A Mail-Order Christmas Bride Read online

  “It can wait.” He looked at Ella, communicating silently that his intent in leaving the table had been to find her. They could only communicate their true feelings with their eyes.

  Frustration flitted across her face.

  Christmas Eve. A day on the ranch made even grimmer by the fact that it was supposed to be a gay day. And it used to be, when Ma was alive. Now, nobody bothered much, but he could see Ella had made an effort. She’d made wreaths out of evergreens and mistletoe she’d collected to decorate the table top, got out Grandma’s best china and silver, and fixed a regular holiday feast: leek soup, roast turkey, potato and turnip casserole, braised red cabbage, spiced fruit, and of course her special biscuits, which melted on your tongue, slathered in creamy butter and gooseberry jam.

  The room smelled of Christmas, with the oranges spiked with cloves set around. He hadn’t seen the house this clean in years, and there were nice, new touches everywhere. Lady touches, brought by angel hands.

  He ran his finger around the rim of his plate, chipped in places, but still lovely to look at. His grandmother had brought the china all the way here from her native Germany, along with the holiday traditions of that land such as the Christmas tree. Just looking at the floral pattern running around the edge of the plate revived memories of happier times when the house was full of people and laughter. Before Ma died, Flora went away, and Pa was still head of the household. They used to have in the cowhands, too, back in the day.

  Caleb wondered if the absence of the hired help was because they chose not to dine with Wesley, or whether they weren’t invited because his brother was putting himself above the herd. A case could be made for either scenario.

  He hadn’t planned to come home at all. But the letter Ella sent inviting him to come home for Christmas brought him back to the isolated ranch. The desperation in each word inked on the page leaked through, though she didn’t voice the thought in precise language. He told himself he only wanted to see she was all right. Flora said Wes treated Ella like the Queen of Sheba, spoiling her with gifts, but the flatness of Ella’s letter made him uneasy.

  Although he tried to put her out of his mind these many months past, her letter kindled a fierce longing to see her again. So, he’d ridden down. Rode through a heavy snowfall and arrived days later than he expected. He got home in time for Christmas Eve dinner with barely an hour to spare.

  There’d been a spark of attraction between him and his brother’s bride from the moment they’d laid eyes on each other on the station platform. He knew it wasn’t right. He attempted to keep his distance from her. But she’d been so lost and lonely.

  Blue eyes rimmed with red. Tight, fixed smile.

  Wesley had been too busy running the ranch to help his new bride adjust to life in a land so alien to her. Caleb had shown her around, entertaining her with the family stories, and encouraged her to set up the house the way she wanted it. He thought it must be hard to move into a dead woman’s home, filled with strangers. After he convinced her it was all right to rearrange things, he helped her move around the heavier pieces. They talked to each other a lot, in those days. He liked the sound of her laughter and the fact he was the one who could make her laugh.

  When he was younger, Caleb suffered from a debilitating shyness. People often mistook him for a mute. He was still on the quiet side, but with Ella, he always seemed to find something to talk about. Something about her loosened his tongue.

  Ella in her white muslin dress, flowers woven in her hair. Desperation in her eyes. “This is a mistake.”

  “Do you want me to take you to the station? It’s not too late. I’ll buy your ticket back home and explain to Wesley.”

  She only stared at him, some mute plea on her face he couldn’t decipher. When he didn’t respond, she shook her head. “No, I can’t go home to my family and admit they were right. I came here to get married.” Then she tried to laugh. “Classic case of cold feet, I expect.”

  How many times did he think back and wonder what might have happened if he offered to marry her instead? He’d been too besotted then to think she’d feel the same way as he did. She was to be Wes’s bride, and beyond that he didn’t entertain any other notion.

  But being under the same roof was too much temptation, in the end. They’d given in to their passion one night after months of trying to quell their feelings. The memory of their coupling had stayed with him, tinged with guilt and pleasure in equal measure. He could remember with clarity the taste of her, the feel of her soft skin against his. The next day, he’d packed up his things and ridden out. He was so ashamed he didn’t even have any parting words for her. Her letter in November had been the only contact between them since.

  ****

  With Virgil’s help, Ella had put Father to bed after dessert. Now, they adjourned to the parlor. The big stone fireplace was stoked into life, taking the chill out of the air. Caleb looked around the room for the first time since coming home. Like the rest of the long, low building, the parlor was roughly built out of timber and stone, but the furnishings were genteel. His mother had always been proud of the delicate velvet upholstered chairs and ornately carved tables. The imported furniture sat comfortably with native touches like woven Indian blankets hanging on the walls. A pair of cattle horns, joined in the middle by tooled leather, was mounted over the mantle. There was even a green velvet love seat framed out of cattle horns polished like alabaster.

  Now that he was near the tree, Caleb understood why it twinkled so. It was covered in ornaments like he’d never seen before. He stepped closer, entranced, fingering a miniature pink parasol made out of glass. There were more wonders: angels with wings of spun glass, wire-covered ornaments in the shapes of grapes and baskets, and brightly colored balls. Even colorful birds on clips with long tails made of filaments. The new ornaments reflected the light like his mother’s homemade ornaments never did. Still, he smiled to lay eyes on the ornaments from his childhood. There were quilted hearts, intricately woven knots and wreaths made out of straw, ribbons, cones to hold candy or other treats—now empty, of course—and stars snipped with shears out of tin cans, which were shiny once, but now were dull with tarnish. It made him happy to see there was still a place on the tree for the old ornaments.

  “Store-bought ornaments. Come all the way from Germany. Ella had to have them,” said Wesley, entering the room.

  “They sure are pretty.”

  Virgil was playing the piano, his fingers flying over the keys with a precision unexpected in one so impaired. Ma had bought the piano and taught him to play to give him a voice. “This is how he can show how smart he is. He can talk better with that piano than most men can speak with their tongues,” she’d said.

  And it was true. His younger brother showed focus and intelligence when he was seated at the piano. His face was transformed into the cherubic features he’d been known for before the accident: masses of soft, golden curls, pink cheeks, long lashes surrounding blue eyes, and his mouth full and expressive.

  With a loud groan, Wesley seated himself in one of a matching pair of chairs near the tree. The fragile chair creaked and shuddered under his weight.

  Caleb was grateful for the music in the background, because he was at a loss for a topic of conversation with his brother.

  “When Virgil plays, I feel like I’m in heaven.”

  Caleb looked up to see Ella framed in the doorway, head tilted up, listening to the music. He was surprised to see she held a heavy cut-glass decanter in one hand and a single glass in the other. Caleb directed his gaze to the whiskey, giving her a questioning look, which she returned with a steely look of her own.

  Ella sat next to her husband in the companion chair. She put the decanter on the table in between them and poured a generous glass of whiskey before handing it to Wesley. When Wes drained his glass, Ella promptly filled it again, her eyes on Caleb as she did so. He licked his lips with longing, and her nostrils flared in response. He didn’t know why she was intent on gett
ing his brother drunk, but he suspected she had a motive in mind, which was going to test his soul.

  “Cal was admiring your Christmas ornaments. I told him I got them special for you from Germany,” said Wesley, with his eyes closed, head thrown back against the back of the chair.

  “Wesley can be very kind.” She said this in a way that implied he could just as easily be unkind.

  Her head was turned to look at the tree. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but Ella didn’t look as fresh and pretty as he’d thought earlier. There were shadows under her eyes, and her lips were drawn in a tight line. She lifted one hand languidly and brought her fingertip to an angel on the tree. The bell-shaped cuff of her sleeve fell away. Caleb started when he saw the bruises. He could actually see the imprint of a hand on her arm where she’d been gripped with force. A buzzing began in his ears.

  Purple bruises like stripes on thin, white arms. Virgil’s arms? His arms?

  Ella looked over at him. When she saw the look on his face, she followed his gaze to her own arm, which she dropped back in her lap. Her face turned quickly to her husband who still had his eyes closed. Caleb tried to catch her attention, but she looked down at her lap.

  Virgil switched to a slower, quieter piece. The room was starting to become almost unbearably hot with the fire stoked. It was making him drowsy. After a long, cold ride today and his belly full, Caleb wanted nothing more than to go to bed and clear his mind of all this. There were too many thoughts and emotions warring around in his head.

  Ella was picking at a ruffle in her skirt, face downcast. He could see her lashes fluttering like she was struggling with emotion. He silently prayed she wouldn’t come to his room tonight, because he wouldn’t be able to resist her; while, at the same time, he prayed she would come to him.

  A loud snore escaped from Wesley. His head dropped to his chest with a jerk that woke him up. “Time to hit the hay. Let’s put out these candles ’fore we burn the house down.”

  Wesley rose unsteadily to his feet and stumbled toward the tree. His foot hit a fold in the Turkish carpet, and before anyone could reach him, he lurched forward, grabbing at the tree for support. Quick like a cat, Ella stopped the tree from toppling over, but several ornaments crashed to the floor. Virgil stood up from the piano, and he and Ella exchanged looks. Caleb had a sudden image of the two of them, decorating the tree together, more like mother and son than two people who were almost the same age. Of course, Wesley wouldn’t have been part of it.

  “Steady, partner,” said Caleb, grabbing his brother’s arms with more force than necessary. “Let’s get you to bed.”

  “Thank you,” Ella said to him, in a strained voice. “I’ll see to the candles.”

  ****

  After depositing his brother, fully-clothed, into bed, Caleb thought he’d better check those candles were out himself. He was relieved to see the room was deserted. But when he entered, he saw Ella kneeling on the ground. She was trying to fit the pieces of the broken angel together.

  “I thought I could salvage her, but it’s a lost cause, I fear.”

  She had a smile on her face but sadness in her eyes.

  “Let me see that. There could be some hope. You know, I’m a good hand at mending things.”

  He knelt in front of her. Their fingers brushed as she handed over the shattered ornament, which they held together. Just that light touch of soft skin made him want more.

  “You can’t fix everything, Caleb.”

  “You’d be surprised what I can do when I have a mind to.” He turned the broken pieces in his hands. “Does he…does Wesley…hurt you?”

  She turned her eyes on him, her face so full of pain, he knew the answer. “I can almost bear the beatings. Almost. But…it’s the other way he touches me I find loathsome. At least if he passes out drunk, I know I’ll have some peace. I get him drunk at night and get out of bed early in the morning before he wakes. That’s my life.”

  “Ella, I’m so sorry. When you poured him drink after drink, I thought...”

  Understanding came over her face. “You thought I was trying to get him out of the way so I could seduce you. No, as much as I want that, it would be a mistake.”

  “I wish things were different, but you’re my brother’s wife. It would be wrong.”

  “No, I don’t mean that. Being with you was the best thing that ever happened to me. You and I are not wrong. It’s Wesley and I that are wrong. I meant, if he found out, he’d kill me—or you. I would never risk putting you in that position again. I’ve already driven you away from your home.”

  “As I recall, you didn’t act alone in that. You know why I had to leave. It’s an impossible situation.”

  “I know, but when you left, I couldn’t get out of bed for a week. I told Wes I had the flu, but I was heart-broken.”

  He put the ornament in her lap and took her hands. “I was, too. Still am. I want to help you.”

  “Did you wonder why I asked you to come? I wanted to tell you I’m leaving. I had to see you one last time before I did. I would have left sooner, except I worry about Virgil. As soon as spring comes and traveling is easier, I’m going to run away.”

  “Run away? But surely you could ask for…”

  “Divorce? He’d kill me before he let me go that way. I want to go to San Francisco and put as much distance between him and me as possible. I could get a job there. By staying here, I’ve only exchanged one form of servitude for another.”

  “Let’s figure this out over the next few days. If you don’t want to stay here, let me help you.”

  A weighty silence fell between them. What he wanted to say was locked inside of him. The buzzing started up in his head again.

  Head held under water. Lungs burning. Head snapped back by a fist clutching his hair.

  “You’re twice the man he is. You should believe that. He’s a bully.”

  “Ella…Ellie…the first baby you lost…was it mine?”

  She traced his jaw line with her finger, tears threatening to spill out of her eyes. “I don’t think so. I think our baby would have stuck. It’s just his seed my body can’t bear. I can’t go through that again and again.”

  He moved to put his arms around her, but she suddenly took in a sharp breath and stood up, eyes fixed at a spot behind him.

  “W…Why he got to r…ruin everything?”

  For a guilty second Caleb thought Virgil meant him. For he’d been wondering if he had the nerve to flee with her. But then, Ella held up the broken ornament.

  “It’s only an ornament, sweetie. We can replace it. Don’t fret.”

  “N…n…nah! He don’t d…deserve g…g…good things. H…he break…breaks them.”

  Caleb stood up. Virgil stood in the door, his bottom lip trembling. Sweet, good Virgil. He’d been Ma’s favorite. The buzzing in his head set up again so loud, he felt like his skull was vibrating.

  Toy boats. The creek. He, Caleb, making boats out of sticks and dried leaves. Rag doll. “Damn sissy-boy!” Doll torn out of Virgil’s hands. Floating away, caught in the current. Virgil crying. He, Caleb, jumping on Wes. Too big for him. Underwater. The mud. Don’t breathe in the mud. Pulled out. Thrown against a tree. Can’t move. Everything swirling before his eyes. Virgil on the ground rocking with his arms around his knees. Crying. Wesley with a large rock. Blackness…

  “There never was a mule,” Caleb said.

  Ella spun around to face him, looking confused. But Virgil nodded.

  ****

  Could he do it? Could he put a gun to his brother’s head and kill him? He’d already committed the sin of adultery. How much farther could a man slide? And, weighing it all out, did the bad outweigh the worst?

  These had been the questions running circles in his mind during the church service. The interior of the small building was blindingly white. The sun outside in the low winter sky reflected off the snow, and then into the white-washed walls of the room, bathing everything in a cool luminescence.

  Th
e interior of the Lutheran church was unadorned except for the large wooden cross on the wall at one end, towering over the congregation. About forty of his neighbors were in attendance, seated on long, plain benches. He’d sat as far from Wes as possible on the bench but watched him out of the corner of his eye, hatred like a red-hot coal burning a hole in his gut. Ella discreetly dabbed at Pa’s nose where a drop of snot was forming to a point it was threatening to fall. She caught Caleb’s eye and smiled wanly.

  Despite the potbelly stove in the corner, there was a chill in the air. There was the strong smell of sheep with all the snow-wet wool in the room. Caleb nodded to a man who turned to look over his shoulder at him. Several younger women were throwing glances in his direction, as well. Seemed that Montana was shy of men, too. He didn’t know why Wesley had to send for a mail-order bride when there were eligible women right here. But the women in the vicinity already knew Wesley.

  Caleb looked down to avoid any further eye contact with his neighbors as if they could read his unholy thoughts on Christmas day. He turned his hat around in his hands and looked at the dark stain on the hardwood floor left by the snow melting off his boots. He watched the stain spread, bringing up the grain in the wood and thought about murder.

  Now, Caleb stared at the back of his brother’s head in front of him at the reins of the sleigh, Virg beside him on the front seat. Wes had a muffler wrapped around his neck and his hat was pulled low, but a fringe of hair was caught between the muffler and the brim of his hat, bent outward. His hair was cut perfectly straight, and for some reason, that bothered Caleb. He pictured Ella trimming it for him, trying to get it just right.

  He’d lifted Pa up himself, placing him on the back seat. His father was as light and dry as a corn husk. The black leather seat barely creaked when he settled his father in and tucked a buffalo robe around him. Ella was inside the church attempting to find hot water to fill the stoneware hot water bottle she’d brought from home to help keep the frail old man warm during the long ride to and from church. Once he’d settled him in, his father had clawed feebly at Caleb’s coat lapel with his good hand. Caleb looked up to see his father looking at him with an intensity that knocked him back. His father’s gaze darted over quickly to the back of Wes’s head. Caleb nodded, not really sure what he wanted from him.