“I didn’t catch your name,” she said to the woman who was placing the meal on the table as she hummed to herself.
“Och! My name is Moira MacAdams,” she answered, her eyes sparkling. “Ye met me daughter, Ray, earlier.”
Oh! “Yes, Ray was one of the witnesses for our marriage ceremony.”
“Aye. And she was happy tae do so,” Moira remarked. “Just as I am happy tae provide this meal. So, have a seat, enjoy the food, and come find me on the morrow tae thank me.”
The woman was gone, empty basket in hand, before Katriona could thank her properly.
And now I am alone with my husband…
Swallowing the nerves balled up in her throat, she went to the cupboard in search of flatware and plates. Once discovered, she made quick work of setting the table and unwrapping the food. One of the jars contained mashed “tatties,” the other jar contained a thick, brown gravy that smelled like heaven and made her mouth water. The clump of butter wrapped in cloth looked satiny and creamy. Finally, once there was nothing left to occupy her hands and mind, she faced Race, who’d been standing there watching her as she moved about nervously. Katriona felt his eyes upon her as she flitted around, they burned into her, probably trying to figure her out.
Good luck, Horace. I haven’t even figured myself out yet.
Sniffing, she raised her chin and blurted out, “I apologize for earlier. I didn’t mean to argue you with our first night as a married couple. I can only hope we can share this meal as we get to know each other better.” There, she’d sounded cordial and a smidgeon repentant.
Race tipped his head, his gaze taking in her expression, which she hoped wasn’t as twisted up as she felt. She hated that she’d nearly ruined her own wedding night, but she was also still stinging from his outright rejection of her idea.
“Apology accepted,” he said as he walked toward her, brushing past her to pull out her chair. Her face flaming, she took her seat, not daring to remark on her ability to pull out her own chair. She wasn’t an invalid, but she understood that he’d want to impress her with his manners. Katriona determined to rid him of such backward notions as soon as possible. She didn’t need a man to treat her any differently than he would another man.
But you like that he looks at you like a man appreciating the look of his woman…
His woman? A thrill raced through her; she was his woman, wasn’t she?
Chapter Six
Race moved around the table to take his own seat, and as Katriona began portioning out mashed potatoes, Race sliced into the roast, cutting her a thin piece and himself a thick piece. It irked that he assumed she ate like a sparrow, but she held her tongue.
Cutting into the crusty yet moist bread, Race drawled, “I should apologize, too.”
Katriona paused in the middle of pouring gravy over her meal to stare at him.
“What?”
A tinge of pink covered his neck and he rubbed at it like he could make it go away.
“I shouldn’t have dismissed your idea out of hand…it wasn’t right to be so rude about it.”
Hope swelled. “Does that mean you’ll let me—”
He raised his hand to stop her. “Let’s not talk about it tonight. Let’s take this time to talk about us—you and me—so we can learn more than each other’s names.”
She bit back a snappy retort and nodded. “You’re right.”
A gentle smile raised the corner of his lips and he reached across the table, palms up.
“Let’s say grace and dig in.” Realizing he meant for them to hold hands, she slid her palms against his, nearly shuddering at the feel of his warm, calloused hands wrapping around hers.
Grace was short and sweet, and as they began to eat, Katriona realized how hungry she was.
“Heavens, I haven’t eaten since dinner yesterday, so I don’t know if this meal is delicious because I was starving or because Moira makes magic in the kitchen.”
Race chuckled. “It might be a little bit of both.”
She couldn’t help but smile. “I suppose.”
After finishing all of his roast, Race settled back in his seat, tossing his arm over the back of his chair, which drew Katriona’s eye to the defined outline of his muscles there. A fire lit in her belly and she pulled her gaze back to her plate, hoping her husband didn’t see the flush on her cheeks.
“So…tell me about your life in New York City. In your letter, you wrote about livin’ in a school?” Race inquired, his baritone voice both soothing and unsettling.
She swallowed her bite of buttered bread and sat back, mimicking him with her arm over the back of her chair. It pulled the fabric of her bodice tight over her chest, and she couldn’t miss the way his violet gaze dipped to it, darkening.
“There’s not much to tell,” she responded, dropping her arm to curl her fingers into her skirt nervously. “I lived at the foundling home with my twenty-five sisters. Some of us held jobs outside the home, but some of us taught the younger foundlings at the school.”
Race whistled, then said, “Twenty-five sisters?”
“Well, we were all rescued from the streets when we were babies, though some of us were older. Madame Wigg brought us into her home, gave us names—A to Z—and raised us.”
He arched an eyebrow, his eyes dancing with interest. “A to Z? Like the alphabet?”
She nodded. “Exactly like the alphabet. I am Katriona. K. And I shared a room with Jessamine, J, Mia, M, and Leanna, L.”
“What did you teach?” he asked. She could tell he was hesitant about broaching the subject of teaching after her anger earlier, but he was testing the waters.
Brave man.
“I taught life skills. Cooking, sewing, bookkeeping…”
“Ah, yes. I remember you mentionin’ that in your letter. Did you enjoy it?”
Images of her students—bright-faced and eager—came to mind. A smiled played at her lips and she remembered how excited they’d been for her, even though they’d been sad about her leaving at all.
“I did. Those children were the smartest, sweetest, most rambunctious group of rascals I could wish for. They really enjoyed learning, and I loved teaching them, seeing their eyes light up when they learned something new, and watching them put their new knowledge into practice.” A cloak of sadness covered her as she admitted, “I miss them already.”
As if sensing her heartache, Race pushed away from the table, stood, and came around to her side before crouching next to her. She watched him, curious, and when he took her hands in his and met her gaze, a frisson of sensations shot through her.
His eyes were full of compassion, as through he understood her pain. He squeezed her hand then said, “I know you miss them, but you can write to them, and I’m sure the other teachers there will have them write to you.”
And they would, too. She knew Madame Wigg would have the new teachers set aside instruction time to write letters to her and her sisters—wherever the other girls ended up.
Somewhat mollified, she smiled at him, squeezing his hand back.
“So, tell me about life in Dry Bayou,” she began, hoping to move the conversation away from her for a while. “Have you lived here long?”
Instead of answering, Race stood, tugging on her hand, pulling her to her feet in front of him.
“Let’s make ourselves comfortable, first,” he said, pointing toward the couch. “Why don’t you unpack—the carpet bag is just outside the door on the porch. I’ll get the fire in the stove lit and fetch some water to heat for washin’ the dishes.”
She could unpack…that seemed easy enough. And she was a deft hand at scrubbing dishes, though it wasn’t her favorite of chores.
You’re married now, that means doing things you might not like for the success of the union, she thought, in Madame Wigg’s voice. She was new to married life, but she did understand that being a wife meant doing things she didn’t like doing; dishes, laundry, cleaning of any kind, really. But what would her life skills stu
dents think if she poo-pooed about performing the life skill of keeping house? Sure, it rankled that she’d have to clean up after a grown man, and that she was supposed to do it without thanks or pay, but she wasn’t fool enough to think Race would do it. He was a man after all.
Scrunching up her nose at the annoyance of her thoughts, she looked out the window. In the distance, the sheep moved about lazily.
From crowded and smelly New York City to wide stretches of land, sheep, horses—
“What about the surrey and the horse?” she asked as the thought occurred to her; they’d arrived at the cabin, came inside, and she’d promptly forgotten about it.
He shrugged. “Moira took it back with her.”
Relieved that the beautiful horse hadn’t been standing out there the whole time, she set her mind to doing what needed doing. She fetched her bag from the porch just as Race came through the door the opposite way—probably to fetch wood for the stove, and they brushed shoulders. It shouldn’t have startled her as much as it did; the tingles that raced from her shoulder to her chest and down into her belly.
Catching her breath, she gave him a curt nod before continuing on to the room she’d first stormed off to. Now that she wasn’t steaming mad, she could examine it properly.
She dropped her carpet bag on the floor beside a tall chest of drawers, which stood beside a wide window which looked out over a side yard. It was greener than she’d thought it would be, with small patches of dandelions that seemed to gasp as the slight breeze moving over them.
Turning back to inspecting the room, she noticed a full-length mirror on the opposite wall, and a vanity or desk of some sort beside it.
“Seems nice enough,” she murmured, though she knew she was being facetious. The furniture was carved from dark wood and polished to a shine. It was fine furniture, much nicer than what she’d grown up with in the foundling home.
Sucking in a deep breath, she turned to face the one piece of furniture that she’d been avoiding…the bed. It was large, could probably sleep three people, and was covered in a thick, wool blanket. There were two large pillows and a quilt tucked in at the foot, ready to be pulled up over them when the nights got chilly.
Pulled up over them. Good grief, why was the thought of sharing a bed with Race so bothersome? He was a man, she was a woman, and they were married. And it didn’t hurt that Race was attractive; gorgeous eyes, beautiful lips, strong, muscular body…
Her belly did a flip then settled into her feet.
Her face burning, she turned her back on the bed and got to work removing her few personal items from her carpet bag.
She absolutely would not imagine herself in that bed with Race, she commanded her whirling mind. Too bad her mind had a mind of its own.
Once her bag was empty, she went to push it under the bed to keep it out of the way, but something in the inside pocket caught her attention. She hadn’t put anything in there; she hadn’t had anything small enough to fit.
Curious, she opened the pocket and pulled out an envelope.
Dearest Katriona
Tears burned the back of her eyes…it was Mia’s handwriting—all flourishes and dainty details. She wiped at the tears forming, determined to not cry on her first day as a wife. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she lifted the envelope, the scent of chalk and flowers meeting her nose. Again, the tears threatened; that scent was wholly Mia.
Katriona tore open the envelope and pulled out the letter folded inside.
Unfolding the letter, she read:
My dearest Katriona,
I hope that when you find this letter you are happily married and beginning to settle in with your Mr. Horace Tucker—
He didn’t like to be called, Horace, she snickered inwardly.
I don’t know if I’ll have left for my destination and future husband yet or if I’ll still be with Madame Wigg. I do know, however, that the children miss you terribly, but they are also so excited for you. I am excited for you, too.
We haven’t really spent much time talking about the future, which I suppose it’s part of living in such a busy place—no time to think much, at all—but I do know that your future is bright. You have so much love and passion hidden behind your sass and “toughness.” I just hope you let your husband see that.
While we aren’t sisters by blood, I do consider you my sister. I love you like a sister. And I hope that as your sister you would take some of my somewhat novice advice to heart. I know it will be difficult to let anyone take care of you, but know that you deserve to be taken care of. You are married now, you don’t have to do things alone. Your husband will be your closest friend, your most intimate companion, your champion, and your soul mate. Please remember that marriage is meant to be a partnership, one where you both put in the effort—and God will see to the rewards.
I know this letter is a bit too long for you and that you are probably already rolling your eyes in boredom. Just think of this, dearest Katriona… Sometimes doing what needs doing means letting someone else help you.
With all my love,
Mia
The letter fell from Katriona’s hands, just as a new determination hit her. Mia was right.
Chapter Seven
Race set the pot of water on the stove and closed the stove door, letting the fire do its work to heat the water. Fetching water, starting a fire—two things he could do in his sleep, but making a woman happy? He didn’t know if there was a man alive who could do that easily.
Katriona was still in the bedroom, no doubt as nervous and jittery as he was. She would see the bed, would think about lying in the bed, beside him, just as he was thinking about it. But he refused to let that be an awkward thing between them. He’d talk to her about it, see how she felt about making theirs a true marriage the first night. If she wasn’t comfortable taking that step immediately, he’d just have to wait. There was a second bedroom. The invisible kick to his gut made him grunt—he didn’t like the idea of not being with Katriona, but one of his responsibilities as her husband was to make sure she was comfortable, happy, that she felt safe and secure.
In all things.
Sighing, he strode to the window overlooking the pastures in the distance… It really was a beautiful stretch of land. The Ducharmes who owned Dry Bayou Ranch had moved to the area and started their homestead when the actual town was founded. They were as integral to the town as Mr. and Mrs. La Fontaine, the town founders and benefactors. With their thousands of acres, the Ducharmes were able to create a wealthy life for themselves, something they could pass down to Billy, and Billy could pass down to his kids.
His own parents, Ash and Lavender Tucker, owned about two acres outside of Porter’s Grove, Washington, but they weren’t interested in working the land. His pa was the town blacksmith, and his ma was busy helping her siblings with the foundling home and school she’d inherited from his grandmother.
A smile played at his lips… He and his new wife had more in common than she knew. Of course, she’d asked him about himself and the first thing he’d done was put her off. Why? He supposed it had something to do with nerves; he was worried she wouldn’t want to be married to a man from such a patchwork background, that maybe since she’d grown up in a foundling home, she’d want a home life and family with a foundation of stability.
You won’t know unless you tell her…
The door behind him opened and he turned to see Katriona striding out of the bedroom—she never seemed to simply walk, she moved everywhere with purpose. He liked that.
“You all unpacked,” he asked, hoping to break some of the tension with easy questions.
“Yes, I am,” she answered, moving to the couch to sit down on the farthest seat. Thinking she meant to keep her distance, he was surprised when she patted the seat right next to her. “Come on, then. You said you’d tell me about yourself once I was more comfortable.” She rubbed her hands over her thighs. “I don’t suppose I’ll get any more comfortable until we’ve had a chance to ta
lk more.
She was right, of course.
Fighting back a grin, he walked to his wife and sat down beside her, the heat of her sidling up to him and robbing him of sense.
Thankfully, she began speaking again.
“So, tell me about your life in Porter’s Grove.” She tipped her head to the side, waiting for his answer. The hands in her lap had short fingers, but they seemed capable of hard work. No doubt she had callouses on her palms.
Leaning back on the couch, he crossed his leg over his knee, his thigh rubbing against hers, and threw his arm over the back of the couch. If he wanted to—and he really did—he could reach out and wrap his fingers up in the soft-looking curls brushing her neck.
“Well?” she prodded, and he laughed at her eagerness.
“Porter’s Grove is in Washington, out west…” How much to tell her…?
Tell her everything. You’re married, there can’t be secrets between you. Besides, he didn’t know if his being tied to a foundling home would be a problem for her.
“It’s a small town, maybe two thousand people, and my family owns a small plot of land just outside the town limits.” Factual. Nothing too detailed. Keep going.
“My pa is the blacksmith and my ma…” He swallowed the anxiety and just plowed ahead. “She and her adopted sisters run Bethel’s Garden Foundling Home and School.” He held his breath, waiting for her response, and when she smiled—her whole face transforming—he couldn’t get his breath back.
“Your ma was adopted?” she asked, her voice filled with awe.
“Yep. As were all my aunts and uncles.”
“And she was raised in a foundling home?”
“Yep. And they were all named after flowers or, in my Uncle Sage’s case, an herb.” He’d never thought much about the fact that his grandmother, Amaryllis, had named all her adopted children after flowers. But now that he knew his wife had a family with names based on the alphabet, he wondered about the minds of foundling home benefactresses.
Katriona's Keeper (The Alphabet Mail-Order Brides Book 11) Page 4