Mail Order Bride: Christy

by Vivi Holt

  Brent raised his eyebrow. “You’re going to cook?”

  Christy smiled. “Yes. If that’s all right with you.”

  Brent grinned at her. “I’ll be looking forward to it for the rest of the day.”

  She returned his smile with a look that seemed to be full of relief.

  She turned to walk back to the house, and both Brent and Kip watched her skirts sashaying from side to side as she moved across the grass. Brent wondered what he could possibly do before tomorrow to convince her to stay. He’d only known her for a day, but he was already beginning to see that he didn’t want to live his life without her. He lifted his hat from his head and scratched his hair, thinking on the matter. Returning the hat to his head, he spun on his heel and returned to his work with a whistle. Kip watched him with a sly grin on his face, and shaking his head with a laugh he followed Brent to the cattle yards.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Christy

  Christy was daydreaming as she stirred the hot stew on the stovetop. Again her mind returned to the thought of Brent’s lips.

  If only we’d shared a kiss, Christy thought wistfully. I wonder what it would feel like to kiss him? She imagined the hardness of his arms wrapped around her and pulling her close to his thick chest. What a silly thought. She shook her head and tried to change her train of thought. Her ma would have scolded her for such thinking, but she couldn’t help it. She couldn’t think clearly at all with him around. It was for the best that she was to leave the next day. She didn’t know how she could get anything done at all if she were to live with the man. She’d spend all her time daydreaming about his muscled arms and never get a moment’s peace. It would be torturous!

  Christy looked down and saw the stew was about to burn. She took it off the stove just in time and quickly tested it, praying it wasn’t ruined. When it still tasted fine, Christy breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing she wanted to do was to ruin the one supper she was ever going to make for Brent.

  Oh, but if only there could be more, she thought, here I am just getting settled in. And to say goodbye to Brent already… Christy gazed over at the sweeping property outside the window and wished she could make a home here. She loved the lemon tree by the back door, the wide verandah around the house, the useful little kitchen with a fully stocked larder, the cattle and horses grazing nearby, swishing at flies with their tails. But most of all, she loved to see the smile on Brent’s face when he looked up at her, or the curve of his muscular arms as he swung an axe to split the firewood they needed for the evening’s fire.

  I have no home anywhere, Christy told herself. That’s the reason I’m finding this place so inviting. I must remember to keep my head about me. Brent doesn’t want me here. And I don’t belong. Mama would tell me to get my head out of the clouds and stop daydreaming about things that are never going to happen. I’ll be getting back on the train tomorrow, and that is that.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Brent

  When Brent finally walked in the door that night he was met with more than one surprise. He was taken aback first of all by how pleasing the house looked. It was sparkling clean, all the dust and cobwebs were gone, and there were fresh flowers in every room.

  The second surprise was the sweet scent of the beef stew that Christy had prepared. Brent was hungry after a hard day of working around the farm. The aroma of the stew was warm and comforting and it drew Brent to the table. Christy served Brent up an extra-large helping before they sat down to say the blessing together. Christy bowed her head and closed her eyes, and Brent took a moment to drink in the slope of her neck and the curve of her full lips before he too closed his eyes to pray.

  After the blessing Christy encouraged Brent to take a spoonful of the dish. She watched expectantly as Brent chewed and swallowed.

  “I have to admit Christy, I’m surprised to find you can cook so well. It’s delicious.”

  Christy leaned forward with a peeved expression, “I’ve been raised right, and taught to cook by my Ma. Did you really think that she would let me grow up without knowing how to make a satisfactory meal?”

  Brent shook his head so quickly he almost choked on his stew. “Gosh no, Christy. I didn’t mean no offence to your Ma.”

  “I know,” Christy said, relaxing her face into a smile, “it’s okay. I’m just a little sensitive when I think about my Ma. I miss her a lot, that’s all.”

  “I understand Christy. And I only meant…this is tastier than anything I’ve had in a long while.” Brent smiled over at Christy. “Please take it as a compliment.”

  “OK, I will. Thank you,” Christy replied, ducking her head shyly.

  Brent was relieved. He took another mouthful of stew and smiled as the succulent flavors hit his mouth and warmed his stomach. He gazed across the table at Christy, watching as she took a small spoonful and placed it into her mouth, chewing delicately. I misjudged her terribly on that first day, Brent thought. She’s a kind woman, with a sweet heart, not vain or silly at all. And if she is vain, then she has every reason to be. Brent looked at Christy’s soft, glossy curls, piled high on her head. No longer streaked with dirt or dust, but tucked up in a stylish manner that flattered her face and made her green eyes seem almost to glow in the firelight. A woman as beautiful as that has the right to be vain, Brent said. Yet still, I don’t think she truly is conceited, I do believe she has no idea the effect she has on me.

  Christy stood up as she finished her bowl. “I ought to clean up now.”

  “You don’t need to leave just yet,” Brent said. “Sit with me a while. Besides,” Brent said, looking around at the house. “You’ve done more than enough cleaning and tidying for the day, I can see that.”

  Christy blushed. “I wasn’t even sure if you’d noticed.”

  Brent grinned at her. “Of course I noticed. Why, the place is hardly recognizable as the same house I left this morning. Christy you’ve done a wonderful job. It feels like a real home.”

  Christy squeezed her arms together, seemingly pleased to hear these compliments from Brent. “I think it just needed a woman’s touch.”

  Brent nodded and scooped the last bit of stew out of his bowl. “You’re right about that. The last time the house looked like this was when Mama was feeling well.” He stopped and stared down into his bowl. It had been hard for him to lose his parents as well, and he missed them the way Christy missed hers.

  Across the table, Christy sat very still and tense, seeming unsure of how to react. After a few moment she relaxed her body and smiled. “I’m sure she was a very wonderful woman and I know you must miss her.”

  “She was.” His voice contained a bittersweet mixture of fondness and sadness.

  Christy nodded, then stood up and pushed her chair away from the table. She took the plates and began to wash them in silence as Brent sat quietly at the table. Brent cleared his throat and stood up. “I suppose we both ought to get some sleep Christy. We’ve got another big journey ahead of us tomorrow.”

  Christy nodded and turned her head away so that Brent couldn’t see the tears pooling in her eyes. “Yes Brent.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Christy

  As she cleared up the dishes and wiped down the table, Christy could hear Brent arranging his bedding on the living room floor again. She paused, holding the dishcloth in midair, as she listened to the noise of Brent’s body hitting the hardwood floor.

  The possibility of a first kiss was getting further and further away with each passing moment, and tomorrow they would wake up and make the early journey to the train station where they would separate forever. Christy’s throat constricted with emotion, and she focused her attention on scrubbing away a stubborn piece of food from one of their plates.

  Once Christy was finished cleaning up she crept quietly into the living room, dark now apart from the light of the candle in the next room, and looked at Brent lying on the floor. She leaned against the doorframe and watched him for a moment, wondering if he was sleeping
.

  “Good night Christy.”

  She was startled. “Goodnight Brent,” she whispered, turning to leave.

  ***

  Christy could still hear her mama’s voice as she read over the letter. “My dear Christy,” it started. Christy’s ma had written it months earlier, when Christy had been away for the summer, staying with a friend. Her Ma had sent it to her, and Christy had read it with tears in her eyes, keeping it close by ever since.

  The letter told Christy of all the hopes and dreams her mother had for her. Things she had never been able to say in person were poured across several pages of sloping hand writing. She expressed her desire for Christy to grow up into a strong, resilient woman. How she wanted Christy to find a good man to love, and to stick by him when times were tough. Most of all, her mother wanted her to grow out of her childish habits, and to be happy and grateful for the things Christy found right in front of her, and she finished by telling Christy how much she loved her and was proud of everything she had accomplished in her short life so far.

  Christy hugged the letter tightly to her chest. Oh how I wish I’d listened to her more while I had the chance. Christy thought about all the times she had grumbled when her Ma’s words had dragged her out of her comfortable daydreams into reality. Now, it seemed to be the opposite. Christy wanted to escape her own thoughts and disappear into the comfort of her Ma’s letter. She wished she could live inside the words of the letter. She wished she never had to wake up the following day and face an unknown and lonely future. A future without Brent in it, and without a place to call home.

  Christy lay down with the letter still in her hands and squeezed her eyes shut. She knew she would never be able to sleep, not with the knowledge of what was taking place the following day. How could she face what lay before her? How would she ever wake up and walk out of the house that had become home in such a short time, without knowing what, if anything was waiting for her?

  A tear fell down Christy’s cheek. It seems like all I have done in these last few weeks is say goodbye to people I love. Ma and Pa, then Meredith, now…

  Christy suddenly stopped crying. She sniffled as she stared into the candle. Do I really love Brent?

  Her heart ached at the thought of leaving him, that much was true. But Christy wasn’t sure whether that was just because it seemed like she was heaping grief on top of more grief, or whether she was just scared of being alone, or whether she felt genuine love for the man.

  I can’t stay just because I am scared, Christy thought. Or scared about being alone. But loneliness had never been a problem for Christy. She knew how to amuse and entertain herself, and with an imagination as rich as hers she was seldom lonely.

  The thought comforted her a little. Yes, I will be all right by myself. I can survive. And I can find a way to make it on my own, without Brent.

  But it was at that moment that Christy realized: she didn’t want to. She didn’t want to be without Brent. And it didn’t have anything to do with her being scared to leave. She truly didn’t want to go. She didn’t want to leave the man she had fallen in love with. But somehow this thought just made matters all the worse. Now Christy could no longer comfort herself with the knowledge that it was only fear keeping her awake. Now she knew it was sadness, a pure, rotten, awful sorrow that had overtaken her whole body. She didn’t want to leave.

  Christy cried and cried till eventually, there were no more tears, and nothing for her exhausted body left to do but sleep. The candle burning brightly beside her bed, foundered for a moment, then the flame drew higher. A breeze from the window fanned it higher still, and pushed the tip of it towards the edge of the letter lying in Christy’s hand.

  And so, with that letter still hanging from her fingers, Christy fell into a deep sleep, that nothing, not even fire, could wake her from.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Brent

  Brent was not having a good night’s sleep on the living room floor. He tossed and turned as he tried to get comfortable. Finally he pushed the blankets back and gave up altogether. “In a way I will be glad when Christy is gone and I can get my bed back,” he murmured quietly to himself.

  But even as he said the words Brent knew he didn’t truly mean them. And he knew that his trouble sleeping had nothing to do with the hard floor and everything to do with his sorrow and regret — he didn’t want to see Christy off in the morning and he had no idea how to set the matter right.

  Brent sighed and stood up. He stretched and decided to go outside to get some fresh air. Perhaps that will clear my head, he thought as he crept out the back door, being careful not to wake Christy as he pulled the door shut silently behind him.

  Brent walked down to the back of the field, stopping at last to lean against the fence as he gazed up at the moon.

  This was supposed to be my second chance, Brent thought. I prayed for it, and God placed the opportunity right in my hands, sending me a woman as good and as sweet and as beautiful as Christy, and all I have done is respond with ungratefulness. Brent felt properly ashamed as he stood there in the moonlight. Please God, I know that I have already used up more than my share of chances, but please give me this last opportunity to make things right with Christy.

  Brent stopped praying as he smelt the distinctive scent of burning. He turned his head around sharply and noticed smoke coming from the farmhouse. For a moment Brent stood there dumbstruck, wondering if Christy might have lit a fire, or was perhaps attempting to cook another meal. Brent shook his head. “Oh no!” he called out as he realized what was happening. The farmhouse was on fire.

  Brent sprinted back to the house, scolding himself for leaving. He raced through the back door and sprang into the bedroom. Coughing, he covered his mouth with his neck kerchief and waded through the smoke-filled room. He grabbed Christy, who was still sleeping in her bed and carried her over his shoulder out of the house. When he was far enough away from the house, he lay Christy down in the grass.

  “Wait there my darling,” he said before he raced into the house. Grabbing his blanket from the living room floor, Brent ran over to the fire in Christy’s’ bedroom and smothered it with the fabric. The fire had not spread to any other part of the house yet and was extinguished after a few moments. Brent coughed as he waved the smoke away from his face and surveyed the damage. Thankfully, little harm was done.

  He prayed a quick prayer of thanks to God for allowing him to be awake and to see the fire when it started. He shook his head thinking of what might have been, if he had fallen asleep as he had intended to. Brent stood and hurried back to Christy. To his dismay Christy was still lying lifeless in the grass.

  “Oh no…” Brent murmured. “Please God no.”

  He ran to her and dropped to his knees besides her still body. “Christy!” he called out, rocking her body gently. When there was still no response he rocked her with more force, crying out for her to wake up. “Oh, I should never have left you alone!” Brent cried. He thought about how he had prayed for another chance with Christy — that now seemed hopeless. He’d been so stupid to hope.

  Brent pulled Christy up into his arms and held her close. He realized he could still feel her heart beating.

  “Perhaps there’s hope yet,” Brent whispered, reaching down to stroke Christy’s cheek. “Please my darling, wake up.”

  Christy’s eyes sprung open and she gazed up at Brent, wondering why on earth he was looking so troubled. She coughed heartily, and smiled up at him. “Brent, whatever is the matter?” she asked. Then, confused, she rubbed her eyes and looked around. “And what on earth am I doing outside?”

  “Don’t worry Christy, you’re all right now.”

  Christy looked down and saw the ash on her night gown. She turned her head in alarm to look at the house. “Oh no,” she gasped. “The house.”

  “The house is fine Christy. There was a fire in the bedroom. You were unconscious.” Brent’s voice almost broke as he told Christy what had happened. “Christy I was so scare
d I was going to lose you.”

  Christy gazed up at Brent. She touched his cheek, stroking the strong outline of his jawbone. Brent leaned closer to her, he could feel her breath warm against his face and his heart began to pound in his chest.

  “Christy, could you ever love me, do you think?” he whispered urgently, gazing down at her plump lips.

  Christy grinned up at him, her eyes gleaming. He could stand it no longer, and pulled her head towards him, his lips seeking hers.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Christy

  Christy couldn’t believe it was finally happening, her first kiss. They were lying in the middle of a field under a dark starry sky, and Brent was cradling her in his strong arms. His lips were warm and soft, and they pulled gently at her own. Christy returned his kiss and felt him respond with greater urgency. A tingling sensation started with her lips and spread all the way down her neck to her chest and stomach and down her legs. She moaned with pleasure and he pushed himself against her, his muscular arms wrapping around her and holding her tight.

  They each pulled away, breathless.

  “Brent,” Christy whispered. “I’ve never kissed a man before.”

  Brent reached down and stroked her cheek. “I hope it was everything you imagined it to be Christy,” he murmured.

  “It was so much more wonderful than anything I could have dreamed of.”

  Brent helped Christy to her feet. He placed his hand at the side of her head, stroking her hair. “Christy, would you ever consider staying here? Staying here and being my wife? Can you forgive me for even wanting to send you away? Now I can’t imagine ever letting you go.”

  Christy pressed her face close to his and nodded. “Of course,” she whispered. “Of course I want to stay. It’s all I want.” She closed her eyes as she felt his breath against her cheek. “But do you think you can ever come to love me truly, Brent?”