Mail Order Mistletoe (Brides of Beckham Book 17) Page 3

  "Ja. I'm Lars." His voice was heavily accented with Norwegian.

  "It's nice to meet you, Lars. My friends call me Meg."

  "Meg," he said, trying her name out for himself. He'd gotten used to thinking of her as Margaret, so Meg seemed awkward. "Well, Meg, let's drive to SunSet and we'll meet the preacher there."

  "How far are we from SunSet?" Meg asked as he took her two carpet bags and carried them toward a wagon.

  "It's about an hour drive, and then we'll drive another two hours to get to my house."

  "I see." She really would be stuck in the middle of nowhere with no one but him for companionship. She wondered idly if he had a pet she could talk to during the day. All the way there, she'd been worried about the kind of man Lars was. She got there, and she worried about loneliness. Would she be able to stand being alone so much?

  He put her carpet bags in the back of the old farm wagon, before helping her up onto the seat. He ran around the wagon and took his spot beside her. "After I sent the letter, I worried that you would get it too late to be on that train," he said, looking for something to talk with her about.

  "I had less than twenty-four hours to get ready, but the timing was really good. My last day of my job was the day before I left."

  He looked at her from the corner of his eyes, sitting so primly with her hands folded in her lap. She'd been on a train for seven days, and she still looked fresh. How on earth had she managed that?

  "Was your journey pleasant?"

  "It was good, and I was dreading it. I met a woman old enough to be my grandmother at the train station in Beckham before I left, and we sat together. She told me stories, and I told her about my students and about coming out here to marry you. We're going to be pen friends."

  "Do you like writing letters?"

  She shrugged. "I do. I have several people I'll be corresponding with regularly. It brings my friends to me from far away."

  He considered that for a moment. "I should probably spend more time writing to my family back in Norway. They would enjoy hearing from me, but I work long hard hours. It's hard to have energy at the end of the day."

  "Well, some of the things you've been doing for yourself, I'll be able to do instead. It will be a bit easier, I think."

  "Maybe." He drove on in silence, not really knowing what to say. He didn't really want to get to know her well. She was going to be a very small part of his life.

  Meg tried to come up with something to say, but nothing came to her mind. Lars seemed to be a man of few words. She didn't know if she liked that or not. Instead of talking, she stared out at the endless prairie. There were few houses, and none together. There weren't really very many trees. It was beautiful, but very different than Massachusetts. She missed the ocean already.

  Finally, after a long period of silence, she saw a few houses clumped together. "That's SunSet," he said. Nothing else, just the name of the town as he drove toward it.

  Meg wondered if she was crazy to go through with this wedding. Maybe she should run once they reached town, but he'd spent a lot of money to get her there. And really? He was a good looking man with impeccable manners. They didn't have much to say to each other, but they were strangers. Why would they?

  Lars stopped the wagon in front of the small church where he'd attended services a few times with his wife, Olga. He shook his head, banning her from his mind again. The preacher, Pastor Green, was expecting them, and they needed to get a move on.

  He walked around the wagon and helped her down, feeling how tiny her hand was in his. She was a tall woman, but he was a very large man. Taller and broader than most, and even though he'd lost weight, he still weighed at least half again what she did.

  "Pastor Green is expecting us."

  Meg took a deep breath, trying to still her nerves. What was she thinking marrying this stranger? "All right." She forced a smile, wishing he were at least a bit more personable. The few words they'd exchanged told her nothing about him.

  He led her into the church, and she saw the preacher standing at the front talking to an empty room. Practicing his sermon, most likely.

  "Pastor Green, this is my bride, Margaret. I told you to expect us this afternoon?"

  Pastor Green, an older man who had more hair on the sides of his head than on top of it, smiled at Meg. "Are you ready to be married to this crazy Norwegian?"

  Meg smiled. "I think so."

  Pastor Green laughed. "I wouldn't be sure either if someone wanted me to marry Lars." He picked up his Bible and faced the two of them. "Let's get started."

  The wedding vows were kept short and sweet, and Meg heard herself answering when she was supposed to, but she had no idea how she managed. When it was over, the pastor said Lars should kiss his bride.

  Lars looked at her skeptically, wondering if she'd run if he brushed his lips across hers. He leaned down and very gently touched her lips with his, and she stared at him afterward, as if she had no idea what she'd just done.

  He ignored her skittish look for a moment and turned back to the pastor. "Thank you, Pastor Green. We appreciate your time."

  Taking Meg's hand, he led her across the street. "I've requested enough supplies for a month be waiting for us at the mercantile but there's a diner here. It's not much, just three tables, but they serve good food. If you're hungry, we'll grab some food before we get our supplies and get on our way."

  Meg nodded, following him into the building. They took a table to one side and someone came out to them. "You want beef stew or fried chicken?" the woman asked.

  Meg was surprised by only two choices. "Beef stew please." She was hungry and a good stew sounded so much nicer to her than something greasy. Normally she didn't mind, but after so long on trains when all she had were the sandwiches sold there, she was hungry for some real food.

  Lars nodded. "Make that two please." After he'd ordered, he looked down at the table where Meg's hands rested. He should probably hold her hand while they ate, but it would seem forced. "I'm glad you went through with it."

  Meg's gaze met his, hers full of surprise. "You didn't think I would?"

  "I wasn't worried about it until you arrived, but you seemed so nervous."

  "I just traveled halfway across the country to marry a stranger. I'm entitled to be nervous." Why couldn't he see it was a normal reaction?

  "I understand that. I meant what I said in my letter." He knew his wedding day wasn't the time for this discussion, but he needed her to understand. "I'm never going to love you."

  Meg took a deep breath. She hadn't expected him to be so blunt. "I hope you know I'll do everything I can to change your mind about that. I don't like the idea of a loveless marriage."

  "Why did you marry me then?" he asked, confused.

  "There was no one else in the paper who appealed to me. You did. I figured if I couldn't change your mind, then I deserved a loveless marriage for thinking I should."

  "Well, I want to be clear about what I'm looking for from you." He didn't know how to respond to what she'd said, so he'd just go on with the discussion. "I want someone who will keep my home clean, cook meals, and keep me warm at night."

  Meg nodded, having expected that last part. "You'll give me some time to get to know you first?" She knew she was asking a lot, but she needed it. When she'd answered his advertisement, she hadn't realized she would, but he intimidated her a great deal.

  He frowned. "I wasn't planning on that. We're married. I have rights." He didn't need just a cook and housekeeper. He had physical needs, and as his wife, it was her duty to take care of them.

  "One week is all I ask. I want to know you a bit better. I want to feel comfortable with you before I—let you do that to me." She fumbled over her words, very embarrassed to be having this conversation with him.

  "Let me? You're my wife. It's your duty."

  She took a deep breath. "I realize that, and I plan to fulfill that duty. But I'd like a little more time to get used to you before we do that."


  "I suppose a week won't hurt me," he said grudgingly. "But no longer than a week. And during that week, I plan to kiss you whenever I feel like it."

  "I—whenever you feel like it? What if I'm busy?"

  "What could you be doing that was more important than kissing your husband?"

  She envisioned removing a roast from the oven and burning them both. "You won't do it when I'm holding something hot?"

  He laughed. "I won't endanger either of us to kiss you. I'm not a stupid man."

  Their food arrived and was slid in front of them.

  "I don't think you're stupid. I think you were very smart to warn whoever came here to marry you that you had no intention of ever loving her. Most women would have been scared away." All intelligent women would have.

  "Well, you weren't, and I'm glad. I need a wife. I can't spend another winter alone."

  "Is that the main reason you wanted a wife?" she asked. "Companionship?"

  He shook his head, not willing to lie to her. "I want a son. I want sex. I want decent meals. In that order." He knew his words were blunt, and he watched her to see if she'd run off. They were married, but an annulment would be easy at that point.

  She sighed. "I see." Getting this man to fall in love with her would really be a challenge. It was a good thing she adored challenges. She took a bite of her stew with a grin. He wasn't going to know what hit him.

  *****

  After leaving the diner, they stopped at the mercantile where the owner had a small tower of supplies stacked. "I didn't get just your usual this month, Lars. I went with everything a newlywed couple usually needs."

  Lars nodded. "Thanks, George. I appreciate it." He looked over at Meg. "This is my new wife, Margaret. Meg, this is George."

  Meg smiled and nodded. "It's nice to meet you."

  "I look forward to seeing you for the monthly supply orders."

  Meg frowned looking out on the prairie. "What if the snow is too deep to come out?"

  "We'll bring the sleigh," Lars said. "You can stay home if it's too cold for you, but I can't miss my supply runs. I have George put in extra in case I'm a week late due to weather, but we can't go much longer than that."

  Meg wondered what would happen if they were trapped out on the prairie with no food, but she didn't ask.

  Lars seemed to read her mind. "If we were stuck out there, I would hunt for food. There's always something to shoot, or I would kill one of our milk cows if it got terribly bad, though I'd prefer not to."

  "I see. So there's always a plan if something goes wrong."

  "Of course. I've lived here for eight years now. I know what I'm doing. Mostly."

  George laughed at that. "He knows pretty well how to keep alive."

  When the wagon was loaded, Lars and Meg left town and headed toward the farm. "It's about two hours from here. You can sleep if you need to."

  She shook her head. "That's all I did for the last twenty-four hours on the train after my new friend left."

  "What was your friend's name?" he asked. He wouldn't get to know her any better by asking her about the stranger she'd made friends with on the train. That would give them something to talk about without bringing them closer together.

  Meg told him everything she knew about her new friend, Gertie, as they drove. "I wish she didn't live so far from here. She is a kind woman, and I'd love to learn more from her."

  "You'll find we live far from everyone. The closest farm is a twenty minute drive."

  "Oh." Somehow she'd imagined there would be someone close enough that she could walk to their home and talk to them. Apparently not.

  "Are you disappointed?" he asked. "I said in the letter that I was isolated."

  "I guess I didn't realize just how isolated you were. It's going to feel like we're the only two people on earth. Do you go into town on Sundays for church?" she asked.

  He shook his head. "I can't drive four hours just to sit in a church building for two hours. It doesn't make sense."

  "No, I guess it doesn't. I will miss church, though."

  He frowned. "I wish it were some other way. Maybe more people will settle, and we can start a church out here."

  "Maybe." She looked at him, considering. "I have never eaten Norwegian food, so if you are wanting me to cook that way, I'll need a cookbook or something. Otherwise I will cook what I know."

  "Anything you cook will be better than anything I've tried to cook over the years. I'll be very happy with anything you make for me." He glanced at her with a slight smile. "Thank you for thinking of my heritage. I do appreciate it."

  "I thought about buying a Norwegian cookbook and learning some dishes before I came, but I didn't know how to do that." She shrugged. "How did you come to be in North Dakota?"

  He briefly told her of how he'd been a farmer in Norway, and how hard it was. He'd been trying to farm wheat, just as his father had tried to farm wheat. There just wasn't enough farmland in all of Norway. "So when I saw an advertisement offering land and an inexpensive trip to North Dakota, I jumped at it. It was a wise decision." And he still felt it was wise, even after what had happened to Olga and their son. He knew someday he would need to tell her about Olga, but he didn't feel like their wedding day was the right time.

  "It's already getting very cold here," she said, snuggling into her coat. She was glad she'd worn it. "I was hoping it would be a bit warmer than Massachusetts, but I didn't expect it to be."

  He laughed. "Any land with the word north as part of the name cannot be expected to be warm."

  She shook her head. "North Carolina is quite warm! I had a student from there, and she talked often about how cold Massachusetts was in comparison."

  "Tell me about your time teaching," he said, looking for a way to keep her talking. He found he enjoyed listening to her, but he had no desire to tell her about his own life. She might be able to stay distracted that way.

  She told him a series of stories that had him laughing harder than he remembered laughing for a long time. Maybe since he left Norway. "And people really call these children the demon horde?"

  "Yes! There's no other way to describe them! And for me the funniest part is their older sister, Elizabeth, is the one who sent me here to marry you! She is a lovely woman and a matchmaker. She's truly made something of herself. She told me that the oldest four children in the family were actually well behaved, and it was the youngest ten who made up the demon horde. All of the ones who are grown have become good people. They're married and work hard. I cannot imagine any of those children I taught doing anything but causing problems. They were bad. I was almost afraid to walk into my classroom, because I never knew what was going to happen when I did."

  "I have a hard time believing that children who behaved so badly could grow up to be anything but disrespectful, rude adults. It seems odd to me. And yes, it's strange that Elizabeth is their older sister. Who would have thought? Does she have children?"

  Meg smiled. "She had a son a couple of weeks ago. It's their first."

  "Oh, that's nice." He didn't look at her, afraid she'd see the intense longing for a son to take over his land in his eyes. He'd already told her he'd married her primarily to get a son, so she shouldn't have a problem with it.

  Chapter Four

  When he was close enough for her to see the house, he stopped the wagon, and took her arm, pointing into the distance. "Do you see a small house over there? The chimney is visible. The house is made of wood, and it is painted white." He never would have painted the house white, but he knew it's what Olga wanted, and he did everything he could to keep her happy. He wouldn't pander to the whims of his new wife the way he had his first.

  "Oh, I see it!" It was little more than a speck off to the distance, but she could see it. Her new home. She couldn't remember the last house she'd seen, so they would truly be as isolated as he'd said. She'd hoped he was exaggerating a bit, but apparently not.

  "How much longer before we get there?" she asked.

  "About f
ifteen minutes. You can see far on the prairie without trees to block the way."

  "I'm going to miss having trees all around me. Massachusetts has trees everywhere."

  "You'll get used to it. It's a nice place to live." He shrugged. "The farmland is so much better here than it ever was back home in Norway. I'm glad I made the long journey."

  She sighed, wondering how long it would take her to be able to say she was glad she'd moved west, if ever. He seemed like a kind enough man, but there didn't seem to be any warmth or emotion about him. It made her sad to know he was the only person she'd see every single day for years to come. Yes, they'd occasionally go into town, but that was a long journey. She wanted to have a friend close by.

  She kept her eyes peeled on the house, looking at it carefully, wanting to know everything about it. It was beautiful from here, and it was bigger than she'd imagined it would be. Was it two stories? She couldn't tell from there.

  When he finally stopped in front of it, she wanted to jump down on her own, but she sensed he wouldn't like that. She was used to getting in and out of wagons on her own, but she wasn't used to being married as she did it. "Your house is lovely."

  He smiled, thankful for the comment. When she got inside, she wouldn't feel the same, he was sure. He wasn't good at keeping the house tidy like Olga had, and he hadn't done dishes in a very long time. He hoped she didn't get as angry as she probably should.

  "You go in. I'll follow with your bags," he told her. He didn't want to see the disappointment on her face when she saw how filthy the house was.

  Meg hurried ahead, throwing the door open, and taking a deep breath. There were dishes piled all over the kitchen, and there was dirt all over the floors. It had obviously once been loved by someone, because there were curtains at the windows. They were dirty curtains, but they were curtains.

  She wandered through the house, seeing that there was not only an upstairs, but there was a proper staircase. It wasn't a ladder leading up there. She told herself to be thankful for the good things, and not fuss over the mess.