Inside, two children, a boy and a girl, rushed to the window and waved.
Gripping the edge of the seat with both hands, she stiffened. Did Anson have children he’d failed to mention? Once she left the Huntingdons, she’d enjoyed life without the need to check on children’s whereabouts or step in when the nanny needed help. Assisting Lainie with Yves occasionally had been pleasant.
“Ready?” Anson stood at the side of the wagon, looking upward.
“Aye.” She stood and leaned into his grasp, sucking in a breath at being swung down to the boardwalk. “’Tis assistance I’ll have to get used to.” When she looked again at the store window, she saw a man and woman now stood behind the children. The front of her dress draped over a rounded stomach. Could the woman be Lainie’s cousin?
Anson pushed open the door, setting off an overhead bell. “Here she is, safe and sound.”
Voices erupted around her, and Fiona didn’t know where to look first. She had a vague impression of a store stocked with tools, paints, brooms, mops, and bushel baskets of items she couldn’t see.
The children bounced and called out.
The sable-haired woman set a hand on each child’s shoulder.
And they stopped moving, glancing upward.
Fiona smiled at the easy control the woman exerted without admonishing them.
“One at a time, please, me lassie and laddie.” She tipped her head toward the boy.
“I’m Lance Rutherford, and I’m seven.” His brown-eyed gaze was steady. He held out a hand.
She shook his thin hand. “Me name’s Miss Carthage, but me charges always called me Miss Fiona.”
“Màthair, she talks kinda like you.” The little girl grinned.
“Manners, lassie.” Again, the woman jerked her head.
“I’m Guinie, and I’m this many.” The girl with curly honey blonde hair held up a hand with fingers wide spread.
“Aye, five years old.” Nodding, she touched a hand to the little girl’s shoulder. “’Tis the exact age when children came into me classroom.” Fiona bit back a smile. “I’m happy to meet ye, Guinie.” She glanced up into a pair of deep gray eyes. Hoping she looked into a new friend’s gaze made her pulse race. “Am I right in supposing ye’d be Vika? Lainie’s told me so much about ye two growing up that I feel like I know ye.” At the edge of her vision, she saw the men go outside to collect her belongings.
Nodding, Vika extended both hands. “I am. Lainie’s last letter provided quite a few of your details.”
The door opened again, allowing in a cold breeze.
At the same moment, the clock with a swinging pendulum chimed once.
Anson’s head snapped up from where he’d set the trunk behind the counter. “Thirty minutes until the reverend expects us at the church.”
Reverend? Fiona raised her eyebrows. “The wedding is today?” All at once, every minute she’d traveled in the same clothes for the past three days, including naps on depot benches and an overnight in a reclining train chair, dragged at her body.
Shaking her head, Vika leaned close. “I know just how—”
“Vika, dear, allow Anson to explain.” The dark-haired man moved to her side and linked his arm with hers. “I’m Chad, and we’ll just step aside.”
Fiona watched, wide-eyed, as Anson approached, a frown wrinkling his brows. Although they never wrote about such a detail, she hoped he’d provide her with a night in a hotel and a hot bath to help her recuperate from her travels. “I thought I’d have more time.”
“You’ve had more time than I.” He stopped walking and set his hands on his hips. “The arrangements I made were put together with less than a day’s notice.”
“What do ye mean by less than a day?” She narrowed her gaze and studied his guileless expression.
“The telegram was delivered yesterday, only moments before I closed the store.”
“But I sent one from Union Depot before I boarded the first train in Chicago three days ago.” She thought back to the little man behind the barred window and how harried he’d seemed handling multiple passenger requests. That communication was a waste of two bits.
He shrugged. “All I got was yesterday’s. But I immediately sprang into action. First, I got the reverend to agree to a weekday wedding.” He waved a hand toward his friends. “Then I had to ride out to the Rutherford ranch to ask Chad and Vika to be our witnesses. And borrow their wagon to pick you up. This morning, I made an early trip to the mercantile to stock the pantry.”
From the sound of his voice, all these actions impacted his evening. “I appreciate everything ye’ve done, Anson. I’m just surprised at the suddenness.” Dare she ask for a hotel room? Another look at his pinched expression warned her not to upset the arrangements.
“Fiona, I had the same experience upon me arrival.” Vika stepped close. “I’m here today to help ye freshen up and possibly change clothes, if ye brought a special dress.”
Taking a deep breath, she nodded and glanced around. “’Twould be lovely. But where?” She spotted a curtain covering a doorway at the end of the counter.
“In the storeroom.” Anson cupped her elbow. “I set out a bowl, a new bar of Pears soap, and a towel.”
“I’ll bring the tea kettle and be right with ye, Fiona.” Vika moved toward the stove.
She accepted being escorted across the floor, suddenly aware of how tired she felt. The last long stop had been in Salida at two forty a.m. when a meal was offered. Buying only a dinner roll to stave off hunger, she returned to her first-class chair on the train. In the reclined chair and under a thin blanket, she slept fitfully until awakened by a porter before the train departed a little after seven this morning. Stopping at the trunk, she dug into her reticule for the key and flipped back the lid. Wrapped inside a green gingham sheet was her best dress—a navy crêpe de chine dress with v-neckline bordered by a wide collar of white tatted lace. She lifted out the bundle, along with the cloth satchel holding her toiletries, and carried them to the back room.
Empty wooden crates formed a horizontal surface where she stretched out the sheeting then unpinned the closure to expose her dress. With Vika’s encouragement, she shed her hat and coat then they worked on undoing the buttons down the back of her dark gray dress. The warm washcloth wipe down of her arms, face, and chest with lather from the clear yellow soap revived her more than she expected. The floral fragrance helped disguise her lack of a decent bath.
“Hand me yer brush. And just relax for a moment. I know just how ye’ve been sitting on yer anxiety all the way here.”
Vika’s kind words brought tears to her eyes, and Fiona blinked them back. Having someone else brush her hair felt heavenly. To be expedient, she left her curls loose and pulled back a thin section on each side of her face to clamp with a silver clip.
“Yer gown is just lovely. The ones I brought with me see little wear in this town.”
“Thank ye. I wanted to wear my best dress.”
Vika held up the blue garment with the skirt bunched tight. “Ye’ll probably soon notice the women on the frontier don’t wear such hard corsets. Farm or ranch work demands more movement.” She laughed. “As does chasing young ones.”
“No corset?” Fiona glanced down at her silk garment with ties lacing the front. Without access to a maid, she’d bought this particular style. “Then what is worn instead?”
“A bodiced petticoat with doubled fabric to support the bosom. The dressmaker in town sells patterns, if you sew.”
“I haven’t had the need in years, but Ma taught me a long time ago.” Fiona stretched her arms into the center of the garment and eased them into the sleeves. Donning her special dress made the pending ceremony seem more real. Fiona glanced down to fasten the buttons running from the neckline to the cinched waistband. Vika’s presence calmed her more than she expected from someone she’d just met. Here in front of her stood a woman who’d gone through a similar experience. By her affect, she appeared happy and settled. So, this
arrangement of matching near-strangers obviously worked in her circumstance.
“Yer hair looks wonderful.”
Fiona lifted a hand to the curls. “No one but me has brushed me hair since me ma was alive ten years past.”
“Mine, too.” Vika smiled then dropped her gaze. “Every once in a while, Chad takes control and eases the hairbrush through my hair for the one hundred strokes. He says he likes the way it feels.”
From the woman’s blush, she must be sharing about a marriage intimacy. How to respond? “I yearn for such closeness.”
Vika raised her head and widened her eyes. “Don’t expect it to come all at once. Each day look for some way to ease yer husband’s burden, and the bond will grow.” She bent over and lifted a small box from the floor. “I don’t know what Anson has arranged. But since everything is last minute…” She scooted back the lid.
Curiosity moved Fiona closer. At the sight of a bright yellow flower, she let out a whoosh of air. “’Tis lovely.”
Vika held up the bloom. “I arrived about this same time of year, when the flowers had long faded. Chad forgot to gather even a bit of greenery from his house for me to carry. So I vowed I’d not let ye be married empty handed.” She extended the yellow flower.
Fiona accepted it and studied the five cupped petals of a darker shade that topped five spiked, flat petals in a symmetrical design.
“It’s a variety of columbine called golden star. The color will stand out well against yer dress.”
Such kindness. Her throat tightened. Fiona ran a fingertip over a long petal, and the supple spike bent under the pressure. “But it feels like it’s fresh.”
“Preserved with glycerin. A recent hobby of mine.”
“I can’t thank ye enough.” Fiona blinked fast.
“Ladies.” Anson’s voice carried through the curtain. “We need to leave for the church.”
“Aye, I’m ready.” Fiona started to bend toward the soiled traveling dress she’d worn for the past three days.
Vika made a shooing motion. “I’ll wrap it and tuck the bundle in yer trunk.” She leaned forward and bestowed a cheek kiss. “I have a feeling we’ll be great friends.”
Nodding, Fiona soaked in Vika’s words. Until she moved into Lainie’s house, she hadn’t realized how truly lonely she’d been as a governess.
The flurry of six people putting on coats, hats, and gloves and then getting settled in the wagon took several minutes.
Each of Anson’s sidelong glances as he escorted her to the wagon kicked Fiona’s pulse higher. She sat next to Vika on the bench seat, with Chad in the driver’s seat, and cradled her flower in gloved hands. She barely had time to read the names of the businesses they passed.
In the wagon bed on a palette of blankets, Anson kept up a conversation with the children.
She liked hearing his easy manner as they joked.
Chad halted the team in front of a rough-stone church with a steep, pitched roof and a tall spire atop a bell tower. The sign said Congregational Church.
Fiona had already reconciled herself to being married in a church other than a Catholic one. Ma always held that any house of God was a sacred place to bare one’s soul.
Anson’s attentive actions as he helped her down from the wagon and up the concrete steps endeared him to her. As an employee, most times she’d been expected to handle her own way into carriages. Granted, carriages were easier than farms wagons to access. Of course, she was capable of managing on her own and had done so for many years. Being cosseted, especially at the end of her journey, was much appreciated.
Chad walked forward and pulled open the right side of the big wooden double doors.
“Good afternoon, folks.” A fortyish man with thinning brown hair strode down the aisle. His black robe alternately spread and clung with each step. “Right on time.”
Fiona liked the religious man at first sight. His genuine smile and flashing blue eyes included the whole group and served to ease her anxiety.
He stopped just a couple feet away. “You’re the newcomer.”
Anson moved close and settled a hand on her lower back. “Reverend Weatherwax, let me introduce my fiancée, Miss Fiona Carthage.”
“Pleasure to meet you.” He extended a hand. “Welcome to our fair town.”
“Nice to meet ye, reverend.” She returned the handshake. “What I’ve seen of Gunnison in the past hour I’ve liked.”
“I’m afraid time didn’t permit I receive all the personal details yesterday. From where do you hail?”
“Originally from a small village in County Kildare, Ireland, and most recently from Chicago.”
“Ah, I’ve never been that far north, but I’ve read good reviews about the museums and the theater.”
“All true.”
Reverend Weatherwax lifted a hand. “Excuse me, Anson. I wish a private word with Miss Carthage before we begin.” He waved a thin arm toward the altar.
Did this man have the power to prevent the ceremony from happening? Fiona widened her eyes and glanced at Anson.
Shrugging, he smiled then nodded toward the reverend.
She followed the older man up the aisle between the rows of long pews to the front one. Tall windows along both sides of the building let in lots of the day’s sunlight. The polished wooden pews shone a warm honey brown. A table draped in a white cloth held two leather-bound books.
The reverend turned away from the altar. “Am I right in assuming you practice the Catholic faith?”
“Aye, ’twas the childhood church me family attended. But not recently. For the past decade, I attended me employers’ Presbyterian Church.”
An eyebrow arched. “You worked in service?”
She liked how his tone held no censure for her job. “Aye, as a governess.”
“I see. I’m not sure if you know our city is on the circuit of a Catholic priest who offers services on a monthly basis.” His brows crinkled. “Would you prefer to wait for Father O’Malley?”
Memories of the dear village church with the candles burning from golden candlesticks, a gold chalice for communion, and the incense surfaced. A stained glass window comprised of bright colors and radiant sunbeams had lit the priest as he conducted the service. But she shoved aside those thoughts. That was her old life.
She peeked over her shoulder and met Anson’s gaze. Her stomach tumbled. This man was her future. “I’ll not be wanting to wait.” Turning, she smiled, hoping to put the reverend at ease. “I’m comfortable with Anson’s arrangement.”
“Good enough, miss.” The reverend stepped to the side and then waved a hand. “Come forward, everyone, and we’ll begin.”
Tucking the flower under her chin, Fiona opened the strings of her reticule and felt around inside until she encountered the silver wedding band that had been her da’s. Her parents hadn’t owned many possessions when they died, but each of the five children chose a prized item. Majella wanted Ma’s ring, and Fiona hadn’t the heart to argue. Calum chose Da’s carpenter’s tools, Kerwin claimed a mantel clock made by Ma’s grandda, and Shamus selected Da’s Celtic harp for his inheritance. After setting the reticule on the closest pew, she palmed the ring and transferred the flower to her hands poised at her waist.
Footsteps announced the group’s approach.
The wedding would be happening soon. Her breath caught in her throat. Fiona couldn’t resist another look over her shoulder to see where Anson was, but the moving Rutherford family blocked him from view.
Guinie giggled. “What’s happening?”
“The reverend will say some beautiful words that help Miss Fiona and Mister Lorentz become a married couple.” Vika guided the children into the front pew on the left and sat.
Chad followed, draping an arm around his wife’s shoulders.
Anson walked close, his gaze searching her face.
As she looked at this serious man, she remembered the practical tone of his letters and how he had shared only about his business and his far
m. She still didn’t know what Anson enjoyed for entertainment or how he spent his non-working hours. Mayhap, like Vika said, he needed her to help ease his burden.
“Folks, I’ll need your full names for the ceremony and the church registry.”
“Fiona Ailisa Carthage.”
“Anson Bernot Lorentz.”
Reverend Weatherwax smiled then shifted his gaze between the couple. “Will you now turn and face each other? Anson, place the ring you’ve brought on top of the Bible.”
Fiona extended her left hand and set down the ring.
“Oh, very good, Miss Fiona.”
She liked this change from other weddings she’d attended where the bride and groom faced the priest, as if they spoke their vows to him. She wanted to look into Anson’s hazel eyes as she made her marriage promises.
“A ring has no beginning and no end and is a symbol of how love exists within a marriage. The Romans believed the third finger on the left hand contained a vein running straight to the heart. And that’s why the ring should reside there.”
What a different way to start a wedding ceremony. Fiona was used to hearing several Bible readings, included the verse on love from Corinthians thirteen.
“Will you, Anson Bernot Lorentz, have this woman, Fiona Ailisa Carthage, to be your wedded wife and to live together in holy marriage? Will you love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, be faithful to her until parted by death?”
He cleared his throat. “I will.”
“And repeat after me, I plight thee my troth.”
“I plight thee my troth.” A corner of his mouth quirked upward.
The reverend turned to Fiona. “Repeat each phrase after I say it.”
“In the name of God, I, Fiona Ailisa Carthage, take ye, Anson Bernot Lorentz, to be me wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, as long as we both shall live. This is me solemn vow, and I give thee me troth.” After the last word left her mouth, she couldn’t hold back a wide smile. The solemn words took on heartfelt meaning as she spoke them aloud.
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