by Zina Abbott
Kit, his eyes twinkling, tamped down a smile. “I’m sure the marriage was recorded in heaven, Mrs. Arnold, as well as properly on earth in spite of the mishap. I imagine the Methodist circuit rider suffered genuine remorse over the incident, particularly since he lost his horse and probably barely escaped with his life. Maybe it’s time to forgive him.”
Caroline pursed her lips and looked off to the side. “Perhaps. I’ll think about it.”
Kit folded Eliza’s hand in his and gave her a look of longing. He turned back to face Caroline.
“Mrs. Arnold, I fully accept the consequence of my decision. I knew I was giving up the tuition money when I asked Eliza to marry me. However, once Eliza consented and we were wed, Joseph no longer had a legal claim to her. It became futile for him to continue to pursue being granted guardianship over her and her assets. That fell to me as her husband.” Kit paused and offered a sardonic grin. “Not that I expect to be allowed access to her estate. I imagine Benjamin Wells legally locked it up tighter than a vault to prevent anyone with self-serving intentions from getting it without your permission.”
“That he did.”
“Joseph wanted that money for his own business purposes, but I think he is intelligent enough to know his plan has been thwarted. Hopefully, he has already figured out it is better to quell any gossip his words and actions may have started in order to protect his family and future business negotiations. That’s why as much as I love Eliza, I made a point after we married to conduct myself like a gentleman.”
With a frown, Eliza folded her arms and pivoted her body away from her husband. “Too much of a gentleman.”
Caroline looked between her disgruntled granddaughter and Kit, who looked at his wife with longing. “One of you better explain that remark to me.”
Kit inhaled deeply. “We have not consummated the marriage. My decision, not hers. I knew I rushed the marriage to get her away. I knew for the sake of her reputation it was best we travel as husband and wife. However, I also worried that once she arrived home and her life settled down into her usual routine, she might regret the rashness of her decision to accept my proposal. That is why I chose to leave the door open for a quiet annulment so she would not be trapped in a marriage she might later wish she had not agreed to.”
“Eliza spun back to face her husband. “What if I don’t want an annulment? What if I want to stay married? Maybe it is you who feels trapped and wants to get away from me.”
Wearing an expression of pleading, Kit grabbed both of Eliza’s hands in his. “No, darling, I don’t feel trapped. I want nothing more than you as my wife. It is the timing that is off. Please listen to reason, Eliza. I saved enough to attend my first year of law school, but it will only stretch a year if I lived frugally—very frugally. I cannot ask you to live that way. Even if I gave up law school for you, the only job I know that pays better than a clerk job is railroad detective. That would mean spending weeks at a time away from you, and I still could not support you in the manner you’re used to. You would tire of it, Eliza. In time you would tire of me.”
“Don’t you think I should have a say in the decision? First, Uncle Joseph tried to run my life and decide who I should marry, and now you are trying to decide whether or not I wish to remain married to you and take my chances. Men are always trying to tell me what to think and want and what choices I must make.” Eliza turned to Caroline. “Grandmother, how have you borne it all these years?”
Caroline studied her granddaughter. “What about your plans for normal school, Eliza?”
Eliza smirked and raised an eyebrow. “I intend to stay married. School boards refuse to hire married women as school teachers, Grandmother.”
“What will you do, granddaughter? Give up your desire for more education entirely?”
Eliza glanced at Kit and turned back to face her grandmother. “Kit says women have been attending classes at Indiana Law School for decades. He says not all states allow women to read for the bar. However, even in those states that don’t, many women either help their husbands in their law practices, or they work with women to help them better understand their rights before the law.”
Caroline frowned in response. “Bloomington is in Indiana. You’d go to live in a different state?”
Eliza blinked and raised her eyebrows. “Grandmother, Western Reserve Normal School where you planned to send me is clear up in Milan, the other end of Ohio. Bloomington isn’t that much farther away. Kit knows rail lines and schedules like the back of his hand. We’d come back to see you often.”
Caroline returned her gaze to Kit who swallowed as he chose his words. He turned to face Eliza. “Sweetheart, I would love you to take classes with me, but I think you would be happier to do so as my fiancée, if your grandmother approves. You could live in much better accommodations than I could provide until after I read for the bar and get established in my profession. But, considering the years involved, I wouldn’t hold you to our engagement, Eliza, I promise. If you found someone else you preferred…”
“I prefer to remain married to you.”
“Oh, fiddle-faddle—enough!” Caroline sliced her hand through the air. “You’ll get your tuition money, Mr. Halsey. As long as I will be providing a decent place in which Eliza will live while she attends law classes, and since you are her husband, you might as well live with her. As for the wedding, I suppose I can settle for a formal reception to celebrate the occasion of your marriage.” Caroline rolled her eyes. “Hopefully the gardener can find enough late summer flowers to decorate the rooms and tables properly.” Using only the cane, Caroline pulled herself to her feet. “But, we must see to it quickly, Eliza, if we are to get the two of you moved to Bloomington in time to start your course of study.”
Eliza jumped to her feet and rushed to kiss her grandmother’s cheek. “Oh, thank you, Grandmother Arnold.”
“And you, Mr. Halsey? Is that agreeable with you?”
“Very agreeable, Mrs. Arnold.” Kit’s eyes sparked with humor and his lips twisted into a grin. “Does this mean I can call you Grannie now?”
Caroline straightened her spine and glared at Kit. “Not if you value your life. My proper title is Grandmother, and that is how you will address me.”
Laughing out loud, Kit rose and stepped over to Caroline. He gave her a gentle shoulder hug while he kissed the top of her head. “Thank you, Grandmother Arnold.”
“Don’t overdo it Mr. Halsey.”
Kit stepped over to Eliza who wrapped her arm around the back of his waist. He put his arm around her shoulders and gazed intently into her eyes. “I do love you dearly, Mrs. Halsey. I want nothing more than to be married to you.”
Caroline cleared her throat. “Eliza, take your husband up and show him your room. It will be over two hours before supper will be served. Since it is decided you two will remain married, I think you can find something to do to fill your time until then.”
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Bloomington, Indiana – October, 1882
Epilogue
~o0o~
D ear Uncle Joseph,
Although I can imagine you might find it an unwelcome surprise to receive a communication from me, I do hope this letter finds you well. I already sent my regrets to Julie that I was unable to return to California earlier this month for her marriage to Mr. Irwin. I sincerely wish them the greatest happiness and many years of wedded bliss together. However, I am currently tied up in Bloomington where I have joined my husband in taking courses in the study of law. Grandmother Arnold agrees with me that even if I never practice law or even complete the full course of study, any education I receive can only help me more fully support my husband and benefit me as a mother.
Enclosed in the same packet with this letter is the deed to a parcel of land within Oak Hill along the river. The agent my grandmother sent out to explore possible parcels believes it will be a suitable site for a new grist mill. I understand the property als
o includes a two-story Queen Anne style house which, although several years old, would make a satisfactory home for your family. I hope Aunt Phoebe will find it acceptable.
I trust you will find this land suitable for building your new mill closer to the railway. My assumption is between your partnership with Mr. Irwin and moving most of the equipment from the mill in Kerr’s Ferry to your new one in Oak Hill, you will be able to build a mill to be proud of that will serve you well for years to come. If the land and access to the river on this parcel is not right, please trade it for one that will be more suitable.
As you can imagine, Grandmother Arnold was not in favor of my decision in taking most of my assets from what can be attributed to the Wells estate my father received from yours and using them towards a new mill. Fortunately, my husband supports me, for he understands I am a millwright’s daughter, granddaughter, and great-granddaughter. I have a sentimental attachment to continuing the family tradition. Hopefully, Joey will choose to become a millwright and carry the tradition on after you, as well as Julie through any children she and Mr. Irwin bring into the world.
Please give my love to Aunt Phoebe, Lydia and Joey.
Affectionately, your niece –
Eliza Wells Halsey
~o0o0o~
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Thank you for reading
Millwright’s Daughter
Each book in the
Kerr’s Ferry Mill
series is a Sweet Western Historical Romance. You may find all the books in this series as they are published by searching for
“Kerr’s Ferry Mill”
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To learn more about my individual books, please visit Zina Abbott’s Website.
Continue reading to enjoy the first chapter of my next novel,
Nissa,
Book 3 in the series, The Widows of Wildcat Ridge:
Chapter One
Wildcat Ridge, Utah
May, 1884
N
issa straightened from bending over the wringer hooked to the tub of cold water she used for the final rinse of the sheets and arched her back. She picked up the clean sheets now piled in a basket ready for hanging and set it on the floor of the wide covered porch of the laundry building. She yanked the felt slouch hat that had once belonged to her late husband, James Stillwell, from her head and used the back of her other hand to sweep aside the stray locks of her auburn hair. Damp with perspiration, they remained plastered to her forehead after working with the first rinse which involved boiling water to kill any nits and flea eggs hotel guests might have inadvertently left on the sheets and towels.
Even though her hands were damp, she tucked the loose ends into the neckerchief she wore under the hat to hold her hair out of her face she knew bore evidence of her Scottish ancestry. Not long after she started her laundry business, her pale freckles once again darkened to resemble those which had graced her childhood face. She sighed with relief at the prospect of being almost finished with the sheets and towels for the Ridge Hotel once they were hung and dried.
Nissa fanned her face with the hat. The brim was wider than the derby hats her husband favored once he caught the mine owner’s notice and began to rise in prominence at the mine. Those hats she refused to keep, if for no other reason than what they represented. As much as she had wished to offer them, and her late husband’s good clothes to the mercantile to resell with her share of the proceeds to go against her bill there, she had left them in the house. They were part of his “estate,” such as it was. She knew her husband owed money to the bank for the fancy furniture he had purchased for the parlor and dining room.
She kept the hat her husband used before they traveled from western Nevada to Wildcat Ridge to have something to protect her skin from the sun while she worked out of doors washing laundry where the light helped her find the stains that needed extra soap and scrubbing. Once the weather turned cold, and she moved her operation back inside the laundry shed, she would need to rely on lamplight and what little sunlight came through the single small window for that. However, in warm weather, she preferred direct sunlight to check for spots, even though it reddened and freckled her skin.
Nissa knew before she started her laundry business it would not be a lucrative venture. Since Mortimer Crane, owner of the Gold King Mine, decided to not reopen the mine after the disaster, what relatively few miners who survived had already moved on to other mines—some of them to his new mine in Clear Creek. With the miners gone from Wildcat Ridge, there was hardly any call for laundry to be done. Most of the widows in town washed their own clothes and linens. Only a few, like Hester Fugit, the former mayor’s wife who now filled the post of mayor, still sent her laundry out. However, Nissa could not earn a living on what came from a middle-aged widow with no children living at home and the few others who brought their dirty laundry to her.
Nissa looked over at the clothes from the newspaper editor, Duncan Moon, better known as Dinky. He was another one of her customers, when he sobered up enough to realize he needed to do something about getting clean shirts and underclothing. The sight, along with the stench of body odor and vomit, prompted her to wince. It would not be a pleasant load to wash, but it would bring in some cash money to buy food and essentials for her little family.
One term of service Nissa had insisted upon from the start was she only accepted cash payment. She advised all her customers they would not receive their cleaned clothes or linens until after they paid for her work. She could not afford to carry accounts, not with the three of them to feed. The one exception was the hotel laundry. Since the hotel had closed its dining room, and the few rooms rented hardly generated enough dirty sheets and towels to be washed, what work she did for the Ridge Hotel barely paid for her rent for her “home” which consisted of the laundry shed and the yard full of roped lines for drying clothes.
“Nissa, honey, ah missed y’all at the meeting. Ah thought y’all planned to come to hear what Mayor Fugit had to say to all the widows.”
Upon hearing the soft voice with its Southern accent of her landlady, Nissa turned and offered a warm smile to Diantha Ames, the owner of the Ridge Hotel and the laundry building she rented. Diantha had been raised as a Southern lady to behave graciously and to never raise her voice to others.
In the short time Nissa had rented from Diantha, she wondered how the woman would ever earn enough income from running her hotel and the side property on which the laundry building had been constructed. She was far too generous to her customers, and especially to Nissa and the children. Nissa’s official home consisted of the shed of pine with its gaps between the square-cut logs which, when several feet of snow layered the ground as it still had at the time Nissa first moved there, hardly held the heat in, even with the wood stove burning a full flame to provide hot water for laundry. However, Diantha insisted she and the children sleep inside and use the now-vacant cook’s room behind the kitchen in the back left-hand side of the better-built building. The room boasted a door to the outside, as well as one that opened into the kitchen from which the heat of the cook stove adequately kept both rooms warm. In addition to the door between the rear cook’s room and kitchen, doors in the kitchen led to the dining room in front of the building, Diantha’s sitting room to the right, and the outside door to the left. Since she knew Diantha’s late husband designed the room, Nissa often wondered how he managed to pay for so many doors, knobs and locks.
Diantha also insisted Nissa share the common kitchen which had once been used to prepare breakfast and supper for the hotel’s guests, but now only served as a kitchen for Diantha. As much as she felt grateful for her landlady’s sharing, Nissa felt the lack of having her own home.
Seeing Diantha suddenly jarred Nissa’s awareness of her surroundings. She twisted her too-thin body as she frantically searched the hotel grounds. “Jamie and Molly. They’re gone! I was so focused on finishing these sheets I lost track of them.”
Seven-year-old Jamie, with his brown hair like his father and green eyes from her, behaved like a typical active little boy, although he acted out his grief over his father’s loss in ways that at times drove Nissa to distraction. In contrast, four-year-old Molly, a chubbier copy of Nissa, had retreated into herself and grown increasingly quieter as she struggled to understand the disappearance of her father and the changes in the family’s circumstances. She constantly sought approval, as if she was afraid if she misbehaved, her mother would also leave. Nissa knew she must do whatever it took to keep these two children healthy and with her. She had suffered the loss of her firstborn daughter at birth, and the boy that came after Molly had miscarried four months early. Jamie and Molly were all that remained of any family she knew of, immediate and extended.
Nissa tossed the hat on the bench next to her tub of rinse water and snatched the scarf off her head as she turned towards the street. “Excuse me, Diantha. I have to find them.”
Diantha reached out her hand to stop Nissa as she spoke in a reassuring voice. “They’re just fine, Nissa. They were playing by the edge of the vegetable garden, and I invited them into the kitchen to each have a cup of milk and a cookie from those left from last night.”
Nissa’s shoulders sagged with relief, and her face pinked with embarrassment. She knew the cookies were left over from those Diantha had baked and offered as an evening treat for her few hotel guests. She hated accepting charity. She often wondered if Diantha kept an eye on the food supplies Nissa stored on a shelf in the hotel kitchen pantry. She suspected her landlady knew Nissa struggled to provide enough for her children to not go hungry. Even then, their diet consisted of inexpensive basics. She often went without full meals herself in order for the children to have enough.
