“Not at all.” Minnie bustled a few steps away then turned and beckoned. “I thought that might be your answer. I’ve got most everything set out back here.”
Nola barely heard the rest of what the woman said, she just followed the cheery voice to a small room off the kitchen. In the middle of the space sat a big tub with one end higher than the other. On a shelf within easy reach were piles of folded towels and dishes of soaps. This was the most luxurious bathing room she’d ever seen in a private house.
Minnie poured a bucket of steaming water into the standing water in the tub and swished it around. “You’ll see soaps and pomades on the shelf. Seems like Morain is always bringing home something new. Help yourself to whatever suits your fancy.” She lifted a slender-necked bottle. “Richelle and I use this on our hair. I mix soap shavings and water then squeeze in a few drops of whatever flower petals are handy.”
Overwhelmed by this woman’s kindness to a virtual stranger, Nola could just nod. She watched as the woman scurried past and paused in the doorway.
“If you need more water, just jingle that bell.”
Nola looked and saw a brass bell with a handle like a teacher from her school years had used. “Thank you for everything.” As soon as the door closed, she unfastened her clothing, dumping it in the corner, and stepped into the tub. A moan escaped as the warm water enveloped her cold body.
“I heard a moan.” Richelle’s voice came at the door. “Are you all right in there?”
“Hush, Richelle. Leave Nola alone.” Torin scolded.
Nola gasped and pulled up her knees to her chest. She slapped the washcloth over her chest, but the small square of fabric didn’t cover much.
“I gathered your nightclothes, a dress, and some underthings from your cupboard. They’re here by the door.”
“Thank you, Torin. I won’t be long.” Except she really wanted to relax and enjoy being warm.
“Take your time, darlin’, you’ve earned it.”
Only when his boot steps faded did she relax into a reclining position. As she lay still, swishing the water over her legs and stomach, she heard the murmur of voices coming from other rooms. High-pitched tones probably Minnie asking Torin questions, and low-pitched ones in response. Overhead, rapid footsteps signaled a person hurrying. The sounds touched something deep inside. For the life of her, she couldn’t remember why she’d been so mad when she learned Torin lived in his parents’ household.
When she was bathed and warm, she dressed and emerged from the bathroom, unsure of what to do next. The next hour was a blur of being sat at a table, served stew and biscuits, then a slice of warm apple pie. And she didn’t have to lift a finger. Vaguely, she remembered being transported upstairs in Torin’s strong arms and settled into a soft bed with fresh-smelling sheets.
A week passed of her being treated like a guest. Until that first night of deep restful sleep, Nola hadn’t realized how fitfully she must have slept during the drive. When she looked in the mirror on the seventh day at Four Clovers, she noticed the purple smudges under her eyes had finally disappeared, and her eyes sparked with vitality. Minnie was a wonderful cook and suffered Nola’s attempts to help. Although when she learned that Nola enjoyed bread baking, she willingly relinquished that task.
All during the week, Torin kept a respectable distance, never pressing her for intimacy, but only chuckling when they woke with limbs entwined, Nola more times than not grasping tight to a handful of his undershirt. And she was aware by the tingling that ran along her skin of him watching her whenever they were in the room together.
Just like she was aware of the subtle ways Torin wooed her. On the first day at Four Clovers, Torin brought in a medium-sized wooden crate lined with blankets and set it in the corner of his spacious bedroom. Gigi and Queenie had adjusted well to sharing space. Besides the four-poster bed, his only other piece of furniture had been a tall armoire. But now a chest of drawers had been added to accommodate her clothing, as well as a lamp and an armchair.
A letter from Cinnia arrived while they were on the drive but had been momentarily forgotten in the excitement of the homecoming.
On the third day after their arrival, snow started falling and so far, it hadn’t stopped. Leather knee boots lined with fluffy sheepskin appeared in her closet one morning. She was glad for the warmth when she took the dogs for short walks.
Richelle most often accompanied her, liking to take charge of one dog or the other. Once she learned they had been show dogs, she insisted on learning the signals, and both dogs responded well. Torin’s baby sister was the same age Cinnia was when their parents died. Then Nola had feared her sister’s earnest gaze that looked to her for answers. Now she quite enjoyed answering the never-ending questions Richelle asked.
Putting in the last pin in her braided bun, Nola’s gaze landed on the edge of Cinnia’s letter. She carried it to the armchair near the window and re-read it for the umpteenth time. With each reading, she felt a renewed connection.
October, 1886
Dear Nola,
So much has happened that I barely know where to start. But, as Nicolai says, I don’t have to put everything into one letter. Did you notice the different name? Turns out Nic really wasn’t Nic at all. He’s really Nicolai Andrusha and was living under an alias, because bad people were after the patent his father had filed for a special leather tanning formula. Specifics will only bore you, although I find everything about my new husband fascinating.
So I’m not Cinnia Andrews, I’m Cinnia Andrusha. At least, we think I am. The next time we’re in Sweetwater Springs together, we have to ask the reverend. If we have to be married again, that’s fine. In my heart, I know I’m married. I find I’m in love more and more with Nicolai on each passing day. He’s wonderful, thoughtful (did you know he bought me an adorable black-and-white puppy the morning after the weddings so I wouldn’t miss you so much? Of course, I still do.) Sacha is just the sweetest little thing, but she keeps me on my toes. Always getting into my fabrics. Nicolai had to build me a set of shelves to get everything off the floor.
You know how small Morgan’s Crossing is, and I haven’t been deluged with customers yet. But I have faith they will come. Dorrie says hi, and she’s been a big help in the shop. Our plan is to make several dresses in small, medium, and rounder sizes to build up our ready-made stock. The fun part is finding ways to make each unique.
Nothing seems the same without hearing your voice or seeing your dear face. I hope you handled the long drive well. Nicolai pointed out on an atlas how far you had to travel, which just astounded me. Of course, I fretted for days until he calmed me down by telling me that Torin has years of experience at that task.
Time to open the shop draws near so I must end and get the letter to the freighter this morning. WRITE me and tell me all that you’ve been doing.
Love, Cinnia
Maybe today, she’d trek out to wherever Torin had parked her wagon and retrieve her box of stationary. If the snow would stop, she could even sit inside her wagon to write the letter. But what could she relate to Cinnia? Her indecision kept her from picking up a pen to write. She didn’t know where she stood with her hopes and more importantly, with her marriage.
A knock sounded. “Nola, are you awake?”
Rising, she crossed to her dresser and tucked the letter into her top drawer. “Coming, Richelle.” Then she swept out of the room and into the hubbub of the Quaid family, vowing to talk with Torin that night.
Hours later, the men stamped their feet on the mats set in the mud room and shook the snow off their hats.
Nola had been setting the table, pulling the dishes from a tall china cupboard set in the dining room. The farmhouse she remembered had a small table that proved a cozy fit for four standing in one corner of the kitchen. This table had leaves to expand to seat fourteen, but the family preferred the half-size length.
One morning while dusting, Minnie explained the history of the dishes—that some came from Hiram’s pa
rents, some from her family, and the glassware was the result of the skill of her Germany relatives in the glassblowing trade.
So far, almost every household chore involved a story about times and events in the past or family members now deceased. At first, she’d felt almost like she had when the York sisters arrived at the Springfield Children’s Home—alone and adrift. Now, Nola soaked up every fact, because each one led to Torin.
She leaned forward from her task to watch the four men move, as if connected like the mustangs on a lead rope, to the kitchen stove, holding out their hands to the radiant heat. Deep in discussion about whatever task they’d been doing, they probably didn’t know she watched.
Until Torin lifted his head and speared her with his blue-eyed gaze. He kept up his part of the conversation but never looked away.
Her stomach jumped and rolled, and her heart sped. They were a team—Torin and Nola—they’d worked together, relying on one another, to achieve a hard task. The shared hardships had bound them tighter than she’d allowed herself to recognize. Remembering Cinnia’s words from the letter, casual words pointing out the small kindnesses Nicolai did, reminded Nola of the generous acts Torin had done to make her experience on the drive as easy as he could. With sudden clarity, as if someone had written the saying on the wall before her, she realized that life was a series of small acts performed for someone you loved.
Love. She gasped. The word brought tears to her eyes, and she had to look away. Was this what she really wanted? When she looked back to the kitchen, Torin was gone. Then she caught movement from the corner of her eye, and she turned to see him standing at the foot of the stairs, beckoning her closer.
Seeing his cocky grin made her take slow and halting steps with her hands linked at the back of her waist. The man was just too sure of himself. “Did you need something? Supper’s not for another twenty minutes.”
“What were the tears for?”
She affected wide innocent eye blinks. “Which tears?”
“Remember, we share.” He drew her close and leaned his forehead to touch hers. “I saw them. How can I help?”
A shiver ran over her back. She loved when he focused only on her. “I was thinking of something from Cinnia’s letter.”
“Have you written her yet?” A hand ran slowly up her back.
She had to swallow past a lump in her throat to form an answer. “No, but I think I’m ready to.”
He eased back and looped his hands over her shoulders. “Why’s that?”
“Because I can share some news I learned just today.”
An eyebrow angled high, but he didn’t speak.
“That as soon as this dad-gum snow stops, I’ll be picking a spot for our new house.” She held her breath, waiting for his response. Had what he said that last night in the wagon been sincere? That he didn’t know how to tell her goodbye?
“Yahoo.” He lifted her up and swung her around before setting her on her feet. “You’ll never be sorry, because I love you with all my heart.” With hands holding her head in place, he captured her lips in a wild, passionate kiss.
“Mama.” Richelle stamped her foot. “They’re kissing again.”
From all corners of the house came the cries, “Hush, Richelle.”
Nola stroked a hand on her sweet husband’s whiskery face. “You’re the reason I learned to trust again. You didn’t laugh when I offered to help with the horses. You believed I could sing at Hardy’s. Your faith in me kept me going those last horrible miles. You’ve always trusted we could make this most unlikely marriage work, and now I believe it, too. You’ve touched my soul, Torin Quaid, and I truly love you.”
EPILOGUE
Smells of roasting turkey and baking potatoes filtered up the staircase. Soon, Nola would have to join Minnie in the kitchen to put the final touches on the Thanksgiving meal. A heavy snowfall battered the bedroom window, but inside, all the Quaids were warm and safe. She tugged the afghan from the back of the armchair and settled it around her shoulders.
In her lap laid her pile of Wild West programs. Nola picked up her favorite one and gazed again at the image of the woman firing a rifle from the window of the burning cabin. More than being part of the performance and spectacle of the entertainment, she suspected her wish to be a part of Buffalo Bill’s production was to become part of a larger family. The family not represented by a single sister.
After setting the programs aside, Nola stood and moved to the bedroom window. She squinted, straining to see through the flurry of white flakes. A couple of rods to the east were a rectangle of mounds taller than the surrounding snow. The big logs formed the foundation of the house Torin started during a lull in the snowfall. Another of his small acts to make her happy and to show his caring. She pressed a hand to her stomach. Maybe, just maybe, she’d have an extra special surprise to reveal in the coming weeks.
For a woman who thought her happiness rested on travel and performing, Nola Quaid had never been happier to be proven wrong.
“Nola, darlin’, where are you?”
Satisfaction filled her at the sound of her husband’s voice. “Coming, my love.” I‘m here, in the bosom of a family I never knew I needed, in a place I can call my own.
DEAR READER,
When I was offered the opportunity to participate in Debra Holland’s Montana Sky Kindle World, I was flattered and excited. I’ve been a part of this special fictional world, behind the scenes as an editor, since 2012. I’ve grown to love these characters as if they are my own family members.
So, I wanted to find a story that would bring new characters into the world that hopefully readers wanted to meet and would come to care for. I also wanted to have Debra’s beloved characters cross paths with mine in interesting situations. That was a given.
In my first story, Laced By Love, I created sisters who had to rely on one another after they were orphaned as young teens. That story features the younger sister, Cinnia, and her search for a home and love.
This story, An Unlikely Marriage, features the older sister, Nola York, who is on a quest that she hopes will lead her one step closer to her dream. After all these years of relying on one another, the sisters made choices that will put them at opposite ends of Montana Territory.
For a performer who has traveled with vaudeville troupes for a decade, I figured Nola would have a bigger goal. That lead me to William F. Cody’s Buffalo Bill Wild West. Did you know he never used ‘show’ as part of the title in any of his advertising? Mainly because when Cody started performing he was simple reenacting events he’d fulfilled in real life—no show involved. He was also the subject of many dime novels written by Ned Buntline, who convinced Cody to act out specific scenes from the novels which had been based on newspaper accounts of his accomplishments as a civilian scout for the Army, a buffalo hunter, a guide through unmapped regions of the frontier. In 1871, he also served as a guide on celebrity hunts for wild game—the celebrities being minor members of European royalty.
Early stage shows featuring Cody as an actor were produced by others. But Cody soon grabbed hold of his own fame. His first production premiered in Omaha in 1883. Since Omaha was the city where the H.P. Thomas Traveling Vaudeville Troupe spent their winters, I had no trouble with the probability of Nola attending his shows. Research on the man who put on “America’s National Entertainment” proved interesting and enjoyable reading. The sources I used were Buffalo Bill’s America by Louis S. Warren and Buffalo Bill’s Wild West by Joy E. Kassen.
For Torin, I didn’t do much research because being a horse tamer is all about instincts and attitude and personality. He was a delight to write, and I had fun forcing him to realize that life had more to offer than stories and jokes.
I gave a peek at the entire family in Four Clovers, but the next story will return to Morgan’s Crossing to explore what Dorrie has gotten into since readers last saw her waving goodbye to Cinnia and Nola.
Thanks for reading my story.
Linda Carroll-Bradd
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Linda grew up in northern California as part of a five-member family but loads of people in the neighborhood thought her parents had only two daughters. Why? Because she loved to read and was usually lying on her bed instead of playing outside with the other neighborhood kids. The summer she was twelve, she read Gone With The Wind and was hooked on romantic stories. She delved into the Phyllis A. Whitney and Dorothy Eden books of her mother’s and then discovered Harlequin. As a mother with young children, she would lose herself in stories of glamorous people in exotic places—so different than the day-to-day diapers and crumbly teething biscuits.
After years of working in secretarial positions, she decided to use the creative side of her brain and learn how to write one of the romances she loved reading. Easier said than done. Twelve long years and many contest finals later, and with the help of various critique groups, she received her first call and had a confession story published. She was hooked. Married with four adult children, she now lives in the southern California mountains with their two beloved dogs. In addition to working as a freelance editor, she writes contemporary and historical stories that are heartwarming with a touch of humor, many with a tie to her previous home of Texas.
Learn more about her other releases on her website. www.lindacarroll-bradd.com
To join her newsletter list to be notified of upcoming releases, click here
OTHER HISTORICAL TITLES
Libbie: Bride of Arizona, Book #48 in “American Mail-Order Brides” series
Wandering Home, #1 in the “Dorado, Texas” series
Storybook Hero, #2 in the “Dorado, Texas” series
Capturing the Marshal’s Heart , #1 Escape From Texas series (spicy)
Between The Lines in Lariats, Letters, and Lace (8-author anthology)
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