There was no sense in worrying over what Jackson would do. Carianne said ninety-nine percent of all worry was wasted, since what you worried about rarely came to pass. Ramee didn’t put much stock into what Carianne said when she talked numbers, though. Carianne loved numbers. And statistics, a subject Ramee abhorred. Odds—now that was something she could understand, and she agreed mathematics was the universal language. But she refused to believe she was at the mercy of happenstance.
Still, Carianne was right about worry. Jesus had said much the same thing.
The streets were empty as Ramee trudged home, and the street lights lit. She wouldn’t get much sleep tonight, but she was glad to have just enough time left to finish packing and not enough to change her mind.
Chapter 6
Mrs. Hollingsworth had never ridden in a train, and she sat stiffly by the aisle, holding onto the seat with long, slender fingers that looked like they’d snap at any moment. She wasn’t given to conversation, and they covered two states before the woman relaxed enough to smile.
Any other time Ramee would have enjoyed this trip. How many people got the chance to travel from one side of the country to the other? But as the miles flew by, reality began to set in. Ramee was going to meet the man who might become her husband. How could she marry a complete stranger?
She stared out the dingy window and munched a peppermint stick, the pleasant smell battling with the train stench. All sorts of doubts attacked her. In truth, she knew very little about men—nothing good, anyway.
Despite all the education she’d received, finishing school as well as college, she never felt so inadequate. Nothing prepared her for what she really wanted to know. Was it possible for marriage to be more than a business arrangement without love as a foundation?
Her companion shifted beside her, pulling Ramee’s attention from the monotonous scenery. Perhaps the woman had relaxed enough to converse. She ought to know a lot about marriage. “How long were you married, Mrs. Hollingsworth?”
Mrs. Hollingsworth darted a sharp, birdlike glance at Ramee. “Twenty-seven years. Mr. Hollingsworth passed two years ago.” She turned and peered straight ahead.
“I’m so sorry. It must be difficult to carry on without him.”
“One has to do what comes our way.”
How true. “Were you in love with him before you married?”
A flash of astonishment crossed Mrs. Hollingsworth’s face. “What a thing to ask?”
Ramee bit her bottom lip, realizing the question was too personal. But she still wanted to know. “I don’t understand why you should feel that way. Surely you loved your husband.”
“Of course I did, but we barely knew each other before we were married.”
Ramee shifted in her seat. Mrs. Hollingsworth would know how she felt. Maybe she could advise her in a way her friends could not.
Carianne had grown up without a father, as had Ramee. Carianne’s view of men was idealistic. They were supposed to come riding on a white horse. Of course Carianne was realistic enough to know that wouldn’t happen, but she still carried the hope. Ramee knew better.
Prudie, on the other hand, had had a father she loved, and who spoiled her as no other man would. Since none could live up to the role model her father was, she was disappointed with every man she met.
“Was yours an arranged marriage?”
“Not exactly. He worked with my father in the coal mines and started coming to supper. After the third supper, he asked my father for my hand.”
Despite the fact she and Mrs. Hollingsworth were practically strangers, and she shouldn’t be asking personal questions, Ramee prodded. “Did you want to marry him?”
Mrs. Hollingsworth’s stiff posture wilted. “I didn’t think much about it. I knew my father would choose who I married. He—that is, my father—came from the old country. That’s the way he thought. Things weren’t always as they are now, with young ladies being courted and wooed. We didn’t have time for that. What does this have to do with you, Miss Abbott?”
“I’m on my way to marry a man I’ve never met.”
Mrs. Hollingsworth spent the rest of the trip trying to talk Ramee into turning around and going back to civilization. She wasted her breath. The farther Ramee saw of the beautiful countryside, the more determined she was to see this through. Fear of Jackson and regret of leaving her friends dimmed as the miles whizzed past. Excitement took hold.
But after almost two weeks on the train, stopping and starting a hundred times, she was ready to stay anywhere for a while.
When the conductor finally announced Sacramento, the knot of nerves in her stomach burst out like a flock of birds taking flight.
Chapter 7
A sizeable crowd had gathered at the depot by the time Josh got there. He left the buggy a bit down the street to allow him to get back in traffic easily after he collected Miss Abbott. No, he shouldn’t think of her like that. She wasn’t like a piece of left-over luggage.
There was a chance she wouldn’t even show up. This might be a joke. Some naughty girls with nothing to do, and a father with enough money for them to throw away on pranks, might have sent those telegrams.
That thought struck him with more disappointment than it should have. The truth was he’d already put Miss Abbott in a corner of his mind where he could call her out at will to indulge his future hopes. Logic reminded him, even if she showed, she wouldn’t fit his expectations.
A train whistle sounded in the distance, and he took up position on the periphery. No need to rush forward like most of those gathered.
He couldn’t believe he was actually nervous. A man who’d faced down dangerous men and fast women. What could there be about a prim little eastern lady to cause nerves?
She had the power to touch him where he was most vulnerable—his heart.
The train stopped and people piled out immediately. Greetings sprang from different positions in a huddle of humanity as Josh waited until the reunions trickled to a few.
Two ladies disembarked, the younger one, craning her blonde head as she surveyed the area. If she were Miss Abbott, she was nothing like he expected. Unlike Tom, Josh had never been lucky with cards. From the looks of it, he’d been dealt a winning hand this time.
My cup runneth over.
The woman was beautiful. Not the kind of beauty that would stop a man in his tracks, but pretty enough for him. The sun glinted on golden hair as her eyes scanned the crowd.
She was probably searching for him, but he held back, wanting to get a better gander. Her deep blue dress fit her trim figure, reminding him of those ladies on the cover of Granny’s women’s magazine. At this distance he couldn’t tell what fabric it was made of, but he knew it was a rich woman’s dress, and the shiny hat, setting a little askew, complimented it perfectly. She turned to speak to the older woman at her side.
He hadn’t expected her to be accompanied. How many mail-order brides came with a chaperone? If her relatives insisted on observing the conventions to protect her, why would they allow a beautiful, rich woman to marry a stranger? It might be her family didn’t know.
Curiosity finally put his feet in motion.
“Miss Abbott?”
At the sound of her name, she jerked her head, and Josh stared into eyes as brilliant as the deepest sky at mid-day.
Her lips curved and dimples dented her cheeks. Long, dark lashes rose as feathered brows drew together. “Mr. Volker?”
“That’s me, ma’am. Josh, if you prefer.” He paused a long moment, trying to think of something appropriate to say. “Welcome to Sacramento.”
She finally tore her gaze from him and nudged the other woman forward. “Oh, this is Mrs. Hollingsworth, my companion.”
The older woman dipped her chin, and he doffed his hat. Again he asked why a pretty, rich woman with a companion would offer herself as a mail-order bride. He’d better proceed cautiously. “If you’ll point me to your luggage, I’ll take it down to the buggy.”
Sh
e lifted a slender finger to the place where the luggage had been deposited. He’d need two or three trips. “Why don’t you ladies stay here, and I’ll drive the buggy up front. The crowd has thinned a mite.”
Ramee reached out a hand. “Where will we be going?”
“To the Merriweather Inn—not far. I’ll find two adjoining rooms for you ladies. If that’s all right.”
“Yes, thank you, Mr.—Josh.”
After Josh got the ladies and their luggage to the hotel, he secured the rooms, and they followed him up the stairs. Mrs. Hollingsworth held both keys, and when he reached the first room, he stood aside for her to unlock the door.
“The rooms are identical, I suppose,” Mrs. Hollingsworth said.
“They are. The porter will bring your luggage in a few minutes.” Josh reached over Ramee’s head to hold the door open for her. “Miss Abbott, after you’ve gotten settled, would you meet me down in the lobby? There’s a seating area along the south wall.”
He hoped she’d come alone, though he didn’t exclude her companion. Even if Mrs. Hollingsworth insisted on coming, the chairs were spread out so that she could sit out of range of his conversation with Ramee.
Ramee held onto the door on the other side of the threshold. “I’d be pleased to. Give me half an hour.”
He returned her smile and stalked off down the long hallway. His better sense argued not to expect too much, but something else, deep inside, sent up thanks to the Lord.
Chapter 8
Ramee peered into the mirror and pinned the loose curls back in place. She stepped back, checking the neckline of her silk day dress. A glance at the little travel clock resting on the vanity table let her know she had to go.
Quick steps took her to the foot of the bed where she retrieved her shawl. Soft snores came from the next room. Poor Mrs. Hollingsworth had fallen asleep. Which was just as well. Ramee needed to talk to Josh alone. Yet now the time had arrived, trepidation seized her.
She didn’t get into Harvard by being stupid, and she reasoned any man who had to advertise for a wife had something wrong with him. Since he wasn’t ugly or ill-mannered, the reason must be hidden and might take a little while to detect. Maybe her own secrets made her suspicious, but she was going to be as honest with him as she could.
His handsome face was already impelled on her mind. Tousled, dark blond hair. Strong cleft chin. Straight nose. Dark blue eyes with a hint of green like the ocean before sundown and just as deep. Had she caught all that with nothing more than a glance? Only because she’d been expecting someone far different.
She closed the door softly behind her and summoned the speech she’d prepared for Josh—a well-rehearsed explanation for why she’d come in person to answer his ad, one that sounded reasonable and just close enough to the truth to assuage her conscience without revealing too much. She raced down the stairs, determined to keep her own council.
The moment she laid eyes on him, every word of her rehearsed speech flew out of her brain. She was certain she’d been mistaken by her first impression of this man, but he was a lot more.
He stood over six feet tall if he was an inch, broad shoulders, trim waist. Long, lean jean encased legs. Her gaze traveled from his scuffed, brown boots to his Stetson, cocked at a rakish angle.
His ad had said he looked decent, but decent didn’t begin to describe him. He was the best looking specimen of a man she’d ever seen. His hair, light brown at the roots and sun bleached at the ends curled over his collar.
She slowed her pace at the landing, looking about as she glided across the lobby. The hotel was large, though not nearly as elegant as those in New York or Boston. Rustic wood furnishings kept it pleasantly western. Wooden paneling, wooden furniture, wooden floor.
Josh stood at the window on the wall to her right with his back to her. Her footsteps on the wooden planks alerted him, and he turned, leveling deep bluish-green eyes on her.
She’d like to keep on staring into those eyes, but they held a question, demanding her attention. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.” The conventional words rushed out in a breathless sort of way.
“Right on time. Please have a seat.”
There was only a horsehair sofa and chair gracing the space, so she sank upon the middle of the sofa. He pulled the chair a little closer and sat, folding his long legs to the side.
Ramee made a show of smoothing out the folds of her skirt. It gave her a few extra moments to think and wipe the moisture from her palms at the same time. She wished Josh would say something, but the silence between them thickened, and she let her gaze flit everywhere his handsome face.
She finally glanced at him from under her lashes, admitting she couldn’t lie, whether looking him in the eye or not. “You must have been surprised when you got my telegram.”
He gave her a warm smile. “I sure was that…and curious. You’re a beautiful and well-to-do lady. I can’t imagine you’d need to answer an advertisement for a mail-order bride.”
Beautiful? Her? She’d certainly never considered herself beautiful. Passable maybe, but her nose was too long and her chin too sharp to be beautiful. If she had anything to recommend her it was the fine golden sheen of her hair.
For the first time, Ramee was glad her friends weren’t with her. If they were present, this handsome, obviously nearsighted, cowboy wouldn’t pay her attention. Prudie, with her perfect features, was truly beautiful. Adela was a picture of petite prettiness. Carianne was quite attractive too, and didn’t even need it. She drew people, men and women, like bees to clover--not the showiest flower in the meadow, but the sweetest.
As far as being well-to-do, Ramee wanted to laugh. “I’m far from well-to-do, Mr. Volker. I live on my friend’s charity. Let me explain.”
He held up a hand. “Only if you call me Josh. We’re not that formal out here, Ramee. I hope you allow me the privilege of addressing you that way. I like the sound of your name.”
That took her aback. Such familiarity would be unheard of back east, but who was she to argue with him? Especially since he liked her name. “Very well…Josh…my friend’s, Carianne’s wealthy grandmother hired me as companion and provided me with all the same opportunities as her granddaughter, but Lady Galenshire made it quite clear she won’t require my services when Carianne goes to live with her in London next year.
When Josh furrowed his brows, Ramee knew he wasn’t following her disjointed conversation. “Lady Galenshire used to be Elizabeth Barlow. Have you heard of the Barlows of Boston?”
“I’m afraid not. I haven’t been further east than Denver.”
“Oh, well, it doesn’t matter. They’re no longer there. Mrs. Barlow disinherited her son, Carianne’s father, and married an English earl. The earl died, leaving Lady Galenshire immensely wealthy with the perchance to promote women’s education. She sponsored Carianne’s friends’ education at the Harvard annex. We’d hoped to be admitted as regular students, but I’ve heard it will be turned into a women’s college instead—the annex, not Harvard.”
The twist of his mouth told her he couldn’t follow her babbling. “Well, anyway, I’m a servant, Josh, not a…not well-to-do.”
His gaze swept over her peacock blue traveling suit of finest embroidered silk down to her polished high-heeled boots. Even a cowboy would recognize the richness of her attire. “I’m also a dress designer.” She lifted her shoulders. “I dress well.”
“So you went to college?”
“Is there anything wrong with that?” She held her breath awaiting his reply. He had requested an educated woman after all, but maybe college would be too much.
“Nothing at all.” His smile warmed her. “My mother went to college and taught school before she married my father. She also taught at a music academy.”
“I recall you mentioned music in your ad. I can play the piano and the harp. Do you have a harp?”
“Afraid not. I do enjoy listening to the piano, and there’s one at my ranch. My mother played every night w
hen I was a boy.” He stared out the window, and his voice held a wistful note, making Ramee think his mother might be deceased.
While she examined her hands, wondering if it was too soon to ask personal questions about his family, she felt his gaze. “You’re very talented, Ramee. What do you like doing best?”
She didn’t have to think about it. “Fashion designing.” He probably assumed she was a seamstress, and she hastened to set him straight. “I’ve designed gowns for society leaders all over the Northeast.” She shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know that my ability in designing is any greater than music, but it is my passion.”
Warmth rose in her cheeks as she met the intensity of his cobalt gaze. His demeanor might be stoic, but he understood passion.
“I’m not much of a judge of women’s fashion, but what you have on is about as pretty a dress as I’ve seen.”
His expression compelled her to explain further, and before she knew it, she was spilling out how she’d hoped to sell her designs, her relationship with Jackson, and what he’d done—even how she’d left him at the altar.
“So you are running away?” He gave her a time-stretching glance.
She’d said too much. A nervous giggle rose in her throat, and she clamped her mouth shut. She’d given him plenty of reason to distrust her.
He just smiled. “When I got your telegram, I figured you had to be desperate or running away.”
Her chin jutted up like he’d hit a nerve. “I like to think of it as escaping.” This was a stranger, and she’d been laying her whole life out before him. If he knew where she came from before the Annex, he wouldn’t want to marry her. She didn’t know why that bothered her. She might not care to marry him either, but she wanted to be the one rejecting.
The Annex Mail-Order Brides: Preque (Intrigue Under Western Skies Book 0) Page 14
