Grace_Bride of Montana

by Debra Holland

  “Oh, I haven’t seen the cellar yet.” Grace lifted the lid and peeked in to see fried chicken. “Looks good.”

  Trudy chuckled. “In a few minutes, you can bring up the two crocks of butter I put in the cellar earlier. I left a dozen eggs for you as well. You’ll find them at the foot of the stairs.” She set the skillet on the stove.

  “You are so generous.”

  Trudy sent her a quick smile and then turned her attention back to the frying pan.

  Picking up her skirts, Grace hurried upstairs to get an apron from her portmanteau to cover her wedding dress. Back in the kitchen, she unpacked the boxes and baskets Trudy had brought along—jars of preserves and pickles, a dozen sugar cookies, a loaf of bread, and a batch of cinnamon rolls for breakfast. She arranged all the supplies in Frey’s crates, feeling appreciative of the abundance.

  The smell of fried chicken filled the air, making Grace hungry. The realization startled her. Before her arrival in Sweetwater Springs, she’d assumed the unhappiness that had previously stolen her appetite, added to the discomfort of marrying a stranger, would have rendered her unable to eat much for days—another unexpected change in herself that she stored away for later thought.

  Grace ventured downstairs to the cellar to bring up the butter. She left an oil lamp on the top step to shed a small circle of fuzzy light and pulled her skirts up high to drape over one arm, exposing her legs to the view of any spiders lurking in the darkness. Although she hoped with a house this new, there weren’t any.

  At the foot of the stairs, she took a moment to assess the dim space and enjoy the quiet gratitude of actually living in a home with a cellar. Although the walls were still bare, she imagined shelves filled with the results of her canning, row after row of glass jars with colorful contents. She glanced at a door, which she supposed led to the boiler room, but she wasn’t about to explore wearing this dress.

  Two small crocks sat next to a basket of eggs by the stairs. She shifted the fullness of the skirt, so the fabric draped over both arms before squatting to pick up a crock in each hand. The effort left her panting shallow breaths. How did women manage to move around in hoopskirts and tight corsets? As much as she loved her wedding gown, Grace had become tired of wearing it.

  Once the food was ready, everyone took a seat at the table, already spread with heaping platters. Frey sat at the head, and, for the first time in her life, Grace took the hostess’s seat at the foot.

  Despite wearing the apron, she still positioned a napkin on her lap for double protection. I’d rather look silly than foolishly do harm to the dress. As she smoothed the napkin, Grace realized she never would have worn an apron in Victor’s presence at the dinner table, for he wouldn’t have approved of such informality. She gave her head a little shake to banish the thought, grateful the man wasn’t here—another reaction that surprised her.

  In addition to the fried chicken, Trudy had provided mashed potatoes and gravy, biscuits with honey butter and regular butter, huckleberry bread, green beans, pickles, and corn relish. An apple pie and a rhubarb pie waited in one of the boxes transported from her home.

  After Frey said a prayer of thanks for the food, the company, and his bride, the group dug into the meal. For a few moments, no one spoke.

  George sat on his mother’s lap. Trudy deftly fed him mashed potatoes, while Anna, perched on a box on top of her chair, had little bites of everything on her plate.

  The Flanigans regaled the pair with stories of their first meeting, marriage, and the early days as a couple, as well as related tales about the other mail-order brides who’d come to Montana Territory that same year. Some of the stories brought forth laughter, like the time mean Prudence Morgan fell in the pigpen in the midst of an argument with her husband. Others sounded terrifying. Grace listened with a fast-beating heart to Trudy’s brush with a panther, or when Darcy Walker’s half-brother tried to kill her.

  Grace was mostly silent, absorbing the mood of warmth and friendship, and enjoying Trudy’s wonderful meal. From time to time, she asked questions, drawing out more details.

  Then her turn came. Grace answered their questions, telling them of the happy years when she was young. She spoke of her schoolmaster father, her mother who’d been a teacher before she’d married—the family’s peaceful life filled with books and learning. Just telling the others about her parents was a bittersweet experience. Previously, she’d shut a door on those memories, perhaps because they hurt so much and made her feel alone. But now her childhood took on a golden tinge, and she shared with a feeling of pleasure instead of pain.

  From there, the talk branched out to their favorite authors—Frey insisting on Edgar Allen Poe, while Seth voted for Nathaniel Hawthorne. Trudy and Grace rolled their eyes at the men, and simultaneously chose Jane Austen.

  Frey kicked in with his experiences of exploring the countryside. He described the majestic view from a rocky mountain ledge that he’d hiked most of a day to reach and the round pool that reflected the sky like a mirror. He claimed to like an active life far more than a sedentary one, but he slipped Grace a wink as he said so.

  Not that she was worried about their difference in personalities. Frey had debated Poe with a scholar’s precision, so she thought he must be a reader, and Grace thought she might like discovering the beauties of nature with him.

  Grace studied this man who was now her husband. She imagined trying to write a letter to Libbie or Madeline about him and was hard pressed to describe Frey, for part of what made him so attractive was his animated personality. He was a man of energy who seemed in constant motion, communicating with his whole body. He spoke with wide smiles that showed his straight teeth, raised eyebrows and opened eyes. Even though his elbows rested on the arms of the chair, his hands were busy adding to his words. Or, if eating, he gestured with whatever was in his hand, be it a fork or a water glass.

  At the rare times when his expression stilled, Grace could see his nose was somewhat big for his narrow face, and his chin jutted out a bit, but those imperfections only added to his rugged appeal. Becoming more familiar with him made the image of Victor, which she’d sewn so tightly into her thoughts, seem to lose some of the stitching.

  When they finished the meal, Trudy handed George to Seth and rose to pick up a hatbox she’d left behind her chair. “I’ll bet you wondered why I brought an extra hat with me.” With a grand gesture, she lifted the top and walked from Grace to Frey, showing them the contents. Inside was a delectable vanilla three-layer cake.

  Just looking at that cake brought tears to Grace’s eyes, so touched was she by her new friend’s gesture. “Trudy Flanigan, you must have been cooking for us for days.”

  Frey shook his head before glancing at Grace. “I wouldn’t have managed this feast on my own. I must say I’ve done a spectacular job of choosing friends.”

  “That you have,” Seth agreed with a nod.

  Frey’s expression turned serious. He saluted Trudy with his water glass. “You were instrumental in leading me—” he raised the glass to Grace, holding her gaze with his “—to my beautiful bride.”

  Grace’s cheeks heated.

  Trudy and Seth clapped in appreciation.

  Anna echoed their gestures, smacking her chubby hands together.

  After the last bites of their slices of cake were eaten, Trudy rose and started clearing the table.

  “That was such a lovely meal, Trudy.” Grace stood and picked up her plate and silverware.

  Trudy made a down motion. “This is your wedding celebration. You are supposed to be waited on. And you need to be careful of your dress.”

  Grace merely smiled and kept on clearing. “I have a brand new kitchen, thanks to my brand new husband.” She sent Frey a flirtatious look from under her eyelashes. “I can’t wait to try it out. I’ll be careful of the dress.”

  Frey waggled his eyebrows. “Well, a brand new unfinished kitchen. I’m sorry you’ll have to rough it for a while.”

  Trudy chuckled. �
�I know the feeling of having a new kitchen. Wait until you see the finished version. I love mine!”

  Frey directed a charming smile at Trudy. “I second my bride in thanking you for such a wonderful meal.” He glanced from her to Seth. “We are blessed to have friends like you two….” He waited a beat for dramatic effect. “Ones you can put to work. Come on, my friend, let’s go cobble together something for the chickens to roost in for the night.”

  Seth chuckled, then handed George to Trudy and rose.

  Frey stood and dropped his napkin next to his plate. “Ladies.” He nodded at George. “And one gentleman. Until we return,” he said with a flourish. The men left the room.

  Grace looked around the kitchen, tapping her chin. “Since there isn’t a counter, why don’t we move the table next to the stove?” She gestured to the three large pots of water, two of Trudy’s and one of Frey’s, simmering on the stove. “The water’s already warm, and we’ll just wash and rinse them right there.”

  “Good idea.” Trudy set George on the floor with a couple of spoons and a pot.

  Anna seemed content to play drums with her brother.

  The two women fell into a companionable rhythm, with Grace washing and Trudy drying. Grace liked the camaraderie of them working together.

  While they worked, Trudy delivered a lecture on how to take care of the chickens, raising her voice to be heard over the children’s tap-tap-taps. She finished her advice just as the last dish was dried and set on the table.

  “I appreciate you lending us everything for the wedding supper—” Grace waved at the crates “—and for all the food and supplies.”

  “I’m only doing for you what was done for me. It’s frightening, leaving all you know—to tie yourself for life to a stranger and a community.” Her mouth pulled into a tight line. “When I arrived, I was welcomed with open arms. That made such a difference to me, and I know that attitude helped our marriage get off to a good start. I was happy instead of lonely and uncomfortable. I’ve tried my best to give that feeling to others.”

  Grace thought about what her new friend had said. “I think you’re right. Why, if it were just the two of us, Frey and I might have sat here in awkward silence. Instead, this whole day has been filled with lively conversation. I not only listened to the stories you shared and came to know you all better. I watched Frey’s interactions with you both, as well as the children, and that makes me feel good about him. We laughed and joked. I feel far more comfortable with my husband within a matter of hours than I would have ever believed. We are starting our marriage on a friendship level.”

  Nodding, Trudy began packing her plates in a basket, laying a clean rag between each one. “Well, I’m so glad. My father once told me that companionship was the key to a good marriage, and I’ve come to realize it’s even more important out here.”

  Grace tilted her head in askance.

  Trudy stacked the pots and pans and put them in a box. “Life in a small, rural town is very different than residing in the city. We live more isolated lives, especially out here on the farms and ranches. With fewer people, friendships are cherished, even with those folk you wouldn’t normally be drawn to. We depend on each other’s help with the harvest, in sickness, in birthing babies, and in sharing lean times.”

  Just hearing Trudy’s description made Grace realize how isolated she’d been for years—first with caring for her father, then by working long hours at the factory. Adding on her duties for Shirley, she didn’t have much time or energy for socializing with congenial companions—the ones who liked to read and create—whether a painting, or a pattern for a dress, or growing a new type of flower. Until now, Grace hadn’t apprehended how much she’d withdrawn, how the sociable side of her nature had been tested.

  Trudy kept her hands and her chatter going apace. “On Sundays, weather permitting, we try to get together for dinner with the Barretts and the Walkers, or we gather as a group and at least chat for a few minutes. I’ll introduce you after the church service, and maybe you can join us one Sunday.”

  “That will be lovely. I must finish the dress I’m making first. I bought the material before I left Massachusetts and only had time to pin on the pattern and cut out the fabric.”

  Trudy let out a sigh. “I’m good at plain sewing. But growing up, we always had a dressmaker or purchased ready-made clothes. Oh, I miss the stores in St. Louis.”

  “I shopped before I left and bought a new coat, shoes, and a hat.” Grace didn’t mention the nightgown and dressing gown—a bitter purchase at the time, for they were for the eyes of a man who was not Victor. “The dress will take me a while, though, to sew by hand.”

  A smile lit Trudy’s face. “I have a sewing machine. Why don’t you come to my house in the next few days to use it?”

  “Oh, Trudy, I couldn’t put you to the trouble.”

  “No trouble at all. What you don’t realize, Grace—surrounded by women on a daily basis as you’ve been—is unless we come to town on Sundays, or someone drives out to visit me—a rare occurrence—I seldom see a woman. So having company is very welcome.”

  “I never thought of that.” Grace pursed her lips. “But you’ve given me so much…. I’ll work on my dress at your house, as long as I can help you with one of yours.”

  “Oh, that would be wonderful.” Trudy glanced down at George, a rueful expression on her face. “What I really need help with is letting out the seams of most of my dresses. After two babies, I don’t have the narrow waist I once had…well, relatively narrow.” She sighed. “To think I used to chastise myself for not having an eighteen-inch waist. Now I’d love to have that twenty-three inch one back!”

  The two laughed.

  “What with a baby and the new house and all, I’ve only managed to alter a few of my outfits.”

  “I don’t know how many you own, but letting out seams is easy work. The most tedious part is having to try on each one so we can pin the sides.”

  Trudy packed the last plate into the basket. “I have quite a few dresses. I brought them with me from St. Louis. Out here, women don’t worry if the styles are a few years out of date—most people don’t even know what the latest styles are.”

  They heard heavy footsteps and glanced up.

  The men entered the room and used the last of the rinse water to wash their hands before Frey carried the pots outside and tossed the contents over the rail of the back porch.

  Seth picked up George and kissed the baby. “Come on, dear Mrs. Flanigan. The horses are hitched. Night’s falling earlier, and we want to get home before it’s as black as pitch.”

  His wife wrinkled her nose. “There’s a half moon tonight, so it won’t be pitch dark.” But even as Trudy spoke, she handed a basket to Grace, another to Seth, and pointed out the boxes for Frey to pick up. She left behind the hatbox because half the cake remained inside.

  In the parlor, the Flanigans’ coats lay on the sofa. Trudy buttoned Anna into hers and handed a thick blanket to Seth to wrap around the baby. Then she donned her coat and wound a scarf around her neck. She leaned in to kiss Grace’s cheek, and then pulled on Frey’s shirt so he’d bend down so she could peck his cheek. “May the good Lord bless your marriage.”

  “Thank you,” they both murmured.

  Frey took Grace’s hand, and they walked out on the porch to watch the Flanigans climb into the wagon.

  Gertie, who’d been watching the preparations, pressed against Frey’s leg.

  Seth flicked the reins and started the horses walking. With a pair of waves, the couple called out their good-byes.

  In only a minute, the family was out of sight, leaving Grace alone with her new husband.

  They stood in silence for a moment.

  Frey pulled her to his side, and slipped an arm around her back. “Well, Mrs. Foster? How are you managing so far?”

  Grace smiled up at him. “Far better than expected. I do need something more though.”

  “Whatever you wish.”

&nb
sp; She gave him a coquettish look from under lowered eyelashes. “I’m desperately in need of a bath. And we have such a lovely bathroom….” Grace found she liked flirting with her husband.

  He gently tapped her nose. “Luckily, you’ve asked for something I can provide. Why don’t you go upstairs and get yourself ready? I’ll run the water for you.” He squeezed her waist and released her.

  “Will you want to take one after me?”

  “No, I bathed earlier. You take your time.”

  They started to move to the door when Frey stopped. “Oh, would you mind Gertie in the house? We’ve always been companions, and she’s used to being inside with me.”

  Grace considered his question, glancing from Frey down to Gertie.

  The two stared back with almost identical anxious expressions. She couldn’t help but find both man and dog appealing. “I suppose not, providing Gertie’s not muddy or doesn’t have fleas.”

  “No fleas, and if she has any mud, I’ll wipe her off beforehand.”

  “Why, then I think it’s fine.”

  His face showed the happy expression she’d already become familiar with. Her heart responded with a lift.

  He hugged her tight. “Thank you, Grace. That means a lot to me.”

  Her face pressed into his chest, and she had to turn so her cheek rested against him. Oh, my! Hugging a big man is certainly a different experience. Frey’s spontaneous embrace both flustered and pleased her.

  Frey released her, lowering his arms to his side.

  “You’re welcome.” Sure her face must be flushed, Grace fled into the house. She stopped in the kitchen to remove her apron and fold it over the back of a chair. Then she grabbed handfuls of her full skirts and hurried up the stairs. I can hardly wait to get out of this corset!

  Inside her room, she shut the door and paused a moment to catch her breath. She untied the bow in back of her bodice, but then had to awkwardly reach behind and tug the tight crisscross lacings apart enough to wiggle the bodice over her head and struggle out of it. Frustrated with the effort, she dropped the garment on the bed and undid the sash of the skirt.