Christmas Mail Order Angels: The complete 11 Volume Set
Page 24
“I can show you the bedroom,” he said. He dragged her trunk down the hall.
The room smelled of wood polish and the clean linen bedcoverings he placed on the newly constructed bed. Noonday sun shone through the two windows, giving the room a cheery, airy light. Isaac set her trunk in a corner. “What do you think?”
“It’s nice. It looks…comfortable.” She touched the bedpost with a fingertip.
The sun shone upon her white wedding dress, making her appear even more radiant and angelic. It also highlighted her womanly curves, showcasing where her corseted waist dipped in and her hips rounded out in pleasing proportion to her bust. It had been years since Isaac felt a woman’s touch. That was before he committed his life to following Christ. Gazing at Rosalie, he knew all those years of fighting temptation had been worth it.
He approached her. “How do you like your ring?”
“It’s a beautiful ring. I like it very much.”
“And the wedding?” He ventured to ask. He then wondered whether he should have. It was not a formal, elaborate ceremony.
She didn’t answer that question as swiftly as she did the first. She was being careful. “It wasn’t how I pictured my wedding day, but I understand Angel Vale is a growing town. I also wish my aunt could have been here, but there’s nothing to be done about it. She passed away last spring.”
“I’m sorry to hear about your aunt.”
“She had been ill.”
Isaac hated that he made Rosalie remember a sad situation. He wanted her to be happy today. “Please make yourself at home. This is your house now. I’ll do everything I can to make sure you’re comfortable.” He touched her cheek gently. It was soft as a rose petal. He couldn’t help himself as his fingers trailed down her neck to the lace at her throat. There was a tiny button to undo.
Rosalie shied away. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to change out of my dress. Would you give me a few minutes?”
Isaac halted and drew his hand away. Was it skittishness at consummating their marriage or did she not want him to touch her at all? “Yes, of course. I’ll be in the sitting room.” He started for the door. Then he stopped once he got to it. “Rosalie, I wanted to remind you of our agreement. If we, for whatever reason, don’t become husband and wife in every way, the marriage can be annulled by Christmas. Do you understand what I mean?”
The sun made her eyes golden brown before she closed them to him and to the world. “I understand.”
Isaac slipped from the room quietly, closing the door behind him in order for her to have privacy. Maybe she just needed a chance to get used to her new home. He hoped that was all it was.
Chapter 3
Rosalie woke up in yet another strange new place, but it wasn’t at a train station or a boarding house. This place belonged to her new husband. She turned over in bed to find Isaac was gone, no doubt taking care of the homestead’s early morning chores. It was just as well. She didn’t sleep well on account of trying to keep to her side of the bed. Isaac had done the same. She supposed the night was awkward for him, too. More reason to rise with the sun.
She wandered into the kitchen after getting dressed. The cabinets and stove were sturdily built, but simple in design and unembellished. Coffee sat on the stove. Rosalie reached into the cabinet overhead and found a tin mug. When Isaac gave her a tour of the house yesterday, he said he had yet to purchase porcelain cutlery and better quality eating utensils. “You choose what you think we need, and we can buy it from the mercantile on our next trip to town,” he told her.
Work on the homestead apparently kept Isaac too busy to be concerned with the more domestic necessities of a household. No matter. Rosalie could certainly make do with rustic cutlery. She poured coffee into the tin mug. It was strong to the point of bitterness, and lukewarm. She managed two sips on her way to the dining table, where a half-eaten hardtack biscuit and a hunk of cold stringy beef sat on a plate. Was this the remains of Isaac’s breakfast? She realized that food choices were more limited here than they were in Maine, but it didn’t mean she couldn’t be resourceful. Surely there was a supply of food stores on the homestead.
Rosalie finished her coffee and took the mug and plate to the sink. Several tin mugs and platters resided in the basin. She would need to go outside to the well to fetch a pail of water to wash the dishes. She took an empty pail from below the sink and carried it out the door. Her stomach protested from having had received nothing to eat since last night’s meal of roast beef and boiled potatoes. On the porch, she grabbed a basket used to gather hen eggs. Hot and fluffy scrambled eggs sounded appetizing.
She crossed the yard to visit the chicken coop first. Isaac spent yesterday afternoon showing her where he kept his chickens, horses, and other livestock on the property. Her feet ached this morning from walking across the acres of land. There was more she had yet to see, but it would require a ride on horseback.
The hens were outside their coop pecking at the ground for seeds and other morsels. Rosalie opened the latch on the fence to enter. She crept to the coop so as not to disturb or frighten the hens. There were eight new eggs since yesterday. She stooped over to gather them into her basket.
A loud, sudden squawk in her ear made her drop an egg. It smashed against the bottom rung of the chicken coop and spilled runny yellow yolk on the floor. Rosalie lifted her arm to protect her face from an angry hen that rushed into the coop and hopped on the top shelf of nests, thrashing its wings in a flurry of white feathers. She backed out of the coop.
The hen’s fussing roused the others to action. They all began to squawk and hop about. As soon as Rosalie was able to stand to her full height, she hastened to the fence, opened it to get out, and slammed it shut behind her.
Isaac came racing around the corner, rifle in hand. “Rosalie, what’s going on?” He stopped short of her. “What’s got the chickens so upset?”
“They tried to attack me.” She stopped to catch her breath. “I thought I could gather eggs while they were busy scavenging the ground for food.”
A smile revealed itself on Isaac’s lips. He rested the rifle at his side. “They’re not used to you. That’s why they got their feathers into a ruffle.”
“One big hen was ready to peck my eyes out.”
“Essie? Oh, don’t mind her. She’s about as ornery as a hen can get, but she won’t do you any real harm. Now that little one Maybelle in the corner over there is a sure spitfire. Look what she did to my arm about a week ago.” Isaac rolled up a sleeve to show her a mark on his muscled forearm. “It’s going to leave a scar.”
Rosalie frowned and gave him a horrified look. “I’ll be happy to do another chore if you would get the eggs. I don’t think I want to collect scars.”
Isaac rolled down his sleeve. “If I’d known you wanted eggs this morning, I would’ve gathered them as soon as I got out of bed. I have much to do every day, and I take care of the pressing tasks first.”
She rearranged her expression and softened. He was being more than courteous by offering to put her rather simple desire to have eggs for breakfast over his other duties on the homestead. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound demanding.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll get the eggs for you.” He picked up her empty pail she set near the fence. “I’ll pump water, too. The handle was a bit hard to use this morning.”
Rosalie wiped her fingers, sticky from egg yolk, on a cloth lining the egg basket. After Isaac gathered the eggs, she carted it with her as she followed him to the water pump built near the side of the house.
“How did you sleep last night?” he asked without turning to view her over his shoulder.
She was grateful he didn’t. The subject was awkward enough without having to make eye contact with him. She highly doubted many newlywed couples spent their first night trying to avoid their toes touching each other. But many newlywed couples weren’t married within a day of being introduced, either. Although she wanted to be a wife, she couldn’t find it in hersel
f to become intimate with Isaac so soon. “I slept well enough.” She gave an honest answer. “Much better than when I had a cot in the boarding house or the straight back of a seat on the train.”
“I keep forgetting how long your journey from Maine was. Why don’t you rest for a few more days?”
“No. I’m fine. I’m accustomed to working.” She may not have milked cows or scoured the chicken coop in search of eggs in her former employment, but being a ladies maid for many years trained her to stand long hours on her feet and be ready to work at a moment’s notice. The last thing she wanted Isaac to think was that she was a weak and helpless little woman.
He reached the pump and started moving the handle up and down to draw water. “I can teach you to do some of the lighter outdoor chores if you wish, but I’m almost finished with most of them for the day. Now I’m going to start building an addition to the barn.” Water poured from the pump. Isaac brought the pail around to collect it.
“Then I’ll busy myself in the house.” Rosalie needed to unpack the contents of her trunk and put them in the bedroom’s dresser drawers. She remembered packing tablecloths and doilies that once belonged to her mother and Aunt Naomi. Perhaps they would be useful in decorating Isaac’s house with a feminine touch. “I can carry the pail inside.” She took hold of the handle before Isaac could get to it first. The large pail was heavy with the water inside, but she wanted to show him she was strong and more than capable of carrying it.
He flexed his fingers from grasping the water pump handle. “I’ll come inside for the midday meal and later this evening for supper.”
Rosalie was impressed by his hard work ethic. “Do you work outside all day every day?”
“In autumn, yes. Winter will be here soon. I have to make sure we have enough food to carry us through the spring. The cold and snow in Wyoming can be brutal.”
She raised her eyes towards the wide open sky and imagined the amount of snow and ice the large expanse was capable of producing. The thought was daunting and left her a bit anxious. Perhaps she should give her imagination a rest for a while and focus on the tasks at hand. Rather than worry about winter, there was the midday meal to prepare, and noon would be here in less than four hours.
She carried the pail inside the house and lifted it to pour water in the sink basin. After scrubbing the dishes clean, she checked the kitchen pantry. Isaac had several stores of vegetable preserves, sorghum flour, and plenty of potatoes. She could start a vegetable stew brewing on the stove and bake bread to go with it.
Maybe being the wife to a homesteader would not be so difficult, she reasoned after the stew started bubbling and the bread finished rising. It seemed to be a quiet and simple life, but she didn’t require many frills to keep her satisfied. A comfortable, clean home, decent food, the company of good friends, and love were what she needed.
Rosalie sighed. But she didn’t have any friends in her new home, nor did she have love. She and Isaac wed out of necessity. She needed the security and he needed a woman to help maintain his homestead. If one stopped to think about it, their marriage was little more than a well-ordered business transaction. Maybe it was fitting for Mr. Reynolds to marry them instead of a pastor. How could she find happiness in the midst of such an arrangement?
She put the bread in the oven before going to the bedroom to unpack her trunk. Isaac left half of the dresser empty for her belongings. While placing her clothing in the dresser, she opened the bottom left drawer. Tucked and folded neatly in a corner was a thick garment of blue wool. Curious, she lifted it from the dresser.
The garment was a coat. Part of a military uniform, judging by the brass buttons and chevron of braided yellow thread sewn onto the sleeve. She looked in the drawer again and found a pair of light blue woolen pants. A matching yellow stripe went down the sides.
She heard the door to the house open. She tucked the uniform back into place before closing the drawer. When she went into the kitchen, Isaac was seated at the dining table. He looked hungry enough to eat the entire pot of stew.
“I brought some salt pork in from the smokehouse,” he said. “You can cook it for tonight’s supper if you want something other than beef.”
Rosalie recalled seeing a jar of beans in the pantry. Beans and leftover bread from the midday meal would go well with it on short notice. “Salt pork, it is. The stew’s done. I’ll get you a bowl.” She went to the stove to get it as well as a portion of bread fresh from the oven.
Isaac looked at the dish with ravenous approval when she set it in front of him. He bowed his head to say a quick grace before breaking off a chunk of the bread and dipping it in the stew. “How has your day been so far?” he asked after chewing and swallowing.
Rosalie returned to the table with a bowl of stew for herself. “I unpacked most of my trunk. I found a uniform in one of the drawers.”
“Oh, I thought I cleared half of the dresser drawers for you. I must have left the item by mistake.”
“It’s alright. I just wanted to know more about it. You didn’t tell me you served in the military.”
He nodded. “I was in the all-black Ninth Cavalry. We had the nickname of Buffalo Soldiers. Some say it was because we fought like fierce buffalo. Others say it’s because our hair resembled the texture of their wool. My regiment was stationed near El Paso. We maintained the peace between settlers and Indians.”
Rosalie listened with interest. No wonder he displayed a prowess for hard work. He once engaged in warfare. “How long were you in the service?”
“Six years. I enlisted when the Ninth formed in Kentucky in ’66 right after the war. I thought it would mean a better life for me. I lost my parents and brother during the fighting and had nowhere to go when it ended.”
Rosalie shook her head. She knew about the atrocities of slavery in the South from reading accounts of it in the newspaper and listening to survivors who managed to escape to the north. “How awful. I was only a young girl when the war took place. I can’t imagine what it was like to have lived where it was being fought.”
“I grew up on a plantation. Life was hard as a slave child, often unbearable, but I’ll spare you those details for another day. I was one of the few fortunate ones. I was taught to read and write. It served me well when I went to enlist.”
“You’ve had quite a life starting on a plantation and then growing up to become a soldier, a successful gold prospector, and now a homesteader. I’m sure your family would’ve been proud.” Rosalie swallowed a spoonful of soup. She could have been more liberal with the pepper.
“It was God’s good grace.” He polished off his bowl of stew, leaving not a drop behind. “This was delicious. It’s nice to have a hot meal every once in a while.”
“Thank you.” Rosalie appreciated his expression of gratitude. “Going to work in the barn again?”
“Yes, I’ll be back by supper. If there’s anything you need, you know where to find me.”
Rosalie cleared the dishes after he left. Now she could see how Isaac managed to fare well in a remote town, even though he was the only black man for miles. He possessed courage and fortitude to strike it out on his own. She began to question her earlier thought about life on a homestead being simple. Who knew what Isaac had encountered in the form of hardships and prejudice since arriving in Wyoming? Thankfully, there were good people like his friend Tim and the kindly matrons Mrs. Phelps and Mrs. Reynolds she met in town. But would a few neighborly souls be enough for her to feel at home in Angel Vale?
She prepared a marinade for the salt pork and let it sit in the savory broth until she was ready to put it in the oven to roast. Then she chopped onions and garlic to season the beans. Once the food was cooking, she started perusing the contents of her mother and aunt’s collection of doilies and furniture coverings. Her mood improved at finding something with which to occupy herself.
She was certain Isaac would be happy to see how the house looked when he came home this evening.
***
He sprang towards the oven and opened the door. Plumes of smoke billowed out, filling the kitchen with the acrid scent of burnt kindling and charred pork. He heard footsteps racing behind him.
“My goodness, I forgot about the salt pork.” Rosalie seized a towel next to the stove. She wrapped it around her hands before reaching into the hot oven to pull out the burnt remains of supper. “It’s ruined.”
Isaac coughed as he went to open the door and windows. “What were you doing while the meat was cooking?”
“I was decorating the house, but now my tablecloth and furniture coverings will have to be aired out as well.”
Isaac spared a glance at the dining table and noticed the spread of floral fabric. Matching coverings decorated other spaces in the room. “I don’t see how you could have burned it. The meat is already cured, so it doesn’t need to roast long.” He chuckled. “It’s alright. No real harm done. I guess it’s been a while since you’ve used your cooking skills as a maid.”
She dropped the burnt pork pan in the sink and turned to glare at him. “I beg your pardon?”
He erased his smile. Did he say the wrong thing? “Didn’t you say you were a maid once?”
“I was a ladies maid, a companion who helped them dress and kept conversation. I wasn’t a cook.”
Isaac shrugged. Well, that explained why the roast burned. She wasn’t used to preparing meals on a regular basis. “As I said, nothing was damaged except for the roast. You can try to cook salt pork again another day.”
Rosalie wrung the towel from her hands and tossed it on the edge of the sink basin. “If you expressly wanted a cook for your wife, Mr. Baker, you should have stated so in your letters.” She turned on her heel and marched towards the bedroom.
Chapter 4
Isaac stood alone in the kitchen in a mixture of confusion and self-disgust. His big mouth managed to upset Rosalie. The problem was, he didn’t understand what he said to make her so offended. Whatever it was, he didn’t like to see his wife unhappy. He put a damper on the burning wood chips heating the oven and headed to the bedroom.