proved to be a challenge. She leaned closer. “Your mustache is crooked.”
“It’s part of my charm,” he said, but he straightened it. “Be careful. You know where to find me if you need me.”
Two men stepped out of the nearby general store, and Rikker took the snake oil out of her hands. Holding the bottle up, he hawked, “Step right up, gentlemen. Step right up.”
Smiling in amusement, Maggie left Rikker and walked to Grover’s Mercantile to purchase a cookbook just in case things took longer than she hoped. Everything she knew about cooking could fill a postage stamp.
Several women were gathered around a single bolt of calico. As Maggie neared they turned and stared at her as if she’d given off some sort of signal.
“You must be the mail-order bride everyone’s talking about,” one woman exclaimed, and the five women closed in around her like the drawstring of a purse.
“Yes, that’s right. I’m Maggie Taylor.”
The matron in charge said, “Nice to meet you. I’m Miriam Higginbottom.” A barrel-shaped woman with steel-gray hair, she fixed Maggie with a pop-eyed stare through a lorgnette suspended from a gold chain around her neck.
She quickly introduced the other four women. She talked so fast it was difficult to grasp their names. Mrs. Higginbottom then issued invitations to join the church quilting bee and ladies reading club.
“Though you don’t have to be able to read to join,” Mrs. Higginbottom assured her.
“Tell her about the dance.” This from the woman with tight, springy curls and a jutting posterior that had no need of a bustle.
“Oh, yes.” Mrs. Higginbottom described the upcoming dance in great detail. “You and Mr. Thomas must come.”
Maggie had never been to a dance and had no intention of attending one. She was here to work, not socialize. “I’ll mention it to him,” she said vaguely when she could get a word in edgewise, but by then Mrs. Higginbottom had already changed subjects.
“So when is the wedding?”
“Not till next month.”
“Are you staying at the hotel?”
“I’m… eh… staying at the house,” she said.
The five women stared at her, and for a moment no one spoke.
Maggie broke the strained silence. “There was no vacancy at the hotel, so I’m sharing a room with Elise.”
“Of course you are,” Mrs. Higginbottom exclaimed. “I mean… it makes perfect sense.”
“Such a dear, dear man,” one of the other women said, filling in the awkward silence. “What happened to his wife was dreadful.”
“Just dreadful,” the other four murmured.
“If you don’t mind my asking,” Mrs. Higginbottom began. “Why would such an attractive woman as yourself agree to marry a man sight unseen? Not that there’s anything wrong with Mr. Thomas, mind you.”
One of the other women—Mrs. Trotter—looked appalled.
“Miriam.” Miriam Higginbottom didn’t look the least bit apologetic. “I have the right to know,” she said, and her friends accepted her contention without further discussion.
“Some men fare better sight unseen,” Maggie said lightly.
This brought appreciative laughter from the others. Mrs. Higginbottom, in her usual take-charge way, continued. “I just hope that the boy doesn’t give you a bad time. Such a handful. Hetty’s lucky he didn’t burn down the barn.”
“He set her barn on fire?”
“No. Just the chicken coop. But that was bad enough. He made a hot-air balloon and was trying to send it to the moon or some such thing.”
“Instead it landed on Hetty’s chickens,” Mrs. Trotter added. “Never saw so many feathers fly in my life.”
“Yes, and he confiscated the clothesline from Louise Martin’s backyard,” Mrs. Higginbottom continued.
“On wash day.” Mrs. Trotter rolled her eyes. “Said he was just borrowing it.”
“Well, if he was my son, he would have gotten a good licking.” Mrs. Higginbottom sniffed. “If you ask me, Garrett is too lenient with the boy.”
She said more,
“It’s part of my charm,” he said, but he straightened it. “Be careful. You know where to find me if you need me.”
Two men stepped out of the nearby general store, and Rikker took the snake oil out of her hands. Holding the bottle up, he hawked, “Step right up, gentlemen. Step right up.”
Smiling in amusement, Maggie left Rikker and walked to Grover’s Mercantile to purchase a cookbook just in case things took longer than she hoped. Everything she knew about cooking could fill a postage stamp.
Several women were gathered around a single bolt of calico. As Maggie neared they turned and stared at her as if she’d given off some sort of signal.
“You must be the mail-order bride everyone’s talking about,” one woman exclaimed, and the five women closed in around her like the drawstring of a purse.
“Yes, that’s right. I’m Maggie Taylor.”
The matron in charge said, “Nice to meet you. I’m Miriam Higginbottom.” A barrel-shaped woman with steel-gray hair, she fixed Maggie with a pop-eyed stare through a lorgnette suspended from a gold chain around her neck.
She quickly introduced the other four women. She talked so fast it was difficult to grasp their names. Mrs. Higginbottom then issued invitations to join the church quilting bee and ladies reading club.
“Though you don’t have to be able to read to join,” Mrs. Higginbottom assured her.
“Tell her about the dance.” This from the woman with tight, springy curls and a jutting posterior that had no need of a bustle.
“Oh, yes.” Mrs. Higginbottom described the upcoming dance in great detail. “You and Mr. Thomas must come.”
Maggie had never been to a dance and had no intention of attending one. She was here to work, not socialize. “I’ll mention it to him,” she said vaguely when she could get a word in edgewise, but by then Mrs. Higginbottom had already changed subjects.
“So when is the wedding?”
“Not till next month.”
“Are you staying at the hotel?”
“I’m… eh… staying at the house,” she said.
The five women stared at her, and for a moment no one spoke.
Maggie broke the strained silence. “There was no vacancy at the hotel, so I’m sharing a room with Elise.”
“Of course you are,” Mrs. Higginbottom exclaimed. “I mean… it makes perfect sense.”
“Such a dear, dear man,” one of the other women said, filling in the awkward silence. “What happened to his wife was dreadful.”
“Just dreadful,” the other four murmured.
“If you don’t mind my asking,” Mrs. Higginbottom began. “Why would such an attractive woman as yourself agree to marry a man sight unseen? Not that there’s anything wrong with Mr. Thomas, mind you.”
One of the other women—Mrs. Trotter—looked appalled.
“Miriam.” Miriam Higginbottom didn’t look the least bit apologetic. “I have the right to know,” she said, and her friends accepted her contention without further discussion.
“Some men fare better sight unseen,” Maggie said lightly.
This brought appreciative laughter from the others. Mrs. Higginbottom, in her usual take-charge way, continued. “I just hope that the boy doesn’t give you a bad time. Such a handful. Hetty’s lucky he didn’t burn down the barn.”
“He set her barn on fire?”
“No. Just the chicken coop. But that was bad enough. He made a hot-air balloon and was trying to send it to the moon or some such thing.”
“Instead it landed on Hetty’s chickens,” Mrs. Trotter added. “Never saw so many feathers fly in my life.”
“Yes, and he confiscated the clothesline from Louise Martin’s backyard,” Mrs. Higginbottom continued.
“On wash day.” Mrs. Trotter rolled her eyes. “Said he was just borrowing it.”
“Well, if he was my son, he would have gotten a good licking.” Mrs. Higginbottom sniffed. “If you ask me, Garrett is too lenient with the boy.”
She said more,
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