by Nerys Leigh
He looked confused. “You don’t eat chicken in New York City?”
“Well, yes, but we don’t kill them.”
It was his turn to look horrified. “You eat them alive?”
“No! But we don’t kill them. At least, I don’t kill them. Of course someone kills them, but we just buy them from the butcher.” She looked around, suddenly realizing that the nearest butcher was probably back in Green Hill Creek, an hour’s ride away.
“Would you prefer me to kill them?” His mildly amused expression made her feel foolish.
“Yes. No!” She sighed, watching the chickens. “How can you kill something you’ve looked after?”
He pushed his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “Don’t know. So far, I’ve never had to do it. Can’t imagine it’ll be a problem though. They’re only chickens.”
His callous attitude annoyed her.
“They’re living things. They have feelings, in their own way. I know it’s for eating, but killing something shouldn’t be easy, even if it is only a chicken.”
He stared at the chickens and a melancholy look passed across his face. “It shouldn’t, but sometimes it has to be.”
It was a strange thing to say. It almost sounded as if he was used to killing. That was something she should know about her new husband, wasn’t it? Although she was now a little nervous about what the answer would be if she asked him about it.
She moved closer to where he stood by the fence, his arms resting on the top as he gazed across the grassy field. “What do you mean, sometimes killing has to be easy?”
He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “You ask a lot of questions.”
She hadn’t asked him half of the questions she wanted to. “How else are we supposed to get to know one another?”
He shrugged and went back to staring across the field, evidently unwilling to supply any further information on what, or who, he’d killed.
She decided to change the subject. “What are the horses’ names? And no, I’m not apologizing that that’s another question.”
To her surprise, a small smile flitted across his face. “They’re Jed and Fred.”
She studied the two identical bay geldings. “Which one’s which?”
He pointed to the one on the left. “Fred.” And the one on the right. “Jed.”
“How do you tell the difference?” She squinted at them, as if that would help.
He looked at her as if she was dense. “Jed’s the lighter colored one. And they look completely different. Their faces aren’t even the same.”
“Oh.” They looked exactly the same to her. Hopefully they knew their own names, if she ever had to call one of them.
He stepped back from the fence. “Food won’t be ready yet so I reckon I can show you where to get the water now.”
They walked up the slope from the house towards a wooded area. He led her along a well-trodden path through the trees, following the sound of running water. After less than a minute, they came to a wide stream winding around boulders and rocky outcrops and tumbling over a small waterfall. Birds twittered in the branches overhead and insects buzzed amongst tufts of grass and wildflowers.
Enchanted, Grace turned in a circle, taking it all in. “Oh, this is so pretty.”
Gabriel pushed his hands into his pockets and smiled. “It is real nice here.”
The smile transformed his face. Perhaps he was a little more attractive than she’d given him credit for.
Embarrassed that she might be caught staring, she looked away and wandered to the stream’s edge, peering into the clear water. After a few seconds, he walked up beside her and stood silently, gazing into the trees across from them.
Try as she might, she couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d said about killing. She had to know what he’d meant. “Have you killed many animals?”
He shrugged. “Haven’t kept track. I grew up on a farm so I started young.”
A farm, that made sense. But she couldn’t shake the feeling there was more. “Have you killed any people?”
“Too many.”
All the breath left her body. “I… what?”
He glanced at her. “I fought in the war.”
Her lungs started working again. She didn’t think she’d ever felt more relieved in her life. “Oh. Yes. Of course. I’m sorry.”
He turned from the stream. “Well, I reckon the food’ll be just about ready by now. We ought to get back.”
Part of her wanted to ask him about the war, but the rest of her was afraid to. But they didn’t know each other yet. Maybe once they did, he’d tell her.
By the time they returned to the house, the aroma of Mrs. Goodwin’s warming stew had filled the room. Brutus, having finished his carrot, was lying facing the stove with his head on his paws and his eyes on the oven door. When they walked in his tail thumped against the floor and he flicked his nose between the oven and Gabriel. Grace couldn’t blame him. The smell of the stew was making her stomach rumble.
Gabriel took a cloth from a hook, opened the oven door, and took the dish out, placing it on the top. Brutus stood and wagged his tail, eyes fixed on his every move.
“Looks like it’s ready. Plates are in the hutch.” He picked up the dish and carried it to the table.
She sighed quietly. Had she really been expecting him to serve her, just because it was their first meal together?
He took a bowl from the hutch, spooned in some of the stew, added some bread he cut from a loaf he took from a breadbox that sat on the cupboard, and carried it outside. Brutus rushed out after him.
All five of the plates in the hutch were made of tin, their surfaces scratched and dull from years of use. The kind of plates a miner might use, Grace imagined. Maybe they’d come with the house. The cutlery was in a drawer and she sorted through it until she found an unmarked knife and fork for herself. She didn’t bother doing the same for Gabriel. She was going to have a lot of cleaning to do.
He had set the serving dish in the centre of the table and she frowned at the lack of anything to protect the wooden surface from the heat. Not that it mattered much. The tabletop was covered with marks anyway. Maybe he had a tablecloth somewhere.
She glanced around her. Or maybe not.
He returned from the porch, pulled a chair back from the table, and dropped into it. “Fill the whole plate, darlin’.”
Darlin’?
As a general rule, she had no objection to serving her husband his food. But his utter lack of even a little consideration for her after her long journey just to become his wife was going too far. She was tired, hungry, scared, and now she was angry. Enough was enough.
She placed one plate in front of each of them, picked up the serving spoon he’d used to fill Brutus’ bowl, and very deliberately filled her own plate. Then she sat down.
His eyes flicked to the empty plate in front of him. “Haven’t you forgotten something?”
She picked up her knife and fork. “I don’t think so. Oh, did you want to say the blessing before I eat?”
“No, I don’t want to say the blessing! Where’s my food?”
She donned her most cherubic smile and nodded at the serving dish. “Right there. Better hurry, wouldn’t want it to get cold.”
He opened his mouth and closed it again. Shaking his head, he picked up the spoon and mumbled something about being the husband as he loaded his plate with food.
Chapter 3
Gabriel was confused.
In his experience, which, admittedly, chiefly consisted of his own mother and father, the duties of a husband and wife were clearly defined. The husband did the work, providing for the family in whatever way he had. It was also acceptable for him to look after the horses and, at a stretch, any other animals they might have. In return, the wife did everything in the home, which included serving meals and cleaning up afterwards.
So why had he dished out his own food and, more importantly, why was he now standing beside Grace at the wa
sh tub and drying the wet dishes she handed to him?
Maybe things were different in the east. That must be it. He’d need to teach his new wife how they did things in the west, the proper way. But as it was only her first day, he could help out for now.
He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, his gaze drifting down. At least he knew there were certain things they did the same everywhere. He didn’t mind drying a few dishes if it got them to the good parts of marriage faster.
While Grace paid a visit to the privy when they were done, he carried the dry dishes inside and put them away. Then he sat at the table, smoothed his hair back, and waited. After a few seconds, he huffed a breath into his hand and sniffed. It smelled of tobacco. Nothing wrong with that.
When she walked through the door he sat up straight and gave her his best smile. Her lips turned up hesitantly, just for a moment.
They were a tempting shade of pink, her lips. Full and plump. He’d thought Jo pretty, if a mite on the skinny side, but Grace had the kind of curves that drew a man’s attention and wouldn’t let go. He’d have to watch the other men around her. He wouldn’t have anyone looking at his wife the way he had been.
She walked past him to the cupboard and he followed her movements, allowing his gaze to roam down her back and over the pleasing mound of her rump. Oh yes, he was going to enjoy fulfilling his husbandly duties with her, no doubt about it.
And speaking of husbandly duties...
He rose and walked across the room to her, stopping just a foot away when she turned around.
“You’re a real handsome woman, Grace,” he said, sliding his hands around her waist and leaning in for their first kiss.
A fist slammed into the side of his face, whipping his head around and sending him reeling backwards.
She grabbed a skillet from the cupboard and held it in front of her like a weapon. “What are you doing?!”
He shook his head to clear it. The woman had a right hook most men would have been proud of. “What do you think I’m doing? We’re married. We’re going to do what married folks do.”
It was a perfectly natural assumption, as far as he was concerned.
But not for her, apparently. “We’ve known each other for less than three hours and you expect me to just allow you to have your way with me?”
What was going on here? “Uh... yes?”
She gasped in a horrified breath. “You... you... uncouth brute!”
He was fairly sure uncouth was a bad thing.
Drawing himself up, he pointed his finger at her. “Now wait just a minute. We’re legally wed. It’s not like you’ll be whoring yourself out to me. I’m your husband.”
Her eyes looked like they could pop right out of her head. “Whoring?!”
It may have been a poor choice of words.
He raised both hands, palms out in surrender. “That ain’t what I meant. I’m just saying that it’s natural for a husband and wife to want to...”
“Well I don’t want to, so you keep your hands to yourself!” She brandished the pan, forcing him to step back.
He rubbed at his aching face. If she could do that with just her fist, no telling what kind of damage she could do with a skillet.
He decided to try reasoning with her, from a safe distance. “I know we haven’t been together for long, but we’d been writing letters to each other for nigh on three months before you came. I reckon we know each other plenty. I promise I’ll be real gentle and...”
“You won’t be gentle. You won’t be anything.” She waved the skillet. “Because it isn’t happening!”
An idea came to him. Maybe she was simply so innocent and pure that she had no idea about what went on in the marriage bed. He didn’t have much experience in dealing with women like that, but it shouldn’t be too difficult to set her mind at ease. It was like taming a skittish horse. He just had to gain her trust.
“Grace, sweetheart,” he said, softening his voice, “when a man and a woman get wed, there’s certain things they do on their wedding night. They’re not unpleasant things and you have nothing to be afraid of...”
“I’m twenty-nine years old, Mr. Silversmith, I know what intercourse is. And we aren’t having any!”
Did she mean she wasn’t as pure as he assumed? Surely he couldn’t have married a second already pregnant woman. “Are you expecting?”
Her ire turned to confusion. “Expecting what?”
“A baby.”
Her confusion shot back through ire and plunged straight into outrage. “Are you suggesting I have had relations out of wedlock? And that I look like I’m with child?!” She looked down at herself.
“No! I just... I don’t...” He ran one hand over his hair. Women were impossible. It was all so much easier when he just paid them, did the deed, and left. “Look, we’re husband and wife and that means you have certain duties. Now you must have known this would happen.”
“Of course I knew we would... would... have relations. But not as soon as I arrived.” She waved the skillet at him. “I am not just a... a... body you can have your way with whenever you please! I have a mind. And feelings.”
Feelings. Why did women have to make everything about feelings?
“Well, what do you expect me to do?”
She stood up straight, lifting her chin. “I expect you to woo me.”
“Woo?”
“Yes, woo.”
“But I already asked you to marry me and paid for you to come here. What more do you want?”
“I want you to...” She looked at the window, as if that would provide the answer. “I want us to get to know each other, to talk and spend time together. Find out about each other, who we are, what we like and don’t like. I want you to do nice things for me, like bring me flowers and... and... things like that.” Her shoulders slumped, the skillet dropping to her side. “I want you to care about me.”
Moisture glistened in her eyes and she lowered her gaze, her lips pressed into a line.
He stared at her in horror. “Are you crying?”
She shook her head. A tear caught the light as it plopped to the floor, leaving a tiny circle of wet on the wood.
He rubbed the back of his neck, trying not to panic. He hated it when women cried. His mother had cried sometimes. Those had been the worst moments of his childhood.
“Please don’t cry.” He took a step towards her, reaching out.
The skillet whipped up between them, forcing him back again. She watched him suspiciously, wiping at her eyes with her free hand.
He raised both palms towards her. “I’m not going to try anything, I swear.”
“You’d better not.”
Yet again, things were not going as he thought they would. Maybe he should have expected this after the first time. But the tears glistening on her cheeks were effectively dampening his ardor anyway. Perhaps he should try being nice to her, like she wanted. That couldn’t hurt.
He stepped back, lowering his hands to his sides. “Are you tired? I reckon you must be, after your journey on the train.”
She lowered the skillet slightly. “I am tired. I had hardly any sleep the entire time. It was so noisy and uncomfortable and everything was always moving.”
That must be it! She was tired. With a good night’s sleep in her she’d no doubt be far more amenable to his advances. He could wait. His gaze slid down. He didn’t want to wait, but he could.
“Well, it’s nice and quiet here,” he said, waving one hand around. “And no moving.”
She smiled a little. “That’s true.”
Now she was no longer crying, his natural inclinations were returning. He needed some fresh air.
“Look, I’m going to go and see to the animals. Why don’t you wash up and... and... do whatever women do at night.” He didn’t know what that was, but he knew it involved more than simply stripping off clothing and getting into bed. The whole process was a mystery to him, both the what and the why. “Then you can get to bed early and
have a good long sleep. You’ll feel much better in the morning.”
She eyed him uncertainly. “You aren’t expecting us to...” She waggled the skillet at the bed.
“No, I swear I won’t do anything. I can see you’re not ready tonight and I understand that.” His eyes drifted down. He couldn’t help it. “I can’t say I’m not disappointed. You are a real attractive woman. But I can wait.”
To his astonishment, her cheeks colored. He didn’t know why. All he was doing was stating the truth.
After a moment’s hesitation, she placed the skillet back onto the cupboard. “Thank you.”
He dipped his chin in acknowledgement. He wasn’t sure she truly appreciated how great his sacrifice was, but at least she was grateful.
“Well, I’ll give you some privacy.”
He glanced back at her when he reached the door. She was slumped against the cupboard, eyes closed and arms wrapped around her waist. Realization struck him – he’d frightened her. His own wife was afraid of him.
The thought bothered him as he stepped outside and pulled the door closed. A woman shouldn’t be afraid of her husband, even if they’d just met. The last thing he wanted was for her to be scared of him.
He pondered the problem as he walked across the yard towards the barn, Brutus trotting along beside him. Somehow, he’d need to reassure her. If he was going to enjoy the pleasures of the marriage bed tomorrow, she needed to trust him.
But how was he going to get her to do that?
~ ~ ~
It took Gabriel the whole half hour he spent getting the chickens, Fred, Jed and Goat safely away for the night to think of a way to reassure Grace of his trustworthiness. He finally came up with a plan, of sorts, when he remembered something his older sister, Almira, had once told him.
“Gabriel,” she’d said, after catching him trying to sneak off with a cookie from the batch she’d just baked, “do you know what women like most in a man?”
He hadn’t really cared, being only twelve at the time, but since she was standing between him and a cinnamon cookie, he’d paid attention anyway.
