Grace

by Peggy McKenzie

  Grace busied herself around the kitchen. Biscuits and gravy, bacon strips. She wished they had an egg or two. Perhaps next spring, she could talk John into building her a hen house and she could gather her very own eggs. And they could eat chicken whenever they wanted. Her thoughts stopped short. What was wrong with her? She wasn’t staying. At least according to her husband.

  She took an anxious breath but soon heard herself humming. It felt right to be cooking in her own kitchen. Okay, not her own kitchen. But she liked the feel of it anyway. She put the biscuits in the Dutch oven and finished frying the bacon to crisp, brown strips. She set the table with the tin plates and cups. What would it be like to be truly married to John Malone. To care for his home. Cook for him. Clean for him. Have his children.

  Grace blushed at the thought of sharing his bed. He was big and very strong but she sensed a gentleness about him. She touched her lips with her fingertips. She had told him she had been kissed before and his kiss meant nothing. But she had lied. Not about being kissed before. A customer tried his luck once when he stole a kiss at her card table. She rewarded him with a boot in the groin under the table. But she had lied that it meant nothing. If only things could be different between them. If only he had written the letter wanting a wife. If only she had more time to convince the man sending her back would be a big mistake.

  The door swung open and John carried a huge armload of firewood. She rushed to close the door behind him. His long strides brought him to the cast iron pot-bellied stove where he stacked the firewood. He feed the flames with more logs until she could feel its warmth.

  “I shoveled a path from the cabin to the barn and to the river. We’ll need more water by day’s end and those over-grown nags of mine will want to be fed again.

  Grace watched him take his coat off and hang it on the peg behind the door. Tracking wet trails of melting snow across the floor, he rubbed his hands near the fire.

  “Would you mind removing your boots in the house? Please.” She corrected herself. After all, it truly wasn’t a proper house and it didn’t belong to her but she had worked so hard to clean it, the least he could do was not muddy it up. She hoped he wasn’t offended by her request.

  She needn’t have worried. He sat in the chair by the fire and removed his boots, carrying them back to the front door. “Sorry. I’m not used to treating this place with any care.” He had the grace to look embarrassed.

  “Thank you.” She was touched by his willingness to comply with her request. “Breakfast is ready.”

  They eat in companionable silence, listening to the wind clawing at the roof and loose chinking around the logs. An occasional pop of the fire and the smell of burning wood made this tiny neglected cabin seem more like home than anything Grace had ever lived in. If only—

  John interrupted her thoughts. “I’ll go find the cards while you clean off the table. You better get ready for a whooping ‘cause it’s coming, woman.”

  Grace did her best not to gloat but she highly doubted a teamster hauling freight for the mines would beat her sleight of hand. She may not have been the best card dealer in Kansas City, but she was damn near close to it. The man would never see it coming.

  “I’ll have the table cleaned in a few minutes. So, bring it on cowboy. I’m ready.”

  Her heart hiccupped against her ribs at the big teasing grin of her husband. What could she do to make him see there was a chance at happiness for the both of them. Together. As husband and wife.

  Grace scraped the left over gravy out into the snow by the front door. The cold wind snipped at her face and sent chills over her body. She would hate to think of being out in that weather. A person would not last long. She closed the door and latched the bolt in place. Shivers pebbled her skin. She gathered her shawl tighter around her shoulders. Dishes done and food put away, she grabbed another cup of hot coffee and waited for her husband to return.

  “Finally.” John shuffled from the bedroom sock footed. “They weren’t in the chest at all. My brother must have moved them into a tin on the top shelf of the closet. It was covered by two feet of clothing.” He held the tin up as if it were a valuable prize.

  Grace felt an intimacy surrounding them. The fire. Sock feet. The snow insulating them from the rest of the world. Did he feel it too? “We could have played dominoes, you know.” Grace did her best to pretend she wasn’t eager to beat him at his own game.

  “Oh no, Miss Sinclair. I am looking forward to teaching you how to play poker. It’s not a parlor game but I am convinced you will enjoy it immensely.” His excitement was contagious.

  “Very well, Mr. Malone. Shall we begin the lesson?” It was all she could do to keep from clapping her hands together in unbridled joy. “Now tell me, what are the rules to this game?”

  For the next few hours, she and Mr. Malone played poker. She pretended to make mistakes and forget the rules from time to time. She won and then she would lose. The more he won, the more his cockiness became insufferable. He practically patted her on the head in his effort to console her loss. Finally, she could take his superior attitude no longer. It was plain the man did not like to lose. Perhaps it was time to teach him a lesson.

  “I think I have it now. Why don’t you let me deal the cards?”

  “Do you think you can handle it? You’ve only played a few games.” She watched him stack the cards and hand them to her as if she had no idea what to do with them.

  “I think I can manage. There’s no harm in trying is there?” She gathered the cards making a show of dropping them, twisting them sideways in the deck. She even bent one on purpose under the guise of inexperience. The self-satisfied look on the man’s face gigged her competitive side into action.

  Grace began to deal the cards as if she were at the gaming table. She shuffled and cut and shuffled again with a flick of a wrist and quickness of hand. She knew how to deal from the bottom of the deck and so the next hour their card games resulted in a blood bath of loss for her opponent. The more he lost, the quieter his boasts became. When she turned over a royal flush during their last hand, he threw his cards on the table and glared at her.

  She feigned innocence and could barely keep herself from grinning.

  “Where did you learn to play cards like that?” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms across his chest.

  “I’m just a fast learner, that’s all. You are a really good teacher.” She shrugged her shoulders in innocence but it didn’t take her long to realize he wanted answers. She hadn’t thought that far ahead when she decided to make her card playing skills known. Had she overplayed her hand? Could this bit of information completely destroy any chance she had of convincing him to stay married to her? Damn it, Grace. Think before you act.

  “Out with it. What kind of hoax are you involved in? Are you involved in this fake letter trickery with a partner? They wrote the letter for you and you just show up and marry an unsuspecting groom. That’s it, isn’t it?”

  Grace couldn’t have imagined a simple card game could turn into an accusation of a crime. But she sat and watched it happened. She had to fix this and the only way to make John believe her was to tell the truth. The whole truth. This wasn’t going to end well. She was sure of it.

  “No, John. I swear I’m not involved in a fake letter scheme. I’m as much of a victim in this tomfoolery as you are.” She could tell he wasn’t convinced. “I learned to play cards…”

  “Go on. Spin your lies somewhere else.” He stood and shoved his chair backwards knocking it to the floor with a resounding clatter.

  She stood and blocked his exit from the cabin. He could have shoved her aside with one swipe of his big hand. But she knew he would never hurt her no matter how angry he was. She laid a hand on his forearm. She could feel his anger in his clenched muscles.

  “Please, give me a chance to explain. Give me that courtesy. You don’t have to believe it, just listen. Please?”

  She watched him wrestle with his anger and doubt. Finally
, his arm relaxed to his side and he turned about and picked up his chair from the floor. Turning the back around, he straddled the seat resting his arms on the back. She could see his bulging biceps stretching his flannel shirt, his fists clenching and unclenching causing his knuckles to lose color.

  “I’m listening and you better tell it to me straight.” His blue eyes glared at her unblinking.

  She sat across from him and gathered her courage. She had lied to him about who she was. She pretended to be a proper wife. But she wasn’t. She was a card dealer in a saloon and no amount of explaining was going to make that respectable. She could feel tears stinging the back of her lids. Crying wasn’t going to fix this. All that was going to do was make her look weak. And she was anything but weak. She wanted to look away but she needed him to understand what she was about to tell him was the gods truth. The only way she knew how to do that was to look him right in the eye.

  “Okay, so where do you want me to start? At the beginning or just where my card dealing expertise came into play?”

  “The beginning.”

  She nodded taking a deep breath. “Very well. I’ll tell you the whole ugly truth.”

  And for the next hour she proceeded to reveal the sorted details of her life. Growing up in the orphanage fending for herself. Creating an alliance with three other young girls in an effort to protect themselves from bullies. The terrifying day they were kicked out of the only home they had ever known because they were considered adults at the ripe age of sixteen. How they had come to live and work at Rosie’s Red Slipper Saloon.

  She did her best to explain how they made an honest living without selling their bodies. They took on any job Rosie needed them to do that didn’t require going up the backstairs with men and doing unspeakable things for the money to pay their rent and feed their bellies. She skirted over the reason why she had answered an advertisement for a mail order bride. And when she was done, she sat across from the silent man who continued to stare at her as if making up his mind whether he believed her story or not.

  Finally, she could take his silence no longer. “Say something. Tell me you believe me when I tell you I had nothing to do with tricking you into marriage. I won’t give you any trouble when we get back to town. About annulling the marriage, I mean. I’ll figure something out. I can go to work in town or I can go back to Kansas City. It’s not your problem. Just please tell me you believe me.” She couldn’t keep her emotions in check any longer. A tear slipped down one cheek and then another. She wiped her face with the fringe of her shawl. Finally, she heard him rise. She couldn’t look at him. What would he do when he took her back to town? Turn her loose or turn her over to the sheriff? She could have a price on her head already and if he accused her of fraud, would she go to prison? She figured more than likely and for a long, long time.

  She jumped at his touch on her shoulder. She looked up in surprise to see him kneeling beside her chair, his arm resting on the back of it. His beautiful blue eyes were full of compassion. She wiped at another tear and did her best to hide her embarrassing weakness.

  “I believe you, Grace. At least most of it. I can’t imagine what it would be like to be a child without a home or a mother who loved you. Or a father who supported you. And to be turned out into the streets at sixteen—it’s unimaginable. How were you able to protect yourself being so young and in such a tarnished place?”

  “What you are really asking was how did we protect our virtues, isn’t that right Mr. Malone?”

  He looked a little embarrassed to be talking about such an indelicate subject. But, he brought it up so, she would enlighten the man.

  “Growing up in the back halls of Rosie’s saloon meant a girl never knew when some drunken reprobate would try to force themselves on the wrong door. Each time we heard the sound of footsteps thumping across the cracked floor boards in search of female companionship, all four of us girls held our breath. Most always, the footsteps disappeared down the hallway. But every now and again, the owner of one of those pairs of boots would try to force his way into our room. We always made sure the bolt was secure in the door and before we went to bed, we would push the heavy chest of drawers in front of the door. We shared a pistol among the four of us. It was always loaded and hidden under the chamber set cabinet.

  “What happened when you were downstairs? You know. Dealing cards.” John sat back down in his chair on the other side of the table. He really seemed interested.

  Grace smiled at the memory of Rosie’s mother hen bossiness. “The owner of the Red Slipper Saloon is a woman by the name of Rosie O’Malley. She’s quiet the colorful soul but she’s a survivor and she helped us survive too. If anyone in her saloon got out of hand with any of the girls, she carried a pocket blaster and she wasn’t afraid to use it. Not when it came to protecting her girls.”

  “Sounds like an interesting woman, this Rosie O’Malley.”

  “Yes, she is.”

  “It’s apparent you have a strong attachment to her.”

  “She was like the mother and protector we girls never had. I miss her. And my sisters. They aren’t really family, at least not by blood anyway, but they are all the family I have.”

  Grace searched his face willing him to understand. But how could someone from a big family know what it’s like to be on their own. No one to share your good day or your bad days with.

  The room was silent. Nothing but the wind slapping a loose shutter against the logs and a crack of the fire. John pushed back from the table and stood, turning the chair around and scooting it under the table. “Well, it’s getting late. I should get out to the barn and feed those hungry nags. Can you use some fresh water?”

  Grace followed his example and stood. A little bit nervous now that her flaws were exposed, she wasn’t certain how to act or what to say. Thankfully, her husband took care of her unease.

  “Why don’t you get me the water bucket while I put on my boots. Over here where I won’t track up the floor.” He smiled at her and it warmed her heart. He understood.

  Relief flooded through and she relaxed. “That’s very considerate of you.” She handed him the water bucket and his fingers covered hers on the handle. She looked into his face questioning what he was doing.

  “Grace, I’m sorry for the hand you’ve been dealt.” His eyes full of compassion. “And you have my respect and admiration for how you have lived your life. I….”

  Grace waited for him to say something more, but his demeanor changed and the mood was lost. “I should get going.” He turned toward the door with bucket in hand.

  “Wait. I'll get my coat and help you. It will save time." She didn’t know what made her say it but now that it was out, she wanted more than anything to be with him. She headed to the bedroom to grab her coat when he stopped her cold.

  "No, Grace. It'll only take me a few minutes to bust the thin layer of snow and ice off the top of the river, get fresh water and give the horses grain and hay in the barn. Stay inside where it's warm. I don't want you out in this weather where you could catch your death of cold."

  His suggestion made sense. He was only looking out for her well-being. Then why did his rejection of her offer hurt so much. She had to admit she liked him a little bit too much.

  John hated the wounded look on Grace’s face when he told her not to come. He really was trying to protect her. The temperature outside was nothing to be trifled with. A person could freeze in as little as half an hour if they didn't know how to protect themselves. He wrapped his scarf around his face, put on his heavy work gloves and stomped outside in the storm with heavy coat and boots.

  He made a beeline for the river, smashed through the thin layer of snow and dipped the water bucket into the water and then headed to the barn. He emptied the bucket of water into one horse’s stall. He made five more trips to the river filling each horse’s bucket with cold fresh water. The final trip to the barn, he closed the door behind him to keep the cold air out. He was greeted with familiar nickers
of his team as he scooped grain into each stall’s feed bin from the sack of grain he kept locked inside the tack room to keep curious noses from helping themselves. The barn was fairly warm due to the body heat of his six draft horses. It smelled of hay and manure. He was comfortable here.

  He shoveled the manure into the corner of the barn. Once the storm let up, he'd wheelbarrow it out behind the barn. A flake of hay for each of his prized geldings as he moved from stall to stall patting their rumps and rubbing their ears.

  “Hey, boys. How’s it going? You would rather be at home in your own barn instead of this place. Sorry. That’s my fault. Maybe I should have just gone home.”

  John sat on an upturned bucket and watched his team eating their grain and hay. He had worked long, hard hours for those horses. They were the best in the country. Had he sacrificed Lizzie and his son to get ahead in business?

  No, he had worked his butt off for his family. He wanted his wife to have everything she ever wanted. His children too. He had watched his mother struggle to make ends meet after his dad died. He wanted Lizzie to have plenty of everything if anything ever happened to him.

  And then there was Grace. Damn that woman. He was doing his best to remain untouched by her kindness, her strength. Her courage. But he had to admit he might have developed feelings for the woman. And that scared the hell out of him. He told himself he didn’t want to have feelings. It was safer not to care about someone. But he liked having her around. The smell of food cooking on the stove. Watching her sit in the rocking chair reading.

  He sat on a bucket in a barn in the middle of a snow storm watching his draft horses munch their feed while thinking about the beautiful blonde-haired woman in the cabin just a few yards away. She was willing to go out in this storm to help him even after he made it clear he would not continue to be her husband. He didn't deserve a woman with this selfless courage. Or rather she deserved better than a man who put his own desires above all others.