Her Fearless Love_Seeing Ranch Mail Order Bride

by Florence Linnington

  “That sounds pleasant, Mrs. Bain,” Mr. Dowdell said. “Thank you.”

  His hazel eyes looked to Margaret, and a sweet comfort descended upon her. She was glad that Mrs. Bain did not seem to mind the random caller.

  “Allow me to take your coat and hat,” Margaret said.

  As he handed them over, bells sounded outside, and the three of them peered at the window. A sleigh with a young couple in it glided by.

  “Oh, what fun,” Mrs. Bain said. “Sled-riding. I have been trying to get Margaret to go, Mr. Dowdell, but she insists she does not know anyone.”

  Margaret’s skin heated up as the attention turned to her.

  “Really?” Mr. Dowdell asked, a playful smile on his lips. “Well, you know me.”

  “Yes,” Margaret agreed.

  He parted his lips again, but hesitated.

  Sleigh riding was a romantic thing. That much Margaret knew.

  “Take her,” Mrs. Bain insisted.

  “What?” Mr. Dowdell and Margaret both asked.

  Mrs. Bain took the coat and hat from Margaret’s arms and handed them back to Mr. Dowdell. “You have a sleigh and team?”

  “I... I do,” he said.

  “Lovely.” She clasped her hands. “So go for a nice ride.”

  “But, but I have housework to finish,” Margaret protested.

  “And it is Saturday,” Mrs. Bain pointed out. “A day for fun. The house will still be here when you return. Perhaps Lulu can make some hot cider.”

  Margaret looked at Mr. Dowdell. What would he say?

  “I would like that,” he gently said, eyes boring into Margaret’s. “If you would.”

  She swallowed, butterflies flitting in her chest. “Yes. That sounds lovely.”

  “Then go.” Mrs. Bain gestured at the door.

  “I will fetch the team and sleigh,” Mr. Dowdell said, “while you dress.”

  After Margaret put on her coat, gloves, hat, and thick scarf, she only had to wait a few minutes for Mr. Dowdell’s arrival. As he drove up the street, anxiety wound through her.

  Was this a romantic gesture? The very thing she wanted to avoid?

  She almost told him she had changed her mind and could not go, but as he took her hand and helped her into the sleigh, the last of her fight dissipated.

  She was so tired of putting others at arm’s length. So exhausted from living in fear. When did such a way of life end? And was it really worth it? Yes, there were awful people in the world. One in particular had nearly destroyed all her joy.

  But then there were others. Mrs. Bain seemed nice. So did Lulu.

  And August Dowdell...

  She glanced at him as he settled into the sleigh and laid a blanket across her lap. Were there men worth taking chances for?

  “I am glad you said yes,” he said, taking the reins in hand. “And that Mrs. Bain suggested we go.”

  “I feel bad for leaving. There is always something I can be doing there.”

  “It seems she wants you to have fun,” Mr. Dowdell said.

  “Yes...”

  “So let her.” He grinned. “Have some fun.”

  Margaret sucked in a lungful of icy air. Have fun. It had been so long since she’d done that. Did she even know how to anymore?

  The sleigh took off, headed for the outskirts of town, where everyone else rode. The wind bit into Margaret’s cheeks, and she lifted her scarf to prevent its cold assault.

  At the end of the street, Mr. Dowdell took them right, swinging them sharply around the butcher’s, and someone yelped in joy.

  With a start, Margaret realized it was her. She laughed and screamed giddily.

  Mr. Dowdell looked over at her, laughing as well. “Having a good time already?”

  The answer was undeniable.

  “Yes,” Margaret said. “I am.”

  Chapter 9

  9. Margaret

  Chapter nine

  Margaret pinched her cheeks and inspected the result in the small hanging mirror in her bedroom. Her face was pinker, but how long would that last?

  Realizing how silly she was being, she shook her head and stepped away from the mirror. Muffin lay on her bed, purring loudly and watching a speck of dust drift through the air.

  “Ridiculous, isn’t it?” Margaret said to no one in particular.

  She was acting like a school girl. Not like an adult at all.

  But she could not help it. Mr. Dowdell would be there to pick her up for church any minute, and Margaret was excited.

  Since the sleigh ride the weekend before, they had seen each other in passing twice. Once at church and once in the street in front of the hotel. Margaret found that whereas she used to dread going outside, she now looked forward to it. Each time she stepped foot outdoors there was a possibility of her running into Mr. Dowdell.

  At their last run-in, two days earlier, he had asked if he might accompany her to church today. Margaret’s heart had danced at the prospect. They’d only spoken for a few minutes at church the weekend before, but now they would have time to converse as they walked to and from the chapel.

  Margaret sighed and began pulling on her gloves. The week had been one of childlike fantasies. While absorbed in her daily washing, dusting, and mopping, she’d allowed herself to indulge in numerous fantasies. Over the course of seven days, she’d traveled to summer and back to winter again, imagining everything from picnics with Mr. Dowdell to the trimming of a Christmas tree with him.

  She did not want to get too ahead of herself, though. The hesitation that she’d carried around before meeting him still existed. She had to be careful. Just because he didn’t seem interested in the grisly details of her life in Whiteridge didn’t mean he could be trusted.

  But... perhaps he could.

  She would have to be careful. Take the time to get to know him.

  He fancied her. She knew it in all the ways a woman could. It was seen in the way his gaze softened whenever it fell upon her and the way that, even if others were nearby, his body always turned toward her, as if its sole job was keeping track of her whereabouts.

  Buttoning up her coat, Margaret left the door open so Muffin could exit if she wished and used the servant’s staircase. The kitchen was empty, the voices of the Bain’s floating in under the closed door. They were likely preparing for church as well.

  Despite Mr. Dowdell’s having come to the front door the week before, Margaret felt odd about accepting guests there. Mrs. Bain had not seemed to mind, but it was not protocol and not worth ruffling Mr. Bain’s feathers over.

  Slipping out the side door, Margaret used the trail the neighbor boy had shoveled for a penny and went to the street in front of the house to wait for Mr. Dowdell.

  As luck had it, he arrived just as she did.

  “Good morning, Miss Meyers.” His eyes shone, and his lips turned up as if her name tasted that sweet.

  “Good morning, Mr. Dowdell,” she smiled back at him.

  “Ready for church?”

  He extended his arm, and she lightly looped hers through it. A dirty bank of snow, the ice crystals mixed with mud from underneath, stood in front of them, and Mr. Dowdell navigated around it, putting himself on the filthier part of the street.

  “How was your Saturday?” he asked.

  “Well,” she answered. “And yours?”

  “Agreeable. Although...” He paused and winced. “I had hoped I would be able to come and ask you for a sleigh ride again, but, unfortunately, I had to work.”

  Margaret’s chest expanded, and she felt light as air. All day yesterday she had hoped he would stop by and invite her for another sleigh ride. They had the Sunday morning plans already set, but she’d had so much fun the weekend before... and she also wanted to see him.

  When the sun set and he had not come by, she put herself to bed with the comfort of seeing him in the morning. She had tried not to be disappointed, but it was nice to know he had been busy and not occupied doing something else leisurely.

 
“Well, I hope today will be a restful one for you,” Margaret said.

  “I am sure it will be,” Mr. Dowdell answered. “At any rate, it is already an enjoyable one.”

  Margaret smiled, a new pep entering her step. They were almost to the church, the doors of which people entered in a steady line. Soon there would be singing and praying, and she would be doing it all with Mr. Dowdell at her side.

  When had she last felt this happy?

  Margaret thought hard, but the answer was hard to come up with. Certainly, never in Whiteridge. Some wonderful people lived there, and several of the women tried very hard to befriend Margaret, but with a husband who would slap her if his food was so much as over salted a pinch, it was hard to bask in any joy.

  Childhood. That was the answer. Not since she was carefree and running around barefoot in the summer had she been this happy.

  Mr. Dowdell slightly squeezed his arm. “You like church.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “The smile you are wearing.”

  “Oh.” Margaret laughed lightly, then pressed her lips together to stop the giggle, as they were almost to the church’s steps. “Yes. I do.”

  “As do I. It is something I look forward to all week long.”

  The church was packed, nearly every seat in every pew taken. Mr. Dowdell guided them to one in the middle of the aisle, and they settled together at the end, next to an old couple who both had canes.

  The service glided by, Margaret giving the reverend all of her attention. Some of the town’s elders read passages from the bible out loud, and Margaret closed her eyes, absorbing the words. She had always believed in God, but the last year her faith had come and gone. Now, she felt it growing.

  She had nearly given up on her life, but God hadn’t. Following her departure from Whiteridge, one after another he had brought her surprises. The cat. The friendliness of Mrs. Bain, Lulu, and the Aarons. Mr. Dowdell.

  The service ended, and Margaret caught sight of Lydia and Marci Aarons across the aisle. They waved at her, and Margaret waved back, internally making herself a promise to chat more with them.

  Engaging in conversations could be hard, but she was managing with Mr. Dowdell. Little by little, she would say more. Smile more. Do her best to believe people had kind hearts, even when that little demon in her head sneered that they were all malicious and only cared for themselves.

  “What did you think?” Mr. Dowdell asked on the street.

  “A wonderful service,” Margaret answered. “As always.”

  “I enjoyed it, too.”

  Again, he looped his arm though hers and they began their walk down the street. A handful of people glanced their way, and one woman turned and whispered something to her friends. A week and a half ago, Margaret would have assumed they talked about her late husband and the gold scandal, but now she wondered if they commented on the sight of her with Mr. Dowdell.

  Did people think they were courting?

  Were they courting?

  She ran her bottom lip between her teeth. That was another thing about a week and a half ago. She had no interest then of courting a man. When Mr. Dowdell showed the slightest interest in her at the post office, she attacked.

  But, after spending some time with him, she had seen a kind and gentlemanly side to him. She wanted to know how deep that caring streak went.

  “Margaret, uh, Miss Meyers.” Mr. Dowdell colored. “I apologize. That was a slip of tongue.”

  But Margaret was already laughing. “It is quite all right. You may call me Margaret if you please.”

  He stopped walking and turned to face her. Margaret’s ears roared, and her hands began sweating in her gloves. What were these strange sensations she experienced around him? How could it be that his mere presence elicited a complete change in the way her body functioned?

  “I may?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Margaret breathed. “Certainly.”

  “I would like that very much. I would also like it if you would call me August.”

  “August.” Margaret more breathed in the name than she did speak it.

  “Will you have supper with me next weekend? At the hotel?”

  Margaret smiled. The request was completely unexpected. Supper at the one restaurant in town. She had wondered before if they were now courting, and this answered it.

  And she was not afraid in the slightest. Not worried that August would betray her. Not terrified that he wanted to draw her close to him and then control every aspect of her life.

  She was merely hopeful and excited.

  “I would like that,” Margaret said.

  His face shone. “Wonderful. Friday evening?”

  “Yes.”

  Friday was perfect. If she made sure to get started on her work early enough, she would be done and ready to go by six o’clock.

  August offered her his arm, and they began walking again, but this time everything was different.

  Margaret had come to Pathways broken and withdrawn. Several people had tried to extract her from that deep cave she’d taken residence in, but none had succeeded. Until August.

  There was something about him. He made Margaret believe in the greatest good. He made her heart sing. He made her feel as if she had been born again.

  Chapter 10

  10. August

  Chapter ten

  The hotel’s restaurant sang with the happy chattering of diners and the clinking of silverware. August pulled Margaret’s chair out for her, and, once she had settled, pushed her in.

  Taking his seat at the small circular table, he set his gaze on her once more. He could not get enough of looking at her that evening and feared he bordered on staring. She had worn a red dress trimmed with dark-blue velvet, and her hair was braided and elaborately pinned.

  August had not so much as glanced at another woman in the restaurant, but he did not need to. He already knew Margaret was the most beautiful one there.

  “This restaurant is so nice,” Margaret commented, unfolding and laying her napkin across her lap.

  August nodded. As the only restaurant in town, it would have been successful without trying, but its owners seemed to have a real passion for the place. They’d decorated it in flower-filled wallpaper and hung heavy curtains across the entrance way. These were always held back by gold, braided ropes, and August wasn’t sure if they ever closed, but their presence created a nice ambience.

  On round tables covered with white cloths, candles flickered, and sconces set high on the walls held gas lamps. August had been to the restaurant a few times before, but always for business lunches or suppers.

  The waiter arrived, bringing them water, and August raised his glass for a toast.

  “To meeting,” he said.

  Margaret’s eyes danced, and he hoped it wasn’t just due to the candlelight.

  “To meeting,” she agreed.

  They tapped the glasses together, and August rested his wrists on the edge of the table. The restaurant only served a prix fixe menu, which was whatever the chef dreamed up for that day, so there was no ordering to be done. The soup was already on its way.

  “I am surprised at the quality of this restaurant,” Margaret whispered. “I feel as if we are in New York or Paris, and not in the middle of Wyoming.”

  August nodded and dropped his voice as well. “From my understanding, the owners are from a very well-off family in Charleston. They came here looking for adventure and ended up opening this place three years ago.”

  “I am glad they did. It adds some real charm to the town,” Margaret mused.

  August studied her. “May I ask you a question, Margaret?”

  Even from across the table, he heard her breath catch. “Yes?” she asked softly.

  “Are you happy working for the Bains? Is there anything else you would like to do?” August licked his lips, worried he might be offending her. “What I mean is, is Pathways your last stop? Will you stay here?”

  She looked at him acro
ss the candle, long lashes sweeping her cheekbones with each languid blink.

  “I believe so,” she said. “I have one relative left in Ohio, but she is very old. My parents died years ago, and I never knew any other relatives. They all scattered before I was born.”