“So you were really a cook? I can’t imagine you being anyone’s servant.”
Mary made a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. “You’d be surprised. Elizabeth was…well, she saved me. I don’t know what I would have done if she hadn’t found me in that train station. After a week, she told me she needed me to do more than the cooking. Really I was cooking for her and a couple of other servants, so the job wasn’t all that taxing. She added in helping her with the mail order bride business, and that kept me busy.” She shook her head. “I’m not sure that I would have been able to keep going without her help.”
“Keep going?”
“I wasn’t sure I wanted to live in a world where you no longer existed.” She didn’t look at him as she said the words, but they spoke clearly to the very dark place she’d been in after his “death.”
“You don’t mean that!”
“I don’t think you have any idea what your love meant to me.” What it still means to me.
“I just kept working harder,” he said softly. “When I got the letter from Ma saying that you were dead, I broke some horses for a neighbor. They’d been wild, and I thought they’d kill me. I didn’t care. I slept only a couple of hours a night, because every time I closed my eyes, I’d see you lying in a coffin.” He took a shuddering breath. “Imagine my astonishment to find out you were still alive.”
She sniffled, wiping away a tear. “I’m not sure why our parents did this, but it’s obviously something they thought up together. I’m sorry you went through that. I do understand the pain you must have been in.”
He glanced over at her. “Are you upset because you know my pain? Or because you were found out?”
She sighed. “I can’t convince you. Send a letter home. There are any number of people who will tell you the truth.”
“Don’t think I won’t!” He wanted to trust her with everything inside him, but how could he ever forgive his mother if he believed Mary?
“Tell me about your farm.” She wasn’t going to stay on that topic. They’d already beaten it into the ground in her opinion.
He shrugged. “It’s a full quarter section of land. I plant wheat and corn. I have a few cows that I use for milk, but I’m mainly the same kind of farmer my pa was—a dirt farmer.”
“Was? I hadn’t heard your pa passed. I’m sorry.” She knew he’d been very close to his father.
“My kid brother, Samuel, took over the farm. Ma still lives there. Sam’s married. Do you remember Dorothy Reddon?”
“I do. Don’t tell me Sam married Dottie.” She laughed softly. “I remember when she was mooning about you. She’d pass me notes in class telling me that someday she’d be Mrs. Jones. She meant you, though, not Sam.”
Bill grinned. He remembered the same crush. “She was a pain in my behind at times.”
Mary shook her head. “You know you shouldn’t mention your behind in polite company!”
He couldn’t believe how easy it was to fall into their playful banter they’d had for years. “And you think it’s all right for you to mention my behind?”
“William Jones, you know better! Haven’t you got anything better to do than tease me?”
He stopped the wagon and set the brake, looking over at her. “I guess I’d forgotten just how much fun teasing you is.” He jumped down and walked around holding a hand up to help her down. “Pastor Robertson is expecting us.”
With her hand in his, she looked up at him, amazed at how familiar he looked, even under his shaggy beard. “I’ve missed you.”
The words were so simple and heartfelt, he almost took her in his arms right there, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t let her get under his skin again until he was certain what had happened five years before. He took a quick step back. “Let’s go get married.”
She nodded, sad that he’d stepped away. For a moment there, she’d been certain he’d forgive her for everything and kiss her, but he hadn’t. Soon, he’d realized there was nothing to forgive, but it would all be fine. She wouldn’t hold it against him. She couldn’t. She loved him more with every moment she spent with him. She’d fallen in love with a boy, but there was a man beside her—a man she would spend all her tomorrows with.
Even though he was angry with her, she closed her eyes and said a silent prayer. “Thank you, God. Thank you for bringing my William and I back together. Thank you for not letting him die. Thank you for my future.” Tucking her hand through his arm, she walked with him to the door of the pastor’s house and waited as he knocked on the door.
Chapter 5
Mrs. Robertson opened the door and invited them inside. “Bill, this must be Marilyn, the bride you sent away for. It’s so nice to meet you!”
Mary smiled. “Please call me Mary.”
“Mary, would you care to take a bath before the ceremony? If I’d been on a train for days on end like you have, I’d want to clean up.”
“Please. That would be wonderful, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course not, dear.” Mrs. Robertson smiled at William. “You’ll wait for her, won’t you, Bill?”
William frowned. “As long as she doesn’t keep me waiting too long.”
Mary followed the older woman into a bedroom where there was already a tub of water waiting. “I forgot my wedding dress! It’s in my trunk. I’ll be right back.”
Mary dashed out of the room and out the front door, finding William close behind her. “You’re not going to embarrass me by running off on our wedding day, are you?”
She shook her head. “I wouldn’t think of it. I’ve wanted to marry you since I was fourteen years old.” She jumped up onto the back of the wagon, demonstrating an agility that would have embarrassed her in her youth. She had different notions of what it took to be a woman now than she had then. “I forgot my wedding dress. I want to wear the dress my mama wore.”
He frowned. “You brought it to wear to marry a stranger?”
“Not at all. I wanted it for my daughter. But now that I know I’m marrying you, I need it today. I would have had it in my carpet bag otherwise, where it was easier to get to.”
“You have an answer for everything, don’t you?”
She shrugged. “If you say so. I’m just trying to do what’s right.” She found the dress, carefully wrapped in tissue paper, and hugged it to her as she jumped down from the back of the wagon. “If you’ll excuse me, I would rather not smell like I haven’t bathed in a month when we marry.”
William watched her run back toward the house, her dress clutched close to her chest. He smiled as he remembered the girl who had kicked him to keep him from kissing her so long ago. His little mail order bride was bringing back so many memories. It hurt.
Thirty minutes later, Mary was ready. Her hair was still a little damp, but she’d brushed it as dry as she could, winding it into a tight knot atop her head. Her pink dress was fitted in the waist, and the skirt was fuller than was in fashion, but Mary didn’t care. Her mama had worn it for her wedding to the man she loved, and now Mary would wear it to marry William.
She took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart. She was marrying her William. After thinking he was dead for five years the man she loved was in the very next room, waiting with the preacher.
A knock on the door revealed Mrs. Robertson. “Are you ready, dear?”
Mary nodded. “I am.”
Instead of opening the door wider for Mary to leave, Mrs. Robertson stepped into the room with her and shut the door. “I just wanted to tell you…if Bill seems overly gruff, it’s because he lost the girl he loved a few years back, right after he came here. I think he’ll soften as time goes by, but you may not see the man he was for a while. I hope you can show him some kindness and make it easier on him.”
It was all Mary could do not to spill her guts to the older woman, telling her everything. She’d given William her word, though, and she wouldn’t go back on it. “I’ll be careful with him. He’s a good man.”
Mrs. Rober
tson nodded emphatically. “He is! I’m so glad you can see it!”
“It shines from his eyes, doesn’t it?”
Mary followed the preacher’s wife into the parlor where William was waiting for her. His eyes roamed her from head to toe, and he nodded subtly. “Are you ready?”
“I am.” Mary walked to William’s side, and he looked down at her. “Are you?”
A slight smile touched his lips. She’d always had a way of catching him off guard, making him see humor in situations where he’d not see any without her. He sighed. How could a man not love a woman as wonderful as his Mary? If only she hadn’t had others lie to him about her. As he looked at her, he couldn’t see it happening, but there was really no other excuse that he could imagine!
He took her hand in his when Pastor Robertson told him to, and they proceeded through the ceremony. When it was over, and they were pronounced man and wife, he turned to her, holding her waist with his big hands and pulling her to him. His lips pressed to hers, and she moved her hand up to his shoulder. Her first kiss as his wife. She’d never forget it.
Mrs. Robertson hurried away and brought back her bag from the back of the house, and William led Mary back to the wagon. He felt panic envelop him as he helped her into the wagon. How could he have married her, putting himself under her power once again? He’d have to be careful, never letting his feelings show. She would be able to control him completely otherwise.
Mary looked out over the small town, spotting a man and a woman walking along holding hands, with a little girl running around them carrying—was that a baseball bat? Girls in the West must be very different than what she was used to. “Is that little girl carrying a baseball bat?”
William looked over at the small family walking along. “She’s new in town. I haven’t met her yet. She’s the daughter of the woman who came to marry the town doctor. Dr. Hardy.” Dr. Hardy had mentioned sending for a wife, and that’s how he’d heard about Elizabeth Tandy as a matchmaker.
“I’ll have to find my way over to meet her mother soon. It’ll be nice to not be the only new woman in town.”
“We’re a good five miles out in the country. You’re welcome to come into town and meet her if you want, but it’s a long way to go to make a friend.” He’d rather she wasn’t out wandering around the countryside until he heard back from Massachusetts. He needed to know she was true to him before he allowed her that kind of freedom. He didn’t want his reputation tarnished by her actions.
Mary looked at him. “For some people, no distance is too far.”
His eyes met hers, and he flushed a bit. He needed her to stop saying things like that. It made it so much harder to keep her at arm’s length.
As he drove toward his farm, he wondered how she would like it. It was isolated, the nearest neighbor more than a mile away, and it wasn’t nearly as luxurious as she’d grown up with. She’d only once been to his family’s farm back in Massachusetts, and he’d never forget the look of surprise on her face when she’d seen it. It was obviously not what she was used to, but she hadn’t said a word, even complimenting his mother on her lovely home.
Their financial disparity had never bothered him when they were younger, but he suddenly worried that the house wouldn’t be up to her standards. He sighed. Even if it wasn’t, she would make do. It’s what she did. If she didn’t like it, she could go back home to Massachusetts.
Even as he thought the words, he knew they weren’t true. He couldn’t let her go. She was his. Now that he had her, she’d do well if he ever let her out of his sight. But how could he do that without her realizing how much he loved her? He shook his head. He’d figure it out if it killed him.
“This is a beautiful area,” she said softly, trying to get him to open up. Their wedding may not have been what she’d always dreamed it would be, but it was still her wedding day, and she was going to be happy. “I want to stop and pick all the flowers for our supper table.”
He smiled, pulling the wagon to the side of the road, finding it impossible not to indulge her. He could still see her as a seven-year-old picking flowers for her family’s table, while her mother watched out the window for her to come home. “Be my guest.”
She looked at him for a moment, her eyes lighting up with excitement. She hadn’t thought he’d agree to her whim. “I’ll be right back.” She’d spent the past five years living in Beckham, which wasn’t a big town, but it was much larger than the one she’d grown up in. It would be nice for her to be able to be able to pick flowers when she wanted.
As she wandered choosing the right mix of flowers, her mother’s words rang in her ears. “Make sure you don’t pick them all. Leave some for others.”
When she got back to the wagon, she climbed in on her own, cradling the flowers in her arms. “I feel like I’ll have a little piece of my mama in our home as long as I have flowers on my table.”
“You still miss her, don’t you?”
She nodded. “I miss the years I didn’t have with her more than anything. Mrs. Johnson was a good surrogate mother, teaching me to cook, clean, sew, and all the other good skills a wife should have. But it was never the same. When I sewed my first stitches it was sitting on my mother’s lap, her hands guiding me. I’ll never forget my precious moments with her.”
“I’ve felt that way about my special moments with a girl I knew back home. The first time I tried to put a toad down the back of her dress. The time I tried to kiss her and she kicked me. When I stood up in class and said the flowers weren’t from that other boy…What was his name?”
“Albert.” She laughed softly. “Albert moved to New York City to become a banker. He said that there was nothing in New England for a man of his refined tastes.”
William rolled his eyes. “I can hear him say it too. He was a—well, I won’t use those words in the presence of a lady. Even if she is my wife.”
He parked the wagon in the middle of a farmyard, and she turned her head every which way, straining to see as much as she could. He got down and helped her to the ground. “I’ll show you around before I unhitch the team.”
He climbed the three steps up to the front porch. Everything he’d done building the house had been done with her in mind. The porch traveled the entire length of the house with a porch swing with enough room for two. He opened the front door and scooped her off her feet, carrying her inside.
She squealed as her feet left the ground. She hadn’t expected that. It seemed terribly romantic for the man who had met her at the train station, but it didn’t seem nearly romantic enough for the William who had left her alone. Was the real man somewhere in between?
The first room was the kitchen. There was a sink with running water, and over the sink was a window. “I’ll be able to look out while I’m washing up the dishes!”
He shook his head. Was anyone really as excited about chores as she sounded? He led her into the dining room. There was a large oak table he’d made himself, carefully sanding the wood for each spindle of the legs. The chairs matched perfectly, because he’d made those as well.
The first year after her “death” he’d slept less than four hours per night, always getting up and doing some kind of work to keep his mind off her. He couldn’t stop seeing her lying in a coffin, her face pale from the illness that he’d been told caused her death.
He led her into the parlor, the furniture there store-bought and stark. The sofa needed a blanket thrown over the back, either a quilt or one of those things women made with yarn. He could see so much potential when he looked at it all through her eyes.
She walked to the rocking chair, softly running her hand over the back. “It’s like the one my mama sat and watched for me in.”
“I remember how much that chair meant to you, so when I made a rocker, I tried to make it like that. I didn’t expect you to ever see it of course, but it was my way of remembering the girl I’d loved.”
When he said the word loved, her heart sank. He really had no more love for her
? He said he didn’t, but…she’d been holding out hope until that moment. “It’s lovely. It just needs a crocheted afghan over the back of it. And a couple of quilted pillows on the sofa, with a quilt thrown over the back.” She kept her back to him, so he wouldn’t see the tears prick her eyes.
“Sounds nice.” He loved the idea of her putting her touches on their home. He’d built it for her, though he’d never thought she’d live in it. It was strange the way life brought one full-circle at times. “Come on. I want to show you the bathroom and the bedrooms. There’s one bedroom downstairs, and three upstairs.”
He led her down a short hallway to a bedroom. The bed was big and as she looked at it, she blushed. She’d be sharing a bed with him that night. He wasn’t the stranger she’d expected, but the situation was still awkward.
“It’s a lovely room. Would you mind if I made a new quilt for the bed?” The blankets on it were ragged and old, probably ones he’d brought West with him. She couldn’t wait to start sewing and put her own touches on this little house.
“I’d like that.” He cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable. “You know what? You can show yourself the rest of the house. Feel free to explore. I need to get my chores done. It would be nice if supper was ready in about an hour.”
Mary frowned after William as he all but ran from the room. She shrugged, going into the kitchen and pulling her apron from her carpet bag that he’d kindly left there for her. She found the cellar door, and lifted the latch, climbing down into the basement to see what she could make.
Gathering a few jars, she went back up, noticing the ice box for the first time. She’d had one back in Beckham, of course, but they were new enough that she hadn’t expected to see one here in South Dakota.
She’d make a thick, hearty stew. Soon it would be too warm for hot foods, and she wanted to show off her cooking skills. She wanted so badly for him to be proud of taking her for a wife.
Gunsmoke and Gingham Page 40
