A Bargain For A Bride: Clean mail order bride romance (Montana Passion Book 1) (4 page)

After such a forceful and confident proclamation, it was with no small amount of consternation that Moira found herself helping with the milking in Pryor’s small barn only two hours later. Gretchen wouldn’t hear of her mistress actually putting her delicate hands anywhere near the large animal, but she did concede to letting Moira hold the lantern while she set about the task herself.

“’Tis shameful,” Gretchen kept muttering to herself. “You, the Lady Brennan, standing in a barn, up to your ankles in droppings! I have never in my life been glad that me dear mother is dead and buried, but I must say, I am grateful that she is naw alive to witness this!”

“It will be all right, Gretchen, you’ll see. And we must remember, my title does not hold sway out here. Here, there is work to be done, and it seems that every able hand must do its part.”

“But yours is not an able hand, it is a high born hand! Me mother was a ladies’ maid before me, and she would have me whipped just for letting you keep watch in here with me! You, having to witness something so disgusting as the milking! I would naw even know how to do it me-self if ‘twas not for having to take meals from the kitchen to the farm hands!”

“Tis a shame not of my doing, but being high born seems to no longer be a factor to my credit. In fact, here, it possibly renders me a liability, a mouth to feed who does not contribute.”

The term “mouth to feed” was still smarting for both of them, as it was the very words Pryor had used to describe Gretchen. Moreover, it was the reason he gave for insisting that Gretchen would not be coming with them to his property. Seeing no current solution to their problems, Moira had agreed to go with Pryor and make herself useful in exchange for room and board, assuming that all manner of decorum between them would be observed. But Gretchen was a whole other issue as far as their new host was concerned.

“I didn’t sign on for two people,” he had said while loading Moira’s trunk in his wagon, blushing when he realized his words could be taken to mean something improper. He shook his head and turned away, as though that had settled the matter. Moira wasn’t so easily dissuaded.

“Well, she will not be left here to fend for herself. I won’t stand for it. She is practically my family, all the family I have in the world at this moment. And I say she will accompany us to your home. Gretchen, put your things in Mr. MacAteer’s wagon.

“Aye, my lady,” Gretchen replied with a short curtsy. Pryor’s eyes went wide.

“There’ll be no more of that kind of talk, I won’t stand for it! If she’s going to follow you everywhere you go, she’s to be her own person, none of this ‘my lady’ nonsense!” Pryor stormed away to retrieve Gretchen’s things for her, his disposition toward her warming slightly from the realization that she was a servant and therefore had no say in her own affairs. Both ladies had been taken aback by his lashing out, but neither spoke a word against it.

The ride to Pryor’s cabin had been just as tense, and very little was said throughout the long trip. Once Moira had tried to speak to Gretchen, reverting to Irish so as not to make the harsh man aware of her words, but Gretchen only shook her head, afraid of the wrath that talking about him could arise. Speaking Irish had long been outlawed back home anyway, despite the old Lord Brennan’s insistence that it be taught and spoken in his household; but this was certainly not Brennan Castle, and it wouldn’t do to be caught speaking the forbidden language in unfamiliar territory, and with unfamiliar people about.

Now, as they set to work with a fervor, the bargain in exchange for lodging until the whole situation could be understood, they took the chance to learn their surroundings, to see the first real glimpse of open sky such as they’d not seen since stepping aboard the ship back in Ireland.

“Hey there! You… um, ladies,” a hesitant voice called out while they worked in the barn. “Supper’s ready!” Moira and Gretchen peeked out of the barn and saw Pryor standing on the porch of the cabin, a ladle in his hand. Together, they hoisted the nearly full pail of milk to the shelf, then closed the barn door firmly behind them and crossed the pasture to the house, the smell of something cooking growing stronger as they approached.

Inside the cabin, both ladies were taken by surprise for the hundredth time that day. Neither had seen the interior of the handsomely built cabin until that moment. Rather than a ruffian’s shack filled with items thrown haphazardly in corners and tossed askew on the floor, the inside of the cabin had been outfitted for a wife and a family. The outside of the cabin led to the impression that the floors would be bare earth, but it was instead made from hand-cut boards that had been sanded to almost silky softness. Rather than one room that served every purpose, they could now see there were at least three rooms: a large room that served as a gathering area, eating nook, and kitchen, and then two smaller rooms off to the sides, their doors open invitingly. In the kitchen, a calico tablecloth—the fabric reclaimed from a feed sack, to be sure, but dainty and clean nonetheless—covered the hand-hewn table, while delicate curtains fluttered in front of the open windows. Dishes had been set on the table, and not just tin plates but real porcelain. It was far from fancy and nothing like the table Moira was accustomed to, but the effort involved was very real, and very much appreciated.

“Sit,” he commanded not unkindly, but without any kind of warmth in his voice. “Eat.”

Moira and Gretchen looked about for a basin and pitcher to wash their hands, but finding none, stepped back outside to the well that Pryor had dug. They hauled up a bucket of icy water, the wind whipping the moisture on their hands until they turned red and shook. They returned to the cabin with their arms around each other for warmth, but also for comfort at having to face this stranger in his home.

The dinner itself, however, was a more unpleasant experience than the company they were forced to keep. Pryor’s attempts at serving beans and cornbread resulted in a congealed mass of cornmeal mush, dotted here and there with beans that were hard as rocks. Both ladies tried their best to overlook the fiasco and choke down their host’s food, but eventually, they gave up.

“Tell me, Mr. MacAteer, did you soak these beans long before attempting to cook them?” Moira asked in what she hoped was a kindly, non-judgmental tone.

“Soak them? Why?”

“Because it makes them turn soft when they’re cooking. Dried beans should be allowed to soak for several hours. Overnight, if possible.” Gretchen nodded enthusiastically before using the tip of her spoon to scrape together another bite of mush that didn’t contain the hearty pebbles.

“Oh. I wondered how other people got ‘em to taste like that. I didn’t know about that step.”

“Well, there should be a recipe in that cookbook up there…” Moira began, but stopped herself when she saw the cautious look on the man’s face. She instantly overcame her faux pas by suddenly turning on Gretchen, admonishing the young girl for having her elbows dangerously close to the table’s edge, looking very much like she might place them there. For her part, the maid looked confused at the chastising, but when Moira grabbed her hand beneath the table and gave it a light squeeze, she returned her mistress’ smile. Moira inclined her head ever so slightly at the man seated with them, and Gretchen understood immediately.

Pryor looked on at their exchange, perplexed at why anyone would care where someone’s elbows happened to fall. He did sit up straighter though, moving his own elbows aside to make sure they didn’t offend.

“So, Mr. MacAteer, why don’t you tell me about how you came to be in Montana?” Moira asked, hoping for more information on the man, and a way to deflect attention from her earlier slip. Pryor just shook his head.

“Nothing to tell, and please don’t call me Mr. MacAteer anymore. The name’s Pryor, but folks just call me Pry.”

“Pry, then,” Moira agreed in an overly chipper voice. “Surely there must be some story behind your journey to the West, your wishes to set up a life out here on your own.”

“Nothing to tell. But what about you? Surely there must be a story there of your own to worry about?” His response wasn’t unkind, but it certainly lacked any semblance of cordiality. Moira chose to take the higher road and answer him, ignoring his brusque tone and measuring her responses carefully.

“I chose to come to America to avoid controversy within my family,” she began, choosing her words carefully lest he take the wrong impression of her.

“Let me guess. Your dad was forcing you to marry some disgusting old codger just because he had money?” Pryor asked ruefully.

“My father has passed away. My mother, too, before you say something disrespectful about her as well.” She waited while Pryor mumbled an apology, looking down at his half-eaten meal. “But to answer your question, yes, marriage to a disgusting old codger—a wealthy one, even—was almost unavoidable. And my brother’s life was in jeopardy if I refused to marry him; therefore, I removed myself from the scenario.”

Pryor looked at Moira for a moment with newfound respect. “So you stowed away on a ship and came all this way? I have to say it, I am impressed. That took ingenuity, but it also took more courage than most men I know even have in them.” 

“First of all, Mister MacA—I mean, Pryor,” she began, correcting herself when she saw the faint look of warning on his face. “I did not stow away. I not only have too much class and good breeding for that sort of behavior, I am also a lady of means. Therefore, I purchased our passage, as well as paid for my claim once I reached New York.”

“What do you mean? You’ve paid your full claim?” Pryor dropped his spoon to his plate with a clatter and sat back in his chair, looking between the two women to see if this was some kind of a trick. “Most men who come out here take years of sweat and prayer to pay off what they owe, and there’s already some who’ve lost everything and had to head back east. There’s some who couldn’t even afford the train passage or a passing coach to head home. They had to start back on foot carrying what was left of their belongings on their backs.” 

Moira looked to Gretchen to see that the younger girl wasn’t frightened by the reality Pryor described, but her wide-eyed look gave her away. The maid, although certainly not a girl of any kind of her own wealth, had always been aligned to the Brennan’s household and had therefore never felt the pinch of want, especially not where sustenance and basic comforts of life were concerned. Moira gave her maid a reassuring smile before turning back to Pryor.

“Well, fortunately, that is not the circumstance I find myself in. As a matter of fact, I need to begin acquiring supplies of my own very soon if I’m to begin developing my land.”

Pryor regarded her again silently, watching her for a moment as he weighed his words. His solemn expression grew somewhat darker.

“Your land? You thinking of building on your claim? But what about our contract?”

“What of it? I have already stated to you quite plainly that I did not enter into any contract, certainly not one to be married to a complete stranger. If that was an option I could stomach, I could have stayed in Ireland and become a duchess in the bargain. I traveled all this way in search of freedom, and to keep my brother safe from harm.”

Moira softened her tone at the look of obvious disappointment on Pryor’s face.

“We will go through the papers together and uncover where the error lies,” she continued. “If it shows that I am at fault in this misunderstanding, I will gladly repay you any costs you’ve incurred. As it stands, I will also happily compensate you fairly in both work and funds for your continued hospitality, if that’s agreeable to you.”

Pryor stood up after pondering her pronouncement. He silently cleared the dishes and placed them on the sideboard, saving the leftovers in a scrap pail for the animals. Only after he finished cleaning up from the meal did he come back to the table, standing over his chair as he said, “I didn’t think this arrangement was just hospitality. I hoped you were agreeing to come with me.”

“I’m sorry you were mistaken,” Moira said in a soft voice, barely above a whisper. “Let us see where the confusion occurred, and then we can set about trying to write off for a new wife for you, one who is eager to meet you, as I’m sure there are plenty of women wont to do. You are a generous and honorable man, and I know there must be no shortage of able women who would be proud to become your wife.”

Pryor nodded thoughtfully then sat down. Moira breathed a sigh of relief at his acceptance of the situation, then, with a nod and a spoken word of thanks, dismissed Gretchen. The maid retreated to a chair in the corner of the living area and retrieved her knitting from her bag, her sure sign that she was dutifully no longer participating in her mistress’ conversation. Pryor watched the exchange, but was more bemused than irritated by it this time.

“Does she always do what you say?” he asked with a cocky smirk. “Can’t she do anything for herself?”

“I’m not sure why that disturbs you. She was my ladies’ maid back in Ireland, why should she suddenly find herself without employment just because our address has changed?”

“I don’t know, I guess it makes sense when you say it that way. But there’s a whole part of the country where these so-called ‘servants’ of yours don’t have any say in the matter, and it’s got a lot of people up in arms.”

“I am aware of the news from the American South, and I think you must know before you let me stay on at your property that I agree completely with the abolitionists. But Gretchen is not in those poor souls’ same situation, as she has every right to come and go as she pleases. I think you’ll find the situation you’re describing is far different. But for now, let’s look to these papers we each possess.” Moira reached for the tied packet of papers Pryor had retrieved from his wall cupboard, and held it along with the telegram he’d received in the post. The telegram, which was only received in Ohio, then had to be sent by mail, which Pryor had had to pick up from the nearest military post. New Hope had no official post office, as its postmaster only took and received letters for payment of their transit, which he arranged himself at both his own cost and his own risk. It explained how the document had reached him before she did, but only by a little.

“Here is the first area of concern, Pry. This is not my signature. Look,” she explained, turning the paper around to show him the papers he’d received in the post, compared to the homestead claim she’d signed in New York for Mr. Walsh. He seemed to look at them and compare them, but he only shrugged.

“I don’t know enough about signatures to know what’s right or wrong. But if you say they’re not the same, I believe you.”

“Thank you. But that’s not all. This document that you received has the wrong initial right here.” She pointed to the offending letter. “I have several names, as I’m the only daughter in the family and I’m named after several persons. Therefore, I don’t use any single initial with my name and signature. But whomever forged this document used my first letter, D. Also, if you’ll notice, my title is missing. I try my best not to count myself higher in human worth than those around me, but I am a titled young lady and therefore, I sign my documents as such. It’s required of nobility, especially when entering into a contract, but this individual did not put down my title.”

Pryor creased his brow as he compared the two. Even he could see that there was an irregularity to the documents, but he had no idea how or why it could have happened.

“Who would have sent me a false letter? What would anyone get out of it?” he asked, still scanning both papers.

“Money, perhaps? Is it likely you were swindled out of the fees?”

“It’s possible, I suppose. But you’re here, so I don’t see how it could be just about money. If someone was just going to steal from me, why bother going to the trouble to sign it and arrange to send you? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say this has something to do with you. I just happened to be the good excuse to get you sent out here.”

“But I chose to come! I don’t see how this could have happened either. Who would profit in any way from convincing me that I owned a claim, for which I have the paperwork in my hand, but then have me become your wife upon my arrival?”

“How did you say you got here?” Pryor asked, then waited patiently for Moira to explain it all in greater detail, nodding thoughtfully as he listened. “So, your brother wrote to the land office? How did he know where you would be heading if you left in the middle of the night?”

It was Moira’s turn to stare pensively, mulling over the turn of events. Ronan couldn’t have known her plans until he found the letter she’d left him, yet he’d been able to send a letter ahead of her? The ship that carried her had docked in a number of ports to take on passengers and cargo, so she’d just assumed a letter from Ireland had reached New York ahead of her. But Pryor was right, she’d only ever spoken to one cousin about the homestead idea. This cousin…

“My uncle!” she cried, looking aghast. The sound of her mistress’ distress brought Gretchen running to Moira’s side, and she cast a look at Pryor as if daring him to tell her to get back. Moira collapsed against Gretchen’s shoulder, but continued. “My uncle must have learned of my plans from his son, my cousin, Francis, and then all but sold me into marriage! It was his effort to get me out of my brother’s household in order to take control of the estate our father left!”

Gretchen pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and offered it to Moira to dry her tears. Pryor, unused to ladies’ emotions, leaned away from them as they clung to each other, but understood the pain Moira was suffering. He waited for her to compose herself, thinking through the strange situation they all found themselves in.

Finally, Moira’s sobs quieted and she let herself be comforted in Gretchen’s embrace. She moaned softly in her fear for her brother, the brother she’d left behind to face the plotting, conniving relatives and their insatiable greed. Pryor finally spoke.

“I see it now. You were tricked into coming here. You can stay until the train comes next month, and I’ll return you to New Hope. Then you can go anywhere you like. There’s no contract between us.”