Freedom For A Bride: A clean historical mail order bride romance (Montana Passion Book 2) (5 page)

A full day had passed since Nathaniel had visited with Katia, though it couldn’t be called visiting in the traditional sense, at least not in the way that a man courting a young lady could visit. They’d sat together on the porch for as long as possible until finally he’d had to tend to his chores and Moira hinted that she’d like to get back home.

But afterward, Katia couldn’t be bothered to visit again. Gretchen tried to gesture to her that she would take her to Moira’s or Nathaniel’s place, or that she would send word to him that he could come for supper. She either didn’t understand or had no interest in a social call.

Even more upsetting, though, was the way she’d shaken her head and turned away when Nathaniel appeared on the cabin porch that night, freshly bathed and wearing what looked like a new shirt he’d attempted to sew for himself.

Well, at least now we know he has need of a good wife to mend his clothes and cook his meals
, Gretchen thought miserably as she had to send him away.
He sure doesn’t have a woman to be a companion, at least not yet.

“I don’t understand,” the maid began as she whispered with Moira over tea. “She would naw see him! It was so humiliating! The poor man surely has thrown himself into the creek to drown on his way home last night, seeing as how she would naw even come out to bid him good evening. He rode all this way for a call, and she walked away and went to bed!”

“Oh, that is troubling,” Moira said, forcing a pleasant expression on her face even though her words belied her emotions. “What would possess her to not see him? I mean, I’ve refused to see plenty of men who showed up unannounced, but that’s because ‘tis only proper. A well-bred lady can naw be at a suitor’s beck and call, lest she appear too available. But this is different, ‘tis a whole new world!”

“Aye, miss. ‘Tis how I see it, too. At the risk of sounding callous, why else did she come to Montana if naw to marry Mr. Russell? And then to refuse to see him, especially after passing such a lovely afternoon visit with him only the day before? ‘Tis a strange message indeed that she’s sending.”

“Perhaps ‘tis only the way they do it in her village? It may be that a man who arrives in the evening—unannounced, at that—isn’t to be received?” Moira offered hopefully, searching for any sense in Katia’s actions.

“I would naw know how they do it her part of the world, but it bruised Mr. Russell’s heart all the same,” Gretchen replied. “I could go my whole life without e’er having to see another person wear that hurt expression he had when he left here.”

But hurt he surely had been. When Katia refused to see him, even the maid had appeared completely taken aback by the refusal. Nathaniel had had no choice but to head home to his solitude and lick the wounds of his ever breaking heart. The sting of rejection was so deep that he couldn’t face returning to his quiet bachelor’s home. As he climbed up in the saddle, he wheeled his horse around in the direction of town.

The ride to town usually took a heavy wagon a matter of a good two hours, but on his horse and racing against the sunset, Nathaniel made it in just over an hour. The lengthy ride should have helped him clear his head, but instead, it only gave him the solitude to become truly hurt by how things were turning out. Nothing was going as planned, and he could see no way that it would look up, regardless of what Gretchen had said.

He hadn’t intended to ride to New Hope, at least not consciously, but the thought of returning to his empty cabin was stomach churning, and the last thing he felt like doing was crying to Pryor and Moira like a heart-sick school boy. He’d had enough of humiliation and needed to feel like the worthwhile man he was, a man who could build a railroad or scratch out a living from the very dirt.

The only lights on in the town were the small lantern burning inside Jorgenson’s shop, the one that indicated he was still not feeling well in his bones and was probably trying to sleep propped in a chair again. The others were the harsh flames burning in their coal pots outside the tavern, casting a glow from the low roof that caused shadows to dance in the street outside. There was music, too, music so loud that Nathaniel had heard it before he could even see the main thoroughfare through town. He let his horse amble in the direction of the tavern, in the direction of life and folly that seemed to pour out of it.

After tying off his horse and pushing through the heavy doors, Nathaniel was transported to an otherworldly place. He didn’t know whether to stare wide-eyed in an effort to take it all in or avert his eyes in shame at the surreal environment. Everywhere he looked, lights glowed from their wall sconces and flickered in front of ornate wallpaper. Men and women sat at low tables scattered about the room, all of them far more familiar with each other than seemed proper. Before he knew where he was, Nathaniel was pushed forward into the room and half-shoved onto a stool adjacent to a high table that ran the length of the room.

“What do you prefer to drink, man?” a burly dark-haired man with sinewy thick arms demanded. Nathaniel blinked rapidly, as though the figure in front of him were not real and could be caused to vanish by simply clearing his head.

“I… um… I’ll guess I’ll just have some water, please,” Nathaniel stammered innocently. The bartender didn’t know whether to laugh at his ignorance or punch him square in the face.

“We don’t got no water here, all we got’s beer and whiskey. So which is gonna be?” he demanded again, already put out with this customer. He had to shout to be heard over the loud music, and the effect was to make the look on his face seem perpetually angry.

“I don’t know. Which one’s better?” Nathaniel asked with all the innocence of a child at his catechism lessons. The bartender laughed loudly and slapped a giant ham-sized fist against the top of the bar. The drinkers on either end of the bar turned to see what the commotion was but returned to their jars of drink when they figured out it had nothing to do with them.

The bartender grumbled to himself angrily but walked away, leaving Nathaniel’s attention wide open for a little company. He flinched when one of the tavern girls sidled up next to him and slipped her arm around his shoulders. He turned to see who it was and immediately regretted looking in her direction. He’d never seen so much bare flesh on display in his life, and the amount of cleavage currently waiting only inches away from him made him fairly lightheaded. He was torn between a desire to stare as the other men in the tavern openly did, and to run away as fast as he could, not stopping until he was hidden safely in his cabin.

“So, are you here all by your lonesome? It doesn’t do for a cowboy to drink alone, you know,” the young woman with the strangely blond hair said, her arm still wrapped around Nathaniel’s back.

“I’m no cowboy, just a plain old farmer,” he answered, hoping her interests would soon take her elsewhere. He was intrigued by the far-too-forward woman but knew something wasn’t right about being here with her.

Why the heck not?
he thought angrily.
It’s not like you’ve got a wife waiting on you. It’s not even like you have a fiancée, for that matter. Who cares if a pretty girl talks to you or puts her arms around you? Nobody else is ever gonna, that’s for sure.

Nathaniel turned to face the woman with a smile, but, instead, came face to face with a fist. The punch came out of nowhere, sending him sprawling backward, and the voice that came with it was just as unseen.

“You keep your filthy mitts offa my girl!” a gruff voice barked. A kick to Nathaniel’s ribs punctuated the order. “Next time I see you, I’m puttin’ a bullet hole right in the middle of yer forehead!”

“Come on, Stanley, leave the guy alone, this here’s his first time comin’ in here,” a woman said nearby. A ringing slap and a woman’s cry silenced the tavern for only a second before the noise carried on again.

What kind of hellish place is this?
Nathaniel thought.
This is a place of nastiness and violence, even against a poor, defenseless woman?

He managed to crawl away from the tempers flaring around the bar, only getting to his feet when he saw a clear view of the door. He strode to it and stepped outside, running squarely into the barrel-chested form of the elderly shopkeeper.

“My lands, son, what are you doing in here?” Jorgenson asked. “And what in the Lord’s green acres happened to your face? Your eyes are black as tar and your nose is leanin’ a little to the side.”

Nathaniel tried to mutter an explanation, but his swollen lips made it come out in a garbled rush.

“Well, come on, let’s get you away from here. I’ve come over to sell some tonics for all the headaches this rowdy bunch will have come the morning, but that can wait ‘til we get you fixed up proper.” He took Nathaniel’s upper arm in his grasp and led him away from the tavern, the cold air actually feeling good on his injured face for once.

“Here you are now,” the man said, pointing to a cot in the corner of the store room where Gretchen had stayed while working in town. “Miss O’Brien won’t mind a tenant in her quarters since she’s been staying out on the MacAteers’ claim. How is Miss O’Brien doing anyway? Any more trouble from that knock on her head? I’ve tried telling her she can’t take on the train and hope to win,” he said with a chuckle.

Nathaniel laid down on the cot, but somehow that didn’t bring any relief. In fact, if the new pounding in his head was any sign, it actually made things worse. He rolled from one side to the other, trying to ease the throbbing in his head, but finally fell forward with his face toward the blanket. Jorgenson hoisted him up from behind.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” he said sternly. “Turn your face back away from that coverlet, you’re still bleeding out that nose of yours. Whoever did this was out for blood, and he sure did win. I never pegged you for a barroom brawler, that’s for sure. You and that other fella you’re always coming in with seem like such decent folks.”

“We are decent folks,” Nathaniel protested weakly, but his words came out flubbed. He shook his head, but that only made the pain worse.

“Decent, you say? Well, not by the looks of things right here. You’ve gone and gotten yourself into a heap of trouble, and I’d wager you weren’t in there ten minutes. ‘Course, it’s not hard to get into this kind of trouble in that short amount of time, least not in a place like that. Drink this, and you just rest up for now. I’m going to fetch your horse from the tavern and tie it up in the shed out back. Otherwise someone will steal it… or get hungry and eat it!”

***

“I can naw take it anymore! You have to help her!” Gretchen cried at Moira’s kitchen table. Pryor stood uncomfortably by the fireplace, listening to the story but knowing in his bones that something was amiss. “She cries non-stop, and I can naw figure out why.”

“Do you think she’s homesick?” Pryor asked, seeking out the most obvious answer first.

“Well, of course, she’s homesick, but there’s got to be more to it than that. No one nabbed her and forced her onto that train, she should have known her life would be very different out here.” Gretchen sat back and crossed her arms in a huff. She’d never been one to give way to emotions, especially not when the situation was inevitable.

“What does Mr. Russell say about it?” Moira asked, frightened for Katia.

“That’s just it, he has naw been back to see her! You’d think he’d forgotten she’s even in Montana!”

“He hasn’t seen or spoken to her in three days? Well, there’s your explanation right there!” Pryor said crossly. “I can’t picture him ignoring the poor girl, not when he was so taken with her. Did something come between them?”

“Who’s to know, since she can naw speak to him nor him to her? What would they fight about, who has the better posture?” Gretchen sat up straight again, remembering her place. “I’m heartily sorry, that was a rude manner of speaking to my hosts. I’m just so heart sore for the girl, and I can naw think of how to help her.”

“No, ‘tis all right,” Moira said, reaching for Gretchen’s hand across the table and giving it a comforting squeeze. “We know ‘tis difficult enough if the girl was happy, but if she’s miserable, it can naw be a pleasant situation for you either. And here you’ve taken your time away from the shop to keep her company.”

“You don’t suppose something happened to him?” Gretchen asked, brightening slightly. Not that she wished him harm, but it would at least offer an explanation. “If he hasn’t come by the cabin to call on her, and you haven’t spoken to him either, then he could be hurt!”

“I’ve a mind to ride out to Nathaniel’s place right now!” Pryor stormed. “If he isn’t lying in his floor dead, he will be!”

Pryor grabbed his coat and flew out the door. The ladies knew his anger was real, but also knew his speed was fueled by fear for his friend. Pryor was right, this wasn’t the behavior of the man who’d been sick to his stomach with nerves over meeting his bride. They both could only pray that he was all right.

“What’s gotten into you, man…” Pryor began when Nathaniel opened the door. Instead of finishing his interrogation, his words caught in his throat at the sight of the yellow and green bruises on his dear friend’s face. “Nathaniel! What in the world? Were you kicked by your horse?”

“No, but I wish I had been. Come on in,” he said sadly, stepping back and letting Pryor enter the still-dark cabin. There was no fire in the hearth and no pots simmering on the stove. Pryor looked to the table and saw a pathetic looking loaf of bread that had been picked over, providing probably the only meal Nathaniel had been eating lately.

“What’s wrong with you?” he began.

“In my heart, or in my face? Where should I start?” Nathaniel answered bitterly, falling into a ladder-back chair at the table and flicking a crumb to the floor.

“If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you’ve taken up the drink. What is all this? Have you at least fed your animals, if you haven’t fed yourself?” Pryor’s worry grew into anger at the thought that a farmer would let his livestock go uncared for.

“I fed ‘em yesterday. I just haven’t gotten around to it today.” Nathaniel looked out the window as he spoke, else he’d have seen Pryor’s shoulders visibly relax at knowing at least the horses were safe.

“Talk to me, Nathaniel. This isn’t like you. Tell me what’s brought this on, and I don’t want to hear that it’s just cabin sickness from the cold. Why haven’t you been by to see Katia? The girl’s beside herself, crying all the time—”

“She’s crying? Ha! That’s funny stuff, right there.”

Pryor’s fists reflexively clenched under the table. “You watch how you talk about her, Nathaniel Russell. I’m not one to get involved in other people’s affairs unless I have to, but you’ll not scorn her that way in front of me. Do you hear me?” he roared. Nathaniel sat up straighter, blinking in surprise at his friend’s outburst.

“Yes, I’m sorry. I’m just… I don’t know what to do. I tried to call on her a few days ago, and she refused to see me. Me! The whole reason she came to Montana was to meet me. And now she won’t even sit on the porch for a visit with me!”

“Is that why you decided to hit your face against something firm?”

“No. Well, actually, kind of. After she had refused to come out, I didn’t know what else to do and I didn’t want to go home. I went into town—”

“You went into town at night?!” Pryor demanded incredulously. “Don’t you know what that place has turned into? What were you thinking?”

“Well, for one, I thought that my bride just closed the door in my face if you must know!” he shot back indignantly. “But truth be told, I was thinking, okay? I was just… lonely. That’s the whole reason I got myself into this mess in the first place, so I didn’t have to sit here on my sad little farm and feel sorry for myself.”

“Nathaniel,” Pryor began, his voice softening into a more brotherly tone. “You’ve got to go see her. She’s devastated that you haven’t come by. Gretchen’s come to tell us she can’t take the crying anymore! If you don’t go see her, and be quick about it, we’re gonna have a whole bunch of angry females coming down on us!”

“I can’t go see her like this, Pryor,” Nathaniel explained, pointing to his face. “You’ll just have to make some excuse. Tell Gretchen I’ll come by in a few days when I don’t look like I was on the losing end of a wrestling match in the tavern!”

“Not in a million years! You think I’m afraid of my wife, wait ‘til you see how skittish I am around that red-headed friend of hers! Besides, this is the only way to make Katia understand that you didn’t just abandon her on the frontier, but that there were… other circumstances… that kept you from visiting. She’s got to see you, messy as you are, to understand that you’d have come to see her if you could have.”

Nathaniel seemed to think it over, shaking his head once in a while. Finally, he sighed and stood up, wincing and grabbing his ribs as he did. He looked at Pryor and nodded.

“You’re right. If she won’t have me, then I haven’t lost anything that I didn’t lose a few days ago. But can we keep the tavern story just between us? I mean, I really did fall… well, after someone punched me in the nose… but it’s not like it’d be lying to tell the ladies I just took a bad spill.”

“Well, I’ll give you this one little white lie, but no more. You straighten up and be a man. Be the man I count as my friend and fellow homesteader. Now wash up and change your shirt, make yourself look presentable. We’ve got to ride out to see your bride right away.”

Nathaniel did as he was bid, and, together, he and Pryor rode out, stopping along the way to let Nathaniel make his apologies to Moira and Gretchen for inconveniencing them. They were horrified by his appearance, and immediately set about fawning over him, especially when they learned of his accident. Pryor fought not to roll his eyes with contempt at the way Nathaniel let them make a fuss over him.

It was decided that Nathaniel would ride over to cabin to make his apologies, but, first, Pryor would take Moira and Gretchen in the wagon so Katia wasn’t bombarded by a bruised and repentant husband-to-be who couldn’t explain the matter. While Moira was relieved that the discord would soon be patched up, she had a far more pressing concern of her own to see to. She followed Pryor to the barn when he went to hitch the team, then turned on Pryor with a fierce look in her eye.

“Mr. MacAteer! I know a barroom fight when I see one, and that sorry tale about falling in his barn had better be the last untruthful thing you ever say to me!” she cried angrily. Pryor was too surprised to argue, and simply nodded mutely for a few seconds before recovering.

“And just how do you know what a barroom fight looks like?” he teased. “I thought you were a fine lady, much too genteel to associate with the likes of ruffians!”

“Aye, that I am. But that doesn’t mean our stable boys had the same standards! I’ve seen plenty o’ bruises and broken noses to know how a man comes about to get one!” She smiled wickedly and turned away, leaving Pryor to wonder for the hundredth time about this mysterious creature he’d married. He wasn’t sure if it was her foreign upbringing or her uncanny ability to root out the truth that had him more frightened.