by E. E. Burke
He guided the wagon around a corner and came to a stop at a hitching rail. The streets here were also bricked. As elsewhere, a wide boardwalk ran the length of the block, which in this case housed mostly frame structures.
She peered up at a sign hanging from the edge of a porch roof that extended out over the sidewalk from the second floor. For some reason, he’d brought her to his place of business. Exhaustion had set in, and she was more than a little hungry. Still, she should be pleased he wanted to share his life’s work.
“O’Brien’s Dry Goods, Fine Groceries and Family Provisions,” she read. “That sounds very impressive.”
“It’ll be even more impressive when we take over that empty building next door. I’m planning to expand. Might even carry bicycles.” Her betrothed stepped down, and after a moment appeared at her side.
She placed her hands on his shoulders as he grasped her waist and lifted her to the ground and discovered that touching him also produced a thrill. This time, he didn’t throw her, but carefully set her on the ground. She gazed into eyes so dark they appeared fathomless.
He glanced away, as if uncomfortable with their sudden closeness. She had to get him talking again. He’d written about reopening the store his father founded, which had been destroyed in an awful fire that killed his parents. She’d grieved for his loss and admired his resilience.
“When did O’Brien’s reopen?”
“Eight years ago, after most of this area was rebuilt.”
“There’s another mercantile right across the street,” she pointed out. That store had an attractive red and white striped canopy. “Is that usual?”
“Only if you’re a thieving blue jay and think nothing of moving in on someone else’s territory.”
She filed away her betrothed sentiments about his neighbor, who sounded like someone she should avoid.
He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and escorted her inside.
Victoria blinked to adjust her vision to the dim interior. For some reason, the ceiling lamp wasn’t lit. Perhaps it didn’t work. Something smelled like vinegar. She spied the source near the front, a barrel of pickles. Further back, a potbellied stove occupied the center of the store. Around it, tables overflowed with household items, shelves held shoes and clothing. Behind glass, groceries as well as guns were displayed. Hanging from the beams were more items: pots and pans, farm tools, and, heavens, even a slab of smoked meat. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected Mr. O’Brien’s store to look like, but her imagination hadn’t formed this cramped, chaotic environment.
He seemed to be waiting for her to remark. She had to say something nice. Honest, but complimentary.
“You have a great deal of merchandise.”
His mouth curled up on one side. “Everything a body could want is what I tell people.”
“Yes, I can see that.”
“You’re back!” The hail came from an attractive, dark-haired woman behind the counter who looked to be about Victoria’s age. She said something to the customer she’d been waiting on, an older gentleman in farmer’s denims, and then hurried over with a broad smile.
Classic features, dark, luminous eyes and black hair…his sister?
“You must be Victoria. I’m Maggie O’Brien. David’s sister.” Her future sister-in-law hugged her neck.
Victoria lifted her arms, not sure whether it was polite to return a hug. This was something they didn’t do in Boston. “It’s my pleasure to meet you, Miss O’Brien.”
“Please, call me Maggie.” She darted a look at her brother that could only be interpreted as worried. “Has David told you—?”
“That you’re eager to meet her, yes. Miss Lowell will be sharing the room with you, so you’ll have ample opportunity to get to know her.” He arched an eyebrow—caution, or a warning—which was met with an expression of surprise.
Something strange was going on. What was he supposed to tell her? He’d interrupted his sister before she could say.
Two well-dressed women standing by a display of dishes and kitchenware craned their necks to observe the exchange. Victoria couldn’t make out their expressions, but there was no mistaking their curiosity.
The awkwardness of the moment made her stomach knot. She cast about for an opportunity to comment and break the tense silence. Her upbringing hadn’t prepared her for conversation about general stores. She didn’t purchase household items. Their housekeeper, Mrs. Kilburn, did that. Beside the stove, a barrel had been turned upside down and someone had put a checkerboard on it. The pieces looked as if the players had walked away in the middle of a game.
“My father plays chess. When he was in one of his more generous moods, he taught me. I don’t know how to play checkers. Perhaps you could show me.”
Mr. O’Brien gave her a distracted look. “I don’t have time for games.”
The way he said it made the activity sound frivolous. Her father took his chess very seriously. “Do you have other hobbies?”
“Hobbies?” He said the word as if he’d never heard it before. “If you consider balancing the accounts a hobby.”
Did he realize he was beginning to sound boring?
She quickly reminded herself that her husband was a man of business. Her father kept very involved with his investments, too. She hadn’t thought a shopkeeper would be so consumed by his work. Perhaps he was just teasing. She’d picked up on his dry sense of humor.
“Where’s Fannie?” Mr. O’Brien asked his sister.
“She’s….” Maggie gestured to where she’d come from. Only the farmer remained. “Where did she go?”
Victoria turned at a shuffling sound.
A little girl peeked around the glassed display at the front end of the counter on the other side of the store. She’d apparently crept to a new location without being seen. Not too difficult with so many places to hide.
“Come out, dear,” Maggie urged. “We want you to meet Miss Lowell.”
The child shook her head, making her dark curls dance. She was the very image of her father, with the exception of her chin. Mr. O’Brien had a square chin. His daughter’s face called to mind a mischievous pixie.
“Mind your aunt, Fannie.” His tone warned against disobedience.
Fannie stepped out from behind the counter, but ventured no further. She had to be nervous, poor thing. Given the tragic circumstances her father had been honest enough to share, Fannie would need a great deal of patience and understanding. The last thing she needed was to be dealt with harshly.
To prevent a showdown, Victoria hurried over to introduce herself. She bent her knees, squatting as low as the bustle would allow, and offered a friendly smile. “Hello, Fannie. I’m very pleased to meet you.”
Suspicion reflected in eyes the color of strong coffee.
Victoria was prepared for resistance. Mr. O’Brien had reported that Fannie was shy and withdrawn. A present would help break the ice. “I’ve brought you a gift. If your father can collect my small bag, I’ll give it to you.”
Interest flickered in Fannie’s dark gaze. Her lips remained sealed.
Victoria’s palms grew damp. She could hardly make a good impression if Fannie wouldn’t speak to her. This first meeting had to go well or he wouldn’t believe she was as good with children as she’d claimed. She liked children. Therefore, she had assumed they would like her. Fannie might prove her assumption wrong.
Her confidence wavered. Nevertheless, she glanced over her shoulder at her future husband. “Would you mind retrieving my tapestry satchel?”
He gave a nod. Did he seem reluctant? She couldn’t imagine why he objected to her giving her future stepdaughter a gift.
“Outside,” he said to Maggie under his breath, and turned on his heel.
His sister followed with a knitted brow.
Victoria gave up trying to guess what trouble brewed between them. She was too tired and heart sore. Nothing had gone as she’d imagined. Her intended hadn’t welcomed her, made her feel wanted, or
even seen to her comfort. Her patience would have to extend to Fannie’s father.
After a moment, her legs began to twitch. She stood to relieve the pressure. Bustles weren’t designed for squatting.
The three customers remained motionless, like well-placed statues. The two women had on long coats trimmed with braided piping. Their hats looked more festive than practical. They appeared to be related, and from a family of some means. The farmer’s grizzled beard reached the bib of his dungarees. His coat, which hung open, had the appearance of being homespun. Differences aside, they were all in O’Brien’s for one reason—to purchase goods. If the customers became impatient they might leave, and then she would be held responsible, having sent Mr. O’Brien on a personal errand. His explanation for being tardy made it clear her arrival had disrupted his business.
It stung to realize where she came on his list of priorities, yet she might’ve expected it. The men she knew were more concerned with their affairs than they were with their wives. Her husband-to-be appeared no different in this regard, although that aspect of his nature hadn’t come through in his letters.
“Is there anything I can assist you with?” she asked the older lady, determined to do what she could to help. Her betrothed would appreciate the effort.
“We’re just looking,” replied the matron.
“Yes, just looking,” echoed the younger woman.
The farmer tugged down the brim of a shapeless hat. He appeared to be smiling, but it was hard to tell through that bushy beard. “Did O’Brien hire you? Didn’t think he had a clerk.”
It would be impolite to announce her engagement without her betrothed present and a proper introduction.
Victoria hesitated, hoping her future husband would return. When he didn’t make a convenient appearance, she decided she didn’t have a choice. His customers might draw the wrong conclusion and that certainly wouldn’t help his business. “I’m Miss Lowell, from Boston. Mr. O’Brien has asked me to marry him.”
Fannie’s response was instantaneous. Looking horrified, she whirled around and darted past the two women, running through a doorway at the rear of the store.
Victoria blushed, feeling foolish. The child’s reaction made it clear she knew nothing about her father’s engagement.
The older lady smiled. “Welcome, Miss Lowell. I’m Mrs. Robinson and this is my daughter, Nancy. We’d love to get acquainted when you have more time. We’ll run along now, and let you tend to Fannie.”
The two women started for the door.
“Ma’am…” After giving his hat brim another tug, the farmer left, fast on their heels.
Despair dragged on what was left of Victoria’s confidence. Her lack of knowledge in childrearing was exceeded only by her ignorance about the mercantile business. There was nothing she could do now about losing those customers, but if she thought to impress Mr. O’Brien with her skills at mothering, she had better find his daughter before he returned.
Chapter 3
As soon as David walked out the door, he took his sister’s arm and hauled her around to the back of the wagon. The cold hadn’t kept people inside. Shoppers thronged the sidewalks and the street. He kept his voice low to avoid being overheard by passersby, or Victoria if she had good ears. “She doesn’t know you wrote those letters.”
Maggie pulled back, eyes wide with amazement. “You didn’t tell her? Why not?”
“Because… It seemed like the wrong time.”
He tugged at his collar. His nerves jumped and he couldn’t think straight, all from the short time he’d spent in Miss Lowell’s company. Had he been less enamored, he would’ve taken her to one of the hotels, except that meant more expense he couldn’t afford. “I decided to let her stay for a few weeks, to see if she can manage Fannie. She can room with you.”
Maggie’s jaw came unhinged. Something akin to delight lit her eyes, and her smile said I-told-you-so. “You like her.”
Oh no, he wasn’t letting his sister take the bit into her mouth and run off with this idea that he’d somehow fall in love and live in blissful union with a mail-order bride he hadn’t even ordered. “No more interfering,” he warned. “You’ve done enough.”
Maggie folded her hands behind her back. “I wouldn’t dream of interfering.”
He leaned to one side, peering behind her. “Do you have your fingers crossed?”
She held out her hands, looking innocent. “Why would you think that?”
“Because you seem to have developed a hankering for matchmaking. Don’t get it into your head I’ll marry that woman just because you brought her here.”
“She has a name, David. Victoria. Can you say it?”
“Yes, I can say it, but it’s not proper to call her by her given name.”
“It is if she’s your fiancée.”
“She’s not my fiancée.”
Maggie frowned, disapprovingly. “She accepted a proposal, not an offer for an evaluation.”
David gripped the back of the wagon, struggling to keep his temper under control. “I’m not the one who proposed.”
His sister’s arms fell to her sides. “If you aren’t sure, even after meeting her, then I think we ought to tell her you didn’t write those letters.”
“Good grief, Maggie.” David plowed his fingers through his hair. Dealing with his younger sister for all these years, it was a wonder he hadn’t pulled it out. “First you tell me you’ve arranged a marriage, now that I’ve agreed to give it a shot, you want to pull the rug out from under me.”
“But if you don’t intend to marry her, it’s not right to keep her here and give her hope.”
A dull throbbing started behind his eyes. He rubbed his forehead. He had known from the moment he’d met his unintended intended that he couldn’t walk away and wash his hands of her. That’s not what an honorable man would do. “I’ll do the right thing. If Miss Lowell proves she can be a good mother, I’ll…” He swallowed the resistance clogging his throat. “Marry her.”
Maggie glanced at the store with a look of uncertainty. “You shouldn’t marry her solely out of obligation.”
A muscle jumped in his clamped jaw. “You have your head in the clouds if you think a mail-order marriage can be based on anything but obligation. Isn’t this what you wanted? To put me in an impossible position to force me to marry, so you could leave.”
Hurt welled in Maggie’s eyes. “No, that’s not what I wanted, not at all. Fannie needs a good mother, and you need a good wife. That’s why I read every response and spent hours considering them, selecting the person I knew would be the right one. I want you to be happy, David. I want Fannie to be loved. That’s what I want.”
Maggie whirled away, but not before he saw tears spill down her cheeks. She didn’t weep and carry on, as Rachel had done at times to bend him to her will. His sister was the least manipulative woman he knew, which was why he couldn’t fathom why she’d been so deceitful. She risked his anger, risked alienating him.
She’d done it because she cared.
Guilt tightened his throat. He shouldn’t have accused her of being selfish. He was the one who had held on for too long. She’d been forced to pry his fingers open to get him to let go of her, and it wasn’t just because of Fannie. He feared losing his sister. With the exception of his daughter, he’d lost everyone else.
Despite her interference, Maggie hadn’t really hurt him. She had put him in an awkward spot, as well as Miss Lowell, even if the spunky woman didn’t yet realize it. She still had hope, the kind that died as easily as flowers after the first snowfall.
David put his hand on Maggie’s shoulder and spoke in a low tone. There was no way to prevent people from noticing they were in deep conversation, but he didn’t want to give the eavesdroppers any fodder. “When the time is right and she won’t be so hurt, I’ll tell her about the letters.”
Maggie twisted around. Blotches marred her creamy skin, and her eyes were red-rimmed, but there were no more tears. She searched his face
with an anxious gaze, and then threw her arms around him. “I’m sorry, Davy” she murmured against his chest. “I meant well.”
Her apology drained what was left of his anger. He rubbed her back. “You’ve got a big heart, Maggie. That’s not a bad trait.”
After a moment, she drew away and her sweet smile was back. “Victoria does seem nice, and she brought Fannie a gift.”
“Ah, almost forgot…” David hauled the heavy case out of the wagon and set it on the sidewalk. What had she packed, bricks?
“She said it was in the tapestry bag.” Maggie dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.
He took hold of the carpetbag. Nice of her to bring a gift, although he worried she might be offended if Fannie didn’t thank her properly. “Did you tell her about Fannie not speaking?”
Maggie looked chagrined. “I didn’t come right out and say that because Fannie can speak, she just chooses not to. I said she became withdrawn after her mother ran off.”
A chill passed through David that had nothing to do with the frigid wind. “You told her about Rachel?”
“I told the truth—that your wife ran off with another man and then divorced you. It was bound to come out. Better for her to hear it from you.”
Yes, Miss Lowell would hear the gossip. There was no preventing it. Knowing that still didn’t help. She would poke and prod and ask questions, like most women.
David’s insides twisted into a painful knot. He hated talking about Rachel’s betrayal. Just made him feel worse. He shifted the tapestry bag to his left hand.
Maggie grasped his right. “David, she shared painful things, too. Didn’t you read her letters? What she wrote about that awful man who jilted her only a few days before her wedding?”
“Yes, I read them.” That was another reason he couldn’t just tell her she’d been duped and send her on her way. Rejection left soul-deep wounds, regardless of the reason.
Mrs. Robinson and her daughter exited the store, throwing surreptitious glances at the bags he held. They started up the sidewalk toward their waiting carriage.
