Grace: Bride of Montana (American Mail-Order Bride 41)

by Debra Holland

  Frey groaned, slid down farther in the pew, and dropped his head back to look up at the ceiling. “Why am I doing this?”

  Seth kissed the top of his son’s head. “Because, hopefully, the fearful times and the times when you suffer pain and hardship are few in comparison to those of love and joy and the day-to-day companionship of building a life together. Grace and your children will bring new meaning to your life beyond what you ever could have imagined.”

  Frey let out a long breath. “That’s a lot for a man to take in.”

  “Even now, four and a half years later, there are days when I walk into the house for dinner and I still feel grateful for the warm welcome I know I’ll receive and the wonderful meal that will be waiting. I had too many years without.”

  I want that experience, too.

  Seth nudged him, waggling his eyebrows, in an apparent ploy to change the mood. “Not to mention our nights together, and that’s all I’m going to say!”

  The appearance of Reverend Norton carrying a book had both men sitting up straight and spared Frey more serious discussions about marriage—a good thing, because he wasn’t sure he could stand any more of Seth’s revelations. Best get the whole shebang over with. If he had to do too much more thinking, he might give in to the inchin’ in his feet and hightail it out of the church.

  Wouldn’t that be a sight, big Frey Foster loping down the street as if his breeches were afire?

  “Has Mr. Flanigan been preparing you for the wedding?” the minister asked Frey.

  Both men stood to answer.

  Seth turned his head slightly, so the good reverend wouldn’t see him wink at Frey. “Doing my best, sir.” He continued rubbing the back of his sleepy son.

  “Well, from my brief counsel with Miss Dickinson, I find her to be sensible, proficient in homemaking skills, with an educated mind and a serious disposition—”

  Serious? The woman I’d just met didn’t seem to have a serious disposition. Frey wondered what the two had discussed to give the minister that impression but didn’t figure it was his place to ask.

  “However….”

  The minister’s pause caught Frey’s attention.

  “I know she and I had just met, and circumstances such as these are trying….” Reverend Norton gave a slight shrug. “I had an impression of her being a reserved woman. And you, Mr. Foster, are quite the opposite. The differences in your natures might cause a misunderstanding or two…. Bah.” He moved a hand in an impatient gesture. “I’m not doing well at putting my finger on what concerns me, so I will just counsel patience. Know that my door—” his smile softened his austere features “—as well as my wife’s kitchen are always open to both of you.”

  “If it’s all the same to you, Reverend Norton,” Frey rejoined, striving to keep his voice even, “I’ve seen that study of yours, and I barely fit inside. So I’ll take the kitchen.”

  The minister laughed as Frey had hoped. “The ladies are only a few minutes behind me, so we should prepare to start. Mr. Flanigan, would you escort the bride up the aisle?”

  Seth looked startled, and then he clapped a hand on Frey’s arm. “I’d be honored.” He rubbed his chin across the top of the baby’s head. “George and I will go find the ladies.”

  No sooner had he left the church than Mrs. Norton hurried inside and up the aisle to them. “Such a beautiful bride you have, Mr. Foster.” She sighed. “The only drawback to playing the music for the processional is, I will not see your face when you set eyes on her.”

  Frey found his heartbeat kicking up in anticipation of seeing Grace.

  Reverend Norton motioned him to stand in front of the altar near the aisle.

  Mrs. Norton moved to the piano in the corner, selected music from inside the bench, and propped the sheet on the rack before taking a seat.

  Trudy Flanigan came in next, carrying George and beaming. “Oh, I do love playing matchmaker.” She shifted the baby to one arm, came to Frey, and tugged on his shirt so he’d lean down. Going on tiptoe, she placed a lavender-scented kiss on his cheek. “All the best to you both,” she said, her blue eyes bright with tears.

  Frey found himself warmed by the gesture and his friend’s approval.

  Trudy started to take a seat in the front pew, hesitated, and glanced around. “Where’s Anna?” she asked, her voice rising.

  He tilted his head toward the altar.

  She rolled her eyes. “I should have known. Anna Evelyn Flanigan.” Her voice remained low to not wake the sleeping baby in her arms, but her tone sounded sharp. “Come out from under there this instant!”

  “Yes, Mama.” Anna’s sweet face peeped out, the altar cloth draped over her head like a veil. She crawled forward, dragging her rag doll, and then stood and ran to her mother.

  Mrs. Flanigan smoothed the child’s dark curls and straightened her dress. “Good thing Mrs. Norton would not allow a speck of dust to linger in here, or you’d be dirty already.” She pulled the child onto the seat of the pew, keeping an arm around her.

  The notes of “Blest Be The Tie That Binds” sounded from the piano.

  This is it! Frey turned his attention to the back of the church. His bride entered on Seth’s arm. A lump the size of a brick cemented into his throat, and he couldn’t even swallow. He hadn’t known what to expect, and he’d assumed Grace would wear white like his sisters had for their weddings. But instead, she was a vision of blue and gold, in a gown that looked fit for a princess. Pride in her appearance swelled in his chest.

  Although some of her blonde hair was pulled back, the rest fell into long ringlets. Wispy curls framed her face. The pale blue of the dress made her eyes vivid. But what expression is that? Do I see sadness in her gaze?

  The thought bothered him. Fear or nervousness he could understand, but not sadness. The brick in his throat grew heavier, and Frey realized there was so much he didn’t know about the woman he was about to wed.

  The notion poked at his pride. I want no wife full of sadness.

  I might not be what Grace expected, or even wanted, but I intend to put a smile on her face every day.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Grace walked beside Trudy from the parsonage to the church, holding the bunched-up material of her skirt to keep the fabric off the dirt—not at all the usual discrete ladylike lift of a hem, careful not to reveal a glimpse of ankles. But with the parsonage tucked toward the rear of the church, she figured no one would see her dress hitched up to her calves.

  Without the original panniers or the adaptation for a hoop, the wedding gown was several inches too long, adding to the fullness of the skirt. She had to walk with a small forward kick, to avoid stepping on the hem. She’d originally planned to raise the hem, but after Grace learned she’d be marrying a large man, she realized any of their daughters would probably be tall. So she left the length alone, not wanting to add unnecessary alterations to the antique fabric.

  The new black button shoes she wore seemed incongruous with the elegance of the gown. She wished for dainty evening shoes like the pair she’d eyed in the store in Lawrence before reluctantly moving on to more practical footwear.

  At the entrance to the church, Grace lowered her skirt and exhaled, taking a moment to absorb the sensation of wearing the heirloom gown. A wave of nostalgia made her wish her parents were there to see her. As a young girl, she’d often demand they tell the story of their wedding. She not only enjoyed hearing the tale but also how the memory kindled the love between her normally reserved parents, and she’d bask in the reflected glow.

  Trudy handed Grace the bouquet of roses and chrysanthemums and busied herself with fluffing out the sides and back of the skirt. “This dress is exquisite on you. I hope someday you and Frey arrange to have a photograph taken, even if the colors won’t show.”

  Grace inhaled the scent of roses. “My mother told me a portrait was done of the ancestress who first wore this dress, as well as one of her groom. Those paintings were passed down through a different branch of th
e family and became lost to us.” Suddenly the connection to family felt important. “Maybe Frey and I could also have a portrait painted, so the colors would show.”

  “Good idea.”

  Grace reached out a hand to Trudy. She started to speak, but a lump formed in her throat, and she couldn’t even put her gratitude into words. All she could do was press her new friend’s hand.

  Trudy pulled a handkerchief from the cuff of her sleeve and mopped at her eyes. “Weddings are always so emotional. Don’t you get me started.”

  Seth stepped out of the church. “Are you ladies ready?” He cocked an eyebrow at his wife. “The Viking’s chomping inside, chomping on his chainmail.” His voice slid into a drawl for he obviously wanted to banish any female displays of emotion. “Another minute, he’s liable to toss Grace over his shoulder and carry her off. Reverend Norton will have to chase after them, calling out the words to sanctify the rampaging abduction.”

  The women laughed and separated.

  Seth studied Grace, his gaze admiring. “I’ll say you are the second most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen.” He slipped his arm around Trudy and gave her a squeeze, accompanied by a look of adoration.

  Trudy blushed.

  Grace could well imagine her as a bride.

  Seth frowned and, with a raised eyebrow, pulled at his chin. “I’m a little concerned, though.”

  “What?” Both of them asked at the same time.

  “When Frey-The-Warrior sets eyes on Grace….” Seth shook his head in mock concern. “Why, the sight of you will knock that hulk on his backside. Probably break the altar into pieces. I’ll have to haul him to his feet, probably strain my shoulder and back in the process.”

  Trudy rolled her eyes and smacked his arm. “I declare, Seth Flanigan, the longer I know you, the more your sense of humor increases. You barely had any when we first married. Now look at how you act. Being around Frey has brought out the worst in you.”

  “No, I don’t think it’s Frey’s fault.” He winked at Grace. “It’s what happiness does to a man.” He gave Trudy a gentle shove toward the doorway. “Go on with you, now. The Viking awaits his bride.”

  With a smile for Grace, Trudy vanished inside, leaving the door open.

  Seth extended his arm to her.

  The strains of “Blessed Be The Tie That Binds” sounding from inside the church made her stomach quiver. Mrs. Norton had given her the choice of a processional hymn, and now Grace wondered if she should have selected another—one that hadn’t featured in her dream of this day.

  A wave of sadness washed over her, making her knees weak. Grateful for Seth’s support, she leaned on his arm, needing a moment to compose herself.

  With a cocked eyebrow, he sent her a questioning look.

  Not knowing how to explain, Grace turned up her lips, trying to reassure him, even if the effort did nothing to ease her own pain. “Don’t walk too close,” she warned Seth. “Or my dress is apt to end up under your feet.”

  “They don’t call me nimble-footed Flanigan for nothing.”

  In spite of her sadness, Grace couldn’t help but smile at his efforts to bolster her courage. She lifted her chin in a signal for them to enter the church.

  Seth guided her through the door.

  She kept her gaze downcast, not yet willing to look around the church or view her bridegroom.

  This was the day Grace had imagined for the last two years—the journey up the aisle to her loving groom. She’d envisioned wearing her beautiful wedding gown, feeling the loving connection to all the brides in the family who’d come before her as far back as Abigail Richmond, and seeing the eager smile on Victor’s handsome face. The dream had gotten her through long, tedious hours at the factory and made all her sacrifices to save money feel worthwhile. Now that dream was destroyed, and she must make the most of this second-best alternative.

  Her heart heavy, Grace moved slowly up the aisle, concentrating on her steps to avoid tripping on her hem.

  Seth allowed her to set the pace.

  A line from one of Emily Dickinson’s poems came to her, gleaned from a long ago family letter. “I felt a Funeral, in my Brain, and Mourners to and fro.”

  I’m probably the only bride who’s ever thought of funeral poetry at my wedding ceremony. Conversely, the irony of that thought lightened her flagging spirits.

  At that moment, she lifted her gaze to her bridegroom, who watched her approach with an awestruck expression.

  Without his hat, Frey seemed less intimidating, although his huge presence dwarfed the minister beside him. A Viking, indeed. She liked the leonine thickness of his wavy brown hair and the sparkle in his blue eyes.

  Something about the strength in Frey’s stance, contrasting with the concern in his eyes, gave her courage. Grace realized she’d inadvertently been making him into an ogre because he wasn’t Victor. I’m not being fair to him.

  I must put Victor out of my mind. I must make my vows to a different man with a whole heart.

  Well, maybe not a whole heart, she amended. I must make these vows with the patched together pieces of my broken heart, for Frey deserves no less from me.

  Grace reached her groom and released Seth’s arm.

  Frey extended a large hand toward her.

  When she slid her fingers into his grasp, his hand engulfed hers. She felt the roughness of his palm and welcomed the difference from what she’d known before. Taking strength from Frey, Grace clung to him.

  Frey squeezed her hand and drew her to his side, facing the minister. Standing next to him, Grace felt petite and protected in a way she never had before. She inhaled a breath as deep as her corset and the tight lacing on the back of the bodice allowed, inhaling the spicy scent of the marigolds in the colorful arrangement of autumn flowers and leaves on the altar.

  The music ended, and Mrs. Norton slipped from behind the piano to take a seat with Trudy and Seth.

  Holding an open prayer book, Reverend Norton began the ceremony. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the presence of a loving and gracious God to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony.” The minister didn’t look down at the words. Instead he kept his gaze on Frey and Grace.

  The compassion in Reverend Norton’s eyes was almost her undoing. She bit her lip to hold back the tears that threatened. I’m marrying a good man—one who makes me laugh—and I must set aside my feelings for Victor and focus on becoming the best possible wife to Frey Foster.

  “If any can show just cause why this couple may not be lawfully joined in matrimony, speak now or—” Reverend Norton halted, looking behind them with raised eyebrows.

  Before Grace had time to wonder why the minister paused—if someone was, indeed, objecting to their union—the rapid click of toenails on the wooden floor made both of them look back over their shoulders.

  Frey groaned and made a face. “Gertie!” He released Grace’s hand.

  Who?

  A brown and black dog trotted up the aisle to them, tail held high. She had soft brown eyes and a thin, dark line down the middle of her forehead that gave her a worried look. She stopped in front of Frey and looked at him, her head cocked as if in expectation. The tips of her ears flopped forward.

  Seth burst into laughter. “Do you think Gertie’s objecting to your marriage?”

  Obviously aghast at his breach of decorum, Trudy gave Seth an owlish glare.

  Frey shrugged in apparent chagrin. “I’m sorry. I left her tied up on my porch.”

  She looked from the man to his dog.

  Gertie eyed her, as if assessing Grace for the candidacy of mate to her master.

  She’d never had a dog, but as a child she’d longed for a puppy and had begged her parents for one, to no avail.

  “Could be worse,” Seth said in an aside to Trudy. “Gertie could have brought the chickens.”

  Trudy let out a long-suffering sigh, but a smile played at the corners of her mouth.

  The image of the dog herding chickens int
o church proved too much for Grace. She chuckled and sank into what she hoped was a graceful crouch, a difficult feat when laced into a tight corset. Her skirt pooled around her. She held out a hand to the dog. “Hello, Gertie.”

  The dog sniffed her fingers. Seeming to approve, she edged closer.

  Grace rubbed Gertie’s head. “If Reverend Norton doesn’t mind,” she said to the dog, “I’m fine with you remaining for the rest of the ceremony.” She glanced up at the minister, relieved to see a benign smile softening his countenance.

  “‘And God made the beast of the earth after his kind, and cattle after their kind, and every thing that creepeth upon the earth after his kind,’” Reverend Norton quoted from Genesis. “And God saw that it was good. I believe Miss Gertie is giving her blessing to this union rather than objecting. She may remain as an attendant of the ceremony.”

  Grace stared at the minister, struck by his tolerance and goodness. He was nothing like the men of the cloth she’d previously known. With one last pat for Gertie, she raised a hand to Frey in a signal for his aid.

  He took her hand and lifted her to her feet, making the process effortless.

  With his strength, it probably is. The thought sent an unexpected thrill down her spine.

  Standing in the church in the presence of six people and one dog, all of whom she’d known less than two hours, Grace experienced a humble sense of gratitude toward the Divine. She’d selected this man, practically at random and mostly for where he lived, but now she wondered if a greater purpose had been involved in her choice of husband. She breathed a prayer of thanksgiving.

  With her free hand, she smoothed down the front of her dress, thinking of the brides who’d worn the gown. Perhaps they, too, had a hand in bringing her here. She had a vision of the women standing in a half circle around the throne of God, giving him their opinions.

  Grace suppressed a gurgle of laughter. Suddenly she was anxious to begin the journey of her new life and see what would unfold next.

  * * *

  Frey had thought he knew what love was—after all, he’d once been betrothed to a girl he’d grown up with. Then she’d gotten tired of waiting for him to return to Minnesota and broke off their engagement, hurting him in the process. In retrospect, the feelings he had for his former betrothed Ingrid were as flat as the land they’d lived in.