Mail-Order Bride Ink: Dear Mr. Weaver (16 page)

Bernice smiled. “Yes, he is. It’s wonderful too.”

“You’ve already eaten?” Ebba asked in surprise. She glanced at Leona sitting next to her.

“Yes, most of us have. You two were upstairs for … quite a while.”

“Hmph,” Nellie added.

Ebba did her best to ignore her. “How long were we up there?” she asked Daniel, who could only shrug.

“It doesn’t matter, dear,” said Leona. “What does is that you’re feeling better now.”

Daniel was still hovering near the door to the hallway, as if afraid to leave her. The thought warmed Ebba’s heart and she felt herself relax. “All I need now is a bite to eat,” she hinted, smiling at him.

“Oh! Right – I’ll go fetch that plate.” He disappeared in a hurry.

Nellie sat and shook her head in disgust.

“What?” Ebba asked, unable to take it anymore.

Nellie slowly faced her. “What?”

It was all Ebba could do not to roll her eyes. Maybe this wasn’t the best time to say anything. “Nothing.” She turned her attention back to Bernice. “Was it you that handed me a handkerchief earlier?”

“Yes, it was.” Bernice sat in the chair next to Nellie’s. “I hope it helped.”

“More than you know,” Ebba said. “I hope I can have it washed for you before you leave tomorrow.”

Bernice smiled and shook her head. “Keep it. You can save it as a memento of your wedding day.”

Nellie laughed.

Ebba forced herself to stay civil. Thankfully, Leona decided to take it upon herself to deal with Nellie. “You’re taking far too much pleasure in this poor child’s misery, Nellie Davis! Just what has gotten into you these days?”

Nellie stood. “A better question is, why hasn’t anything gotten through to you, Leona?” She cast a quick glance at Ebba. “Or haven’t you heard?”

“Heard what?” Leona shot back, clearly flustered.

Nellie smiled like a cat that had just eaten a canary. “Well, if you haven’t heard by now, there’s no sense telling you.”

Leona stood. “Reverting to your old ways, I see,” she muttered, then louder: “Fine, don’t tell me – I don’t want to know.” She turned to Bernice. “Go check on what’s keeping Daniel, will you, dear?”

“I’ll do it,” Nellie volunteered. “Besides, I’m sure he’s looking forward to getting his wife to himself again.” She left the room without another word.

Ebba let out the breath she’d been holding. “That woman is impossible.”

“Don’t we know it?” Bernice replied. “And to think she was doing so well, too.”

“She was?”

“She’s a hard one to get along with, that Nellie,” Leona said. “Always has been.”

“Maybe she’s just having a bad day?” Bernice suggested.

“No, she’s got ahold of something, I can tell,” said Leona.

Ebba fought against a shudder. That
something
obviously had to do with her. She just wished she knew what.

“
S
o
…” Stanley Oliver, Nowhere’s blacksmith, elbowed Daniel in the ribs. “How was she?”

“Stanley!” Lucien Miller, the new banker in town, chastised. “Gentlemen do not ask such things of other gentlemen.”

“Heck, Mr. Miller,” Stanley said. “Everyone ‘round here knows I ain’t no gentleman like yerself. And neither’s Daniel.” He turned to Daniel again. “So?”

Daniel’s face twisted in confusion. “What in Sam Hill are ya talkin’ ‘bout, Stanley?”

Stanley’s eyes darted around before he leaned toward him. “Now doggone it, Daniel, ya gotta tell me. Yer wife won’t care if’n I know. Heck, who knows how many fellers she’s been with afore now.”

Daniel almost dropped the plate in his hand. “
What
did you say?”

“YaknowhatImean. Truth is, I cain’t hardly believe ya married her. I never would. Did ya feel sorry for her or somethin’?”

Daniel handed the plate to Lucien, who took it without question. “What are ya sayin’, Stanley? And choose yer words carefully.”

Stanley laughed. “C’mon, Danny boy – ain’t a man in town that ain’t heard about yer wife!”

Lucien cleared his throat. Daniel spun on him. “What have they heard?”

“I have heard nothing worth taking stock in, Mr. Weaver.”

He spun back to Stanley, grabbed him by his shirt collar and got right in his face. “What have ya heard?” he snarled.

Stanley quickly took stock and saw two of Daniel’s brothers within shouting distance. One Weaver was bad enough, but three was a death sentence. “Er … ya know … that she’s a … a …”

Daniel gave him a good shake. “A what?”

“Dagnabit it, yer gonna ruin my best shirt!”

“A
what
?” Daniel repeated and shook him again.

Stanley’s voice dropped to a whisper. “A whore.”

Lucien groaned and shook his head.

Daniel’s eyes popped. “What … did … you … say?”

“Ya heard me – heck, it’s all over town –” Stanley didn’t get to finish – not after Daniel’s fist connected squarely with his jaw. The blacksmith hit the ground hard, and didn’t even have a chance to get his hands up before Daniel landed on him and let his fists fly.

Lucien, having been in town long enough to witness Weavers in action (and hear tales of earlier exploits), wisely backed away. As Daniel pummeled away and Stanley began to return fire, he studied the fried chicken on the plate, took a bite and continued to watch, careful not to get his suit dusty. He didn’t want to have to clean it.

“What in tarnation’s goin’ on here?” Arlan roared as he came up beside him.

Lucien swallowed. “Mr. Oliver suggested that Daniel’s new bride has an unsavory past. Your brother … took umbrage.”

“Well, I don’t rightly know what an umberge is, but I figger it cain’t be good,” Arlan replied. “If it was any other day, I’d let ‘em have at it, but Ma won’t take kindly to Daniel ruinin’ his good clothes.” He stepped forward, grabbed Daniel by the shirt collar and yanked him to his feet. Daniel was spitting mad, his arms still swinging, but Arlan shoved him to the side, grabbed Stanley in the same manner and none too gently hauled him up as well. “What’s the matter with ya two idjits? Fightin’ durin’ a weddin’ supper?!”

“He called my wife a whore,” Daniel said through clenched teeth.

Arlan’s eyes narrowed to slits. “He did
what
?”

Stanley’s, on the other hand, turned to platters. “Uh-oh …”

Arlan’s fist connected with Stanley’s jaw, and he dropped like a stone. That done, Arlan returned his attention to Daniel. “Now what started all this?”

“It’s like I said! That low-down varmint Stanley called Ebba a whore!”

Arlan glanced at Lucien who nodded. “What the … why in tarnation would he do such a thing?”

Lucien took another bite of chicken, turned and began to edge away, but was stopped forcibly by Arlan’s hand on his collar. “Not so fast. Tell me what ya know.”

The young banker sighed and turned around, cringing against any potential fists. “It’s a rumor around town, Arlan. I don’t know where it started – and frankly, I didn’t believe a word of it. Just for the record.”

Arlan studied him. Lucien Miller was new in town – he’d arrived the previous autumn, a handsome single man with dark hair and grey eyes. Him being a banker made him suspect to the Weavers, who’d never believed in leaving their money in somebody else’s keeping. But he had a reputation for being honest as the day was long. “A rumor, huh?”

“I’m afraid so. I’m sure it’s without any basis in fact –”

“So am I!” Daniel declared. “And I’ll lick anyone that says otherwise!”

“Calm down, Daniel – I’m sure it ain’t the case. But I’d hate for Ebba to have to hear any of this. Might hurt her feelings.” Arlan put his hands on his hips as Stanley moaned, and looked around at the crowd that had gathered. “Anyone else heard someone spreadin’ dirt about my sister-in-law’s virtue?”

Everyone from Nowhere mumbled something in the affirmative.

“Well, I’m tellin’ ya right now it ain’t true, and anyone who says it is’ll answer to me and my brothers. And when I find out who started it, that feller’s gonna wish he hain’t.”

Stanley started trying to sit up.

“Stay down, Stanley,” Arlan warned. “I won’t hit ya again, but Daniel might.”

“Daniel
will
,” Daniel corrected.

Stanley lay down again.

“All right,” Arlan declared. “Show’s over. Y’all go back to whatever you were doin’. And someone get the doc to patch up Stanley – and make sure he don’t open his mouth again.”

Daniel glared at his brother. “I still wanna hit him.”

“I think you’ve done enough for one day. It’s a good thing Ma went into the house or ya’d be getting’ a lickin’ of yer own. Leave him be and go do … whatever ya were you doin’ out here.”

“Fetchin’ Ebba a plate.”

Lucien looked guiltily at the plate in his hand. “Oh dear …”

Daniel waved him off. “Don’t worry none, Luce. I’ll fix her another.”

Lucien smiled. “Thank you, Daniel. Most generous of you.” He nodded farewell and walked away. Arlan gave his brother one last warning glare and did the same.

Daniel sighed, took a few steps after him, then quickly glanced around before kicking Stanley Oliver in the ribs. Whistling, he stuck his hands in his pockets and went to fetch his bride some food.

E
bba was
content to stay indoors for now. She knew if she stayed outside for too long, her sneezing would start again and … well, she certainly didn’t mind Ma’s cures (or Daniel’s cure, for that matter), but it was better not to deal with the malady at all. Even aside from the physical toll, there was also her embarrassment to think of.

How she would survive being a farmer’s wife was beyond her at this point – her wedding ceremony was proof enough of that. If deep kisses, whiskey and chamomile tea were her only solace, she might have a really fun time, but she wasn’t going to be much help to the rest of the Weavers. She grimaced at the thought and sliced up another pie.

“Ebba!” Ma said as she entered the kitchen. “What are you doing that for? You’re not supposed to be working – you’re the bride!”

Ebba shrugged. “I just needed something to do,” she said lamely.

“Nonsense, you have plenty to do – being with your husband, mingling with your guests …”

“Ma,” Ebba sighed, “we both know they’re your guests, not mine. If I go outside I’m going to have another sneezing fit and I just don’t need that. Neither does anyone else, for that matter.”

Ma took the knife from her hand, gently pushed her out of the way and finished slicing the pie. “We’ll find a remedy that works, mark my words. You might suffer a little now, but you won’t later.”

Ebba smiled half-heartedly. “How can you be so sure?”

“We won’t know unless we keep trying, now will we?” Ma shoved the sliced pie toward Ebba and started on another. “Take that into the parlor and see if anyone wants another piece.”

“You’re changing the subject on purpose,” Ebba pointed out.

“I’m doing nothing of the kind,” Ma said innocently. “I think Charlotte and Matthew might like a slice. If Bernice Johnson is in there with them, why don’t you talk with them? You’re all about the same age. Make some friends, for Heaven’s sake.”

“What good does it do to make friends when I’ll never see them again?” Ebba said before she could stop herself.

Ma quit her slicing, her mouth half open. “What are you talking about? You’re not planning to … to run away, are you?”

“No, of course not. I just … I … oh, I don’t know.”

Ma sighed and put down the knife. “Ebba, I know that maybe Daniel and the rest of us weren’t what you had in mind, but know that we love you already and you’re part of this family now. And I’ll tell you one thing – there is nothing, I mean
nothing
, that’s ever going to change that. Do you understand?”

A sudden pang of … well, something, struck Ebba in the heart. It didn’t hurt, yet it didn’t make her feel any better either. She wasn’t quite sure what it was other than perhaps understanding. “Thank you, Ma. I needed to hear that.” She took the pie and left the kitchen.

In the parlor Matthew and Charlotte sat on the settee listening to Warren Johnson tell a story. He and Bernice occupied the chairs near the fireplace. “… And that’s when Grandpa thought he might get himself a mail-order bride!”

“You mean your grandfather is sending away for a bride?” Charlotte asked in shock. “At his age?”

“What do you mean, ‘his age’?” Matthew asked. “Sheriff Hughes and Aunt Mary are probably going to be married soon. Why not Old Man Johnson?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “It just seems as though he’d be bringing in another person for Bernice and Warren to take care of.”

“I don’t mind,” Bernice said. “And Grandpa gets around fine for his age. He works just as hard as Warren every day. Another pair of hands around the house would be fine with me.”

“Besides, his new bride might not be as old,” Warren added. “Younger women do marry older men sometimes.”

Ebba cleared her throat. “Excuse me, but would any of you like a slice of pie?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Matthew said and stood. He went to a sideboard where a stack of plates had been placed, took five and handed them out. When he got to Ebba, he gave her one and took the pie. “I’ll serve.”

Ebba handed him the pie and the server. “Why, thank you.”

Matthew nodded and began to dole out the pie. “What’s your opinion, Ebba?” he asked.

“Of what?”

“Ma Weaver and Sheriff Hughes getting married.”

Ebba took a step back. “I don’t think that’s any of our business, do you?”

“She’s my aunt – that makes it a little bit my business.”

Ebba wasn’t sure what to say. How much did they know? “I don’t think I’m the one you should be asking. You should talk to Ma or Sheriff Hughes.”

“Harlan has made his intentions quite clear to some of the men. But my question is, what do
you
think of them marrying each other?”

“Are you asking this because of their age?”

“Yes. I’m curious. If Old Man Johnson can get a mail-order bride, then why can’t a man like Harlan, or say, Hank who owns the restaurant in town get hitched as well?”

Ebba was beginning to get flustered. “Why are you asking me this?”

He set the pie plate on the sideboard. “Because of a belief I have.”

Everyone in the room stared at him. “Matthew, whatever are you talking about?” Charlotte asked.

Matthew squared his shoulders. “I believe that no one in this world should be alone if they don’t want to be. Even the Good Book says ‘it is not good for man to be alone.’ There must be a reason for that, don’t you think?”

“Are you saying that people should try their best not to be alone? I mean, remain single? That everyone should get married?” Ebba asked.

“Not necessarily marriage. I’m saying that people need people, whether they marry or are simply with family and friends. But if two people love each other, they shouldn’t let minor problems get in the way of their happiness.”

Ebba bit her lower lip. He had to be talking about her and the sneezing fit she had earlier. What else could it be? “What if two people love each other but one of them has something that drives the other person crazy?”

Matthew retook his seat. “If they love each other, they’ll find a way. Lord knows Charlotte and I have had our differences over the years, and we’ve had to learn to adjust to each other.”

Ebba watched sadness flash across Charlotte’s face. “I see. So if two people aren’t in love yet and have something they have to deal with …”
Oh, for Heaven’s sake,
she thought.
Ask the real question
. “All right. What if Daniel and his family can’t put up with my constant sneezing?!”

Matthew didn’t turn a hair. “He married you, didn’t he? Once one of my cousins makes a vow, trust me, they don’t break it.”

“Why are you worried about such a thing?” Bernice asked her.

Ebba glanced at each of them before she spoke. “I guess … it’s because I don’t really know them yet.”
Or maybe I just don’t trust him yet,
she added silently. She still had to talk to him about all the things he hadn’t told her. Who knew what else she’d discover? Is that why everyone gave her such funny looks in town, or today at the wedding? Is that what had put the bee in Nellie Davis’ bonnet? And if not that, then what?

And then there was her sneezing and sniffling on top of that … well, there was a lot that needed to be worked out, anyone could see.

“Ebba,” Bernice said. “Won’t you sit with us and enjoy this pie?”

Ebba looked down at her plate and sure enough, Matthew had served her a slice. In all her turmoil, she hadn’t even registered it. Whereas Daniel still hadn’t returned with the promised plate of food for her. One more question she needed to ask. But not right now – she didn’t have the will for it. “Yes … thank you,” she said as she sat.