A Mail Order Bride for Thanksgiving (Love by Mail #5)(10)
Betty squeezed his shoulder.
He took her hand into his. Without a word, she went with him to the kitchen to get a bucket of water and rags. On their first day in town, John had felt disappointed, but he’d accepted it. Now, he couldn’t help feeling betrayed. How many trials will they have to face? What will they have to do to please their neighbors? He had tried so hard to fit in all these years. He didn’t mind the Lord testing him to his breaking point. He knew he could take it. What he didn’t know was how long could he watch his wife suffer such treatment.
Chapter 5
While the men were swinging their hammers and axes, Betty was busy making sure they had something for lunch. She unfolded the cloth covering the food in the basket and looked at the builders sawing and nailing the rafters. Despite the pastor’s delayed arrival the chapel had started to take shape.
“Ooh, that smells wonderful.”
Betty turned to her curly-haired, rail-thin neighbor, Susan Wyatt. “Thanks, Susan.”
The younger woman bit her lip and looked at the mince pies that Betty had placed on the table, then her own basket full of small, uneven loaves.
“What’s wrong?” Betty asked.
“They might not like what I baked.” Susan adjusted the bread. “I’m not that good of a cook yet.”
She lowered her voice. “Back in Lakeshore, I kept burning the eggs, so Clyde took over for me.” She sniffed. “I hope Fernville won’t make fun of me.”
Betty stifled a laugh not wanting to upset her new friend. Susan and her husband had just moved into town a day earlier, and thankfully, they didn’t seem to mind Betty and John. “I’m sure you two will be fine here.”
The bell rang and the builders stopped their work. One by one, they approached the long table laid out for them. Susan waved to her husband, as Betty smiled at hers.
John kissed her on the cheek and greeted Susan, picking one of the latter’s sweetened breads. “Mm, smells really good.”
“‘Course it does,” Clyde Wyatt said, placing an arm around his wife’s shoulder.
John smiled at them and swallowed the piece. Though he didn’t wink Betty knew the truth behind that smile. She remembered how the night before he’d spat out a piece of Susan’s cookie Betty had brought home. The woman really did have a lot to learn…
“Your wife’s a great cook, John,” Therese, Chris Donovan’s wife muttered, munching on a chicken leg and taking a mince pie.
“We’ve got smoked ham here!” someone shouted from the other end of a table. “More bread and water here!”
“How did you get the pork to be so juicy?” Therese asked.
Betty opened her mouth to speak, but fresh faced young lad sidled up beside Therese and cut in, “Maybe Johnny boy hunted it down with a poison-tipped spear, then prayed to his ancestors, while dancing around naked under the moonlight.”
His chuckle invited scattered laughter from some men nearest to them. She remembered seeing him around before. The Sternham’s boy, Stephen, if she remembered right, often threw hostile glances at John.
“He didn’t,” Betty snapped, tilting her chin up, “but he did hunt the boar on his own, which is more than many can say for you.” Betty smirked. “Wasn’t it just yesterday you ran away screaming when a pig got loose in town?”
Therese nearly choked on the pie, and the other men howled with laughter. John frowned at her, but his eyes danced with amusement. It had been pretty funny to see the tow-headed young man screaming like his life was on the line when a pig chased him through town.
“I will never forget that,” Clyde said, chuckling at Stephen’s murderous expression. “It was quite a welcome for me and my wife.”
Stephen turned around and buried his face elsewhere in food, soft chuckles following him.
“You know,” Susan said, as Betty piled John’s plate with food, “this is such a great idea for a town to do.”
“I know,” Betty said. “Building a chapel is great for community spirit.”
“Not just that,” the other woman said, smiling. “This – eating outside, sharing food across dozens of long tables placed side by side.”
“It does make it easier to share food,” John said passing a basket to the couple sat at the other table.
“We should do this for Thanksgiving.” Susan clasped her hands. “Wouldn’t it be glorious? The whole town outside, not just the volunteers.”
Betty raised her brows and looked at the scene before her, taking in the peals of laughter, stories being told over shared pies, and strangers asking for and giving out water, bread and meat to each other.
“You’re right,” she told Susan and turned to John. “We should do this once the chapel is finished. Not just for lunch, but a Thanksgiving dinner.”
“To celebrate the year and everything we’re thankful for,” Clyde added. He grinned down at his wife. “Like marrying you, for example.”
“I can relate to that,” John murmured beside Betty.
She blushed and told him to eat some more, her mind already thinking of recipes and the delicious meals she could cook up for Thanksgiving. Looking at the happy faces all round, she was convinced it would be a success.