Read Online Mail Order Bride Leah: A Sweet Western Historical Romance (Montana Mail Order Brides Series Book 1) by Rose Jenster - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Rose Jenster
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took his arm and they walked to the church, where they took their vows in a sweet, simple ceremony with Mrs. Gibson standing up as bridesmatron for Leah and Mr. Wilford as groomsman. At Mrs. Hostleman’s, Henry loaded Leah’s belongings into the wheelbarrow and bore them to his rooms behind the inn.
There were more wildflowers in a jug on the table when she entered, and she admired them as Henry built a cheerful fire in the hearth to ward off the evening chill. Leah hung her shawl and bonnet on the peg beside his coat and hat, thinking how wonderful it was to have her own peg in this cozy home with this man whom she loved so dearly.
While Henry went to the stable to check on things, Leah left off her unpacking. She wanted to surprise him with a wedding supper. Finding a slab of bacon in the larder and some potatoes in the bin, she set a frying pan on the cook stove and stoked the flames. She cut the potatoes, finding it difficult to get the slices even in thickness, and dropped them in the hot skillet while she sawed at the bacon. It proved even harder to cut and was slimy to the touch. Grimacing, she chopped off a few hunks of bacon and put it in the skillet, poking at it with a fork. She was terrified of the spattering grease and backed away from the pan, hoping it would be done in a few minutes.
When fetid black smoke began to gather, she tried to dislodge the burnt potatoes stuck to the bottom of the pan, only to be splattered with searing hot grease from the bacon. With a scream, she jumped back, wondering how she would get the hot skillet off the burner without calling for help. Screwing up her courage for the fight, she seized a hankie from her pocket and used it to grasp the handle long enough to pull it away from the flame.
Leah opened the back door, and North slunk outside to escape the stink of her ruined supper. She put a cool cloth on her wrist where the grease had burned her, and she sank down on a chair, disappointed. She couldn’t even cook her husband a decent meal. She wanted her mother, who hadn’t had a chance to teach her good plain cooking and sewing. What good was picking out “Für Elise” on a piano or making a row of perfect French knots when she couldn’t even fry potatoes?
Henry came in and looked from the pan to his bride, and understood instantly.
“I’m sorry,” she said hesitantly. “I wanted to surprise you.”
“Well, you’ve succeeded. I can’t say as I’ve ever come home to anyone trying to cook me anything since I’ve been in Montana Territory. I’ll give you credit for effort and make us some eggs. How does that sound?”
“Very kind of you,” she said warmly. “How can I help?”
“I’m sure you have belongings you’d like to unpack. I’ll call you when the eggs are ready,” he said indulgently.
Leah retreated to his bedroom— their bedroom, she corrected herself. She took out her embroidered nightdress with the ribbons at the throat and laid it across the eiderdown quilt. Next she removed her beloved copy of Shakespeare’s sonnets and placed it on Henry’s shelf beside his volume of that playwright’s tragedies and histories. Her own copy of the comedies joined it there, as well as the yellow-bound potboiler Jane had sent her. She had brought it along as a good luck charm, and it did bring a ready smile to her face to see it there alongside Henry’s Titus Andronicus .
Henry called to her and she joined him for a supper of fried eggs and toast. Their quiet conversation about the coming winter made the modest supper perhaps the most wonderful she had ever had. After the supper things were cleared away and Leah began to pump water into the washbasin for the dishes, Henry covered her hand with his and shook his head.
He took both her hands in his and turned her to face him. Color flamed in her cheeks at the memory of their other kisses. Timidly, she waited—and was not disappointed. Henry’s lips met hers, and Leah felt all her love and longing
There were more wildflowers in a jug on the table when she entered, and she admired them as Henry built a cheerful fire in the hearth to ward off the evening chill. Leah hung her shawl and bonnet on the peg beside his coat and hat, thinking how wonderful it was to have her own peg in this cozy home with this man whom she loved so dearly.
While Henry went to the stable to check on things, Leah left off her unpacking. She wanted to surprise him with a wedding supper. Finding a slab of bacon in the larder and some potatoes in the bin, she set a frying pan on the cook stove and stoked the flames. She cut the potatoes, finding it difficult to get the slices even in thickness, and dropped them in the hot skillet while she sawed at the bacon. It proved even harder to cut and was slimy to the touch. Grimacing, she chopped off a few hunks of bacon and put it in the skillet, poking at it with a fork. She was terrified of the spattering grease and backed away from the pan, hoping it would be done in a few minutes.
When fetid black smoke began to gather, she tried to dislodge the burnt potatoes stuck to the bottom of the pan, only to be splattered with searing hot grease from the bacon. With a scream, she jumped back, wondering how she would get the hot skillet off the burner without calling for help. Screwing up her courage for the fight, she seized a hankie from her pocket and used it to grasp the handle long enough to pull it away from the flame.
Leah opened the back door, and North slunk outside to escape the stink of her ruined supper. She put a cool cloth on her wrist where the grease had burned her, and she sank down on a chair, disappointed. She couldn’t even cook her husband a decent meal. She wanted her mother, who hadn’t had a chance to teach her good plain cooking and sewing. What good was picking out “Für Elise” on a piano or making a row of perfect French knots when she couldn’t even fry potatoes?
Henry came in and looked from the pan to his bride, and understood instantly.
“I’m sorry,” she said hesitantly. “I wanted to surprise you.”
“Well, you’ve succeeded. I can’t say as I’ve ever come home to anyone trying to cook me anything since I’ve been in Montana Territory. I’ll give you credit for effort and make us some eggs. How does that sound?”
“Very kind of you,” she said warmly. “How can I help?”
“I’m sure you have belongings you’d like to unpack. I’ll call you when the eggs are ready,” he said indulgently.
Leah retreated to his bedroom— their bedroom, she corrected herself. She took out her embroidered nightdress with the ribbons at the throat and laid it across the eiderdown quilt. Next she removed her beloved copy of Shakespeare’s sonnets and placed it on Henry’s shelf beside his volume of that playwright’s tragedies and histories. Her own copy of the comedies joined it there, as well as the yellow-bound potboiler Jane had sent her. She had brought it along as a good luck charm, and it did bring a ready smile to her face to see it there alongside Henry’s Titus Andronicus .
Henry called to her and she joined him for a supper of fried eggs and toast. Their quiet conversation about the coming winter made the modest supper perhaps the most wonderful she had ever had. After the supper things were cleared away and Leah began to pump water into the washbasin for the dishes, Henry covered her hand with his and shook his head.
He took both her hands in his and turned her to face him. Color flamed in her cheeks at the memory of their other kisses. Timidly, she waited—and was not disappointed. Henry’s lips met hers, and Leah felt all her love and longing
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