Accidental Mail Order Bride: A Clean Western Romance Read online

  “You should take the bed, Miss.”

  “What?”

  “The bed.” He didn’t look up from his mending, and she noted that he’d turned his chair so that he wouldn’t see her if she changed out of her gown.

  “Where will you sleep?”

  “The chair’s fine for me.”

  She had half a mind to argue, but abruptly, she was too tired even to consider it. She managed to undress down to her shift and wrapped her dressing gown around herself before slipping under the covers. It seemed the most luxurious bed she had ever slept in, and she was asleep in moments.

  Chapter 3

  He became accustomed to finding her tending to the goats and chickens when he came back from his days on the prairie. She was not wasteful in her use of the hay, but he noticed that the coop was a little neater each day, and that the goats seemed shinier and cleaner, somehow. What little she knew of cooking, she had at least become more skilled at. The biscuits were less leaden, the eggs edible, and the beans stewed nicely with salt pork. She was accustomed to milking the goats morning and evening, saying that they seemed more comfortable that way, and with a cup of milk to wash down his supper, Samuel wasn’t one to argue.

  Today he leaned over the edge of the stall as she finished milking, and held the door open for her. She gave him a smile of thanks as she went past, and he felt his own answering smile.

  “You’re limping,” she observed. “Mr. Ellis, she added, having forgotten her habitual manners for a moment.

  “I’m not a fancy gentleman,” he reminded her. “And I know my own name.”

  “Etiquette is still important,” she admonished him.

  “I can see why they picked you to be a governess. You’d rule those girls with a strong hand. They needed that, mind. Their mother let ‘em run wild.”

  “I’ve no doubt she was overwhelmed.” No matter how he prompted her, she refused to speak ill of the Hermans.

  “Why did those girls need airs and graces, anyway, if they were going to be living out here?”

  “As I have told you many a time, Mr. Ellis, including just a few moments ago, manners and etiquette are always important.” But he sensed a smile in her voice. She had tied the calico apron around her waist and was presently kneading dough for bread while the soup bubbled on the stove.

  “And when they’re grown up and all well-mannered, where do you go?” He settled into the rocking chair, studying her.

  She paused for a moment. “I will find another position, I suppose.”

  “Not have some babies of your own?” It had been troubling him lately. Here was a young woman, clearly well schooled, pretty and accomplished and practical. She should have babies of her own in the schoolroom by now, shouldn’t she?

  She froze. When she began kneading the dough again, she saw the tension in her shoulders. She was forcing herself to keep moving. Her voice, when she spoke, was tight. “I told you the first day we met, Mr. Ellis—I don’t intend to marry.”

  He should have let it be, he thought later. He pain was evident, and he knew enough of running away to know why someone might choose it. But in the moment, it seemed too much to bear that a woman of her beauty and humor and pride and schooling should come to nothing, in his mind. That she, who so clearly enjoyed talking with him over the evenings, should have no hearth and home of her own, and no one to speak with.

  “But why not?” He leaned so that he might see her profile. “Any man would be pleased to call you his wife. If you—”

  “I do not intend to marry.” Her voice was sharp.

  “Did someone hurt you?” he asked, sensing the truth. He thought she might tell him the story, and that in return, he could tell her that they knew nothing, this person—that whatever schoolteacher or foolish man had told her she was no good ought to be strung up. But instead she turned away, and he saw her shoulders shake. “Cora—Miss—”

  She grabbed her shawl from the hook on the wall and yanked the door open.

  “Cora, I didn’t mean—”

  The door slammed, and even he knew better than to go after her. He paced the confines of the cabin, cursing himself. He should have known better. How many days had he spent telling her of his childhood, of how he came to Nebraska and his first winters struggling to keep the herd safe? All the while, she had listened and offered opinions and made jokes, but she would never tell him the slightest thing about her. Often, when she laughed, he would see her catch herself and go quiet, as if her laughter was shameful or wicked. He tried to be gentle to her, but she never accepted comfort.

  No, she set herself to work in the Nebraska winter with a will that stunned him. Her hands grew rough and her face tanned in the sun, but she never made a complaint and she never asked for a reprieve. Often her found her looking out at the grasses with a peaceful expression on her face. If she was eager to get word of her employer’s new location, she did not show it by being short-tempered or absent-minded on the farm. More and more, he wished she were his bride—

  No. It would do no good to think that way.

  When she returned an hour later, he knew better than to say a word about her leaving. The bread had risen and he’d put it on the stove to bake, and the rich smell of it filled the cabin. She seemed to flush at that.

  “I am very sorry to have made you bake the bread, Mr. Ellis.”

  “Have some soup,” was all he said.

  She sat and took the bowl silently. “Did you say your grace?”

  This was one of their only struggles, her insisting that he thank God for his meals, and him insisting that he’d rather thank her for cooking and himself for growing the vegetables. She knew, he thought, that he had not said any sort of grace. But tonight of all nights, he wanted to make her smile.

  “I haven’t, but maybe we should now. Better after the meal than not at all, eh?”

  He thought she would reprimand him, but she smiled slightly. “I think so,” she said, her voice quiet. “Very well. Dear God…”

  Chapter 4

  The sun was sinking in the sky and the bread was baking as Cora shut the door to the cabin carefully behind her and set out over the rough ground. Her shoes were now ruined beyond any hope of repair, but she had long since decided that since there was nothing to be done on that front, it would be just as well if she did not worry about it. She brushed the grass aside with her fingertips as she walked, making her way to the ridge that faced out over the long slope to the east.

  She was not sure what she would say if Samuel—Mr. Ellis, she reminded herself—asked her why she came out here. How could she possibly explain? There’s so much sky, she would say, and he would perhaps look at her as if she was made. She wasn’t mad, or at least she didn’t think she was. The truth was that the gentle swell and roll of the prairies and the bowl of blue sky awoke something in her. It was beautiful like nothing she’d ever seen before, and it made her feel at peace.

  And she would be gone from this place soon. She bowed her head as she heard footsteps crunching behind her, and looked over her shoulder.

  “Miss Jameson, are you well?”

  “Very well, thank you.” She tried to think of a way to explain herself. “I just like to come look at the prairie sometimes.”

  She expected him to say that there were tasks that needed doing, but he only tipped his hat to her. “Aye. I’ll leave you to your thoughts, then.”

  “Thank you.” She turned as he walked back to the cabin. “And Mr. Ellis?”

  “Yes?” He turned.

  “I’m very sorry about the other night.”

  “It’s nothing,’” he said gruffly. “I shouldn’t have asked. Not my place.”

  She wanted to say it was his place, that he was the only one who had ever asked or cared, or made her feel as if maybe he would look past her shame, but she could not find the words for that. So she only ducked her head. “Well. I do apologize.”

  She watched him go, and when he was gone, she knelt quietly in the grass and folded her han
ds in her lap. Just because the vicar had left town with the Hermans was no reason for her not to look to her soul.

  “Dear God,” she said. She paused. What should she say? She closed her eyes and listened to the whistle of the wind, picturing the cloud of her breath drifting up to heaven. What was there to say? “I ask you to forgive me for deceiving Mr. Ellis,” she said at last. A tremble ran through her, and she clenched her hands in the fabric of her skirts. “He has been nothing but kind to me. He never complains of my cooking or my darning, though I still have few skills for a homestead, and he will not let me speak of payment for his letting me lodge with him. He would not…he would not be so forgiving, I think, if he knew the truth.”

  Whore! The remembered cry burst through her head, and she flinched, turning her head reflexively from a slap that was many months gone. She could still feel the white-hot pain on her cheek and the burst of hurt as she hit the wall.

  “I know I should not have hidden what I did from Mr. Ellis,” she whispered. Her eyes were squeezed together, but tears leaked out from between her lashes. “He would rightly condemn me. And…I should not have deceived Mr. Herman, either.”

  For the truth would come out, she knew it. Someday, a letter would arrive for Mr. Herman and he would call her into his study and demand to know if his children had been being taught by a harlot. And she, weak and craven, would tell him that it hadn’t been like everyone said. Lucas was sick, nothing inappropriate had happened at all save that she had brought him tea for his fever and changed the cloths on his head… And he would tell her, as everyone had, that she was deceiving herself. That she should never have gone into Lucas’s room, and she had undoubtedly done so because of her wicked heart. She was engaged to the man’s brother, and yet seducing him brazenly in the family home…

  Mr. Herman would find out. He would. If she were honest, she was glad—in her wicked, sinful heart—that Mr. Ellis was not likely ever to find out the truth.

  Which meant she must be honest with him. She pushed herself up and ran through the prairie grass, trying to outrace her cowardice. Whens he burst through the door, he was on his feet in a moment.

  “Is there a wolf?”

  “No. No.” She shook her head. “I have…something to tell you.”

  “Oh?” he stayed standing, waiting awkwardly.

  “It’s…well, it’s why I was planning to be a governess. Why I won’t marry and have children of my own.” She ducked her head so she wouldn’t have to meet his eyes, but she forced herself to keep talking. “I was engaged to a man named Robert Smythe. He was a very fine gentleman, taking care of my mother and I when she was ill, and though I was only the daughter of a seamstress, he lifted me up to become his betrothed.”

  She thought he might speak, but after a moment he only shook his head.

  “I was warned by his mother that I was rising too high, but I foolishly thought I could be a part of Robert’s world.” She swallowed hard. “I learned my manners so that no one could say I was a poor wife to him, or an embarrassment. Mama taught me, too. She said being poor was…” She flushed. “Being poor was no reason to be ill-mannered. I thought she would be proud of me. But Robert’s mother was right. My quality showed out. I…was caught in his brother’s bedchamber.”

  Mr. Ellis, who had been drawing breath to speak, broke off in surprise.

  “Of course, there was no chance of the marriage, then. I had to make my own way.” She lifted her chin and tried to meet his eyes. “And so I came here to outrun my reputation. It was a wicked thing to do, and I have perhaps deceived you into thinking you were taking a god-fearing woman into your household.”

  He stopped, considered. She waited for him to throw her out. And then he asked, “This brother. What was his name?”

  “Lucas.” Her lips felt numb.

  “He loved ye, did he?”

  “Oh, no.” She shook her head. “Lucas would never have done anything improper.”

  “That’s not the same thing,” he observed.

  “I think Lucas loved one of the young ladies at the bakery nearby,” Cora admitted. “He was always very kind to her.”

  “Then—forgive my asking, miss—why were you in his rooms?”

  She swallowed. “I heard him crying out, and I went to him. He was ill, so I…”

  “And they tossed ye out for that?” His accent came out stronger when he was upset, she thought.

  “A proper lady would have rung for a servant.”

  “He was ill.”

  “Another could have cared for him. I went in…” She swallowed. “I went in because I was weak. Because I—”

  “I’ll not listen to you say that again.” His voice was shaking. “Not under my roof. Now, I wasn’t there that night, but I know you now, Miss Jameson, and I can tell you that I see no wickedness or weakness in your character.”

  “But you don’t understand.” I’ve fooled you, just like Robert’s mother said I fooled everyone…

  “You’re a good woman, Cora Jameson.” He shook his head. “Whatever that lady said about you. And if you’ll pardon me, that betrothed of yours was no better than he ought to be, listening to gossip and leaving you homeless on account of that. And that’s all I’ll say,” he finished hastily. “So will ye have some dinner, then, or are you planning to stand there looking miserable all night?”

  He was wrong, she knew. She was wicked. She had never been good enough for Robert. But Mr. Ellis was too stubborn to believe her yet, and part of her—the foolish, wicked part, no doubt—was glad that he might think so well of her. She took her chair at the table and smiled when he lay the soup before her, and did not say another word on the matter.

  Chapter 5

  “If you would just—”

  “Stop worrying!” Cora was laughing, her hand clamped over her bonnet to keep it on her head. “You said yourself that no one’s doing anything suspicious.”

  “But the people here are…” Samuel gave up. Cora clearly wasn’t listening, and the day was too fine for him to argue in any case. Besides which, she was right—there was hardly a soul out of doors today, and though there was a man falling down drunk by one of the buildings, Cora’s expression suggested she’d seen that sort of thing many a time before.

  She was perfectly safe, he reminded himself. But every time he saw her laughing face, the red hair escaping down from beneath her bonnet, he was overcome again by the fear of something happening to her. This town, so rough and so violent, was no place for her.

  He held open the door of the general store and she smiled at him as she went in. Once he had been gruff with those gestures of etiquette, but now he ducked his head in an awkward response to her thanks. There was something genuine in it when she thanked him, not the meaningless dance that rich folks tended to do.

  “Miss Jameson!” Henry Roth, the proprietor of the general store, swept her a rough bow. She had only been here once before, to post her letter, but she had clearly made quite an impression on the man. “What a pleasure to see you again.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Roth.” Cora smiled warmly at him.

  “And what can I get for you today?”

  “Flour, please, and some sugar.” She looked over at the shop’s small supply of eggs. “Perhaps we could arrange to bring some of the extra from Mr. Ellis’s coop.”

  “I’d be delighted by that, Miss. Now, let me just get you that flour.” He puttered away, whistling to himself, and Cora perused the tiny rack of glass beads and other odds and ends.

  She seemed enchanted by the rough necklaces, and Samuel had the foolish thought that he ought to buy her one of them; then he remembered the finery she must have worn when she was engaged to her gentleman. She was just trying not to appear rude, that was what it was. When she held up a string of beads to look at the light streaming through them, her smile contented, however, it was a sight to see.

  She caught him looking and flushed.

  “I know I shouldn’t care for such things,” she said, her voice l
ow. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Ellis.”

  “You’ve no reason to.” Lord, how he wished he could take a horsewhip to the woman who’d called her wicked, and the man who had turned her out! In every moment of every day, from her courtesy to Mr. Roth, to her care for the chickens in the coop, Cora was everything that was good and pure in this world. She could no more harbor a wicked heart than Samuel could…

  Be a match for her, his mind whispered. He turned away abruptly, looking at the other goods on the walls.

  “They have books here,” he said, when his voice was steady. “Would you like one?”

  “It’s a waste of money,” she said, after a moment.

  “But would you like one?”

  She hesitated. “Would you? I have so little money, Mr. Ellis, I could never hope to compensate you for it.”

  “Miss Jameson, you’ve just secured me a market for my eggs. Between that and the new quilt you’ve made, I’d say we have funds enough.” And he wanted to make her smile. That was the real reason, if only he could be brave enough to say it. “Which book would you like best?”

  She bent close to read the titles, and he tried not to notice the graceful line of her neck and the way her long fingers skimmed over the spines of the books. She pulled the books out one by one, holding them reverently and opening them to look at the words inside.

  “This one,” she said finally.

  “The My…” he sounded out. He’d never been too good with his letters; there’d been no call for it. “Mice?”

  “Mystery. The Mystery of Edwin Drood.” He flushed with shame, but she didn’t seem to notice, running her fingers under the letters. “It isn’t spelled very logically, though it comes from Latin. Mysterium. And in French, mistere. They use an I.” She smiled brightly up at him.

  “Do you know everything?” Once, he would have said that he didn’t like bookish misses—or bookish people at all, really. It was just that she took such a joy in her knowledge, telling him about the phases of the moon and the secrets of language as if she truly cared for all those things. He thought she would make a good mother, and turned his thoughts away determinedly.