Thread: Desperate Bride (Saul & Chanti)

Rose was not one to wait around with twiddling thumbs waiting for her luck to get better. The idea that the poor western rancher she had mailed may not accept her was inconceivable. Why would he not? She was passingly pretty, and though most of what she had told him in her letter was a lie, it was what he needed to hear. Of course he would accept her. She needed to prepare. There was nowhere in Boston where she could learn to milk a cow and plant a garden that she knew of. But there WERE certainly people she could hire to teach her to cook. The very next morning she counted out her money again, frowning down at it. After the expensive photo yesterday her funds were dangerously low. She would not be able to pay someone to teach her to cook. For another fifteen minutes she sat on the edge of the bed, a small wrinkle forming between her two eyes, her pink lips pursed as she considered her options. Agnes Carter of Carters Boarding House looked up from her bread dough when her maid showed the young lady in. She seemed to be a proper enough young lady, though a bit rich to be working here, what with that lacy silk dress that would look more at home in a ladys parlor than a hot sweltering kitchen. I understand your wanting a job? Agness voice was brisk, she was far too busy to waste time in polite chatter. Oh no, Maam. Agnes frowned up at the pert girl who smiled blandly back. A very pretty smile. I thought you were wanting a job. Agnes glanced in confusion to the equally confused maid who had announced the girl before bringing her in here. No maam. I am wanting to work. Its the same thing. Agnes was annoyed now, snapping at the girl as she angrily flipped the dough into a ceramic bowl. No, its not. The bold snit of a girl shot back with that same polite friendly smile. A job means I want to be paid. To work means I dont expect to get paid. Agnes stared at the crazy girl who looked anything but crazy, wiping her floured hands on a dishtowel laying nearby. Make yourself clear, girl. I dont have time to waste. I will work for you twelve hours a day in exchange for meals and you teaching me how to cook and keep house. Dead silence filled the kitchen as Agnes and the maid stared open-mouthed at Rose. Rose simply set her reticule aside and proceeded to roll up the sleeves of her pink silk gown. What would you have me do first? Her dress was ruined. Covered in flour and tomato stains and dirt from potato peelings. The bottom hem torn where she had caught it on a bedframe. Ruined. It wasnt like she had many to replace it, having come away with only a dozen gowns when she escaped. Rose collapsed into her bed with a sigh, groaning at the soreness in her back, arms, legs, and.welleverywhere. Who knew that cooking and cleaning a house was such brutally hard work? She couldnt complain though. Yes, Agnes worked her like a field hand in the deep south, but she fulfilled her part of the bargain. Rose already knew how to boil eggs, make toast, clean vegetables, strip and remake beds, flavor and cook a beef roast, and had a vague idea of how to make biscuits. And it had only been her first day. Three quarters of a day at that. She groaned again, the sound loud in the quiet room. How would she be able to stand up against an entire day of work like that? But stand up she did. Striding into the door each morning at 6am with a bright sunny smile, dressed more appropriately in a clean cotton gown. She scrubbed floors, dusted a dozen rooms, did the washing, beat rugs free of dust, put fresh ticking in mattresses. But most of all, she cooked. Agnes was a ruthless teacher once she found out Rose was getting married. Every day Rose cooked her heart out and quickly discovered she LIKED it. It was a glorious realization really, to find out how much she enjoyed something that was considered work. It was two weeks before Agnes pronounced her biscuits fit for consumption. She learned to pickle cucumbers, make jams and jellies, cheese, and butter. Agnes made her cook rice and wheat porridge, hominy and mashed potatoes. She learned how to make sausage and cook a perfect pork chop. Rose despised fish, but she learned to cook it. She learned how to cut up and cook a chicken fried, boiled, or roasted. She made cornbread and puddings, cakes and pies. She made cobblers and light breads and tiny sugar covered tea cakes. After five weeks, even Agnes grudgingly admitted that Rose was a talented cook, even if she could barely pass muster in some of her dishes. Timing is sometimes everything. It would have been so easy for Rose to miss the letter. One less day. One less hour. It was all it would have taken to change her life history forever. It was on a Friday at the boarding house, and Rose was hard at work in the kitchen, slicing a juicy plump pork roast with cinnamon apples for the boarders dinner. The maid, Mary, bustled into the kitchen with word of two more guests, businessmen who would be eating with one of their short term boarders. Rose thought nothing of it, nodding abruptly as she stacked the thick slices of meat on the platter before pouring the still warm juices over them. She rushed it out to the dining area where the hungry boarders were already gathering. The crash of the platter hitting the floor brought every eye in the room to where she stood in the doorway. One of the younger boarders made a movement to go to her, then froze. Something in her stature forbade anyone from approaching her. Her face was white, and the man feared she would pass out. Her eyes were huge, glassy with terror, riveted on one plump man in the room who rose slowly from his chair. The boarder did not recognize him, he had come as a guest of one of the other boarders. Rose. The calm male voice was the only sound in the room before the girl broke into a panicked sob and turn and ran back into the kitchen. They all heard Agnes calling out. A scrambling sound from the table, and the man who had called her by name was running into the kitchen. Rose! Rose, stop! Rose hadnt stopped. She had fled out the back door and was gone from sight. An angry Agnes demanded answers. The dining room was chaos, most of the boarders had grown to love Rose, and regarded the newcomer with suspicion. He did not stay for dinner, questioning Agnes in the privacy of the parlor and then hurrying off. Rose was in a flurry in her room, tears streaming down her face as she threw her gowns into her bag, crushing the silks with the velvets next to the cotton morning gowns. Every five minutes she hurried to the window that overlooked the street and peered fearfully down, searching it carefully. Within an hour she was racing down the stairs to the street, a carpetbag in each hand. Miss Rose! A male voice froze her in terror, a shudder tearing through her body. It was her landlord, looking at her quizzically as he handed her a letter. You alright, Miss Rose? Someone bothering you? She took the letter, smiling weakly before hurrying on. No, no I am fine, Jonas. Thank you. He followed her. You are leaving, Miss Rose? You paid up through the end of next week. Its fine, Jonas. I need to leave now. Something came up. Goodbye! She fled at a near run, and Jonas stared after her in confusion. Three hours later he was explaining his former tenants mysterious behavior to the three intense inquiring men. And the envelope was postmarked from the Colorado Territory, you say? Yep, not sure who she knows there, but she didnt seem all that concerned about it. Just about getting gone. At the same time the interrogation of her landlord was taken place, Rose sat in the commons, clutching the wad of money to her chest like a sailor clutching a life preserve in a raging storm, reading the letter with tears in her eyes. It was terse and to the point, leaving no room for romance of any kind. But it was her salvation, and that made it sweeter than the most sugary love letter ever written. She took two days to finish her preparations, a whirlwind of activity. Two large steamer trunks, filled to the brim with things she needed for herself and the children. Books, toys, a few delicate foodstuffs she was not certain to be able to get easily in the territories. A few more clothing items for herself. Notebooks for the children. Paper and writing utensils. A special doll for little Alice, and a fine set of glass marbles for Andrew. Bribery was a time honored tradition in the world, and there was no reason it would not work on children. Train reservations. A different rooming house each night, in a different area of town. And on that last night, a letter advising her rancher she was coming. She never had a chance to think until her things were loaded on the train and she sat on the stiff bench, smiling politely at the bored, thin-faced elderly woman who sniffed in distaste at every person who was unfortunate enough to pass by. After that though, she had nothing else to do but think. And worry. And fret. This could be a huge mistake. She had lied to the man. Could he have her arrested for defrauding him? Would he beat her in anger? Would he refuse to allow her to at least stay with him a few days, long enough to find work? Dear Lord, would he expect her to go through with the marriage anyway? She had no way to pay him back. The idea of marrying him had not actually sunk in it had just been an escape. A way out. Oh dear God, she may marry a man she did not even know! Would she be able to do it? Should she do it? COULD she do it? Sweat broke out on her forehead as the miles rolled underneath the loud clacking wheels. Should she tell him of her lies right away? If she did he could send her away with nothing, have her arrested, do God only knows what. If she said nothing and he married her, he could beat her. Her face flushed scarlet as she realized he would expect her to bed him. If she didnt tell him before, he would know then she had lied. Oh dear Lord, what had she gotten herself into? She could try to convince him to let her stay on as a governess. She could say nothing in the hopes he did not discover her lies until it was too late, then try to placate him. She could be honest and forthright in the beginning and try to soothe his anger. Through the changes of trains, the rides in dusty, filthy stagecoaches, she thought. When she sat down and wrote out a letter advising him of her pending arrival and sent it ahead by horse, she still did not know what to do. Even when the stagecoach pulled up into the town closest to his ranch, she did not know what to do. Honesty, or brazen her way through? Her nerves were shot, her stomach threatening to empty itself of her quick breakfast of a biscuit. She was pale, with dark circles under her eyes. Her simple pale green cotton dress with the eyelet lace trimming was dusty from the journey. She looked as exhausted and nervous as she felt. Would he be there to greet her? Would he have received the letter in time? What if he didnt? What would she do? Would there be a place for her to stay? Rose thought she would vomit if she didnt stop worrying. And time for worrying was over. The stagecoach stopped, and the door was flung open. Taking a deep shuddering breath and steeling herself for the worst, she picked up her carpetbag she had dragged all the way from Boston and clambered out of the stagecoach, accepting the drivers helpful hand with a smile. Thank you, Sir. Her voice was bright and cheerful despite the terror tearing her stomach to shreds. She shook off her dress, letting the dust blow away and then patting the smart little brown hat perched jauntily on her black hair. Only then did she glance around briskly for some sign of her rancher. The small dusty town was full of men, and they all stopped and stared at the pretty young tired looking thing that stood in the dirt road, looking out over the town like a queen surveying her subjects.