Marriage by Mail (Grace Church Book 1)

by Jan Holly

  Rose started to stand when the doctor packed his bag and began to rise. He shook his head and gently gestured for her to remain seated. He bade her farewell, letting her know he’d come back in a month’s time to check on her again, and that he was always available if she felt unwell.

  As the door shut behind him, Rose felt sleep claim her again. Pulling the shawl across her, she fell into a dreamless slumber.

  Hours must have passed, because when she woke, the sunlight was on the other side of the house. Since she finally had a moment to think, she reflected upon what was in the back of her mind since breakfast. Charles had not known that she had been ill. He had most likely been expecting a strong and vigorous wife, someone ready to be a helpmeet. He had surely been hoping for a bride such as Miss Annabelle Spack. She blinked back tears in distress. All this time, she had felt that Charles and she had forged a special connection. She had been so touched that he wanted to marry her, despite her not being quite well. She sensed that was a sign of his kind nature, his strong character, and his growing attachment to her. Now? It all seemed that their marriage was built upon a sandy foundation. What an omission of an important bit of information, thought Rose, putting her head in her hands. What must Charles have thought when she fainted at his feet, practically? She had guessed that his quietness when they had met in person and then wed, was due to his steady, caring regard. Looking back, she thought he must have been in shock. Why had he even gone through with the marriage?

  Thirst made her put a halt to her circular thoughts. She went into the larder to get some cool water from a corked brown jug. She noticed that Nell must have set the food in there before she left. The pie smelled so good, she could not help but unwrap it to inhale its savory fragrance. Surprised, she noticed that there were two small, individual pies that were put separately in a checkered napkin. The pastry crusts wrapped all around the fillings, as though circles of dough had been pressed closed. She took the small pies and the water to the kitchen table. After that she sat down and said a quick prayer of thanks.

  “Bless, O Lord, this food to my use and me to thy service, and keep me ever mindful of the needs of others. In Jesus' name, amen.” She ate, relishing every bite of the chicken pie, which was filled with gravy, peas, potatoes, and celery, too. She tried the next little pie, and was delighted to find that its filling was sweet, dried apples and cinnamon. How kind of her new neighbors to have thought of her. She resolved to focus on her blessings, and to try to leave her worries about her marriage and new life in God’s hands. She resolved this over and over as she finished her meal, washed the crockery, dried it, and put it away.

  Chapter Five

  The ringing song of iron being struck over and over again filled the air, the melody and rhythm as familiar to Charles as his own heartbeat. Finally aware that someone was present, he straightened and saw Doctor Petersen. Knowing the doctor had patients stretched far and wide, Charles nonetheless had been looking out for him all day.

  “How is she?” he asked, wiping his brow.

  The doctor frowned. “No fever, that’s very good indeed. And her lungs are clear, thank the Lord. Her constitution may have been weak to begin with, but the illness, grief, and long journey took their toll on her. I fear for her health. She is quite frail, Mr. Smith. She could collapse, her health utterly broken down. She requires rest. You must see to this. After that, good, wholesome food, sunshine, and the Lord’s will be done.”

  “Does she need any medicine, Doc?” Charles felt helpless.

  “No. I wish it were that simple, that a powder could cure what ails her. Just rest, and prayer, and time, and hope, that’s all I can say, except…” He paused, furrowing his brows more deeply.

  “What can I do to help her? Anything,” said Charles, turning away. The woman he had been beginning to know in her letters seemed like a completely different person than the one he had left earlier that day at home. But, Rose was his wife. Although she seemed like a stranger, they were married.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Charles faced the doctor. “I’ll do anything. What does she need?”

  Doctor Petersen looked at him intently. “This requires plain speaking, Mr. Smith. May I be frank?”

  “Yes.” He waited.

  “She must not get with child. I am mostly concerned about her heart. Some fevers leave their mark on that crucial muscle, which must be strong in order to support carrying new life. Her pulse was weak, and rapid. I could not ascertain her heart’s overall functioning, but I am concerned. Of course, I have not shared these thoughts with her. She must not be worried. She must not suspect that there is a notion that her heart may have possibly been injured from her fever. Let her lead a normal life, just make sure she does not exert herself.”

  “Of course.” Charles felt his face burning, and not from the heat of the forge.

  “In a month, let me examine her again. Make sure she gets a month of rest, fresh air and sunshine, rest and healthful food. Then, let me reconsider, all right? Again, I don’t want her to suspect my concerns. A merry heart does good like a medicine. Keep that Proverb in mind, son.”

  “Yes, Doctor Petersen,” said Charles bleakly.

  Soon after, he saddled Rascal and headed quickly for home. The scent of hot food filled the air as he walked up the porch steps. He looked in the kitchen and saw a pie cooling on the windowsill.

  “Dinner will be ready in just a moment. I thought you might be hungry,” said Rose, coming into the kitchen from her bedroom. “I was just taking a quick rest.”

  “Ma’am, Rose, you needn’t have cooked,” started Charles, twisting the brim of his hat in his hands.

  “I cannot claim any workmanship for this lovely pie, the potatoes, and the dried applesauce,” she said, moving slowly toward the cupboard. “Mrs. Chadding and Mrs. Tilden came by and left this dinner for us. Wasn’t that a kindness?”

  He gently took the plates from her hand and set them on the table. “Why don’t you set yourself down and tell me all about your day. I’ll wash and be right back, then I’ll serve us up some of this pie and potatoes. Dried applesauce, too? Well, I’ll be.”

  She sat in the chair he held out for her and waited while he went through the back door to go outside. After a few moments, she stood up, thinking to set the table. Darting a look outside the kitchen window, she drew back quickly. Stripped to the waist, Charles was washing by the pump. For that one brief look, she had seen water coursing down off his hair in droplets, creating little rivers down his chest and arms. She blinked rapidly, pressing a hand to her cheek. She stepped lightly across the kitchen and sat back down. She didn’t want him to guess that she had seen him by looking out of the window. She heard whistling and then the back door slapping shut as Charles came back inside. He set the table. Rose fought a smile, seeing how he put things down any which way, and she resisted putting the items in their proper order. He sat down, holding both his hands out. Rose’s stomach felt as though it spun in a little circle as she placed her hands in his. It’s a blessing, she chided herself.

  “Heavenly Father, for what we are about to receive, we give thanks. Thanks for good food and for the kindness of our friends. Please bless…” Here he faltered.

  Rose opened her eyes, glancing at him in concern.

  “Please bless Rose. She must feel far from home. Please help her believe that she is home, in her new home. In Jesus’ name. Amen.”

  “That was,” Rose didn’t know what to say. “That was lovely, Charles. Thank you.”

  He quickly served her a meal, not looking at her, putting far too much on her plate before serving himself.

  “There’s no way I can eat all this,” she said, laughing. “You must think I’m a… I’m a cowboy, that’s what!”

  “A cowboy!” He looked at her, surprised, and then grinned.

  They ate the rest of the meal in silence that somehow felt companionable to Rose. Maybe it was the sharing of a smile, or the sharing of a prayer. Maybe it was the simple
act of breaking bread together, she thought.

  “Would you like to meet Rascal?” asked Charles as he put the dishes in the sink and poured some water from the kettle over them.

  “Yes, please,” she said eagerly. “Was he pulling the wagon, my first day here? I can barely remember the ride home.”

  “Yep, that was Rascal,” he said, holding open the back door for her, and taking her elbow carefully as they walked down the steps. At the paddock fence, he whistled, and Rascal came out of the barn. He was a tall, heavy boned horse, dark brown with a white blaze. He walked quickly, breathing out noisily from his nose.

  “Yes, I got some,” said Charles. “But mind your manners! This here is the lady of the house. Mrs. Smith, this is Rascal. Rascal, this is Mrs. Smith.”

  Rascal ate a lump of sugar from Charles’ hand and then turned towards Rose. He blinked his large, nearly black eyes and breathed in and out, lowering his head.

  “I’m sorry I don’t have sugar for you,” she said, her hands resting on the paddock fence but longing to stroke the horse’s soft looking nose.

  “Here you are,” said Charles, handing her a brown lump of sugar.

  “Thank you!” She held it out to Rascal, just as Charles did .

  Rascal delicately took the sugar with his lips and with one crunch, he had eaten it. He gently lipped her palm to catch any lingering sweetness.

  “He’s so gentle! Why, you’re not a rascal at all, are you? No, sir.”

  Charles felt warmth suffuse his chest as he watched Rose lean closer to his horse, speaking so confidingly.

  “Oh, would he let me pet him?” She turned eager eyes toward Charles, who had to clear his throat before he spoke. Her eyes looked lit from within, all golden and shiny.

  “Yes, you sure can,” he said, encouragingly.

  She reached out a tentative hand, stroking the side of Rascal’s face. He held quite still, his large eyelashes fluttering down. He sighed. Rose leaned closer, pressing against the fence, and smoothed his mane.

  “You look as though you know your way around horses,” said Charles. “You a rider?”

  “Oh, no,” said Rose, regretfully. “Well, just a little. My late grandparents had a farm in Concord. That’s near Boston. They had a horse I used to ride when I was a little girl. I loved riding their draft horse, Teapot. She was so sweet and gentle. But, my grandfather was usually right by my side, ensuring Teapot never went faster than walking.”

  “It’s a beautiful evening. Days are getting longer. Would you like to sit, or go back inside?” He wanted to make sure she got off her feet.

  Reluctantly, she turned from Rascal, and put her hand lightly on the arm that Charles held out. “Outside, please. Just a little longer.”

  He led her to a bench he had made and they sat down. Rascal whickered softly at them.

  “He misses us,” said Rose.

  “He wants more sugar,” said Charles, smiling. “Later, you rascal.”

  The horse shook his head and snorted noisily, beginning to walk around the paddock. He kept his head lowered and ate bits of hay that were scattered about.

  “You’re going to make Mrs. Smith think I don’t feed you,” complained Charles, smiling to hear Rose laugh. He looked at her and suddenly wished there was less space between them. She should be able to lean against him. He decided to build a back for the bench. Then, she could rest on the bench under the apple tree in the afternoons if she wanted to be outside.

  “It’s so beautiful here,” said Rose, looking at the grass, trees, and hills in the distance.

  “You sure you won’t miss the hustle and bustle of Boston?” He worried about that. It was pretty quiet in Cutler’s Pass.

  “No, I don’t think I will,” she said thoughtfully. “I loved many aspects of living in such a thriving metropolis. I frequented several bookstores and the Boston Public Library. I attended lectures as often as I could. One time, I listened to a woman speak about moving out west to become a schoolteacher. I admired her. She showed daguerreotypes of her travels. I found the western landscape so different from New England’s, and I felt such a longing to see it all for myself. Perhaps God meant for me to come. West of the Mississippi, she said, several times. I found that phrase so evocative.”

  “Did you consider becoming a teacher?”

  “Yes, I did. I had actually commenced my training, but had to discontinue it when Mother and Susannah became ill.” She stared straight ahead, and he knew she was fighting tears. He thought hard about what to say.

  Some fog began to obscure the lowering sun, and the temperature began to cool.

  “I’ll get my shawl,” said Rose. “Can you believe Mrs. Chadding knitted one for me?”

  He stood up with her, holding out his arm once again, then taking her arm beneath her elbow as they went up the few steps. She retrieved the shawl from the parlor and wrapped it around her shoulders, holding it closely under her neck.

  “How about we stay indoors, since it’s getting pretty cool now that the fog is coming in,” he said, taken by surprise at how the bright amber color of the yarn brought out the warm color of Rose’s eyes.

  “I should get those dishes done, anyway,” said Rose agreeably.

  “I’ll do them,” he said quickly.

  “What in the world?” She smiled. “You’ve worked hard all day and I haven’t had a thing to do but kick up my heels and eat pie the entire live long day.”

  He sat on the settee and gestured for her to join him. “Here’s the notion I have. You traveled on a train for days. You left everything you knew behind. And me? What did I do? Not a thing. All I had to do was look out for the train and then say I do. Looks to me like I’ve got some making up to do. So, I need you to rest. Every day, just rest up until you get your strength back.”

  “Were you speaking with Doctor Petersen?” she asked quietly.

  Did she truly not realize how apparent her poor health was? “Well, yes,” he answered.

  “Well,” she said softly, keeping her head bent. “You must rue the day you began corresponding with me.”

  Charles shook his head, wordlessly. He felt guilty, thinking back to yesterday when he had thought Caleb’s intended was his bride-to-be.

  “You believe me, don’t you?” She glanced at him, and then looked back down at her tightly folded hands. “I did intend for Sister John to write my words, telling you that I was ill. I didn’t keep it a secret. I can’t imagine that she would have withheld that information. I did say it, for her to write it all down.”

  “Never for a moment did I doubt that this morning,” he said sincerely. “Or since. You’re my wife, you’re here, and everything will be all right. Don’t fret, Rose.”

  “I thought you knew, you see,” she went on bravely. “I thought you knew… and… wanted me anyway.”

  He felt as though an anvil had been placed on his chest. It was hard to breathe. “I would have. It doesn’t matter.”

  She looked at him, doubt in her eyes. “Truly?”

  He nodded. She looked at him. He couldn’t think of what to say.

  “I’m not one for writing, much,” he said, finally. “Nor am I one who has a way with words when it comes to speaking. You said that you looked forward to getting my letters. Well, I did, too. Got so I knew the train schedule like that back of my hand. I’d start looking out for the sound of the train, or the smoke on the horizon. Sometimes there’d be fog, and I’d look so hard only to be fooled. It wasn’t easy waiting for those letters. Waiting for… you.”

  “Oh,” she whispered, a blush spreading from her neck to her face.

  Chapter Six

  Rose felt hope battling fear within herself. She wanted to believe Charles’ kind words, but feared he was trying to make the best of a bad situation and also, spare her feelings. Yet, his voice had sounded so gruff and soft at the same time, as though the words were heartfelt.

  “Most evenings, when I don’t have repairs to do, I like to read from the Bible. Would you care to r
ead with me? Perhaps we could read aloud.” At her answering nod, he went to the bookshelf and got his old family Bible, and handed it to her. “Would you like to read something?”

  Her eyes ached horribly but she didn’t want to say anything about it. She closed her eyes and thought of one of her favorite Psalms. It had come into her mind when she was looking out at the hills earlier, feeling as though everything was so new and frightening.

  “I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.

  My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth.

  He will not suffer thy foot to be moved: he that keepeth thee will not slumber.

  Behold, he that keepeth Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep.

  The Lord is thy keeper: the Lord is thy shade upon thy right hand.

  The sun shall not smite thee by day, nor the moon by night.

  The Lord shall preserve thee from all evil: he shall preserve thy soul.

  The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in from this time forth, and even for evermore.”

  Rose opened her eyes after reciting the psalm from memory. “That is one of my favorites. Psalm one hundred and twenty one. I was thinking of it earlier today.”

  “Do you know the whole Bible by heart?” He looked at her with admiration, and she felt her blush returning.

  “No, I’m sure I don’t,” she said shyly. “I also love poetry. Do you?”

  “Can’t say as I know any,” he admitted.

  “Listen,” she said, leaning forward.

  “He clasps the crag with crooked hands;