Grace didn’t answer right away, so Mary glanced at her, noting the way Grace’s eyebrows
furrowed.
“She wil forgive me, won’t she?” Mary pressed, wondering why such a thing would be difficult
for her mother. “Does she make it a habit of holding a grudge?”
“I don’t think you worded the question right.”
“How should I have worded it?”
“I think the more appropriate way to think of it is whether you should let this bother you.”
“Of course, it bothers me. I don’t like knowing I upset her any more than I like knowing I upset
Dave.”
Grace stopped and turned to face her, so Mary stopped as wel and waited for her to
continue. “Mary, while this is something that upsets our mother, it’s not something you did
wrong.”
“I realize that.”
“Wel , that’s good because you didn’t always know it. I don’t know how to explain things in a
way that makes sense since you don’t remember how it was here, but you had a tendency to
take the blame for things that weren’t your fault. I used to tel you when you didn’t need to feel
guilty, but most of the time, you didn’t listen to me. Mother has a way of doing that to people,
so I don’t fault you for this. Even I had to realize what Mother was doing before I could handle
it.”
“She did it to you, too?”
“She did it to everyone, some more than others.”
Further relieved to find out it wasn’t her personal y that her mother had a problem with, Mary let
in a deep, cleansing breath. “I think I’m beginning to understand why I didn’t keep her letters.”
“Her letters?”
“The ones she wrote me after I got married. Dave said I threw her letters out. I kept yours,
though.” She paused before adding, “You remind me of Jenny in a lot of ways. A good listener
and kind.”
“I recal the name. She’s one of Dave’s sisters.”
“Yes. I think you would like his sisters.”
“I’m sure I would.” She turned and continued their walk, so Mary fol owed. “We should get you
something to eat. I have some money in my pocket, so I’l pay for it. I hate thinking of how
long you’ve gone without food and al because our mother had to say something hurtful.”
“Do you think by lunch things wil be alright with her?”
“Worry about talking with your husband first, Mary. Our mother can wait.”
“You’re right.”
Of course, Grace was right. Mary would talk to Dave first and then try to make amends with
her mother. Feeling much better, she thought of what she might like to eat at the restaurant.
Chapter Fourteen
Mary fol owed Grace into the restaurant, where a couple of people were enjoying a cup of
coffee and reading the paper. She felt a warmth about the place and recal ed the different
foods she used to cook here. She liked it here, in this restaurant, when she worked here in the
past. Not only that, but she got the feeling it was the one place she went to where she felt
good about herself, where she mattered.
“How long did I work here?” Mary asked her sister as they sat at a table by one of the
windows.
“You started working when you were sixteen.”
Her eyebrows furrowed. “Sixteen?”
“You were already an expert cook, and everyone lined up to get your food at the potlucks.
Mrs. Jones offered you the job because you weren’t going to school anymore and…”
Surprised that her sister stopped, Mary pressed, “And what?”
Breaking eye contact, she shrugged and picked up the menu in front of her. “That’s it.”
No, it wasn’t it, but did she real y want to know? Mary studied her sister’s face, noting that she
refused to make eye contact with her. With a sigh, she lowered her gaze to her menu and tried
to read it, but the words didn’t make sense. Her mind kept going back to flashes of memories
of her time here. Memories of laughing, cooking food, someone asking for her recipe. She’d
been happy here. If she was to believe what her father told Dave and the echoes emerging
from her past, this restaurant and her time with Grace were the only things she had enjoyed.
Maybe that’s why she took the job at such a young age. But stil , why didn’t she make an
attempt to find a husband first? Were there no eligible men around?
She scanned the restaurant, noting the men were significantly older and the one who wasn’t
was probably only twenty. Looking out the window, it seemed that a couple men around her
age were out conducting business, but perhaps they’d been married already?
“Oh my! If my eyes don’t deceive me, it’s Mary!”
Turning her attention to the woman who spoke, Mary saw a plump woman with graying hair
smiling down at her.
“This is Mrs. Jones,” Grace told Mary.
Mrs. Jones nodded. “I heard you don’t remember any of us. I’m terribly sorry about the way
you got hurt, but I’m thankful it wasn’t worse. My brother fel off the porch when we were
children, and his head hit a rock.” She made the sign of the cross and sighed. “I’l never forget
that day. So praise God you’re stil with us.”
“Thank you,” Mary replied, sensing that this woman had been a pil ar of strength to her in the
past.
“I hear you married a good man out west. His name is David?”
“Yes, but he likes to be cal ed Dave.”
“Nice name. It’s a good, solid one. He’s a farmer, isn’t he?”
“How do you know so much about him?” Mary asked, surprised.
Mrs. Jones grinned and waved her hand around the room. “People talk and I listen. We don’t
get many visitors through here, so when someone new shows up in town, we notice. Besides,
you used to live here. We like knowing that things turned out so wel for you. You just never
know what you’l get when you answer one of those ads asking for a wife.”
“Wel , Dave’s a good one,” Grace said. “If I had to pick a husband for Mary, I’d pick him.”
Mrs. Jones’ smile widened. “Is he that wonderful?”
“Yes. You ought to see the way he looks at her. It’s as if no other woman exists.”
Mary tried to participate in the conversation, especial y since they were talking about Dave, but
something kept tickling the back of her mind and even as she tried to ignore it, the sensation
wouldn’t stop. Her gaze was drawn to two men reading their papers and laughing over
something they read. They didn’t seem familiar, but the way they chuckled was. A memory
was returning to her, and as much as she wanted to pul it out from its hiding place, she had a
feeling of dread about it. Did she real y want to find out what it was? Was it worth it?
She forced her attention back to Mrs. Jones and Grace who were laughing and smiling.
Though their mouths moved, Mary couldn’t hear what they were saying. Instead, she caught a
snippet of words spoken in her past. Glancing at the two men who continued to discuss what
was in the paper, she became aware of a visual image that emerged from the memory clawing
at her mind to get noticed.
She was working here at the time. She was nineteen, and Grace had just moved to New
Jersey. Mrs. Jones tried to console her, but she didn’t feel better. She felt as if her world was
coming to an end. Without Grace, she felt lost. No one else und
erstood her like Grace did.
There was no reason to stay in Maine.
Someone tapped her on the arm, jolting her mind back to the present. She snapped her head
in Mrs. Jones’ direction.
“What?” she asked.
Mrs. Jones patted her arm. “I was asking what you’d like to eat.”
“Oh.” Dragging her attention from the two men, she picked up the menu. “I don’t want to spoil
my appetite for lunch, so I think I’l have a muffin and some coffee.”
She nodded and squeezed her arm. “I’l be right back.”
Mary set the menu aside and rubbed her forehead.
“Is something wrong?” Grace asked.
“No, nothing’s wrong. It’s hard to explain, but this place brings back a part of my past and I
can’t see it clearly. I’m trying to figure out what it is.”
“Give it time, Mary.”
“But this memory wants me to remember it. I can feel it trying to break through.” After a
moment, she added, “It has to do with the day you left for New Jersey.”
“That was a hard day,” she whispered.
“Yes. I can feel that it was.”
“What do you remember about that day?”
Mary focused on the memory that wanted to come to the surface. “There are mostly images,
smel s, feelings. I remember cooking in the kitchen.” She motioned to the closed door that
separated the dining area from the kitchen of the restaurant. “I was cooking steaks and
potatoes. I believe there were a couple of apple pies cooling in there.”
Grace’s lips turned up into a smile. “You were famous for your apple pies.”
“Dave’s family likes them as wel .”
“I don’t doubt that. So, is there anything else you remember from that day?”
“Sorrow. I didn’t know what was worth staying in this town for without you in it.” How sad it
was that out of her family of six brothers and five sisters, only one of them meant enough to
stay here for. She didn’t even feel a desire to stay for her parents.
“When you told me you decided to become a mail-order bride, you said you had no reason to
stay here. You said that you heard some men talking over ads they saw in a paper, and when
they left the restaurant, you decided to read the paper they left behind.”
“Yes, I did.”
Now it was coming into clearer focus. She’d spent the morning trying not to cry as she cooked
at this restaurant. Mrs. Jones tried to console her, but nothing anyone said could ease the
heartache she experienced. Even cooking, something she often found comfort in, didn’t ease
the pain. But she had pressed on, determined to push through her heartache and find some
thing worth living for.
She recal ed the sizzling steaks on the cook stove, taking slices of apple pie out to hungry
patrons, clearing tables. The lunch hour had been as busy as usual, but even with the
distractions, she couldn’t forget how hard it’d been to say good-bye to Grace at the train
station. Then the lunch hour passed and she was washing the dishes…
As she finished putting the clean dishes in their proper location, Mrs. Jones came into the
kitchen, a smile on her round face. “Sometimes I don’t know what is filthier. Food that sticks to
a pan or the mess some of those men leave out there for us to clean up.” She chuckled and
shook her head. “But it’s a living, so I won’t complain. My husband started this place, and I like
to keep it going. I feel close to him when I’m here.”
Mary forced a smile at the woman’s joke.
A sympathetic expression on her face, Mrs. Jones softly said, “I’m sorry about your sister.”
She gulped back another wave of tears at the reminder. Keeping her focus on the task before
her, she managed to reply, “I don’t know what I’l do without Grace.”
“I suppose when a woman is married, she’s got to go wherever her husband’s job is. That’s
why I came here, and once Oliver died, I didn’t have the heart to leave.”
Her lips gave a slight tremble as they turned upward. “I’l be fine. Besides, moving to New
Jersey wil be an adventure for them. It’s good that Calvin found something that pays wel .”
“Most jobs pay better in the bigger cities.”
Mrs. Jones turned to the coffee pot on the stove. “Good. It’s ready. Wil you give the two
men at table ten a cup of coffee? I need to check on something. I wil be back in fifteen
minutes.”
She nodded and fil ed the cups. Gingerly holding the hot cups, she passed through the kitchen
door to the almost vacant dining area.
The neatly dressed middle-aged men, who sat at a smal table in front of a window overlooking
the town, seemed amused about something they were reading in the paper.
She wondered what made them laugh but refrained from asking. Setting the cups in front of
them, she smiled a polite greeting. Since they didn’t seem to notice her, she turned to
straighten some chairs around the tables.
“How desperate would a woman have to be to answer one of these things?” The brunette
picked up his coffee and drank it.
Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as the blond pointed to a page in the paper. “Look
at this. ‘Thirty-eight-year-old widower in need of a wife to be a mother to five children. Only
thin women should apply because I can’t afford to buy new clothes.’ How tacky is it to dress
your new wife up in your dead wife’s clothes?”
He shrugged as he added a spoonful of sugar to his cup and swirled the spoon in it. “I suppose
he wants to be frugal. Men out in Washington Territory probably don’t have the kind of money
we do.”
“It’s not like we’re exactly rich, but come on! What woman would answer this?” He took
another look at the paper. “What woman in her right mind would answer any of these?”
“One who’s desperate to get married and can’t find a man any other way. She’d have to be
downright ugly, dul , or stupid.” Then he shot a look at Mary who turned her attention back to
arranging the menus on the tables. Clearing his throat, he gulped down his coffee and stood
up.
His friend finished his cup, folded the paper, and placed it in front of him on the table. “Wel , we
better get back to work.” He tossed a couple of coins on the table and stood up.
“Have a nice day, ma’am.” The brunette nodded her way before they left.
Sighing, she went to retrieve their empty cups. She understood they left the paper on the table,
conveniently turned to the various ads asking for mail-order brides, on purpose, and she
supposed she should have been offended. But she wasn’t.
Grace’s presence had been the one reason she lingered in Maine as long as she did. She
heard of men out west seeking wives and had been tempted to marry one, but she couldn’t
bear to be apart from her sister. It seemed that fate dictated the separation anyway, leaving
her free to pursue her own dreams for the first time in her life.
She didn’t want to work at the restaurant forever. She took the job to show her parents that
she could be useful, that she could offer something valuable to others, even if she couldn’t get a
man’s attention. They didn’t say either way if they liked the fact that she could make the best
food in town. It was hard to know what they thought of her.
Though she wasn’t an old maid at n
ineteen, she felt the hand of time ticking against her. She
wanted what Grace and her other sisters had: a husband and children. She wanted someone
to share her life with, someone who would be closer to her than her family was. Didn’t these
men asking for wives want the same thing?
Giving a subconscious glance over her shoulder to ensure that she was stil alone in the place,
she seized the paper from the table and scurried back to the kitchen before anyone could see
her with it.
The memory faded, and she found herself back in the restaurant, sitting across from Grace
who was staring expectantly at her.
“What is it, Mary?” Grace asked. “What else do you remember?”
Mary sighed. Now she understood why she didn’t like looking in mirrors, and she knew why
she’d been unhappy in Maine. Deciding not to tel Grace this, she opted for saying, “I
remembered why I went to Nebraska as a mail-order bride.”
She nodded. “It took a lot of courage to do that. I don’t know if I would have had the nerve.
There are so many unknowns about going somewhere you’ve never been to and marrying
someone you’ve never met. I admire you for being so brave.”
“I’m not sure courage had anything to do with it.” It seemed to her that she had no choice, not if
she wanted to have a family of her own. She’d had no prospects here. If she had stayed,
she’d stil be living with her parents, cooking in this restaurant, and probably regretting not
taking the chance to go west when she had it.
“I couldn’t have done it,” Grace said.
Mrs. Jones came out with a muffin and two cups of coffee. “I’m sorry I took so long. And don’t
worry about paying. This is on me.”
“Thank you,” Mary replied.
“You should bring that husband of yours on by so I can meet him.”
“I’l do that.”
“Oh, there’s no need,” Grace said, motioning to the window. She waved to Dave as he passed
by. As he headed to the entrance, she told Mrs. Jones, “He’s been so good to Mary.”
Mary nodded. Dave was good to her, and now understanding what led her to become a mail-
order bride, she appreciated him al the more.
Mrs. Jones turned her attention to Dave as he walked into the restaurant and headed over to
To Have and To Hold Page 13
