Molly's New Song (Brides 0f Pelican Rapids Book 5) Read online

  Mrs. Carter laughed and slapped him on the chest. “Oh, that. It was all a big mistake. Why, Mr. Carter and I couldn’t let her marry somebody so far from home. We might never see her again.”

  Luke dropped the licorice stick in the waste basket. Somehow, he didn’t think it was the right time to tell Mrs. Carter his mail-order bride was coming in next week, and he wouldn’t be available to court Mandy. Especially since he needed her help.

  “It’ll be nice to see her again. Do you have any yellow or green paint?”

  Mrs. Carter drew back like he might be dangerous. “We have some yellow and red...and white, of course. No green. Why in the world would you need yellow and green paint?”

  “You know I built a wood clapboard house beside my grandparents’ soddy? I decided to paint it.” He chuckled. “The house, not the soddy.”

  She nodded, knowingly. “Mandy told me about that. She didn’t have to tell me why. I don’t remember her favoring either yellow or green, though.”

  “I’d like to try it. I suppose the yellow costs more than whitewash.”

  “Quite a bit, I’m afraid.”

  “I’ll take a gallon and mix it with the whitewash I have left. That should be enough.”

  Mrs. Carter wrinkled her nose like she’d gotten a whiff of horse manure. “You really need a larger house when you get married, Luke. It’s hardly big enough to cuss a cat. I don’t know how Mandy can manage in that tiny place.”

  He’d have loved to build a bigger house, but money was tight. He turned around to inspect the garden tools hanging on the wall, not because he needed any new implements, but he needed some time to think of a way to straighten out Mrs. Carter’s misunderstanding without her having a fit. He glanced over his shoulder. “I intend to build on after harvest.”

  Mrs. Carter’s brows arched with unconcealed annoyance. “I doubt Mandy would want to wait that long.” She huffed. “But I have a chart about mixing dyes. It says you can get green by mixing yellow and blue.”

  He whirled around. “Really? That might work.”

  “I don’t have any blue paint, but we do carry blue fabric dye. Don’t know why you couldn’t use that. Color is color.”

  He laughed. “That’s right. Glad you mentioned it. I wouldn’t have thought of that. Add two gallons of yellow paint and a package of blue dye to my supply list. I’ll be back to pick everything up in a little while.”

  He got out of there before she could mention any more about Mandy, though he was curious why Mandy had called off her marriage.

  A ruckus down at the depot drew his attention. A crowd had gathered. Must be about half of Pelican Rapids standing around the street, making him wonder if there was a visiting dignitary like when President Grant came through. He had the time. Might as well see what was going on.

  Talking and laughter grew louder as he approached. Ben Johnson, standing on the depot platform, caught his eye. “Hey, Luke,” he yelled above the noise, “better get over here and see this.”

  The crowd parted like the Red Sea, revealing a—

  Piano?

  The biggest piano Luke had ever seen. Shaped funny too. But it had to be a piano. Luke had seen one in the saloon. Not that he visited the saloon too often, but he’d had to go in one day to drag Link Markham out for his wife. And he’d always heard the piano being played when he happened to pass that part of town at night. Playing tunes like Camptown Ladies, Oh Susanna, Buffalo Gals.

  No sir, this piano put the saloon piano to shame. It was spread out with curving sides and made of gleaning Cherrywood. But it had piano keys across the front.

  Mrs. Carter came hustling behind him, breathing heavy. She pushed her way through the crowd. “It’s a piano.” She looked at him like she was explaining to a three-year-old.

  “I know it’s a piano, but why was it delivered to me? I sure didn’t order a—” He drew in a breath.

  Molly.

  Somewhere in one of her ten-page letters she’d mentioned something about wishing she could bring her piano. But he’d dismissed that as wishful musing. She’d also written it cost too much, and Mrs. Milton hadn’t sent her enough money to freight a piano.

  He scratched his head, still wondering how he could have misunderstood Molly’s intentions. She’d also mentioned she wished she could bring the magnolia tree outside her bedroom window. He could’ve handled the magnolia tree. He had plenty of yard, though a magnolia tree would die during its first harsh Minnesota winter.

  The porter brought him a fistful of papers. He laid them on the piano’s glossy top. “Here you go, Mr. Ferrell. Sign here.” He shoved a pencil in Luke’s face and pointed to the top paper. “It came all the way from Georgia, and not a scratch on it.”

  “Yeah, it’s from Molly, uh, that is, Miss Stewart.” Luke took the pencil and signed the document.

  “Who’s Molly?” Mrs. Carter was at his elbow.

  “So, what are you going to do with it, son?” Mr. Lemon asked.

  Luke rubbed his neck. “If I can get a couple of you men to help me get it on my buckboard, I’ll take it out to the farm.”

  “It’ll take four men at least. That thing’s got to weigh a ton.” Sheriff Alton Kouch slapped him on the back. “Guess I need to round up a piano posse.” He tipped his Stetson back to peer at the sky. “Looks like it might rain.”

  “I’d appreciate that, Sheriff. Molly will be mighty upset if her piano gets wet.”

  Mrs. Carter got in his face. “Who is Molly?”

  “She’s my mail-order bride.” He could have bit his tongue as soon as the words flew out, but now that they had, maybe he could slam a door on the quarrelsome woman’s match-making plans. “Coming all the way from Georgia. You’re invited to the wedding, Mrs. Carter.” He swept a glance around the crowd. “Everyone is.”

  Mrs. Carter turned three shades of red. “What!” She held up a fist like she might throttle him. “What about your understanding with Mandy? How could you do this to her?” She shouted loud enough for everyone to hear.

  He replied just as loud but had the sense to take a step back. “Mandy and I didn’t have an understanding, Mrs. Carter. We were nothing more than friends. She said in her last letter she was getting married to that dentist back east.”

  “But I told you she’s not.” Mrs. Carter tried to block his way.

  He stepped around her. “Excuse me. I have to pull my buckboard up here.” Would there be room on the buckboard with all his supplies after they got the piano loaded?

  Chapter 3

  Thy God is with thee whitersoever thou goest. Josiah 1:9

  Molly couldn’t believe she was doing this. Sneaking out in the middle of the night to run away. But what choice did she have? It was conceivable Daddy would attempt to physically stop her from leaving.

  And leave she must. Tonight. She had to be on that train tomorrow morning. True, she should have confronted Daddy sooner, persuaded him this was best for her. Given time, Daddy would have come around. He loved her and wanted the best for her. Always had. Trouble was, he didn’t think marrying a Yankee was best for her.

  Her surreptitious leaving was causing all sorts of problems. She’d have to walk. Didn’t dare take Sulkie, the sorrel mare she’d had since Sulkie was a filly and Molly just toddling. She’d actually wept when she’d taken the horse some sugar cubes a little while ago and said her good-byes. Sulkie seemed to understand what she meant to do because she’d tried to follow Molly.

  It wasn’t likely she’d even have a horse in Minnesota. Didn’t farmers prefer mules? Certainly, they didn’t keep horses for a lady to ride for pleasure. A farmer’s wife didn’t have time for such luxuries.

  But she was used to hard work. She knew what she was getting into, the sacrifices she had to make. Even facing unknowns in an unknown land she knew God would go with her. The Spirit within her would guide the way.

  The years of depravities had brought her closer to God. The years since they’d lost the plantation, and then the land, had forced her
to do without luxuries. She’d learned to wash and sew her own clothes, clean her own house, cook for herself and Daddy. As money got scarcer, she’d taught the neighbor’s children piano. There weren’t many students to be had, but the few dollars she’d received from their better-off parents had stretched hers and Daddy’s provisions through several winters.

  She recalled her mammy, standing before her, hands on her ample hips, saying, “You got to do what you got to do, and iffn you don’t do it, little missy, you’ll do without.”

  Dear, wise Mammy. She’d left right after the war mercifully ended with the rest of them, though she’d written Molly several times since. Actually, one of her relatives had written for her because Mammy had never learned to read or write. She’d moved to Illinois. That wasn’t so far from Minnesota. Maybe Molly could visit her.

  She packed the two carpetbags she intended to take with as many clothes and personal items as she could stuff inside. She’d intended to take the big trunk, but there was no way she could lug that thing all the way to town.

  Even the carpetbags, fitted with leather shoulder slings, would test her strength. She rolled up her wedding gown–Mama’s gown. The lace had turned yellow, but it was still a beautiful dress. Tears had welled in her eyes when she’d tried it on, and she wanted to believe Mama would be looking down from heaven on her wedding day.

  She stuffed one of her two good dresses, a buttercup yellow of fine linen that looked so well with her dark hair. She wore the other, a fashionable blue gown she’d sewn this year, made from the silk and trim of old dresses.

  A glance at the clock told her she must hurry. She frantically piled in two old dresses that would be useful for house and yard work. Then emptied her dresser drawers of her underclothes and quickly stuffed them into the other carpetbag.

  With hand to her forehead, she scanned the room. She just knew she’d forgotten something, but time was running short. Nothing remained in sight except her old kid gloves, but they wouldn’t look right with her fancy blue dress.

  She stretched out her hands before her. They were red and calloused from washing clothes and dishes, her nails filed short from breaking. But Luke knew she wasn’t a lady of leisure. She’d been honest with him.

  Her heart pounding like a hammer against her ribs, she ran to the mirror for a final check. Her face was a complete contrast to her hands. Complexion lightly tanned with not a hint of a freckle was her best feature. Her curly, mahogany hair, two or three shades lighter than black, enhanced her looks. She’d tried to put her hair up but didn’t have enough pins, so had tied it back with a ribbon.

  Gently lifting the hat Daddy had given her for her last birthday, Molly set it on her unruly hair and smiled at her reflection. She looked as well as she could. That was a relief. Maybe Luke wouldn’t even notice her hands. She didn’t want Luke to be ashamed of her for anything.

  The tin-type she’d sent him was of a sixteen-year-old, carefree girl. She hoped he wouldn’t be disappointed at the way eight years of hard living had changed her looks. Her face now revealed the planes and shadows of a mature woman, but the same spark shone in her eyes.

  The photograph Luke had sent her had to be of his younger self since he’d been in Union uniform. Thank goodness she’d refrained from showing Daddy.

  Molly had asked Luke in one of her letters where he’d served in the army, wondering if he’d ever been in Georgia. He’d replied that he never had, but was vague about where he did serve. It was just as well she supposed. While she’d run on and on in her letters, Luke was a man of few words.

  But a husband and wife should complement each other, shouldn’t they?

  She turned from the mirror and hooked her reticule. It sagged heavily on her wrist, owing to the odds and ends she couldn’t do without, including the derringer lying in the bottom. Daddy had given it to her a couple of years ago, but she’d never fired it. And she prayed she wouldn’t have to.

  Did she even dare pray for God’s protection on her trek to town? She was surely breaking one of His commandments. Honor thy father and mother. But was it really dishonoring her father to go against his wishes? A man shall leave his father and mother and cleave unto his wife. The same must apply to a woman. She’d have to leave her parents to cleave to her husband. Of course, that presupposed she’d have her parents blessing.

  As she passed Daddy’s bedroom, his snores soothed her conscience. She pressed a hand over the closed door.

  Good-bye, Daddy. Please understand.

  She passed through the kitchen, and laid the three-page letter she’d written at Daddy’s place at the table. With one final look, she slipped out the backdoor.

  As she got underway along the well-worn path to town, the almost full moon lit the way, but clouds passed over from time to time, throwing her in total darkness. Even so, she didn’t stop. She could walk this road blindfolded.

  The carpetbag straps bored into her shoulders by the time she’d covered half the distance, forcing her to stop and adjust them. Normally, she would walk to town in little more than an hour, but with the heavy load she carried, almost two hours had passed before she saw the first lights of Juliette.

  The roosters were crowing when she reached the outskirts of town, and unfortunately, she had to enter at the derelict side of town. A dog barked, but she and the dog had become acquainted and she ignored it.

  The street itself looked sinister, though the first lavender threads of dawn lightened the sky. Sounds of the awakening town reached her ears before she saw anything. Distant shouts, animals snorting, doors slamming. Fog filtered the light coming from the nearby buildings, including the saloon.

  She tapped down the fear rising in her throat. Troublemakers would be sleeping off their drink by this time of morning.

  The clip-clop of horses’ hooves coming from behind startled her, and she scurried to the edge of the road. The carriage stopped.

  The sign painted on the carriage door proclaimed it to be a public conveyance. She didn’t even know there were such things in Juliette. Pressing a hand to her heart, she drew in the first relieved breath she’d spared since leaving home.

  “Need a lift, ma’am?”

  It would cost some of her precious coins but well worth saving her from walking through the town to the depot. She’d stick out like a rose in a field of cotton, and all eyes would be on her. Indeed, she must look strange to this driver. Like someone running away—or worse. Like a lady of the evening. “I would, kind sir,” she said, her face burning.

  Bless the man, he wasn’t one to dwell into the private affairs of his customers. He jumped from the driver’s seat and held the carriage door open for her. “Where to, ma’am?”

  “The train depot. I must catch the seven o’clock train.” She could tell from his speech he was from the North, probably a carpetbagger, as some would call him. There were those who judged all Northerners harshly, and Molly knew why hate festered in the hearts of many Southerners. Hatred for Yankees and the freedmen and women. It was hard for her to forget all she’d lost, but she also knew hatred would eat away at the soul of the hater and harden the heart.

  This man might be a carpetbagger, but he was a welcome sight to her.

  He nodded, and sent an upward glance to the sky. “You’ll have time for breakfast at the café next door to the depot, and I recommend it. You won’t find good food on the trains.”

  “Thank you, I intend to do just that.” After relinquishing the heavy bags to the driver, she entered the carriage’s dark interior and stretched her aching muscles.

  The conveyance lurched forward, and her stomach rumbled as she contemplated the pancakes smothered in sorghum syrup with ham and eggs the café had on its breakfast menu. She gazed out the window at the still dusky sky. Daddy was likely still snoring. He stayed up late at night reading and brooding and slept late in the morning. He’d awake to an empty house, a cold kitchen. That would be his first clue she was missing. He wouldn’t smell her coffee.

  But she’d
convinced herself this move was best for Daddy, too. Of course she loved Daddy to pieces, but he’d come to lean on her too much, like he’d always leaned on Mama. They’d both given him too much sympathy, accepted his weaknesses too readily, made excuses for him. One thing was for sure. He wouldn’t get any sympathy from Aunt Sadie. Maybe Aunt Sadie was just what he needed to spur him to leave the past behind and build a future for himself.

  He wasn’t too old to get married again—and there was a plethora of widows in the South. With Molly out of the way, he might look for someone.

  One of the things that attracted her to Luke Ferrell was his strength. In his short letters, she’d seen him as a man who’d always had to make his own way, and not only that, he was willing to lend a helping hand to those around him. Helping his father expand his business after the war, then building up the farm his grandparents had left him while helping his neighbors with one emergency or another. It wasn’t what he’d said in so many words, but she’d read between the lines.

  The carriage halted at the depot. The nice driver carried her bags to the luggage area. Thanking him, she handed him the fare plus what she hoped was a decent tip. She had precious little money left after paying the freight on her piano, but it was unthinkable that she could leave it.

  That piano was her heart, and when she played the old hymns her mother had taught her, she could feel Mama’s sweet presence. Only then was that empty spot in her soul filled.

  The train was already waiting, though it would be another hour before it left the station. The train that would take her to Luke.

  Chapter 4

  Now to Him who is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that works in us. To Him be glory in the church by Christ Jesus to all generations, forever and ever. Ephesians 3:20-21

  Luke scrubbed a thick cotton handkerchief across his brow. Sure was hot today, even with the sun getting ready to dip under the tree line.

  He washed up at the pump and entered the house through the back. The kitchen’s familiar smell set his stomach rumbling. He’d brought a couple of ham sandwiches from town. Coffee would taste good, but no need to heat up the kitchen just for that.