Mail Order Mistletoe (Brides of Beckham Book 17) (5 page)

She only hoped she would be able to hold out for a full week, and take the opportunity to get to know him as she wished.  Maybe it was folly on her part, but she felt that once that part of their marriage started, the courtship would end, and she desperately wanted the courtship.

Meg had always dreamed of a man who would sing her love songs, who would bring her flowers.  She had never met a man willing to do either, but now she'd married, she had a chance for it to happen.  At least, she hoped she did.  He seemed to be so distant from her, except when they touched. 

He was willing to share his body with her, but she could tell he would need persuasion to share his heart.  She was an Irishwoman at heart, and she firmly believed that a man's heart should be held firmly by a woman before she agreed to spend a night in his bed.  There was no hope of getting him to agree to such a thing.  No, he wanted to hold himself away.

She could only do what was within her abilities.  She'd clean and cook for him.  She would make his home a place where he could be proud to bring people.  Anything beyond that was impossible.  Perhaps she could find a tender spot by making special meals for him, or cleaning up the things his first wife had put out everywhere.  Maybe that was what it would take.

Maybe making sure he knew she respected his feelings for the woman who'd come before her would be all it would take.  It was hard to know, because she barely knew him, but that wouldn't continue.  She would not spend her life married to a stranger.  Meg Borgen was going to have the love of her man.  She didn't care what it took.

Once she'd decided on a course of action, she finally closed her eyes.  Tomorrow she would make him love her. 

Chapter Five

Meg woke even earlier than usual the following morning, convinced that if she showed him how hard she would work, he would realize he could love her.  She tiptoed down the stairs and quickly made bacon, eggs, and pancakes for breakfast.  She wouldn't always go overboard on everything, but she would until he started to love her.  She knew she could make it happen.

She put a pot of coffee on, assuming he drank it because it was in the supplies, and set the table.  She looked around the kitchen at all that was left to do in just that room.  She needed to scrub the floor, several pots, and the walls.  The stove needed to be blacked badly.  She was certain it hadn't been done in at least two years.

She yawned, wishing she could go back to bed just thinking about it all.  Today would be a day for cleaning the kitchen, baking bread, and doing laundry.  She wanted every piece of laundry in the house clean and on the line before noon.  It may not be possible, but she was certainly going to try.

She had breakfast on the table, just as the front door opened.  She jumped, startled.

"Got fresh milk and eggs," Lars said, setting them on the work table.  He walked to her and kissed her softly.  He didn't sink into the kiss as he wanted to.  He needed to keep his distance, and kissing, for whatever reason, made him feel more for her.  How he'd talk her into his bed early without kissing her a lot, he didn't know, but he'd figure that out.  Soon.

"Breakfast is ready," she said with a smile.  "How do you take your coffee?"

"Black," he replied, watching as she poured his coffee into a cup and set it beside his plate.  She'd gone all out for breakfast.  He couldn't remember a time someone had fixed both eggs and pancakes for the same meal, but he certainly wouldn't complain about it.  It all looked delicious.

"I'll try to find time to make butter today, but I think there are other things that are a little more important.

He sighed but nodded.  "I do have some food in the cellar.  There are some canned goods I purchased a while back, and some potatoes and some carrots.  Maybe even a pumpkin or two if you like pumpkin pie."

She took her seat across from him, grinning.  "So you want me to make pumpkin pie?  Is that what you're saying?"

He shrugged.  "Only if you like it, of course."  He wouldn't ask her to go out of her way to make something special for him, because he wouldn't ever return the favor.  He couldn't.

"Of course.  Any apples down there?"

He shook his head.  "Apples are hard to come by around here.  I've planted some of the seeds I've gotten when I bought them from George in town, but they haven't grown much yet."

"You'll need to show me where they are, so I can do my best to fertilize them and keep them going." She took a bite of her eggs, watching him as she ate.  "What kind of farmer are you?"

Lars frowned.  "A good one, I hope."

She shook her head.  "No, I mean what do you grow?"

"Oh, I'm a wheat farmer.  This is good land for wheat."

"I see."  She didn't know much about wheat except that it was ground to make flour.  "Is there anything in particular you're hungry for?  Anything you want special for supper tonight?"

He shook his head. "We'll worry about special meals after you've had some time to get the house where it needs to be.  I've been seeing a lot of deer, so I might bring you one so you can make some stews.  Do you know how to dry meat?"

"No, I don't.  If you show me once, I can learn though."

"I have a spring house I use for keeping meat fresh.  I'll show you before I go out today. Then you can choose what you want to fix." He finished the last of his breakfast, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve.  "Are you finished?"

Meg looked at her plate.  No, she wasn't nearly finished, but she'd go with him.  "I'm ready."

She followed him outside, and he explained the buildings to her.  "That's the chicken coop," he said of a small sod building.  "The chickens wander in and out, but I've used some of the new barbed wire to keep predators out as best I can."

He showed her a small barn, this building made of wood.  "I keep two cows in here, and my four horses.  I have two teams.  One is mostly for driving and the other is for farm work."

"I see.  Will I need to feed the animals?"

He shook his head.  "The only outside work I'll ask of you is to keep a kitchen garden come spring and summer.  You'll grow most of the food we eat.  It'll save us a lot of money at the mercantile in the fall and winter."

She nodded.  "I expected that."

He took her to the well.  "We have the pump in the kitchen, but if it acts up, just come out here and bring water up from the well."

"I can do that," Meg told him.  She hoped she'd have time to churn butter that day, and she'd work quickly to make it happen if at all possible.  She could make a simple stew for supper to take less time so she could manage it. 

He took her to the other building that was again made of mud.  It was barely tall enough for him to fit into.  "This is the spring house.  I rerouted a bit of the stream through here to keep meat cold enough.  I got fresh meat in town yesterday.  George got it from the butcher and added it to our order.  I brought it in here before going into the house last night."

She looked around the building, noting the meat in the water.  She rubbed her hands over her arms to warm them.  "Is there anything in particular you want me to get started on today?"

He shook his head.  "There's a lot to do, and I appreciate you being so willing to get started.  Do what you can and leave the rest."

Meg nodded, watching as he walked away at those words.  He was off to work, and she was expected to do her share now.  It was a good thing she'd bought a pioneer handbook back in Massachusetts before she left.  It wouldn't tell her everything of course, but it would get her started.  "Wait!  Will you be home for lunch?"

Lars turned around.  He didn't want to come home for lunch.  He didn't want to see her that often, but he would be hungry.  "Yes, I'll be home for lunch today.  After today, I'd appreciate if you could pack a lunch pail for me."

"Of course!"

Meg hurried into the house to get the dishes done.  She'd start the stew right away and make it big enough they could eat it for both meals that day.  She'd make him sandwiches for lunch tomorrow.   She could be a wife.  She just needed to learn what he expected of her.

She hurried into the house and finished her breakfast, before doing all the dishes that were left.  She was able to scrub out the rest of the pots after they'd soaked overnight, and she put a large one on the stove, before hurrying out to the springhouse to find some meat.  When she stepped into the small building, she shivered again.  It was just as cold in there as it was outside and it was almost freezing outside. 

She found what looked like beef to her, and she carried a two pound portion into the house, and chopped it into pieces.  She put it into a large pot, and added enough water to cover it, wanting the meat cooked before she added the vegetable for the stew.

She then put a pot of water onto boil for the laundry.  She was not looking forward to dealing with all of the dirty clothes and bedding, but it had to be done first.  She stripped the curtains off the windows, and even found a tablecloth wadded up in one of the kitchen cabinets.  She spent over an hour with a scrub board, thankful she didn't have to beat her laundry against a rock.  She hadn't been sure he would have a scrub board, but after a bit of searching she found it.  Apparently his wife had everything she'd needed to do her job well.

Once everything was hanging on the line, she hurried back into the house and down to the cellar, carrying up potatoes and carrots for the stew.  She peeled and cut up the potatoes and carrots and seasoned the water, mixing a little flour with water and adding that in to the pot to thicken it.  She smiled, looking down at it.  It would be perfect, and ready by the time he came in for lunch.  She glanced at the clock and saw it was already ten-thirty, and she felt like she'd accomplished so little.

She took everything out of the pantry and scrubbed it, carefully deciding where she would put each of the things they'd purchased at the mercantile.  When she had it just like she wanted it, she scrubbed the fronts of the cabinets and the table again.  She'd put the table cloth she'd found on the table before supper, and it would start to feel like home.

Glancing at the clock she saw she still had thirty minutes before he should be there for lunch, assuming he'd eat at noon.  "I wish he'd told me what time he'd come back, but at least lunch will be ready whenever he makes it."  She talked to herself as she mixed up bread dough, kneading it on the work table.  She made enough bread for three loaves, draping a towel over the mixing bowl so the dough could rise.

She cleaned up the small mess she'd made mixing the dough, and washed her hands.  She hated how much bread dough clung to her hands when she was baking. 

By keeping busy, she'd been able to keep her loneliness at bay.  She really hoped she could get some kind of pet, so she wouldn't be alone all the time, but that was something they could discuss at a later time.  For now, she had enough work to do that she shouldn't even notice the loneliness.

Lars came into the house at half past twelve, sniffing deeply.  Something smelled wonderful.  When Olga was alive, he'd have rushed to her and hugged her, telling her how good it smelled.  "Something smells nice," he said, knowing he needed to compliment her work, even if she wasn't his first wife.

Meg turned from her spot at the stove.  "I'm glad you think so, because this is lunch and supper today."

Lars walked to the sink and washed his hands, using the cake of soap on the edge of the work counter.  He was happy to see she was a woman who kept her surroundings clean.  He'd had no idea what he was getting when he asked for a mail order bride.  "I could eat that for lunch and supper every day for a week and not tire of it."

She grinned.  "Maybe you should try a bite before you say that."

He shrugged.  "It smells good, and I'm not a picky eater.  I wouldn't have survived eating my own cooking if I was."  Sitting at the table, he waited for her to bring him a bowl of the stew.

"What would you like to drink with lunch?  I can make more coffee or milk?  Water?"

"Water is fine for lunch.  I prefer milk with supper and coffee with breakfast."  He waited as she put the water in front of him, and took a big swallow.  "When you make my lunch tomorrow, send me out with a couple of jars of water as well.  I'll need them."

Meg nodded, serving herself some stew and a glass of milk.  She sat opposite him and took a bite of her stew, smiling with pride.  It tasted as good as her mother's.  That's all she cared about with a stew.  "What did you do this morning?" she asked.

He frowned at her.  He shouldn't have to talk about his work.  "I plowed the fields, so they would be ready to plant in the spring.  I try to get everything done before the first snow flies."

"Has there been snow here yet?" she asked curiously.  They'd had one snowfall in Massachusetts before she left, but it hadn't been a big one.

"Not yet.  Soon."  He ate quickly, ready to get back to his plowing.  "I'll finish work by about six-thirty."  He told her, standing and putting his hat back on.  "I'll see you then."

He walked out of the house without even thanking her for making his lunch.  She made a face.  If he couldn't be even a little bit thankful for her hard work, she might have to get angry with him.  Of course, she hadn't thanked him for plowing the fields to earn a living for them, so maybe he needed to be shown what she expected.  She'd do that later.

Meg did the lunch dishes, punched down the dough, and put it into bread pans to rise again, carefully covering the pans with a towel.  Then she got back to work on the house. 

After scrubbing the kitchen floor, she turned to the walls, washing them briskly.  She'd wait to blacken the stove.  It needed it, but she had too many other things that were more important. 

Walking outside, she checked the clothes on the line, realized they weren't dry enough to take down yet, and then she went back inside.  She found the butter churn in the corner of the kitchen and frowned at it.  It was much too dirty for her to be able to use.  She cleaned it out, and then got the cream from the last couple of days that was saved in the basement.  Thankful they even had a basement to keep things cool, she poured the cream into the churn and began the long process of churning the butter.  She'd helped her mother do it more than once, but she'd forgotten that her arms would begin to ache well before the butter was ready.

When she was finished, she put the butter into two bowls and poured the buttermilk into a pitcher.  She wasn't fond of butter milk, but if Lars was, she wanted him to be able to have it.  If he wasn't, they could pour it over the chicken feed.

She put the bread into the oven, and went down into the basement, getting a pumpkin.  She knew he wanted pumpkin pie, and though she wasn't a pumpkin pie lover, she would make sure he had some.  She'd even take the cream from the cows that evening to make whipped cream to top it with.

She sang to herself as she got the meat of the pumpkin out, cutting it into chunks.  She'd never actually made a pumpkin pie, but she had it in her recipe book.  Before she moved out of her mother's house, she'd been presented with all of her mother's recipes written down for her in a notebook.  She was thankful for that now, though she'd thought her mother was being silly at the time.