Maybe Fiona should look at the act of agreeing about being a good match as her desired reckless adventure. Certainly traveling to the frontier, learning to live with a man, and eventually creating a family together qualified as an exciting leap of faith.
Inspired, she dropped into the chair, dipped the pen in the inkwell, and, within a few moments, filled a whole page. Hearing her name called from downstairs, she set aside her letter and left the room to start another day. Following supper and a pleasant game of rummy, she retreated to her room and picked up her letter then added a final paragraph before rereading it.
“Dear Anson, I believe in trusting me feelings. They served me well when I first arrived in Chicago with me family after we came to America. Although me parents only enjoyed a year of their coveted life in America, they set their children onto paths in life that held more promise than scratching out a meager living from depleted soil.
Barely more than a girl meself, I entered the household of a well-to-do family to care for and teach a six year old and a four year old. Over the years, two more children joined the family and eventually me classroom. I left as a mature woman who knows how to converse with household servants, local tradesmen, and society people. I am confident I can fit into whatever associations ye enjoy in yer town.
I write tonight while looking through me bedroom window at a clear night sky. Clear of clouds, although not clear of smoke from the factories that operate late into the night. Do ye enjoy looking at the stars and finding the pictures among them the ancients discovered and named? I look forward to yer next communication. Regards, Fiona.”
Chapter Three
Mid- November, 1883
Today’s train was due to arrive in less than an hour. Anson strode to the store’s front window, peered outside then walked back to the counter. He shifted a box holding matchboxes with one containing packets of Colgan’s Taffy Tolu. When he first opened the store, he stocked only hardware. Experience taught him that customers seeing small items like this gum and the candy often produced purchases. Needing a distraction, he ripped open a packet then unwrapped a small stick of gum and popped it in his mouth to chew. A sweet, piney flavor filled his mouth. The opened pack went into his trouser pocket. He’d make a notation for his personal purchase in the ledger later.
Since mailing off his letter a week ago, he’d worried Miss Carthage would not respond in the way he hoped. From the moment he opened her first letter on the ivy-embossed stationery, he’d been intrigued. Her words gave hints of her heritage being either Irish or Scottish—not that who someone’s ancestors were mattered. But each time he reread her letters, he closed his eyes and imagined what her voice would sound like with its lilting cadence.
Once he discussed the logistics with Chad, he’d decided not to waste time by making a proposal in one letter then sending a second one with the train ticket and a few dollars for buying meals on the way. Forwarding the ticket and money without getting her agreement was an uncharacteristic gamble—something he hadn’t done since his venture in the gold fields near the Golden Fleece strike. He figured three days for the letter to reach Chicago, two days for her to pack her belongings, and then three days travel for her to arrive in Gunnison City. That he had the Matrimonial News in his possession for a solid week before submitting his advertisement now seemed like such a waste of time. How had she become so important through a few letters?
Receiving a telegram announcing Fiona’s arrival in Denver yesterday afternoon eased his concern over her acceptance. After its delivery, he’d stared at the brief message: “Arriving tomorrow at 11AM STOP Fiona STOP.” Hope unfurled in his chest. On its heels, a new worry took its place—were they truly a match? In just a few minutes, he would meet her for the first time and then shortly afterward stand at her side in a church to become her husband. The enormity of what he’d put into motion nagged his thoughts.
Outside, a wagon pulled to a stop. The Rutherford family had arrived.
Anson blew out a breath. At least that part of the arrangements went right.
Within minutes, the four were inside and removing their hats and scarves.
“Thank you again, Chad and Vika, for agreeing to be witnesses.” He stood near the door with arms extended to accept the outerwear.
“Of course.” Vika bent over to untie the strings from her daughter’s knitted bonnet. “As soon as Chad mentioned yer request last evening, I agreed. Well do I remember the feeling of arriving in a strange city not knowing a single soul.” She straightened. “I want to be a welcoming presence for yer Miss Carthage.”
My Miss Carthage. Anson liked the way those words sounded. He moved the garments to the lowest shelf behind the counter.
“Lance, Guinie, go over near the stove and warm yourselves.” Chad pointed toward the corner of the store. He rubbed his hands together. “Snow will fall either tonight or tomorrow. Thankfully, your lady is arriving ahead of a storm.”
“Another prediction from the Farmer’s Almanac?” Anson quirked an eyebrow. He did read some of the information the time-honored publication contained but purely for entertainment purposes.
“Plus the action of his prize ram. Right, gràdhán?” Vika rested a hand on her husband’s arm, smiling upward.
Viewing his friends’ affectionate exchange, Anson inhaled at the sharp pain in his chest and almost swallowed his gum. How long before Fiona looked at him in that loving way?
Chad slipped an arm over Vika’s shoulders and pulled her to his side. “When Ramses moves the herd to the eastern gully, I know a storm is due. The Almanac just confirms animal survival instincts.”
A glance at the pendulum clock on the wall over the door showed only a quarter hour remained before the train’s expected arrival at the depot. His pulse kicked up. Anson reached behind his back and untied the strings on the shopkeeper’s apron. “The pot on the stove has some coffee left from earlier. Vika, I can get a kettle from the back for tea, if you like.”
“Don’t worry about us.” Vika walked to join the children by the stove and stretched out her hands. “We’ll be just fine while ye meet your fiancée’s train.”
Although a week had passed since he forwarded the ticket, he still wasn’t used to the term fiancée. “If you’re sure…” He tossed the words over his shoulder as he strode toward the back storeroom to collect his coat, gloves, and hat.
As he and Chad agreed yesterday after the telegram’s news, he drove the wagon south to the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad Depot to collect Miss Carthage and whatever luggage she brought. For years, he’d only needed a horse to transport himself. Now, he’d have to consider either buying a second horse and saddle or a small buggy and train Brownie to the harness.
At the depot, he steered the team in a wide circle then backed the wagon near the depot’s back wall. Once he stood on the plank platform, he glanced west down the tracks but saw no engine smoke on the horizon. He stepped inside the one-story brick building to escape the chilly breeze and positioned himself so he could see the train’s arrival.
Charley, the gray-haired stationmaster sporting bushy sideburns, shuffled a few papers behind the ticket window.
A man in a dark suit sat on a long bench, a valise nestled at his feet.
Two bearded men lounged on the opposite bench with a newspaper spread between them.
From this angle, Anson looked out over the prairie with its low shrubbery and undulating fields that seemed to stretch forever. What will a city dweller think of this frontier city high in the mountains? Before he could contemplate an answer, a three-chime whistle sounded.
Dressed in a navy uniform with a billed hat, Charley walked from behind the counter and headed toward the door. “Folks, that’ll be the train from Salida.”
The locomotive rolled past the depot, screeching to a stop amidst billowing steam.
With a hand on the doorknob, Anson pulled in a deep breath. His life was about to change forever. Then he stepped outside and moved a few feet along the front of the dep
ot.
Dark-skinned porters in white jackets and black trousers climbed down the metal steps and waited at railcar exits to provide assistance to disembarking travelers.
Anson nodded at a couple townspeople who passed by. Then he scanned the area for a single female. Although he’d encouraged her to attach herself to a family group if she could, he had no idea if she’d had the chance. Why hadn’t they written physical descriptions of one another?
A few more seconds passed before a woman with auburn hair topped by a black hat paused at the highest step. She glanced around the immediate area then rested her gloved hand in the porter’s to disembark from the railcar.
Although not a close observer of women’s fashions, he’d seen enough sketches in the Montgomery Ward catalog to know her long coat was a style normally worn by women in a big city. As he approached, he took in her short stature and worried she lacked a scarf or muff. A frown pinched his features before he forced a smile. “Miss Carthage?”
The woman started then looked up. “’Tis I. And glad I am to have finally arrived. Are ye Mister Lorentz?” She glanced at the porter and nodded then stepped forward and extended a gloved hand. “Happy I am to meet ye.”
The lilting cadence of her soft voice was as he imagined—similar to Vika’s, yet all her own. Anson accepted the handclasp and squeezed, liking the connection with this pretty woman. She barely came up to his shoulder in height. “As am I.” Her chin was a bit pointed, but her lips looked well shaped, and her nose was straight. But her doe-like, wide-set eyes held him captive. Fiona Carthage was here, right here in his hometown. A day-long knot that sat in the pit of his stomach loosened. He released her hand then swept an arm toward the back of the train. “What luggage did you bring?”
“This satchel I’m carrying and a single trunk. Not much in the way of worldly possessions, ye might say. Mostly because in me past position, me employers provided me with everything I needed.” She ducked her head, and her shoulders raised and dropped. When she lifted her head, she smiled. “But I’m here to start anew.”
He debated about taking the satchel but figured he’d need both hands for carrying the larger item. “We’ll collect the truck and be on our way to my store.” Knowing the reverend expected them at the top of the hour, he set off toward the baggage car where he saw luggage being unloaded. At the second car from where they’d met, he didn’t hear an echo of footsteps beside him and glanced over his shoulder.
“Mister Lorentz, me stride is a wee bit shorter.” Pale faced, she approached then paused, pressing a hand to her left side. “I fear I canna catch me breath.” Her eyes widened, and she swayed, bringing up a hand to her forehead. “Oh.”
What to do? He couldn’t let her fall, but would she object if he embraced her? At the shuffling of her shoes against the planks, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and supported her back. “Take it easy. Just breathe deep.” Inside, he cringed at his oversight. He’d lived in the mountains for so long he forgot that getting used to the greater than seven thousand foot elevation took others several days. A citrus scent laced with spicy rosemary filled his nose. He closed his eyes and savored her body weight, although slight, pressed against his frame. Resting his chin atop her bonnet, even though the feather ticked his nose, he breathed in, counted to three, then exhaled. “Follow my example.” He repeated the breathing cycle two more times, glad to hear her response.
Fiona straightened and eased back a step, resting a hand on the lapel of her coat. “I believe I’m recovered now. Thank ye.”
“The air is thinner in Gunnison City. For a while, you’ll need to move slowly.”
“I will?” She angled her head to one side and glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “After such a distressing result, I’ll surely remember to do so.”
Was she teasing? Or was she embarrassed? He couldn’t tell because her words didn’t match her action, but he looked forward to learning more about her ways. “Don’t worry. I promise to remind you.” Holding her hand tucked in the crook of his elbow, he walked toward the baggage car, shortening his strides. Surprise registered at how easy their conversation flowed.
A porter stood, hands clasped behind his back, near a jumble of trunks and valises. “Which ones do you claim, folks?”
Anson glanced to the side, awaiting her answer. The fact that color returned to her cheeks cheered him.
Fiona swung up the hand holding the satchel to indicate which one. “Just the gray one with an engraved C on the lock escutcheon.”
Before Anson could disengage from her hold to collect it, he spotted the porter swing the trunk to his shoulder. Although he might begrudge paying the expected tip, he figured he shouldn’t leave her side until he escorted her safely to the wagon. “My wagon is the one with the team facing outward.” Secretly, he was glad to see she brought only one trunk. Last night, he’d rearranged his clothes in the chest of drawers and the armoire to make room for hers. The contents of her trunk should fit in the allotted space, and he wouldn’t have to immediately purchase a second bureau.
“Sure enough, sir.” The porter walked with long strides across the platform and down to the street.
Following the porter’s path, Anson registered the slight tug on his arm and the pleasant swish her skirts made with each step. These details would soon become an everyday occurrence. But for now, he wanted to enjoy the newness of being close to a woman. His chosen woman. He clasped her hand with his right hand so he could brace his left one on her lower back as he guided her down the steps to the dirt street. She was such a little thing that assisting her made him proud.
“I admit to being turned around a bit…” Eyebrows pinched, Fiona scanned the area. “But, Anson, where’s the town?”
“To the north. Undeveloped land surrounds the depot, but you’ll soon see the town.” He gestured toward the metal step on the wagon frame to brace her foot then grasped her corseted waist and helped her into the wagon seat.
“Oh, thank ye.” She arranged her skirts and set the satchel near her feet.
Anson turned to the porter, nodded, and handed him a nickel. “Appreciate it.” He hurried around the front of the team and climbed into the driver’s seat. “Hup, Lady. Get on, Princess.” Hearing her snicker, he glanced to the side. “The wagon and team are borrowed. My friend’s daughter named them.”
“They sound like perfect names.”
A snap of the reins set the team into a trot away from the depot.
On the drive, he answered her many questions as he fought to keep the schedule in his head. Could a marriage and a wedding luncheon be completed within the two hours until his anticipated return to the store? How was he to get her trunk to the farm, which was not on the path from the depot to the store? Would customers be offended if they had to make a return trip for their supplies? Or worse, would they take their business to Gresham’s on Fourth Street?
When her questions tapered off, he heard quiet humming. He glanced sideways at her profile, which showed a straight nose under a flat forehead. How had the addition of a single woman made his life so complicated?
Chapter Four
Clamping tight her jaw, Fiona did everything she could to repress a shiver against the cold air. Her cheeks probably flamed bright red from the chill. A peek at the man to her left revealed he appeared unaffected. How nice to discover Mister Lorentz, Anson, didn’t go in for the bushy beards and thick moustaches that were the fashion in Chicago. Instead, he was clean-shaven except for long sideburns. Quite attractive with brown hair and hazel eyes, he stood several inches taller—but all men and some women were taller than her five-foot-two height. A strong jaw balanced his aquiline nose and broad forehead. Not that his appearance should be any type of determining factor because she’d already learned he was both kind and generous. But knowing she would view a pleasant appearance for the remainder of her days brought her comfort.
Buildings rose from the fields several minutes into their drive to town, but none were taller than the
three-story Lewis House, which looked like a quality hotel. Many structures were built of wood, a construction she saw only in the poorest section of her hometown. This wagon ride in the open air proved how circumscribed her life had become while living with the Huntingdons. She’d rarely been outdoors for more than a few moments in the Chicago cold fall and winters months. The family always traveled in enclosed conveyances with thick robes for their laps and heated bricks for their feet.
Being as surreptitious as she could, she pressed her gloved hands between her legs to gain more warmth. Her curiosity spun out of control about her new hometown, sparking question after question. When Anson’s answers grew shorter, she quieted. Best not to talk off the man’s ears during their first meeting.
Receiving the train ticket less than a week ago without his formal marriage proposal or obtaining her agreement had been a surprise. Not that she’d ever put a face to her prospective husband, but she’d always imagined an official proposal with an offered sparkly ring. Lainie and Thomas helped her understand the practicality of Mister Lorentz’s gesture, under the circumstances. She was glad when she heard they didn’t view her willingness to travel to Colorado as capricious.
“Whoa.” Anson eased back on the reins and pulled the team to a stop. “Here we are.”
Fiona looked to her right to a plank-sided building with a big window through which she saw shelves holding supplies and equipment. The front window displayed rakes, brooms, hammers, and saws. A weathered sign above the shingled porch overhang read Lorentz Hardware. This business represented the livelihood that would provide her future. She didn’t recall ever setting foot inside such a store. But she vowed to learn all about hardware.
A Promise for Christmas Page 3
