Julia: Bride of New York (Amercan Mail-Order Bride 11) by Callie Hutton

the men had set up and where the ladies arranged bowls and platters of food. “Here, why don’t you help the ladies?”
    Staring at him as if he’d grown an extra ear, she opened her mouth to say something when one of the ladies leaned over the table. “Are you Miss Benson? We’ve been quite anxious to meet you. I am Mrs. Stevens, and this is Mrs. Wright.”
    The young wife smiled warmly as she indicated the other woman who appeared to be quite a bit older.
    “See,” he said. “They want to make friends with you. You’ll like the ladies.” He edged her toward the table.
    Julia pulled her arm away. “What is wrong with you?” she whispered.
    “Oh, do join us, Miss Benson. You know what they say about many hands make for light work,” Mrs. Wright said.
    “I’ll be over with the men who are setting up the chairs.” Fletcher beat a hasty retreat before Julia could take him to task.
     
     
    Julia found Mrs. Wright and Mrs. Stevens to be very friendly and quite interested in her relationship with the sheriff. She was more than happy to explain her situation as merely a temporary employee at the jail until she could obtain another job.
    “Oh, we thought perhaps you and the sheriff…” Mrs. Wright looked almost disappointed.
    Julia shook her head. “No, we’re just friends.”
    “Hello, Miss Benson.” Julia’s shoulders stiffened at the voice she’d come to despise.
    “Mr. Johnson.” She nodded briefly in his direction and busied herself with rearranging the bowls.
    “I thought maybe you’d want to join me for lunch.” He lifted a blanket that hung over his arm. “We could sit over there under the tree.”
    “Thank you, Mr. Johnson, but I’m afraid—”
    “Miss Benson, I would consider it a privilege if you would join me and my mother at our table with the members of the choir. The sheriff whisked you off so fast, I never got to introduce myself.” The young pastor smiled. “I am Reverend David O’Connell.”
    “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Pastor.”
    “Will you join us?”
    “Of course.” Julia scooted around Mr. Johnson and took the pastor’s arm as he escorted her to a table near the front of the church. Several men and women she recognized from the service sat at the table, all of them eyeing her speculatively.
    The pastor rattled off a number of names Julia was sure she would soon forget, but she smiled politely nevertheless. Everyone at the table greeted her warmly, and a woman she thought she remembered as Mrs. Davidson passed her a cup of warm lemonade.
    Mrs. O’Connell made room for her on the bench. The pastor’s mother looked Julia up and down as if measuring her for a wedding gown. Gracious, women must be at a premium in Wickerton. As Julia settled in between the pastor and his mother, she glanced at Fletcher who leaned against a tree, his arms crossed, scowling in her direction.
    “What brings you to our town, Miss Benson?” Mrs. O’Connell leaned in, as if their conversation should not be shared.
    What should she tell these people? That she had come as a mail order bride to a man who rejected her, but now seemed bent on courting her? Should she let them know the sheriff had been paying for her hotel and meals? If that wasn’t scandalizing enough, how would they react if she told them she worked in the jailhouse? Perhaps they already knew.
    She decided half-truths would work. “I worked in a sewing factory in Lawrence, Massachusetts, that burned down.” Julia stopped as Mrs. O’Connell gasped and clutched her throat, her eyes wide.
    “Oh, my dear. Is that how you received the injury to your leg?”
    “Mother, please,” the pastor said, a slight blush rising from his collar to his face.
    “No, it’s all right,” Julia said. “Actually I was injured in a wagon accident when I was a child. The fire destroyed the factory, but no one was injured.”
    “Well, I’m certainly glad of that, my dear.” The pastor’s mother patted her hand.
    “When all of us ladies