“Matter of fact, Catharine is in town. I dropped her off at the mercantile with her sisters. I want to know who you hired to find out that supposedly Catharine was once married.”
“I told you. He’s a private investigator whose name I got from a reliable source. It’s Mac Foster, and he’s very good at his job.”
“Mac Foster?” Peter’s eyebrows elevated as he raised his voice. “From what I heard, I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could toss my hat!”
Clara puffed out her chest, taking a deep breath before speaking. “Son, I don’t know who told you that, but he’s very kind and very professional toward me. He even asked me to dinner tonight.”
Peter groaned—not exactly the reaction she was expecting. “Oh, Mother! Professional? Then why is he taking you to dinner?”
“I don’t know,” Clara stuttered. “Maybe he has more information to share with me.”
Peter ran his hand through his hair. “He could do that in his office. I’m warning you, Mother—don’t trust that man. I don’t know why I ever gave any thought to your story in the first place!” Peter stood. “That settles it. I treated Catharine badly after listening to you, and I need to apologize to her.”
Clara jumped up and grabbed Peter’s arm. “Son, I already told you. I thought it was best that we look into her background for your own protection. A mail-order bride—really, Peter. You could’ve done so much better with Dorothy.”
Peter clapped his hat back on his head. “Think whatever you like, Mother. You don’t really know Catharine at all. If you weren’t being so unreasonable, you could get to know what a wonderful person she is instead of making her your enemy.” He pulled away to leave, then turned around and leveled a brooding look at her. “And you can forget about Dorothy. Just be glad I didn’t share this with Catharine. Now I’m going to go spend the rest of the day with my wife!”
The door slammed shut, rattling the beveled glass, but Clara stood rooted to the spot long after she heard Peter hurry down the steps. He’s wrong . . . I just know he is. Mac wouldn’t take advantage of her. He simply couldn’t. Not after the way he’d looked at her the last time they’d met.
She turned her thoughts to what she’d wear to dinner while she sat down, then continued to embroider a pillowcase. The pattern of bluebirds and hearts on the cotton brought to mind two lovers in springtime. The thought brought a smile to her lips in spite of the angry outburst from Peter.
A knock on the door startled her. Peter! But when she peeked out to open the door, it was Anna. Not at all whom she expected.
“Mrs. Andersen, may I please come in?” Anna’s large blue eyes were warm and friendly.
“Well, I . . . er . . . yes, yes, of course. Where are my manners? Are you looking for Peter? He’s just left, though I didn’t see which direction he was headed.” Clara stared back at the slip of a girl with striking Dutch looks.
Anna smiled. “Oh, I’m not here to see Peter,” she said, stepping across the threshold. “I followed Peter and saw your name on the brass plate by the door. I just came to bring you your hat.” She pulled the hat from behind her back and held it out to Clara.
Clara, somewhat surprised, took it and gestured for her to come in. “Why, thank you, Anna. What a sweet thing for you to do.”
Anna strolled into the parlor, looking around with interest. “It’s the least I could do since you seemed to be very upset about something,” she said as she picked up a silver picture frame from the table. “Was this your husband?”
Clara was grateful that she hadn’t asked what had upset her so much. “Yes, it was. Mr. Andersen, God rest his soul.” Clara watched as Anna moved her finger over the dress in the picture.
“My, that’s a beautiful wedding dress you wore.”
“Yes, dear. It was made from the finest Belgium linen and lace. My family was well-to-do, and my mother spared no expense on her only daughter,” she said, remembering how she’d cherished it.
“I don’t know if I ever will marry, but if I do, I hope my wedding dress will be as beautiful as this one.” Anna placed the picture back onto the table. Her wistful look softened her face, which reflected promise and hope.
What a lovely young girl. Ahh . . . to be so young again. How Clara wished she’d been able to have more children. Somewhere along the way she’d learned to accept the fact, but deep in her heart she knew she’d been angry at God.
“Anna, would you like to stay for tea? I was just about to have some.”
“If it’s no trouble, yes, Mrs. Andersen. I’d like that, but I can’t stay long. I have to meet my sisters soon. Maybe you can tell me about your husband. He had a nice face.”
Kindliness flooded Clara’s heart, quite by surprise. “I’ll only be a few minutes. Make yourself right at home.”
Anna took a seat, and Amelia hopped onto her lap and curled up. Anna and Clara both laughed, and Anna stroked the cat under the chin.
“Anna, I hope you like cats. Seems as though Amelia has taken to you.”
“I love animals, Mrs. Andersen. I wasn’t able to persuade my parents to get any, but I’ve always longed to have a pet.”
“Then you should.” Clara scurried off in the direction of the kitchen, happy to have a guest for tea to break the monotony of her day.
Peter hurried away without saying where he was going, leaving Catharine to select her seeds on her own at the general store. Anna and Greta begged to take a walk through town, with strict orders to return within the hour. Catharine watched Peter walk down the sidewalk and get lost in the crowd, then she turned to walk across the street to the post office. A young man smiled as she approached the counter.
“I’m Mrs. Catharine Andersen. Would you check our box and see if we have any mail?”
“Sure thing, Mrs. Andersen.” He walked over to the wall of mail slots behind him, then returned. “Nothing today, ma’am.”
Catharine sighed. “Thank you.” She thought surely she would have her copy of the divorce paper by now. It had been months since the solicitor had said he had them and they would be forwarded on to Peter’s address. She wasn’t sure what she would say when they did arrive. Her heart started pounding. I’ll have to tell him the truth then. Maybe he’ll still care for me and understand when he knows what I’ve been through. A knot formed in her stomach at the thought.
She hurried back over to the general store. When she was satisfied that she had enough seeds to complete the small patch of ground, the young clerk measured seeds into small envelopes. The snapdragons and cockscombs would render nice, tall flowers that she could surround with marigolds, impatiens, dusty miller, and sweet alyssum for a border. She placed the order on Peter’s account, and as she turned to go in search of her sisters, she saw a familiar face. Angelina was shopping with her twin sons in tow.
“Angelina!” Catharine called to her. The petite beauty turned around with her purchases in hand. She caught Catharine’s gaze and hurried across the room, pulling on each of the protesting twins, who, from the looks of it, would rather be outside or back at home.
“Buongiorno, Catharine! It’s so good to see you. How have you been? Seems the only time I get to see you is at church. I hope that doesn’t mean Peter is working you too hard.”
It was hard not to be struck by Angelina’s smile and Italian looks. “Hallo. No, I’m adjusting, so he hasn’t been too much of a taskmaster. I think being a farmer’s wife is a never-ending job, however.”
“Mama, can we wait for you outside?” Angelo pleaded while he yanked on his mother’s arm.
“Don’t interrupt, Angelo. I’m talking with Mrs. Andersen.”
“Please, Mama, we’ll stay close by, I promise.” Alfredo took up the cause.
Angelina rolled her eyes. “Excuse me,” she said to Catharine, then turned to the twins. “When I’m through talking, both of you had better be sitting on the porch waiting. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, Mama,” they answered in unison, then tore out of the store before she had time
to change her mind.
Angelina gave Catharine a quick kiss on the cheek, which surprised her. “Ah, my boys forget to use their manners now and again.” She laughed. “But I have to keep a close eye on them so they won’t get into any trouble. What brings you to town?”
Catharine held up her sack. “I wanted to buy seeds for my flower bed. Peter helped me till a garden space. I wasn’t sure what sort of flowers grow here, but the clerk seemed to know quite a lot about what I should plant.”
“I see. Well, next time perhaps I can share with you some plants that I’ve learned to propagate. I’ve heard about the beautiful tulips in Holland. I wonder if they’ll grow here.”
Catharine tucked the package under her arm. “I intend to find out. I brought some bulbs in my trunk to plant this fall. If they come up and do well, then I’ll be most happy to share them with you.”
Angelina’s dark eyes twinkled as she crooked her arm around Catharine. “You and I will become good friends. I can feel it.” She guided them toward the door. “I have an idea. Why don’t you come back to the ristorante and we can have coffee and biscotti? That is, if you’re finished with your shopping.”
“I am done, but, Angelina, what is bis . . . co . . .”
“Biscotti,” Angelina repeated. “It’s a type of Italian cookie. I think you’ll like it.” Her full lips curved in a smile. “You’ll have to teach me some of your native language.”
“Okay. Maybe we’ll see my sisters and Peter along the way. I’m not really sure where they got off to, but none of them seemed interested in picking out seeds for a garden. My sisters were more interested in exploring Cheyenne.”
Angelina giggled softly. “The town is not so big that they won’t be able to find you, my dear.”
As they stepped out onto the sidewalk, Catharine noticed clouds blocking out the sun’s earlier rays, making the air cooler. She was glad she had brought her shawl along. She gathered it around her shoulders and let Angelina lead the way.
Angelina called to Alfredo and Angelo, who ran up to them. She paused, looking up at the sky. “Mmm, looks like a spring storm might be brewing.”
After last night’s lightning storm without a drop of rain, Peter had told Catharine that storms on the plains could pop up without warning. Would they be able to make it home before any rain or lightning developed? Maybe it wouldn’t rain at all. She shuddered. She had no desire to see that kind of lightning again.
Angelina’s boys ran on ahead while the two women scooted on down the sidewalk in the direction of the restaurant. Angelina stopped underneath a sign hanging overhead that read Mario’s Ristorante. She pushed open the door and they hurried inside.
The mixed smell of garlic, onions, and something else Catharine couldn’t identify tickled her nostrils. Angelina led her to a table and called out to her husband in a cheery voice. She seated Catharine next to the window overlooking the busy streets of Cheyenne.
“Next to the window we’ll have a perfect view. You’ll be able to see your family coming in either direction. I’ll go get our cups of coffee and be right back.”
Catharine settled back in her chair and gazed around the restaurant, enjoying the warm, cozy atmosphere. The smells were tantalizing, and she watched as Mario served several tables, then paused with a nod of greeting in her direction. She supposed the patrons were in between a late lunch and supper, which made her consider what she could prepare quickly once they were home. Peter ate what she prepared, but Catharine knew sometimes he was simply being polite, and last night . . . well, he’d hardly touched his food at all. The thought pierced her heart, but she was at a loss as to what to say or do to fix the ever-widening gulf they seemed to have. A lone tear rolled down her cheeks, but she quickly wiped it away before Angelina returned.
She heard Angelina’s heels tap, tap, tap across the hardwood floor. She carried over a tray with steaming cups of coffee and the biscotti, and Catharine savored the aroma that came from the cup in front of her. Angelina placed the tray on a nearby empty table, then pulled out a chair directly across from Catharine.
“My friend, why the long face?” Angelina leaned forward, her forehead wrinkled with concern.
Catharine tensed and opened her mouth to protest, but smiled instead. “Oh . . . I was only thinking of the chores that didn’t get done today that will have to be made up. That’s all.”
“Don’t concern yourself with that. Just enjoy the moment that we have right now. I’ve learned that all things fall into place whether we fret or not, it seems.”
Angelina’s effervescent personality was good for her, Catharine decided. Peter was right, it would be nice to have such a warm person as a friend. She took a bite of the biscotti as Angelina watched her reaction.
“Well . . . what do you think?”
“I like it. It’s a little hard, though.”
Angelina grinned. “Try dipping the tip of the cookie in your coffee for a second. My husband calls it dunkin’ his biscotti.” She demonstrated with her cookie, then popped the piece into her mouth.
Catharine did the same and, to her delight, found that the coffee enhanced its flavor. “It’s goed!” Catharine dabbed her napkin on the coffee that dribbled down her chin. The women giggled like two schoolgirls.
“What is it like to be a mail-order bride?” Angelina’s eyes were wide with genuine interest.
Catharine sipped the strong coffee before answering. “Well . . . it was a big decision for me to even consider such an ad, but after my parents died, I was ready to change everything about my life and start over completely.” She gazed out the window before continuing. “Peter and I began to care for each other through our correspondence, and now that I think about it, maybe it’s one of the best ways to find a mate, after you become friends.”
“Mmm . . . maybe so, but with Mario . . .” Angelina pressed her fingers to her lips and flung a kiss. “It was bellissimo, I tell you!”
“And that means?”
“Italian for lovely, wonderful. So the marriage is working out wonderfully, no?”
“Er . . . yes . . . most of the time.” Catharine swallowed hard. She hadn’t meant to let that slip.
Angelina quirked an eyebrow upward. “What does that mean? Most of the—” She stopped when Catharine squirmed and looked down at her hands. “Excuse me, Catharine. I have no right to pry. It’s just that you looked so unhappy.”
Catharine waved her hand. “No, it’s all right. It’s just that he’s been upset with me, and I’m not sure what to do.” She shrugged.
Angelina made a clicking noise with her tongue. “Ah, my friend, you have come to the right place for advice. I should know. I’ve been married eight years now. Perhaps I can help if you’d care to share with me. I will not break your confidence, I assure you.”
Catharine glanced out the window and sighed, then began to talk in a hushed voice. She told her how at first she was unable to respond to Peter, but after a few weeks she began to feel real desire for her husband. Angelina’s face reflected sympathy. Catharine finished by telling her about the special night she’d planned and Peter’s rejection of her, and just then Mario strolled up to the table with the coffeepot.
“Catharine, it is so good to see you again. Is Peter with you?” He refilled their cups with a smile, showing even white teeth.
“Dank U wel, Mario. Peter is in town and my sisters are with us too.”
“I hope he stops by then. I’d like to see your sisters as well. How did you like the biscotti?”
“It’s very good and goes well with the coffee,” Catharine said.
Mario bellowed loudly, his voice carrying across the room, “I make the coffee and Angelina bakes the biscotti . . . among other things, right, my sweet?” He leaned over to give her a peck on her temple. “I’ll leave you ladies alone to talk for now. I must go stir my sauce for tonight’s dinner.” Mario bowed, then moved away quickly for such a large man.
“I think I see one of your sisters coming down the wal
k, and not a moment too soon,” Angelina said.
Catharine looked out the window once more and saw huge raindrops pelt the dry, dusty streets of Cheyenne. She pressed next to the window and motioned to Greta, then met her at the door with Angelina right behind her.
“Have you seen Peter? And where’s Anna?” she asked.
“No, I thought he was with you. Anna took off on her own.” Greta turned to Angelina. “Hallo again.” She wiggled her nose. “Something smells delicious!”
“Do come in. Your sister and I were just having a snack. Would you care to join us?” Angelina asked.
“Greta, you let Anna go off alone? She doesn’t know anything about the town at all!” Catharine tried to squelch her fear. Where was Anna? Catharine looked at the watch pinned to her blouse. The hour had long since passed. “We have to find her.” She moved to the door, but Angelina stopped her.
“Let’s wait a few minutes. She probably ducked into a shop when the rain started.”
Greta nodded. “You’re probably right. I’m sure she’ll look for our wagon in front of the general store and wait for us.”
Catharine wasn’t convinced. She twisted the edge of her shawl between her fingers. “I hope you’re right. When the rain stops, if she’s not here, we’ll go look for her. Maybe she and Peter are at the store now.”
Greta moved toward the table that Angelina indicated. “I could use a good cup of coffee,” she said with a laugh. “Peter has spoiled me with his, and I almost prefer it to tea.”
“Mmm. We shall see what you think of Mario’s coffee.” Angelina went to get another cup and winked at Catharine, who reluctantly took her seat again.
“Where did you go, Greta?” Catharine asked.
“Oh, nowhere in particular.” She shrugged. Catharine thought Greta seemed a little uneasy. “Just walking. I looked in a millinery shop. You’ll have to go sometime yourself. Did you find what you needed for your garden?”
“Ja. I did. But I’m not sure what happened to Peter. He was to meet us in an hour.”
They sipped their coffee while they watched the steady rain, enjoying their visit with Angelina, who pelted them with questions about their homeland. It wasn’t long before Peter strode in, stomped his feet at the door, and hung his hat on a peg nearby. His face wore a crooked half smile that Catharine had come to know but hadn’t seen much of lately.
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