Page 7 of Leftover Mail-Order Bride (Frontier Brides #2)

T hursday, Victoria was on the back steps of the parsonage, working the dasher on a butter churn. She’d been at it for more than a quarter hour and had only sighted a few stray specks when she’d lifted the lid of the tall wooden barrel to check. Already her shoulders ached.

“I will never take a buttered roll for granted again,” she told Mrs. Dalrymple as the minister’s wife poked her head out of the door.

“Never mind that,” she said, coming to take the long rod of the dasher from her. “The lumber wagon is coming up the drive. I expect Mr. Willets will be here to meet it shortly.” She studied Victoria critically. “You don’t need to pinch your cheeks—you have an enviable amount of color at the moment.”

Apparently churning was good for something more than making butter!

“Lick your lips,” she advised. “Stand up tall. Go direct them on where to put everything. Men like a woman who’s interested in their work.”

There was interested, and there was interfering. She certainly had no intention of doing the latter. But she spotted Jack and Jeremy riding up, so she relinquished her spot at the churn with relief and gratitude and hurried out to meet them.

With a rattle and creak, the lumber wagon trundled around the parsonage. It was stacked high with long boards and beams and drawn by two stout oxen. She nearly cheered until she noticed Mr. Goodenough on the bench beside the driver. She certainly didn’t want to give him the impression she was glad to see him.

Jack was glad to see the shipment. That was evident by the satisfied smile on his face as she approached. He nodded a welcome to her before focusing on the big wagon.

“Just there, I think,” Mr. Goodenough ordered the driver. At least today he looked as if he was ready to work, for his coat was a more serviceable brown, and he’d pressed a derby to his head.

Jack waved him in a different direction. “Farther out. You’re too close to the foundation.”

Sure enough, the oxen had stepped over the even line of rocks, and now the front wheels were pressing against them, knocking a few out of place.

“All the better to distribute the boards,” Mr. Goodenough countered.

“Whoa!” the driver commanded his team. “Stand!”

The oxen obediently came to a halt. Jeremy shook his head. Jack hurried forward even as Mr. Goodenough climbed down from the bench and surveyed the ground.

“I hope you’re ready,” he said. “That foundation looks unsteady to me.”

Jack’s jaw was tight. “We’re ready. Help me unload this.”

Mr. Goodenough held up both hands. “My task was to deliver the lumber and ensure that my owner is paid. No one said anything about manual labor.” He must have noticed Victoria at last, for his round face broadened even further in a smile, and he snatched the hat from his head. “Miss Milford, what an unexpected pleasure! Come to see the good work we do at the sawmill?”

“And the good work Mr. Willets and his brother are doing on the church,” Victoria said. “I believe you told Mr. Dalrymple that you were interested in helping too.”

“I have helped,” he said, patting the battered side of the rough-wood wagon. “I negotiated a very good price for these supplies. Speaking of which, I should see about my employer getting paid.” He held out his arm. “Allow me to escort you back to the parsonage, Victoria, dear.”

She had not given him leave to use her first name! “I believe I’ll stay here.”

His smile faded, and he pulled back his arm, but he turned and strode toward the parsonage.

“Presumptuous makebate,” she muttered, turning to see how she might help. Jeremy was grinning at her, and Jack’s cheek twitched, as if he was trying not to do the same.

While the driver saw to his oxen, the two brothers pulled the lumber from the bed and stacked it where the workers could use it for the church raising. Victoria couldn’t very well help carry boards, but she found the small kegs of nails and hinges and the box of door knobs in the wagon and ferried those to the pile as well.

Mr. Goodenough returned in time to take one from her. “Now, then, what sort of gentleman allows a lady to work?” He shot Jack a scowl, then took Victoria’s arm and led her off to one side. “I commend your spirit, my dear, but you’d be better suited to help Mrs. Dalrymple in the house. And I can assure you that my wife would never have to sully her hands with this sort of thing.”

But he certainly wouldn’t sully his hands either, so she could only wonder at the truth of the statement. “I don’t mind supporting a good cause, sir. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go see if the Reverend Mr. Dalrymple might have a spare tarpaulin to cover the wood. It seems your employer neglected to send one.”

He reddened, but Jack winked at her as she passed.

By the time she returned, the wagon, Mr. Goodenough, Jeremy, and the horses were gone. Jack helped her tuck the tarpaulin Mr. Dalrymple had provided around the precious lumber.

“That should do it,” he said, stepping back. “We’ll be ready whenever we have helpers.”

“I see you decided to keep Joy’s contribution,” Victoria said, following his gaze out over the squared-up foundation.

He smiled. “We’ll be laying the beams across it, so it won’t hurt anything, and it was a nice thought.” His gaze came back to hers, and something swirled in the smoke. “I wouldn’t have seen it without you, Victoria. I didn’t even realize Joy had a talent for drawing and such. You noticed, and you encouraged her. I hear from Jane you encouraged her to be herself too. That’s a gift.”

She felt warm all over, even with the cool breeze coming across the prairie. “Well, you certainly have the gift of perseverance! I’ve never met anyone who works as hard as you do.”

“I expect anyone who ranches or farms has to work as hard,” he allowed. “Though this is one of the busiest seasons of the year. You almost have time to hear yourself think between Christmas and Valentine’s Day.”

“Does it snow much here?” she asked, trying to imagine the undulating grasslands and forest covered in a coat of white.

“Not too bad most years. But you wait. The wildflowers are already starting to bloom, and in the next few weeks, the land will erupt in color.” He licked his lips. “I don’t suppose you have time to take a walk. There’s something I’d like to show you.”

Victoria grinned. “Intriguing! I’d be delighted to join you.”

He gestured to the south, and she fell into step beside him. The grasses brushed her skirts, and the breeze brushed her cheeks.

Something brushed her fingers.

Glancing down, she found Jack’s hand against her own. Easy enough to tuck her fingers into his grip. He smiled, and her heart sang.

She could hardly wait to see what more he wanted to show her.

***

They were holding hands. He couldn’t stop grinning. It didn’t matter that the clouds were dropping lower and getting blacker every moment. It didn’t matter the amount of work waiting for him back home. Right now, he just wanted to be here, with her.

But he wasn’t going to mention the significance of where he was taking her or honor its tradition.

The tradition of taking your sweetheart there for a kiss.

Jeremy had started it; Jesse had continued it. Everything in Jack wanted to pursue it. But a kiss was as good as a declaration, and he wasn’t sure she was ready for that. He wasn’t sure he was ready for that.

So, he led her along the fringe of trees that marked the edge of the plateau. An eagle soared above, then dove out of sight. Something larger rustled the bushes below the trees.

She must have heard it, for she moved a little closer to him.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he promised.

Her smile said she believed him. Was it possible for a man to feel any prouder or more humbled?

Ahead, the trees dropped off below the plateau, and the Nisqually Delta opened up in all its glory. Jack led her as close to the edge as was safe and heard her catch her breath.

It was a worthy sight. The green grasses of the delta stretched across the valley, threaded by silver streams and the darker Nisqually River. At the foot of the delta, forested islands rose from the blue of Puget Sound. On a clear day, at the head, Mount Rainier stood in all her glory.

Jack pointed with his free hand. “At high tide, the water comes all the way back to those trees. You could be looking at a river valley one hour and a few hours later, it’s an inland sea.”

“Amazing.” She squinted at something moving along the nearest creek. “Is that a canoe?”

“Someone’s likely fishing,” he explained as the sleek bark canoe wove its way along the waters. “The tribes have the right by treaty to hunt and fish in their customary places. Some of us think they should have the right to live in their customary places too, but we weren’t part of the treaty process.”

She slanted him a glance. “Perhaps you should run for a seat in the legislature.”

Jack snorted. “Not me. I have too much to do as it is.” He glanced back to where the twin barns of the ranch were just visible. He could hear their call from here. “I should get you back.”

With a sigh, she followed him back the way they had come. “You’re a practical fellow, Jack Willets.”

He wasn’t sure whether that was a compliment. “Is practicality a trait you admire?”

“It is,” she admitted. “I certainly didn’t have much time to be anything less than practical when I was nursing. My parents’ needs, Phyllis’s needs, eclipsed almost everything.”

He nodded. “That’s how it is on the ranch right now. Growing up, I always thought my oldest brother, Jesse, would be leading us one day. When he decided to strike out on his own, I knew it was up to me to step in.”

“Not Jeremy?” she asked, trailing her free hand along the tips of the grasses.

Jack chuckled. “Jeremy’s not what you’d call practical. He’ll be the first to see the humor, the first to offer help. But he struggles to make the hard decisions that come with running a ranch.”

“But not everything is a hard decision,” she protested as the parsonage rose up in the distance. “And no matter how hard the decision or the work involved, you have to find the joy where you can. It’s like music—there are slow movements and fast, dark and light. Moving through one makes you appreciate the next more.”

“‘To everything there isa season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven,’” Jack remembered.

She smiled at him. “Exactly.”

They were passing the church site now. A few more minutes, and he’d have to surrender her hand. Somehow, he thought that would be the hardest decision yet.

***

For a moment, when they had been standing looking over the magnificent Nisqually Delta, she’d thought he might kiss her, and every part of her had tingled with anticipation. But once again, work had won over anything else. She understood duty better than some, but surely even he had a right to a few moments to himself!

They were nearly at the parsonage when something cold landed on her cheek, startling her. Darker spots appeared on her sleeves.

He tilted back his head. “Rain’s coming on. Best you get back to the house.”

Before she could even respond, the clouds opened, and rain pattered down across the fields, bending the grasses.

“Best you get under cover too!” she cried, tugging at his hand.

Taking off his hat, he held it over her head with his free hand as they made a run for the porch.

Once there, sheltered in front of the parsonage, she ducked out from under his hat. “Thank you.”

He set it on the bench where Mrs. Dalrymple often perched. “We’ll need to get you some heavier bonnets. It rains a lot here.”

As he straightened, his gaze moved to her face. One hand came up to touch her cheek, feather soft. “Seems a raindrop wanted to get closer.”

She couldn’t look away as he brushed the water from her cheek. “Do you want to get closer, Jack?”

Perhaps that was the invitation he’d been waiting for, because he took a step, boots brushing the flounces of her skirt. “Yes, ma’am.” Gaze on hers, as if giving her every opportunity to refuse, he lowered his lips to hers.

Her eyes drifted shut, and her breath hitched. His lips brushed hers gently, tenderly, almost reverently. She wanted to drink in the touch like water. Oh, to be so cherished every day!

A noise made her eyes pop open. He pulled back to glance at the parlor window. Mrs. Dalrymple waggled her fingers at them before disappearing from view.

“Will you be in trouble for this?” he asked with a frown.

“Doubtful,” Victoria said, though her cheeks were heating. “But don’t be surprised if she sends Mr. Dalrymple to ask your intentions. She might even ask you herself.”

He held up his hands. “All honorable, I promise. May I call on you tomorrow?”

She nodded so rapidly she almost got dizzy. With a smile, he clapped his hat back on his head and strode off through the rain.

Victoria sighed. It wasn’t the courtship she had expected, but then she hadn’t expected any courtship at all when she’d come West as a mail-order bride. Now she found she couldn’t complain in the slightest.

“Did he propose?” Mrs. Dalrymple asked, eyes hopeful, as Victoria floated into the house.

“Not yet,” she allowed. “Perhaps tomorrow.”

Mrs. Dalrymple beamed. “In that case, let’s bake a pie or two. Never knew a man not to be pleased by a pie.”

***

Victoria was waiting, along with a dried apple pie, the next afternoon when Jack arrived. The rain had dwindled to a steady drizzle, making it hard to see to the end of the drive. Mrs. Dalrymple had stationed her in the parlor in her best gown, a spring green concoction with a fitted long bodice edged in black braid and jet buttons, lace at the neck and sleeves, and seven rows of flounces along the hem. Victoria had had to tuck it at the very back of the wardrobe to keep Cousin Phyllis from having it dyed black.

“Why, Mr. Willets,” the minister’s wife warbled as she answered his knock, which was no louder than the pounding of Victoria’s heart as she sat at the piano. “How nice to see you. And with flowers.”

She ushered him into the parlor so quickly he nearly missed a step. He offered Victoria a bouquet of pale pink blossoms clustered on glossy green leaves that were still damp from the mist.

“Oh, how lovely,” Victoria said. “Rhododendrons, I believe. Thank you.” She grinned at him. “Did you have to ride on Africa’s side to pick them?”

Mrs. Dalrymple glanced between them, clearly puzzled, but Jack gave Victoria that slow smile she felt to her toes.

“No, ma’am, but I’d do it if it meant seeing you happy.”

Mrs. Dalrymple snatched the blossoms from her. “I’ll just put these in water. You’ll excuse me, I’m sure.” She sent Victoria a look before hurrying for the kitchen.

Jack tipped his chin at the piano. “Seems I interrupted again.”

“Not at all,” she assured him. “I’d much rather spend time with you than the piano. Unless you play too?”

He shook his head. “We don’t have any instruments at the ranch. We tend to sing together instead.”

She could imagine the chorus. “That must be fun.”

He studied the piano. “Would you miss having a piano in the house?”

Was he talking about when she came to be his bride? Her pulse quickened anew. “Perhaps, but I could always stop by the parsonage and ask Mrs. Dalrymple if I might play. If the church has a piano or organ, I could play that too.”

“The church won’t have one right away,” he cautioned. “But I hear it’s in the plans. Then again, there’s not a lot of time for playing the piano and such things most days, I find.”

After their conversation yesterday, was he still more interested in a worker than a wife? Disappointment nipped at her. Well, he valued plain speaking. She could honor that and address her concerns at the same time.

She went to sit on the sofa, and he settled himself beside her. “We should talk, Jack. You know I came West to marry. I’ve looked for a position, but I haven’t had much luck. Mrs. Dalrymple is trying to find me a suitable husband.”

He nodded. “She has her sights set on Goodenough.”

They’d both set their sights, as he put it, on Jack, but she couldn’t bring herself to expose her hopes so baldly. There was plain speaking, and there was revealing dreams too easily crushed.

“And if I were to marry you instead, what would you expect from your wife?”

He leaned back on the sofa, a slight frown drawing his russet brows together. “Someone who will work beside me, help me run the ranch. I don’t think she needs to rope or brand, but being able to ride herd would be useful. Someone who could help Ma around the house and garden. Someone who will love and respect my family. Someone who actually gets along with my family.”

Work and family. Not companionship. No mention of love. She had come all this way with little expectation of either. Was she wrong to want more now?