by Kit Morgan
“Only when I heard my name mentioned.”
Lottie put a hand to her mouth. She didn’t know whether to laugh, yell at him or cry. A mix came out. “You heard what Sam and I talked about?”
“Ya know, ya really oughta forgive that Brown fella like Sam suggested. Do ya a world of good.”
“Oh for heaven’s sake…”
“No – for yer sake, missy.”
She glared at him, unable to help it. “And what would you know of it?”
His face became somber. “Purt near everythin’.”
Her expression matched his. Of course he would – and what better person to ask? “How? How did you do it?”
The old man took the pie tins and stacked them in front of him. “Yer gonna need these.”
Lottie sat at the opposite end of the table. “How did you deal with the guilt?”
“At first, by bein’ a fool and an idiot and a real nasty drunk. But I ain’t that person no more. Belle, Sam’s ma, she found it in her heart to forgive me. If she hadn’t, she’d be a different person, and so would that crotchety aunt of hers. She was trapped in the fire too.”
Lottie stared at him. She didn’t know what to say.
“Ya know what bitterness feels like?” he asked.
Lottie was about to shake her head, but instead nodded. She’d had a taste of it.
“That’s what this is really about. That’s what it comes down to. Sammy, he’s never experienced it. But I have. I used to drink it every day. And ya know what I got?”
“What?” she asked in a small voice.
“Poison. Ya know what I tried to do with it?”
She shook her head again.
He watched her a moment. “Tried to make my stepsons drink it and hoped it’d kill them.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” she said. At this point, she wasn’t sure she wanted to.
“Bitterness is a poison ya carry around with ya, waitin’ to give to the person that wronged ya, then expectin’ them to die. But the only one it kills is yerself. Dang-fool stuff almost did me in.”
Lottie’s eyes widened, filling with tears.
“Yeah, I can see yer startin’ to understand what I’m talkin’ about,” he drawled. “Ya put this business of yers behind ya. We Cookes don’t put up with no one feelin’ sorry for themselves. Can’t do their share of the work around here if they do.”
Lottie closed her eyes as the tears fell. The man was right – she was bitter – and not from the mill fire, but from the fire that killed her parents. She and Leora had been thrust into a situation beyond their control. Their one anchor had been their aunt, who died. Then came their employment at the mill, and they had hung on to that for far too long. And then it was taken away …
“You’d best get to baking them pies, missy.”
Lottie opened her eyes. “Pies?”
“Yep. Trust me, bake that new husband of yers a few pies and that’ll say more to him than any flowery apology.”
She sniffed back her tears. “Pie can do that?”
He smiled. “’Round here it can.”
“And we’ll help you,” a voice said behind her.
Lottie turned in her chair. Sam’s mother and aunt stood in the hallway. She quickly wiped the tears from her eyes. “I was just …”
“We know,” Sam’s aunt said.
“Know what?” Lottie asked, confused.
Sam’s mother sighed. “Jefferson’s right – this house does have thin walls, and floors, and then … when did we put those grates in?”
“Ten years ago,” Sam’s aunt commented.
Lottie stood. “You mean you heard …”
Sam’s mother put an arm around her. “There are no secrets here, which is why Sam will want to build you a house soon. In the meantime, let us help you make a few pies. I think you and Sam will have a lot to talk about when he comes home.”
* * *
Sam entered the kitchen through the back door and smiled at the sight that greeted him. Lottie stood next to the worktable, atop which were three beautiful fresh baked pies. “Hello.”
She blushed. “Hello.”
He went to her and studied the golden crusts. “Did you bake these?”
“With a little help from your mother and your Aunt Sadie.”
He nodded as he studied her work, then looked at her. “I missed you out there today.”
She smiled. “I missed you too.”
He took off his hat. “I’m … sorry about last night. But …”
“I did it,” she interrupted. “I forgave him, or at least I think I did.” She gazed at him, her eyes pleading. “I don’t want to hate him and I don’t want that hatred to turn into something I can’t control.”
“You forgave Mr. Brown?”
She swallowed and looked at the table. “No. I forgave God.”
Sam cocked his head. “What did you say?”
“I was angry at Him for letting my parents die.”
Sam went around the worktable as she began to cry. “Lottie, what …?”
“I was young, but not so young that I didn’t miss them every day, that I wasn’t mad they were gone. There was no one to blame, nothing I could do about any of it …”
“So you blamed God for your parents’ deaths?”
She nodded. “It makes sense. I guess trying to prove that Mr. Brown set fire to the mill was really my way of trying to bring justice to what happened to them.”
Sam took her in his arms. “Lottie, my dear wife. It wouldn’t have brought them back.”
“I know. But that’s why it was so hard to stop trying to prove Mr. Brown guilty.”
Sam kissed the top of her head. “Lottie, I know it hurts. But I’m so glad for you also.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. He tightened his hold and she snuggled against him. She felt safe in his arms and realized that without the burden of her parents’ deaths, she was free to love the man that held her. There was nothing in her way. She just hoped she never buried anything so deep within her heart again. She hadn’t even known it was there – and it had almost killed her.
“So, care for a slice?” she asked, pointing at the pies.
Sam looked at her. “Ah, not right now.”
She pulled away from him. “What? Your grandpa told me that if I baked these for you, you’d be overjoyed.”
He laughed. “That’s not what they’re for, darling.”
“Then what was he talking about?”
“In this house, we tend to eat pie when we’re either upset, or trying not to … ah, well, never mind.”
“Sam Cooke, what are you talking about?”
“Let’s let Jefferson and the rest of the family have the pies.”
“What are we going to have?”
He gave her a devilish grin. “Each other.”
Her eyebrows rose at that. “You know, looking back on it all, I think I’m glad that fire broke out. If it hadn’t, I wouldn’t be standing here with you next to these pies.”
“I figured that out too.”
She chuckled. “That figures. I just hope the others fare as well as we have. Leora, Judith, Alice, Beth. I sent them another letter today.”
“What did you tell them?” he asked.
“The same thing I just told you – that becoming mail-order brides was the best thing that could’ve happened to us.” She rested her head against his chest. “Do you think they’ll be all right?”
Sam smiled. “Only the Lord knows. At least you can write each other and find out.”
Lottie sighed against him. “Yes. But there were so many of us.”
Sam stepped away from her and without warning, swept her into his arms. “Stop worrying and let’s go upstairs,” he said before she could protest. Not that she would have.
“And what, Mr. Cooke, will we do up there?” she teased, praying none of his family walked in on them, or were sitting near a grate for that matter.
“I’ll tell you one thing – it
has nothing to do with pie.”
And it didn’t.
Epilogue
Dear Leora,
I hope this letter finds you well. I’ve not heard from you and must admit my concern. I’m sure you’ve reached California by now and, if my guess is right, have married Mr. Drake. I hope and pray things have turned out well for you and the others. I’ve not heard back from Beth, Judith, or Alice either. But, like you, I’m sure that traveling to meet their prospective grooms and dealing with their weddings, has taken up much of their time. I hope to hear from all of you soon.
As for me, my life has changed dramatically since leaving Lawrence! Sam’s family is large and friendly, with siblings and cousins everywhere! The Triple-C is so much bigger than I imagined! I know I’ll be exceedingly happy here and hope you find the same happiness with Theron Drake. In fact, I pray daily that not only you and our roommates find their happiness, but that all our co-workers from the mill forge new lives for themselves. I’m convinced that becoming mail-order brides was the best thing that could have happened to all of us, but you know me. I do worry.
Ah, to be a quiet observer and be able to watch our friend’s lives unfold and blossom with their new husbands! What a treat that would be. But alas, how can I?
I love you sister! Please write back soon to let me know how you are and tell me about your wonderful Mr. Drake! I can’t wait to hear! I can only hope to receive letters from some of the others to find out how they are doing as well!
Your loving sister,
Lottie
The End
(Of Lottie’s story. Now enjoy the rest!)
If you enjoyed reading this book, there are 49 more in the series! Find out about the rest of the American Mail-Order Brides here.
About the Author
Kit Morgan is the author of over thirty Westerns, including the Prairie Brides, Prairie Grooms and Holiday Mail-Order Brides series, and is a contributor to the Dalton Brides series with Cassie Hayes and Kirsten Osbourne. Lottie: Bride of Delaware is the first of her two books in the American Mail-Order Brides series; her second, Leora: Bride of California, is the 31st book in the series. Kit lives and works in the Pacific Northwest.
You can keep up-to-date on future books, fun contests and more by signing up for Kit’s newsletter at www.authorkitmorgan.com.
