Grace: Bride of Montana (American Mail-Order Bride 41) (3 page)

Victor brought her hands to his lips and kissed them. He touched her neck, his finger dipping under the material of her nightgown to catch on the thin gold necklace he’d given her with a tiny heart pendent engraved with a
G
and an
L
. With a hook of his finger, he lifted the necklace to rest on the outside of her nightgown.

At his sweet gesture, she reached up and fingered the heart.

“I have good news for you, dearest. Soon you’ll be able to wear this for all the world to see. For I just landed a big account! With that commission, we can afford to marry in two months, three at the most. So, you see, there’s no need to wait.”

She bit back a gasp. Grace wanted to shriek with joy. Instead she bounced on her toes. “Oh, Victor,” she whispered, pulling her hands loose from his so she could throw her arms around his neck. “I’m so happy.” She squeezed tight to him.

“Then you’ll meet me at The Brennen Hotel?”

“Yes, oh, yes.”

“Come at five o’clock. We’ll have dinner at this little romantic place around the corner, and then we’ll retreat to our bower of love, signing the hotel’s register as Mr. and Mrs. Jones.”

* * *

Throughout the week, Grace’s moods fluctuated between excitement about spending the night with Victor and their approaching wedding, to the nightmare memories of the fire that continued to plague her. She been teary and tired and jumpy, unlike her calm, practical self. Without a job, time weighed heavily on her hands, and she spent the first day cleaning every square inch of Shirley’s house.

She received free room and board for looking after the elderly woman, which usually amounted to doing the heavy cleaning and laundry, as well as toting buckets of water, shopping, and running errands. Shirley still enjoyed cooking and doing some of the cleaning herself, so Grace didn’t feel her duties were too arduous, but she’d have to find someone responsible who could take her place when she married.
Maybe one of the other seamstresses will want the position.

After her cleaning frenzy, when Shirley was visiting a friend, Grace brought out her heirloom family wedding gown, first worn by her great-great-grandmother, Abigail Richmond, which Grace had stored under her bed in an ancient cedar box original to the time of the dress. The bodice of the gown was a robin’s egg blue brocade with a pale gold lattice design on the sides and back. In the front, lace trim of falling leaves edged the square neckline, with the brocade pattern changing to roses,
fleur de lis
, and fern leaves, and ending in a squared-off V. The three-quarter length sleeves were edged with the same lace as on the bottom of the bodice, and the back laced up with cream-colored satin ribbons. The skirt was blue-green satin with a shimmery gold overskirt that was so thin the material underneath showed through.

During the antebellum period, the dress’s original side panniers were carefully altered to make a hoopskirt for her grandmother as a bride. Now, Grace just as skillfully modified the full skirt into a bustle on the back. As much as she wanted a fashionable look on her wedding day, she was more concerned with preserving the dress for her daughter and granddaughter.

Family tradition said the bride who wore the heirloom gown was blessed with a happy marriage.
Will Victor love this dress as much as I do?
Grace laughed softly to herself.
Of course not. But I hope he’ll love seeing me in it.
She hadn’t shared anything about the gown with him, preferring to surprise him and tell him the history afterward.

We have to make an appointment to meet with a minister.
She and Victor had never attended church together, and she wondered if they should use her minister or his. Either would be fine with her.
We cannot wait, just in case I become pregnant right away.
The thought of a baby gave her an inner glow.

With her future progeny in mind, she used a soft padded bustle instead of a wire one, not as big but more far more comfortable to wear and easier on the fabric. As she sewed the tiny stitches by hand, missing the sewing machine at work, Grace tried to imagine her wedding day, but somehow the happy vision kept disappearing into smoke and flames and fear.

CHAPTER THREE

The Saturday after the fire, wearing her second-best dress, Grace walked with a swing in her step to the park to attend a meeting of the factory seamstresses organized by their manager, Roberta McDaniel. Gone was August’s humidity, and the sunny day held just a hint of autumn. A cool breeze blew from the direction of the river that bordered one side of the small park, carrying the scent of mossy rocks and withering grass. A few of the trees already displayed some leaves changing color.

Just the thought of her fellow seamstresses brought back the images again. Blinded by the images from the factory, with screams in her ears, and the smell of smoke in her nose, Grace paused, blinking to clear her vision. Touching the gold heart she wore hidden under her shirtwaist helped steady her. Next to the precious wedding gown, the necklace was her most treasured possession.

Feeling comforted, she turned the corner to the park and left the street to walk up the path leading to the area where several of the women had begun to congregate. Although she wasn’t close with most of the other workers, after what they’d gone through, she felt a kinship with them, and looked forward to seeing everyone and learning how they’d fared.
Are they troubled by their memories of the fire, too?

She glanced around for Madeline Nelson, the woman who’d worked on the sewing machine next to her. Tall, brown-haired Madeline was a widow who possessed a sense of humor and a feisty spirit, but the woman was just as private as Grace. They made perfect work companions, and Roberta rarely had to scold the two of them for talking.

As Grace reached the group, Roberta signaled for silence. Of medium height, she was slender with blonde hair and brown eyes that often looked anxious or tired; not surprising considering she managed a factory full of women and dealt with Bob Brown, the obnoxious owner.

Grace slipped through several women to stand near Madeline, exchanging uncertain smiles with the other seamstresses as she passed. Surely now that the factory was burned down, and she and Victor were about to be married, they no longer had to keep their engagement secret. He’d always been so concerned with proper public appearance for the sake of propriety because Grace could be fired if Mr. Brown or Roberta thought she exhibited loose morals, and Victor could lose the important account. They couldn’t do social activities like other courting couples such as stroll along the river promenade or have Victor call upon her at home under Shirley’s chaperonage.

We have nothing left to lose,
Grace realized with excitement
.
She leaned forward to whisper to Madeline, who looked tired and drawn. “I have exciting news. I’ll tell you after the meeting.”

The older woman’s eyes widened. Her smile transformed her face into prettiness. She nodded. “I welcome hearing about something hopeful!”

Her thoughts occupied, Grace only just caught Roberta’s announcement that the factory would not be rebuilt. In dismay, she realized some of the women would probably run out of money in the next weeks. Not all were savers like she’d been, and some had other family members to support.

She made a mental note to inquire if Madeline wanted to live with Shirley. Perhaps, the older woman would consent to her new companion coming to live with them before Grace left. She could sleep on a pallet on the floor.
Provided the old woman doesn’t kick me out for going behind her back with Victor.
Shirley wasn’t a vindictive woman, but her feelings might be hurt.

At that moment, Roberta mentioned the
Grooms’ Gazette.
This brought Grace’s wandering attention back to the meeting. Their former manager held copies of the periodical, explaining how the mail-order marriage system worked.

Grace could barely suppress a shudder at the thought of traveling to another state to marry a stranger—no matter that their manager assured them the matchmaker in charge of the newspaper investigated the men as much as possible.
Thank goodness I have Victor.

In the past months, she’d grown impatient with her betrothed’s insistence on waiting to marry, but now, all Grace could feel was appreciation for her secure financial circumstances.

Josephine Depardieu was the first to march up to Roberta for one of the newspapers. She wore a shabby gray dress that did not at all suit her honey-colored hair, but she carried herself with elegance and spoke with an upper-class accent, which she sometimes peppered with French words.

Grace wasn’t sure if the woman was brave or foolhardy.
Maybe both.

One by one, she watched many of the seamstresses take a copy of the
Grooms’ Gazette
—some eagerly and others with obvious reluctance.

Madeline looked at Grace and wrinkled her nose, indicating what she thought of a mail-order marriage. She made no move toward Roberta.

Grace nodded in agreement.

Holding several newspapers, Josephine approached Grace and Madeline. “Come on, you two. At least take a look at the men who are available.”

Madeline held up a hand in a stopping gesture and shook her head.

“I have no need to.” Grace couldn’t help a proud smile. Victor had said two to
three
months, but she was feeling optimistic today. “I’m engaged to Victor Jones, and we are to be married in the next two months.”

Madeline gasped, and her blue eyes sparkled. “I always suspected he was sweet on you. But, you clever girl, you never showed a
hint
of partiality.”

“
Mon dieu
.” Josephine grasped both of them by the arms and pulled them out of earshot of the others. “Grace, you
cannot
mean the salesman Victor Jones who has…
had
the button account for the factory?”

Grace beamed at them, glad they knew him, at least by sight. “Why, yes, he’s the one.”

Josephine shook her head, a sorrowful look on her face. “
Non, non, non
,” she scolded. She leaned closer. “I’m so sorry,
ma chérie
.

Grace’s stomach tightened. “What, Josephine? What is it?”

“Victor Jones is
married
. He and his wife live near my cousin on the other side of town.”

An arrow pierced her, the pain hot. “No!” Grace whispered, feeling dizzy.
Not my Victor.
She gave Josephine a pleading glance. “You must be mistaken.”

“
Non, chérie
. I’m not mistaken.”

A gust of breeze tugged at Grace’s hair, blowing a loose strand across her eyes. She couldn’t be bothered to brush it away. She felt ill….

Josephine reached up to tuck the tendril behind Grace’s ear. “I would not deliver such devastating news, my dear, if I were not sure. Victor Jones has a son about five years old who looks just like him. And his wife is expecting another child.”

A family!
Grace couldn’t seem to breathe, and her knees buckled.

Both women grabbed her elbows.

Madeline gave Grace’s arm a little shake. “You must act normally or else the others may suspect something is wrong. You don’t want gossip to get out about this.”

“As long as no one mentions the
crétin’s
name, Grace should be fine,” Josephine assured them. “I believe we’ve all been experiencing the oddest emotional reactions from our experience with the fire and losing our livelihood.” She patted Grace’s shoulder and pointed her chin in Roberta’s direction. “Go and take a
Grooms’ Gazette
. I doubt you’ll want to remain in this town much longer.”

Consumed by her shattered heart, Grace could barely absorb the woman’s words, much less take her advice. She shook her head. “I couldn’t possibly.”
All my plans….

“Now, Grace, Jo is right,” Madeline stated with her characteristic bluntness. She pulled on Grace’s arm to start her walking toward Roberta.

The gentle pressure of Josephine’s hand on her back pushed her to go on.

Unshed tears made Grace’s chest as tight as a vise; her heart beat slow and heavy with pain. She moved like a machine, giving Roberta a polite turn up of her lips and taking the newspaper the manager held out. Dazed and wounded, she couldn’t make out the blurred words.

“Best of luck, Grace,” Roberta murmured. “Keep me posted about what you decide.”

“Thank you. And to you as well.” In a daze, she shuffled back to the two women.

Madeline cocked her head in askance. “Do you want us to walk you home?”

I have no home.
That place belongs to Shirley. She will be there, asking questions when she sees I’m upset.

In that moment, Grace realized she’d lost more than Victor. She’d lost her dream of a home and the life they would have made together—the inspiration for living through the dreary days and all the scrimping and saving she’d endured. In an instant, her once bright future had turned to ashes.

“Please, let us take you home,” Madeline prompted, frowning.

“You both are kind to offer, but I’d prefer to be alone.” Grace frowned at the newspaper. “To think. To read this. To make a decision.”

“I understand,” Madeline said. “That’s what I’d do in your place.” She leaned forward and kissed Grace’s cheek. “Send word to my lodging when you know what you’ll do. You are stronger than you know, dear Grace. All the best to you.”