Grace: Bride of Montana (American Mail-Order Bride 41) by Debra Holland Page A

husband within a matter of hours than I would have ever believed. We are starting our marriage on a friendship level.”
    Nodding, Trudy began packing her plates in a basket, laying a clean rag between each one. “Well, I’m so glad. My father once told me that companionship was the key to a good marriage, and I’ve come to realize it’s even more important out here.”
    Grace tilted her head in askance.
    Trudy stacked the pots and pans and put them in a box. “Life in a small, rural town is very different than residing in the city. We live more isolated lives, especially out here on the farms and ranches. With fewer people, friendships are cherished, even with those folk you wouldn’t normally be drawn to. We depend on each other’s help with the harvest, in sickness, in birthing babies, and in sharing lean times.”
    Just hearing Trudy’s description made Grace realize how isolated she’d been for years —first with caring for her father, then by working long hours at the factory. Adding on her duties for Shirley, she didn’t have much time or energy for socializing with congenial companions—the ones who liked to read and create—whether a painting, or a pattern for a dress, or growing a new type of flower. Until now, Grace hadn’t apprehended how much she’d withdrawn, how the sociable side of her nature had been tested.
    Trudy kept her hands and her chatter going apace. “On Sundays, weather permitting, we try to get together for dinner with the Barretts and the Walkers, or we gather as a group and at least chat for a few minutes. I’ll introduce you after the church service, and maybe you can join us one Sunday.”
    “That will be lovely. I must finish the dress I’m making first. I bought the material before I left Massachusetts and only had time to pin on the pattern and cut out the fabric.”
    Trudy let out a sigh. “I’m good at plain sewing. But growing up, we always had a dressmaker or purchased ready-made clothes. Oh, I miss the stores in St. Louis.”
    “I shopped before I left and bought a new coat, shoes, and a hat.” Grace didn’t mention the nightgown and dressing gown—a bitter purchase at the time, for they were for the eyes of a man who was not Victor. “The dress will take me a while, though, to sew by hand.”
    A smile lit Trudy’s face. “I have a sewing machine. Why don’t you come to my house in the next few days to use it?”
    “Oh, Trudy, I couldn’t put you to the trouble.”
    “No trouble at all. What you don’t realize, Grace—surrounded by women on a daily basis as you’ve been—is unless we come to town on Sundays, or someone drives out to visit me—a rare occurrence—I seldom see a woman. So having company is very welcome.”
    “I never thought of that.” Grace pursed her lips. “But you’ve given me so much…. I’ll work on my dress at your house, as long as I can help you with one of yours.”
    “Oh, that would be wonderful.” Trudy glanced down at George, a rueful expression on her face. “What I really need help with is letting out the seams of most of my dresses. After two babies, I don’t have the narrow waist I once had…well, relatively narrow.” She sighed. “To think I used to chastise myself for not having an eighteen-inch waist. Now I’d love to have that twenty-three inch one back!”
    The two laughed.
    “What with a baby and the new house and all, I’ve only managed to alter a few of my outfits.”
    “I don’t know how many you own, but letting out seams is easy work. The most tedious part is having to try on each one so we can pin the sides.”
    Trudy packed the last plate into the basket. “I have quite a few dresses. I brought them with me from St. Louis. Out here, women don’t worry if the styles are a few years out of date—most people don’t even know what the latest styles are.”
    They heard heavy footsteps and glanced up.
    The men entered the room and used the last of the rinse water to wash their hands before