Finding Hope (Mail Order Bride: Brides And Promises Book 1) Page 3

  Grace’s hands grew clammy, as she thought of the padding she’d placed around her body and the paints she had on her face. Surely, it would not matter too much. The man clearly only wanted a wife to cook and clean and care for the children, so what would it matter if she looked a little different from her photograph?

  Her chin lifted, Grace steadied her resolve, and as the doors opened, she followed the other passengers out onto the platform. The porters immediately set to work, taking out the rest of the luggage, but Grace barely noticed them. She was too busy looking for the man who was going to change her life.

  “Miss Grace Thackery? A Miss Grace Thackery?”

  Grace held her breath as she heard her name being called. All around her, men were finding their brides-to-be, and the whoops and hollers made her heart jump with delight. Clearly, these men were more than happy with their brides, and as some began to pull away from the crowd towards waiting buggies, Grace found herself almost entirely alone.

  A man from the back of the crowd slowly made his way forward.

  She couldn’t breathe. The man carried her photograph, and as he moved towards her, Grace tried her best to smile brightly, her heart beating wildly in her chest. He was tall and broad and a little weather-beaten—not surprising for a man who spent all his time outside in the sun. He was neither particularly handsome nor particularly plain, and from the first impression, Grace thought that he looked as though he might be quite a suitable husband.

  “George Stubbs?” she asked breathlessly. “Are you George Stubbs?”

  Much to her surprise, the man stopped in front of her and frowned. “Yes, I’m George Stubbs,” he said slowly. “But who might you be?”

  “I’m Grace,” she replied, a little confused. “We have been corresponding through letters.”

  George frowned, his dark brown eyes filled with anger. “You don’t look nothing like your picture,” he said fiercely, running one hand through his dark hair. “Are you sure you’re really Grace?”

  Grace swallowed hard, remembering what she had told herself only a few minutes ago. “Yes, I’m Grace. I’m the one in that photograph. I’m here to marry you and to be a help to you, supporting you and raising your children. I’m a good cook. I make all my own clothes. I—”

  “This ain’t you!” George pointed wildly at the photograph, his eyes blazing with fury. “Or if it is, you did something to yourself to make me think you were purty!”

  Something began to burn in Grace’s soul. “There ain’t to be no love or affection between us, so what does it matter what I look like?” she said, her voice trembling. “Surely you’re not going to let something like this get in the way of what could be a very happy life for us.”

  Much to her horror, George spat—hard—right at her feet. “You lied to me,” he grated, his face now inches from hers. “Whatever you did right here, that is a plain-faced lie. There ain’t going to be no wedding here today.”

  Grace felt herself tremble all over, her entire life crashing around her into small pieces. “No wedding?” she repeated, clasping her hands together tightly in front of her. “But what am I to do? I have nowhere else to go.”

  “Go back home!” George exclaimed, turning on his heel and striding away from her, dropping the photograph to the ground. “Do whatever you want, Miss Grace. You won’t be marrying me any time soon. I’ll be choosing myself another Mrs. Stubbs.”

  Grace tried to go after him but found herself staggering as her entire body began to shake. She picked up the photograph and made to hurry after him, but found she couldn’t move.

  One of the porters caught her arm, and although he didn’t say much, he helped her to sit down on a nearby bench and then brought all her luggage to sit by her side. Grace couldn’t even speak to thank him, her eyes fixed on George Stubbs, willing him to turn around and tell her that he’d made a mistake.

  He did no such thing. Instead, he climbed into his wagon, the wagon she was meant to put her luggage in, and rode away, not even pausing to give her one final glance.

  Grace dissolved into sobs, tears tracking down her cheeks and dripping through her fingers, as she covered her face with her hands. Everything she’d hoped for, everything she’d dreamed about, had broken apart in a second—and it was all because she wasn’t one of those pretty girls.

  It didn’t matter to George Stubbs that she could cook and clean, that she could care for children and work the fields. It only mattered to him what she looked like. His parting words were etched into her very soul, stinging her with a deep, enduring pain: “I’ll be choosing myself another Mrs. Stubbs.”

  Her sobs intensified, her body racked with grief and pain. If only she’d not allowed herself to be so easily influenced when the time had come for her photograph to be taken. Then she might not have ended up in this situation.

  “I probably wouldn’t be here at all,” Grace whispered to herself, realizing now that George Stubbs would have rejected her the moment he saw her true likeness. Then she would have been able to try and find the right kind of man for her, instead of pinning all her hopes on the one man to write back to her.

  She’d been desperate to leave her dusty old town and find a new life—too desperate. She’d had no patience, no willingness to wait. That was why she had sent that photograph to George, convincing herself that he wouldn’t really care once she appeared.

  How wrong she’d been.

  “Are you quite all right?”

  Grace looked up to see a kind-looking, older lady looking down at her, her face etched with worry.

  “Whatever has happened to you?”

  Tears threatened to pour rivers down her cheeks once more, but haltingly, Grace managed to tell the lady a little about herself.

  “I was meant to marry George Stubbs, but I’m too plain for him,” she whispered, wiping her eyes. “My photograph didn’t exactly match up to…this.” She gestured to her face, completely ashamed of herself and hoping that the lady didn’t see the photograph sticking out of the top of her luggage. “I just wanted a new life, a home and a family of my own. He left me here, and now I have nowhere to go!”

  “Ah,” the lady replied, patting Grace’s shoulder. “So that’s it, is it? Not the first time it’s happened, I can tell you.”

  Grace looked up at her, confused. “Not the first time?”

  The lady chuckled, shaking her head ruefully. “These men, they don’t see any more than the outward appearance. Think of themselves as kings, destined to have the prettiest bride in all the land.” She gestured wildly, spreading her arms out wide. “Simple country folk, they are, but still they think they deserve the best of the lot when they’re not exactly the most handsome men that ever walked the earth!”

  “No,” Grace mumbled, managing to dry her eyes. “I suppose not. I thought that George Stubbs wanted someone to cook and clean, to care for his children and help with his farm. I belived that my other qualities would push aside that I’m plain. Although I know I should never have lied. I was just desperate for a new life.” She sniffed, realizing that she was pouring her heart out to a perfect stranger. “I’m sorry for crying all over you. It has just come as something of a shock.”

  “I’m quite sure it has,” the lady replied, still smiling. “Now, if you can get the porter to put your luggage on my wagon, we’d best be going.”

  Grace stared at her, frozen to her seat. “I’m sorry?”

  “Well, you need a place to stay, don’t you? Or were you planning to just take the next train back home?”

  “No, I-I don’t have a home back there any more,” Grace stammered, not quite sure what to make of this lady. “Do you mean that I can stay with you?”

  “Of course, you can!” the lady replied, chuckling at Grace’s astonished expression. “I’ve been needing a lodger, as well as a bit of help around the place. We can sort the details out once we get back home, of course.” Her smile softened. “I know it’s not quite the new life you were hoping for, but it’ll be better
than going back home, won’t it?”

  Grace swallowed the lump in her throat, her vision misting as she grasped the lady’s hand. Such unexpected kindness from a complete stranger! There was something about the lady that had Grace trusting her almost at once, in the same way that she’d found herself pouring out her whole sorry story to her.

  “Are you quite sure?” she whispered, her hands twisting together in her lap. “I’d be most grateful.”

  “Of course, I’m sure,” the lady replied firmly. “Now, come along, Miss Grace. We’ve got a whole lot of talking to do, and the train station ain’t the best place to do it.” She patted Grace’s shoulder, evidently seeing her smile wobble. “I’m Mrs. Mary Stevens, by the way. I’m pretty sure we’re going to get along just fine.”

  4

  The following morning, Grace woke to discover that the sunlight was trying its best to peek through the curtains, a small beam of light landing directly on her face. Blinking, she tried to force her groggy eyes to remain open, her entire body feeling heavy, as a deep-seated weariness settled in.

  Mrs. Stevens had been a blessing from heaven, that was for sure. She’d taken Grace to her home, insisted on making dinner and had said they would talk more about the details and the like the following day, leaving Grace to her own thoughts for a time. Grace had eaten, washed, and then stumbled into bed, completely exhausted by all that had gone on. She had wondered if she would sleep, given that her thoughts were so tumultuous. Apparently, she’d slept deeply and for a long time.

  Mrs. Stevens had told her not to worry about rising early, so Grace had just allowed herself to rest. Even now she found it difficult to get out of bed.

  Sighing heavily to herself, Grace turned over and closed her eyes again, shame and embarrassment filling her very soul. George’s rejection of her yesterday had been like a knife blow, stabbing her heart with its sharp blade. The way he’d looked at her, the disgust in his eyes as he’d seen her as she really was, had wounded her deeply.

  And yet, Grace knew she had to take responsibility for what she had done. For what she’d allowed herself to be cajoled into.

  There was no one to blame but herself for the photograph George had waved under her nose. She was the one who had allowed the padding to be placed on her body, who had agreed to have paint on her face and even a wig on her head. Her cheeks burned as she grew ashamed of what she had done, whispering a prayer of repentance and knowing that it was her own fault that George had rejected her so publicly.

  The man was foolish not to consider her other qualities rather than just looking at her outward appearance, but Grace had to admit that such an issue was his own and had nothing to do with her. She had come to meet him, dreaming of their future together, only to be turned away because of her own unwise choice. She had to take responsibility for that.

  Pushing herself out of bed, Grace attempted to push her long, brown hair out of her eyes, knowing she was going to have to brush it into her usual bun before it started to frustrate her. It was a blessing to have long hair, her mother had always said, but Grace wished hers was a little more pliable. Scraping it into a bun always took some time since it just did not want to do what she wanted! There were always wisps here and there, and often times, her hair began to fall out of her bun before she’d even finished putting in the pins since it was just so thick and heavy.

  Quickly tying it into a plait and promising to do it properly later, Grace rose to wash and dress, finally pulling back the curtains and looking outside at the view.

  The sun was already high in the sky, which meant it was probably closer to lunchtime than to breakfast. Trying not to be overly concerned about how long she’d slept – something she wasn’t used to in the least – Grace drew in a deep breath and made her way out of her bedroom and back into the small kitchen and living area.

  Mrs. Stevens was nowhere to be seen, although something was sitting on the kitchen table that Grace thought must have been left for her. It was covered with a red-and-white chequered cloth, and Grace lifted it to see some bread and jam, as well as an empty cup and a small jug of milk. Smiling to herself, Grace looked around the kitchen in search of a kettle and soon set about making herself some coffee. She hummed to herself as she sat down at the kitchen table, her stomach grumbling in anticipation. Whispering a grace over her food and remembering to be thankful for Mrs. Stevens, Grace opened her eyes and began to eat.

  While she ate, she had an opportunity to look about at the small house she was to call home. It was a small but pretty house, built with timber, giving the house a deliciously earthy smell. It was rather different from the home she’d grown up in since it was all on one floor, but Grace found herself smiling at the thought of living here. There was a simpleness about it that she found quite contenting.

  The kitchen and living areas were all in one big room, with two bedrooms just to her left. There were plenty of homey touches, from the chequered cloth that had been draped over her food to the handmade curtains in the windows. Grace chewed the last of her toast, wondering if she could have a look outside. She hadn’t had much time to explore her surroundings last evening since it had been getting late, and even just to sit on the porch steps nursing her coffee would be wonderful.

  Washing her plate and utensils carefully, Grace managed to find where the dishes were kept and put everything away neatly. She didn’t want to be a burden to Mrs. Stevens, not when she had been so kind to her, and that meant tidying up after herself. Her coffee refilled, Grace opened the front door and stepped outside into the warm sun, pausing for a moment just to let the warmth penetrate her skin.

  Sitting down on the porch steps, Grace looked all about her, seeing the wide-open fields that lay all around her. A flock of hens pecked around in the dirt, and if she narrowed her eyes a little, Grace was sure she could see a few cows in the distance. Did this all belong to Mrs. Stevens? If so, it was no wonder she needed some help around the place!

  “Excuse me? Who are you?”

  Jerking in surprise, the coffee sloshing dangerously close to the rim of her cup, Grace turned her head to see who had spoken to her. A man had come around the left-hand side of the house and, now walking closer to her, had a rather suspicious expression on his face. He was fairly tall with broad shoulders and a strong stance. As he watched her with dark blue eyes, he pulled up his cowboy hat from the back of his neck and placed it firmly over his mussed fair hair, giving every appearance of a man who was not at all pleased at finding her here.

  “Well?” he asked abruptly, folding his arms. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Grace,” she stammered, taken aback by his hostile tone. “I’m sorry, was I not meant to sit here?”

  “Are you waiting for Mrs. Stevens?” he asked, ignoring her question. “And do you always make it a habit to go in and help yourself to her coffee while you’re waiting?”

  Grace bristled in annoyance, a pinch of anger burning in her soul. “No, of course I don’t,” she replied, looking up at him with a direct gaze and lifting her chin a fraction. “I live here now.”

  That took the wind from his sails. Much to her satisfaction, Grace saw that the angry expression died away almost at once and was replaced with confusion and puzzlement.

  “You live here?” he repeated, his hands dropping to his sides. “Since when?”

  “Since yesterday,” Grace replied firmly, not wanting to go into the reasons why she was now here. “Not that I can see how it’s any of your business.” She sniffed and looked away, not particularly wanting to carry on their conversation.

  The man, whoever he was, had made some assumptions about her—and she did not like that. As far as she was concerned, who she was and what she was doing here had nothing to do with him. If he had questions, he could ask Mrs. Stevens, whom Grace knew wouldn’t give too much of Grace’s story away. After all, Mrs. Stevens knew just how mortified Grace had been and had already promised not to say too much.

  “It is my business,” the man muttered, s
haking his head. “What did you say your name was again?”

  Grace sighed inwardly and looked up at him. “Miss Grace Thackery,” she said, turning her head away from him again. “And you are?”

  “Thomas Stevens.”

  A flash of awareness ran straight through Grace, and she closed her eyes in embarrassment. “Any relation to Mrs. Stevens?” she mumbled, hardly able to drag her gaze back to his.”

  Thomas Stevens gave her a lazy smile, his features lighting almost at once. “My aunt,” he said, losing his angry stance. “I’m sorry I was harsh with you, Miss Grace. She didn’t say nothing to me about this. How long has it been planned for?”

  Grace gave him a tight smile, anxiety clawing in her belly. “It wasn’t planned,” she said, trying to think of a way to explain it. “Your aunt is just very kind. She found me at the train station with nowhere to go and decided to take me in.”

  “That sounds like her,” he replied, with a slight shake of his head. “Well, she’s been going on about finding someone to help her around the place for a while now, so I guess I’m glad she’s finally gone and done it. I just hope you’re good at cooking!”

  “I am,” Grace answered, trying not to roll her eyes. Why was it men always considered their stomachs first?

  He chuckled, his eyes now filled with warmth instead of ice. “My aunt ain’t the best, and it can be difficult to get through a meal, I’ll be honest with you.”

  Grace couldn’t help but smile back, seeing the pained expression on his face. “I’ll be happy to do the cooking whenever she needs me to. I’m well used to it.”

  He grinned, and Grace felt herself relax.

  “Well, I’ll sure be grateful for your cooking, Miss Grace.”

  “You haven’t tasted it yet, Mr. Stevens.”

  He looked at her with a lopsided smile on his face. “Just Thomas will do nicely, if you don’t mind. There’s not a whole lot of formality around this town.”

  Grace felt herself blush, not quite sure how to respond.