The Mail-Order Brides Collection Read online

  Chapter 2

  Amos craned his neck, feeling much like a schoolboy. If only his mail-order bride had been seated across from him instead of beside. Sophie Ross—his Sophie—was beautiful. Her description in her letters hadn’t done her justice.

  I’m of average height. Slender. Honey hair and have a dusting of freckles that frame my lovely brown eyes.

  Why would she ever have needed to answer a mail-order ad? God had blessed him. There was no simple way around it.

  In the Olmstead’s kitchen, they huddled near the center of the long table. A white oblong doily separated William and Margaret from him and Sophie like a path through the Red Sea. Four other chairs sat against the wall as if being punished. A Bible, proudly displayed, rested on a shelf. Was that a glare from the sunlight, or was there dust on the cover? Perhaps their daily reading Bible was in a handier location.

  Amos managed a spoonful of food. On any other day, the meal would have been a welcomed treat. Mrs. Olmstead knew how to liven up beef stew. However, how was he supposed to get to know his future wife when the dinner table topics centered around a dog’s intestinal issues, and why Margaret chose not to include carrots in today’s menu?

  Speaking of the Olmstead’s dog, he nudged his wet nose against Amos’ elbow. With his grayish-brown coloring, there was no guessing why he’d been named Dusty. The dog wagged his tail and whined, his pleading eyes set on Amos’ next bite.

  “Dusty. Corner. Get on over.” William pointed to a faded patchwork quilt, child-sized, that lay over a flattened pillow.

  The dog might as well have Amos’ share with the way nerves were attacking his body, preventing him from enjoying the food. He should have asked to reschedule their invitation, but he couldn’t afford to be rude. Olmstead had been his biggest supporter during his interviews. Amos resisted the urge to yank off his tie. At least the meal provided ample time to consider how to make a better start with Sophie.

  He ground his teeth against another tasty lump of stew. He should have been there to pick her up from the stagecoach. Or had she arrived on the train? Or both? Where was she staying, and most importantly, how does one go about wooing their intended? Amos took a drink and accidently moved his leg too far to the left, brushing against Sophie’s dress.

  She sucked in a breath.

  “Excuse me.” Had the thought of him near sent her in a panic? With all her beauty, maybe he hadn’t measured up to her expectations?

  Her cheeks turned pink. No, perhaps nerves, like him? He prayed that’s all it was.

  Margaret crumbled a piece of cornbread into her stew. “Have I managed to mess up the meal? Everyone’s hardly eating.”

  William tilted his bowl and downed the rest of its contents. A belch loud enough to rival the church bells announced his satisfaction. “It’s more than fine.”

  Amos waited for a reaction from Sophie, but she didn’t seem fazed by William’s lack of table manners. Pauline’s quick tongue would have lashed William before he’d had a chance to close his mouth. Perhaps God had done him right by allowing his childhood friend to reject his offer of marriage. Of course God knew better. At the time he’d disagreed, but now…

  “So when’s the wedding? I assume it will be after service. That way all the families won’t have to make more than one trip into town for the week.”

  “Marg, easy. These two might want to get to know each other first.”

  “Get to know each other?” She batted at his words. “They’ll have the rest of their lives for that. What this town needs is a wedding. It’s been much too dull around here.” Margaret leaned forward, her focus on Amos. “Will it be this Sunday or the next?”

  Amos automatically looked to Sophie. That was a good sign, right? He was already receptive toward his future helpmate. This fiancé-husband stuff wouldn’t be too difficult.

  Would it?

  Sophie’s long lashes fluttered. She really had the perfect amount of freckles.

  William cleared his throat, a smirk on his face.

  Right. There had been a question. “Well, I…”

  “I imagine they’ll have to wait until Pastor Gable can return a trip here, dear. It’s not like Amos can go and perform his own wedding. He’d planned on returning for a visit next month.”

  “Well. That may work. It would give the quilting circle a chance to finish our project. Oh, I think you two are going to love it. We may have just enough time to finish for the wedding night.”

  The air in the room grew so thick Amos drew his napkin to his face.

  Margaret’s brows pinched. “Are you all right?”

  Amos wiped his forehead. As long as there was no more talk of the wedding night. Amos loosened his tie. He hadn’t even thought to discuss that in his letters. Would theirs be a marriage in name only? He hoped not.

  “Sophie?” Margaret asked, not looking at him.

  Sophie’s coloring had vanished. Her fingers clinched the collar of her dress. What a horrible fiancé he was turning out to be. He should be more focused on Sophie, not himself.

  Amos took her free hand and rubbed his thumb along her smooth skin.

  Sophie stared at their joined hands. “Shall I return closer to the wedding then?” Her voice fell into a whisper.

  Return? But she’d only just gotten here. What if she left and changed her mind? Then where would that leave him? If Hanson had his way, Amos would never become their permanent pastor. Great. Now he was only thinking of his bride as a means to an end. But wasn’t she? That’s why he’d placed the ad for a wife in the first place, to prove to the board he held a maturity level beyond his boyish appearance and age.

  “No, I never want you to leave.” She was more than the way to achieve the church he’d wanted since his youth. Out of all the women who could have answered him, she was the one God had picked. His desire to know her better was further proof, and he couldn’t do that if she left.

  Her lips pulled up on one side. Amos wished she’d meet his gaze again.

  “Ahhh. Now that is romantic. William, you should be writing this down. We may be old, but I’d still appreciate words such as those.”

  “You know I love you.”

  “A little reminding never hurt anyone. Surely, Pastor Gable could sneak away from the orphanage sooner, couldn’t he? You can’t let Sophie spend weeks at the boardinghouse. Why, that Eleanor can make divine cookies, sure, but those biscuits of hers are as solid as rocks. I don’t know how her guests manage to survive breakfast.” She tapped on the table with her knuckles and grinned. “I have the grandest of ideas. Sophie can stay with us. William, my biscuits are some of the fluffiest, aren’t they?”

  “They are, but—”

  “The quilting circle’s gonna be downright envious. With me feeding you first, and now you staying here, this is too exciting. Do you need to fetch your other bags, or is it just the one until your trunk arrives? Do you want your biscuits with honey or butter or—or I don’t have to make biscuits at all. I could bake bread or rolls or—”

  “Marg, air.” William took an exaggerated breath, his beard wiggling as he exhaled. “The room’s full of it, sugar. Now’s the time to take your share before you run clean out.”

  Margaret’s narrow shoulders bounced up and down, too quick to have taken much of a breather.

  “Good.” He turned to Sophie. “You’re welcome to stay with us. It will be our pleasure.” He nodded at Amos. “In fact it would do our…the spare room good to have life in it again. It’s yours as long as need be.”

  Amos crossed his arms. “Thank you, but—”

  “Yes.”

  Amos frowned at Sophie’s answer.

  She nibbled her lip.

  William rose and took hold of Margaret’s elbow, lifting her from her seat. “We’re going to go feed the table scraps to the hogs. We’ll be back in a few moments.” He ushered her outside, and the door slapped shut behind them.

  Dusty sat up from his spot in the corner. His ears perked as if expecting to witnes
s something exciting. Sophie fiddled with the carpetbag she’d insisted on putting under her chair.

  Amos ran a hand through his hair. Would this become their first disagreement? Was it bad if they argued before they wed? On the very day they met. “Sophie—I don’t think it best to take advantage of a member’s kindness. Not sure how that would appear to the board before the vote.”

  She glanced at her hands. The floor. The doily. What was she thinking behind those big, dark eyes? “I—” Were those tears she blinked away? “I don’t have money to pay for tomorrow night’s room and board. Or beyond. I didn’t…I mean…I don’t have enough. I’m sorry. You’re right, of course, about the vote. I should have waited to come. I—I’ll think of something else.”

  She thought she’d have to pay for her nights at the inn? He scooted sideways in his chair until his knees touched hers. This time neither of them jerked away. “I know I haven’t done a fair job of showing you yet, but I promise to take care of all your needs, Sophie. That’s my job as your…as your husband. I’ll pay your room and board until Pastor Gable arrives.”

  “Now Margaret…” William’s voice was cut off by the opening of the door.

  Once inside, Margaret pushed her shoulders back, making her appear almost tall with them seated. “I know it’s none of my business, but—”

  “You’re right on that account.” William said, slinking in behind her. He scooped more stew into his bowl.

  Margaret clasped her fingers together. “Hilltop Chapel is a church that strives to help those in need. The Lord has blessed us, so we’re required to bless others. Please let Sophie stay here. The elders will not frown upon you taking us up on our offer. If anything, they’ll wonder why you didn’t, and may think pride might be involved in your hindrance to accept. And trust me, it’s best to keep Hanson far away from anything resembling a reason to send you on your way.”

  William wiped at his mustache. “What she says is true.”

  Amos sighed.

  Margaret raised her hands toward the ceiling. “I’m taking that as a yes, Pastor Amos.” Dusty, not wanting to miss the celebrating, let out a bark that rattled the dishes. “Let’s see,” Margaret drummed her fingers on her chin, “should I bake…”

  Her voice faded as Amos watched Sophie’s once quivering lips raise in a smile. He took her hand and pressed his lips to her skin. So this was what God intended within a marriage. The joy in making another happy.

  She went rigid from his touch, and he dropped her hand. Perhaps he knew far too little about wooing Sophie after all.

  Chapter 3

  Sophie pushed the last of her pins into her tucked braid. The oval mirror revealed a woman ready for the day. She prayed she was.

  The morning streamed inside the borrowed bedroom, providing more light than the small lamp on the bedside table. She still wasn’t used to having a room with a window or one that had a ceiling tall enough to walk under without having to hunch over. Her so-called room growing up had been nothing more than storage in the attic of the saloon. Too cold in the winter and hot in the summer, but Momma had been wise to put her far from all the happenings of the night.

  At Pastor and Mrs. T’s house, the sunrise had been hindered by their bedframe. It had felt odd sleeping on a pallet in their bedroom, but during the weeks she’d been there, where space lacked, the faith and hope shared, well…it saved her life. Without them she never would have known the freeing power of Jesus. Which was why Sophie had to repay them by leaving. She didn’t know how their daughter and her two little ones were going to fit inside that two-room house, but unlike Sophie, they didn’t have any other options.

  After reading her Bible, Sophie unfolded the second letter Amos had sent. The creased pages complained about being straightened, but she needed to study. To remember all the things he wrote, things he enjoyed, disliked. It was more than that though. She loved the snippets of his past. A far cry from her own, him having a father, a brother, a mother, one who’d been a respectable member of society.

  Scanning Amos’ words until she got to the middle paragraph, she read, hearing his voice in her head.

  Upon my decision to attend seminary, I asked Pauline, my childhood sweetheart-of-sorts, to wait for me. Upon completion of my studies, we’d be wed. Or so I offered as much. She, however, for reasons beyond my understanding, sneered at the idea of becoming a minister’s wife. Sadly, I do believe she thought it beneath her.

  Noise outside paused her reading. Margaret and William had been in the kitchen earlier, but she hadn’t wanted to interrupt their alone time. The new noise sounded like wheels and shuffling of horse hooves. She peaked from behind the curtain. A wagon sat in front of the Olmstead’s home with Amos holding the reins.

  Margaret beat her to the front door. “Good morning, Pastor Amos.” Without her Sunday hat with that feather, Sophie easily saw over her head. “What’re you doing on the milk run?” Margaret put her hands on her hips. “Eugene’s not with ya?”

  “He asked me to do his deliveries this morning.” Amos ambled up the path to the front porch. All dressed like he had yesterday, as if he were about to stand in front of the pulpit, ready to give another sermon. Perhaps today she would be a better listener.

  “Hope Eugene’s not sick.” William’s voice boomed from the side yard. His heavy footsteps creaked over the porch boards until his profile was in view through the window. He must have already been at the barn with the pigs.

  “No doubt that fox is more than fine. Probably roping in someone else to do his work. Forgot to warn you about him. Well, no need to stop here and waste more of your morning. We get milk from our own Tessa.”

  “Don’t imagine that’s why he’s here, Marg.” William’s stomach jiggled with his throaty chuckle. “Couldn’t stay away from his Sophie.”

  “I don’t blame him. She is a keeper, that one.”

  Amos’ face turned red, but his eyes smiled when he noticed her standing in the entryway behind Margaret.

  Margaret followed his line of sight, and faced Sophie. “Well, good morning to you, too.” The older woman studied her clothing with her eyebrows drawn together.

  Sophie hoped her hair was behaving. She really could have used another pin or two to keep her braid more secure.

  “I hadn’t heard you wake. Quiet as a mouse you are.”

  William hooked his arms around Margaret’s shoulders, blocking Sophie’s view of Amos. “Marg, why don’t you join me for a cup of coffee?”

  “But we already…ah.” She winked at Sophie as they made their way toward the kitchen. “What a splendid idea.”

  Amos adjusted his tie. “Mornin’.”

  Sophie touched the back of her hair. Her braids remained obedient. “Morning.”

  Dusty brushed against her skirt and then sat in between them like a guard dog. Except his tail swooshed, and he panted happily. He’d have to work on his threatening demeanor.

  “I was wondering…since…I mean…” Amos bent over and scratched Dusty behind his ears. “You look nice today.”

  Was he talking to the dog or her?

  “Not that you didn’t look nice yesterday. Because you did. Look nice that is. Both yesterday. And today.” He rocked on the balls of his feet and stole a glance at her.

  Was it good that her fiancé was nervous around her? She pressed a hand to a flutter in her stomach. Apparently, the feelings were mutual.

  On the road, the horse snorted, and the loaded wagon jilted forward a bit. Glass jars clanked together. Amos looked ready to run and grab hold of the reins, whether from the movement of the horse or from talking with her, she wasn’t sure.

  “Would you like to join me on the milk deliveries?” Amos still eyed the wagon, as if asking it the question. It would be nice if he’d peek at her again. Eyes often told the truth of the heart before a person was brave enough to speak it. Did he truly wish for her to go, or was he merely being considerate?

  “Of course she would.” Margaret burst through the doorway and
thrust a covered basket into Sophie’s side. “I packed you both a snack.” She pulled Sophie along with her and threw the blanket draped across her shoulder into the back of the wagon beside one of the milk crates. “You can stop after you deliver at the Flemings’. Eugene gave you instructions about them, didn’t he? I’m sure he did.”

  She nearly had to jump to give the horse a love-pat. “There’s a field near there with a lovely shade tree. I’ve always wished William would take a notion to see it as the perfect picnic spot. What a sight the sun would be streaming through those dangly branches. Alas, I’ll have to live my romantic notations through the both of you.”

  “May I help you up, Sophie?”

  Sophie wanted nothing more than to spend the day with Amos, to prove that she could be the spouse he desired. Or rather, required. “I don’t need a picnic,” she whispered, taking his offered hand. “You probably have other pressing needs of the church to attend to today.”

  “The most pressing need of Hilltop this morning appears to be helping one of the elders deliver the milk.” Amos covered a yawn. “And I would love some company.”

  “Isn’t that sweet. You two have fun now. And Amos, you come on back over for supper. I’m making chuck wagon. If that don’t tickle your fancy none, then I’ll fry up some apricot fritters.” Margaret waved until William stomped over and tugged her inside.

  “He’s on the board…this Eugene you’re helping? For the vote?” The vote for her to be able to be Amos’ bride.

  Amos nodded, waiting until she was settled, and then strode to his side of the wagon. “This will be a good way for the congregation to see us serving the community and church members.”

  Sophie steadied herself on the seat, more so from the reminder of Amos’ words than from the jarring start of the horse and wagon. Last night when he’d kissed her—well, her hand—she’d been surprised. Surprised that his touch hadn’t stirred any awful memories. Then again, no man had ever kissed her before, not even on that horrid night. But it did make her wonder what he’d expect of her on their wedding night.