Pleased, Bertha took the basket from him and peered inside, catching a whiff of fish. He’d already cleaned the trout so she didn’t have to. She counted seven. “I’ll make fish stew. That dish will be a welcome change from ham.”
“There’s more.” He pulled out a letter and handed it to her. “El Davis just arrived. This came for you, and…” he said with a flourish and waited for her response.
She pushed on his arm, startling herself with her comfort in touching him. “Tell me.”
“Trudy has sent the crate of chickens Mrs. Morgan asked her to buy from some woman in Sweetwater Springs. Now you’ll have access to your own eggs and meat.”
A few chickens wouldn’t go far to feed all her men, but she could still make hearty chicken soup with spaetzle noodles and plenty of potatoes and vegetables.
“You certainly are the bearer of gifts today.” Without thinking, Bertha slid an arm around his neck and pulled his face toward her, going on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “Thank you.” She released him and stepped back, sure her cheeks must be scarlet. Her heart stuttered into a rapid beat. What has come over me?
As an excuse to escape his presence, Bertha brandished the letter. “I’m going to read this right now.” She turned and fled to her room, but not before she saw a stunned look on Howie’s face and the beginnings of a smile.
Once in her room, she sat in her chair and looked at the envelope to see Kathryn Preece in her friend’s familiar handwriting. Instead of opening the letter right away, she sat for a moment, waiting for her racing heart to still, and thinking of beautiful Kathryn with her light brown eyes and chestnut curls. She was a talented pianist, and Bertha had so enjoyed hearing her play. That was a problem with living in Morgan’s Crossing. No music, no piano—something always taken for granted and now missed
Perhaps I can prevail upon Obadiah to play for us. The musician usually joined them for a few minutes before heading out to the saloon. Maybe one song each night. She smiled, feeling sure the man would agree. In the last few weeks, the violinist had put on some weight and seemed less morose, although he hadn’t changed his drinking habits. She sighed, wishing there was something she could do for the man; yet she sensed that Obie would have to want help before anything would change. Closing her eyes, she said a prayer for him.
Once Bertha felt calmer, she slit open the envelope, pulled out the sheet of paper and began to read.
My Dearest Bertha,
I simply cannot believe that months have passed since the bittersweet day we said our goodbyes in the dormitory of the Victorian. That was a day I shall never forget. You’re such a dear, and I miss your smile and your bubbly laughter that had a way of lifting my soul. Not that my soul needs any lifting. I love my sweet Tobit more with each passing day. A more thoughtful man our good Lord has not made. However, I don’t want to go on and on about my wedded bliss because I have heard the news that you have put aside your dreams of being a mail-order bride and traveled to Morgan’s Crossing to run the boardinghouse there. A town where Prudence is reigning mistress. I can’t tell you how shocked I was to hear of your intention to live—on purpose—under her thumb.
Darcy has informed me that Pru has had a change of heart. I say good, because she needed one. I will not talk against her because that would not be a Christian thing to do. Still, I am not there to witness this metamorphosis, and remember only too well all the heartache and tears she caused you. Just be wary, but too, if she does prove that she has turned over a new leaf, give her the benefit and befriend her. Life is so much sweeter that way. I remember what I heard last week in church. We will be shown the mercy we show others.
I envy you seeing Darcy, Lina, and Trudy. Give them all my love. Evie and Heather are flourishing. The West, as you’ll soon see, has a way of bringing out the best in everyone. They are happy, as am I!
Until we meet again, dearest, stay safe, be cheerful, and enjoy your new adventure.
All my love,
Kathryn
As always, she was glad to hear positive news about her friends in Y Knot. But this time, Bertha was aware of not having the bittersweet sensation of happiness and envy she’d always felt in the past when reading correspondence from any of her friends from the agency.
Bertha pondered the feeling for a few moments and realized she no longer had regrets about the lack of a mail-order husband. Instead, for the first time in ages, she felt optimistic about her life.
Running the boardinghouse was hard work, but she loved the job and felt gratified by the men’s hearty appetites and expressed appreciation. She was learning how to play poker and slowly, but hopefully surely, she was forming a relationship with a man.
Realization flashed. I’m grateful I didn’t have that match I wanted. To live in Morgan’s Crossing required considerable adjustment. She couldn’t imagine how difficult life would have been among strangers, and not with…. Howie’s face as she’d just seen him flashed into her mind. Oh, yes, she had hopes. Could he possibly come to care for me the way I’ve come to love him?
The saying went that a man’s heart is through his stomach. If that’s the case, perhaps my cooking will slowly woo his heart.
* * *
Howie watched a very flustered-looking Bertha retreat to her room. He touched his cheek where she’d kissed him and grinned like a fool. Figuring he could wait her out, he lowered his arm and looked around the kitchen for something to do.
He wandered over to the sink, pumped some water, and washed his hands. After drying them on a towel, he finished chopping the potatoes and tossed the pieces into the stewpot on the stove. Then he picked up the wooden spoon and stirred the contents.
The rich smell made his stomach growl. Remembering he hadn’t eaten, Howie prowled over to a crock on the counter, lifted the wooden lid and peered inside. Cookies. Amazing there are any left. He drew out one and took a bite. Oatmeal, the perfect breakfast. He finished the tasty cookie, took down a mug, and pumped himself some water. Then he snuck another cookie and replaced the lid.
On the end of the table near the pantry, Howie saw the notebook Bertha used to tally her supplies and keep track of meals she served. In idle curiosity, he flipped it open, pulled up a chair and began to read while he finished the second cookie.
In many places, she’d made little notes to herself—double a batch; use more water; make sure Walter never has pepper. He grinned at that one, remembering the poor man’s sneezing attack.
Oatmeal cookies. Howie’s favorite! He stared at the four words for a long time, taken back to childhood, to the Christmas he was five, when his grandmother had baked him oatmeal cookies as a gift—a time of warmth and safety and belonging and love—everything life had ripped away from him.
Everything I’ve found here. Howie raised his head, looked at the closed door to Bertha’s room, and remembered with fondness a small cabin and the contented family who’d dwelt within.
Maybe I’m wrong to think a nice house is important.
The door opened, and Bertha walked out. She glanced around, obviously looking for him.
He held up the notebook and grinned at her expression of surprise.
Bertha colored and glanced behind her.
She’s about to bolt for her room. Howie knew he had to pretend that kiss on the cheek hadn’t happened. At least enough to get her to stay. He tapped the notebook. “I like the entry when you said the miners finally made peace with your sauerkraut.”
Bertha chuckled and moved closer. “I had to serve sauerkraut three times, before the last holdout gave in and tried it. One of the rare times, I had plates come back to the kitchen with food still on them, instead of practically licked clean.”
“I didn’t even notice.” Howie rose and smiled down at her. “I just eat what’s put before me without being picky. I know everything you make will make my taste buds bless the day you set foot in Morgan’s Crossing,” he drawled, waiting to see the adorable look of confusion that crossed her face when he flirted.
Bertha lowered her gaze and looked up at him through her eyelashes. “Only your taste buds?”
Is she flirting back? Howie took a step closer.
The back door flew open, and Mrs. Morgan stormed in, a scowl twisting her face.
Bertha gasped, the same sound she’d made when Cookie Gabellini had frightened her.
“Where have you been, Howie?” Mrs. Morgan demanded, jamming her hands on her hips. “I need to know about those desks for the children. El Davis is leaving on his last run to Sweetwater Springs. I didn’t know whether to place an order, or if you could make the desks. He’s complaining about his mules standing around in the cold.” She waved a hand at the window. “Then I had to look all over for you, and I finally find you here, lollygagging with Bertha. I told you to give me an answer yesterday!”
Howie didn’t like her tone. He didn’t like that the woman was scaring Bertha. He took two steps closer to the woman, drawing her gaze and holding it for several beats. “All over?” This time his drawl wasn’t the least bit flirtatious. “Lollygagging?”
“Don’t you dare speak to me like that! Why I can—”
Bertha grabbed the broom propped against the wall and leaped in front of him, poking the bristles in Mrs. Morgan’s face. “Don’t you speak like that to him, Prudence!” she echoed. “Howie is not your slave. Now, you leave and don’t return until you’ve a civil tongue in that nasty mouth of yours.”
Mrs. Morgan had the shocked look of someone who’d bit into a sweet peach, only to be stung by a wasp.
Howie was so dang proud of Bertha, he wanted to yell in triumph. At the same time, he wanted to roar with laughter. He took a moment to catch a breath, and then simply stepped around Bertha, to stand by her side. “The desks are on the back porch,” he said in a reasonable tone. “Simple tabletops over sawhorses that are easy to set up, take down, and put away every day. I put them there yesterday and left word with the boss.”
“Michael didn’t tell me.” Mrs. Morgan spoke as if she didn’t believe him.
Howie narrowed his eyes. “Probably because he was preoccupied with the injury to Albert Whitney’s leg.” He clipped out every word. “You do know about that?”
She had the grace to look abashed. “Michael told me. He was quite bothered.”
“The boss tries to run a safe mine. Hates when his men get hurt.”
No one spoke.
Finally, Prudence stuck her nose in the air. “I haven’t yet gotten proficient at making apologies,” she said with an air of dignity. “I’d better take my temper and go cool off.
Bertha laughed. “Good idea.”
“Oh, you!” Prudence growled. She whirled and stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
Bertha swept the broom across the floor toward the door. “Good riddance.”
Howie walked over to face her. “You all right?”
“Surprisingly so.” Bertha lifted her chin at the door and nodded. “Prudence will return, and she and I will fix things.”
My little spitfire. No. My little wasp.
* * *
The confrontation with Prudence filled Bertha with jubilation and the kind of strength and confidence that she’d never even dreamed she could possess.
“How do you know Prudence will return?” Howie asked, an amused look on his face.”
“I’ve seen Prudence annoyed, angry, hateful, you name it… This time….” Bertha paused, not quite able to put her finger on the subtle differences enough to articulate them. “Let’s just say Prudence was more controlled, seemed aware of what she was doing, even if she couldn’t stop herself.” She shrugged and jerked her head toward the door. “That woman, even though she turned into a witch for a moment, wasn’t the old Prudence.”
Howie touched the handle of the broom. “How about I take this? I don’t think you’ll need a weapon for a while.”
“Much better than a parasol. The broomstick is longer.” Her fingers loosened.
He grasped the broom and propped it against the wall.
Do I have the confidence to tell him that I love him?
Howie brought her hand to his lips. “You stepped in front of me,” he said in wonder. “I didn’t need you to, I can handle Prudence Morgan.”
“But you didn’t.” She tapped his chest. “You stayed quiet for the longest time before responding.”
“Quiet is how I handle difficult people. Comes from my time at the orphanage, I guess. Staying quiet and out of the way was safest. Always worked just fine.”
Bertha suspected just fine might be an exaggeration. Someday soon, she wanted to learn more about his childhood. But now, she had a different topic in mind. “You don’t handle me that way.” Her voice came out sounding breathless.
Howie slipped his arms around her. “If it were up to me, this is how I’d handle you.”
Butterflies danced in her stomach, not a fearful battering of wings, but a sparkling mating flight, making her heart soar into her throat. “Why isn’t it up to you?” she managed to ask.
“I have little to offer, Bertha. I live in back of a stable.”
“You earn a steady wage, don’t you?”
“Well, yes.”
“I seem to recall a big room right here in this boardinghouse.” Without taking her eyes off him, she pointed to her door. “Big enough to share. Of course, that would mean I keep working here, and most men wouldn’t want a wife with a job.”
He chuckled. “You mean, a wife with an extra job? As far as I can tell, a woman has plenty of work, whether or not she’s paid for it.”
“Most men don’t see it like that.”
“Most men don’t pay attention to what’s right under their noses. I’ve seen how much this job means to you—your pride in taking care of the men in your charge. I’ve seen you blossom from the time you first arrived. Why would I want to take that away from you?”
“You don’t mind my….” She gestured to her body.
“Mind?” His arms tightened around her. “You are as sweet and luscious as a peach.” He murmured in her ear, his voice low and hoarse.
Goose bumps feathered over her skin.
He pressed a kiss on the side of her neck, followed by a gentle nip. “I just want to eat you up,” he said in her ear, kissing his way up to her neck, to her jaw, and then to her cheek.
She shivered with pleasure, for the first time feeling feminine and beautiful.
He dropped a kiss on her lips, and then stepped away, lowering his hands. “I’d like to court you, Bertha, to give you time to see if this is really what you want—if I’m what you want.”
“Yes!” Delighted, she threw herself at Howie, too quick for him to do more than open his arms. The force of her body landing against his chest knocked him back against the table, and he ended up sitting on the top, his legs touching the ground. “Oh, dear.” Her cheeks hot with embarrassment, she arched back.
Howie’s arms tightened, and he pulled her between his legs. Face-to-face, he grinned. “You just keep on throwing yourself at me, my darlin’ peach. I promise to catch you all our live-long days.”
A NOTE TO MY READERS
Thank you for reading Mail-Order Brides of the West: Bertha, as Bertha Bucholtz, the eighth and final bride found her match. My mail-order brides and their husbands will make appearances in my other Sweetwater Springs books. You’ll read more about Caroline Fyffe’s brides in her McCutcheon Family series.
If you like German food, as a special gift to my readers, I’ve included a section of my family’s recipes at the end of the acknowledgments.
As a historical note, the winter of 1886-87 was, indeed, long in conceding to spring. The drought that destroyed much of the grazing land was followed by a fierce winter—early snowfall and extreme low temperatures, which killed humans and animals. The harsh winter devastated the herds of cattle, for the animals starved to death, with some ranches suffering losses of sixty to ninety five percent.
Although Mail-Order Brides of the West: Bertha
takes place in the fall, the preparation for the harsh winter was important to mention because it’s a main reason for the prosperity of the ranches in my later-set Montana Sky Series books. So, while the people of Morgan’s Crossing and Sweetwater Springs struggled through the winter and suffered some losses, due to preparing, they fared better than most.
I have a brand new website: http://debraholland.com. Please check it out and join my mailing list. Once you join the list, you can access the Members Only section, where I’ll be adding scenes I’ve cut from books and other things that occur to me.
COMING NEXT
Introducing
Montana Sky Series Kindle Worlds
launching February 9th, 2016!
Kindle Worlds stories are authorized FAN FICTION written by other authors, so you will see characters from the Montana Sky Series, including those from Mail-Order Brides of the West in books written by other authors. The fourteen fabulous launch authors have primarily set their stories in the mining town of Morgan’s Crossing. We first met the characters of Morgan’s Crossing and became familiar with the town in Mail-Order Brides of the West: Prudence, and now Mail-Order Brides of the West: Bertha. After February 9th, go to the Kindle Worlds tab on my website to find the portal into my world.
In March
Irish Luck, book two of the O’Donnell sisters trilogy and a sequel to A Valentine’s Choice, about three sisters who immigrate to Sweetwater Springs. Irish Luck is Alana O’Donnell’s story. The book isn’t on preorder, so make sure you’ve signed up for my newsletter to be informed when it’s available. http://debraholland.com
In the Spring Sometime
Book three, Catriona O’Donnell’s story (previously titled Easter Reunion) may have a different title depending on which holiday the story centers around.
Mail-Order Brides of the West: Bertha: A Montana Sky Novella (Montana Sky Series) Page 10