Romance: Stepbrother On Top

by A. Valentine

  His laugh was not pleasant. “Champagne costs quite a bit more than that.” He let his gaze drop again, slowly scanning my bosom before speaking again. “So do you want some water or not?”

  I considered my finances. “I can’t afford that.”

  He smirked. “I didn’t think so.” He let the tone of his voice drop, so he was barely speaking above a whisper. I had to strain to hear him above the loud click-clack of the train’s wheels. “But if you need a drink, I’m sure we can work something out.” His leer let me know exactly what kind of arrangement he had in mind.

  “Sir!” I said, shocked. “I am a lady!”

  He laughed. “Do you know what they call a lady with no money, honey?”

  I didn’t answer him, because I couldn’t find the words. My silence seemed to infuriate him. “Well, do you?” he insisted.

  “No,” I muttered, fearful that his temper, barely contained now, would quickly boil over into a situation I couldn’t control. “What do they call a lady with no money?”

  He sneered and I feared the worst. All my life I’d been treated with courtesy; my Father was far from rich but we were respectable enough. Now this conductor was going to humiliate me in front of a car load of passengers.

  “Thirsty,” he said with a nasty laugh, and walked away. I slumped down in my seat, feeling my emotions waver between fury and a strange sense of relief. If he had called me a loose woman, I didn’t know what I was going to do; alone on the train without a friend in the world made me realize how truly defenseless I was.

  I stared out the window, watching the darkened landscape go by. Perhaps this entire journey was a mistake. I was so thirsty. My head ached, and the pain doubled every time I thought about what things must be like back home. By now, Father had discovered my absence, and had had to explain to Robert Benson that I was nowhere to be found. The consequences of that conversation were too terrible to imagine. As dry as I was, tears still came to my eyes. I licked my lips as they slid down my face; their salty moisture was better than nothing.

  “Excuse me, Miss?” A young girl settled into the seat beside me. “Are you all right?”

  I blinked back my tears. This girl couldn’t have been ten years old, far too young to hear about my troubles. “I’m fine. I’m just a little thirsty, that’s all.”

  She nodded, very seriously. “Mother and I heard the conductor being horrid to you. That’s why she wants me to give you these.” In her small hands suddenly appeared a bunch of grapes, wrapped in a fold of paper. “They’re from our farm. Very juicy.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Thank you.” A thought struck me. “I haven’t any money to pay you.”

  The girl waved her hand, and across the way, I could see her Mother shaking her head in agreement. “We don’t need any money. Just don’t be sad. You’re too pretty to cry.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The grapes were the best I ever tasted, foxy and wild like the countryside. I ate them slowly, knowing I had more than two days ride ahead of me. The young girl and her generous mother got off at the next station we stopped at. I thanked them as they departed, and the mother smiled sadly at me. “It wasn’t that long ago that I was in your shoes, young lady.” She patted her flat belly as if there was a babe inside. “Take care of yourself. And your little one.”

  Then she was gone, leaving me astonished. It was amazing to me how many people misinterpreted why a young woman would be travelling alone. Already I’d been misidentified as a prostitute and as a girl in trouble. Surely something was making people think those things about me, and I wasn’t sure what it was.

  I thought about it all night long, in between fits of uncomfortable sleep propped upright in my seat. When dawn arrived, I remembered my Shakespeare. “All the world’s a stage,” he’d written in As You Like It, a caution that none of us are necessarily who we appear to be. I decided then to play the role of a confident young woman on her way to meet the man she loved very much and was looking forward to marrying. It was time to stop worrying about what I left behind me and look forward to what was coming. I straightened my spine, put a big smile on my face, and tried to cultivate an aura of eager anticipation.

  It made all the difference in the world. As new passengers got on the train, they looked at me and smiled. The train crew changed, and in the place of the foul-eyed conductor was an older fellow who, when I asked if there was any way to get a drink of water, said “Of course!” and never mentioned anything about a dollar a glass charge.

  Someone even left their copy of the Cleveland Leader on the train when they departed. After a quick glance around the train car, I snatched that up eagerly and whiled away the better part of a day slowly reading it.

  A man named Rockefeller had apparently set up a company in those parts that other people were calling an unfair monopoly; the editorial I read argued that Mr. Rockefeller was being punished for being too successful. There were a number of questions the article raised for me, and I spent many, many miles pondering whether a man could be both financially successful and virtuous. If one couldn’t, then which was more important? The Iowa agronomist was much on my mind. I didn’t know if science was a lucrative field; if I was heading into a life of poverty as a farmer’s wife, it would be good to know that going in.

  Everyone who’d tried to talk me into marrying Benson had emphasized his wealth. We’d never been a rich family, but I’d never known want either. Dealing with the unsavory train conductor had made me acutely aware of how little money I had. Financial concerns had never been utmost in my mind; like any girl, I assumed that I’d marry well enough that it wouldn’t be a worry. But now, having spurned a fortune, was I ready to deal with whatever fortunes awaited me?

  The Cleveland paper had a story about young female factory workers, and how conditions for them needed to be improved. This was an eye opener for me; I’d no idea that women worked in factories at all. If the Iowa agronomist were not to my liking, or if he wasn’t able to support a bride, I mused, then I had at least one option open to me. It wasn’t much of an alternate plan, but it was a plan, and I felt much better for having it.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Sioux City train station was far larger than I expected. The brown brick building dwarfed the train station back home; the platform was long, wide, and almost completely empty when I got off of the train, clutching my black leather satchel.

  There were two elderly women there, clad in black and clucking to each other. Beside them, a haggard looking woman tried desperately to keep control of four rambunctious children. Further away, near the train station building, stood two gentlemen.

  One was tall and well-dressed; he had a suitcoat and waist coat on. My heart sank when I saw he was nearly Father’s age. Of course, it took some time to become a scientist, I should have expected this. He was clean and his affect seemed kindly enough. The other man was incredibly handsome, tall and broad with short blond hair the color of wheat in the sun. He was wearing dungarees and a white shirt with a denim vest over it; his pockets bulged and even at a distance, I could tell his eyes were an incredible blue.

  I started walking toward the older man, plastering a bright smile on my face. First impressions matter, and I wanted my husband to be to know me from the first as a cheerful, good hearted woman.

  As I approached, the younger man stepped forward and smiled. “Abigail?” he said.

  “Yes…” I paused, not quite believing what this might mean.

  “Hello!” he said, extending his hand. “I am William.” He had a bit of an accent; he sounded almost German. “It is such a pleasure to meet you at last!”

  When I took William’s hand, a spark passed between us, an electric moment that caused us each to pause and look at each other with fresh eyes. I saw that he was older than me, but not by much; at the very most, he was thirty years old. It was clear he spent a great deal of time outdoors. Despite his fair hair, his skin was very tan. He wasn’t nearly as big as Robert Benson, but there was no questio
n he was a strong working man.

  “You have brought the Shakespeare?” he asked with a smile.

  “I have,” I said.

  “Then it will be welcome in our library,” he said, taking me by the hand and leading me off the platform. “And you are very welcome to come to my home.”

  You would think that two people who had never met before would be awkward with each other, but William and I were comfortable right from the start. The fact that his dog loved me immediately helped: the small brown hound leaped from the wagon seat and danced all around me, wriggling his butt and barking joyfully as I approached.

  “Shotsi! Stop that!” William said, with a laugh. He beamed when he saw I bent to pet the hound. “You like dogs?”

  “Absolutely,” I said. Shotsi was licking my hands and face, and I laughed. “They aren’t shy about saying how they feel about a person, that’s for sure.”

  “Shotsi certainly isn’t,” William replied. “She likes you, but there are those…well.” He shrugged. “She will show you her teeth and then I know maybe this is a person who isn’t so kind.”

  “Your horses are beautiful too,” I said. His team wasn’t matched; there was a gray and a paint, but each looked hale and hearty. I scratched the gray between the ears.

  “So you’ve been around animals,” William said. He held out his hand to help me up into the wagon. “That’s good. I wasn’t sure if an East Coast girl would truly be ready for farm life.”

  I cocked my head. “An East Coast girl?”

  “It is all cities out that way,” William announced. “New York. Philadelphia. A different world.” He spoke very confidently, as if he’d spent every day walking the streets of the towns he named. “If that is what you are used to, it may be hard for you to be happy here.”

  “The Shenandoah Valley’s not like that,” I said. “We have plenty of farms. And woods. And mountains.” Father and I had lived in a relatively small town, certainly nowhere near the size of Sioux City. “It’s not even like this.”

  William smiled. “Well, I do not have the mountains for you. But the farm, you will see.” He looked at me out of the corner of his eye, and I could see he was nervous that I wouldn’t like him. “There are no woods, but I am doing a project with plum trees; there are 120 of them.” He frowned. “Although there are four that aren’t doing as well as I might have hoped.”

  I laughed and reached for his hand. “120 plum trees! That’s wonderful. Tell me about your project.”

  I must have said the magic words, because William was off to the races. As we drove through Sioux City and into the countryside beyond, I learned more about plum trees than I ever believed possible. There is a disease called plum pox, he told me. “It travels from tree to tree the way a cold will go from person to person. But not every tree will get the pox. Some cultivars are stronger than others; the pox can touch every other tree in the orchard but these ones grow untroubled. I am trying to figure out why.”

  “Are there some types of plums that are naturally immune?” I asked.

  William’s face lit up with delight. “There are individual trees within the species – the type of plums – that will succumb, but yes, some species are more resistant than others.”

  “What do those species that are more immune have in common with each other, I wonder.” I said.

  “You did not tell me you are a scientist also!” he exclaimed.

  “I’m not,” I protested. “I’m just a girl. I’m ordinary.”

  William shook his head. “In the little time I know you, I can tell you you are not just a girl. And you are far from ordinary.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  What can I tell you about William’s farm? Coming onto the land was like riding into paradise. Everything was green and healthy, vibrantly growing. The gardens were not like any I’d ever seen before: instead of long rows, William had many small plots divided into squares. The wheat and corn grew in curving, arced lines that traced around the field in a lacelike pattern.

  “This is called contour planting,” William explained. “I am trying to see if it helps reduce the amount of soil the wind steals away from me.” He pulled the team to a stop in front of a small, tidy home. When he looked at me, it was clear he was still nervous. “And here we are.”

  Shotsi leaped out of the wagon and ran up onto the porch.

  “It’s lovely,” I said to William.

  “Let me show you the inside.” He helped me out of the wagon, and we followed the dog. The house was surprisingly similar to the one I’d left behind; it had two stories, white clapboard siding, and a front room lined with bookcases.

  “You know what made me answer your ad?” I asked William.

  “No,” he said, quite seriously. “What?”

  “The must love to read part.” The cases were full of titles; some I recognized, but others, particularly those of a scientific nature, were new to me. One name was familiar. “You have Origin of Species!”

  William went very still. “I do.”

  I clapped my hands. “That’s wonderful! I’ve heard about it, of course, but have only been able to read what the papers say about it.”

  “Does it bother you,” William asked slowly, “that the papers say that Darwin’s work is counter to how God works?”

  “God works in mysterious ways,” I replied. “And I’m not at all certain we should be sure we know what those ways are. So who are we to say what’s counter to them, and what’s merely a revelation of his hand at work?”

  I was shocked by William’s sudden embrace, and doubly shocked by how good it felt to be in his arms. “You may be the first miracle I have ever encountered,” he said, before pressing his lips to mine. “A beautiful woman who thinks for herself.”

  William was the first man I had ever kissed besides my Father, and of course, that was entirely different. But it turns out that I must kiss passably well, because he kissed me again and again. I could feel my heart leaping in my throat, a jumping in the veins that he quickly covered with his lips; this sent an electric shiver through my body. William noticed and clutched at me tightly. His body was so foreign to mine and yet felt so familiar; I leaned into his strength with ease.

  “Ach,” he said, stepping back after a moment. “If we’re going to do this properly – and I am a man who likes to do things properly – we will have to wed.” He cocked his head. “That is if you’re willing?”

  “I am,” I said confidently. I’d never felt surer of anything in my life. Compared with all my other options – Robert Benson back home, or trying to forge a life entirely on my own – marrying William was an absolute no-brainer. “And sooner, rather than later.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “I am happy for you, William, that you have found such a beautiful bride,” Pastor Hofmann said. “But why is there such a hurry to the altar?” His gaze fell to my stomach briefly before searching William’s eyes.

  William blushed scarlet, while I rushed in to explain.

  “Oh, no, Father. Reverend. Pastor.” We didn’t have Lutherans back home in the Valley, so I was not sure of the proper term of address. “It’s not what you may be thinking.”

  Pastor Hofmann smiled kindly. “Then tell us what it is. For William is dear to our church and our family. If you are going to be part of his life, there should be no secrets between us.”

  “Otto! You are scaring the girl.” This came from the Pastor’s wife, a short, stout woman who introduced herself as Patience. “You mustn’t mind my husband. It’s just that we’ve known William since he was a young man.” She laid her hand on the Pastor’s shoulder affectionately. “It makes him too protective. He needs to remember what it is like to be young and in love.” She smiled at me in a way that made me feel as if I’d known her for always. “We cannot wait to be with our sweethearts.”

  “That is true,” I said, “but it’s not the only thing.” I had determined that I was not going to come to William with any secrets between us; if my history wa
s such that he didn’t want me in his life, I had to respect that. He was too good of a man to have my problems with Richard Benson suddenly sprung upon him unawares. “It all started when my Father needed a new printing press for his shop.”

  The trio – William, Pastor Hofmann and his wife – all listened attentively as I told the tale of the print shop fire, the devilish bargain Benson had forced my father into, and how quickly he’d returned from Boston to claim my hand in marriage. Their expressions grew more and more serious with every word, and by the time I’d finished relaying my concerns about what had truly happened to Kitty Benson, it was clear that William was incensed.

  “Money is the root of all evil,” he said. “These wealthy men think they can do anything, and never face the consequences of their actions!”

  “Be at peace, William,” Pastor Hofmann said. “Benson will face his judgement day when the time comes, the same as the rest of us.” He turned toward me. “Marriage is a sacred vow, young lady. You shouldn’t feel forced into it. If you’re not ready to marry William of your own free will, you should know that we are willing to shelter and protect you.”

  That was the last thing I expected to hear, and tears sprang to my eyes. “Thank you,” I managed to whisper. “That means a lot to me.” I reached out and took William’s hand. “But I am quite certain that it is in my heart to marry William. If we are rushing, so be it, but this is the same choice I would make a week from now, or even a month from now.”

  “So long as all that?” Patience said with a smile. She clapped her husband on the shoulder. “These two need to be married. Go put on your good suit. I’ll get the church opened up.”

  Chapter Twenty

  It was a small wedding: Pastor Hofmann, his wife, their seven children, William and me.