An Angel in the Mail (7 page)

He was apologizing to her, when she threw up on him, cried through their wedding and then slept like the dead? If she didn’t feel guilty enough about Sylvia’s duplicity, her behavior since she’d arrived compounded it.

“Mr. Hale.” She sat up straighter in her chair. “I really think
I
should apologize to
you
. I was unwell from the stagecoach ride. I hadn’t slept much the whole trip. I was dirty, smelly, and certainly not at my best.”

He waved off her concerns. “Let’s say we start now. And the first thing we have to do is drop the ‘Mr. Hale’ when you speak to me. The name’s Nathan, but I prefer Nate.”

“All right. You already know I prefer Angel to Angelina.” She smiled briefly, but then grew serious. “Where are all the children?”

“Julia-Rose—that’s the baby, she’s nine months old—is with Mrs. Darby. You remember her from yesterday? She’s the woman who has been a sort of housekeeper for me since Amy died.”

Amy must have been his first wife. Not sure what to say, she simply nodded.

He continued. “Matt is nine, Mark eight, and the twins Luke and John are five. As we speak, they’re probably out terrorizing the neighborhood, which is what they usually do on Saturday afternoons.”

“Matthew, Mark, Luke and John?” Angel said, trying to hold back a smile.

Nate ran his fingers through his hair and grinned. “Yeah, Amy liked biblical names.”

“What about Julia-Rose?”

“Well, since we just assumed she’d have another boy, Amy wanted Adam. I guess she figured to start at the beginning of the Old Testament and work from there.” He smiled enough for his dimple to show. She couldn’t stop staring at his mouth.

“But Julia-Rose surprised us, and since Amy hadn’t picked a girl’s name, and she felt so poorly for a long time after the baby was born, I chose her name.”

“Julia-Rose is a beautiful name.”

“So that’s the extent of the Hale family.” He leaned his elbows on the table. “What about you? Your letters were a bit skimpy.”

“Um, actually I don’t remember much of what I wrote.” Angel hesitated.
What lies had Sylvia told him?

She’d still been too numb when her stepmother left to question her. “What do you want to know?”

“Well, I know from our correspondence that you’re an only child, and twenty-two years old. Mr. Hardwick passed away recently, and you have a stepmother who lives with her sister. Oh, and it’s nice to know you and your stepmother got along so well.”

Angel narrowed her eyes at the last part of his statement, but she just nodded. Her hands itched to wrap them around Sylvia’s neck.

“I guess what I want to know the most is why someone who looks like you agreed to be a mail order bride.”

Angel blushed. “Um, that seems to be a compliment, but the reason I haven’t married until now is because of my father’s illness, which went on for almost two years before he died. I couldn’t consider courting, with him so sick. He had a wasting sickness that the doctors couldn’t do anything for.”

“I’m sorry.” Nate touched her hand briefly. “But why all the way out here?” he pressed.

Angel opted for part of the truth. “With Papa gone and my stepmother moving in with her sister in Virginia, I decided to leave New York City where there were too many memories of my father.”

Nate’s eyebrows rose.

Oh God, he doesn’t believe that for one minute.
She jumped when four noisy boys charged through the back door of the kitchen. The boy who appeared to be the oldest, held Julia-Rose. They all stopped abruptly and quietly stared at her.

Heavens, this was it. They expected her to be a mother to them and a wife to their father. All the blood left her face.

“Hello.” Angel’s mouth was so dry it was a miracle she got the one word out.

Julia-Rose put her arms out. With shaky hands she took the baby from Matt, and placed her in her lap.
What if I drop her? Or break her?

She looked to Nate for help, but he just smiled.

“Looks like you’ve made a friend already.”

Julia-Rose turned her head in her father’s direction when she heard his voice. “Mama.”

A warm, wet spot spread on the front of Angel’s dress.

After the boys ate, Nate gave Angel a tour of the house. Pleasantly roomy for an in-town residence, there were four large rooms downstairs. To the right of the entrance was a parlor, with plenty of windows to let in light. A fireplace took up almost the entire far wall, and across from the window facing the street, sat a comfortable looking, but worn settee. Two unmatched chairs flanked a table with an oil lamp sitting on it. A flowered carpet, badly in need of beating, covered most of the wooden floor. Any female touches had vanished during the months of only males living in the house.

Her eyes narrowed as she imagined brighter curtains and colorful doilies for the back of the chairs and under the lamp. And of course, a good cleaning would improve the look of the room immensely.
Oh, dear, another one of my jobs.

Behind the parlor was a room Nate explained he used as a library. She smiled at the numerous shelves of books. Two overstuffed chairs occupied the area in front of the room’s fireplace, and she envisioned them both sitting there peacefully in the evening, reading.
If there is such a thing as a peaceful evening in this household.

To the left of the front entrance, a dining room led into a large kitchen, a swinging wooden door separating them. A small washroom piled with dirty clothes sat at the bottom of the back staircase.

The second floor included three bedrooms as cluttered and dirty as the rest of the house. The boys’ bedroom had the typical disarray of rocks, string, toys, clothes and books scattered about. Julia-Rose’s room was not in use since her crib took up the corner in Nate’s room.

“I know things are kinda messy.” Nate turned to her and grimaced. “I’ve tried to keep up, and Mrs. Darby does what she can, but it’s been a while since the house has had a good cleaning.” He turned to her with a smile. “I know once you get it all organized, you’ll feel a lot better.”

She tried to smile, but didn’t quite make it.

Every room he showed her needed a good scrubbing.

“Don’t worry,” he added as he started down the staircase. “I know it will take a couple days to get it all done. There’s no hurry.”

A couple of days! How about a couple of months? Panic gathered in her stomach and raced toward her heart. It beat so fast, she thought he must surely hear it. A fine sheen of sweat broke out all over her body, and she grabbed the banister as black dots danced in front of her eyes.

“You okay?” Nate’s voice drifted over her from a distance.

Someone slapped her hand and called her name. She lay on the settee in the living room. Apparently she’d fainted again. Ever since this mail order bride debacle had started, she’d fainted more times than she had her whole life.

“Angel?” Nate looked at her with concerned eyes.

She tried to sit up. He pressed his hand onto her shoulder.

“Stay right there for a minute. You’re probably still worn out from your trip. I’m going for a wet cloth.”

Angel laid her forearm across her eyes and moaned. Why did he have to be so nice? She wanted to shout at someone, bang her fists against the wall and rage at life.

He returned and placed a cool cloth on her forehead.

“Mrs. Darby had a few of the neighborhood women send over meals, so you at least won’t have to cook for a few days.”

God bless Mrs. Darby.
Angel began to rise. “I’ll see to heating one of them up.”

“No.” He eased her back down again. “It’s too early, and I really think you need more rest. I’ll put one in the oven later and have the boys set the table.” He patted her hand again. “It will be all right. Don’t fret.”

Tears flooded her eyes.
It will never be all right again.

Her life was over. She faced years of drudgery with a man too charming to hate. The children all seemed okay—if she could remember who was who—and the baby was adorable, but Angel would never fit in. What in heaven’s name was she to do?

The slanted sun coming through the parlor window felt warm on her face. Angel opened her eyes and realized evening was approaching and she must have fallen asleep. Good heavens. She jerked to get up just as Nate entered the room with Julia-Rose. “Why don’t you two get to know each other better while I finish up a few things?”

“Mama.” The little girl reached out to Angel. Warm feelings filled her stomach. Not panic this time, but something else. Something soft and cuddly. She sat up and took the baby from his arms. Angel laid her cheek on the soft, silky hair and inhaled. Baby smells.

One step at a time. Babies were easy to love, and this one was no exception. Julia-Rose ran her chubby fingers over Angel’s face and giggled. Babies hadn’t played a big part in her life. In fact, she’d never even held one until today. This she could get used to.

“Hi, Julia-Rose,” she whispered.

Julia-Rose’s face screwed up and she whimpered.

Panic set in. Angel’s eyes darted to the kitchen where Nate had disappeared. “It’s all right.”

The baby opened her mouth and let out a wail that would surely raise the dead.

Angel’s mouth dried up. “Oh, oh, don’t cry. Please don’t cry.” She looked around, frantic. The back door slammed. Nate had gone outside for something. None of the boys were around.

Angel jiggled the little girl. She cried harder, threw herself back, and since Angel wasn’t prepared for that, the baby landed with a thump on the settee. If possible, she cried harder.
Oh God, suppose she’s broken?

The baby kicked her feet, catching Angel in her stomach. “Oomph.”

Maybe walking with the baby would work. The child flailed her arms and legs. No matter how many times Angel tried to grab hold of her, she wiggled, and scurried away.

“What’s all that racket? Why is my sister screaming?” Mark stood, hands fisted, glaring at Angel.

“I’m not sure.” She panted, still trying to wrestle the baby into her arms.

“You did something to her.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “No, I didn’t. She just started crying.”

Mark scowled, picked up the baby, who immediately stopped. Throwing a glance in Angel’s direction, he left the room with Julia-Rose smiling, her little nose all pink.

Angel collapsed on the settee.
That went well.

What should she do now? The baby was quiet and Nate was still occupied. Too bad, because that gave her time to consider what she’d been pushing to the back of her mind for days. Since her stepmother’s shocking announcement, she had worried herself sick about performing the household duties of cleaning, cooking, laundry and numerous other things that hadn’t even occurred to her yet. Now that she was actually here, and aware of the warm, vital presence of Nathan Hale, she allowed herself to consider other wifely duties.

She remembered years ago, the girls at school would gather on their beds at night, and talk about boys. Never invited to join them, once in a while she would hear clips of the conversation, although mostly she remained ignorant of the whole procedure. However, she was intelligent enough to know Nate didn’t get all of these children by shaking his wife’s hand each night before they fell asleep.

The procedure involved naked bodies, and that thought made her seriously consider bolting from the house.

She wondered if her husband would give her time to adjust, as it were, to her role before he expected his husbandly rights.

Chapter 5

Once the last bite of supper was eaten, Angel managed to get the dishes washed with help from the boys. Her yellow dress was soaked down the front with soapy water. Tired of pushing her hair back while she worked, she’d quickly braided it, tied it with a piece of string one of the twins had given her, and let it hang down her back. She’d slipped her aching feet out of the dancing shoes she’d worn with this dress to a ball from a different lifetime. Barefoot was better than pain. Obviously her wardrobe would not work in her new environment.

She eased herself down on one of the kitchen chairs, and slumped over the table, her head resting on her crossed arms.

“Julia-Rose needs a bath.”

Her head jerked up. Nate stood in the doorway of the kitchen, holding the little girl in his arms. “If you get her bathed and settled for the night, I’ll see to the boys.”

“Oh.” She rose stiffly and took the drooling baby from his arms. Smashed peas decorated her hair, the remains of a biscuit stuck to her chin. But at least she wasn’t crying. Not yet, anyway.

Nate studied her for a minute. “The kitchen sink.”

“What?”

“The kitchen sink.” He gestured with his chin. “That’s where we give her a bath.”

“Oh.”

Such stimulating conversation can only be learned in the ballrooms of New York City.
He turned and headed to the back of the house.