again, but this time her sigh released care and tension. Yawning, she felt herself grow sleepy. She thought of getting out of bed to get the Bible, but the she was becoming so warm and drowsy. The words from John 4:18 came to her: There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear: because fear hath torment. He that feareth is not made perfect in love.

  She would be patient. She did not understand why Charles had turned away from her, but she loved him. Along with that love, she felt trust in him. Perhaps she had trusted him before she even grew to love him, she thought. She thought of the affection and longing she had seen in his eyes and vowed to be patient. She sighed once again, a quick breath of the cool night air, and fell asleep.

  †

  Charles paced in his room, keeping his eyes averted from his bed. All the loneliness he had experienced before marriage was nothing compared to this: this specific yearning for the woman that shared his home, his life. His wife. He stopped and put his hands to the back of his head, trying to control his response. Rose. His mind, heart, and soul were filled with chaos. Anguished, he couldn’t even articulate to himself his longing, fear, and frustration.

  Patience.

  The word seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere all at once, and almost made him laugh out loud. Patience? He had never felt further from feeling patient in his life. But the word seemed to reach inside his mind and he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He sank to his knees by the side of his bed and clasped his hand
s and closed his eyes. He pressed his forehead against his hands. Without words, he prayed.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Rose had just cleaned the table when she heard the sound of a buggy approaching. Taking off her apron, she hurried to the front door. Charles had left for work just a short while ago. They had been quiet with one another during breakfast, a little formal and shy.

  Doctor Petersen, carrying his black medical bag, hitched his palomino horse to the post and took off his hat.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Smith. I thought I’d pay a brief call if it suits you,” he said.

  “Doctor Petersen, hello, come in. May I offer you some coffee or tea?” Rose smiled, recalling his polite and humorous refusal of tea the last time he had been there.

  He declined and the two of them sat down in the parlor. Rose answered his questions about how she had been feeling as he checked her eyes and ears and glands in her throat.

  “No more dizzy spells?” The doctor asked as he felt the pulse in her wrist.

  “No,” she said.

  He got out his stethoscope as Rose described feeling more energy with each passing day. She kept quiet as he listened to her heartbeat. He removed the ear pieces and then settled them back into his ears, pressing the end of the stethoscope to her chest as he frowned. He sat back and packed his equipment away while Rose fastened the top button of her dress. She asked the doctor to pass along her sincere thanks to Mrs. Petersen for the dinner yesterday, and added that she would request the recipe for the herbed bread.

  “I declare Charles would have eaten the entire loaf,” she said, smiling.

  He nodded and smiled briefly, but appeared distracted and soon was on his way. Rose assumed he had many patients to see as she waved good-bye.

  †

  Charles pulled the tongs from the water, the steam obscuring his vision. He looked closely and shook his head. It wasn’t right. He’d have to try again. The shovel’s blade was still uneven. Sighing, he straightened his back, stifling a groan. The day had been long, growing hotter with every passing hour. In the forge, the heat was overwhelming. He set down the shovel and wiped his brow on his arm. Looking up, he saw Doctor Petersen approach. His heart seemed to crash within his chest as he saw the doctor’s somber expression. His leather apron felt as though it were made of iron as he walked toward him.