Woodrow went to stand against a tall chest of drawers in the opposite corner from the door after he had invited Rose into the bedroom. He didn’t want her to feel crowded by his presence through his standing just inside the door.
She came in reluctantly, her cheeks as red as the inside of a watermelon. She held her bonnet in her hand, for which he was thankful. That glorious head of hair of hers was visible now, and even prettier than he had expected.
It did his heart good to finally to see her in here, the way he had anticipated while awaiting her arrival.
The reality was so much better than the dream. Even after her long day, she still looked beautiful standing there nervously wringing her hands together, as if she had forgotten what to do with them. A few curls had slipped from the intricate knot her hair had been twisted up into and fell uninhibited down her back past her waist in ribbons of shimmering auburn.
“This is the bedroom,” he said unnecessarily trying not to notice those tantalizing ribbons of hair. “I want you to feel at home in here.”
Woodrow pushed himself away from the dresser, and took a cautious step in her direction. He exercised the same care he would use to approach an unbroken horse. Not that he was comparing Rose to a horse, or anything, he thought. But the shyness of a wild horse and the nervousness of his wife had a lot in common at the moment.
“The dresser is for your things.” Woodrow pointed to a delicate-looking mirrored dresser standing against the opposite wall from the chest of drawers. “I use the highboy.”
Woodrow chanced a look at Rose and found her cheeks even redder than before at the mention of his clothes tucked away in that chest of drawers.
Rose made herself turn to look at the dresser to which Woodrow was pointing. The lamp sat right in the middle of the dresser, the mirror, reflecting its light back into the room, chasing away even the shadows from the corners.
“It’s nice,” Rose mumbled, glancing over to where Woodrow was standing.
“Well, I had plenty of time to get things ready for you.” It seemed he was seeking her approval.
“It looks like a lot of care into the making of this room.” Rose forced herself to look directly at her husband. She tried to think of something else to say. “The room is bigger than what I expected.”
And, it was. Besides the two dressers, there was the bed, of course. It sat against a third wall in solitary splendor. On each side of the bed, sat a nightstand that matched the intricate carvings on the head of the bed. Rose deliberately tried not even glance too long at the beautifully carved bed, but it was hard not to be in awe of her new surroundings. This was definitely better than Aunt Mary’s cabin.
“I added this room on after spending one winter here,” Woodrow confessed. “A cabin can get mighty small in the wintertime.”
“How cold does it get here, then?” Rose couldn’t help but ask.
“I won’t lie to you,” Woodrow answered truthfully, inching step by step closer to Rose as he saw her shoulders relax and her hands unclench. “The winters are bitter here. Having your aunt here will be a lot of company for you. We’ll have a room of her own added on before winter so she can be comfortable.”
Rose turned to study her husband then. “You won’t mind?”
“Mind what? Having your aunt here? Shoot no. Your aunt will always be welcome here. As long as we have a home, so will she.”
YOU ARE READING
A Bride For The Asking -- (on hold)
RomanceRose McGregor flees the post-civil war south as a mail-order bride, with no other hope than to have a home of her own, a full stomach, and someone to take care of her. She never expected to find more pain and hardship than she's already suffe...
