Nate pulled up in front of the white clapboard house. Flower pots that Amy used to keep full of seasonal flowers stood empty. Before they left, he’d swept the scattering of toys away from the door into a pile on the porch. The vegetable garden on the side of the house, where he brought the wagon in, was overgrown with weeds. Haphazardly pinned wash, now wet again, dropped fat circles of water, creating muck. He was in desperate need of help.
The boys ran to the house, Matt jiggling Julia-Rose. Four sets of muddy shoes tramped through the front door. Nate turned to his new bride, and gently tapped her shoulder. “Angel?” No answer. He tried again. When she still didn’t stir, he jumped down, walked around the front of the wagon and slid his arms under her. He carried her into the house and grimaced at all the work still left for him to do. No help from his new wife tonight. Ah well, it was apparent she needed rest from her trip.
“Mark, run upstairs and turn down the covers on the bed in my room, please. Matt, re-heat that soup we had earlier, and dish some up for you and your brothers. I’ll be back in a bit.”
“What about Julia-Rose, Papa?” Matt held the sleeping child in his arms.
“Just lay her in her crib for now.” He climbed the stairs cradling his wet, softly snoring wife in his arms.
He set her on her feet, and she slumped against him. “Angel?”
“Um.”
“You have to get your wet clothes off.”
“Um.”
“Just stand up and I’ll help you.”
She opened one eye and yawned. “Tired.”
“I know you’re tired. Let me help you.” He pushed her away and held her up with one hand as he wrestled her clothing off with the other.
Gertrude had found a different dress from Angel’s trunk to wear for the wedding. Although at least clean, the light blue silk was a wrinkled mess from traveling in the trunk, and soaking wet from the rain. She stood, swaying, while he unbuttoned the dress and pushed it to the floor. The beat-up hat came next; he tossed it on the dresser.
He swallowed and stared at her corset. It looked so damned uncomfortable. Why the hell did women wear those things anyway? He leaned her against his chest and quickly unlaced the back. Although she’d fallen asleep again, she took a huge breath when he pulled it off. Her petticoat and chemise were mostly dry, so he left them on.
He scooped her up again and placed her on the bed. After unfastening and removing her shoes and stockings, he pulled the blanket over her and stepped back. Now that she wasn’t crying, throwing up, or staring at the floor, he studied her. She was a pretty girl, even with her tangled, wet hair and haggard look.
After her face had been washed, perfectly shaped eyebrows had emerged that matched her deep brown hair. He had no recollection of her eye color, but her lips were full, with a tiny mole at the edge. Dark eyelashes rested on porcelain white skin, with patches of pink on her cheeks. Across her slightly turned up nose was a sprinkling of freckles.
His gaze tracked down her body. As he had noted before, she was certainly curved in all the right places.
Aside from his concerns about her mental condition, he was pleased with what he saw. Perhaps a bit too pleased. He hadn’t wanted the temptation of a pretty wife, but it seemed to be exactly what he got. Hopefully, once she’d recovered and was on her feet, she’d handle the household chores. That was the main reason for taking a bride, he reminded himself.
The sound of a heavy piece of furniture hitting the floor downstairs jerked him from his thoughts. He closed the door and joined his family for supper.
Sunlight streamed through the east window, blinding Nate as he awoke from a fitful sleep. He laid the back of his hand over his eyes and darted a glance at his wife. Still sound asleep, from her position she appeared to have not stirred all night. His long legs swung over the side of the bed and he sat up. He leaned his elbows on his knees and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.
What had this poor girl gone through to get here? No doubt the trip had not been a pleasant one. Better yet, why would a beautiful young woman put herself through that for a husband? She must have had other offers. He shrugged at the lack of answers. Something wasn’t right, and it left an uncomfortable feeling. God, I hope she isn’t running from the law.
He quietly washed and dressed and then checked once more on his sleeping wife before he left the bedroom.
Chaos reigned in the kitchen. Julia-Rose sat in the middle of the floor in a soaked nightgown, chewing on the strap hanging from her chair. “Mama.” She reached up with both chubby arms as he approached.
Apparently, the twins had decided to set the table for breakfast. Every place had a knife, and they’d added a spoon to Nate’s. A long trail of milk ran from the door to the table where the milk pitcher sat precariously on the edge. The jar of apple jelly Mrs. Darby had left for them lay smashed on the floor only a foot away from Julia-Rose. Mark and Matt rolled on the floor, punching each other. A bowl of eggs sat on Nate’s chair, and the twins crawled around in circles under the table, barking like dogs.
Nate put his thumb and pinky to his mouth and whistled. Five sets of eyes looked at him.
“Matt and Mark, shake hands. Luke, you and your brother get a cloth from the sink and wipe up the milk from the floor. Matt, clean up the broken jar of jelly, and be careful not to cut your hand. Mark, get that nightgown off your sister and wash her down.”
Without giving them a second glance, Nate retrieved the bowl of eggs and returned
it to the pantry. He took out a container and measured oats, salt, and water into a pan and set it on the stove. With a long iron rod, he stirred the coals in the stove from the night before, and added a few pieces of wood.
“Where’s our new mama?” Luke wanted to know as he smeared the milk around.
“Sleeping.”