Freedom For A Bride: A clean historical mail order bride romance (Montana Passion Book 2)

by Amelia Rose

  “I don’t see how I can,” Nathaniel admitted. “That’s why I’ve come to you all. All I know to do is to take her into town, put her on the train, then when we get to the coast, I’ll show her the ship and hope she understands me. I just hope she knows I’m going with her, and doesn’t think I’m sending her back.”

  “Well, let me have a go at it then,” Moira said, getting up from the table and crossing over to her small writing desk. She came back with her paper and a small strip of charcoal to serve as her pencil. “My tutors insisted I learn drawing and painting as part of my fine education, but I’m not sure this is how they’d ever have thought I’d put it to use.”

  She began to draw figures that at least resembled Nathaniel and Katia, slightly more involved than Gretchen’s sticks and circles. Beside them, she drew an old woman holding a baby. She labeled each of them by name before remembering that Katia’s alphabet did not resemble their own English letters.

  “This is Katia, and Nathaniel, and Mama, and baby,” she began, pointing to each drawing in turn. She looked to Katia, who nodded her head in understanding and smiled weakly. Moira continued to draw. She added train tracks leading toward the right edge of the paper, then a large ship bobbing in the waves created by her squiggly lines. She drew Katia running to her mother with her arms out, her mother holding the baby out to her while a smiling Nathaniel stood squarely beside her on the page.

  “Katia, baby, Yell?” Moira asked, drawing a circle that encompassed the three figures. She silently pleaded with Katia, willing her to understand her meaning. The young woman stared with great interest at the pictures, but finally shook her head with an apologetic look. She reached out took the pencil from Moira, then drew Xs through the ship and the waves.

  “I knew it!” Nathaniel cried. “She doesn’t want me to go with her. It’s just as I feared!”

  “Now, Mr. Russell, there’s no reason to become hysterical! I’m sure it’s just a matter of her not understanding us just yet. Oh, why did I waste my days learning needlework and French when I could have been learning useful talents?” Moira demanded to herself.

  “You speak French?” Pryor asked with interest. “This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

  “Why, yes, husband, oui je sais parler français, for all the good it does me now.” She smiled kindly at him, aware that the vast differences in their educations, her wealthy European nobility upbringing compared to his ability to even read a simple letter, had been a wall between in the beginning.

  Katia sat upright in her chair and leaned forward, watching Moira with a hopeful expression. “Parlez-vous français?” she cried. No one moved until Moira finally answered her. Katia jumped up from the table and threw herself into Moira’s arms, tears of relief flooding her face. She began to speak rapidly, gesturing with her hands, pointing at the drawing and at Nathaniel. It was almost overwhelming for Moira, who had not spoken the language to a soul in over a year.

  “Yes, I was only allowed to speak French with my tutors and governesses,” she explained in French. “They’d forbidden Irish and my brother had very little love of watching his sister speak English as part of her education.” Katia nodded.

  “My father insisted we all learn French, it was his plan to take the family to the countryside outside of Paris and set up a winery with the grapes he’d cultivated in Russia. They were hardy against the cold and he thought they would do well in a place that was so mild, where the French grapes would succumb to the harsh weather in the colder years.” Katia shook her head as she answered, the words flying at a rapid pace, which was unnerving when they were so used to nearly total silence from her. “He wanted my sisters and me to become fluent so he wouldn’t be at the mercy of the merchants and lawyers in France.”

  Pryor looked to Gretchen, who only shrugged her shoulders. “I know the language tolerably well, sir, but only what I picked up from attending to my mistress during lessons and practicing with her to keep her instructors from thinking she was lazy. I had no way of knowing the girl could talk to us!” They chatted for a few more moments before Pryor cleared his throat.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry!” Moira said when she realized she’d ignored her guests. “Katia has been telling me the most fascinating story.” She began to translate the poor woman’s tale.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “So there you have it,” Moira said, leaning back against her chair slightly. Her head was beginning to ache from interpreting until well past midnight. “It is as some of us suspected. She was married once before, but her husband was killed in a raid on her village when he refused to be pressed into service for the revolution. She only discovered she was with child while making the passage to America.”

  “And what of her father?” Gretchen asked nervously, her own parents having died years ago and leaving a soft spot in her heart for anyone who loses a parent.

  Katia didn’t need Moira to help her understand. She looked at Gretchen and shook her head, saying pitifully, “No… letter.”

  “He never arrived in New York, and he never wrote. They fear the worst,” Moira explained. “So with no father coming to help them and her mother and two sisters to care for—oh, and the baby, a boy named Nikolai, after her father—she signed on to the agency that sends brides out West. She gave Mr. Russell’s entire bride price to her mother to care for what is left of her family and pay for their passage so they could return to Russia. They were all hoping to find positions as nannies because of their good educations.”

  “That explains how she arrived with only a small parcel of clothes,” Pryor said. “Most women use the fee to buy their kitchen supplies or any sewing goods they’ll need. Not my wife, of course, but most women.” He laughed and patted Moira’s hand.

  “As I recall, because I had not actually signed up to become your wife, I never received a bride price! I’ll settle my accounts with you later then, Mr. MacAteer.” She joined in the laughter and held out her hand as though waiting for her payment, but Pryor only took it and pressed his lips to the palm of her hand. She joked, “I suppose that would be payment in full then!”

  “But what do we do now?” Nathaniel asked sadly. He’d been oddly quiet while Moira sorted out the story, watching their faces as they spoke rapidly, back and forth and back again. Moira sat up straighter now.

  “She cares for you deeply, Mr. Russell,” she began, then realized she was treading on very personal ground. “And she does wish to marry you.” She looked at Katia, who was looking at Nathaniel and nodding. “But she is very grateful for your offer to retrieve her son. Are you still willing?”

  “Of course I am! I said I would, and I mean it! I’ll just have to find a buyer for my claim, and then I can use that money to pay for our passage.” He leaned back and crossed his arms in front of his chest, his mind made up.

  Moira exchanged a glance with Pryor. He watched her face while she cocked her head in Nathaniel’s direction briefly, then he nodded almost imperceptibly. Moira turned to Nathaniel but looked away.

  “Mr. Russell, I fear that part of Katia’s heart also belongs here. If she wanted to live in close quarters in a city far away, she could have done so back when she left her mother. She would be horrified to know that you’d given up your land to help her son. So I propose another solution.”

  She waited, looking to Gretchen, who was as unaware as Nathaniel.

  “I’ll go with Katia to get the baby.”

  “You, Mrs. MacAteer? A woman? One who’s just had a baby of her own? I can’t let you do that! And then there’s the matter of the passage fare. I have to sell my land to cover the expense and still have enough left over to put down on a room in the city when we return.”

  “I am, how shall I say this… a woman of means, if you remember, Mr. Russell? My brother sees to my care out of our estate just as he would have done had I married a man in Ireland and remained there. My dear husband does not like to encroach on another man, even one who is now his family, and so my yearly allowance goes into
an account on my behalf. My brother feels it would be akin to taking my inheritance from me, should he not place my sum in that account, but my husband feels it is taking another man’s charity to touch those funds.”

  “And so, the account sits, growing steadily larger each month. Therefore, it would be my honor and my wedding gift to you to let me help you this way. And while Katia and I are gone—oh, and Gretchen, we mustn’t forget to include you—you will have your land to tend, and you may consider adding to your home to include rooms for your new child and any brothers or sisters you give him.”

  “I… I don’t know what to say. I’m speechless!” he began. Nathaniel turned to Pryor, but he only shrugged.

  “You’ll have to fight my wife on this one, Nathaniel. I only fight with her when I have to, mostly because I usually lose.” They all laughed, even Katia, who found Pryor’s suddenly somber expression amusing.

  “I’ll write off for the proper credentials and travel permissions,” Moira said. “It would be exceptionally nice if we could meet my brother in Liverpool and have a visit!”

  They finished their conversation and the platters that Gretchen had gotten out as they spoke, then retired for the night. Moira was thrilled to see Katia slip her hand into Nathaniel’s to descend the stairs, but left it there as they walked to his wagon. Gretchen turned on the top stair and faced Moira.

  “So we’re really traveling by ship again?” she asked hesitantly.

  “Aye, ‘twould seem so. But I promise it won’t be so bad as the voyage you and I made to America. That was a rushed affair, and I was glad to get passage on any ship I could find to get away from the wretched Lord Macomby’s wedding plans. No, I’ve funds enough, we’ll travel first class this time, and enjoy ourselves on the journey. I promise!”

  Gretchen still looked unconvinced, and her features clouded over. “What would you say if I told you I might stay in Ireland instead of coming back with you?”

  “Oh…” Moira began, but had nothing to say for a moment. She cleared her thoughts to avoid saying anything hurtful. “Would you wish to do so?”

  “I’ve thought about it, I’ll admit. I feel a little… out of sorts here. I don’t really have a place in Montana.”

  “Of course you do! You were once my servant, to be sure, but you’re no longer in my service. Now you’re my friend, my oldest, and dearest friend!” Moira cried, hugging her tightly before realizing what she was really doing. She stepped back but held Gretchen by the arms. “But if you long for home, then I can naw make you stay. That would once again be the actions of your mistress if I compelled you to stay. ‘Tis entirely your choice. I hope you’ll stay, to be sure, and I’ll beg you to stay right up until the moment you decide not to, but I understand if you miss home. If you’re very certain, should I write to Lord Brennan and ask for a position for you in his household? Unless you’d rather not return to a life of service?”

  Gretchen shrugged. “I don’t know. I truly haven’t thought this through, as I didn’t have passage fare to go home. But now that I do, it’s something to consider.”

  “Well then,” Moira said, forcing a bright smile on her face. “You’ve got some thinking to do. If you wish to return to Montana with us at the end of the journey, then I desperately want you here. But if you can naw stop your heart from missing Ireland, then I won’t have you anywhere else. You have my utmost blessing to be anywhere that makes you happy!”

  She hugged Gretchen one more time before telling her goodnight and made it inside the cabin before giving way to violent tears.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The next day, Moira woke when Pryor roused. They went about the tasks of getting ready for the day practically without speaking, he to his work in the barn, she to preparing the first meal before setting about sewing him another work shirt and mending some pants whose pockets had torn. By the time the first breakfast was finished and washed up, and the sewing hanging with the other clothes, the sun was nearing the place over the tree line that told her it was time for a hard-working homesteader to have a fuller breakfast. She brought a tin of coffee and a plate of cornbread cakes, bacon, beans, and eggs to the barn to find him working, his shirt sleeves rolled up already, despite the early March chill.

  “I’ve brought you a heartier breakfast since you’ve too much to do to come inside,” she jested, placing the plate on a nearby bale of hay. He thanked her without looking up, returning to shoeing the draft horse. She waited for him to say something more, but when he didn’t offer anything else, she spoke. “You’ve been quiet all morning, more so than is your usual self. Is there anything the matter?”

  “You have to ask me that?” Pryor responded, still focused on the work of his hammer.

  “’Tis my leaving then, that’s got you so solemn?”

  “Of course. No one wants to see his wife turn away, even if it’s just for a journey like this. I know you must go, but I’ll miss you sorely. I just don’t understand why you were so quick to offer to leave. Is it because you miss your home?”

  “Pry…” Moira began but found herself at a loss for words. “You must know tis not it at all. My words were true, I only do this for Katia and for her happiness in marrying Mr. Russell. But do you carry the fear that I wish to leave Montana with you always?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t think of it before, at least not until you were so quick to suggest it. That’s all.”

  “Pry, remember that what I said about having my own means is true,” she began, but he dropped his hammer and whirled to face her.

  “Is that a threat, that you can leave whenever you wish? Because if it’s simply a matter of money that’s keeping you prisoner here, I’d never hold you to it,” he said, bristling as he fought to control his emotions.

  “If you’ll be so kind as to let me finish,” she said, smiling ruefully for his benefit. “I was saying that, as a woman of means, I could have left you and this farm any time I wished. Have I ever done so? Have I ever even hinted at going back to Ireland for so much as a visit? No then, I’ve not. I could have, to be sure, but I have naw because my heart is here… with you.”

  The fight went out of him at her explanation. It was unapologetic, but truthful all the same. He didn’t answer straight away, but he didn’t have to. Moira took his hands in hers and continued.

  “I did naw think of how my leaving might hurt you. I’m very sorry for it. I never should have made the offer…”

  “Now, wife,” he said, putting down his tools and turning to her, taking her in his arms. “You did the right thing. I was just being cross because I’m going to miss you. Of course Katia can’t go alone, but more importantly, Nathaniel can’t lose his claim. He’s not thinking clearly, he’s simply thinking with his heart instead of the good, solid head on his shoulders. No, I’m being selfish, that’s all. I’ll miss you and Matthew… I don’t know what I’ll do on the place with it so quiet again. But you have to go.”

  He kissed her forehead before turning back to his work, adding a new layer of worry to Moira’s already overburdened heart. She returned to the house, looking over her shoulder longingly at the sadness she could still see plainly on his face.

  Moira went inside and sat down to plan. She needed to prepare clothes and supplies for their two-stage journey, she had letters to write and send to her brother, as well as a note to send off to her bank to cover the debts incurred by their trip. They would make it as far as New York, then book their passage first to Liverpool and on to London, where they would spend a few days at her brother’s apartments, then he would accompany them through the continent to Katia’s village. With any luck, she would be back home and in Pryor’s arms within six months.

  Remembering the state of Pryor’s kitchen when she’d first arrived in Montana, she made a note to prepare a number of recipes with illustrations so he wouldn’t be in such scrawny shape as she’d first found him. She laughed lightly, thinking back to the day he’d served beans and cornbread to her and Gretchen, only l
earning then that he had to soak the beans before trying to cook them. That day now seemed so long ago, but it was really only twice as long as the amount of time she’d be gone on this journey.

  Little Matthew will be walking before he sees his father’s face again, she thought somberly, the pull at her heart very real at that understanding. ‘Twill break Pryor’s heart if the boy doesn’t remember him and refuses to go to him upon our return. But there’s nothing to be done about that now.

  She finished writing her correspondence and putting together her plans. Mr. Russell would be coming by later on his horse to take the letters to New Hope, the least he could do, he’d said, considering all the effort and expense the others were going to on his behalf. Moira felt certain it was an excuse to see Katia again along the way.

  “Pry!” Moira called from the back porch of the cabin. He looked up in response. “I’m taking Matthew to Gretchen’s to confer about our travels. Will you need anything before I return?” He only waved in response, so Moira turned back inside and took the pan of that morning’s cornbread from the pie safe. She cut a generous piece and slathered it with fresh butter, then put it on a tin plate before adding a slab of meat she’d taken from their smokehouse that week. She ladled some hot broth over the meat to help it soften, then left the plate on the back of the woodstove, where Pryor would be sure to find it for his lunch. There would be plenty of it for his supper if she didn't return. She gathered her wraps, then bundled Matthew in his traveling covers and headed off on foot to the cabin that still legally belonged to her.

  Chapter Twenty

  The three-mile walk had been good for her, and she was pleased by the faint pink glow about the baby’s cheeks when she reached the cabin. Gretchen came out on the porch to meet her and instantly wrapped a warmed blanket around both her shoulders and the baby’s head before leading them inside. Katia followed, exchanging a few words in French but not so many as to exclude Gretchen any further.