Chapter Two
Bucky Barnes stepped into the mercantile, grinning when he saw Scott Lang the counter with his daughter Cassie, helping her with her homework and using the counter as a desk. The little blonde was writing carefully on her slate, the ridiculously ugly stuffed bunny toy she carried everywhere sitting on the counter next to her slate as she worked. The pair looked up when they heard the door open, and Scott smiled.
“Mister Barnes!” Cassie said excitedly. Bucky couldn’t help but grin. She reminded him of his sisters when they were little. Of course, as they were his younger sisters, they always seemed little to him.
“Afternoon, Cassie. Scott.” Bucky tipped the brim of his hat at them.
“Here for your regular order?” Scott asked, a bit amused. Since their cook Old Gus had died of pneumonia three years before, the men at the Bluestone Ranch had been fending for themselves. Unfortunately, all they knew how to make was beans, salt pork, rice, hardtack, watery stew, and bad cornbread.
“Here for our regular order.” Bucky agreed with a wry grin. “Any mail?” Amaranto Springs wasn’t a large town, but with the new railway spur going through town it was growing. It hadn’t grown enough for them to get a post office yet, so the mail went through Scott Lang’s mercantile.
“As a matter of fact, yes. Let me get Luis to help load up your order, and then I’ll get the mail.”
“Sounds good.” Bucky moved to lean against the counter, looking down at Cassie’s slate. “You sure your teacher can read those chicken scratches?” He teased her. Cassie heaved a sigh as she looked forlornly down at her slate.
“Is it really that bad?”
He pointed at a number. “Now, I know I’m reading this upside down, and I don’t think you’re old enough for the fancy arithmetic with all the letters, but I can’t tell if that is a two or the letter ‘Z.’ Or if this one is a nine or a ‘P’.”
Cassie looked up at him in horror. “There’s ’rithmetic with letters?” She demanded. Bucky gave her a sad, soulful look and nodded to indicate that indeed there was such a plague on students struggling to learn arithmetic. “Is it hard?”
“Nah, not once you’ve got the trick of it, but Mister Rogers and I only learned a little of it. We left school early so we could start working.” Bucky confessed.
“So you could work on your ranch?”
“So we could get the money to buy out ranch. Mister Rogers and I didn’t grow up here in Amaranto Springs like you.” Bucky explained. “We grew up in a place called Brooklyn, in New York state.”
“I know where New York state is!” Cassie grinned a proud, gap-toothed smile. “I found it on the map in school. “Miss Hill was teaching us about all the states.”
“Did she teach you that New York was one of the thirteen original colonies to become a state?” Bucky asked as Scott returned from the back room that served as the town’s post office, bearing several letters.
“She also said it used to be the Capital of the United States of America, an’ that was where George Washington was made pres’dent.”
“President.” Scott corrected automatically as he offered Bucky his mail, “And speaking of United States Capital, I thought all your people were in New York.”
Bucky frowned. “They are. There a letter in here from D.C.?” He asked even as he flipped through the small stack of letters and came to the one Scott must have been talking about. The return address was for Washington D.C., and it wasn’t addressed to anyone specific at the ranch. The words were in a flowing, feminine writing, and it was simply addressed to Bluestone Ranch, Amaranto Springs, Texas.
Then Bucky realized what the letter was.
Steve had finally gotten a reply to that stupid fucking ad he had put out for a mail order bride.
Bucky forced a smile as he looked up at Scott. “Steve knows someone there.” The lie came easily. “Don’t know why it wasn’t addressed to him, but people can be funny like that.”
Scott was smirking slightly. “Right.” He agreed. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with that ad he sent out to the Matrimonial Times, would it?”
Bucky groaned and reached up to scrub a hand over his face. “You know about that?”
“Think I might be the only one who does.”
“Can you keep it quiet? He doesn’t want it nosed around town until he actually has someone headed out here.” Bucky sighed. He was against the entire situation, but Steve wanted to settle down, wanted a wife and kids to pass the ranch onto when the time came. Bucky had wanted to protest that he and Steve only needed each other, that things were fine the way they were, but he also wanted Steve to be happy.
The problem was, Bucky wanted Steve to be happy with him. Not with anyone else. Especially not with some strange woman from back East that they didn’t know anything about.
“I won’t tell anyone else. I figured you knew already, since you two are so close.” Scott reasoned.
“I won’t tell either!” Cassie piped up, and Bucky managed to give her a smile, despite how he was feeling because of the letter.
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
Bucky looked to Scott. “Keeping a promise like that at her age? I think that deserves a piece of candy. On me. What do you think?”
Cassie’s eyes went wide as Scott gave a smile. “I think that can be arranged. It’s still a few hours until suppertime, so a piece of candy won’t spoil her appetite.”
Cassie’s brown eyes widened. “Really?”
Bucky grinned down at her. “Really.” He agreed.
“What do you say to Mister Barnes, Peanut?” Scott asked as he placed a hand on Cassie’s back.
“Thank you, Mister Barnes!” She turned to Scott, “Can I have a peppermint stick?”
“Sure thing. Let me finish with Mister Barnes’ order, and then I’ll get you your peppermint stick.” He promised, before bringing out his ledger and a receipt book.
Bucky finished his transaction with Scott and went to help Luis finish loading the wagon. Then he said his farewells, promised he would see them in church on Sunday, and started the hour drive back to the ranch from town.
As he drove the wagon, he thought about the letter that was now in his pocket. He contemplated pulling it out and ripping it up before tossing it to the winds, but decided against it. Steve wasn’t exactly swimming in responses to the ad, but he was still waiting for them eagerly. And Scott might ask Steve about the letter the next time they saw each other. No, better to give Steve the letter when he passed out the mail to all the hands after dinner.
Bucky felt a tightening in his gut at the thought of Steve corresponding with this stranger, eventually bringing her into their home. Change was in the air, and Bucky didn’t like it a single bit. Soon Steve would move out of the room they shared, and Bucky wouldn’t be able to let the soft sound of Steve’s breathing help to lull him to sleep at night the way it had since they were kids.
Sarah Rogers, Steve’s Ma, had been widowed while she was still pregnant with Steve. She had been a nurse, and had managed to somehow support herself and Steve. She had rented a single room right next door to the Barnes family, who were in a flat that was almost palatial in comparison. Two bedrooms and a sitting room with a kitchen. Sarah paid Bucky’s Ma to watch Steve, mostly when she had to work late or overnight. On those nights Steve would share Bucky’s narrow bed, and the two would snuggle together like puppies after a long day of play. Then Steve’s Ma had died leaving Steve an orphan and Bucky’s Ma had stepped in. The Barnes family were barely scraping by themselves, but Sarah Rogers and Mary Barnes had made promises to each other. Promised that if anything happened to either one of them, they would look after the others’ family. When the tuberculosis and exhaustion had claimed Sarah, she didn’t remind Mary of the promise, but Mary made certain she knew her Sunshine Boy would be well cared for and loved in her absence. Sure, Bucky’s Pa Franklin had protested a bit, but not much.
After that, Bucky and Steve had shared a narrow bed in the room with two of Bucky’s baby sisters while Rebecca, the youngest, had slept in a trundle bed in their parents’ room. When Steve and Bucky had enlisted in the Union Army during the war between the states, things hadn’t changed much. They were able to stay together, and always slept right next to one another when possible. After the war, when they had managed to buy Bluestone Ranch, even though the house had four rooms they still shared a room. Shared a bed.
Because somehow over the years, curling up together like puppies after a long day turned into something else. Something far more intimate.
Bucky liked girls plenty, sure, but that wasn’t where his interest really lay. His magnetic North was a six-foot-two blonde punk with soulful blue eyes. It had been that way for years. Of course, Bucky thought he could never say anything about it, because doing so could possibly lose him the best friend he’d ever had, and came with the strong probability of winding up with him lynched, or worse, should the wrong people find out.
Instead, after their first night in their house on the ranch, after celebrating with a bottle of rotgut whiskey, Steve had been the one to find out.
That night had put an end to secret glances and years’ worth of yearning to touch and be touched.
They had never talked about it afterward. That didn’t stop it from happening again. And again. For years they were partners in every sense of the word.
And then Steve had told Bucky his plan to put an ad in the paper for a mail order bride.
Bucky had felt something ugly that night, a twisting in his gut and a dark jealousy. He had managed to push it aside, eventually, but he still wasn’t happy about the situation. He knew that the entire situation was his fault; he should have talked to Steve about how he felt, about what they were together, instead of assuming Steve felt the same as he did. He had made this bed with his inaction, and now he had to lie in it.
He pulled the wagon to a stop in front of the house, and started the process of getting the heavy sacks of and barrels of supplies into the house. Then he got the sacks of feed put away before moving the wagon and taking care of the horses, his mind still on the letter.
He thought about it as he fixed dinner that night, cornbread and a watery strew made from the salt pork and some vegetables he had picked up at the mercantile, adding in some dried peas for good measure. Hopefully they’d have enough time to cook without soaking. As he put the rest of the groceries away he thought about the letter, his temptation to destroy it at odds with his temptation to read it.
No, he decided. He would give it to Steve. That was the right thing to do. And… Well, it might make Steve happy. That was the important thing, to Bucky, anyway. Seeing Steve happy, even if it wasn’t because of him, or with him.
~*~
After dinner, before the hands got up to head to the bunkhouse for the night, Bucky announced there was mail. As he picked up the letters from the shelf in the kitchen where he had left them, he could hear good natured ribbing.
“Morita, looks like you’ve got a letter from home.” Bucky grinned, passing the first envelope to Jim Morita, who smiled to see the elegant kanji script, and the crude western translation beneath, so that the letter could be delivered properly. It had been a good mail day, and everyone received at least one letter. Sam Wilson, Timothy Dugan (Dum Dum to everyone who knew him, but that wasn’t the name showing up on the letters), Gabe Jones, Jacques Denier, James Falsworth, Junior Juniper, Pinky Pinkerton, and Sam Sawyer (they called him Happy Sam, a name he said was a nickname since childhood). Bucky himself had four letters, Steve getting two, plus the mystery letter.
When Bucky handed the letter to Steve, he looked down at it in confusion, not seeing his name. When he realized what the letter was, his eyes widened, and Bucky could tell he was forcing himself not to tear it open then and there.
“Who has dishes tonight? Bucky asked, so no one would bother Steve about his surprise and eagerness.
“Tonight it’s Pinky and me.” Dum Dum said as he stuffed his letters into his shirt pocket, before looking to the square-jawed Englishman. “You wash, I dry.”
“Only because you won the bloody card game.” Pinky grumbled as they left the dining room for the kitchen. Bucky and Steve went to the small parlor as the others left for the bunkhouse. Steve sat down in his chair, tearing open the mystery letter, drawing out fine quality paper and reading over it carefully.
Bucky settled into his own seat, but didn’t move to open his letters yet. He watched Steve as he read the letter, saw the smile curl at the edge of his full lips as he read. He watched as Steve read the letter a second time, before looking up at Bucky.
“Well?” Bucky asked. “Tell me about her.”
“Here.” Steve held out the letter, but Bucky hesitated.
“That was meant for you.” He pointed out. “You’re the one who’s considering marrying her.”
“But I want your opinion.” Steve countered. “What you think is important, Buck. I’m not bringing anyone here without getting your opinion on it first.”
Bucky sighed, reaching out and taking the letter. “And if I don’t like her?”
Steve’s smile faded, as did his excitement. “Then I guess I look for someone else.”
“Fair enough.” Bucky sighed, before looking down at the pages filled with elegant script in black ink, beginning to read.
Dearest Sir,
I am writing in response to the ad placed in the Matrimonial Times, seeking a wife. My name is Runa Freydis, and I am twenty years of age. I am petite and slender, with blonde hair and blue eyes. I have been in service as a housemaid with a kind family in Washington D.C. for the past eight years. I am used to hard work, and would not mind doing the cleaning for the ranch. I have been taking lessons in cooking from the family cook for several years now, and am confident I would be able to cook for everyone with little difficulty.
In your letter, you ask for a Christian woman, so I believe and hope that your ranch is near to a church. I have always attended services on Sunday, as it is my half day, and Mrs. Rumlow feels strongly that everyone in her household should follow the teachings of Christ and lead good lives. I understand that ranches can be too far from a church to allow for Sunday worship, and that Western towns do not have churches at all. If that is the case, I would content myself with reading from the bible and the fellowship of those around me.
I have not left Washington since I was a young child, so I have never been to Texas. I have heard it is quite wild, but has a beauty to it. What is your opinion on the matter? Would you mind telling me a little about yourself and your ranch? Why did you choose to call it Bluestone Ranch? And if it is no trouble, I should like a description of yourself, as well as how many people live and work on your ranch.
If my letter is of interest to you, and you would like to correspond further with an aim towards matrimony, please reply, but address the letter to my Mistress, Mrs. Donna Rumlow. Gossip spreads terribly fast in a house like this, and I do not wish the others to know I have responded to an ad and become the subject of their wagging tongues.
Respectfully yours,
Runa Freydis.
Bucky frowned slightly as he read the letter. “Sounds a little preachy, but good otherwise.” He finally ventured.
“She didn’t sound preachy to me. Devout, maybe, but that isn’t a problem.” Steve protested. Steve made certain they all observed the Sabbath. Sunday was a day for essential chores only, and Steve insisted they all make the trip to town to attend church each week. His parents had been devout Catholic, and he had continued going to church after the death of his Ma. No one on the ranch was deeply religious, but going to church on Sundays was something they all did without argument. It gave them a chance to socialize a bit afterwards, see more than the same old faces day after day.
“At least she’s no stranger to hard work. If she’s been working for the same family for eight years, she started work at what, age twelve? Can’t think much of her parents for that.” Mary Barnes hadn’t let any of the children start work until they were thirteen, and she would never have let any of the girls work as a housemaid at that age. The work was grueling and the hours were long. Far longer than a factory shift.
“Some families need the kids to start working when they’re young.” Steve countered. “They have to.”
“In factories, sure, but in service? Remember when Judy worked as maid in New York before she got married? She said she was up at six and they didn’t stop working until ten or later.”
“Then once she gets this place whipped into shape, it will be easy for her.” Steve countered. “I think… I think I’m going to write back to her. See if we can exchange a couple of letters so we can make a better decision.”
“Good idea.” Bucky agreed as he passed the letter back to Steve, his stomach churning once again. He wanted to protest, but… Well. He also wanted Steve happy, and getting someone out to the ranch who could cook and clean the place up a bit was an attractive thought.