Tabitha: Bride of Missouri (American Mail-Order Bride 24) (7 page)

He thanked Ivy for answering his advertisement, then went on to describe himself and the town. Tabitha’s initial opinion of him was correct—he was a storyteller. Even if she wasn’t already familiar with the town, she would have been able to picture it from his descriptions. He told Ivy about Hoss and the other men who worked at the mill, and as the letter came to a close, Tabitha felt like she’d just spend a very nice afternoon getting to know some new friends.

The following letters were all written in the same friendly tone of voice, never asking too much of Ivy, never putting himself too forward. That was a relief to Tabitha. She’d been afraid to find out that he was pressuring Ivy or being unkind about her lack of return communication, but he was ever patient. By the time she reached the last letter, she was more convinced than ever that Ivy didn’t deserve him.

Now was the part that really had her nervous. What could she say in return? She’d just taken a walk through the heart and soul of this man, seeing his appreciation for everything around him, his goodness of character, and his integrity of spirit. She didn’t want to write and let him down—she wanted to marry him and let him teach her how to be the kind of person he was.

After several false starts and unsuccessful attempts, Tabitha came up with something she felt might work.

Dear Thomas,

I’m sorry I haven’t written in such a long time. I’ve been very busy getting ready for the school year, and all those children with their individual learning styles and tastes are hard to figure out. I want to do my best for each of them, and the planning has taken much of my free time.

I’ve gone shopping for the fabric for my new school dresses. One will be yellow sprigged muslin, another will be blue, and a third will be beige. I really wanted something fancier, like a party dress with rows and rows of fluffy fabric. But I must look respectable now, so those dresses are my top priority. Perhaps a party dress will come later. In the meantime, I’ve made my school dresses as attractive as I can with ribbons and lace, and I found the loveliest buttons. I’ve always thought it a shame that something so functional couldn’t also be pretty, so I’m quite pleased.

Robert Holmes was very helpful as I chose out my fabric. He’s especially partial to blue, so he suggested I get that one. He’s such a nice young man. He makes shopping pleasant—I do hope Mr. Worthington keeps him behind the dry goods counter for a long time. He does have aspirations to go into law, however, and when he does, I just don’t know what I’ll do. He gives the best recommendations for thread and other notions.

I must apologize for my penmanship. I’ve been doing so much writing in preparation for school that my hand is a bit tired.

I hope things are well, and I’ll try to do better at writing. I really must keep my priorities in line, mustn’t I?

Tabitha read this over and decided it would do. She’d gone on a bit about clothes, something she was sure would annoy any man, and introduced the idea of another suitor. She glanced at the calendar and calculated about how long it would take for Thomas’s recent letters to arrive in Dover so she’d know when to pen those replies. Hopefully, he would change his mind about Ivy long before then.

She slipped the letter into an envelope and addressed it. Then she bent it back and forth a few times so it wouldn’t look so crisp and new. In the morning, she’d put a postmark on it, but she’d smudge it so Thomas wouldn’t be able to tell that it was the Atwater postmark and not the one from Dover. She truly hoped this would work, that his heart wouldn’t be broken. As far as the rest of it went, she wouldn’t even think about that. It was best to see what the future held rather than trying to force it.

Chapter Eight

Thomas awoke before dawn the next morning, as he always did. He’d thought that since he wasn’t working, he’d be able to sleep in a bit later, but no—his body was wired to get up and get moving.

He sat on the edge of his bed and studied his hand, trying yet again to make the fingers move. They still wouldn’t respond, and he was getting worried. It had been several days now—surely they ought to be moving, even if it was just a little twitch. But no. Nothing.

He fixed himself a slice of bread and butter and poured a glass of milk. Mrs. Davis had been kind enough to sell him some things from the restaurant kitchen so his shelves wouldn’t be so bare while he recovered. After eating, he went outside and surveyed his property. He’d had an idea the night before that wouldn’t leave him alone. He was still contemplating when Hoss rode up.

“Morning,” Hoss called out as he dismounted.

“Well, if it isn’t a Hoss on a hoss,” Thomas greeted him. “What brings you by?”

“Hardy har har. I came to see how you’re faring. I’ve got to be at the mill in half an hour, though, so don’t talk my ear off.”

“I’m doing all right. I’m hatching up an idea.” He nodded toward the ground he’d been studying. “I want to build a little gardening shed there, with a lean-to summer kitchen on the side. If someone were to start the nails for me, I’m pretty sure I could drive them in the rest of the way with my left hand.”

Hoss raised an eyebrow. “Why don’t you just hire it done?”

“Well, you gotta have money for that, and second, I need a project before I lose my mind with boredom. I’ve already got some lumber and nails left over from the house repairs I did, and maybe it’s enough. What do you think?”

“I think it sounds like a good undertaking, but I don’t know where you’re going to find someone to drive your nails for you. He’d have to be a pretty patient fellow, a good friend, someone with lots of free time.” Hoss scratched his head. “Can’t think of anyone.”

Thomas reached out and slapped him on the back. “Thanks, Hoss. Why don’t you come by after work and we’ll get started?”

“Fine, fine. But as soon as your hand is better, you’re doing your own work. Hear me?”

***

Thomas leaned against the side of the ticket office, waiting for Tabitha. He couldn’t get started on the shed without Hoss and he really had nothing else to do, so he figured he might as well spend some time doing something enjoyable, like chatting with a friend. He grinned when he saw her approach.

“Good morning, Miss Atwater. I’ve come to help carry your mail.”

She seemed surprised to see him, and he liked the way her eyes lit up. Perhaps she’d needed a friend that morning as well. “Hello. You’re always welcome to join me.”

The arrival of the train nearly drowned out her reply. She handed over the outgoing mail and took the new bag, then Thomas slung it over his shoulder and they walked back toward the post office.

“You wouldn’t happen to know any eligible young ladies in town, would you? Or from any other town, for that matter?”

Thomas chuckled. “Well, that’s a pretty unusual question. What are we talking about, exactly?”
“I’ve finally got the pastor convinced that he doesn’t want to marry me, but now he needs to find someone else. He says the girls he’s met since coming here aren’t quite right.”

Thomas nodded. “I can see that. There are plenty of nice, pretty girls, but I can’t picture any of them as a pastor’s wife.”

“So what about back in Topeka? I’m sure he’d be willing to take a little train trip if it meant finding someone.”

Thomas thought for a moment. “There might be a few, but no one perfect comes to mind. Tell me, Miss Atwater, are you giving up the post office business and going into matchmaking?”

“No, I’m just doing him a favor. And don’t call me that.”

“Why not? I enjoy seeing how flustered it makes you.”

“You should enjoy it a lot less.”

She unlocked the post office and motioned for him to set the bag on the counter. Then she reached inside and began to pull out the letters. Thomas leaned on the counter and watched, hoping beyond hope that there was something for him. One letter fluttered to the ground and Tabitha stooped to get it, disappearing behind the counter for a second before popping back up again.

“Oh! Look!” She held up the next letter, waving it like the flutter of butterfly wings. “Look!”

Thomas’s stomach flipped as he reached out to take the envelope. It was from Ivy. He closed his eyes a minute, his heart racing.

“Go on—open it. There’s a rocking chair on the porch if you’d like some privacy.”

“Thank you. I think I will.”

Everything else seemed to fade away as Thomas sank down into the chair and stared at the letter. He’d been waiting for so long—he wanted to prolong the moment, make it count for something. Finally, he pinned the envelope between his cast and his knee and used his left hand to rip it open.

He read it quickly, then went back and read it again slowly. Ivy sounded busy, but upbeat and cheerful. She hadn’t said a thing about the wedding or setting a date or coming to Atwater, but with so much on her mind, she probably just forgot to bring it up.

Tabitha was sorting mail when he went back inside. She looked up and smiled. “Was it a good letter?”
“Very good. She didn’t set a wedding date, but she sounds happy.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Would you like to write her back?”

Thomas thought about that. “No, let’s wait a day or two. I’m starting a project tonight, and I’d like to give her a status report.”

“Oh? What sort of project?”
Thomas used a few envelopes to create a map of his property. “Over here is the house, and here is the road. In this corner is an empty space, and I was thinking it would be nice to have a gardening shed with a summer kitchen. Then I’d put in a flower bed here and a vegetable garden over here.”
Tabitha studied his makeshift diagram. “That sounds wonderful. And you’re starting tonight?”
He nodded. “Hoss is going to come help me. I sort of roped him into it.”

Tabitha laughed—he liked the sound. “Good. I’m glad you won’t be attempting it alone. I’ve been worried that you’ll overdo it with that hand.”

“Not a chance. I’ve been very careful.”

The door opened, and Gilbert, the delivery boy from the general store, walked in, his arms loaded with packages. “Miss Phillips, on behalf of . . . um, on behalf of . . . well, because you won the contest.” His ears turned red, and Thomas wondered how many times he’d practiced that little speech only to forget it anyway. “These are your prizes.”

“Oh. You can put them here,” Tabitha said, motioning toward the end of the counter she wasn’t using.

Gilbert set down everything he was carrying and shook out his arms as though it had been quite a burden. Perhaps it had—Thomas couldn’t tell how heavy the parcels were. “The merchants of Atwater are pleased to be . . . beshow . . . be
stow
on you their bounty. Uh, what’s ‘bestow,’ Miss Phillips?”

Tabitha smiled. “It means to give someone a gift.”

“Well, gosh. Why didn’t they just say that? Anyway, I brung you a ham and some apples and some fabric for a new dress, and some sugar and some coffee and tea. Kind of a weird prize, if you ask me, but nobody asked, so I didn’t say.”

“What would you have given me?” she asked, the amused smile still on her face.

“Penny candy. Bags and bags of it. Only prize worth having.”

“Well, why don’t you get yourself some as a prize for a fine delivery?” She handed him two pennies, which he clutched tightly in his fist.

“Thanks, Miss Phillips! And congratulations!” He ran out of the building, and the door slammed behind him.

Thomas grinned. “Funny kid. How old is he?”

“He’d be about eleven now, I think. Yes, he’s quite the character.” Tabitha surveyed the packages. “Ham and a dress, you say. At the same time.”

“Why not? They’re both useful.”

“You’re right. I shouldn’t complain.” She shook her head, her smile even bigger. “Oh, this town. The people are so well meaning.”

“Just keep that in mind and don’t try roasting the fabric when you mean to be cooking the meat. I’ll see you later, Tabitha—I have a few errands to run.”

“All right. Thanks for your help.”

He snorted. “Like I was of much use—your bag weighed all of three pounds.”

“But the company was nice.”

“Yes, the company was very nice.” He nodded. “See you.” He left her standing there, contemplating the pound of sugar she’d just been given.

***

“Well, now.” Dr. Gideon peered at Thomas’s hand, poking each finger in turn. “You say you’re trying to move the fingers right this minute?”

“Yes, sir. As hard as I can.”

Dr. Gideon shook his head and sat down on the chair across from Thomas’s. “This does present some interesting possibilities. Raise and lower your right arm, please.”

Thomas did so without any trouble.

“Bend your elbow.”

Thomas complied.

“I believe you’ve suffered some nerve damage, Mr. Scott. You see, the nerves conduct messages from the brain to the various different parts of the body. When you want to lift your arm, your brain sends a message along the nerve pathway to the arm, and then it complies. But if the nerve becomes damaged, it can’t comply. Another possibility is muscle damage, but your hand doesn’t seem quite that crushed to me.”
Thomas didn’t like how ominous this sounded. “What can we do about it?”

“At the moment? Nothing. We’re waiting for your bones to knit. As they heal, chances are that the nerves will as well. The body wants to be healthy, and when it’s given what it needs, it will improve.”

“You said, ‘chances are.’ What if the nerves don’t heal?”

Dr. Gideon took off his glasses and laid them on his desk. “I won’t lie to you, son. Some patients never do recover.”

Thomas nodded slowly as he thought about what that would mean for his future. No one in town seemed to be hiring at all, let alone offering jobs to one-handed men. He would have to find another place to live. Perhaps it was best that Ivy hadn’t come out to Atwater yet. He needed to be sure he could provide for her.

“Now, now, I can see the wheels in your head turning. It’s not the end of the world—we don’t have all the answers yet. Wait and see what happens as your hand heals. Another few weeks, and we should know more.” Dr. Gideon smiled and put his glasses back on. “Would you like a bowl of stew?”
Thomas’s first impulse was to refuse—he wanted some time alone to think about what he’d just learned. But then his stomach growled quite loudly, and the doctor laughed. “I take that as a yes. Come through to the house. The wife would never forgive me if I sent you away hungry.”