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Book: Mail Order Devastation (Montana Mail Order Brides, Book 4) by Julianna Blake
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Authors: Julianna Blake
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and her Bible alone in her room. Now, she realized, she could attend church again, with no fear of judgment, gossip, or rejection. The fear melted away, replaced by hope…then elation.
Noah Jamison truly was offering her a fresh start. Even if he didn’t know it.
“ Good! Mr. Porter and I are Catholic—I was born Protestant, but converted when we married—so we can bring you to Mass. It’s at eight o’clock tomorrow morning, so we’ll come get you at seven-thirty. How does that sound? Will you be up to it?”
Mollie nodded. “I’m looking forward to it. I’ll just make sure I get plenty of sleep tonight.”
“ That’s why I want to postpone the meeting. After church, instead of having luncheon, you can have a light meal, then go up to your room and take a nap. That will give you time to rest, and freshen up, and then we’ll meet at five o’clock for supper.”
“ But don’t you have to make supper for your family?”
“ I’ll make a stew when I get home from church, and let it simmer all day. Then I’ll have all afternoon to spend with my family, before I need to head over for dinner, and Clay can serve up the stew back home. In fact, if I can get this little one well-fed,” she paused to nuzzle her fuzzy-headed baby, “I might be able to leave him at home, since it will only be for an hour or so. He’ll likely sleep for hours.”
Mollie cleared her throat, looking away. “Well then, it looks like you have it all planned out.” As horrible as it made her feel to admit it, she was relieved that Mrs. Porter would be leaving her son at home. Otherwise she’d probably burst into tears at the restaurant table.
“ Yes! It will be splendid. I’ll have Clay run over to Mr. Jamison’s home later on and let him know about our change of plans. And don’t be nervous about meeting him—Mr. Jamison is a fine man, and respected in the community. I think you’ll get along swimmingly.”
And then we can marry quickly, so I can get on with finding my own little babe, Mollie thought, as she eyed little Chandler with a grieving envy.
Chapter 9
Sunday, February 1, 1891
St. Margaret’s Church
Noah craned his neck to look over the sea of men ’s heads and ladies’ hats. Although most of the hats were small in scale, there were a few wide brims near to where the Porters sat at the front of the church, making it hard for him to sneak glances at his bride-to-be.
His plan was to steal out of the church just as Mass ended, so the formidable Mrs. Porter wouldn ’t be cross with him. But how could she be? How could any man help himself? Curiosity had kept him awake all night, and now all morning long he had feared he’d be so tired, he’d say something foolish at their supper meeting. At last, temptation had gotten the best of him, and he’d dressed at dawn, and timed his arrival at the church so he’d be the last one to enter.
All he cared about was catching a glimpse of the woman he intended to marry. Why do all the women with the most ostentatious millinery have to sit up front? It seemed most of the modest women—the one wearing simple veils to cover their hair, or tiny hats—sat at the back. Perhaps the women with the overbearing headwear felt that if no one could stare at their bedecked hats, then they weren’t getting their money’s worth out of them. He forced back the uncharitable thoughts about such obnoxious displays of vanity, and tried to focus on the sermon.
Instead, he found himself craning his neck again. The parishioners behind me must be ready to throttle me, he thought. But at last, he tilted his head to the right, and caught a glimpse of the beguiling Miss Quinn. She sat to Mrs. Porter’s right, on the aisle. Both Miss Quinn and Mrs. Porter sported modestly-sized hats, thought Mrs. Porter’s appeared more finely-trimmed than the simple design of Miss Quinn’s.
It gave him a
Noah Jamison truly was offering her a fresh start. Even if he didn’t know it.
“ Good! Mr. Porter and I are Catholic—I was born Protestant, but converted when we married—so we can bring you to Mass. It’s at eight o’clock tomorrow morning, so we’ll come get you at seven-thirty. How does that sound? Will you be up to it?”
Mollie nodded. “I’m looking forward to it. I’ll just make sure I get plenty of sleep tonight.”
“ That’s why I want to postpone the meeting. After church, instead of having luncheon, you can have a light meal, then go up to your room and take a nap. That will give you time to rest, and freshen up, and then we’ll meet at five o’clock for supper.”
“ But don’t you have to make supper for your family?”
“ I’ll make a stew when I get home from church, and let it simmer all day. Then I’ll have all afternoon to spend with my family, before I need to head over for dinner, and Clay can serve up the stew back home. In fact, if I can get this little one well-fed,” she paused to nuzzle her fuzzy-headed baby, “I might be able to leave him at home, since it will only be for an hour or so. He’ll likely sleep for hours.”
Mollie cleared her throat, looking away. “Well then, it looks like you have it all planned out.” As horrible as it made her feel to admit it, she was relieved that Mrs. Porter would be leaving her son at home. Otherwise she’d probably burst into tears at the restaurant table.
“ Yes! It will be splendid. I’ll have Clay run over to Mr. Jamison’s home later on and let him know about our change of plans. And don’t be nervous about meeting him—Mr. Jamison is a fine man, and respected in the community. I think you’ll get along swimmingly.”
And then we can marry quickly, so I can get on with finding my own little babe, Mollie thought, as she eyed little Chandler with a grieving envy.
Chapter 9
Sunday, February 1, 1891
St. Margaret’s Church
Noah craned his neck to look over the sea of men ’s heads and ladies’ hats. Although most of the hats were small in scale, there were a few wide brims near to where the Porters sat at the front of the church, making it hard for him to sneak glances at his bride-to-be.
His plan was to steal out of the church just as Mass ended, so the formidable Mrs. Porter wouldn ’t be cross with him. But how could she be? How could any man help himself? Curiosity had kept him awake all night, and now all morning long he had feared he’d be so tired, he’d say something foolish at their supper meeting. At last, temptation had gotten the best of him, and he’d dressed at dawn, and timed his arrival at the church so he’d be the last one to enter.
All he cared about was catching a glimpse of the woman he intended to marry. Why do all the women with the most ostentatious millinery have to sit up front? It seemed most of the modest women—the one wearing simple veils to cover their hair, or tiny hats—sat at the back. Perhaps the women with the overbearing headwear felt that if no one could stare at their bedecked hats, then they weren’t getting their money’s worth out of them. He forced back the uncharitable thoughts about such obnoxious displays of vanity, and tried to focus on the sermon.
Instead, he found himself craning his neck again. The parishioners behind me must be ready to throttle me, he thought. But at last, he tilted his head to the right, and caught a glimpse of the beguiling Miss Quinn. She sat to Mrs. Porter’s right, on the aisle. Both Miss Quinn and Mrs. Porter sported modestly-sized hats, thought Mrs. Porter’s appeared more finely-trimmed than the simple design of Miss Quinn’s.
It gave him a
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