A Mail Order Bride for Thanksgiving (Love by Mail #5)(7)

Betty’s eyes widened and her mouth opened in disbelief. Who would speak like that to a neighbor?

“And you had the gall to bring your wife here, huh?” The man threw Betty a sneer. “What, couldn’t find anyone else who’d marry you? You had to settle for that?”

That was it! She did not take insults lightly when they flung them at her. But to offend her husband? Betty practically flew at the man, an angry vain throbbing on her forehead. She would show him! But John held her back.

“Let go of me, John. No one speaks to you like that.”

“Remember,” he said his breath a wisp on her neck. “We must turn the other cheek.”

She took deep breaths, nostrils still flaring. But her anger slowly calmed down. She shook John’s hands off her shoulder and grabbed their things before going inside the house. John followed her and closed the door.

Thankfully, the inside looked undisturbed. She cleared her throat. “Sorry John. I don’t know what came over me. I – I just couldn’t believe they’d do this to you – to us.”

John shrugged. “I’m sorry you had to see this. It’s me they hate, actually. They’re… suspicious of me. They always have been.”

Betty bit back the words scalding her tongue. “We should tell the sheriff,” she said instead.

“There isn’t a sheriff. The town’s still quite small.”

“What about the local pastor? I’m sure he’d take your side.”

“We don’t have one either.” John blushed as if it was his fault. “But, there’s one coming in a few weeks.”

Betty sighed and sat down at the table. She looked around taking in the sight of her new home. Not cluttered, tidy, but needs a woman’s touch, she concluded.

In the meantime John went into the kitchen. She heard a cupboard open and close and a few minutes later he emerged with a bucket of water and a rag. Betty stood up, but he shook his head and gave her a smile.

“You just rest for a while,” and with that he went outside.

Betty folded her arms against her chest and rooted for an old rag in her bag. If he thought she was just going to sit here... She followed him outside. With the bucket at his feet he scrubbed hard the get the blood washed off.

Go home red injun!

They didn’t even have the decency to spell it right. She got down on her knees and wet the rag.

“I can do this. Why don’t you go and rest, Betty?”

“No, John. I’m your wife, and I’m gonna be living here so this is my job, too.” She scrubbed the blood off, wrinkling her nose. Betty glanced at John from the corner of her eye. He turned back to his scrubbing with a small smile.

It took half an hour to clear the writing off the wall. All that time, Betty could feel prying eyes on her and John, but no one had come forward to help. Thankfully, no one shouted insults either. Once they had finished, they went back inside just in time for dinner.

It took a bit of getting used to the new kitchen, but in the end she was able to find everything she needed to do her cooking.

When she placed the bowl on the table, she noticed the paintings on the opposite wall. She sat with her back to them earlier and since they weren’t framed… Wait… is that? She looked closer at what looked like skin.

“They were a parting gift from my family. Do they bother you?” John must have noticed her gaping.

“No!” she blurted out. A moment later she added, “I mean, I was just surprised. I’d never seen one up close.”

“They were from my grandfather’s tepee.”

And suddenly they drew her in – the painted horses and people around a campfire, the symbols that seemed alien to her, but felt alive.

“My parents hadn’t been able to leave anything behind.”

Betty turned back to John, stepped back to the table and ladled some soup into their bowls. “I remember, in your letters, you said your parents died when you were young.”

John nodded, his eyes dark and hooded. “Their tribe was attacked by some rangers. They fought over horses, and the rangers burned down the village. My parents were just visiting when it happened. I was miles away with my cousin’s family.”

She dropped the ladle. “I’m so sorry.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“But we never truly forget.” She took her spoon and swirled it around her bowl. “When my father died, he left me the kitchen.”

“Huh?”

Betty chuckled. “He was a good cook, and I took his place. It was his legacy.”

John smiled into his spoon. “It’s a delicious legacy.”

“Why, thank you.” Betty giggled. “Just so you know, I make the meanest chili sauce in this half of the country. And my turkey’s the best in the West.”

“Good thing it’s almost Thanksgiving then.”

They grinned at each other before finishing their meal.





Chapter 4


John trudged through town, whistling under his breath, as he carried the spoils of his morning hunt over his shoulders. He smiled at Mr. O’Neil, sweeping his front yard, but the older man just stared back at him. It must be the bloodied, dead boar on my back, John thought.

The huge catch weighed on his shoulders. Good thing he found it foraging just a few miles from town. Usually he had to hunt much farther out. Dinner is going to be early tonight. He smiled.