The Springtime Mail Order Bride by Kit Morgan

out.  It was a simple pink dress, with elbow length sleeves trimmed in white lace, but to Samijo, it was o ne of the most beautiful frocks she had ever seen. She held it up to herself and looked about the room for a mirror, but there was none.  She sighed, set the dress on the bed, and then hurried to put it on. She didn’t want Arlan to have to wait for her. 
    Once dressed, she packed her few things away into the sack, took her coat, and left the room.  Arlan was nowhere in sight when she descended the stairs to the main room of the stage stop.  Half of Mrs. Gunderson’s guests were already having their breakfast, while the rest still hadn’t come down, including Olivia Bridger and her mother. Samijo breathed a sigh of relief.  She had no desire to see the woman again. She thought she’d heard her voice in the hall last night, but was too busy putting on her nightclothes and crawling between the sheets.  She hadn’t realized how tired she was until she spied the bed and heard it beckon.
    She sat, and no sooner had she done so, Mrs. Gunderson was setting a bowl of hot oatmeal in front of her. “Best eat up, your man will be wanting to get back to his farm by lunchtime.”
    “How long have you known my husband, Mrs. Gunderson?” Samijo asked.
    “Oh let’s see, just about as long as they’ve lived out here.  Those boys have had a rough time of it since losing their pa a few years back.  Their ma, she don’t get out much, only comes to town a few times a year since Mr. Weaver passed. Poor thing, I’m glad you’ll be there to keep her company.”
    Samijo smiled, and was about to comment, when Arlan came through the door.  “Eat up Mrs. Weaver. I want to take you home.”
     
     
     

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Five

    Home was half a day’s wagon ride from the stage stop.  They’d set out shortly after sunup and had left the main stage route an hour ago and were now making their way down a gentle slope into a small valley. “Arlan, it’s so beautiful,” Samijo breathed as she took in the fields, orchards, farmhouse and barns.  “Is that our house?” she asked and pointed.
    “No, that’s the main farmhouse. Our place is on the other side of the orchards.” He pulled the team to a stop, and looked at her. “All this is Weaver land,” he said as he swept his hand in an arc.  “My parents settled here years ago and built the house and the barns.”
    She sat up and craned her neck to see. “Where’s your house?”
    He laughed. “Like I said, it’s on the other side of the orchards, but it’s a one story cabin. It’s hard to see from here unless there’s a fire going. Then at least you can see the smoke from the chimney.”
    “A … cabin ?”
    He looked at her, his brow raised. “You do know what a cabin is, don’t you?”
    “Yes,” she began though somewhat hesitant. “But I’ve never seen one.”
    “You’ve never seen a cabin?”
    “No. I’ve lived in a city all my life.”
    He glanced to the orchards below. “Don’t that beat all … someone who’s never seen a cabin …”
    She scrunched up her face in thought. “Have you ever seen a riverboat?”
    “No, can’t say that I have.”
    “Then that makes us even.”
    “Have you seen one?”
    Samijo stared up at him. “Seen what?”
    “A riverboat, silly.”
    She bit her lower lip. “No, but I lived near them and could hear their whistles blowing.”
    “Hearing and seeing are two different things, Mrs. Weaver.”
    “Well … you can’t hear a cabin.”
    He laughed. “Trust me, every time my ax hit the trees I used to build it, I heard plenty.”
    “You built it yourself?”
    “Of course, who else was going to?”
    Her eyes widened and she gave him a half-smile.
    He leaned toward her. “I can build a lot of things, Mrs. Weaver.”
    She licked dry lips. “Can you?”
    He smiled, his face drawing closer to hers. “I’ll show you,” he said, his voice dropped in pitch. He leaned closer , his eyes