Mail Order Bride- Summer by Sierra Rose

Author:Sierra Rose [Rose, Sierra]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: romance, mail order bride, mail order romance
Publisher: Dark Shadows Publishing
Published: 2018-08-29T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

THE FIRST INDICATION of the deluge about to come was Mrs. Henrietta Blankenship’s firm knock upon the front door at ten o’clock Monday morning.

Camellia, not only heartsick but sick to her soul, had spent a restless night shifting from position to position in the big double bed beside Ben. Even as he had given her so much comfort by his very presence, by his cuddling, by his listening, she had taken more comfort in the fact that he, too, was deeply affected from the weekend’s traumatic occurrences, and sleep had come to him, as to her, neither easily nor sweetly.

She was exhausted.

It seemed that, since the day she had first stepped down from her wagon train onto Turnabout’s dusty boardwalk (and promptly collapsed), nearly two months ago, a whirlwind of events had swept her up to keep her feeling in a permanent state of siege. She might as well be living inside the eye of a tornado, or at the top of a roller coaster about to plunge down.

Insides knotted up like an embroidery skein, dull pounding in the back of her head, cold clammy hands beset by an occasional tremble—that was becoming her normal physical condition. Each morning found her tense with anticipation, just trying to get through one catastrophe while waiting for the next to barrel in like a tidal wave.

Along with worry and anxiety came blame.

The fault for Molly’s whole disastrous mail order marriage could be laid directly at her door. If only she had stood stronger against the girl’s entreaties, if only she had not surrendered to the demands of her spoiled little sister, if only she had worked to delay the nuptials for another few weeks...or a few months...or a few years...

No matter how much her intractable spouse insisted no fault could be laid to her actions, no matter how often he tried to “Oh, pshaw” her occasional moments of self-recrimination, Camellia was miserable with guilt.

It was a heavy burden those slender shoulders were carrying. The wonder of it was that she hadn’t cracked under the strain.

True to her calling, yesterday Camellia had set to work providing aid and succor for the little wounded bird, with its broken wings, hiding in the bedroom upstairs. Several tedious trips lugging pails of hot water to the second floor had filled the small hip bath, into which a generous hand had tipped the contents of Gabriel’s entire bottle of arnica. After that, Molly had needed no persuasion to cast aside her ruined garments and sink full into the healing waters.

She had revealed only a few more details of her grueling night at the Rutledge shack, details which she knew her sister, married and experienced, would understand. Finally, after soaking away the worst of the visible filth, she was wrapped carefully into a fresh nightdress, given a good dose of laudanum, and put back to bed.

Leaving Camellia to agonize even more about the outcome of this rash venture.

Surely the girl could not return to such an abusive husband.

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