by Kit Morgan
A brass bed sat against one wall. There was a trunk at the foot of it, with several neatly folded blankets at the ready. The bed itself was more than big enough for two people, and covered by one of the most beautiful quilts Libby had ever seen. An armoire took up one corner of the room, and a dresser with a mirror graced the opposite wall. The room itself was almost as big as the living area of the cabin, and Libby knew she would be spending a lot of time in the cheery bedroom, if only to escape her new husband's sour disposition. Speaking of which, how was she going to avoid him from now on? More importantly, how was she going to avoid him tonight? It was their wedding night, after all, and even though her mother had never spoken to her about what went on between a man and woman, she'd eavesdropped on her brothers often enough to have a good idea. None of it sounded pleasant, at least not if one was on the receiving end of things. Her brothers’ descriptions were crude at best, and often quelled any further eavesdropping on her part. At least men enjoyed such things, but she doubted she would. This, of course, left her with one burning question. How was she going to avoid sleeping with her husband tonight?
* * *
Nate took care of the horses, fed the chickens, and was heading back to the house when he stopped dead in his tracks. What would happen now? She couldn’t cook, was frightened and, as far as he knew, didn’t like this whole arrangement. He stood, fists on hips, and stared at the soft lantern light coming from the windows. Maybe she was upset because she was so ill-prepared to be a wife. How would he feel if he was in her shoes? But then, what woman becomes a wife and doesn’t learn how to cook? What else would she be inept at? What if she couldn’t so much as mend a shirt, or wash it for that matter? He couldn’t exactly send her back. But then, what if that’s exactly what she wanted him to do?
Nate rubbed his chin with his hand. How to handle her was the question. Should he be patient, or tell her to get with it? Maybe a little of both? Yet, what right did he have to be so hard on her their first day as husband and wife? She did just travel over a thousand miles to get there and must be plumb tuckered out. If he was any kind of a gentleman, he’d get a tub ready for her, let her have her privacy, then after she felt better, he could see where they really stood. Yes, that’s what he’d do. He wouldn’t be surprised if he found her passed out from exhaustion.
Sure enough, when he entered the house she was curled up at one end of the settee, eyes closed, breathing steady and even. He studied her in the lantern light. How was he going to turn this delicate flower into someone capable of defending herself and their land if need be? This was still rough country, and he and his brothers could be gone long hours during the day. She’d be alone all that time, as would her sisters. They might have to do whatever was necessary to defend themselves. Could she shoot a gun? Could she, would she, shoot a man if she had to? He crossed to the stove and pushed the thought aside. He’d worry about teaching her how to shoot later. Right now, he figured he’d help make things more comfortable for her. Tomorrow was going to be a long day.
He got a fire in the cook stove going, fetched the tub he used for bathing, and set it up in the bedroom. He then went out to the pump, got a couple buckets of water, and poured them into the tub. He then filled the buckets again, and put them on the stove to heat.
While he waited, he sat at the kitchen table and stared at the back of the settee. He tried to imagine the two of them sitting there, in the evenings after supper in front of the fire. He’d read a book, she’d knit or something. After awhile, they’d maybe get sleepy; then again, maybe not. Nate swallowed hard, and stood. He took a few steps in her direction, and gazed at the back of her head resting on the one pillow he had for the living area. Her dark hair was coming loose from its pins; a long tendril had escaped, spilling over the arm of the settee. He went to her, reached down, and touched the silken lock. His body reacted, and he let go, sucking in a breath as he did. Libby didn’t stir, and he sighed in relief.
Once again, he had to concede to her beauty. But how was she going to survive while he was gone all day? He didn’t talk much during the ride home, but he listened. Her sister, Bonnie, had asked him if the land around Bart’s home would support a vegetable garden come spring. He told her yes, and knew she wanted to have one so there’d be enough food to get them through next winter. She knew how to cook and preserve food, a good thing in these parts. Bart was one lucky son of a …
Libby moaned in her sleep. Nate froze. He sucked in another breath, and slowly backed away. He should wake her now, get her something to eat, and then leave her to bathe.
He went back to the kitchen. He had some cold bacon left from his breakfast, and a few biscuits. They would have to do for supper. He cut a biscuit in half, slapped a couple pieces of bacon on it, and then went to wake his sleeping wife.
He gave her shoulder a shake, and almost jumped when she popped up with a yelp. “Whoa, there,” he said in a soft voice. “I didn’t mean to scare ya.”
She stared at him, her mouth half-open. “Wha… what?” She glanced around the cabin. “What happened?”
“You dozed off. Here, I rustled us up something to eat,” he said and handed her the biscuit.
She looked at it, then at him. “What is it?”
“Just eat; you’ll need something in your belly or you’ll be worthless in the morning.”
“Worthless?” she whispered. “I see.” She took the biscuit from him, studied it, and took a small bite.
“I done fixed you a bath. You can get cleaned up before you turn in. I don’t imagine you’d want to sleep in a clean bed unless you’re the same.”
She raised her eyes to his. “Understood,” she said through gritted teeth.
Good grief! What was ailing her now? “I’ll be out in the barn.” He went to the stove, checked the water and, using a couple of dishrags, plucked the buckets off and added them to the tub in the bedroom. Maybe after she got cleaned up she wouldn’t be so… well, whatever it was she was being! All he knew was he didn’t care for it. If she was going to be the kind of woman who was hard to please, then this arrangement wasn’t going to be to his liking; at least not until she learned what was what.
“I’m going to the barn. I’ll be back in an hour.” He didn’t mean to slam the door on his way out, but he did. Some wedding night this was turning out to be.
* * *
Libby took a deep breath. The biscuit he gave her was stale, but it was food, and she was hungry. She choked it down, surprised at how good a cold biscuit and bacon could taste, then got up and went into the bedroom to see what he’d done.
The room was bathed in the warm glow of candles and, just as he’d said, there was a tub of water. She peeked at it in the dim light to see how much water there was. Not much, but it would do in a pinch. Normally, she’d be thanking the Almighty for the steaming water but, under the circumstances, she wasn’t too happy about his insult.
So, he feared she’d get his precious bed dirty, did he? Okay, maybe in her current state, he was correct. She hadn’t had a decent bath in … good Lord, how long had it been?
Libby propped a chair under the doorknob, as she’d seen Gwen do when she had some juicy scrap of gossip or secret she was about to divulge to her and Bonnie. She then peeled off her day dress, corset, petticoats and chemise. She noticed a bar of soap and a towel laid out on the trunk at the foot of the bed. A small smile curved her mouth. What if he was just being thoughtful? But no, not after the remark he’d made about getting his bed dirty! Maybe she shouldn’t bathe at all; that would show him! But the temptation of the warm water was too much, and she felt disgusting besides.
She took the soap, set the towel on the floor next to the metal tub, and then eased herself into it. The water wasn’t hot, but it wasn’t cold either. She washed herself as fast as she could, then her hair. Not an easy task. She didn’t think to grab the pitcher off the washstand so she could use it to rinse her hair out. After a few minutes of spitting and sputtering, she stood, her body dripping, and reached for the towel
.
She dried herself then groaned. “Oh no, where’s my satchel?” Of course, she knew, on the kitchen table, right where he’d left it. She sighed, took one of the blankets off the trunk, wrapped it around herself and, after removing the chair and pressing an ear to the door to make sure she was alone, raced out of the bedroom to retrieve her satchel. “Oh!” she cried as she ran right into her husband. She hit him so hard she bounced off his chest and stumbled back a few steps. “What are you doing here?”
“I live here,” he said as he took in her choice of attire. “Nice blanket.”
“Leave, this instant!” she screeched. “You can’t see me like this!”
His eyes roamed her face before exploring the rest of her. He swallowed hard, then snatched his hat off the table, turned, and went out the front door without another word.
Libby let out the breath she’d been holding. She hadn’t heard him come in, and didn’t hear anything before she opened the door. Her new husband must be light on his feet. She grabbed her satchel from off the table and hurried back to the bedroom. “The nerve of him!” she hissed as she tossed the satchel onto the bed, opened it, and pulled out a nightdress. Like her, it could do with a good washing, but it was all she’d brought, and was still cleaner than she had been. She pulled it on, took out her comb, ran it through her hair a few times, and then quickly braided it. With her luck, it would still be wet in the morning, but she didn’t care. She eyed the bedroom door, and wondered if she should prop the chair against it, but didn’t feel right doing so. It wasn’t Nate’s fault he’d startled her just now. It was hers, for rushing out of the bedroom the way she did. She was lucky she didn’t lose the blanket in the process.
Yet … what if he came into the bedroom later and wanted to …
Libby gulped. “Please Lord, I’m not ready for such a thing,” she whispered. “I want him to at least love me a little, before … that.”
Maybe then, she’d be able stomach it.
Five
A short time later, Libby awoke to someone pounding on the bedroom door. That someone, of course, was her husband. “Libby! Open this door!”
Libby bolted upright in bed, her eyes wide with fear. What to do? Should she let him in, or let the man keep pounding? What if he broke the door down? Then what would she do? For lack of a better idea, she yelled, “Go away!”
“Go?” he shouted from the other side. “I live here! What is wrong with you?”
Think, Libby think! “Er….ah… I’m not ready to sleep with you!”
There was a moment of silence, and then, “What the Sam Hill are you talking about? We’re married!”
“I will not sleep with a stranger!” she yelled back.
“Stranger? How else are we going to get to know each other?”
Libby twisted the quilt in her hands and tried to think of what to say. “Well… if you want to sleep in the same bed with me then… you're just going to have to… to woo me first!”
Dead silence.
“Nate?” came out in a pitiful squeak. She stared at the door and cringed. His retreating boot steps on the other side of it answered her. He was gone.
Libby flopped against the pillows with a sigh of relief. “I am in so much trouble,” she said to the ceiling. “He'll never forgive me for this.” But what else was she supposed to do? The thought of a complete stranger putting his hands on her was too much. But had turning her new husband away on their wedding night been the right thing to do?
Libby sat up again. “Of course it was! Bonnie or Gwen would've done the same thing if they were me! Wouldn't they?” Libby honestly didn't know.
The next morning, Libby awoke after a fitful sleep, sat up, and rubbed her eyes. The chair was still braced against the door, the cabin quiet. Sunlight streamed through the window, and she wondered what time it was. But what did it matter? This morning she would have to face her new husband and explain herself. She'd spent half the night figuring out what to tell him, and hoped she’d remember the words.
Libby tossed back the covers, got up, and sought her clothes. Everything needed a good washing at this point, and she dreaded the thought of having to do laundry for herself; a task she had never done in her life. She realized last night that she'd have to learn quite a few things in order to please her new husband. The mere thought overwhelmed her, and she tried to think of something else as she approached the bedroom door.
With her heart pounding in her chest, she reached for the chair and removed it. Then, with a trembling hand, she grabbed the doorknob. Of course, she pressed her ear to the door first and listened for any sound coming from the other side. A lot of good that was going to do her; she hadn't heard Nate last night, what made her think she'd hear him this morning? Libby took a deep breath, held it, and let it out slowly. She then opened the door.
Nothing. No one. There wasn't a trace of Nate Dalton anywhere in the cabin.
Libby ventured out of the bedroom on tiptoe, as if Nate would suddenly pop out of some hidden corner. She sighed in relief when she realized she was alone, and took in the sight of the cabin in the light of day. There were two large windows on either side of the door, another between the cook stove and the sideboard, and then of course the one in the bedroom. The cabin's interior was just as charming in daylight as it was by lantern light. She hoped Nate would build a fire in the evening after supper, so she could see what it looked like. That is, if she wasn't spending the night in the barn. Who knew what he would do when he got home? He had to be out working already; where else would he be?
Libby glanced around, and noticed a note on the table set near a plate with a single biscuit on it. She went to the table and snatched up the note.
Dear wife,
Here's your breakfast. Have my lunch ready by noon.
Sincerely, Your Husband.
p.s. Tonight you can sleep on the floor or the settee, the bed is mine.
He was mad all right. She tossed the note onto the table and clutched her hands together in front of her. What was she going to do? Should she give in to his demands, or stand her ground? What would Gwen or Bonnie do? Libby squared her shoulders and stared down the biscuit. They'd stand their ground, of course! “I won't let him break me!” Libby cried with a stomp of her foot. “I won’t.”
There was a sudden knock on the front door. Libby jumped and yelped at the same time. Was it Nate? Had he come back to the cabin early? What would he do to her? How mad could he still be?
Her eyes darted to the living room. The pillow she’d used the night before during her brief nap lay on the floor with a blanket. Libby swallowed hard. He was plenty mad. But if that were true, why would he knock on the door of his own cabin?
“Who is it?” she called out.
“It's me, Bonnie!”
“Bonnie!” Libby breathed as she ran for the door. “Thank the Lord!”
Libby threw the door open and smiled with relief at her older sister. “Oh, I'm so glad it's you!”
“Why?” Bonnie asked as she peered into the cabin. “What's the matter?”
Should she tell her? What if she’d allowed Bart to have his way with her last night? Would Bonnie berate her for not doing her wifely duty? “Oh… nothing.”
Bonnie eyed Libby a moment before she tried to look into the cabin again. “Have you had your breakfast?”
Libby stepped aside as her eyes darted to the lone biscuit on the table. “Not yet, but I was about to.”
Bonnie stood on the threshold and stared open-mouthed at the charming interior. “Libby! This is… is… beautiful!”
Libby smiled; at least something was going right this morning. “Thank you. Who would've ever thought a man could decorate so nicely?”
Bonnie bit her lower lip and sucked air through her nose. She was upset about something, Libby could tell. But she was upset, too, and hoped Bonnie wouldn't notice. “I came to fetch you,” Bonnie said as she stepped into the cabin and continue to gawk. “I know you and Gwen can't cook well.” She turned
to Libby. “But you don't have to worry about a thing; I'm going to teach you both everything I know.”
Libby let out the breath she'd been holding. She was more wound up than she’d thought. “Oh, Bonnie, thank you! I don't know what we’d do without you.”
“Neither do I,” Bonnie said with a wry smile. “But I'm sure you'd manage.”
Libby smiled back and shook her head. “You know very well we wouldn't! I don't know who would falter first, me or Gwen. Thank you for coming to our rescue in this time of need.”
Bonnie laughed at that, and gave her a hug. “Don't worry, you'll survive. Learning to cook and do laundry isn't going to kill either one of you… I hope.”
“Gwen might put up a fuss.”
“No doubt she will, but if the two of you don't learn how to take care of your husbands, your lives won't be very pleasant. These men are willing to protect and provide for us; the least we can do is protect and provide for them.”
“For them?” Libby said. “I don't understand.”
Bonnie shrugged. “They bring us the food, we prepare the food. They protect us, and we protect them.”
“How do we protect them?” Libby asked, still confused. What was her sister talking about?
Bonnie's expression became pained. “We guard their hearts, silly. It's what a woman does for a man.”
“Who told you that?” Libby asked. She'd never heard anything of that nature come out of their mother’s mouth.
“Elizabeth told me.”
“You mean from the mail-order bride service?”
“Yes,” Bonnie said, a solemn look on her face.
Libby shook her head again. “I still don’t understand.”
“I don't think a woman does until after she's been married awhile. I'm sure in time you and Gwen will get the hang of it.”
“Me and Gwen, what about you?”
Bonnie's eyes widened a second, before she smiled. “I'm sure I will, too. Now, hurry and eat your breakfast. We need to get over to Gwen’s. I have a lot to teach you this morning.”
