A Bargain For A Bride: Clean mail order bride romance (Montana Passion Book 1) (5 page)

No matter how hard Moira protested, no matter how long Gretchen wrung her hands, Pryor would not be persuaded to let them take the barn to sleep in. He insisted on arranging a few blankets across the hay in the loft, leaving the ladies to share the bed in the safety of the cabin.

“Because there’s no contract and I release you from any agreement, I guess now that makes you my guests. And what kind of host lets his guests sleep above his cows in a drafty barn? And in the dead of winter, too? It will be fine. Just be sure to pull the latch string in to keep out any intruders.”

“Intruders? We’re the only humans alive for hundreds of miles, are we not? We should be far safer than any other people in all of Montana!” Moira laughed gratefully.

“That’s not true, I’m afraid. There are outlaws in these parts, more animal than men, and the treaties the government inflicted on the Indians aren’t worth the paper they’re written on. Just keep the door latched; I’ll wake you after the chores are done in the morning. Good night, ladies.” He nodded his head respectfully and stepped down the cabin’s steps, walking toward the barn in the pitch blackness, easily tracing the path his feet had worn from his daily work.

Moira and Gretchen collapsed into the bed, but only after Moira could convince her young maid that they could share it.

“I’ll not have you sleep on the floor simply because of your station. It’s as Mr. MacAteer said, this is a new world, and your position back in Brennan has no bearing on where you sleep in the Montana territory. Besides, you’ll catch your death of cold on the floor, and we’ll both be warmer sharing the covers. Now lie down and get your first good night’s rest in weeks! I command it!” she added with a proud smirk.

“Are you dismissing me from your service, my lady?” Gretchen asked, a look of horror and hurt crossing her face.

“Of course not, you’ve always been loyal and a source of great comfort to me! But there’s nothing about your station that requires you to sleep on the floor, certainly not when we’re both in such wretched circumstances, and even more, it’s not because you’re of a lower position. No, we’ll share the bed Mr. MacAteer has been kind of enough to give us leave to enjoy.”

“He is a strange man, is he not, ma’am?” Gretchen asked, slowly arranging the bedcovers and then retrieving their nightclothes from their cases. She helped Moira unpin her long hair, reserving all the pins in her apron pocket for the following morning’s keeping. Next, she took the brush and began the task of caring for Moira’s waist-length brown hair, combing out each curl before wrapping it smartly on a strip of cloth and tying it in place.

“That he is, though I’m certain it’s not polite of us to say so in his house. Still, he has taken the news that I’m not to become his wife far better than most men. And to let us remain here instead of turning us out, he must be a kindly person.”

“Tis a far better man than I would have expected, taking us in when we were in need, especially after knowing he was to be disappointed in love.”

“Oh, Gretchen, remember that marriage among most in society is not about love. Take me, for instance, and that horrid Macomby. Any match made there would be about securing the future of our respective estates and ensuring an heir in the family line. Nothing more. Except in Macomby’s instance, there was also his vile, lecherous nature to tolerate… I mean, of all things holy, the man already has three sons! What does he need with a wife who could bear him more children?” Moira pressed a hand delicately to her mouth, holding back her disgust at the thought.

“But Mr. MacAteer is no Lord Macomby,” Gretchen replied. “He seems a decent enough man, and in possession of a goodly heart. He should have no trouble finding a caring wife if he only went a-looking. Surely he could leave his farm for a few months to meet a bride? Why fetch after a woman he’s never before laid eyes on through an advertisement in a city daily?”

“You should know as well as I that there is no day when a farm can tend itself, just as a castle cannot tend to itself. Besides, Mr. MacAteer also wasn’t marrying for love. Much like any lord, he had needs in the way of a helpmate for his farm and a wife to provide him children. He will need heirs to leave his hard-won land to, as much as he will need those heirs to relieve him of some of the workload of maintaining his farm. His wife and any daughters will run his household, while he and his sons will work his land. Love is of no import, but fondness that may grow over time would be welcome and expected.”

“Pardon my saying so, but I never thought I’d find the one cause where being a lowly maid would bring more happiness, more… choice.”

Moira smiled at her maid’s observation. “You just might be right, so be sure you choose your own husband wisely! You’ll have no one making a sound match for you, unless you would trust me with the task!”

“Oh, I would that I were worthy of your troubles, my lady,” Gretchen teased with a curtsy. “But alas, I am destined to be a spinster and live out my days in your service.”

Moira turned in her chair and took Gretchen’s hands in her own to look intently in the young woman’s eyes. “Do you really think so? Because it is not what I want for you.” Gretchen looked pale, but before she could protest, Moira went on. “We’re not in Brennan, and I don’t think we ever shall be again. Back at home, I could have envisioned you happy in my household, delighted to have you choose a husband from among my other household staff. But here… there are nothing but choices here. You will always have a place with me, for as long as you wish to remain in my employ, but should the right man with the right heart find you, then you must choose a future filled with happiness and fulfilment, with a home and children of your own. Promise me you will.”

“I never will, my lady! I can naw promise to leave you, and you can naw ask me to!” the maid cried. Moira only shook her head and smiled, while Gretchen returned to her work of helping her prepare for bed.

The following morning, both ladies were roused from their sleep by a shrieking sound, the sound of animals being turned out of the barn before the sun was up over the trees. The howls and general ruckus jolted them both upright in the bed, confused about where they were for a moment. When the memory of it all came rushing back, they fell back against the pillows at the same time, giggling at their mirrored actions. Moira reached to the window and flicked back the curtain, but yelled out when she saw Pryor walking past. She clutched the bed covers and pulled them up to her chin, ducking low in the bed.

“Did he see us, ma’am?” Gretchen asked fearfully, ducking even lower than her mistress. “Me mother would have me whipped for putting me-self such on display!”

“I don’t think he saw anything of importance. And something tells me he would be just as embarrassed as we are to find us without our clothes. Pay it no mind, but let us dress before it should happen again.”

“You stay, my lady, I will get up. ‘Tis mostly still dark outside. I will begin breakfast and rouse you when the meal is ready.”

“I don’t think Pryor would take kindly to me taking my tray in bed. Remember, this isn’t—”

“I know, I know! This isn’t Brennan,” the maid interrupted morosely. “You keep reminding me that this land is naw yet our home. Pray, ma’am… where is home then? Where will we be that I can go back to my duties and not worry about offending someone’s sensibilities? I am a servant, and I shall serve ye.”

Gretchen cast an apologetic look for her outburst, then closed the bedroom door behind her as she went to prepare breakfast. Moira stayed put, duly chastised for not acknowledging her maid’s place. But it begged the question in her own mind: where was home now?

Moira had a sudden burst of inspiration. She threw off the covers and helped herself into a clean but simple dress from her trunk, then pulled on layers of stockings and simple petticoats to keep herself warm. She had no idea what to do to make her hair meet the style Gretchen always arranged for her, but that didn’t matter out here on the frontier. She was all thumbs at trying to accomplish anything more intricate than simply pulling it all back in a loose ribbon, but it would have to do. Besides, the purpose was for function, not for fashion anymore.

“Gretchen! Move aside! I am a woman in the wilds of Montana, and I am here to work!” she announced with a humorous flourish. Her maid was too surprised to argue, but instead, stood still, mouth agape, as Moira reached for the eggs Gretchen had just brought in and began cracking them clumsily into the bowl on the counter. “Like this, yes?”

Gretchen nodded, and proceeded to show her mistress how to beat the eggs with a splash of fresh milk and pour the mixture onto the hot iron skillet. Next, Gretchen began mixing the ingredients for cornbread cakes, demonstrating to Moira how to pour and then flip the first ones, then leaving her to do the rest. She gave her attention to setting the table while the water boiled for coffee, peering over her shoulder nervously to monitor the lady’s progress with her first attempt at cooking.

By the time the food was prepared and Moira’s mess mostly cleaned up, Pryor walked past the cabin’s front door and smelled aromas that hadn’t appeared in his corner of the valley in a long time. He stopped and peeked inside the cabin, amazed at the sight of wonderful nourishment and a clean kitchen.

“What’s all this? You don’t have to wait on me, too, remember?” he asked, turning to the maid. Gretchen colored slightly and cast her eyes at Moira.

“It was my lady’s doing, sir,” she said quietly, forgetting herself and curtseying as she fought back a grin at Moira’s proud expression.

“Your lady?” he asked, only he wasn’t angry at the title. He seemed more amused than bothered, taking in the sight of Moira’s proud smirk, which she tried to mask with an air of confidence, as though she’d been caring for a household every day of her life instead of for the last half hour. “I never thought I’d live to see the day that royalty cooked me breakfast!”

“Who says this is for you?” Moira shot back, but her laugh broke through her serious expression before she could convince him of the joke. She gestured to the table for Pryor to join them after he washed up.

When they finally sat down to eat, there was no conversation for the first many minutes. Just as Moira started to worry that they’d overstepped their bounds by cooking from Pryor’s stored food goods, he sat back and closed his eyes, a dreamy smile on his face.

“I haven’t eaten so well since I moved my camp out here,” he announced, placing his hands contentedly on his stomach. Moira noticed that he seemed to be well-toned from the hard work of farm life, but that he also looked a little thin in places. Remembering his dinner from last night, it was not a surprise.

“You’re quite welcome, considering it was your food!” Moira laughed. “Of course, we’d both be starving this morning if it was not for Gretchen’s considerable talents in the kitchen. If not for her, we’d not only still be hungry, your cabin would probably be a smoldering pile of cinders by now!”

The maid blushed at the praise, darting her eyes back and forth between the other two before ducking her head. “Thank you, my… ma’am.”

“Last night, you took your time to look through my documents and help me make sense of this… problem,” Pryor began, sitting back in his chair and letting his hearty breakfast settle. “I can return the favor. If you have your papers on your claim, I can try to explain the way of things after the evening chores are done. That is, if you still want to settle your land, and if you’ll teach me how to fix my food better so I don’t waste away.”

“Of course, I’d love to know more about homesteading, but I thought you were planning to pack me back off on the next train?” Moira said, looking to Gretchen. “I didn’t know you’d be interested in helping us stay in Montana.”

“You came all this way for something, didn’t you? You might as well find it.”

They’d struck a bargain. The ladies would help Pryor by teaching him everything he needed to know to keep his house in order and to cook his meals, and he would teach them about working the land. If, by the time the train was due, they hadn’t decided they could make it on their own, he would happily give them a ride to New Hope and help them find a buyer for Moira’s claim. The thought of returning back east with no prospects didn’t sit well with Moira, but the idea of being stranded on a plot of land without so much as a tree overhead to protect them from the rain didn’t appeal to her either. They shook on the bargain and got to work.

Gretchen and Moira both spent the day in Pryor’s shadow, watching carefully as he showed them different daily tasks. He wasn’t overly talkative, unless he was talking about his farm. Then his advice poured forth so plentifully, they almost couldn’t keep up with the information he had to offer. His work that day took him from barn to pasture and back again.

Throughout the first three days of work on Pryor’s claim, Moira injured herself more than she ever had during her entire life in Brennan. When she wasn’t being kicked by a cow, stepped on by a horse, or chased by a goat with a vicious biting problem, she was taking splinters in her hands or straining her arms to carry heavy loads. If she’d thought Mr. MacAteer would prove to be a gentleman about the work, she was mistaken.

“You’re not lifting that right,” he called out over his shoulder. “Bend your knees when you pick up a heavy bundle, for if you just bend over to lift it, you’ll be in bed for months with a broken back.”

Moira glared angrily at the back of his head as he talked. She wanted to be angry and demand that he treat her more respectfully, offering to lift or carry heavy items as she was not accustomed to lifting anything more weighty than her tea cup in the afternoons, but she scolded herself as she remembered he was only preparing her to work her very own land. For that, she should be grateful, she knew it, and she felt small inside every time he ordered her about.

It was the milking lessons, though, that tested not only her patience, but her manners.

“You’re not doing it right. You’re going to hurt her; no wonder she keeps trying to kick you every time you come around!” he said, laughing derisively at Moira’s expense.

“Then why do I need to do this? I don’t even have a cow!” she exclaimed in an angry huff.

“Because you’re going to have to have a cow. How do you plan to make your food, craft cheese or cream to exchange for goods in town, and breed cattle to sell to newly arrived homesteaders? A cow in milk is an important tool out here, so you’re going to have to acquire one, then milk it. If you don’t, she’ll dry up and be useless.”

“Is that a jab at the fairer sex,
Mister
MacAteer?” she asked, reverting to his formal title to emphasize her displeasure. “I’ll have you know, a lady can be plenty useful, even if she’s not breeding stock.”

“Sure she can… she’s just even more useful if she breeds,” he said, his former embarrassment at that kind of talk gone. He shot her a look that dared her to challenge him. “Pray tell, then, what use would this cow be if she didn’t give milk?”

“There are plenty of things a fine animal can do. She is a reason to wake up for chores each morning, she could be a fine pet, and she could even provide meat once her time on this earth is up.”

Pryor laughed openly at Moira’s view of livestock. “You’re gonna lose your farm if you keep animals around as pets! Every animal on the place has to contribute in some way. Look at the pigs, even. They don’t provide anything except meat once they’re butchered, but they work every day.”

“Your pigs? You’re trying to convince me that your pigs work your farm? Now who doesn’t know a thing about farms?” She scoffed and tried once again to go back to the milking, but the cow was having none of it. Pryor came around to watch her efforts again.

“Of course they work. They eat the scraps, the leftover corn husks, and the bones from any game I kill. Why, if not for the pigs, I’d be sitting in a pile of my own garbage, attracting bears and other deadly animals. The pigs keep the place clean each day.”

Moira relaxed her angry posture slightly. “I see. I had not considered it that way.”

“That’s because you’re a princess who lived in a castle. But even your castle had pigs, and swineherds to tend them, otherwise, you’d have all sunk in your own filth. You should have stepped outside the walls and noticed the rest of the people once in a while, then you’d know these things.”

Pryor’s tone had turned biting again, and his open scorn for her station was beginning to wear on her already thin nerves. He’d made more than one reference to her wealth or station, and not in an admiring way.

“I’ll have you know that I did know my people!” she cried out, knocking over the still empty milk bucket and standing up from her stool so quickly, the cow startled. Pryor startled at her outburst, too. “I knew them every one by name and by position. I tended them when they were ill or injured, and cared for their sick children as their fevers raged or the women struggled in their childbeds, just as my mother did before me! I was not a princess, thank you, but even if I had been, the people would have still loved me just as much as they do now! I cared for them, I saw to their comfort and needs, and I did it with respect and genuine Christian concern for them! You do not know me, Mr. Pryor, yet you sit in comfortable judgment over my every action, reveling in my ignorance of your rustic life. I am here to learn and to help you, but if you do not wish to instruct me without scorn, I will happily remove myself from your property!”

It was Pryor’s turn to be humbled by another’s judgment, and he had to admit that he had judged her—harshly, even—and had come up lacking because of his decision that she’d been spoiled and pampered. He raised his hands in a peaceful shrug, and apologized.

“You’re right, I had no idea, and I’m sorry. I truly am,” he clarified when Moira refused to look at him. She turned away, not in disgust at his accusations, but at her own tears. She’d thought only of herself when she left Brennan, and hadn’t spared a single thought for the families she was leaving behind to fend for themselves when it came to needing compassion and care. “Hey now, there’s no need to be unhappy. You were right, and I was wrong. Now don’t be sore at me.”

The pleading tone in his voice was almost Moira’s undoing. He genuinely apologized, and she tried to return his smile.

“Fine. And I thank you for your kind words. Now show me how to milk this cow so I don’t let my own animal go barren!”

She righted the overturned stool and bucket, then went to work again, much to the cow’s continued dismay. Pryor leaned over, begged her pardon, then placed his hands over hers to demonstrate. She bristled at the strange man’s touch, but when she saw the results of his instruction for herself, she very nearly laughed with relief.

“At last! It’s finally working!” Moira exclaimed, taking over on her own to try the chore for herself. The animal settled down when it realized the torture of putting up with an inexperienced newcomer had come to an end, and stood lazily chewing a bit of hay while Moira finished the task. Pryor congratulated her on the new skill before heading back to his own chores, leaving his student more proud of her work than if she’d grown the animal herself.