The Teacher's Mail Order Bride (13 page)

R
ose wasn’t
sure exactly how the Italian meal was, as it all tasted like sawdust to her. She wanted desperately to leave, but knew it was impossible until everyone had finished their meals. She sat silent, pretending to eat as her family chattered around her. Saffron glanced at her frequently and smiled, trying to make Rose feel better, she knew, but it hadn’t helped.

It was impossible for Rose to keep her eyes from the table across the room. The torture was unrelenting, and each time Margery smiled, laughed or placed her hand over Michael’s, her heart twisted one more time, threatening to spin right out of her chest.

She sighed with relief as their plates were cleared and she hoped that they’d be leaving very, very soon.

“Do we all want to have dessert here, or maybe walk along the boardwalk and see if the ice cream parlor is open? I’ve heard that it’s very good.” Mr. Archer folded his napkin and placed it in front of him on the table.

All eyes turned to Rose as she blurted, “I’d like to go now. Anywhere would be fine.”

Her father raised his eyebrows and turned to her. “All right,” he said slowly. “Is that fine with everyone else?”

Everyone nodded and stood. Saffron grabbed Rose’s hand, pulling her toward the door as her father searched for Sadie to pay the bill. “Are you all right? That was awful,” Saffron said as she pulled Rose over to sit on the bench on the boardwalk between the Occidental and Suzanne and James’s mercantile.

Rose dropped her face into her hands, taking a deep breath. “I...I didn’t know she was here.”

Saffron wrapped her arm around Rose and pulled her close. “I know you didn’t, and that was quite a shock. It must have been awful.”

“Saffron, it shouldn’t have been. He owes me nothing. He is just an acquaintance, someone I barely know.”

“Hm,” Saffron said as she patted Rose’s hand. “I think you know him—and care about him—a little more than you’d like. You may as well be honest with yourself.”

“For what purpose? May I remind you that he is to be wed,” she shuddered, “at the end of the week.”

Saffron rested her head on her sister’s shoulder. “I don’t know, Rose, but I don’t like seeing you like this. Maybe if you just admitted you care about him, he’d change his mind?”

Rose stiffened. “I couldn’t...wouldn’t. She’s come all the way from St. Louis, and I have no right to interfere. It wouldn’t be right.”

“You two ran straight outta there without your coats. What got into you two,” Ben said as he came out of the restaurant and helped them each into their coats.

Rose wrapped her arms around herself and shivered, even though it was only late afternoon, and a little bit warmer than it had been lately.

“You all right, Miss Rose? You been awful quiet.” Ben put his hat on after he ran his hand through his hair.

Rose forced a smile. “Yes, I think I am, Ben.” She smiled at Saffron. “I have to be.”

“All right, then. You just let me know if you need anything.”

She squeezed Ben’s arm, grateful for the brotherly concern. “Thank you, Ben.”

“Well, what’ll it be? Pie or ice cream?” Mr. Archer closed the door behind Tara.

“Oh, ice cream, please, Papa,” Tara said, standing on her tiptoes in front of their father. Tara was just eighteen, and ice cream was still very exciting.

Mr. Archer laughed and draped his arm around Tara. “Ice cream it is, my dear.”

“I’ll catch up with you all, if you don’t mind. I’d like to drop into the mercantile and see Suzanne. Talk about school tomorrow for a minute.” Rose turned her collar up around her neck, still feeling a little jittery.

“Would you like me to come with you?” Saffron said.

Rose squeezed her hand with a weak smile. “Thank you, Saffron, but no. I’ve tortured you enough for one day.”

Saffron sighed and turned to follow the rest of the group. “Don’t be long. Ice cream will make you feel better.”

Rose took a deep breath and waved at her sister, who was still looking at her over her shoulder. Rose’s heart tugged to see her family together and in such good spirits. There had been so many changes recently, they were hard to keep up with. To see them this happy made her—well, happy. As happy as she could be.

She turned slowly toward the mercantile, doing her best to lift her chin up and move on. She was able to smile at Suzanne as she stepped into the mercantile, returning her wave from across the room.

“Hello.” Suzanne’s skirts swished as she hurried toward Rose, her smile wide. “How nice to see you. What are you doing in town?” She pulled Rose in for a quick hug and then held her at arm’s length. “Are you all right? You look a little pale.”

Rose gave her friend the best smile she could muster. “I’m fine, Suzanne. Maybe a little tired. Maria’s gone to see her mother, so Papa brought us to the Occidental for ‘fancy’ night.”

Suzanne laughed. “It’s funny that Sadie calls it that, but I suppose that’s what it is. What was the special tonight?”

“Something Italian. I don’t remember, really.”

“Oh, goodness, don’t let Tripp hear you say that his creation wasn’t memorable.” Suzanne took Rose’s hand and pulled her to the far end of the mercantile and stopped among the bolts of fabric. “Where’s everybody else?” she said as she handed a pile of fabric to Rose. “Help me get these back on the shelves while you’re here. I’ve been at school most of the week and I’m trying hard to catch up on my work here.”

Rose picked up the fabric and began to fold, feeling very far away. “They’ve gone to get ice cream. I wanted to check with you about school tomorrow.”

“Oh? I guess I’m excited to start again. You?”

Rose set the folded fabric on the shelf and turned her gaze away from Suzanne’s. “I’m not sure if I’ll be able to come.”

“What?” Suzanne dropped the fabric she’d folded onto the stack. “That’s silly. Of course you will. Oh, look who’s here. Hello, Michael!” Suzanne waved in the direction of the tinkling bells that hung from the front door.

Rose stiffened, her limbs not able to move. How could this be? They’d been at the restaurant, and she’d thought they’d be there for quite a while. She turned slowly and forced her eyes to the door. She wasn’t surprised—disappointed, but not surprised—to see Margery clinging tightly to Michael’s arms, her eyes wide as she looked around at the mercantile.

Michael pointed toward Suzanne and Margery smiled, patting him on the cheek before she flounced over to where she and Suzanne were folding fabric.

“Well, hello—Tara, is it?” Margery held out her hand to Rose.

“I’m Rose. Tara is my sister,” Rose said, her cheeks tingling as she reached for Margery’s hand. “This is my friend, Suzanne. She and her husband own the mercantile.”

“Very nice to meet you.” Margery turned her full, sunshiny smile to Suzanne and shook her hand. “Michael mentioned that I should speak to you. It’s been a long journey, and he said I might need some various sundries and supplies. He said you might help, and that I could have whatever I wanted.” She batted her eyelashes and turned to give a small wave at Michael.

Rose averted her eyes, reaching for another bolt of fabric to fold.

Suzanne smiled and said, “Oh, you must be Michael’s mail order bride. I remember. Margery, isn’t it?”

“Why yes, you are absolutely correct,” Margery gushed. “Are you the Suzanne who helped my dear fiancé find me? If so, I owe you a debt of gratitude.”

Suzanne flushed and fiddled with the pocket of her apron. “Well, yes, yes I am. I’m pleased that things have gone well.”

Margery fanned herself and let out a big sigh. “Better than well, Suzanne. I can’t thank you enough. Michael is wonderful—so smart, so funny and so handsome,” she said, her voice lingering on the word handsome.

Suzanne laughed. “Yes, I believe he is all those things. And you are exactly as I expected. I’m very pleased.”

Turning to look at Michael, Margery sighed, and then looked back at Rose, their eyes meeting. “I couldn’t be more pleased myself. And Michael feels the same. He told me at dinner that he feels like he’s known me his whole life, and that I’m the one for him. He knew it right when I got off the stage.”

Rose tore her eyes away, her gut wrenching with every word, and turned back to folding.

“Congratulations, Margery, and welcome to Tombstone. Let me know if there’s anything I can help with.”

“Oh, thank you, Suzanne,” Margery said as she clicked her fan shut and turned toward Michael. “We’re staying at the boardinghouse until we get married, and we’ll spend the week looking for a nice, cozy house. I can’t wait. Nice to meet you both, but I’d better get back to my husband.” She giggled and held her hand over her mouth. “Oh, I mean my fiancé. Soon to be husband.” She turned and headed toward Michael, waving at him as she approached.

Rose held her hand to her stomach, hoping she wouldn’t be ill.

Suzanne said, “Oh, this is wonderful. I’m so happy for them.” She turned around and leveled her eyes at Rose, her eyebrows raised. “Uh-oh. We’re not happy for them, are we?”

R
ose thanked
her lucky stars that she’d gotten out of the mercantile without having to say much more to Suzanne beyond promise that she’d come to volunteer at the schoolhouse tomorrow. But all the way back, she struggled to get the image of Margery and Michael together out of her mind.

She
was
able to concentrate on something she’d wanted to do since Friday. She couldn’t shake Sammy’s small voice out of her mind, and the thought that he’d wanted books so badly that he was willing to sneak them out of the schoolhouse. She’d vowed to herself that she’d take him some, and offer to help them with their schoolwork. She even thought tomorrow she’d see if there were any extra primers that she could take to them.

She’d wanted to go since she’d met them, and as it was still light when they returned home from their late afternoon supper, she decided that today was as good a day as any.

“I certainly understand, I really do, but it’s still not right that those children don’t get to study,” Rose said to the horse she was hitching up to the buggy.

She’d thought of asking Ben to leave the smallest buggy that he’d brought her home in hitched up once she’d hatched her plan, but its success hinged on her slipping back into town at dusk so she didn’t want him to be suspicious in any way. Her father would have her hide if he knew what she was planning, but she wouldn’t be deterred.

It wasn’t very far, anyway. She’d be back before anyone knew she was gone. Making one delivery couldn’t take that long, and she hoisted herself into the buggy and pulled her scarf more tightly around her neck against the chill. She pulled her gloves on and picked up the reins, urging the horse toward town.

She dropped her hand down to the canvas carryall on the buggy seat, almost as if to assure herself it was still there. There was no question in her mind that she was doing the right thing.

When she and Michael had left the restaurant on Friday, the knot in the pit of her stomach was almost overwhelming. Hearing Mr. Bailey describe the death of his wife and the need for his three children to help in the restaurant—for goodness sake, they were young children—she was so moved at their predicament that she’d made a split decision, although she’d needed to wait a few days to act on it. But since she’d met Sammy and his family, she’d thought repeatedly of the need to help.

And now she was on her way to implement her plan. She hadn’t told a soul, no one at all, and she glanced back over her shoulder as she passed through the ranch gates, sure that no one had seen her leave. She was heading west toward Tombstone just as the sun began to set, and she took a deep breath of courage as she watched the colors change in the clouds. The purple and orange hues never failed to calm her, give her peace, and she said a silent thank you that she was seeing this tonight.

As the buggy rolled into town and the sky darkened, she’d mentally ticked off all the reasons she should be doing what she was doing. Just the fact that the Bailey children had lost their mother was enough to pull at her heart, but the fact that they couldn’t go to school—well, that just put her in a state of compassion that could only be satiated by helping. And she would, in any way possible.

She slowed the horses as they neared the restaurant she’d been to earlier and they pulled to a stop in front of it. The “Open” sign of earlier had been turned to “Closed”, which she had expected. Mr. Bailey had explained to Michael that he was only open for breakfast and lunch, but closed for supper. His reasons were twofold: there was much saloon competition for diners in Tombstone, and he felt he served better breakfasts and lunches, and he had promised his wife on her deathbed that he would take the evenings to be with his children. He’d explained that he did his best to keep up their studies, but they were all so exhausted that he didn’t feel they were making much progress.

Hopping down from the buggy, she tugged at her tweed jacket and untied her bonnet, her ringlets falling forward as she removed it. She hadn’t had time to pin her hair back up as she’d been pacing for hours, waiting for the right time to come into town to make her delivery.

She tied the reins of the buggy to the hitching post and reached up onto the seat for her canvas bag. Opening it, she peered inside and nodded—everything was still there. Her shoes clomped on the wooden stairs up to the boardwalk and she reached the door, she stood back to look up at the small apartment above the restaurant where Mr. Bailey had said they lived.

Encouraged to see a light through the window in the darkness, she rapped on the window, the sound muffled by her gloves. She shook her head slowly and removed them, rapping harder this time and was startled by how loud it was. Her nerves jittered and she put her hand on her stomach, hoping that the butterflies would stop. As determined as she was to help these children, she wasn’t officially a teacher, and the thought crossed her mind that Mr. Bailey might not be as happy about her plan as she was.

She knocked again, wondering why they hadn’t opened the door. She heard a shout and a gunshot, turned and looked both ways down the street, and found that there were crowds of people entering several of the restaurants on the main street. She was rarely in town at night and wondered why no one on the street was even turning in the direction of the gunshot. She sighed and started down the stairs to the buggy when she heard the door open behind her.

She smiled and turned around, eager to explain to Mr. Bailey what she’d like to do. Back on the boardwalk, she looked up, right into the face of Michael.

“You? What are you doing here?” she said, clutching her canvas bag tightly to her chest.

Michael’s eyes were as wide as Mr. Bailey’s behind him. “Miss Archer? I could ask the same of you.” He pursed his lips and folded his arms over his chest.

Completely flustered, she grabbed at one of her ringlets and threw it back over her shoulder. “I...well, I thought...” she stammered.

Michael glared down at her, and she hoped it was too dark for him to notice the color that she was sure was creeping into her cheeks. He took a step back, searching her face for a moment, and then turned his head to look up and down the street.

“I imagine you’re here for the same reason I am,” Michael said, turning and shaking hands with Mr. Bailey. “I told Mr. Bailey here that I’d be happy to come in the afternoons or evenings to help his children, deliver them some schoolwork. I could certainly do that a few times a week.”

“Oh,” she exclaimed. “That’s exactly what I was going to do.” Her heart tugged at his generous offer. He truly was a man of integrity and compassion.

“I’ll be back again, Mr. Bailey. Thank you for your willingness to consider an unconventional proposition.” He tipped his hat at Mr. Bailey, took Rose by the arm and guided her down the stairs to the buggy.

“Rose, what are you doing here alone?” he asked, his voice low and his eyes narrowed.

She stepped back at the look in his eyes. “Just what you said yourself. The same thing as you are. I was going to give the children some books and help them, if necessary.” She held up the canvas bag.

Michael placed his hat on and his hands on his hips, leaning forward. “Does your father know you’re here?”

“Well, no, not exactly...”

He pursed his lips. “Does Ben know you’re here?”

“I had planned to tell him...”

“Are you saying nobody at all knows you’re here, Rose?” His dark eyes flashed. Rose had never seen him angry before and took a step backwards.

“I...I...”

“I think that answers my question. You are far from the ranch, and it’s dark now. This is a very dangerous thing for a young lady to be doing unaccompanied.” He took the steps down in one leap, lifting the glass on the kerosene lantern attached to the buggy and striking a match, turning up the wick. They were suddenly bathed in light, the darkness beyond that glow now almost complete. “Did you bring any matches for your return journey?”

She shook her head slowly. Obviously, she hadn’t thought this through very well. She’d been so very eager to help the Bailey children that she’d been a little foolhardy, coming out at night alone, all the way from the ranch. She looked down at her feet as she swung the canvas bag of books she’d brought for the Bailey children.

“I didn’t think. I was just trying to help.”

He stepped so close to her that she could feel the heat from his body. She’d read in a book once that people from Italy had quick tempers, but she’d never thought Michael would. She looked up from her feet and into his deep, dark eyes that were trained on her.

He reached up and touched her chin, and she shuddered at the warmth that flowed through her. He bent toward her and she closed her eyes, not caring at all for once that he was betrothed.

Suddenly, the warmth from his touch disappeared and Michael cleared his throat. He lowered his eyes and said, “I was worried about you, Rose. I...it’s not safe in town after dark for a young woman alone.

He reached for her hand and helped her into the buggy. She set her bag of books beside her and said, “If you’ll hand me the reins, I’ll be on my way. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“No, I’ll not hand you the reins. Move over,” he said and her mouth fell open as he untied the reins and climbed into the buggy. “What kind of man would I be if I didn’t see you home properly?”