by Megan McCoy
“Hmph.” He relaxed his stance as he exhaled and placed his hands on his hips. “You’re lucky you’re so cute, historian.”
She was about to try and challenge everything he’d just said when he reached out, took her hand and pulled her behind him. She walked along, staring at his huge hand, rough and strong, enveloping hers, slender and soft. What was happening?
“I just got back from my rounds in the south pasture. Bill always kept vegetable soup in the freezer for us to heat up and defrost our insides. Would you like some?”
He turned when they reached the big, white kitchen and gently pushed her into a chair at a long, dark stained wooden table. She nodded slowly as he worked quickly, heating up the soup on the stove and warming some garlic bread in the oven. He knew everything about the house, the property, the contents of the freezer.
“You loved him.”
She watched his back hunch as he stirred the soup, then saw him will his muscles to relax as he turned and gave her a tight smile.
“We loved each other, but not in the way that you’re thinking.”
She frowned. She hadn’t been thinking anything, really.
“We loved each other like a father and son do.” He brought over two steaming bowls and a board with sliced garlic bread. Sitting down, he cocked his head as he looked at her. “What?”
“Nothing,” she quickly answered, inhaling the fragrant soup with a grin. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to judge you.”
“I know.” He picked his spoon up and let it hover over his soup as his face strained in thought. “It’s hard for me, seeing people who barely knew him come through and try and claim that he would have wanted them to have this and he knew that they loved that… I’m sorry. Now I’m judging you.”
“Bradley.” She waited for his dark eyes to turn up to hers. “I don’t want anything but to place this residence and its extensive contents on a federal government registry. There’s more history lying on the floor of this place than in ten city blocks where I live. I want to preserve everything here. I want to restore about half of the things I’ve seen, but that’s for later. I hope you know, I’m not looking at this ranch with a salivating hundred-dollar bill for a tongue like those dumb cartoons. And I’m sorry if my distant relatives have acted so regrettably. Truly.”
He gave her a long, appreciative stare before turning down to his soup. She quickly did the same, loving the warm feeling swirling in her abdomen. It was the delicious, hot soup, for sure.
“So,” she said in an exhale, clearing her throat and trying to find her damned normal voice. “There’s a, uh, mine on the property?”
He paused mid-bite, his spoon hovering before setting it down. “I can’t tell if you’re serious or if you’re mocking me.”
A little taken aback by that abrupt response, she wondered why it hurt so much. Swallowing, she stood and grabbed her bowl. “Don’t worry, I don’t mind cleaning up.”
“Eve.”
She could tell he was directly behind her as she rinsed off dishes in the sink. She only turned to face him when his large had wrapped around her shoulder and pulled her around to face him. She looked up and found his dark eyes looking like they were hurting.
“He wasn’t even here. When he died. He was finishing a deal in Texas and had a heart attack. And his body hadn’t even been returned. It wasn’t even cold when Childress relatives started popping out of the woodwork staking their claim. Especially on the mine.”
Eve nodded and gave him a small grin. “I understand.”
He glared down at her. “Don’t you even want to know what kind of mine?”
“Is this the portion of the evening where I speculate and you laugh at me?”
He knit his brow at her response and ran his hand through his brown hair as he stared down at her. “You are so peculiar.”
She flipped her blonde ponytail and walked past him. “Thanks for the derivative assessment. You’re now officially and disappointingly like every man I’ve ever met.”
He grabbed her arm and stopped her so abruptly that her glasses almost flew off her nose. “Wait. Please.”
“Let go.”
“I’m not like very man you’ve ever met, Eve.” He sighed heavily and pulled her behind him, even as she dug her heels in.
“Let go, foreman!”
“I just want to show you something.”
She was about to really start resisting when he pulled her outside to a paved patio, with room for a large fire in a rock firepit, and pointed out over the white fields of snow to a moon so full she had to gasp.
“Oh my God. It’s so big.”
She heard him clear his throat and she rolled her eyes with an exhale.
“It’s worth seeing if you’re out here. It’s like this every Christmas. I didn’t want you to miss out all buried in your book and magnifying glass. There’s so much more to this place than, well, stuff.”
“My mission in life is to prove that.”
She felt his hand run up her arm, over her shoulder, and cup the side of her face. Cautiously she looked up at him.
“I can see how steely blue your eyes are in this moonlight. Just like Bill’s. He could make a man cower with just one glance of those eyes.”
“Well, I can make a man run away as fast as he can with mine, so I guess we both have our superpowers.”
He let his hand run back down to her shoulder as he stared intently at her. “Can I make a suggestion?”
“You haven’t been inhibited thus far.”
He laughed softly and looked back at the large house. “Start up in the attic tomorrow. Bill’s mother, Carrie, kept detailed accounts of all the stories her grandmother told her. She also got accounts from her grandfather, and a few others, I think. Always talked about it. Bill always said he meant to digitize them, but I don’t think he ever got around to even reading them. Journals, diaries, sketches, it’s all up there. I’ve seen them. I hid them, actually.”
“Why?”
He grinned and glanced back at the late December moon. “Just waiting for someone who cared enough to appreciate them.”
Chapter 2
The Western Express, 1870
Compiled from the Journals of Pryce and Holly Browning, and recounted by Holly Browning to her granddaughter, Carrie Childress, who lovingly typed the accounts and bound them in this book in 1950 for the purpose of posterity.
The train carriage jolted upwards again, a disruptive break from the steady sideways rocking of the last two hours. The cool, fresh air from the opened sash windows had also changed, a dry and dusty quality replacing the damp humidity.
Holly breathed deeply and grinned as her eyes closed against the bright sunlight. A wisp of blonde hair tickled her nose as she quickly tucked it back under her lavender bonnet. She glanced around the shiny walnut finish of the passenger car at all the other swaying lavender bonnets.
Reveal nothing.
Mrs. Zachary had seemed strict at first. Rules. All those rules. Back straight. Cover your head. Cover your hands. Cover your ankles. Don’t smile with your teeth. Look down. Look in the eye when they speak. Don’t speak. Speak back in a short, friendly reply. Eat what you’re served. Don’t eat too much. Steer the conversation away from your previous life.
And remember: reveal nothing.
Zachary’s Companions of the West had a reputation for matching lonely homesteaders with women from the east coast. In the post war era, it was the most trusted name in mail order brides. Zeke and Sarah Zachary had taken a risk by taking in widows of the war, but in the end the gamble had paid off because the women were already perfect marriage material.
They weren’t afraid of men. They knew how to keep a house, how to cook, all with confidence. And with a little training from Mrs. Zachary, they knew how to present themselves to their promised companion.
Holly had to admit she’d needed quite a bit more instruction, but the end result had earned her a spot on what the young women affectionately called the Bri
dal Express. Now she was on a train, heading west, making stops along the way as the women in lavender dresses, gray capelets, and lavender bonnets deboarded and met their husbands to be. They were quickly married right there on the depot platform by Zeke Zachary himself. There had already been two weddings, sixteen more to go until they reached San Francisco.
“They’ll be happy.”
Rose had nodded at the couple at the last depot in Dodge City. “See how his hand is gently on her back, leading her but not pushing? That body language is unmistakable. He’ll care for her.”
Holly nodded and found herself sighing in relief as her redheaded seatmate looked out of the window with her. At the first stop in St. Louis, all of the women in the carriage had witnessed the first wedding ending in a man in a three piece suit pecking his Zachary Companion on the cheek and instructing his servants to take her and her luggage to a separate horse-drawn carriage from his own. He’d give her a good life. She’d give him children. But everyone could see there wouldn’t be any love.
The wooden seats of the train car creaked as everyone straightened their backs and shoulders and faced forward. Mr. and Mrs. Zachary stood in the aisle just as the locomotive whistled. They paused in front of Rose and Holly, seated in the back row, and smiled kindly as they waited. Rose took the hint and quickly stood, shuffling to the front to find another seat.
“Ms. Holly Eve.” Mrs. Zachary grinned, sitting down and taking her small hand. She turned and winked at her husband. “A little talk, woman to woman, dear.”
Mr. Zachary chuckled and checked his pocket watch. “I’ll leave you to it. Not much time left now.”
Holly looked curiously over at Mrs. Zachary who, for the first time since meeting her a few months earlier, seemed nervous.
“Ms. Eve, something seems to have, er, come up.”
Holly tried to control her emotions, especially in the presence of the woman who had so patiently taught her how, but she felt her face fall, as tears welled up in her eyes. “He doesn’t want me anymore. Does he?”
“Oh, oh no, darling, no, nothing like that, sweetheart.” Mrs. Zachary placed a hand on her shoulder giving a reassuring squeeze. “Please. You are lovely, smart, and between us you are the one of the most suitable companions I’ve ever matched. Your match isn’t the problem.”
Holly frowned as Mrs. Zachary’s eyes crinkled around the edges as they did when she looked worried or concerned. Then she took a breath and continued.
“Our situation involves our next stop. You see, my darling, I’ve been tasked with matching a companion to a Colorado rancher, who, for some reason, sends back his prospective brides.” She seemed scandalized and horrified and Holly tried to nod and appear just as troubled as her mentor. “He meets them at the depot and sends them back on the train’s return trip. So, this time I promised, I promised him a perfect match.”
Holly waited, her eyes darting to the front of the passenger car where she knew a woman named Darla was scheduled to be off at the next stop.
“Darla has her… monthly visitor, which, as I’m sure you understand, will not make for a pleasant honeymoon tonight.” Mrs. Zachary waited and finally just revealed what she was getting at. “You see, your stop is the last, in San Francisco, in six days. And I know we matched you with your handsome companion based on height, and aesthetically his ginger features and short stature would complement yours so well. Both so small, so fair, so lovely.”
Holly had dreamed about him after learning they were paired. He was an accountant for a timber company and lived in a brownstone on a hilltop, right by the ocean. She’d dreamed of their children, of growing old together, and even of getting a boat. He’d written her poetry about how deep their love would be, how he already felt he was falling for her.
“Mr. Frye is my textbook counterpart. I already feel so much for him.”
“Oh dear.” Mrs. Zachary interrupted, patting Holly’s hand. “What I’m saying, darling, is that Mr. Zachary and I have decided, just this once, to interchange your match with Darla’s.”
“What?” Holly squealed, ducking down in her seat as lavender bonnets turned to look back at her. She felt the color leave her face as she looked over at the older woman. To her credit, she looked just as devastated as Holly felt.
“There truly is no other solution.”
“So, you’re swapping my ideal companion with Darla’s match?” She looked forward at the tallest head in the train car. If Holly was sweet, fair, and petite, Darla was a broad, strong, giant of a woman, way better suited for the open range that was flying by out of their windows.
Mrs. Zachary nodded. “Yes, well, while physically you are polar opposites, you and Darla have a lot in common when it comes to spirit.”
“Spirit?” Holly had heard that word before, mostly about reining it in during school.
“The companion in question seems to reject all of the docile, subservient women I pair with him. You and Darla have been with me the longest. Some women blow through my academy and are sent out west with a match almost instantly. You can admit that you saw that during your stay with me.”
Holly pressed her lips together in affirmation. Yes, she’d received extra attention and had seen over forty women come and go during her stay.
“You are a lovely young woman. And I’ve told you before, you’re too smart for your own good.” She smiled and squeezed Holly’s hand. “You’re confident, feminine. I have the feeling it will be more appealing to Mr. Browning than the majority of my pupils who exhibit the demure qualities Zachary advertises.”
It felt like an underhanded insult, but Mrs. Zachary seemed so sincere that she believed her. But what about Jerome Frye of San Francisco?
“Mr. Frye is expecting me. We’ve written, we-”
“He will understand that issues arise. Some things we can’t control. Now. All that’s left is for you to accept. And, hopefully, you will meet Mr. Browning at the next station and he will not turn you away as he did the last three.”
“I don’t know, Mrs. Zachary.”
“Holly?”
Darla appeared in the aisle next to them, a wet handkerchief in her hands, tears streaming down her cheeks. Holly quickly reached over and took her gray gloved hand.
“I don’t see why you can’t just explain it’s your monthly. Surely, he understands the mechanics of it. Right? It just feels like he’s expecting someone who looks like you and will be disappointed when he finds someone like me standing on the platform at the depot.”
Mrs. Zachary and Darla both shook their heads and disagreed.
“You see, dear, the contracts these men sign, and then subsequently you sign, indicate that to prevent, er, buyer’s remorse, for lack of a better term, the marriage must be consummated on the day of the wedding.”
Darla nodded. “I was just told that, too. I’m so sorry, Holly.”
Holly felt confused as she looked over at the two women. Mrs. Zachary took a breath and leaned in patiently. “Consummate is a more delicate way of saying intercourse.”
Mrs. Zachary had whispered the word, but Holly felt her cheeks flush as she sucked in a breath. These companions that were supposed to be their perfect matches were expecting intercourse within hours of meeting?
“Don’t look so scandalized,” the older woman whispered. “You’re all widows from the war. These men are well aware and accept that they aren’t marrying little pure virgins. That’s why I don’t allow you ladies to wear white.”
“Again, I’m so sorry, Holly.” Darla nodded and turned back for her seat, sniffling.
“I’ve checked all of these bachelors again and again, Holly. Especially Mr. Browning. You have nothing to fear. Do you understand that I wouldn’t put you in danger?”
She looked over at the concern in her mentor’s eyes. Danger wasn’t her biggest worry. “I’m not afraid it’s dangerous. It’s… not living up to his expectations.”
“Between us,” Mrs. Zachary whispered, leaning in, “you’re the best companion w
ho has come through my academy in years. Now, chin up. Gloves on. Bonnet tight. Reveal nothing. Your stop is next.”
Silver Creek City, Colorado, 1870
Holly spotted him before the train even rolled to a complete stop. People bustled around on the covered platform of the train depot, skirts swishing, children running, trunks dropping. Not him. He stood perfectly still in the afternoon sun off to the side, arms crossed over a dark plaid shirt, tall, broad-shouldered, with his hat pulled low over his eyes, casting a shadow so she couldn’t see his face.
No.
Mr. Zachary had to pull her out by both arms as she dug her heels in. Mrs. Zachary furiously straightened her bonnet out and smoothed her dress and capelet all the while smiling over her shoulder at the large man and frowning down at her. Holly scowled when she saw the side of his mouth tick up in a grin.
“Pryce Browning, may we present, from Zachary Companions of the West, our own Ms. Holly Eve.” Mr. Zachary peered down at her and cleared his throat, waiting for her to curtsey.
Instead, she took the opportunity to turn on her heel and walk back to the passenger car at the rear of the train. She looked up and saw all the wide-eyed, lavender bonnet ladies, then felt two hands grab her shoulders and spin her around. Mr. Zachary half pushed, half carried her back to the waiting Mrs. Zachary and Mr. Browning.
“The lady is reluctant?” His voice was rich and deep with an air of intelligence, like how she imagined the President of the United States would sound. He continued. “I can see why. We’re not matched. I’m supposed to be engaging Darla.” Before the Zacharys could speak, he pulled out a little leather pouch and unfolded a piece of paper. “Strong, wise, able to endure the rigors of ranch life.” He tucked the paper and pouch away as he peered down at Holly. “She looks like she’d blow over in a strong wind.”
