Читать книгу Mail-Order Christmas Brides Boxed Set - Jillian Hart, Janet Tronstad - Страница 24
ОглавлениеMontana Territory December 20, 1886
With her wool shawl wrapped tight around her shoulders, Maeve Flanagan stepped off the passenger car onto the railroad platform in Miles City and stopped suddenly. She and her four-year-old daughter, Violet, had watched the swirling snow as the train rolled west last night before finally entering the desolate prairie of the Montana Territory. Watching the storm this morning hadn’t prepared her for the icy wind that hit her face when she climbed down to the platform, though. It was worse than any gale off the bay in Boston. She lifted the shawl to warm her cheeks. Maybe she had been a fool, trying to escape her past by traveling so far from home to marry a stranger.
Putting her hand over her stomach in an unconscious effort to shield the life that grew within her, she reminded herself that she’d had no other choice. She’d feel better when she met Noah Miller and stood in front of a preacher with him.
Of course, he might refuse to marry her when he found out about the baby.
She hadn’t known for sure that she was increasing until the week she received the train tickets. It seemed indelicate to inform Noah of her condition by telegram, especially when she might be wrong. Besides, she wanted him to have time to be charmed by Violet before she said anything. If he liked one child, he’d probably be agreeable to another. She did not know what she’d do if he didn’t want them. Infant or no infant, she had nothing left in Boston.
Maeve put a hand up to keep her hat on her head before doing her best to look around. She’d tell Noah of the baby as soon as she could and certainly before they said their vows. He knew she was a recent widow; the baby brought no shame to her. Searching the area, she saw that two rows of painted wood buildings lined the main street of this frontier town. Directly across from her, the Broadwater, Bubble and Company Mercantile had an imposing sign that was visible even in this storm.
Snow had partially turned to hail and caused the few people standing on the store walkways to move inside. Those on the railroad platform huddled together in small groups. The sounds of the horses and wagons that were being driven on the street in front of them gave a faint rhythm to the steady howl of the wind. Maeve didn’t see any man standing by himself so Noah must not be here to meet them.
Maeve shivered before turning to the opening behind her and used both hands to reach for her daughter. The train had been early, she assured herself. Noah would be here soon. She would not allow herself to think of any other possibility.
“Cover your head, sweetie.” She took the shawl off her shoulders and wrapped it around Violet. The child’s thin coat wouldn’t keep her warm in the wind. Maeve then swung the girl off the train and moved them both to the side so the next person could exit.
Ash and cinders from the train’s smokestack fell with the hail. Maeve kept her arm around her daughter as she looked around the platform more intently. Violet was snug under the shawl, but Maeve’s gray wool dress, while her best and the only one made for this kind of weather, did not do much to stop the cold. She couldn’t stand out here in the wind for long.
She searched the area again, trying not to worry. When Noah had sent for her, she had wept in relief. She had left her rented room in Boston the day her money had run out and boarded the train to arrive here. God was giving her a second chance. She had begun to wonder if He had abandoned her forever.
Now, she carried a copy of Noah’s ad in her Bible. The ad read: Passable cook wanted as wife to Montana Territory rancher. Marriage in name only. Must be able to serve up three meals a day for ten to twenty cowboys. Mature widow preferred. Rail fare provided. Separate quarters.
Maeve wouldn’t recognize Noah if he was standing in front of her. He had told her he lived near Dry Creek, a growing ranch area some distance from Miles City. But hadn’t said anything about his appearance in the one letter he’d written after she answered his ad. Every man she knew bragged about himself, and Noah’s silence in the matter had given her pause. He was probably short and portly. She had wondered about him offering separate quarters until she realized he might be hideously disfigured and wanted his privacy.
No matter, Maeve had told herself firmly at the time. For all that she was only twenty-five-years old, she was long past girlish dreams. She didn’t need her pulse to quicken with romance at the sight of her husband. She needed a home for her family. As long as Noah was a good man, they would get along.
Suddenly, Maeve noticed that the wind wasn’t blowing. She turned and saw a man standing behind her with a blanket spread high in his extended arms to stop the onslaught of hail. She was tall at nearly six feet, but this man stood at least three inches higher. He was fit, too. His legs were firmly braced on the wooden platform as he stood against the wind with the blanket flapping behind him.
“Flanagan?” the man demanded to know. Snow and pebbles of ice covered the brim of his Stetson hat, but she could tell from his beard that his hair was dark. His eyes were moss-green and seemed steady. Not friendly exactly, but not stern, either.
Maeve nodded as her heart raced. He was neither old nor short. From what she could see of it, his face was strong and probably appealing under his whiskers. Her friend Mercy Jacobs, with whom she’d traveled on the train, had warned her that men in the West were not as refined as those back East, but the man standing in front of her was close to perfect. He might have a beard, but it was trimmed. He didn’t need to place an ad asking for a wife. Surely women around here would line up to be courted by this man.
Before she could say anything, the man brought the blanket down over her shoulders and Maeve realized how very cold she had been, standing there shivering. She needed to take better care of herself now that she knew about the baby.
Just then another strong gust of wind hit her, threatening once again to dislodge the old black wool hat she’d securely pinned over her copper hair. She didn’t have a chance to put her hand up before the man took the blanket from her shoulders and draped it over her head, hat and all.
“There,” he said as though he’d accomplished something. “We better get going before this storm gets any worse. I need to get back to the ranch and we have to stop by the mercantile and then the church.”
He took her arm and looked ready to walk away.
“But—” Maeve burst out and stepped back. The blanket kept her face in shadows and she couldn’t see well. “Violet.”
The cover shifted as she turned and, through the opening around her face, she saw his bewildered expression. Maeve had answered a half dozen other ads and none of the men wanted a woman with a daughter. A healthy son could be of some help, they had all said, but not a daughter. She hadn’t known she was pregnant when she answered those ads so she hadn’t mentioned a baby, but when it came time to answer Noah’s ad she had simply said she had one child.
He had not asked whether it was a boy or girl or how old the child was; he had just sent two train tickets. At the time, she had thought the man was tolerant and willing to accept any child.
“My daughter,” Maeve added as she bent over to tuck her shawl more firmly around Violet. Now that she was here it felt unseemly to mention the babe growing inside her until she and Noah had looked each other in the eyes and smiled in acknowledgment of the bond they were contemplating.
“Oh,” Noah said as though he’d forgotten she even had family.
“She won’t be any trouble,” Maeve said quietly as she drew the girl closer to her and stepped even with Noah. She was beginning to realize that he had not been kind earlier but, instead, indifferent. She felt a chill go through her that had nothing to do with the storm. She adjusted the blanket, but kept it wrapped around her head. She wished he looked less handsome and more welcoming.
Violet pulled away slightly and Maeve thought it was because the girl sensed her own growing dismay over the man. But then her daughter turned and pointed at something behind them.
Maeve followed Violet’s finger. Mercy and her son were knocking on the train window to get their attention. They were on their way farther west to Angel Falls, where Mercy’s future husband waited for them.
“My friend,” Maeve said by way of explanation to Noah as she lifted her arm in a wave. She and Mercy had said their farewells on the train and Maeve hadn’t expected a chance to do so again. They’d promised to write, but she was glad to see her friend’s face.
“We don’t have time,” Noah said impatiently.
“Go-odbye,” Violet stuttered as she whispered and waved shyly.
Maeve stood up straighter. Her daughter’s trouble with speaking, like the nightmares, had started after seeing her father stabbed to death. Her late husband had taken Violet to some waterfront bar, telling her to stay in the corner, and then he’d sat down and proceeded to be inappropriate with a young lady whose irate father had found them and confronted him. The two men had fought, a full brawl breaking out that had involved the other patrons, and it had all ended badly for her husband. Maeve grieved that he had died, but a larger part of her blamed him for making her a widow.
The train had started rolling again, and Maeve gave another wave and smile to Mercy. When her friend was out of sight, she turned back to Noah.
“Ready?” he asked. He didn’t wait for a response, but started moving toward the steps that led down from the railroad platform.
Maeve gathered Violet closer and hurried to follow him.
Just then a young woman ran past them and into the arms of a man standing on the far side of the platform. His whoop of joy made it clear he’d been expecting her. He even took the woman in his arms and kissed her.
Violet stopped and stared at them. “Is she a bride, too?”
“I don’t know,” Maeve said, her lips pressed together, wondering how she was going to explain to her daughter that not all marriages were filled with happiness.
She had tried to stop the conductor on the train from talking about how wonderful it was going to be when she and Mercy met their respective husbands-to-be. The conductor had even brought by sprigs of mistletoe for the two mail-order brides. He’d said the mistletoe was for their first kisses on Christmas Day with their new husbands.
Maeve looked at Noah out of the corner of her eyes. He didn’t look as if a green sprig would tempt him to kiss anyone. His face was as foreboding as the storm clouds. He’d stomped down the wooden steps and stood on the snow-covered street, looking toward the west.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
If he was troubled about something, then she didn’t want to approach him about the baby.
“Just that we’re late,” he said as he turned to her. “The clouds coming in look worse. And now the clerk in the mercantile should be coming back from his noon meal and I don’t see him.”
“Oh, well, that’s—” Maeve stopped. He had a frown on his face, but he didn’t appear overly angry. If she didn’t tell him now, when would she?
She took a deep breath and glanced down because she couldn’t bear to watch his eyes as she said what she had to say. “Maybe he has a baby at home and is taking a moment to rock the wee thing. The little ones can be sweet, don’t you think? Makes us all wish we had one.”
She realized she had to see him to judge his reaction so she looked up at him.
“He’s not married,” Noah responded as he stood there, his eyes bland as they watched hers curiously.
“Oh.” She looked at his eyes and waited a moment longer.
His green eyes didn’t darken even with the clouds overhead. He showed no sudden spark of understanding.
Finally, his eyes broke away from hers.
“The clerk’s life is his own that way,” Noah mused idly as he stared down the street again. “No one to answer to.”
He sounded as if he envied the man. Maeve didn’t know what to say to that, but she apparently didn’t need to say anything as her future husband continued on.
“Of course, he’s not responsible for taking care of a bunkhouse of men so he might not understand how important it is for us to get our order in for supplies.”
“Working men need to eat,” Maeve agreed cautiously. Noah had been clear that he wanted a cook for a wife. She kept trying not to let that dismay her. Many marriages started out with less. She wished he had smiled at the thought of babies, though.
Noah gestured across the street to the general store. “We’ll have to hurry. We don’t have time to do much looking around. As it is, I’ll have to ask the boy who works there to bring most of what we order out in his wagon after the storm. And the preacher will be at the church soon.”
With that, Noah turned and held out a hand to help her down the steps. Then he gestured as if to lift Violet down to the street, but Maeve said she’d do it. Once she had her daughter next to her, she pulled the girl close and faced them both in the right direction.
As they walked across the snow-covered street, Maeve convinced herself there was something reassuring about the man. He might not be friendly, but he was clearly used to taking care of others. Besides, his gruffness would likely go away when he got to know her and Violet better.
She hoped she was right as she pushed back her fears.
Maeve felt the wind stop again as Noah stepped up onto a wooden walk that was in front of the mercantile. He stomped the snow off his boots.
Frost outlined the window that looked into the establishment. Various items were right inside on a table. Maeve’s breath caught when she saw a doll in a red dress lying near a flowered teapot.
Oh, no, Christmas Eve, she thought. She’d almost forgotten the holiday and it was four days from now.
She had no money for presents, not even for Violet. The girl had wanted a doll like the one in the window ever since she’d been able to crawl. Months ago, Maeve had decided her daughter would finally have her wish this Christmas. Her husband had been making money—he’d told her he’d gotten some work at the waterfront—and Maeve had been putting in extra hours as a scrubwoman.
She almost had enough saved up for a doll when everything turned upside down. She’d been fired from her job because the lady of the house didn’t want “that man’s widow” working for her any longer, even though all Maeve ever did was scrub the floors and do the heavy washing. She was given no references when she was told to leave. She’d finally bought a newspaper and read the awful things people were saying about her late husband. And about her.
People said that she had known about her husband’s scheme to seduce rich young women and then threaten to expose them unless their families offered up a fair amount of money. The reporters even speculated that she had some of that money left and creditors came to her door demanding payment on her late husband’s debts. They showed her papers he had signed for gambling debts and she’d been unable to pay them. She didn’t know what her husband had done with the money he’d forced from the families. Likely, he had gambled it away. The only thing he had ever given her was the odd coin here and there that he added to their savings for the doll.
They’d been destitute when Noah’s letter had come with the train tickets.
“Pretty,” Violet whispered and pointed. The doll had auburn hair and blue eyes like hers. “What’s her name, Mommy?”
The blanket no longer kept the cold away. Maeve shivered, but she noticed Violet didn’t hesitate in her speech at all, not when talking about the doll.
“Hush now,” Maeve said quietly. “The doll doesn’t have a name.”
“Oh.” Violet breathed in dismay. “Doesn’t she have a daddy to love her?”
Maeve almost broke down. As unfaithful as her husband had been, he’d always charmed their daughter. He told her he’d named her for his favorite flower, the most delicate, beautiful blooming plant in the whole world. The truth was, Maeve had discovered at his graveside, Violet had been the name of one of his several lovers. He must have thought it was quite the joke to name their daughter after a woman he had been free with since before he married Maeve.
“The doll doesn’t care about love,” Maeve told the girl, her words more harsh than she intended. Her heart had been broken all over again when her husband’s lover had confronted her that day, demanding to have a token of him for a remembrance, preferably something with a precious stone that she could pawn.
Maeve forced her face to relax and smiled reassuringly at her daughter.
Violet didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t say anything more.
Maeve looked over at Noah, hoping he hadn’t been listening. He was reaching for the doorknob and didn’t seem to have been paying any attention to them. She was relieved.
“Maybe they’ll still have a doll like that next Christmas,” Maeve whispered finally, softening her voice and offering her daughter what hope she could. The girl nodded solemnly and Maeve resolved to put together a sock doll for Violet for Christmas. It wouldn’t be the beauty in the window, but her daughter would have something to hug as she went to sleep at night.
* * *
Noah stomped the snow off his boots as he opened the wide door leading into the mercantile. It was darker than usual inside because of the coming storm, but it was warm. The place smelled of coffee, and he saw a new barrel of pickles sitting on the floor by the counter. Bright bolts of cloth were on a shelf to his right. Cans of peaches and bags of dried beans were to his left.
Noah watched to be sure the woman and girl made it through the door. He had yet to even see the Flanagan woman’s face since she kept the blanket hooded over it. His impression of her on the railroad platform was of a tall drab woman with an awful hat pulled down to cover her ears. From what he could tell, she was thin. He hoped she was up to cooking for his crew. His men knew how to drive cattle and they were loyal, but there had been grumbling in the bunkhouse about the burnt biscuits and tough meat the ranch had served up for the past two years. Last fall, he’d ordered one of the cowboys, Dakota, to take over feeding the men. The cowboy hadn’t been much of a cook and he was anxious to have the duty taken away from him.
The men would give anyone who didn’t feed them better than Dakota a hard time. It was worse in the winter when they spent half of their time in the bunkhouse dreaming of donuts and pies—the kind of delicacies, they said, that required a woman’s hand to make properly.
He suspected it was all the idle time that had caused his men to come to him with the idea of placing an ad for a female cook. He told them there was no point. Women were so scarce in the Montana Territory that no woman would stay longer than a couple of weeks before she got married and left. They knew that as well as he did, but Dakota refused to accept it. He said he was going to find a way to get a cook who would stay.
The next thing Noah knew, he’d received a letter from a woman who had answered the ad Dakota and the men had put in a newspaper asking for a mail-order bride—for him. He’d demanded to see the ad and the ranch hands had given him a copy. He had been glad to see Dakota had some sense and had indicated the marriage would be in name only. Then he’d wondered if an older widow might just be interested in the kind of an arrangement his men had proposed. He checked the dates and saw that the ad had run for a full month and a half before he received even that one reply. He figured that meant there had been no confusion about the offer being made. Most women had discarded it.
Noah had intended to throw the letter he received away, but it had sat on his bedside table for two weeks. Every night he’d read it and tried to write some words to tell the woman there had been a misunderstanding. He’d had one wife and had no intentions of ever seeking another.
But the sparse words on the plain piece of paper had haunted him. He could almost feel the woman’s desperation as she penned the few words telling him that she was an immigrant from Northern Ireland, a mature widow who had worked as a scrubwoman until her husband had been killed and she’d lost her job. She had no other family and was looking for a home for herself and her child. She had taken lessons to improve her speech, she said, and she knew also how to sew. Maybe it was the lack of polish and detail that had spoken to him. He’d known discouragement so deep it threatened the soul. He’d sensed this woman had nothing but a fragile pride stopping her from begging for help.
Finally, one night he’d written to her, telling her to come if she hadn’t already found another position. And he’d prayed that she had. He had repeated that he had separate quarters for her, hoping to assure her that he didn’t mean to take advantage of her plight. Once she had saved some money, he would offer to have the marriage annulled if she wanted. He knew how easily women, especially immigrants, starved to death in cities like Boston after they lost their husbands and their jobs.
“I mean to pay you,” Noah said as he turned around to speak to the woman. “They didn’t mention that in the ad, but—”
She wasn’t there. She hadn’t followed him over to the counter like he had assumed. Instead, she was bent over the little girl, speaking in a low voice. All he saw was the top of her blanketed head, but something about her and the child made him uneasy. She hadn’t mentioned her age in the brief letter she’d written, but mature surely meant someone old enough to be a grandmother. He was thirty-three and he figured someone of that description had to be in her fifties. But not many women that age would have a young child.
The girl was probably her granddaughter, he told himself in relief. Maybe she thought he would frown upon her bringing a child who wasn’t hers.
Just then Jimmy, the boy who ran errands in the store, came out from the back room.
“Help you?” He nodded in greeting. “I got some of your order in the wagon. I left room for a couple of trunks. But I got in the ham you wanted and a side of bacon. I’ll bring the rest out later.”
“My wife is going to put in a full order for that later delivery, but you’ll need to pick up her trunk from the railroad station now,” Noah said loudly enough for the woman to hear. “Flanagan is the name.”
His words got her attention and she turned away from the display and started walking closer to him. He couldn’t see anything on that table to appeal to a woman unless it was the china teapot.
“Put the pot in the window in our wagon, too,” Noah whispered as he leaned in and spoke quietly to Jimmy. “Wrap it in a sack and see if you can find some red ribbon to go around it, too.”
Noah was pleased with himself. He hadn’t bought anyone a Christmas present since his wife ran away over two years ago. Oh, he always gave the ranch hands a twenty-dollar gold piece each. But a woman liked a gift.
“I’m sure you know what to stock for supplies in the kitchen,” Noah said once the woman reached him. “Just tell Jimmy here. He can write it down.”
“I don’t know.” She sounded a little alarmed.
The wind had made it hard to hear her earlier, but inside here he caught a hint of gentle Irish brogue in her voice. He liked it.
“They have almost everything you’d want in the mercantile here,” he assured her.
She was silent for a moment.
“I’ll just get your usual order,” she finally said, sounding hesitant. “Until I’ve had a chance to check on what spices you have and everything.”
Noah frowned. “There’s not much on the shelves. We haven’t had a cook on the place since my wife left two years ago.”
“Your wife?” The woman looked up at that, no longer timid in her tone. If the sky outside wasn’t going dark, he would have been able to see her face fully. He was sure there’d be some spark there, but the shadows hid her.
“She divorced me.” He didn’t like talking about his wife, but the woman deserved to know his past, especially since he’d brought it up. “She didn’t think I could give her enough fancy things—you know, clothes and furniture. Things like that.”
Flanagan didn’t say anything and he was grateful for her tact.
“She wasn’t much of a cook,” he added. “Could barely make pancakes. Either raw in the middle or so thin there was nothing to them. But she did order in spices and tins of oysters.”
He supposed it was during his marriage that he had become accustomed to poor cooking. His wife had had visions of entertaining visiting dignitaries, but he didn’t know any such people so the few imported tins gathered dust on the shelves. He’d been so miserable during that time, he hadn’t cared about eating and his men, maybe sensing how bad things were between him and his wife, hadn’t complained much about the food, either.
Noah turned to the boy behind the counter. “Add a few cases of canned peaches to the order.” He figured his men deserved something festive to eat. And maybe their ad would work out better than he’d expected. “Put the peaches in the wagon. I think there’ll be room since there’s only one trunk.”
“Oh, and tell the clerk when he gets back that he’ll be taking his supply orders from my wife from now on,” he added with a nod to Maeve.
Jimmy looked between him and the woman and nodded solemnly. “Yes, sir.”
Noah suddenly realized the youngster had learned more about him in the past few minutes than most adults in town had learned in the decade he’d lived here.
“Well, we best get going,” Noah said as he turned to the woman. “The church is only a few doors down.”
“I’d like to talk to you before we see the preacher,” she said then, her voice low and serious.
Noah felt his heart sink. He feared she was going to back out. Although why she would, he wasn’t certain. She hadn’t seen much of the country around here. His wife had always said the mercantile wasn’t as well stocked as stores back East, but that seemed a small reason to leave. It might be the weather, though. Some people couldn’t tolerate the bad storms they had here, especially if they found themselves snowbound. But she was Irish. And from Boston. Shouldn’t she be used to the cold?
Noah looked around. There were no private places in the mercantile and he didn’t want his business spread all over the territory. If he was going to be left at the altar, he didn’t want everyone to know. The divorce had done enough damage to his pride.
“We can take a moment in the church,” he said finally.
The woman nodded and took the hand of the girl.
They walked to the door.
“The preacher is expecting us,” he added as he stepped over to open the door. “So he’ll be there when we arrive.”
He turned back to Jimmy. “You’ll have to finish loading the supplies in the wagon. Remember the peaches.”
A knowing twinkle appeared in the boy’s eyes. “I’ll get them there. And congratulations.”
Noah frowned, but nodded his thanks. He supposed it was impossible to keep the wedding plans a secret even if the woman backed out. The ranch hands had probably already announced it to everyone they’d seen in the days since he’d told them Maeve had boarded the train in Boston and was heading south to pick up the rail line that would bring her west.
Noah reached over and opened the doors.
“Just follow me,” he said to the woman as he stepped out to the street.
The wind hit him and he hunched his shoulders. He was a God-fearing man and he didn’t believe in superstitions, but he wondered if it was wise to get married with a snowstorm brewing. His first wife would have been calling the whole thing off by now. Maybe the widow was wise to have second thoughts.
