Grace (War Brides Book 4)

by Linda Ford

  The station backed onto the main street. Stores of either sandstone or tall board fronts marched up and down the length, giving way to tidy, tree-lined yards. Houses in neat squares along straight streets spread out on either side. Grace hurried down the steps, anxious to explore the town.

  Deciding to wait until she was tired of wandering around town before she made any purchases, she examined the inside of every store that caught her attention. After a bit, her steps took her down the side streets. A sign in front of a building caught her attention, and she stared at it.

  “Daystown Public Library,” she read. Just what she needed. She hurried inside, stopping at the door to fill her lungs with the familiar smells of books and papers.

  “Good morning.”

  She followed the sound in the dusky interior and discovered a bespectacled, plump woman standing between shelves. “Good morning,” Grace said. “I’m so glad to discover Daystown has a library.”

  The woman lowered an armload of books to a table. “Sounds like a confirmed reader speaking. I’m Mrs. Paige, the librarian. Glad to be of service.”

  Grace stood between shelves, studying the titles. “I had to leave most of my books behind when we moved. You can’t imagine how hard it was to choose which ones I must part with. Keep the book of plays or my favorite novel?” She held out her hands as if weighing the decision in each palm. “Be practical and bring a home medicine book, or be romantic and bring a book of poems.” She sighed. “A dreadful predicament.”

  Mrs. Paige laughed. “Maybe we can help ease some of your pain.”

  Grace nodded. “I believe you can.”

  “You’re that new woman who moved into the old Martin place, aren’t you?”

  “Grace Marshall.”

  “Welcome to our community. And especially welcome to the library. I perceive we have found a loyal supporter.”

  “When it comes to books, I’m very loyal.”

  Mrs. Paige laughed. “We recently got in fifty new titles. Perhaps some you haven’t read yet. What are you interested in?” She led the way to a table where the books stood on display.

  Grace picked up one. “There’s something about a new book.” She lifted it to her nose. “I don’t know if it’s the ink or the binding, but there is an alluring smell to them.” She breathed deeply. “Full of mystery and promise.”

  “If you’re looking for mystery and promise, I suggest this one.” Mrs. Paige handed Grace a brown bound book. “It’s the story of a man who decided to trek across Africa. I’ve read it and can recommend it highly.”

  “I’ll take it.” She paused. “That is if I’m allowed to take out books.”

  “Of course.” The librarian bustled toward the square wooden desk next to a potbellied stove. “All you have to do is fill out one of these cards.”

  Grace filled out her name and address and handed it back.

  “You’re all set,” Mrs. Paige said. “Have a look around.”

  Grace picked up book after book. “It’s hard to decide.”

  “They’ll be here next time, my dear.”

  Grace gave a rueful laugh. “I know, but it’s still hard to narrow it down to what I think I can carry home.”

  In the end she added two romance novels to the adventure book. As she checked them out, she thought of home. “I don’t suppose you’d have a book that will tell me in a few simple lessons how to cook and run a house.”

  Mrs. Paige chuckled. “I’ve been married for twenty-five years, and I’m still trying to figure out how to reduce it to a few simple lessons. Or maybe I should say, a few simple steps. But I do have something that might help.” She scurried to the far end of the room and held out a weighty volume. “Not condensed, I’m afraid, but I’ve paged through it a few times, and there’s lots of valuable advice here.”

  “Establishing a Pioneer Home and Kitchen,” Grace read. “The title sounds like what I need.” She flipped a few pages. “The Basics. Setting up the Laundry. Bread and Other Essentials. Preserving. Storing Vegetables.” She closed the book. “I’ll take it and see if I can mangle my way through it.”

  The librarian patted her hand. “No one is born knowing everything. The one who fails is the one who fails to try.”

  “I suppose that’s right.” She bid the older woman good-bye. Anxious now to get home and enjoy her books, she hurried to Mr. Tunney’s store with the list she had prepared, and a few minutes later, her bag bulging, she headed down the street toward home. Sweat trickled down her back by the time she stepped in the door and let the bag fall from her shoulders to the table. She sank to the nearest chair, panting. “I’m grateful I didn’t try to carry any more.” The room echoed with emptiness. She shivered. She couldn’t remember ever having been alone before.

  She jerked to her feet, mumbling, “I’ll put everything away first.” Immediately she promised herself she would stop talking to herself. It was too strong a reminder that there was no one else around to talk to. She put the baking supplies on one shelf. The canned beef she’d purchased, she set aside, planning to use it for the evening meal if Billy got back in time.

  Mr. Tunney had had two-dozen, farm-fresh eggs. “You’re really lucky to get these, Ma’am,” he’d said as he’d bundled the precious lot into a small box. “I don’t often get them in the store except when Mrs. Jackson has extra and she trades them. This is the first she’s brought me in two weeks.”

  Grace understood eggs were a precious commodity until they could get some hens of their own and took them down to the cellar.

  She picked up the instruction book, opened it to the first page, and began to read about the importance of being properly prepared. “It’s a bit late to think about preparations,” she muttered, forgetting her promise not to talk aloud to the emptiness.

  She flipped through a few chapters, glancing at the information, lingering on instructions on how to set up a pioneer kitchen. There were receipts for “mainstay” meals, and she read these with keen interest.

  “But I don’t have all this stuff.”

  She mentally marked receipts for biscuits, griddle cakes, and cookies, noted the directions for preparing meat, then pushed the book aside. “I’ll study it more later,” she murmured. The novels beckoned, and she took the book on top. The Lady in White.

  “I’ll rest a bit, then get to work.” She carried the book into the front room, pulled the rocking chair close to a window, and was immediately transported into the world of a young lady in England, who made a habit of wandering around the extensive gardens in a fine white dress. There she encountered a handsome young man who grew to love her. The words of love he spoke to the heroine were vivid and strong.

  Grace sighed. How she longed to have her handsome Canadian hero make the same passionate declarations.

  A sudden roar made her jump up in alarm. The sound faded slightly then returned.

  She ran outside. An airplane circled the house and tipped toward the barn.

  “Billy. He’s home.” She’d lost track of time and read the whole afternoon.

  The airplane bounced on the field next to the barn and taxied to a halt. Billy climbed from the farther back of the two seats and jumped to the ground. “Whooee! Isn’t she a beaut?”

  Grace ambled toward the barn. “You got home in good time.”

  “I couldn’t wait to get up in the air again.” He shouted with laughter. “It’s the best feeling in the world. Man is it good to have an airplane again.”

  Grace studied the craft. “It’s the first time I’ve been this close to an airplane. It doesn’t seem very sturdy.” Just a bunch of wires and wood covered with fabric. Who’d want to go hundreds of feet off the ground in such a thing?

  “She’s a dandy. She’ll get me where I want to go.” He pounded heavy stakes in the ground and secured the plane to them with ropes. “Wouldn’t want anything to happen to this baby. Tomorrow I’ll take her up again and scout around. When people see there’s an airplane in the area, I’ll be getting all sorts
of jobs.” He tied the last rope and straightened, his gaze lingering on the aircraft. “I always figured a Curtiss Jenny Canuck is the prettiest machine they ever made.” He gave the plane a fond look. “A real beauty.”

  Grace’s mouth tightened. He had said more sweet words in the past fifteen minutes than she’d heard in the last year, and it rankled that they were for the benefit of some tin bucket. “It’s only a hunk of wood and wires.”

  Billy looked shocked and reached out to pat the belly of the plane, as if Grace’s words could somehow injure the machine. “How can you say that? She’s a fine machine. Handles real nice.” He gave the airplane a fond look. “You got anything to eat?” But he didn’t wait for her to answer. “By this time next week, I bet I’ll have more business than I can manage.” He grabbed her hand and hurried her toward the house.

  “Wop May says the real business is in the north.”

  Grace almost stumbled. “North?”

  “Yup. With pontoons or skis, an airplane can get into places that would take days or weeks to get to by any other means. Can you imagine the possibilities?”

  “How far north?”

  “He says there’s a lot of interest in using planes to get stuff into places like Norman Wells, Fort Resolution, and Yellowknife.”

  “How far north are they?”

  “Way north. Up in the Northwest Territories. Uncharted land. I’ll bet it takes a real good pilot to work up there.”

  “Where do the pilots fly out of?” He sounded like he wanted to pack up and get in the action tomorrow—today if possible.

  “Wop says Peace River Landing would be the place to set up headquarters.”

  They stepped into the kitchen. “I haven’t made anything yet. I wasn’t sure when you’d return.” No need to tell him she’d wasted the afternoon reading.

  “I’ll wait.” He washed up, then sat at the table picking up the book she’d left opened.

  She waited, hoping he would comment about her industry, but he shoved the book aside. She knew he hadn’t really looked at it.

  “Wop says Freddie McCall is doing business out of Calgary.”

  Grace let out a long sigh. Calgary was closer.

  Billy continued. “With Wop and Court operating out of Edmonton, and McCall at Calgary, I figure we’re pretty well situated about in the middle between the two.”

  The tightness across Grace’s shoulders began to ease.

  “Unless we decide to head up north. Now that would be an adventure.”

  A muscle between her shoulder blades spasmed.

  “But for now, I think this is the best place to be.”

  Grace kept her attention on opening the canned beef, struggling to remember the instructions Nellie had given on turning the block of cold brown matter into a delicious meal. All the while her mind raced. There was no mistaking the note of longing when Billy talked about going north, a thought that turned her insides to a quivering mass.

  She’d managed to get a few potatoes and some soggy carrots at the store. She peeled and chopped them, half listening to Billy extol the virtues of the Jenny. Her nose twitched, and she rubbed it. She would never have guessed it possible to be jealous of a machine, but listening to Billy rave about the attributes of his airplane, she experienced a bitter burning in her throat. They even gave the plane a name that sounded like another woman, she fumed.

  The meat and vegetables simmered; the kettle boiled. She poured tea. Pressing back the resentment she felt at all the talk of Jenny, she got two teacups. “Would you care for tea while supper cooks?” Supper, she thought. Whatever happened to using good old English names for things? She thought she’d adjusted to the changes in language, but tonight it rankled to call tea supper. All she wanted was to return to her comfortable way of life where she wasn’t expected to cope with meals and shopping and everything.

  “How did shopping go?”

  His sudden question caught her off-guard. She slopped a bit of tea and mopped it up before she answered. “I found the town library and got some books out.” She pointed toward the manual. “Maybe I’ll learn how to run a house.”

  “You’ll do just fine. I don’t know why you worry about it. I don’t.”

  “You can’t possibly imagine how awful it could get. I have absolutely no idea how to do most of the things mentioned in this book.”

  “That’s probably why the book was written, don’t you think? For someone who didn’t know what to do.”

  “I suppose.”

  “You sell yourself short. Just because Irene and your Father led you to believe you were unable to do anything on your own doesn’t make it so. You are bright and quick and will do just fine.”

  “I hope you’re right.” His words rang with confidence in her abilities; a confidence she wished she shared.

  “Did you get what you wanted from the list?”

  She nodded. “Pretty well. Mr. Tunney said we were lucky he had some eggs.

  Billy nodded. “How would you like to go see the Weltys tomorrow and see if we can get some hens?”

  “What does it involve to have hens?”

  “Beats me. I was raised in town too, remember? But it can’t be that hard if everyone does it.”

  Grace refrained from saying everyone seemed to know how to cook, but that didn’t make it easy. She knew there was no point in saying anything. Billy believed it was easy simply because he said so. She reached for the book. “Maybe there’s something in here.”

  But what she read did nothing to calm her worries. “They say you need a warm chicken coop. It tells about proper feeding, how to tell a setting hen, and how to deal with her.” She shoved the book aside. “Makes more sense to me to go to a shop and buy them.”

  Billy laughed. “Some hen somewhere had to lay those eggs before the shopkeeper could sell them. Besides, where’s your sense of adventure? It will be fun to learn all this new stuff.”

  Grace studied the brown liquid in her cup. Finally she looked him square in the eye. “I’m afraid I don’t see it as an adventure. I see it more as a chance to discover how many times I can do something wrong.”

  “You are really and truly a pessimist, aren’t you? I believe if someone handed you a hundred dollars, you’d check to see if it was bobby trapped somehow.”

  “Well, why would anyone hand me a hundred dollars?”

  “Who knows? Besides, it doesn’t matter. What I’m trying to say is you don’t have to always be looking for something to go wrong. Look at us. We have a pleasant little house. The Deans are nice neighbors.” He sniffed and smiled. “And you’re turning into a fine cook.” He looked at her long and hard. “I knew the first time I saw you that you had the makings of a good woman.” He chuckled. “Didn’t you try and keep me from falling on my face?”

  She gave a half-hearted smile. “I fear it will be me falling on my face now.” And with Billy planning to be gone much of the time, who would there be to catch her?

  He shook his head and turned to read about raising chickens. “Seems there’s not much I can do to keep you from believing the worst about yourself.”

  She rose to fill plates with the meat mixture. It did smell quite fine. And later, as she sat across from Billy, she acknowledged it tasted fine too. She should be happy with her accomplishment. She sighed. She was, of course. Only it didn’t ease the longing she felt inside. A longing she couldn’t even put her finger on, something deep inside ached. If Billy would take her in his arms and declare his love with the passion the hero in her book had, perhaps then she would be able to believe in herself and his love for her. If he would even share a bit of the enthusiasm he expressed over his Jenny.

  In bed later, she snuggled close to him. He pulled her to his side. “I am so happy. This is my dream come true.”

  After he’d fallen asleep, Grace faced the wall. If only he had meant her when he spoke of his dreams coming true, rather than his airplane.

  4

  At the first sliver of light, Billy jumped out of bed
. “I’m going to start work on my airplane.” He pulled on his clothes, leaned over, and pecked Grace on the mouth, then hurried out, singing loudly.

  Grace wondered what could need doing on a plane that had flown him home safely only a few hours ago. For a few delicious minutes she remained in bed, wishing she had nothing more pressing to do than decide what to wear and what book to read. But breakfast would not magically appear unless she did something more about it than snuggle under the covers.

  Pushing aside the warm blankets, she swung her legs over the side, moaning as her muscles reminded her she’d done more walking yesterday than she was used to. If only she had been as active as Irene, who liked nothing better than a brisk march across the fields even after working hard all day. As she pulled on her dress and brushed her hair, she wished she were like Irene in other ways. Irene would know how to run the house, make the meals, and even build a fire in the monster stove. If only Father and Irene had encouraged her to be more useful, if only they’d had the foresight to know she would be needing a few practical skills.

  She sighed, wishing she could hide in the bedroom all day. But it wasn’t possible. Billy wouldn’t be pleased if she didn’t make a concerted effort to learn how to do things.

  She marched to the kitchen to face the stove. Of course, Billy hadn’t thought to start a fire. She supposed she should have been pleased at his confidence in her.

  Fifteen minutes later, she had a roaring fire going, and following the instructions in the manual for all good pioneer wives, she boiled water and put oats to simmer.

  “I hope you like porridge, Billy Marshall,” she muttered, thinking the glutinous mass looked more like wallpaper glue. While it brewed away on its own, she read more of the manual.

  “My, this book really covers everything.” The section on taking care of odors in the outhouse provided more information than she cared for.

  After checking on the boiled oats, she headed outdoors to find Billy.

  He stood at the nose of the airplane, a can of paint and a small paintbrush in his hands. “I’ve christened her. Come and see.”

  Grace went to his side. Black letters on the fabric read, Gracie Two.