Sleep wouldn’t come. Virginia donned her dressing gown and slippers and looked out into the hall. The oil lamps were dimmed. She brushed her hair back over her shoulders and made her way to the sitting room. Flickering firelight lit her way to the kitchen. The yeasty smell of bread dough proofing greeted her.
She glanced around, turned up the wick on the oil lamp left burning over the worktable, and smiled. The kitchen had been completely foreign to her only a few days ago, and now it felt like home. She filled the teapot, opened the damper and added wood to the stove.
Had Garret been pleased with her work today? She hoped so. But it was hard to tell. He was smiling and friendly with the guests, but he was all business when he was around her or Mrs. Fuller.
She spooned tea in her cup and leaned back against the worktable to wait for the water to heat. Why was Garret so distrustful of women? What had he said the night she came—betrayal comes easily to women? Yes, that was it. And then last night, when she’d asked why he didn’t like Mrs. Fuller, he’d said, She’s a woman. I dislike having to wonder when she will walk away. Who had betrayed him? Who had—
She stiffened, jerked upright as the idea struck her. Had Garret been married before? Had his wife left him? Was that why he’d wanted a marriage in name only? Why he always seemed angry when he was around her? That seething anger kept her uneasy, wary. She kept waiting for it to surface in acts of cruelty. Like this morning. She’d been standing right here when he’d grabbed her apron and pulled her close. She had refused his help and tied it wrong. It had been the perfect opportunity for him to teach her to do as he said, and she’d thought...
She rubbed her shoulders, shuddered. When Emory Gladen was displeased with something she said or did, he would step up behind her, rest his hands on her shoulders and press his fingertips against her collarbones. And if she cried out, he would act contrite and claim it was his ardor that had made him grip her too hard.
She lifted the steaming teapot and filled her cup, then closed the stove damper back down for a slow burn. Helping her with her apron had been Garret’s chance to exhibit his control over her, to exhibit his anger, but all he’d done was tie her apron strings. Gently.
She sighed, left her tea to steep and walked to the window to look out into the darkness. Even her father spoke harshly when he was angry with her. And though he’d never physically hurt her, he used the power of his purse to make her obey his wishes. She understood such behavior, knew how to respond. But Garret...
She shook her head, reached up and absently twisted a button on her dressing gown. Garret bewildered her. He truly had reason to be angry with her. He had been forced by circumstances to accept her as his bride in Millie’s place. And then, through a series of disasters of her making, he had learned she had no housekeeping skills. Yet even though the anger was there whenever she was in his presence, he treated her gently and with respect.
Another sigh escaped her. She turned and walked back to the worktable, the hem of her dressing gown whispering softly over the polished wood floor. Today had gone well—thanks to Mrs. Fuller’s kindness in teaching her. And tomorrow she would learn even more from the woman she was beginning to consider her friend.
“Thank You, Lord, that Garret overcame his reluctance and hired Mrs. Fuller. And please, Lord, help me to continue to learn the skills I need to be a good wife and helpmate to Garret Stevenson. Even if our marriage is only pretend.”
She took a sip of tea, stared down into the clear brown liquid in her cup. Garret was wonderful with his guests, gracious and charming. And when he smiled...
She leaned back against the worktable and took another sip of the hot, comforting tea, letting the wish surface.
Perhaps one day he would smile at her.
Chapter Nine
“All of our guests are at breakfast in the dining room, Mr. Busby. Right this way.”
Garret strode through the doorway, stopped and rang the bell he’d taken from the lobby desk. The clink of flatware against china and the murmur of voices stopped. “Ladies and gentleman, quiet please. Conductor Busby has an announcement.”
The slender man in the black uniform standing beside him cleared his throat and stepped forward. “Ladies and gentlemen, the engineer has just learned that the Union Pacific tracks are clear ahead. Therefore, the train at the station will be leaving for parts south and west at eight thirty of the clock. I repeat, the train presently at the station will be leaving at eight thirty o’clock. If you wish to continue your journey, be on the train with your baggage at that time. Any latecomers will be left behind. That is all.”
Silence fell, followed by the ring of flatware hitting against dishes and the scraping of chairs against the floor. Mothers implored their children to finish eating. Dresses rustled and boots thudded as people headed for the lobby, on their way to their rooms.
The conductor stepped back and gave a brief nod. “Thank you, Mr. Stevenson. I wish I had time to have some of whatever smells so good.”
He smiled and ushered the man back to the front door, out of the way of the rushing guests. “Come by the next time your train stops at Whisper Creek, Conductor Busby. I’ll give you a serving of whatever our dessert is that day.” He pulled open the front door.
“I’ll do that, sir.” The conductor hurried across the porch and down the steps.
He closed the door and turned. Mr. Anderson stood in front of the desk with his valise in his hand. He hurried behind the desk, checked the man’s account and accepted the room key.
“I’ve enjoyed my stay at your establishment, Mr. Stevenson. Splendid food. Splendid! My compliments to your missus.” The portly man slapped his hat on his head and walked to the door. “I’ll be stopping with you whenever my travels bring me by Whisper Creek. And I shall tell my colleagues of your fine accommodations.”
“I’ll look forward to your next stay, Mr. Anderson.” He slipped the key in the proper box on the wall behind him and turned back. “Ah, Mr. Holmes—” he shifted his gaze to the elderly woman leaning on her cane “—and Mrs. Holmes.” He flipped the register to the right page and checked their account: two rooms, an extra blanket.
“I must echo Mr. Anderson’s sentiments, Mr. Stevenson. You have created a fine establishment here in this uncivilized territory. The food and service is most satisfactory.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Holmes.” He smiled and accepted their keys.
The woman stuck her nose into the air. “I shall tell any of my friends who are forced to travel through this remote area that they must take the opportunity to stay in your excellent hotel.”
“That’s very kind of you.” He looked away. The lengthening line allowed him no time to chat. “I believe you are next, Mr. Moore.” The woman held her ground.
“Grandmother, it’s time to leave. Mr. Stevenson has other guests to serve.”
The woman glared. “I’ve paid my money and I’ll have my say!”
The clock chimed. Eight o’clock! How would he ever—the faint scent of roses floated to him. Virginia. He watched her glide up to the robust woman, touch her arm and smile.
“I know you are in a rush to claim a seat of your choosing on the train, Mrs. Holmes—the good ones are taken so quickly. But I wanted to tell you how much we have enjoyed having you as our guest. Please come again.”
“I hope to never see this wilderness again, Mrs. Stevenson. Now, if you will excuse me...stop dillydallying, Albert! I want a seat close to the heating stove.” The woman’s cane clicked against the floor as she hurried across the room, her grandson following with their bags.
Virginia turned toward the desk. He shot her a look of gratitude, then returned to business. “Thank you, Mr. Moore. Come again.” He accepted the man’s key and turned, bumping against Virginia as she stepped between him and the cupboard. He froze, unwilling to lean over her to reach the box. She was already too close for his comfort. �
�What—”
“The departures might go faster if you handle the accounts and I take care of the keys.” Her soft fingers brushed against his clenched hand. “What room number?”
“Five.” He turned to check the next account, felt her arm brush against his as she came to stand beside him. He shifted his position. “Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Bradley. I hope you have enjoyed your stay with us. Mrs. Stevenson will take your key.” The name came quite easily to his tongue, brought warmth to his chest. He frowned, stole a glance at her standing beside him, then turned to the next guest. “Mr. Edwards...”
The line moved smoothly and swiftly. The clock ticked, the minute hand jerking forward. He glanced up at it. Five minutes until the train left. And one family remained. They would never make it. Footsteps pounded on the stairs. The young husband rushed up to the desk.
“My wife needs a doctor! Is there one in this town?”
“Yes. A very good doctor. You’ll find him two doors down.”
“Thank you.” The young man pivoted, ran for the door.
“Mr. Tanner—” he hurried from behind the desk “—you stay with your wife. I’ll go for the doctor.”
* * *
Virginia jiggled the toddler on her hip and looked out the back window. There was no sign of Garret and the other men of the town who were shoveling out the service road that ran in back of the stores. Had they reached the depot yet? She glanced at the toddler and smiled. “See the snow, Wally?”
The toddler squirmed, pointed a pudgy finger at the window. “Me play.”
“Not now, Wally. Perhaps when your papa comes to get you.”
The toddler’s lower lip pouted out, trembled. Tears welled into his big brown eyes. “Want M-Mama.”
She cuddled him close. “Shh, don’t cry, Wally. You’ll see your mama soon.” Please, Lord. She turned and looked at Mrs. Fuller. “What should I do?”
“Mama gives him a toy when he fusses.”
She shifted her gaze to the five-year-old putting her doll to bed in a chair on the hearth. “Thank you, Rachel, that’s a good idea. A toy...” She glanced around the kitchen, looked again at Mrs. Fuller.
“Wooden spoons work well.” The older woman smiled and added a bit of water to the soup she was making for dinner. “Little ones like to chew on them and beat on things with them.”
“Beat on things?”
“Pans and such.” The woman stilled, then grabbed a bowl from the pile sitting on the worktable and scooped flour into it from the large crock on the bottom shelf. “Anything that is handy will do. They’re not particular. A wooden bowl is good. It’s not as noisy as a pan.”
“It sounds as if you’ve had experience, Mrs. Fuller.” She hurried across the room and pulled a wooden spoon from the crock on the worktable. “Have you chi—”
“Mine!” Wally grabbed the spoon in his chubby little hand, drew it to his mouth.
The older woman tossed some raisins into the flour. “You don’t get to be my age without having experience at most everything.”
“I suppose—oh!” She jerked her head back out of the way of the wildly waving spoon, grabbed a small wooden bowl and lowered the toddler to the floor. “Here, bang on this bowl, Wally.” The toddler plopped down on his well-padded bottom and banged away. She looked at Mrs. Fuller and grinned. “It worked. Do you think he will be all right here? I haven’t had a chance to clear the dining room tables.”
“I’ll see to Wally. It’s one of my chores at home. He’s good most of the time.”
“Oh. Well, thank you, Rachel.” She smiled down at the little girl, who came and sat on the floor by her toddler brother, her dolly cuddled against her shoulder. She looked back at Mrs. Fuller.
“We’ll be fine, dear.”
She nodded, grabbed a tray and a bucket and hurried to the dining room, her steps accompanied by Wally’s enthusiastic banging.
The fire was dying. She added a couple logs, poked them into place, then hurried to clear the tables. The muted banging accompanied the rasp of the knife she used to scrape the uneaten food from the plates and bowls into the bucket. The clink of the dirty china being stacked on the tray added to the discordant tune. The thud of boots added a bass note. She paused in her work to listen. The footsteps were coming from the lobby. Was the doctor leaving?
She wiped her hands on her apron, patted her hair and started toward the doorway. It was Mr. Tanner. She stopped and stared at their guest’s pale, taut face. “How is your wife, Mr. Tanner?”
“Not well, Mrs. Stevenson. The doctor is still with her. She—she lost the baby, and—” He stopped, shook his head.
Her stomach flopped.
“I came to check on the children, to ask if they might stay down here with you for a bit longer. I want to stay upstairs close to my wife in case—”
Her throat tightened at the man’s fear. She forced out words. “Of course the children may stay with me. Don’t give them another thought, Mr. Tanner. You go back to your wife. And, as my husband said, use whatever linens you need. If the doctor needs anything you cannot find in the linen wardrobe or dressing room, you’ve only to ask.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Stevenson. I brought some diapers for Wally.” He handed her a small valise and hurried back into the lobby.
She listened to his footsteps running up the stairs and to the muted banging from the kitchen. Tears welled into her eyes. “Please, Lord, help the doctor to save Mrs. Tanner. Please restore her to her husband and children. Wally and Rachel are so young. Please heal their mother for their sake. Amen.”
* * *
“Now you pin the diaper.”
Virginia shook her head and backed away from her bed. “You do it, Mrs. Fuller. My hands are shaking, and he’s wiggling. I might prick him with the pin.”
“No, you won’t, dear. Just slide the fingers of one hand between his skin and the diaper, push the pin into place, and then you have both hands free to fasten it.”
“Well...hold still, Wally.” She took a deep breath and slipped her hands in place. “I did it!”
Mrs. Fuller smiled and nodded. “You can carry on from here. I have cookies ready to come out of the oven.”
“I’m going with you, Mrs. Fuller!” Rachel scooched to the edge of the bed and dropped over the side, holding her dolly by one arm.
“Very well, come along.” The older woman held out her hand. “But mind you, I expect you to help me make the next tray of cookies.”
Rachel took hold of Mrs. Fuller’s offered hand and skipped out the door beside her. “I’ll help. I want to. How come your hand looks funny?”
The words floated into the bedroom from the hallway. She caught her breath at Rachel’s question, tipped her head toward the hallway and strained to hear the answer. She’d wondered about Mrs. Fuller’s hand herself.
“I hurt it a long, long time ago.”
“Sissy...” Wally stretched a pudgy hand out toward the hallway.
“Yes, Rachel is your sister. And I’m Virginia. Can you say Virginia?”
“Gin...” The toddler yawned and rubbed at his eyes. “Gin...”
She smiled at the way his little mouth puckered, then finished buttoning on his soaker and lifted him into her arms. “That’s not a very flattering name, young man.” She carried him back to the kitchen, put him in the high chair she had brought in from the clean dining room and gave him the wooden spoon. There were dishes on the table. “What’s this?”
“Wally looked about ready for a nap, so I ladled out some soup to cool for him.” Mrs. Fuller looked up from the cookie dough Rachel was dropping on a tray. “He’s a might young to be eating by himself, so you’ll likely have to feed him.”
Her stomach clenched. “Mrs. Fuller, I’ve never fed a child. Why don’t you—”
“There’s nothing to it. You just spoon in the soup. He’ll take care of
the rest.”
“But—”
“If you give him that piece of bread and butter to hold, it will keep him occupied while you feed him. And it’s a lot less dangerous than that wooden spoon.”
“I’m done, Mrs. Fuller.” Rachel dropped the spoon she held back in the bowl. “Can I put the cookies in the oven?”
“Not until you grow up a bit more, Rachel. Your arms are too short. You’d burn yourself. But I need you to watch the clock and tell me when...um...eight minutes have gone by.”
Mrs. Fuller was obviously finished with their conversation about feeding Wally. Virginia looked back at the dishes, sat and pulled Wally’s high chair close. He dropped the spoon and made a grab for the bowl. “No, Wally, that’s hot! Here, you can have this.” She gave him a piece of the bread and butter, then picked up the spoon.
“Touch the soup to your lips to make sure it’s not too hot for him to eat.”
Her heart squeezed. It was the sort of everyday advice mothers passed on to their daughters. She glanced at Mrs. Fuller and nodded, smiled at Rachel standing on a chair by the worktable, staring intently at the clock, then turned back to Wally. A giggle bubbled up her throat. The toddler had butter all over his face. She wiped him off with a napkin, then offered him a spoonful of soup. He opened his mouth and leaned forward. She tipped the soup in and scooped up another spoonful. His little mouth opened again.
A train whistle blasted in the distance. The first train arrival since the snowstorm had stalled them.
“T’ain!” Wally wiggled and beat on the high chair tray with his pudgy, buttery hands.
The porch door opened. Cold air poured into the room, touched her face and neck and hands with its icy fingers. She shivered. The soup in the spoon rippled. She tipped it into Wally’s opened mouth and looked up. Garret was staring at her. Her pulse skipped. “You’ve finished shoveling the road?”
“Just in time.” He pulled off his gloves. “That train will be carrying the supplies and food this town needs to survive.”
“Eight minutes, Mrs. Fuller!”
Mail-Order Bride Switch Page 11