Mail Order Devastation (Montana Mail Order Brides, Book 4) Read online

  “And then there’s the bedroom…our room.”

  She turned and followed Noah to the larger bedroom glad his back was to her so she could wipe away any trace of tears.

  “Mother said a brass bed would make a better investment. She’s loaned us some quilts and other bedding, until we can purchase our own.”

  “She’s very kind.” It felt odd that they would be sleeping on a bed his mother had picked out, and bedding that came from her home. Is it silly that I don’t want to be reminded of his mother every time I crawl into bed to be with him? Mollie didn’t know if it was, or not, but she couldn’t help feeling that way. She hadn’t realized what an impact his mother had on his life.

  The rest of the room stood empty, but for her own bag, which sat on the foot of the bed.

  “I’d love nothing more than to retire right now, though it’s the middle of the afternoon—”

  Mollie blushed and looked away at his words.

  “—but I’m sure you want to unpack, and then you’ll want to get started on our supper, so I promise, I’ll be patient.”

  “Oh!” She glanced at the window, and the fading afternoon light. She hadn’t even thought about needing make supper—weeks of prepared meals at the train stops and in the hotel had spoiled her. But of course, he would want supper in an hour or so. “Do you have anything to cook with? I didn’t see much in the kitchen…”

  “No! That’s right, I forgot—Mother said she would bring something by for us tonight, along with a few bowls and silverware to eat with, and then we can bring them back when we join her for breakfast tomorrow. She’ll bring lunch to the shop for all of us—you can stop in to eat with us, to take a break from your shopping, and I’ll show you around the shop.”

  “That sounds lovely.”

  “Mother said you should have plenty of time to be able to buy what you need in town, and still have something ready for my dinner tomorrow.”

  “Alright.” Mollie wished his mother had just bought the kitchen necessities, so she wouldn’t have to take time away from her search for Nell to do it. But there was no getting around it—if she didn’t have dinner on the table the next night, Noah would wonder what she had done all day.

  “I believe Mother was bringing by a stew that she had simmering all day on the cookstove. I just hope some ravenous guest didn’t make quick work of it while Mother’s back was turned.”

  She laughed. “They did plow through the array of hors d’oeuvres at a rapid pace, didn’t they?”

  “Yes! Why do you think I kept disappearing? I saw Mr. Kirschner devouring the platter of cheese, and I wanted some for myself!”

  Mollie giggled, and Noah leaned in for another slow kiss. She was keenly aware of the front door, sure that there could be a knock any moment. He pulled back, taking her hand again. “Shall we take a look at the backyard, before we lose the light?”

  She nodded, and followed him out the back door. She glanced toward her mother-in-law’s backyard, and was relieved that Noah hadn’t suggested they retire to bed already—she couldn’t imagine the humiliation if his mother would have arrived when they were…indisposed. Her cheeks burned at the thought.

  As Noah discussed improvements he thought they should make to the backyard, how wonderful it would be to have a kitchen garden, and how much more welcoming the home would look once she had sewn some new curtains, Mollie mentally calculated the enormous list of shopping and household tasks she would have ahead of her.

  How can buy all the supplies for our new home, decorate it, make meals, keep the house clean to his mother’s standards, sew curtains, and still have the time to search for my Nell?

  Chapter 13

  Wednesday, February 4, 1891

  Married less than a day, Mollie felt that she already knew her husband far more than she expected to. He was kind, thoughtful, and oftentimes gentle. Yet she sensed an undercurrent of passion. Not the bedroom kind of passion, but the kind that made a man strong and virile, that gave him a zest for life, and that made a woman feel safe in his arms. It almost seemed that he held it at bay—perhaps it was the stuffy shopkeeper side of him, trying to put on the proper face that his customers expected to see. But every time she looked at him, she wondered what it would be like if he gave free rein to that aspect of his personality…and she shivered at the thought.

  Breakfast at his mother’s house had been awkward, made up of long silences and stilted conversation. What does one say when everyone present knows what was going on between the newlyweds only hours before? Mollie was glad she’d be getting her own kitchen supplies so that the ordeal would not need to be repeated.

  Noah, having thought everything out in advance, had already set up accounts with the merchants he thought Mollie would be shopping with. She needed only to introduce herself, as they were expecting her.

  “I’ve come up with a list of everything you’ll need,” Mrs. Jamison said, “and the shops you’ll want to purchase at.”

  “Thank you.” Mollie took the list from her hands. She’d prefer to choose her own kitchen items, but the names of the shops would come in handy.

  “I should be home by six tonight,” Noah said, wiping the napkin across his lips, then discarding it alongside his plate. “I’ll try to be home sooner, but I’ll have some things to catch up on, since I took a day off.”

  “I’ll try to have everything ready for you in time.”

  “Try?” Mrs. Jamison exclaimed in astonishment. “Why wouldn’t you have his dinner ready in time? I had my husband’s meals on the table on time from the first day of our marriage!”

  “And you likely had weeks, if not months, to prepare your home, in advance of the wedding,” Mollie gently reminded her. “I’ve had no chance at all. I’m walking into an empty home, and though I’ve had months to think about it, I had no chance to actually prepare, because of how far away I was.”

  Mrs. Jamison pursed her lips. “I suppose you’re right dear. And I had the benefit of my mother being on hand to guide me. Well, we can take care of that problem, can’t we? I’ll just get my coat, and go with you—”

  “Oh, no!” Mollie exclaimed, jumping from her seat. “That is…Noah will need you at the shop, especially since he’s likely to have extra customers today, after having been closed yesterday. And really, I have the advantage most brides don’t, of having experience cooking for a large house. I know quite well how to outfit a kitchen, and which tools will be the most useful, and which ones can wait for a later purchase. You’d only be bored, and if you’re not there to help Noah today at the shop, he’ll only end up coming home later.”

  “Well…” Mrs. Jamison cast a glance at her son, who shrugged to indicate the choice was hers “…if you’re sure.”

  Mollie nodded firmly. “I am. Though I do appreciate the generous offer, Mrs. Jamison.” Mollie plucked her coat from the hook near the back door before the woman could change her mind.

  “Please, we’re family. Call me Lettie.”

  “Alright, then. Lettie.” Mollie smiled, but slipped into the coat without a moment’s pause. She needed to escape before she ended up escorted by Lettie Jamison all day long. She leaned to kiss Noah on the cheek. “I’ll see you when you get home.”

  “I can’t wait to sample the first of many delicious meals!” Noah beamed, taking her hand and squeezing it.

  Mollie smiled back, but couldn’t help glancing at the clock—she’d be racing against it all day. Somehow between outfitting their kitchen and making dinner, she’d have to find a way to make inquiries about Mr. and Mrs. Deming.

  ***

  The morning had been a long one, and it had been difficult escaping the watch shop after stopping by to share the dinner Lettie had packed for them all. Lettie was eager to share more advice, and interrupted Noah often as he had shown her around his shop. But at last she’d managed to make her excuses so she could leave the shop and continue on with her errands.

  Her feet were aching by the time she had reached her last desti
nation—Sanders’ Mercantile. Mrs. Jamison had suggested Hawthorn’s Grocery and Spirits, but Mollie didn’t care for the rude manners of the store owner’s wife. Mrs. Hawthorn seemed keener on gossip than on assisting Mollie with her purchases, so Mollie had only picked up a few items there, then circled back to the mercantile she’d seen earlier.

  Ten seconds inside, and Mollie knew she’d made the right choice. The thin, balding man who introduced himself as Mr. Sanders wore a sunny smile and small round spectacles, and his wife gave a friendly nod even though she was busy with other customers. The shop was a little less modern and more cluttered than Hawthorn’s, but it was clean and orderly, and the atmosphere was much improved.

  “Is that the last item on your list?” Mr. Sanders leaned over the counter to see the piece of paper Mollie had laid on the counter.

  “It is. And you deliver? I’m sorry, I should have asked that from the start.”

  “Absolutely. This is all far too much for you to carry, unless Mr. Jamison is waiting for you outside in his buggy—and even then, I doubt it would all fit. I don’t think your husband has a wagon, does he?”

  “No, just the buggy. And he’s at his shop today.”

  “Already? I thought he’d take off another day or two. Then again, as a shop owner, I know how it is. You don’t get much of a break, unless you have a larger staff. It’s just us and Henry here.”

  “That’s what Noah said, as well. And it’s only Noah and his mother at the shop—he doesn’t even have a clerk.”

  “Well then, I’ll have Henry deliver your goods, and bill it to your account. Here—” he pushed a piece of paper and a pencil toward her. “Just write down the address and the time you need it by. Is this your last stop today?”

  “I think so. But let’s say one o’clock, just in case. I’ll definitely be back by then, because that’s when the other deliveries will start arriving.”

  “That should work out just fine.”

  Mollie took the pencil in hand, and her heart beat faster as she asked the question she’d posed at every other shop. She had to be delicate, because many of the shop owners knew her husband. “Say…Mr. Sanders, you wouldn’t happen to know a Mr. Deming, would you? He’s a well-to-do man, several years older than I, with a Boston accent?”

  “Sure I do.”

  Mollie’s heart seized. “You do?”

  “Yes. You know him? I almost asked if you did, seeing as how you’re from Boston, but I know it’s a big city.”

  “Uh…he’s very close with a dear relative of mine. Have you seen him lately?”

  Mr. Sanders’ eyebrows went up. “Didn’t you see him as you came in? I saw him pass by just as you were walking in the door.”

  “You did?” Mollie glanced out the mercantile window in desperation. How could she have missed him? Was he with his wife? She hadn’t seen anyone with a baby when she was out on the sidewalk.

  “He’s probably long gone, Mrs. Jamison, unless he was on his way into a shop, rather than out of one. I’m surprised you didn’t recognize him.”

  “I…” Mollie backed toward the door. “I guess I was distracted. I simply must see if I can catch up and say hello. What was he wearing?”

  “Uh…a dark coat?” Mr. Sanders seemed unsure.

  “A full length black wool coat,” Mrs. Sanders chimed in as she wrapped up a purchase for another customer. “The gloves were black calfskin, and the hat was black wool with a dark green silk band. I was out sprinkling rock salt on the sidewalk when he went by.”

  The woman didn’t miss a trick.

  “Thank you!” Mollie said, quelling the urge to panic as she backed toward the door. “And thank you for your help, Mr. Sanders. I’m sure I’ll be back to shop often.” She flashed him a tight smile and slipped out the door. She hesitated on the sidewalk, flustered, craning her neck to look up and down the street in hopes of catching a glimpse of the man. Though it was cold, the wind had died down and the sun was out, which had brought out more shoppers than might otherwise be out on a February morning. Several wagons and buggies were parked along the street, while a dozen or more people strolled up and down the sidewalks. Please don’t let him be gone already, she prayed. Let him be in a shop along here somewhere…

  Then she saw him. To her right, a block down, a man in a black coat with a black hat was leaving a jeweler’s shop, stepping up to an elegant carriage while his driver held open the carriage door. Tall, dark hair, dark hat, dark coat. It has to be him! Mollie hurried down the sidewalk, fighting the urge to break into a run. It would be unseemly, attract too much attention, and she’d risk her breaking her ankle if she slipped on a patch of ice.

  The street seemed to stretch longer before her, despite her quick pace. At last she was on the same block as the carriage, rapidly approaching it as the driver walked around the carriage and got in. She was almost even with the carriage when the driver released the break and signaled the horses to pull out.

  “No!” she breathed, already out of breath. The weeks aboard the train had made her soft—She’d hardly exerted herself at all, for nearly a month. What do I do now? I can’t lose him.

  She set her teeth with grim determination. She would follow him as far as she could. If she was lucky, he was headed home, or at least taking a path he traveled often.

  Lifting her skirts an inch or two, she increased her pace, following the carriage as it drove slowly up the block and turned right down a larger cross-street. Once she reached the corner as well, making the turn and escaping the sight of most of the townspeople, she transitioned to a light jog, gaining a little more ground. But the carriage sped up, and tears pricked her eyes as she saw the gap between herself and the carriage widen again.

  Keeping an eye on the sidewalk—which was mostly clear, with scattered patches of ice—she sped up, almost to a run. She could only hope no one would recognize her as a shopkeeper’s wife, running down the street like a carefree schoolboy, but keeping up with Mr. Deming was of paramount importance. The heels of her boots pounded against the sidewalks as she ran, but she knew that the sounds of the carriage would mask her tread as she kept pace with the carriage.

  Where is Nell? Is she with Mrs. Deming? Could he have sent them back to Boston without him? The idea raked at her heart. No. I can’t think of that. I found him. So I’ll find Nell. It’s only a matter of time. Only a matter of time before my empty arms feel my baby again!

  She strained to breathe against the restriction of her corset, and for once was glad that it was worn, and stretched a bit at the top from the many times she’d bent over while at work—she’d likely have passed out after running the first block, otherwise. But she knew she couldn’t make it much farther without a rest.

  The carriage slowed, and Mollie rejoiced—now was her chance to catch up! But then it turned to the right again, down a side street, disappearing from view.

  When she got to the corner, she stopped, clutching the picket fence. Beyond, she saw only block after block of homes, ending in the distance at the foothills. She broke into a full run, not caring who saw her, but after two blocks she realized she was too late—the carriage must have turned down a side street or into a drive. Regardless, she had lost it.

  She spent fifteen minutes walking up and down the neighborhood streets, hoping to see the carriage in front of a home. But she knew it was pointless—a carriage would never be left standing in front of a home for long, unless the owners were expected to come back out for another ride. Even less likely in winter. No, the carriage would be long put away in the carriage house, and Mr. Deming would be snug inside his house.

  Would Nell be there? Would Mrs. Deming greet him at the door, a grinning Nell in her arms? She imagined the scene from beginning to end—a happy father arriving home to a kiss from his wife and daughter…

  No! She’s my daughter. She can’t be happy, truly happy, anywhere but with me! Anguish tore at her, and every fiber of her being urged her to push on, to find Nell. But she knew it would have to wait. T
here was no way of knowing which house held her daughter, and if she didn’t head home right away, she’d miss the deliveries, and have nothing to serve her husband. How could she explain that?

  At last she turned and trudged back to the larger thoroughfare she’d turned off of. It took her a few minutes to get her bearings and trace her way back to Main Street, then figure out how to get back home from there. She made a mental note to buy a map of the town the next time she went to the mercantile.

  She arrived just in time, as a Chinese boy of about fourteen pulled up to the front of Noah’s home—her home, she realized with awe—in a wagon loaded with supplies. He hopped down and had an armload of goods before she could even reach the walkway.

  “Hello, I’m Mrs. Jamison.” She could see from the bags of flour and sugar that he must be Mr. Sanders’ delivery boy.

  “You call me Henry. Nice to meet you.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Please, follow me.” She walked up the walkway, opening the door for him and standing back.

  He stepped inside, stacked the large sacks neatly, then swiftly slipped out the door again. He was back with another load before she had her hat and coat off.

  Within minutes, the items were all stacked neatly just inside the front door. “Wagon unloaded, Mrs. Jamison.” His foreign accent was heavy, yet she was able to understand him well.

  There weren’t any Chinese people in her neighborhood in Boston, so she’d never met anyone from China in person, though she’d seen them while out and about in Boston. She had seen several Chinese men when she was out shopping all morning, and was surprised to find so many people from another country all the way out in Montana, when she had expected to see mostly white men and perhaps the occasional Indian.

  “Thank you, Henry.” She wished he had put everything in the kitchen, instead of the parlor. She supposed she would have to move them.

  “Where you like the items?” he asked, ask he closed the door behind him, shutting out the winter winds.