“Miss Carlson, is anything the matter?” the man behind the counter asked.
She bent to retrieve the ribbon. “Not at all, Mr. Brown. I was admiring your new shipment.”
He chuckled and flicked his chin toward the back room. “I’ve more to set out too. The New Year’s Ball has set the town a buzz. The men think the dance is their chance to woo a lady, and the women are just happy to have a chance to dress in their finest.”
Hattie smiled. A couple of the other girls had spoken of the upcoming event, but Hattie was new and thought little of the dance. She had not cared for such social outings in Philadelphia; why should she now?
“I already loaded the wagon with the supplies Adam requested.”
Hattie set the ribbon back to the shelf and faced the counter. “Thank you for loading the supplies. Tom meant to come, but he—”
“Is always busy fixing something,” Mr. Brown finished. He winked and lowered his voice. “Will you be wanting the brooch now?”
“I almost forgot—yes.” Hattie chided herself for her distraction.
Mr. Brown handed her a small package, which she placed in the folds of her skirts.
“Thank you.”
He winked once more. His old age—and his friendly nature—allowed him to take certain social liberties without appearing tasteless. “Good day, Miss Carlson.”
Hattie climbed into the wagon in no less of a distracted state. She searched her pocket for the brooch packet and felt the edges of something else—her letter.
She had written the letter to her father earlier that morning. She did so every week in order to calm his nerves. Or to ease her guilt.
Lilly Ackerman, Hattie’s closest friend from Philadelphia, had served as an excellent liaison. In fact, Hattie suspected her childhood friend enjoyed playing a secretive role; Lilly longed for adventure as much as Hattie. And so Hattie sent each correspondence to Miss Ackerman, who in turn placed each one in a newly addressed envelope, leaving Mr. Montgomery no trace of Hattie’s whereabouts.
Success was, in part, due to Mr. Ackerman’s obsession with business. Lilly’s father was not home until late into the evenings, leaving Lilly full control of the mail. She was able to retrieve letters without the least difficulty or suspicion.
Hattie directed the horses down the two blocks that separated the mercantile and post office. Mr. Ellison stood at the post’s window. His smile lit when the wagon came into view, bringing another set of irregular hammerings in Hattie’s chest. She pulled at the reins and halted in front.
“Miss Carlson,” Mr. Ellison said, before she had another moment to collect herself. “How was your errand?”
“Well enough.” She dropped from the wagon and held up her envelope. “I have a letter of my own to post.”
His eyes fell to the letter, and she dropped it behind her back in an instance. Hattie pursed her lips. Why did she not take more care?
“Philadelphia?” he asked, crinkling his brows.
“Yes, a childhood friend resides with a family there.” Hattie inhaled, grateful she found a way around a lie; she never felt at ease in deceit, which was partially why being around Mr. Ellison was so difficult. And the fact that he was charming and kind…and ridiculously handsome.
Mr. Ellison’s gaze dropped, and he chewed the inside of his cheek. “I will wait in the wagon.”
Hattie dipped her chin and hurried inside the post office.
Charlie scratched at his chin. Women often corresponded with childhood friends; why hadn’t Charlie inquired after Miss Montgomery’s acquaintances in Philadelphia? He was tempted to return to the post and send a second telegram.
But he hesitated. First he would await Mr. Montgomery’s sending of the letters. If Miss Montgomery left no trail, then Charlie would ask for names and addresses of his fiancé’s closest friends.
“Is there anything else you need before returning to the hotel?” Miss Carlson asked, interrupting Charlie’s thoughts. She climbed beside him, holding the edge of her dress.
Charlie swallowed the lump in his throat. He had never felt more drawn to a person.
He only wished his heart was free. Miss Montgomery would most likely call off the engagement; she had said as much in her reasoning for running away, but Charlie was bound until he discovered his fiancé’s whereabouts and asked her about their engagement himself.
“The mercantile is just down the street.” Miss Carlson pulled a scarf around her neck.
Charlie glanced to the sky. The sun passed behind a cloud, and a slight wind brushed against his cheek. He would ask around about Miss Montgomery another day. Not in the presence of Miss Carlson. “I am well enough. We should return before the afternoon fades.”
She smiled. “I agree.”
“Please, allow me to drive.” Allowing her to serve him felt wrong, no matter her occupation. “Besides, I have not had the pleasure of doing so for years.”
Miss Carlson laughed. Her nose crinkled. “Does it bother you to be driven about by a woman? My father would never have abided such an arrangement either, no matter the circumstance.”
“No, not at all. You are an excellent driver. I offered for no other reason than to relieve you of your duties.” Why hadn’t he considered the way his offer might sound? Charlie sucked in a breath. “And perhaps to enjoy a moment with the reins.”
“A moment with the reins? I doubt there is much out of your control.”
He chuckled. “And what do you mean by that, Miss Carlson? Do I seem controlling or demanding?”
She pursed her lips and shrugged. “Not in the slightest, but you seem like the type of man to take action. I cannot imagine many deny your efforts. You have the gift of making those in your company feel comfortable, lively.”
His chest lifted. He could not resist teasing her. “You mean you find me irresistible, Miss Carlson?”
Her mouth dropped, and she gasped. “What a thing to say.”
He grinned, and laughter flooded the space between them. Her embarrassment was charming and quaint. “But I did not say such a thing. You did.”
“I relinquish any words that were misconstrued to such an abominable and shameful meaning.” Her cheeks were touched with pink, but Charlie could not decipher whether the markings originated from embarrassment or the winter chill. She tightened her grip on the reins. “And, Mr. Ellison, I refuse to allow you to drive.”
He chuckled again, surprised by the sound. Laughter had evaded him for longer than he liked to admit. “What can I say to convince you otherwise? If you deny me this chance, I might not have another opportunity for quite some time.”
“To drive a wagon? You deprived soul.” Hattie’s lips twisted in a mock frown.
Charlie would not win this one. He could tell from the set of her jaw, the way she lifted her chin in defiance. He lifted his arms in the air. “Then I surrender.”
She lifted one brow. “I do not believe you.”
He leaned against the back of the seat, resting his arms along the top of the support. “I am wise enough to know when I have lost.”
Her lips tugged ever so slightly, but she did not look at him. “I suppose that is another one of the talents your mother taught you—admitting defeat. Not many men have such a quality.”
“She did teach me…in one way or another. She is a stubborn woman, but like you, Miss Carlson, my mother has other qualities that make defeat bearable.”
Miss Carlson flinched. “I see. Then you were raised by a strong woman. You will have to give her my congratulations. In our day, most women are nothing but meek and submissive.”
Charlie sensed a touch of sadness to her words. “I have never liked that idea. A woman’s voice is important. My mother has corrected many of my father’s decisions, saving our family from great losses.”
Miss Carlson grew silent. She pulled the wagon to the edge of the road, into the softly packed snow. “Here, why don’t you drive?”
He took the reins from her outstretched hands. “But I
thought—”
“I will take you up on your offer and relax for the rest of the ride.” Her eyes misted, and Charlie was sure he saw emotion gleaming back at him.
Charlie’s stomach turned; he hated to see her upset. He wanted to ask her the meaning behind her tears and why his words seemed to spur them. But he took the reins instead. He would not further her pain by asking.
“Mr. Ellison,” she said after a long bout of silence. “Have you ever faced a difficult decision, one that you perhaps created yourself?”
“Yes.” Charlie felt he was at the precipice of one of those crossroads now. After a day in Miss Carlson’s presence, he already sensed a developing attachment. Even stranger, he guessed she felt similar. “What difficulty have you created?”
She laughed amidst her misty eyes and ran a gloved finger under each eye. “I chose a certain path that went against everything I have been brought up to be.”
“That again. You mean you would like to return to your family?” Charlie asked, staring into her eyes.
“My family?” Miss Carlson shook her head. “What do you mean?”
He sighed. “I do not profess to be an expert detective. If I was, I would have already solved my own predicament. But, I am not so dimwitted. Your manners are refined, and your speech is elegant. If I am not mistaken, you are well educated.”
She inhaled. “Perhaps.”
“And from a family of no small means?”
She twisted her hands around her scarf. “Do you think I am wrong for leaving that life behind? I grew tired of my father’s wishes dictating my every move.”
Charlie smiled. “I cannot believe you would allow anyone to dictate your actions.”
The wagon bumped along the road, and Miss Carlson slid closer to him. “But I did allow my father to dictate more than you know. He even wished to direct my…” She shook her head and looked to the ground. “I should not speak of such things.”
“Your marriage?”
She shrugged.
Charlie’s shoulders went rigid. He understood such things all too well. “Everyone deserves a chance to choose their own path.” The words grated upon his ears. Charlie was a hypocrite, reciting such advice to her whilst allowing his sense of honor and father to dictate his own actions. He cleared his throat. “But life is not always so simple.”
Miss Carlson smiled, but her eyes were still wet and downcast. “I wish it was.”
Charlie wanted to offer comfort but felt unqualified. His life was a tangle of situations—most pronounced, his betrothal. His attraction to Miss Carlson only complicated matters further. Life was nothing like the road stretching before him—cleared, straight, and smooth.
From the corner of his eye, Charlie saw a brown blur zip across his vision. He opened his mouth to warn Miss Carlson, but no words came. The deer darted in front of the wagon at an alarming speed.
He swerved in order to avoid the animal, resulting in a sharp tilt of the wagon box. The front wheel lowered into a divot, and Charlie felt the edge of a board at the back of his head.
Miss Carlson came flying across the bench. She latched on to Charlie’s arm, and the wheel cracked.
Charlie barely managed to stop the horses.
Adrenaline rushed through his veins; his chest buzzed. Instinctively, Charlie encircled Miss Carlson by the waist. The front end of the wagon continued to tip forward, and he silently plead the contraption would not roll onto its side.
Miss Carlson’s breath hitched.
For a long moment, time seemed to stop. The wagon teetered on one edge, and Charlie held her close, hoping the horses would remain cooperative. When the creaking of the wagon subsided, Charlie braced his foot against the edge of the footrest.
“Are you well?” he asked, turning to face her.
She nodded, gasping for breath.
Chapter 6
Charlie jumped from the wagon, and it bounced in relief.
Hattie held her breath. The deer had appeared out of nowhere. Any faster, and the wagon surely would have tipped. She placed a hand to her pounding chest, attempting to regain her composure.
“Please, allow me to assist you,” Mr. Ellison said, holding out his arms.
She did not hesitate to jump from the contraption, landing directly in his arms.
He laughed in seeming surprise and set her to the ground. “Are you sure you are well?”
“Quite, thankfully.” Hattie glanced up at him. “The deer…”
“We narrowly escaped it.” His brows knit together, and he scanned her expression.
His hands remained at her side, and hers still grasped at his shoulders. The realization brought a new wave of heart-pounding heat. She stepped backward, inhaling sharply. A line of perspiration formed at the back of her neck, and Hattie fanned herself.
Mr. Ellison’s hat had tumbled in the ordeal, and he ran a hand through his blond hair, sighing. He turned to assess the damage. “A considerably fortunate ending to a violent alternative.”
Hattie startled. A trickle of blood ran down the back of his light hair. “Mr. Ellison—your head.”
“My head?” He touched the back of his head, and his eyes widened at the sight of blood. “How did I…?”
“Here, take my scarf.” She removed the wrap from her neck and moved to her tiptoes to reach his head. “If you will stoop, I will reach you easier.”
He leaned over, and she dabbed at the blood trickling.
“What a mess I’ve made.” He closed his eyes, shaking his head ever so slightly. “I don’t suppose you will allow me to drive in the future.”
Hattie smiled. “I won’t blame you for the deer. In fact, considering the circumstances, I think you did better than most. You kept me safe.”
Mr. Ellison’s eyes flickered open. “Perhaps I managed well enough then.”
His voice was deep. There was a warmth to his light eyes that flooded Hattie with heat. If only Hattie had been a more dutiful daughter, Mr. Ellison might have been her husband. A tingle ran down her spine at the thought. She moved the scarf, examining the wound.
Mr. Ellison would not wish to marry her now, not when she had acted like a coward.
“I recommend we get you back to the hotel as soon as possible and call the doctor. You might need suture,” she said, tying the scarf around his head twice.
“A suture? I don’t feel the slightest pain.” He frowned. “But then again, I suppose we are still in shock.”
“Yes.” Hattie unhitched the horses and surveyed the broken wagon wheel. “We can leave the wagon here. Tom will have to mend it before moving it anyway. Are you well enough to ride?”
Mr. Ellison pressed his lips together. “Perhaps we should walk.”
The hotel was only a few hundred yards away, and Hattie agreed. They walked the horses without speaking, but she did not mind. They had narrowly escaped disaster. Hattie replayed the entire affair over and over in her mind, pausing to contemplate the danger or the way Mr. Ellison had come to her aid.
Mr. Ellison was considerate and kind, charming and witty, and Hattie wanted to bang her head against the wall. Perhaps she should tell him the truth. Pretending to be Adele Carlson, when he was searching for her, seemed cruel, unfair. The humiliation at telling him the truth would be difficult to bear. But, she might have a chance of remedying the situation.
“Mr. Ellison, there is something I wish to speak to you about.” Dread closed in on her, and she touched her throat.
“Yes?” His steps staggered.
“When you first arrived, I…” Hattie swallowed. She needed to start at the beginning. “As you guessed, I come from a family of high society. Back east, actually.”
He smiled. “I thought so.”
They reached the stable, and Hattie took the reins of both horses. “I could not live up to my father’s expectations. I—I only wanted to choose my own path. I thought—”
Mr. Ellison steadied himself against her arm. “Miss Carlson, I am afraid I feel faint.”
His eyes rolled backward. He fell to a mound of snow, and Hattie dropped to the ground beside him.
“Mr. Ellison?” Horror struck her, stealing her breath. “Mr. Ellison?”
When he did not move, Hattie shook his shoulder. She slapped his cheek. Nothing again. This could not be happening; Mr. Ellison was in Topeka because of her; he had kept her safe when the wagon crashed. And now… he had fainted from loss of blood. Warm tears slid down her cheek, and Hattie sprinted to the cottage behind the hotel.
She pounded on the door, rattling on the doorknob.
Tom opened the door. “Adele? What is it?”
“Mr. Ellison—a guest.” She shook her head. Why were her words so jumbled? She sniffled, wiping at her tears. “I took the wagon to town for Mr. Brody—the brooch. Mr. Ellison needed a ride to the post office. On the way home, we hit a divot when a deer ran in front of us.”
Tom placed a hand on her shoulder. “Calm down. Where is Mr. Ellison?”
Hattie tried to catch her breath, but the tears came faster. “His head. He’s fainted by the stables.”
“Adele, I need you to calm down. Harriet and Rose are inside. Sit with them. I’ll see to Mr. Ellison straight away.” Tom sprinted toward the stables, leaving Hattie a blubbering mess.
She dug her hands into her skirt pockets for warmth as she rocked back and forth. Panic surged into her lungs. Only one thing could make matters worse; the brooch was gone.
The mixture of voices rang in his ears—a woman and man, neither of which Charlie recognized. Charlie sat up…or tried to. His head throbbed with the attempt, slicing through his resolve, and he fell back to the pillow.
“Mr. Ellison?”
Charlie recognized Mr. Brody’s voice, but opening his eyes seemed impossible; his lids seemed to weigh as much as his legs and arms—both of which felt cemented to the bed.
“No need to worry, Mr. Brody. He will wake soon, but you must make sure he keeps to the bed until the suture heals. He took quite the blow.”
“Thank you, Dr. Wayment,” Mr. Brody said. His footsteps paced at Charlie’s side. “And you, Mrs. Wayment.”
A Promised Heart Page 4
