Mother stepped forward and slapped Charlotte’s hand away. “No. You are not who I ordered. I specifically said I wanted someone sturdy, who could cook, clean, and take care of my boys. You couldn’t take care of a chicken coop.”

  Charlotte’s blush deepened. “I’m sorry… I am who I am. I didn’t write the letters, my benefactor did.” She glanced up and met his eyes.

  His mother wouldn’t like it, but people around them were beginning to take note of the scene and he wanted to have any discussion of private matters taken care of away from everyone’s ears. “Mother, why don’t we take this matter back to my house?”

  She stomped her foot sending mud splattering and stared at him. “The bride service will hear about this. You do not have to take this woman home. She will never work.”

  Charlotte’s shoulders fell and she turned away, softly mumbling, “I’ll just have my things sent to the boarding house.”

  “No.” He managed to find his voice. Ma usually talked over him, but he couldn’t just have her send this poor woman back on the stage after a long trip, one that had probably taken weeks if not months, not that he’d ever traveled anywhere.

  “Did you just say…no?” His mother’s wrath now turned fully on him instead of the woman. Good, he knew how to handle it.

  “Yes, that’s exactly what I said. You and Pa can stay in town and bring Mitchel home when he’s finished with school. I’ll take Miss Warren back home and get her situated in a room there. It will give her a few hours to see the house before Mitchel gets home.”

  Ma stomped off toward the mercantile, probably to find someone to talk with who would take her side. Charlotte stood on the walk, waiting for him. He wasn’t even sure where to start.

  He finally extended his hand to her. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Jacob Lokken.”

  Jacob’s hand reached out to Charlotte again, but there was a moment of fear before she took it. His mother—or the woman she’d gathered was his mother based on what he’d said—had slapped her hand so hard it still stung. His grasp was firm as he encased her fingers but he didn’t kiss her knuckles as the gentry did. She was far away from that society, hopefully for good.

  “I should put your bags in my wagon.” His glance shifted to what had been a stack but was now only her trunk and her traveling bag. “Is that all you have?”

  She nodded. In truth, most of it wasn’t even hers. Helga had given her dresses and books to take so none of hers could be used to describe her. She’d told Charlotte to soak her hair in coffee with lard to make it darker. Then she had to use a kohl pencil on her light brows, or the effect became obvious. It was necessary to change her appearance so anyone looking for her wouldn’t find her. Though she doubted they would be willing to travel so far away. Her father would never guess she would survive in a place so rural and rustic.

  “Good. I’ll go get the rig and be back shortly to get you. Won’t take but a moment.” He turned to walk away.

  Since she’d entered the security of Helga’s private room and her father had followed her, she had been around people constantly. Even at night, she slept in the maid’s quarters so she would never be alone. On the ride all the way here, the two older women had miraculously been heading to the same destination and they’d stayed as close as sisters for the entire trip.

  Gertrude rested her hand on Charlotte’s shoulder. “Will you be all right, dear?”

  Charlotte took a deep breath. Even though staying in Helga’s care had seemed the safest option, her father would’ve found her eventually. Expecting the woman to hold off on the bluestocking meetings indefinitely, simply to keep her father away would’ve been asking a lot. But this change certainly didn’t seem much better. Jacob didn’t look to be a cruel man, but his mother was over-bearing and how he felt about books remained to be seen. “I think I will. If not, I’ll have to find a way to book passage somewhere else.” Somewhere far from home.

  “I’m only staying until two days after Christmas. If you need anything, you let me know. I’m from New York and I’d be pleased to have you come back with me. Women like you are a rarity.” She gave a light squeeze to Charlotte’s shoulder, then headed in the direction of the boarding house.

  Gertrude had never mentioned why she and her sister would be in Angel Creek, nor who they would be visiting. They’d shared about their trip so far and the books they loved to read.

  Neither of them were part of any group and they didn’t read anything political, nor did they especially champion any woman to do so, but they did love to read which made talking with them for the entire ride much more bearable. Charlotte waved slightly as Jacob pulled up next to her where the stage had been a few minutes before.

  He climbed down and took up her trunk, obviously surprised by the weight. Once he got it in the back, he went for her bag. She reached down instead and took it up. That was the only bit of her former life that she owned and the few items within would need the utmost protection. “I’ll just put this behind my seat.”

  She made her way to the wagon, sidestepping to avoid getting too close to him. How was she going to avoid becoming a wife?

  He didn’t appear to be all that adamant about taking a bride, but his mother might be. She was the one who’d ordered a bride and she probably expected that as an outcome.

  He helped her ascend the tall wheel then came around the back. As he climbed up to join her, she took a moment to look over the man who would have to protect her if her father chose to follow her.

  There was the barest hint of brown hair curling under his hat, his jaw was strong and lightly covered in bristly shadow, even though it was barely noon. His coat was old and worn, but well cared for. He probably didn’t have much to his name, but what he had was important to him. That would explain why his mother ordered a bride and not himself.

  “I can assume because you were here to pick me up that you knew I was coming?” she offered, to keep the uncomfortable silence from choking her.

  He nodded. “I did. I’d planned to save and order one in the spring or summer, but Ma got a mind to do it on her own.” He climbed into his seat then flicked the lines. As they reached the edge of town he flicked them again, prodding the horses to a trot.

  They were matched, but more comfortable together than the well-trained and groomed animals she’d had all her life. That life had betrayed her. Her father saw her no differently than the horse, and maybe her even less so. She was supposed to know better than to test him.

  “I only live about three miles outside of town. Mitchel walks when the weather is nice, but his grandparents like to spoil him with rides to school and back when it’s chilly or wet.”

  She’d had her own tutor so she certainly couldn’t begrudge them wanting to make his life better. “And he goes to school every day? What will he need to bring?”

  Helga hadn’t mentioned that she would need to not only be a wife to Jacob but a mother to his son. She’d gone from having no relationships with men whatsoever to the two most intimate, all because her father was afraid of her mind.

  “Just lunch and help with his studies at the end of the day. He has to do his chores right after supper, then schoolwork.”

  Studies… There was a way she could be the sturdy bride Jacob longed for. If he wasn’t a tyrant, she would prove her mind was as agile as any, except perhaps when it came to meal preparation. “I’ve never cooked before.”

  Jacob sighed and his shoulders sagged. “Have mercy.”

  Chapter 3

  Don't cross the bridge till you come to it.

  The Lokken kitchen was small or seemed that way after living alongside the Garretson’s large, established kitchen with many workers to keep it running. Charlotte had befriended one of the kitchen staff and had probably seen more of the grand kitchen than Helga herself. If only Charlotte had learned anything while she’d been there.

  “This is the stove.” Jacob pointed sheepishly to a wide, black cookstove along the wall.

  While she was fairly inept in the kitchen, that was one instrument she could identify, if not use. “I’m not a dullard. I simply haven’t learned my way around a kitchen. Yet.” If she could commit to memory the entire preamble to the constitution, surely, she could learn to cook a few meals.

  “I didn’t mean to accuse you. Fact is, you weren’t what my ma was expecting in a bride, so she won’t be much help to you. She’ll probably try to make you fail so she can send you back and try again.”

  Charlotte felt lightheaded and she suddenly needed to sit to regain herself. Not only would she have to figure out how to cook, but she’d have to do it without the help of his mother. Having his mother against her could only harm her chances. So far, Jacob seemed safer than where she’d come from. If he could become an ally, having him as her husband would save her from all future worry.

  Jacob pulled out a kitchen chair from the table and gently pushed her into it. “I wish you wouldn’t do that. If you faint dead away at the idea of making a meal, this will never work.” He sighed loudly. “Maybe my ma was right.” Without meeting her eyes, he turned away from her and pretended to look in the two cabinets that served as a larder in the small kitchen.

  Mercy, they had so little. Their cupboards were practically bare. If she wasted anything on learning, it would cost them dearly. “I won’t. On my honor, I swear I won’t.”

  He glanced at her over his shoulder and his eyebrows dove together. Too late she realized she’d said something no average woman would say. Women didn’t usually swear to anything. She’d taken too many oaths as a bluestocking.

  “What I mean is…you need not worry.” This situation needed quick wit.

  “Not worry?” He whipped around to face her. “I’ve got a woman in my house who probably doesn’t belong here. I’ve got a ten-year-old son who’ll be home in a few hours. He’s so excited about your arrival he hasn’t slept in days. I’ve got a meddling mother who will try to ruin the whole situation, even though she created it. And now I’ve got an extra mouth to feed when I didn’t have enough to feed two before.” He raked his hand through his hair and took a deep breath. “What do you propose I not worry about?”

  She stood and made certain she didn’t wobble. If she could at least alleviate him of that concern, then she’d done something good for him that day. Her arrival certainly wasn’t one that would make his life easier or better in the here and now.

  In her bag within the pages of a book, she’d tucked what she considered her inheritance. One hundred dollars had to get her somewhere safe and provide for her until she could provide for herself if this marriage didn’t prove successful.

  If Jacob turned out to be like her intended back in Missouri, that was her safeguard. She pulled ten one dollar bills from the book and folded them in half. In the event Jacob wasn’t kind, she didn’t want him knowing the money was there.

  As she turned back to face him, she found him leaning against the table deep in thought, not even watching her at all. Did he find her so boring that she—a stranger in his home—didn’t need to be watched at all? He didn’t even find the woman who could be his bride in one month interesting enough to pay attention for more than a few minutes?

  Most men didn’t find her fetching, and especially ones with the weight of the world on them, but knowing he’d practically forgotten about her already stung her pride. “Jacob?”

  He blinked momentarily as his eyes focused on her. “Yes?”

  “I’m able to provide for my own food. I hope this will help you. I came from means, but I can’t return there. I didn’t realize my arrival would put you into such a state. I can’t take from the mouth of your son in good conscience.”

  She handed him the ten dollars. While she’d never had a son, daughter or even a cat, she couldn’t take what little they had when she had the means to fix the problem.

  He shook his head vehemently. “I can’t do that. My ma ordered a bride, so I’ll take care of you. It isn’t like I hadn’t planned to order one eventually.”

  “But you didn’t, not yet. She couldn’t know your situation.” Here was a way in which she could use her head and alleviate some of his worry. Putting the worry to the back burner would hurt no one.

  “We’ll make an agreement. You can take the ten dollars now and if you should decide I stay in…say…a month, then what’s mine is yours. If you decide at that time to send me on my way, you can pay me back by purchasing my stage and train tickets to California.” That would be far enough away. She could hide there. “One month is a good trial period and it will give me a respite from that stage.”

  He stared at her outstretched hand as he contemplated her offer. He wasn’t a man to jump at the opportunity for money, which raised him even higher in her esteem. If he were, he would be jumping at her hand and pocketing it.

  She couldn’t prove the money was hers once it was in his hands. This was a matter of trust. She knew from dealing with her father that the first person to move or speak would be the “loser” of the argument. Though in this case, the loser would also get ten dollars.

  He sighed and put the money in his pocket. “One month. My neighbor up the road, Hartman, his missus could help you learn a few things. She would probably be willing.”

  Having a stranger teach her would be good, then she wouldn’t be stuck in the tiny kitchen with Jacob at her side or his mother who would most likely steer her wrong. Of that, she should be horrendously grateful.

  “Good. I’ll seek her out tomorrow.” But what could she do to feed the man and his son tonight? Waiting a month to make a decision seemed all well and good except under the lamp of scrutiny, all logic fell apart. She wasn’t at all what he needed. The man needed a meal in the next few hours, and she was woefully unprepared to do anything about it.

  “What are you used to having for your evening meal?” She recalled Gertrude telling her that in the west they spoke differently of meals and even called them things she wasn’t used to. She didn’t want to put him off yet again.

  “Usually Ma stops by and leaves something for us during the day. She’ll be in town until they drop off Mitchel after school.”

  So, the job was hers. If only there were books she could read to learn how to cook, and quickly. She should’ve paid more attention in the kitchen, but too late to ruminate on that now.

  Charlotte dodged behind Jacob to avoid touching him and opened the cabinet to get a closer look at what she’d seen from afar. There were a few sacks that didn’t appear to have anything on them noting what they could be. A few clear jars stood at the ready with what appeared to be fat or lard, and then bundles of things she couldn’t identify. If she unwrapped them to see, would they spoil? She had no idea.

  “I’ll just make gruel like I do in the morning. Mitchel doesn’t complain.”

  It didn’t escape her notice that he only mentioned his son. He obviously didn’t like gruel and probably liked cooking it even less so. Learning to make a hearty breakfast quickly would be one of the first thing she asked to learn.

  He came alongside her and reached into the cupboard next to her. Being a bluestocking, she’d never let herself get all that close to men. Most she’d met were like her father and mildly intimidated—though they would never admit it—of her mind.

  The few encounters she’d had with men were parties she’d attended. They had been tedious affairs where she’d spent the entirety of the evening along the wall, watching all that went on around her without ever expressly joining in. Only one man had joined her, and he’d informed her that she wasn’t much to look upon and if she wanted to procure a husband, she needed to try. Try what, she wasn’t sure.

  Jacob’s nearness left her feeling nervous and unsure, just as she used to under the eye of her teachers. “Is that what you use to make it?” He poured an amount of what appeared to be flakes without measuring them into a bowl, then poured water over them.

  “Yes, you have to let the oats sit for a while to soften. I usually leave it overnight and make it for breakfast. I hope there’s enough time.” He slid the bag back on the shelf and wiped his hands. “I’ve got work to do. Your room…” He paused for a moment, then looked away, “is the one with the cradle, in the back.” He turned away from her.

  She caught the flash of pain in his eyes and wondered if the cradle had a story. He’d obviously been married once, or he wouldn’t have a son. Someone had probably loved him, and he’d cared enough for her that her loss still bothered him. If she had to leave after a month of staying in his home, she could hurt him. Not because he would miss her, but in remembrance of what he’d already lost. She had to be careful not to do anything to remind him of her. If only there were a stitch of evidence that Jacob’s former bride had ever been there to guide her.

  Jacob trudged to the barn. At least he’d remembered his gloves this time. Being so out of sorts with a woman in his kitchen, the fact that he’d remembered a coat was a wonder. Ma had done it good now. She’d invited a wealthy woman who couldn’t lift a finger to be his ‘sturdy’ bride. Now he’d have even more work, not less.

  Then there was his son. Mitchel would never forgive him if this didn’t work and he had to send Charlotte away in a month. He would ruin the boy’s Christmas and probably weeks into the new year as well.

  Mitchel had wanted a mother for so long. This wasn’t what he’d planned. If he’d had his way, he’d have ordered a woman who could cook and clean, help his son with his studies, bake a pie now and again, and make sure they never ate gruel. His stomach churned at the very idea of eating it for yet another meal. Once a day was bad enough.

  The chickens scattered loudly toward the hay loft as he entered the barn. A couple cats sat on fence posts, waiting to see what he would do next. They weren’t friendly enough to pet unless he was milking. Then they wanted to be right next to him, in his way.

 

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