Mary and the Fighter (Prairie Tales Book 2)

by Kit Morgan

  “When we get home, Mary,” Mrs. Wallace said, “I want you to start on the washing.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Wallace.”

  “And then we’ll see to getting things ready for tomorrow.”

  “What’s tomorrow?”

  “I’m having some guests for tea,” Squire Ferguson called over his shoulder. “I want everything perfect. These are important people I have coming.”

  Mrs. Wallace silently mimicked him and then smiled at Mary again. “You’ll have to polish the silver.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Wallace.”

  The cook studied her. “One would think by now you could say something besides, ‘yes Mrs. Wallace, no Mrs. Wallace, yes Squire Ferguson, no Squire Ferguson …’”

  “She doesn’t,” the squire commented from the front of the wagon.

  “There’s no need to be so shy, my dear,” Mrs. Wallace said. “After all, you’re going to be here for a very long time.”

  Mary fought against a sigh. She didn’t need to be reminded. Instead she thought of the young man she’d met at the inn, Mr. Mulligan was it? Was he married? Did he have children? He was a handsome man and looked very capable. Would she ever have someone like that in her life? Not likely.

  Squire Ferguson dropped the women off at the manor house and went on to the barn to have Mr. Gerber unhitch the horse and square things away.

  Mrs. Wallace ushered Mary into the kitchen. “Get the washing done, then the silver, then we’ll look in my cookery books for something special to prepare for tomorrow.”

  Mary gaped at her moment. “We? Ye mean… ye want me to help ye cook?”

  “Of course I do, girl. Don’t you know that cooking is part of your duties?”

  Mary shook her head. “Squire Ferguson said no such thing when I came on.”

  “Well, it is. You can cook can’t you?”

  Mary glanced at the floor and back. “Not very well,” she admitted.

  Mrs. Wallace groaned. “Fine, we’ll have to have a few lessons. No time like the present to start. Now get to the washing.”

  Mary hurried to the several baskets of laundry she’d prepared earlier. The trip to the village had taken up precious time. She’d be working half the night by her estimation.

  She heated water for the washtub, hauled it outside and got to work. Washing took hours on a good day and that was with two people. From the sounds of it, Mrs. Wallace wasn’t going to be helping today.

  Sure enough, several hours later, the older woman came to check on her. “Aren’t you done yet?”

  Mary looked at the pile of laundry she’d done. She’d only hung half of it on the line. She felt proud she gotten that far. “Begging your pardon, Mrs. Wallace, I’m almost through.”

  Mrs. Wallace, hands on hips, looked at the growing pile and shook her head. “Fine, you can hang that up later. Follow me, I need to show you something.”

  Mary stood gingerly, limbs stiff from kneeling so long. She wiped her brow with her sleeve and followed the older woman into the manor house. “What are we doing?”

  “See that fish?”

  Mary looked at the worktable. Several large, fresh caught trout lay in a pan. “Yes?”

  “I need you to clean those. I’m serving them up for the squire’s dinner.”

  Mary gave her a quick nod and got to work. At least she knew how to clean fish. There were times she felt incompetent. Not having her exact duties listed for her didn’t help. Seemed either Squire Ferguson or Mrs. Wallace added something to her chore list on a daily basis. She decided she didn’t want to think about it anymore. “Who was the young gentleman I spoke with at the inn, Mrs. Wallace?”

  “What young gentlemen?”

  “The one standing by the counter with me, when Squire Ferguson…er… escorted you out of the taproom?”

  Mrs. Wallace smiled and blushed. “Oh, you’re talking about Patrick Mulligan. A fine young man if ever there was one.” She gave Mary a pointed look. “He’s been working at The Rose and Thorn nigh on eight years now. Mr. Cromwell loves the lad.”

  Mary’s cheeks grew hot. She didn’t want Mrs. Wallace to get the wrong idea, her asking after him and all. “I was just curious. He did seem nice.”

  “Yes, that he is. He has a younger sister, Meara, I believe. He saved enough money the first few years he worked at the inn to bring her over.”

  “Where is she now?” Mary asked, curious.

  “I couldn’t say. I think she got married last year. Just as well, you of all people should know how hard it is for an Irish girl such as yourself to come to this country.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Wallace.” She stared at the floor and silently berated herself for saying anything. She looked at the cook. “But I plan to make the best of it.”

  Mrs. Wallace cracked a smile. “And I plan to teach you how to cook, starting with this cake recipe I found. Now go hang that laundry and then come back and help me.”

  “But Mrs. Wallace, the fish…”

  Mrs. Wallace shook her head and tapped the top of the worktable with her fingers. “Goodness gracious if I had a real mind it would be scary. Fine then, take care of the fish, then the laundry, then come back and help me. You can polish the silver before you go to bed.”

  Mary smiled. Mrs. Wallace wasn’t usually addled. But Squire Ferguson had been more than a little upset earlier, and she was sure that had something to do with it. But he hadn’t acted as an employer would with an employee who, say, had been insubordinate. No, he was worried because she didn’t come home on time. In short, he was looking out for her.

  Mr. Cromwell was right. The two of them should marry. But if they did, where would that leave her?

  Chapter 2

  The next day it was all Mary could do to put one foot in front of the other. She and Mrs. Wallace spent hours baking the night before. This, in turn, set Mary back hours in her chores. She polished the silver until well after midnight, caught a few hours of sleep, then had to get up and start a new day.

  She stretched and yawned as she stood at the worktable, then got back to cutting vegetables.

  “When you’re done with those you can start on the sandwiches,” Mrs. Wallace instructed.

  “We’re making sandwiches too?” She said in surprise. She looked at the platters of sweets and baked goods on the counter. “Isn’t that enough?” She said with a toss of her head at the food.

  “Don’t you know anything, my dear?” Mrs. Wallace asked. “You’ve got to serve savories with the sweets. This isn’t an informal tea. It’s a full meal.”

  Mary thought of her family’s small cottage back in Ireland. Their tea consisted of bread with jam and they were lucky to have that. “Forgive my ignorance, Mrs. Wallace.”

  The older woman blew some hair out of her eyes. “Mary O’Brien, you’re going to have to face up to the fact that you need some educating.”

  Mary’s face fell.

  “I’m not saying you’re stupid,” Mrs. Wallace went on, ignoring Mary’s look. “I am saying you should seek opportunities to learn things.”

  “What kind of things?” Mary asked.

  “Things a young lady ought to know. You won’t be in the squiress service forever.”

  Mary sighed. “I might as well be. Seven years is a long time.”

  “Come now, it’s not as long as all that.”

  “And you’ve been here for how many years?”

  Mrs. Wallace sighed. “Twelve years. A long time indeed.”

  “Do you see yourself working anywhere else?”

  Mrs. Wallace laughed. “Oh, heavens, no. I’ll be taking care of the squire well into his old age.”

  Mary thought of Squire Ferguson’s balding head and greying temples. He was middle-aged, true, as was Mrs. Wallace. Both had lost their spouses years before to sickness. Or so Mr. Gerber told her. She was beginning to wonder how reliable his information was. Time to change the subject. “How many guests are coming today?”

  “About twenty, which explains the amount of food we’ve p
repared. Speaking of which, where is that Patrick Mulligan with the ale?”

  “Mr. Mulligan is coming?”

  “Yes, and should have delivered by now. Go out back and see if he’s coming up the road.”

  Mary wiped her hands on her apron and did as she was told. She left the kitchen by the back door, cut through the yard and stood between the manor house and the barn. This gave her a wonderful view of the road leading to the manor house on the hill. Sure enough, a wagon approached, its bed filled with barrels and crates half covered by a canvas. Mary’s mouth curved into a smile at the sight of Mr. Mulligan on the wagon seat. He looked up, saw her and waved.

  Mary waved shyly back. She thought of his sister with a slight pinch of envy. She wished she had a brother who saved his money to bring her to this new land of opportunity. At least Mr. Mulligan’s sister found a husband. She hoped he was a good man.

  With a sigh she returned to the kitchen and her work. “He’s coming up the road,” she announced.

  “Good, help him unload the ale and set everything up under the tent Mr. Gerber placed in the shade. We’ll be serving out of there.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Wallace,” Mary said and hurried outside again. By the time she caught sight of Mr. Mulligan, the handsome young Irishman was approaching the main entrance to the manor house. She ran down to the gate and waited. Their eyes met as he turned the wagon toward her. “Good morning, Miss O’Brien.”

  Her eyes widened as she opened the gate. “Ye know my name?”

  He laughed. “I asked around.” He drove the wagon through the gate, brought the horse to a stop and hopped down. He then walked around back and pulled the canvas off of some of the barrels. “So, yer the welcoming committee are ye?”

  Red faced, she nodded. “Mrs. Wallace said I’m to help ye unload the barrels.”

  He stopped what he was doing and gaped at her. “She said what?” He looked her up and down. “You?” He shook his head and got back to work. “Do me a favor, lass, and go tell Mr. Gerber that I’m here. Have him send one of the stable lads down to help me.”

  She looked at the barrels. They were small. “But… Mrs. Wallace said…”

  “I don’t care what Mrs. Wallace said. I’ll not risk ye hurting yerself doing man’s work.”

  Mary nodded slowly. On the one hand, she didn’t want to be reprimanded for not helping him as instructed. Yet, on the other hand, she liked the fact that he was looking out for her. Better still, that he’d asked after her name in the village. She turned and ran for the barn.

  By the time she got there she was out of breath. She’d run uphill after all. “Mr. Gerber!”

  Joseph Gerber popped his graying head up over a stall door. “Mary! Come here,” he said and waved her over.

  She approached slowly, eyes wide, knowing full well what he wanted to show her. “Is it…?”

  “Yes! Come and see,” he said. He leaned against the stall door and pulled a pipe out of his jacket pocket. “A fine colt, isn’t he? The squire will be pleased.”

  Mary gasped at the sight. Lying in the straw next to his mother was the most beautiful black colt she’d ever seen. “Yes, he will.” She looked at Mr. Gerber with a huge smile. “Does the squire know yet?”

  “Haven’t had the time to tell him. I’ve been busy helping get things ready for today. Besides, I wanted the little one’s mother to have a chance to clean him up a bit. He didn’t look as handsome a few hours ago.” He left the stall, closing the door behind him. “I’d best go inform his Lordship now.” He looked at her. “Is that why you’re here?”

  She shook her head and glanced at the barn doors. “No, Mr. Mulligan is here from The Rose and Thorn with the ale. He needs help unloading it.”

  “That he would. I’ll send Bobby down to help him. In the meantime, why don’t you fetch the lad a little something to drink. It’s going to be a hot day.”

  She gave him a quick nod, turned on her heel, and hurried back to the manor house. She burst into the kitchen. “Mrs. Wallace!” she bent over, hands on her knees, and tried to catch her breath.

  “What is it? What’s happened?” Mrs. Wallace asked as she hurried from the stove to the center of the room. “For Heaven’s sake, girl, stand up straight.”

  Mary pointed behind her. “Mr. Gerber is sending Bobby down to help Mr. Mulligan. He also said to give him something to drink.”

  “And right he is” she agreed and continued to watch Mary breathe like a winded horse. “Well, don’t just stand there, fetch the lad something.”

  Mary nodded and headed for a hutch. She took a glass and turned toward the door.

  “Get something for yourself before you expire,” Mrs. Wallace advised.

  Mary took one look at her and nodded. She couldn’t agree more. She grabbed another glass, hurried outside and went straight to the pump. She filled both glasses then returned to the gate by the road where Mr. Mulligan still waited. “Some water, sir?”

  He noticed the glass in her other hand. “Do I look that thirsty, then?”

  She glanced at it and smiled. “Begging yer pardon, sir, but this one’s for me.” She raised it to her lips and took a long swallow.

  He laughed. “I believe you.” He lifted his glass to her and did the same. After they drank they looked at each other and smiled. “I’m glad to see ye again, Mary O’Brien.”

  Mary felt her cheeks grow hot. “And why is that?”

  His brows shot up. “What do ye mean? Can’t a gentleman express a pleasantry?”

  Mary blushed from head to toe. “Ye’ll have to excuse me, Mr. Mulligan. I’m not used to people saying such things to me.”

  His smile faded as he looked at her. “Why not?”

  What could she say? That she didn’t deserve such a happy greeting? That she couldn’t live anymore on her own in Ireland, so she had to sell herself to come here? That her own mother had to go live with her aunt in order to survive?

  It hurt to think of her mother. She hadn’t wanted to leave her and didn’t like being forced to. But, the thought gave her hope and a sense of determination. If Patrick Mulligan could save enough money to bring his sister over to the new land and see her wed, then why couldn’t she earn enough and one day bring her mother over?

  “What are ye thinking, Mary O’Brien?” he asked in a soft voice.

  She looked at him, her head suddenly light, and gave him a weak smile. In all the time she’d been in America, he was the first to pay so much attention to her. Was he simply being nice, or was there something more?

  “Well?” he prompted.

  “I was thinking about my mother.”

  “I see. My parents have both passed,” he told her.

  “We lost my father five years ago.”

  He took a step toward her and handed her the glass in his hand. “I’m sorry to hear. And yer mother?”

  “She lives with my aunt in Dublin.”

  He nodded solemnly. “When is she coming over?”

  Mary shook her head. “Not anytime soon, I’m afraid.”

  He gave her another solemn nod as Bobby, the groom, came trotting down the hill. “Mr. Mulligan!” he cried. “So good to see you. Lady Helena had her colt. Do you want to see him?”

  Mr. Mulligan’s eyes lit up. He gave Bobby a wide smile. “What sort of a question is that? Of course I do!” He motioned to the wagon. “Climb up and we’ll ride to the barn together.”

  Mary watched Bobby scramble onto the wagon seat as Mr. Mulligan handed her his glass and climbed up himself. He turned the wagon around and headed for the driveway that led to the barn. She sighed as they chatted and rumbled away.

  Back in the kitchen, she helped Mrs. Wallace with more of the food preparations, then helped set the three long tables Squire Ferguson had placed on his front lawn for his guests. She looked at the blue sky and bright sunshine. They couldn’t have asked for a more perfect day. She didn’t know why today’s tea party was so special, nor who his guests were. All she knew was that she had better cover the
scones and cookies before the flies got to them. With all her comings and goings in and out of the kitchen, several of the little pests managed to get in.

  “Where’s Mr. Mulligan?” Mrs. Wallace asked.

  “Unloading his ale with Bobby,” Mary said.

  Mrs. Wallace rolled her eyes and tapped her head with her fingers as she’d done so many times before. “How easily I forget. I hope you keep your wits about you in your old age.”

  “So do I,” Mary agreed.

  “Yes, well, between now and then, take those bowls of fruit and put them on the table next to where the ale will be. It’s cooler there and easier to get to once everyone is seated.”

  Mary yawned, picked up two large bowls of fruit and headed out the back door. She hoped she made it through the afternoon.

  “Hello again,” Mr. Mulligan said from behind.

  Mary jumped and almost dropped her load. “Do ye always scare people like that?” She scolded.

  He laughed. “I’m sorry, lass, I didn’t mean to frighten ye.” Before she could protest he took one of the bowls out of her hands and carried it for her.” I hear the squire has some very important guests showing up today.”

  “Aye, but I couldn’t tell ye who they are. No one tells me anything.”

  “Ye mean ye don’t hear things spoken in the manor house?”

  “I hear what I’m supposed to hear and nothing more. If I did, then I’d do my best to forget about it. It’s none of my business.” She gave him a curt nod.

  He laughed again and followed her to a table beneath the tent Mr. Gerber had placed under some shade trees. “What else do ye need help with?”

  She stared at him, dumbfounded.

  “It’s a perfectly logical question, lass. Stop looking at me like that.”

  Mary blinked a few times. “No one ever offers to help me.”

  “I’ve nothing else to do for a time. I might as well.”

  She thought a moment and figured what could it hurt? “Follow me then.” She led him back to the kitchen and straight to Mrs. Wallace.

  “Why, if it isn’t young Mr. Mulligan. Hungry?”

  “Always.”

  “I have just the thing,” she said and went to a cupboard. She pulled out a small bag and handed it to him.