Catharine swallowed hard. He was deliciously handsome and tall, with eyes that pierced right through her. She chided herself for having foolish notions about falling in love. It was really all about Peter, who needed a wife. And she needed a new beginning. Simple as that. Best not to entertain such thoughts about him.
Peter shifted his weight in the awkwardness of the moment. “May I come in?”
Greta hastily stepped aside. “Pardon, forgive my manners.”
Catharine’s legs felt as stiff as peppermint candy sticks, but she was finally able to move forward to greet the man who was to become her life partner. “Peter! It’s so good to meet you at last,” she said, suddenly feeling reticent as she extended her hand.
But Peter stepped closer to her and tightly grasped her hands in his. “My dear Catharine, I’m so glad you’ve arrived!”
His chest expanded as he drew in a deep breath. Was it in anxiousness or agitation? Catharine couldn’t be sure and was almost afraid that he was going to bestow a bear hug on her, which would be unseemly since they’d just met face-to-face. She felt heat touch her face and flash down her neck as her eyes traveled up his towering frame. His warm smile was inviting, and the small cleft in his chin lent charm to his sharply defined jaw and tanned face. He swallowed, and she noticed his Adam’s apple move.
“Oh! Where are my manners? Do have a seat,” Catharine said, leading him to the nearest chair. She looked nervously at her sisters, fully aware that his eyes were following her. “Can I take your hat?” Her hand shook as she reached for the black Stetson hat, then placed it on the hall tree. Glancing back, she stifled a laugh at his hair flattened from the hat, which created a natural band all around his head. He seemed a tad uncomfortable in his dark suit with matching string tie. His wedding suit, perhaps? She doubted this was true farmer attire. The suit coat hugged his body, and it was easy to see he was well-muscled. “Peter, these are my sisters, Greta and Anna.”
His eyes held an expression of surprise, but he only bowed stiffly in their direction. “I’m happy to make your acquaintance.”
“Greta, was there any more tea, or do we need to ring for room service?” Catharine asked, trying to divert his questioning look for now. He would find out about her sisters soon enough. She hoped he would be in agreement to take them into his household as well, since he’d told her in their letters that his farmhouse was large.
Peter sat down and folded his long legs under the edge of the chair. “Please don’t go to any trouble for me. I thought perhaps we could go have some lunch. We’ve a lot to discuss before we marry.” His eyes held hers with a level gaze for a long moment, then traveled discreetly down her form.
Catharine’s heart thudded against her ribcage. Was he pleased at the way she looked or sounded with her accent? Maybe he didn’t like her freckles or red hair! More importantly, could she do this again?
Why were these doubts plaguing her now? She had felt so confident through their correspondence. But what if Greta was right? It had been a long time since she’d given her heart to a man, and she had made a terrible mistake before . . .
Peter ushered his bride-to-be, with her two younger sisters trailing behind, outside onto the congested streets of Cheyenne. He hoped his face didn’t reveal his complete surprise that her sisters had journeyed with her, but he thought it best not to voice what he was thinking at the moment. At least not until they were alone. He was certain Catharine would make the perfect wife. Her letters were thoughtful and sweet, and her intelligence was apparent in the way she wrote. She was so unlike most of the ladies he’d courted in Cheyenne, and he’d felt a definite connection with her. He’d been dreaming of a long life with a companion to fill the emptiness he felt.
Now he wasn’t feeling so convinced. Had he let his feelings run away with him? Did he really know the true Catharine through six months of letters? He still had a few unanswered questions.
Putting these thoughts out of his mind, he turned to the ladies. “We’ll just have lunch at the Depot Exchange. It’s a short walk down the street, unless you all prefer that I take you in the carriage.” He paused on the sidewalk, waiting for an answer.
Peter watched as Catharine lifted her head of thick auburn hair to look up at him demurely with her green eyes. Her appearance had somewhat shocked him earlier. He’d envisioned a blonde with soft blue eyes, much like her sisters who had true Dutch looks. Instead, Catharine’s hair was burnished crimson and seemed to have a mind of its own, escaping the confines of the fetching green bonnet she’d donned before leaving the hotel.
“Walking would be fine, Peter,” she said, assuring him with a look through thick, sweeping lashes. “We’ve had too many hours on the train this last week, and walking is good for the constitution, right, girls?” She turned to her sisters and they nodded in agreement.
Peter held out his arm to Catharine, and she took it timidly as he guided her across the busy street, then started in the direction of the restaurant.
Whatever would his mother say? Hopefully that meeting could wait a day or so. Then he would know more about Catharine’s plans for her sisters. Perhaps the girls would be gainfully employed or otherwise engaged. He hoped so. He wanted Catharine all to himself.
Peter had waited a long time for just the right woman to become his wife. The single men outnumbered the women five to one in Wyoming. Out of the ones he’d courted, none of them were right for him. Either they didn’t want to marry a wheat farmer or they preferred living in town with the social elite that Cheyenne had to offer. Peter didn’t think he was unhandsome, but he was beginning to worry. He knew his mother had chosen Dorothy Miller for him, and at every turn she contrived to get them together. He had a feeling Dorothy liked the idea, but he felt only friendship for her. One evening after reading an article in the Cheyenne Daily Leader about mail-order brides, he got the idea that he might find a suitable wife that way. After all, nothing else had panned out.
From what he could tell from their six months of correspondence, Catharine was excited about their future, in spite of a flicker of sadness he’d caught in her eyes. How could a man be so lucky?
Luck’s got nothing to do with it, he heard in his head. Didn’t you pray for a mate?
“We may have missed the crowd, as it’s well after twelve now,” Peter said. Catharine’s hand on his arm felt light as bird, barely touching him, as though she thought her weight was too much for him to support. He couldn’t help but notice how slender and fine-boned her hands were, with neatly filed oval nails. Gentle hands, he wagered.
Greta and Anna followed behind, chattering as they looked and gawked at what was to be their town now.
“Is it always this windy?” Catharine held a hand against the front of her skirt to keep it from billowing up.
“Yes, I’m afraid it is. It’s worse on the prairie without the protection of the buildings. Once we ride out to the farm, you’ll see how windy it really can be. But there’s a certain calming beauty to the prairie. I hope you’ll come to love it as much as I do,” Peter said. “Watch your step, ladies,” he added as they crossed the street. “The recent rains have made a mess of the streets.”
“How far is it to your farm, Peter?” Catharine asked, stepping carefully over a mud hole as she held the hem of her skirt up. They reached the plank walk, strolling past townsfolk, who nodded briefly and stared openly but then moved on down the sidewalk, busy with their own afternoon ventures.
Peter smiled, glad that Catharine wasn’t afraid to talk, and as long as it wasn’t as much as his mother, this would work out nicely. Besides, he enjoyed the sound of Catharine’s voice, smooth and soothing. Definitely a change from the grating sound he was used to hearing from his mother. “Not too far. About three miles outside of town. You’ll still be close enough to come into town whenever you feel the need to. We have lots of new shops, and more are being built every day.” He stopped in front of the restaurant and turned to face them. “We’re here. I hope you’re all hungry.”
>
As they paused on the sidewalk, a passing wagon’s wheel slung mud directly onto Greta’s skirt, splattering the entire side, and she jumped back in horror. “Ooh . . . now look at what he’s done!” She clenched her hands next to her sides. “I’ll look like a waif going into the restaurant.”
“Don’t fret, Greta. It’s down near the bottom where no one will even see,” Anna said.
Peter was already taking out his handkerchief, then he knelt down to wipe the mud away, which only made it streak all the more. “I’m sorry, but it’s really not that bad, Greta. Besides,” he said, standing, “everyone will be looking at your pretty face and not your dress, I’m afraid.”
Greta tilted her head sideways, enjoying the compliment. “Dank U wel. Thank you, Peter.”
He bowed slightly. “Shall we go in now?”
Catharine surveyed the busy dining room with pleasure, admiring its lavish furnishings of damask on the tables and the thick drapery framing the windows. Tall ferns in huge ceramic pots graced the corners of the room. Dark mahogany chairs and deep wood accents and molding lent a cozy atmosphere to the sounds of tinkling glass, the clatter of china, and the chatter of patrons. Delicious smells tickled her nose, along with the pungent smell of coffee, and her stomach rumbled. She hoped Peter hadn’t heard. She hadn’t realized she was so hungry. They followed the maître d’ to a nearby table, and he handed them a menu once they were seated.
“The food smells wonderful,” Anna said, taking her seat. “Dank U wel. Thank you very much for inviting us along for lunch. I’m sure you’d much rather spend your time with Catharine.”
Catharine looked gratefully at Peter. “Yes, it’s very kind of you to take us all to lunch.” She could feel the heat rising to her face and knew that with her fair complexion, her freckles stood out even more.
“It’s my pleasure, really.” Peter gently pushed Catharine’s chair to the table as she adjusted her skirt, then took his seat next to her. “Were you comfortable at the hotel?” Peter asked.
“Ja, the accommodations were very nice indeed,” Catharine said.
“It was owned by Barney Ford, a former slave who moved here from Denver. I thought you might enjoy the atmosphere after your long journey, so I took the liberty of reserving a room.”
“It was much more than what we—I mean I—expected.” Catharine’s throat felt dry and she reached for her water glass. Peter appeared to be well spoken and educated. For some reason, even though his letters conveyed a certain sophistication, she thought farmers in America were not educated. Maybe she had a lot to learn about these Americans.
Greta joined in. “Quite true. We never expected such a lovely room. This place must cost a fortune.”
Peter shifted in his chair. “It’s the best hotel we have in town,” he said.
Anna, who’d mostly kept quiet, spoke up. “When do we leave for your farm? I can’t wait to see it and explore the countryside.”
Peter smiled at Anna, then tilted his head with a thoughtful look at his bride-to-be. “I’ve planned for us to be married at three o’clock this afternoon. If that seems suitable for you, Catharine. My good friend Mario Cristini and his wife, Angelina, will act as our witnesses.”
Catharine’s heart thudded under her ribs, and she moistened her dry lips. “What about my sisters? Couldn’t they be our witnesses?”
“Of course,” Peter said quickly, “but at the time that I asked my friends, I didn’t know your sisters would be coming with you.”
An awkward silence fell over their conversation for a brief moment, and Catharine blinked nervously.
“I’m . . . I should have told you in my letters. Forgive me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive. The more the merrier for our ceremony . . . that is, if you’re in agreement with doing it today.”
Catharine flashed Peter the warmest smile she could muster. “Yes, you’re right, but my sisters will be coming with me to the farm.” She saw his eyebrow quirk and a slight frown seep into his handsome face. Now she’d done it. He would have no part of a mail-order bride dragging her two sisters along. She steeled her heart for what she knew he was about to say.
Peter cleared his throat and locked eyes with her. “Perhaps we can talk about this later?” Lifting his water glass, he quickly gulped down the entire contents.
Catharine looked down at her plate. This will not be easy, Lord. I should’ve told him. I’m full of lies and deceit.
Anna reached across to touch Catharine’s hand with an affectionate pat. “Don’t worry, Cath. I’ll press your dress while you tend to your toilette.”
The waiter came, and they all ordered the roast with potatoes and succotash. Throughout the meal, Catharine plied Peter about his farm, genuinely interested about her new home.
Over dessert of Apple Brown Betty and rich coffee, Peter tried to answer all the questions concerning his farm and Cheyenne.
The round table afforded him the perfect view of each of the ladies. It hadn’t taken him long to discern that Greta was the voice for her sisters, asking questions when Anna and Catharine were probably thinking them but staying quiet. Anna appeared to be a sweet, pretty, but dreamy blonde with enormous blue eyes, much like Greta. One could definitely tell they were sisters. But Catharine? The complete opposite, with her shocking crimson hair and green eyes holding a hint of mystery—or was it sadness?
“To answer your question about my farm, you’ll be helping with the fall wheat I planted, which we’ll harvest in the summer. That reminds me . . . we’ll stop off at Warren’s Emporium before our ceremony and purchase proper clothing to wear on the farm.” While Peter loved the soft blue gown Catharine was wearing, it wouldn’t be appropriate for farm life. “Mrs. Moody, one of my favorite clerks there, will take your sizes and put together what you’ll need.”
“Why would we need other clothing?” Catharine blinked, her eyes warm but unwavering.
Peter cleared his throat. “I need to get you ladies some appropriate work clothes.” He saw her swallow hard before speaking.
“What about the servants? You do have one or two, ja?”
Her pretty face held a tinge of pink, and Peter thought she was utterly stunning. Red hair or no. He looked down at his plate and cut his meat into bite-size pieces before answering. “Sorry to say, but the only help I have is when we plant or harvest the wheat.”
Peter watched Catharine chew on her bottom lip, making him wonder now if she’d been used to having servants. There had been no mention of it in any of her letters. However, she hadn’t said anything about her two sisters either. He felt as though he’d let her down by the disheartened look on her face. Maybe it was just the opposite—perhaps she’d been hoping to improve her life. He didn’t think he’d led her to believe he was wealthy. The truth was just the opposite. His mother’s family had been well-to-do, but his father had been only a hard-working farmer.
Changing the subject, Peter said, “I can hardly wait until you’re settled and can tell me all about Amsterdam.” He caught the sparkle in Catharine’s eyes. “Who knows? Maybe one day I can take you back there for a visit.”
“I’d like that very much,” she said quietly.
“Which? A visit or describing your homeland?” he teased.
She gave a soft laugh. “Both. I think you might enjoy it.” She dabbed her mouth with her napkin and laid her fork and knife across her plate.
“Do you ladies intend to live in Cheyenne?” Peter asked, looking across the table at Catharine’s sisters.
Greta and Anna exchanged looks, then Greta answered, “Didn’t Catharine tell you that we were going to the farm with both of you?” Greta threw an annoyed look at Catharine, who shifted nervously in her seat, not meeting Peter’s confused look.
He shoved his chair back, the legs scraping against the hardwood with a grating sound. “I . . . I guess I assumed the two of you would be staying in town.” He didn’t want to reveal his complete ignorance of the situation at hand. Why hadn’t she to
ld him? He held his tongue so as not to say what he really wanted to.
Anna giggled. “I fear our sister left out—”
Greta quickly butted in. “Don’t worry, Peter. Anna and I will not be in the way and plan to help with the farm work in whatever way we can, but I have to warn you, none of us have any experience in that area.” She laughed. “But we don’t want to be a burden to you or our sister.”
Anna nodded. “We’d better go shopping then. I think I might like a pair of farmer’s overalls to wear, like I’ve seen in a catalog.”
“I’ll see what I can do, Anna.” He suddenly felt very irritated and stood to leave when he heard voices arguing with the maître d’. Peter briefly shut his eyes. Please, Lord . . . don’t let it be . . . is that woman ever satisfied?
Catharine and the others stood as well, following his lead. The raised voices near the front caused the diners to stop eating to see what the commotion was all about.
Peter slowly turned, and it was just as he thought. His mother, arguing about wanting the best table in the restaurant, naturally. Didn’t she see that it was packed?
Another lady with her whom he knew as Mrs. Warren touched his mother’s arm lightly and said something he couldn’t hear. But he knew Mrs. Warren well enough to guess that she would smooth things over. He’d never met a sweeter soul.
“That lady is really impatient, isn’t she?” Greta said, nodding in his mother’s direction.
“Shush,” Catharine warned.
By now, everyone in the restaurant was glued to the small group’s discussion at the front door. Peter drew in a deep breath and said. “That . . . that is my mother.”
“Ooh . . .” Anna said in a hushed voice, and she and Greta exchanged glances.
Peter watched the expression on Catharine’s face, but she made no comment, and he felt relieved. At that moment, his mother sashayed in his direction, with Mrs. Warren trailing behind. He groaned but managed to smile as she came closer.
Deeply Devoted Page 2
