by Emily Woods
“May I go?” she asked, making sure that all of her chores had been taken care of so he would have no reason to keep her behind.
“You may,” he said, then called her back. “Violet, won’t you consider Johnny’s request?”
The mention of the young man felt like a splash of cold water. “W-what?”
“To take you on a carriage ride this Sunday. I’ll let you out if’n you’d like.”
Her father, a large man with little education, might not have had the mind for book learning, as he’d always said, but he had a kind heart and a workhorse mentality. To see him broaching the subject of courting almost made Violet laugh.
“Oh, Pa,” she said, shaking her head, “Johnny isn’t the man for me.”
His eyebrows rose. “You’d better start thinking about who is the man for you. I don’t think you’ll want to stay with me for the rest of your days.”
While it was true that she did want freedom from the busy restaurant they ran, she knew that she wouldn’t find that freedom in Johnny Mumford. While he was a hard worker, he was an even harder drinker with little respect for women, from what she’d seen. How had her father not seen that? Then again, he was a busy man.
“Don’t you worry, Pa.” She patted him on the shoulder.
He merely shrugged and went back inside to tally up the day’s receipts while she set off toward their small flat a few blocks away. On the way there, she was joined by her dear friend Elmira.
“You look tired,” Elmira said.
“Don’t I always?”
“Not surprising when you read into the late hours of the night—or dare I say, morning.”
Violet blushed. It was true that she often read late into the night, but it was her only escape. “It’s either that or fall prey to Johnny Mumford’s attention.”
“What?” Elmira made a face and Violet recounted what her father had said. “You know there are other options, do you not?”
Violet choked back a laugh. “Options? I don’t have options, El. I just have work and my books and that’ll have to be enough for me—for now.”
“Nonsense! Become a mail-order bride.”
Violet frowned. “I’ve heard of that, but what is it exactly?”
Elmira explained that she could apply to be a bride and choose from men in the West that were seeking wives.
“Just like that? Like I’d order something from a catalogue?” She knew she sounded incredulous.
“Not quite, but sort of. I’ve got the information in my flat. Want to come see?”
Violet reached for her friend’s hand. “You’re considering it?”
“‘Course I am,” Elmira said. “I’m not willing to stay locked into this life forever. And I’d dare say, neither are you.”
Violet merely nodded and Elmira led the way back to her family’s flat, but Violet’s mind considered the possibilities. She’d always dreamed of adventure like she read in her books, but would she find that adventure out west? It almost seemed like an assured thing—what with the untamed nature of western culture.
They took to the stairs, but Violet’s mind was already settling into the idea with surprising ease. A bride for a handsome cowboy. An adventure to the West. Yes, she could see it now, just like in the pages of her books.
2
His mother was up to something. He’d felt the change in the atmosphere of the house the moment he came in to breakfast. Rose Bowen was usually a cheerful woman, or at least something close to cheerful most days, but today, she’d been overly happy. It worried him that he couldn’t pinpoint where the happiness came from.
They hadn’t had new calves, something his mother always seemed to enjoy, nor had they received a visit from their closest neighbors. Those visits, including hours of gabbing, always left his mother glowing. She hadn’t even received a compliment on her famous pie, at least as far as Arthur knew. But something had happened, he knew that much, and it worried him.
“You seen Ma this morning?” Aaron asked, his brow furrowed in concentration as she tried to detangle two bridles from one another.
“Sure did.”
“She seem…strange to you?” Aaron looked up from what he was doing to meet his brother’s gaze.
Arthur shrugged. He was a man of few words anyway, but he wasn’t given to speculation when it came to matters of women, even his mother.
“I just got this feeling,” Aaron continued. He was always relying on his intuition. He was the one who’d stayed the longest in school, still enjoyed reading books for fun, and thought things through. While he didn’t always have the discernment of age, he had a good mind.
“Don’t worry,” Arthur said, walking past toward his horse, “I’m sure it’s nothing.”
Even as he said the words, he wondered if they were completely true. She’d asked him to go into town. Said she was coming with him and they were running a special errand. When he’d asked for details, she’d remained tightlipped and gave him a smile that made him think there was so much more she wasn’t saying.
His mother was one of strongest women he knew. As the youngest sibling—and a girl too boot—of seven, she’d had to fight for her way. His father had always told the story of how he’d first met Rose. She’d been surrounded by brothers on all sides, a rose among thorns he’d tease, and she’d walked right up to him to say that she fancied him.
Boldness wasn’t all his mother had. She possessed an iron will shored up with stubbornness that bent to nothing. This fact alone was enough to make Arthur cautious, but enough to make him suspicious as well.
“But you’re still going into town with her?” Aaron prodded.
“‘Couse I am.” Arthur guided the mare from the stall, leading her toward the wagon he would hitch her to. “When Ma askes something, you do it.”
Aaron laughed. He knew it was true. None of them could tell their Ma no, not easily at least, no matter how foolish her ideas were. She wasn’t given to flights of fancy like other women Arthur had seen from a distance, but she was certainly particular in some things.
“Then Godspeed to you and we’ll see you when you get back.”
Somehow, his brother’s words left an ominous feeling in Arthur that he wasn’t willing to admit to, but he shook it off as best he could.
By the time he’d hitched up the wagon and brought it around to fetch his mother, she was standing on the porch, her bright smile and kind eyes gleaming in the early morning light.
“It’s a fine day, son,” she said, taking in a deep breath.
Why did he feel as if her words held more than a mere observation of the day?
They rode in silence for a good portion of the ride, the gentle breeze and stunning scenery of the spring-green, Texas hills below a vibrant blue sky more than enough to capture their attention. Soon though, as he knew she would, his mother began to talk.
“You know, son, it’s been a good year for us.”
He never knew where she was going with statements like that, but if he could bet on one thing, it would be that she was certainly headed somewhere. Rose Bowen never spoke without a direction in mind.
“We’ve passed the five-year mark of your pa’s death, God rest his sweet soul, and the ranch is doing well. Maybe even better than Anderson had hoped for.”
At the mention of his father’s name, Arthur’s throat constricted, and he was glad that his mother wouldn’t require a response from him—she never did while opining like this.
“I dare say something is lacking, though.”
Oh, no. Here we go, Arthur thought.
If there was another thing he could count on, it was his mother bringing up marriage to one of her sons at least once again. He’d hoped—in vain, he could now see—that this wasn’t the case of her thoughts this morning, but he was wrong.
“Ma,” he began, but she cut him off.
“Arthur, as the oldest, you have to set an example. You have to show your brothers that settling down is—”
“Not going to h
appen.”
She pressed her lips together in a firm line at his interruption, but they popped open almost as quickly.
“You listen here, son. You may run the ranch, but you wouldn’t be here on this beautiful land without your father and I.”
He grimaced. He didn’t want to talk about this—especially not with his mother.
“Love is such a beautiful thing and can come in the most unexpected ways.”
Love? He almost let out a guffaw at this but managed to hold his tongue. He’d never fall in love with a woman because he’d never give them the time of day. He didn’t want to and he wouldn’t, it was as simple as that. And God help the woman who ever got in his way, because he was certain his poor manners and lack of anything to say would drive her away. At least that was a small comfort.
“I know, I know,” she continued, “you don’t want to hear this. Just…” She paused, searching the hills for the right words. “Consider that there just might be a woman out there that you could care for.”
This time, he did allow a small laugh, but then turned a gentle gaze to his mother. “I’ll consider it.”
Her expression softened and she let out a soft, sigh-like breath. He could concede to the point that there might—in some far-reaching land he knew nothing of—be a woman he could care for, but the consolation was the reality that he’d never meet her, and he was more than fine with that.
Violet stumbled forward a step but caught herself on the railing of the train. The iron locomotive vibrated under her touch, as if the solid frame was shaking in preparation for the next leg of the journey already.
She’d only just arrived in town, but she was already edging close to something like regret. Or, perhaps more accurately, hesitation. Swallowing down the dry feeling in her mouth, she tried to recount the letter’s instructions. She was to leave her baggage at the station and walk down the boardwalk to a restaurant in a hotel but, bother, what side of the street had the letter said?
The long, monotonous days had given her plenty of time to memorize the letter of instruction she’d received, but now that she had her boots on the dusty ground of the Texas town, her mind went blank.
Eastern. Or was it the western side?
She tried to lick her lips, but it felt as if her tongue had cemented itself to the roof of her mouth. Everyone around her had somewhere to be and, while Violet had never considered herself as a timid person, she wasn’t sure who to ask. Most were burly men intent on going their way—and quickly.
There was one man leaning up against his wagon opposite her. He was the only still person. Perhaps he would be the best one to ask.
Gathering up her courage as well as her skirts, she made a beeline toward him, stopping a few feet away. He was looking at something in his hands and, as she drew closer, she saw that he was whittling a small piece of wood with a knife.
“Excuse me,” she said. While her voice was anything but powerful, she was shocked that the man didn’t look up. “Um, excuse me. Sir?”
Finally, with one more stroke of his knife, the man looked up and met her gaze. The full force of his hazel eyes felt like a warm gust of wind blowing over her, heating her cheeks. She’d heard rumors on the train, mostly from the scared women whispering back and forth to one another, who had commented on the handsome nature of the men in the West, but nothing could have prepared her for this type of handsome.
The man before her was rugged, to be sure. His hair was unruly beneath a cowboy hat, sticking out behind his ears and hitting at his collar in the back. The planes of his face were sharp, but he had a rounded jaw that seemed to even the rest of his intense features out. But his eyes, with their mixture of golden brown and chilling green, held her attention.
“I—” She was flustered and forgot what she wanted to ask.
He merely stood there, not seeming to mind if she were mute and not moving to answer her in any way.
“I was wondering if…” She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to clear the images of the man’s eyes from her mind. “If you could tell me where the hotel restaurant is.”
This time, when she opened her eyes, she saw that the man’s gaze had changed. He almost looked…afraid.
“Um…” She wasn’t sure what else to say. She’d bumbled at first, but she’d made sense at the end. Was he mute?
“That way.” He indicated the eastern side of the street with a head-nod, then looked back down at the wood in his hands.
Narrowing her gaze, she wasn’t sure what to make of this tall, handsome statue. Rather than force any kind of conversation—something she didn’t even think was possible—she stood taller and recalled what the heroines of her novels would do. They would be courteous.
“Thank you, kind sir,” she said, then spun on her heel toward the boardwalk.
She cringed, thankful he couldn’t see her. Kind sir? She’d taken words from a medieval novel, but that was past. It was time to meet up with the man she’d agreed to marry. Arthur Bowen.
3
Arthur’s palms were sweating, and he was finding it hard to breathe. The prettiest woman he’d ever seen around these parts had just talked to him. Good thing his mother hadn’t been around to see that. She would have assumed the mere fact he’d made eye contact with the woman meant he was smitten.
He refocused his gaze on the small figurine of a bear he was whittling. He needed to pull himself together before his mother got back from whatever errand she’d had to run at the hotel. Funny, that was the place the pretty woman was going to.
No. He pressed his eyes tight, holding his knife away from his hands for a moment while he refocused. So what if she were pretty? He’d seen many pretty girls come into church. At first, he’d thought maybe he’d get married someday. It had been after his father passed away and he’d started to take over the larger duties of the cattle ranch. The thought had lasted all of two Sundays.
The first Sunday, he’d considered what it would be like to speak to one of those pretty women. He’d gone so far as to approach one of them before a gaggle of other women swarmed her, heading him off before he’d even gotten there. The next Sunday, he’d finally found himself alone with one, a really pretty brunette with bright, blue eyes. She’d said all of three things to him but when he failed to produce a response, he realized his error.
Getting married to a woman involved talking to a woman. Sure, his brother could strike up any type of conversation with a woman, but Arthur had not been given that gift. In fact, it was as if he’d had the opposite gifting—to drive women away with his foolishness.
Ever since that second Sunday, he’d let the busyness of the ranch consume his life and he’d been all right with it. It was likely that the poor woman he’d fumbled to speak with had spread the word because young girls stopped making excuses to walk by him as they had in the past. His brothers assured him that the ladies looked, but they certainly didn’t make an effort to converse and that was probably for the best.
“There you are,” came the warm tones of his mother’s voice.
Putting away the whittling in his pocket and composing his features from his last unusual encounter, he looked up and froze.
Next to his mother stood the woman he’d spoken with—though calling two words speaking was pushing it. She stood tall, her surprise just as evident.
He looked at his mother. She smiled and looked at the woman. The woman looked to him then back to his mother. All of this happened in terse silence.
“Dear, be gentlemanly,” Ma said. “This here is Violet Chandler.”
His gaze flicked to the woman’s face and he had the ridiculous thought that the name Violet fit her.
“Hello,” Violet said, her voice more timid than before. “Seems we meet again.”
“You’ve already met? Well, isn’t this wonderful,” Ma said, clasping her hands in front of her.
“In a manner of speaking,” Violet said, looking back at Arthur. “I asked him where the hotel was. Now, though, it’s a little f
unny, seeing as how…”
She trailed off and Arthur looked from her to his mother for an explanation. Why was that funny? And what was she seeing that he didn’t?
“I dare say it is,” Ma said, her grin growing. “In fact, I think there’ll be surprises all around, but they are good ones.” Her last comment was directed at him and the cold dread of foreboding snaked its way through his stomach.
He’d thought his mother up to something, but what did it have to do with this woman? The curiosity churned in his gut, but he didn’t know what to say. And, as long as Violet was standing there, he wouldn’t.
What was it about women that arrested his words and held them captive?
“Well, dear, go on.” His mother reached out and squeezed his arm gently. “Introduce yourself.”
Introduce himself. Right. As if he was some type of gentleman that went around making introductions. Still, he could say his name without mishap, couldn’t he?
“Arthur.”
Violet’s eyes went wide and he assumed it was due to the blunt way he’d said his name.
“Boys,” his mother said with a dramatic sigh. “Violet, this is my eldest son Arthur.”
As if she’d caught his tongue-tied nature, she merely smiled back at him. He turned his gaze to his mother’s.
“I do suppose you both need a bit of an explanation,” his mother said, the first hint of worry marring her features. “I wasn’t exactly forthright with you, Violet.”
Arthur sent a covert look toward Violet at these words, not understanding them himself, and saw that she looked just as startled.
“And, Arthur…” Rose turned her gaze to him. “I think this will require a bit of…understanding on your part.”
Now he was really worried.
“Missus Bowen, please, do tell me what the matter is.” Violet’s tone was bordering on worry.
“You see…” Rose clasped her hands in front of her again and turned to look at Arthur. “I brought Violet out west to be your bride.”
