by Kit Morgan
“And I’m glad he brought you home,” Mrs. Riley added with a wink. “Now I’ve got two grandchildren on the way!”
“How many children do you want?” Elle asked as she looked at Bernice.
Bernice took a step back. “I … I can’t even begin to think about children at this point ...”
Summer walked over and put a hand on her shoulder. “Trust me, if anyone knows what it’s like to wonder if your man is going to marry you, it’s me and Elle. It was downright awful for both of us, but only for a short time.”
Bernice looked at Elle. “What happened to you?”
“Well, mainly I wasn’t sure Spencer was going to arrest me or not.”
“Wh … what?” Bernice stuttered, then gaped at Mrs. Riley.
She nodded. “It’s true. Elle thought for the majority of her and Spencer’s courtship that she was a wanted murderess.”
Bernice backed up and fell into a chair. “Murderess?” came out a squeak.
“I shot a man in New Orleans, but that’s too long a tale to tell right now …”
“Elle!” Summer scolded. “You can’t leave poor Bernice hanging like that! She’ll think you’re going to pull a gun on her over dessert!”
Bernice had to admit to herself that the thought had crossed her mind. Had Elle been some kind of outlaw?
Summer quickly clarified. “It was in self-defense. There were some men in New Orleans taking young women captive into a life of … of ill repute, let’s say. One of them had already shot the bodyguard from the bridal agency that was taking her to the train. She fired back to protect him, and herself. But now that we’ve covered that, we need to get supper ready for the men.”
But Bernice continued to stare at Elle, eyes wide. Maybe being in the Riley household wasn’t such a good idea. What else were they going to spring on her before supper, or after? She gulped and glanced between the women as they casually went back to work preparing the meal.
On the other hand … maybe she could tell them about her kidnapping? Perhaps it would make her feel like she fit in better.
Clayton entered the kitchen, followed by Spencer. “Is supper ready yet, ladies?” he asked.
“Just about,” Summer told him as he came up behind her.
He put his arms around her and kissed her cheek. “How’s my sugar?”
Spencer went to Elle and did the same. “Mmm, fried chicken – my favorite.”
Bernice watched with envy as the couples greeted each other with kisses and giggles. A longing rose up from deep within, and she had to close her eyes. She didn’t want to feel that – it drove her to do things she thought she’d never do. But it also gave her a sense of strength and courage – and it had managed to get her out from under her mother’s thumb and helped her choose to become a mail-order bride.
Of course, now that she was one, the despair that accompanied the longing had only increased, due to her dream of marriage being threatened by Warren Johnson’s indecision. Would he marry her, or wouldn’t he? And what was she supposed to feel while twisting in the wind, waiting for him to make up his mind?
“Miss Caulder, we’ll have to show you around the farm tomorrow,” Clayton said as he came to the table and sat.
Spencer joined him. “More importantly, we’ll show you how to get to the Johnsons’ place.”
“Yes, it might be a good idea for you to go over there tomorrow,” Clayton suggested.
Bernice blanched. “Tomorrow? So soon? Shouldn’t I wait a day or two?”
“What for?” asked Spencer. “If you’re going to marry the man, it seems to me you need to get to know each other.”
Bernice felt a chill go up her spine. Why was it that every time they mentioned marriage, she felt so despondent? Oh, that’s right – because her hopes for marriage had been dashed just a few hours before. Regardless, she had to snap out of it!
“Summer or I can tag along,” Elle suggested. “In fact, why don’t you bake Warren a pie or some cookies to take with you? I’m sure that’ll help smooth things.”
“That would work on me,” Spencer said with a laugh.
“Me too,” Clayton agreed. “Good food is always a plus in a man’s world.”
Bernice sank a little in her chair. “Oh dear … I don’t think that will work.”
“What do you mean?” Mrs. Riley asked. “Don’t you know a way to a man’s heart is through his stomach?”
“I’ve heard that,” Bernice said. “But I’m afraid my cooking would send a man running the other way.”
“Oh, now don’t tell me you can’t cook?” Mrs. Riley bemoaned.
Bernice hung her head and shook it slowly. “I’m afraid I don’t. My mother never taught me. I’ve made a few things, but not very well.”
“Don’t fret about that,” Summer said as she sat next to her. “We can at least teach you the basics before you’re married.”
“And because you’re going to live so close,” Elle added, “we can continue to teach you until you’ve learned enough to keep Warren happy.”
Bernice laughed nervously. “That could take years.”
“Nonsense, dear – a few months at most,” Mrs. Riley said with a wink.
Clayton looked from one face to the other. “You know, she doesn’t have to go over to the Johnsons’ right away …”
Summer got up, went to the stove and stirred the potatoes that were frying in the chicken grease. “No, she doesn’t. But perhaps Miss Caulder wants to.”
“Call me Bernice, please. I’d like to see Mr. Johnson – I’m just not so sure about baking anything for him.”
“How about if we do the baking and you do the taking?” Elle suggested. “And don’t worry, one of us will go with you. That way you’ll be properly chaperoned.”
Bernice took a deep breath. “All right, but I hope it’s not too soon.”
“Why would you think that?” Spencer asked.
Bernice shrugged. “Because he hasn’t had much time to think about it.” But then again, she thought, maybe that’s a good thing.
* * *
The next day Bernice awoke to the smell of fried bacon and potatoes. She sat bolt upright, wondering how late she’d slept. Would they think she was lazy? Didn’t farmer’s wives get up before the sun did?
Of course, how would she know? She’d never lived on a farm before.
She got out of bed, dressed and hurried downstairs to the kitchen. She was in such a rush she didn’t even bother to put up her hair. “I’m sorry, did I miss anything? I must’ve overslept.”
“No, you’re fine,” Summer assured. “You had a long journey yesterday and none of us expected you to be up and about very early. Besides, I haven’t been up for long – maybe an hour.”
“What time is it?”
“Breakfast time. The men will be in any minute. They usually get up at dawn to get a few chores done. While they do that we make breakfast. I’m sure it will be the same at the Johnsons’.”
Bernice sighed in relief and sat at the table. “I don’t even know how to make coffee.”
“Will you stop worrying?” Summer said with a chuckle. “We’ll teach you. Though I am curious – do you come from a wealthy family? Did you grow up with servants?”
“Oh, heavens no,” Bernice laughed. “But my mother did most of the cooking, and she never figured I’d need to learn.”
“Why is that?”
Because she thought I would marry into a family that did have servants.”
“Really?”
“Oh yes. She was always pushing me to ‘marry well’ – by which she meant ‘marry rich’.” Bernice stopped. Maybe she shouldn’t get into her mother’s lust for riches just yet, or at all. It was hardly good breakfast-table conversation. Besides, gossip wasn’t ladylike – Professor Hamilton had stressed that often enough. “But anyway, I guess I have a lot to learn.”
“And we’ll be more than happy to teach you,” Summer said as she turned back to the stove. “Would you like some coffee?�
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“I can get it myself – you don’t have to wait on me.”
“I don’t mind. Besides, you’ll have a lot of work to do once you’re married. You might as well enjoy having somebody pour you a cup of coffee now.”
Bernice cringed. “I’m afraid I’m not very good at working either. I learned as much about hard work as I did about baking.” She sighed and looked at her lap. “I guess I’m not very prepared to be a farmer’s wife.”
“No more prepared than Elle or I was when we first got here – we had work to do when we grew up, but we were city girls born and bred. Thankfully, the men do all the heavy work – we just cover the rest.”
“Yes, but there’s three of you women on the farm. I’m sure that helps considerably. There’s only going to be one of me once I’m married.”
“True, but you’ll have two men working the place.”
“One of which, as I understand it, is old.”
“You’d be surprised what Old Man Johnson can do once he gets going, but I see your point. However, there’ll be only the three of you to feed and do the mending for. In this house we’ve got five – soon to be seven. So don’t let me hear you complaining,” she added with a smile.
Bernice stifled a giggle. She did feel better now. “I’ll try not to. Thank you for teaching me.”
Summer turned to her and smiled. “I’m sure you’d do the same for either one of us if we’d come to your town.”
Bernice stared at the floor. “I don’t think there’s much I could teach you.”
“Don’t talk like that – there’s got to be some things you’re good at.”
Bernice thought a moment. “I have a very nice curtsy.”
Summer laughed. “Well, that’s something. What else?”
“I can speak a few lines of French.”
“That should impress Warren. Go on.”
“I have nice manners. I can read and write. I … have all my teeth.” She shrugged. “I hope that’s enough.”
Summer sighed, shook her head and walked over to the table. “Bernice, don’t think so little of yourself. Sure, it’s nice to be able to know how to cook and sew and keep a house, but it’s your heart a man is interested in the most.”
Bernice looked up at her, hope in her eyes. “I never thought of that. I guess I’ve been so worried about what I can’t do or offer him as far as skills, that I forgot about that.”
“Well, it’s the most important, as far as I’m concerned. You make that your priority, and everything else will come around.” Summer returned to the stove, poured Bernice a cup of coffee and handed it to her.
Bernice nodded her thanks, smiled and took the cup. Her mind then jumped to an unsettling question. Was her heart in any better shape than her cooking skills?
* * *
Elle bent over, pulled a pie out of the oven with a grunt, turned and set it on the worktable.
“When is your baby coming?” Bernice asked as she got her first glimpse of one of the most beautiful pies she’d ever seen.
“Harvest time would be my guess, and Doc Brown’s. Which means it’s going to be mighty busy around here.”
“I can help if you’d like.”
“You’re likely to have enough work on your own farm, let alone worrying about me. But don’t fret, I’ll have plenty of help. Now, we let this pie cool, then if you like you can take it over to the Johnsons’ place. If you don’t, then Clayton and Spencer are going to be very happy come supper time.”
“Well … maybe you should save it for them.”
“I can make them cookies while you’re visiting with Warren. Summer can go with you – I’m not sure I’m up to a long walk right now.” Elle patted her belly protectively.
“This pie looks wonderful – I’m sure he’ll love it. I just hope he doesn’t ask if I baked it.”
“You’ll be baking one just as wonderful in no time, you’ll see.”
“If you say so. It’s hard to imagine – this is so beautiful.”
“I’ve never thought of my pies as beautiful, but thank you.”
Bernice smiled. “You’re welcome. Is there anything I can do?” She’d already helped Summer with the mending after breakfast, and Mrs. Riley had showed her how to gather eggs—which had been quite the experience. Especially when the rooster took off after her. She hoped no other work today involved irritable farm animals.
“No. As soon as the pie cools, you and Summer can take it on over to the Johnsons’.”
“Where is Summer?” Bernice asked. She’d disappeared right after they’d finished the mending.
Elle smiled. “I believe she’s with Clayton out in the barn.”
“Barn? Is there work to be done in the barn too?” Bernice asked, trying to keep the worry out of her voice.
“I don’t think Summer’s working, exactly …”
Bernice’s brow furrowed in confusion. Then she figured it out, and blushed down to her toes. “Oh!”
Elle laughed. “I think part of it is she’s trying to figure out a way to tell Clayton he’s going to be a papa.”
“What did Spencer do when he found out you’re having a baby?” Bernice asked
“I thought he was going to faint. But he got over the shock quick enough. Then he started eating a lot. He tends to do that when he’s worried.”
Bernice giggled again. “Will his brother be any different?”
“No idea. Which is why Summer’s trying to make sure he’s in a good mood when she tells him.”
“I can’t wait until she does,” Bernice said with a smile. Then a thought came to her. What would it be like when she had children? How would she tell her husband? Would she just blurt it out, or try to make everything perfect before she gave him the news?
Of course, first she had to get married and to do that she had to have a prospective mate. She glanced at the pie on the worktable. Would a perfect pastry be enough to win Warren Johnson over? Or would the fact she didn’t make it in the first place only add to his reasons not to marry her?
Bernice shook her head. She supposed she’d just have to go to the Johnson farm and find out.
Six
Bernice trudged along behind Summer, praying she didn’t drop the pie – or worse, fall flat on her face on top of it. What a disaster that would be! With her luck, it’d happen in the Johnsons’ front yard … if they had a yard. The Rileys’ farm only had a barnyard. Bernice’s mental picture of a farm had been more like the Edmonsons’ back in Independence, with a small yard in front of the house.
But it didn’t matter how the Johnson farm was situated. She was sure she could still find a way to make a spectacle of herself.
Thankfully, they reached the place without incident. Bernice stared at the two-story whitewashed farmhouse and tried not to gulp. If all went well, this would be her new home. She had a sudden vision of standing on the porch roof trying to wash the second-story windows without falling off. Was that how a farmer’s wife washed windows out here? Or for that matter, anywhere? For Heaven’s sake, why hadn’t she thought of these things before? Who would have thought housework could be so fraught with danger?
Summer marched across the barnyard – no, no front yard here – up the porch steps and straight to the door. “Do you want to knock or shall I?”
“My hands are kind of full,” Bernice said, indicating the pie.
“I’m sure he’s going to love it. It smells wonderful.”
“Yes. If only I’d baked it ...”
“I’m sure he’ll love you for bringing it.”
Bernice’s chest tightened at the thought, and she closed her eyes a moment to calm herself. Summer was right; she was nervous. Probably more nervous than the night of the Valentine’s dance when she’d shown up wearing a borrowed dress. But it was the nicest dress she’d ever worn. “You should knock now.”
“Just giving you a moment to finish your thoughts.”
Bernice stared at her. “How did you know I was thinking about things?”
“How can I not know? The look on your face says it all. You’re worried. Stop. It’s going to be fine.”
Bernice drew in a shaky breath and let it out slowly. “Okay, I’m ready. Knock.”
Summer gave a few raps on the door then took a step back. Bernice held her breath.
Nothing.
“Maybe they’re out working in the orchards?” Bernice offered.
“You could be right,” Summer agreed.
Suddenly, the door opened. An elderly man in stocking feet poked his head out. “Well, I’ll be – if it ain’t Summer Riley!” He opened the door wide and looked at Bernice. “And who do we have here? Wait, don’t tell me – let me guess!” He pointed out at her and grinned. “My new daughter-in-law!”
Bernice sighed in relief and smiled.
“I knew it was you the moment I saw ya. What brings you to the farm, ladies? Other than the obvious,” he added with a wink at Bernice.
Summer elbowed her in the ribs.
“Oh, yes. I’ve brought Mr. Johnson a pie.”
“Well fancy that. I’m Mr. Johnson!”
Summer laughed. “You’d better keep your eye on this one,” she told Bernice.
Her smile broadened. “I won’t mind. I’m used to dealing with troublemakers.”
“Ya are?” he asked with a gasp. “Just where do ya come from, young lady – Dodge City?”
“Not exactly. Independence, Oregon.”
“As if you didn’t know,” Summer said with a smirk. “I heard you were the one that sent for her.”
Bernice glanced between them. Did Mr. Johnson mind that Summer knew?
“I did, that’s true enough. And I must say, yer a pretty little thing,” he added to a blushing Bernice. “Won’t ya come in, ladies?”
“Is Warren inside, or out in the orchards?” Summer asked.
“He’s in the kitchen havin’ some lunch. That pie’ll make a nice addition to his meal.”
Bernice’s stomach began to flutter, and she hoped she didn’t trip.
Mr. Johnson stepped aside as they entered, closed the door, then led them to the kitchen. “Look who came to visit, Warren!”
Warren sat at the kitchen table, a fork halfway to his mouth, and looked up. His eyes widened at the sight of Bernice. He fumbled with his fork and dropped it, only to have it land on his food with a plop. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he finally said, “I wasn’t expecting any visitors.”