by Natalie Dean
Her eyes probed his. Her eyebrow quirked up. “You’re a man smart enough to deduce that. Marvelous. Yes.”
Ouch. Jack wasn’t sure why he had even asked! He looked from her, to the hole in his pants, to the white thread showing at his sleeve. His mind went back to the house out there on his ranch. It was a good house, solid and tight and with a deep well and glass windows in all seven of its rooms. All seven of its rather dusty and untidy rooms.
“I could use a wife.”
Jack blinked and looked around as if to see who spoke those words, even though he knew that low baritone voice that had just spoken was indeed his voice!
She sniffed. “I am sure you could. Now tell me, is there a widowed woman or perhaps a decent family who would take me in for a few days? Of course, I would be happy to exchange my skills for lodging until the train comes back. I can embroider and sew and clean and cook. I have a wonderful …” She stopped. A puzzled look came over her face as if she had just registered his words. “I beg your pardon?”
Jack was thinking maybe he should just pretend he hadn’t said anything at all! Why the woman was clearly a greenhorn, and the last thing he needed was some woman who wore feathered hats and spoke like she was an angry schoolmarm in his life! Even if she did have the face of an angel and was apparently willing to work for her keep! But his tongue tripped onward, “I said I could use a wife. I have four hundred acres. I have a good creek, as witnessed by all the fish. I have a hundred head of cattle and a hundred head of sheep as well. They give good wool. I have a house with real glass windows.”
Her eyebrows elevated. “As opposed to false glass windows?”
She wanted to be tart of tongue? Very well. “As opposed to tarpaper or oilcloth or just plain old wooden shutters.”
She stared at him. Nelson hollered for his sons to come help get the fish off the wagon. Jack took his hat off, knocking it against his knee to get the dust off. He cleared his throat. “I…I would be a far more suitable husband than that one you just ran off with that there…”
“Parasol,” she supplied. “It’s called a parasol.”
He knew very well what it was called. He just couldn’t recall the word because his mind, unable to withstand the full-on assault of the strange woman and the proposal he had just made to her, had gone as smooth and blank as a stone. “Yes, parasol.” He drew himself up. Maybe the sun had gotten to him. Maybe he had fallen and hit his head and was, right then, lying on the ground somewhere half-dead and just dreaming this whole crazy thing up.
She looked at the strapping young men unloading the fish. Her shoulders hunched. For the first time, she looked vulnerable, and he felt a pang of sympathy for her. She asked, “Do you have references?”
References? He said, “I suppose most in town would stand for me.”
Nelson, placing fish into a large barrel, spoke up. “I’d stand for him. Jack there is a good man. A very good man. He’d make a great husband.”
Jack, realizing that this was getting way out of hand, rushed in. “I should warn you, my brother and his wife left a month or so back. She, Melissa—the wife—she took care of the house. I, er, well I’m good at the outdoor stuff and the like, but I never learned how to housekeep.”
Her face took on a contemplative look. “I suppose not.”
He looked at the curious people gathered there. Reverend March stood watching, his dark eyes fastened onto the action. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound as his mother used to say. “Reverend, could you wed us? If the lady is willing that is.”
Reverend March nodded so hard his hair, slicked back with oil, threatened to loose itself from the oil’s grip and fly about his head. “I surely can. Let me just fetch my Bible and the clerk.”
He took himself off. The woman stood there, one hand at her throat and one hand still holding the handle of her trunk. She took a long breath. Her hand left her throat and hovered in the air.
Her voice, lilting and sweet, and lowered greatly in tone, struck the air between them. “I am Jeanne Trippler.”
He took her gloved hand. Even through the glove he could feel the warmth of her fingers. He swallowed hard. He had no idea what he was doing. The last thing he needed in his life was a woman, much less a wife.
He had not planned on marrying ever again. His first wife, Lillian, had died in childbirth a mere year after they had wed and he had sworn he would never put himself through that kind of agony ever again.
But this was different. Mail order brides didn’t expect love, they expected a home and food and other comforts afforded to them by good husbands.
He had wed Lillian because he had been madly in love with her. He didn’t know this woman at all. For all he knew he wouldn’t like her at all.
But he didn’t have to like her much, just enough to live with her. He didn’t have to love her to eat food she prepared or to wear clothes she sewed or mended.
And the rest of it? That thing that lay between a woman and man after they wed?
Time enough to think about that later.
The truth was if he didn’t wed her some other man would volunteer himself for the task and he truly could use a woman’s touch in his home. He could use some company too if the truth be told. It got lonely out there by himself.
Jeanne looked down at the ground. Her lips compressed. “I have a little money. I should probably stock up on things necessary for a woman’s well-being as I assume you have none of those things on hand.”
He shook his head. “I am afraid not.”
He had no idea what she even meant by that, really, but if he had to guess he would guess she meant soaps and maybe fabric.
She sucked in a deep breath. “Tell me, Mr. Jack…”
She waited. He realized she was waiting for him to give his surname. The name that would be hers now. His face burned, and the tips of his ears went red too at his lack of manners. “Wilson.”
“Wilson. Do you have any good and fine flour out there? Cake flour?”
He scratched at his scalp nervously, his finger sinking into his thick chestnut colored hair. “Er…I have flour.”
Her smile was not unkind or mean. “That would be a no. Do you care for cake?”
Saliva shot into his mouth. “Very much.”
Her smile widened. “Good. We should have cake for…for our wedding dinner’s dessert.”
They stood there staring at each other. Jack could read uncertainty in her face, and he knew it showed on his as well. He said, “Well, Jeanne, is it all right if I call you Jeanne?”
She nodded. “If you are truly about to become my husband I suppose so.”
He nodded and regained his thoughts. He said, “Well I was going to trade the fish and sell some too, for things needed out at my ranch. I’ll need to do that before, before the ceremony of course. But a man should make sure his wife has what she needs and if you need things well, we’ll just…” His mind went blank again.
Her gloved hand fluttered at him. “I…well I brought the money as a sort of dowry. We should, if we are to wed, we should do this together I imagine.”
Nelson chose that moment to bellow from the doorway, “Wilson? You ready to take care of this business? I already got folks lining up for fish.”
He took her arm, right above the elbow. The parasol sent shade over them, and a sweet smell rose from her clothing, a scent that mingled fresh lavender, lilac, and something else. That smell, that bright and clean fragrance, knocked him off-balance yet again.
He’d come into town to sell fish, and he had ended up with a wife!
How that was even possible he wasn’t sure but it was true and misgivings set in yet again. He didn’t need or want to fall in love with her, but didn’t most women want a man who would love them?
Maybe he should tell her that he could not love her. That his heart was already so shattered that he would never love again in his entire life.
Jeanne paused in the doorway. Her indrawn breath told him she was as scared as he was.
How terrible could this wedding, unplanned as it was, really be?
Chapter 2
Jeanne was thinking the same thing, and her brain was giving her dozens of ways that it could turn out bad. He could be a dangerous man. She had never exchanged a single letter with him, and for all she knew he could not even read or write! He seemed kind enough, but her character judging ability was clearly off-kilter because she had believed that that….cretin…who had written her might make a good husband.
Her spirits went flat as a pancake at that thought. He’d walked up to her smelling of liquor and smoke, and he’d grinned at her to reveal a mouth filled with bad teeth. Then he had said, a bit proudly too, that he had had someone else write the letters and had just told them what to write. To top it all off, he didn’t have a home of his own. He lived with his son and his son’s undoubtedly long-suffering wife, a fact he’d tossed at her quite casually as she had stood there gaping at him. She’d be happy there, he was sure of that, and her new daughter-in-law was really looking forward to meeting her.
That Jeanne believed. A woman’s work was rarely done and caring for a drunken father-in-law along with her husband had to be awful.
Dear Lord, what was she thinking.
It seemed that she had fallen right out of the frying pan and right into the fire!
Leaving Philadelphia to come to this desolate place had not been high on her list of things she wanted to do. She had not wanted to be a mail-order bride either. She had had little choice. No choice in fact.
The store was smaller than any she had ever seen and cluttered to the very ceiling! Things stacked along every wall stood in barrels and boxes along the floor, and she stared at the leather stuff, the barrels of pickles, and the jars of penny candy right next to the boxes of nails, all of them sorted in some sort of manner which just confused her.
There was fabric bolts and potatoes, flour barrels and fishing poles made of cane. It was overwhelming, and for a moment every single thought went right out of her head.
What in the world?
It hit her then, all of it.
This was not the city where there were any number of shops and stores, all carrying different things. This was a tiny little blot on the endless wilderness, a small outpost, and a stop for the railroad but little else. There was one store, one! And so everything she would need would have to be gotten there. But what if she needed something they did not sell, what then? Panic set in and she gulped hard.
Jack was standing at the long counter. The thing stood high and behind it stood Brad Nelson as well as a woman. Jeanne gathered her thoughts and moved forward, her heart still pounding at the enormity of her decision.
Her really terrible decision.
She managed to smile at the woman behind the counter, but the woman only gave her a haughty look. Well then, all right. Jeanne lifted her head even higher, so high the hat was in real danger of sliding right off, but she did not care. She waited patiently, as Jack finished bartering the cost of the fish he had brought in. He asked, softly, “What will you need?”
She looked from him to Nelson. Her forehead wrinkled. “Er, well if you have need of sheets or curtains I could sew them, I have quite a bit of fabric in my trunks.” She did. It was her dowry. Her heart sank yet again. Nothing was going according to plan. “But I could use more thread and a good fine needle. Needles are always a good thing to have I suppose. Oh, and flour for a cake please.”
The woman behind the counter asked, “You got any white sugar out there at your place?”
Jack shook his head then shrugged. He gave her a sheepish look. “I don’t really know. I’m…that is I don’t take sugar in my coffee and…and I’m not a cook.”
Nelson said, “How about a pound of dark and a half of white just in case?”
She said, “That would be fine I think if it is fine with you. It would probably be better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it.”
How far did he live from this one store? What if they ran out of something in the middle of the day? How would she get to the store to purchase anything?
Would she be better off just waiting for the train and going back to Philadelphia and taking her very bitter medicine?
No, she wouldn’t be. She’d be arrested on sight most likely, and if she were she might suffer a far worse fate than just jail!
Jack spoke again, shattering her thoughts. “I know for a fact that I am out of cornmeal and fat pork. I could use beans and…and staples.”
Staples? Oh no. Jack had no idea of what he needed and she didn’t either. It was time to take charge. She asked, “How far is your home from here?’
“About three miles.”
Three miles! She took that into consideration and then said, “What about this? Say we pick up what you know is necessary now, and I can do a complete inventory later.” Her face colored a bit. “Instead of…instead of paying him in cash for whatever’s not gotten in trade perhaps you men could agree on a figure as a store credit instead. After I have a chance to go through everything, then we could write out a list of what is needed most and come fetch it.”
Nelson said, “I’d be agreeable to that if you would Jack.”
Jeanne saw the look of relief on Jack’s face. “As would I. I think that is the most logical thing to do in fact.”
They did that and when the things were loaded into the wagon, they found Reverend March and the clerk waiting for them. They walked to the church and her heart sank even further.
The church was made of wood with a tall cross, a single set of glass windows, pews and an altar. There was nothing else and while she was able to see its simplistic beauty the memory of the churches back home rose up and blotted out the ability to be thrilled with this church.
I have to learn to be content here. I can’t go back. I just can’t. Even if I did things would never be the same anyway, and I might not even be able to escape the law there. It was not my fault, not at all, but I had a hand in it whether I was actually guilty of doing it on purpose or not—and I had no idea of what was really happening. I didn’t.
The last few months were awful, hiding and using a false name and always feeling the breath of those who would see her in jail right on the nape of her neck.
She managed to smile and speak the vows that would tie her to that perfect stranger next to her, but she had no heart for it, for any of it. A sharp wave of homesickness came over her, blotting out everything else and she was wed before she really even had time to think about what was going on.
Jack had no ring for a wife, but he did have a plain silver band he wore on his pinky finger. He worked it off and gave it to her, sliding it onto her ring finger. It was a near perfect fit, and she gave him a smile, but her heart was troubled.
What kind of bride would she be to him? Her heart was most certainly not in this. She felt guilty about marrying this man without telling him the whole truth of how and why she had become a mail order bride, but there was nothing to do now but to accompany him back to the wagon and head out of the small and lonely town and toward his ranch.
The scenery was lovely but so open! She cleared her throat. “Are there any ranches besides yours out here?”
He nodded, “About a mile east there’s a whole family compound run by the Wilkes family. About two dozen folks are living over there, and some of the women are about your age so you likely won’t be too lonely.”
A mile away? That was…her mind refused to grapple with that. Her fingers, below the gloves she wore, clamped down so hard on each other that her knuckles stood up in sharp white relief. “Oh, how lovely.”
She eyed a field of stunning, bright-blue flowers growing in the thick and very green grass. She asked, “What are those?”
“Wildflowers. I don’t know the name of them. I’m not a flowers kind of man.”
No, he wasn’t. Jeanne’s eyes turned back to him. He was handsome, no doubt about it. He was clearly
used to hard work and the body underneath the jacket, shirt, and pants was tall and trim. He had a face that was highly-planed and eyes that had little crinkles at the corners, laugh lines that gave her a little hope. A man didn’t get laugh lines unless he laughed, right? Maybe those lines meant that he had a sense of humor after all.
He had thick hair and wide shoulders, a narrow waist, and lean hips. Long legs and an easy way of walking. He had manners too, she had seen them for herself but just how far did those manners go? Some of the best-mannered men were louts behind closed doors. Worse than louts. She should know. Her father had been a real charmer. He could doff his hat with real flair and be so polite one would think he was born in a castle but behind the front door of their little two-room tenement, he was a mean man with no thought to manners as he berated his wife and daughter for every sin both real and imagined. Leave the butter dish out one second too long, and there’d be heck to pay. Forget to leave exactly five inches of water in the pitcher—no more and no less—and there’d be worse than heck to pay. There’d be a terrible uproar that sometimes included not just being physically berated but actually beaten.
Well, she had escaped him and the sadness of her mother’s death by taking a job in a factory, and she had truly thought that she had earned her independence, and would forever remain that way too.
But there she sat, in the wilds of Montana, married!
Hmph.
He said, “Look, jackrabbits and those…” She followed the direction of his fingers to see a flock of beautiful birds lifting up from the ground, “Are blue jays. They’re noisy, but they’re pretty enough to make that not matter. I suppose you knew they were blue jays.”
She did, but she had never seen so many of them at one time. “I did but…but are there always so many of them? I have only ever seen them occasionally, and usually only in the trees near the large and older houses of the city.”
