by Amelia Rose
Chapter Thirteen
They could not have asked for a better day. With the music provided by Nathaniel’s guitar and Pryor’s singing along, they laughed and danced for much of the afternoon. Moira and Gretchen tried to teach them some reels and courtly dances but found that the men were a little too rough around the edges for that type of entertainment. They all clapped encouragingly when Katia performed a folk dance that had been a favorite in her village.
They ate and talked through the afternoon, working to make the newcomer feel like part of their group. When Nathaniel suggested a walk down to the creek to show Katia his property, Pryor and Moira declined, bowing out with the need for Moira and the baby to rest and Pryor to stay to watch over them. Gretchen laughed to herself that she would forevermore be the old spinster chaperone who would keep watch over young girls of virtue, but truthfully was happy to take a stroll in the brisk air and sunshine after so many weeks of keeping inside due to poor weather.
“Mr. Russell, this party was such a fine idea of yours,” Moira said gratefully as they waved from the porch, watching the three of them finish buttoning their coats for their walk. She handed over potatoes she’d heated in the coals and wrapped in wool for them to carry in their pockets, carried both to ward the chill off their hands and to be eaten for their midday meal with the paper packet of salt Nathaniel carried.
“It just came to me this morning, but I sure do hope we meet up like this a lot more often. Especially if I’m to be a married man! Nothing would make me happier than seeing our families spend time together, enjoying each other’s company!” He already looked every bit the proud husband, taking Katia chastely by the arm and leading her across the yard toward the brook that ran through the prairie. On Katia’s other side, Gretchen walked a few steps away, affording the pair as much privacy as manners allowed.
“I’ll look after your horses, so don’t hurry back on their account,” Pryor called.
“Thank you for that! I’ll return the favor the next time you have to go into town.” The three of them disappeared down the slope that ensured the creek could never rise enough to wash away his cabin. It was one of the drawbacks of life on the frontier; water had to be hauled from a fresh source each and every day, but still had to be far off enough that it couldn’t flood the property during a sudden storm.
They walked for half an hour, taking their leisurely time and enjoying the faint warmth the winter sun had to offer. When they reached the water’s edge, Katia gasped at the beauty of the flats in front of her, the wildflowers that peeked through the remaining patches of snow, the churning water that provided a relaxing song over the landscape. She stood wide-eyed, taking it all in before Nathaniel spoke to her.
“My land. This…” He spread his arm wide and swept across the entire expanse in front of them. “…for Katia.”
She turned to look at him, her eyes twinkling from the cold and from the emotion he saw there. She nodded and said, “Yes. For Katia…and Yell.”
His heart leapt in his chest from the sheer excitement he felt, the first stirrings of joy he’d felt since coming to Montana to scrape out a living as a homesteader. He glanced in Gretchen’s direction and saw that she had turned politely away and was now resting on a felled tree, her back partially to them. He dared not disrespect Katia by anything more forward than a brief hug, but he kept her hands closely held in his and put an arm around her shoulders.
“Yes, Katia and Yell,” he repeated in an almost giddy voice. “This land is ours.”
***
By suppertime, the sun had already set for the night. The ladies put out the finest dishes they could muster from a bachelor’s supplies, along with the desserts that Gretchen had prepared. They talked and laughed until well past the time Nathaniel would have usually found himself turning in for the night. It felt good to have some life in his house, which only confirmed his decision to marry.
Writing off for a wife had been the scariest thing he’d done in ages, and he’d blasted through tunnels with the westward moving railroad. That had been nothing compared to the feeling in his stomach when he sent off that first letter after getting someone in town to write it for him. It had also been the wisest choice he’d ever made since setting out for the Montana territory, overlooking the past foible which saw him abandon his property in search of work on the newly formed railroad. He’d saved every cent, and been able to return to his property in time to meet the deadline on building the fence around his claim.
Nathaniel looked over to where Katia sat, her back erect in her chair and her hands folded in her lap, where she held a cup of coffee. He noticed she didn’t drink it, and he made a note to ask her how she preferred to take it, or if she preferred something else instead. She looked like she might enjoy some tea, he thought…
“Did you not hear me, Nathaniel?” Pryor called out with a surprised chuckle. Nathaniel snapped to attention, his thoughts of Katia pushed to the side for the moment. He shook his head, embarrassed. “I asked if you’d given any thought to planting a new crop this year.”
“No, I think I’ll stick with the ones that have served me well so far,” he answered. “I don’t want to take too many risks in the same year now, do I? I’ll need my hay crop for my animals and my wheat for the homestead obligation, but otherwise, I’ll mostly just stick to the potatoes and corn I had last year. They did well, even if I did get a late start from moving my property.”
He didn’t have to say so, but the others knew the risk he was talking about was Katia. As a married man, he wouldn’t have the luxury of trying out a new variety of corn or a plant that hadn’t been proven in the prairie so far. The risk of his crop failing and losing his claim was too great. Instead of feeling burdened by the lack of choice, though, Nathaniel was looking forward to the payoff.
Too soon, it was time for the others to leave. Katia smiled gratefully at the others who politely decided they all had to exit at once, then walked over to Nathaniel.
“Thank you,” she said quietly in a heavily accented voice. She faltered, looking as though there was more she wished to say but didn’t have the capacity. “Nice.”
“Yes, it was nice. Real nice,” Nathaniel answered nervously. She looked over her shoulder to where she knew the others waited, longing to stay for a little while more but not wanting to put them out.
“Katia and Yell…wife?” she asked, a hesitant fear in her eyes as though she believed there may still be a chance Nathaniel would not want her. He nodded furiously.
“Yes! Katia will be my wife? You’ll marry me? Yes?” he asked. She laughed, a light and airy sound that belied the harsh tones of her native language.
“Yes! Katia and Yell!” she said, nodding eagerly, too. Her brow furrowed with an unspoken worry. She knew that she didn’t belong in the little cabin where she’d been staying since she arrived, but she hadn’t been able to ascertain who had been displaced by her presence. Who had given up home and hearth so she could stay in the small home? And where did Gretchen belong in all of this since both Nathaniel and Pryor came by to perform the chores?
“Katia marry…” She left off with a shrug, trying to ask the question that weighed on her mind. Nathaniel looked lost, watching her face intently to urge her to keep trying. “Day?”
“Day? I don’t think I understand… oh, you mean ‘when’!” he answered sweetly. “Today would be a little difficult, seeing as how it’s long past time for us all to be in bed. Chores come early, you know. Let me ask Mac… I mean, Mr. MacAteer. He’ll know how we do this right, seeing as he’d done all this before.”
Nathaniel looked around to see if anyone was watching them, then took a chance of offending her by lifting Katia’s hand and kissing the back of first one, then the other, just behind her thin knuckles. Instead of looking aghast, she smiled and stepped forward to embrace him for only a second, ducking away shyly and rushing out the door to join the others.
Chapter Fourteen
“Tomorrow? It’s not possible!”
Moira cried. “How are we to put together a meal fitting for a new bride and groom in less than a week, let alone in less than a day?”
“I don’t know that answer me own self, but I think that’s what she’s trying to say. She seems to me to be pretty determined to be married soon. Of course, that only makes me wonder all the more…” Gretchen’s voice trailed off with the unspoken accusation left to float around the room.
“Wonder what?” Moira asked, turning and thrusting her hands against her hips, challenging her maid and friend to continue. “Are you still going on about that thought of yours? There’s nothing amiss with Miss Noryeva, she’s a lovely girl, even if we don’t know but a word of what she says half the time.”
“I don’t mean to slander the poor girl, but I’m telling ye, my lady, there’s a strange air about her. If you’ll but watch her for a while, you’ll see the far off look she gets in her eye from time to time, and the longing way she looks at you when you’re holding Matthew. There’s a secret there…”
“…one that’s not ours to uncover or tell!” Moira said somewhat more kindly, but firm all the same. “We can naw start off on this suspicious footing with Mr. Russell’s bride, especially not as close as he and Pryor are. We would risk offending her, and that would not be prudent for our nearest neighbors. And besides, she seems like a dear woman who would not be pleased with our idle talk.”
“You’re right, of course,” Gretchen answered with a resigned sigh. “I just wish I knew the truth. Not to think ill of her or to spread a baseless story, but to put her mind at ease. My lady, think of this… what if she’s left a child behind? What if her heart is torn in two by the separation? How is she to be a happy, loving wife to Mr. Russell when half her heart is far away with a motherless child?”
Moira didn’t answer as she pondered this new side to Gretchen’s query. Would Katia wither under the strain of some past heartbreak? Or worse, would she leave poor Mr. Russell and return to whence she came if the hurt proved to be too much? Whatever the girl had left behind, it was enough to cause a shadow to cross her face from time to time, one that might not be easily banished by a wedding.
“Let us not think of that right now. We have more pressing matters to attend to, like preparing for their joyous celebration.” Even though she was no longer in Moira’s employ, Gretchen nodded and did as her former mistress had bid her. “And to somehow convince the happy couple that tomorrow is not a suitable day to wed!”
***
Their pleas for more time were successful. Gretchen set to work on preparing a menu while Moira began to craft a beautiful wedding dress for Katia from the selections of lace and cloth her brother had sent from Brennan. She had no use of such fine threads out on the prairie but thought it best to welcome Katia to matrimony with a stunning, but simple gown.
“You are a remarkable woman,” Pryor said one evening as he passed the table where Moira set about her stitching by lamplight, one foot rocking Matthew’s cradle as she worked.
“Oh, aye? What have I done lately that’s so deserving of praise?” she teased. She looked up in time for Pryor to lean down and kiss her forehead.
“It’s a kind thing that you’re doing to welcome the new girl. A genuinely kind-hearted thing, especially as you’re using your own cloth.”
“Every bride should feel beautiful on her wedding day, that’s all,” she replied dreamily.
“Did you?”
“Did I what?” Moira asked, letting her sewing fall to her lap as she watched Pryor.
“Did you feel beautiful?” He looked away as he spoke in a rare show of humility. This wasn’t like the strong, confident man she’d married. It stirred a feeling of fear in her chest.
“But of course I did! What’s brought this on, husband? Are you not feeling well?” she asked, concerned.
“Oh, no, I am. I just have to wonder if… your life would be so different if you’d returned to Ireland and your fancy home with your brother that day instead of marrying me.” His voice dropped nearly to a whisper as his unspoken fears poured forth.
“Pryor…” Moira put her sewing on the table and rose to come to him. She settled herself in his lap and wound her arms around his neck after brushing a lock of dark hair back from his forehead. “My brother arrived in time to save me from you and this prison of marriage, did he not? Did he not offer to carry me back to my childhood home in a first class berth, back to the very castle where I had servants and jewels and many gowns and fine parties? Did he not beg my forgiveness for the way our uncle had treated me, and tell me that he held no ill will for my leaving Brennan?”
Pryor didn’t look up, but he nodded. All of that had been true. Moira continued.
“Did you lash my hands to the wagon with rope, refusing to let me return with my brother? Did you force me to marry you that day?” He looked up, alarmed at the suggestion, and shook his head fervently.
“Then know this: I chose to stay here with you. I chose you. I had every opportunity to return to the life I once lived, as well as the promise that I would never be held to my brother’s choice of a husband for me. I had everything a woman could ever dream about, but I chose you. I chose this life that you offered me. I love you, husband, and I command you to never doubt that I made the right decision.”
Pryor looked up at Moira’s loving face and gazed at the perfection he saw there. His hands found the soft skin of her cheeks, holding her close as he kissed her tenderly.
“I love you, Moira. My simple farm and I adore you!” he said with a laugh.
“And I love you. But this is no simple farm. This is my very own castle. ‘Tis made of timber and stone instead of silver and gold, but my real treasure is here with you in the wilds.”
Chapter Fifteen
Moira crawled on her hands and knees around the edge of Katia’s dress, pinning the fabric here and there to set the hem. Gretchen seethed from watching her mistress scoot about on the floor like a common tradeswoman, but she’d learned some time ago that it didn’t do to mention it to the recently untitled, newly rechristened Mrs. Russell. She was no longer noble, as she kept reminding her ladies’ maid, and therefore not above any task as needed doing.
All morning, Katia had seemed far away. She’d dutifully smiled and exclaimed like a giddy child on Christmas over the dress when Moira finally got her to understand that it was for her to wear on her wedding day, but having it on her body had had the opposite effect. Instead of beaming, she stood frozen while Moira worked, catching a worried glance from Gretchen once in a while.
“Something’s amiss, my lady. I’ve said it before, and I’m saying it now,” Gretchen said with a forced smile, still in Irish lest Katia perhaps understand her. “Look at the poor dear’s face! She was so happy only a week ago, but now? She looks as though the judge has handed down a conviction against her.”
“I so want to argue, Gretchen, but I can’naw. I’m afeared you’re right. She looks near to miserable! You don’t suppose… no, don’t think of it. Forget that I spoke.”
“No, you can naw start to say it then not! What do you suppose?”
Moira looked uncomfortable for a moment, peering out the window to make sure Pryor wasn’t walking past. “You don’t suppose that Mr. Russell has been… untoward? Or cross with her? Anything out of sorts?”
“Mr. Russell? Never! I’ve never laid eyes on a kinder soul than his, and he’s been nothing but the highest of gentlemen, at least not when I could see. And besides, I’ve not left her alone with him, I promise you. I am confident in saying. Thus, he’s been entirely over the moon at the thought that she’s to be his bride. I’m telling you, there’s something not right, and I say it has to do with her coming here.”
“Oh, Gretchen, I’m so scared that you might be right.” Moira shook it off visibly, recovering herself. “No, I can naw let myself think like that. I know in my bones that ‘tis only fear and nerves for her sake. Why, look at me! What would I have done here on the prairie if I had naw had you with me? S
omeone, who knew me, who spoke my tongue, who could keep me company and sympathize if I felt too lonely or too inept as a wife? Perhaps she’s fearful of being so lonely and does naw realize we’ll visit with her often?”
Gretchen didn’t answer, but she looked skeptical. The morose look on Katia’s face even as they talked about her belied the posture of a happy bride.
“My lady,” Gretchen whispered, forgetting to call her friend by her name. “Have you naw seen the way she looks at your Matthew? That look of longing, she gets whenever you hold him?”
“Aye, that I have,” Moira answered from far away, lost in her worry. “But we’ve already spoken of this and there’s nothing more to say on the matter.”
“Well, I’ve already said it, and I say that it bears thinking of again. I fear there’s a baby out there somewhere, far from his mother’s arms, that our new friend is pining for.” They both looked immediately to Katia, concern for her sake and embarrassment at talking about her while she stood right in front of them clear on both their faces.
“How shall we ask her about it, then? Even if she understood us and we could ask her plain, then what’s to be done? What if the child…” Moira paused and pressed a hand to her heart, shaking her head before finishing. “…has passed away? That kind of grief could surely make a mother flee to a new country, just to put it as far behind her grieving heart as possible.”
“You’re very right, I’ve already said as much. But I beg you to still consider this: what if the child is not lost? What if she’s had to abandon a babe in order to give it a better life? Don’t you think Mr. Russell would be pained to know that Katia carries a hurt like no other, especially when he could do something about it?”
“But what could he do?”
“Well, if the child has been left behind, he could go after it, naw?” she asked hopefully. “It only makes sense, surely he would not let Katia suffer from this hurt.”