A Bride for David

by Kimberly Grist

  “They’re doing me a favor by helping to finish a big job. It benefits us both since they’d rather have lumber than cash.” David watched his attorney pull a paper from his pocket. “Bad news?”

  Peter unfolded the telegram. “No need for alarm. I wanted to let you know the marriage ceremony should take place this morning, and Miss Murphy—or should I say Mrs. Taylor—will be at the train station shortly. If all goes as planned, she will arrive here next week.”

  David rubbed the back of his neck. “Somehow, it doesn’t seem real. Maybe I’ll feel different once she’s here.”

  “If she’s anything like my wife, she’ll make her presence known.” His attorney stared into the distance. “I hated all the ruckus involved prior to my wedding. Every week for months, there was a fussy social gathering to attend, with little sandwiches and silly conversation. From my perspective, you’re getting the better end of the deal.”

  “Can’t say I’m sorry to miss those types of events. Frankly, I don’t have time for it.” David gestured with his thumb toward the mill. “My hope is once Miss Murphy gets here, I won’t have so many stops and starts to my workday. If she can tend to the children while I’m working, I’ll be happy.”

  “All work and no play?” Peter raised one eyebrow. “You’ll need to find a balance if you want a happy marriage.”

  David leaned against his desk. “What types of things does your wife enjoy?”

  “Sally grew up in a privileged lifestyle and lives for parties and opportunities to wear fancy dresses. Even though I dislike them, I attend on occasion for her sake.” Peter sank into a chair and extended his legs in front of him. “My wife insists all women like parties and pretty dresses. Even so, your spouse may enjoy something completely different.”

  “From what Mike’s gal says, there were quite a few lean years at the orphanage where they went hungry. My first goal is to make sure she knows she doesn’t have to worry. Since I’m short on time, I hired a man to repair the chicken coop and ready a spot for a garden we can plant in the spring.” He rubbed his chin. “I have a barn and plenty of land behind the house. Thought I might get a cow too.”

  “If she’s anything like Sally, she’ll like gifts.” Peter chuckled. “Although, I’m not sure a cow qualifies as a romantic gesture.”

  David shrugged. “From her letters, I got the feeling she’s practical.”

  “Practical is one thing. Romantic is another.” Peter leaned back in his chair. “I seem to recall the young lady mentioned she liked Shakespeare. If that’s the case, you’ll need to add another layer to your wooing.”

  “You mean, make it more personal, like a Christmas present?” David asked.

  Peter nodded. “From my experience, women enjoy the thought behind it as much as the present. It doesn’t have to be extravagant.”

  David stared at his feet. “I have a lot to learn about having a wife.”

  “When I first married, I misunderstood the sentiment.” Peter patted his vest pocket. “Fortunately for my bank account, I found Sally enjoys simple things too. Wildflowers, a ribbon, her favorite soap. Small acts to let her know I was thinking of her make her happy.”

  “Pastor Nelson suggested I take a month or two to get acquainted and court her. I need to figure out a way to carve out the time.” David rubbed his chin.

  “You’ll find the right approach.” Peter rose. “I purposely delayed responding to the children’s grandfather’s attorney. As soon as Mrs. Taylor arrives in town, I plan on sending a telegram announcing the change in your marital status.”

  “Do you think it will be enough to make their grandfather give up?” David studied the tightening of his attorney’s jaw.

  “Maybe not, but I hope this will cause him to stop and consider his actions.” Peter slapped David’s shoulder good-naturedly. “For now, let’s consider his case extremely weak. Plan on picking your wife up from the station Tuesday at noon.”

  ***

  David watched his niece and nephew take their place on the cushioned sofa bench in preparation for their nightly bedtime story. He adjusted the wick on the oil lamp, casting light into the front parlor. His eyes wandered around the stark room. What will his new wife think of the house? The walls were white, the sofa bench and matching chairs were green paisley. He took his seat and rested his head on the cushion of the sofa. The furniture was comfortable at least, and the low-burning embers in the fireplace made the room feel snug.

  “Uncle David, tell me again about this new wife of yours?” Henry’s freckled face puckered.

  David pulled the tintype from his pocket and extended it between his nephew and niece. “Her name is Daisy. She’s a mathematics teacher and will be here next week.”

  “That sure is something.” Henry held the photo in the palm of his hand and held it for his sister to see. “I didn’t know you could order a wife like a saddle or a pair of boots.”

  David chuckled. “It’s not the same thing at all. We’ve exchanged letters and she is a friend of Mr. Montgomery’s fiancée, Miss Griffin.”

  Henry inclined his head. “All the girls say she’s a princess, like Rapunzel or Cinderella.”

  Marigold retrieved her fairy-tale book from the side table and turned the pages. “Look,” she beamed.

  David felt his breath hitch, surprised at the sound of Marigold’s voice. He took the book from her hand and glanced at the picture of the young woman in the tower. “Is this the story you want to read tonight?”

  Marigold shook her head and flipped through the pages again, pausing at the story of “Thumbelina.” “Which one is a daisy?”

  David swallowed, not wanting to overreact and yet at the same time hoping his niece would continue the conversation. “Are you asking if Thumbelina is a daisy?”

  Marigold giggled and pointed at the sketch of the tiny woman in a field with a butterfly. “Read it.”

  “Not this story again.” Henry slapped his forehead.

  “Henry, since your sister asked nicely, we can oblige her this time, won’t we?” David raised one eyebrow.

  “Nicely?” Henry frowned. “What about saying, please?”

  Marigold pursed her lips, then smiled. “Please.”

  “See there?” David nodded at his nephew and took the book from his niece. “I’ll be happy to read this story tonight.”

  Henry crossed his arms and glared at his sister. “I guess this means anytime she talks from here on out, she’ll get what she wants.”

  Chapter 8

  On the importance of an education…

  “I hate history. Do you mind if we transition to geometry?”

  - Miss Daisy Leah Murphy

  Daisy clutched her skirt and boarded her last connection. This time tomorrow, she would arrive in Carrie Town to meet her new husband and family. The conductor seated her across from a woman who was fast asleep, her face partially concealed by a black straw hat embellished with silk flowers and feather accents.

  The woman’s soft snores mingled with the rhythm of the clickety-clack of the wheels on the track. Daisy relished the quiet, having spent the last twenty-four hours in a crowded car with a woman who talked incessantly. She stared out the window at the low-rolling terrain. The flat, dusty landscape was diametrically different from the rolling hills of Tennessee.

  “Goodness, who are you?” The woman snorted.

  Daisy turned her attention to an older woman who was attempting to straighten her hat. “My name is Daisy Murphy, I mean Taylor.” Daisy felt her cheeks burn.

  “Hm. So recently married you forgot. Is that it?” The woman reached for her hand. “Where’s your wedding ring?”

  “I don’t have one.” Daisy was surprised at the strength of the older woman’s grip.

  “My name is Mrs. Gladys Jerome. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  Daisy’s mouth twitched. “How do you do, Mrs. Jerome?”

  “There’s no shame in it, you know.” Mrs. Jerome patted her hand. “Mr. Jerome couldn’t afford a wedd
ing ring for me at first.” She twisted the thin gold band on her third finger. “There were so many more pressing things for the first few years—a roof over our head, seed and a new plow.”

  “I imagine so.” Daisy twisted her reticule in her lap. “My fiancé, I mean, my husband has a new business and is raising his niece and nephew.”

  “How old are they?” Mrs. Jerome barked.

  “Seven and four.” Daisy met the woman’s gaze.

  “How long have you been married?” The woman inclined her head.

  “Just a few days.” Daisy felt her face flush.

  “You’re a mail-order bride, aren’t you?” Mrs. Jerome’s wrinkled face broke into a smile. “No shame in it either. My sister’s daughters married the same way several years back. They made good matches too. My nieces seem happy.”

  “The matron of the orphanage where I grew up, along with our pastor, recently started a matchmaking service called Heaven Inspired Matrimonial Matches.” Daisy shuffled her feet. “I’m the second volunteer from the Memphis area.”

  Mrs. Jerome reached for her basket and pulled out her knitting needles and yarn. “Did you bring anything to read or any needlework?”

  Daisy nodded. “I already finished my projects. A few gifts I’m bringing for the children. I’m not sure whether to give them when I arrive or at Christmas.”

  “Best not to spoil them. Then again, nothing wrong with trying to make a good impression.” Mrs. Jerome’s knitting needles paused. “I hear a bit of a southern accent. Where are you from originally, Georgia?”

  “No, I grew up on a farm outside of Memphis. I came to live at the orphanage nearby fifteen years ago.”

  The woman searched through her basket. “I’m from New York originally. My husband and our boys relocated to Texas a few years back.” Mrs. Jerome pulled out a ball of yarn in a dark red. “You knit?”

  “Yes.” Daisy swallowed.

  “Help yourself. I have plenty. Why not make a scarf for your new husband? We’ve got nothing but time.” The woman’s eyes twinkled. “Tell me about yourself. How long have you been on your own?”

  As the morning sun made its way over the horizon, Daisy found herself sharing the details of her life and was surprised when her stomach rumbled. Mrs. Jerome’s face broke into a wide smile. “Let me treat you to lunch in the dining car. I’m hungry myself.”

  “Thank you, but I couldn’t.” Daisy set her knitting aside. “I still have an apple left. The price of food while traveling is higher than I imagined.”

  “Nonsense. Besides, if you don’t go with me, there’s no telling whom I’ll have to sit next to. You’d be doing me a favor.” Mrs. Jerome extended her hand. “Help me up. I’m stiff.”

  While they made their way between the cars toward the dining area, Mrs. Jerome paused. “You pick whatever you want from the menu. I usually have the roast beef. Be sure and save room for dessert. They generally offer chocolate cake or my favorite shoofly pie. It’s made with molasses and good with strong coffee.”

  “Shoofly?” Daisy raised an eyebrow.

  “Pools of sticky molasses form on the surface of the pie when it’s cooling and attract flies.” Mrs. Jerome made a sweeping gesture with her hands.

  “I’ve certainly done my share of shooing flies.” Daisy laughed. “I look forward to trying the desserts and coffee. They are both a rare commodity at the children’s home.”

  “You’re in for a treat.” One side of Mrs. Jerome’s mouth lifted.

  Daisy was shocked at the elegance of the dining car. White linen cloths adorned the tables. Mrs. Jerome leaned forward and spoke softly, “No need to scrimp now. I may have started out a farmer's wife, but my husband and I made a fortune a few years back, selling our land to this railroad.”

  Daisy straightened and stared at the older woman. Her clothes were fashionable, but she would never have guessed she was a person of means.

  As if reading her thoughts, Mrs. Jerome winked. “When traveling, it’s best not to look like you’ve got money. Unfortunately, there are lots of nefarious characters waiting to take advantage of people like you and me.”

  The waiter arrived and greeted Mrs. Jerome by name before taking their order.

  “Do you travel on this route often?”

  “Not as often as I used to. Typically, I ride in the owner’s car. I was in a hurry to meet my husband and took this route. He’ll be miffed, but once I arrive safe and sound, he’ll get over it quick enough.” The older woman grinned. “I’m happy with the decision. I’ll arrive days early and enjoy getting to know the former Miss Daisy Murphy, now Mrs. David Taylor.”

  ***

  Daisy smiled and placed her newly finished scarf on top of her satchel along with a stack of papers, which included Mrs. Jerome’s address and numerous recipes. The golden sun peeking over the horizon added a soft glow to the blue sky. The train slowed, the brakes squealed, and the conductor bellowed, “Carrie Town.”

  Daisy peered through the window toward the crowded train platform. She closed her eyes, said a quick prayer and straightened her shoulders. Her skirts clutched by one hand, she passed her satchel to the conductor. A young boy with a face sprinkled with freckles appeared and pulled off his cap displaying hair the color of deep ginger. “Are you Miss Daisy?”

  “Yes. You must be Henry?” The young boy reached for her bag, and Daisy’s mouth twitched at the chivalrous action.

  “Uncle David’s over this way.” Henry disappeared into the crowd, dragging her satchel. A moderate-sized man dressed in dark work pants, leather vest, and a patterned shirt stepped forward carrying a small girl. He raised his Stetson, displaying stylish hair combed away from his face. The morning sun cast light on hair the color of chestnuts.

  His brows lifted. “Miss Murphy?”

  Daisy’s eyes drifted to his lips, which formed into a slight smile under a perfectly waxed mustache. Her friend, Memphis, was correct in her description. David Taylor was both stylish and handsome. Whether she would ever consider facial hair attractive was another thing altogether. She swallowed. “Yes, at least Murphy was my name last week.”

  “My apologies, Mrs. Taylor.” He grinned, displaying perfect teeth and a dimple on the side of his cheek. “I’m happy to see you.” He shifted the young girl on his hip. “You’ve met Henry, and this is Marigold.”

  The young girl wrapped her arms tight around David’s neck and hid her face.

  “We’ve experienced a rough morning. I planned to meet you and take you for a bite to eat. But we had some difficulties, and I wasn’t able to pick up my housekeeper yet.” He nodded toward her satchel. “Do you have more luggage?”

  “Yes, one trunk.” Daisy wrapped the strings of her reticule around her fingers. Huffs of steam and the chug of the engine temporarily impeded further discussion. David offered his free arm and inclined his head toward a man placing freight onto a cart.

  Henry chatted happily while his uncle spoke to the baggage handler. He waved his hand toward the modest town. “Over there is the hotel, bank, and mercantile.” He pointed toward the stone livery stable. “Mr. Montgomery’s bringing us a wagon to get your stuff while he fixes our wheel. That’s why we couldn’t pick up Mrs. Miller.”

  “You have had a rough morning. How nice of Mr. Montgomery.” Daisy patted the young boy’s shoulder.

  “All the Mr. Montgomerys are nice. Their pa is the blacksmith.” Henry swung her satchel between his hands. “Mr. Mike is going to marry your friend.”

  “I look forward to meeting him.” Daisy’s skirt snapped in the wind, causing her to pull her cloak tighter. She shivered, then directed her attention toward the rattling wheels of an approaching buckboard. A tall, broad-shouldered man in a blue shirt and leather vest jumped from a wagon and made long strides toward them.

  He tipped his Stetson and flashed a smile displaying two dimples. “You must be Daisy. I’m sorry, I mean Mrs. Taylor. Memphis told me so much about you. I feel as though I’ve known you for years.”

  �
�It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Montgomery. The feeling is mutual. Please call me Daisy.” She glanced toward David and caught a stare from Marigold, who immediately closed her eyes and hid her face again. “Thank you for bringing the buckboard.”

  “Glad to do it, and please call me Mike.” He rubbed Henry’s head. “Let’s go help your uncle get the trunk in the wagon and see if we can get Marigold to go with us to pick up Mrs. Miller.”

  “That ought to be easy, Mr. Mike. Marigold likes you.” Henry dropped Daisy’s satchel at her feet and hurried toward his uncle.

  Daisy reached for her bag and took in another deep breath attempting to calm a kaleidoscope of butterflies fluttering in her stomach. Her eyebrows flew up at the ease in which Marigold shifted from her uncle’s neck to clinging to her friend’s fiancé. The thought of seeing her former roommate calmed her fears. At least I know there’s someone in Carrie Town who likes me.

  Chapter 9

  On the popular trend of a handlebar mustache…

  “I don’t know which is worse, chickens or facial hair covered in wax.”

  ~Miss Daisy Leah Murphy.

  Daisy cast a sideways glance at David through her lashes while they waited for a table to clear at the diner. A slight scent of citrus and sandalwood surrounded him. She smoothed her wrinkled dress and wished for the hundredth time she’d been able to change.

  David positioned her hand in the crook of his arm. “I’m sorry about all the chaos this morning. I hope we haven't already made you sorry you came.”

  “Not yet.” Daisy studied the dark circles underneath his blue eyes and offered a quick grin to lighten the mood.

  “Memphis has been telling me all about you. She said no matter how bad her day was, she could count on you to make her feel better.” He patted her hand. “There’s something about the way your eyes sparkle when you smile. My heart feels a little lighter already.”

  The waitress motioned for them to take the next available table. Daisy’s gaze wandered across the crowded room from the horseshoes adorning the plank walls to the potbelly stove. “I’ve eaten at more diners this week than I have in my entire life.”