Mail-Order Bride Switch

by Dorothy Clark

He yanked his gaze from hers, looked toward the worktable, then back, pulled off his hat and frowned. “What’s all this?” There was an odd sound to his voice.

  “Mrs. Fuller and Rachel are making cookies for today’s dessert. And I’m feeding Wally his dinner before I put him down for a nap.” She gave a soft laugh and fed the toddler another spoonful of soup. “I never expected this to be a part of my duties. It seems the hotel business is one of surprises.”

  “So it seems. What’s wrong with the boy? Is he sick?”

  “No, he’s fine. Aren’t you, Wally?” She gave him more soup, then looked up. “Why do you ask?”

  “He’s all shiny—like he’s sweating or something.”

  “That’s butter.” She laughed and dipped her head toward Wally’s pudgy, pint-sized hand clutching a piece of bread so hard bits of it stuck out between his little fingers. “You must be cold. Would you like a hot bowl of soup? Mrs. Fuller has made some for dinner.”

  He looked toward the older woman and shook his head. “I’ll wait. I need to carry out the ashes from the heating stoves and close down the fires in the upstairs rooms. I imagine they’ll be empty again for the most part—now that the trains are moving.”

  She studied his taut face. Was he upset because of the lack of custom, or because she’d not yet cleaned the used rooms? “I’ll take care of the beds as soon as I put Wally down for his nap.”

  He nodded and strode into the sitting room.

  She looked after him, then shrugged and gave Wally another bite of soup. Rachel ran up to her and held out her hand.

  “Here’s a cookie for Wally when he’s through with his soup, Mrs. Stevenson.”

  “Thank you, Rachel.”

  “Cookie!” The toddler leaned forward and grabbed for the cookie. The squashed piece of bread he’d been holding fell to the floor.

  She picked up the bread and offered him more soup. He turned his head away.

  “Cookie!” His feet drummed against the footrest.

  Obviously, he would eat no more soup. She handed him the cookie, picked up the dishes and carried them to the sink. When she returned to the table the cookie was gone. She washed his chubby face and pudgy little hands with a clean dishcloth she’d rinsed in warm water, and lifted him from the chair. His head drooped against her shoulder. His eyes closed, and soft puffs of warm breath feathered against her neck as he drifted off to sleep.

  She carried him to her bedroom, laid him on the bed she had pushed up against the wall at Mrs. Fuller’s suggestion, placed the pillows on the outside edge and covered him with a blanket.

  For a long moment she stood gazing at his sweet little face, then turned and left the room. She had work to do while he slept—just like a mother. An odd, empty feeling swept through her. Her steps faltered. She glanced back toward her bedroom, fighting the sting of tears.

  What had she done? She would never be a mother.

  Chapter Ten

  The clock chimed the hour. Virginia rose and put the Bible back on the shelf. She could find no solace in reading the Scriptures tonight. The sense of family that had settled over her while caring for Wally and Rachel in the kitchen with Mrs. Fuller had brought a hunger to her heart that left her disquieted in a way she couldn’t shake off. She sighed, ran her fingers through the curls dangling behind her ears and glanced toward the hallway. It was late. She should go to bed.

  She started for her bedroom, paused and looked at her coat and hat hanging by the door to the lobby. Perhaps a walk would help. Both her situation and the deep snow had kept her indoors since she had walked with Garret to the church to get married on the night of her arrival. She glanced at the sliver of light showing beneath his office door. Was it truly only a few days ago she had become his bride? So much had happened, and her days had been so full it seemed longer. Not that it mattered. They weren’t really married. It was all a pretense. She’d never be truly married.

  Tears stung the backs of her eyes. She grabbed her boots, sat in the chair by the door and took off her shoes. An image of Garret kneeling before her to remove her boots that first night flashed before her. He’d been thoughtful but grim. And then he’d grinned...

  She closed her mind to thoughts of Garret’s charm, buttoned on her boots, grabbed her garments and pushed through the sitting room door into the lobby. Fluffy snowflakes floated through the circles of light thrown by the oil lamps on the front porch. She donned her red velvet coat, freed her hair from inside the collar and tied on the matching hat. A couple of quick tugs, and she’d pulled on her black leather gloves.

  She opened the door and stepped out onto the front porch. The hush of the night closed around her. There was no hustle and bustle and noise of city life here. Small gray clouds of breath formed in front of her face, then drifted away. The cold nipped at her face and neck. It was like a winter evening at home in New York.

  No, not home. Not anymore. She lived here now. She didn’t have a home. A home meant family, people you loved who cared about you. Her throat constricted. Tears made icy streaks on her cheeks. She wiped them away and strolled across the porch and down the steps to the walkway Garret had shoveled to the station road. A quick look around gave her her bearings. Small blotches of yellow glowed in the distance beyond the copse of pines on her right. That would be the train depot.

  She straightened and stared into the darkness, arrested by a sudden thought—perhaps some of her restlessness was because the trains were running again. She had felt safe, hadn’t given a thought to her father and Emory Gladen searching for her when there had been no way for them to reach her, even if they somehow discovered she had come to Whisper Creek. But now...

  She shivered, pushed Emory Gladen from her thoughts. He frightened her. But not her father. Not any longer. Her father might be a stern man who seldom showed his feelings, but he did care about her—if only in a proprietorial way. And while she hated to lose her father’s regard and the little affection he had shown her, his threats of disowning her no longer held power over her.

  Her fear of being homeless was gone. She had a safe place to live, even if it was based on her deception. Garret might be angry about her coming to marry him in Millie’s place, but he was a man of honor. He would live up to their agreement. And so would she. No matter the cost. And that was the last time she would think about her situation tonight!

  She took a deep breath of the cold, bracing air, turned left and started down the road, the falling snow kissing her cheeks, the packed snow crunching beneath her boots. Moonlight bathed the buildings, overlaying them with silver. She stopped and read the sign that proclaimed the one beside the hotel to be Latherop’s General Store, then lifted her gaze to the windows above the porch roof. Garret had mentioned that the proprietor and his wife lived above the store. Perhaps she would have an opportunity to meet Mrs. Latherop one day soon. She still had some of the allowance her father had given her the day she’d run off to board the train for Whisper Creek in Millie’s stead.

  She brushed snow from her shoulders and glanced back at the hotel. That rash decision had gotten her into this strange marriage that wasn’t a marriage. But she’d had no choice. At least her guilt over her deception had faded a bit, thanks to Mrs. Fuller. The woman had taught her enough housekeeping skills that she was able to earn her way and live up to Garret’s expectations when he’d sent the ticket and money to Millie for her journey to Wyoming. Except for the cooking.

  An idea struck her, curved her lips into a soft smile. At the first opportunity, she would enlist Mrs. Latherop’s help in buying Mrs. Fuller a thank-you gift...perhaps a lace collar to add a touch of elegance to her out-of-style worn dresses.

  She blinked snowflakes from her eyelashes and continued down the road to the next store, considering various styles of lace collars and imagining Mrs. Fuller’s pleasure. A single oil lamp burning in a window drew her attention. She scanned a display of various-si
zed bottles of different colors on a small stand and read the tasteful sign that announced the establishment to be an apothecary shop. Two doors down. This must be where the doctor—

  “Virginia!”

  Her name carried sharp and clear on the still, cold air. She turned. Garret was walking toward her, his long, confident strides eating up the distance between them. Her stomach fluttered. She stood and waited for him, told herself it was the anticipation of whatever message he was bringing her that caused her pulse to race. She blinked snow from her eyes and straightened when he came near. “Is there something wrong? Does Mrs. Tanner or the children need me?”

  “No.” He stopped and looked down at her, his eyes dark and unreadable in the moonlight. “I went to the sitting room to bank the fire and noticed your coat and hat were gone. When I checked the porch, you weren’t there, so I came looking for you.”

  Her heart skipped. “And why would you do that?”

  “Because it’s not safe for you to be out at night on your own.” He tugged his hat closer over his ears and looked off toward the mountains. “There are wolves and other animals in the area that are having a hard time finding food in this deep snow. I wouldn’t want them to decide you would make a good supper.”

  “Oh.” She stepped closer to him and glanced out into the darkness.

  “What are you doing out here at this hour?”

  “I wanted some fresh air, and I’ve been busy until now. And I’ve always liked snow.” She tipped her head up and raised her gloved hands, catching some of the large, fluffy snowflakes drifting down out of the night sky. “Do you?”

  “Do I what?”

  He sounded irritated. Did he think her foolish? She lowered her hands. “Do you like snow?”

  “As long as I don’t have to shovel through a mountain of it.”

  She nodded, then shivered when snow fell off her hat. She wiped the cold flakes from her cheeks and gave him a sideways look. “I guess that would make a difference in your outlook toward it. Have you heard how Pastor Karl’s little girl—Minna, is it?—is faring?”

  He reached up and brushed the rest of the snow from her hat. “As I understand it, her biggest problem is that the doctor insists she continue to rest by the stove and eat lots of nourishing soup.” He lowered his hands to her back, shook the snow from her hair. She lost her breath. “Minna, of course, wants to play with her brother and sister.”

  She inhaled, coughed when the cold air hit her lungs. “I’m sure her mother is taking excellent care of her. It would be terrible to lose a child.”

  “Or a mother.” He stepped back, shoved his hands in his jacket pockets.

  There was something in his voice... She glanced at his taut face. Was he thinking of this morning? “Yes. I’m so glad that the doctor was able to save Mrs. Tanner. Wally and Rachel are so young. They need their mother.” She stomped her cold feet, started walking again. “But I’m sure she must be sad to have lost her baby.” She cleared a lump from her throat, stopped and looked at the raw lumber attached to the apothecary shop. “What is this new building?”

  “That will be Dr. Warren’s office and clinic when it’s finished.” He placed his hand at the small of her back. “We’ll turn back here.”

  He lowered his hand to his side, and it brushed against hers. Hope rose, sudden and intense. Would he take hold of her hand? She kept her fingers still, waiting. He jammed his hand back into his jacket pocket and the foolish, unexplainable hope died.

  “It was kind of you to watch the children for Mr. Tanner. You didn’t have to do that.”

  “I’m glad I could help.” She glanced up at him, confessed the truth. “I couldn’t have done it without Mrs. Fuller. She told me what to do. I’m very thankful that you hired her.”

  “She’s a good cook.”

  It was a statement of fact uttered in a tone as cold as the night. “She’s much more than that. She’s taught me so much that I can, at least, help you enough to pay you back for the ticket and money you meant for Millie to use. And to earn my way.”

  He caught hold of her shoulders, turned her toward him. “You do not have to pay me back or earn your way, Virginia. You’re my wife. It’s my duty to take care of you. As for Millie, she had entered an additional agreement with me to act as a maid and cook for a wage. I do not expect you to do the same.”

  You’re my wife. Her heart pounded. If only she were his wife. His loved wife. Instead of merely a duty. She lowered her head lest he discern the turmoil of emotions his words stirred within her. Emotions that unsettled and confused her.

  “Do you understand?”

  “Yes. I understand.” What you are saying. Not what is in your eyes.

  He stood there a long moment looking down at her, his fingers working on her shoulders, and then he released his grip and stepped back. “We’d better go in now. Before you get cold.”

  She wasn’t at all cold. She was warm from his touch and the look in his eyes. She nodded, and they started forward side by side. She looked at the road ahead and fought back tears. It was both too long and too short. Nothing was simple anymore.

  * * *

  Garret dumped a shovelful of coal into his heating stove, turned up the damper and scowled. It was too early to rise, but if he was going to be awake, he might as well be comfortable. He flopped back onto his bed and laced his fingers behind his head, the thoughts and images that had stolen his sleep throughout the night playing against the darkness. Pay him back for using Millie’s ticket...earn her way...

  The woman had no business being so upright! And beautiful. He’d almost kissed her. Had come within a hairbreadth of doing so. How could he not, with her face tipped up toward his and the moonlight shining on her while the snow fell all around? He was a man, after all. One who was running out of weapons.

  He lurched to his feet and ran his hands through his hair. He couldn’t even fault her for incompetence any longer. She was cleaning rooms and making beds, helping to cook and serving guests in the dining room, washing dishes, helping him at the desk, caring for children...

  His chest constricted. He strode to the window, gripped the frame and stared into the night, his stomach knotting. He didn’t want a wife. He didn’t want a family. He’d decided long ago that he wasn’t going to father a child so its mother could abandon it and crush its heart! But when he’d come into the kitchen this morning and seen Virginia sitting there at the table feeding that toddler, for an instant—a wild, irrational instant—he’d wanted... Ah, it didn’t matter what he’d wanted! What mattered was that those moments of wanting the things he knew would lead him down a dangerous path were happening too often.

  The muscle along his jaw twitched. He fought it, but the image of his best friend and business partner slumped on his desk, holding a pistol in his hand, swept into his head. He still found it hard to believe that Robert had taken his own life, but the bloodstained suicide note telling of Robert’s wife’s betrayal confirmed it. His shock and fury at such a tragic, wasteful end of his friend’s life struck anew, reinforced his determination. He would not end up like Robert. He would not give any woman such power over him. And that included Virginia—no matter how drawn he was to her.

  His clock chimed four o’clock. He shoved away from the window, shrugged into his wool vest and headed for the kitchen. There was no point in trying to get back to sleep now. What he needed was some coffee. He strode into the kitchen and stopped short, met Mrs. Fuller’s startled gaze and barely held back a frown. He was in no mood to be in the woman’s company, but it was too late to back away now. If he’d been paying attention, the glow from the oil lamps over the worktable would have warned him the woman was there. “Isn’t it early for you to be up and working?”

  “A little.” She bowed her head and continued rolling out the dough on the table. “But it’s been snowing quite heavily all night, so I thought I’d come and make anoth
er pan of cinnamon rolls to proof—just in case the early train was stalled again here at Whisper Creek.” She put aside the roller and reached for the crock of butter. “And even it if isn’t, some of the passengers may want to come and breakfast on a fresh sweet roll and a hot cup of coffee. Cold, stale food is not that satisfying on a winter’s day.”

  “A good plan.” It was. So why did it irritate him? “I won’t get in your way.” He turned to leave.

  “Was it coffee you wanted? There’s a pot ready. It would only take me a minute to stoke up the fire.”

  Something in her voice drew him back. “You go on with your work. I’ll take care of the fire.” He strode to the wood box, took out a few pieces and lifted the burner plate, stealing a look at Mrs. Fuller while he fed the fire. His mother had the same dark hair. If she was alive, would it be streaked with gray? Would she be shy and withdrawn as this woman was? She’d always been quiet and reserved.

  Anger stirred deep. He didn’t need to be wondering about the woman who had abandoned him. He pulled the pot forward to start the coffee brewing, determined to stay facing the stove, but something drew his gaze to the older woman. He watched her sprinkle the buttered dough with sugar and cinnamon and then roll it up into a log shape. With quick strokes, she sliced it into rolls, put them into a baking dish and covered them with a towel. Her crooked arm didn’t seem to hinder her work.

  “Pardon me, Mr. Stevenson, but I need to set these in the warming oven to proof.”

  He stepped back.

  She moved to the front of the stove, opened the warming oven, and with an awkward twist to her shoulder raised the baking dish high enough to slide it inside. She closed the oven door and hurried back to the worktable, began to scrape the flour residue into the waste bucket. “Would you like some bread with your coffee, Mr. Stevenson? I made some apple butter.”

  “Apple butter! That’s my favorite.” He looked at her, but she was carrying the dirty dishes to the sink.

  “How nice. I hope Mrs. Stevenson likes it.”