Freedom For A Bride: A clean historical mail order bride romance (Montana Passion Book 2) (8 page)

Moira crawled on her hands and knees around the edge of Katia’s dress, pinning the fabric here and there to set the hem. Gretchen seethed from watching her mistress scoot about on the floor like a common tradeswoman, but she’d learned some time ago that it didn’t do to mention it to the recently untitled, newly rechristened Mrs. Russell. She was no longer noble, as she kept reminding her ladies’ maid, and therefore not above any task as needed doing.

All morning, Katia had seemed far away. She’d dutifully smiled and exclaimed like a giddy child on Christmas over the dress when Moira finally got her to understand that it was for her to wear on her wedding day, but having it on her body had had the opposite effect. Instead of beaming, she stood frozen while Moira worked, catching a worried glance from Gretchen once in a while.

“Something’s amiss, my lady. I’ve said it before, and I’m saying it now,” Gretchen said with a forced smile, still in Irish lest Katia perhaps understand her. “Look at the poor dear’s face! She was so happy only a week ago, but now? She looks as though the judge has handed down a conviction against her.”

“I so want to argue, Gretchen, but I can’naw. I’m afeared you’re right. She looks near to miserable! You don’t suppose… no, don’t think of it. Forget that I spoke.”

“No, you can naw start to say it then not! What do you suppose?”

Moira looked uncomfortable for a moment, peering out the window to make sure Pryor wasn’t walking past. “You don’t suppose that Mr. Russell has been… untoward? Or cross with her? Anything out of sorts?”

“Mr. Russell? Never! I’ve never laid eyes on a kinder soul than his, and he’s been nothing but the highest of gentlemen, at least not when I could see. And besides, I’ve not left her alone with him, I promise you. I am confident in saying. Thus, he’s been entirely over the moon at the thought that she’s to be his bride. I’m telling you, there’s something not right, and I say it has to do with her coming here.”

“Oh, Gretchen, I’m so scared that you might be right.” Moira shook it off visibly, recovering herself. “No, I can naw let myself think like that. I know in my bones that ‘tis only fear and nerves for her sake. Why, look at me! What would I have done here on the prairie if I had naw had you with me? Someone, who knew me, who spoke my tongue, who could keep me company and sympathize if I felt too lonely or too inept as a wife? Perhaps she’s fearful of being so lonely and does naw realize we’ll visit with her often?”

Gretchen didn’t answer, but she looked skeptical. The morose look on Katia’s face even as they talked about her belied the posture of a happy bride.

“My lady,” Gretchen whispered, forgetting to call her friend by her name. “Have you naw seen the way she looks at your Matthew? That look of longing, she gets whenever you hold him?”

“Aye, that I have,” Moira answered from far away, lost in her worry. “But we’ve already spoken of this and there’s nothing more to say on the matter.”

“Well, I’ve already said it, and I say that it bears thinking of again. I fear there’s a baby out there somewhere, far from his mother’s arms, that our new friend is pining for.” They both looked immediately to Katia, concern for her sake and embarrassment at talking about her while she stood right in front of them clear on both their faces.

“How shall we ask her about it, then? Even if she understood us and we could ask her plain, then what’s to be done? What if the child…” Moira paused and pressed a hand to her heart, shaking her head before finishing. “…has passed away? That kind of grief could surely make a mother flee to a new country, just to put it as far behind her grieving heart as possible.”

“You’re very right, I’ve already said as much. But I beg you to still consider this: what if the child is not lost? What if she’s had to abandon a babe in order to give it a better life? Don’t you think Mr. Russell would be pained to know that Katia carries a hurt like no other, especially when he could do something about it?”

“But what could he do?”

“Well, if the child has been left behind, he could go after it, naw?” she asked hopefully. “It only makes sense, surely he would not let Katia suffer from this hurt.”

Moira waited, torn, then finally nodded. She took one last look at Gretchen to steel her resolve, then gestured for Katia to sit down. Gretchen took a piece of simple writing paper and a pencil, then joined the ladies at the kitchen table and began to draw.

“This… is Katia,” she began slowly while drawing a simple figure of a woman, drawing streaks of long dark hair for emphasis. Next to it, she drew a simple figure to represent a baby. She looked at Katia with an imploring expression, asking the simple question with her scribbles. Katia looked expectant, as if waiting for there to be further drawings, but quickly realized her secret was undone. Her dark eyes welled up with tears that slid down her cheeks, escaping as they did since the longing in her heart left no room for any other emotion. This was a grief she’d carried silently for so long that she’d become too well versed in pushing it down deep inside her.

She nodded, then collapsed with her head thrown down on her folded arms, her shoulders shaking from her quiet sobs. Moira and Gretchen exchanged only a single glance before getting up and coming to sit on either side of her, winding their arms around her thin shoulders. Moira pressed her cheek to Katia’s black hair, holding her as the sadness poured forth relentlessly.

When Katia finally recovered enough to sit up, Gretchen handed her a handkerchief from her own sleeve. Katia dried her tears, hiccupping softly from time to time as she tried to regain her composure. She looked gratefully at Moira, but then struggled to speak.

“No Yell?” she asked imploringly.

“Oh, no, my dear girl! Why would we yell at you?” Moira asked with a light laugh, hugging Katia tightly for a moment. Gretchen shook her head.

“Yell is what she calls Mr. Russell, she can’t yet pronounce his name. I think she is asking you to not inform him of this situation.”

“Oh, dear, I don’t know if ‘tis wise to keep such a secret. On her part, not ours, I mean. He’s bound to learn eventually, and then may feel swindled.” Moira turned to Katia and pointed to the drawings. “Where?”

Katia nodded. She took the pencil and drew two lines coming from herself, then joined those lines to more figures of people. “Mama,” she said finally, drawing an arrow from the baby that Moira had drawn around Katia’s figure, then to the woman above Katia.

“I think I have it,” Gretchen said, inspired by the woman’s drawing. “I think her drawing ‘tis much similar to a genealogy, don’t you see? ‘Twould seem as though Katia’s mother has the baby?” Katia nodded at Gretchen’s explanation and tapped the pencil against the figure again. “Well, then that’s a simple matter! Can naw the baby come here? Surely Mr. Russell would be delighted at having a child, as well!”

“Oh, Gretchen, it may not be so simple as that. What if there’s a reason the child can naw come to America? And despite what we know of Mr. Russell, he’s only just signed on for a wife, not an entire family. Sad though it may be, there are a goodly number of men who would balk at raising another man’s child, too.”

“Surely you can naw think so ill of Mr. Russell as that he would keep a mother from her child?” Gretchen asked, aghast at Moira’s suggestion. “He’s thought of naught but Katia’s happiness since the moment her feet touched the platform in New Hope! If he knew she’d been separated from her child, he’d move heaven and earth to rejoin them, I know it!”

“Hmmm, you may be right,” Moira said pensively, but still uncertain. “But if Katia does not wish us to mention it, then we have no right to interfere.”

“You know,” Gretchen said in a soft voice, despite Katia’s inability to understand. She looked over her shoulder toward the cabin door before hinting. “She never said you could naw tell your own husband. And if Mr. MacAteer just felt so compelled as to say something to Mr. Russell…”

“Gretchen!” Moira breathed, her eyes widening in shock. “I am surprised at you! You can naw mean we should violate her confidence—”

“What confidence? The girl can barely speak! She did naw put us to a blood oath, she simply told you not to yell!” Gretchen looked defiantly at Moira for perhaps the first time in her life. She adored her mistress, but she wasn’t going to back down over a thing like a language barrier and a halfhearted promise. There was too much at stake.

In the end, Moira caved. It hurt her sensibility and pride horribly to do so, but Gretchen was right. They couldn’t keep quiet about so grave a matter, especially not one that could hurt both Katia and Nathaniel so deeply. Katia would eventually be undone by the dark secret she carried, perhaps not today but one day. Almost nearly so bad was the fact that her husband would be hurt by the lack of trust, by finding out his wife was not who he thought she was.

She found a moment to talk to Pryor, already having decided that she would lay the matter at his feet and be content with whatever he decided. After all, Nathaniel was his friend, not hers really, and her husband knew more about life as a homesteader than she thought she ever would.

“Pryor? Are you in here?” she called out to the darkness of the shadowy barn. She hadn’t remembered seeing him come in yet but knew that he often returned for a tool or a different harness. The pounding of his hammer in the barn earlier let her hope that he was still close by.

“I’m back here!” he called from inside a horse’s stall. She stepped around the wagon and made her way down the line of horse stalls, five of them, built when he crafted the barn in the anticipation of one day growing his head of livestock.

“Ah, working the land, I see. No rest for the ever weary!” Moira said with a smile, stalling for time. Pryor carried another shovelful of hay and manure to the open door and pitched it outside into the waiting wheelbarrow to later be carted off to the pile.

“A farmer’s work is never done! But what brings you out into the barn, my wife?” he asked with a smile, leaning against his shovel.

“It’s rather a personal matter, I’m afraid,” she replied, the smile on her face faltering just a little. She took a deep breath, let it out slowly, then recounted the story of Katia and her child.

“Oh, my, that is troubling, isn’t it?” Pryor finally said after giving pause. He looked down. “But what do you think we should do?”

“Me? I have no notion of my own on this. I thought since Mr. Russell is your friend, you would know best how to proceed.”

“No notion? None at all? I find that incredibly hard to believe!” he said with a laugh, despite the gravity of their conversation.

“Well, no, I mean, I do have an idea of what I hope to happen, but I don’t feel it’s my place to interfere. I can naw speak for Mr. Russell’s feelings about marrying a woman who has a child. As I’ve said, you know him best. If he would not wish to go after the child or worse, if he would not wish to marry Katia, then ‘twould not be kinder to not tell him?”

“Moira! You would keep this a secret?” Pryor demanded, but she quickly realized he was only jesting. She smirked at him, then crossed her arms and waited for him to answer. His brows knit together as he concentrated, but, at last, he spoke.

“Well, put yourself in his place then,” she said, her tone becoming severe. “If it had been me, and you’d had the chance to know a grave secret about me before we married… would you have wanted the choice?”

“The choice to do what?” he asked, his eyes narrowing with suspicion at what Moira might say.

“Would you have wanted the choice to put me aside and not marry me?” she asked, her voice cracking slightly at the end. She cleared her throat and waited for the words that would secure her esteem in his eyes. No matter that she had not come to him a ruined girl, it still stung sharply to have to wait for him to answer.

“I think we have no other choice. We must say something to him. I mean, I will say something to him.” Pryor lowered his eyes, not meeting Moira’s gaze. “I would have wanted to know if you had a child.”

She let go of the breath she’d held all at once, feeling the shock from his words and nearly recoiling from the determined expression on his face. The firm set of his jaw told her all she needed to know.

“I see. So you would naw have wished to go forward with the wedding had I borne some other man’s child, you mean? As though I were no better and no worse than those
ladies
at the tavern?” She turned on her heel as the pricking of hot, angry tears started behind her eyes. She stormed away before she would have to hear another word or see the look of disgust on her husband’s face.

Her shaky steps across the barnyard were no match for Pryor’s heavy footfalls. He caught up with her quickly, took her by the arm, and turned her to face him.

“My dear, dear wife, that is not at all what I meant! You didn’t let me explain,” he began, but her fury was already riled.

“No, there is no explaining to be done. You won’t have a damaged, wanton woman on your property, I understand completely.” She was all the more enraged at the way he fought to control his laughter. It was rare that he’d seen her temper since marrying her, but surely he’d witnessed it plenty beforehand to remember it afresh. “Oh, I see this strikes you as amusing! Then perhaps you’re not so worldly as I once thought. You certainly knew about the ladies of ill-repute at the tavern, but you obviously are not aware that not all ladies who find themselves in the capacity of motherhood had a choice in the matter! Has it occurred to you that we do not know anything of the
father
of Katia’s baby? You would have Mr. Russell turn his back on her as a wife, or worse, turn his back on her child, when ‘tis possible the child was begotten through… some horrific circumstances?”

The laughter went out of Pryor’s eyes. He put his hands on Moira’s shoulders and waited for her to compose herself. She held her head high and her shoulders squared, her posture serving as a reminder to both of them of her noble upbringing and station.

“Moira… my wife… I wasn’t laughing at the situation, and I never meant for even a second that he shouldn’t marry Katia. I meant that if you had come to me and I’d known you had a child that you were separated from, I would have wanted to know. It would have been the only way that I could have moved these very mountains to bring the two of you together again and offered you loving shelter in my home. And no, I admit that I didn’t think of how she came to have a baby in the first place. You’re right, it could be a great pain to her, one that’s made even worse by having to cast it aside.”

“I’m heartily sorry then,” Moira admitted quietly. “I thought the worst of you when I knew you not to be like that. I’m just so hurt for Katia, I suppose. I can naw imagine leaving little Matthew even to go into New Hope for a spool of thread or a card of needles, let alone to travel all the way across the world to marry a stranger.”

Pryor held her close as she loosed the unshed tears she carried for Katia’s plight. He kissed the top of her head before answering.

“I’ll go speak to Nathaniel straight away.”

“Speak to me about what?” Nathaniel called out brightly, waving his greeting as he walked up the yard. He held up some packages from town. “I know how hard you and the ladies are working to put together a fine wedding for us, so I wanted to bring you some supplies. I didn’t want you to dip into your own stores to help us celebrate.”

He gave two bundles to Pryor then handed the smaller packages off to Moira, who wiped her tears on her sleeve and smiled happily before reaching for them. “But Mr. Russell, you did naw have to trouble yourself. We’re happy to help you revel in the blessings of marriage! ‘Tis a wonderful occasion, is it not, husband?” She cast a knowing glance at Pryor, still daring him to argue. He coughed and quickly turned eager himself.

“Of course! And remember, you were there to help us be festive on our own wedding day! What a happy, wonderful day that was, a day when this lonely, cranky old bachelor finally became a family man!”

Why don’t you apply it a little more thickly?
Moira thought with a bitter smirk.
He’ll know what you’re aiming to speak to him about before you ever say a word!

She excused herself to the house and left them to have their talk. She couldn’t help herself, and watched through the window to gauge Nathaniel’s reaction, a stabbing sensation piercing her heart at the look of torture on his face. She watched as Pryor put a hand on Nathaniel’s shoulder, then eventually put an arm around his shoulders when that proved not to be sufficient to erase the heartache.

Together, the two men walked away and Moira returned to her work. The fear that Nathaniel would put Katia aside ate at her insides all through the day. She struggled while she worked, desperate to find a solution that would ease everyone’s pain, but nothing came to her.