Gunsmoke and Gingham

by Kirsten Osbourne

  She made a mental note of all the things she needed to buy at the mercantile in town the first chance she got. Soon this house would be as much hers as it was his. She’d see to it.

  Chapter 6

  As William put the horses into their stalls, his mind was on the woman inside the house. Of all the people to have answered his advertisement for a mail order bride, the last person on earth he’d expected to answer was his dead fiancé. He felt as if he was living in some sort of strange fictional novel. How else could something like that happen?

  He was going to have to learn to live with the woman he loved without ever showing his feelings, and that was going to be pure torture for him. He’d always worn his heart on his sleeve where she was concerned. Long before he’d admitted his feelings to her, everyone else in school had known that he had the world’s biggest crush.

  He mechanically did his chores. After the horses were in their stalls, he fed them and gave them fresh water. He fed the cows and then sat on the milking stool, going from one cow to the other. He collected the eggs from the hens, and put them into a basket.

  He was finished long before supper time, but he didn’t dare to go into the house. She was there, and he was almost afraid of her. He would write to his brother to find out what had really happened. He’d know, and then the truth would be between them. He hated not being able to trust the woman he loved, but how could he trust her over his own mother?

  Instead of going into the house, he chopped wood for their fireplace, making a huge stack on the porch just outside the front door. Then he filled the coal bin. He found chore after chore to do so that he wouldn’t have to face her. Her eyes…every time he looked into them, he wanted to beg her for forgiveness for the way he’d treated her at the train station. But if he did, and then he found out she’d been lying all along, he would never be able to forgive himself.

  No, he had to stay the course. He had to keep his heart separate from her until he knew the truth of what had happened five years before. He had a hard time believing his Mary had been part of the duplicity, but his mother? The woman who had given him life? How could he believe it of her? He’d write his brother after supper and find out the truth, once and for all.

  He stood outside the front door for a moment, praying for the strength to make it through the night. How could he let her share his bed without his emotions getting involved? He briefly considered not having her share his bed, but then he realized that wasn’t going to happen! He was going to have to guard his heart. That’s all there was to it.

  He opened the door and took a deep sniff of the air. “Supper smells delicious.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to kick himself. He would be kind and cordial, but he didn’t have to go out of his way to compliment her.

  “Wash your hands while I serve it,” Mary said nervously, her eyes not meeting his. The longer they’d been apart, the more she’d worried she’d made a mistake marrying him when he didn’t believe her. She hated that he didn’t trust her after all they’d meant to one another.

  He walked to the sink and quickly scrubbed his hands, drying them on a towel. Sitting at the table, he watched as she served them each a big bowl of whatever concoction was in his big pot smelling so good.

  When she’d joined him at the table, he bowed his head to pray for them, startled when her hand slid into his. He wanted to pull away from her at the same time that he wanted to take her hand and pull her into his lap. He lost where he was in his prayer. “Amen.”

  She looked at him funny as he took his first bite of stew, but he pretended he had no idea what her problem was. “Food’s good.” He wondered what he’d prayed for, or if he’d prayed for anything.

  “Thank you. I had no idea just how much I enjoyed cooking until I worked for my friend, Elizabeth.” She took a bite of her own stew, wishing he’d had more in the way of spices. Salt and pepper weren’t enough to make the meals she was used to cooking. “Is there any chance you could take me into town tomorrow? Or let me go on my own? I can hitch up the horses myself.” It was a skill she wouldn’t have ever dreamed she would have when she’d known him before, but now she could mention it off-handedly, as if it was something she’d been born doing.

  He frowned. He didn’t like the idea of her driving into town alone. He didn’t like the idea of her walking across the farm on her own. “I’ll drive you. I need to mail a letter tomorrow as well.” He didn’t meet her eyes as he said it, but he knew she knew what the letter was.

  “I’ll make a list of what I need this evening. I’d like to get some seeds to put in a kitchen garden as well as some yarn to get started on a crocheting project. After looking at the house, there are so many things I’m excited to do.” She took a sip of her milk. “Would you mind plowing a small section of land for me? I want to grow so many things.” She had fond memories of puttering in the garden with her mother when she was small, and then she’d worked with Mrs. Johnson on the family’s garden after that. During her years with Elizabeth, she’d missed sinking her hands into the soil.

  He nodded. “I can do that Monday. It’s late for putting a garden in.”

  “I won’t be able to plant everything I would have this year, but I’ll start earlier next year.” She could see herself in the garden, her belly huge with child. She knew full well she’d be in South Dakota for another year. She just had to be able to out-stubborn him. Once he got his answer from Massachusetts, all would be well with them.

  He didn’t respond to her comment about next year. He was determined to take each day as it came. “I’ll be ready to head into town by mid-morning. I’m up to milk the cows at five. I would prefer to be finished with breakfast by six-thirty or so. There’s a lot of work to do on a farm this size, and I’m only one man.”

  “It’ll take me about a week to get the house into shape, and I’ll be up for helping on the farm after that.”

  He shook his head. “You’re not strong enough to help with the farm chores.”

  His tone of voice told her that he wouldn’t accept an argument, so she said nothing. Inside she seethed. He had no idea what she was capable of. He still thought of her as a pampered little girl, and she wasn’t any longer. She’d been working for her living for years, and she could do anything he asked of her.

  While she did the supper dishes, and put what was left of the stew into the ice box, he sat at the table and wrote to his brother. He didn’t go into a lot of detail about the situation, simply telling him he knew Mary was alive, and she’d thought him dead. He said it was imperative that he know if Mary had been part of the lie.

  Mary finished the dishes, and looked down at his bowed head. He was writing quickly, his face earnest. She knew the answer he got from whomever he’d decided to write could completely change the course of her life. She said a quick prayer that the person would be honest.

  Going to her room, she picked up the letter she’d written Elizabeth on the train, preparing it to be mailed. She’d meant to do it before leaving town, but she’d been so startled to see William, she’d forgotten all about it.

  “I’ve finished the dishes, and I’m going to go get ready for bed. This letter is to my friend Elizabeth, so she’ll know I arrived safely. I’d appreciate it if you’d mail it with yours. I barely slept at all on the train, and I’m exhausted.” She didn’t wait for an answer as she went into the bedroom she would share with him and changed into her nightgown. It was a new one she’d sewn on the trip there. Made of white linen, she’d put pretty lace along the collar, knowing she’d wear it for her wedding night. She took down her hair and braided it into one long braid down her back so it wouldn’t get tangled, and then she slipped between the covers.

  Closing her eyes, she thought about the day. She was married to the man she’d always loved, and she should be the happiest woman on earth. If only he returned her love and had faith in her. Time would tell, of course, but she didn’t want to wait. She’d never been the most patient person in the world. She
couldn’t count the number of times per week poor Mrs. Johnson had to tell her ‘a watched pot never boils.’

  William finished his letter and sealed it, placing it in the center of the table. He looked around and already saw little things she’d done to make his little house a home. The floor had been swept and mopped. Everything had been dusted. And there was a glass filled with a bouquet of flowers in the middle of his table.

  He looked over his shoulder at the bedroom door. Would she welcome his attentions? Or would she want him to sleep elsewhere? He knew she was exhausted, so he should probably climb into bed with her and let her sleep. It was the gentlemanly thing to do. At least for tonight.

  He sighed. He’d loved the woman for fourteen years. Shouldn’t he get a real wedding night?

  He went into the bedroom, undressed, and slid between the sheets, doing his best not to disturb her. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, feeling her warmth beside him. How hard would it be to just reach over and touch her?

  Mary lay on her side, facing the wall. Tears fell onto her pillow. He obviously had no desire to be near her. None at all. How would they ever make a marriage work?

  He woke her the following morning, already dressed. “I let you sleep as long as I could. It’s time to get up and make breakfast.”

  Mary blinked, staring at him for a moment. William. It was her William. He was alive after all. It was all she could do not to reach out and hold him. Her hand reached up and stroked his bearded face. “I missed you so much.”

  William stared down at her for a moment. “I’ll be in with the milk in a few minutes. I like my eggs scrambled.”

  She sighed as he left the room, not returning her affection. She didn’t know why she’d tried, other than the fact that she couldn’t seem to help herself.

  Getting out of bed, she hurried to the bathroom, washed, and dressed. She got bacon from the ice box, and carefully sliced off long strips for frying. As soon as the bacon was in the pan, she mixed up the eggs with a little milk. She would have liked to have toast with it, but there was no bread in the house, and she’d used what little flour was left for stew the night before.

  Breakfast was on the table when William got back in, and they ate in silence. When they were almost done, he said, “I’ll be back around nine-thirty to take you to town. Store opens at ten on the weekends.”

  He stood and left, going off to do whatever farm chores needed to be done, and she stared after him, tears falling once again. He didn’t even want to touch her, so how could their marriage survive?

  She cleaned the kitchen, scrubbing the dishes and the counters. Then she sat down at the table with a pencil and paper, carefully making a list of the things she’d need. Having no idea what his finances were, she put some of the money she’d brought with her into her reticule to pay for some of the extras. Surely, he’d pay for the food, but she wanted yarn for an afghan, and fabric for curtains and quilts.

  Making this house a home would take a lot of work, but all she had was time.

  She was waiting for him when he came back, her list in hand and her reticule over one arm. “I’m ready.”

  “Good. I’ve got the team hitched up. Let’s get what you need so I can come back here and work. I’m not used to taking two days in a row off.”

  She bit her lip, frustrated that he was being so cold toward her, and wanting to retaliate in kind, but she knew he’d had a big shock when he’d seen her the previous day. It was a lot like the shock she’d had. “Don’t forget your letter. You need to find out if I’m a liar and a manipulator, after all.” She held her head high as she walked to the wagon, getting up without waiting for his help.

  William sighed, grabbing the letter to his brother and tucking it into his pocket. He climbed up beside her and picked up the reins. “I never said you were a liar or a manipulator.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about it right now. This is our first outing as husband and wife, and I’m determined it will be pleasant.”

  He closed his eyes for a moment, fighting against the pain. “Why don’t we make a pact? No more talk about lying or manipulating. We’ll both discover the truth when I get the letter back in about a month.”

  She shrugged. “Do you think you can keep from hating me for that long?” Her voice was soft, but he could hear the pain in it. The pain that always came with her tears.

  “I could never hate you, Mary.” He started the drive into town, not quite able to look at her. He’d find her a pretty little gift and give it to her. Maybe that would help her see that he really did care.

  She was silent for the first half of the drive, working hard to get her emotions under control. She didn’t want to cry in front of him again. She knew how her tears affected him, and she didn’t want him to think that she was deliberately manipulating him.

  “If you’ll tell me some of your favorite meals, I’ll make sure I get the ingredients I need to make them.”

  He looked at her for a moment, realizing that having a wife meant that he wouldn’t be cooking for himself anymore. Life would be better just because he had a wife, but having her as his wife, should make it seem as if the sun was shining after months of rain. If she turned out to be telling him the truth, life would be glorious again, full of love. He said a quick prayer she was telling the truth, because he already knew there was no way he’d ever be able to send her back to Massachusetts.

  Chapter 7

  When Mary and William arrived in town, he jumped down and helped her to the ground. “I need a few things as well. Let’s meet at the counter when we’re done.”

  She nodded, hurrying into the store. He hadn’t given her a budget, so she’d spend what she needed to spend. She had money of her own anyway. She refused to be frugal when it came to feeding them or making their house look pretty.

  Once she was inside an older woman smiled at her sweetly. “I’m Dorothy Ann Adams. My husband and I own this store. Is there something I can help you with?”

  “I’m Mary Brown—oh my. I mean Mary Jones. I married Bill Jones yesterday.” Mary blushed prettily over her error, feeling silly. Who doesn’t know her own name?

  “I see. I hadn’t heard he had a bride coming into town. I know he had a terrible loss a few years back. He lost his childhood sweetheart. She had some sort of illness—maybe even the plague!”

  Mary smiled. “I’ve heard about her.” She turned to walk away, only to find her path blocked by Dorothy Ann.

  “He’s been mourning her ever since. There were a few young ladies around here who set their caps at him, but he was just throwing those hats right back! He was having nothing to do with anyone. How on earth did you manage to catch his eye?” The older woman looked at her skeptically as if she was trying to figure out what was so special about Mary.

  Mary tried not to take offense. “I came here as a mail order bride,” she said honestly. She wanted to tell the woman the whole story, but she just couldn’t. She’d promised, and she wasn’t one to lie or break a promise—ever.

  William walked up behind Mary, putting his hand on her shoulder. “Hello, Mrs. Adams. I see you’ve met my wife.”

  “I did. I’m so glad you’re finally over that poor dear that you lost. Why, everyone in Butterfly Meadows thought you’d mourn her for the rest of your days.”

  “I guess it just goes to show that a good woman can help you heal, doesn’t it?” William took Mary’s arm and pulled her toward the yard goods, something she’d needed to look at anyway. “What did you tell her?”

  “Not a thing, except I came here as your mail order bride. That’s what you told me to say.”

  William eyed her skeptically. “I guess I’ll know by tomorrow. Dorothy Ann has the loosest lips this side of the Mississippi. If she knows the truth about you, the whole town will by supper time.”

  “Someday you’ll know the whole truth about me, William Jones. I can’t wait for that day.” She chose fabric for the curtains and tablecloth she meant to make, befo
re turning to choose a few different colors and prints for the quilt, effectively dismissing him. He couldn’t talk about the truth concerning her when he knew nothing about truth. The truth could be a rattlesnake, bite him, and he still wouldn’t know the difference. Men were exasperating creatures!

  By the time she was finished shopping and standing at the front counter of the store, she’d filled the back of the wagon. William stood leaning against one wall, watching everything be carried out. He couldn’t believe how much she felt the need to buy, but he didn’t say a word. He could afford whatever she threw at him. Maybe she was trying to make him say he didn’t have the funds for something, but he wouldn’t. He never would.

  She blanched at the amount Percival Adams, the store-owner, gave her, but she stood straight and tall. When she reached for her money to pay, Bill jumped forward and caught her hand, pulling the money from his pocket. He wasn’t going to let anyone in town think that he’d married her for her money, though in truth, she’d always had more than he did.

  After he’d settled up, he took her arm and led her to the wagon. “What was that all about?” he asked, his voice full of anger.

  “What do you mean?” She couldn’t figure out how she’d angered him this time. She couldn’t seem to do anything right in his eyes.

  “Why would you pay? People will think that I don’t have the money to support my wife.” He started driving back toward the farm. “I’ve worked hard to get to where I am. I not only have the farm, but I have been making furniture and selling it for three years now. I have a tidy sum saved. You put a dent in it today, but you certainly aren’t going to pay for your own purchases.”

  She sighed. “I was trying to keep from asking you for money. I knew I overspent. I knew I was going to overspend before we left to go into town. I really thought I was helping you, but nothing I do is ever right.” She was so frustrated with his anger. She tried to help, and it was wrong. What could she do to make things better between them?