Wyoming Mail-Order Bride, page 4
“Humph,” Mrs. Drummond exclaimed, bristling. “Don’t try to trick me, Craig Martin. I remember the reverend preached on that three Sundays ago.”
“I know you pay attention in church,” Craig assured her.
“Humph,” she repeated, but she seemed satisfied and walked back to the kitchen table.
Craig turned to Vivian. While he wasn’t looking, she had managed to sit up almost straight, but she still looked uncertain about everything around her.
“Don’t worry,” Craig said to her. “You’re fine here.”
He was going to say more to her, but he glanced up through the small window to the east and saw the storm outside was slowing. Everything was white except for a dark shape in the distance. Craig hoped that wasn’t a lost cow. He’d moved his small herd before Christmas, four days ago now, into a sheltered ravine so they’d stay reasonably warm.
Of course, it had to be either a cow or a bull, he told himself as he looked again. If it was a buffalo, there would be a whole herd of them. He’d have to go out and check on the poor animal soon. Enough snow was still falling down the chimney to make the wood wet and the smoke worse, so he couldn’t see much of anything inside, either.
“Just a minute,” he said and then turned his attention to Vivian. He touched her forehead again. Her fever was definitely going down. He heard a sound behind him and turned to see Katy standing there, fidgeting.
Craig had to admit that he enjoyed watching the excitement on his daughter’s face as she contemplated the woman.
“If she’s a lady, maybe she knows a princess,” Katy said hopefully as she looked up at him. “Don’t you think, Daddy?”
“Maybe she does,” Craig agreed with a smile.
He suddenly wished that he could take Katy for a visit to New York City when she was older. He’d spent most of his time there on the docks, but he’d passed through some of the fashionable areas. She would love looking in those store windows. And seeing the tall buildings. And all of the beautiful dresses coming out of some of the churches on a Sunday morning.
If he hadn’t been worried someone would discover fourteen-year-old Finn had been with the longshoremen setting fires on the night of those riots, Craig would not have insisted they leave the city, at least not so soon. He never heard of anyone being charged for the chaos that night, and Finn had only been watching, but Craig wanted his younger brother away from those men who thought nothing of burning down homes.
“Why don’t you put Kitty in that box by the stove?” Craig suggested to his daughter as he let his mind return to his current responsibilities. The wooden box wouldn’t hold the beast, but the old tom didn’t look too pleased to be squeezed in Katy’s arms, so maybe he’d like to simply lie down for a rest. Craig knew the cat wouldn’t scratch Katy, but it might take a swipe at the unsuspecting woman on the bench.
Once his daughter had left, Craig knelt to examine Vivian more thoroughly. He put his whole hand out to confirm what he’d thought earlier. Her fever was mild. She did have some light perspiration on what little he could see of her face, but that could be nothing more than the damp from being outside. Added to that, it was growing dark inside and the net she wore on her hat was hiding everything but her nose. A steady drip of melted snow was falling from her boots to the worn carpet he’d bought when Delores first moved into the house.
“Who is she?” Finn asked from where he stood at the stove stirring the pot of beans that he’d put on to cook earlier. They would have been eaten by now if there hadn’t been so much activity.
“Except for her name Vivian Eastman—I don’t know yet,” Craig answered as he drew a clean handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed at the netting that was plastered to the side of the woman’s face.
“We talked on the way our here and she seems like a respectable lady,” Reverend Thompson offered from his perch on a table bench where he was sitting next to his wife. The young girl who had come in with Vivian was sitting beside Mrs. Thompson. The reverend continued, “She’s polite and well-spoken.”
Craig decided all his visitors were accounted for, except Mrs. Drummond, who had not sat back down at the tables after all but now stood a few feet away from him. He’d need to talk to Mrs. Drummond some more, he thought, but other things came first. “I’m going to give Vivian something for her fever and then I have to go out and see to a lost cow.”
“I bet it’s that longhorn bull and not a cow,” Finn said, reaching for a ragged cloth to protect his hand as he grabbed a kettle from the back of the stove. They usually made coffee in that pot. “The old fellow doesn’t have much sense. The cows mostly do.”
“Seems so,” Craig agreed. He didn’t move, though. He put his hand on the woman’s forehead again. He wanted to be sure about that fever. She moaned and shifted slightly, raising a hand up to rest on his. She was wearing a dove-gray glove on that hand and it was stylish, but he noted it had been mended in several places.
Craig tried to gently withdraw his hand, but her fingers gripped him tighter. He knew she wouldn’t be holding on to him if she were well. Delores had been appalled by his hands. They were too rough, she said. And it was true. His hands were calloused and the burn scars on his palms were deep red splotches. He did not have a gentleman’s hands. He didn’t want Vivian to see either one of them, so he tried again to withdraw the one she held. It only made her turn her face toward his palm, though, until her cheek was nestled right inside the cup his fingers made. Then she sighed as though she was finally comfortable.
“Easy now,” he whispered, willing her to loosen her hold. “I’ll get you some willow bark and you’ll feel better.”
She murmured but made no sound he could identify. Gradually, he slipped his hand away and then noticed the faint frown on her forehead.
“It was warm,” she whispered in rebuke.
Craig wasn’t sure how to respond. Clearly, Vivian couldn’t mean she wanted to hold his hand against her face longer. It must be the fever making her say foolish things. Maybe her temperature was higher than he thought.
“Where’s my manners?” Craig said, deciding what the problem was. “You need a pillow.” He looked over to Robbie. “Can you bring us the pillow from the big bed? The good pillow?”
Robbie turned to do his bidding. It was the only goose feather pillow they had, and Craig was glad he had it for the woman to use.
“And I’ll bring you some—” Craig began to repeat his offer of tea.
The woman opened her eyes partially then. “I hate willow bark—too bitter. Don’t want it.”
“Oh,” Craig said with a frown growing on his forehead. He couldn’t see well enough to know what it was, but there was something familiar about Vivian. It was like he’d seen a photograph at some point, but that was impossible. He’d only seen a half dozen of the things. He would remember this woman.
“She’s talking,” Finn announced quietly, sounding almost as impressed as Katy had been. He set one of their tin cups on the counter by the stove. “You got her to talk.”
Craig ignored the comment. Vivian had known how to talk when she got here. Instead, he turned to where his brother stood.
“Use the rose china cup and saucer,” Craig suggested to him. They were the only two such fine dishes they had. Delores had the set with her when she married him. No one had used either one since she had died, but this seemed to call for them.
“I don’t like willow bark,” the woman repeated, mumbling.
Craig wondered if she knew she’d already told him that. “I heard you, but it’s good for you.”
Then Craig announced to no one in particular, “I’ll light a lantern, too. Then we can all see.”
He didn’t rise up right away to do what he said even though some light might bring everyone back to their senses. Vivian wouldn’t want to be resting her head against his scarred hands then.
“I don’t mind the dark,” she mumbled and then tried to lift herself up on her elbows, her misshapen hat hanging crooked on her head and still shading her face. That black netting was halfway twisted around her chin. It didn’t look one bit comfortable.
It was not light enough to be sure, but he definitely suspected Vivian might be smiling at him now.
“We’ll get some lemon drops to go with the tea, too. That’ll help with the taste of the willow bark,” Craig said, deciding he really did need to do what he could to tamp down his warm feelings. Vivian did not belong here. He shouldn’t get used to her.
Behind his back, Craig could hear Finn stepping over to the table. He’d apparently decided to spare Craig the chore of lighting the lantern. Maybe he sensed how much Craig wanted to stay beside Vivian.
In any event, Vivian wouldn’t be so friendly when the lantern was lit. “We’ll get you ready to travel in no time.”
The woman swayed a little, perched as she was on her elbows. “I thought this was where Craig Martin lived. Aren’t you him?”
A flare of sudden light showed that Finn had lit the lantern. The inside of the house was much more visible now.
Vivian had laid her head back as best she could, and Craig figured he didn’t need to answer her question yet. Instead, he gently lifted the strands of wet hair off the half of her face that showed. She was sitting passively with her head resting on the back of the bench and her eyes closed. The netting covered the other half of her face, and he hadn’t moved it to show he respected her privacy.
But once he’d moved her hair, he only needed to see a portion of her porcelain-white face in the light from the lantern to recognize her. He had to blink to be sure, but her image didn’t waver. She looked exactly like the lady from the fire in New York City.
Craig was speechless. It couldn’t be. He couldn’t have been more shocked if she had been a princess with a crown waiting in her valise. He squinted then, thinking maybe the smoke was blocking his vision. But that didn’t make any sense. Maybe, he thought, his mind was confused, since he’d just thought of that night. But he never saw people who weren’t there. No mirages, either. He could see what was in front of him. Mrs. Drummond was right. Things were what they were.
“How did you find me?” he finally asked and had the satisfaction of seeing the woman’s eyes flutter open. There was no doubt in his mind then. He’d know those violet-blue eyes anywhere. In fact, he had recognized them in dozens of his dreams over the years. But what was she doing here?
“The agency sent me,” Vivian whispered. “Hard to place.”
She started to struggle to sit more upright, and Craig put his arm around her shoulders to help her. She looked tired. Her face was white and a large red spot showed on the one cheek he could see. He wasn’t so sure she was even steady enough to walk over to the table, but she seemed to do fine sitting.
“You can’t be from that agency,” he said firmly. “You would certainly not be hard to place. And they knew I needed a wife by December 24, Christmas Eve. I never thought anyone would be on their way here after Christmas.”
The attorney he’d engaged to deal with Mrs. Hunt had said the judge, just like the sheriff had said he would, had given instructions to the older woman that she had until midnight on December 24 to come if she was going to pursue her claim. But, so far, she hadn’t shown up. And now it was the afternoon of December 27. He understood that meant the court would not pursue her complaint against him. It seemed he wouldn’t need a mail-order bride, after all. Maybe the children’s grandmother had seen reason and withdrawn her demand.
“Of course, you wouldn’t expect someone from that agency,” Mrs. Drummond said, bristling. She had walked over and was standing close to him again. “Punctuality is important.”
“The train was stopped.” The voice came from the table. The thin girl with a solemn face who had been sitting beside Mrs. Thompson slid off the end of the bench and stepped out. She was not much older than Robbie and had brown straight hair. She bravely turned to Mrs. Drummond. “The snow stopped us. Too many times to count. We couldn’t get here on the right day. Mama Vivian and I came from the bride place in Boston. We were four days off our schedule.”
“Well, you’re too late,” Mrs. Drummond said emphatically. “Mr. Martin has made other plans.”
With that, Mrs. Drummond stepped closer and took Craig’s arm just like they were going to take a stroll down some fancy street in town. Or, Craig thought with a sinking heart, down a church aisle. He didn’t know about those other plans that Mrs. Drummond was making, but it sure wasn’t going to be the church aisle for him.
After Finn had sent the ad to the agency, Craig had carefully assured Mrs. Drummond that he respected her, but he couldn’t marry her. She’d looked so disapprovingly at him that he’d mumbled something about her deserving more and him not wanting a hollow marriage. He couldn’t bring himself to mention that he didn’t want separate bedrooms, but he’d decided that if a mail-order bride came and he had to marry, he would make her his real wife if she was agreeable to it. He believed God would want him to have a true marriage or no marriage at all. Seemingly, Mrs. Drummond had not understood him, though. He’d have to speak to her in private, even if he had to take her for a walk in the storm outside.
But he’d deal with Mrs. Drummond later.
“You’re sure which agency sent you?” Craig turned to Vivian. She seemed to be stronger now. At least there was some color in her cheeks.
“Of course, I know who sent me here,” she snapped back at him. “It wasn’t my idea to come, but I’m not without sense enough to know where I’ve come from.” She pronounced the words precisely. “The Last Chance Bridal Agency on Tremont Street in Boston. Their motto is Hard-to-Place Brides. You wrote to them.”
She looked defiant, Craig thought. He wasn’t sure if she was proud or defensive.
“I’m surprised they didn’t send a telegram,” Craig said, frowning. It had just occurred to him.
“They did send a telegram to expect me on December 23,” Vivian insisted. “At least, they were going to do so. And that secretary seemed very competent. I trust she did.”
“Oh,” Finn said, and Craig looked over at him. His brother looked guilty. “I forgot. Mr. Adler said he’d brought back some mail for us when he went to Cheyenne. And—”
Mr. Adler had stopped by earlier this morning with his daughter, Lizzie, to deliver their mail and give them a small Christmas cake. Finn was starting to court Lizzie, and Craig couldn’t fault him for being distracted. Mr. Adler wasn’t enthusiastic about the courtship, and Finn was nervous the man would stand in the way. Everyone had forgotten about the mail they’d brought.
Craig glanced at the corner cupboard and saw two envelopes sitting there. One looked like a telegram. He had taken only one step toward the counter when a hard pounding sounded at the front door. Someone was knocking so loud the frame was shaking.
“Who’s that?” Craig asked as he stepped over and reached for the handle to open the door. If he didn’t do something, he’d need to make repairs on the door after the thumping it was receiving.
Craig pulled the door back and a gust of wind blew inside. It was easy to see the snow-covered mountain of a man who stood outside, so blanketed with ice that even his beard had tiny icicles hanging from it. Craig wondered suddenly if the mistake with the mail-order bride had been discovered already and this was the angry groom demanding to know why his bride had ended up here. The huge man was old enough to be Vivian’s grandfather, though, and Craig wasn’t sure any mail-order bride of her age would want him.
Of course, they hadn’t exactly wanted Craig, either, he told himself ruefully. Maybe that agency should be saying they had hard-to-place grooms.
With that, he glanced over at where Vivian was sitting and straightening her hat. He wondered if that man’s last name was Martin, too. For all he knew, his first name might also be Craig. Miners were coming down from the hills in expectation of striking it big and he didn’t know half of them.
The sudden thought occurred to him that the man could be one of those miners with a cabin full of gold. Money made a difference with some women—it would have with Delores.
He looked over at Vivian and almost sighed. He would have liked to know her better before she left. She would hardly stay, though, if she found her intended groom. And it was best that she did leave. He wouldn’t feel guilty for not telling her who he was then. It would be like they’d never met.
Realizing it was inevitable, Craig opened the door wide.
“Come in.” He made his voice as welcoming as he could.
The man outside was wearing a buffalo coat. His legs were like massive tree trunks and his muscled arms were raised to balance the heavy load he carried over his shoulders.
“Oh,” Craig said as the man stepped completely inside the house. The burden on his shoulders was moving and wiggling most impatiently. It was wrapped in a blanket, but Craig didn’t know what it was until everything jerked around and he saw a pair of feet clad in black women’s lace-up shoes.
“Not boots,” Craig muttered, knowing what it meant. This was no easygoing prairie lass the man had slung over his back like a hundred-pound bag of flour. Most women, at least most family women in the territories, didn’t own lady shoes. The rocky terrain demanded boots, and that was what they wore.
He heard an indignant squawk.
Then the man lowered his burden to the floor feetfirst. The blanket fell off. And there stood a middle-aged lady bristling and shaking herself more ferociously than the most excitable of Katy’s banty hens.
For some reason, Craig looked over at where the mail-order bride now stood. At first, he was afraid Vivian was going to faint again. She was certainly pale enough. But she managed to stay standing and was already pointing at the woman the man had deposited on the floor. Vivian’s finger trembled, and she had to move her mouth several times before any sound emerged.
