He Built the House Before He Sent for a Mail Order Bride — She Walked In and Called It Home
Chapter 2
Samuel had expected Clara to be frightened.
He had expected her to be uncertain.
He had even prepared himself for the possibility that she would stay for a few days, decide she had made a mistake, and return east on the next stagecoach.
He had not expected her to stand in the middle of the house and call it home.
The word stayed with him for the rest of the evening.
Clara unpacked slowly.
Samuel carried her trunk upstairs.
“There are two bedrooms,” he explained.
“I know. You wrote about them.”
“Oh.”
She smiled.
“I read your letters.”
Samuel nodded awkwardly.
“Right.”
Clara entered the larger room.
It had a simple bed.
A wooden dresser.
And a window facing the fields.
She walked toward it.
“You built this too?”
“Yes.”
“You built all of it?”
“Except the stove.”
She turned.
“You bought that?”
“I’m not a blacksmith.”
Clara laughed.
Samuel stared at her.
She covered her mouth.
“Sorry.”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“I just wasn’t expecting you to laugh.”
“Why?”
“You seemed serious in your letters.”
“You wrote six pages about fence repairs.”
“They were complicated repairs.”
Clara laughed again.
Samuel finally smiled.
That evening, she insisted on helping with supper.
“You’ve been traveling all day.”
“And you’ve been building houses.”
“Not today.”
“Then you can peel potatoes.”
Samuel looked suspicious.
“I can do that.”
“We’ll find out.”
It was not romantic.
It was not elegant.
Samuel dropped two potatoes.
Clara burned the bread slightly.
And the stew needed more salt.
But when they finally sat at the table, Clara looked around the room.
Samuel noticed.
“What?”
“You built this table too.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“It was cheaper.”
She touched the smooth surface.
“It’s beautiful.”
Samuel lowered his eyes.
No one had ever called his furniture beautiful before.
After supper, Clara washed the dishes.
Samuel tried to help.
She refused.
“You’ve done enough.”
“I carried one trunk.”
“You built a house.”
“That was before.”
Clara smiled.
“Then tonight, you can rest.”
Samuel sat beside the fireplace.
For the first time in years, another person moved through his home.
The sound of water.
Plates touching.
Clara humming softly.
It was strange.
But it didn’t feel wrong.
Later, she joined him near the fire.
“I have a question.”
Samuel looked up.
“Only one?”
“Possibly several.”
He nodded.
“Go ahead.”
“Why did you choose me?”
Samuel hesitated.
It was a question he had feared.
“I didn’t choose you.”
Clara’s expression changed.
Samuel quickly continued.
“I mean, not before you answered.”
“That isn’t much better.”
He sighed.
“I wrote the advertisement. You answered. Then we exchanged letters.”
“And?”
“And I liked what you wrote.”
Clara looked down.
“What did I write?”
“You said you wanted a place where you could work and belong.”
Her expression softened.
“You remembered that?”
“Yes.”
Samuel leaned forward.
“I didn’t want a wife who came here because she thought I had money.”
“You don’t?”
“Not much.”
Clara laughed.
He continued:
“I wanted someone who understood what it meant to build a life.”
Silence settled between them.
Then Clara said:
“And if I decide this isn’t the life I want?”
Samuel looked directly at her.
“Then I’ll take you back to town myself.”
She studied him.
“You would?”
“Yes.”
“You wouldn’t be angry?”
“I might be disappointed.”
“Honest.”
“But I wouldn’t make you stay.”
Clara looked toward the fire.
“That matters.”
Samuel didn’t understand why those words sounded so heavy.
But he didn’t ask.
Not yet.
