Page 17 of Mail-Order Bride Runaway
The woman stepped back. “I’ve forgotten my manners. Please come inside.” She looked up and saw Della. “Both of you.” Della thought her welcome seemed an afterthought, but she scrambled to the ground and followed the two inside.
Andy stopped and waited for Della to catch up. “Trudy, I’d like you to meet Miss Epps.”
“It’s Della.” Why should she be addressed formally while everyone else went by their given names?
Trudy’s eyes widened slightly then she smiled. “Welcome to my home.” Furrows returned to her forehead. “Have you eaten?”
Andy shook his head. “But don’t worry about us. Tell me where Bart is.”
“I’ll prepare something while I talk.” She indicated they should sit at the table.
Della didn’t move. Since she’d gotten off the stagecoach at Gunders Corner she’d encountered one strange, scary thing after another. The way Andy and Trudy had hugged set her nerves into a frenzied dance.
At the screech of the chair Andy pulled it out, Della jerked forward and sat across from him, her gaze darting from him to the woman who hustled about, slicing meat from a cooked roast, spreading butter on bread to prepare sandwiches that she piled on a plate and set before them.
As Trudy worked, she talked. “Bart went to get coal. He prefers it to wood for heating the house. He left yesterday and should have been back last evening. Early today at the latest.” She twisted the hem of her apron, allowing Della to see her rounded tummy. “Something must have happened.”
“That explains the open door and the light,” Andy said between mouthfuls. “How far did he have to go?”
“The mine is thirty miles north. Even with loading and traveling with a heavy wagon…”
“Trudy, it’s too dark to travel tonight but if he doesn’t return, I’ll head out first thing tomorrow. I’ll find him. I promise.”
Trudy nodded. “You have always been such a good friend.”
Andy kept his head down as if concentrating on his sandwich. Then, as if feeling Della’s gaze on him, he looked at her. His eyes crinkled at the edges as if he wanted her to know…what? That he was an honorable man?
“I’ll bring your husband back.”
The words were meant for Trudy but were spoken to Della. She understood his meaning. He hadn’t forgotten Trudy was married. Nor—she assumed from his steady look—did he wish it was otherwise despite the fondness that was evident between them. For reasons beyond her understanding, she was relieved. Perhaps because her entire reputation and more hinged on him being honorable.
Trudy let her apron fall. “It’s your turn. Tell me about yourself, Miss Epps.” Her gaze went back and forth between Della and Andy.
“I found her.” Andy grinned as if pleased.
“I hid in his wagon,” she added, her eyes locked with his. Time ceased as they looked at each other. She’d been afraid, on guard from her first glance of him folding back the tarp and looking so startled. Yet, she’d laid down the axe, knowing she was safe with him. Knowing he was honorable. That he would protect her. And even now, he offered silent reassurances.
He told of finding her. She added how awful Mr. Hartman had been. Neither of them spoke of the time they’d spent together—certainly not that they’d been alone for one night.
Trudy’s gaze went back and forth between them. At first, she appeared shocked and surprised and then a smile curved her lips.
Their story ended, and Della and Andy fell silent.
Trudy laughed softly. “I’m glad you found one another.”
Della and Andy smiled at each other. She couldn’t say what he thought but she agreed with Trudy. If she had to be in this situation, she was glad it was with Andy.
Andy pushed back from the table. “I need to take care of the horses.” He strode from the house, leaving Della staring at the tabletop, avoiding looking directly at Trudy. The woman would surely have an opinion about the night that had passed.
Trudy propped the door open. “In case Bart is out there trying to find his way home.”
“I hope he’s safe.”
Trudy didn’t answer. She continued to stare out the door until Andy returned.
“I’ll sleep in the barn tonight,” he said. “Can you give Della a bed?”
Trudy jerked from her post. “Of course. You’ll want to wash up.” She filled a pitcher with warm water and led Della to a room that held a bed, a wooden chair, and a washstand. There wasn’t room for anything more. “Where are your things?”
