Mail Order Bride- Winter

by Sierra Rose

  “Hey, I know the rules,” replied Gabriel, already reaching to help Abigail with her heavy garment. “A gentleman does not bestow gifts upon a lady to whom he is not related. Well, hooey. I’m stayin’ within the bounds of etiquette—sure as anything not handin’ out expensive jewelry or some kinda silver doodad.”

  “Well, then—what?” Leave it to Hannah to always want the truth of the matter.

  “A mere token of my esteem for all of you. Sweetmeats, in a variety that I hope will please everyone: miniature frosted cakes, crystallized fruit, candied preserves. Please enjoy them with my compliments during this most joyous season.” And he bowed, formally yet whimsically, with a glint in his green eyes that gave absolutely no clue to some other deeper intent.

  Chapter Eight

  HOLIDAY CELEBRATIONS for Christmas Day and New Year’s Eve and Day passed by quietly, being observed just by the family, low-key and briefly, for the most important of reasons. That being the woman impelled, willingly or not, into the role of matriarch, nucleus of this growing clan: Camellia.

  Camellia had discovered that her supply of energy was not inexhaustible, after all; she was not some superior prize fighter. So she had to resort to spending hours upon the settee for absolute, uninterrupted rest. Nor did she take responsibility for that decision, as, for the current time, her spirit was willing but her flesh was weak. No, Ben laid down the law, reinforced by, upon consultation, an adamant Dr. Havers. Both simply overrode her protests.

  “You did too much with all them party preparations, darlin’, and wore yourself out—as I was afeared you might do,” her husband reminded her, with a touch of asperity. “I’m headin’ over to the store for now, but I called in a nursemaid to watch over you whilst I’m gone.”

  The nursemaid turned out to be Hannah. For one day. Then Letty, for the second. Finally, for the third, Molly. After that, they might draw straws.

  Wily Ben. Methodical as always, he had arranged a schedule for each sister to do duty, taking turns. While Camellia might reluctantly submit to his dictates, she did her share of squawking. To him, of course; he merely smiled and went his own way. Then to her first caretaker, loudly and profusely.

  “Oh, shush,” Hannah, never one to mince words, said frankly. “I think it’s sweet, the way he dotes on you.”

  “Sweet,” grumbled Camellia, flouncing into a new position on her settee. “I’m nothing more than a baby factory. His attitude is absolutely medieval.”

  “Don’t be silly. Ben just wants to keep you healthy and in his life for a long time, that’s all—baby or no factory. Now, kindly take a nap, as you were ordered to do, so I can finish this article. Mr. Crane has already complained because I’m not in the office today.”

  Camellia was shocked. “Complained? Must you remind him that he was in my house not a week ago, enjoying all the benefits of my party? Surely he ought to have a little compassion for someone who worked her fingers to the bone, who provided a meal to die for, who—”

  “Cam.” Shaking her head, Hannah retrieved the pencil that had nearly rolled off the kitchen table. “It won’t wash. As I explained before, the man simply has no compassion. Now. Will you sleep, or must I take matters into my own hands and dose you with some laudanum?”

  A splutter of outrage followed. “Laudanum? Why, Hen, you wouldn’t dare! I’d sic Gabriel onto that nasty trick in a heartbeat.”

  “Yes, I suppose you would.” A sigh. “And I wouldn’t do it anyway. Since I’m stuck here, though, I ought to be able to make whatever threats I want.”

  Ensuring that their orders would be followed went no more smoothly for either Letitia or Molly.

  “She’s gotten enough rest for five pregnant women,” Molly reported indignantly to Ben, when her few hours of service had dragged to an end, “and we sisters are returning her to you with a great sigh of relief.”

  Ben swooped across the kitchen floor to indulge in a hearty kiss mixed with reprimand. “Why, Cam, have you been misbehavin’ yourself?”

  “Oh, you just know she has! And you know how she is. First to help out in any emergency, for anyone anywhere, and last to take care of herself. It’s like dealing with a child.” Still miffed by the irritation and begrudging moods with which she had had to cope, Molly was pulling on her own heavy wrap, hat, scarf, and gloves. “Kindly don’t call upon me again unless your wife is unable to talk!”

  Chuckling, Ben turned back to the door. “Wait a minute, Molly, and I’ll take you home. It’s colder’n a witch’s—uh—nose out there, and you’ll appreciate a ride in the surrey. Be back shortly, darlin’.”

  “Fine. And you’ll get fried eggs and sausage for your supper, so don’t expect anything posh

  Oh, and thanks for being here today, Molly.”

  It was said ungraciously, in a way entirely unlike the usual congenial Camellia. While Molly understood, the tone couldn’t help putting her back up.

  “I wish you well of her,” she addressed her brother-in-law, with a look of umbrage. “And one can only hope she’ll return to being her sunny self once that baby gets here.”

  “My sunny self!” Camellia repeated hotly. “You just wait until you find you’re this way, Molly Burton, with everything all misshapen, when even your shoes don’t fit properly, and you’re unable to get around easily, and p-p-p-people make—f-f-f-fun of you—!”

  Alarmed, Ben shared a glance with Molly (whose expression read: “See what I mean?”), and then he paused to provide some extra cuddling and pampering, by way of hugs, kisses, and tenderness. He wasn’t sure what else he could do, in her extremity, but this inspired action on his part at least seemed to soothe her. “Cam, honey—” he began helplessly.

  Upon which, after a while, she gave a shaky flutter of laughter and waved him away. “Oh, don’t mind me, Ben. I’m just cranky and out of sorts. And I’m so sorry you’ve gotten stuck with such a nasty-tempered wife. Talk about having to tame the shrew! You go on now, take Molly home, and we’ll talk when you return.”

  So, just the immediate family gathered at the Forrester house for the Yuletide, to partake in a quiet supper to which everyone contributed this dish or that, and to exchange a few small gifts.

  After the holidays had melted away, winter weather blew in with a vengeance. Not as far as a vast accumulation of snow, certainly; not in the deep south. But Turnabouters suffered colder than average temperatures, with enough of the dampness and dark bleak skies to keep everyone inside who could afford to stay inside.

  Luckily Ben, as well as all those close to him, had plenty of cut and chopped wood and kindling in reserve for the fires which burned almost non-stop—at least, in the homes. While the pot-belly stove at the Mercantile provided a nice even warmth for its gang of hangers-on, the coals were damped down at night. Safety first, always.

  A new business opened its doors in mid-January. First, a narrow store front was rented from its owner, Linus Drinkwater; then, boxes of equipment arrived by stage and were interred inside; last, a sign was affixed outside, above the door. The sign pictured a giant molar, with threatening roots, and the name posted beneath was that of Dr. Eustace O’Reilly.

  Gabriel, understandably eager to welcome a fellow medical practitioner to the wide streets of Turnabout, stopped by for a visit, once the newcomer had settled in. Dr. O’Reilly even managed to persuade the doctor that he ought to have a seat in his chair, for a thorough examination.

  “Why, the man’s a quack,” Gabriel spluttered later, to Hannah.

  Stuffed up to the gills with outrage, he had needed to vent his spleen upon someone. That happened to be Miss Burton, cutting and pasting at her desk, and Gabe had burst into the newspaper office on his wave of indignation before she could take cover.

  “A charlatan. O’Reilly is no more a dentist than you are. Shouldn’t dare to even put the word ‘Doctor’ in front of his name. In fact, anyone gettin’ a good look at his teeth would run for the hills; you’d swear he was a spavined ole horse that oughta be put outa its misery.
”

  Hannah bit back a giggle. “I’m so pleased you chose to voice your opinion in such neutral terms.”

  Fortunately, the time being slightly after noon, the place was deserted, and Gabe was free to voice his opinion in any terms at all. At least he didn’t have to worry about being sued for slander, since it wasn’t likely that Hannah would pass on the information to the wronged party.

  Or would she?

  “Look, Hannah, just promise me you’ll never let this fellah do any dental work for you.”

  She couldn’t help feeling amused. “But I thought you were already his first patient.”

  “Oh, no. I wasn’t about to sit in his chair. He’s just—” Struck by a sudden thought, Gabe paused to scratch his chin. “Huh. Wonder if I could persuade our illustrious mayor to convince that flimflammer he’d oughta move on to greener pastures.”

  “Maybe.” He shifted his stance. “I was wondering what you were doin’ today?”

  “You’re standing in a business office, Doctor. Obviously, I’m doing business; I’m working.”

  “All right, I see that. Wanna go get some food somewhere?”

  “I do believe I’ve explained all this before. I can’t leave while—”

  “Yeah, yeah, while Ollie is out.” Pasting a “Poor me” expression on his face, Gabe glanced around the crowded room. “Well, is there some place in here that the two of us can sit and have some coffee, at least?”

  “This is hardly a restaurant. I don’t believe you’ve—”

  “Look, if you can’t just lock the dang door and leave, I’ll go get somethin’ and bring it back. I wanna talk to you. You intrigue me, and I would love to get to know you better.”

  “If you insist.” Still absorbed with her scissors and paste pot, Hannah gave a vague shrug. “There is a small table and chairs farther around the corner...”

  “Perfect.” Gathering his coat more closely together against the frigid outdoor air, Gabe paused at the door to raise one dramatic arm and declaim, like an actor playing Shakespeare on the stage. “Fare thee well, dear maiden. I shall return anon, with foodstuffs galore and every sort of—”

  “Sounds fabulous.”

  She wasn’t sure whether to feel flattered or exasperated by his persistence. According to town gossip, he spent a good deal of his free time in the secluded area at Table, doing who knew what. Reading? Drinking? Making goo-goo eyes at the luscious store owner? With weather being both uncertain and inhospitable, he need to go no further than Abigail’s welcoming surroundings for the comfort of a roaring fire, a good stogie, sweet nibblies, and the adoring presence of Abigail herself.

  “Ha. Here we are.” Cold air blew in with his return, flickering candle flame and meager stove flame alike.

  “It’s an ill wind...” murmured Hannah, putting aside all the tools of her trade. She stood, stretched stiffened back muscles, and removed the ugly apron from her somber dark brown dress.

  “Much better,” Gabe beamed, looking her up and down. “Where can I put this stuff?”

  Taking the twist of her head to indicate direction, he wound his way around and through until he reached a small clear space. A loud “Plonk” sounded as he relieved himself of the wooden box holding whatever had been retrieved from whichever restaurant he frequented.

  “Well, c’mon,” he urged, his voice, from behind the stack of equipment and supplies, sounding like an echo of itself. “You hungry, or what? We have a feast here.”

  “One moment, please.” Her own voice sounded peevish: a reflection of her mood. “I would like to wash. If that will meet with your approval.”

  From the tiny alcove set aside for employees’ use, she could hear the rustle of paper and the clink of dishware as he unwrapped, set out, arranged; a delicious rich aroma ensued. Then there was a, “Hey! What’s this?”

  Hannah emerged in a hurry. “What’s what?”

  Standing, so that in a display of courtesy he would sit only after she had joined him, Gabe held up a personal letter. “I accidentally picked it up. Didn’t read it. Only saw a tiny bit. Whatcha got goin’ here, Miss Burton?” His eyes twinkled like a forest imp’s as he waved the letter in the air, above her head, beyond her reach. “Some secret admirer?”

  Oh, great stars above. She’d been writing off and on throughout the morning, as work allowed for interruptions and as thoughts struck. Then—how foolish. Her project lay forgotten, out for anyone to see. But who could have foreseen that this irritating busybody of a know-it-all might stop by today, with his out-of-the-blue plans for dinner?

  She refused to dignify his childish behavior with a grab for what was rightfully hers. Her tone went from frost to ice to North Seas glacial, “Kindly return my property.”

  “Why, sure nuff, sugarplum.”

  “You can read it. I have nothing to hide.”

  “Oh, okay. Just let me glance here—” He pretended to adjust a pair of non-existent spectacles, “—‘Dear Mr. Ualraig’...Why, bless my buttons. That name, that you questioned at Ben’s Christmas party—that wasn’t just drawn out of a hat, after all, was it?”

  Her palm stretched out flat in the air, waiting.

  “Hang on there...a minute, just a minute...Ah. ‘I have been apprised of your interest in’...Why, Hannah!” Astonished, he stared at her. “A wife? You’re lookin’ to become the wife of some nincompoop you’ve never met or even talked to?”

  “Maybe,” she said with a smile. “My correspondence, if you please.”

  “Huh.” Gabe was finally chagrined enough to hand it over. Lost in thought, he motioned for her to have a seat while he pushed a cheap earthenware plate her way. “Huh.” Dropping heavily down onto his own rickety chair, as if he hadn’t noticed whether or not one was available, he dug into his portion of beef stew without, for once, paying much attention to what it was that occupied his fork.

  She ignored him. Extreme hunger has a way of replacing other thorny issues, and the meal he had procured was certainly satisfactory. For a little while they ate in silence, with only an occasional clatter of cutlery or the scuff of a boot sole across the floor to interrupt. Once, Hannah rose to fetch two enamel cups of coffee, always quietly cooking on the stove’s back burner.

  Finally, the doctor ventured, in what was a mood of unusual humility, “I’m sorry for trespassin’ on your privacy, Hannah.”

  “Huh.” A word—or sound—from his own vocabulary.

  “Uh—so that’s where the name came from that you asked Abby about—a personals advertisement in the newspaper?”

  “Since you are determined to force your way into something not your concern, yes. It did.”

  “And—um—you’re lookin’ to accept a proposal from some mail order husband you know nothin’ about?”

  Hannah sighed, lightly applied her napkin, and put aside her utensils. “No.”

  “Well, then, what?”

  “I’m only exploring the possibilities, Gabe. I’ve not committed to anything. But that man is looking for true happiness like me. I was drawn to his words, to his ad. I can’t very well say yes or no to what you might consider a proposal when I’ve just now decided to pen my first letter. Can you understand a single part of my reasoning?”

  “Now you’re callin’ me stupid, Miss Burton, and I don’t appreciate that one iota.”

  “Do you ever listen to anyone else? Or do you just like hearing the sound of your own voice continuously raised in dissentious discourse?” She was glaring at him across the small table, ready to jump up and literally throw her unwelcome guest out the door.

  “I came here tryin’ to do a nice thing, and all I get is yelled at. No thanks, no gratitude, just snippin’ and snipin’. I’m beginnin’ to b’lieve we need a referee even to just break bread together!”

  Per her own standards for office appearance, Hannah’s dress was one of her simplest, high-collared and narrow-skirted; her luxuriant black hair had been scraped back into an unwieldy knot from which long tendrils had, under stress, escape
d. “I don’t see how or why you—”

  Fuming, he pushed back his chair and jerked upright to stamp a few feet away, then back, then away again.

  Reining in her own fit of pique, Hannah used trembling hands to neatly pile everything together—plate, knife and fork, napkin—for return transport to Gabe’s choice of restaurant. A spate of fury, unchecked, tends to send the blood pressure skyrocketing and the heartbeat racing. Truly, such a gathering storm can result in dire consequences, both physical and emotional, and needs time to cool down. Hannah, recognizing the symptoms of outrage in herself, realized she must make the effort to disperse it.

  Finally, Gabe let out a snort and stormed to his chair once again. “All right. All right. I’ll sit and listen to your story. Quietly. It won’t be easy, but I won’t make a peep.”

  “Gabriel.” Fingers clasped tightly together, she drew in a deep breath. “What makes you think I have a story to tell you?”

  “Well, goldarn it, Hannah, for sure somethin’ has got into your craw to make you go off the deep end. Are you so dead-set on gettin’ married?”

  She couldn’t meet his gaze, that keen virescent gaze that saw too much. “I—I’m not sure. I don’t know. Possibly. Probably. Sometimes I like to be alone, and sometimes—I don’t. Sometimes I think I would like to—to share my life with someone who—someone who cares for me...”

  Silence from the man. The rather stunned silence of an audience who is unprepared for the true unburdening of another human heart. Hannah, with a small shaky quiver of laughter, dashed away the few tears that had gathered.

  “If you tell anyone what I just told you—and didn’t mean to—Gabriel Havers, I will hunt you down like a dog and rip the innards out of you,” she threatened on a surge of embarrassment.

  Easily he shrugged that off. “Well, I sure would prefer to keep from bein’ disemboweled. Of course I won’t tell anyone, Hannah. I’m hurt that you might even consider I would. So why this guy?”

  “W-W-What?”