Mail-Order Brides of the West: Trudy (A Montana Sky Series Novel) Page 11

  That question spurred her into rising from the bed. She donned her undergarments, keeping her corset loosely tied, then slipped on the simple dress she’d hung up the night before in hopes the worst of the wrinkles would smooth out. Some had, but the dress was still rumpled enough to cause her to add ironing to her list of tasks for the day. She tied on an apron, which covered most of the creases.

  Trudy left the bed unmade, intending to change the bedding when she unpacked her own, and hurried into the main room. Henry, sleeping on the rug in front of the fireplace, lifted his head when he saw her and thumped his tail on the floor. But he didn’t get up.

  “Hello, Henry.” Trudy stooped to greet the dog. She rubbed his silky ears. “Do you know where your master is?”

  The dog looked up at her with limpid brown eyes.

  The sound of a heavy step on the porch gave her an answer. Seth stood in the doorway, holding a pail. He caught sight of her crouching next to Henry and grinned.

  Trudy straightened.

  “Sleeping in, Mrs. Flanigan?”

  The sight of him clad in work clothes made her heart race. Trudy put her hand to her throat. “I’m usually an early riser, but I was so tired.” She walked over to him. “Let me take that.”

  He gave her the pail, which turned out to be full of milk, and leaned over to remove his heavy work boots.

  “You’re thoughtful about that, Seth.” With her free hand, she gestured to his feet. “Keep from tracking dirt into the house.” She set the pail on the table.

  He raised his eyebrows. “My ma was pretty firm on that. But I won’t do it in the winter. I’ll rush right on in, tracking snow and mud and all.” Seth ambled over to her in his stocking feet, until he stood a few inches away.

  She had to resist stepping back and knew he must see the heat rising from her chest to her face. “Of course, when it’s cold, that’s different,” she said faintly. “I don’t expect you to.”

  His eyes searched her face. “You were quite wrung out last night.” His inflection made the statement a question.

  Trudy spread out her hands. “I’m rested, ready to get to work.”

  He placed his hands on her shoulders. “First things first.” He dropped a kiss on her lips. “Good morning, Mrs. Flanigan,” he said in a husky voice.

  Just a light touch, but he took her breath away. “Good morning, Mr. Flanigan,” she whispered.

  He stepped back and dropped his hands.

  Trudy wanted to grab him back for more kisses, but she made herself talk instead. “I’d like to cook you breakfast,” she said in a prosaic tone. “But there’s no more bread, and I can’t find any eggs. Do you have chickens?”

  Seth pursed his lips. “No. I used to have a couple. But a fox got those birds. The old henhouse rotted, and I pulled it down. I’ve meant to replace the chickens, build a new one…” He made a frustrated gesture with his hands. “There’s just so dang much to do around here, Trudy.”

  She placed her fists on her hips. “We need chickens, Seth. And I’ll require your help in getting us some pullets. You’ll have to build a henhouse, but after that, they’ll be my responsibility.”

  He gave her a charming smile. “I know. We’ll add chickens to the list of what we’re buying in town. In the meantime, I’ll be fine with anything you can scrape up for breakfast. I usually have beans leftover from the night before.”

  “You’ll certainly not have leftover beans!” The very idea offended her.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Seth said playfully. “I’m sure you’ll make do.”

  “I’ll fry up some ham.” She tapped her chin, thinking. “There’s no bacon. I can’t make flapjacks because there’re no eggs, and I didn’t see any baking soda or cream of tartar. Do you have any?”

  He repressed a grin, but the skin around his eyes creased. “No, ma’am.”

  Trudy fisted her hands on her hips. “Seth Flanigan, this isn’t funny.” She tried to sound serious, but knew she hadn’t succeeded.

  “There’s always beans, Trudy.” His laugh burst out.

  “No beans for breakfast! We’ll have oatmeal and fried ham.”

  “Sounds good to me. I’m as hungry as a bear,” he drawled. “This getting married business sure does give a man an appetite.”

  This time, she giggled. “Then Mr. Married Man, I’ll have to hustle up your breakfast.”

  He touched his head in a mock salute. “You do that, Mrs. Flanigan, while I head back out to the barn and finish the mucking out. I look forward to our first breakfast together.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  After she’d finished washing and drying the breakfast dishes, Trudy sat down to write letters. Then she changed into a nicer dress and put on her hat to wear to town. While waiting for Seth to hitch up the wagon, Trudy wandered outside to study the garden. She carried her big crocheted reticule containing the money pouch—minus five hundred and fifty dollars, which she’d left under the mattress—the grocery list, and two letters—one to her father and one to Evie.

  The soil, so recently overturned by Seth, looked rich and dark. Trudy couldn’t wait to dig her fingers into the dirt.

  Relieved to see some perennials had sprouted, she walked around examining what must be the herb garden set into a raised bed. She stooped and squeezed a mint leaf from the batch taking over one corner, releasing the sweet, tangy scent into the air. Trudy pinched off a piece of sage and brought the leaf to her nose, then did the same with the thyme before brushing her hand over some lavender.

  Straightening, she surveyed the rest of the area, imagining how she would position the various vegetables. Potatoes she could dig in right away. Beans and peas could grow up the fence running along the back of the garden. She’d have Seth attach some wires to the wood. Tomorrow, she’d cultivate her seeds in containers inside the house, letting them sprout before transferring them to the ground.

  Trudy pursed her lips, wondering if she should plant sunflowers to tower over the right side. She needed something tall around here since no trees grew near the house.

  The sound of wagon wheels and hoofbeats brought her out of her musings. Lifting her skirt, Trudy hurried around the house to the front. She picked up the egg basket packed with sawdust that she’d left on the porch steps.

  Seth halted the wagon and set the brake.

  Before he could climb down, Trudy held up her hand to stop him. She placed the basket in the wagon bed, wedging it into the corner. Gathering her skirt under one arm, Trudy used the other hand to pull herself up as she scrambled like a mountain goat into the seat and dropped her reticule on her lap.

  Seth laughed. “You sure must be in a hurry to get to town, Mrs. Flanigan.”

  “I am. The sooner we get to town and purchase what we need, the sooner I can start the chores waiting for me. I plan to cook you a fine dinner, Mr. Flanigan, and then finish the unpacking...at least, what I can unpack.”

  He flicked the reins, and the horses started forward. “Then let’s get going.”

  The two stayed quiet for the first part of the trip.

  Trudy was too busy enjoying the open spaces, watching a bird fly overhead, or a puffy cloud drift across the blue sky to make conversation. But once they crossed the stream, she realized the time had come to talk to her husband about her money. “Seth,” she ventured. “There’s something I want to discuss with you.”

  His quick sideways glance showed some apprehension. “Is it something I’m not going to want to hear?”

  “Oh, no.” Not unless he saw her money as a blow to his pride—his ability to provide for her. “At least, I don’t think so.”

  “All right, then. Spill it.”

  “Before I left, my father gave me a thousand dollars as a dowry.”

  Seth whistled. “That’s a lot of money. Guess I got the best of the bargain.” His voice turned teasing. “I only paid fifty dollars for you.”

  She elbowed him. “Stop making it sound like you bought me!”

  “Yep,” he continued,
not at all abashed by her response. “Paid for you lock, stock, and barrel. Or maybe I should say, lock, stock, and three wagons full of household goods. And let’s not forget, a piano!”

  Trudy giggled.

  His grin lit up his face.

  Warmth sparkled through her midsection. “I’d like to use the money to add on to the house, a parlor…another bedroom. Two actually. One for guests and one for future children. A back porch. Indoor plumbing. Hire someone to help you—”

  “Whoa, woman. You’ve been doing some mighty big thinking.” Seth’s brows drew together, and he fell silent.

  Trudy wanted to push for answers, but she recognized a man’s thinking mode when she saw it. At such times, she gained nothing by pressing her father, and she figured her husband wouldn’t be any different.

  After about twenty minutes, Seth slowly nodded. “We can place an order for wood and windows at the mercantile today. We’ll need a stove for the parlor, else the room will be too cold to use much of the year.”

  “Believe it or not. I’ve brought a parlor stove with me. Minerva had a newer one, so I have our old one. Burns coal or wood.”

  He gave her a quick smile. “Seems like you thought of everything. Well, it will be a while before building materials are delivered. In the meantime, I’ll get the alfalfa planted, and once that’s in, I can hire someone to help me start on the house. With that kind of money, I can afford Phineas O’Reilly. He’s a carpenter and cabinet-maker. New around here. Opened his shop in the dead of winter. He’ll do fine finish work—moldings and such.”

  “Oh, Seth!” Trudy let out a deep breath of satisfaction. “I can hardly wait.”

  For the rest of the drive, they discussed what they wanted to do with the house. For the most part, they were in agreement, although they amiably argued if they should order five windows or six and whether to make their bedroom bigger. It didn’t take long for Trudy to bring her husband around to her way of thinking. He had to give in, Seth pointed out, since she was paying for the whole kit and caboodle. But with a quirk of his mouth, he added that she shouldn’t expect to always have things her way.

  Trudy was well aware that once they’d married, her money became his money. Legally, she no longer had any say in the matter. Seth could spend her funds any way he wanted. He could hoard the money and not allow her to make expensive changes to his house. She appreciated his indulgence and took satisfaction in the fact that they’d begun working as a team, as surely as the two horses harnessed in front of them pulled the wagon.

  In town, they parked in front of the brick mercantile. Trudy fished her father’s leather pouch from her reticule and handed it over to Seth. “My dowry. Actually half my dowry. I left the rest at home.”

  He squeezed the sides, hefting the pouch a few inches. “I appreciate this. And I’ll be sure to write your father and thank him—assure him his daughter is in good hands.”

  “I’ve written him too.” She tapped her reticule, and her two letters rustled. “But I’m sure a letter from you would further ease his mind.”

  Seth pointed to the door. “Take a deep breath before we go in. Sometimes, you need the extra air around the Cobbs.”

  She gave him a puzzled look.

  Seth didn’t elaborate, just led her into the store.

  Inside, a brown-haired woman straightened jars of preserves on shelves, while a man slouched behind the counter writing something down in a ledger. Both turned to look at them.

  Trudy glanced around the store, amazed to see such a complete selection of merchandise. Why, it seemed like anything she might need could be found here—from pickles in the crock by the door, to the rows of canned food and preserves, to the farm implements and other tools, and shelves of clothes and hats. A baker’s rack held loaves of bread, pies, and trays of cookies.

  She caught a whiff of cinnamon and ginger and instantly resolved to bake gingerbread men at her earliest opportunity. Maybe tomorrow. Today, she had a deep-dish apple pie in mind.

  His hand in the center of her back, Seth ushered her toward the couple. By way of introduction, he gestured toward them. “Mr. and Mrs. Cobb own the mercantile.” He gently propelled her forward. “This is my wife, Mrs. Flanigan.”

  Mrs. Cobb looked Trudy over. She had close-set brown eyes in a face that appeared pinched with disapproval.

  Trudy had a feeling the expression might be habitual.

  The woman’s gaze lingered on Trudy’s garnet ring. “So you got married yesterday. You’re from St. Louis, I hear.”

  Trudy smiled at Mrs. Cobb. “You hear correctly.” She pulled a piece of paper from her reticule. “I have quite a list, Mrs. Cobb. Would you mind helping me? You have such a splendid variety of goods, I’m afraid it will take me quite a while if I have to find everything on my own.”

  Mrs. Cobb gave Trudy a sharp glance, as if assessing the truth of her words. “I wouldn’t think someone from a big city would say we carry a splendid variety.”

  “For a small frontier town, this is a marvelous store,” Trudy said in a kindly tone. “So tidy and organized. But you must hear that all the time. I’m sure the people of Sweetwater Springs are most appreciative.”

  The woman’s pinched expression smoothed out. She took the list from Trudy’s hand and perused the items.

  Seth patted Trudy’s back, then left her and headed toward the counter. He leaned against the edge and started to talk to the shopkeeper about placing an order for wood, nails, and window glass.

  The women moved about the store, gathering the items on Trudy’s list and piling them on the counter. But when they came to eggs, Mrs. Cobb frowned and shook her head. “I’m plumb out of eggs. Sold the last dozen not fifteen minutes ago.”

  “Oh, dear.” Trudy grimaced. “I’m sorely in need of eggs. Pullets too. Do you sell them here, Mrs. Cobb?”

  The woman pursed her lips. “I can’t say that we do, Mrs. Flanigan. However, Lavinia Murphy, down the street, has Mottled Javas. I was just going to her house to replenish my egg supply. She might be persuaded to part with a few pullets—for the right price.”

  Seth counted out some money and handed the stack to Mr. Cobb.

  Trudy selected a butt of bacon from the meat case.

  The shopkeeper wrapped it in waxed paper. His bulbous nose twitched. “Just to warn ya…that Murphy woman drives an even harder bargain than my wife.”

  Mrs. Cobb cast her husband an annoyed look. “See if you can appeal to Thomas Murphy, her husband. He’s a soft touch, and the only person on God’s earth she will listen to.” She paused. “Well, except sometimes…rare times…Reverend Norton.”

  “Thank you for the tip.”

  Mrs. Cobb made a waving motion with her hand. “You two go on to the Murphy’s place. We’ll have all this ready by the time you return. Leave the wagon here. Isaiah will load it for you.”

  This time, it was Mr. Cobb who gave his wife an annoyed glance.

  Trudy had to hold in a giggle. The couple certainly seemed well suited in their ill humor.

  She took Seth’s arm. Together, they left the store and almost ran into a man carrying a toddler in his arms.

  Seeing Trudy, he stepped back and shifted the boy to one arm so he could touch his hat in respect.

  The man had a bushy blond beard that hid much of his face and wavy long hair. His brown shirt had a tear in the sleeve. The haunted look in his bottle green eyes made Trudy pause, even though they were strangers and hadn’t been introduced.

  “What a beautiful child.” Trudy admired the little one, who didn’t look quite two. His mother must have been dark to his father’s fairness, for the boy had rumpled mink brown hair and golden skin. He stared at Trudy with solemn green eyes very much like his father’s.

  “Jonah.” Seth’s voice was stilted. “I heard about you losing...I’m sorry. Especially for the boy’s sake.”

  The man gave Seth a steady look. “Much obliged for the kind words, Seth.”

  Seth gestured to Trudy. “Jonah, I’d lik
e you to meet my bride.” He gestured. “Trudy, this is my old friend Jonah Barrett, and his little shaver is...” He tilted his head. “Adam, I believe?”

  Jonah raised his eyebrows. “Good memory, for only meeting him that one time.” He looked at Trudy. “Congratulations on your marriage, ma’am.” With a quick, appealing smile, he said, “You ever want to hear stories about Seth, here, I have quite a few.”

  The child wiggled.

  Jonah lost his smile. “I’d best be gettin’ into the store. Got a list. Need a lot of store-bought food now.”

  Seth guided Trudy out of the way so the two could pass. “Good to see you, Jonah. You and the boy take care.”

  “Nice meeting you, Mr. Barrett,” Trudy added.

  The man squared his shoulders, as if bracing himself, and entered the mercantile.

  Trudy waited until the door closed behind them. “What happened?”

  “Jonah’s squaw died a month or so ago. Adam’s a half-breed baby.” Seth shook his head, looking regretful. “He won’t get a warm welcome from the Cobbs, that’s for sure.”

  “Seth, how can you say such a thing?”

  He spread his hands. “I’m not saying it’s right, Trudy. Jonah is a good man. I’ve known him since we were knee-high. His pa used to bring him to town when he wanted to spend time drinking at the saloon. We played a lot together.”

  “Why do you call his wife a squaw?”

  “She was an Indian. Caused quite a bit of ruckus at the time. But he took up a claim in a remote valley, not near me, so I only see him about once or twice a year, if that.”

  Trudy cast a speculative glance back at the store. “He must be having a hard time managing with a child so small.” Lost in thought, she jumped when Seth took her elbow. She looked up in surprise. “Yes?”

  He grinned. “You ready to move on?”

  “Of course.”

  At the wagon, Trudy stopped to pull out the egg basket. She pushed the handle up her right arm until it rested in the crook of her elbow. “I see what you meant by needing to take a breath before going into the store.” She hoped Mr. Barrett was faring well. “I’ll have to remember that advice in the future.”