Her Fearless Love_Seeing Ranch Mail Order Bride

by Florence Linnington

  “Um.” Margaret swallowed, her head spinning. “I am not looking to be courted.”

  “Oh.” Lydia’s face fell, and she glanced at her mother, then looked back at Margaret. “I’m very sorry. I got carried away. It was silly of me, but for a moment I forgot that you only just lost your husband.”

  Margaret nodded. Did they know the whole truth about that scenario? Specifically, the part about Russell not particularly being a man worth crying over?

  “It must be awfully hard,” Lydia said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  Tears sprung into Margaret’s eyes. Yes, life was hard, but not because Russell was gone. It was hard because she did not know how to trust others. Any time she tried to, a voice inside of her yelled at her to be careful. Anyone could betray her at any time.

  Was that true or not?

  Margaret did not know. She feared she was too mired in pain to think properly.

  “I am managing,” Margaret said, blinking back the tears and steeling her shoulders.

  Again, the women exchanged quick looks, but if they expressed something with their eyes, Margaret could not tell what it was. They seemed to have a secret language.

  “Well, we certainly won’t push you into anything,” Lydia said. “But it is nice to have a man around. I know that. I wouldn’t trade my husband for the world. So if you are ever ready to remarry, come to us. Between Mother and me, we know every man in this town.”

  Despite the pain still winding its way through her chest, Margaret smiled. The Aarons were a bit much sometimes, but they were sweet women.

  Margaret decided right then and there that she would take a chance with them. She would work to be friendlier. That didn’t mean sharing her life’s details with them or anything like that, but she could at least enjoy chatting. Perhaps a little more female company would lighten her heart.

  The front door opened, and boots thudded across the floor.

  “I forgot I need soda bread,” a familiar voice said.

  Warmth shot up Margaret’s collar. Mr. Dowdell came to stand next to her at the counter, removing his hat and nodding just as he had before.

  The Aarons shared another look.

  “Soda bread,” Mr. Dowdell said. “Is that all right? Do you have any?”

  “Oh!” Marci tossed her hands in the air. “Mercy. Yes, we certainly do. Here we are, Mr. Dowdell.”

  She turned for one of the racks, and a joyful holler came from in front of the shop. Margaret turned around just in time to see a sleigh pulled by two horses pass by.

  “Sleigh riding,” Lydia said. “How romantic.”

  Mr. Dowdell’s eyes flicked toward Margaret, and Margaret lowered her face, her heart pounding. Lydia had said she would not push the matter of courtship, and now look at what she did. Anyone with half a brain could see the intent way she looked from Mr. Dowdell to Margaret.

  “Yes,” Mr. Dowdell said, a tight smile on his face. “They appear to be having fun.”

  “It makes me wish I was out there,” Lydia commented. “Riding around with my husband. I bet any woman would love an adventure like that.”

  Margaret swallowed against the lump in her throat, too afraid to look at Mr. Dowdell. Would he try to ask her to spend time with him again?

  She would need to say no. Of course she would.

  Mr. Dowdell cleared his throat. “Thank you again. Good day.”

  He departed, and, without any warning, Margaret’s stomach plummeted. An awful silence filled the bakery, and her throat burned.

  She hadn’t wanted him to ask her to go sledding. Not really. Because she could not. She would turn him down, just as she had two days earlier.

  And so why did she hate that he hadn’t?

  “He is rather awkward,” Lydia commented.

  “It is me,” Margaret said quietly. “I made everything uncomfortable.”

  “No.” Marci shook her head. “Lydia is right. He is just a strange man.”

  Margaret smiled. Were they trying to make her feel better?

  If so, it was a nice gesture.

  “You are both kind,” Margaret said.

  Marci winked. “If he doesn’t come a calling on you, some other man will.” She paused, then added, “And one day you will be ready to receive them.”

  Margaret ran her bottom lip between her teeth. She did not have much faith in Marci’s statement, but she did not wish to argue over it.

  “Thank you, again,” Margaret said. “See you another day.”

  The women said their goodbyes, and Margaret set off into the street. Glancing north, she caught sight of a familiar figure walking along the edge of the road. Mr. Dowdell had his head bent down and his hands in his coat pockets, his baked goods stuffed under his arms. Did he know he was likely squashing them?

  Margaret sighed, and then caught herself. She shook her head. What was she thinking? She did not want Mr. Dowdell’s attentions. She did not want any man’s attentions.

  She had to be careful, though. It was nice to have a man smile at her. Nicer even to think of being asked to go sledding. If she was not cautious, she would accidentally say yes to an outing. And what invariably came after that would not be good.

  Chapter 6

  6. Margaret

  Chapter six

  Margaret carefully wiped down the parlor’s last window pane. Standing back, she inspected her handiwork. The glass shone. Everything was ready for Mr. Bain’s entertaining that evening.

  There was a sound behind her, and Margaret turned to find Mrs. Bain standing in the doorway.

  Margaret opened her mouth to ask if there was something she needed, but Mrs. Bain raised her finger to her lips, signaling that she should be quiet.

  Margaret frowned. What was happening?

  And then she followed Mrs. Bain’s line of sight. Along the base board at the far end of the parlor, a little ball of fur scurried by. Mrs. Bain sucked in a loud breath.

  “That dastardly thing,” she hissed.

  But the mouse was already gone, having slipped behind the couch.

  “We must snatch it,” Mrs. Bain said.

  Margaret nodded, although she had no idea what Mrs. Bain’s plan might be. Snatch it with their bare hands? Margaret was not that fast, and she highly doubted her employer was either. Also, touching a mouse had never been a dream of hers.

  Nevertheless, she obeyed Mrs. Bain’s hand gestures and crept with the other woman to the couch.

  “Take that end,” Mrs. Bain whispered. “We will move the couch. Once it runs out, try and catch it or stomp on it.”

  Margaret could not stop her nose from wrinkling. It sounded like an awful plan, but she was the servant, and Mrs. Bain the lady of the house.

  “Now,” Mrs. Bain said, taking hold of her end of the couch.

  They lifted the couch, moving it a foot, and the mouse darted away from the wall. Within the blink of an eye, it was at the doorway and vanishing into the hall.

  “Oh!” Mrs. Bain tossed her hands up in exasperation.

  “We will get it another time,” Margaret said, secretly relieved she had not needed to touch the mouse after all. “Next time, we should perhaps put a bucket on top of it, and then put it outside.”

  “Where there is one of them there are more.” Mrs. Bain’s lips drew into a tight line. “We’ll have to do that to all of them. Oh, well.” She looked around the room. “It looks very nice in here.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Bain.”

  “Why don’t you go sleigh riding? I saw a good number of young people making a loop around the town earlier. Judging from the shouts, they are still out there.”

  Sleigh riding? Was that an obsession in this town?

  Also, who would Margaret even ask to take her sleigh riding? August Dowdell was out of the question. She’d probably treated him too poorly during their first meeting for him to ever think of such a thing again. In fact, she suspected the Aarons were entirely wrong about him fancying her. Maybe he had initially, but in the bakery he had onl
y appeared uncomfortable around her.

  “I do not know,” Margaret said. “I do not know very many people in town, and I doubt the few I am acquainted with are out there.”

  “It would be a nice opportunity to meet them,” Mrs. Bain said. She shrugged, though, flipping her wrist as she left the room, as if to say, have it your way.

  Margaret looked down at her clasped hands, her stomach and lips twisting. The first few months in Pathways, everything had been routine. Not only did she have her tasks to meet each day, but she also knew how she would feel. Empty. Like her soul was a flat prairie land stretching out into nowhere.

  And then, in the last few days, things changed. She met August Dowdell. Entertained the idea of being friends with the Aarons.

  What this all led to was an increased awareness of being on the outside of everything good happening in the town. Everything good happening all over the world.

  That goodness was love. Friendship.

  But in order to receive those things, Margaret would need to take a leap of faith and trust people. That she could not see.

  Steeling herself, she lifted her chin, collecting her rags and cleaning bucket, and went into the kitchen. There was no use moaning about things. There were a few good people out there, surely, but the odds of meeting them had to be incredibly low. Best just to forget about the matter entirely.

  In the kitchen, she helped Lulu by washing the dishes and prepping supper. As she mixed flour and milk for gravy, the children’s voices floated in from the hallway. Charlotte was home from school and, from the sound of it, having a spat with her younger brother.

  Margaret’s smile did not last long. An ache entered her heart, and she fought back tears.

  Oh, how she had always wanted children. Perhaps if her position with the Bains ever came to an end, she could find employment as a nanny. That way she would always be around little ones.

  Wiping her hands on her apron, she looked to Lulu. “Anything else I can do?”

  In the middle of mixing the ingredients for pumpkin pie, Lulu thought about it. “Let’s see. I don’t believe so. Don’t you have another part of the house that needs tending to?”

  Margaret shook her head. “No.”

  “Goodness, you’re fast. I imagine the Bains will want to keep you on forever.”

  Margaret took note of the low wood bin next to the cookstove. “I’ll fetch more wood.”

  Putting on her jacket, hat, and gloves, Margaret went into the side yard and around the house, to where the wood pile sat. It was still afternoon, but the shadows had elongated since she’d last been out, and night would be there soon.

  She piled as many logs as she could into her arms and turned back for the kitchen door. The sight of a small cat on the other end of the yard stopped her, though.

  It was gray, with sharply pointed ears and a pink nose. Judging by its size, it could not be more than four months old. It walked near the clothesline, and, catching sight of Margaret, froze.

  Margaret stayed where she was, watching the cat as the animal did the same with her. It was a scrawny one, its ribs showing through its fur.

  “Oh,” Margaret whispered. “You poor thing. Do you not have a home?”

  The cat ducked its head, continuing to study Margaret. It was wary, but perhaps it also thought Margaret might feed it.

  Margaret licked her lips in excitement. Mrs. Bain wanted a cat, and here one was.

  It just had to be caught first.

  “Stay right here,” Margaret said. “I will be back with some food for you.”

  It was silly to think the cat understood the words, but Margaret hoped she or he might be relaxed by the soft tone. Stepping slowly so as not to alarm the little cat, she made her way to the kitchen door.

  A last glance before entering the house revealed it remained by the clothesline, its orb-like eyes on Margaret.

  In the kitchen, she hurried to put the wood in the bin. “There is a cat outside,” she told Lulu. “A kitten. Perhaps four months old.”

  Lulu raised her eyebrows. “You don’t say?”

  “Yes, and I do not believe it has no home. Its ribs are showing. Might I have some sausage?”

  Margaret went for the ice bin without waiting for an answer. She needed to make haste or the cat would be gone by the time she returned to the yard.

  “We could use a good mouse catcher in here,” Lulu said. “They’ve been trying to get into my pantry.”

  “That’s what Mrs. Bain said.”

  Sausage in hand, Margaret returned outside. Her heart beat in excitement, which seemed funny. All she was doing was cajoling a kitten. But it was something new, and Margaret liked that. Plus, it was a task that did not include conversing with other humans.

  But the kitten was gone.

  Margaret deflated at the sight of the empty yard, a frown pulling on her lips. She hated to think of the kitten out in the snow, cold and hungry. Where did it sleep at night? Surely, it had to have shelter somewhere. The Wyoming winters were far too cold for it to survive outside.

  Something moved out of the corner of her eye. The kitten!

  It crouched down in the snow between the Bains’ and the neighboring house, watching Margaret with that same uncertainty.

  “Look.” Margaret crouched down as well and extended her hand with the sausage.

  The cat lifted its face, its nose twitching as it sniffed the air.

  “Would you like some?” Margaret wiggled the sausage. “You can have as much as you want. Plus, a nice, warm place to sleep every night.”

  Margaret smiled at that. Perhaps the kitten would like to sleep on her bed sometimes. It would be nice to have a companion.

  The cat stood up and took a step toward Margaret.

  “That’s right,” Margaret cooed. “Come and get your delicious sausage.”

  Another step. More sniffing.

  Margaret slowly inched closer to the kitten, afraid to make any sudden movements.

  The cat meowed, taking a few more steps. Another yard and they would be at each other.

  Thwack. The distinct sound of an ax splitting wood filled the air, coming from one of the neighbor’s yards. The cat’s hackles rose, and a second later it turned and ran off.

  “Wait!” Margaret cried. “Kitten, no.”

  Without pausing to give it any thought, she ran after the cat.

  Chapter 7

  7. August

  Chapter seven

  Standing at the table before the window, August cut a thick slice of the soda bread and laid it on a plate. He started to cut another one, for Zeke, but then remembered his housemate was not home yet.

  After the meeting at the bank, Mr. Walsh had sent August home early. School was out by now, but Zeke often stayed at the schoolhouse until supper time to score papers and prepare the next day’s lessons.

  For now, it was just August in the house. The quiet, suddenly too-large house.

  It contained three rooms: the front room, the kitchen, and the bedroom the two men shared. August had never before felt it too spacious, but today something was different.

  He could not stop thinking about Miss Meyers and how flustered she’d seemed at the bakery. Taking Zeke’s advice, August had tried his best to be merely friendly. It had seemed she did not want to speak to him at all, though. Why, she’d hardly looked at him!

  Sighing, August gritted his teeth. He hated how much he thought about her. The fact that she so clearly disliked his presence made him desire her even more.

  Was August a glutton for pain, and he’d never realized it until now?

  He went to fill the tea kettle, but a blur of motion outside the window caught his eye. Had that been...?

  No. August blinked and rubbed his eyes. Surely he saw things. Margaret Meyers had not run across his backyard.

  The prickling feeling moving up his arms told him someone had to be out there, though. August had never suffered from delusions, and it seemed unlikely that he suddenly was now.

&nbs
p; Setting the tea kettle back down, he went out the back door without donning his coat.

  And there she was. Miss Meyers.

  She stood at one end of the yard, breathing heavy, her attention on the other end of August’s property.