In the meantime John went into the kitchen. She heard a cupboard open and close and a few minutes later he emerged with a bucket of water and a rag. Betty stood up, but he shook his head and gave her a smile.
“You just rest for a while,” and with that he went outside.
Betty folded her arms against her chest and rooted for an old rag in her bag. If he thought she was just going to sit here... She followed him outside. With the bucket at his feet he scrubbed hard the get the blood washed off.
Go home red injun!
They didn’t even have the decency to spell it right. She got down on her knees and wet the rag.
“I can do this. Why don’t you go and rest, Betty?”
“No, John. I’m your wife, and I’m gonna be living here so this is my job, too.” She scrubbed the blood off, wrinkling her nose. Betty glanced at John from the corner of her eye. He turned back to his scrubbing with a small smile.
It took half an hour to clear the writing off the wall. All that time, Betty could feel prying eyes on her and John, but no one had come forward to help. Thankfully, no one shouted insults either. Once they had finished, they went back inside just in time for dinner.
It took a bit of getting used to the new kitchen, but in the end she was able to find everything she needed to do her cooking.
When she placed the bowl on the table, she noticed the paintings on the opposite wall. She sat with her back to them earlier and since they weren’t framed… Wait… is that? She looked closer at what looked like skin.
“They were a parting gift from my family. Do they bother you?” John must have noticed her gaping.
“No!” she blurted out. A moment later she added, “I mean, I was just surprised. I’d never seen one up close.”
“They were from my grandfather’s tepee.”
And suddenly they drew her in – the painted horses and people around a campfire, the symbols that seemed alien to her, but felt alive.
“My parents hadn’t been able to leave anything behind.”
Betty turned back to John, stepped back to the table and ladled some soup into their bowls. “I remember, in your letters, you said your parents died when you were young.”
John nodded, his eyes dark and hooded. “Their tribe was attacked by some rangers. They fought over horses, and the rangers burned down the village. My parents were just visiting when it happened. I was miles away with my cousin’s family.”
She dropped the ladle. “I’m so sorry.”
“It was a long time ago.”
“But we never truly forget.” She took her spoon and swirled it around her bowl. “When my father died, he left me the kitchen.”
“Huh?”
Betty chuckled. “He was a good cook, and I took his place. It was his legacy.”
John smiled into his spoon. “It’s a delicious legacy.”
“Why, thank you.” Betty giggled. “Just so you know, I make the meanest chili sauce in this half of the country. And my turkey’s the best in the West.”
“Good thing it’s almost Thanksgiving then.”
They grinned at each other before finishing their meal.
Chapter 4
John trudged through town, whistling under his breath, as he carried the spoils of his morning hunt over his shoulders. He smiled at Mr. O’Neil, sweeping his front yard, but the older man just stared back at him. It must be the bloodied, dead boar on my back, John thought.
The huge catch weighed on his shoulders. Good thing he found it foraging just a few miles from town. Usually he had to hunt much farther out. Dinner is going to be early tonight. He smiled.
Once he reached his house he paused for a moment and took in a deep breath. Slowly he climbed up their porch, shifting the boar’s weight evenly on his back. The backdoor would have been a better choice, since the dripping blood made a mess, but the hinge had broken in the morning. John wished he’d taken the time to fix it then.
“I’m home!” he shouted.
A moment later the door opened and Betty’s plump, rosy face greeted him.
“Hi Jo- Oh!” Betty’s eyes fell on the boar on his shoulder.
“Pork for dinner!’ He grinned and pecked her on the cheek as he stepped into the house.
Betty opened the door wider for him and a familiar voice greeted him inside. “Looks like we’ll have a feast!”
Startled, he looked up to see not just one guest, but several people sat around the table. Mercy Beckett, Claire Shepard, and Pastor Nathan from Angel Creek all greeted him with a smile.
“Good afternoon,” John said. “Let me just put this in the kitchen and I’ll be with you in a minute.”
He carried his catch through the house quickly, trying not to drip too much blood around the place. Once in the kitchen he quickly washed his hands and face, and rushed back into the living room, where his wife was offering their guests chicken pie.
“It’s good to see you all again,” he said, sitting beside Betty. “How’s Cole and the kids?”
Mercy laughed. “Absolutely lovely. Grace is running all over the place!”
John recalled the toddler falling over herself, trying to get to her father, the last time he saw her and he chuckled.
“And, what brings you here, Reverend?”
“You’ve probably heard about the new pastor,” Nathan said. “I’ve actually been in touch with him for a while.”
John took a piece of the pie and nodded. He liked the sound of that. A friendly pastor would definitely be a welcome change in Fernville. If he was anything like Pastor Nathan…
“Has he arrived?” Betty asked.
“This week,” Claire said, “But as my brother mentioned, they’ve exchanged letters. He mentioned wanting to build a chapel here in Fernville. Since we managed to arrange the land for the build he was asking about volunteers in his last letter.”
John looked at his wife, before turning back to Claire with a grin. “That sounds like a great idea! I’d love to help.”
“So would I,” Betty said. “How many volunteers are there, so far?”
Mercy licked her lips. “Just a few, but we’re hoping there’ll be more when Pastor Elliot Quill comes. We did get a bit distracted today with Betty’s delicious pie…”
They all laughed. John knew first hand it was hard not to get distracted when Betty served one of her amazing meals.
“Love your house, by the way,” Mercy said, gesturing to the animal skin patches on the walls.
“Thank you,” John said, beaming. “Symbols of my Lakotan heritage.”
“I think it’s a lovely tribute,” Claire said.
“Well, we better get going. Maybe we can still find a few more volunteers today.” Mercy stood. “Thanks for the chicken pie, Betty.”
Claire and Nathan got up and bade them goodbye. When they left, Betty turned to John with a slightly worried expression across her face.
“John, I was wondering…”
“Yes?”
“Didn’t you mention just yesterday that you had some work to do out of town? When will you find the time to volunteer with all the travel?”
The carpentry work for Mr. Lourne, right… John scratched his chin. “I’m sure the job won’t take that long, and it starts in a week, while the chapel needs helping hands now. There’s always time for Lord’s work. I’m sure the chapel will do wonders for the town. I really think I should be involved with that, especially in the beginning, to help build the momentum.”
Betty frowned, but got up to clean the table.
“What’s wrong?”
She shook her head, but said, “Well… I do want us to help, too. But I’m not working, and you don’t have a steady job either…”
He smiled, stood up, stepped closer to his wife and placed his hand on her shoulder. “Remember the passage from Hebrews? ‘Do not neglect to do good and to share what you have, for such sacrifices are pleasing to God’.”
She turned her face towards him, and he took the chance to caress
her cheek. “It’ll be fine my sweet Betty.”
She smiled. “I know.”
* * *
“Are you sure you’ll be all right?”
John smiled at his wife. She looked so charming with the blue handkerchief he gave her tied neatly around her curls. “I’ll be fine.”
Betty looked over her shoulder at the other builders who kept glaring at them. John squeezed her arm gently. “Go, you still have to prepare for the builders’ lunch.”
She nodded and left to talk to the women gathered near the long table some feet away. The first day of the build, and it looked like no one still wanted to give John the time of day. But he hoped that after the work is done things would finally change.
“Need any help, Eddie?” He approached an old man of seventy-five, who was one of only a handful who treated John with respect.
Eddie grunted in reply. They weren’t pals, but at least Eddie talked to him without throwing an insult.
“Hip won’t budge,” Eddie muttered, trying to reach a hammer that had fallen below one of the work tables situated a few feet from where the chapel would soon stand.
“Here, let me.” John dove under the table to retrieve the hammer. He handed it back to Eddie and patted the man on the back.
“Have you seen the new pastor?” John asked.
“Nope, but I heard young Marlon talking ‘bout ‘im this mornin’.”
“It’s good to finally have our own pastor,” John said, dragging blocks of wood to the table. “Our own services, our own chapel…”
Eddie coughed into his fist and levelled John a sad look. “Yer a good kid, John. Can’t understand why you’re still hanging around these folks. They don’t treat you right.”
“You’d miss me if I went, Eddie.” John laughed.
Eddie snorted. “You’re young – you and your missus. You don’t fit here, John.”
John grinned and shook his head, although his jaw felt heavy maintaining the expression. It wasn’t the first time he’d thought of moving, even before he met Betty, but the house had belonged to his mother’s grandfather, and had been given to him when he came of age. Plus, it was costly to move. Not to mention that anywhere John went, people would be just as wary of his dark skin and black hair.
“They’ll turn around,” John said. “I’m sure of it.”
But as if to prove him wrong, a man passed by and bumped John in the shoulder.
“Sorry,” John immediately called, as the man glared at him.
Eddie grunted. “Why’re you always so nice to them, John?”
“The Lord said to love your enemies and to forgive those who persecute you.” John took his tools, prepared to start pounding at the chapel site. “See you later, Ed.”
The man just shook his head. He must’ve thought John was an idiot, trying to win over the people who’d throw tomatoes, or worse, at him in the blink of an eye. John glanced at the long table where Betty spoke with the other wives and sisters who’d came to help too. He smiled, before standing beside Chris Donovan, who immediately stepped away from him.
John tried not to let the other man’s wary look bother him.
“So, how’s young Mel? I heard she’s turning one next month.”
‘She’s – she’s fine.”
“Bet she’s crawling faster than you can run,” John said, sawing off a piece of wood.
“Yeah,” Chris said with a nervous chuckle and relaxed a bit. “She’s a real rascal.”
“What’s it like,” John continued, turning to the next piece of wood, “I mean, to look after a kid? To have a child of your own?”
Chris shook his head, a smile blossoming on his face. John stopped his sawing to look at his neighbor, grateful that the conversation was warming Chris up to him.
“It’s tiring, and she gets food all over the place. And not just food…” He laughed again. “But thankfully my wife does most of the caring. I help too, but Mel really is the apple of her mother’s eye.” He scratched his bearded chin and leaned against a tree. “Whenever I get home from work Mel crawls to me and asks to be picked up. It’s a great feeling. You and the missus should definitely start working on your first.”
John stopped sawing, afraid he’d accidentally saw his fingers off. He reddened and coughed into his fist. “Uh…”
Chris chuckled and patted him on the back. “You’re all right, John.”
He went to his work with a hammer and nails, and the two of them worked in silence, with Chris sharing some more about the youngest member of his family.
When lunch time rolled in, John went up to Betty. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and kissed her cheek.
“Everything all right here?” he asked. He hoped no one had harassed her.
Betty blushed and smiled leaning into his arm. “Yes. They really like my cooking.”
She motioned her head to the builders and the women who gathered around the chicken sandwiches, juice, and meatballs that Betty had prepared. His wife certainly had been busy.
“Best meatballs I’ve had in a long time,” Eddie said, biting into one.
“That’s true,” Chris nodded, his mouth already full.
Many others murmured in agreement. John felt so proud and blessed at the same time. Several other woman approached them to ask Betty for her recipe. He shared a look with his wife and with a last quick peck on the cheek left her to give a lengthy explanation of her cooking methods.
After a few more hours of working on the build, John was done for the day. He wiped his sweaty brow packed his tools and said goodbye to Chris still working beside him. With Betty on his arm he went home.
He admired the sun setting over their rooftops looking forward to a quiet evening as they made the last turn towards their house. But instead of respite John was horrified to see the same blood-red marks painted on the front of their home.
Betty gasped beside him, nearly dropping her basket.
Will we never stop reliving our first day in Fernville? John rushed up to their front porch. He ached as if his heart had hardened into lead, too heavy for his chest, nearly dragging his knees to the floor.
Betty squeezed his shoulder.
He took her hand into his. Without a word, she went with him to the kitchen to get a bucket of water and rags. On their first day in town, John had felt disappointed, but he’d accepted it. Now, he couldn’t help feeling betrayed. How many trials will they have to face? What will they have to do to please their neighbors? He had tried so hard to fit in all these years. He didn’t mind the Lord testing him to his breaking point. He knew he could take it. What he didn’t know was how long could he watch his wife suffer such treatment.
Chapter 5
While the men were swinging their hammers and axes, Betty was busy making sure they had something for lunch. She unfolded the cloth covering the food in the basket and looked at the builders sawing and nailing the rafters. Despite the pastor’s delayed arrival the chapel had started to take shape.
“Ooh, that smells wonderful.”
Betty turned to her curly-haired, rail-thin neighbor, Susan Wyatt. “Thanks, Susan.”
The younger woman bit her lip and looked at the mince pies that Betty had placed on the table, then her own basket full of small, uneven loaves.
“What’s wrong?” Betty asked.
“They might not like what I baked.” Susan adjusted the bread. “I’m not that good of a cook yet.”
She lowered her voice. “Back in Lakeshore, I kept burning the eggs, so Clyde took over for me.” She sniffed. “I hope Fernville won’t make fun of me.”
Betty stifled a laugh not wanting to upset her new friend. Susan and her husband had just moved into town a day earlier, and thankfully, they didn’t seem to mind Betty and John. “I’m sure you two will be fine here.”
The bell rang and the builders stopped their work. One by one, they approached the long table laid out for them. Susan waved to her husband, as Betty smiled at hers.
John kissed her on
the cheek and greeted Susan, picking one of the latter’s sweetened breads. “Mm, smells really good.”
“‘Course it does,” Clyde Wyatt said, placing an arm around his wife’s shoulder.
John smiled at them and swallowed the piece. Though he didn’t wink Betty knew the truth behind that smile. She remembered how the night before he’d spat out a piece of Susan’s cookie Betty had brought home. The woman really did have a lot to learn…
“Your wife’s a great cook, John,” Therese, Chris Donovan’s wife muttered, munching on a chicken leg and taking a mince pie.
“We’ve got smoked ham here!” someone shouted from the other end of a table. “More bread and water here!”
“How did you get the pork to be so juicy?” Therese asked.
Betty opened her mouth to speak, but fresh faced young lad sidled up beside Therese and cut in, “Maybe Johnny boy hunted it down with a poison-tipped spear, then prayed to his ancestors, while dancing around naked under the moonlight.”
His chuckle invited scattered laughter from some men nearest to them. She remembered seeing him around before. The Sternham’s boy, Stephen, if she remembered right, often threw hostile glances at John.
“He didn’t,” Betty snapped, tilting her chin up, “but he did hunt the boar on his own, which is more than many can say for you.” Betty smirked. “Wasn’t it just yesterday you ran away screaming when a pig got loose in town?”
Therese nearly choked on the pie, and the other men howled with laughter. John frowned at her, but his eyes danced with amusement. It had been pretty funny to see the tow-headed young man screaming like his life was on the line when a pig chased him through town.
“I will never forget that,” Clyde said, chuckling at Stephen’s murderous expression. “It was quite a welcome for me and my wife.”
Stephen turned around and buried his face elsewhere in food, soft chuckles following him.
“You know,” Susan said, as Betty piled John’s plate with food, “this is such a great idea for a town to do.”
“I know,” Betty said. “Building a chapel is great for community spirit.”
“Not just that,” the other woman said, smiling. “This – eating outside, sharing food across dozens of long tables placed side by side.”
A Mail Order Bride for Thanksgiving: Betty & John (Love by Mail 5) Page 3