It was July, and the morning air was warming quickly, but not so much that sweat should be trickling down the mayor’s face. Josiah pulled out a kerchief and wiped his forehead. “Fi—Mrs. Goldberg is not one of the brides the committee ordered. She came upon hard times and contacted me personally, offering to be my bride. I agreed. Therefore, she is mine and mine alone.”
Brett wasn’t certain he believed Josiah, but he had no reason not to. Especially since just yesterday he’d taken it upon himself to order his own bride. Irritated by that as much as everything else, he said, “Seems to me you aren’t treating your wife-to-be very well. You left her and those little boys alone to fend for themselves last evening.”
“I promised her some time to get to know me,” Josiah said. “Something only a gentleman such as myself would know about.”
If there was any man in town who considered himself a gentleman, it was Josiah. Brett removed his hands and stepped back.
Josiah pocketed his kerchief. “I was just getting ready to walk over and check on them. See if they need anything.”
Torn as to how much he should and shouldn’t say about Fiona and her sons eating at his place last night, the air left Brett’s chest with a huff.
“There will be other brides arriving, soon, Brett,” Josiah said. “You’ll have a chance at one of them.”
Not wanting the mayor to know that wasn’t his greatest concern, Brett asked, “When?”
“I can’t say for sure, but my friend, who is the mayor in Bridgewater, Ohio, is gathering them up as we speak. He’ll notify me as soon as they are ready.”
“You’ve been saying that for a month,” Brett pointed out. “And for two months before that you promised there would be a dozen women.”
“There will be. This sort of thing takes time.”
Brett let the frustration inside him ease out on a long breath. “Folks are getting tired of waiting.”
“I know,” Josiah said, “and I’m working on bringing in all twelve brides as promised. Now, I really must head over to see Fiona before church this morning.” He took a couple steps sideways and pulled open the door.
With little else he could say or do, Brett nodded and left.
If she’d been mad before, this morning Fiona was furious. She and the boys were fully prepared to attend services, had already started walking toward town, figuring they’d easily find the church, when Josiah had stopped them. Not only stopped them, but forbade them from attending this morning. Said he wasn’t prepared to introduce her to the town yet.
“They don’t want us here any more than the folks back in Ohio,” Wyatt said, looking out the window.
Keeping her fury to herself, Fiona hooked her apron over her head and then tied it in place behind her back. “As long as we are friendly and honest, people will like us.”
“No, they won’t,” Wyatt disagreed.
Convincing him could prove impossible, so she changed the subject. “You two go change out of those clothes. No sense getting them dirty.”
“Can we go visit Brett, then?” Rhett asked.
“No—”
“Can’t,” Wyatt interrupted. “He ain’t home.”
“How do you know that?” Rhett asked.
Turning from the window, Wyatt said, “I saw him leave a long time ago and he hasn’t come back.” Glancing at her as he walked toward the bedroom they’d all shared last night, he added, “Bet that mayor told Brett not to like us.”
“He did not,” Rhett declared. “Did he, Ma?”
“Of course not.” Convincing herself about anything when it came to Brett would take far more than a few words. He seemed to have taken permanent residency in her mind. Watching the sunrise with him this morning had been utterly amazing. They’d barely spoken, yet she’d felt his presence, much like last night while washing dishes. This morning it had been more than a presence. His silent companionship had told her she wasn’t alone in a way she’d never experienced before. Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she gestured to both boys. “Go change like I told you.”
Not done with his nastiness, Wyatt settled a glare on her from the bedroom door. “Don’t know why you put an apron on, there ain’t no stove to cook on. Ain’t no food to cook either.”
There was no stove or food—she’d built a small fire outside earlier to cook the eggs Brett had given them—but it was Wyatt’s attitude she had to address. “Rhett, go change your clothes.” As her younger son walked into the other room, she took Wyatt by the arm. “I understand this situation is very difficult for you. It is for me too. But no matter how hard it is for any of us, I will not tolerate rudeness. Not toward me, your brother or anyone else. Do you understand?”
Young enough so that a good scolding usually worked, Wyatt nodded. An inkling of dread entered Fiona at the defiance still living in his eyes. A scolding soon wouldn’t work. Not with the load of anger harboring inside him. She had no idea what to do about that. How to help him get past it.
“This can be a good life for us, Wyatt. I sincerely believe that, but we’ll have to work on it. And it may not be easy. Especially not at first.”
“Life could have been good for us back in Ohio too,” he said.
Not wanting him to know just how impossible that would have been, she said, “It could have been, but I thought we needed a new start. Try out a new place with new people.”
“Where people don’t know our pa died while robbing a train,” he said softly, solemnly.
If her heart had been whole, it would have broken in two right then. As it was, the few pieces of her heart that remained intact crumbled a bit more. She couldn’t deny what Sam had done, nor justify it. “He wasn’t thinking right, honey.”
“Why’d he have to start drinking, Ma? That’s when he got mad at everyone.”
Wyatt was only seven, yet it was amazing just how intelligent he was, and how much he remembered. She’d tried to hide Sam’s drinking from him as much as she’d tried to hide everything else but had failed there too.
“I don’t know, Wyatt. I honestly don’t know.”
“Hey, Ma?” Rhett asked, coming out of the bedroom. “Could we go fishing? Catch us some fish like Brett did. Those sure were good last night.”
“We don’t even have a fishing pole, dum—”
Wyatt stopped when she gently squeezed his arm.
“Those certainly were good fish we ate with Mr. Blackwell last night,” she said, using the moment to bring up another subject. “You boys mustn’t call him by his first name. He is Mr. Blackwell.”
With a nod, Rhett said, “Maybe Mr. Blackwell will let us use his fishing pole.”
“And please don’t bother him,” she said. “He is a busy man.”
“We won’t bother him, just ask to use his pole,” Rhett said.
She shook her head. “That would be bothering him. Perhaps he wants to go fishing himself today.”
“Maybe he’d take us with him!”