Mail-Order Christmas Brides Boxed Set

by Jillian Hart

  Before she could stop it, sudden panic raced through Annabelle. Sitting beside the man was one thing, but putting herself in his total control was another. She told herself the man meant no harm, but she couldn’t stop the fear as he pulled her tight to his chest.

  “What’s wrong?” Gabe stood in front of the door and looked down at her. Snow was still falling and the only reason she saw the flakes was because they were so white.

  It was almost dark and she knew he couldn’t see the expression on her face.

  “I’m fine.” Or, she would be soon, she told herself.

  “You’re about ready to take off running away from me,” he contradicted her. “I want to know what’s wrong.”

  “Could we just go inside?” she asked. Her heart was beating like a bird’s and she felt foolish.

  “I hope I haven’t given you any cause to be afraid of me,” he said, his voice soft.

  She didn’t answer for a minute and he didn’t move.

  Finally, she said, “You just remind me of someone.”

  “Someone who hurt you?” His voice sounded outraged.

  She couldn’t speak, but she did nod.

  At least he started to move then. He pushed the door open with his shoulder and carried her inside. The man must have stirred the fire before he came for her because it was burning low and steady in a rock fireplace on the far wall. The children were huddled together, sitting on the floor in front of it. The light didn’t reach the far corners of the room, but it did light up the front area.

  Gabe carried her over to a crude wooden table and sat her on a bench beside it.

  “It will be warm in a few minutes,” he said as he sat down in front of her and picked up one of her feet.

  She watched in astonishment as he removed her shoe and started to rub her foot.

  “Whatever are you doing?” she asked, a squeak in her voice that she tried to still.

  “I didn’t realize until I started to carry you inside that your stockings are so thin.” He reached for the other foot and started to unlace that shoe, too. “We need to get your feet warm. And you’ll need thicker socks in this kind of weather.”

  “But—” Annabelle began and then gave up. She’d never had a man care about her feet before. If it weren’t for the intelligence she had seen in his eyes earlier at the railroad station, she would wonder if he were one of those childlike giants she’d heard about, the ones who could lift up a horse but who still couldn’t be taught to read or reason.

  As he rubbed her feet, she began to relax. She could feel the warmth all the way up her legs. She heard the children talking with each other in front of the fire and she looked around.

  “This was a store?” she asked. There was more darkness than light in the room and she could barely make out the dimensions. She did notice some shelves that had been pushed against one wall along with a counter. A blanket covered a stack of something in one corner and several rifles hung in a rack along the wall closest to her. She could almost smell a pickle barrel, too, although she didn’t see one.

  “My father closed it up before he died,” Gabe said. “Almost nine years ago now.”

  She nodded her head.

  “He sold to the soldiers,” Gabe added. “And, once in a while, to a few Indians. Saddles. Ammunition. Whiskey. Little things. Buttons even. He carried whatever he thought a man alone would need. The place was always open when we weren’t out trapping.”

  They were silent for a few minutes after that. Annabelle felt herself growing more comfortable. The more heat in the room, the more drowsy she became.

  “Who was he?” Gabe asked her suddenly. “The man who frightened you?”

  “My father,” she said and then tried to undo any harm she had done. “It was mostly discipline, though. He meant well.”

  Gabe grunted in disbelief. “Not if you’re still afraid. Did he beat you?”

  She didn’t know how he had guessed, but she couldn’t admit the truth. She wasn’t even sure what was normal discipline from a father. The switches he had cut hurt as he whipped her, but it was his anger that scared her more.

  No man wanted to marry a barn hen, though, she reminded herself. Adam might not like it if she flinched and was timid. She would have to be sure he didn’t see her acting afraid. Then, even if Gabe did say something to his brother, Adam would shrug it off.

  “I’m perfectly fine now.” She forced herself to put some confidence in her voice as she stood up. “And I’d appreciate it if you don’t mention anything about my father to Adam.”

  Gabe grunted, but then nodded.

  She needed Adam to accept her. Even if he was not happy to marry her, she could work to make something good of their lives together. She looked over at the two children. For her sake and for them, she would make a family. What other choice did she have? She couldn’t go back to her cousin.

  “When are you going for Adam?” she asked Gabe as she took a tentative step toward the children.

  He didn’t answer for a minute. Then he said. “Probably in the morning.”

  She nodded.

  “But right now, I need to step out and see that the horses are in their shed and have some oats,” Gabe said as he started walking toward the door. “Then I’ll see about getting you a pair of socks. They’ll be too big, but your feet will just get cold again unless you have something. Your shoes need to dry out before you can wear them again.”

  She watched as Gabe disappeared out the door. Before she left Connecticut, her cousin’s wife had told her that God would not test her beyond what she was able to endure. She needed to remember that. Gabe was going to be part of her family; she would grow accustomed to him. She waited a minute, but no flutter came and that made her nod in satisfaction. She had settled down. It must have been nerves.

  She wondered if she’d feel anything at all when she met Adam. She had no doubt Gabe would find him and bring him back. Her hopes of romance were gone, though. How could she love someone who was reluctant to marry her?

  Lord, guide me, she prayed as she wondered what would happen when her promised husband returned.

  Chapter Three

  Gabe was standing in the living quarters that connected to the old trading post. No one had lived here for a long time until he moved down from the mountains this past summer. When his mother was alive, the four of them—his mother, father, Adam and him—had lived here happily enough. But since then it had no good memories for him. The floor was packed dirt. The walls were squares of thick-cut sod, piled on top of each other and melded together over time with muslin covering them so that the interior of the room was the color of bleached bones left out in the sun. One wood door led to the outside and the other led to the storeroom. Old peeled logs rose vertical around the doors and in the corners, supporting a sloped roof.

  “It’s not much,” he admitted. The room seemed to have shrunk since he left it this morning. “I’ve thought about building a new place. Get some lumber down from Fort Benton.”

  He’d add more windows, too, he promised himself. And put in a solid floor.

  The woman stood beside him silently. Her eyes were so dark, he wondered if she was in shock. Her face was pale, too. The only color on her was her chestnut hair, which was still tumbling down around her thin face. He found he liked it that way.

  “Do you feel the need to sit down?” he asked cautiously.

  He wasn’t sure why her approval mattered to him, but he hoped she would see that this place had once been a home even if it had been years ago when his mother was alive.

  “I’m not faint,” she answered back, her voice weak.

  He’d been afraid she’d take offense at his suggestion. She looked like she was only standing upright through sheer determination, though.

  He should have waited to bring her back here until he had the lantern lit. He generally would hang it on a hook by the inside door and the light made everything a warmer yellow. His mother used to say her favorite time of the day was when everyo
ne was safe inside and the lantern was hung for the night.

  He realized he still had the pair of thick socks in his hands and held them out to Annabelle. “Here. These are for you.”

  The children had been asleep in front of the fire when he finished taking care of the horses and went to get the socks. Without thinking about it, he had suggested Annabelle come back here with him so they could talk without disturbing the little ones.

  “Of course, this is not Adam’s home,” she finally said, the sense of relief evident in her voice.

  “No, but he’s welcome to stay anytime.” Gabe wanted her to know they did have a place when she found out his brother had none. “Even when I build my new house in the spring. I’ll make it big enough for everyone.”

  She looked at him then with confusion on her face, but didn’t say anything more.

  She stepped closer and took the socks. “Thanks.”

  The storm outside had darkened the sky so that even Gabe thought it seemed later than it was. The small glass windows at each end of this side room showed black in the gaps left by the threadbare curtains. Gabe looked around some more. A few upright boards and another thin curtain marked off the back area where the beds were. Daniel and Eliza slept in the large bed his father had brought with him decades ago when he brought his new bride back from the East Coast. Gabe replaced the feathers in the mattress each year and it was comfortable. He had never slept in that bed, making do with the small rope bed against the far wall instead. Once Adam had joined them, Gabe made a bed for himself in the pile of buffalo hides in the storeroom so that his brother could sleep near his children.

  “I just put new muslin on the underside of the roof,” he said, wishing he’d already started work on his new house. “You shouldn’t have any dirt falling down. And the place is sturdy. The sod keeps the heat in on cold winter nights like this, too.”

  “I’m sure everything is very—” The woman paused. “Adequate.”

  Gabe winced. Knowing she was coming, he should have spent more effort and made the place look like a home. But she hadn’t quite seemed real to him until she stepped off that train. Years ago, the room had looked better. Any influence from his mother had faded completely. There used to be a white crocheted doily on the back of the walnut rocking chair. Now, the chair sat unadorned near the bales of beaver pelts that were tied up in one corner by the window. He had a rope running from one of the spokes in the back of the rocker to the windowsill. He used that to stretch leather.

  “I ordered this in from St. Louis.” He turned and gestured to the cookstove. Neither he nor his father could make good biscuits and he had thought the stove might help. The handles on the warming oven could use some polish, but the cast iron was still a deep black. A kettle sat on the back with beans enough for supper. He’d planned to make up some corn bread to go with them, but it was getting late.

  “My cousin had a stove like that,” Annabelle said and he thought he detected relief in her voice. “It heats evenly. I should be able to make us a fine Christmas dinner.”

  “The children will appreciate that,” Gabe said as the knot in his stomach relaxed. “They’re tired of my cooking.”

  “But surely their father cooks, too,” Annabelle said as she continued looking around.

  A glass-globed kerosene lamp sat in the middle of the rough-hewn table. Gabe told himself that, once he lit the lamp, it would give off a soft yellow glow just like the lantern did. He was in no hurry, though. Now that she was talking, it felt strangely intimate to be here with her in the dim light.

  Even with all of the shadows, Gabe could not help but notice the look on the woman’s face when she mentioned his brother. She looked hopeful, but vulnerable.

  “Adam can do a little of everything,” he said, unwilling to let her know his brother refused to even attempt to make biscuits. He had notions that a man shouldn’t do the work a woman usually did.

  Annabelle turned to Gabe and smiled shyly. “He sounds very accomplished.”

  Gabe didn’t know how to answer that, but then he heard a rustling in the doorway and figured he didn’t have to say anything.

  “My pa is the best at everything,” Daniel said as he stood there, Gabe’s jacket hanging open from his shoulders.

  “He told me how he liked to surprise you and your sister with pancakes for breakfast,” Annabelle said as she walked over and knelt down by the boy. “I could almost see all of you from his description.”

  “On pancake mornings he used to bring in lots of wood.” Daniel smiled. His hair was matted and he looked tired. “He said the fire had to be hot so my ma could fry them just right.”

  Annabelle reached up and smoothed back the boy’s hair, but Gabe noticed she frowned slightly in thought as she did so. He didn’t want her to realize Adam had never cooked anything himself.

  “Before we worry about breakfast, we better eat something now or we’ll be starving by morning,” Gabe said cheerfully as he walked over to the stove and lifted the lid on the kettle of beans. He’d put an onion and some bacon in the pot before they had left to go into Miles City. He might add a touch of molasses, too, now that they had some.

  He glanced over at Annabelle and Daniel. Something had happened. The boy looked stricken. Gabe wondered what had gone wrong as he turned to them. The woman’s back was stiff as she knelt there and then she started to rise. Gabe wondered if she was still thinking about Adam’s cooking.

  “I’ll go out and get the supplies,” Gabe said, not really intending to leave yet, but needing to say something. He felt a prickling at the back of his neck.

  Annabelle slowly turned around. She had red spots on her cheeks and she was holding the letters Daniel had taken with them this morning. He must have stuffed them into the inside pockets of Gabe’s jacket.

  “This is your jacket?” she asked.

  Gabe nodded.

  “You have my letters, then,” Annabelle said, her voice indignant. Her eyes flashed at him, her accusations apparent. “They were supposed to be private. Between me and Adam.”

  “I—ah...” Gabe shifted his feet. He looked down at Daniel and saw the pleading look in his nephew’s eyes.

  “Did you steal them after Adam left?” Annabelle demanded of Gabe then. “Is that it? I hope you enjoyed reading them. Were they amusing?”

  “I didn’t read them,” Gabe said. He could give her that much reassurance.

  Annabelle looked at him like she didn’t believe him.

  “The letters between a woman and a man should be private,” she said. “I opened up my heart to your brother.”

  “Uncle Gabe always tells the truth,” Daniel spoke then, his chin going out in that obstinate angle he took when he was making a stand and not counting the cost. The boy looked over at his uncle and Gabe shook his head slightly. There was no need for Daniel to earn the woman’s displeasure by confessing that he was the one who had taken the letters off the shelf where his father kept them.

  Annabelle turned and knelt down in front of the boy again. She looked at Daniel so tenderly that Gabe could almost see his mother doing the same to Adam all those years ago.

  “You don’t need to defend your uncle,” she said softly. Her skirt spread around her on the dirt floor and she seemed more concerned about Daniel than the dust and wrinkles in her silk dress.

  “But—” Daniel started to protest.

  “Listen to Miss Hester.” Gabe started to walk to the door. “I need to go out and bring in the supplies anyway. Then we’ll eat.”

  He didn’t want anyone to see the tears forming in his eyes. The cold air steadied him as he stepped outside. He didn’t care if Annabelle was upset with him as long as she kept loving Daniel and Eliza the way she was doing.

  * * *

  It wasn’t until later that Annabelle felt the anger slip away from her. Gabe had brought in enough pieces of wood to heat the living quarters for the night and she was sitting on the edge of the bed in the sleeping area, brushing her hair. They’d eaten
their dinner some time ago. Daniel was asleep on the rope bed against the wall and Eliza was curled up on the bed she was going to share with Annabelle tonight.

  Long shadows formed on the wall as she raised her arm with each brushstroke. She normally didn’t brush her hair until she’d changed into her nightclothes, but everything today had been unusual. She had shaken out her black dress to wear tomorrow, but she still had her gray silk on. The only light was coming from the lamp on the table by the cookstove, but she must be getting used to the room as it seemed rather cozy to her now. Maybe it was the even breathing of the children as they slept or the sounds of Gabe walking around in the other part of the room.

  Annabelle’s letters were neatly stacked on the nearby low shelf and she looked over at them with some regret. Before he went to bed, Daniel had confessed to her that he had been the one to take her letters off that shelf and bring them to the depot. He’d added rather sheepishly that he couldn’t read yet, but his father had read the one she’d written to him and Eliza aloud to them several times. The boy had looked so miserable that she had no choice but to forgive him with a hug and assure him everything was fine.

  Gabe must have opened the firebox again on the stove, because a flash of light shone through the curtain that separated the bedroom from the rest of his small home.

  “Would you like me to heat you some warm milk before I bed down in the store?” he asked as Annabelle heard him adjust the lids on the stove.

  Annabelle leaned over so she could see around the curtain. “Yes, please. That would be nice.”

  She almost blushed as she looked out into the dim light. He’d just come in from checking on the horses and his hair was damp from the snow so that strands were hanging down on his forehead, reminding her of the boy he’d once been.

  “I usually make some for the children,” he said as he saw her. “But they’re so tired tonight that it’s best that they just sleep.”

  “I agree.” She stood up and straightened the seams in her gray dress. She then patted her hair until it was tidy. He still hadn’t given her the hairpins, but she wasn’t going to ask about them tonight. Instead, she picked up the stack of her letters.