Grace: Bride of Montana (American Mail-Order Bride 41) (13 page)

He placed everything on the table and unfolded the paper.

Gertie followed him, scooting underneath the table and curling up in a ball.

Curious, Grace walked closer, drying the last tin plate as she moved. She leaned over to see a hand-drawn map with buildings prominently displayed. She pointed the plate at the map. “What’s that?”

“You’ll see.” Frey flashed her a grin and pulled out two chairs on one side of the table. “I thought we’d sit together so I can show you everything.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Grace returned to the crate where she stored the dishes, pots, and pans, placing the plate inside, hanging the drying cloth neatly over the side. After removing the apron and folding it over another crate, she straightened to find her husband watching her with narrowed eyes.

“That won’t do.” He made a spreading motion with his arms. “First, let me tell you what I envision for the kitchen. Then you can find a spot where I can fasten a couple of hooks, so you have places to hang those.” He gestured to the dishcloth and apron.

His thoughtfulness pleased her. “I’d like that.”

Frey leaned to touch the front wall. “I propose a row of low cabinets with a counter along here, on both sides of the sink, so you can do dishes and look out the window.” He paused and lifted an eyebrow, apparently waiting for a response.

Grace loved the idea, but the immensity of her emotion inhibited her words. “I’d like that,” she repeated.
You sound like a parrot
, she scolded.
Frey deserves better from you.

He didn’t act disappointed in her repetitive response. He pointed to the wall by the door. “A high closet there between the window and the door for brooms and mops and for items that you might be taking outside and in, like a basket for carrying garden produce. Maybe hooks for coats and such.”

“Ohhh.”

Frey waited, then held out his hand. He scrunched his nose and eyebrows in a comical face and curled his fingers a few times in a
give me more
gesture.

Grace chuckled, the laughter breaking her strange paralysis, and finally found her voice. “The luxury of space—” she opened her arms wide “—of having so much storage is difficult to absorb. My former employer’s home wasn’t much bigger than this whole kitchen. And the house I lived in with my parents was a cottage. Cozy, charming, with odd nooks and crannies. Interesting but small.”

“I could give you odd nooks and crannies.”

She smiled and shook her head. “Tell me more.”

Frey went on to describe where he thought the pantry, icebox, and pie safe should go, gesturing and pacing the room as he spoke.

Grace enjoyed watching his enthusiasm as much as she did learning about her kitchen.

He stopped and waited for her reaction.

With so many details to consider, she didn’t respond right away.

Frey crossed his arms. “You don’t like it,” he stated in a flat tone.

“Oh, no.” Grace stepped to his side and placed both hands around his arm, then realized what she’d done, and pulled back her hands, embarrassed at being so forward. But her palms tingled from the memory of touching him. Without the heavy broadcloth of his suit, she held the hardness of his muscle.
Oh, my.
Her fingers hadn’t spanned his bicep.
I’d need another hand to do so.

Grace looked up at him.

He cocked an eyebrow obviously entertained by her dithering. Reaching down, he grasped her hand and lifted it back to his arm, giving her a little pat. “That’s better.”

Knowing her face must be red, Grace tried to explain. “I suppose…I need to become used to feeling, uh,
free
to touch you,” she stammered.

“I certainly hope so.” His tone sounded amused. “And I take it your initial
freedom
with my arm was meant as reassurance?”

She didn’t dignify the question with an answer, instead rushing to make her point. “You made everything so clear. I pictured the kitchen just as you described. I couldn’t ask for more, Frey. I can’t wait to sew curtains and a tablecloth.”

With a grin, he raised his elbow, as if to escort her someplace, and at the same time made a dramatic sweep of his free arm toward the table. He paraded her the three feet to her seat and held out the chair.

Playing along, Grace pulled wide the sides of her skirt, as if she wore a ball gown and not her second-best dress, and took a seat.

“Now, milady, are you ready for your reports?” Frey asked, using a hoity-toity accent.

“Carry on, my dear man.” Grace mimicked, gesturing to the ledgers with a regal flick of her hand.

Frey barked a laugh and took a seat next to her. He pulled the blue ledger close and rested a hand on top. “This is for my personal expenses, which includes this house. You are welcome to peruse the pages at your leisure.” He flipped open to a page marked by a ragged embroidered bookmark with FREY in crooked black letters running down the middle.

Grace reached over and touched one letter in a silent question.

“A Christmas gift from my little sister. I think she was eight or nine.”

“I remember as a child making them for my parents the Christmas before Mama died. She was delighted.” Grace let out a sigh. “Mama never had a chance to wear hers out, but Papa used his bookmark until it fell completely apart.”

Frey reached for her hand. “What happened to your mother’s?”

The gesture touched her, making Grace feel safe to share with him. “After Papa had a stroke, he could no longer turn the pages. A considerable hardship for a man who spent most of his free time with his nose in a book, even more so after Mama’s death. I would read aloud and used her bookmark to mark our place. The ritual brought us comfort, as if she were with us.”

Frey squeezed her hand. “Maybe she was.”

Appreciating his sentiments, Grace gave him a quick upward glance and a smile. “I’ve never talked about my mother before.”

“Why is that?”

She lowered her gaze. “I didn’t think anyone wanted to hear about her.”

“I do.” His voice was low and husky.

Grace looked up.

“In fact, I want to know all about you. You are my wife and already precious to me.” He cupped her cheek and dropped a brief kiss on her mouth. Soft and gentle, as tender as his words.

In that moment, Grace felt
precious
…cherished…and held the feeling tight to herself, marking the memory
.
So far, her experience of marriage was different than she’d expected, even from what she’d imagined with Victor…and in many ways, much better.

Yet, she couldn’t contain a shiver of apprehension. She’d heard too many stories of how the solicitous behavior a man displayed during courtship often didn’t last. And even though they’d already wed, Grace sensed her husband was wooing her.

She wanted to trust her sense of Frey, but her experience with Victor had shaken her belief in her own instincts. “I want to know about you, too,” she finally replied. “That takes time, though.”

“We’re in no rush.” He released her and leaned back.

Grace suppressed a sigh, already missing his touch. But then she’d often felt the same way with Victor, so she couldn’t be sure if her feelings were for the man or her own longing for physical closeness. The thought made her feel ashamed, as if she were weak and needy.

Frey reached for one of the loose papers and also drew the inkwell closer. “The first order of business is to plan my work schedule for the next few weeks. The thing is…I need to build a stable for the horses before winter starts. In Montana that could happen any day now. But…would you rather I finished your kitchen before building the stables?”

Why would he even ask me that?
Grace drew herself up. “I’m not a spoiled and selfish woman to demand such a thing. If the horses need shelter, then building the stable needs to be your priority.”

Frey shifted to face her. He possessed himself of her hands, gently prying her fingers loose and holding them in his. “Grace…” He drew out her name. “That’s not at
all
what I meant. We’re a team now, yoked in marital harness, and as much as possible, we should make decisions
together.
”

Dumfounded, Grace stared at Frey. Such a thought had never occurred to her. She’d assumed that for the most part her husband would make decisions, and she would have to go along with them. That was what most marriages were like—certainly her parents’ had been. Victor had the same expectation, and the only times she’d stood up to him was on the topic of intimacy before marriage.

“Oh, well, then. Seems to me the kitchen is something you can work on during the winter, but the horses will need shelter before the cold weather comes.”

He lifted her hands a few inches. “A sensible decision from my sensible wife. But today, I think building a solid chicken coop is in order, as opposed to the one Seth and I cobbled together from extra crates. I need to buy lengths of wood and fencing. I’d prefer those birds don’t nest on the porch.”

“Trudy gave me a lot of advice about those chickens, but not how to keep them off the porch if they are loose.”

“We’ll figure something out.”

Frey released her hands and pushed the blue ledger toward her, tapping the latest entries. “This is from the brickwork I did for Banker Livingston on his walkways.” He laid a broad hand on the top of the brown ledger. “I’ve split the records of my income. This one is for the home-building business. The transactions for the Flanigan house are in here.” His eyebrows drew together. “Does the difference make sense to you?”

Grace nodded. “And from here on? Will you continue doing both kinds of work?”

Frey straightened and gave her a pleased smile. “Yes, the small jobs will tide us over between income from building houses. I’m not saying there won’t be times when I’ll have to rob Peter to pay Paul if I run short in one account.”

She remembered when circumstances had forced her to dip into her small savings. “I imagine so.”

“As things stand now, I have about three hundred dollars in the personal account to spend on our house, which includes furniture.”

Three hundred dollars! A fortune! But, still, this is a big house, and much needs to be done.

“So if you could set your mind to what you feel is important and make a list—” he tapped a sheet of paper “—we can compare our lists in say…three days.”

Grace had already done a lot of thinking about the subject. “I don’t think I need three. How about the day after tomorrow?”

“Deal.”

She lifted her chin to indicate the map. “And that?”

With a boyish grin of obvious excitement, Frey reached for the large paper, pushing aside the ledgers. “See if you can tell me what this is.” He spread out the map in front of her.

Grace studied the paper for a few minutes, seeing a grid of buildings represented by boxes with a triangle on top for a roof. She suspected the size of the box indicated the size of the house. Railroad tracks ran along the left side, and the word
forest
was printed on the bottom.

Once she spotted the church, Grace knew. “Sweetwater Springs.” With her finger she traced the streets. “Why, here’s our house.”

“Of course,” Frey said in a matter-of fact-tone. “I drew the map.” He positioned the paper between them. “Now, my dear, let me show you what this is for.” With a fingertip, he brushed the paper on both sides of their house. “I own these lots. I figured I want control of the houses next to mine. I don’t want to risk someone throwing up a shack that would take away from the value of our home.”

“Oh, good thinking. Are you building more foursquares?”

“Yes. The designs will be similar to ours, but I’ll make sure there are differences. And these were four lots originally. I split them into three, giving each more space, thus adding more value. Land here is cheap.” He ran his finger along their street toward the left of the map. This is the Adlers’ stone house. Then we have Main Street. Banker Livingston’s mansion is the largest and most ornate in town. I imagine it will keep that position, for to my knowledge, no one else has the money to surpass what he built.”

“I imagine not,” she murmured.

Frey indicated another spot. “Doctor Cameron’s place is nice. He sees his patients there, too. And here’s the…” He tapped the drawing of the house a few times before shaking his head. “I can’t remember the owner. Only met the father-in-law, Abe something or other. But it’s a gray and white Victorian.”

Grace followed his finger. “I’ll have to explore the town and see all this for myself.”

He laid his hand flat on the map, fingers splayed. “This will be my next decision point. I could buy up more land on our street, giving me control of the neighborhood’s appearance. I envision solid family-type homes. The ones tradesmen will buy.”

“Uh huh,” Grace said, enjoying the discussion and encouraging Frey to go on.

“Or, I could put up one near Livingston’s on a large lot, which would be sinking money into a bigger investment in one big house.”

“Do you have any other choices?”

“Here.” Frey pointed at a street with small boxes. “A poorer section, compact lots. Right now, the area consists of one-, two-, or three-room cabins of clapboard or log. Some shanties behind Hardy’s Saloon.”