Grace

by Peggy McKenzie

  Squaring her shoulders, Grace fisted her skirts and marched toward the gaping door leading into her...new home. Determination set her jaw. She was not a quitter and at twenty-four, she wasn't going to start now. Never one to shirk hard work, she gave the outside of the cabin another look. Grace shook her head in resignation. If the inside was anything like the outside, she had best get started. It may not look like Mrs. Hanover's beautiful house, but she would do her best to make it a home for her and her husband. And when the time was right, her sisters too. God only knew where they were going to sleep. She would cross that bridge when she got to it. Right now, she had work to do.

  John smiled to himself as he watched the horrified look on his wife's face when she realized this was her new home. He should feel some remorse at the terrible trick he was perpetrating on the city girl. His conscience pricked a tiny bit but he did his best to ignore it. John's only hope to resolve this nightmare was to convince his city born wife that being married to him was not what she might envision. The sooner she realized being his wife was not a blessing, the better off they would both be. Besides, he had to get back to work soon and leaving this pretty young miss alone in the wilderness made his heart stop. His fear of something happening to her rallied his resolve. His intentions to send her back to town was foremost on his mind. He had already failed to protect one wife. He wasn't about to allow this innocent young miss to share that same misfortune.

  His family’s hunting cabin was used by members of his family as long as he could remember. It was the most basic of shelters and not meant to be lived in full time, although if the situation presented itself, he guessed it was possible. But to a city girl, this must be hell on earth. He gave her three days out here and she'd be hightailing it back to Creede for Mr. Hanover's help in filing for an annulment. He saw no reason why it wouldn't be granted because he had no intentions of consummating this marriage no matter how attracted he was to his new wife.

  Satisfied his plan would work, he began to whistle and unload the rest of the supplies out of the back of the wagon and into the barn. Thank goodness his granddaddy wasn’t too keen on cleaning his elk kills in the freezing outdoors. The barn was large and warm and tight. The cabin might be primitive, but the barn was fit for a king’s stable. Now, all six of his prized bays would be eating and sleeping in nice warm stalls full of straw.

  Hay, horse feed, and sacks of flour all went into the tack room in the corner of the barn. John locked the heavy double doors and secured it. It would take a charging bull elk to crash through those doors.

  Guess he better get the rest of his wife’s trunks inside. He hoped she wasn’t the fainting kind.

  "Where would you like these, Miss Sincl—" he hesitated. "I mean, Grace."

  He watched her standing in the middle of the main room staring at the cobwebs and dust lying on surface. He had to admit things were in pretty bad shape. He wouldn't blame her if she decided to turn around now and demand he take her back to town.

  She spoke but never took her eyes from the messy room. "Take them to the bedroom. I suppose you have one?" She took off her traveling jacket and hung her shawl on the nail behind the door. "It seems like it's been...quite some time since you've been home.”

  “It’s been a while.” It was a stretch of the truth because he hadn’t been here since last spring’s turkey hunt. But his new wife didn’t need to know that. He carried her two small trunks into the adjoining bedroom and set them on the floor next to the far wall. Re-entering the main room, he watched the city girl take stock of her surroundings. Any minute she would demand he take her back to town. Perhaps he should have left the bays hitched to the wagon.

  “Mr. Malone, I mean John, could you bring in some firewood, please? I want to heat some water for cleaning."

  He stood unmoving in the doorway from the bedroom. Was she serious? This place was a mess. Maybe he had gone too far...

  "John. The sooner you get the fire going, the sooner we can clear out these cobwebs and dust. I'm certain you are as hungry as I am and I will not cook or eat in this..." She threw her arms out to include everything within sight. “…untidiness.”

  When he failed to get moving, her hands fisted at her hips and her eyebrows raised in encouragement.

  He was the one who had put them on this journey of deceit. Should he tell her now that he did not write the letter asking for a wife? What would her reactions be? She seemed stable but so did old Mrs. Lawson until she chased Mr. Lawson around the house with a meat cleaver because he forgot to leave his shoes at the door.

  “John Malone. Daylight is burning. The sooner you get the water, the sooner I can get started on…,” he watched her look around the room, a pinched look on her face “rectifying this situation.”

  His momma raised him up to never ignore the authoritative voice of a bossy woman. “Yes, Ma’am.” He was out the door before he remembered he was in charge and this little missy was very temporary.

  8

  Grace worked the rest of the afternoon, sweeping huge piles of dirt and corralling it near the front door. Next, she scoured the tin plates, eating utensils and cast iron pots and dried them off and stacked them on the shelf above the sink. She wrangled the mop bucket off the back wall and filled it with water and suds. The floor boards soon began to lighten, the wood grain appeared with every dip of the rag mop in and out of the water. What a difference a little soap and water could make. The Reverend’s words came to mind. "Cleanliness is next to Godliness." She had never quite understood what meaning the saying was supposed to convey but if her clean house gave her a second in her husband’s good graces, she was all in.

  This new husband of hers lived like a swamp rat and yet he wrote like the most polished of gentlemen. It didn’t make sense. He must have had help with the letter. The more she thought about it, the more it made sense. He was illiterate. And he was prideful. He was afraid if he wrote the letter, no one would answer his call for a wife. She would just have to teach the man how to read. Without him knowing what she was doing, of course. A man’s pride was a delicate thing.

  Satisfied her theory was correct, Grace gave the main room a once over look. Everything was clean and in its place. She dragged the mop and bucket and moved into the bedroom. Sweeping vigorously, she repeated the process and soon had the bedroom flooring gleaming too.

  She found fresh linens in the chest at the foot of the bed. Tucking in the corners, she straightened the bed covers and tucked the top edge over the pillows. Grace stacked the smaller pillows on top giving the room a feminine look. Furniture dusted, she lay one of Sarah’s homespun doilies on the dresser. A wedding present from the Hanover’s housekeeper. Grace had been touched by her generosity.

  The mop bucket of dirty water in tow, she mopped her way to the front door and raised the latch swinging the door wide. Standing on the other side was the startled face of her husband.

  "You’re back.” All of her bravado disappeared into the thin mountain air. Neither of them said anything. She stepped back and allowed him to enter.

  "What happened in here?" She watched his gaze sweep around the room as if he couldn't believe his eyes.

  "I cleaned. Have you never seen a clean house before?"

  "Well, y-yes." He answered in stuttering syllables. "Just not this one."

  Grace rounded on him. “And why not this one, Mr. Malone? What is it about this house are you not telling me?”

  Well, he’d stuck his foot in it now. How could he tell this little city girl she has just spent the better part of a day cleaning and scrubbing his family's old hunting cabin? He had hoped he could get her back to town before his ruse went this far. Now he needed time to think.

  Damn, he was making a mess of this whole situation. "What I meant was I’ve never taken the time to fix this old place up.” Okay, that much was true. He hated lying. Could the truth do any more damage to the woman’s pride than his bumbling efforts to protect it?

  He watched Grace's puzzled expression. She seemed
to have a good head on her shoulders. Maybe if he just explained what happened.

  He watched the young woman disappear into the bedroom and he could hear her searching for something. A minute later, she was back with a book in her hand. She walked up to him and shoved it at him forcing him to take it from her.

  “Read, Mr. Malone.”

  “Whaaat?”

  “Read the title of that book.” She squared off and crossed her arms across her chest in defensive mode. He wasn’t sure what was happening but by the looks of things, he was in a lot of trouble.

  “The title. Of this book.” He racked his brain to think why it mattered whether he read the title of this book. Nothing came to him so he flipped the book over and read the title aloud. “The Lady's Guide to Perfect Gentility, in Manners, Dress, and--.”

  She reached across the space that separated them and snatched the book as if he had stolen it from her. He flinched. Perhaps he was a tiny bit frightened of this little woman from the city.

  She turned her back to him, crossed the room and sat in the chair next to the fire. He flinched again when she motioned for him to take the other chair. Cautious and on full alert, he did as she asked. But he was ready. Just in case she had a meat cleaver stashed behind her skirts.

  “Miss Sinclair, I’m not sure what’s going on here, but— “

  Her head snapped around and he swore he saw flames sparking in her eyes. Perhaps it was a reflection from the fire but she looked mad enough to spit. “Mr. Malone, there is tomfoolery about and you are at the core of it. Now, out with it. Why are you acting so suspect and what is this place? The truth if you please.”

  John hesitated for a second before he decided this was his opportunity to set things right.

  “Miss Sinclair, I truly apologize to you for this horrible situation. I did try to tell Mr. Hanover before the wedding, but he wasn’t in the mood to listen.”

  “Tell him what? What should I have been told?”

  “I want you to know that if I had known—that something was peculiar, I would have forewarned you immediately.”

  “Known about what, Mr. Malone?”

  He searched his brain to find the best words, the kindest words to explain that he didn’t want a wife. She wanted the truth and she wanted it now.

  “Mr. Malone, if you don’t tell me what is amiss in the next five seconds, I swear I shall have a fit of apoplectic proportions. Now out with it.”

  “Well, Miss Sinclair, the truth is…what I’m trying to say is…I didn’t write the letter to the Matrimonial News asking for a wife. I can assure you the last thing I want is another wife.”

  9

  Grace was glad she was sitting down. She wobbled in her chair a bit and dropped the book she had been clutching in her lap. Mr. Malone’s words hit like a punch to her gut. “You didn’t write the letter?”

  She watched the regret on his face. He shook his head. “No, ma’am. I did not.”

  “And you don’t want a wife?”

  “I most definitely do not.”

  “But, I have the letter. It says you wanted a wife to build a new life and you were interested in having a big family.”

  “It wasn’t me. I don’t know who did it but I assure you I will get to the bottom of this as soon as we can get back to town. Do you mind if I look at the letter? Perhaps I will recognize the script.”

  She shook her head in disbelief. “I gave it to Mr. Hanover when I left this morning. He said he would keep it safe. At the time, I had no idea why I would have reason to keep the letter safe. He must have known you were trying to tell him something.”

  “Like I said, I tried to explain to Mr. Hanover that I didn’t write the letter. I even brought a bank note to the Hanovers to give to you as compensation for your trouble. But he was convinced all I wanted to do was get out of marrying you after bringing you all this way. I think the man truly had your best interested at heart although sorely misguided.”

  Grace nodded her understanding. This was a disaster. Her sisters were waiting on her to rescue them from Kansas City. Now, it would take time to dissolve this marriage and find another willing husband. Oh dear Lord, she was in a very deep pickle. “But why would anyone do such a thing? You said you didn’t want another wife? So, you are married.” She braced herself for the answer she knew was coming. But, once again, Mr. Malone was full of surprises.

  “Was. Married. I’m a widower.”

  John wanted to comfort his unwanted bride but he kept his seat and his hands to himself. Instead, he did his best to explain the situation from the beginning. “The first I knew about any of this was when I received your letter accepting my proposal. The problem is, I didn’t offer a proposal. Someone else did it on my behalf.”

  “But why? What would possess someone to do such a thing?”

  “I don’t have the slightest idea but I will find out in time. We’ll head back to town tomorrow and get that letter from Mr. Hanover. Maybe it will give us a clue who did this and what were they trying to do.”

  “So you are a widower? Then that means you could— “

  “Stay married? No, ma’am. I’m not interested in taking another wife.”

  John didn’t like talking about Lizzie so he changed the subject.

  “Right now, I’m starving. How about we get something to eat and a good night’s rest. We can start back to town at daybreak.”

  He could see on her face she wanted to know more but he gave her credit for not pushing the matter. After the last twenty-four hours, all he wanted was some decent food and a soft bed. Then he would deal with whoever was trying to sabotage his life.

  An hour later, the smell of a home-cooked meal made him almost sick to his stomach. The ache in his belly reminded him he hadn't eaten in almost a day. That was if you didn't count the cold biscuits he got from the Hanover’s blacksmith that morning.

  But mostly it reminded him of a life, long past. A life he wanted back so bad, he swore he was going to be physically sick.

  He watched his wife’s busy movements around the kitchen. He wondered who this Grace Sinclair was. What was her life before she came to Creede? What did she do before she answered an ad to marry a stranger?

  Grace carried the coffeepot to the table and poured the hot, black liquid into his cup. His stomach rumbled when he caught the aroma of fresh brewed coffee. He couldn’t seem to help himself. He wanted to see if the woman was as calm on the inside as she appeared on the outside. “I’m sorry, Miss Sinclair. I know this must be a horrible shock. Is there anything I can do?”

  “Yes, Mr. Malone. There is. Please, call me Grace and please stop apologizing. It’s clear we are the innocents. But I truly do not know what can be done. We are married now in the eyes of the law.”

  “Once we can examine the letter and determine it was not written by me, a judge will have no reservations in granting us an annulment.”

  “I see.” He watched his little city wife mulling over his words. Her shoulders sagged as if some great burden rested there. He wished he could spare this pleasant young woman the embarrassment of being carted back into town and having the entire town know she was married by duplicity. He wasn’t thrilled about his part in it even though he had nothing to do with the perpetration of wedded bliss. He was an injured party too. But his need to protect her outweighed his anger at some invisible foe.

  She returned the pot to the stove and finished preparing their meal. He watched Grace’s efficient movements about the cabin’s tiny kitchen. Stirring. Tasting. Stirring again. She set the food she prepared on the table and wiped her hands on her apron. He jumped from his seat at the table and rushed around the table to pull her chair out for her.

  The look of genuine surprise flitted across her face. She nodded her gratitude “Why, thank you, Mr. Malone. Now sit. The food will get cold.”

  Sitting down at his place, he looked at the scrumptious meal on the table and sighed. Then looked up at her. “Call me John.”

  A pretty blush colored
her cheeks. “You must be as hungry as I am. Why don’t you dig in.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I believe I will.” John grabbed the fork on the table next to his plate. He filled his plate and wasted no time shoveling food into his mouth. A few bites into the meal, he noticed Grace watched him instead of eating. He should probably praise her for her cooking. Women liked that. “This is really good.” He tore off a piece of biscuit and sopped it into the gravy. She’s still watching. He put his fork down and sat back in his chair. “Is there something on your mind, Miss Sinclair?”

  She smiled sugary sweet. Huh oh. Something is up. His danger indicator was on full alert.

  “Yes, there is, John.”

  She was saying his name like his momma had when he was in trouble. This can’t be good.

  “Well, out with it.” He figured he might as well get it out there before his food got cold.

  Women picked the vilest times to wanna talk.

  “Very well, now that the truth is out about the letter, and you have made it perfectly clear you do not want me as your wife, can you please explain why you brought me out here to this obviously ill-used place when you could have left me at the Hanovers this morning.”

  He swallowed hard and pulled at his shirt collar. It seemed a little warm in here of a sudden. Clearing his throat, he mulled over his words trying to get them just right. The longer he worked at it, the more jumbled they were.