He brushed Pete’s apologies aside and stuffed the telegram into his pocket. He quickly locked up the blacksmith’s shop, shoving the postmaster out the door.
“But Samuel,” Pete protested to deaf ears. Samuel was having none of it.
He almost ran to the train station, still debating with himself if he’d done the right thing organizing a mail order bride.
Too late now, she’s almost here.
All he could think was he might have something other than beans for supper. That was at least one positive.
The train pulled in as he arrived at the busy station. The station master was standing on the platform, ensuring all went to plan.
Samuel looked around. How would he recognize her?
A young woman stepped out of one of the carriages carrying a large suitcase. Could this be his bride? He took a step forward, until an older man walked up and hugged her.
He stood back. Surely she would look for him? Not that either of them knew what the other looked like. There’d been no time for photographs. Heck, there’d been no time for letters.
“Blast,” he said under his breath. This was not the way he’d planned it. He wanted to choose his wife. To get to know her before he agreed to the marriage.
This was not how it was supposed to go!
The blast of the train whistle startled him. Steam filled the platform, and he still hadn’t found his bride.
When the steam cleared, there was one young woman left standing on the platform. She was alone and held a small carpetbag. He expected her to bring much more.
Surely this must be his bride. Otherwise she had missed her train.
He stepped toward her, but she turned away and spoke to the station master. He pointed in the direction of Dayton Falls.
Now he was confused. Was this his bride or not? Surely she would stay and wait to be collected if it was her? He pulled the crumpled telegram out of his pocket and double-checked the name.
He ran toward her. “Miss Bronson?” he said, almost breathless. “Miss Amelia Bronson?”
He was bent over trying to regain his breath. He waited for her to speak, instead she stared at him.
No, she thoroughly glared at him.
This wasn’t going to end well.
“Please tell me you’re not Samuel Thomas,” she said quietly, looking him up and down.
By now he’d regained his composure and stood tall. He obviously wasn’t what she’d expected.
“I am he,” Samuel said proudly. “Samuel Thomas. Your betrothed.”
Her face drained of all color. “Mr Samuel Thomas the blacksmith?” she whispered.
“The very one,” he said, and thrust his hand forward. It was then he understood the reason for her dismay.
His hands were black from his work, as no doubt his face was. When he looked himself over, he wore his dirty leather apron.
The beautiful young woman who stood before him was more pale than an albino horse, and looked ready to collapse.
“Blast,” he said under his breath.
She shuffled about on the spot.
His new bride was about to abscond. Would he be putting her on the next train home?
Chapter Four
Amelia knew the moment the full impact of her situation had hit home.
She felt the color drain from her face, and was suddenly light-headed. Giddy.
You will not faint, she told herself repeatedly.
She couldn’t imagine trying to clean the filth out of her gown – one of her best – if the blacksmith caught her going down.
Instead she grabbed hold of the fence leading out into the town of Dayton Falls.
What on earth had she gotten herself into?
The alternative was even less appealing.
She dropped her bag to the ground and stood tall, composing herself.
She took several deep breaths.
Refined women did not faint, Mother had taught her, and she would not disrespect her mother.
“I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr Thomas,” she said in a quiet voice. One she didn’t recognize as her own.
Young ladies must always behave in an acceptable manner, Mother always said. And that’s exactly what she would do.
Even if it meant telling lies, she’d asked. Mother had patted her hand and smiled.
“I’m sorry about my appearance,” he said briskly, frowning. “I just got the telegram, you see,” he continued. “I shut up shop immediately and ran down here so you wouldn’t be standing alone.”
She managed a brief smile, but her relief was palpable. Tears threatened at the back of her eyes.
“It’s not safe,” he added.
For a minute there, she was certain she’d be hightailing it on the next train home.
She stiffened.
But of course she couldn’t do that. Her uncle and his disgusting behavior had seen to that.
“Oh,” she said, totally relieved. At first she’d thought he was just being disrespectful. “I’m sorry you had to rush,” she said, playing with her crumpled skirts.
Underneath all that dirt, he looked nice. Handsome even.
She wondered what he would look like once he’d cleaned up.
He reached down and picked up her bag. Pitiful as it was, it contained all the worldly goods she still possessed.
“This way,” he said, pointing ahead of him, careful not to touch her gown. She appreciated the gesture. “It’s not far.”
She stopped when they reached the township. It took her breath away.
Never in her life had she seen such a quaint little town. Mother and Father had taken her all over the countryside, but never somewhere as beautiful as this.
“It’s lovely,” she said excitedly. “I’m from Westlake, Wyoming. It’s huge compared to this. It’s almost a city.”
She stared down the main street, and nodded, then turned to him. “I like it,” she said quietly.
“Good,” he said, and continued.
She chuckled. “You don’t say much, do you?”
He stared at her. “No point wasting words that aren’t needed.”
Oh dear. This could be difficult, because she on the other hand loved to talk. She could sit and chat all day long.
She could see a lot of one-sided conversations in her future.
He suddenly stopped outside a large building and unlocked the enormous door. “This is us,” he said, then closed the door again once she was inside. “Up the back.”
He really was a man of few words.
She glanced around as they walked through the blacksmith’s shop. It was dirty and it was smelly, and there was mess everywhere.
If she hadn’t been such a lady, she’d probably be gagging by now.
“Can you cook,” he asked as he unlocked the door to the residence. “I’m right sick of beans.”
She stared at him then couldn’t help herself. A giggle bubbled up and there was no way she could stop it.
He glared at her as she stood there giggling, probably wondering what the heck he’d got himself into.
“What’s so funny,” he snapped, then walked inside, depositing her carpetbag on the bed.
It was his room, she was certain. There was a large bed in the middle of the room, with a window to one side.
Near the window was a kitchen chair, and it had men’s clothes strewn over it. The wardrobe door stood open, and there hung more men’s clothes.
Her breath caught in her throat. Did he expect her to sleep with him straight away? They were complete strangers. He didn’t know her, and she certainly didn’t know him.
“I, I can’t sleep here,” she said quietly, her voice shaking.
“We’ll be married within the hour,” he snapped. “There ain’t no other bed.”
He glared at her again and stormed out of the room. “I’m gonna clean up and we’ll get married then,” he said over his shoulder.
Amelia collapsed on the side of the bed. What had she gotten herself into? This
man, this Samuel Thomas, he didn’t want a wife.
No, he wanted someone to cook for him. Perhaps what he really wanted was a maid.
She let the full impact of that wash over her.
She looked up when she heard him shuffling in the doorway. “I put clean water for you,” he said. “And a fresh towel. Get cleaned up and we’ll find the preacher.”
“I, I’m not sure I want to…”
“Blast it, woman,” he snapped. “You came here willingly. I’m not gonna force you.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t form.
Amelia stood, then nodded. Without another word she went into the nearby bathroom to clean up. She pulled her long hair down, brushing it using only her fingers, then returned it to its original state.
She used the rough face cloth to clean the remnants of the dirty steam from her face, then washed her arms and hands.
Staring at herself in the mirror, she wasn’t certain what to do.
She took some calming breaths. What other option did she have?
She shoved her hand in her skirt pocket and pulled out the few remaining coins.
There really was no choice. She either married Samuel Thomas today, or…
There was no “or”. She had too few coins to go anywhere, and she certainly couldn’t return to Westlake.
She looked down at her gown. It was grubby but not dirty. She only had one other gown with her. It was at least clean.
“I have to change my gown,” she said suddenly, imploring him to leave the bedroom. When he stood rigid, she glared. “Some privacy would be nice,” she snapped. “We’re not married yet.”
A cold chill came over her. She’d just admitted to her future husband he would be able to watch her undress once they married.
He nodded then left the room, closing the door behind him.
“Darn it.” She couldn’t reach to secure all the fastenings. She had a personal maid to do that.
At least she used to have one. Now she had nothing. All her beautiful gowns were left behind, and all her prized belongings.
Possessions like the stuffed bear Mother had given her on her fifth birthday. And the diamond necklace her parents had surprised her with at her sixteenth birthday party.
Her hands went to her neck. There had been no time to gather up those things that meant the most to her.
She fought back a sob, then opened the door. “Mr Thomas,” she said abruptly. “Can you please fasten my dress?”
“Uh…” He stood momentarily frozen. “Of course,” he said. “After all, we’re about to be husband and wife.”
His hands hovered momentarily, then he secured the fastenings, and turned her to face him. “You look very pretty,” he said, looking her up and down.
Until that moment she hadn’t taken the time to look him over. Now that his face was clean, she could see he was handsome. Very handsome indeed.
“Thank you,” she said, fighting the urge to brush back the clump of jet black hair that had fallen across his face.
“We need to go,” he said. “I have to get back to work.”
She nodded and they left to find the preacher.
Chapter Five
Amelia’s wedding was nothing like the one she had envisioned.
This one was empty, hollow even. Standing next to a complete stranger saying her forever vows didn’t seem right.
The preacher near glared at her. Samuel had warned her he loathed mail order bride weddings, and it showed.
Apart from two townspeople pulled off the street as witnesses, no one was there to see them exchange their vows. Especially not her parents.
She fought back a sob.
Two months ago, her wedding aspirations looked totally different.
A pristine bride in a flowing custom-made white dress, at least one bridesmaid taking up the rear, and a bouquet of fresh and fragrant flowers in her hands.
Best of all, her father with his arm hooked through hers, ready to give her away.
All her family and friends would be in the congregation, waiting in anticipation.
She sighed.
Not even a single rose in sight.
“I have to get back to work,” he whispered as they left the church.
Was this really her wedding day? Tears pooled in her eyes, and she turned away to stop her new husband seeing them.
He hooked his arm through hers and headed back to the blacksmith’s shop. “When we get back, you might work out what you’re doing for supper, then go to the Mercantile and get supplies. Tell Edward to put it on my account.”
She startled. Didn’t he realize she couldn’t cook?
She guessed he didn’t. How could she tell him?
“You can make anything you like as long as it’s not beans.” He grinned.
She panicked but said nothing and just nodded.
Amelia followed him into the residence, where he changed from his Sunday best into the dirty blacksmith’s clothes he’d worn earlier.
They were abhorrent. How did he work in such filth?
She pottered around in the kitchen for a few minutes and discovered the only items in the pantry were beans and bread.
As she studied the bread, she saw tiny bits of green sprouting out on the crusts. Ugh!
Determined to cook something decent for her husband’s supper, with no idea how she would do that, Amelia went looking for the Mercantile.
As the bell tinkled over the door, all eyes turned her way. She prayed for the ground to open up and swallow her.
A tall man in an apron approached her. “Good morning,” he said jovially. “I’m Edward Horvard, owner of the Mercantile. And this,” he indicated a red-haired beauty. “Is my wife Phoebe.”
Amelia felt like she was on display. Everyone continued to stare.
Apparently sensing her discomfort, Mrs Horvard approached her. “Please come in. We’re all friends here.”
“I,” Her mouth was dry. She felt completely out of her depth. “I’m Amelia Bronson.” She slapped her hands to her mouth. “Oh! I’m Amelia Thomas. Mr Thomas and I married a short time ago.” She felt the heat creep up her neck and face, and she felt ill.
Phoebe reached over and held her hand. “A new bride. How wonderful!” Phoebe exclaimed, as though it was the most wonderful thing in the world.
And she supposed it could be, if being married was what you wanted. If marrying a complete stranger was your life’s wish. But if all you wanted to do was save yourself from your repulsive uncle, then that was another thing entirely.
“Are you a mail order bride,” Phoebe whispered, ensuring no one else could hear.
Amelia nodded.
“Me too. Give it time, you’ll settle in soon enough.” She reached over and hugged the new bride. “Now, what can I get you?”
Amelia felt more relaxed knowing she wasn’t alone.
“Something for supper. Anything but beans, he said.”
Phoebe laughed. “Can you cook,” she whispered. It was as though she totally understood Amelia’s predicament.
“I, I can’t. I don’t know what I’m going to do.” Tears pooled in her eyes. This seemed to be becoming the norm lately. She was not a crier, and it irritated her that she’d become one.
It was entirely her uncle’s fault, and it made her angry.
She was guided to a shelf in the middle of the room. “This book,” Phoebe said, picking up a cookbook. “Saved my life.” She grinned. “At least it saved my sanity, and my marriage. I promise, it will help you.”
“Cookery for the Modern Woman.” She flicked through the pages. “I don’t know, Thomas didn’t say I could get it,” she protested, not sure what to do.
Phoebe rubbed her hand across the other woman’s back. “I promise you, he’ll be happy. But if he’s not, bring it back.”
Amelia stared at her, then nodded. She couldn’t ask for more than that.
“Let’s get you some basics, because I’m certain Samuel will have nothing
in the pantry.” She reached for a box.
“Moldy bread and beans. That’s all.” She managed a smile this time.
“Right. So eggs, flour, potatoes, butter, and bread. Oh, and milk. You can always come back for more supplies.”
“When you get home,” Phoebe told her, “Check the pancake recipe. It’s very easy, filling, and you have all the ingredients here.”
Amelia opened the page to pancakes. It looked simple, but when you’ve never cooked before…
Phoebe leaned in close. “When you eat beans almost daily, pancakes are a delicacy.”
She was probably right. But would it be enough?
“We’re open for another few hours. Come back if you need anything else.”
Amelia felt incredibly out of her depth. What if she burned the pancakes? What if it was just a lumpy mess?
She straightened her back and left the store. She would give Samuel a meal fit for a king.
At least she hoped she would.
Chapter Six
Amelia sat at the kitchen table flicking through the new cookbook.
She decided on a hearty vegetable soup for supper, and instead of pancakes, she would make biscuits.
They looked to be less complicated than pancakes. Perhaps when she felt more confident she would tackle them.
She spotted paper and a pencil on a shelf, and began to write a list of ingredients she would need.
She would go back to the Mercantile and get enough ingredients to make a stew tomorrow as well.
This time she wouldn’t feel like a wilting flower when she walked in. She would stand tall and not act like the newest citizen to Dayton Falls.
She straightened her back, fluffed up her skirts, and walked out the door of the residence.
“Amelia,” Samuel called. “Where are you off to?”
She looked back at him over her shoulder. “I’m going back to the Mercantile to get more supplies. I have something special planned for supper.”
Despite the dirt that covered his face, his smile transformed him.
“What are you cooking?”
She decided to be bold, and laughed. “It’s a surprise. You’ll see later.”
“Get whatever you need,” he called after her. “Anything.”
The Blacksmith's Reluctant Bride Page 2