The Unlikely Wife

“Thank you so much, Selina. I feel better just knowing you’re here. I’ll see you soon then.” Sadie turned and waddled toward her husband.

Sadie, who was twenty years younger than her husband, was carrying Tom’s tenth child. Michael wondered if it would be another boy. For Sadie’s sake, he hoped it was a girl.

The loud ringing of the dinner bell jarred his attention.

“Everyone, it’s time to eat,” his mother hollered.

Each woman took a turn shaking Selina’s hand before they left in search of their husbands. Not one of them seemed to mind how heartily she returned their handshakes.

When the crowd quieted down, his mother turned her attention to him and Selina. “Michael and Selina, you get your plates first.”

Michael glanced down at his wife. “You ready?”

“Yes, sir. Ain’t had nothin’ to eat since last night. I’m so hungry I could eat a herd of lizards—skin and all.”

Lizards? The thought of eating lizards turned his stomach inside out. He hoped she was kidding. “Why haven’t you had anything to eat since last night?” He placed his hand on her back and led her toward the long food table.

“I ran outta money. Couldn’t afford none.”

Michael instantly felt horrible. “I’m sorry, Selina. I thought I sent you plenty of money to take care of everything.”

“Oh, you did. You did. But I couldn’t sit by and watch that poor widow woman strugglin’ to feed her three youngins.”

“What poor widow woman?”

“Mrs. Morrow. Her husband died and she was comin’ out West to marry up with a Mr. Clemens. From the way she tells it, he has four youngins himself. His wife died two years ago and he couldn’t keep up with them and his chores, so he placed an ad and she answered it. Mr. Clemens sent her enough money for the trip, but some polecat stole it from her. Can you believe some snake would do such an evil thing? And to a widow woman with three youngins no less. Why, iffen I’d caught him, I would have put a load of buckshot into his sorry hide to make sure he never did it again. I’m just so glad you sent me plenty enough that I was able to help poor Mrs. Morrow.”

She stopped and looked at him. Concern dotted her eyes. “Don’t worry. I’ll find some way to repay you. But I ain’t sorry I did it. Ain’t no way I was gonna sit by and listen to them youngins beg their mama for somethin’ to eat when I had plenty.”

What an unselfish thing she had done. To go without food so that another woman, a complete stranger and her children, could eat.

Maybe getting to know her wouldn’t be such a bad thing after all.

Chapter Three

Back at the house, Selina picked up her bag to ready herself for bed. She had a good time meeting all her new neighbors. Some of them were friendly, too. But all that visiting had tuckered her out. All she wanted to do was find some place to curl up and go to sleep. She wasn’t sure where that place was, though. The barn would suit her just fine, but she knew if someone saw her there, Michael would be shamed and she didn’t want that for him.

She hoped to one day share her bed with Michael just like her mama and pa had. But that wasn’t likely to happen with the way things were. Still, she wouldn’t give up hope. Later on, during her evening prayers, she’d tell God’s ears that if there was any way for Michael to love her one day, she sure would appreciate it.

Michael. This being her wedding night and all, just thinking about him sent shivers through her. She sighed. No sense pondering on him and making herself feel even worse than she already did. She needed to place her mind somewhere other than him. And she’d start with looking for a blanket or something to cover up with.

She searched a trunk and found one. While Michael was out at the privy, she put on her patched-up nightgown, tossed herself onto the living room sofa and pulled the blanket over her chest. Surprised at how soft the sofa was, she wiggled her way down into it.

The door clicked open.

Michael stepped one foot in and stopped to stare at her.

Selina yanked the cover up under her neck. “I hope you don’t mind me helpin’ myself to a blanket.”

He shut the door behind him. “Selina, this is your home now, too, and I want you to make yourself comfortable here. And you don’t have to sleep on the sofa, my bedroom is—”

“I ain’t gonna share your bed,” she blurted. Until I know for sure you’re in love with me and not Aimee, but she didn’t voice the last part. Thinking about what she’d said, white-hot flames licked their way up her neck and into her cheeks.

With a sigh he took another step in. “What I was going to say was, my bedroom is over there.” He pointed to the door off of the living room. “If you’d like to sleep in there, I can move my stuff into one of the upstairs bedrooms. Or, if you would like more privacy, you can take one of them. Whatever you decide is fine with me.”

What? No argument? No fight about his husbandly rights? She didn’t know whether to be relieved or insulted. Considering their situation, she was definitely relieved. “I’ll take one of the upstairs bedrooms. Ain’t no sense in you movin’ all your belongings.”

He looked down at her flour sack, then back up at her. “Tomorrow, I’ll see if Leah can take you into town to purchase you some women’s shoes and material to make yourself some women’s clothing.”

It didn’t get past her none that he stressed the word women’s louder and longer than the rest of his words.

“I’m sure Mother and Leah would be more than happy to help you make a few dresses and bonnets and nightgowns and whatever else you may need.”

She sprung into a sitting position. The blanket fell from around her shoulders.

Michael’s eyes widened. He swung his attention away, looking everywhere but at her.

She snatched the cover up and tucked it back under her neck. “Just you back up your horses, cowboy. I don’t need dresses, and there ain’t a thing wrong with my clothes. Why, they’ve still got plenty of wear left in them. Besides, I don’t cotton to wearin’ dresses. They’re just too confinin’ and troublesome. You can’t even hunt in them.”

Michael’s attention flew back to her. He crossed his arms over his chest and spread his legs. His stare went clean through her, but she wouldn’t let him see that he unsettled her.

“That might be so. But no wife of mine is going to wear men’s clothing.”

“Listen here, Michael. I’ve been wearin’ them most of my life and I ain’t stoppin’ now. Men’s trousers are more practical.”

“They might be more practical, but in case it’s slipped your notice, the women around here do not wear pants. They wear dresses.”

“I ain’t other women. I’m me. And I won’t be puttin’ on airs for you or anyone else.”

His eyes slammed shut for only a moment before bouncing open. “You’re a stubborn little thing, aren’t you?”

“Ain’t tryin’ to be stubborn.” She wrapped the blanket around her and stood. “But I won’t be bullied into being somethin’ I ain’t, neither.” Michael wanted her to be something she wasn’t and never would be. A lady. Tomboy was more her style. She’d been one all her life and loved it. Maybe she was stubborn. But some things were worth being stubborn about—and wearing trousers was one of them.

Before Michael could give her the wherefores about propriety and proper attire, his mouth spread into a wide yawn he couldn’t stop. After the trying day he’d had, a soft bed and sleep sounded good. So, for right now, he’d let the subject drop, but he would definitely pick it up again in the morning. “It’s been a long day, and I’m ready to go to bed. I’ll show you to your room first.”

He motioned for her to precede him up the stairs, which she did after picking up her sack. At the top of the landing, he stopped and faced her. “There are three rooms. Take your pick.”

She peeked inside the first bedroom, then the second and then the third. “Iffen you don’t mind, I’ll take this one here.”

“That’s fine.” He managed to keep his head from shaking in frustration. “Whatever you want.” Somehow he had a feeling she would take the sparsest bedroom. The smallest room with the iron-framed bed, light blue quilt and matching curtains. Only a single dresser, a night stand with a lantern, a wash bowl and basin, three paintings on the wall, and one small closet occupied the room. The other two, which were larger and decorated as nicely as the rest of the house, didn’t seem to fit her. One thing for certain, she was a simple woman who liked simple things.

“Well, good night, Selina. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Night, Michael,” she spoke softly in that melodic voice of hers, the one that in no way, shape or form matched her masculine attire or attitude.

Trying not to think about any of it, he headed to his bedroom, undressed and slid between the new cotton sheets. He rolled onto his side and stared at the blank pillow next to him. Tonight was the night he was supposed to be sharing with the woman of his dreams. Yet he’d felt nothing but relief when Selina said she wasn’t going to share his bed.

But he couldn’t bear the idea of spending his wedding night alone, without the woman he had dreamed about for five long months. A phantom woman who now only existed in his heart and his imagination. Grief barreled through him as the death of his dream came crashing in on him. Though he was exhausted, he dragged his weary body out of bed, threw on his pants and headed out onto the porch, where he leaned against one of the posts and stared up at the stars and the quarter moon.