The Harvest Time Mail-Order Bride (Holiday Mail-Order Brides Book 14)

by Kit Morgan

  Isabella scanned the other displays. One man had leather goods: saddlebags, belts, knife sheaths and horse tack. The booth next to it had jugs of apple cider, while another featured an assortment of toys carved out of wood, and others sold food of one kind or another. Isabella made a mental note to ask Calvin if she could try a little something from each. She’d had almost nothing but stew on the journey west, and was ready for something different.

  With all the booths – over a dozen – anyone entering town from the east had to park their wagon in or around one of the orchards. Several families already had. More and more people were gathering – it looked like the entire town had turned out.

  Isabella could feel the excitement in the air and took one of Calvin’s hands. He immediately squeezed it. “This is gonna be fun,” he said with a grin.

  She was about to reply when an old man came out of nowhere and slapped Calvin on the back. “Calvin! It’s good to see ya son! I heard you’re going to get hitched!”

  “Howdy, Mr. Johnson. Ya heard right – only thing is, I already done it.”

  Mr. Johnson took one look at Isabella and, like everyone else, gawked. Clearly she’d need to make the introductions. “Hello. I am the new Mrs. Weaver. Who are you?”

  He did a little double-take at her accent and grinned. “What do we have here?”

  “My wife,” Calvin stated. “Isabella, this here is Mr. Johnson – he makes the best cider around. His grandson Warren just got married a few months ago.” Calvin glanced around. “Where is Warren?”

  “Probably using the privy,” Mr. Johnson continued to stare. “I gotta say, Calvin, but you’ve certainly done well for yourself!”

  Calvin puffed his chest out with pride. “Everyone keeps tellin’ me that.” He gave her hand another squeeze. “And I’m inclined to agree.”

  Isabella smiled shyly. She found she wasn’t playing the bold, regal, highborn lady as she so often did. Maybe in this place there was no need to, and she would be accepted for who she was. Though most people hadn’t liked her as she was …

  “I see your mother has another fine assortment of hats this year,” Mr. Johnson said. “Maybe Bernice’s mother will fancy one.”

  “Oh yeah, I heard ya had a visitor. She’s still here, huh?”

  Mr. Johnson rubbed his face with a hand a few times and even though her English wasn’t so good, Isabella swore she could hear him mutter, “unfortunately” through his fingers.

  “Have ya been havin’ a good visit?” Calvin asked.

  “As well as can be expected. You haven’t met the woman yet, have you?”

  “No, can’t say as I have. Why?”

  “Well, being as how your ma’s hats are next to my cider, you’re bound to do so today.”

  “I’d love to meet her and introduce her to Isabella. What’s she look like?”

  “Thin and kinda crow-like, pinched face.”

  “What?” Isabella and Calvin asked in unison

  “Maybe that’s not the best description. Suffice to say she’s sort of … curt, that’s the word. Trust me, you’ll know her when you see her.”

  “If’n ya say so, Mr. Johnson,” Calvin said. He turned Isabella back to his mother’s booth and leaned down to her ear. “I ain’t sure I want to meet this woman …”

  “Or I.” She grimaced. “She sounds mean.”

  He chuckled. “Can’t say for sure ‘til we know.”

  “Maybe we no want to know.”

  “Ya have a point. Best keep an eye out for her – then whichever of us sees her first can warn the other.”

  She gave him a conspiratorial wink. “Yes, yes, we do that.”

  He took her other hand in his again. “Ya know what, Isabella?”

  She shook her head. “What?”

  “I like being married to ya.”

  His word sent a thrill through her. She tilted her face up even as his lowered, and together they shared their second kiss.

  * * *

  Calvin strolled among the various booths, most of which were nothing more than planks of wood on saw horses, with some sort of covering to shade the occupants. He kept a close eye on his wife, who studied her surroundings with interest. He’d felt numb up to this point, their wedding a blur, and just now felt the first inklings of excitement that he was now married.

  But did she feel the same?

  Her English was broken most of the time, only the occasional full sentence, but that should improve with time. Of course, his hadn’t, nor had his brothers … but they hadn’t really tried. None of them had any fancy education, but they could read and write and do their sums. You didn’t need much more than that to work on a farm. It was more important to know how to till the land, maintain the orchards, take care of the livestock, protect your property and those that lived on it …

  He stole another glance at his bride. Her beauty was beyond compare. How was he going to protect her? She was turning more than a few heads, and it was starting to bother him. What would she think of him if he socked some dreamy-eyed suitor? He hoped he wouldn’t have to since they were married, but some of the men, especially those from out of town, might not know that.

  And then, of course, there were the women. He’d already overheard two or three say “She married Calvin Weaver?” as he and Isabella strolled by. Why was it so hard for them to believe he could have a beautiful wife? Were they expecting her to show up without her teeth?

  “I don’t believe it!” another whispered loud enough for everyone within earshot to hear. “Is the girl daft?”

  Calvin tensed, and wondered if Isabella noticed. He’d best do something to distract himself. “Ya hungry?”

  She put down the wooden soldier she’d picked up and smiled at the man selling toys. “A little. Is it time to eat?”

  “Not yet, but I could do with a little somethin’. There’s no set time to eat lunch today and everyone’ll make do with somethin’ for dinner before the dance.”

  “Dance?” she asked, her eyes bright.

  “Yeah, we have one every year. Actually, we have three. The Harvest Festival, Christmas, then the Valentine’s Dance.”

  She nodded and eyed one of Aunt Betsy’s pies. She was selling them whole and by the slice.

  Calvin followed her gaze and smiled. “How ‘bout a piece of pie? We could share one.”

  She smiled at him, then pulled him toward his aunt’s booth. “Hey, slow down,” he laughed.

  “Well there you are!” Aunt Betsy said as they approached. “How do you like our little festival, Isabella?”

  “I like it very much. Very happy.”

  “Most folks would agree,” she said. “This is a happy time of year. Our barns and root cellars are full, folks are settling in for the winter and Harlan Hughes is in town!”

  “Sheriff Hughes? What’s he got to do with anything?” Calvin asked.

  “’Cause he and Tom Turner are gonna get together at some point and start swapping stories! I can’t wait!” She noticed Isabella’s curious stare. “Deputy Turner used to work for Harlan, and both come from Clear Creek. I’m sure you’ll run into him sometime today.”

  “We’ll be sure to say howdy before we leave tomorrow,” Calvin said.

  “We leave tomorrow?” Isabella said. He studied her. There was sadness in her voice, and he had a sudden flashback to when Benjamin’s wife Charity had arrived. She and Benjamin had had some sort of rift, one that was hard to hide. To this day he didn’t know what it was about.

  “Early too,” he told her. “Takes all day to get to the farm. But I have a feelin’ we’ll lay over at Gundersons’ stage stop on account of the little ones.”

  “The bambini? Oh yes …”

  “Babies. We call ‘em babies, here,” he said with a smile.

  “Bambini,” she said, also smiling.

  “Twins, actually.” She arched her eyebrow. He loved it when she did that. “You know, like me and Benjamin. We look alike?”

  “Ah yes, yes! Twin.”


  “Twinsss.”

  She furrowed her brow. “Twinsss.”

  Calvin burst out laughing. “Yer gettin’ it!”

  She smiled, her hands clasped behind her back. He wondered if she’d known the word and was just teasing him. But what if she was? He was having fun.

  “My, my, just look at that,” a woman’s voice drawled.

  “I’d rather not,” Calvin mumbled and turned. He recognized the voice.

  Nellie Davis looked Isabella up and down like she was just another trinket for sale. Actually, though, she was looking at Isabella’s dress. “It’s stunning. Where did you get it?”

  Isabella studied her in turn. “It is mine.”

  “Well I would assume so as you’re wearing it. But where did it come from?”

  Isabella glanced at Calvin before she faced Nellie. “I make it myself.”

  “Did you now?” Nellie drawled as she finally looked at Isabella herself. “Mrs. Jorgenson,” she said to a woman behind her, “have you ever seen anything like it?”

  Another woman came alongside Nellie. “No, but I must say, it’s exquisite.”

  “She says she made it herself,” Nellie said under her breath, indicating she didn’t believe it.

  “Really? I’ve never made anything like that,” Mrs. Jorgenson said with dismay. “The fabric alone must have cost a fortune.”

  Isabella held her head high. “It did.”

  Nellie studied her anew. “Where on earth are you from?”

  Calvin groaned. “This again? Ya mean to tell me ya don’t know, of all people?”

  “What do you mean, of all people?” Nellie said, affronted.

  Calvin tried not to smile. “Ya usually know everythin’ that goes on in this town, Mrs. Davis. I’m surprised ya don’t know nothin’ about my bride.”

  “Well how can I when I just got h–?” She stopped and blanched. “Wait a minute, did you say my bride?”

  “Yes, I did,” he said firmly.

  Nellie looked at them as they stood, hand in hand. “Why, I don’t believe it! Why didn’t Charlotte tell me?”

  “Prob’ly ‘cause she knew ya’d do what yer doin’ now.” He wrapped Isabelle’s arm around his and marched off.

  “What about pie?” his bride asked.

  “I lost my appetite.” He stopped short and sighed. “I’m sorry. Are ya really that hungry?”

  She didn’t answer, but instead stood looking up at him.

  “Well?” he prompted.

  “Who was that woman?”

  Calvin looked over the top of her head to where Nellie and Mrs. Jorgenson stood staring back. “Mrs. Davis is kind of a … well … she’s kinda trouble sometimes. Ya’d best watch out if’n ya ever run into her again.”

  Isabella’s eyes darted between him and Nellie. She then stared off into the distance as if putting two and two together, but when she did, her eyes narrowed to slits. She wrenched her arm from his, lifted the hem of her dress and with determined steps marched back to the matrons.

  Calvin stood in shock, unsure of what was going on, until his wife cut loose with a string of Italian the likes of which he or anyone in town had never heard. “Cosa vuoi dire insultare mio marito in quel modo? Tu ... tu ... dolore alla testa!”

  Nellie Davis and Mrs. Jorgenson stood in shock. Even if they couldn’t understand a word she was saying, it was clear she was upset.

  Finished, Isabella spun on her heel and stomped back to Calvin. “She no insult you no more!”

  Calvin’s eyes bulged. “Insult me?! She … oh, I guess she did. But what’d ya say?” Then he saw Nellie approaching. “Uh-oh.”

  Before he could say another word, Isabella had turned to face her opponent with … a smile? “Indietro di più , vero? Sono felice di oblige,” she said in a sweet voice.

  “What?” Nellie asked, still not recovered from Isabella’s earlier tirade. “What is the meaning of this? Or should I say you – I can’t understand a word you’re saying! How rude!”

  Isabella took on an apologetic look. “Excuse me, signora, I just gave you proper greeting.”

  Nellie’s mouth dropped open. “Well, I declare, if that’s a greeting then I’d hate to see what happens if someone disagrees with you!”

  Isabelle gave her another sweet smile and shrugged. “Indeed you would.”

  Nellie floundered for a few seconds before turning to Calvin. “You’d do well to teach your wife some proper manners! Things are done differently around here!” She grabbed Mrs. Jorgenson by the arm and marched the two of them back to where they’d been, grumbling under her breath as she went.

  Only once they were gone did Calvin turn to his wife, who had a satisfied smirk on her face. “What did ya say to her? She’s mad as a rattler now.”

  “Rattler?” she said in alarm, her eyes skittering over the ground around them.

  Well, she obviously knew what that was. “No, no. It’s another sayin’. Now tell me what ya said to her.”

  Isabella pressed her lips together, her eyes narrowed again. “I tell her she insult you and I no like it!”

  He straightened. “Well, ya sure gave her a tongue whippin’!”

  “Tongue whip? What is tongue whip?”

  Calvin shook his head and tried not to laugh. “Ya gave her what for, didn’t ya? Blazes, ya don’t hold nothin’ back!”

  She took a deep breath through her nose, her head high. “No. I do not.”

  Calvin sighed. “Well then, it’s a good thing we don’t come to town too often.”

  Six

  Isabella let Calvin take her by the hand and lead her to the opposite end of the row of booths. Maybe he didn’t want her to have another run at that Davis woman. She smiled at the thought. She’d been upset, yes, but not mad as a rattler, as her husband put it. When that happened, everyone would know it!

  She dutifully followed her new husband as he stopped and spoke with different people along the way. He got the same reaction each time: “oh! This is your wife?!” They’d look at her in disbelief, look at Calvin with even more disbelief, then wander off muttering things like, “Well I’ll be,” or “Tarnation! How did that happen?”

  Why wouldn’t it? Just what did people think of her new husband and his family? Why couldn’t one of the Weaver men have a beautiful wife? Or was it that she was Italian? It could just be that she seemed exotic to them – after all, Samijo and Charity were no less pretty. True, her features were different, along with her raven-black hair, olive skin, dark eyes and, of course, her accent.

  Yes, that must be it. At least, she hoped it was – otherwise, what was wrong with the Weavers?

  “Are ya still hungry?” Calvin asked.

  “Yes,” she said. And she was. Breakfast had been hours ago, then the wedding, and now that she wasn’t so nervous, she felt starved. “Please, we eat now, yes?”

  “Yeah, we’d best get somethin’.” Calvin led her to some tables set up in a large grassy area behind his mother’s booth. “Wait here, I’ll go fetch us some vittles.” She watched him disappear between two booths.

  Others were beginning to sit in the area with plates of food, and her stomach started to complain.

  “Hello again,” a voice said behind her.

  Isabella turned to find Elle and Summer Riley. “Hello.”

  “May we share your table?” Summer asked.

  “Yes, yes, sit. My husband go to get food for me.”

  “That was sweet of him,” Elle said as she took a seat.

  Isabella smiled then noticed something wasn’t right. “Where is bambino?”

  “Bambino … oh, you mean little Charlie?” Elle asked. “Spencer is busy showing him off.”

  Summer eased herself into a chair. “Are you looking forward to having children?”

  Isabella felt her heart warm at the thought, but first she had to get used to being married. “Yes, I am. I dream of having many children.”

  “That’s a good dream to have,” Summer said. “But right now I’m dreaming of
getting this over with.” She smiled weakly and rubbed her swollen belly. “This little one can’t come soon enough.”

  “When your baby come?” Isabella asked.

  “Not for a few months, but my back wishes it were otherwise.”

  Elle laughed. “Not to mention that Clayton is driving you loco.”

  “Yes, that too.”

  Isabella’s eyebrows raised in curiosity. “What is this … driving loco?”

  “My husband is a little overprotective,” Summer explained.

  “Not as overprotective as some, apparently,” Elle said with a giggle. “Our husband’s Uncle Harlan told us all kinds of stories last night about the Cooke brothers in Clear Creek.”

  “Oh my heavens!” Summer said as she stretched. “Don’t remind me. I hope Clayton never gets that bad.”

  Isabella took on a worried expression. After all, things were different here in the West. What would she be in for when she was with child? “What happened?”

  “One of the brothers – Harrison, I think – wouldn’t let his wife leave the house!” Elle told her. “And threatened to lock her in their bedroom.”

  “No!” Isabella gasped. The thought of a man controlling her that way made her want to cringe.

  “Yes. And the further along she got, the worse he became. He questioned what she ate, drank and all sorts of things. I’d have hit Clayton over the head with a frying pan.”

  Isabella laughed.

  “She’s not kidding,” Elle said dryly. “She would have.”

  “I hope my husband no do that when time come for me to have little one,” Isabella told them.

  “I think you’re safe,” Summer said with a smile. “Arlan was very attentive with Samijo, but I didn’t hear anyone mention that she had to clobber him.”

  Isabella laughed and slapped the table, making the other women jump. “I am sorry, but that … how you say? Very amusing?”

  “That’s right,” Elle confirmed. “It is amusing!”

  “So long as it’s happening to someone else,” Summer added.

  The three were still laughing when Calvin returned with two plates of food. “Howdy, ladies. Where’s Spencer and Clayton?”