An Angel in the Mail Page 5

  “Yeah. All mamas do.”

  They both edged closer. “Maybe we should wake her up, so she can git started on some.”

  As one boy reached out to touch her, the other grabbed his arm. “No. Papa would be mad.”

  If she hadn’t been so tired she would probably have enjoyed the conversation. But with the sound of the twins banging into things as they tried to leave quietly, she fell back into a deep sleep.

  Saturdays being a half-day in his shop, Nate was home by dinnertime. Silence greeted him as he opened the door. The boys were most likely playing outside somewhere under Mrs. Darby’s supervision. No coffee sat warming on the stove, no aroma of a cooked meal wafted in the air, and the dishes from breakfast were still piled in the sink. His shoes made a cracking sound as they stuck to the tacky kitchen floor.

  He trudged up the stairs, and entered the bedroom. Angel was still asleep. She had turned over, so at least she wasn’t dead. When was the last time the girl slept?

  The bed dipped as he sat at the edge and lightly touched her arm. “Angel,” he said softly.

  No response.

  He tried again, tapping her gently. “Angel, can you wake up?”

  The young woman shifted on the bed and moaned slightly. He grinned, and shook her a little harder. His new wife shifted onto her back, and his breath caught at the sight of the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. Yesterday, with all the confusion, he hadn’t noticed them. She lay there, staring at him, blinking in confusion.

  “How do you feel?” He shifted so he could see her better, and the movement placed his hip solidly against hers. A tingle swept through him with the connection, and he fought to ignore its meaning.

  “Fine.” Barely a whisper.

  He rubbed the new gold band on her delicate finger. “Are you hungry?”

  She shrugged her shoulder. “A little.”

  “I have soup left from last night’s supper. Do you want some?”

  “All right.”

  “Why don’t I leave while you get up and dress? Then we can talk.”

  He rose and pushed his hands deep into his pockets. “I, ah, had to take off your dress last night. It was all wet.”

  Her wide eyes, over the edge of the blanket she’d pulled up, caused his words to tumble out. “But I left everything else on. Well, except your shoes and stockings. Oh, and your, ah, corset.”

  He coughed and looked away, and edged toward the door. “I brought your trunk up last night. I’ll be in the kitchen.” He waved toward the door. “Just follow the hallway to the end, and the kitchen’s right at the bottom of the stairs.” He closed the bedroom door, and wiped his forehead. Those beautiful blue eyes peering at him did something to his insides.

  She looks scared to death.

  Angel stared at the door, afraid to move. This is where he tells me I’m not what he’d expected and I should pack my bags and get back on the stagecoach.

  Nate’s hesitancy yesterday, when the nice women were prodding him to get the wedding over with, stung. Now he’d probably thought about it, and realized the last thing he needed was a wife who threw up on him, cried through her wedding, and fell into such a sound sleep that she needed to be carried to bed.

  She glanced at the ring on her finger, and twisted it around. Yep, it was real. She had married what seemed like a decent man who was in for the surprise of his life the first time she tried to put a meal on his table. Could accidental poisoning be considered a criminal act?

  Angel sighed and swung her legs over the bed. No point in avoiding the inevitable. She shivered when she put her fingers in the water bowl. Cold water. No maid had brought warm water, washing cloths and hot chocolate for her to sip as she selected her outfit for a day of shopping and visiting. Nevertheless, she used the cold water to clean her teeth, and wash up.

  The next issue was finding a dress. She rummaged through her trunk, and found one less wrinkled, but definitely not the style the women from yesterday wore. How would Mr. Hale react to seeing her in the yellow silk gown with a bodice trimmed in white lace? The puffed sleeves called for her short white kid gloves.

  Not too helpful when slopping the hogs.

  She inhaled deeply to calm her racing heart, and ran sweaty palms down the skirt to smooth the wrinkles. A quick glance in the mirror over the dresser confirmed what she’d feared. Her hair was a tangled mess, and despite all her hours of sleep, the skin under her eyes looked puffy.

  Her gaze drifted over the room reflected in the mirror. His bedroom. Well, hers too, now. Drab olive green walls with brown and green print curtains. A sturdy oak bed, a worn cherry wood dresser. The quilt was a red and blue plaid, and could use a washing. Her stomach jolted. That would be my job.

  Nothing matched, making for a dizzying effect. One oil lamp sat on a small table next to the white pitcher and bowl she’d washed with.

  An indentation on the pillow next to hers raised goose bumps on her arms. He’d slept beside her. Interesting. She’d spent her first night in bed with a man, and she’d slept through it.

  Nathan Hale was indeed, as he described himself, not hard to look at. His wavy, dark blond hair hung over his forehead, and skimmed his collar in the back. Although just awakened from sleep, she’d been aware of his square-jawed face, and hazel eyes. His broad shoulders had blocked out the sunlight when he sat next to her.

  Curly, dark blond hairs had poked out from the open collar of his white shirt. He’d shoved up the sleeves, revealing tanned, muscular arms, feathered with light hairs. His strong fingers had slid over her wedding band. How would it feel to have those fingers touching her, caressing her in sensitive places? Deep in her woman’s spot, something clenched.

  Her experience with men was limited to a few kisses stolen in the moonlight, and hands that groped in dark carriages at night, which she’d slapped away. But this was different. This man was her husband, and by law had the right to do more than grope.

  She swallowed and glanced again at the bed. Of course, once he discovered her lack of housekeeping skills, she’d most likely be on the next stagecoach back to New York. She pushed the thought from her mind.

  Finished with her ablutions, Angel smoothed the covers on the bed and left the room.

  Nate stood at the stove, his back to her, stirring something she assumed was the soup. “Go ahead, and take a seat,” he commented over his shoulder as he reached for a clean bowl from the ones stacked alongside the sink. Expertly, he poured the soup, placed the dish and a spoon in front of her. He grabbed a loaf of bread from the pantry, sliced a couple of pieces, and laid them on a plate in the middle of the table. Then he dished soup into another bowl and set it across from her.

  He sat down, and after saying a brief prayer began to eat. He reached for a piece of bread, and looked at her. Their eyes met.

  “Too hot for you?”

  “No. No, I haven’t tried it yet. What kind of soup is it?” She glanced at the red liquid with vegetables and pale chunks floating around in it.

  “It’s one of Mrs. Darby’s. She does that a lot. Cooks a meal and leaves it. It’s something with codfish. Try it.” He pointed at her bowl with his spoon.

  Angel took a sip of the soup, amazed at how hungry she was. She selected a piece of bread, and not seeing a plate to place it on, held the bread in her hand as she ate the soup. A strange way to have a meal, with the stickiness and crumbs still on the table. Since she was so hungry, she just ate, and didn’t dwell too much on the surroundings.

  The soup was thick and flavorful. Even Cook’s soup wouldn’t surpass this fragrant dish. It seemed such a long time since she’d eaten a meal. The bread was moist and delicious. Mrs. Darby was an excellent cook.

  Nate got a second bowl for himself, and sliced more bread. He looked at her with raised eyebrows, the soup ladle in his hand. “More?”


  She shook her head. As hungry as she’d been, she still found herself full after one serving. Angel pushed the empty bowl away, and regarded him. His face and body was relaxed, content. He appeared to be a man who took the rolls and punches as they came. She guessed with five kids, he would have to be that way.

  Her fingers itched to reach out and push back the hair hanging over his forehead. He grinned at her with straight white teeth, a small dimple marking his left cheek. Her heart sped up and a slow warmth began to creep up from her middle.

  Flustered, she looked away and studied the room.

  Obviously a family with children lived here. Shoes, dirty socks and toys were scattered about. One of the kitchen chairs had a couple of small pillows on it, with a strap dangling down the side. Must be where the baby sits for her meals.

  Once finished with his soup, he leaned back in the chair and crossed his muscular arms over his chest. His gaze settled on her for a couple of beats before he spoke. “I’m sorry we got off to a bad start yesterday.”

  He was apologizing to her, when she threw up on him, cried through their wedding and then slept like the dead? If she didn’t feel guilty enough about Sylvia’s duplicity, her behavior since she’d arrived compounded it.

  “Mr. Hale.” She sat up straighter in her chair. “I really think I should apologize to you. I was unwell from the stagecoach ride. I hadn’t slept much the whole trip. I was dirty, smelly, and certainly not at my best.”

  He waved off her concerns. “Let’s say we start now. And the first thing we have to do is drop the ‘Mr. Hale’ when you speak to me. The name’s Nathan, but I prefer Nate.”

  “All right. You already know I prefer Angel to Angelina.” She smiled briefly, but then grew serious. “Where are all the children?”

  “Julia-Rose—that’s the baby, she’s nine months old—is with Mrs. Darby. You remember her from yesterday? She’s the woman who has been a sort of housekeeper for me since Amy died.”

  Amy must have been his first wife. Not sure what to say, she simply nodded.

  He continued. “Matt is nine, Mark eight, and the twins Luke and John are five. As we speak, they’re probably out terrorizing the neighborhood, which is what they usually do on Saturday afternoons.”

  “Matthew, Mark, Luke and John?” Angel said, trying to hold back a smile.

  Nate ran his fingers through his hair and grinned. “Yeah, Amy liked biblical names.”

  “What about Julia-Rose?”

  “Well, since we just assumed she’d have another boy, Amy wanted Adam. I guess she figured to start at the beginning of the Old Testament and work from there.” He smiled enough for his dimple to show. She couldn’t stop staring at his mouth.

  “But Julia-Rose surprised us, and since Amy hadn’t picked a girl’s name, and she felt so poorly for a long time after the baby was born, I chose her name.”

  “Julia-Rose is a beautiful name.”

  “So that’s the extent of the Hale family.” He leaned his elbows on the table. “What about you? Your letters were a bit skimpy.”

  “Um, actually I don’t remember much of what I wrote.” Angel hesitated. What lies had Sylvia told him?

  She’d still been too numb when her stepmother left to question her. “What do you want to know?”

  “Well, I know from our correspondence that you’re an only child, and twenty-two years old. Mr. Hardwick passed away recently, and you have a stepmother who lives with her sister. Oh, and it’s nice to know you and your stepmother got along so well.”

  Angel narrowed her eyes at the last part of his statement, but she just nodded. Her hands itched to wrap them around Sylvia’s neck.

  “I guess what I want to know the most is why someone who looks like you agreed to be a mail order bride.”

  Angel blushed. “Um, that seems to be a compliment, but the reason I haven’t married until now is because of my father’s illness, which went on for almost two years before he died. I couldn’t consider courting, with him so sick. He had a wasting sickness that the doctors couldn’t do anything for.”

  “I’m sorry.” Nate touched her hand briefly. “But why all the way out here?” he pressed.

  Angel opted for part of the truth. “With Papa gone and my stepmother moving in with her sister in Virginia, I decided to leave New York City where there were too many memories of my father.”

  Nate’s eyebrows rose.

  Oh God, he doesn’t believe that for one minute. She jumped when four noisy boys charged through the back door of the kitchen. The boy who appeared to be the oldest, held Julia-Rose. They all stopped abruptly and quietly stared at her.

  Heavens, this was it. They expected her to be a mother to them and a wife to their father. All the blood left her face.

  “Hello.” Angel’s mouth was so dry it was a miracle she got the one word out.

  Julia-Rose put her arms out. With shaky hands she took the baby from Matt, and placed her in her lap. What if I drop her? Or break her?

  She looked to Nate for help, but he just smiled.

  “Looks like you’ve made a friend already.”

  Julia-Rose turned her head in her father’s direction when she heard his voice. “Mama.”

  A warm, wet spot spread on the front of Angel’s dress.

  After the boys ate, Nate gave Angel a tour of the house. Pleasantly roomy for an in-town residence, there were four large rooms downstairs. To the right of the entrance was a parlor, with plenty of windows to let in light. A fireplace took up almost the entire far wall, and across from the window facing the street, sat a comfortable looking, but worn settee. Two unmatched chairs flanked a table with an oil lamp sitting on it. A flowered carpet, badly in need of beating, covered most of the wooden floor. Any female touches had vanished during the months of only males living in the house.

  Her eyes narrowed as she imagined brighter curtains and colorful doilies for the back of the chairs and under the lamp. And of course, a good cleaning would improve the look of the room immensely. Oh, dear, another one of my jobs.

  Behind the parlor was a room Nate explained he used as a library. She smiled at the numerous shelves of books. Two overstuffed chairs occupied the area in front of the room’s fireplace, and she envisioned them both sitting there peacefully in the evening, reading. If there is such a thing as a peaceful evening in this household.

  To the left of the front entrance, a dining room led into a large kitchen, a swinging wooden door separating them. A small washroom piled with dirty clothes sat at the bottom of the back staircase.

  The second floor included three bedrooms as cluttered and dirty as the rest of the house. The boys’ bedroom had the typical disarray of rocks, string, toys, clothes and books scattered about. Julia-Rose’s room was not in use since her crib took up the corner in Nate’s room.

  “I know things are kinda messy.” Nate turned to her and grimaced. “I’ve tried to keep up, and Mrs. Darby does what she can, but it’s been a while since the house has had a good cleaning.” He turned to her with a smile. “I know once you get it all organized, you’ll feel a lot better.”

  She tried to smile, but didn’t quite make it.

  Every room he showed her needed a good scrubbing.

  “Don’t worry,” he added as he started down the staircase. “I know it will take a couple days to get it all done. There’s no hurry.”

  A couple of days! How about a couple of months? Panic gathered in her stomach and raced toward her heart. It beat so fast, she thought he must surely hear it. A fine sheen of sweat broke out all over her body, and she grabbed the banister as black dots danced in front of her eyes.

  “You okay?” Nate’s voice drifted over her from a distance.

  Someone slapped her hand and called her name. She lay on the settee in the living room. Apparently she’d
fainted again. Ever since this mail order bride debacle had started, she’d fainted more times than she had her whole life.

  “Angel?” Nate looked at her with concerned eyes.

  She tried to sit up. He pressed his hand onto her shoulder.

  “Stay right there for a minute. You’re probably still worn out from your trip. I’m going for a wet cloth.”

  Angel laid her forearm across her eyes and moaned. Why did he have to be so nice? She wanted to shout at someone, bang her fists against the wall and rage at life.

  He returned and placed a cool cloth on her forehead.

  “Mrs. Darby had a few of the neighborhood women send over meals, so you at least won’t have to cook for a few days.”

  God bless Mrs. Darby. Angel began to rise. “I’ll see to heating one of them up.”

  “No.” He eased her back down again. “It’s too early, and I really think you need more rest. I’ll put one in the oven later and have the boys set the table.” He patted her hand again. “It will be all right. Don’t fret.”

  Tears flooded her eyes. It will never be all right again.

  Her life was over. She faced years of drudgery with a man too charming to hate. The children all seemed okay—if she could remember who was who—and the baby was adorable, but Angel would never fit in. What in heaven’s name was she to do?

  The slanted sun coming through the parlor window felt warm on her face. Angel opened her eyes and realized evening was approaching and she must have fallen asleep. Good heavens. She jerked to get up just as Nate entered the room with Julia-Rose. “Why don’t you two get to know each other better while I finish up a few things?”

  “Mama.” The little girl reached out to Angel. Warm feelings filled her stomach. Not panic this time, but something else. Something soft and cuddly. She sat up and took the baby from his arms. Angel laid her cheek on the soft, silky hair and inhaled. Baby smells.

  One step at a time. Babies were easy to love, and this one was no exception. Julia-Rose ran her chubby fingers over Angel’s face and giggled. Babies hadn’t played a big part in her life. In fact, she’d never even held one until today. This she could get used to.