Freedom For A Bride: A clean historical mail order bride romance (Montana Passion Book 2) (3 page)

Gretchen recovered over the course of the next few days under Moira’s careful nursing. By the end of the week, she was back working in the shop, albeit moving a bit more slowly than usual and keeping her feet on the ground, as Jorgenson had ordered her to stay off the ladder until she was well. Moira bade her goodbye and returned to the farm when Pryor made the trip into town to retrieve her.

“And how is she doing?” Pryor asked when he flicked the reins to head home. The sun finally shone, such as it was in wintertime, and the light and little bit of heat it provided at that time of year was a welcome change from the dreariness of the storms they’d suffered.

“Gretchen? Oh, I suspect she’ll be just fine. She would get dizzy if she stood too quickly, but I think that’s all but passed now. And how are things at home, dearest?” Moira asked, sliding closer to Pryor on the wagon seat and linking her arm through his. She still wore a bundle of quilts around her shoulders to keep the cold at bay, but she opened one end of the quilts to tuck it around both of them.

“Everything is good. I’ve spent most of the week working on the last bit of our fence line, so I’m close to finished. I’m sure we’ll have every plank in place well before the deadline.”

“It’s truly as you say?” Moira asked, surprised. “You’re more than six months ahead of schedule! However did you manage the holes with the ground frozen stiff?”

“I had all the holes ready before the freeze, so it’s just a matter of the beams now. But never mind that, I want to hear about you and all the wonderful foods you plan to cook the second you get home!”

Moira laughed. She remembered having to teach Pryor a few things about feeding himself, back when she wasn’t planning to marry him. That first meal she and Gretchen had prepared for him had sealed their fate, causing Pryor to invite them to stay and learn how to homestead Moira’s claim in exchange for helping out on his property, starting with teaching him how to cook for himself. It was a wonder he hadn’t starved before Moira had arrived.

They talked and laughed throughout the long drive back to the farm. At one point, Moira rested in the back of the wagon, the weariness of caring not only for Gretchen but also in trying to help fill in for her in the shop having taken its toll. After a nap, she traded with Pryor, happy to see her hardworking husband resting on the pile of hay, his hat pulled down over his eyes as he stole a few minutes of well-deserved rest.

The sun was already starting to dip toward the mountains in the distance by the time Pryor let the wagon slowly roll to a stop in front of the house. He helped Moira down and then held her hand as she climbed the steps to the porch before driving the wagon to the barn. By the time he’d put it away and tended to the horses and the other animals, Moira was pulling a fresh pan of cornbread out of the low oven. She slathered it with smoked fat and put it back in the oven to form a crust, then set to work ladling out the beans that had boiled with a hunk of bacon as the pone had cooked. Fortunately, Pryor had remembered to set some dried beans to soak that morning, so she’d made short work of cooking them on the stovetop.

They ate their dinner in amicable silence, their conversation on the way home having worn out their words. After dinner, Pryor helped Moira over to the fire and eased her into the rocking chair he’d made for her to rock their child. He handed her the sewing basket she kept on hand, then disappeared into the spare room for a moment.

“I was awfully lonely while you were gone,” he said quietly, returning from the back room with a large wooden object in his hands. “I wiled away the time after supper by working on this.” He turned the object over and Moira could now see that it was a cradle, hand-hewn from a single solid log. Pryor had carved runners along the bottom at the head and foot to allow it to rock and sanded every inch of the grain to make it as smooth as satin.

“Oh, Pry,” Moira breathed, unable to take their eyes off the cradle. “’Tis surely a thing of beauty! It’s too fine to put on the floor!”

Pryor was instantly proud and then immediately shy, embarrassed by the compliment. “Well, it kept my mind on you and our young’un, gave me something to think about besides how quiet the cabin is when you’re not here.”

Moira pushed herself up from the rocker by the arms and stood in front of her husband. “I am the luckiest woman alive, you know that? But more important, I hope you know this… I know that, too.” She stretched up on tiptoe and kissed him, leading his hands around behind her back and stepping into his arms.

They were interrupted by a knock on the cabin door. Pryor immediately stiffened, his eyes darting to the rifle he kept on pegs above the door. Moira instinctively moved behind him slightly. They’d encountered little danger in the time they’d lived on their claim, but there was no reason for anyone to have come to their home, and certainly no reason to have come all this way to be sociable.

“Is it someone come to fetch us for Gretchen?” Moira asked in a whisper, suddenly afraid of having left her maid in town with her injuries still so fresh.

Before Pryor could answer, a man called out, “Hallo! Mac! It’s Nathaniel!”

Pryor and Moira exchanged a quick smile before he went to open the door, she immediately reached for a plate and cup to welcome their guest. “They might as well move town to our front doorstep, so much as people are coming and going,” she whispered to her husband with a laugh.

“Come in, Nathaniel!” Pryor said invitingly, throwing open the door and closing it just as quickly behind the man. “There, quick! Sit over there by the fire while Moira fixes you a plate of something hot.”

Nathaniel tipped his hat to Moira before taking it off completely, all too happy to take Pryor up on his offer a warm chair. He scooted the woven straight-backed chair closer to the low blaze, turning it so that most of the heat would move along his back. He pointed the ends of his boots beneath the chair’s rungs so his feet would feel some of the warmth, too, reaching back behind him and letting his hands thaw.

Moira set a plate of beans and cornbread and a mug of coffee on the low table beside Nathaniel, then took her sewing over to the table in the kitchen area and began to work on another gown for the baby, this one a lighter wool for the on again, off again weather of a Montana spring.

“Always good to see you, Nathaniel, but what brings you out at this time of night?” Pryor asked. He knew his friend and nearest neighbor well enough to know that this wasn’t purely social. He waited expectantly for Nathaniel to finish drinking the hot, black liquid, then exhale with satisfaction as the warmth coursed through him.

“I’ve had a bit of good news, and I couldn’t wait to share it. I’m only just know headed back to my place, you see. I’ve been gone for a few days, headed south to Barnett.”

“Oh? Did you have some trading to do? I wish I’d known, I might have followed along.”

“Oh, no, I have a few furs stored up, but I won’t be taking them until next month. You’ll be welcome to come with me then, if, of course, you aren’t…” He paused, his pale cheeks flushing with a bright pink glow as he realized he’d almost slipped up and mentioned Moira’s condition. It wasn’t discussed, not ever, and certainly not in front of a lady. Moira politely turned in her chair as though she hadn’t heard, sparing him any further embarrassment.

“Right, right. I think I’m planning to go later in the spring, when the weather’s more predictable,” Pryor said over a light cough, switching the subject.

“That’s why I’ve come to tell you my news!” Nathaniel said, eager to tell his story. “I can’t wait ‘til spring, for I’ll have need of some new things long before then! No, I went to Barnett to place a telegram!”

“What? All that way? Is there a problem back home?” Pryor sat up straighter, worried for his friend at whatever could cause him to need a telegram.

“No, nothing like that at all! I just… I couldn’t wait for the mail any longer, so I rode to the military outpost and sent a telegram. To the agency,” he finished in a near whisper.

Wonderful! Gretchen risks her life to post his letter, and it was all for naught! He was in the telegram office probably at that very moment!
Moira thought angrily before shaking it off.
He had no way of knowing of Gretchen’s misfortune,
she reminded herself, attacking her sewing with more fervor to put it out of her mind.

“I waited for two days for a response, and I received a reply! It’s hard to believe, but… I’m to be married next month!”

“Why, Nathaniel! That’s wonderful news!” Pryor exclaimed, standing up and shaking his friend’s hand. “This calls for a celebration! Moira, no, you stay where you are. I’ll get it!” Pryor disappeared around the adjacent wall into the kitchen and retrieved some dishes from the cupboard, then moved things around in the oak pie safe until he found the last of a cake Moira had made before she left. She’d left it to soak in some whiskey and tied it in a cloth to keep it fresh just so Pryor would have something of a treat in the evenings after chores.

The three friends sat at the table and talked, enjoying the celebration. More than once, Nathaniel talked around a bite of cake, proclaiming it the most decadent thing he’d ever eaten. He commented that he hoped his new wife was a good cook, but Moira promised to help her learn if she was only accustomed to cooking in a city kitchen and wasn’t suited for trying out recipes on the prairie.

“I hope you don’t mind my saying so,” Nathaniel said late into the evening as he slid his arms into his coat sleeves and adjust his hat over his shock of blond hair. “But you were the reason I wrote east for a wife, Mac. I know you two have been very happy, and it got me to thinking. Maybe a wife would make the life of working my claim a little more cheerful, a little easier.”

Pryor couldn’t help but smile as he put his arms around Moira’s shoulders. “It certainly has made all the difference in my life, that’s for sure. I wish you all the best, and we cannot wait to meet your bride!”

“Oh, this wedding couldn’t have come at more inopportune time!” Moira cried sadly from her rocking chair, her tiny son swaddled in blankets and held tightly in her arms. Her usual joyful countenance had darkened with both fatigue from being a new mother, and frustration at being so useless.

“What do you mean, wife?” Pryor demanded with a grin. “This is great news for him! He’ll finally have someone to make him as happy as you’ve made me!”

“I know,” she wailed. “But look at me! How am I to prepare a proper wedding feast now? I’ll be dragging our baby across the floor in a basket while I cook!”

Pryor laughed and stood to take the baby from her lap. He bounced his child gently in his arms, cooing and smiling at the tiny sleeping bundle. “Moira, you couldn’t help the baby coming early! No one expects you to set a fine table, not after you’ve just had our child.”

“No, but I expect it, especially after all that Nathaniel has done for us. Remember, if not for that man, I’d be saddled with a claim I could naw settle. I’d have lost all the money I paid at the land office. It was only his agreeing to buy my claim and sell me his land that made all this possible. Besides, I can naw leave Gretchen to do everything.”

“Then I’ll have to do the cooking, and you’ll just have to tell me what to do!” Pryor said. Moira looked horrified.

“You? Cooking a wedding feast? My dear, you know that I love you more than sunshine, but you’ll poison us all!”

Pryor laughed again and kissed her on the head. “Let’s get you to bed, I think the weariness is finally seeping out of your bones!” He placed their two-day-old son, Matthew, in his cradle, arranging the cushion tenderly beneath him. Then he helped Moira up by her hands, steadying her at her waist for a moment before letting her walk. It took her a moment to make herself step forward, wincing as she moved, but she walked gingerly to their bed with her husband’s help.

“You rest, I’ll bring the baby in if he cries.” He kissed her forehead and tucked the quilt around her shoulders.

“You won’t leave him? You’ll stay by him, right?” Moira asked breathlessly, sitting up in bed. Pryor’s gentle hands pushed her back down against the pillows.

“Yes, love. He won’t leave my side. I thought I’d take him to the barn, prop him up against the stall while I did the milking…”

“No! You can’naw!” she cried out before she realized he was kidding. Moira shook her head. “I’m not ready for your teasing ways, I believe. I’m to weary to know if you’re having me on.”

“I’m sorry!” Pryor said with a hearty laugh. “You’re just always too quick for me, I have to take my shots when I can! Sleep well.”

He pulled the door part way closed and returned to his chair, rocking Matthew’s cradle with his foot while he carved out a platter for Nathaniel’s wedding supper. He’d promised Moira a large trencher for the pig they would roast in the couple’s honor, but Matthew’s arrival had thrown them all off course.
Not that he would trade it for anything
, he thought, beaming at his infant son.

***

Only two weeks later, Pryor, Moira, and a very nervous Nathanial waited at the platform in New Hope, passing the time with talk about the weather and their farms, anything other than the topic they couldn’t discuss: Nathaniel’s wife. The man was already churning inside from nerves, and bringing up his new wife—a woman whose name Moira didn’t even yet know, leaving her to wonder if Nathaniel even knew it—wouldn’t do anything to settle the unease he was feeling.

Moira ached to get home to Matthew, despite knowing he was in no safer arms than Gretchen’s, who’d offered to stay with him so that Nathaniel’s wife could see a friendly woman’s face upon arriving in this strange place. There was no schedule to the train as of yet, and much like Pryor had had to do when Moira arrived, they waited in town for its arrival. She’d packed a basket of food for the day, and the three of them passed the time making purchases to turn Nathaniel’s bachelor’s house into a home fit for a bride.

“Have you given any thought to how long ‘twill be until you’re married?” Moira asked cautiously, not wanting to send Nathaniel into another fit of shakes like he’d experienced on the way into town.

“Just as soon as she’s happy to, I ‘spose,” he answered. “She’s not required to marry me, of course though I hope she will. What if she takes one look at me or my house and runs back to the train on foot?” He laughed lightly, but his fear was evident in his tone.

“It won’t be like that, Mr. Russell, you have to know that,” she said, reverting to their formal names for propriety’s sake. “She would naw have made this long journey expecting to dislike you. And besides, any woman would be proud to have you as her husband if I may be so bold. You keep a good cabin and a fine property, you’re a hard worker who will make a good provider, and you have a pleasant disposition. What more could a lady ask for in a match?”

“Thank you, Mrs. Pryor. That means a lot coming from a lady,” he mumbled, ducking his head in embarrassment at the compliment before sitting up a little straighter from the praise. Pryor shot Moira a grateful look and pressed her hand.

There wasn’t time to say anything else. A train whistle sounded off in the distance, and Nathaniel suddenly looked like he might vomit. Pryor clapped him on the back and nodded reassuringly, and, together, they waited for an interminable amount of time for the train.

“It’s not slowing!” Nathaniel cried. “I knew it, she’s backed out on me!”

“Nonsense, Nathaniel! Listen, I hear the brakes. Now pull yourself together, you don’t want your wife to see a sweaty, shaky mess after a long trip like that. Stand up, shoulders back, and smile!” Pryor ordered calmly. He jumped down from where the three of them had waited in the wagon, then walked around to the back to help Moira down. Before setting her on her feet, he gave her arms a tight squeeze and whispered, “Thank you for seeing him through this. I can’t picture him if he’d had to wait alone, and I know you’ll be a comfort to any woman who has to meet him for the first time today!”

Moira looked around quickly to be sure no one was watching, then gave Pryor a quick peck on the cheek. “I’m glad for him to find a wife, and I know Gretchen and I shall do all we can to make her welcome.”

The three homesteaders walked to the platform and waited, shielding their faces from the blast of cold air from the train’s wheels. After an endless line of cargo cars had rolled past at an ever-slowing pace, a handful of passenger cars came into view. Once the train finally halted, it was an eternity before anything happened. Nathaniel fought to control his fidgeting, even while craning his neck to see down the line of passenger cars for any sign of life.

Finally, a single door opened and a young attendant alighted, pulling a set of steps from the entrance of the train and offering his hand up to a disembarking passenger. He helped the thin figure onto the platform, nodded curtly, and pushed the steps back in place before pulling himself back onto the train by a handle mounted on the outside. The train made a series of odd, disjointed noises and began to move.

“Do you reckon that’s her?” Nathaniel asked in a whisper. “She’s beautiful!”

Moira and Pryor struggled not to laugh out loud. It wasn’t possible to view the newcomer from that distance, and bundled in so many wraps and shawls, but they both knew all too well the way eagerness could alter one’s eyesight.

“Well, then let’s go introduce ourselves, shall we?” Pryor asked confidently, giving Nathaniel a little supportive push in the passenger’s direction. At the far end of the platform, the person still continued to look around, taking in the empty town and the depot. Moira remembered perfectly what the newly arrived resident had to be feeling, the moment of disappointing confusion at seeing the nearly barren landscape after having left behind the bustling city of New York and its eight hundred thousand people to come to New Hope with its population of less than one hundred.

They approached, and the passenger turned. Just as Nathaniel had said, it was a woman, and after she pulled back the thick woolen shawl over her head to reveal an olive face with dark almond-shaped eyes, she was stunning. Straight black hair so inky dark that it reflected the light framed her somber, almost frightened expression.

No one spoke as they regarded each other. The woman’s black eyes searched each face for any kind of recognition while the three locals watched her silently. Finally, Moira’s upbringing and ingrained sense of propriety made her step forward.

“Hello!” she said softly, extending her gloved hand to the newcomer. “I’m Moira Pryor, and I welcome you to New Hope.”

The woman said nothing, but her eyes dropped to Moira’s hand. She’d flinched slightly and leaned away when Moira had extended it, but, finally, she placed her own hand in Moira’s and waited expectantly. They released their grips and stood awkwardly, still watching each other without knowing what to do.

Finally, the woman reached into her lone bag and retrieved a folded piece of paper. She looked between the two men, then decided it was safer to hand it to Moira, who took it, opened it, and looked to Nathaniel apologetically for permission before reading it. She skimmed over the coarse, uneven handwriting before her shoulders slumped slightly and her once-excited expression fell. She finished reading and recovered herself, folding the paper and handing it back to the woman.

“Mr. Russell, may I present Miss Ekaterina Noryeva?” Moira began with forced cheer, turning to Nathaniel and gesturing to the woman. “She is the young lady you’ve been corresponding with, and she is pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Nathaniel and Pryor both looked from Ekaterina to Moira and back again, waiting for something more to happen. Moira leaned closer to the men and said quietly, “And it appears as though she can naw speak English.”