Freedom For A Bride: A clean historical mail order bride romance (Montana Passion Book 2) (10 page)

The next day, Moira woke when Pryor roused. They went about the tasks of getting ready for the day practically without speaking, he to his work in the barn, she to preparing the first meal before setting about sewing him another work shirt and mending some pants whose pockets had torn. By the time the first breakfast was finished and washed up, and the sewing hanging with the other clothes, the sun was nearing the place over the tree line that told her it was time for a hard-working homesteader to have a fuller breakfast. She brought a tin of coffee and a plate of cornbread cakes, bacon, beans, and eggs to the barn to find him working, his shirt sleeves rolled up already, despite the early March chill.

“I’ve brought you a heartier breakfast since you’ve too much to do to come inside,” she jested, placing the plate on a nearby bale of hay. He thanked her without looking up, returning to shoeing the draft horse. She waited for him to say something more, but when he didn’t offer anything else, she spoke. “You’ve been quiet all morning, more so than is your usual self. Is there anything the matter?”

“You have to ask me that?” Pryor responded, still focused on the work of his hammer.

“’Tis my leaving then, that’s got you so solemn?”

“Of course. No one wants to see his wife turn away, even if it’s just for a journey like this. I know you must go, but I’ll miss you sorely. I just don’t understand why you were so quick to offer to leave. Is it because you miss your home?”

“Pry…” Moira began but found herself at a loss for words. “You must know tis not it at all. My words were true, I only do this for Katia and for her happiness in marrying Mr. Russell. But do you carry the fear that I wish to leave Montana with you always?”

“I don’t know. I guess I didn’t think of it before, at least not until you were so quick to suggest it. That’s all.”

“Pry, remember that what I said about having my own means is true,” she began, but he dropped his hammer and whirled to face her.

“Is that a threat, that you can leave whenever you wish? Because if it’s simply a matter of money that’s keeping you prisoner here, I’d never hold you to it,” he said, bristling as he fought to control his emotions.

“If you’ll be so kind as to let me finish,” she said, smiling ruefully for his benefit. “I was saying that, as a woman of means, I could have left you and this farm any time I wished. Have I ever done so? Have I ever even hinted at going back to Ireland for so much as a visit? No then, I’ve not. I could have, to be sure, but I have naw because my heart is here… with you.”

The fight went out of him at her explanation. It was unapologetic, but truthful all the same. He didn’t answer straight away, but he didn’t have to. Moira took his hands in hers and continued.

“I did naw think of how my leaving might hurt you. I’m very sorry for it. I never should have made the offer…”

“Now, wife,” he said, putting down his tools and turning to her, taking her in his arms. “You did the right thing. I was just being cross because I’m going to miss you. Of course Katia can’t go alone, but more importantly, Nathaniel can’t lose his claim. He’s not thinking clearly, he’s simply thinking with his heart instead of the good, solid head on his shoulders. No, I’m being selfish, that’s all. I’ll miss you and Matthew… I don’t know what I’ll do on the place with it so quiet again. But you have to go.”

He kissed her forehead before turning back to his work, adding a new layer of worry to Moira’s already overburdened heart. She returned to the house, looking over her shoulder longingly at the sadness she could still see plainly on his face.

Moira went inside and sat down to plan. She needed to prepare clothes and supplies for their two-stage journey, she had letters to write and send to her brother, as well as a note to send off to her bank to cover the debts incurred by their trip. They would make it as far as New York, then book their passage first to Liverpool and on to London, where they would spend a few days at her brother’s apartments, then he would accompany them through the continent to Katia’s village. With any luck, she would be back home and in Pryor’s arms within six months.

Remembering the state of Pryor’s kitchen when she’d first arrived in Montana, she made a note to prepare a number of recipes with illustrations so he wouldn’t be in such scrawny shape as she’d first found him. She laughed lightly, thinking back to the day he’d served beans and cornbread to her and Gretchen, only learning then that he had to soak the beans before trying to cook them. That day now seemed so long ago, but it was really only twice as long as the amount of time she’d be gone on this journey.

Little Matthew will be walking before he sees his father’s face again
, she thought somberly, the pull at her heart very real at that understanding.
‘Twill break Pryor’s heart if the boy doesn’t remember him and refuses to go to him upon our return. But there’s nothing to be done about that now.

She finished writing her correspondence and putting together her plans. Mr. Russell would be coming by later on his horse to take the letters to New Hope, the least he could do, he’d said, considering all the effort and expense the others were going to on his behalf. Moira felt certain it was an excuse to see Katia again along the way.

“Pry!” Moira called from the back porch of the cabin. He looked up in response. “I’m taking Matthew to Gretchen’s to confer about our travels. Will you need anything before I return?” He only waved in response, so Moira turned back inside and took the pan of that morning’s cornbread from the pie safe. She cut a generous piece and slathered it with fresh butter, then put it on a tin plate before adding a slab of meat she’d taken from their smokehouse that week. She ladled some hot broth over the meat to help it soften, then left the plate on the back of the woodstove, where Pryor would be sure to find it for his lunch. There would be plenty of it for his supper if she didn't return. She gathered her wraps, then bundled Matthew in his traveling covers and headed off on foot to the cabin that still legally belonged to her.

The three-mile walk had been good for her, and she was pleased by the faint pink glow about the baby’s cheeks when she reached the cabin. Gretchen came out on the porch to meet her and instantly wrapped a warmed blanket around both her shoulders and the baby’s head before leading them inside. Katia followed, exchanging a few words in French but not so many as to exclude Gretchen any further.

“You should naw have walked all this way,” Gretchen began, still having to remind herself to drop the “my lady” from address. It felt odd and unnatural, but she knew there was no time like now to adjust their relationship into a friendship, especially as she was considering staying in Ireland.

“Oh, the walk did us good, I know it. How have you been getting along?” Moira asked. She set the basket that had carried both Matthew and some baked items on the table, then handed the loaves of spiced cake to Gretchen to put on her shelf.

“Tolerably. There’s so much to do, isn’t there? I can hardly believe it. I’m ever so glad that I did naw have time to plan when we came here in the first place. It’s too much to put my head around!”

Moira laughed, remembering the haste with which they’d snuck away in the early morning, only a bag between them and Moira’s small pile of thrown together trunks to be stowed in the ship’s hold. She’d been too afraid of being found out to pack anything more, and then it had all turned out to be fairly useless for life on the prairie. She made a note to retrieve the trunks from the barn and to share the gowns with Gretchen and Katia now that they would be traveling in fashion.

They planned their journey, but once again, Katia furrowed her brow at the mention of returning to Russia. Moira’s head swum from speaking in French to Katia, then turning to Gretchen in English. More than once, she had to revert to Irish on the off-chance Katia could understand her.

“Do you not think it odd that she keeps dodging the discussion of Russia?” Moira asked in Irish, speaking in lower tones while feigning a smile. Gretchen nodded, looking away so Katia would not know she was the topic of their conversation.

Before Gretchen could answer, a knock on the door caused them all to look up. “Oh, I’d wager my annual income that’s Mr. Russell come to fetch Miss Noryeva,” Moira said with a hearty laugh. It was good to see the constant reminders of true love, the very emotion that had begun this whole expensive and drawn out journey.
They were doing it for Nathaniel and Katia
, she reminded herself.

Mr. Russell dropped his head shyly when Gretchen opened the door and he found himself face-to-face with three ladies, and not a man about the farm.

“I’ve come to collect Miss Katia for a ride into town if she’s willing to go,” he began. Gretchen and Moira looked at Katia, who seemed none indifferent to their conversation. “You, Katia? Ride with me?” he asked, pantomiming. He held up the letters that he’d retrieved from Pryor’s cabin on his way over. She nodded when she understood, but looked to Gretchen for confirmation.

“Oh, I can naw go, I’ve far too much to do if we’ll be leaving,” Gretchen began. “Do you think ‘twould be all right if I kept little Matthew here with me, and you went as their guide?”

“Of course,” Moira said, nodding. “It’ll do me good to get into New Hope. I just wish I knew if Pryor needed anything at Jorgenson’s shop. Oh well, I’m sure he’d have said so if there was a need. Let me grab my hat and we’ll be off.”

Nathaniel went to hitch the wagon from the barn behind the cabin, using his horse and the one he’d led for Katia as the team. In no time at all, the three of them were piled in the wagon and heading off, calling their goodbyes to Gretchen on the porch. She waved little Matthew’s hand comically in goodbye.

So this is what it will look for Pryor when we leave him at the depot
, Moira thought sourly, chastising herself for the hundredth time in a day and a half for being the one to propose this trip.
Anything to keep our respective families’ land, I know.

The trip to New Hope was uneventful, for Moira at least, but surely meant the world to Nathaniel and Katia. She rode beside him on the wagon seat, nodding and listening to her beau prattle on endearingly, the two of them pointing at this and that along the way. She occasionally called over her shoulder to Moira to explain a concept or translate a troublesome word, but Moira was largely left to her own thoughts and fears about the trip.

The long hours of the ride were behind them as the climbed out of the wagon in town. They were stopped from entering Jorgenson’s store by a loud sound coming from further up the line of small clapboard buildings, the unmistakable pop of a gunshot. The old man saw them through the shop window just as the sound reverberated around them, and he quickly threw open his door, ushered them inside, and closed and locked the door behind them, going so far as to pull down the window shades and plunging them into near darkness.

“My Lord, man, what was that about? Who’s firing on us?” Nathaniel demanded, peeking out on of the windows by flicking the edge of the blind with his fingertip. Jorgenson slapped his hand away and pulled the three of them away from the windows.

“No one, near as I can tell,” he answered, the tremble in his voice causing him to stutter slightly. “There’s only the one shot so far, so the ruffian must have hit his target the first time. Come on, it doesn’t due to be standing in the middle of the room like this. All of you, let’s get in the back now and I’ll fix us some tea.”

Confused, they followed the shopkeeper to his inner rooms and sat at the small table he indicated. He puttered around at an old wood stove for a moment, looking so lost and flustered that Moira finally rose and joined him. She took the delicate cups from his hands and filled them with the loose black twigs of tea, then took the pot of hot water from him, lest he scald himself with his shaking. She brought the cups to the table and passed them out to the others before bringing over a small pitcher of milk and a tin of dark brown sugar.

“What in tarnation is going on around this town?” Nathaniel finally asked, actually expecting an answer this time.

“It’s that new tavern, there’s fighting and loud music at all hours of the day and night. More folks are coming into town than ever before, and those folks don’t always see eye to eye on things. I don’t know what to make of it, but it’s only a matter of time before something really awful happens,” Jorgenson explained, shaking his head sadly.

“And there is still no lawman?” Moira asked, remembering some of Pryor’s first words to her when she stepped off the train, how the town was lacking in even the most basic things that most civilized people would consider vital.

“No, and I have a bad feeling the tavern owner likes it that way. Anyone who did come around flashing a gun and some authority would have a heck of a time on his hands making the others see things his way.”

The conversation slowly shifted to the matter at hand, namely the upcoming voyage and the important letters that the group carried with them. It was Jorgenson who suggested a different way.

“Instead of waiting for the train to carry your post, why don’t you ride down to the fort and send it by telegraph? They can get word to London, and the dispatch there can send the telegram to your brother. He’ll have it in a matter of days, instead of weeks, you know.”

“Sure, Mrs. Russell!” Nathaniel said, beside himself that he didn’t think of it sooner what with all the excitement over their upcoming travels. “Don’t you remember? I rode down to Barnett myself and sent one to the agency back in the city, didn’t take too long at all!”

“But did you say ‘twas only a matter of days? Surely that’s not possible! ‘Tis weeks to cross the country, then a solid month to cross the Atlantic!” Moira said in breathless disbelief. “How can we possibly trust this telegraph to send an accurate message when it takes so little care and effort?”

“Oh, it’s quite safe. I’ve seen it at work myself. And remember, it was your husband who first told me about it. He rode to the fort before your arrival to send back his documents. I believe he’s even sent documents on behalf of his claim.”

“Pryor? But…” she began but stopped herself before she could disclose anything of her husband’s lack of letters. “Tell me how this telegraph works.”

Jorgenson explained what he’d only heard of the process, the way in which the sender dictated a letter to the operator, who then sent the message via a series of codes across cables. She nodded as she listened, finally understanding that for a man who could not read or write, the telegraph would suit his needs perfectly. It still bemused her why he would not suggest it for her to letter to her brother, but decided it must have to do with the two-day ride to the fort to send it.

“Would it be possible to send you to the fort, Mr. Russell? It would be a great inconvenience to you, I understand.” He was shaking his head before Moira even finished.

“It’s no trouble at all! After all you’ve done to help me and to help Katia, it’s the least we can do. Besides, if it makes our trip go faster, I’d walk there on my own two feet!”

“I should think we’d all be better off if you take your horse,” Moira laughed. Jorgenson chuckled lightly, too, and she was glad to see his good humor returning after the fright of the gunfire earlier. Katia looked from face to face and was relieved to see that the earlier tension seemed to have been lifted.

“Moira, I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” Katia began in French, looking to the two gentlemen to make sure they weren’t put out by being excluded from their talk. “But why do you keep talking about ships and Russia? Are you planning to travel?”

“Why, Katia, we’re all going! I’ve explained it all. We will go with you to Russia to reunite you with your son.”

“But that is what I don’t understand… my son isn’t in Russia.”