Marriage by Mail (Grace Church Book 1) (5 page)

The last entry stated: Charles Smith and Rose Adams married on the day and year of our Lord fifth of June eighteen hundred and seventy six in Cutler’s Pass, California.

Rose touched the words lightly. Aside from his signature on the day that they had wed, she had never seen his handwriting before. She opened the Bible and it fell open to Peter 1:3 – 5
Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, which according to his abundant mercy hath begotten us again unto a lively hope by the resurrection of Jesus Christ…

Rose closed the Bible, holding it closely against her chest, as she closed her eyes, letting the words sink into her soul.

†

Charles saw Rose in the rocking chair. The package, wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine, was secured behind him on the saddle, having proved too large for the saddle bag. He had a sudden reluctance to give it to her, and he tried to talk some sense in himself.

“Hello, Charles.” Rose waved. Her eyes widened. “Did the train come? Is that my package from Sister John? No, it’s far too small.” She sat back, looking disappointed.

“I hadn’t realized you were waiting for something in the mail,” he said, dismounting. He untied the package, purposefully taking extra time.

“Yes, Sister John will send a trunk of my belongings. She wisely thought it best for me not to travel with it,” she said.

Shoot. She probably had a trunk full of dresses. The things he had purchased probably wouldn’t be to her liking at all. What did he know about what women liked? She liked books. He’d tell Barney to order books. Lots of them. He raised his eyes to the heavens for a split second, seeking courage, before he turned around with the package in his hands. “I picked up a few things for you today. Figured you weren’t able to bring a lot of your clothes and such, traveling so far as you did.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

Rose put a hand to her chest. “For me?”

“Well, yes,” he said, smiling a little, setting it on the floor of the porch. “It’s not much. Nothing fancy.”

She stood up and hesitated, then stooped to inspect the package. “Thank you, Charles!”

What was it about the way she said his name? Seemed as though he’d never considered his own name before. From her lips, though, it was something special. It made him feel proud, bashful, weak, and strong. All at the same time. He rubbed the back of his neck again.

“Maybe you want to open it later,” he said quickly, seeing that she was attempting to untie the twine on the package. He had a sudden horror of her looking at all the unmentionables: the petticoats and such. Perhaps she would presume that he had picked out every item with deliberation. His collar felt extremely tight.

“Open it later? How could I wait? I declare I’m about as excited as a child on Christmas morning, eager for Christmas candy in the stocking!” She grinned, tugging at the twine. “Could you please give me the shears, Charles? They’re in the basket in the kitchen.”

He got them quickly and handed them to her. Within a moment she was opening the box. Standing up, she held the first dress against herself. She looked down at it, and smoothed it with a shaking hand.

Charles didn’t know what to say. He thought probably anything he could come up with would be the wrong thing, anyway. She must not like it. She wasn’t smiling.

Then she looked up. There were tears in her eyes. “Oh, Charles.”

“Don’t fret,” he said, his mouth going dry. “I can take it right back. I should have… let you pick out something you’d like, something that would suit you.”

“Like it? Charles, I love it. I’ve never had such a lovely dress. These buttons! The ruffles! The color and pattern!” She shook her head. “Thank you.”

He felt as though he could breathe again. He took a great gulp of air, as subtly as he could. Rocking back on his heels, he couldn’t get enough of looking at her as she held the dress against herself and then out so she could see it from every angle. “There’s another one,” he said.

She stopped and looked at him. “No!”

When he didn’t say anything, she reverently draped the dress over the rocking chair and pulled a piece of brown paper out of the box. She stared at the contents and then glanced at him. Lifting the next dress, she gasped.

It was the everyday dress, Charles remembered. Frankly, he couldn’t tell the difference. Both seemed pretty to him.

“Now I have
three
new dresses?” Rose sounded incredulous. “Three! And two of them are from a mercantile!”

Charles noticed she was wearing a different dress. It must have been the one that had been given to her by Mrs. Chadding. He noticed it fit her much better than her old ones had. He felt a surge of gratitude for the kindness of the people in his community. Pastor John had come by the forge and explained that he and his wife had met with everyone in the congregation. They would all provide meals and help for a month, hoping that Rose could recover completely. Charles knew, too, that Rose was in their prayers. He was still having the hardest time looking away from her. Her cheeks looked pinker, her expression less drawn. Her eyes looked bright. Still far too thin, she nevertheless appeared in better health than she had previously. His sense of hope ratcheted up a few notches. She was holding the dress against herself and she was looking at him as though he hung the moon itself.

“Thank you, Charles. I love the dresses. Both of them. They’re what I would have wished to pick out for myself. Wait, what do I spy? Ribbons? Rose soap? I declare, you’ll spoil me so that salt won’t save me!” She hung the second dress over the first, and picked up the ribbons and soap.

“You’re welcome, it’s not much,” he said. “The, ah, rest of the things, well, I just told Mr. Barney to add whatever a lady would need. I didn’t know.” He shrugged uncomfortably, seeing Rose set down the soap and ribbons and look into the box.

She began to pull out the next item, and she froze. “Oh,” she said, blushing furiously. She quickly tucked it back under some of the brown paper. “Oh!”

“Shucks,” Charles said, moving away to lean against the porch railing. “I hope they’re all right. Like I said, I just gave Mr. Barney free rein.”

Rose turned slowly to face him, biting her lip. Then she squared her shoulders. Charles was reminded of the first moment he had seen her. She had stiffened her spine and stepped off the train, into her new life, not knowing what she would encounter. She did that while feeling so sickly and maybe having a weak heart, as well. He felt as though he could cry, just for a second, thinking about it. He felt a surge of tenderness that was painful in its intensity.

“I thank you,” she said softly. “I’m sorry I got… bashful. You’re my husband, after all.”

Husband. That word, in her voice, thrilled him just as much as when she said his name. Why was that, he wondered. What was happening to him?

“Well, it’s new to both of us, I reckon,” he said, smiling at her. “Being married.”

She ducked her head, smiling. “Yes.”

“I figure, we skipped all the preliminaries, didn’t we?” Something about her shyness made him feel bolder, as though he needed to make her feel a sense of confidence in him.

She glanced at him, blushing again. “Yes,” she said, smiling, playing with the twine on the box.

“Married after exchanging a few letters, barely knowing each other, and here we are. Figure we should back up a little, if you’re of a mind to do so,” he said.

She carefully put each dress into the box again, then looked at him, raising her eyes slowly. “How so?”

“Well, I’d like to ask your permission to court you,” he said. He was leaning back on the rail, braced by his arms. His demeanor was friendly, even flirtatious, he knew, but inside, he felt like a newborn calf, all wobbly legged.

Rose’s mouth dropped open before she quickly closed it. Her eyes flashing, she stared at him, blushing hard. “Court… me?” Her voice squeaked and she coughed a little.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Would you do me the honor of having dinner with me this evening? Or is that too short notice?”

Rose covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes sparkling. “I would be delighted to accompany you this evening, Mr. Smith. I have no prior plans which would conflict with this lovely suggestion.”

He held out his arm and she put her hand on it. Summoning some more bravery, he slowly pulled his arm closer, and covered her hand with his. Right beside him, her arm and hand tucked so close, Charles felt like a king. Then he stopped short. “Rascal!”

Still hitched out front, Rascal blew a great gust of air from his mouth, flapping his lips. “I’ll be right back,” Charles said hastily to Rose.

“Oh, Rascal!” said Rose, sitting on the rocking chair. “It’s my fault.”

Charles got Rascal settled and fed in record time and then bounded back up the front porch stairs. He reached for the door and then paused.

“I saw that you found the bathtub, Rose. I’m awful sorry I didn’t think to help you. At the forge, I can heat up water easily and I’ve gotten accustomed to bathing there.”

“Oh, that’s quite all right,” said Rose faintly, looking down at her feet.

Holding out his arm to her again, he opened the door. “After you.”

He did not entirely relinquish her arm, and once they were both inside, he once again held her hand. Rose kept her face slightly averted, but he could see her smiling, and felt how she did not pull away. She didn’t try to put any distance between them. None at all.

“What highfalutin establishment is this?” asked Charles, stopping at the threshold of the kitchen.

“Oh, I made a curtain and placemats, with Mrs. West’s help,” said Rose breathlessly, glancing up at him.

“You did?” He gazed at her admiringly.

She shrugged one shoulder, looking down, smiling broadly.

He held out the chair for her, rinsed his hands in the dishwater, and checked the larder. He brought out the food Elizabeth had made and set the table. Before they ate the cold fried chicken, greens, cornbread, and buttermilk, he stretched both of his hands across the table. Slowly, she put her hands in his. Charles’ heart soared at the touch of her little hands in his, at the fact that his wife was sitting across from him, about to share a meal. “Lord,” he prayed, his eyes closed and head bowed. “I don’t have a way with words like Pastor James does, but giving thanks takes on a whole new meaning when I’m so full of gratitude for your blessings. Thank you… for this food that we are about to eat, for friends, for this roof over our head, and most of all… Thank you… for Rose. For my wife, Rose. In Jesus’ name. Amen.”

Her hands tightened on his and he slowly lifted his head to look into her eyes.

“Amen,” she whispered, her eyes shining with tears.

Chapter Eight

The first thing that Rose saw when she woke the next morning were her new dresses, hanging on the outside of the wardrobe. She immediately got out of bed and pulled on her flannel dressing gown, opening her door a crack. She hoped that Charles had not left for work yet, but the silence pervading the house indicated that he had. Smoothing her hair, which she felt sticking up like a hedgehog’s spikes, she turned back to the dresses. Since the moment her eyes opened that morning, she had such a sweet feeling in the center of her chest. She kept thinking of the evening before. Charles’ expression when he asked if he could court her: she thought she’d remember it forever. The way his voice had sounded when he said the blessing, and the words that he had said: if one could put words and sounds in a locket, she would love to keep that blessing inside one. She laughed out loud, imagining opening an oval locket, and putting it up to her ear. Looking into the small mirror, she wet her hair a little, attempting to smooth it. She would have to keep those memories inside her mind and heart, and hope to add to them. Washing with the new, rose-scented soap, she could not wait to put on her new everyday dress. When she did, she crouched, trying to see her reflection in the mirror. It fit very well. Never had she had a dress so fine. A tad loose in the bodice, it would fit even better when she had gained back some weight. Reluctantly, she tied her apron over it, smiling at her folly over not wanting to cover up her new dress.

She stepped outside the back door, breathing in deeply of the cool, freshly scented morning air. It astonished her how cool the mornings and evenings were, compared to how warm the days became. Too, she marveled at the dryness of the air, compared to Boston’s dampness. Hugging herself, she closed her eyes, lifting her face to the rising sun. The words to Psalm 71:14 came into her thoughts and she spoke them aloud, “
But I will hope continually, and will yet praise thee more and more
.” Pray without ceasing, hope continually, she thought, feeling a sense of yearning. It took courage to hope.

Shivering, she went back into the house and into the kitchen. She saw that Charles had left a covered plate at her place and she felt herself smiling. Sitting down to eat the breakfast he had left her, she thought about how they had tarried over dinner, then had tea in the parlor, reading from the Bible. Charles had urged her to recite poetry, and she had done so, choosing another poem by Tennyson, and one by Cowper.

Bowing her head, she gave thanks. “Heavenly Father, I thank thee for thy blessings. Bless and keep my husband as he works. Through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”

After she had eaten, washed and dried her dishes and tidied the kitchen, she went back to her bedroom to make her bed and straighten her belongings. Instead of feeling exhausted, she noticed that she felt full of energy. She knew she was nowhere near being as strong as she was before her illness, but she felt a return of vitality that gratified her. Feeling curious, she went to Charles’ door. It was closed. She had caught glimpses of his room but he tended to keep the door closed. “Well, I am his wife,” she said out loud, as she opened the door. She peeked inside, feeling daring. Her husband’s room, she thought. No wonder he kept the door closed. She stepped inside, smiling. His bed was unmade, his dressing gown was on the floor, the doors to his wardrobe were open, and she could see his shaving things all any which way on his washstand. Should she? She nodded. She should. She would. Striding to the windows, she opened the curtains, and lifted the windowsills. She wiped his washstand and arranged his things just so.
I’m married
, she said to herself, wide-eyed.
I’m tidying up after my husband
. She hung up his dressing gown and then turned to the bed. Suddenly shy, she felt her cheeks burning as she straightened and smoothed the soft muslin sheets, wool blanket, and quilt, then arranged the pillows neatly. The quilt looked newly made. The colors were bright, and the fabric looked fresh. She wondered if it had been a gift for his upcoming wedding from the congregation of Grace church. She walked quickly away from the bed and out of his room, leaving the door open, her heart beating quickly.

She planned to sit in the parlor with her remaining old dress, and make some handkerchiefs and tea towels. Wondering when the next train would arrive, she hoped her trunk would be on it. She couldn’t wait to have her beloved books to keep her company. Of course, she soon would be quite busy, after she recovered all of her strength, with more household tasks. When she had everything she needed around her, she sang softly as she cut and sewed. Before she knew it, the sun was high overhead and she had made two tea towels and two handkerchiefs. When she heard buggy wheels approaching, she hastily bundled her sewing things onto a side table and took off her apron, folding it and setting it aside.

That day, Mrs. Ellie Chang visited, bringing luncheon and fresh vegetables from her garden. She gathered up laundry and took it back with her into town where her family had a laundering business. A few hours later, an older woman named Mrs. Caroline Wentworth stopped by with a veritable feast for dinner, including a risen loaf of dough. Caroline put it in the oven and started it baking.

“I’ll bet Mr. Smith will smell that fresh bread baking from a mile down the road,” Caroline said, her eyes twinkling. “You don’t have to tell him I baked it!”

Rose laughed. “I won’t take the credit for your hard work, but I thank you kindly for your generosity, ma’am.” She felt that she had made two new friends today, though both women had arrived and departed so speedily.

She kept thinking she heard Rascal’s hoof beats as the afternoon’s shadows lengthened. Taking off her apron again, she splashed some water on her face, fluffed at her hair, and pinched her cheeks. Would he notice she was wearing her new dress? Quickly, she took the new length of ribbon and tried to tie it in her hair. First, she attempted to wind it around her head and fix the bow at the side. She shook her head impatiently. Next, she tried tying just a small section of her hair. Impossible. Her hair was simply too short. There, she did hear hoof beats. Shyly, she went into the parlor. Then she turned around. He would go to the barn, first, to see to Rascal. Then, he would come to the back door. She went outside and waited by the paddock gate. She saw Charles glance toward the front porch before he led Rascal into the barn. After a few moments, he headed to the back of the house. Then, he stopped, after catching sight of Rose.

“Hello,” she said. Why did she feel shy of him? She felt shyer than ever. She would have surmised that after such a convivial evening together, the ice would have been broken once and for all. Apparently, that was not the case.

He stood stock still, staring at her, before he walked on to meet her. He didn’t say anything, just looked at her. He opened and closed his mouth. Finally, he cleared his throat and hitched his thumbs in his pockets. “You look mighty pretty.”

“Oh,” she said, flustered. “You pick out a very nice dress, sir.”

“The dress…” he trailed off. “I think I picked a very nice wife.”

Rose pressed her lips together, knowing she was blushing violently. “Why, thank you, Mr. Smith. I am glad that you were pleased with… with… The Genteel Correspondence.”

He smiled, slowly, his eyes crinkling. “I’m all… I’m a mess from working all day,” he said, running his hand down his shirt.

She wondered suddenly if he wished to embrace her, prevented only by the concern that he would get blacksmith dust on her dress. She couldn’t wish that she was wearing her old dress, but she had a sense of wondering what that would be like, to be encircled in his arms and held closely. Perhaps she should have kept her apron on. “I’d better check on the bread,” she said, her voice sounding higher pitched than usual.

“Sure smells good,” he said, heading for the pump.

She peeked at the bread and put her apron back on. Having already set the table, she began setting the warmed food on the table. Hearing the pump, she glanced out the window when she got a serving spoon. Her heart skipped a beat, seeing Charles splash himself with the cold well water. Quickly, she stepped back to the table, placing the spoon into the bowl of mashed potatoes. Soon she had everything ready, and she could tell by the scent that the bread was perfectly baked.

“Let me,” said Charles quietly, coming up behind her and taking the cloths from her hand. He took out the bread and set it on the counter to cool a bit. He turned back to her, and she smiled. He pulled out her chair and she sat down. After blessing the meal, Charles asked her about her day. She described waking up and seeing the dresses. She explained how different the climate was in northern California compared to Boston, Massachusetts. She recounted how she turned her other old dress into things they could use. Charles ate quickly, his eyes never leaving her face as she talked about Mrs. Chang’s quick and helpful visit, the luncheon that she ate, and the vegetables. She described Mrs. Wentworth’s visit and her comment about the bread. Finally, she caught her breath, and ate a bite of food. “And your day? How was your day?” She asked.

Charles blinked, his fork held suspended. “I…”

“I’m sorry!” She felt mortified. “I prattled on like an addlepated fool, didn’t I? I probably flummoxed your senses!”

“What? No!” He looked alarmed. “No, not at all. I just got caught up in hearing you talk, that’s all. I liked it. I like how you talk about things.” He looked down at his plate and ate some more food quickly.

“Oh,” she said, relieved, but still embarrassed.

He was quiet, and she ate her food silently.

“It’s just that, well,” he said. “It’s just that before, I’d come home, there’d be nobody to talk with, nobody to eat with. Now, everything is different. Now, it’s so that I can’t wait to head home. I like to hear you talk.”

“Really?” Rose whispered. Her heart felt as though it would burst from happiness. She realized what had been making her so happy since last night. Ever since Charles had asked to court her, she felt chosen by him. She felt that he wanted to be with her, and sought her out. It made her feel very glad. Glad, humble, and thrilled all at the same time.

He nodded, looking down at his plate. “Seemed like most folks had settled down already. Not me. Then there are the fellows that just want to get all roostered up and cause a ruckus. Not me. Anyway. You want some bread?”

“Yes please.” She was still whispering.

He got up and turned the bread onto a cutting board and sliced it carefully with a serrated knife. He set the bread on the table, still not looking at her. “You want it buttered?”

“Yes please,” she said. Still whispering.

He handed her a buttered piece of bread. She noticed he had buttered it so carefully, so that the entirety of the slice on one side was covered. Their eyes met.

“I kept listening for Rascal’s hooves,” she said, looking down at her bread. “I kept thinking I heard them, once it got late in the afternoon.”

He stilled, the bread halfway to his mouth. He put it back down. “Really?”

She nodded, still looking down.

After a few moments, Charles said, “Can’t I see your eyes again?”

She felt all the air leave her lungs. It was impossible for her to lift her eyes. It was impossible for her to breathe. She pursed her lips, trying not to smile, knowing her cheeks were getting redder by the second.

“Your eyes change color, did you know that? I think about them, when I’m at work. At the forge, the iron changes color… I think about you.”

At that, she raised her eyes. His expression was kind, his regard so warm, focused on nothing but her.

“I figure I got the prettiest, sweetest, smartest wife ever to be,” he said softly.

She put a hand to her mouth. “Charles.” It was all she could say.

“You got gumption, too,” he added.

She ducked her head.

“I’m being too forward, aren’t I?” He sat back, looking off to the side. Some of the tension dispersed. He looked back and her and tilted his head. “Since you accepted my invitation yesterday, I’m going to invite you out again.”

Rose smiled, glancing at him shyly.

“Will you do me the honor of stepping out with me to sit outside? And then to accompany me to the parlor for another evening of reading and recitation?” He stretched his hand across the table.

She put her hand in his. “It would be my pleasure.”

He stood and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and led her outside. They sat on the bench.

“There’s something different,” she said.

He looked into her eyes for a long moment then blinked as he followed her line of vision. “Oh, yes, ma’am. I made a back for the bench. I figured you’d be more comfortable. You could rest your back.”

“When did you have time to do that?” Rose asked. “Thank you for your thoughtfulness. What a comfortable resting spot this is.”

“I had some pine planks leftover in the barn. Didn’t take me too long,” he said, running his hand critically along the back of the bench. “Tried to get it real smooth, so it wouldn’t snag your dress, or give you a sliver.”

“That’s it, I’m done for,” said Rose, shaking her head.

“What?”

“Spoiled. Utterly and completely. Thanks to you.” Rose shrugged one shoulder and smiled, throwing up her hands.

Charles grinned bashfully. “Well, shucks. It wasn’t much.”