Sighing, Dalton tipped his hat down and closed his eyes. He dreamt of Suzanna walking down the aisle of a church decked out in flowers, a sweet adoring smile on her face. The only problem was he couldn’t see the groom.
Charlotte tossed her long dark braid over her shoulder and carried the last of her supplies to the small wagon. A clean apron hid most of the disreputable dress she wore and she brushed it off before she climbed in and took up the reins.
Yesterday she’d taken the time to inspect Marshal Hadley’s home and made a list of what she thought it would take to get it in order. None of the other brides even asked where she was going and that was fine with her. Jane was busy with Dr. Martin and Amelia had strict orders from her husband to rest every afternoon. Charlotte suspected Suzanna knew what she was up to, but, not surprisingly, she showed no interest as she and Martha were closeted in Martha’s room.
The house was small and basically neat, although it needed a good scrubbing. In short order Charlotte had the rooms swept, the threadbare rugs tossed over bushes to be beaten and the windows washed. She would definitely need some paint, and, if she could get her hands on it, some wallpaper for the dining room and bedroom.
Out back she found an old washtub lying among the weeds and some rope for a clothesline in the marshal’s barn. After cleaning the ashes out of the woodstove, she built a fire and put two pots of water on to boil. Charlotte collected everything she thought would survive a washing.
It was a struggle, dragging the sagging mattress out onto the front porch for airing and she gave that a good beating too. My goodness, this was turning into a bigger job than she’d thought. The porch needed painting and some flower boxes would look nice along the railing. Sinking down onto the steps, she questioned the wisdom of her actions as she wiped her face with her apron.
The marshal might not take kindly to her interference and, at the moment, it seemed like a lot of work for the ungrateful Suzanna. Still, it was a nice little house, sturdily built and situated on a rise to keep the frequent rain from making the yard a quagmire. A few weeping willow trees would help fight the water, but Charlotte wasn’t sure they would survive the harsh weather and high winds that occasionally plagued the area.
She carted the water to the washtub by buckets and spent a good two hours scrubbing the dingy sheets and towels with strong soap she brought from Amelia’s. Draping them over the line, she used the rest of the warm water to scrub the floors on her hands and knees.
It was just starting to rain when she finished, her knuckles bleeding from the scrub board and her hands red from the lye soap. She dragged the mattress back into the house and fought to get it on the iron bedstead. Quickly, she gathered the things off the line and brought them inside, draping them on any available surface to dry.
There was no iron, in fact, there weren’t many clothes belonging to the marshal at all. He must use one of the laundresses in town, she decided. There was a need for new curtains, pillows and a quilt would be nice. Picturing her grandmother’s wedding ring quilt on the bed, Charlotte gave herself a little talking to and took her list out of her apron pocket.
The contents of his kitchen were severely lacking. He had a beat up coffee pot, one warped skillet and some cracked dishes. There was one, badly burned pot holder, something she could take care of tonight with some odds and ends of fabric and batting. She’d also begin working on a rag rug to place in front of the door so he didn’t track dirt into the house.
He needed some wooden spoons, a kettle large enough for stew and a tin for baking biscuits. Having a set of dishes for when company stopped by would be nice too as well as a few coffee cups and glasses. It was going to take some money, she noted, but Charlotte was good at making due. She’d turned many a broken item into something useful or pretty. A loud crack of thunder forced her into motion and she hurriedly closed up the house and headed for home. Later she would talk with Amelia and see what she might confiscate from the Jordon’s scrap pile out by the barn.
Charlotte was soaked to the skin when she led the mare into the barn.
“Charlotte, what in heavens name are you doing out in this weather?” Hugh asked as he tended to his own horses.
“I had some things to take care of this afternoon,” she hedged, handing over the reins.
“Well you look a fright,” he replied. “Go on into the house and dry out. You shouldn’t be out and about by yourself anyway. Don’t you know these roads can wash out in an instant?” he scolded. “Why didn’t you at least take one of the other girls with you?”
“They were busy,” she answered as she hurried from the barn, her soggy skirts dragging through the mud that was now ankle deep in places.
“Don’t do it again,” he called after her.
Charlotte pretended not to hear.
Chapter Seven
Suzanna made two more trips into town during the week. While she pretended to be shopping for her new home, in reality she was arranging her trip to Portland and picking up a few more things for herself. It was imperative she make a good impression on Mr. Ferguson during their second meeting.
She decided Friday would be a good day to make her journey. It seemed reasonable that Mr. Ferguson would be extremely busy during the week, as a business man should be, and the girls were leaving with the Lanes on Friday. They should prove to be a diversion as there had already been plenty of tears from the girls and the other brides. Good grief, you’d think they were family the way they carried on about how much they would all miss each other.
Martha was nearly finished putting the lace trim on Suzanna’s evening dress and she couldn’t wait to see how she looked in it. Several of the others had asked about the dress Martha worked on until late each evening, but she just smiled, thinking she was working on the dress Suzanna would be married in. It wouldn’t be, of course. Suzanna intended to have a grand wedding wearing an ivory satin dress made by the best seamstress in Portland, after she managed to get Mr. Ferguson to marry her.
The only unpleasantness of the week came when Effie and her new husband came to see Amelia. It was all Suzanna could do to stop herself from slapping the satisfied expression off Effie’s face. Effie ignored her for the most part until, while sipping her tea, she spoke.
“Sam tells me Hugh has given you three hundred dollars to spruce up the marshal’s house,” she informed the others. “Why don’t you show us what you’ve bought?”
Martha gasped, a hand flying to her breast. Charlotte looked at Suzanna with narrowed eyes as her cup slammed down onto her saucer.
“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Suzanna drawled, recovering quickly. “You see most of the things are at the marshal’s house. I’ve been working my fingers to the bone trying to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear, don’t you know. I’m sure your mama knows all about that,” she continued, looking condescendingly at Effie.
“No, my mother knows trash when she sees it,” Effie replied sweetly. “Some things are trash no matter how nicely you dress them up.”
“I agree with you wholeheartedly,” Charlotte said, rising to her feet and sweeping from the room. If anyone noticed she was careful not to let her dress brush against Suzanna’s so be it.
Shooting a hopeful glance at Martha, Suzanna was not relieved. Her friend’s face was red with suppressed anger and she rose and left the room quickly with a murmured, “Excuse me.”
“My, my, you do know how to clear a room,” Suzanna remarked as she too rose.
“Apparently not well enough,” Effie replied pointedly while smiling sweetly.
“Effie,” Amelia gasped.
“Excuse me, Amelia,” Suzanna said loftily. “My presence obviously offends your guest,” she drawled, “so I’ll take my leave.”
“Everything about you offends me,” Effie replied without batting an eye. “Your deceptive personality; you pretend to befriend others while plotting against them. Your exaggerated southern gentility, when, in reality, you’re as mean as a snake and twice as dangerous.
Even your lovely face offends me. Too bad your form doesn’t reflect your true self. Oh well, if wishes were horses…”
“Are you referring to me as a beggar?” Suzanna asked, her eyes glowering.
“No, in my experience, most beggars are honest people who have fallen on hard times and reach out for help. You, Miss Jefferies, are not honest enough to reach out a hand. You’ll resort to manipulation and you’re conniving nature is perfectly obvious to me.”
“Euphemia!” Sam bellowed from the doorway. “You are a guest in this house, as is Miss Jefferies. Apologize at once.”
“Amelia, darling,” Effie drawled. “I sincerely apologize if I have done anything to offend you, but I did warn you.”
Sam snorted and crossed his arms over his chest.
“And to Miss Jefferies,” Sam ordered.
“Miss Jefferies neither deserves my apology, nor would she appreciate it were I to offer one, which I would not. We understand each other, don’t we, Miss Jefferies?”
“I understand that you despise me because I’m far more suited to your position than you are,” she sniffed haughtily, her chin in the air. “Why a woman like me should marry a common man like Marshal Hadley, while a woman like you,” she sneered disdainfully, “should marry into wealth and position, well, I just don’t understand it.”
“And you never will understand,” Effie offered. “You won’t understand because you’ve never looked beneath the surface of anything, not even yourself. You’re vain and selfish and have been raised to believe a pretty face and good manners would make up for any lack of genuine feeling or moral conscience. It doesn’t, Miss Jefferies. A real woman has a heart. She makes lasting friendships. She shows compassion to others, is generous with both her time and her possessions, and is trustworthy. You have shown none of these qualities and I doubt you possess them.
“Had it been up to me, I would have packed you up and sent you back to Georgia the first time you insulted my friend, but it was not up to me. You should thank your lucky stars Amelia has a more forgiving nature than I.”
“Effie, please,” Amelia sighed. “You’ve said enough.”
“Yes, I have,” Effie agreed firmly, “and not a thing I say will make any difference. I’m just a ‘skinny, northern tramp,’ aren’t I, Suzanna? Amelia, I will not visit again until this woman is no longer in your home. You, however, are free to visit me anytime. Come on, Sam.”
“Effie,” Amelia cried rising and following her friend to the door. “This is so unlike you.”
“I know it,” Effie replied, picking up her gloves from the stand by the door, “and had it been only Sam and I she insulted, I probably could have overlooked it, but it wasn’t. I’ll never forgive her for what she said to you.” Kissing Amelia’s cheek, Effie sailed through the door with Sam hot on her heels.
“I just don’t understand how such a hateful person could be a friend of yours, Amelia,” Suzanna said crossly when Amelia walked back into the room.
“Effie is not hateful. She’s the most honest and forthright person I know. I wonder… Suzanna, why don’t you go and get the carriage. I think I’d like to see what you’ve done to Cole’s house with my own eyes. Perhaps I will have some ideas on how to make it even nicer.”
“I don’t think Mr. Jordon will like us going out alone, Amelia. You know how protective of you he is, especially now.”
Amelia pinned Suzanna with her gray eyes and her lips thinned.
“Mr. Jordon is my husband and I’ll worry about his reaction. Get the carriage, Suzanna,” she insisted firmly.
Nearly beside herself with worry, Suzanna did as she was asked, praying for a broken wheel, or any small mishap to prevent or interrupt their trip to the marshal’s house. It was not to be.
They arrived at the small home in what seemed a very short time.
Opening the front door, she braced herself for the barrage of questions that were surely coming her way. She couldn’t have been more surprised. Someone had transformed the ugly little shack into a welcoming home.
Everything in sight was neat as a pin. The smell of beeswax was prevalent as she surveyed the shining floors. Crocheted doilies, crisply starched, adorned the small mantel and the glass lantern globes had not a speck of soot. They wiped their feet on a new rag rug and proceeded into the house.
New white paint covered the cupboards and someone had stenciled a trailing vine along the cornice in the kitchen. The windows sparkled and the red and white gingham curtains covering them were pulled back and tied with red ribbons.
In the dining room, the furniture was pushed against one wall and two walls were in the process of being papered.
“I recognize this print,” Amelia said smiling. “It’s the same one that’s in one of the bedrooms at Ma Ma’s. Did she give it to you?”
“Yes, she did,” Suzanna sighed in relief. “Mrs. Jordon is so generous. Of course, it’s been a lot of work to get it in this condition,” she continued. “It was simply deplorable when I started. Do you approve?”
“Yes, you’re making quite a lovely home here,” Amelia answered, strolling to the bedroom.
On the bed were several rolls of another paper. It was cream with tiny blue flowers.
“Oh, this was in my room. I simply love it,” Amelia said with a smile. “I believe there was some matching material that could be used for drapes or pillowslips. I’ll ask Ma Ma about it when I see her.”
“Amelia, please don’t do that. She’s been more than generous and, after all, I do have most of the money your husband gave me. I’ll make do until Cole gets back,” she assured her.
“All right, if you’d rather I didn’t. I must say you’ve worked very hard here. I’m sure Cole will be pleased and it won’t be much longer until you’re able to marry. You must be getting excited.”
“I’m very excited,” Suzanna replied, her eyes sparkling as she thought about her trip to Portland. She wondered who made all these changes, but it didn’t really matter. She’d never be living here, not if things worked out as she planned. Her shoulders relaxed and she suggested they get back so Amelia could have her afternoon rest. “You must be getting tired.”
“You know I never used to get tired in the afternoon until Hugh made me start taking naps,” she laughed as they closed the door behind them. “Now I find I miss them.”
“I’m sure it’s perfectly natural,” Suzanna commented absently. Two more days, she thought, just two more days and I’ll be on my way to a new life.
Martha paced Charlotte’s bedroom her hands clenched into tight fists.
“I can’t believe she lied to me, and so boldly too. She said she received money from her uncle for a trousseau. I swear I’d take the scissors to that dress if she hadn’t bought the fabric and notions. I thought I was making her wedding dress.”
“You could always take it apart,” Charlotte suggested furiously, as she tatted a strip of lace, her fingers flying. “How do you think I feel? Imagine her taking credit for working on the marshal’s house when she hasn’t set foot inside that I know of, and not a penny spent either! I feel so sorry for Marshal Hadley. Now he’ll have to pay Mr. Jordon back the money that sneaky witch spent on herself, and I doubt he can afford that kind of expense. Nearly all the materials I used were given to me by Mrs. Jordon and I have half a mind to march right back down there and tell Amelia the truth.”
“Oh, I don’t know what to think,” Martha fretted. “Suzanna was my friend and I trusted her. I suppose there could be something we don’t know, something about the marshal. Perhaps there’s a reason she doesn’t want to marry him.”
“Oh for heaven’s sake, Martha. Sometimes you are so naive. I know it’s in your nature to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, but one of these days that habit is going to bite you right on your… oh hell, ass,” she stated before biting a string in half with her teeth.
“I know just what you mean,” Martha sighed, sinking onto Charlotte’s bed and flopping back, her arms akimbo.
> “Are we still talking about Suzanna?” Charlotte asked.
“No, I guess not, but sort of. I can’t help wondering if I have misjudged Ethan as well. Back home no decent woman would ever agree to marry a man she hardly knew.”
“But you came out here to marry a virtual stranger.”
“I know, but I didn’t let myself think about it, I just made up my mind and took action. Now that I’ve had a few months to consider my actions, I’m having second thoughts.”
“Don’t you care for Ethan?”
“Yes, I do, I love him I think, but what if he’s not the man I think he is? After all I hardly know him.”
“Nonsense, Ethan is a wonderful man and he’s mad about you. He’s tall and handsome and hard working to boot. His family is nice and the Jordons obviously trust and respect him. What more could you want?”
“A man who sees me as an equal,” Martha sighed, rolling onto her side to look at her friend.
“And Ethan doesn’t?” Charlotte asked curiously.
“He says he does, but he also said that if I didn’t act like a grown woman he wasn’t going to treat me as one.”
“Which means…”
“I’m pretty sure it means he’ll spank me like a child if I disobey him or do anything he considers foolish.”
“Sounds pretty reasonable to me,” Charlotte offered calmly.
“Really?”
“Yes, really,” Charlotte laughed. “I grew up on a farm where everyone had to pull their weight. If I didn’t do my chores or back-sassed, I got my bottom smacked, or worse, taken out to the wood shed for a whipping.”
“But they were your parents. Surely you would expect a husband to treat you differently.”
“In some ways, yes, but I think most husbands wouldn’t take kindly to a wife who was lazy, spiteful or full of sass. I expect she’d get her bottom thoroughly spanked for that sort of thing.”
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