A Mid-Summer's Mail-Order Bride (8 page)

* * *

“You want me to do
what?
” Charlotte asked as her brows rose in shock. They were seated in the Quinns’ small parlor, a tea set on a table between them. Charlotte had poured everyone a cup, and now they were getting to the purpose of their visit. “Did I hear you right, Summer Riley? You want
me
to give this girl … flirting lessons?”

Summer and Elle exchanged a quick glance. “Neither one of us is any good at that sort of thing, Charlotte,” Summer told her.

Charlotte sat back in her chair. “In other words, you think I’m the best woman for the job because I was such … well, I suppose I was big flirt before I was married, wasn’t I?”

Elle declined to comment and instead asked, “Will you help?”

Charlotte looked at Bernice and began to study her with interest. “Miss Caulder … would you stand up for me, please?”

Bernice glanced at each in turn, set down her teacup and stood. “Now what?”

“Turn around. Slowly.”

Bernice turned a full circle. When she faced Charlotte again she asked, “Well? What do you think?”

“You have nice eyes,” Charlotte told her. “We can capitalize on that. They’re big, brown and … innocent-looking.”

“That’s a good thing, right?” Bernice asked.

“As far as Warren Johnson is concerned, it should be.” Charlotte took a sip of her tea.

Bernice held her arms out from her sides and looked at herself. “Anything else? I have a few other dresses I brought, but nothing else. I could only fit so much into my satchel.”

“It’s not the dress you wear, though that helps,” Charlotte said thoughtfully. “It’s
how
you wear it.”

“How you wear it? What does that mean?”

Charlotte had Summer and Elle’s attention at this point. “How you walk in it, how you turn. A pretty dress can only enhance or accent your natural … assets.” She looked at Bernice again. “And in your case, some enhancement could be useful.”

Bernice looked at herself again, specifically her chest. “Oh, yes. I suppose I don’t have much to work with, do I?”

“You have enough to work with; you just need to display it to your best advantage. Some dresses will help, but the main thing is the right attitude, Miss Caulder – then there’ll be no stopping you.”

“Attitude?” Bernice said.

“You have to walk into a room like you own it,” Charlotte told her. “Like you’re the queen of your domain and everyone in it. You have to have the attitude that
you
are the one that picks the man, and that you can have any man you want.”

“That’s a rather haughty way of looking at it, isn’t it?” Elle asked.

“Not at all,” Charlotte said. “It’s how it usually works in the animal kingdom – the females choose the males. I read it in one of Matthew’s old textbooks,” she added with a grin.

“All right,” Bernice conceded. “What do I do first?”

“First, show me that you’ve got what it takes.”

Bernice’s face took on a panicked look. “Got what? To take where?”

Charlotte put a hand to her temple, shook her head, then pressed her lips together in an obvious attempt not to laugh. “Dear me … we’re really starting from the beginning here. I am talking about your
attitude
, Miss Caulder. Right now, you come across like you’re nothing special, that anyone who shows you attention should be doing it out of pity or charity.
That
needs to change – starting now.” She pointed a finger at the floor for emphasis.

Elle was still skeptical. “What are you going to have her do, Charlotte – go to the kitchen, turn around and walk back into the parlor, then we all faint from her brilliance?”

“No, silly. I just want her to gain a good healthy sense of confidence.” She looked at Bernice again. “Because, Miss Caulder, I don’t know what happened to you before, or who beat you down, but right now you’ve got about as much confidence as a church mouse. And man or no man, that’s no way to live – take it from me!”

Eight

As Clayton drove her, Summer and Elle home, Bernice pondered everything Charlotte had said. Hadn’t Professor Hamilton and Mr. Winters told her some of the same things – that lovely clothes and a pretty face weren’t the only things a woman needed to win a man over? Obviously good manners helped – the Professor and Mr. Winters were adamant about that. And she now knew how to walk like a lady, talk like a lady (at least when she remembered to) and for the most part, act like one.

But the sort of confidence Charlotte was talking about was something new – not the kind that comes from knowing that you’re acting properly, but from knowing that you’re
special
. There was a big difference between the two. Charlotte wasn’t talking about physical beauty – she was talking about a woman’s heart.

And for Bernice, that was another story entirely.

“Did you ladies have a nice visit?” Clayton asked.

“Yes, we did,” Summer said. She sat next to Clayton as he drove, with Elle and Bernice in the back. She turned and looked over her shoulder at them. “Don’t you think so, Bernice?”

“It was very … educational,” she replied. “I really did learn a lot.”

Clayton chuckled. “Who’d have ever thought the day would come when Charlotte Davis would be giving advice on matters of the heart?” Summer and Elle giggled.

But Bernice was still deep in thought. How was she going to gain the type of confidence Charlotte was talking about? More importantly, how was she going to do it in the next few days? She figured that was about all the time she had before Warren made up his mind about her. For all she knew, there’d be train and stage fare waiting for her when they got back to the Riley farm.

And if so, then what? Go back to Independence with her tail tucked between her legs? No, that was out of the question – she’d never hear the end of it from her mother. For that matter, she’d never forgive herself. She had to do what she could to see this through. If it meant winning Warren Johnson over with a pretty dress and a mask of confidence, then by golly, she’d do it.

“Bernice?” Summer said. “Did you hear me?”

“What? I’m sorry – no, I didn’t.”

“You could bake Warren some cookies this afternoon and take them to him.”

“Yes, I suppose I could,” she said, then gulped.

“Of course you can,” Elle said with a smile. “He’ll love them, just as much as he did the pie. Only this time, it’ll be from you – you’ll do the baking. Have you made cookies before?”

“Yes … and sometimes I don’t burn them.”

“I’ll see to it that you don’t.”

“Thank you Elle, I appreciate it.”

“And I’ll fix your hair for you too. We’ll make sure that the cookies aren’t the only thing he can’t resist.”

Bernice gave her a tiny smile. “I hope you’re right.”

“I know I am.”

Bernice smiled again, then gazed at the countryside. The road wound its way through orchards and was a beautiful sight. The air here was fresh, clean and sweet-smelling. She could get used to living in a place like this – and certainly hoped she’d get the chance.

When they got to the farm Clayton unhitched the wagon while the women prepared lunch. They ate quickly – Clayton because he had to get a lot of work done that afternoon, the women because they wanted to get the mending done before they started baking.

“Ouch!” Bernice said as she stabbed her finger with the needle …
again.
She wished they’d done the baking first, as she wasn’t good with a needle and thread and didn’t want to show up at the Johnson farm with her fingers wrapped in bandages.

But Elle and Summer were determined to teach her. “Don’t worry, you’ll get better at it with more practice,” Elle said.

“I used to poke myself all the time with a needle when I first learned to sew.” Summer confessed.

“When did you learn?” Bernice asked as she shook her finger.

“When I was nine. I made my first dress when I was 12.”

“Nine? Who taught you?”

“Mrs. Teeters at the orphanage. That woman could sew anything. Unfortunately, she was so busy running the place, she never had much time.”

“She taught me as well,” Elle said. “But I don’t sew as well as Summer does, though I’m getting better.”

“I’ve heard that if you do anything long enough, you get good at it,” Bernice commented. “I’ve just never spent much time on anything.”

“That’s true,” Summer said with a bright smile. “And with as much mending as you’ll have between Warren and his grandfather, you’ll have plenty of practice. I’m sure you’ll be sewing your own dresses in no time!”

“Bernice,” Elle said, her face somber. “Can I ask you something?”

Bernice nodded.

“What are some things that you know you’re good at?”

Bernice had never thought about it before. Was there anything? She didn’t cook or bake well, because her mother had seen no reason for her to learn. She could read and write, but so could a lot of people. She obviously couldn’t sew all that well. She knew a few phrases in French but was hardly fluent. Her manners were decent, but far from impeccable … she swallowed hard and stared at the other two women. “I’m afraid I’m not much good at anything.”

“How can you say that?” Summer asked. “Everyone’s good at something.”

Bernice closed her eyes. “I’m afraid I’m not.” She looked at them. “But I
can
get good at something. I mean, all it takes is time, right?”

Summer and Elle glanced at each other, then back to Bernice. “Right,” Summer agreed.

“The problem is, I don’t think I
have
much time.”

“Of course you do,” Elle said. “Why wouldn’t you?”

“I’m talking about Mr. Johnson … Warren … what if he wants to send me back tomorrow?”

“I think his grandfather will have something to say about that,” Elle countered.

“His grandfather can’t force him to marry me,” Bernice said. “That wouldn’t be right.”

“From what I saw yesterday, Old Man Johnson wants you around,” Summer said with a grin. “He really likes you.”

“Yes, I like him too,” Bernice said. “I just hope Warren feels the same.”

“Well, let’s see what cookies will do, shall we?” Elle asked.

“I’m more worried about what
I’m
going to do for him,” Bernice said.

“You leave that to us,” Elle told her. “Now let’s get this mending done and make some cookies, then see about getting you ready to deliver them.”

Bernice sighed. She hoped she’d be able to muster up some confidence between now and then. But she wasn’t at all sure.

* * *

Before she knew it, though, she was standing on the Johnsons’ front porch with a basket of cookies in her hand. Summer stood in the barnyard. They’d hoped to catch Warren coming in from the orchards before supper, but weren’t sure of the timing. Maybe he liked to work later than Clayton did. Or maybe he was already inside.

Or maybe not. Bernice knocked again, waited a few moments, then turned to Summer. “I don’t think anyone’s home.”

“Land sakes,” Summer said as she walked to the porch. “How’s a girl supposed to get married when the groom isn’t at home?”

“I thought we were delivering cookies,” Bernice said.

“Nonetheless, if you and Warren never see each other, how’s he supposed to make up his mind about you?”

“Maybe he already has.” Bernice’s mood was dropping like a rock.

“Nonsense.” She glanced around. “Maybe we ought to go look for him.”

“Where? Just how big is this farm?”

“Not as big as ours, but big enough. Since we didn’t see him on the way here, they must be working the back of the property.”

“How far away is that?”

“I’m not sure, but it must be that way,” Summer said, pointing in the likely direction.

Bernice followed her off the porch, across the barnyard and into the orchards. They walked for about five minutes when Bernice stopped. “Summer, what’s Mr. Johnson going to think when we show up with cookies at the far end of his property? Isn’t that going to look like I’m … well,
desperate?
”

Summer stopped and turned to her. “One, stop calling him Mr. Johnson. If you’re going to be married, you might as well call him by his given name.”

“Isn’t that improper?”

“Not around me, it isn’t. We refer to him by his first name, so you might as well too. When you’re in his company, call him Mr. Johnson, but with me or the rest of us, just call him Warren, okay?”

Bernice nodded. “I like calling him Mr. Johnson.”

“Why?”

“Maybe because I won’t be as disappointed if he sends me back.”

“Bernice, stop it this instant.”

“I can’t help it! You saw what he did yesterday – he wouldn’t so much as offer me his arm when we left the house.”

“He did once we were in the orchards.”

“Because he didn’t want me to fall on my face.”

“I thought it was chivalrous.”

“I thought he didn’t want to be embarrassed by me.”

“You see? There you go again.”

Bernice raised an eyebrow. “Go where again?”

“You look at yourself in the worst possible light in every event! Why do you do that to yourself?”

Bernice gaped. Oh dear, the woman was right! She did automatically look at the dark side of everything, always expecting the worst. When had that happened? She never used to be so melancholy about things …

Oh, wait … she knew when it had started, and with whom. Morgan Tindle.

Bernice sighed. Morgan had been her secret love for as long as she could remember. When his aunt Eunice Brubauk suggested they marry, and her parents wholeheartedly agreed, she thought she’d died and gone to Heaven. Unfortunately, Morgan had other plans – and another bride, a very nice one too. Now she couldn’t imagine Morgan being married to anyone else but Daisy – the woman was sweet and kind and always treated Bernice with the utmost respect.

Miss Brubauk, on the other hand, didn’t think much of Daisy and let everyone know about it. She even tried to get her out of Morgan’s life by offering the girl her own house in Portland to live in while she looked for a job there. She’d tried to clear the way for Bernice to have Morgan, but it didn’t work. Then she set her sights on matching Bernice with Garrett Vander, telling her she needed to aim high and do whatever it took to get her man. That failed even more spectacularly, to the point that Miss Brubauk’s own sister put her on the next stage out of town!

Bernice had gamely kept on, but her solo efforts were no more fruitful. Bernard Rudshaw had been a possibility – the blacksmith’s son was kind and strong and always a little smarter than people gave him credit for, and he certainly liked her. But her own mother had thought a smith was beneath them, and had scotched the potential match. And by the time she did, Jess Templeton, the only other eligible bachelor in town, had not only sent away for a mail-order bride of his own, but married her the day she arrived! It was like one last door being slammed in her face.

Good grief, no wonder she looked at things in such a negative light. She was so used to being disappointed, she was now instinctively waiting for the other shoe to drop!

“I’m sorry,” she told Summer. “I’ll try not to from now on. I guess I’ve been unlucky when it comes to finding and keeping a beau. It’s one of the reasons I became a mail-order bride.”

Summer smiled compassionately. “It’ll be different this time, you’ll see.”

Bernice forced a smile back, afraid that if she said anything, it would come out badly.

“Now, let’s find Warren and give him his cookies,” Summer said.

“By the time we do, won’t we have to head back to get supper ready?”

“Elle and Ma can take care of supper tonight. We have our own work to do.”

“Work? You call this work?”

“Of course. You didn’t think this would be easy, did you? That makes it work.”

Bernice stared after her as she headed deeper into the trees. “I had no idea,” she said to herself and followed.

They hadn’t gone much farther when Summer spotted a ladder against at tree and a pair of legs halfway up it. “Warren Johnson! Is that you?” Summer yelled.

“Ow!” he said as a small branch fell from the tree, followed by two more.

Summer stepped back a pace. “What are you doing up there?”

Warren climbed down far enough to bend down and peek at them through the branches. “Pruning. What are you doing here? Did something happen at your farm?”

“No. Bernice baked you some cookies and we thought we’d bring them over.”

Bernice felt her belly drop to her toes. Was he angry they’d found him? She held the basket up and faked a smile.

“Oh. I see.” He made his way down the ladder. “Hello, Miss Caulder. It’s nice to see you again. I trust you made it through the orchards unscathed?”

“Yes, thank you,” she answered, delighted he didn’t appear perturbed at them.