By the time he’d put the ring on her finger, he’d been so flustered that he wasn’t sure if she wanted him to follow the pastor’s instructions to kiss the bride. He’d given her an awkward peck on the cheek that had made her blush.
She wasn’t blushing now, but she also wasn’t talking.
As soon as the wagon stopped, the girls leapt out, their spirits undaunted by the cold or the flurries that would soon blanket the street in snow. Pearl showed Mary how to catch snowflakes on her tongue.
“It’s so pretty!” Mary cried as she and Pearl danced back and forth, competing to see who could catch the most flakes.
“Don’t you have snow in Chicago?” asked Chase.
“It’s brown, Sir,” Tom informed him as he slowly lowered himself to the ground. “From the soot.”
Chase jumped to the street and hurried around to help Bridget out of the wagon. Tried not to notice her hesitation at taking the hand he offered her.
“You’ll get the hang of it soon enough,” he said after he’d helped her down, then wondered if he shouldn’t have commented at all on her awkwardness. “Let’s get inside where it’s warm.”
She nodded, gathered her skirts and started for the steps of the wooden walkway without waiting for him to offer his arm. Was she nervous? Or angry? Did she think he was ordering her around? He’d never had to wonder where he stood with Ada.
He hadn’t planned to stop in town after the wedding, but Pastor Jorgensen had pointed out how threadbare Bridget’s coat was, and that Tom’s was so tight in the shoulders it should have been replaced months ago. Chase had been so caught up in his worries about what Bridget thought of him that he hadn’t noticed. Shame on him.
He didn’t take good enough care of Ada. He wouldn’t make the same mistake with his new family.
“This seems like a very nice place,” Bridget commented brightly as he joined her near the door of the trading post.
Chase looked around, trying to see the town through her eyes. Many of the shop windows were decked with Christmas decorations. Most of the houses bore wreaths on the doors or beribboned pine boughs over the lintel. Even One-Eyed Silas had hung a few ornaments in the saloon window. And with the thin layer of snow beginning to collect on rooftops, you could call it festive, he admitted.
“Can be. I prefer the ranch myself,” Chase answered. Would his city-bred wife be wanting to come to town often? He hadn’t counted on that. What if life on the ranch made her unhappy? Like Ada had been unhappy.
“I’m sure the ranch is lovely,” Bridget said. “I can’t wait to see it. You wrote that you built the house yourself?”
“Yes ma’am,” Chase answered. Confound it, her comment brought another thought. The house was comfortable enough for him and Pearl, but, despite a little sweeping up, he hadn’t made much effort at any kind of homecoming for the Doyles. He couldn’t even remember if he’d made up the bed in the attic where Tom would sleep. He hoped that Frank, the ranch hand he’d left in charge, had at least remembered to keep the fire going and put the stew on.
“I’ve got the basics at home—flour, sugar, salt, butter—but please feel free to buy whatever you need for cooking. You might want a second cast-iron pan.”
“You’ll let me know what—” Bridget pursed her lips. “—what you think is right?”
“Whatever you need,” he repeated. It was hard not to be offended that she thought he would skimp. Because you feel guilty about not noticing the ragged state of her coat.
But he shouldn’t fault her for being careful. They’d yet to talk about finances, or any of the other important things husbands and wives were supposed to talk about.
Tonight, he promised himself. Once the children are abed. Then we’ll have a nice long chat.
Pearl and Mary rushed past Bridget, holding hands as they headed straight for the jars of candy near the register. Tom followed close behind, although he kept a more dignified pace, as if to make it clear to onlookers that he wasn’t interested in candy, but was merely watching over his sisters.
As the warmth of the store enveloped her, Bridget felt the tension in her muscles loosen. Chicago had been cold, but somehow it bit more here. Or maybe her fingers and toes were numb because it was finally sinking in that this was her new home.
Compared to Chicago, this place seemed almost too good to be true.
Degnan’s seemed to have just about everything a person could want—clothes, shoes, foodstuffs, even books. And candy, she reminded herself as Mary’s high-pitched giggle echoed through the store. Can’t forget the candy.
A large Christmas tree dominated the entry, decorated with tiny candles, sparkling glass ornaments, and shiny tinsel. The shopkeeper must have a phonograph too—in the background, a faint fiddle played Christmas carols.
Chase appeared beside her. “Well, the, umm, lady things and such are over there. Boots, gloves, hats, and new coats. For you and Tom and Mary too. Whatever you need.”
He walked off toward the feed section. Where was he going? She didn’t even know where to begin. No Doyle ever had anything new for as long as she could remember. All their clothes were either hand-me-downs of hand-me-downs or offerings from the St. Jude’s poor ministry. Bridget had gotten very handy with a needle, tailoring the ill-fitting garments to make them wearable.
What if she spent too much? Would he think her greedy? Maybe she could save them money by making everything but the boots.
She numbly made her way to the lady’s section, astounded at the selection of goods on display. A full wall was filled with bolts of brightly colored cloth from plain muslin to deep black taffeta, and a glass-fronted case held all manner of notions. Bridget didn’t know so many buttons existed in the world, let alone could be purchased in a frontier town. She absently fingered a bit of deep red trim, when she heard a voice behind her.
“Mrs. Williams?”
Bridget took a step away from the counter, to make room for whoever was trying to buy fabric.
Again the voice said, a bit louder this time: “Excuse me, Mrs. Williams?”
Oh! That’s me! She turned abruptly, sure she was about to be reprimanded for touching the beautiful velvet, only to find a smiling saleswoman, probably close to her age. The woman wore spectacles on a thin chain around her neck, and her hair was pulled up into a tight bun. Her gray and green striped dress was fashionably slim, with deep folds along the front that indicated a bustle in the back.
“It takes a bit of getting used to, doesn’t it? Don’t worry, you’ll learn your new name in time. I did.” Her brown eyes danced merrily as she continued.
“I’m Alice Degnan. Mr. Degnan and I met by correspondence as well.” She nodded at a prosperous looking older man who was speaking to Chase.
“So you were a mail-order bride?”
Alice laughed. “Well, the polite term is ‘meeting by correspondence,’ but yes, I am. I’m from Connecticut originally. I thought I was doomed to be an old maid school teacher before I answered Mr. Degnan’s ad. It was Mr. Degnan who suggested to Mr. Williams that he consider finding a bride in the same way. And here you are!”
Bridget couldn’t help but smile back at the cheerful young woman.
“What are you shopping for?” She took Bridget’s arm conspiratorially.
“I—I’m not sure. He said to buy whatever I need, but I’m not sure what that is,” Bridget stammered. “And for Tom and Mary. It’s very cold here.”
Alice lifted the spectacles to her face, and swept her eyes down Bridget’s form. “Boots, I think, first. Yours look a little worse for wear.”
The next hour was a whirlwind of shopping. Boots, thick wool stockings, flannel underthings, two pairs of soft but sturdy leather gloves, and a beautiful loden green woolen coat with a dark fur collar. At some point, Mary and Tom joined her, and Alice outfitted them from head to toe.
The only wrinkle was when Alice tried to convince Mary that a brown coat would suit her coloring better than the one she had her heart set on.
Pearl stood next to her, a mirror image of Mary, right down to the stomping foot.
“Mrs. Williams?” Alice asked, looking for guidance.
Bridget looked for Chase, but he was nowhere to be found. She was used to Mary’s stubbornness, but she was well aware that Pearl was her responsibility now, and she couldn’t let this sweet little girl be led into rudeness by Mary’s ill manners. Suddenly, Bridget was exhausted by the entire shopping trip, wishing they had just made do with hand-me-downs.
Inspiration struck her. She knelt down in front of the two scowling little girls.
“Mary, next year, Pearl will be wearing your coat. It would be very kind of you to let her pick the color, don’t you think? Remember when you had to wear Siobhan’s old dresses, even if you didn’t like them?”
Mary frowned thoughtfully and shot a look at Pearl, whose expression had suddenly turned serious.
“Well, yes, that would be very kind of me.” Mary’s face broke out into a smile. “Why don’t you pick the color, Pearl?”
As Bridget had suspected she would, Pearl chose the red coat, but at least she didn’t learn that impertinence was rewarded, and Mary learned that thinking about others could be rewarding.
As Bridget stood with a sigh of relief, she heard a voice behind her.
“Well done,” Chase said, his face a study in amusement as he watched the two girls admiring their matching coats in front of the glass. “I would never have thought of that.”
She flushed under his praise. He’d been watching the whole time?
“I haven’t seen Pearl this happy in...well, since before her Ma died.” Chase shook his head like he was trying to rid himself of the memory. “Are you about finished? We need to be getting on if we are going to make it home before dark.”
In all honesty, Bridget had been finished long ago. As Alice presented item after item, the thought of how much everything must be costing Chase made Bridget’s head swim. Surely he hadn’t meant for them to spend this much! He would be so angry when the Degnans presented him the bill.
She managed to say no to a few things—fabric and notions for dresses for herself among them.
“I have two serviceable dresses in my trunk,” she told Alice firmly. ”I won’t need more than that.”
In truth, the dresses were thin, worn calico, patched and mended so many times, Bridget had forgotten the original colors. Chase might be able to justify spending a small fortune on wraps and outerwear—Bridget assumed much of the work around the ranch would be outdoors—but her old dresses would do, especially with the new flannel underthings.
At the counter, Mr. Degnan added up their purchases. “I threw in a few canned goods, Chase, seeing as how Mrs. Williams hasn’t had time to can this year. And a few things Mrs. Degnan suggested might come in handy for a new bride.”
He winked broadly at Bridget, and she felt her face color. What in the world had Alice done?
The total came to more than all the Doyles brought home in a month. Much more.
“Whoa, there, Mr. Degnan!” cried Chase. Bridget braced for a torrent of anger, and readied her apology. She’d known it would be too much.
But Chase nodded toward the children. “Did you get the girls’ candy in there? Can’t come to town and not get some candy.”
Pearl and Mary rushed eagerly up to the counter, Mary begging for taffy and Pearl pointing at the jar of peppermint sticks. As soon as Mr. Degnan handed out the sweets, the girls immediately traded half their booty, as if they’d worked it all out in advance.
Maybe they had.
“That coat looks just fine on you, Mary, “ Chase said while the Degnan’s boxed up all their purchases. “Matches your hair.”
“Thank you! Pearl picked it out.” Beside Mary, Pearl beamed.
“Me and Tom will load the wagon, while you girls stay out of the cold.”
Bridget watched as Chase handed Tom a box to carry to the wagon—the lightest one, filled with clothes. Making Tom feel needed without giving him too much to bear. When she thought about how Da and her other brothers had treated Tom, cuffing him when he annoyed them and ignoring him the rest of the time, she had to blink back tears.
Whatever happened between her and Chase, at least she’d found Tom and Mary a good home.
Chapter Six
Clad in her new clothes, Bridget found the ride home much more comfortable. The snow was falling harder now, but the horses trotted smartly, their harness bells ringing cheerfully in the late afternoon air. Snuggled under blankets Chase apparently kept in the wagon for winter rides, she could almost relax as she enjoyed the scenery. Through the towering skeletons of snow-dusted trees, she glimpsed a wide river rushing passed them to her right, filling her ears with a cacophony that easily surpassed that of Chicago’s bustling streets. The air felt pure and clean, even though the cold stung her nose when she inhaled.
“How far is the ranch?” she asked.
“Not so far, about twelve miles,” Chase answered. “Takes a little longer in heavy snow.”
“So this is light snow for Wyoming?”
“Middlin’, but it’s coming straight down, not aslant, so there’s no danger of a blizzard,” he replied.
She waited for him to elaborate further, but he seemed content to let the harness bells and the river fill the silence.
Maybe Wyoming wasn’t much different than home, weather-wise. Chicago winter storms often dumped two or three feet of snow at a time, so Bridget was no stranger to a snow shovel. But she’d hated the ice storms.
“Does it snow a lot here?” she asked.
“Some. Less so in the valley, like I said in my letters.” He looked at her out of the corner of his eye.
Bridget swallowed nervously. She’d read his letters over and over again on the train. And quizzed Tom on what he’d said on her behalf in reply. “It’s just different, seeing it in person, even though you described it so beautifully.”
Chase didn’t reply. Did he suspect that she wasn’t the one he’d been corresponding with? Or did he just not have anything to say?
She vowed she’d commit those letters to memory as soon as she had a chance to re-read them.
Chase couldn’t tell her, but he didn’t like the snow. Didn’t trust it, couldn’t trust it, after Ada. A mild dusting could turn into a blizzard at a moment’s notice, stranding him hundreds of miles away from the ones he loved while it killed them with cold. But he was a Wyoming sheep rancher, and snow was part of the job. What would she think of him if he told her the sight of snow on the ground filled him with dread?
He sighed. It wasn’t Bridget’s fault. And he admired her pluck, picking up stakes and leaving her family and friends in Chicago for a ranch in the middle of nowhere. He could be kind to her, if nothing else. He turned to her and willed his face to soften.
“You should see it in the moonlight. It sparkles like...like that diamond brooch you wore.”
Like your eyes, he’d almost said, catching himself at the last moment. He turned abruptly away, distracting himself. “Those trees along the river are cottonwoods, and that river is the Laramie. There’s some spruce, too, but mostly it’s prairie. Our nearest neighbor is the—”
“The Hebron ranch—Judge Merrick’s place!” Bridget interrupted with an almost unnerving amount of enthusiasm. “And the ranch hands are Hob, Frank, and Bill. You keep the herd in the west valley until the weather gets too bad, and then you bring them in to the barns. Wool’s the main thing, but you keep a few for mutton, milk, and cheese.”
“Uh, that’s right.” He felt flattered that she was trying so hard. “We’re coming up on Rabbit Creek...”
The rest of the ride passed more pleasantly than he’d expected. Bridget grew bolder, asking questions about the landscape and ranch life, and when she sometimes asked things he’d already answered in his letters, he let it slide. He found himself recounting
stories from his childhood, learning to hunt and ride a horse from his own father, who’d been a settler on the Kansas prairie.
Occasionally he looked over his shoulder to check on Pearl, but the little girls, worn out by the day’s events, were snuggled against each other beneath a mound of blankets. Tom lounged nearby, one arm draped along the wagon’s side as he stared thoughtfully over the girls’ heads. Watching the river? Or the trees? Or was he seeing any of it at all?
Chase had to give the boy credit. Tom seemed to take everything in stride, regardless of how strange it must all feel to him.
As they began to ascend the hill that marked the southern boundary of the Sweet Water ranch, Chase laughingly relating a story of a lost sheep “...all tangled up in a thimbleberry bush, upside down, mind you, baa-ing its little heart out, feet kicking like it was swimming...”
His thought was cut short by the sharp sound of two gunshots. He straightened, frowning and chucking to the horses, who responded by hastening their pace. “Don’t like the sound of that.”
He leaned forward, urging the horses to go faster up the incline. As they jolted over a rock, Bridget gasped. She looked scared. He hated that he’d frightened her, but he needed to deal with whatever his ranch hands might be shooting at.
“What does it mean?” She was actually wringing her hands as she looked to him for reassurance.
Not good. He needed a wife who could handle herself in a crisis. “Not sure. Wolves, probably.”
As they crested the rise, the horses broke into a controlled gallop. The panicked bawling of sheep reached Chase’s ears. Men shouting. A dog barking ferociously.
A rider hurried along the path that led past the house and the barns below. Bill. Another rider sped toward them.
“Hold on,” Chase commanded. The ride got even bumpier. Now Bridget clutched the seat beneath her and muttered something under her breath. A prayer? A curse?
“Whee! Go faster!” Mary called from the back of the wagon.
“Shhh,” Tom hissed. “Let him drive.”
All Is Bright: Bridget’s Christmas Miracle (Mail-Order Brides of Laramie County 1) Page 3