Grace: Bride of Montana (American Mail-Order Bride 41) (7 page)

“Come along, dears.” Mrs. Norton motioned the two women to follow her. Once inside, they walked down a narrow hallway, past a closed door, and into the opening of a bedroom. “Are you hungry, Miss Dickinson? I could bring you something to eat.”

“No, thank you. My stomach’s too nervous for me to eat a bite.”

“I remember the feeling,” Mrs. Flanigan murmured. The small room held only a four-poster bed, washstand and chest of drawers, with clothing hanging on pegs along the wall. A bouquet of white roses and chrysanthemums in a glass Mason jar on the washstand sat next to a pitcher and ewer. A matching satin ribbon tied the stems together. The sweet fragrance of roses wafted their way.

Mrs. Norton picked up the pitcher. “I’ll be right back with hot water. I put some on to boil as soon as I heard the train whistle.” She left the room.

Mrs. Flanigan reached up to pull two long pins, with fat crystal beads on the end, from her blue hat, and lifted it off to toss on the bed. She dropped the hatpins there as well. With a sigh, she massaged two places on her scalp. “Thank goodness. They were jabbing me so.”

Without the hat, Grace could see Mrs. Flanigan’s blonde hair had a reddish tint. She took off her own hat, wishing she could discard her corset as well. Her practical black one also had ribbons attached under the brim that she could use to tie if a breeze kicked up. But for her journey, she’d tucked them up underneath the crown. She’d chosen hatpins instead because, if need be, she could use them to defend herself against unwanted attentions,

Mrs. Norton returned with the pitcher of hot water and placed it on the washstand. She gestured toward the bouquet. “Mrs. Flanigan made this for you and dropped it off earlier. So pretty, wouldn’t you agree?”

Grace couldn’t believe how these ladies had welcomed her, and she hoped they’d become friends.

“White roses—the bride’s flower,” Mrs. Norton said with a lilt in her voice. “For unity, purity, and a love stronger than death.” She touched the edge of a blossom. “And, in addition, you have chrysanthemums for fidelity, optimism, joy, and long life, with the color white standing for truth and loyal love.”

As if caught in a spell, Grace stared at the flowers, a lump forming in her throat, the words echoing in her mind….
Joy, truth, fidelity, a love stronger than death.

Mrs. Flanigan chuckled. “Mrs. Norton, you make the bouquet sound so poetic. I’m afraid I can’t take credit for such a romantic arrangement. I chose the only white flowers still blooming in my garden.”

Such a thoughtful gesture of friendship.
Grace swallowed enough to speak. “They’re beautiful. I shall press some between the pages of a book…in fact, I’ll use Emily’s poetry to preserve them.”
Will there come a time when I’ll feel truly sentimental about having wed Mr. Frey Foster?

Mrs. Flanigan nodded in apparent approval. “I did the same with a few roses from my bouquet.”

Grace opened her portmanteau and lifted the smooth cedar box onto the bed. She removed the cover to reveal the heirloom bridal gown. She took out the bodice and laid it on the bed, straightening the lace at the square neckline.

Mrs. Norton touched a reverent finger to the skirt, which Grace had left in the box.

To think I was so happy when I altered that skirt.

Mrs. Flanigan leaned over the bed for a closer look. “Miss Dickinson, this is so beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it. Is it old?”

“Very. Dates back to colonial times. All the brides in my family have worn this and have experienced happy marriages. I know white or cream is the preferred style for bridal gowns, but I couldn’t bear to wear anything but this.”
Even if I’m marrying a man I don’t love.

Mrs. Norton shook her head. “Of course you wouldn’t want any other dress.”

Mrs. Flanigan held up the bodice to Grace’s chest. “And the color will become you better than white or cream.”

Mrs. Norton glanced at Mrs. Flanigan, a happy smile crinkling the wrinkles on her face. “And to continue a time-honored tradition for my mail-order brides…. I’ll go iron your dress, while you wash up.” She tilted her head. “If you trust me with such a special gown, that is.”

“You are so kind.” Grace briefly touched the woman’s arm. “I couldn’t possibly break tradition.”

The older woman blushed. “My dear Miss Dickinson, it is absolutely my pleasure to welcome new brides to our town.” She picked up both pieces of the gown and, with her arms full, whisked out of the room.

Mrs. Flanigan stared after her with a fond smile playing about her lips. “This brings back such memories. I was the first mail-order bride to come to Sweetwater Springs,” she said with pride. “But not the last. And I’m gratified to report, we all have happy marriages.” She reached for Grace’s hand and squeezed. “Frey is a good man, Grace…may we use given names, for I hope we’ll be friends?”

As soon as she was able, Grace slipped her hand from Trudy’s and nodded permission. Somehow she doubted Trudy had to cope with a broken heart when she married Seth Flanigan.
So much easier to fall in love with your husband if your heart is whole and your intentions are to do so.
But still, she was curious. “Why did you become a mail-order bride?”

Trudy moved to the washstand and poured water into the ewer. She handed Grace a washcloth. “I was bored with my life in St. Louis, and I wanted adventure.”

Adventure?
Grace couldn’t even imagine having such a dream, which seemed as opposite as could be from hers—wanting a husband and her own home. “Did you find it?”

“Many would say life as a farm wife isn’t adventurous—a lot of mundane hard work, unless you count the cow getting loose in the garden yesterday. I was furious!” As if remembering the past, Trudy’s whole face lit up. “But yes, coming to Sweetwater Springs, marrying Seth, was a grand adventure. It wasn’t easy, mind you, as I’m sure you’ll find out for yourself, but I still feel my life has plenty of excitement—maybe a quiet kind; loving and peaceful. Like the time George first smiled at me—the way he grins with his whole face.”

“Your baby does have an infectious smile.”

Trudy waved a hand between her and Grace. “Take us being here, for example.
This
is an adventure.”

Grace tilted her head in askance. “This is
my
adventure. But how is it one for you?”

“In St. Louis, I had a set circle of friends—people in the neighborhood, women I’d gone to school with, the adult children of my father’s friends. Most I’d known for a long while. Sometimes, a new person would marry or move into the neighborhood or something, but meeting in the way you and I have….”

Their circumstances were definitely different, although Grace supposed if the stroke hadn’t rendered her father unable to continue his work as a schoolmaster, her upbringing would have been similar. “I guess you’re right.”

Trudy gestured between them. “And the two of us have an instant bond in common. After all, very few mail-order brides can be found in this country, even if there are a disproportionate amount in this area.”

“Well, there are about to become far more, about fifty if I judge correctly. For I had a large group of acquaintances who elected to become mail-order brides.” Grace brought herself up short.
Now isn’t the time to explain about the factory.
She wanted to focus on more pleasant thoughts. “A story for another day,” she said lightly.

“That’s right, Frey mentioned the fire. How very dreadful. And how sad you all couldn’t go to the same community—or at least several of you to the same place. What a comfort it was to have Lina and Darcy—two other mail-order brides from the same agency—join me. I’m sure my friends will soon become yours, too.”

“You said your marriage wasn’t easy. Would…would you be willing to tell me in what way?”
Maybe if I hear difficulties can be overcome…

“Seth loved, or actually,
thought
he loved, another woman, who married someone else. I didn’t know that, and when I found out….” Trudy shook her head. “I up and left.”

Grace gasped. “But….”

Trudy laughed and hugged her. “It’s a very dramatic story, and someday, when we have more time, I’ll tell you. But now, we must prepare
you
for your wedding.”

Somehow, Trudy’s words gave Grace’s spirits a lift. The thought hadn’t occurred to her that she could love again—indeed, discover a deeper love with another man, and for a moment she had hope.
But what if Frey Foster’s not that man? What if I marry him and fall in love with another? I’ll be trapped.

* * *

If anything, after meeting his bride, Frey was even more nervous about his wedding. He found himself
liking
her—not just experiencing the attraction he’d hoped to feel, although there was plenty of that. Grace seemed to understand his sense of humor and jumped right in with teasing him back—unusual for a woman, at least one who wasn’t a sister or a friend who’d been around him since tadpole days.

As he and Seth, each carrying a child, walked around to the church entrance and inside the building, he mused about his wife-to-be. Frey could see the two of them becoming friends. Before today, he’d never considered friendship to be important in a marriage. But now he realized the Flanigans and other happily married couples also possessed that quality in abundance.

I could love her.

Somehow, he felt Grace had upped the marriage stakes.
Now, I have so much more to lose if she’s not happy and leaves me.

The two men sauntered up the aisle. Earlier, they’d all stopped by the church so Trudy could set her flower arrangement of marigolds and such on the altar, which was covered with a white brocade cloth and adorned with a simple cross.

“Your bride…” Seth was the first to break the silence. “I like her.” He crouched, and Anna slid from his arms.

Once free, the girl waved her rag doll and ran to the altar, where she lifted the edge of the cloth and crawled underneath.

Seth stood and reached to take baby George from Frey. “Lately, Anna’s favorite place to play is under the table. The first time she did so, she fell asleep, and Trudy couldn’t find her. She was frantic, about to run into the fields for me when her screaming Anna’s name woke the child, and she emerged from her hiding place.”

Frey chuckled.

Seth patted George’s back. “Let’s not forget my daughter is under there, and then have her pop out in the middle of the ceremony.”

“If we don’t remember—” Frey said dryly “—her mother probably will notice a missing daughter.”

“Children sure do keep you running.” Seth rubbed the baby’s head. “A year from now—” he said, his tone more serious “—you might have one yourself.”

Frey gulped and held up a hand. “One change at a time. I have enough to handle with marrying a woman I’ve just met.”

“Right. When I think back to my wedding day…” Seth shook his head. “I’d never been so scared in my life.”

“That’s hardly comforting,” Frey grumbled.

“Don’t worry—”

“I know, I know. It will get better and better.”

Seth’s grin taunted. “Nope. Gets worse.”

“Worse!” Feeling as if he’d lost his stuffing, Frey dropped into the front pew and sprawled out. “You trying to make me run for the hills? Better not because Grace will end up livin’ with
you
.”

Seth crossed the open space in front of Frey to settle in the pew next to him.

Looking heavy-eyed, George laid his head on his father’s chest.

Seth rubbed the baby’s back. “
Worse
because you
care
. If you think you know love because of your feelings for your parents and sisters and brothers, wait until you have a wife and family. Wait until she’s in danger.” He shuddered, and his gaze became unfocused obviously remembering. “Wait until she’s laboring to bring your child into this world, and you don’t know if she and the baby will live or die.” He swallowed with an audible gulp.

Frey groaned, slid down farther in the pew, and dropped his head back to look up at the ceiling. “Why am I doing this?”

Seth kissed the top of his son’s head. “Because, hopefully, the fearful times and the times when you suffer pain and hardship are few in comparison to those of love and joy and the day-to-day companionship of building a life together. Grace and your children will bring new meaning to your life beyond what you ever could have imagined.”

Frey let out a long breath. “That’s a lot for a man to take in.”

“Even now, four and a half years later, there are days when I walk into the house for dinner and I still feel grateful for the warm welcome I know I’ll receive and the wonderful meal that will be waiting. I had too many years without.”

I want that experience, too.

Seth nudged him, waggling his eyebrows, in an apparent ploy to change the mood. “Not to mention our nights together, and that’s all I’m going to say!”

The appearance of Reverend Norton carrying a book had both men sitting up straight and spared Frey more serious discussions about marriage—a good thing, because he wasn’t sure he could stand any more of Seth’s revelations.
Best get the whole shebang over with.
If he had to do too much more thinking, he might give in to the inchin’ in his feet and hightail it out of the church.

Wouldn’t that be a sight, big Frey Foster loping down the street as if his breeches were afire?