Marriage by Mail (Grace Church Book 1)

by Jan Holly

  After a long moment, she lifted her head. “Thank you.” Her voice was roughened with tears, but her eyes had a softly hopeful light in them.

  Mary looked proudly and tenderly at her husband. “When our baby was called home just days after her birth, I admit that not only did I lose any sense of faith in our Lord’s ways, but I was furious. This troubled me. What kind of pastor’s wife was I? Though Edward’s heart was broken, too, together, through the darkness, we grew to a deeper belief in God’s abiding love.”

  “Oh, I am truly sorry for your loss,” said Rose, shaking her head. “So very sorry.”

  “Thank you,” said Mary, blinking back tears. “I only shared this so that you’d feel less alone in your sorrow, and in your struggle. I used to repeat part of Isaiah, 60:20 to myself during the darkest days of my grieving. Thy sun shall no more go down; neither shall thy moon withdraw itself: for the Lord shall be thine everlasting light, and the days of thy mourning shall be ended.”

  “We’ll all be together again,” said the pastor softly, looking down at his hands, then at his wife. “Meantime, everything that comes our way, we try to turn it into praise, if that makes sense.”

  “It does,” said Rose. She took a slow breath in and out. Somehow, the air seemed so sweet. She felt lighter than she had in a long, long time. “Your words have helped me. Your kindness.”

  “I’m so glad,” said Mary, warmly, as she stood. “We’ll let you get back to your Sabbath.”

  “I’m so glad to know you,” said Pastor James, standing by his wife. “I got a sense of what a remarkable, brave woman you were from the letters that Charles dictated to me, as he responded to your words.”

  “Oh! Thank you,” said Rose, blushing.

  Charles came back into the house and bade farewell to Pastor James and Mary as they took their leave.

  “Would you care to rest a spell?” he asked softly. “You look as though your mind has been eased some, I think. You look a tad paler, though.”

  “I think I just might,” she said, rising slowly. She went to her room and closed the door. Resting her face on the cool pillow, she fell instantly into a dreamless sleep.

  Chapter Seven

  Charles brought the tray back to the kitchen, intending to wash up, but thought the sounds might disturb Rose’s slumber. Going back into the parlor, he saw Rose’s new dress and sunbonnet neatly folded on the settee. He picked up the dress and held it against himself, trying to commit its proportions to memory, planning to purchase a new dress for her at the mercantile. He marveled at how small the dress seemed.

  The next day, he was at Barney’s as soon as the shop opened.

  “Well, good morning to you, Mr. Smith. What can I do for you? Need some more liniment for Rascal’s fetlock?”

  “No, thank you kindly. He’s all right now. I need to buy a dress. For my wife.” He felt simultaneously proud and bashful at saying those words.

  “My congratulations to you,” said Mr. Barney, smiling. He was a kind man with a wife and three young girls. He was tall and lean, with a thick beard and gray eyes. “This is a special day indeed. Take a look here. Shipment came in just last week. The train brought your bride and some fine clothing for her as well, it appears.”

  Charles couldn’t even nod politely at Mr. Barney. He was overwhelmed by the number of dresses hanging from a rack at the back of the store. There were so many patterns, too. He blinked, staring in confusion, feeling like a bull in a china shop.

  “The latest fashion, but wears well. Good, strong stitching. And look at these buttons,” said Mr. Barney, marveling as he held out one of the dresses for Charles’ consideration.

  “Well,” said Charles, rubbing the back of his neck. It seemed awfully warm in the shop.

  “First things first, though. What size is your wife, Mr. Smith?” Mr. Barney asked after hanging the dress he had been holding.

  “About up to here,” he said, pointing at a spot on his chest. “And about this wide.” He gestured. “Arms about this long, I’d reckon.”

  A loud guffaw made him turn around. Two ranchers were leaning on the counter. Charles hadn’t even heard them enter.

  “Looks to me like you know your wife very well,” laughed one of the men, while the other slapped him on the back.

  “Gentlemen!” Mr. Barney frowned, but his eyes twinkled. “Although there are no ladies present, please, gentlemen. This is a respectable establishment.”

  Charles frowned, feeling awkward. I held her dress up against myself to see how big it was, is all, he thought to himself. Upon reflection, he was glad he had not said that aloud. He was sure that would have given rise to further laughter at his expense.

  “Quite petite. Ah, yes. Here, and here. An everyday dress, and one for Sundays. See the ruffle? But would the colors be pleasing to your bride?”

  “Gosh. I’m not sure,” said Charles. “Her hair is brown. Not dark, though. In the sunlight, it almost looks golden. Her skin is fair, and her eyes, well. They have very dark lashes, but they’re a golden kind of light brown, almost green in some lights. Hazel, I reckon.”

  A snicker from the ranchers at the counter made him clench his teeth in embarrassment.

  “Gentlemen!” Mr. Barney glared in their direction.

  “No offense intended,” drawled one of the men.

  “I think this dress, and this one, yes, then. These colors would be more flattering. Look at this pleating, and the full skirt. Buttons at the front, regard the workmanship. They’re cut steel, don’t you know. And look here, feel that? Whale bone basque.” Mr. Barney held them out. “Of course you’ll be wanting a chemise, petticoats, and stockings, too?”

  A bark of laughter from by the counter made Charles seethe. “Mr. Barney? Could you please see to those yahoos? I’ll wait.”

  “Certainly,” he said, transferring the dresses to Charles. “Just one moment.”

  Charles stood stiffly, the dresses hanging over his arm. He stared at an advertisement for soap.

  The two ranchers bought their tobacco and left. Mr. Barney returned to Charles.

  “Now, where were we? Ah, yes. The question of the unmentionables,” said Mr. Barney.

  “Whatever you think,” he said, quickly. “Whatever goes with…Whatever a lady needs.”

  “I will have it all packaged for you to pick up as you head home,” he assured him. “I’ll put it on your account. Perhaps some fragrant soap, as well? A length of ribbon, too?”

  Charles was never so grateful to reach the familiar setting of the forge. Rascal walked into his stall and sighed loudly.

  “You said it brother,” said Charles as he shoveled some charcoal.

  †

  Rose put on her freshly washed dress, wanting to save her new one made by Clara Lee Chadding for Sunday. Shaking her head, she realized that the dresses that she had brought with her had seen better days. Truly, they had seen their last days. They had been given to her by the nuns at The Sisters of Mercy. She assumed that the dress she had been wearing when she arrived at the convent hospital had been burned in the convent’s furnace to help prevent contagion. She had no memory of arriving at the convent doors, but Sister John had explained how Rose had been so feverish and unable to speak. When Rose began to recover, Sister John had given her two dresses that had been donated to the convent. Washing them had made the two threadbare dresses nearly fall apart in some places. There were some areas where the fabric was worth saving, though.

  She undressed and regarded the dress. The small window in the kitchen, thought Rose. She could make a curtain for it with the salvageable fabric. She put on her new dress, marveling that it fit her nearly just right. Clara Lee was a marvelous seamstress. Just a little loose in the waist, it fell past her ankles and the sleeves reached to her wrists. It felt wonderful to be clad in new clothes once again. She went into the kitchen, looking for shears. She could measure the kitchen window and begin making a curtain with the small sewing kit that she had traveled with. Surely that would not
be acting out of compliance with Doctor Petersen’s instructions. The day stretched out ahead, long and lonely. She needed a task to keep her hands and mind occupied.

  As she looked in a few drawers, smiling at their chaotic interiors, she heard the sound of a wagon or buggy approaching. She went out onto the front porch and saw an unfamiliar woman pull up at the house.

  “Morning,” said the woman shyly, remaining seated on her small wagon. She had large, dark eyes and dark skin. “Is it too early for visiting?”

  “Hello, no, it most certainly is not. Please, come in. My name is Rose Adams, I mean Rose Smith.” Rose stepped down the stairs. The woman climbed down from her buggy while carrying a basket.

  “I’m Elizabeth West,” said the woman, holding her hand out. “Mighty pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  “Mrs. West, what a beautiful name. Come right on in. Tell me, have you always lived in California? Or elsewhere west of the Mississippi?” Rose shook her hand and began to walk into the house.

  Elizabeth shook her head. “My people are from the south, from Georgia. My husband is a carpenter.”

  “Would you like some coffee? There is plenty and it is still hot. And there are a couple of molasses cookies I can bring right out.” Rose gestured to the chairs and settee in the parlor.

  “Thank you Mrs. Smith, but not this time. Another time, surely. This morning, I came to bring you this here food I made, and to ask if there’s anything I can help with.” Elizabeth reached into her basket and handed Rose a bundle wrapped in red checked cloth.

  Rose was speechless. Never had she encountered such kindness as she had in Cutler’s Pass, outside of her own family and at the Sisters of Mercy. “Thank you,” she said with sincerity. “I’ll put this in the larder.”

  Elizabeth followed her. “Open drawers and a dress on the table. Let me guess, you were fixing to make some handkerchiefs? Placemats? That pattern sure is pretty.”

  “I thought I’d make a curtain for that window there,” said Rose. “Do you think I would have enough fabric?”

  “I reckon you would,” said Elizabeth. “Here, why don’t you sit and let me look. I’ll bet you were looking for shears. Men put things in the places one would least likely imagine. I’ve been married a bit longer than you, so let me see if I can round them up.”

  Rose smiled as Elizabeth gazed around the kitchen. She reached up into a basket on a shelf. “Eureka!”

  “No, really?” Rose laughed. “In that basket? Why ever…?”

  “I told you, didn’t I? You wait. The barn and his shop will be an entirely different matter. A thing in every place and a place for everything.”

  Rose got her sewing kit. She put the kettle on and set the cookies out over Elizabeth’s protests. They spent a companionable morning visiting while making the curtain. It turned out, there was enough material for the curtain and two placemats.

  “I can’t thank you enough,” said Rose. “Not only for the help, and the meal, but for the friendship you’ve shared.”

  “It truly is a pleasure,” said Elizabeth, smiling. “This was pure enjoyment for me. What can I do to actually help you?”

  Rose bit her lip. “I’m embarrassed to ask.”

  “Go on. What are friends for?”

  “Back in Boston, I’d take a bath every Saturday night. Somehow…” She closed her eyes, shaking her head.

  Elizabeth laughed gently. “You and Mr. Smith not quite that acquainted, is that it? I can surely understand.”

  “If I could just have a little help filling the tub, Mrs. West. Only if you’re able to spare the time. Just a bit of water. My arms are still a bit weak from a fever I had back east. I’d take such a quick bath and feel all the better for it,” she said fervently.

  “Come around back,” said Elizabeth. “Wait until you see this, Mrs. Smith.”

  Elizabeth led Rose out the back door. Attached to the side of the house was a post, around which was coiled something that looked like a flattened rope of some type of canvas material. Elizabeth tugged at the rope-like thing and dragged one end of it to the pump. She attached it to the spout and returned to get the other end of the rope. Elizabeth pulled it toward the back of the house and Rose followed. There was a clothesline and a large copper bathtub. Elizabeth put the rope-like thing into it and bade Rose to wait a moment. Then Elizabeth returned to the pump and began propelling water into the tub through the canvas tube.

  “It’s a hose,” called Elizabeth. “Your husband saw how fire brigades put out fires with them, and he devised this here contraption. My husband was so impressed he had Mr. Smith make one for us, too.

  After pumping the tub full, Elizabeth went inside, returning with muslin sheets, flannel cloths, and a bar of soap. After setting the other things down on an overturned pail, she pinned the sheets to the clothesline on either side of the tub, creating an enclosed space. “See that? The sun will warm the water, and you’ll have perfect privacy. Nobody can see back here, there’s nobody for miles. Anyone coming, you’d hear them, if you were not singing too loudly.”

  Rose laughed. “Well, I’ll be.”

  “There’s an India rubber plug in the bottom, see that? When the weather is warm, bathing is easy as pie. No lifting and carrying pails of water. We get a lot of rain in the winter months, and save that water in rain barrels. That makes nice bath water.”

  “I can’t thank you enough,” said Rose.

  “You leave the hose and everything for Mr. Smith to put away, all right?” Elizabeth surveyed her work, her hands on her hips.

  By now, Rose was sure that the pastor and his wife must have met with the congregation of Grace Church. They must have organized everyone so that each day, someone would cook for Rose and Charles, and see if she needed help with daily tasks. This was confirmed when Elizabeth casually asked if she had any crockery that needed returning to any neighbors. Rose thanked her as she handed her the containers and cloths that had been filled with the generosity of her new friends.

  “I was always taught to never return a plate or bowl empty,” said Rose in distress.

  “Oh, no. Not this time. When you’ve rested up some after your ordeal, you’ll see. Someone will need your help and you’ll be there for her. It’s just the way we do things.”

  “It’s just the way our Lord taught, and I’m finding it inspiring, humbling, and touching to be on the receiving end of love thy neighbor.”

  “Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself. There is none other commandment greater than these,” quoted Elizabeth. “Isn’t that the truth.”

  They parted on the porch with plans to meet again soon. Rose waved and watched the wagon depart and then went inside. Her heart was so full. She said a swift prayer of thanks to God for the kindness and mercy she received. Then she unbuttoned her shoes, kicked them off, and curled up on her bed, closing her eyes.

  When she woke, her room was filled with dappled shadows. She stretched, feeling better than she had since she could remember. After a hasty meal from the food that Elizabeth had provided, she went outside to check on the water’s temperature. It was just warm enough, she thought, relishing the heat beating down on her. Darting a glance around, she ducked behind the curtains and soon was immersed in the water. She soaked in the water and sunshine, and then commenced to scrub. It felt lovely to wash her hair and scrub the lavender lather all over her skin. Although she would have loved to tarry in the bubbles, she felt a bit leery that she’d receive another guest. So she pulled the plug from the tub and let the water drain, then dried herself with a sun-warmed flannel, and got dressed again. After hanging the flannels to dry, putting her things away, and cleaning her teeth, she sat down with Charles’ Bible in the hickory rocker. Rocking slowly, she closed her eyes for a moment, hearing some birds. She looked up the road, wondering when Charles would come riding down it. Opening the Bible, she noticed the front page had important family dates inscribed. It would appear this bible had belonged to Charles’ grandparents and then parents. She rea
d the inscriptions of births, deaths, and marriages, and then gasped softly.

  The last entry stated: Charles Smith and Rose Adams married on the day and year of our Lord fifth of June eighteen hundred and seventy six in Cutler’s Pass, California.

  Rose touched the words lightly. Aside from his signature on the day that they had wed, she had never seen his handwriting before. She opened the Bible and it fell open to Peter 1:3 – 5 Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, which according to his abundant mercy hath begotten us again unto a lively hope by the resurrection of Jesus Christ…

  Rose closed the Bible, holding it closely against her chest, as she closed her eyes, letting the words sink into her soul.

  †

  Charles saw Rose in the rocking chair. The package, wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine, was secured behind him on the saddle, having proved too large for the saddle bag. He had a sudden reluctance to give it to her, and he tried to talk some sense in himself.

  “Hello, Charles.” Rose waved. Her eyes widened. “Did the train come? Is that my package from Sister John? No, it’s far too small.” She sat back, looking disappointed.

  “I hadn’t realized you were waiting for something in the mail,” he said, dismounting. He untied the package, purposefully taking extra time.

  “Yes, Sister John will send a trunk of my belongings. She wisely thought it best for me not to travel with it,” she said.