Promises, Promises

by Amber Miller

  “Yes!” she answered a little too quickly. Thank you, Gustaf. Anything to get away from Mr. Singleton. Gustaf’s company was far preferable.

  Mr. Singleton cocked an eyebrow, appraising Gustaf from head to toe. The disdain in the visitor’s expression rankled Raelene, but Gustaf met his gaze directly.

  “And are you one of Miss Strattford’s hired hands?”

  Gustaf tightened his large hand around the handle of the mallet he’d used to shape the horseshoe and clenched his teeth. “I am the overseer.”

  “Well, would you be a good fellow and fetch some water for my horse?”

  The sinew of Gustaf’s arm flexed, a sure sign of his growing irritation.

  Raelene rushed to intervene. “Actually, Mr. Singleton, I do apologize. But I am in need of supplies in town, and as Mr. Hanssen has so kindly offered to escort me, I must prepare for the journey. I pray you will forgive me for not being able to invite you to stay longer?”

  The gentleman once again, Singleton bowed. “Of course, Miss Strattford. I would not wish to interrupt your plans. It was I who arrived unannounced.” He settled his hat over his coiffed hair. “Might I call at another time, perhaps one that is more convenient?”

  “We shall see.”

  “For your horse,” Gustaf spoke up, “the trough by the barn is full. He can drink his fill before you leave. I will show you on my way to hitch the wagon.”

  “That will not be necessary, sir,” Singleton announced stiffly, mounting the steed. “Good day, Miss Strattford.” With a tip of his hat, he rode off.

  As Gustaf cleared the farmyard, Raelene thanked him for intervening, earning a sheepish “My pleasure!” in return.

  Blood rushed to her face. “I’ll fetch my reticule and coins,” she managed to say through the sudden dryness in her throat. With yet another unwanted suitor successfully discouraged, the day promised to be most pleasant after all.

  ❧

  The storm had cut a wide swath of selective damage across the withered fields. Farther north, larger hail had fallen, piercing holes in barn roofs. But from all reports, everyone seemed to have fared well. Raelene and Gustaf had spent the better part of the past two hours speaking with many of their neighbors who had also come to town to purchase supplies or materials for repairs.

  “Excuse me, Miss Strattford.” Gustaf’s hand pressing at Raelene’s elbow sent heat rushing up her arm. “Jeremiah Shaw speaks with his father by the church, and I wish to hear him. I will return in a few moments.”

  Flustered, she replied, “Fine. M–meanwhile, I should like to visit the c–candle shop and replace the. . .the candles Mama favored so much.” His proximity and touch made it difficult to think clearly. Raelene stepped a couple of inches away, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Until I can arrange for a place to dry larger candles like the ones Mama and I used to make, I will have to purchase them.”

  Gustaf pondered her statement as though stymied by it. At length, he nodded, shaking off whatever distracted him. “I will come to the candle shop afterward,” he promised.

  After walking between the courthouse and the town green across from the church, Raelene headed for the shops lining the main street. The cobblestone streets fairly teemed with farmers, overseers, indentured servants, members of the assembly, and the resident townsfolk alike. So many different people from various stations in life, yet all coming together for a unified purpose. The sight reminded Raelene of the times she and her parents had walked these same streets when they lived in town. It also brought to mind the little country town in England near her grandfather’s estate. How she’d loved to walk the cobblestone streets there or sit on a stone bench along the sidewalk and watch the hustle and bustle.

  If she closed her eyes, Raelene could still smell the sweet honeysuckle at the edge of town and hear the birds chirping from the trees in the town square. She could almost taste the fresh bread the cheerful Miss Penelope always offered to Raelene when she stopped by for a visit. Life was so different. She’d been raised with all the privileges afforded to a military family who had sworn allegiance to the Crown and been sheltered from the harsh realities of a farmer’s existence.

  Until now.

  How much she’d taken for granted back then, she thought as she selected several special candles. The real trials of a farmer’s existence, she now knew firsthand. Thus far, this season showed promise, unlike the recent past when, according to her neighbors, earthquakes and locusts had devastated the area. As much as the colonists had battled the elements, they deserved a good crop this year. And not only because it would mean good things for her, but because she’d come to respect—no, care—for her neighbors and fellow farmers since walking in their shoes. She truly wished for their prosperity as much as her own.

  After exchanging pleasantries with the current owner and thanking him for his condolences regarding her loss, Raelene made her purchase. Her mind going a dozen directions at once, she stepped back through the open doorway and off the stone step into a ruffled, although solid, wall of man with a startled “Oomph!”

  Her reticule and brown package sailed from her hands to the ground.

  “My sincerest apologies, madame!” he gasped, equally surprised.

  As Raelene bent to retrieve her personal belongings, the gentleman stayed her with a gold-ringed hand. “Allow me, please.”

  Still shaken, Raelene took note of his finely manicured nails with which he retrieved and wiped off her package and reticule. This is a gentleman, she thought, admiring the tailored fit of his doublet with its substantial turnbacks, ornate cuffs, and polished buttons. Unfastened, they revealed the ruffled shirtwaist into which she’d smashed her nose. The shirtwaist was tucked into coffee-colored breeches, above black stockings that disappeared into shiny shoes with polished buckles.

  Flashing a most disarming smile, he bowed gracefully and handed her the items. “Do forgive me, Miss. . . ,” he said, tipping a cocked hat upturned to perfection.

  “S–Strafford,” she supplied, so astonished by his impeccable manners that she nearly forgot her own name. Recognition dawned on his handsome face, lighting up eyes nearly as black as his hair and making his high cheekbones more pronounced. The result of excellent lineage, no doubt.

  “Ah, yes. Strattford. Previous residents of this town, I believe, and prior owners of the establishment from which you just emerged. Am I correct?”

  He knew too much to be a stranger, but how had she never had the good fortune to meet such a man before today? “Yes, that is correct.” She released a nervous giggle, feeling utterly dowdy in her cotton dress and lappet cap in his pressed and polished presence. Reaching into her reticule, she withdrew her fan and snapped it open in front of her face in an attempt to recover some level of decorum. “Forgive me, sir. You appear to be familiar with my identity, but you have yet to introduce yourself.”

  “Preston Sanbourne, Miss Strattford. Please do accept my apologies for my lapse in manners.”

  Lapse? He’d been nothing short of flawless in his entire demeanor. His commanding presence and self-assured air differed from the pompous gentleman from whom she’d escaped earlier that day. Preston seemed every bit the country gentleman that her esteemed cousins had been back home, and similar to the ones she’d encountered when her family lived in town.

  Preston. That she’d thought of him by his given name gave Raelene cause to stumble in shock.

  Mr. Sanbourne placed a hand at her elbow to steady her.

  “I hope you are not ill, Miss Strattford.” Concern claiming his aristocratic features, he gently led her to a shady area beneath a tall oak. “It is no doubt the heat of the day that has taxed you. Do rest a bit.”

  Leaning back against the tree, Raelene waved the fan in front of her face and brandished a sweet smile at her companion. Just as quickly as it formed, it faltered. Over Preston’s sho
ulder, she saw Gustaf approaching from the church with a brooding countenance that made her heart jump.

  Had he received bad news from Mr. Shaw? She tried to catch his eye, but he didn’t appear to notice her. His attention was focused on Preston. The unconcealed contempt in his eyes could have wilted a flower. Could he possibly know something untoward about Mr. Sanbourne that she did not? She prayed not.

  Gustaf looked in her direction, clearly struggling to soften his expression. He failed utterly.

  “Miss Strattford,” he said between clenched teeth, causing Preston to turn around in surprise. “If you are ready, the horses are rested. We can return to the farm.” He extended his hand and silently invited her to step toward him.

  “Good day, sir,” Preston spoke up, offering his hand. “Preston Sanbourne, at your service.”

  Usually cordial and kindhearted, Gustaf stared sullenly at Sanbourne’s extended hand as though it were leprous. This sort of oafish behavior had been welcome with the likes of their earlier visitor, but not with someone like Preston Sanbourne.

  Raelene snapped her fan closed against her palm, eager to make amends. “Mr. Sanbourne, please forgive me. I fear our little collision has addled my wits. Allow me to introduce my overseer, Mr. Gustaf Hanssen. His family owns the farm neighboring my own.”

  “Mr. Hanssen,” Preston repeated, extending his hand once more, a trace of smugness in his tone.

  To Raelene’s embarrassment, Gustaf hesitated a fraction of a second before accepting the handshake, long enough for Raelene to know he did it only out of deference to her. “Mr. Sanbourne,” he said, insinuating himself between Raelene and the gentleman as if drawing boundaries. And he was marking her clearly off limits.

  Men!

  Raelene stepped around Gustaf, eager to get away before he made a further buffoon of himself. “It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Sanbourne. Perhaps we shall meet again sometime.” She handed Gustaf the package as he reached for her arm.

  “I’m ready to return to the farm, Mr. Hanssen,” she announced, gathering her purse to her waist and stepping away.

  “Perhaps you will be attending services on Sunday?” Preston called after her. “And might I presume even the wedding immediately following?”

  Delight washed over Raelene as she turned to answer. “Why, yes. Kaariana is one of my dearest friends. I would not miss it.”

  Mr. Sanbourne touched his thumb and forefinger to the front corner of his hat and bowed again. “Then I shall see you Sunday. It was a pleasure to meet you both. Good day.”

  It wasn’t until Preston stepped inside the candle shop that Raelene realized Gustaf had left her in the middle of the street and was walking toward the buggy as though hounds nipped at his heels. Gathering her petticoats with her free hand, she rushed after him.

  “And just what was the meaning of that ill-mannered ex-change?” she exclaimed, breathless upon catching up with him.

  He slowed but didn’t stop. “I do not want to talk about it. You would not understand.”

  “I wouldn’t—”

  “Miss Strattford, please.” He spun around to face her. “Trust me.” With that, he whirled again toward the buggy.

  Trust him? How could she trust someone she didn’t understand. . .especially after he had behaved in such an oafish manner? He wouldn’t even give her the courtesy of explaining his actions. But why would he—?

  A single answer entered her mind. No, that wasn’t possible. Raelene tried to match his stride, her thoughts staggering as fast as her heartbeat. Could he have been jealous? Upset at Mr. Sanbourne’s attention? He hadn’t acted anywhere near as badly toward any of the other men who had come to visit the farm or introduce themselves. Why Preston?

  Only last night, Raelene had begun to see Gustaf in a new light. Could he possibly return some of those feelings? Her head swam in confusion as Gustaf hoisted her up onto the buggy seat in cold silence. Just when she thought she was beginning to understand, his actions contradicted what she’d reasoned in her mind.

  Would she ever be able to figure out Gustaf and his intentions?

  Thirteen

  Sunday morning arrived bright and cheerful, yet Raelene was anything but. How could it shine so gaily when clouds of insecurity enveloped her? Raelene’s stomach had more knots than the ties and stays of her petticoats and gown. All thumbs in her nervousness, she’d fumbled till her aching arms threatened to fall off before finally getting it right.

  Am I overdressed?

  She cast a critical eye at the attire she’d selected from her trunk in the loft. It appeared simple enough and certainly wasn’t one of her best. But she didn’t want to draw any unnecessary attention to herself on her first day in church since the death of her parents. Fastening the lappet cap over her braided and pinned hair, Raelene grabbed her reticule and fan and reached for the door as a firm knock sounded on the other side. A knock she knew all too well.

  The stiff man who greeted her was not the Gustaf she’d expected. When she’d agreed to have him escort her to town, she’d anticipated his wounded pride at her interest in Mr. Sanbourne might still plague him, but the foot-shuffling way he avoided her gaze was something else. Dapper enough in clean breeches, a shirt, and waistcoat, he worried the edges of his cocked hat.

  “Good. . .” He swallowed several times, causing his Adam’s apple to bob up and down over the casaque tied at his neck and draped about his shoulders. “Good day, Miss Strattford.”

  Why was he nervous? She was the prodigal who was likely to be the focus of curious or condemning eyes.

  Gustaf gave her a quick appraisal. “I can see you are ready.”

  Raelene couldn’t tell if the slight widening of his eyelids and twitch of his lips was approval or disapproval. Frustrated, she accepted the stiff arm he offered her.

  “We go now?”

  She almost changed her mind. If not for her friendship with Karianna, she would have. Heaving a long sigh, she nodded. “We go now,” she said, although from her demeanor, it might as well have been an execution as a wedding.

  The ride to town passed in silence. As Raelene read the black letters on the town sign, memories of past Sunday mornings when she’d looked forward to attending church surfaced. Every week, she had stepped out of the candle shop with her parents and crossed the town green to the church. They’d been a part of the town elite, recognized for their contribution to the community and their military ties to England.

  But when they’d become farmers and landowners, their status seemed to shift. Had Father lived, perhaps they could have amassed holdings equal to the Hanssen farm and regained their position. That was now her responsibility. How would those attending services react to her presence? Were they aware that she’d faithfully paid the note on the farm? Or was it more than wagging tongues that made her twist her petticoat until she’d wrinkled it?

  Once he’d secured the wagon, Gustaf escorted Raelene to the church and stepped aside so she could enter ahead of him. With more boldness and composure than she felt, she made her way to the pew that her family had occupied since the day they had arrived in town, leaving Gustaf to sit with his family. She didn’t want to give the townsfolk more fodder for gossip than her appearance would create. She caught a glimpse of Mr. Sanbourne, but he must have taken note of her stiff demeanor, as he remained where he stood.

  Across the center aisle, Kaariana’s face beamed at Raelene with delight. The sight of her friend’s pleasure almost made Raelene’s battle worthwhile, but it didn’t offset the anguish that the empty spaces next to her caused.

  It flared full force, drawing her attention from the sermon. All she could feel was the loss. All she could see through the blur of vision was the sparse altar and the shape of the minister.

  At long last, it was over with a song Raelene knew but could not sing. Numb, she moved
like a sheep with the herd outside to the lawn for the wedding ceremony. She shouldn’t have come. What if her grief grew unbearable? She’d ruin the wedding.

  When Gustaf appeared on her left, she hardly noticed the mountain of a man for the mountains of responsibility growing in her mind—the debt to be paid, the land to make flourish, and worst of all, the stipulation in the will that she marry.

  Seven weeks, and her fate would be decided. . .on her birthday, no less. She’d either be standing where Kaariana now stood or be forced to return to her family in England, her land taken from her and her dreams in tatters.

  Kaariana glowed as she faced Jurien. At least her feelings were considered before her father agreed to the marriage. Not like mine.

  After a brief exchange of vows and a blessing spoken by the reverend, it was done. Karianna and Jurien were man and wife—not because of a contract, but because they wanted to be. They were in love. A shout of “Huzzah!” went up from the small assembly.

  “Come, join us as we celebrate this joyous occasion,” the reverend announced with his booming voice. “Ample food and wonderful music are provided.”

  Raelene couldn’t move.

  The sounds around her melted into dissonance. Faces blurred and swirled, and she swayed on her feet.

  Gustaf immediately steadied her. “Miss Strattford?” Concern laced his voice and filled his eyes.

  Raelene placed her gloved palm on his cape. “Please,” she managed to whisper, “take me home, Mr. Hanssen. I can bear no more.”

  She must have looked as desperate as she felt because, thankfully, Raelene didn’t have to ask twice.

  ❧

  Gustaf helped her down from the wagon. “You will be all right? I can still bring Dr. Schuylar.”

  The last thing she needed was more people around. Raelene gave his hand a slight squeeze. “As I said in town, Gustaf, I have no need of a doctor. The heat has overwhelmed me, and I need only to rest. Mama had a tea for just such a time. Please, do not worry.” Just leave me alone. She slipped her fingers from his grasp.