Read Sarah: Bride of Minnesota (American Mail-Order Bride 32) for Free Online

of corn bread to go with the beans, and then she stirred up the batter for a cake. She knew he'd be hungry when he came home, and she wanted to have everything just perfect for the evening meal.
    Sarah shook her head as she thought of how everyone in town had expected her to be deformed in some way, but she did her best not to let it bother her. She said a quick prayer to ask God to help her forgive her husband. He'd obviously not meant anything bad by it, but the words hadn't hurt any less.
    When Karl stepped in the door at the end of the day, he saw that his parlor had been swept and mopped, and his newspapers removed. He could smell something cooking in the kitchen, and he followed his nose to find his bride, pulling a pan of corn bread from the oven. "That smells delicious."
    Sarah jumped, whirling around to face him. "You frightened me."
    He laughed. "I said I'd be home at five thirty, and it's half past now."
    She nodded. "I'm sorry. I just didn't hear you come in." She waved him toward the sink. "Wash your hands and I'll put dinner on the table. I hope you're hungry."
    "Starving," he told her, washing his hands all the way up to his elbows. He moved to sit at the table, watching her work.
    She filled two bowls with beans, and then cut cornbread for each of them. She took his bowl of beans to him along with his cornbread, and then went back for hers. "Would you like water or milk with your dinner?" she asked.
    "Milk sounds good."
    She filled two glasses with milk, and then sat down at the table with him.
    Karl immediately took her hand and bowed his head, praying over their meal. When he was finished, he looked down at his beans. "I don't think a meal has been cooked in this house for as long as I've lived here. I always go to my brother's house for holidays."
    "Will we continue that tradition?" she asked, wondering what his brother was like. She hoped he had a family she would like, because she had no one here but the kindly lady next door.
    "Oh, I don't see why not. You wouldn't mind, would you?"
    She shook her head. "I have no one here."
    "Who do you have at home?" he asked, wondering who she'd left behind. "Did you have a sweetheart back East?"
    She shook her head. "No, never a sweetheart. I had some friends that I shared a small apartment with."
    "No family?"
    "My family is huge. I have four sisters and two brothers, but they're all married with children. We've scattered across the country. The only thing for anyone back in Lawrence were the mills, and none of the others wanted to spend the rest of their lives in them. I didn't either, but — well, I enjoyed my freedom. Being married takes some of that away from me."
    "You feel like marriage is a loss of freedom?" he asked, perplexed.
    "For a woman it is. Think about it. My father died when I was sixteen, and my mother when I was eighteen. For the past four years, I've had no one to answer to but myself and God. If my conscience let me do something, then it was all right for me to do. Now, if I want to spend money, I must ask my husband. If I want to go see my friend in the next city over, I must ask my husband. A little over a month ago, I got on a train with a friend on a moment's notice, and no one cared. Now, I think it would upset you if I did so."
    He frowned. "I never thought about it that way. I guess I'm losing my freedom too, though. How would you feel if I hopped on a train with no notice and went to visit someone?"
    "I hadn't thought of that. It's a loss of freedom for both, I suppose, but in different ways." She took a bite of her beans. "Thank you for helping me see your perspective."
    "I don't want you to feel like you're not allowed to make decisions without me. If you want to sew orange curtains with green sashes for the living room, feel free to do it."
    Sarah laughed softly. "That sounds hideous."
    "Oh, it would be, but I wouldn't stop you. I want you to feel like you have the right to make some decisions without me. Leaving to go to another city