Mail Order Runaway

by Julianna Blake

  She sank back into the covers wearily, tired not only from being sick, but from the difficulties her deception was causing.

  Would Gideon really take it upon himself to open the envelope to mail the letters separately? She didn’t think so, but there was no way to be sure. He could easily buy a new envelope at the mercantile, if he didn’t stop to grab one on the way out the door, and tear open her sealed envelope, with the intention of dividing the letters. But once it was open, wouldn’t it be too tempting to take a quick gander at both letters?

  The ache that burned in her heart at the idea eclipsed the pain of her sick belly. She’d worded Addie’s letter carefully enough, and had signed the letter to her parents from Your Loving Daughter, but the contents of the letter to her parents—mentioning Walter, and her apologies for running out on the wedding…

  She shuddered. It would be disastrous if he read it.

  Please don’t let him open that letter!

  ***

  That day was the longest in her life. Gideon left not long after breakfast, and the first hour passed slowly, with one bout of sickness and a sour stomach making time drag by.

  Then Constance stopped by, made her another cup of peppermint tea, rinsed out the chamber pot—much to Elinor’s embarrassment—and sat with her a while before returning to make dinner for her husband. She promised to come by as soon as Orville had his dinner, and bring some hard rolls and summer vegetable soup for Gideon, since she had more than enough simmering on the stove already.

  Once Constance had left, the time really dragged. The peppermint tea kicked in, and Elinor’s stomach settled. Then she had all the time and attention in the world to fret over whether Gideon would be tempted enough to open the envelope and read her letters.

  She knew it was more than eleven miles to town, and that at a brisk pace, he should be able to get back in about three hours or less, with the weather being so favorable, as long as the mercantile had what he needed.

  Three hours came and went, and then four. She’d worked herself up into such a fret, that her sick stomach paled in comparison to the bitter taste of worry on her tongue. The only thing that kept her from utter panic was the realization that Gideon only knew the McGilvray’s address—where he’d sent letters to Addie. He didn’t know “Elinor’s” address, so he wouldn’t be able to address the second envelope.

  As long as he realized that he didn’t know the second address before he broke the seal on the envelope, she would be in the clear.

  Her stomach was in knots by the time she heard him ride up.

  She vacillated between staying put or giving in to the urge to run outside and see if he seemed angry. In the end, she decided to do so would seem extremely odd, so she waited the interminable time it took for him to put the horse up and come inside.

  Elinor paced the floor of the bedroom until she heard Gideon enter the house, then she scurried silently to the bed, and buried herself under the covers, waiting as she listened to his slow boot steps approach the bedroom.

  “There she is!” A big grin spread across his handsome face. “You look much better.” He walked to the bed and sat on the edge.

  “I feel better.” She managed a weak smile in return. “I thought you’d be back quicker than you were.”

  “I apologize if I worried you. I made one extra stop, and that took some time. Then I ran into Mrs. Perkins. The woman is very nice, but land sakes, can she spin a yarn. She has a way about her—you can’t get away from her stories or her questions until she’s ready to let you go.” He sighed, shaking his head. Then he chucked Elinor under the chin with a finger. “I hope I didn’t worry you.”

  “Not at all. Mrs. Pruett came by and helped out. She’s a lifesaver, that one.”

  “She is,” he nodded. “I passed her as she was coming onto the main road, and she told me you were much better when she left earlier. She was on her way here to check on you again, but I told her I’d take care of it. Since I knew you were on the mend, I took care of putting Penny up right away so we can have time together, instead of me having to run right back outside.”

  “Oh?” Does he want to talk? Does he know? She examined his expression, but saw no trace of anger or irritation—only a mischievous twinkle. He doesn’t know! The tension leaked from her body.

  “I have something for you,” he said. He hopped up off the bed and stepped out of the room for a moment, reappearing with something held behind his back.

  She spied a corner of the object—a book. She forced a smile to her lips. It surely must be the Shakespeare Compendium and Concordance he’d wanted to buy for her. “What can that be?” she asked, as if she couldn’t guess.

  “Now, don’t get too excited, because I didn’t buy this, it’s just…on loan, sort of. We probably need to be a little more careful with our purchases until the second cutting starts selling, and even then, we should be careful, so the money will last until next year. Sooo…” he drew the book from behind him, and held it out. “I went to the library and got you this.”

  She took the book from his hand, much lighter than the Shakespeare collection he’d bought her. The hardboard cover was covered in cloth rather than a leather finish. She flipped the book over to read the title: The Practice of Sheep Farming.

  Her mouth fell slack from surprise. “A book on sheep farming? You got me a book about sheep?” The last word squeaked out of her mouth.

  She looked up at him, all trace of illness swept away in the excitement and warmth that spread through her. It’s for me, she thought. The first gift he’s given me that was really for me, and not for Addie—not for who he thinks I am. Really for me!

  “Oh Gideon, it’s perfect!” she dropped the book on the coverlet and knelt up in bed, throwing her arms around him, nearly pulling him down onto the bed in the process.

  “Whoa, there, Adelaide. It’s just a library book!”

  She tried to reign in her emotions, realizing her reaction must seem over the top, but she couldn’t. She was so touched, so overjoyed, that she felt like running into the road and dancing a jig.

  He laughed and hugged her tight. “I bought you a brand new sewing machine and a used—but still expensive—leather-bound collection of Shakespeare…and you melt in my arms over a library book?” He kissed the top of her head and hugged her tight. “If I’d have known that, I’d have saved myself twenty dollars and just borrowed that book for you, the day you arrived.”

  Elinor pulled back. “Oh Gideon, I never meant to seem ungrateful for those other gifts—”

  “I know, and I didn’t mean to imply that you were. I’m just surprised at your reaction, that’s all. Pleased—very pleased—but surprised.”

  “It’s just that…” How could she explain it to him, without revealing her secret? “The sewing machine and the Shakespeare, they were wonderful, and it was so kind and generous of you to buy them for me. You bought them knowing because of what you’d read in the letters you had received, mentioning Shakespeare and sewing…and wanting to please me. And I truly appreciated the thought. But this…” she lifted the book from the bed as if the pages were made of gold “…this is the first thing you’ve done for me. For me, your wife. Not for the girl in the letters, who you didn’t really know. For me.” She caressed the dark cover of the book, embossed with silver lettering. “I swear, if it wouldn’t be stealing, I’d keep this book forever.”

  He laughed. “What if it turns out to be an entirely boring and useless treaty on animal husbandry?”

  She looked up at him with tears shining in her eyes and a serious expression. “I’d still treasure it forever.” She leaned forward again, caressing his face this time, with her free hand, and tenderly touching her lips to his.

  Gideon’s arms encircled her waist, and he pressed her to him, kissing her deeply.

  She broke the kiss, covering her mouth. “I’m going to make you sick. You’re sure to catch what I’ve got.” She was glad she had rinsed her mouth earlier, and drunk lots of peppermint t
ea.

  He ran his hands through her hair. “Nah. I have a strong constitution. Besides…if I got sick, it would be worth it.” He kissed her then, in a way he’d never kissed her before, despite their many intimate moments together since they’d married. It was as if he was kissing her—Elinor—for the first time. She felt the kiss deep in her belly, a fluttering of excitement and a wave of emotion that threatened to engulf her.

  I love this man.

  Chapter 18

  Monday, September 22, 1890

  Elinor rushed to pull the slice of bread out of the firebox’s toasting slot, her hair falling in limp tendrils around her face as she worked. She set the toasted bread on the platter, alongside the other slices. Alright, so they are a little browner than I’d like—but they certainly aren’t burned. She was pleased enough with that, especially given that she had started supper late.

  She’d gone over to the Pruett farm again for sewing lessons, and had lost track of time, chatting with Constance as they worked. She had learned how to make the plackets along the front of a shirtwaist, and she couldn’t wait to show Gideon the progress she’d made. He still didn’t know that it was the first shirtwaist she’d ever made, but he’d be excited for her anyway. She’d botched so many things—including repairs on his torn shirts and more meals than she could count—that he’d be thrilled to see her get something right, she was sure.

  She had been meeting with Constance for the last two weeks, and it was really starting to pay off. Though she was behind schedule, she thought this would be the first palatable meal she’d made.

  Elinor lifted the gridiron she had placed over the open stovetop burner, checking for the chicken’s doneness. She opened the grid iron carefully, and used a fork to deposit each portion onto a slice of toast.

  She was bursting with pride, so thrilled that everything appeared to be coming out splendid. She was so absorbed in her tasks, it startled her when Gideon walked in the back door.

  “Oh, is it supper time already? My, how the time passes,” she huffed as she bustled, pouring the cream sauce from a small pan over each portion of chicken and toast. She inhaled the aroma, certain that the Chicken Viennese Style would become Gideon’s new favorite dish.

  “Supper isn’t ready yet?” Gideon sighed, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Again?” He slapped his hat onto the table.

  Elinor cast a piqued glance over her shoulder. “Gideon Cartwright, that hat is filthy, and you just threw it onto the clean table we’re about to eat on.”

  He flailed his arms away from his body. “Well excuse me for being a little frustrated that after a long, sweaty day of hard work, I still can’t come home to a hot meal, ready and waiting. You’ve had three weeks to get used to farm life and a farmer’s schedule. You know how important meals are to me. I can barely drag myself in sometimes, I’m so exhausted. It’s bad enough that Warren’s cows had to get loose and bust down a whole section of fence, which I’m sure he won’t pay for, but to have to spend all day mending it, then come home to no food? It’s inexcusable.”

  Elinor stopped in her tracks and stared at him. Gideon rarely spoke a cross word. The torrent of anger was a shock—and his words made her feel two inches tall. “Do you think I’m not working all day too? You may be out in the sun all day, but I’m in here, in a tiny kitchen that is hot already, before the woodstove even gets started, slaving away, trying my very best. And you say you come home to no food, when you see very well that I have your dinner right here, and there’s zucchini bread sitting over on the sideboard? It’s an insult!”

  “If it ain’t on the table, it’s not ready. I shouldn’t have to wait every single day for my meal. Every other farmer’s wife has the food on the table, ready to be dished up, when the man comes home. Why can’t you?”

  Elinor was struck dumb by his retort. Tears pricked her eyes, and she turned away before he could see them. She stirred the stew again. “It’s almost ready. I’m just putting on the finishing touches.”

  “That’s exactly my point! You’re finishing it when it should be ready and waiting on the table. How hard is it to get a meal ready on time, Adelaide? You didn’t have enough time to cook for your husband, but you had enough time to run over to Constance Pruett’s, to gab away the day?”

  She spun on her heel, ready to snap that she was working with Constance for him, to be a better wife. But she couldn’t say that—he didn’t know that she wasn’t socializing. She was learning all the things he thought she already knew. She turned back to the stove and let the tears fall silently as she spooned the last of the cream sauce over the chicken.

  “Ah, so you have nothing to say to that, do you? I’ve tried, Adelaide. I’ve tried for three weeks to give you the benefit of the doubt—to assume that your troubles in the kitchen were only due to a new environment, a new kitchen, or cooking for only one person instead of a brood of siblings. I can’t help but wonder what the real truth is. Did you really ever cook for your family at all? Or did you lie about everything? Because looking at the meals you put out, one would think you’d never darkened a kitchen door!”

  Her heart ached at his words, then fear coursed through her veins like ice water. It was as if he could read her thoughts. She said nothing—what could she say? She brought the platter to the table—giving him a wide berth—never meeting his glare.

  “Is that it, then? Did you misrepresent yourself to me? Did you lead me on, and tell me you could cook and clean and sew, when you don’t seem to be able to do any of those things well?”

  She bit her lip to keep from crying, but instead picked up his hat and hung it up on its peg, but made no move to clean up the dust it left behind. She pulled a plate from the sideboard—just one, for him. She wouldn’t eat tonight. Let him eat on a dusty table.

  Gideon wasn’t through. “You say that you’ve been sewing with Mrs. Pruett all this time, but you’ve never sewn me a single shirt, nor are there any curtains up on these windows. Are you just sewing yourself some fancy dresses? Or are you sewing at all? Maybe you’re just over there having a big gossip session, without a single regard for your hungry, hard-working husband at home!”

  The plate crashed to the floor, splintering into china shards that scattered everywhere. Gideon stared at her, his words halted in his shock. It took a moment before Elinor realized it was she who had dashed the plate to the floor. Her body vibrated in anger, and she tasted blood where she had bitten her lip hard, in order to keep her angry retorts at bay.

  She flashed Gideon a furious look, barely recognizing the weary, angry, spiteful man before her. The words were on her tongue, begging to be let loose—to tell him of her weeks of hard work and sacrifice in order to become the wife she thought he deserved. The difficulties of life on a train for endless weeks, endured for the sake of marrying him. The lonely, endless days spent wishing her husband cared more about spending time with her than working himself to death. Her conscience begged her to unburden herself—now was her chance! Now was the time to tell him. He had it half-figured out already, and he was already fed up with her—what better time to reveal all to him? Perhaps they could move past it, and their marriage might be stronger for it.

  No! she thought. The pain was too great, her heart too bruised from his thoughtless words. All she could think of was escaping his spiteful glare. I can’t handle this. I can’t deal with this. It’s too much. Those thoughts were all too familiar—thoughts she’d had so many times before, during arguments with her parents. She left the words unspoken, and pushing down her feelings as she always did, she turned on her heel strode through the house to the bedroom, slamming the door.

  She crawled into bed, pulling a pillow from the poorly tucked-in bed covers, and curling up to it. She buried her face into it and sobbed.

  “I’m Elinor,” she whispered between hiccupping sobs. “My name is Elinor…and you don’t even know me.”

  ***

  After Adelaide had left the kitchen, and he’d heard the bedroom door slam, he still
stared in shock for a few moments.

  The floor was littered with shards of the broken plate.

  You should go talk to her, his conscience prodded. He knew he’d overreacted. He knew he’d blown up. He should have handled things differently.

  But he didn’t go after her.

  If she’d had supper ready on time, none of this would have happened, he grumbled to himself. I have a right to be irritated. I’m tired, I’m hungry, and I deserve a home-cooked meal at the end of the day. A good one, too! Not the tasteless half-burned meals Adelaide had foisted upon him.

  Something was amiss. As much as he’d like to blame her visits to Mrs. Pruett, he knew she only went over there two or three times a week—and her cooking and other housekeeping skills were substandard seven days a week.

  How could a girl from such a big family do such a poor job? Every farm family he knew had many children, and each child learned to pitch in at a young age. He’d seen four year olds sweeping the floor, seven year olds making up beds, and ten year olds helping bake bread—all with more skill than Adelaide. He’d seen twelve year old girls make entire meals while their mother did the laundry with the younger girls.

  Was Adelaide spoiled? Had her mother coddled her, and let her get by with little work or chores? He couldn’t imagine it. With seven children to cook and clean for, Mrs. McGilvray would be exhausted!

  He cast a glance at the doorway, wishing she’d come back. It’s she who should apologize to me, he thought, though he knew he’d played a large part in their argument.

  Large part? You berated the poor girl. Her lack of cooking skills should be addressed, but not when you’re bone-tired and furious at Warren for letting his cattle get out.

  He sighed. He knew he should go talk to her, but his pride wouldn’t quite let him. Instead, he settled for cleaning up the dish she’d broken, as a way of extending an olive branch. When he was done, he served himself a portion of her chicken meal, and cut himself a large slice of banana bread. Then he sat at the table and ate alone, stewing over the situation.