Brides of Texas

by Hake, Cathy Marie

  When her voice trailed off, Rob accepted the glass of sweet tea she extended toward him and sat in a wicker chair. He’d intentionally waited until he knew what she wanted. Ever since Mercy swooned in the mercantile almost a month before, folks tried to get him to speak about her. Some meant well; others were gossipmongers. Either way, he refused to discuss any private matters. Since Miss Rodriguez wished to broach a different topic, he’d listen. “You were wondering?”

  “Could I do the movements? Would they help me?”

  He made no pretense at ignorance. The lass had a noticeable limp. “You were quite young when you broke your limb, weren’t you?”

  She nodded. “Doc Neely wanted to amputate, but Papa wouldn’t consent to it.”

  “When you showed interest upon hearing about the therapy, I made the assumption that you were hopeful something might benefit you, as well.” Rob looked her in the eyes. He’d learned early in his career that patients inevitably coped better with bad news when given the dignity of a direct response. “I took the liberty of examining the medical journal Dr. Neely kept. The problem is that your bones knit together in puir alignment. Motion exercises address muscular problems, not skeletal. I’m sorry I canna make a difference for you.”

  “I suppose,” she said in a tight voice, “I should be grateful for what I have.”

  “I’m sure the Almighty never tires of hearing our gratitude.” He looked out at the garden she tended every afternoon. “What happened? Just yesterday your garden was brimming with blossoms, and most of them are gone now.”

  “Ada Meister’s wedding is tomorrow.” She clenched her hands in her lap. “You know what they say—the woman who marries in June is a bride all her life.”

  Rob hitched a shoulder. “To my way of thinking, ’Tisn’t when you marry—†tis whom. Even so, it was kind of you to share your flowers with Miss Meister.”

  “Thank you.”

  They exchanged a few more pleasantries, then Rob excused himself. As he started down the steps, Otto Kunstler passed him. They exchanged nothing more than a polite nod, but Rob overheard him.

  “Hello, Miss Rodriguez. Is your sister home?”

  The rest of the afternoon passed with an assortment of cases that demanded the doctor’s attention. His last patients were from two towns over. Suspecting that they, like Carmen Rodriguez, were hoping for a miracle, Rob took additional time with the Heims. In the end, all he could do was tell them the sad truth.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Heim, but you’ll not be having any children.”

  Mrs. Heim sobbed quietly, and her husband held her close. He looked just as shattered. “Are you sure?”

  “Aye.” Rob explained the details as gently as he could.

  Chester Heim heaved a sigh. “We were told the same by the doctor in Austin. We hoped he was wrong. Lena and I—we talked about it. If there is no hope for us to have a child of our own, we would consider adopting.”

  “If anything comes up, I’ll keep you in mind.”

  Wearily washing his hands, Rob let out a long sigh. Mercy is carrying a babe that was forced upon her; the Heims desperately want a child and cannot have one. It’s not for me to question Your ways, Father, but I have to admit I dinna understand them. Common sense says the solution to everyone’s problem is clear, yet that’s man’s planning and not Your wisdom. Unless, or until, You give me a clear sense that You want me to approach Mercy about relinquishing her babe, I’ll wait in silence.

  “Kunstler!” Grossvater’s voice sounded loudly through the open barn door.

  Mercy swiftly set Stubby down next to Freckle and headed toward the other exit. Ever since Otto broke their engagement, the only time she’d seen him was at church. Never once had he offered to come help with the chores or crops when Grossvater was unable to work. Not once had his mother thought to bring by food. When gossips whispered about the babe Mercy carried, it hurt. But buried in that hurt was the hope that Mrs. Kunstler would come and speak privately with her, to let her know what to expect, to console her and promise to help with the birth. Those hopes were in vain. Mercy tugged on the barn’s back door.

  It was stuck.

  Chapter 6

  Otto would come inside and walk the length of the barn so he could inspect the reaper. For a moment, Mercy considered scrambling up into the hayloft. No. This is my home. She sat back down beside Freckle’s box and filled her skirts with puppies. A minute later, Grossvater and Otto came inside.

  Otto caught sight of her and averted his gaze. Still, he kept coming. He stood above her and cleared his throat. “Miss Stein, those are fine hounds there.”

  Miss Stein? This man who was supposed to have been her husband now greeted her as if she were practically a stranger. Mercy looked down at the wiggly little bundles of fur and nodded. “Ja, they are fine, indeed.”

  To her relief, Grossvater leaned against the wall of the stall. “Even the runt is growing to good size.”

  “Everyone knows Freckle’s pups all become good hunting dogs.” Otto hunkered down and reached for a solid brown male. “Since the day you promised me a puppy, I’ve looked forward to claiming one.”

  Mercy sucked in a pained gasp as memories washed over her. He used seeking a puppy as an excuse to come over, and he asked me to marry him that afternoon. Unable to quell the emotions, she blurted out, “More than one promise was made that day.”

  Otto’s head shot up. Finally, he looked at her. “So is that what you want? For the sake of a promise you would marry a man who cannot bear to look at you? Who, every time he sees you, remembers how he slew a man? You would want me to rear the child of the man I killed?”

  “What I want?” Her voice shook. “Do you think I want any of what has happened? To bear the pain, the shame, and to carry a child? No! I don’t want any of that. I wanted a man who would love me regardless of what life brought and who would stand beside me in the bad times. You were right to break your promise to wed me, because you are not that kind of man.”

  “Mercy,” Grossvater said softly.

  Her eyes swam with tears. “I do not know whether my grandfather is calling my name or reminding me to treat you with mercy.”

  “This has been very…difficult for both of us,” Otto said.

  One by one, she placed the puppies back in the box. “In three weeks, the pups will be weaned. We will reserve that one for you.” She went into the house, opened the bottom drawer of her wardrobe, and pulled out a white bundle. Until now, she’d dared to hope that Otto would overcome his upset and realize his love for her was stronger than what had happened. He wouldn’t.

  Slowly, she unfolded the beautiful gown she was to have worn. All of it wouldn’t fit in the stove at once, so she cut it. Piece by piece, she burned it. As the last threads burned, Mercy retied her apron strings. Her waist hadn’t changed a bit. In time, it would expand, but she didn’t know when—and she couldn’t ask anyone. Never had she felt so alone.

  “I thought to ask your opinion of this drawing.” Rob laid the floor plan out on her dining table. “It’s a house plan.”

  Drying her hands on a dish towel, Mercy said, “I’ve seen many plans in American Woman’s Home and in Ladies’ Home Journal.”

  “On the train from New York, everyone shared their books and magazines. Scientific American captured my attention. It featured some of George Barber’s homes.”

  Mercy merely nodded.

  “My brothers both think I’m daft for mailing away for this, but it seemed to me that since Barber is already well known for his plans, it only makes sense to lean on his experience.”

  “Then why do you ask me what I think?”

  “Because you’re a woman. Three bachelors are liable to overlook something important when it comes to the practicalities of running a household. When Chris or Duncan marries, it would be a shame to find out we’d forgotten or been ignorant about an essential.”

  “What makes you think Mr. Barber has not given thought to such matters?”


  “He,” Rob paused and gave her a rascal’s smile, “is a man, too.”

  Mercy approached the table hesitantly. Robert didn’t move an inch. Ever since the first time he’d seen her, she’d been jumpy—and understandably so. But over the last few months, he’d made a subtle attempt to show her understanding and make her feel safe.

  Manufacturing excuses to be around her was fairly easy. He was passing by the Stein spread while making house calls, he needed to confer with whichever brother happened to be out in the field that day, the Stein mailbox at the mercantile was full…In the churchyard, he’d make sure to compliment her on a dessert she’d sent home with one of his brothers or praise her for having accompanied the choir on the piano. Delivering the babe would be difficult enough—hopefully, he could get her accustomed to his presence so she wouldn’t be overwhelmed when the time came.

  “You have two plans,” she said.

  “I can see why you’d think so since they both have doors and a veranda. The one to the left is the downstairs. The one to the right is the upstairs. The upstairs veranda can be enclosed later to form another bedchamber.”

  “I see.” She leaned a little closer. “This is the kitchen?”

  “Aye.” He glanced at how her kitchen was arranged. “I imagine it would be set up similar to yours.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “Grossmuter and I often regretted not having a mudroom. Everything gets tracked in.” She pointed toward a room. “What is this here?”

  “Duncan’s shop. We don’t need a separate dining room—the kitchen will suffice. He can do his—” Rob watched as she shook her head. “What’s wrong?”

  “Do not mistake me. Being a cobbler is an honorable profession, but the leather—much of it together in the same place smells bad. Between the smell and the hammer pounding on it, it would not be pleasant in the house.”

  “Good point.” He tapped a pencil on the edge of the blueprint.

  “A workshop just a stone’s throw from the house would work. That would free up space for your house to have a mudroom. You could divide that space and make it useful. The pantry you show here, beneath the stairs—it will not work well because you and your brothers are all tall. What if you have a mudroom, washroom, and pantry here?”

  “An indoor washroom?” Robert chortled. “That’s very progressive. I like it! Is this a good spot to place the stove?”

  She made a few more suggestions, then went over to the stove and stirred a pot. “When will you build the house?”

  “Within the next month or so. I’ll telegraph a company in Knoxville, Tennessee. They’ll mill and cut the lumber, then send it by the railroad.”

  She dropped the spoon. “You are mail ordering a house?”

  “Aye, that I am. It will save considerable time and labor here, and the cost of the kit is actually quite thrifty by comparison.”

  “A kit.”

  Amused at how she echoed the word, Rob chuckled. “Indeed. The notion takes a little getting used to.” He slipped a different page to the top of the stack. “This is the exterior view. When I order it, I’ll tell them not to send all the spindles and such.”

  “Gingerbread.” She returned to the table and said, “Grossmuter called all of the lacy scrollwork and wooden fancies gingerbread.”

  “Now there’s a grand description.” He shrugged. “But I couldn’t care less about how it looks on the outside. ’Tis the inside that counts.”

  “This is too much, but a little would give charm to the house.” Mercy tapped the fanlike piece spanning from the peak of the roof to the eaves on either side. “Can you keep some of it?”

  “What do you recommend?” Rob felt a spark of hope. For the first time since the tragedy, Mercy seemed to be coming out of her shell. He’d hoped the sketches might be a good tool for drawing her into a conversation. With a few leading questions, he enticed her into discussing the plan in infinite detail.

  After awhile, she went back to the stove. “In a month, the wheat harvest should be done, and the corn harvest won’t quite be ready. That was good planning. The farmers will be able to help you.”

  “Speaking of help…” Rob scribbled a note to himself in the corner of the page before rolling it up. “I’d like to hire you to cook for the men who come work.”

  She shook her head. “Not one penny have you or your brothers accepted for the care or the help you have given.”

  “And you’ve not accepted a single penny for all the delicious meals you’ve sent to us.” He crooked a brow. “Have you ever eaten at the diner?”

  “Once.”

  “And only once.” He nodded. “That says it all. Indeed, my brothers and I all agree—our cooking is no better than the diner’s. We’ve come out far ahead on the bargain. And since we’re on the subject of food, I’m trying to find a way to invite myself to lunch. Whatever you’re cooking smells delicious.”

  “Ham and beans. And you are always welcome at our table.”

  “That’s so wonderful to hear!” As Mrs. Kunstler scurried in from the wide open door where she had obviously been eavesdropping, Robert noted that Mercy startled at her interruption. Mrs. Kunstler looked from Mercy to Rob and back again before continuing, “Things work out, don’t they? And now my Otto won’t be worried about hurting your feelings as he courts Ismelda.”

  Color rushed to Mercy’s face, then bled away just as rapidly. She shook her head.

  Rob took the spoon from her, set it down, and pushed her into a chair. Keeping a hand on Mercy’s shoulder, he looked at Otto’s mother. “Mrs. Kunstler, you misconstrued matters.”

  “What was I supposed to think?” Her gaze kept darting from Mercy to him. “You’re alone, together, in the house. Decency—”

  “I’m sure you didn’t mean to question Miss Stein’s reputation or impugn my integrity.” He stared at her.

  “I—um—it, well, of course I didn’t.” A nervous smile twitched across the woman’s face.

  Rob directed his attention toward Mercy. “I’ll get you some water.”

  “Oh, I’ll do that.” Mrs. Kunstler pumped water and hastily shoved the glass into his hand. “I didn’t mean to upset her.”

  “Drink.” He pressed the glass to Mercy’s mouth. Beneath the hand he kept on her shoulder, he could feel how she shook. Mercy reached up and took the glass from him. For a fleeting second, Rob considered asking if Mercy wished for him to leave. Just as quickly, he dismissed the notion. Distraught as she was, she might still swoon.

  He curled his hand around hers and lifted the glass to her mouth again. At the same time, something odd occurred to him. In the three months he’d been in America, he’d been astonished by the Texans’ hospitality. Not only did women always offer refreshments and extend an offer for a meal, but they went so far as to take a gift or food whenever they went calling on someone else.

  But Otto’s mother came empty-handed.

  “Mrs. Kunstler, since Miss Stein isn’t feeling her best, I’m sure you’ll understand—”

  “I—we are still neighbors.” The woman started wringing her hands. Rob took in how fine beads of perspiration dotted her face and she couldn’t maintain eye contact. For her, the situation had to be uncomfortable, but he didn’t consider that even a fraction as important as Mercy’s heartbreak.

  “We are still neighbors,” Mercy said in a bleak tone. “Your son was here yesterday. He still plans to borrow Grossvater’s reaper and claims one of Freckle’s pups. But me?” Her voice caught. “He said he cannot bear to look at me.”

  “He scarcely sleeps, remembering how he killed that man.”

  Mercy took another sip of the water. “ ‘It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him an help meet for him.’ That is the verse from Genesis you recited to me the day Otto asked me to marry him.” Mercy set the glass on the table with exacting care. “God does not change, but man does. Otto still needs a helpmate, yet he no longer wants me.” Her head came up and she squared her shoulders. “Was there an
y other reason you came today?”

  Mrs. Kunstler slumped against the table. “We thought it best for you to know before you saw them together. Please, Mercy, be kind to them.”

  “You speak to me about kindness?” Mercy shook her head. “You are the one who went about town telling everyone how that awful man shamed me.”

  “I didn’t want anyone to think badly of my Otto if you were with child! I did it for you, too.”

  Ruthlessly wiping away her tears, Mercy whispered in a raw tone, “Do not tell me this. You did not do it on my behalf. This is the first time since it happened that you have come here. You did not seek to help or comfort me. Today you have not come to ease my burden. What you ask is for me to make things easier on your son. It wasn’t necessary.” Mercy rose. “He is the man I was to have married, and the love I held for him would keep me from wounding him in any way.”

  Aching silence filled the house. Robert cupped Mercy’s elbow. “Go lie down, lass. You need to rest.”

  “I need to churn butter.” She sidled toward the stove, moved the pot off the heat, and then wiped her hands on her apron. “You will both go now.”

  He and Mrs. Kunstler went outside. Stopping by her mare, Robert glowered at Otto’s mother. “Am I to understand that you’ve not sought her out to give her a woman’s advice?”

  “The situation is strained. I’m not the right woman to—”

  “No,” he agreed abruptly. “No, you’re not.”

  “You don’t see—”

  “I see all too clearly. I’ll help you onto your horse. You don’t belong here.” Once Mrs. Kunstler left, Rob stared back at the house. Three months. It’s been three months. All this time, I thought she was being comforted and counseled by a woman who could show sensitivity. What kind of doctor am I? I’ve failed a seventeen-year-old lass who’s been facing this all on her own. No more.