The Blacksmith's Reluctant Bride

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The Blacksmith's Reluctant Bride Page 4

by Cheryl Wright


  “Good morning, Mrs Thomas,” said an older woman sitting next to her. “I’m Bertha Grogan, the doctor’s wife.”

  It helped take her mind off the people she’d lost.

  So far, everyone in this tiny town of Dayton Falls had been everything she’d hoped.

  Amelia reached for the bible sitting at the back of the pew, holding it for solace.

  As if she understood completely, Mrs Grogan reached over and patted her hand. It was comforting.

  Her uncle had refused to allow Amelia to attend church after her parents had died, except for their funeral. And that was only because of appearances. What would people say if he didn’t allow her to attend her own parents funeral?

  Knowing what she knew now, was it any wonder he didn’t attend church? The devil himself wouldn’t dare to step inside such a sacred place.

  It wasn’t long before they stood for the first of several hymns, and Amelia was beginning to feel at ease.

  When the service was over, several women from the auxiliary greeted her, taking her in hand.

  “I’m Allie, this is Charlotte, Mrs Jensen, Mrs Green, and Mrs Jackson,” she was told. “You’ve already met Mrs Grogan.”

  She was hugged by several of the women, especially the younger ones, and taken to the large kitchen.

  “I’m never going to remember everyone’s names,” she said, but was told not to worry.

  The church she’d attended in Westlake was nothing like this. It had a large attendance base, but was not as friendly as this small church.

  She smiled at her husband as she spotted him across the room, talking to the Mercantile owner.

  She could certainly get used to this lovely little town and it’s friendly people.

  * * *

  Amelia awoke wrapped up in Samuel’s arms. She was getting used to waking this way every day, and wasn’t complaining.

  It felt good to be wanted, and his warmth seeped through to her.

  The bed was pretty good too.

  He stirred. “Good morning, wife,” he said, grinning at her, then rolled away.

  She felt empty, and didn’t like the feeling at all. “Good morning.”

  She tried to roll out of bed, but he snaked a hand around her. “I like it better when I’m holding you,” he said. “But I have to get ready for work.”

  She liked it too, it felt nice. She had work to do too, starting with making Samuel’s breakfast.

  She was getting used to the new routine, and even enjoyed it some days.

  She pulled away, then sat on the side of the bed. “It’s quiet here,” she said, then yawned. “I used to live in a big city – it was always noisy.”

  She sighed. As much as she hated the noise, she’d had her parents.

  She also got to see her friend Elizabeth. That probably wouldn’t happen ever again. The very thought made her sad.

  She needed to take her mind off such unhappy thoughts. “What would you like for breakfast today?”

  She turned to look at her husband. He was in the process of pulling up his drawers.

  She gasped.

  He turned around and grinned at her. He obviously thought it was funny, but to her, it wasn’t.

  It was…indecent.

  She stared at his bare chest. “You need to put a shirt on, Samuel,” she said tersely. “That is not appropriate. Or decent.”

  He laughed. She liked the sound of him laughing. He didn’t do it often enough.

  “It would only be indecent if we weren’t married,” he said. Then his mood changed. He frowned at her and his face was serious. “But we are,” he added softly.

  “Fine,” she told him, then reached for her robe and left the room in a huff.

  She could still hear him laughing from the kitchen.

  * * *

  She added more wood to the stove and stirred it up. It was chilly in there, and she needed to fix it. She would spent most of her day there, so that simply wouldn’t do.

  She had checked her new cookbook and decided to make her husband scrambled eggs. He seemed to like them.

  The kettle was already heating up, and she’d pulled out some bread, ready to make toast.

  She set the table while she waited for him to appear. She supposed she’d get used to his cheeky sense of humor, but right now she found it downright irritating.

  He entered the kitchen and walked straight toward her, hands outstretched as though he was about to hug her.

  “Sit,” she ordered, before he starting playing his silly games.

  He looked deflated, but it was necessary for her sanity.

  Okay, it was for both of them. Neither wanted a real marriage, and the games he played would push them in that direction.

  She stirred the eggs, then turned to him. He looked deflated.

  As she turned back to the stove, the toast began to burn. “Nooooo!”

  She sobbed. She couldn’t do anything right. She pulled it off the stove and threw it onto the plate, then stirred the eggs before they burned too.

  Samuel stood and made his way toward the burned toast. “It’s not that bad,” he said, looking it over.

  She stared over his shoulder. Perhaps not.

  He stood there buttering the toast, while she finished the eggs, then spooned them onto his plate.

  “Sit and eat while it’s hot. I’ll pour the coffee.”

  He did as he was told. “This is lovely, Amelia,” he said between mouthfuls. “Until you arrived, I hadn’t had breakfast for a very long time.”

  “Really?” She continued to be amazed by the things he revealed to her.

  “Really.”

  She stared at his face. He was a very handsome man. When he wasn’t covered in dirt, he was good to look at.

  Oh, who was she fooling? She reveled in gazing at him. It made her feel good all over.

  “Having a good look?” He laughed.

  She felt the heat creep up her neck and face.

  “Guilty,” she said, then laughed too. “You look so different without dirt on your face.”

  He frowned. “It’s not dirt, it’s soot,” he said. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help it. This is what pays the bills.”

  He shoveled in the last mouthful of his breakfast, then left the table without another word.

  She’d insulted him. She truly didn’t mean to do that. “Samuel,” she called after him, but he ignored her.

  Perhaps one day she’d learn to keep her big mouth shut.

  Chapter Ten

  He was beginning to get used to having Amelia around, and then she says something like that.

  It was like a punch to the gut.

  He couldn’t help that he was grubby by the end of the day. Being a blacksmith was hard work. Hard and dirty work, but he loved it.

  He’d been privileged to learn the trade, and then inherit the business from his father who’d died unexpectedly five years ago.

  Samuel hadn’t anticipated running his own business before he was thirty, but it happened that way.

  It had been difficult though.

  His mother had always been there for his father, and for him, until she’d died of a heart attack. They’d been standing together talking when she’d clutched her chest and dropped to the ground.

  There was nothing anyone could do – she was gone instantly.

  Father had been heartbroken, and only lasted another year or so. Rumor was he’d taken his own life, but Samuel knew better. His father was stronger than that.

  He’d died of a broken heart.

  He had to shake those depressing thoughts away, and worry about the dilemma he was now facing.

  Amelia. His pretend wife.

  Could they ever have the sort of marriage his parents enjoyed? Did he even want that?

  Theirs was a marriage of convenience too, but they seemed happy enough. He wouldn’t say blissfully happy, but they certainly weren’t unhappy with their lot.

  He grabbed a piece of steel and shoved it in the burning embers. Sna
tching up the hammer, he waiting patiently until the steel was hot enough to manipulate.

  He stared across at the residence. What was Amelia doing now? Had he upset her with the way he’d stormed out?

  He hoped so.

  He bit his bottom lip. He didn’t mean that. He liked Amelia – he would never hurt her intentionally.

  Samuel wanted to toss the hammer aside and run to her. Tell her he’d been a fool, and apologize for his appalling behavior.

  But the piece of steel was ready, and he didn’t want to waste it. So instead he took his frustrations out on the heated metal sitting in front of him.

  She’d continued to be on his conscious for most of the morning. The only way it would settle would be to go and talk to her.

  He decided he had too much to do.

  Deep down he knew that wasn’t true. All he had to do was put down his tools and go into the residence, apologize, and go back to work.

  Oh for goodness sakes!

  A week ago he hadn’t had to worry about any of this nonsense. It was him, and him alone. Why should he worry about niceties just because he now had a wife.

  “Samuel?” He startled at the sound of Amelia’s voice. “I’ve brought you coffee.”

  She sat it on the table, then lingered. When he didn’t respond she turned to leave.

  Then it hit him she was waiting for him to say something. “Amelia,” he said, feeling guilty for not saying anything before. “Thank you.”

  She turned back to him and smiled briefly, then turned away again. Evidently she was still upset.

  “Please don’t leave,” he said, then reached out to touch her shoulder. He risked soiling her gown, so yanked off his thick gloves. Samuel needed to talk to her before it ate away at him.

  “I’m truly sorry for my behavior at breakfast,” he said gently, standing close to her.

  “I doesn’t matter,” she said flippantly. But he knew that wasn’t true. He could see it in her eyes, and in the hard set of her face. She was visibly upset, and it was all his fault.

  “It does matter,” he said genuinely. He reached over and took both her hands in his. “It matters to me, and I can tell it matters to you.”

  He was enjoying holding her hands. They were soft and gentle, and a warmth flowed through him as he stood there caressing them.

  “I, I have to go and organize supper,” she said, and tried to pull her hands out of his grip.

  He was reluctant to let her go, and put his lips to her hand. His lips tingled.

  She wrenched her hand out of his grip, and he felt hollow. He wished they could spend the day together and get to know each other better.

  It was an impossible dream as he had many orders to fulfill.

  “Thank you again,” he said, wondering if that gentle kiss had affected her as much as it had him.

  She nodded and walked away.

  It was early days yet, but Samuel hoped they could be friends.

  Chapter Eleven

  As she went about her work, Amelia realized how easy she’d had it her entire life.

  The servants did everything, and all she had to do was sit around and look pretty.

  That’s what her parents had told her repeatedly.

  They’d introduced her to several young gentlemen with the sole purpose of marrying her off to a rich family.

  But none were rich enough for her father. What would he think of Samuel? Doing hard labor for a living is not what he would approve of.

  She stiffened. “I’m sorry Father, Mother,” she said quietly, her eyes filling with tears.

  Swiping at her eyes, Amelia dragged the laundry into a bucket, ready to hang on the clothes line.

  Not that she blamed Samuel, he was a man after all, but the place was in a bad way. When she’d arrived, the bed linen needed washing, and was in such a state, she’d given it first priority.

  She promised herself to get the place looking spotless. No one would have the opportunity to judge her as a bad housekeeper. Or a bad wife.

  She’d been there such a short time, but already she’d seen her husband’s stubborn side.

  Amelia wondered if he would ever soften to her. Or would he always keep her at a distance?

  Not that she wanted to be his true wife, but she did want to at least become friends. This unease she was feeling didn’t sit well with her.

  After hanging the sheets, she proceeded to cut the vegetables for supper. She was determined to dish up a different meal for supper every night, and tonight she was making a beef stew.

  He worked hard, and he deserved to come home to a nice hot meal, and not the beans he’d survived on for so long.

  The cookbook she’d bought was proving to be invaluable. She must thank Phoebe next time she saw her.

  She was startled when Samuel rushed through the door.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked in a panic, wondering why he’d suddenly materialized.

  He stared at her momentarily. “It’s time for luncheon,” he said gently, as though he understood her current state of mind.

  “Oh.” She been so wrapped up in her work, she hadn’t noticed the time. Luckily there were leftover biscuits from last night’s supper. And she had extra soup. She would put that on to warm up. “I’m sorry. I’ve been so busy, I didn’t think about it.”

  He frowned, and she worried he was going to yell at her, the way he had when she first arrived.

  “Don’t do too much,” he said softly. “You need to rest up. You’ve had a big few days.”

  He wasn’t cross at all. In fact, he was worried about her.

  How sweet.

  But she couldn’t afford to get soft on him. “Sit.” She set the soup in the saucepan, then placed a plate of biscuits in front of him, and the kettle on the stove.

  “What’s for supper?” he asked, reaching for one of the biscuits.

  She was reluctant to tell him in case she messed it up. But he’d asked. “If it works out alright, we’ll be having beef stew.”

  He gazed at her for a moment. “You won’t mess it up, believe me. You’ve done so wonderfully with all the meals you’ve made.”

  Was he just saying that, or was it really true?

  She supposed the soup did turn out fine, so she couldn’t really deny that. And the biscuits tasted superb, if she did say so herself.

  What they’d be like today was another issue altogether.

  She hadn’t been very adventurous with the meals so far, but she had served up something different each night.

  The soup began to simmer on the stove and she dished up a large bowl for Samuel, and a much smaller one for herself.

  He leaned down into and sniffed. “It smells just as good as it did last night.” He scooped up a spoon and began to eat. “This really is good,” he said, then didn’t speak again until it was all gone.

  “I’ll do better next time.” She stood to make his coffee.

  He stopped midway of putting a biscuit in his mouth. “You did good this time. A man can’t complain about the food you’ve dished up so far.”

  The coffee splashed on the table as she set it down. Grabbing up a kitchen cloth, she began to clean it up.

  He covered her hand with his own. “Amelia,” he said softly.

  The zing that ran up her arm frightened her, and she snatched her hand away.

  What he was trying to achieve, she had no idea. He’d asked for someone to cook, and to clean his house. That’s what she was doing. What she would continue to do.

  He stared at her. Disappointment was written all over his face.

  He opened his mouth to speak, but changed his mind and took a large gulp of his coffee instead.

  The silence was deafening.

  “Do you ever like to eat pie with supper?”

  She watched as his face softened. “I do,” he said, a grin forming. “Don’t tell me you might mess it up,” he said. “Because I know you won’t.”

  He reached across the table and held her hand again
. “I’m so glad you came, Amelia,” he said.

  She wasn’t convinced it was her Samuel was glad about, more the food she made.

  But she guessed that was a good start to their pending friendship.

  Chapter Twelve

  Samuel pushed the empty plate away from himself. “Another wonderful meal,” he told his new bride. “I didn’t expect anything like this,” he said.

  She leaned over and held his hand. Her response spread warmth all through his body.

  Did that mean she was warming to him? She’d been so apprehensive when he’d done the same. But that was when she’d first arrived some days ago.

  He’d never been a person to touch others, but it was different with Amelia. Whenever he was near her, he wanted to touch her, to hold her.

  But they were near-strangers, and he was afraid to offend her sensibilities.

  Going by the few gowns she had brought with her, she’d come from a well-to-do family.

  He had no idea what had made her flee her family, but flee she had. They had to make the most of it.

  She squeezed his hand, and that familiar zing ran up his arm. He put his free hand over hers.

  “Thank you,” she said quietly, then pulled her hand away to clear away the dishes.

  “Don’t go.” His voice almost sounded as though he was begging her, and perhaps he was. Despite his best intentions, he was getting very used to having his wife around.

  She smiled. “There’s pie. Let me dish it up.”

  He nodded his acceptance, but it didn’t reflect his thoughts. He would have sat there holding her hand all night if she’d let him.

  “Apple pie,” she said, putting a large slice in front of him. A bowl of cream followed it.

  He grabbed her hand as she moved away. “Amelia,” he said, a quiver in his voice. “Thank you.”

  She smiled down at him. How did he tell her she’d brightened up his life? That he now looked forward to each and every day.

  He mentally shook himself. That was surely due to the wonderful meals she’d been presenting him with?

  “You’re welcome.” She slid into her chair, and continued to stare at him.

  “After supper, we’ll retire to the sitting room.” He wanted to get to know her. To find out more about her. Since she’d arrived, she’d revealed little about herself. She was still a virtual stranger, an outsider, despite the number of days they’d spent together. And that didn’t sit well with Samuel.

 

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