Mail-Order Brides of Oak Grove

by Lauri Robinson

  The idea she couldn’t do anything about it for the next thirty days weighed heavily. A few days were one thing. Being separated from Maggie for an entire month was entirely different. She would have to find a way to get a message to her sister. Perhaps she could convince Steve she needed help. He wouldn’t have to pay Maggie. What he was already paying her would be more than enough for both of them.

  Her mind was as busy as her hands as she mixed up a batch of dough and set it to rest while mixing up a second batch. Surely he would agree to the idea. He would be getting twice the help for the same amount of money. That wasn’t true. As much as she loved her sister, Maggie had never been fond of work—that had been part of their argument on the train. Selling tonic was the only task Maggie had willingly taken on—and that wasn’t really work. The tonic sold itself.

  Thinking of the tonic made Mary’s mind return to Steve. And she grinned. This time because of how he pretended he wasn’t pleased to have her here. At least that was what he wanted her to believe. To believe he was a tyrant. That wasn’t true. If he was, he’d have sent her to town with the mayor and the sheriff. Or with Brett last night.

  A tyrant wouldn’t have put out that kind of money just to have his employees fed. A tyrant would have told his men to fend for themselves.

  Which would have not worked in her favor. Not at all.

  An odd sensation rolled inside her. It was almost as if she was glad Maggie wasn’t here, which made no sense. Flustered, she put all her focus into the muffins. By the time the first batch was ready to roll out, she had four other batches resting. She had to pull out every frying pan in the cupboards and when she was done grilling the muffins, there were enough to feed the men nothing but the spongy-on-the-inside-crisp-on-the-outside griddle cakes.

  That of course wouldn’t do, but she grinned, hoping Steve liked the muffins as much as Maggie did.

  Chapter Six

  Steve couldn’t remember a time he’d been so flat-out angry. At least not at himself. Like he was right now. The idea he’d given the mayor seventy-five dollars had eaten at him all afternoon. Was he daft? No cook—no woman—was worth the kind of money Mary was costing him. How tasty her food was didn’t matter. Men ate for the substance not the taste.

  At least that was the way it had always been. In less than a day, Mary had his men talking more about their next meal than the work they were doing. Other than Jess. Rather than talking about her cooking, he was talking about her. As in how she’d be marrying some lucky fellow next month.

  Steve didn’t consider any man getting married lucky, and considering how much she’d already cost him, the man marrying Mary McCary would be the unluckiest one ever. He couldn’t wait for the month to be over and bid her good riddance. Hopefully he’d still have two nickels to rub together by then.

  More eager than ever, the men put up their mounts, washed their hands and faces and all but knocked him down in their rush to get in the house, which only added to the fury fueling inside him.

  The wondrous smells filling the kitchen didn’t help his mood whatsoever. Neither did how every bite he took seemed tastier than the last. Those little round pieces of honeycomb bread that when slathered with the butter she’d mixed with honey were downright addicting. Every man at the table ate four or more, including him. The two platters that had been piled high when they’d entered the house now held nothing but crumbs. He wasn’t sure what she’d done to the pork, either. Usually this time of year, having been smoked last fall, it was tougher than old leather, but what he’d just eaten hadn’t been. It had been as soft and easy to chew as the beans she’d also served.

  “That was the best bread I’ve ever eaten,” Jess said, licking his lips. “What’s it called?”

  Steve had purposefully kept his gaze off Mary since entering the house. The anger that had built in him all afternoon hadn’t only come from the money he’d laid out, or her cooking. It was the way she’d smiled and said thank-you to him earlier. At that moment, he’d known he’d never seen a more beautiful woman. With everything else, it would have been more fair if she’d been as homely as a half-plucked chicken. Beady eyes and all.

  However, her eyes were far from beady. They were sparkling now, and twinkled brighter than stars in a midnight sky when she started to sing.

  “Do you know the muffin man, the muffin man, the muffin man? Do you know the muffin man, who lives in Drury Lane? Oh, yes, I know the muffin man, the muffin man, the muffin man. Yes, I know the muffin man who lives in Drury Lane.”

  The men all clapped as she finished her little tune, which had been sung with a pitch-perfect cadence and a hint of an Irish accent that had put smiles on everyone’s faces.

  She curtsied. “Thank you. To answer your question, they are called muffins, and are my sister’s favorite. A woman in Pennsylvania taught me how to make them several years ago.”

  It couldn’t have been that many years ago. She wasn’t that old. That thought brought upon another and Steve asked, “Pennsylvania? I thought you lived in Ohio.”

  “We did,” she answered. “But we also lived in Pennsylvania.”

  “Well you can make those Pennsylvania muffins any time you want,” Jess said.

  Her giggle tickled something inside Steve. Or maybe it was the way she was smiling at Jess.

  “They are called iron muffins because you grill them on top of the stove, like flapjacks,” she said.

  “We all like flapjacks,” Jess said. His gaze then settled on Walter. “When made right.”

  “Perhaps I’ll make some for breakfast then,” she said while opening the door.

  “Where are you going?” Steve asked.

  “To get the clothes hanging on the line out back while you all finish eating.”

  Steve glanced at the table that didn’t hold enough food to satisfy a ground squirrel. He would have told her that, but she’d already slipped out the door. He pushed his chair away from the table and grabbed his hat on the way out the door. However, once he found her at the clothesline, he had no idea why he’d followed.

  “Did you need something, Mr. Putnam?” she asked while plucking off the pins with one hand and gathering the dried laundry with the other. “Was the meal not satisfactory?”

  “The meal was fine.” Still trying to come up with a reason to have followed her, he asked, “When did you live in Pennsylvania?”

  Without looking his way, she asked, “Why?”

  “Because—because I like to know a bit about the people who work for me.” That was true. He usually interviewed any person he hired. Asked about their past, such as where they used to live.

  “Actually, I lived in Pennsylvania several times. My father was a traveling man. Ohio just happened to be where he died.”

  “How? When?”

  “Last winter. He was run over by an out-of-control stage.”

  The sadness of her tone had him wanting to touch her, to comfort her in some way. He settled for saying, “I’m sorry.”

  Sincerity filled her eyes as she said, “Thank you, but you didn’t have anything to do with it.” She dropped the handful of clothes into the basket near her feet. “However, this seems like the perfect time to mention something.”

  A shiver rippled over his shoulders. “What?”

  “Rex.” She started taking more clothes off the line. “I’m wondering if he should see the doctor again. When I changed his bandage today, there was still blood in it. I understand it’s a deep wound, but would have thought it should be done bleeding by now.”

  Guilt shot up inside him. Once again he hadn’t checked on Rex upon entering the house. That wasn’t like him. He’d always prided himself on taking care of the men in his employ. “I’ll send one of the men to town.”

  “It’s not an emergency,” she said. “Perhaps I could go tomorrow after lunch. I’d be bac
k in plenty of time to have supper ready. If you’d loan me a horse.”

  “No, I’ll send someone now.” The men were filing out of the house and he waved Jess over. For some reason, he didn’t mind keeping Jess away from Mary.

  * * *

  Mary bit the inside of her cheek to keep from speaking. Rex didn’t need a doctor. His wound was healing just fine—due to her tonic. She’d been attempting to finagle a way to see Maggie. That clearly wasn’t going to happen. Jess was already on his way to the barn, more than happy for the chance to go to town. As she watched him disappear into the big building, she questioned the possibility of sending a message with him for Maggie.

  “He’ll be back shortly. I’ll go see to Rex.”

  Mary spun around. “No.” Catching how quickly she’d spoken, she added, “He’s sleeping and shouldn’t be disturbed right now.” She gathered the last of the clothes. “I’ll let you know when he’s awake. Right now I need to get these clothes put away, the kitchen cleaned and then the cow milked.”

  Her conscience was kicking in again. Using Rex’s injury hadn’t been right. She’d seen the concern that had flashed in Steve’s eyes, and knew she’d been unfair. Something he hadn’t been at all.

  Laying a hand on his arm, she said, “I’m sure Rex is fine. I just haven’t had much experience in doctoring people.”

  He took a step backwards, pulling his arm out from under her hand. “You aren’t expected to be a doctor. Just a cook.”

  That made her feel worse. As did the way he walked away. Sighing, she gathered the basket off the ground and carried it to the house. To her surprise, the dishes were stacked on the counter and the table wiped clean. A heavy bout of remorse struck her. The men, all of them, were more helpful than they needed to be, and here she was trying to find a way to shuck her duties in order to see Maggie, when in truth, there wasn’t much she’d be able to do for her sister. Knowing Maggie—and she did know her sister well—she was probably having the time of her life. She certainly had been while they’d been on the train.

  “Aw, fairy dust,” Mary muttered. It was her curse. That’s what Da had always said. No matter how they were treated, the oldest always felt responsible for everyone else. That certainly was true for her. She’d felt responsible for Maggie for as long as she could remember. Still did.

  After folding the laundry, mainly her extra dress and underthings, and the few items of Steve’s and Rex’s that had needed to be washed—Rex had said Saturday was his normal washing day but she couldn’t wait for tomorrow—she set into doing the dishes.

  She was still elbow deep in sudsy water when Steve walked in and set a bucket on the counter.

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  “I had other chores to see to, so I went ahead and milked the cow.”

  She closed her eyes against another good bout of shame. “Thank you, but that wasn’t necessary.”

  “You might be needed when the doctor gets here.”

  “What’s that sawbones coming back out here for?” Rex shouted. “Who got hurt?”

  “He’s awake,” Steve said.

  Mary merely nodded while not looking his way. Nor did she follow him into Rex’s room. There was no need to be in attendance when he discovered Rex was healing fine. Other than in case he decided to fire her.

  If that was her fate, so be it.

  That thought sent a fiery sting up her spine. No. She couldn’t be fired. She had to stay here long enough to bottle up her tonic. More than that, she needed to fulfill her part of their bargain. Steve deserved that much. Grabbing a towel, she dried her hands while walking to Rex’s room.

  “Will you tell him I don’t need no doctor?” Rex asked as she entered the room. “With you nursing me, I’ll be dancing a jig in a day or two.”

  “I’m sure you will be.” Smiling as she crossed the room in order to fluff the pillow behind him, she said, “But there is no harm in the doctor confirming that, now is there?”

  Rex glanced to the spoon he insisted upon keeping on the table by his side. They’d agreed to keep the tonic hidden, and that he could only have small amounts at a time—with no one but the two of them knowing about it. “I suspect not,” he said. “But if he starts poking and prodding, I’m gonna tell him to leave. Same goes for the medicine he left behind. That stuff’s as bitter as unripe chokecherries.”

  Her mind once again shot to her tonic, and had her asking, “Are there chokecherry trees around here?”

  “Sure are,” Rex answered. “Several line the creek that runs through the springhouse.”

  They would be perfect, but, unfortunately, they wouldn’t be ripe yet, not for another couple of months.

  “Why?”

  Feeling Steve’s eyes on her, she said, “Because their drupes make very good jam.”

  “Mmm...” Rex said. “I bet that would be tasty on those muffins you made.”

  “Yes, it would be,” she answered. Chokecherry syrup would also be perfect for sweetening the tonic. She wouldn’t still be here when the berries would be ripe, so it was a good thing any type of fruit would work. When in a pinch, Da had just used sugar water. Of course that lacked flavor, but loyal customers had still bought the tonic. It had been her job to harvest whatever berries they could find and make syrup in order to sweeten the tonic batches throughout the winter. Unfortunately, she hadn’t been able to collect enough berries last fall and still needed something to add to the batch brewing in the wood pile. If unable to find anything else, she’d already concluded she’d use some of the dried apple chips in the pantry. Made out of just honey, water and yeast, the tonic was too bitter to be taken without sweetener. It was too potent, too. Da claimed that without the sweetener watering it down it would get a man drunk faster than a sailor sucking on a rum pot.

  Once again, it was the sense of being watched that drew her mind back to the present. She turned to meet Steve’s frowning stare, and her stomach bubbled. The only other person who had ever known her thoughts was Maggie, yet, her instincts said Steve knew exactly what she was thinking about. Darting for the door, she said, “I—I’ll go finish the dishes.”

  After the cream was separated from the milk and the kitchen put to order, with the tonic still front and center in her mind, she carried the milk and cream to the springhouse and then stopped at the woodshed to burp the crock. Satisfied it was well-hidden and safe, she gathered an armload of wood and returned to the house. Once it was neatly stacked in the box by the stove, she collected the clothes off the table.

  She was putting her things in the dresser when Steve appeared in the doorway of her bedroom. She sensed rather than saw him. Her insides were extremely good at letting her know when he was near. Drawing a deep breath to calm the butterflies taking flight in her stomach, she said, “I set your things on your bed. If you have anything else to be washed, please set it in the hallway tomorrow morning.”

  “Did you get rid of it?”

  She not only knew exactly what he referred to, she had proof he’d read her mind downstairs. With a wave towards her trunk, she said, “Go ahead and see for yourself.”

  “I’m not going to rummage through your things, Miss McCary. A simple yes or no is all I need.”

  Neither yes nor no was simple. Both would be a lie. The crock was gone, but there were two crates of bottles under the bed.

  A knock on the door downstairs saved her from answering. Walking past him, she said, “That must be the doctor.”

  It was, and his arrival hadn’t saved her from anything. Brushing past Steve upstairs had made her heart miss several beats. Perhaps because now he’d know Rex was healing just fine. She certainly was making a pickle out of things.

  “Doc, thanks for coming out so quickly,” Steve said as he welcomed the doctor through the front door. “Jess must have had his horse at a run all the way to town.”r />
  “No, he caught me as I was leaving the Matthews place,” the doctor answered. “One of Fred’s cowboys had a run-in with a rattler. They’re thick on the ground this year. Tell your boys to keep an eye out.”

  “I will,” Steve said, closing the door. “I hope Fred’s cowboy’s all right.”

  “He will be,” the doctor answered. “It happened near the house and Mrs. Matthews instantly put an onion poultice on it to draw out the poison. Wasn’t much I could do except recommend some whiskey.” He was looking at her while talking, and with a shake of his head, said, “You and your sister are identical. If not for your dress, I’d believe I just saw you in town, singing an Irish ballad with Otis Taylor.” He held out one hand. “I’m Dr. Nelson Graham.”

  Mary managed to smile and shake his hand while the contents of her stomach curdled. Maggie was having the time of her life. Singing songs with strange men it appeared. Mary should be happy her sister was faring so well, but couldn’t find much to be happy about—knowing Maggie was having fun while she was working her fingers to the bones. Actually, that wasn’t any different. The fact Maggie didn’t seem to be concerned about her at all was what bothered her. Just as it had bothered her on the train. When Maggie had been too busy with her new friends to fulfill their plan of getting off the train.

  “Rex is this way,” Steve said. “In his room. Miss McCary said there was fresh blood in the bandage she changed today.”

  “Let’s have a look-see,” the doctor said. “Oh, and by the way, Jess told me to tell you he went on into town to check out the party they’re having for the brides.”

  Mary watched the two walk through the front parlor. Both were tall with black hair, but while the doctor had a shiny black mustache, Steve’s face was clean-shaven. She wouldn’t call the doctor homely, but Steve was far more handsome. What an odd thing for her to consider right now. Perhaps her thoughts went in that direction because Maggie was still on her mind. Her sister had always been the first to point out a handsome man and was most likely dancing with every one she saw at that party right now.