“Four o'clock, at the Eatery. I'll call on you and we can walk there together.”
Yes, they indeed had some things to talk about.
Chapter 2
Mr. Thomas arrived promptly at four o'clock, just as he'd said he would. Sophia appreciated his punctuality. Ezekiel, too, lived by his pocketwatch due to his own business. The other women chatted and primped, with a few of them already preparing to wed right away, later in the afternoon, as soon as they were ready.
Sophia calculated they all had enough time to eat, freshen up, but not both, before the first weddings took place.
The idea rattled her to her very bones. Marrying, so hastily after arrival. Mr. Thomas didn't seem to be in a hurry and that realization made her breathe a bit easier as she greeted him.
“Mr. Thomas.” She extended her hand, which he shook after removing his hat.
“Mrs. Webster.” He nodded, replacing his hat. “Ah, I've arranged to have our suppers brought to the office, so you can see where the newspaper is, and ah, where we'll live after. . .”
She let him pause. Clearly, his nerves matched her own. She smiled. Perhaps that would set him at ease and at the same time, quell her own nerves.
“I'm looking forward to seeing everything. I also look forward to beginning my work.”
He gestured toward the street outside and offered her his arm. “Shall we?”
She placed her hand on his arm. Her heart made a skittering beat. She could feel his arm muscles under the layers of fabric covering them. So unlike Ezekiel, who'd been wiry and sinewy, not given to much physical exertion or labor.
He looked down at her. Her heart skittered a bit more. What was wrong with her?
“So, as I said in my letter, Angel Vale's not much to look at now. But I can see what our town can become. Which is why I believed it was needful for our town to have ladies such as you come to us. Ladies make a town respectable. Not that Angel Vale's not respectable, but men aren't so good at keeping things polished sometimes.”
They strode along and she took in the row of buildings lining both sides of the main street of Angel Vale. No, the town wasn't much to look at. She saw evidence of a “boom,” but she also saw a building or two vacant. Like the mill which the women now stayed in, fashioned into a sort of group dwelling for those like her who weren't marrying right away.
“Have you lived here long?”
Matt kept silent as they continued toward the general store, where the women had arrived a bit earlier.
“A few years. They were good years, at first, then the mine dried up. Glad I didn't spend it all.”
“But why a newspaper?”
He shrugged, gave a boyish grin that removed at least a decade from his appearance. “It seemed like a good idea. I prayed about it, figured I could do some good and help this place turn into a real town.”
“I see.” A simple answer, but that was fine with her. She realized she had no real knowledge of the man she walked beside, and that realization made her hesitate in her steps.
“Are you all right?” He wore a look of concern, pausing as he did so.
“Yes. A bit tired, but it is nothing a good meal won't remedy.”
“Well, I hate to tell you, supper is likely going to be a fair-to-middlin' meal, no way around that. Not until the new cook is taking care of things” He stopped at a structure not a few doors down from the mercantile, owned by Jake, one of the men heading up the mail-order brides endeavor. He worked the key, and pushed open the door.
“That's quite all right.” She stepped into the building ahead of him. The printing press, undoubtedly his new pride and joy, if judging by the tender look he gave the machine, took up a bit of the rear part of the front room.
She inhaled the aroma of ink and fresh wood. “This is a new countertop, too.”
He nodded, placing his hands on the counter. “Figured it ought to look like an office. I'll keep regular office hours during the week, but in the event something big happens, I'll be out and about. You said you were open to working with me here. So, I'll need you here at the office.”
“Of course. I am also willing to contribute any written materials you require as well. Perhaps a ladies' social column, for updates?”
Matt scratched his chin. “Ah, I dunno. Hadn't thought about that.”
Her next question was to be about living arrangements and if he had given any thought to when they should speak to the preacher. The words remained unspoken as the front door opened behind them.
“Your meals.”
The voice with an accent made her turn around. A foreign-looking man held two plates, covered with cloth napkins and forks.
“Thank you,” Matt said. He pulled out some coinage and received the plates from the man. “I appreciate you bringing the food here. Please keep the extra coins for yourself.”
“Thank you, Mr. Thomas.” He bowed briefly before closing the door behind him.
“Well, like I said, could be fair-to-middlin' food today. He tries, but he's not quite getting the hang of things. You've tried rice before? That, topped with gravy, isn't half-bad.”
“Rice? No, I've not eaten rice before, although I've heard of it.” She accepted the plate he handed to her. Where on earth were they going to sit? No table or chairs visible, that she could tell.
“Follow me. Stools on the other side of the counter.” He gestured with his head and led her around the counter.
He set his plate on the counter and tugged the nearest stool toward her. “Ma'am.”
“Thank you.” She set her own plate on the counter and managed to climb onto the stool without her skirt's hem tangling around the toe of her traveling boots.
This was not a romantic setting, by any means, with the makings of a print shop at her back, the tiny front office space before them beyond the counter, with a front window looking out on Main Street. But it would do. She much preferred this to curious eyes watching them at The Eatery, wherever it was.
Matt removed his hat. “I'll say the blessing over our meal.”
Sophia nodded, bowing her head.
“Lord above, thank You for giving Sophia a safe journey and bringing her to Angel Vale. Bless the food which we are about to eat. Amen.”
“Amen.” She took a bite of the rice, covered with gravy. Not quite like potatoes, but she liked it, although the gravy was a tad salty. She swallowed. “So, how long have you been writing this newspaper?”
“The Angel Vale Courier has been around since the spring. Got a small secondhand printer, printed out around twenty-five copies first time. Now I print fifty, three days a week. I'd like to print double that by next year. With the new printer, it will be faster and the copies'll look better.” He plowed into his meal with gusto, speaking around the bites as he did so.
Sophia diverted her eyes to her own plate. Her stomach growled. This is what she'd agreed to. A simple life, tough life. The man beside her, rough, unpolished, but with a hint of charm and a sparkle in his eyes, framed by touches of gray at his temple.
She cleared her throat. “So, about the accommodations, where will we stay?”
“Stay?”
“After the wedding?”
The man started coughing on his mouthful of biscuit.
#
Matt coughed until the bite went down. He swallowed hard. “Ah, yes. The wedding.” He'd mentioned living arrangements when they'd entered the office. He placed his napkin on the counter. How did a fellow ask, “So, when will you be ready to get hitched?” Because it was more than getting hitched. When a man proposed marriage to a lady, it was a serious, holy thing indeed. Which is why he'd never considered it until now.
To give his feet something to do while his mind figured something out, he stood. “I'll show you what I have. Follow me.”
It was only a few steps, past the new press he hadn't even examined yet, nor given a trial run, and through the door that led to his living quarters. He flung open the door.
“Here. This is wh
ere I live. It isn't much, but I keep it tidy—can't abide a mess, unlike some bachelors. It needs a woman's touch, and should the day ever come, I welcome whatever you wish to do to it. In the event of. . . But, that is to say, I mean. . .” He tried not to fidget like a child, but his feet seemed to move of their own accord, moving him side to side in a nervous sway.
He watched her take in the sight of the mattress, covered with a threadbare quilt as it rested on the metal bed frame, a buffalo skin blanket folded neatly at the foot. A small stove, large enough to keep the place tolerably warm and brew a pot of coffee. The stand and the wash basin, towel folded neatly on the shelf beneath the bowl.
In the corner stood what he considered a luxury item—a chest of drawers for his garments, which amounted to two changes of clothes, socks in need of darning. He did not own a suit, but he had ordered one and it hadn't come in yet. That would hang from wall pegs, from which now hung his red union suit that he'd intended to put away before showing her the room.
Sophia said nothing. She did nod as she scanned the room. She cleared her throat when her gazed fixed on the union suit, the brightest item in the room.
“It seems very snug, and convenient for your work.”
“That it is, that it is.” He debated about putting the union suit away, but snatching it from the peg would only draw more attention to it. “There's ah, a privy out back.”
“That is good to know.” She took a step back, into the press room.
“Well, we should probably finish our food, then head over for the first weddings.” He reminded himself yet again that he was the one who'd come up with this whole idea in the first place. It wouldn't do to not be there and wish the couples well as they embarked on their futures together.
“Yes, we should.” Sophia settled back onto the stool and continued to eat.
He'd encountered females before in a social setting and was amazed at how much one of them could talk. Her quietness unnerved him. She seemed confident enough addressing the group earlier and had exchanged warm conversation with the other women who'd traveled with her to Angel Vale.
“So, about our marrying. . .”
Ah, so she decided to break the silence. “Yes, Mrs. Webster? Is there a particular time you had in mind?'
“I'm. . .I'm not certain today is the best day.”
“I couldn't agree with you more.” His shoulders relaxed. He picked up his fork and took a bite. He tried not to show her his sag o relief. “What I'd like to do, is spend time getting to know you a little better, and you get to know me. Now, I know you've been married before, but I haven't. I don't aim to do this more than once and seeing as how I'm likely at the halfway point of my life, I don't see the likelihood of this happening to me again.”
“I know I never envisioned this. But in Merville, I had nothing left. My late husband—he left provisions for me, yet because I gave him no heir, his family kept the majority of his estate.”
“That's a shame, Ma'am. A crying shame.” He shook his head. “How long were you married?”
“Twenty-three years.” The words hung in the air, hardly above the tone of a whisper. “We had hoped. . .we had hoped God would send us children, but He did not.”
“You were a teacher, before?”
“I was. I have no intentions of returning to that occupation, which is why I told you I am interested in being a writer for the newspaper.”
He scratched his chin. “Now, I do the writing around here. What I need, like I said, is someone to stay here during the day while I am out and about gathering news.”
“I would prefer to write, also.”
“I can't say as I need help with that. Maybe.” He jabbed at the food with his fork, a mish-mosh of vegetables leftover from one of the gardens. He ought to enjoy it; he didn't know how much the restaurant had put up for the upcoming winter.
“I think I can write impartially about Angel Vale, seeing as I am a newcomer.”
“We'll see, we'll see.” He grinned at her. “I don't doubt you'd do a good job. I'm not sure I want my wife strolling around the town, talking to strangers.”
Her cheeks flamed red and she set her fork down. “I see. Well, seeing as we are not wed, you have no say in that matter. But, as an investor, if I help fund your paper, I'll ask for at least one story per edition.”
Chapter 3
Sophia spent the last few moments of their meal at the newspaper telling him she wanted to invest. He at first had refused the money. She told no one about the funds, the modest nest egg she had stitched into her petticoat that she had worn all the way from Maine to Wyoming.
It was her security, the little that Ezekiel had left to her alone. The old anger bubbled up inside her, of the unfairness of it all. Because she hadn't produced a child, she was second-class and not deserving of the benefits of a “true” wife who could provide what the family line needed most.
But with her investment, she would receive a share of what the newspaper earned. They would make that much official with an agreement signed by witnesses.
Not for the first time did Sophia wonder what she had done, coming here. Now, they had assembled to watch the first couples wed. Her back ached. She ignored the curious look Matthew gave her.
Instead, Sophia listened to the vows the couple exchanged and the words rang in her ears as she considered the man sitting beside her. What a pickle, as her mother used to say. They both had cold feet, colder than the bitter winter Matthew warned her about.
She realized she couldn't speak vows again, not like she had to Ezekiel. Theirs had been a mutual affection borne from an agreement between their families. They had hope in their hearts, if not love, when they'd wed so long ago.
Now, she and Matthew had. . .what?
An agreement of convenience. And, the way things felt right now, a shaky agreement at that. She wondered if the man had ever courted at any point, had any clue about how to woo a woman. Not that it mattered now.
Sophia didn't miss Becky's glance of concern during the ceremony. She smiled at the younger woman across the room and knew then she'd need to hide her own apprehensions from the others. Each of the women had their own stories, their own paths to follow to the altar—whether that be sooner, or later—and she didn't want to be responsible for allowing her feelings of apprehension to spread to the others.
After the ceremony, the still-unwed ladies lined up to catch the bouquet and Sophia found herself at the front of the small pack. She thought the tradition a little silly, but at the other women's insistence, she had stepped into the group.
“Here goes!” said the new bride, turning her back to them. Up went the bouquet.
Sophia decided to show some enthusiasm and took a step forward. The bouquet of late-season wildflowers tumbled into her arm. Squeals and giggles pierced her ears. She couldn't help but grin. The flowers were indeed lovely and they'd make a nice adornment to the ladies' living quarters at the mill. She would find a jar, add some water, and set the flowers on the table.
A feminine voice rang out. “You're next, Sophia!”
At that, they all laughed. She did too, but stopped short when she saw Matthew standing by some of the other men, his gaze fixed upon her, his face wearing the sheen of a seasick man.
No matter. She would laugh anyway, and did so again.
“We're not sure yet, but it's a lovely bouquet. Congratulations to the new couple.”
The couples present paired up and soon she found herself with Matthew once again.
“Shall we go for a walk, to talk some more about our business venture?” He offered her his arm. “We did cut our conversation short to come here.”
“I think that would be a good idea. After that, I'd like to return to my lodging. I'm afraid the day is catching up with me, at last.”
Matthew nodded, leading her outside. “I understand. You've had a long journey to get here.”
She did, indeed.
He led her along Main Street. They passed the livery, where she cou
ld secure a mount to go riding. But he told her he preferred she not go riding out alone.
“Maybe, before it's too cold and the weather gets testy, I can take you on a ride to Devil's Tower.”
“Devil's Tower?” She didn't think she would care to see such a thing, not if the devil himself had a hand in constructing it.
“Not what you think. It's a rock formation. The natives called it Bear Lodge, but then when Colonel Dodge's party came through few years back, that's the name someone gave it.”
“I see. Well, I prefer the sound of Bear Lodge, myself.”
“I don't blame you. For some reason, Devil's Tower has sort of stuck. No matter what the name, it's impressive and you'll never see anything like it in all your years. I like to think of it as a magnificent part of God's creation, anyway. In less than a day's ride from Angel Vale—on a good horse, that is—there's some brilliant views and the tower is part of it.”
She had to smile at the passionate tone of his voice. She liked Matthew Thomas' gumption. It reminded her a bit of Ezekiel and one of her late husband's qualities she found most appealing. Some men drifted through life, but men like Ezekiel—and Matthew, she suspected—charged into it with gusto. Although Matthew's gusto was a bit more unpolished than Ezekiel's, she found that appealing too.
“You're smiling.” He glanced down at her. “First big smile I think I've seen on your face since you've arrived, not counting when you caught the pretty bouquet. What are you thinking about?”
“I like your gumption, Mr. Thomas.”
“Please, call me Matthew, so long as I may call you Sophia.”
“All right, you may. . .Matthew.” She smiled up at him. “One thing. About the bouquet, earlier. I want to let you know I am not in a hurry to wed, just yet. But I don't want the others to lose confidence in their choices because of my, ah, delay.”
She'd nearly said “hesitation” but didn't. Because she was hesitating and so was he. Truthfully, if he'd pursued her like a beau, it would unnerve her to no end. Ezekiel had never pursued her and after his death, no one else had, either, when word of her circumstances made the rounds.
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