by Barbara Metzger, Connie Brockway, Casey Claybourne; Catherine Anderson
“And that’s why you ran off this morning?”
“Well, that and I had to see to the honeymoon plans.”
Penny’s eyes widened with laughter as she reared back in his arms. “Honeymoon? You were that sure of me, were you?”
Josh lifted one shoulder, his expression both sheepish and smug. “Sweetheart, I don’t mean to brag, but I’ve been with my fair share of women, and well . . . you pretty much showed all your cards last night.”
Blushing furiously, Penny shoved at his chest. “You conceited beast! Why, I don’t know that I can marry a man as bigheaded as you.”
He laughed and drew her close against him, plainly showing her that his head wasn’t the only sizable part of his anatomy.
“You can marry me, and you will. Wearing that white dress. And we’ll honeymoon in San Francisco, and we’ll work real hard at giving Eliza a little brother or sister.”
Hearing Eliza’s name, Penny gasped. “Oh, but Josh, we can’t go to San Francisco! Eliza was so terribly upset when I left. We have to turn the boat around so that we can go back and tell her.”
Josh wagged his head. “As friendly as the captain and I are, my dear, I don’t think he’d take kindly to my ordering his steamer back to port. Besides, Eliza probably already knows. I left a note for her with Mrs. Murphy, explaining our plans.”
“Your plans,” Penny primly corrected. “And I hope to goodness you left out the part about us working on a baby brother or sister.”
“Hmm. I can’t remember if I did or not. But I’m sure you wouldn’t want to disappoint her. So . . .” He lifted his brows suggestively, his blue eyes gleaming. “Why don’t you put on that beautiful dress for me?”
Penny curled up on her tiptoes, kissed him—and he kissed her back—then whispered, “So you can take it off?”
“Oh, yes.”
Epilogue
Two weeks later
Penny was in the process of slipping on a pair of butter-soft kid gloves, when she paused for a moment to admire her wedding ring. Splaying her fingers in front of her, she beamed proudly at the simple gold band Josh had given her almost a fortnight earlier. Although their honeymoon at San Francisco’s famous Lick House had been more wonderful and more luxurious than anything Penny could ever have dreamed, she was nonetheless eager to return to Seattle. She was a wife now. And a mother. She had a home to tend.
“Ready, sweetheart?” Josh called from the open doorway of their suite as he checked the hour on his pocket watch.
Penny nodded, while counting again the numerous trunks to be loaded onto the steamer for their return trip home. Her new husband had proved to be an extravagant shopper, having purchased what Penny believed to be half the contents of San Francisco. China, clothing, furniture, books—she’d had to beg him to stop, warning that his excessive generosity was likely to sink the boat.
“Two, three, four . . .” She spun slowly around. “Wait a moment.”
“Penny, we’re already running late.”
Penny pursed her lips and gave her husband a playfully reproving look. “And whose fault is that?” she asked, gesturing toward the enormous canopy bed, which Josh had refused to let her leave that morning.
He grinned wolfishly, not the least bit contrite.
“Josh, I don’t see the old trunk from the attic. The one with the white gown?”
Josh leaned against the doorjamb, peering into the suite. “It must have already been taken to the ship with my luggage.”
Penny frowned. “But it was here a few minutes ago.”
Josh jingled his watch chain. “Darling . . .”
“Yes, yes, I’m ready.” Gathering her bonnet and cloak, Penny cast one more curious glance around the hotel room. “Honestly, Josh, I would have sworn that trunk—”
“It’s probably being loaded onto the steamer as we speak,” he said, placing his hand upon her back to guide her out of the room.
“Of course.” Penny smiled faintly at her own foolishness. Obviously the trunk hadn’t simply vanished. “I must not have seen the porter collect it.”
But the trunk did not make it onto the steamer that afternoon, nor did Penny ever again lay eyes on the ivory gown.
There was still magic to be done.
Casey Claybourne, an honors graduate in French literature from the University of California at Berkeley, is the author of nine novels and two novellas. She has earned a Romantic Times Career Achievement Award and a RITA nomination. Happily married, she is particularly proud of her two teenage children.
Beautiful Gifts
Catherine Anderson
Chapter One
No Name, Colorado
July 1887
Hindsight is always better than foresight. Faith Randolph had heard that old adage since early childhood, but for the life of her, she couldn’t see how it applied now. Though the decision she had made two months ago to flee Brooklyn had ended with her and her six-year-old daughter, Charity, sleeping behind the livery stable these last three nights and picking through trash bins for food, Faith wouldn’t have gone back in time to do a single thing differently. Her daughter’s survival had been at stake.
In retrospect, Faith did wish that she’d been less trusting of her fellow travelers. She’d never expected all her money to be stolen from her reticule while she napped at a way station. Now only a single penny stood between her child and starvation.
“Maman,” Charity wailed, “I’m hungry.”
Faith squeezed the child’s grubby little hand as they trudged along the plank boardwalk for what seemed the hundredth time that morning. “I know, sweetness. Let’s say a little prayer that Maman will find a position of employment soon.”
Faith’s feet hurt, and her throat burned with thirst. It was approaching noon, and the morning’s coolness was fast giving way to sweltering afternoon heat. Soon she’d have to take Charity back to the livery stable so the child could have some water. Just the thought made Faith shudder. Back in Brooklyn, they would be lunching in the formal dining room, clad in fashionable day dresses. Here, they were reduced to wearing servant’s clothing to disguise their identities, eating morsels of food others had tossed away, and drinking from a horse trough.
I will not cry, Faith assured herself as she stared across the unpaved street at the Golden Slipper, No Name’s only saloon. Judging by the scantily clad women she’d glimpsed through the upper windows, she suspected the establishment also served as the town brothel. A sign posted outside the batwing doors read, DANCING GIRLS WANTED. It was the only job advertisement she had seen. Shoving a tendril of sable hair from her eyes, she thought, Not that, please, God. She’d do what was necessary to care for her daughter, but she sincerely hoped she could find something respectable.
“Maman, look!” Charity cried, her voice edged with more excitement than Faith had heard in two weeks. “That man is selling candy.”
The peddler seemed to feel their eyes on him. After anchoring the doors of his wagon open, he waved them closer. “Come, madam. Have a look at my wares. I’ve a little of everything here, including a sweet for the child.”
Faith would have ignored the hawker, but Charity started across the dusty thoroughfare, tugging her mother along behind her.
“And what would suit yer fancy, my fine little miss?” the peddler asked as Faith and Charity reached the wagon.
Taking in the display of candy, Faith could well imagine how Charity’s mouth must be watering. “I’m sorry,” she informed the man politely, “but I’m temporarily without coin.”
“No worries. ’Tis a gift I’ll be making of it.” The peddler waved his hand over the collection of sweets. “What do ye fancy, lass?”
“Peppermint!” Charity cried. “I love peppermint.”
The eager hunger in Charity’s large brown eyes forced Faith to swallow her pride and say, “Thank you, sir. You’re very kind.”
The hawker handed Charity a striped stick of candy. While her daughter popped the sweet into her mouth, Faith
took inventory of the other wares. It seemed only polite to feign some interest, given the fact that the peddler had just given her child a treat.
Faith’s gaze snagged on a lovely dress, hanging toward the back of the displays on a rod crowded with garments far less fine. A wedding gown? For reasons beyond her, Faith couldn’t stop staring at the dress.
“Ah, so it’s an eye for silk and lace that ye have,” the peddler said with a chuckle. Using a wooden drop-down step, he pushed himself up to take the gown from the rod. “Not that I can be blaming ye. ’Tis a fine piece of frippery.” He swatted at the garment and sent a layer of dust flying. “Sadly, I’ve been packing it around for nigh on a year. Not much of a demand for fancy wedding dresses in these parts. It’s taking up space I could put to more profitable use.”
He pushed the dress at Faith.
“No, no,” she protested, even though she’d never seen anything quite so lovely. The gown had simple, elegant lines, which had always been her preference. The ivory silk underlay was sleeveless with a scalloped, fitted bodice, a fitted waist, and a full skirt that fell in graceful folds. The lace overlay was longsleeved and high-necked with a delicate band collar, fastening down the front with countless lace-covered buttons. The effect was modest, yet alluring as well. “I’ve no use for a wedding gown, I’m afraid.”
The peddler shoved the dress closer, and Faith couldn’t resist touching it. Her fingertips tingled oddly the instant they grazed the lace, and inexplicable warmth coursed up her arm.
“Oh, my,” she said breathlessly.
“It’s perfect for ye,” the peddler said. “Take it, please.”
Faith laughed and shook her head.
“Come, lass, humor a silly old man. Ye’re meant to have this dress. I feel it in me bones.”
The peddler was so charmingly insistent that Faith would have felt rude had she refused. The strange tingle of warmth suffused her entire body when she took the dress into her arms.
“Words fail me. It’s lovely. Thank you, sir.”
“Off with ye,” the peddler said with a pleased smile. “Mayhap the dress will bring good fortune yer way. It’s needin’ a husband, ye are, lass, someone to care fer ye and the little one.”
Faith shook her head. She had endured marital bliss for seven long years, enough to last her a lifetime.
Charity had a skip in her step as they continued along the boardwalk. Faith attributed the child’s increased energy to the ingestion of sugar. Candy wasn’t very nourishing, but at least it was something.
As she had countless times over the last three days, Faith scanned the shop windows for job advertisements as they walked. When they reached the mercantile, she chanced to see a small sign taped to the door glass. In block letters, it read, HOUSEKEEPER NEEDED. In smaller letters, it said, “Experience required. Apply at the O’Shannessy place.”
Faith’s heart felt as if it might leap from her chest. Charity gave her an inquiring glance. “Is something wrong, Maman?”
“It’s a job posting,” she managed to squeeze out. “Someone needs a housekeeper.”
Charity squinted up at the sign. “Do you suppose you can be a housekeeper, Maman?”
“Of course.” How difficult could it be to keep a house? Granted, Faith had grown up in a home fully staffed with servants, rarely turning her hand to do much of anything. But she had supervised the work of servants these last eight years, first in her father’s household and later in her husband’s. That qualified as experience, didn’t it? “Anyone can be a housekeeper. There isn’t much to it.”
Charity flashed a sticky grin. “Wonderful, Maman. Now what do we do?”
Tucking the wedding dress under one arm, Faith bent to grasp her daughter’s elbow and hurried into the store. “Excuse me, sir?” She pressed close to the counter, willing the burly, gray-haired shopkeeper to glance up from a list of figures that he was tallying. “I need a bit of assistance, if you please. Would you be so kind as to direct me to the O’Shannessy place?”
The shopkeeper finally looked up, his frown indicating that he resented the interruption.
Faith hastened to add, “I’m interested in the advertisement on your door window.”
The man’s gaze sharpened on hers. “That old posting? It’s been hanging there for months. The position is probably filled.”
“Months?” Faith repeated stupidly. “Oh, but, no, that can’t be. I’ve been past your shop countless times over the last three days. I would have noticed the sign had it been there earlier.”
“Trust me, lady, it was there. Patrick O’Shannessy put it up last August. He’s probably not needing anyone now.”
Faith’s heart sank, but this was the only respectable job posting she’d seen. “I believe I shall check into it, anyway.”
“It’s your time you’ll be wasting.” He jabbed a beefy thumb in the direction she needed to go. “The O’Shannessy place is a handful of miles that way.”
Tugging Charity along behind her, Faith exited the shop and turned in the direction that the shopkeeper had indicated. She and Charity had only just left the town proper when the child asked, “How far is it, Maman? When will we get there?”
“Soon,” Faith replied, mustering as much cheer-fulness as she could, given the fact that she was already footsore and weak with hunger.
Please, God, she prayed silently as she fixed her gaze on the dusty, forbidding horizon that danced in heat waves before them. Don’t let it be too far. And, please, please, let the position still be open. This is my last hope.
Chapter Two
Faith was stumbling over the hem of her dress, so exhausted she could barely keep going. Charity had long since fallen silent. Faith was grateful the questions had ceased, for she feared that they were lost. They had walked at least five miles on the rutted road, one plodding step after another, their shoes sending up clouds of dust that stained the hem of Faith’s dress and Charity’s stockings. Lost. The word circled endlessly in Faith’s mind.
Though she looked in all directions for a rooftop, she saw nothing. Finally she stumbled to a stop, convinced that the shopkeeper had pointed them in the wrong direction. Charity drew up beside her and pushed at her dark, sweat-dampened hair. “Why are we stopping, Maman?”
Because I’m afraid we’re lost, and I don’t know what to do, Faith thought dismally. There were undoubtedly large predators in this godforsaken land. She had no weapon with which to defend her child and wouldn’t have known how to use one anyway. Never in her life had she felt so inept and useless.
“I just need to rest a moment,” Faith lied.
Charity plopped down on a rock at the side of the road. “I’m tired, Maman, and I’m so very hungry. Do you suppose the O’Shannessys will feed us?”
“Perhaps. People who can afford to hire household servants are usually well off, and it has been my experience that the wealthy are inclined to be generous to those less fortunate.”
“Are we the less fortunate now, Maman?”
Speaking around a lump in her throat, Faith said, “We are, I’m afraid.”
Sinking onto a rock near her daughter, she considered her options. They had been walking for two or three hours, making it midafternoon. In another three hours, the summer sun would start to set over the Rockies. What if they kept going and never came upon the O’Shannessy place? She and her daughter could be stranded out here all night.
Faith had about decided to turn back when Charity abandoned her rock and skipped a ways up the road. At the crest, she cried, “I can see a house!”
As Faith scrambled to her feet, a wave of dizziness washed over her. The wedding gown that she’d been carrying under one arm slipped from her grasp and fell in the dirt.
“Oh, no!” Charity cried as she raced back to her mother. “Oh, Maman!” The child picked up the dress and brushed uselessly at the dirt stains. “Do you suppose you can wash it?”
It took a great deal of know-how to clean fine silk. “No, sweetness, I’m afraid it’s
ruined.”
Faith almost tossed the dress away, but something stopped her. It was madness, she knew. The last thing she needed right now was a wedding dress. But crazy or not, she tucked the gown back under her arm.
As she followed Charity up the incline, her limbs felt oddly numb and leaden. Over the last three days, most of the morsels of food she’d found in the trash barrels had gone to her daughter. That was only as it should be, but now exhaustion and lack of nourishment seemed to be taking their toll. She had to force her feet to keep moving.
When they finally crested the rise, she stared stupidly at a large, two-story house surrounded by outbuildings and fences.
“We’re there, Maman,” Charity cried. “This must be it.”
Even from a distance, the house looked in sorry need of repairs and paint. It wasn’t what Faith had pictured. “Perhaps it’s the caretaker’s residence,” she mused aloud, “similar to our servant quarters at home.”
“I just hope you get the job and they feed us.”
A few minutes later, when they reached the house, Faith could only stare in hopeless dismay. There were no other dwellings in sight to indicate that this was a caretaker’s quarters. The rickety picket fence surrounded a yard littered with all manner of equipment, everything from rusty old plow rakes to discarded washboards.
“Can I help you?”
Faith nearly parted company with her skin at the sound of the man’s voice. She blinked against the slanting sun, brought him into focus, and then just gaped. The man rounding the corner of the house was tall and muscular, with dark auburn hair, countless freckles muted by a lifetime in the harsh sun, and startling blue eyes. He looked to be in his twenties, possibly twenty-three or twenty-four, her senior by only one or two years.
