She was a bit concerned about how blasé he was acting over the whole shooting and murder in front of their home. “Do you hear gunfire a lot?”
He shrugged. “Once a week or so. That’s the first time someone has been killed on my doorstep, though.”
“You’re acting like it happens every day.” She took her shopping basket and followed him out the door. “I want to get fabric for the pillows and curtains today, as well as food to last us a few days. You seem to think you need to eat three meals a day every day. It gets tiring after a while…”
“Really? Do you want me to take a turn cooking?” His eyes were filled with humor as he asked.
She laughed. “Not at all! I prefer to have a variety in my meals.” She reached for his hand as they walked. “I honestly enjoy cooking for you. I like to see your face when I make something new.” Her mother had always said it was a joy to serve the ones you loved, but before that day, she’d never seen it.
“Like every meal, then? You know how to cook a lot of things!”
“I do. And I think I’m going to see if there’s a recipe book at the store. If there is, I’ll be able to cook even more things for you.”
“You’re spoiling me. Pretty soon, I’m going to expect to come home from work to food on the table and a beautiful woman at the stove.” He paused for a moment. “Oh, wait. I think I’m already used to it! You’ll have to keep spoiling me now.”
She grinned, walking into the mercantile after he opened the door. She watched as Arthur went to the counter, so she walked to the back of the store, straining her ears to see what she would hear them say.
“Do you know of any new women in town?” Arthur asked. “Older women, gray hair, blue eyes?”
“Nope.” The man who ran the mercantile had a deep voice and looked to be around fifty. “Sounds like my kind of lady, though…so if you happen to see someone who looks like that, send her my way.”
Arthur laughed. “Sorry, Mortimer. I haven’t seen anyone like that. I heard tell someone who matches that description was in town before the shots this morning, but I didn’t see her myself.”
“Well, if you do see her, tell her I’m a-waitin’ for her!” Everyone in town knew that Mortimer was a widower. He and his son had run the mercantile together for ten years. Mortimer was ready to marry again, and he wasn’t shy about it.
“You know I will. My wife is picking fabric for pillows and curtains. She’s turning my house into a whole new place. And she can cook like a dream. You should come to supper one night. I promise I won’t cook.”
“Good, because I’ve had all the beans and cornbread I can stomach. Marriage seems to agree with you.”
Arthur grinned, patting his stomach, which was full of a delicious breakfast. “It does. I had no idea how much I needed a woman to make my life better. I had been thinking about sending for a mail-order bride, but it felt strange writing a letter to some woman I’ve never met in Massachusetts.”
“I’ve heard there’s a woman in a town named Beckham who matches up people who are happy for the rest of their lives. There’s supposed to be a newspaper starting up in a month or two, and I might just stick an advertisement in it. I would love to have a wife to make me delicious meals.”
Beatrice bit her lip as she hurried to the front of the store, putting the two bolts of fabric she wanted on the counter. “I need two yards of this and eight yards of this,” she said, pointing to each bolt in turn.
“Beatrice, this is my friend, Mortimer Jackson. Mortimer, this is my wife, Beatrice.”
Beatrice smiled and nodded her head. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“You as well.” Mortimer grinned at her. “I can see you’ve been very good for Arthur here.”
“I try,” she said softly.
“I invited Mortimer to supper. Tonight?” Arthur asked.
Beatrice nodded. “That works out well for me. I’ll fix something especially delicious.” She looked at Mortimer. “Oh, that reminds me. Do you have any recipe books here? I know how to cook a lot of things, but Arthur sure does like having something new every night.”
“I think I do.” Mortimer dug under the counter and found a book. “Will this work for you?”
Beatrice took it, flipping through it quickly. In her cursory look, she found several recipes she’d never before made. “Yes, this is wonderful. I’ll take it.” She wandered off again, searching through the food.
It didn’t take her long to have the counter piled high. “This will work just fine,” she said when she’d finished.
Mortimer quickly rang everything up on his cash register, and Arthur paid him. They walked home the same way they had the previous week, with each of them carrying an overflowing wooden box.
“I’m not sure we can keep buying this much every week. Our house is going to have things falling out the windows soon.”
She gave him a cheeky grin. “You should give me a budget, then. I’m perfectly capable of sticking to a budget.” She wouldn’t always be buying the way she had been, either. She was only buying so much to get the house set up how she wanted it.
“I can’t do that! It’s too fun to see what you’ll buy and what you’ll make from the purchases.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “You shouldn’t complain, then, should you?”
“I guess not.” After he’d put his box on the kitchen table, he kissed her cheek. “I’ll see you at lunch time.”
“I’ll make something.” She didn’t know what, but she always came up with something. She knew that he wasn’t a picky eater, so it was easy to please him where food was concerned.
She spent the morning baking bread and putting on a soup for lunch. It was so easy to just stick a pot full of ingredients on the stove and let it cook until he was ready for his lunch. He never complained about having soup for lunch every day.
After lunch that day, there was a knock at the door, and she hurried over to see who it was. Archie. She shrank away from the door, refusing to open it. There was something about the man that made her skin crawl. No way would she face him without Arthur at her side.
There was another knock, this time louder. “I know you’re in there!”
She stayed perfectly still, hoping he wouldn’t hear her moving around at all. She wasn’t about to answer the door. He was the man she got the worst feelings from.
After he’d left, she opened the door connecting the house to Arthur’s office. “Mr. Grady just came by and pounded on the door,” she told Arthur once she had his attention. “He knocked for a long time, even calling out that he knew I was there.”
“Were you frightened?”
She nodded emphatically. “I was very frightened. And I didn’t open the door.” She shivered, rubbing her arms to ward off the chill Archie had made her feel.
“Good. I wouldn’t want you to.”
“Well, look who’s here,” Archie Grady said from the doorway. “Does your pretty little wife spend a lot of time in your office while you’re working, Arthur?” Archie’s eyes went to Beatrice, and he looked at her in a way only a husband should look at a wife.
“Only when she sees something slimy. Then she comes over and asks me to protect her from it.” Arthur met the other man’s eyes dead on. He knew Archie would know he was being insulted, but Arthur just didn’t care. Archie’s uncle may own the town, but Arthur was not going to kowtow to him.
Beatrice stood behind Arthur while he talked, keeping her head down. She knew Archie would take it as a subservient gesture, but really it was to keep him from seeing her anger. She wanted to throw something at the man, but she didn’t need to get a reputation for having a temper.
Arthur took the hand that rested on his shoulder, giving her strength. “Did you need to send a telegram, Mr. Grady?” If the man wasn’t there to conduct business, he could get out of his office.
Archie frowned and shook his head. “Not at the moment, I don’t.”
“Then is there a reason you stopped by my office
? Something else I can help you with?”
“No. I’ll be going.” Archie’s eyes lingered on Beatrice as he left the office.
“I don’t like him,” Beatrice said unnecessarily.
“No one does, my dear. No one does.”
Supper that evening was a fun time for Beatrice. Mortimer, as he insisted she call him, was full of interesting stories. He’d fought for the South in the War Between the States, and he talked about how awful the war was. He went into great detail about his journey west—made on foot—because trains weren’t as readily available at that time.
He talked about his wife and son, and she listened eagerly to every word because his voice was full of love when he talked about his marriage. In Mortimer’s eyes, his wife had been nearly perfect, and he loved to tell everyone about her.
After he’d left, she did the dishes, then went in search of Arthur, finding him exactly where she expected him to be—in the parlor, reading silently. She took her spot beside him on the sofa, her sewing basket at her feet.
“If Mortimer came to the door while you were at work, should I open the door?” She felt very comfortable with the man and would happily allow him in.
Arthur eyed her for a moment before silently shaking his head. “I like Mortimer, and we’ve been friends for a long time. But I can’t fully trust him, or any other man in this town, until I know who’s behind the disappearances.”
“You don’t even trust Mortimer?” She was surprised. They’d seemed like such close friends to her.
“He’s probably my best friend in this whole town…but no, I don’t trust him. Not where you’re concerned. I’ve found myself a precious jewel, and I can’t trust any man who might be a thief.” He couldn’t imagine allowing her to be alone with any man. They would all love her just as much as he did. How could they not?
She shook her head at him. “I think you may value me too highly.”
“I don’t think I could put a value on you. You are my wife. No, there’s no value that’s too high.” He showed her the book he was reading. “Have you read Little Women?”
She nodded. “It’s been a favorite of mine for many years.”
“This is the sequel. Little Men.”
“I haven’t read that one!” She was excited at the very idea of a new book by Louisa May Alcott.
“Then pick up your sewing and I’ll get to reading it.” He opened the book to the first chapter, cleared his throat, and started reading.
Beatrice found herself lost in the words of a writer she greatly admired. She’d always thought she could be a writer herself, but it had never quite worked out for her, though the passion was there.
Over an hour and three chapters later, he closed the book. “I’m afraid I need to stop there. I’m more tired than usual tonight. My wife forced me to risk my life, handing out muffins to strangers this morning.”
“Did you find out who died?” she asked softly. She’d tried not to think of the shooting all day, but his words brought it back to her.
“I didn’t know the man. He was here for the summer, working.” There were a lot of men who drifted through town for a while, then left again.
“Someone needs to notify his family.”
“That was my job earlier today. I sent them a telegram.”
“Will there be a funeral?” She knew she was showing an inordinate amount of interest in the death of a stranger, but after her parents’ deaths, she felt the need to do something for this man.
“I don’t know…”
“I would like to have one, if you don’t mind. I will make food for a reception after, but everyone should have the right to pay their last respects.”
Arthur nodded. He could see it was important to her, and he felt strongly enough for her that he couldn’t imagine telling her no. “All right. I’ll wire Reverend Bing.”
“Thank you.” She was pleased he didn’t question her need to do it and simply went along with it. He was better to her than she deserved.
Chapter Six
Shortly after lunch the following day, there was a knock on the door again. At first Beatrice froze, and then she crept softly to the door to see who was there. When she saw Millie with her brother, she opened the door wide. “It’s so good to see you!” She couldn’t believe how relieved she was to see her friend there at the door.
“It’s good to see you too,” Millie said, throwing her arms around Beatrice and hugging her tightly.
“What are you doing here?” Beatrice asked, thankful to see her friend but not sure why she was there.
“I told you I’d come see you when I could! Callum was called into town about a man who died needing a funeral, so I thought I’d visit you.”
“I’m glad you’re here! I said I’d cook for a reception after the funeral, and I have a feeling I’m going to need an extra pair of hands.” Beatrice was willing to work through the night if necessary, but it would be so much easier with her friend’s help.
Callum nodded to her. “It’s good to see you again, Mrs. Jameson. I’ll go and talk to Arthur for details on what happened, and the man who died.”
After he’d left, Beatrice shut and locked the door. “What shall we cook?” she asked Millie, linking her arm with her friend’s.
“Most of the men in this town crave sweets. There’s no baker around, so if they’re not married, they miss out on baked goods. We should bake a few cakes, some cookies, and a pie or three.” Millie looked over at Beatrice. “I love your new dress. You sure do look different than when I was here last week.”
“That’s because I’m clean and my clothes aren’t torn.” Beatrice shook her head. “I can’t believe I let anyone see me that way. I didn’t have a choice, but I’m very embarrassed about it now.” She knew she hadn’t looked the slightest bit respectable. Arthur shouldn’t have looked twice at her!
“Don’t be! You’re still the same person inside. We loved you before, and we’ll love you now.” Millie took Beatrice’s second apron off a hook and pulled it on over her dress. “We might want to make a huge pot of stew as well as the baked goods. I think the men would appreciate that.”
“When is your brother planning to do the funeral?”
“When? Probably tomorrow morning. He’s here for information today, so I insisted I get to come along and see my friend. He couldn’t say no to me when I offered to make him his favorite dessert if he brought me along.”
Beatrice laughed. “You’re bribing a man of God? Let me step away from you, lest you be struck by lightning!”
Millie giggled. “He’s easily bribed with sweets, though I’m not sure if I’ll tell anyone else that. It’s probably not something anyone should know about the good Reverend Bing.”
The two women dove into their baking, working together as if they’d done it a thousand times before. “This reminds me of cooking with my mother,” Beatrice said sadly for a moment. “We cooked together so often that we could almost read each other’s minds as to what to do next.”
“I’m sorry if that makes you sad. Soon you’ll think of your mother, and the memories will bring a smile to your face instead of tears.”
“I hope so.” Beatrice worked for a while in silence. “Tell me about your life. Where did you grow up?” She couldn’t believe she’d told Millie so much about her own past, but she hadn’t asked any questions of her friend. She’d needed to talk, and Millie had been a welcoming ear.
“Scotland. Callum has all but raised me, and he’s a good brother to me. I love it here, because I get to be part of his ministry.”
“I can understand that.” Beatrice put a cake into the oven and closed it. “I’m going to sew for ten minutes so I have a break and not be on my feet as much.”
“How’s that ankle of yours? I know you were limping a little last week!”
“It’s better. I did so much sewing last week that I just wasn’t on my feet like I would be most days. It’s not bothering me at all anymore.”
“I’m glad! And I
really do love the new dress. It’s pretty, but modest as well. What more could you ask for in a dress?”
“Where will the funeral take place?” Beatrice asked. “There’s not a church here in town, is there?” Not that she’d seen much of the town, but if the nearest place to go to service was Bachelor, she knew there couldn’t be one in Creede.
“There is. It’s not used because the last minister was too afraid to stay here any longer. He preached one too many sermons on the evils of alcohol and was sent death threats. He decided it was time to go.” Millie shook her head. “It’s sad, because that minister was a good friend of my brother’s. He’s missed him something fierce since he left.”
“That’s very sad. So we’ll have the funeral in the church here? Does it need to be cleaned?” Beatrice couldn’t imagine having a funeral in a filthy church.
Millie nodded. “I suspect it does need a good cleaning. Do you want to do that today?”
Beatrice shook her head. “I’ve promised Arthur that I won’t leave the house without him. He’s worried something will happen to me because of the three women who have disappeared recently.”
“Three? It was two last I heard. We need to pray for those women to be found quickly.”
“I agree. I pray for them every day.” Beatrice frowned. “I suppose I’ll have to wait until Arthur comes home to clean the church. I would rather get it done with, but I understand his fears, and I won’t break my word to him.” She needed there to be trust in her marriage.
Millie smiled at her. “You’re a good wife to him. I know few wives who would honor that wish from their husbands.”
“I will try to always honor my husband’s wishes. I may not always agree with them, and I’ll voice my opinion when I don’t, but I will try to be an obedient wife. When it suits me, of course.” Beatrice grinned at her friend.
Beatrice the Bride (Cowboys and Angels Book 1) Page 6