Sylvia had felt unbearably guilty, both for entertaining such fantasies and for taking the page that contained the ads, but from that moment it seemed almost as if her present course was inescapable. It was as though admitting her unhappiness somehow gave it more weight, made it an almost tangible pressure that overlaid everything that she did. She kept the page, read the ad every day. It didn’t say much really. It just advertised that a man from Texas was searching for a bride, and that he would pay her expenses if she were to agree to wed him.
Sure, on a logical level she understood that if she were to answer that ad—or one like it, because that one had been printed months ago and she was sure someone had answered the request—there was no guarantee that life would be any better. In fact, if she were honest with herself, it was entirely likely that the situation she found herself in would be worse.
Somehow though even ‘worse’ sounded better. At least she could, if only for a time, have the hope of a better future, the excitement of the unknown. As it was her entire life was mapped out for her. Her parents hadn’t chosen her a husband yet, but it was only a matter of time. Once they did she would settle down with him and raise children in the same small village she’d grown up in herself. Sure, life as a mail-order bride didn’t seem much different, but at least she wouldn’t feel as though the world was passing her by while she had to live apart from it all. To even speak such thoughts might get her shunned, if the wrong person heard…of course she’d more that taken care of that.
Sylvia took a deep breath as the train began to rumble down the tracks and tried in vain to keep the tears that threatened from leaving cold, twisted trails down her cheeks. No, there was no looking back now. There was nowhere to go but forward. With shaking hands she removed her prayer cap and apron. Sylvia smoothed her hands over the starched white fabric.
She reached back then with one hand to touch her uncovered hair. It was a lovely golden shade, though it was a sin for Sylvia to admit her pride in it, even to herself. The prayer caps were donned to prevent emotions like the ones she always felt anyway about her hair.
Her other features weren’t as admirable, in her estimation. She wasn’t unseemly, to be sure, but neither was she a great beauty. Still, with clear blue eyes and a healthy flush to her cheeks, surely her future husband could do worse. She hoped that her future husband wouldn’t be terribly disappointed with her…
Vanity or no, it felt strange to be out in public without her hair covered.
She’d never dared to be seen outside the house without the cap and apron on before now. Even though she was the only person sitting in the passenger car at the moment she had to fight the urge to fold her hands over the dark blue fabric of her dress to hide herself.
The cool air that lingered from the time the train had stood open and awaiting more passengers that never came seemed to sting against Sylvia’s scalp, a soft reprimand for the sin of uncovering her hair in public. She shook off the notion though. She’d grow used to it soon enough.
She began to put the garments aside, but in the end some small, sentimental part of her refused to let that final tie with her old life go. Instead she folded them up, as small as they would go, and shoved them into the bottom of her bag. With an effort she banished the thoughts of home from her mind, but there was no stopping them from returning once she’d closed her eyes.
“Have you ever wondered what it would be like, Helen? To just leave, to never have to wear this prayer cap again, to be able to speak with whomever we want, to—“
“Hush, Sylvia! You mustn’t say such things! What if Papa heard you? He might even consider shunning you, and then where would you be?”
Sylvia had swallowed the curiosity. Back then a shunning had actually seemed like the end of the world. Her mother and father were harsh, with little enthusiasm for life and even less love for the two daughters they’d brought into the world. Sylvia didn’t doubt, as shameful as the thought was, that she could walk away from them without a backward glance. But Helen? She could never walk away from her little sister.
Sylvia woke with a start and dried the tears that had formed on her face during the dream. Even though it had seemed so real, some part of her must have realized that she would never be faced with the choice of walking away from her younger sister. You couldn’t leave someone who was already gone.
Dispassionately Sylvia stared out the train’s window as the scenery passed her by. After some hours had passed the mountains gave way to flatter territory that was no less green. Still, no matter how pleasant, no matter how novel the new sights that she was presented with, the sadness of her dream still filled her. As the miles went by, one after another, with nothing beyond the sights outside the window to fill her mind, sadness began to give way to a much darker emotion.
Sylvia tried to tamp down on the anger that rose up in her at the thought of her younger sister. When Helen had fallen ill her father had refused to seek medical help outside their community, even though it was not against their beliefs to do so. He’d claimed to place his trust in ‘divine providence’. He had said that if it were God’s will her sister would be healed.
While she didn’t doubt a higher power, Sylvia didn’t quite buy into divine providence in her sister’s case. Her beliefs fell more in line with a saying she’d heard repeated often by men and women in the mercantile: “God helps those who help themselves.”
That was what Sylvia was doing now. She wasn’t walking away from faith as a whole as much as she was leaving behind her a family that would stand by and let her waste away to nothing if she were to fall ill. Surely self-preservation couldn’t be wrong. How could wanting to know that your life was truly valued be a sin? The direction Sylvia’s thoughts had taken steeled her resolve. As the last remnants of her earlier tears dried on her cheeks she vowed to only look forward rather than behind.
Even steely resolve, however, cannot fight off boredom. Over the next several days Sylvia spent her days traveling by train. The seats in the passenger cabins were far more comfortable than they could have been, and certainly more comfortable than anything Sylvia usually sat in. Still, though, after sitting there for several hours every day only to disembark, seek a room, and do it all again the next day…Sylvia thought she might never want to sit again after this journey was done, no matter how inviting the cushion.
Then, before she’d even reached the Texas border, Sylvia changed modes of travel. The rest of her journey would be completed via stagecoach. She’d spent plenty of time riding to town in an open buggy. If someone had told her she might suffer from motion sickness she would have laughed them off quickly. She would have been wrong.
Something about the small, closed in cabin of the stagecoach, the scent of dust and a hundred travelers before her…it just turned her stomach. Rather than enjoying the scenery as it changed around her, so different from the hilly, green land back home, she spent most of each day with her head tilted back and her eyes closed.
She breathed through her mouth in order to avoid the unpleasant scents, only to find it dried and coated with dust. The cold air left her throat aching and, though she bundled up as best she could, her hands and feet numb.
Though she normally preferred her space, particularly around people that she wasn’t well acquainted with, Sylvia found herself hoping that the coach would be full each morning when they set out. Surely it wasn’t inappropriate to sit closely when there wasn’t room to do much else. It was certainly warmer with more people riding in the stagecoach alongside her.
Sylvia hadn’t thought things could get much more miserable. Then it rained. The going that day, while less bumpy, was painfully slow. Still, she shouldn’t complain. Those who had paid a lower fare had to get out and walk when the wagon got too bogged down in the mire. And those who had paid less still had to push until it was freed again. Only then were they able to climb back into the wagon, mud logged and completely exhausted. When they passed into a region that hadn’t seen wet weather recently Sylvia had fe
lt ridiculously thankful for the dusty, bumpy ride she’d taken for granted only days before.
Though it was preferable to the rain, the bumpy rides had their problems. Her dress was grimy and travel worn, and it hung more loosely on her frame than it had at the beginning of her journey, which wasn’t exactly a good thing.
Sylvia had never been a large woman. She wasn’t exactly tiny though, not like some of the delicate girls in her church. She’d been more athletic, although she was still slender. Over the days traveling with an almost empty stomach—a necessity if she hoped to avoid losing its contents during the day’s carriage ride—Sylvia’s slight form had diminished until she was border line bony.
It was a shame that she couldn’t rest of for a week or so to put a bit of meat back on her bones before she met her husband to be. Her betrothed had certainly sent enough money for her to do so, if she desired, but she felt as though he would probably rather that she spend the money frugally and return as much as possible to him upon her arrival. And do, she thought with a sigh, it would be skin and bones for her, brought on by day after day of half starved, half sick rocking, bouncing torture.
Sooner than she would have thought, though, her days fell into a rhythm. She learned that the seat beside the driver was best, for it didn’t seem to bounce quite as hard as those around it. Though she couldn’t read to take her mind off the trials of the journey—she’d tried once and ended up with double the motion sickness and frigid hands for her trouble—she could occupy her mind by picturing her new home in her mind, and by pretending to describe the journey to Helen.
She would paint it as a grand adventure rather than the grimy, wearing travel that it was. If she were to tell Helen about the trip the plain fare at many of the stage coach stops would be made to sound exotic and fun. Finding a room in a new location every night could be made to sound like an opportunity to meet amazing people rather than an exercise in patience when she was already weary from the day’s travel, all the way down to her bones.
The rocking of the coach, however, would not be romanticized or even minimized in her tale. Some things were simply too miserable to lie about. And the cold, there could be no lying about that either. Sometimes at the end of the day it seemed that she would never be warm again. It was such a relief at the end of the day to settle down in a warm room. Unless the room wasn’t any warmer than the stagecoach had been. On those nights Sylvia shivered beneath her blankets and tried to be thankful that, while it might be chilly, at least the room wasn’t rocking to and fro. Running away from home, she concluded, was a business best done during warmer weather.
Sylvia was jolted from her reverie when a stranger plunked down next to her. She’d noticed that the stage was stopping. Somehow, though, even knowing that it was the last stop didn’t entice her enough to make her leave her seat. Eating would only make the rest of the day more miserable, and somehow warming up just made the cold that much sharper when she went back into it.
“Excuse me, Ma’am.”
Sylvia opened one eye to see who had jostled her, half expecting to see the gangly boy that had been sitting next to her that morning even though the apology had obviously been spoken with the voice of a grown man. Instead she found herself staring into an arresting pair of blue eyes.
“I…um…excuse me too…I mean that’s perfectly…yes. You’re excused.” Well…That was just mortifying. Sylvia felt a blush warming her cheeks against the cool winter air.
She reached back to touch her prayer cap, a nervous habit she’d formed at some point during her youth, only to realize that it was absent. That made her blush even more deeply, even though there wasn’t anything indecent about a stranger seeing her hair. Logically she knew that…Sylvia stared at her hands, which were encased in thick woolen mittens. She just wouldn’t engage him further. There was probably no salvaging this conversation anyway.
“I can move, if that would make you more comfortable.” Sylvia was surprised to hear a thread of kindness in his voice, even as she was ashamed that her discomfort was so obvious.
She took a deep breath before responding, “No, that’s okay. I’m sorry. You just took me by surprise. You’re welcome to sit beside me.”
Her gaze moved beyond his eyes this time as she studied him. His face was tanned, an obvious product of many hours spent beneath the Texas sun. His hair was a dark, rich brown, though the sun had lightened a few strands here and there. Sylvia felt both drawn to him and intimidated by him.
“Well, I sure appreciate that. I’m Vincent. It’s nice to meet you.”
“It’s a pleasure meeting you as well. Do you live around here?”
Sylvia wasn’t sure what made her continue the conversation. Perhaps, she thought dryly to herself, nothing more than a desire to show him that she was, in fact, capable of intelligent conversation.
“Not all that far from here…Taylor County.”
“I’m Sylvia.” Sylvia couldn’t keep the pleasure from her voice when she added, “That’s where I’m going as well.”
It would be nice to have someone to talk to. Already this small bit of conversation had almost kept Sylvia from realizing when the stagecoach started moving, and the first bit of the journey after had passed quickly too, with only a hint of motion sickness. Yes, a distraction might be just the thing to help the rest of the miles pass more quickly.
And they did pass quickly, both that day and in the two that followed. Sylvia was amazed at how quickly she’d struck up an easy friendship with Vincent. She’d always been a bit withdrawn, but somehow with him things just clicked. Vincent was travelling on business, as good fortune would have it. She felt fortunate indeed that someone so personable had been traveling to the same place as she was, at the same time.
It made the days pass by much more quickly. And, she could almost admit to herself that she hoped her husband would be like Vincent with his easy-going manner and his engaging sense of humor. And so, in the late afternoon of their third day traveling together, Sylvia found herself almost disappointed that their time together was drawing to a close as they neared their final destination.
Chapter 2
“So where exactly are you headed in Taylor County?” Vincent broke the comfortable silence that had fallen between them with his query.
“Well,” Sylvia admitted as the stagecoach rolled to a stop, “I’m not exactly sure.”
She hadn’t been exactly forthright with Vincent, she could admit to herself. Somehow it had seemed a bit embarrassing to admit that she’d never even met her betrothed. She hadn’t lied. Not really. She’d just worded things in a way that led him to believe she hadn’t run off across the countryside to wed a complete stranger.
Plenty of women did it, she knew…it wasn’t anything she’d really expected herself to be ashamed of. Somehow, though, she found herself wanting Vincent to believe that she was the kind of woman who was courted properly rather than…well, mail-ordered. The phrase seemed to speak for itself, really.
A spark of humor lit his eyes. “So you came all the way from Pennsylvania, but you have no clue as to your final destination?”
Sylvia stared at her hands as the stagecoach slowed before coming to a stop. “I…um…I’m supposed to meet a Mr. McCullough, and he—“ The words died on her lips as she watched the humor drain from Vincent’s eyes and his expression fade to a stony, distant resolve.
“Ah. I see. You’re Ms. King, then?”
Sylvia’s eyes widened. Had Mr. McCullough sent this man to meet her perhaps?
“Yes, that’s me. Sylvia King.” She didn’t bother to try to keep the curiosity from her tone or her face.
“Well, it looks like you found me.” The words had an almost accusatory tone.
Shock sent a flash of heat washing over Sylvia’s skin, a sensation not unlike standing to close to the woodstove while being pricked all over by tiny needles. Her mouth fell open in what had to be a most unflattering manner, but she couldn’t find the presence of mind to close it, much less s
ay something intelligent to the man before her…apparently her future husband.
Soon he was helping her from the wagon. Rather than the firm hand she’d received at every stop thus far from him, though, it was a hurried assist, almost as though he would prefer to have as little contact with her as possible. Hot tears of disappointment and humiliation pricked the backs of Sylvia’s eyes.
She looked down to hide them and tried to focus on her view of the ground as it swam before her. She willed the tears not to fall, but it was no use. They trailed down her cheeks, completely unaware of her silent plea.
“I guess we should get down to the clergy’s, then.”
The unemotional proclamation was followed by an equally distant ceremony. The pastor, an older gentleman with kind eyes, seemed aware of Sylvia’s discomfort but he did not question it. Now Sylvia sat, eyes downcast, in the box wagon that bounced along yet another uneven dirt road toward her new home. Vincent hadn’t been unkind, when she thought about it.
His interactions with her were polite, if strained, and he had done his best to ensure that she would be warm on the journey to his ranch. Indeed, Sylvia might chalk his actions up to nerves over marrying a virtual stranger—they had exchanged a limited amount of letters before she accepted his proposal, but the truth was that both of them seemed more interested in a means to an end than in getting to truly know one another.
She’d glimpsed his kindness and humor, though, and it hurt that he’d withdrawn it. It felt almost as though he had accepted her as a person, a stranger with whom circumstance demanded that he share a few fleeting days, but that he did not consider of a high enough quality to be his wife.
Well, she thought resolutely, she hardly considered this her ideal situation either. She hadn’t exactly been faced with a myriad of choices that would free her of her former life. At least she could be civil in the face of her new circumstances. Sylvia squared her shoulders and lifted her head. Rather than staring at her feet in shame for an unperceived wrong she would use this time as peaceful quiet in which to examine her new home rather than an awkward silence.
AFRICAN AMERICAN URBAN FICTION: BWWM ROMANCE: Billionaire Baby Daddy (Billionaire Secret Baby Pregnancy Romance) (Multicultural & Interracial Romance Short Stories) Page 88
