Mail Order Bride Collection (A Timeless Romance Anthology Book 16) Page 17

  That was a sticky question. “He disliked me first, so I can’t say how much of my opinion of him is merely a distaste for being rejected so out of hand.”

  If her answer surprised Gerald, he didn’t let it show. She likely hadn’t been subtle about her interest in him when she was quite young. Her fifteen-year-old self had been quite smitten with seventeen-year-old him when she’d first arrived in that small Ohio town. Her starry-eyed infatuation hadn’t lasted terribly long; Gerald had been far too obvious in his distaste for her company. Still, he had apparently seen it and hadn't forgotten.

  Mary refused to be embarrassed by those long ago feelings. They’d quickly died, to be replaced by a simple appreciation for his intimidating demeanor. He’d unknowingly protected her from the unkindness of her uncle, and for that reason she would do her best not to think too ill of him.

  “You seem an honest and forthright young lady,” Reverend Carter said. “I have known Gerald these past four years, and I can assure you he is a hardworking man of integrity. While you may have disliked one another as children, I have yet to hear an unaddressable obstacle to your success now.”

  “We weren’t children,” Gerald muttered. “And I never said she was a scoundrel or any such thing— she wasn’t. We’re a bad match is all.”

  Reverend Carter shook his head. “You had fully intended to make the best of whomever you were matched with. You can simply do so now. Both of you.”

  “But if he is determined not to like me—”

  “That could have just as easily happened with a stranger, Miss.” For a preacher, Reverend Carter was not terribly empathetic. “What the two of you need right now is a little determination.”

  “But—”

  “No one here has the means of hiring you on. Few have the means of feeding another person even if they wished to. There may not be another train for weeks. This is your situation, and you need to make the best of it.”

  One look at Gerald told her he was coming around to the preacher’s way of seeing things. “You’ve nowhere to stay except with me. And we’d none of us allow that if the two of us weren’t married.”

  “Gerald—”

  “We accepted a mail order marriage knowing the risk, knowing the chances of failure, intending to make the most of it. I think we’d best do just that.”

  Reverend and Mrs. Carter nodded their agreement.

  “Everyone is very unconcerned about this.” She couldn’t possibly be more concerned than she was. “He has already told me he doesn’t like me. He told me for two years. The day he left Ohio he told me he wouldn’t miss me for even a moment. How can you not be concerned about that being the basis of a marriage?”

  “That does not sound like the Gerald I know,” Mrs. Carter said.

  “Sounds far more like Tommy, if you ask me,” Reverend Carter said. He looked over at Gerald. “My apologies if speaking ill of your brother brings offense.”

  “It ain’t nothing I don’t already know.”

  “You agreed to this,” Reverend Carter told her once again. “For better or worse, you’ve nowhere else to go. This is your only option.”

  While Mary knew they were right, she couldn’t rid her mind of worry. This was the rest of her life, after all, her chance for happiness. She had to have some reason to believe that chance hadn’t vanished the moment Gerald had appeared on the train platform.

  “May I speak to you a moment, in private?” she asked him.

  He agreed with a nod and motioned her a bit to the side of the room.

  She rallied her courage and pressed forward. “I know you dislike me. I know you always have. But will you— can you— promise that you’ll at least try to make this a happy marriage? At the very least try to make it not an unhappy one? I have to go forward with some reassurance.”

  “I ain’t never been the courting kind,” he said. “Sweet words and flowery speeches... that’s not me.”

  “That’s not what I’m asking.”

  He studied her a moment, though what he was looking for she couldn’t say. “Have you ever known me to be unkind, Mary? Truly unkind?”

  Of course she hadn’t. It was one of the reasons she’d turned to him to escape the cruelty of her uncle. Though Gerald hadn’t liked having her about and had made no secret of that dislike, he had never been cruel.

  “Do you think we can make this work?” She was asking herself as much as him.

  He shrugged the tiniest bit. “There are worse things than marrying someone from my growing-up years. You could’ve turned out to be a murderer.” His gaze narrowed on her. “You’re not a murderer, are you?”

  “Not yet,” she muttered.

  A smile tugged at one corner of his mouth and brought a twinkle of humor to his brown eyes. He hadn’t smiled much, even when they were younger, but she’d never forgotten the change it wrought in him. The man was inarguably handsome when he smiled.

  “Any other requests?” Gerald asked.

  She had one— she had a very crucial one— but she couldn’t force herself to speak it out loud.

  Gerald stepped closer and lowered his voice. “What is it, Mary? I can see there’s more.”

  “Will you promise—” No, she couldn’t say it.

  “Promise what?”

  “Will you promise not to—” She had to finish her question. Knowing the answer would change things. “Will you promise not to hit me?”

  Gerald’s mouth dropped open, and his brow creased. “Hit you? You think I’d—? Good heavens, Mary. What kind of a person do you think I am?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to discover,” she said. “And it’s far easier to face down the monster I know than the one I don’t.” She’d stood firm before her share of them. No one had been permitted to see vulnerability in her since the day she’d left home.

  Gerald set his fists on his hips and narrowed his gaze on her. “I ain’t never hit a woman in all my life. I don’t mean to start now.”

  The surge of relief she felt took her by surprise. She’d been more worried about that than she’d allowed herself to admit. An arranged marriage was a risk, no matter how one looked at it. And she knew better than most the misery a man could inflict on the women in his life. But she’d had no other options. None. It had been a risk she’d had no choice but to take.

  Maybe being accidentally matched to Gerald Smith wouldn’t be such a terrible thing after all. Maybe.

  Chapter Four

  Gerald had fully expected some awkwardness the evening of his wedding. A stranger would be in his house, trying to make herself comfortable there. But having that stranger be Mary Hill only added to the discomfort.

  She’d not said a word during their long drive from the Carters’ home to his. She sat stoic and emotionless. He hadn’t the slightest idea whether or not she was happy about how things had turned out for them.

  Will you promise not to hit me? That question hung heavy in the back of his thoughts. Had she asked because she felt he, in particular, was likely to be violent toward her? Or had the question arisen because someone else had beaten her?

  He hadn’t been part of her life the past four years. Anything might’ve happened to her in his absence. Perhaps her mother had remarried, choosing a man who had treated his new stepdaughter with unkindness. Perhaps Mary, herself, had attached herself to someone violent.

  She had been a pebble in his shoe, yes, but much of that had come from naïveté, from her inherently trusting nature. He had recoiled at her constant, pestering presence, but he’d never wanted anything bad to happen to her.

  He pulled the wagon to a stop in front of the house. Mary sat as silent as ever, looking up at the home that would now be hers as well. He saw it with a critical eye for the first time: the small size, the sparse kitchen garden, the greased-paper windows in need of glass.

  “It ain’t much to look at,” he said.

  “Your family’s home in Ohio had green shutters as well.”

  He hadn’t really given tha
t much thought, but she was right. That was likely why he’d chosen green shutters for this house. “My ma’d be pleased to know I brought something of home this far away.”

  “Have you not written and told her?”

  “I write to Ma regularly, but I can’t say I’ve mentioned the shutters.”

  She looked up at him. “Will I get a mention in your next letter? I daresay she’d be rather shocked.”

  “She and Pa, both.” Although they’d both rather liked Mary. They, in fact, were the reason he had endured Mary’s constant presence.

  “She’s such a sweet thing, and so fond of you,” Ma had said. “Be patient with her.”

  “She needs your kindness,” Pa had said. “Be gentle with her feelings.”

  What would the two of them say to hear he’d done more than be patient and gentle, but had actually married her?

  “They were always so kind to me,” Mary said, a wistfulness in her tone. “I think I was happier at your home than anywhere else.”

  He watched her a moment. She had seemed happy when she was with his family, but he hadn’t thought she’d seemed unhappy at other times. He’d seen her at church on Sundays, and she’d been fine. He’d seen her walk home from school the first year he’d known her, before she’d finished her schooling, and she’d smiled and laughed as much as ever.

  “I can see I am trying your patience,” she said, “as usual.” She slid to the far end of the wagon and climbed down. “Point me in the direction of the kitchen, and I’ll start supper.”

  “We do have the meat pies yet.”

  She reached back up and pulled the parcel of pies off the wagon bench. “I’ll warm them up.”

  Mary was showing herself a logical sort of person. If she’d also developed a strong inclination toward work, she’d do well in the wilds of the West.

  Gerald climbed down and wrapped the horses’ reins around a porch post. “C’mon in.” He motioned her up the porch and to the front door and let her inside.

  Why in heaven’s name was he holding his breath? He’d not cared before what anyone thought of his home. Why should he now?

  “It’s humble,” he told her. “I’ve not been here enough years to make much in terms of money, and I’m determined not to mire myself in debt trying to gather fancy things.”

  “I lived in the back room of a boardinghouse before coming here,” Mary said. “Even the humblest of homes would be an improvement over that.”

  She stepped inside and pulled off her shawl, hanging it on a hook near the door.

  “Why were you in a boarding house? Surely your mother—”

  “Mother died some time ago. I didn’t choose a mail order marriage for the excitement of it, Gerald. I’m quite alone in the world, and that is a dangerous position for a woman.” She turned about, pies tucked under her arm. “Which direction is the kitchen?”

  He wasn’t so easily satisfied with her explanation. “What about your uncle? What was his name? Burt? No, Bill. What about your Uncle Bill?”

  She shook her head. “I haven’t seen him in four years.”

  Four years? “He must have left Ohio shortly after Tommy and I did.”

  “He didn’t leave.” She crossed to a door, pulling it open. “Closet.” She pulled open another. “Corridor.” She turned back to face him. “Where is the kitchen?”

  “If he didn’t leave, then you must have.” It was the only other explanation. “But why?”

  She held his gaze a moment before answering. “Did Tommy never tell you?”

  “Tell me what?” Obviously something about her.

  “Hmm.” She opened another door, the right one this time. “The kitchen, at last.”

  He followed her into that room. “What didn’t Tommy tell me?”

  She set the pies on the table. “It doesn’t matter now.”

  What in heaven’s name had his brother kept from him? Something that might explain her leaving when he did. “Were you—” He felt stupid even asking the question, but he wanted to clear things up if he could. “Were you in love with me?”

  She smiled a little. “No, Gerald. I didn’t confess to your brother an undying passion for you.”

  “Then what?”

  She shooed him out. “Go see to your horses and your evening chores. I’ll have the pies warmed and ready when you return.”

  Mary pulled open a couple of drawers, then snatched from one of them a kitchen towel and tied it around her waist like an apron. She met his eyes once more. “Go on,” she said. “I’m certain you have plenty to do.”

  He never had been one for giving up a mystery so quickly. “How soon after I left home did you leave?”

  She pulled open the firebox of the cast-iron stove. “About two weeks.”

  She had insisted she wasn’t following him, but that seemed rather like. “Where did you go?”

  “At first to different towns in Ohio.” She added kindling to the firebox. “I had finished school, so I was able teach in a few places until they found a qualified teacher. Then I was a girl-of-all-work for a few families here and there.”

  Gerald had known a few girls and women who’d filled that thankless, back-breaking role. He didn’t at all like the idea of her living that life. “Your mother didn’t go with you?”

  “She stayed at home with Uncle Bill.” Mary found the flint box and made quick work of lighting the fire. “He wrote a few months ago and told me she’d passed on and had left him the home and land and not to bother returning. Apparently, he thought that was something I wished to do.”

  “But you didn’t?”

  She looked up at him from her position at the stove. “Home is not always where the heart is.” She closed the firebox and began searching the cupboards, clearly intending to get straight to work.

  She’d been a pampered girl in the years he’d known her. Nothing about her fit that description any longer. There’d not been even a moment’s hesitation when the time had come to work. She’d learned to light a fire, to cook a meal. And she’d spent years on her own, away from her family, away from those who might have coddled her. “Pampered” was clearly not the life she lived.

  There was a different air about her now. Before, she’d seemed forever on the verge of bursting, taking in the world with wide eyes and hopeful enthusiasm. Those eyes were now wary. Her steps seemed measured, her very posture one of readiness for some disaster or another. Life had not treated her well these past years.

  “I am sorry about your mother,” he said.

  She didn’t look back from her search of his kitchen drawers. “I mourned the loss of a mother years ago, when I first left home. While I still miss her, the pain is not so acute as it once was.”

  He didn’t like the pain and suffering he continually heard behind her quick explanations of her life. She’d been a pest, yes, but he’d cared about her. He still did.

  He hadn’t chosen her, and she certainly hadn’t chosen him, but this was what life had handed them. While he’d never intended to mistreat his new bride, he felt an unexpectedly strong surge of determination to make his home a safe harbor for her.

  Over the next fortnight, Mary came to a firm realization. Gerald had sent for a mail order bride not out of a wish for courtship and romance, but out of a need for someone to work with and someone to talk with. There was no better way to explain their days than that.

  He quietly went about his work, returning for meals. While they ate, he spoke of the land, the neighbors, the plans he had for securing a dependable income. He welcomed her thoughts and asked after her day. At night, he thanked her for the work she’d done, told her he’d enjoyed her company, then went to bed. In his own room.

  He never put an arm around her or held her hand. He’d certainly never kissed her. And while she wanted to believe that this was how he’d intended his marriage to play out even before recognizing her on the train platform, she had watched over the past two weeks as the room she now called her own had slowly emptied of his clothes and
books and other belongings.

  She had hoped that her arranged marriage would eventually lead to true affection, perhaps even real love. She suspected he had as well. Did he never mean to try? Were there never to be any loving glances or fond caresses? She had spent years as a girl-of-all-work, resigned to laboring in a home that never would be her own for people whose feelings for her never went beyond indifference. She didn’t like the idea of continuing on that way for the rest of her life.

  But what could she do about it?

  She looked up from her sewing and out the front window. Life was not perfect, but she did have a lovely view. A view that, at the moment, was revealing a small cloud of dust, distant on the road. She rose and stepped closer to the glass.

  Was someone coming? In the two weeks she’d been in Greenborough, she’d not had a single visitor. Gerald had told her that the residents were few and scattered, and they didn’t often see one another.

  She set aside her mending and hurried from the house and across the yard to the barn. The dim interior was lit enough for her to see Gerald’s broad frame hard at work dropping hay into the animal stalls.

  “Gerald?”

  He turned at the sound of her voice. She thought she saw a flicker of pleasure when he looked at her, but she couldn’t be at all sure. Perhaps she was only seeing what she hoped to see.

  “Someone is coming,” she said. “I can see the dust they’re kicking up down the road.”

  He leaned against his pitchfork. “I wonder who that’ll be.”

  “I haven’t the slightest idea.” She hadn’t met anyone after all.

  “I’ll come have a look.” He set his pitchfork against the wall of the loft and climbed down the ladder.

  She likely should have gone back to the house— he probably expected her to— but she waited and watched his approach. How little had changed since they were younger. She still hoped and silently pleaded for him to notice her there, to put a reassuring arm around her. Her reasons during those years had been a bit different than they were now, but they were every bit as strong and heartrending.