A Mid-Summer's Mail-Order Bride

by Kit Morgan

  Old Man Johnson covered his face with his callused hand in exasperation.

  Warren looked down at the fork, then at his shirt. It was obvious he’d been working in the orchards – bits of dirt and debris were scattered all over him, especially on his shoulders and in his hair. “I wasn’t … um, expecting a visitor … Miss Caulder.” He recovered himself enough to stand up, then spied the pie she held. “But I don’t mind. Won’t you sit down?”

  Mr. Johnson pulled out a chair for Summer, then eyed Warren. He took the cue, quickly coming around the table to do the same for Bernice.

  Warren sat back down, and they all fell silent until Mr. Johnson gave his grandson a look. “Looks like a mighty fine pie Miss Caulder done brought for ya, Warren. Ain’t ya gonna thank her proper?”

  Bernice stiffened in her chair. What did thanking one proper mean around here? Would he shake her hand?

  He stared at her, his face flushed. “Thank you, Miss Caulder. It … looks quite fine.”

  “I didn’t make it,” she blurted, then snapped her mouth shut. Drat! She hated when she was so honest.

  “Oh? Who did?” He looked at Summer.

  “Elle made it, but we thought you’d like to have some. And it gave us a reason to come for a visit.”

  Bernice closed her eyes and cringed. Did she have to be so obvious about it? But then, how else was she going to say it? They had to come to the Johnson farm so Bernice could get to know Warren better. “I hope you like apple,” she said – and cringed again. Oh for Heaven’s sake, they were apple farmers! They probably only ever had apple pie.

  “Of course I do,” Warren said. “Everybody around here does. And it’s a good thing to, or we might lose half our business.”

  “Do you only sell your apples in Nowhere?” Bernice asked, genuinely curious.

  “Oh no – folks come from outlying areas to buy them. Some of them ship them as far as Seattle.”

  “That’s amazing. I had no idea fresh fruit traveled so far.” He began to study her, and she willed herself to sit up straight and not blush. A lot of good it did – she could feel her cheeks grow hot.

  Warren smiled. “Who knows – maybe you’ve eaten some of our apples in Independence and didn’t even know it.”

  “I have no idea. I think most of our fruits and vegetables came from nearby farms.”

  “Well …” Warren fidgeted in his seat. “I don’t mean to be rude, but if you let me finish my lunch I’d love to have some of that pie you brought.”

  Bernice smiled, nodded – and felt for a moment as if only Warren was in the room with her. She glanced around in alarm – but no, Summer and his grandfather were still there. It was an odd sensation, one she’d never felt before. “All right,” she said shakily.

  Mr. Johnson smiled. “I’ll get some plates and put the coffee on. Nothin’ like coffee with a good piece of apple pie. You just wait, young lady – come harvest season, you’ll get all sorts of apple recipes from the womenfolk around here. Ain’t that right, Mrs. Riley?”

  Summer tore her gaze from the pie to look at him. “It certainly is. I’ve only been here for one harvest so far, but I have gathered quite a few recipes. It was fun experimenting with them. And the harvest was an experience in itself, though it was a lot of work.”

  “You held up well, I hear,” Warren said. “Clayton brags about the things you and Elle did with those apples.”

  “He gives us far too much praise. For one, we’re not used to heights.”

  “Heights?” Bernice said as she paled. They weren’t the only ones …

  “Somebody has to get up in those trees and pick the apples,” Warren commented, then caught the look on Bernice’s face. “Something wrong, Miss Caulder?”

  She shook her head, eyes wide. “Nothing.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She nodded. “Of course! What makes you think there’s anything wrong?”

  “You just looked kind of … strange, that’s all.”

  “I’m fine,” she chirped, perhaps a little too quickly.

  “Okay. I just noticed ... I mean, I thought … well, never mind.”

  “How can ya know what she’s thinkin’ or feelin’ if you don’t spend any time gettin’ to know each other?” his grandfather asked.

  Bernice watched Warren’s jaw tighten. Did he not like the idea?

  “True, Grandpa. But …”

  “No buts! You too younguns are gonna get to know each other and that’s that! And there’s no better way to do that than a stroll through the orchards. After we have some pie and coffee, you can escort these ladies home.”

  “Grandpa, there’s work to do …”

  “I know, and part of yer work is escortin’ the ladies. I’ll see to the rest ‘til ya get back.”

  “No one escorted them here,” Warren pointed out.

  “An oversight on yer part, I’d say! Think of the dangerous road they had to traverse alone!”

  Summer fought against a giggle.

  Warren rolled his eyes. “Grandpa, the only thing dangerous out in the orchards is that skunk you saw the other day.”

  “Ain’t that bad enough? Worse than a run in with a bear in my book. You make sure you see ‘em home safely, ya here?”

  Warren sighed. Bernice wished he didn’t sound so forlorn. “Yes, Grandpa. I’ll do my best.”

  His grandfather rubbed his hands together in glee and turned to the stove. “This is gonna be a very interesting afternoon of pie and coffee.”

  * * *

  “Then what happened?” Summer asked, an intense gleam in her eye.

  “Betsy hit the man over the head with a frying pan, then … well … she kind of smashed his face with it.” How they’d gotten on the topic of her and Betsy’s kidnapping from the Valentine’s dance, Bernice wasn’t quite sure, but she did find regaling the tale rather fun. Besides, the look of horror on Warren Johnson’s face was worth it.

  “Ooh,” Mr. Johnson said as he scrunched up his face. “That had to hurt.”

  “Then what happened?” Warren asked, his eyes just as intent on Bernice as Summer’s.

  “Then the men rescued us … I guess. Though I think Betsy pretty much already had. I suppose if Garrett Vander and the other men hadn’t showed up, we might still have been in a pickle. But as it was, I believe Betsy would’ve gotten us out of it. She’s very resourceful.”

  “Obviously,” Warren said, “Especially with a frying pan.” He sat back in his chair, his pie untouched. He’d been so enthralled with her story he hadn’t taken a single bite, or a sip of coffee. “You were unharmed then? They didn’t …”

  Bernice closed her eyes against his words – the same ones her mother had used before going into a tirade of questions and accusations. “No, but I was scared. I’ve never been more scared in my life.”

  Warren leaned forward. “You’re a brave girl to have endured such an ordeal.” His eyes roamed her face, and she could sense his admiration and … something else.

  “Remind me to tell you of my own encounter with such men,” Summer said. “But right now, I think we better get back.”

  Bernice smiled, nodded and scooted her chair away from the table. Before she could make a move to stand, Warren was out of his and heading her way. She instinctively waited as he came around behind her. These were the manners Professor Hamilton and Cecil Winters had taught her, and she wondered where he’d learned them – from his grandfather? Or when he was away at school? “Thank you,” she said with a smile and a nod of her head as she stood.

  “My … my pleasure,” he said, his voice low. He cleared his throat. “I’ll see the ladies home now, Grandpa.”

  “Ya do that, boy. I’ll just go out and see what mischief I can get into while yer gone.”

  “He can’t get into too much,” he told Bernice as she stood. “We won’t be gone that long.”

  “We?” Summer asked teasingly.

  “I mean … I won’t be gone that long,” he corrected.

  B
ernice felt herself blush. Surely he hadn’t meant to imply that he was thinking about returning to his farm with her, did he? No, of course not. She was a silly duck to even think of it. She turned and stepped away from the chair, one foot moving too fast. It caught on a chair leg, and down she went …

  … or would’ve if Warren hadn’t caught her. He’d hooked an arm around her belly with lightning speed – and enough strength to knock the wind from her. “Whoa there! Be careful, now.”

  She fought for breath as he righted her and got her on her feet. She gasped for air and wanted to thank him, but couldn’t talk yet.

  “Are you all right, Miss Caulder?”

  “I … I will be … give me a moment.”

  “That would’ve been a mighty big tumble if Warren hadn’t come to your rescue,” Mr. Johnson pointed out, winking at Summer. Summer winked back.

  Warren ignored them both and concentrated on Bernice. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

  She swallowed hard and shook her head. “No, it just startled me is all.” She looked at him. “Thank you for catching me. Losing my breath is better than landing face first on the floor.”

  “I have no doubt,” he said with a smile. “Are you sure you’re all right? Do you need a drink of water or anything?”

  Bernice caught a glimpse of Old Man Johnson as he put a hand to his mouth and turned from them, his shoulders shaking. Just marvelous – she was a laughingstock already. “No, really, I’m fine.”

  Warren’s grandfather turned back, his face red. “You’d best escort the women back now, boy. I need to get some work done.”

  “You be careful, Grandpa,” Warren told him.

  The older man nodded. “Don’t worry about me – I’m always careful.” He glanced between Bernice and his grandson and smiled. “I’ll see ya later.” He went to a peg on the wall, grabbed his hat and went out the kitchen’s back door.

  Warren sighed.

  “You worry about him, don’t you?” Bernice asked.

  “More than you know.”

  “He seems fit as a fiddle,” Summer said. “And he did fine while you are away at school.”

  “I know,” Warren said as he glanced between the two women. “But he’s not getting any younger, and pretty soon he’s going to slow down a lot more than he already has. I don’t know what I’ll do when he does.”

  “Hire a few hands like Clayton’s done,” Summer suggested. “At least during harvest time.”

  “Yes,” he agreed and looked at Bernice. “I suppose I’ll have to.”

  Bernice took a step away from him, wondering if he saw her as inadequate for farm work. But why wouldn’t he, since she couldn’t even get out of a chair without nearly injuring herself?

  “That was a fine pie, Mrs. Riley. Tell Elle thank you.” He looked at Bernice. “And thank you for bringing it to me. That was very kind.”

  Bernice smiled. “You’re welcome.”

  “Shall we go?” he asked, his eyes never leaving her face. She nodded and stared back, vaguely aware of Summer as she leaned against the kitchen table and watched them, a huge grin on her face. She wondered why he wasn’t moving, and if he was going to do the proper thing and offer her his arm.

  But instead, he went to the same peg his grandfather had, grabbed a hat from it and put it on his head. “Ladies?” he said and waved them toward the back door. Either he wasn’t as gentlemanly as she first thought, or he didn’t want to give her the impression he was interested. How could she tell? As Grandpa Johnson had said, she didn’t know him well enough yet.

  With a sigh, Bernice preceded him out the door.

  Seven

  Abducted? In the middle of a dance with the whole town present?! Warren could hardly believe it! What else had this poor girl suffered?

  He glanced at Miss Caulder every now and then as they traversed the orchards back to the Riley farm. Summer made comments here and there about how their crops were doing and Clayton’s future plans. But Warren found it hard to concentrate on what she was saying, and even harder not to walk closer to Miss Caulder.

  Her “tale of terror,” as he thought of it, had intrigued him at first – he’d always liked a good adventure story. But as it had progressed, it had had a surprising effect on him. Every protective instinct he had rushed to the surface, and he suddenly saw his mail-order bride as a fair damsel in distress. He’d never thought about the possible consequences of sending her back to Independence. What if the bandits that took her and her friend’s maid returned one day? What if they went after the women again? But didn’t she say they’d been arrested? Most of them, anyway ...

  “Careful, now,” he said as he watched her stumble. He held out his arm. “Maybe you ought to hang on to something sturdy.”

  She smiled shyly and stared at the arm he offered, as if unsure she should take it.

  “Sometimes the ground between the rows of trees gets a little bumpy. Until you get used to walking the orchards, you’d best hang onto me.”

  Her face went crimson as she took his arm and gently held on. He, in turn, tightened it around hers to make sure she was braced against him before they continued.

  “Don’t feel bad, Bernice,” Summer said. “I was tripping all over the place when I first started walking through them.”

  “I’m surprised I didn’t fall on the way over to your house,” she told Warren. “Especially as I was carrying the pie. That tends to be the sort of luck I have.”

  “Like being abducted?” he teased.

  She looked away, and he wondered if she was embarrassed by his remark. “I think that sums it up.”

  “I don’t mind if you stumble, so long as you don’t hurt yourself. It happens. I can do without the abduction part, though,” he told her.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have shared that story.”

  “Actually I’m glad you did. It let me know that … well … sometimes a person isn’t always what they seem.”

  She looked at him as they walked. “Are you telling me I don’t look like the type that would be abducted?”

  He studied her and realized that … well, she rather was the type. She was pretty in an odd sort of way, petite, innocent … and something more that he couldn’t quite grasp. She was very sweet, but there was also a sort of toughness that he found beguiling. He wanted to see more of it. It made him wonder if she would’ve clobbered one of her captors with a frying pan too. “I suppose it depends on who’s doing the abducting.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Summer asked. “The victim usually doesn’t get to choose her captor.”

  “I’m not talking about an outlaw. I’m talking about men who steal women out of love.”

  Miss Caulder almost tripped and had to stop so she could right herself. “Love?” she blurted.

  “Well … throughout history there’s been men that have snuck in to a woman’s home in the middle of the night and carried her away. I think it’s rather romantic, don’t you?”

  “You mean like Romeo and Juliet?” Miss Caulder asked.

  “I don’t recall any abducting in that story,” he said. “My point is, it’s one thing to be taken against one’s will by some dastardly villain, another to be whisked away by a lover.”

  “Warren Johnson!” Summer exclaimed. “You should not be having this sort of conversation with Miss Caulder!”

  “Why? She’s probably read about it in literature and poetry. Unless of course, you’re suggesting I would do such a thing.”

  Summer stopped and spun to him “Would you?”

  He stopped short and almost made Miss Caulder trip again. “Certainly not!”

  She looked up at him, her brown eyes wide. “You wouldn’t?”

  “Of course not! What kind of a barbarian do you think I am?”

  “I wasn’t calling you a barbarian,” she shot back. “A moment ago you said it was romantic.”

  Warren suddenly realized he’d gone out on a limb, and began trying to figure how he might sidle back off the branch. �
��Uh … yes, in certain cultures. But I don’t see it going over real well in Nowhere.”

  Summer glanced between the two. “Why not? Stranger things have happened around here.”

  “Like what?” he asked.

  Summer shrugged. “Well … Charlotte Davis got married.”

  Warren opened his mouth to speak but words evaded him. He looked at Bernice, then back to Summer. “You have a point there.”

  She smiled at him, turned and started walking again.

  Miss Caulder was confused. “Charlotte Davis … is she Charlotte Quinn now?”

  “That’s the one,” Warren confirmed.

  “I’ve met her, and she seems quite nice. Why would it be odd for her to get married?”

  “Let’s just say the woman wasn’t always the person she is now,” Warren explained.

  “How so?”

  “When I went away to school, for example, she was quite the gossip.”

  “Not to mention she had her cap set for Clayton,” Summer added over her shoulder as she walked ahead of them a few paces. “Or if not Clayton, Spencer. Or any other man who could get to the altar under his own power.” There was a trace of anger in her voice, as if Charlotte’s past misdeeds weren’t totally forgiven yet.

  “And she was like that for years,” Warren continued. “But she’d changed considerably by the time I came home.”

  “For the better, I take it?” Miss Caulder asked.

  “Most definitely. I’ve never seen Matthew Quinn so happy.”

  “Yes, isn’t it amazing what marriage can do for the soul?” Summer added with a grin.

  Warren fought the urge to glare at her, forcing a smile instead. He knew well what she was doing. The odd thing was, he didn’t mind it as much as he thought he would.

  They walked through the orchard in relative silence as his brain scrambled for something else to say. A thought came and he smiled. “So, Miss Caulder … will the next pie you bring over be baked by you?”