She walked toward the church, as Elizabeth had instructed, and when she arrived there, she saw a parsonage attached to the church. She went there instead of to the church, expecting to find the preacher and his wife at their home.
She knocked on the door and a middle-aged woman answered. “May I help you?”
“I’m here to marry Douglas Charleston, but I could use some help finding him.” Trudie worried that she sounded crazy, asking the woman to help her find the man she was supposed to marry. Who did that?
The older woman frowned. “Does he know you’re coming?”
“He knows someone is coming, but he doesn’t know it’s me.”
“Let’s go find someone to run you out to the ranch then.” The woman stepped outside, closing her door behind her. “What’s your name?”
“Gertrude Miller, but friends and family, of which I hope you’ll soon be a member, call me Trudie.”
“It’s nice to meet you Trudie. I’m Althea Goldman. My husband is the pastor at the church. I’m sure we’ll see you because Douglas is there every week. I do think he only comes because he wants to share in the potluck we have after our Sunday service, but my husband is pleased that he makes the journey anyway.”
“He did seem rather hungry in his letter,” Trudie said. “I was a cook back in Massachusetts, so I hope to be able to cook fast enough to keep up with his rather alarming hunger.”
Mrs. Goldman laughed merrily. “I believe you’ll do just fine with the man.” She turned and walked into the mercantile. “Well, speak of the devil himself!” She nodded to a man and whispered to Trudie, “That’s Mr. Charleston.”
“Oh, wonderful.” Trudie had never stood on ceremony, which wasn’t surprising for a member of the demon horde, so she marched right up to the man. “I’m your mail-order bride, or mail-order meals, as the case may be.” She hadn’t planned on speaking to him so flippantly as soon as she met him, but it did seem appropriate.
“Nice to meet you, Meals,” he said, his eyes sweeping up and down her. “You sure you know how to cook? I said I didn’t need a young or pretty wife. You’re both.” He looked very skeptical of her being able to meet his specifications.
“I was a cook in a diner in Massachusetts, and I assure you, I never had one complaint about the food I served.” She felt like she was being weighed and measured, and she didn’t like the feeling much. Why didn’t he just sweep her into his arms and kiss her or something?
“That’s good.” He shrugged, looking over at Mrs. Goldman. “Your husband up for a wedding?”
Mrs. Goldman nodded as if young women went to her every day, searching for the fiancé they had yet to meet. “He’ll be ready as soon as I tell him there’s a wedding to perform.”
“Sounds good.” He looked back at Trudie. “Store’s about to close. We’ll be there in half an hour. I need my little bride here to show me what she needs me to buy so she can make the meals I need.” He narrowed his eyes at Trudie. “What’s your name, anyway?”
“I thought you’d just call me ‘Meals’,” Trudie said, wrinkling her nose at him.
“Well, I could, but I probably want to know your real name at some point.” He obviously wasn’t bothered by the idea of calling his future wife by that ridiculous nickname.
“I’m Gertrude Miller, but my friends call me Trudie.”
“All right, Meals.”
Trudie shook her head and walked past the man as she chose ingredients for the meals she planned to make. He was just sarcastic enough that she liked him. He’d make a good husband. She was sure of it.
Chapter 2
Doug leaned against the counter of the mercantile, watching as his spunky little bride ran around purchasing everything she thought they would need. She stopped once in the middle of her buying frenzy. “Do you have good pots and pans at home? I know you ruined several with bacon, though a grown man should certainly be able to fry up a couple strips of bacon.”
He shrugged, not at all uncomfortable with her question. “I do have good pots and pans at home. Every time I ruin something, I buy another one. Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because you might consider it wasteful to keep ruining pots and pans?”
“Nah. I’m helping the local economy, right, Hank?” he asked the owner of the mercantile.
“Oh, yes. You’ve helped my income a great deal. You buy more food than anyone else, and more pots than six families would need. No need to worry about my store going under.”
Trudie shook her head and rushed away, again choosing different ingredients and placing them on the counter. She called out, “You picky?” as she added a jar of pickles.
“If it is edible, I’ll eat it. I eat food that’s not edible all the time.”
Trudie sighed loudly, but she kept shopping. “What about curtains? And a tablecloth? Do I need to sew for this house of yours?”
Doug grinned at the question. “Depends on how important tablecloths and curtains are to you, I guess.” He’d never even thought of caring about curtains. Why would he? The sunshine lit the house during the day.
“Does that mean you don’t have those silly things in your home?” she asked, looking at the fabric display.
“Yup.” He was surprised to find himself liking this woman. He’d expected an older woman with buck teeth, but instead he’d gotten himself a beautiful little woman. And she said she could cook. He only hoped she was right.
When she had finished all the shopping she had to do, she had a small mountain in front of her on the counter. “He’s paying,” she said, jerking a thumb toward Doug.
He shook his head, walking to the counter and having his friend
