Marriage by Mail (Grace Church Book 1) (3 page)

Chapter Five

The ringing song of iron being struck over and over again filled the air, the melody and rhythm as familiar to Charles as his own heartbeat. Finally aware that someone was present, he straightened and saw Doctor Petersen. Knowing the doctor had patients stretched far and wide, Charles nonetheless had been looking out for him all day.

“How is she?” he asked, wiping his brow.

The doctor frowned. “No fever, that’s very good indeed. And her lungs are clear, thank the Lord. Her constitution may have been weak to begin with, but the illness, grief, and long journey took their toll on her. I fear for her health. She is quite frail, Mr. Smith. She could collapse, her health utterly broken down. She requires rest. You must see to this. After that, good, wholesome food, sunshine, and the Lord’s will be done.”

“Does she need any medicine, Doc?” Charles felt helpless.

“No. I wish it were that simple, that a powder could cure what ails her. Just rest, and prayer, and time, and hope, that’s all I can say, except…” He paused, furrowing his brows more deeply.

“What can I do to help her? Anything,” said Charles, turning away. The woman he had been beginning to know in her letters seemed like a completely different person than the one he had left earlier that day at home. But, Rose was his wife. Although she seemed like a stranger, they were married.

“I beg your pardon?”

Charles faced the doctor. “I’ll do anything. What does she need?”

Doctor Petersen looked at him intently. “This requires plain speaking, Mr. Smith. May I be frank?”

“Yes.” He waited.

“She must not get with child. I am mostly concerned about her heart. Some fevers leave their mark on that crucial muscle, which must be strong in order to support carrying new life. Her pulse was weak, and rapid. I could not ascertain her heart’s overall functioning, but I am concerned. Of course, I have not shared these thoughts with her. She must not be worried. She must not suspect that there is a notion that her heart may have possibly been injured from her fever. Let her lead a normal life, just make sure she does not exert herself.”

“Of course.” Charles felt his face burning, and not from the heat of the forge.

“In a month, let me examine her again. Make sure she gets a month of rest, fresh air and sunshine, rest and healthful food. Then, let me reconsider, all right? Again, I don’t want her to suspect my concerns.
A merry heart does good like a medicine
. Keep that Proverb in mind, son.”

“Yes, Doctor Petersen,” said Charles bleakly.

Soon after, he saddled Rascal and headed quickly for home. The scent of hot food filled the air as he walked up the porch steps. He looked in the kitchen and saw a pie cooling on the windowsill.

“Dinner will be ready in just a moment. I thought you might be hungry,” said Rose, coming into the kitchen from her bedroom. “I was just taking a quick rest.”

“Ma’am, Rose, you needn’t have cooked,” started Charles, twisting the brim of his hat in his hands.

“I cannot claim any workmanship for this lovely pie, the potatoes, and the dried applesauce,” she said, moving slowly toward the cupboard. “Mrs. Chadding and Mrs. Tilden came by and left this dinner for us. Wasn’t that a kindness?”

He gently took the plates from her hand and set them on the table. “Why don’t you set yourself down and tell me all about your day. I’ll wash and be right back, then I’ll serve us up some of this pie and potatoes. Dried applesauce, too? Well, I’ll be.”

She sat in the chair he held out for her and waited while he went through the back door to go outside. After a few moments, she stood up, thinking to set the table. Darting a look outside the kitchen window, she drew back quickly. Stripped to the waist, Charles was washing by the pump. For that one brief look, she had seen water coursing down off his hair in droplets, creating little rivers down his chest and arms. She blinked rapidly, pressing a hand to her cheek. She stepped lightly across the kitchen and sat back down. She didn’t want him to guess that she had seen him by looking out of the window. She heard whistling and then the back door slapping shut as Charles came back inside. He set the table. Rose fought a smile, seeing how he put things down any which way, and she resisted putting the items in their proper order. He sat down, holding both his hands out. Rose’s stomach felt as though it spun in a little circle as she placed her hands in his.
It’s a blessing
, she chided herself.

“Heavenly Father, for what we are about to receive, we give thanks. Thanks for good food and for the kindness of our friends. Please bless…” Here he faltered.

Rose opened her eyes, glancing at him in concern.

“Please bless Rose. She must feel far from home. Please help her believe that she is home, in her new home. In Jesus’ name. Amen.”

“That was,” Rose didn’t know what to say. “That was lovely, Charles. Thank you.”

He quickly served her a meal, not looking at her, putting far too much on her plate before serving himself.

“There’s no way I can eat all this,” she said, laughing. “You must think I’m a… I’m a cowboy, that’s what!”

“A cowboy!” He looked at her, surprised, and then grinned.

They ate the rest of the meal in silence that somehow felt companionable to Rose. Maybe it was the sharing of a smile, or the sharing of a prayer. Maybe it was the simple act of breaking bread together, she thought.

“Would you like to meet Rascal?” asked Charles as he put the dishes in the sink and poured some water from the kettle over them.

“Yes, please,” she said eagerly. “Was he pulling the wagon, my first day here? I can barely remember the ride home.”

“Yep, that was Rascal,” he said, holding open the back door for her, and taking her elbow carefully as they walked down the steps. At the paddock fence, he whistled, and Rascal came out of the barn. He was a tall, heavy boned horse, dark brown with a white blaze. He walked quickly, breathing out noisily from his nose.

“Yes, I got some,” said Charles. “But mind your manners! This here is the lady of the house. Mrs. Smith, this is Rascal. Rascal, this is Mrs. Smith.”

Rascal ate a lump of sugar from Charles’ hand and then turned towards Rose. He blinked his large, nearly black eyes and breathed in and out, lowering his head.

“I’m sorry I don’t have sugar for you,” she said, her hands resting on the paddock fence but longing to stroke the horse’s soft looking nose.

“Here you are,” said Charles, handing her a brown lump of sugar.

“Thank you!” She held it out to Rascal, just as Charles did .

Rascal delicately took the sugar with his lips and with one crunch, he had eaten it. He gently lipped her palm to catch any lingering sweetness.

“He’s so gentle! Why, you’re not a rascal at all, are you? No, sir.”

Charles felt warmth suffuse his chest as he watched Rose lean closer to his horse, speaking so confidingly.

“Oh, would he let me pet him?” She turned eager eyes toward Charles, who had to clear his throat before he spoke. Her eyes looked lit from within, all golden and shiny.

“Yes, you sure can,” he said, encouragingly.

She reached out a tentative hand, stroking the side of Rascal’s face. He held quite still, his large eyelashes fluttering down. He sighed. Rose leaned closer, pressing against the fence, and smoothed his mane.

“You look as though you know your way around horses,” said Charles. “You a rider?”

“Oh, no,” said Rose, regretfully. “Well, just a little. My late grandparents had a farm in Concord. That’s near Boston. They had a horse I used to ride when I was a little girl. I loved riding their draft horse, Teapot. She was so sweet and gentle. But, my grandfather was usually right by my side, ensuring Teapot never went faster than walking.”

“It’s a beautiful evening. Days are getting longer. Would you like to sit, or go back inside?” He wanted to make sure she got off her feet.

Reluctantly, she turned from Rascal, and put her hand lightly on the arm that Charles held out. “Outside, please. Just a little longer.”

He led her to a bench he had made and they sat down. Rascal whickered softly at them.

“He misses us,” said Rose.

“He wants more sugar,” said Charles, smiling. “Later, you rascal.”

The horse shook his head and snorted noisily, beginning to walk around the paddock. He kept his head lowered and ate bits of hay that were scattered about.

“You’re going to make Mrs. Smith think I don’t feed you,” complained Charles, smiling to hear Rose laugh. He looked at her and suddenly wished there was less space between them. She should be able to lean against him. He decided to build a back for the bench. Then, she could rest on the bench under the apple tree in the afternoons if she wanted to be outside.

“It’s so beautiful here,” said Rose, looking at the grass, trees, and hills in the distance.

“You sure you won’t miss the hustle and bustle of Boston?” He worried about that. It was pretty quiet in Cutler’s Pass.

“No, I don’t think I will,” she said thoughtfully. “I loved many aspects of living in such a thriving metropolis. I frequented several bookstores and the Boston Public Library. I attended lectures as often as I could. One time, I listened to a woman speak about moving out west to become a schoolteacher. I admired her. She showed daguerreotypes of her travels. I found the western landscape so different from New England’s, and I felt such a longing to see it all for myself. Perhaps God meant for me to come.
West of the Mississippi
, she said, several times. I found that phrase so evocative.”

“Did you consider becoming a teacher?”

“Yes, I did. I had actually commenced my training, but had to discontinue it when Mother and Susannah became ill.” She stared straight ahead, and he knew she was fighting tears. He thought hard about what to say.

Some fog began to obscure the lowering sun, and the temperature began to cool.

“I’ll get my shawl,” said Rose. “Can you believe Mrs. Chadding knitted one for me?”

He stood up with her, holding out his arm once again, then taking her arm beneath her elbow as they went up the few steps. She retrieved the shawl from the parlor and wrapped it around her shoulders, holding it closely under her neck.

“How about we stay indoors, since it’s getting pretty cool now that the fog is coming in,” he said, taken by surprise at how the bright amber color of the yarn brought out the warm color of Rose’s eyes.

“I should get those dishes done, anyway,” said Rose agreeably.

“I’ll do them,” he said quickly.

“What in the world?” She smiled. “You’ve worked hard all day and I haven’t had a thing to do but kick up my heels and eat pie the entire live long day.”

He sat on the settee and gestured for her to join him. “Here’s the notion I have. You traveled on a train for days. You left everything you knew behind. And me? What did I do? Not a thing. All I had to do was look out for the train and then say
I
do
. Looks to me like I’ve got some making up to do. So, I need you to rest. Every day, just rest up until you get your strength back.”

“Were you speaking with Doctor Petersen?” she asked quietly.

Did she truly not realize how apparent her poor health was? “Well, yes,” he answered.

“Well,” she said softly, keeping her head bent. “You must rue the day you began corresponding with me.”

Charles shook his head, wordlessly. He felt guilty, thinking back to yesterday when he had thought Caleb’s intended was his bride-to-be.

“You believe me, don’t you?” She glanced at him, and then looked back down at her tightly folded hands. “I did intend for Sister John to write my words, telling you that I was ill. I didn’t keep it a secret. I can’t imagine that she would have withheld that information. I did say it, for her to write it all down.”

“Never for a moment did I doubt that this morning,” he said sincerely. “Or since. You’re my wife, you’re here, and everything will be all right. Don’t fret, Rose.”

“I thought you knew, you see,” she went on bravely. “I thought you knew… and… wanted me anyway.”

He felt as though an anvil had been placed on his chest. It was hard to breathe. “I would have. It doesn’t matter.”

She looked at him, doubt in her eyes. “Truly?”

He nodded. She looked at him. He couldn’t think of what to say.

“I’m not one for writing, much,” he said, finally. “Nor am I one who has a way with words when it comes to speaking. You said that you looked forward to getting my letters. Well, I did, too. Got so I knew the train schedule like that back of my hand. I’d start looking out for the sound of the train, or the smoke on the horizon. Sometimes there’d be fog, and I’d look so hard only to be fooled. It wasn’t easy waiting for those letters. Waiting for… you.”

“Oh,” she whispered, a blush spreading from her neck to her face.

Chapter
Six

Rose felt hope battling fear within herself. She wanted to believe Charles’ kind words, but feared he was trying to make the best of a bad situation and also, spare her feelings. Yet, his voice had sounded so gruff and soft at the same time, as though the words were heartfelt.

“Most evenings, when I don’t have repairs to do, I like to read from the Bible. Would you care to read with me? Perhaps we could read aloud.” At her answering nod, he went to the bookshelf and got his old family Bible, and handed it to her. “Would you like to read something?”

Her eyes ached horribly but she didn’t want to say anything about it. She closed her eyes and thought of one of her favorite Psalms. It had come into her mind when she was looking out at the hills earlier, feeling as though everything was so new and frightening.

“I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.

My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth.

He will not suffer thy foot to be moved: he that keepeth thee will not slumber.

Behold, he that keepeth Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep.

The Lord is thy keeper: the Lord is thy shade upon thy right hand.

The sun shall not smite thee by day, nor the moon by night.

The Lord shall preserve thee from all evil: he shall preserve thy soul.

The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in from this time forth, and even for evermore.”

Rose opened her eyes after reciting the psalm from memory. “That is one of my favorites. Psalm one hundred and twenty one. I was thinking of it earlier today.”

“Do you know the whole Bible by heart?” He looked at her with admiration, and she felt her blush returning.

“No, I’m sure I don’t,” she said shyly. “I also love poetry. Do you?”

“Can’t say as I know any,” he admitted.

“Listen,” she said, leaning forward.

“He clasps the crag with crooked hands;


Close to the sun in lonely lands,


Ring'd with the azure world, he stands.

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;


He watches from his mountain walls,


And like a thunderbolt he falls.”

Rose recited the words with quiet power. “That’s Tennyson, one of my favorite poets.
The Eagle
.”

“Can you say it again?” He listened closely as Rose complied.

“That’s poetry? I like it,” said Charles. “Reminds me of the Bible, in some parts.”

“Yes!” Rose nodded. “I think so, too.”

She asked what they were reading in church. He explained, and as she listened she felt exhaustion overtaking her. As much as she endeavored to keep her eyes open, her eyelids felt heavier and heavier.

Next thing she knew, she was waking up in her own bed, the sound of a dove close outside her window. This time, she knew just where she was. She knew what day it was, too. It was Sunday. She washed and dressed quickly, putting on her best dress once again. She grimaced, trying to shake out the creases. After buttoning her shoes she stepped out of her room where the enticing aroma of breakfast lured her into the kitchen. She saw that a plate had been left for her. It was at the place on the table that she now considered hers. She poured herself some chicory-laced coffee and sat down to uncover her plate. Corn pone and fluffy scrambled eggs and some tinned peaches drizzled with cream. She ate quickly, surprised at how famished she felt.

Charles stepped inside. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” she answered with a smile. “Thank you for the breakfast. When do we leave for church?”

He sat down across from her and rubbed his chin slowly. “I’m sorry, Rose. Church will be there next week. You’ve got to rest up, all right?”

“I’m well enough,” she said calmly. “It’s my first Sunday in my new town. I need to attend church.”

“You want to get me in trouble with Doc?” He leaned forward, trying to catch her eye. “He’ll dose me with castor oil if he sees you there.” He shuddered.

Rose smiled, just a little. She stood up, bringing her dishes to the sink. “I guess you’re right.”

He steered her around by offering her his arm, and walked her to the front porch. “I put the rocker out here. Thought you might want to sit out here this morning. I’ll go to church and be right back. If I didn’t show up there’d be no end to questioning and we’d get the cavalry out here.”

“Give my best to Pastor James,” she said.
And Miss Annabelle Spack
, she told herself to add. Mrs. Bradford, now. She kept quiet, though she felt ashamed. She couldn’t fight the feeling that Charles must wish that Annabelle was his bride. Annabelle was so tall, comely, and full of vitality. She had a laugh that rang out like bells and a confident way about her. Rose rocked slowly as Charles rode off. He turned and waved his hat, and she waved back. Then, she was alone except for the sweet sounds of birds and the rustling of leaves in the breeze.
Rocking, stay-at-home invalid
,
that’s what I must seem like
, she thought.

†

Charles felt hot underneath his collar when he saw so many curious eyes turn his way. He understood the congregation of Grace Church would be looking forward hopefully to meeting his new wife. They must be wondering why he showed up alone. He sat down and opened his Bible, but could not concentrate. When it was time to stand up to sing the hymn, “Jesus Has Loved Me,” he caught sight of Mr. Caleb Bradford and his new wife, Mrs. Bradford. Feeling a surge of shame, he looked away quickly, remembering that he had thought she was his bride-to-be at the train station. He felt a familiar lonely feeling descend upon him, and fought to keep his eyes straight ahead, looking forward. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see them lean into one another as they sang. The lonely feeling settled more heavily into him.

After the service, Pastor James beckoned him. Charles nodded and joined him in a quiet corner at the front of the church while the rest of the people were milling about outside.

“How’s Mrs. Smith?” asked the pastor, looking concerned.

“She’s not well,” admitted Charles. “Doc says her heart may have been weakened. She needs to rest.”

“Her heart?” James’ face fell. “I thought maybe she just fainted because she was weary from the journey. Traveling that long can make a person get run down, for sure.”

“Turns out she was real sick back east. She wrote to me about it, but one of the pages of the letters went missing. She…” Charles trailed off, not knowing what to say. He thought of her worry that he would not have wanted her, had he known that she was still convalescing.

“So, Doc says she just needs to rest and she’ll recover? How long will it be? Did he say?”

“He said he’ll re-examine her in a month. Sooner if she has a setback. Till that time, we won’t know any more. She needs to be kept real quiet and do nothing but rest.”

James shook his head, closing his eyes. “I got to pray, all right?”

Charles nodded.

James put a hand on Charles’ shoulder. “Lord, I’m reeling with the news about Mrs. Smith’s poor health. I’m finding it hard to trust in your plan; you know that’s a struggle of mine. Aid me in helping Charles, Lord. Guide me. I know you are with Charles and his wife, let them know this. In Christ’s name. Amen.”

Charles kept his head bowed as James pressed his shoulder and then let go.

They left the church together. As Charles walked down the steps, he saw Caleb Bradford and Mrs. Bradford.

“Oh!” she said, holding a lace handkerchief to her nose. “Please, Caleb. Let’s move. We’re downwind from the horses. You know how I cannot abide the odor of horses!”

Caleb looked at her adoringly. “That’s right, my sweet Annabelle. Come this way. Are you sure that you’re not afraid of them, dear?”

“Well, they’ve got those big teeth. I simply can’t bear them!” She shuddered.

Charles had a sudden memory of Rose’s open countenance and tender expression as she leaned toward Rascal. He smiled, remembering it. He thought about how she had held her hand out so matter-of-factly, and how her eyes had softened with affection for his horse. He could see her hands, gently touching Rascal’s mane. He wondered how she was feeling, hoping she was resting and regaining strength with every moment that passed. He had a sudden pang, worrying that she was feeling lonely, and left out.

While nodding quickly to others, rather than socializing, he made his way over to where Rascal was hitched. Within moments, he was heading home. As soon as his house was in view, he could see that Rose was no longer sitting on the porch. He urged Rascal to increase his pace, and loving any excuse for speed, his horse complied readily. At the house, Charles dismounted Rascal and led him toward the back of the house. There was Rose. She was washing something in the galvanized metal tub.

“Hello, Charles. Well, hello Rascal,” she said, smiling, shading her eyes, which were covered by her spectacles.

“Rose, I…” He trailed off. He had been about to say that she should let him do that. But didn’t women have delicates that they preferred to wash by hand? Unmentionables, his mother had referred to them as such, he seemed to recall. He missed his parents, suddenly, and wished they were still living. They had passed away several years ago, within a year of one another.

“I simply had to wash my dress. It’s such a dry, sunny day. It’ll dry in no time, I’m sure, then I’ll wash the one I’m wearing, tomorrow,” she said, resuming her scrubbing.

He stayed some distance away, beginning to remove his horse’s saddle. “I can buy some fabric for you, in town, tomorrow.” No, she should not be exerting herself by sewing a new dress, should she? He slung the saddle onto the fence. “Barney’s Mercantile has ready-made dresses, I believe. Just tell me what you’d like and I’ll bring one home for you. Or two!” How many dresses did women need?

“Oh, that’s quite all right,” she said, looking down. She seemed uncomfortable. “I’ve got this one and the one I’m wearing.”

They seemed so worn and far too large for her, though. How could he encourage her to accept something new, without insulting her by indicating that her appearance was somehow lacking? This was going to confound him, that was for sure, he thought, leading Rascal into the paddock. He removed the horse’s bridle, draped it over the saddle, and picked up a brush from the fence post. Rascal stood completely still while Charles groomed him.

“He doesn’t even need to be on cross-ties,” said Charles, smiling at Rose.

“He loves it!” Rose stood up, walked over, and leaned against the fence.

Charles reached in his pocket and pulled out a hoof-pick. Rascal docilely allowed him to clean and check each one until the last.

“Son of a gun,” muttered Charles, biting back a grin. “He does this every time. Every time.”

“What is he doing?” Rose shaded her eyes.

“He is putting all his weight onto this one leg, see? So I can’t lift it. I lean on him, like this. Now, any other horse, he’d shift his weight back and I’d be able to lift his leg. No matter what leg I end with, he always puts all his weight on it.”

“It’s a game,” said Rose, marveling. “He’s doing it on purpose. Rascal, did I speak out of turn yesterday? Are you indeed a rascal, sir? In fact, a rake? A rapscallion, even?”

Rascal lowered his head, peering up through his long eyelashes at Rose. He mouthed the dusty ground and then slowly shifted his weight onto his other side. Charles cleaned the final hoof and patted his neck, and Rascal meandered into the small barn that housed his stall.

“You are a good boy,” called Rose after him.

Rascal swished his tail once, violently, making Charles and Rose laugh.

Glancing at Rose, Charles felt as awkward as a schoolboy. When she smiled, her face transformed, he thought. He couldn’t look away.

“How about I fix us some lunch,” he said. He stopped at the pump and scrubbed his hands and splashed some water on his face, drying it with his shirtsleeve. “Then I can help you hang your clothes to dry, if you’d like.”

“Thank you,” she said warmly.

They went into the house and heard a light knock at the front door.

“Howdy,” said Mrs. Tilden, standing on the porch. “I brought by some dinner. We had extra.”

Rose and Charles thanked her, bidding her to come and share the meal with them. But she declined, smiling, saying she’d be back another day for a longer visit. Waving a quick farewell, she hurried back to her buggy.

After they’d finished the hearty soup and small loaf of bread, they realized that there was extra left over for their next meal. Rose was just about to sit in the parlor when they heard another light rapping at the front door.

“Hello? It’s me, Clara Lee Chadding. Hello Mr. Smith, Hello Mrs. Smith. I won’t sit down but a minute with you. Mrs. Smith, I know the sun must be much harsher here than where you were born and raised. I have brought you a sunbonnet. You’ll find they protect one’s complexion better than the little hats that seem so popular these days.”