The Left Behind Bride

by Mahrie G. Reid

  “Your mother ran a store and managed alone.”

  Uncle Henry blinked. “Mother? Her store started as a hobby before our father died. And she did have a generous stipend from the shipping company.”

  “Nonetheless,” Maggie said and stood. “I’m the granddaughter of two women who worked and I’m as capable as they were. In the future, please stay out of my business. If I’m desperate, I’ll let you know.” And I’ll be pretty darn desperate before I ask you for money.

  Uncle Henry stood and put a conciliatory hand on her arm. “I’m sorry if you’re offended. Mr. Macfee did what he thought was best. And as your oldest living male relative, it is up to me to guide you. You could have at least asked for advice. Your father would do the same if the situation was reversed. I do wish you’d come to me first.”

  She stopped. She had to admit, her father would have acted the same. Uncle Henry and her father were both good men in their ways, they were simply outdated. “Thank you. I appreciate your intent. But times have changed. I can make it on my own.” She headed for the door.

  “Goodbye, Uncle Henry. I’ll send Ivan and Boris up to see you. And once you’ve cleared out your goods, please give Ivan the keys.” Maggie headed into the clear morning air and leaned into the breeze sweeping up from the harbor. The banking mix-up faded and the thought of a house of her own thrilled her. Now she could make real plans to move, look for a job and start to live her own life. She missed a step and slowed. Nothing for it now. She’d basically told Uncle Henry she could support herself and manage without a man. She couldn’t fail. What have I got myself into?

  Chapter Six

  The moon came up from a gray sky

  And over a grey world shone.

  Over the brink of the black sea,

  Cast its misty light and won.

  Early morning and a stiff breeze blew away the fog and made way for bright sun. Maggie, dressed in coveralls and with her hair in a scarf, unlocked the door to Gran’s house. The wind caught the door and flung it open, continuing on past Maggie to stir up dust. Maggie sneezed and covered her nose and mouth. The house needs a good airing and this is a great day to do it.

  The two opposing windows in the parlor opened easily, and a cross breeze redistributed the dust on the end tables. She thumped the sofa back and a dust cloud caused her to sneeze again. These petite-point coverings need a solid thumping. The grape carvings on the back were clogged with dried dust. I’ll need a knife wrapped in a rag to get that out. And that carpet needs to go out on the line for a good beating.

  She stopped by the stairs to the upper floor and paused with her hand on the balustrade. Its surface glistened, polished by years of use. Distant laughter eddied in her memory. She and Harris had loved to slide down it and shoot off onto the entry floor. And before that, before Harris, Suzy, and Ivan were born, she’d come to Gran’s house for a special outing.

  Drawing a breath that sucked her back to the present, she turned to the left and the dining room. The three sections of windows opened under protest and a breeze blew in, tickling the dust coating the mahogany table. She signed her name in the dust. A sideboard crouched along the wall and a hanging electric fixture promised evening light. And, if she remembered correctly, a matching light hung from the middle of the kitchen ceiling. Excitement flooded her. Luxuries! A real bonus for knitting or sewing at night. And even reading.

  She stepped from the dining room into the kitchen and paused. Instead of dust, she smelled Gran’s cookies. And just for a moment, she saw flattened, paper bags and crayons on the worn tabletop. As if the wind carried her into the past, she heard running footsteps, saw Harris flee from her advances as they came in through the summer kitchen and raced across kitchen and dining area to burst out the front door. If we tried a second go-around Gran would be waiting to swat us with her biggest wooden spoon.

  She chuckled and shook her head as she headed for the last room in the row, the summer kitchen. This one-story add-on had provided a place for wet coats and muddy boots and gave access to a wood room on the way to the outhouse. Her heart expanded. The house, although empty for two years, felt alive. Living here would provide good memories.

  Each of the main rooms provided access to the smaller back room. Behind the kitchen was a bathing room with a sink and a clawfoot tub. Both close enough to the stove to give easy access to hot water. Never mind the water had to be pumped in by hand. A tub was a luxury.

  And the bedroom her grandmother had used opened off the dining room. She’d take it for her own. The bed and dresser still stood there. She checked the mattress. Tears in the cloth and clumps of stuffing gave away the mice who had made it home. She’d bring her own mattress from the island.

  By the time she returned to the front hall, the air already smelled fresher. I can live here. A good cleaning, some curtains, and more furniture. And books, I need to stock the bookshelves.

  “Hey, Maggie?” Ivan appeared in the open front door.

  He made a quick tour around the main floor. “It’s a bit grimy,” he said and wrote his name beside hers on the tabletop. “There, we’ve staked our claim.”

  She grinned. “Indeed we have. As for the grime, soap and water will fix that.”

  “I suppose.” Ivan settled a hand on the banister and looked up the stairs. “How are the rooms up there?” He started up and Maggie followed. Four doors led to four bedrooms.

  Ivan stood in the last room, his hands on the window sill while he examined the view. It looked out over the summer kitchen. “I’ll take this one,” he said.

  “You will, will you?” Maggie joined him and looked out. “This was Uncle Henry’s room. Dad told me Henry would sneak out the window and across the roof at night.” She poked Ivan. “You’re not planning any escapades like that, are you?”

  “No, no.” Ivan stood quickly and almost hit his head on the sloped ceiling.

  “You’d better not be,” she said. “And you can clean it before we move in.” She pointed at the mattress. “And we’ll have to bring all of ours over. The mice have had a heyday here.”

  “Ah, Maggie. Cleaning is woman’s work. I have to build the chicken coop and transport the furniture we do want. Can’t you clean it?”

  She shook her head. “I’ll have enough to do cleaning the rest of the place.” She turned and headed down the stairs. “Starting with the summer kitchen and working back to here.”

  Ivan sighed and clattered down the stairs behind her. “When do you want to move in?”

  Maggie placed one hand on top of her head and adjusted her headscarf. When indeed? “Let’s see how far I get with the cleaning today and then we’ll decide.”

  “Well, we can’t leave the chickens behind, or Daisy,” Ivan said. “Boris and I are going to the island to fetch some lumber. And I think there is a roll of wire mesh in the shed. And I’ll need all Dad’s tools. I’ll be back.” He jumped the two-step front stoop and headed out. “See you later,” he hollered over his shoulder.

  Maggie laughed and headed for the kitchen. Time to see if the pump in the sink worked. And if the wood stove still drew properly so she could heat some water.

  * * *

  Hours later, her shoulders aching and her hand rubbed red with the water and soap, Maggie tossed a bucket of water out the woodshed door. She’d swept and dusted and washed everything. The main floor finished, she’d swept the stairs and had them ready for washing. She pumped water into the bucket, added some hot from the kettle she’d set on the hob and with a clean rag went up the stairs. First, she washed the landing and then kneeling, step-by-step started down. She hummed as she worked, running through the music she’d learned during the war and hitting a few of the childhood songs her father had sung to her.

  She broke into full song. “K-k-k-Katy, beautiful.....”

  A male voice joined her off-tune chorus, and she froze in the middle of wiping tread number four. She shifted, her singing halted, and turned so she could sit on the step and look down.

 
The man looming in the doorway continued singing to the end of the chorus, and when finished, swept off his cap and bowed. The cap, the sandy hair, and the dimple.

  She’d seen him before.

  “Sorry to startle you,” he said and came through the entry to the foot of the stairs.

  His slight limp solidified her memory. The man from outside the store. The one who had been concerned with her wellbeing. Oh heavens. Her blush warmed her cheeks.

  “Who are you?” she asked, not concerned that her question might be rude. He’d given her a fright, he could take what he got.

  His easy smile lighted his eyes. “John Murdock McInnis,” he announced, “son of Red Dan McInnis, and grandson to Hector McInnis, of St. Ann’s, Cape Breton.” He took a breath. “And I’m here about a notice posted by a Mrs. Benson for a room and board situation.”

  Ah, she’d forgotten about the notice. “That’s quite a lineage. Do you always recite it when introducing yourself?”

  He laughed. “No. But back home it’s customary. So many folks have the same last names, we differentiate according to our parentage. Besides, you looked like you needed a moment to collect your thoughts.” He frowned. “Are you the Widow Benson?”

  She blew a raspberry. Not very ladylike. “I’m fine. And I’m Margarete Evelyn Conrad Benson, daughter of George Conrad, and granddaughter to Grace Belle Creaser Conrad of La Have Island and Riverport, and widow of Lieutenant James Benson and the left-behind bride of William Kaiser, Fisherman, lost in the Gales of ‘27.”

  He started to laugh. “Well done, Margarete Evelyn Conrad Benson. I am sorry for your losses, but no one outside of Cape Breton has ever risen to the occasion of introductions quite as well as you. I am pleased to meet you again.”

  So he did remember seeing her that day when she’d been breathing too hard and afraid of the life ahead of her. And this time, she sported coveralls and head kerchief. Neither look was designed to impress. But he didn’t seem to notice. He kept smiling.

  “So, you want to rent a room. And tell me, what brings you to Riverport?”

  “I’ve been hired to teach the Advanced Department at the school and I will most certainly need room and board.”

  So this person had taken the teaching job. What did he have that she didn’t? Other than a male appendage. More qualifications, more contacts?

  Maggie stood and threw the rag in the bucket. “I do have a room for rent, and can include meals.” She swept her hand in a semicircle, taking in the bucket. “I’m not quite ready though.”

  He focused on the bucket and rag. “That’s fine. I can wait.”

  Do I want to rent to him?

  Will I find anyone else?

  Quite likely not.

  She narrowed her eyes and swept her gaze from his scruffy shoes to the cowlick at the back of his head. A quiver ran through her, and the memory of his hand on her shoulder stilled her breath. He’s dangerous.

  “May I see the room?”

  Startled out of her thoughts, she turned and took the top steps two at a time. “Of course. Come up.” She looked over her shoulder at his leg. “Is the second floor, ah, suitable?”

  “Certainly.” He started up the stairs, the limp barely noticeable.

  She showed him the two rooms on the right side of the hall. “They are both available,” she said. “You can have your pick.”

  He took his time, moved from room to room, peered out the windows and nodded. “This one,” he said. “I prefer the double bed and the view of the front street.” He walked to a sidewall and ran a hand over the top shelf of bookcases. “And the shelves. I have a lot of books.” He headed toward her.

  Maggie backed out to the landing. The man gave off heat or something like it whenever he came close to her. She turned quickly. “My brother, Ivan’s room is across the hall here.” She pointed and headed down the stairs. “Come, I’ll show you the tub area. It’s off the kitchen so it’s easier to get the hot water.”

  He followed her through the rest of the house.

  “I am reserving the parlor area for my own space,” she said, “but the dining room, the kitchen, and summer kitchen will be common areas.” She pointed at the door off the dining room. “My room is here on the main floor and there’s a wood-room off the summer kitchen with a door out to the outhouse. There will be more furniture when we get it moved over from the LaHave Islands where we lived before my father died. And chickens will be in the back, and the barn is there, but my uncle who shares ownership of the property has things stored in there. And we have a dog.” Oh goodness, I’m babbling again. What is it about this fellow that sets me on full gabbing mode? “Any questions?” She clamped her mouth closed.

  Mr. McInnis turned a kitchen chair, lifting it easily with one hand, and sat. “I like it. Let’s talk about the rent and schedules.”

  Maggie sank onto the other chair and leaned on the table. “I haven’t had a tenant before, but I did ask around about rates.” She’d calculated her monthly expenses and groceries, added a bit for one more person and divided it by three. Then she’d added an amount for the rental part. She named her price.

  “Goodness,” he said.

  He’s going to decline. “I can...”

  He held up a hand. “It’s more than fair. Are you sure it’s enough?”

  “Yes,” she said. “But if I find things running short, I’ll talk to you.”

  “Certainly, we’ll give it one month and adjust if needed. When will the room be ready?”

  “In about a week,” she said. Surely by then, she’d be organized. “Will that work, Mr. McInnis?”

  Mr. McInnis stood, one hand resting on the table. “Certainly, I’ll be away for a bit anyway. I may have to go back and forth several times before I’m here full time. But I’ll start paying as soon as I move my things in.” He turned. “And call me JM,” he said and grinned, flashing that dimple at her. “The best people do.”

  She followed him to the front door. He stopped, shook her hand, flashed another dazzling smile and stepped into the lane.

  She watched him reach his car. “Call me Maggie,” she called after him. “The best folks do.”

  His laughter floated back into the building until the car engine drowned it out.

  Maggie plunked down on a step and plucked the dust rag off the bucket. What a strange man. Well, not strange, but different from most men she knew. She’d never met anyone who smiled as much or laughed as easily. She grinned to herself. I’ll bet that having JM McInnis around will make a difference in several ways. And he’ll set the single women in town on their toes. Wait until Aunt Maude meets him. I bet she’ll try to match him to Eloise. Maggie’s brain balked at the thought. But why? She had no claim on the man and she had no intention of getting married. If he and Eloise hit it off, that’d be just fine. She headed back to her cleaning tasks.

  Chapter Seven

  But alas! Dreams scatter and vanish

  As we move forward and live,

  In the everyday path of duty, we find

  Youth’s dreams shattered and gone.

  Maggie marched toward the Upper Rose Bay Cannery. It was lobster canning season and she needed money. Women cleaned and packed the lobster. She could do that, couldn’t she? She’d believe it better if her nerves weren’t dancing the jitters.

  The ever-present breeze swept off the water and around the building carrying fish smells and heat. She opened the door and a heavier dose of smells swamped her. Her stomach roiled and acid rose in her throat. Can I stand those long enough to work here? If I get a job. Breathing shallow sips through her mouth, she sought out the manager, John Solomon.

  The rough wood rafters rose high, holding up the grayed ceiling boards. He stood with a hand on a support post. “It’s a busy season,” he said, “I could use another picker.” And he peered at her closely. “Have you ever worked in a fish plant?”

  “No.” She fought her stomach’s urge to vomit. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.

  “Tel
l you what,” Mr. Solomon said. “I’ll try you out on the line for a few hours today. And then we can decide if it’s a job for you.”

  She swallowed hard. “Thank you.” She shook his hand and waited while he called one of the women off the line.

  “Meet Victoria Hirtle,” Mr. Solomon said. “She’s one of our long-time gals and trains the new girls. Victoria will give you a tour, show you what we do and let you have a try at it. Come and see me after that.”

  “Come on then,” Victoria said. “Let’s get you a smock and hair bonnet and get to work.” She led the way over the rough plank floor to a finished room with lockers. Maggie took the work bonnet Victoria handed her and slipped it on her head. She pulled it down over the bun at the nape of her neck and the front snapped down on her nose. She adjusted that, and the bonnet pulled her bun to the side. With a quick move, she adjusted a few bobby pins and looked down. She’d buttoned her smock off kilter. She sighed and re-buttoned the calf-length smock and ran a finger under a collar tight under her chin. Now I know why Dad objected to ties.

  “First, a tour,” Victoria said. “The lobsters come in off the boats over there.” She pointed to a dock outside large cargo doors. Blue-green water rolled in waves across the open span of the harbor. “They go into those 20-gallon cast iron pots for cooking. Then they come to us on long tables for shelling and washing.” She stopped behind a big man also in a smock and bonnet.

  “Andy here is the cracker. His job is to break the shells for us so we can pull out the tail and claw meat.” She tapped Andy on the shoulder. “Andy, this is Maggie.”