Mail-Order Marriages

by Jillian Hart

  “I never been anyplace but right here,” Toby said sadly, as if his life were indeed bereft of all things exciting.

  “But as I said, right here is a wonderful place to be, Toby. You have a good father, a nice home and a brother. There are puppies in the barn and food in the pantry and someone to cook for you and keep your clothing clean. I’d say you have a good life here on the farm.”

  Elizabeth felt like a schoolteacher by the time she finished enumerating all of the things Toby should be thankful for, and it was a surprise to hear Lucas second her observations.

  “Miss Elizabeth is right, Toby. You’re a fortunate young man. You have food and clothing and a nice home to live in. There are folks all over the world who don’t have nearly the good things we all take for granted. I’ll venture to say that even in Boston Miss Elizabeth saw folks with a lot less to be thankful for than what we have right here.”

  Elizabeth nodded, and then recalled some of the places she’d seen and been. “There are places in Boston where four or five children live in one room with their parents, and sleep on the floor, for they have no money to buy beds or mattresses. I tend to get angry when I think of all the children in this world who have nothing, and then see rich folks who don’t care about those who live in poverty.”

  “You cared, Elizabeth,” Lucas said quietly.

  “Yes, I did. And I still do. For I’ve managed to find a fine home to live in and a family to tend to and a place to call my own. I’m one of the fortunate ones.”

  “I thought we were the fortunate ones,” Lucas said with emphasis. “What do you think, boys? Are you glad Miss Elizabeth is with us instead of in Boston, cooking for fifty orphan children?”

  “Who’s cookin’ for them now?” Toby asked, his forehead wrinkled as he thought of fifty starving children in that far-off place, while he ate his fill here in Thomasville, Missouri.

  “I’m sure there are ladies from the community who are filling in for me. It’s always easy to volunteer for such a job when you know you have a nice home to return to when the day is over.”

  “I’m awful glad you’re cooking for us, ma’am,” Josh said, a smile curving his lips as he finished his soup. “I’m awful glad someone taught you how to cook such good stuff, too.”

  “Thank you, Josh. I enjoy cooking, and I’ll admit it’s easier and more fun to cook for four people than fifty.”

  Lucas seemed pleased with the lengthy conversation they’d shared over the dinner table, and it was with reluctance that he pushed back his chair and lifted a hand to Josh. “Let’s do our duty, young’un. I promised Elizabeth we’d bring down that big cabinet for her.”

  Josh stood immediately and watched as his father carried his plate and silverware to the sink board, then followed suit, his father’s example letting him know silently that this was the right thing to do. Toby gathered his plate up and rose, but Elizabeth reached for it quickly.

  “If you’ll bring the cups over to the sink, I’ll take care of this, Toby.”

  He nodded cheerfully and did as he was bid, then followed his father and brother up the stairs. Elizabeth heard the sound of a door opening and closing and wondered at the entrance to the attic, for she’d suspected the house had such a place beneath the roof, but hadn’t noticed a door.

  In less than fifteen minutes she heard the voices nearing, and noted Lucas’s as he instructed his sons as to where to grasp the piece of furniture and then instructed them as to their part in toting it down the stairs. Lucas came first, bearing the weight of the load, Toby and Josh above him, each holding a corner of the top of the cabinet.

  It was large, probably six feet tall, Elizabeth suspected, having seen such things back home where folks filled their parlors or libraries with cabinets such as this one. Why it had been relegated to the attic was beyond her comprehension, for she knew that if she’d owned such a thing, it would never have left the parlor for the oblivion of a dusty, dank place like an attic.

  Elizabeth looked forward to telling her mother, by way of a letter, about the cabinet and the rest of the furnishings of the house she now lived in. Perhaps tomorrow would be a good time to write such a missive to her parents, for they knew only that she’d traveled west to be married, and the rest of the details were lacking.

  Now, as Elizabeth watched, delighted beyond words, Lucas and his sons managed to carry the cabinet into the parlor, then Lucas looked toward Elizabeth, who had followed them and waited in the doorway.

  “Well, where do you want this thing, ma’am?” he asked, setting his end on the floor and helping the boys to stand it upright. Elizabeth had been right. It was over six feet tall and probably five feet wide, with four glass shelves inside.

  “Over against that wall, between the two windows. I’ll move the chair first to make room.” She hastened over to the designated spot and shoved an overstuffed chair from the place she’d decided on, moving it a few feet away to be tended to later.

  With encouraging words, Lucas directed his sons to help him locate the thing where Elizabeth had decreed it should go, and then they all stood and looked at it, as if it were some foreign object dropped into their familiar parlor.

  “If you’ll bring my box of books down for me, I’ll dust the cabinet and put them away in it. Tonight we can decide what we want to read.” Elizabeth walked to stand before the cabinet and opened one of the doors. “It’s not even as dusty as I’d thought it would be. It must be almost airtight.”

  “It’s a good piece of furniture. Used to be here years ago, but Dor…” He paused for a moment. “We decided to put it away a few years back, since we had no real use for it. Doris wasn’t much for books and such. She read a book of Bible stories to the boys once in a while, but…” He seemed to find it difficult to speak of the boys’ mother, and again, as she had the night before, Elizabeth sensed an air of reticence about him.

  “Well, we’ll make use of it now,” Elizabeth said, excitement rising in her as she thought of renewing acquaintance with her supply of books. She’d carried them across the country, unwilling to lose a single one of the volumes that had given her so much pleasure.

  In her mind she began composing the letter she would write at the very first opportunity.

  Chapter Four

  When Lucas left for the barn a bit later, his boys in tow, he left Elizabeth with two boxes, both containing books, for he’d remembered another stash in the attic, left from his mother’s things, that might be of interest to her.

  She was delayed for a short while when the boy from the emporium drove a wagon up the lane from the town road. She met him at the door and helped him carry in the goods they’d purchased at his father’s store, then filled the pantry shelves with the largesse that Lucas had supplied.

  Lucas hailed her from the yard as the boy drove away. “I’ll take care of that beef when I come in, Lizzie. Unless you’re of a mind to cut it up yourself.” He smiled as if he could imagine her thoughts on the subject.

  She shook her head. “I’ll leave the job to you. I’ll just watch, thank you. Maybe next time I’ll be brave enough to swing a cleaver and do the cutting up.” That Luc would offer so readily to do such a task almost surprised her, and yet he’d been willing thus far to lighten her load if he could. He’d done much to please her, she realized, not least of which was his attentions to her. And now he’d offered to do a chore she had no liking for, even though it might be considered a woman’s work.

  With a wave of his hand he walked around the barn, and she turned back to the parlor to sort through the volumes she’d carried across the country. It was a task she relished. She filled her hands with the books from her childhood, classics and adventure stories alike. Inside the box that had belonged to Lucas’s mother were volumes from the past. A preprimer from that lady’s school days, volumes of history, mostly of Europe and Asia, with a few pages given over to the early years of America. Even a book devoted to cursive writing and instructions for the proper way to print the various letters of t
he alphabet, and write them in cursive style.

  There was a big family Bible with names inscribed within, with Lucas’s name on the page designated for births. An assortment of stories from the Bible, written for children and well thumbed, demonstrated his early reading material. And packed with care, wrapped in ancient newsprint, were pictures of a man and woman and their children.

  These she placed on the top shelf of the cabinet—four pictures taken with a photographer’s camera, from those days when men and women hired such a person to capture the present, saving it for the future in a portrait. One of the pictures was of a lovely lady with three little girls and two small boys at her knee, and the younger boy looked so like Toby, it startled Elizabeth. Surely this must be Lucas, she thought, holding it up to the window, the better to gaze upon the small boy’s face.

  And she found the answer then to the mystery of why Lucas had taken to her so easily. The lady in the picture, Luc’s mother, was a woman of considerable size. A lovely woman, but heavy nonetheless. No wonder Luc had said he was happy with his bride. And Elizabeth almost hugged herself as she remembered just how delighted he’d been with her.

  Her own books caught her attention next, begging for shelf space. She removed them from the box, wiped the covers with a cloth and sorted them out. The fiction she placed on the second shelf, leaving plenty of room for further acquisitions, should Lucas be so inclined. The next shelf held her books of history and geography, a blending of schoolbooks and things that had caught her father’s eye in his regular visits to the bookstore near their home.

  From behind her she heard the masculine tones now familiar to her. “Elizabeth, what are you up to over there?” Lucas asked, walking up behind her to look over her shoulder at the rapidly filling bookcase. “I used to wish…” His voice trailed off and he cleared his throat.

  She turned to him, looking up into eyes that seemed to be far away from her, his thoughts perhaps dwelling on another time. Then he smiled, and she felt a thrill touch her heart, and she lifted her hand to cover that rapidly pounding organ. “What do you wish, Lucas?”

  He seemed to return to her then and his smile was tender. “I used to wish that Doris would fill this bookcase of my mother’s with just such a collection.” He lifted his hand and his index finger touched book after book, each volume seeming to receive his attention. “This sat here when I was married the first time, and Doris said it took up a lot of room and she had nothing to put into it, so when Josh was very young, I took it to the attic.”

  He touched Elizabeth’s cheek with that same index finger and then his full palm curved against her face, and she felt the warmth cascade the length of her body. “My mother would have approved of you, Lizzie,” he said quietly. And as if that were the highest praise he could offer, he bent to her and his lips touched hers with tenderness. Not like the hot, needy caresses he’d lavished on her eager body in the night hours, but with a gentleness that made her want to cry.

  He looked at the books she’d settled into place and his query surprised her. “What’s next, Lizzie? Will the family Bible have a place here?” He touched it with reverence as it lay on top of the box of books she’d found.

  “Indeed it will. Not on the shelf, but in a place where it can be better seen,” she told him, lifting the heavy volume to settle it on the library table near the other window. She lifted the stack of storybooks and placed them on the bottom shelf, where they were easily accessible, should the boys desire to look at them.

  “I had much the same assortment as a child. I think the boys will appreciate them once we read a few of the stories they hold,” she said, turning pages as she spoke.

  Luc’s arms were around her and he held her as if he hungered for the touch of a woman. As well he might, she thought, for he’d been alone a long time. Her arms slid up to encircle his neck and she blushed at her own temerity, for she’d never been so forward with a man. But Luc seemed to find no fault with her actions, for he held her closer, until she was pressed against his body from her knees to her breasts.

  “You’re quite a woman, Lizzie. Just the kind of armful I was hoping for.”

  “I’m surely pleased that you didn’t yearn for someone small and helpless, Luc,” she said with a smile. “I’d never have fit the bill.”

  His grin matched hers. “I’m more than satisfied with my bride, sweetheart.”

  And there he goes, calling me that name again. She ducked her head, her forehead touching his collarbone. “That sounds sorta nice, Luc. That sweetheart thing.”

  He touched her chin and lifted her face to his. “I want you to know that I mean it, Lizzie.”

  She brushed at his shirt, her eyes unable to meet his now, but he would not have it, for he touched her chin once more and she blinked as he lowered his head to her. His lips were not as soft, his message not as pure as before, for she caught sight of a gleam in his eyes that told her he was intent on laying claim to her, but she would not have it here.

  “Oh, no, you don’t, Lucas. I’ve got work to do and I’ll wager you have any number of things you need to accomplish before suppertime. So clear out now and let me finish this and then get supper ready.” She tried her best to look stern, but he laughed aloud and squeezed her tightly before he let her go.

  “I can wait,” he said with a grin that transformed his face. He was a handsome man, Elizabeth decided. And he was hers. Eat your heart out, Sissy. Mine is far and away the better man. You can have Amos Rogers with my blessings. And for the first time, she relinquished all thoughts of what might have been in favor of what she possessed.

  Lucas snatched up his hat from the sofa and left the parlor, his pleasure apparent, his stride long as he covered the distance to the back door. Elizabeth covered her cheeks with both palms and closed her eyes. The man was a scamp.

  By the time she’d frittered away another hour with the treasure trove in the parlor, she had to hustle to get the beds made up. The sheets lay over the banister where she’d left them and she fairly trotted up the stairs with them over her arm, then spent long minutes in all three bedrooms, remaking the beds and shaking the pillows into their cases. The quilts were tossed over the top sheets quickly and she looked outside to where the sun was rapidly falling in the western sky.

  It was almost time for supper to be on the table and Elizabeth was sorely rushed to make a meal. She went to the pantry, caught sight of the pork barrel and returned to the kitchen to wash her hands thoroughly, lest she allow any bit of dirt into the lard that kept the pork fresh. Lifting the lid, she placed it on a shelf and then reached within the lard to seek out pieces of pork for their evening meal. A package, seemingly wrapped in paper, was beneath her fingertips and she grasped it and pulled it forth. Covered with a coating of lard, tied with string, it felt like chops through the wrapping.

  Once in the kitchen she made short work of readying the meat for the oven, and soon seven pork chops were washed and in the iron skillet; she browned them and transferred them to a baking pan. She found a quart of tomatoes on a pantry shelf and poured them over the pork, then sliced a big onion on top before sliding it into the oven.

  Potatoes were in good supply, so she peeled six of them, sliced them into a pan, added flour, milk and butter, then mixed them all together and put that pan in the oven. Satisfied that her family would not starve at suppertime, she went to the garden to see if there was any other produce she might use among the weeds that thrived there.

  Sure enough, some summer squash had survived the weeds and she picked two of them to cook in one of the skillets. Peeled, sliced and awash with butter and onions, they were soon set to simmer.

  “We gonna eat sometime tonight?” Lucas asked from the porch, and she spun to see him scraping his boots on the step, the two boys still washing at the horse trough.

  “I was late getting started on the meal,” she said apologetically. “I got busy with the books and forgot the time. I’m so sorry, Lucas. It won’t happen again.”

  He came in
the kitchen door and approached her, standing close as she turned to face him. His hands were on her shoulders, his big body just inches from hers, and she felt flustered, felt small and feminine before him. It was a good feeling, she admitted to herself, for Elizabeth was pleased to the core to be finally experiencing that sensation. Feeling small and feminine was exhilarating.

  Lucas looked into her eyes. “You needn’t ever apologize to me, Elizabeth. Especially since you’ve done nothing to be worrying over. I was teasing you, and apparently you’re not used to such a thing. I’ll be careful from now on to speak only the facts, and in this case, they’re simple. Whenever you have supper ready, it will be fine with all three of the men in your life. We’re not about to mess up the best thing that’s happened to us in a number of years. Me, especially, ma’am.” And again his smile won her, brought her lips to his cheek.

  “Thank you,” she said quietly, a bit flustered at her own actions.

  He bent to her then and pressed his lips against hers, a brief touch, bearing no hint of passion, but a kiss given as a man might caress his wife in passing. He looked down at her and smiled. “Do you forgive me for upsetting you?”

  She felt a strange heat sweep upward through her body, met by the warmth that flowed downward from her lips. They felt almost scorched, she decided, running her tongue over her upper lip, tasting Lucas upon its surface. Was this the thing named desire that she’d heard spoken of at times when the ladies from the church did their quilting and two or three heads would be bent over the frames, their words low, as if they did not want an audience?

  For they’d spoken of their husbands, spoken of passion on rare occasions, sometimes complaining, the newlyweds among them often smiling smugly as if they knew a great secret unknown to others. Desire. A word unknown to her on a personal level, although she felt a hint of it—just a hint, she reminded herself—when Lucas touched her as he was now.