Chapter Three #2
Giving Prudence’s arms a light squeeze, Althea made her way back down the hallway. Prudence heard her talk to the Reverend, and then the front door opened and closed. The latch clicked into place.
With heavy arms, Prudence moved back to the front door and picked up her bag, carrying it to the bedroom.
The satchel showed signs of wear, with soft and wrinkled leather from years of use.
A delicate floral design in petti-point adorned the side, carefully stitched by hand with love and care.
She treasured the possession that her mother had passed down.
She opened the bag and placed her few items on the bed.
There had been little time to pack anything before she left her father’s house and never looked back.
She’d taken two chicken sandwiches, which she ate on the stage.
Her winter undergarments, one day dress, her nicest dress to get married in, along with a pair of shoes, her nightclothes, and her Bible, which also belonged to her mother.
She had stitched a small amount of money into the bag’s lining, but it was only a meager sum.
Her father had strict rules about any money she earned from mending clothes, forcing her to hand over everything she earned.
She took on extra tasks that he wasn’t aware of and carefully stashed away the money in a loose floorboard beneath her bed.
Maybe she could only buy a few things, but she held onto the hope that she could replace some belongings she had left behind once she was married. During the entire trip, she prayed her belongings would be enough if her husband couldn’t afford anything else.
She had written her father multiple letters, with no intention of ever mailing them.
She prayed for his forgiveness, even though she was unsure if he would ever truly forgive her for leaving.
Prudence had found solace with the Lord and knew that He had forgiven her for the way she had left.
Perhaps she needed to seek wise counsel in the future to fully come to terms with everything that had transpired.
But for tonight, she would rest.
Taking the basin and bath sheet from the washstand, she walked back to the kitchen to see if the water had boiled. The kettle was steaming happily on the stove. Placing the basin on the table, she filled it with the hot water and refilled the kettle before setting it back on the stove.
Slowly and painfully, she began undoing the buttons and strings that kept her trapped in what once had been her favorite traveling outfit. A deep blue winter cloak with a matching traveling skirt, then her blouse and underlayers, fell to the floor.
The water was hot, but that didn’t stop her from reaching for the lye soap nearby and the cloth that Mrs. Fitzgerald had left on the counter.
She scrubbed from top to bottom, wistfully considering trying to wash her long brown hair, but after reaching up to release the pins that held it, decided tomorrow would be soon enough.
Mrs. Fitzgerald said that the Reverend would be by with a bathtub in the morning, and she could wash it then.
She tossed the dirty water out the kitchen window and returned to pour half of the next kettle into the basin, rinsing herself and feeling relieved to see that the water was no longer a grayish-brown color.
Using the bath sheet nearby, she tiptoed back to the bedroom and pulled the nightgown over her head before returning to the kitchen to make dinner.
Locating the oats that her future mother-in-law pointed out, Prudence measured a small amount in a bowl and poured more boiling water over it, stirring until it resembled a thin porridge.
Then she spotted a small honeycomb in a nearby jar.
Giving a happy squeal, she reached for the jar. It was as if these people knew her!
Once her belly was full, Prudence made her way to the front room, added another log to the fire, and grabbed a nearby blanket before curling up on the settee.
I’m glad I didn’t wash my hair, was her last thought as her eyes closed and sleep overcame her.
Hubert stepped off the stage in Omaha, feeling a sense of familiarity and comfort wash over him.
This was where he grew up, where his parents still lived in the same house on the same street.
He took a moment to adjust his wide-brimmed hat, pulling it down low over his eyes, and straightened the collar of his jacket.
He could have headed towards the church and his parents, but he went in the opposite direction towards the Holstead’s house.
The advice from his friends echoed in his mind: arrive clean and composed, project confidence, remember his manners, and start as he meant to continue.
He walked onto the porch of the house he considered his second home. Growing up, he’d spent as much time at the Holstead’s house as he did at his own home.
He inserted the key into the lock and entered the house. He froze mid-step, drawn in by the sound of a heavenly voice floating from the kitchen.
Taking off his hat and coat out of habit, he hung them by the door, then toed off his boots. He couldn’t resist the urge to investigate and quietly followed the music, his footsteps barely making a sound on the tiled floor.
He recognized the song about gathering at the river. It was one of Mrs. Masters’ favorites, and she hummed it all the time. Peeking around the kitchen doorway, he found a slender woman of moderate height working on something at the counter in front of the kitchen windows.
She’d tied her dark hair back into a single ponytail, and her body swayed to the rhythm of the song she sang.
But who was she?
As he contemplated his next move, the woman spun around, revealing a spatula clenched in her hand. A high-pitched shriek escaped her lips as she brandished it towards him, her large blue eyes wild and panicked. He took a step back, fear creeping up his spine at the sight of her makeshift weapon.
With each word punctuated with a swat of the utensil, the woman asked, “Who are you? How did you get here? Don’t you come any closer!” Hubert’s shoulders shook as he tried to stifle his laughter, but it bubbled out in a deep belly rumble that threatened to burst from his sides.
He was exhausted and emotionally drained from the long week of traveling, but this moment brought a much-needed release. “This is not funny.” She smacked the spatula against the stove, only to yank it back to her body in apology. “Who are you?”
He regarded the stranger in front of him. Her skin was the color of pale porcelain with a kiss of peach on the cheeks. She had a pert nose, kissable lips and large expressive eyes surrounded by dark lashes.
“Who are you? Is that really the question? I have a key to this house, and you are a stranger.” He attempted to make a serious expression, but his cheeks refused to relax from the wide smile on his face.
His gaze followed her as she folded her arms tightly across her chest. He noticed the glimmer of tears forming in her eyes, and his heart clenched in response.
“The church assured me that no one would bother me.”
“Hey, there. Don’t cry. I mean you no harm.” He moved a little closer. “My name is Hubert Fitzgerald, and if the church sent you to this house, that means you’ve met my parents.” As he spoke, he realized he knew who she was, despite her suspicious expression.
“You are Hubert Fitzgerald?”
Her voice lowered to a whisper, and she gently bit her bottom lip as she spoke. As she spoke, her lips moved subtly, drawing Hubert’s attention, and igniting his imagination of how they would feel against his own.
His eyes never left her lips. “I am.”
“Reverend Hubert Fitzgerald?”
He wondered what she was thinking, so he simply nodded. She formed a perfect “o” with her lips, and he was lost. Hubert couldn’t help but stare at the movement of her mouth.
He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t resist the desire to kiss her.
Just the thought of reaching out and cupping her cheek and tracing her bottom lip with his thumb stirred up something in him he had never felt before.
Kissing her was probably a bad idea, but it was something he wanted to do. He’d consider that further later.
Clenching his hand that was reaching out of its own volition, he made a show of running it through his hair instead.
“I’m going to make a guess: you must be my intended bride, sent by Mrs. Chapman and placed in the spot where I had intended to get ready to meet you. However, I don’t even know your name, so you have me at a disadvantage.”
A sudden flush of pink flooded her cheeks, and he caught the faint tremor in her voice as she spoke.
“Prudence Underwood.” Her voice was barely audible, a mere whisper that floated past his ears and faded into the background noise coming from the outside window. She pivoted on her heel and returned to her work, leaving Hubert grateful for the momentary break from her presence.
Prudence. It was pretty, meaning thoughtful. He knew that a time like this would require prudence.
“Miss Underwood, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Since you are already here, I’m going to my parents’ to clean up and have a nap. May I come back this afternoon?”
He wondered what he would do if she rejected him, but he didn’t have to wait too long for a reply.
Without turning around, she responded. “I will see you and your parents for dinner at four.”
Hubert pondered what else was going through her mind, but her false bravado had dissipated when she looked away from him. He would have to address that later.
“I’ll see you at dinner. Then we can discuss with my father when he can marry us.”
Going back out the way he’d come, Hubert had just finished tugging on his boots when she appeared in the kitchen doorway.
“You still plan to marry me?”
“I don’t see any reason not to.”
He may not understand what she was thinking, but the click that his father had talked about slammed into him like a tree falling.
As she stood in the doorway, he couldn’t help but stare.
Her long black skirt swayed gently with each move she made.
A red shirt with elbow-length sleeves hugged her delicate arms. The way her dark hair draped over one shoulder in soft waves, tied off with a ribbon that matched her shirt, mesmerized him.
A slight movement drew his gaze downwards, and he saw delicate toes wiggle from beneath the dark skirt.
He took a deep breath and reached for his hat, placing it on top of his head. She was truly the most beautiful person he had ever seen.
Her chin bobbed as if his response settled something inside of her. “I guess it’s settled then.”
“We don’t know each other, and I know this is happening rather quickly.
” Lifting his coat from the peg, he shrugged it over his shoulders.
“At least for me. I believe the Lord has a hand in each of our lives. He knew this moment was coming long before either of us even considered it. I’ll see you for dinner, Miss Underwood. ”
Letting himself out, he grinned all the way to his parents’ front door. He hadn’t been confident when he’d left Sterling. Now, life pulsed through him with a dose of confidence he’d only ever felt in the moments before stepping up to the pulpit.
Thank you, Lord, for these moments and Your hand upon my life. I’ll take good care of Miss Underwood, just as you take care of each of us.
As he approached, the door swung open, and his mother stood there, her arms folded, and a questioning look on her face.
“Son, we need to talk about how your bride ended up thinking she was marrying your father.”
Hubert chuckled and shook his head. His wife might never live that down, not if Silas ever heard about it. …