The 12 Brides of Christmas Collection

by Mary Connealy

  He whistled low. “You have a better memory than I do. And here I thought you were just Tot the Tattler. Guess you had some reasons for it, though.”

  Such a feeble attempt to claim responsibility was hardly enough to excuse his behavior. He might have been gone five years, but she doubted that was long enough to have changed him. That would take eternity.

  “Sophie,” Arthur said, his tone exasperated, “Noah didn’t pull such a childish—and dangerous—prank like setting off firecrackers under a horse in the middle of a busy street. That happens more than you’d imagine, with or without Noah around. Fact is, there’s a group of boys in town that like creating mischief.” He looked around, his gaze stopping in the direction of their parents. “In fact, I was going to warn Father to keep Gordy clear of them. Where is Gordy, anyway?”

  Sophie threw a glance back toward their wagon but didn’t see their brother. “He was going to stay in the wagon during the meeting—until the food is ready, of course.”

  “We’ll talk to him directly, then,” Noah said, “after we eat.”

  Just then the pastor called their attention to say the blessing. Before bowing her head, Sophie stole a quick look at Noah. He appeared downright pious as he prepared to join in prayer, but she didn’t believe his act for a moment.

  A pious bully? Huh!

  Chapter 3

  In the next two weeks, Sophie learned just how valuable it had been for the families coming west to have had their sons pave the way. In anticipation of their arrival, Arthur had not only helped explore housing possibilities, but also jobs and schools and the best furniture makers in town. Father was a factory millwright with experience, so his talents were in demand anywhere a factory with machinery could be found. In spite of workers already available in the city left without a job once canal work was finished, good references and the associations offered through their sons had each father a job by the end of the very first week.

  Even Sophie had to admit it was only Mr. Allenby she missed, because the home Arthur had found for them in Chicago was every bit as comfortable, plus a little larger, than the one they had left behind. And she still had the company of her best friend.

  At the family dinner table one evening, Noah assured her family that Chicago would far surpass Toledo.

  Of course he would think so. Hadn’t he helped Arthur convince their family to move here? She refused even to listen to him, leaning closer to Arthur to ask him a question she’d had nearly since their arrival.

  “Is there a library here in town?”

  “Several.”

  Sophie looked at Noah, who had usurped the answer before her brother could speak. Try though she did to avoid speaking to Noah, he seemed to have a response to everything she said, even when not directed to him.

  “The libraries here in Chicago are connected to private clubs,” Arthur added. “Women aren’t allowed membership.”

  “Not at Gale and Company,” Noah said. He looked at Sophie, but she averted her face even though she hung on his words. “It’s a store, but they have a small circulating library, too. I can take you there tomorrow afternoon.”

  “I’m sure I can find it on my own,” she said.

  “If they don’t have the kind of book you’re looking for, I can introduce you to Mr. Pooley. He has quite a few books that I’m sure would interest you.”

  “Thank you, but I’m sure that won’t be necessary.” She turned her attention back to her dinner, ignoring the slight tap on her ankle from her mother.

  Sophie didn’t even look at Mother. She knew she would send a reminder of the gentle advice she’d offered earlier. Be pleasant, be friendly, smile at the boy. He’s only trying to be nice.

  Sophie had no intention of adhering to any of it. Her mother was too easily fooled by the thin veneer over Noah’s bullying ways. Gullibility around someone like Noah could be downright hazardous.

  “What a pleasant surprise!”

  Sophie looked up from the book on the small table in front of her but offered no greeting as Noah took the empty seat on the other side. Wasn’t sharing most of her family’s dinners with him enough? Now he had to follow her to the library, too?

  “Did you know I’m working with the Chicago Mechanics’ Institute? I stop in here often because this is on my way home.”

  So that was the reason he’d been so eager to tell her about the library.

  “It has mostly fiction, but it’s a nice variety.” She kept her voice polite but curt then looked again at the book before her. He did not take the hint to leave her to it. “I’m sure you’ll want to be on your way, then. Good day.”

  He remained seated comfortably. There was only one way to end this, and that was to see about borrowing this book even though she wasn’t at all sure this was the one she wanted. Exploring others would have to wait until next time.

  Pulling the book closer to her side of the table, she stood. Noah jumped to his feet as well.

  “In a hurry?”

  “Yes,” she said but was instantly convicted of her lie. “No. I simply want to speak to the clerk.”

  “Don’t forget about the private collection I mentioned,” he said. “Ezra Pooley’s. Arthur knows him, too. I visited him just the other day, and I noticed he has a book you might like. A bound copy of Wilson’s American Ornithology. Have you ever seen it, Sophie?”

  Her pulse quickened. “Not a bound copy,” she admitted. Mr. Allenby owned several loose plates but not the entire collection. What a treasure such a book would be! Even just to look at …

  Her heart missed a beat at the opportunity, but she turned away. “Then I’ll ask Arthur about him. Good day.”

  “Sophie,” he called softly after her when she took a few steps away, “are you ever going to forgive me for a few childish pranks?”

  She faced him head-on. “All I’ve seen since we arrived is the way you used to act around my parents. Very polite, but I’m afraid not very sincere. So I’m sure you’ll understand if I repeat myself. Good day.”

  “No, wait, Sophie.” He touched her elbow lightly to prevent her from moving on again. “Even if you don’t think I’ve changed, you must admit I’ve grown up. Hasn’t Arthur told you that?”

  “My entire family has been on a veritable campaign for you. But frankly, even if I believed a word of it, I have no intention of forgetting that you have the heart of a bully. Now really, good day.”

  Her heart pounded harder than the heels of her boots on the wooden floor. If she’d been rude, she’d given him no less than what he deserved.

  Why should she believe he’d changed? She knew how busy Arthur and Noah had been these last few years, between working on the Illinois and Michigan Canal and whatever jobs they could find when canal work had been interrupted. Such labor might have made them both stronger, but work hadn’t been the only thing they’d done since they left Toledo.

  She’d read every letter Arthur had sent and couldn’t help hearing Noah’s since her mother read aloud those he’d sent to her parents. For the first four and a half years, all they’d talked about was one pub or another, often places where fights broke out. They’d lived the lives of wild young men without church or civility. Exactly how was Noah to have improved himself in a place like this?

  Holding the book more gently now that she was away from him, she ventured a glance behind her, but he was already gone. Assuring herself her own rudeness couldn’t possibly penetrate such a thick hide as his, she walked on. Likely he’d already forgotten their encounter.

  Noah waited just outside Gale and Company. For two weeks, ever since Sophie had made it clear she remembered every foolish thing he’d ever done, he’d kept himself busier than ever. When he wasn’t occupied, he tried thinking about some of the other girls who had come to Chicago with their families.

  But it was no use. Even if Noah were interested, competition for polite female company was stiff in this city. If he encouraged a fledgling interest in any of them, there was already a long line of b
eaus waiting for her. He had little desire to fight for anyone’s attention except Sophie’s.

  The only reason he did not have to wade through a long line at Sophie’s door was because she didn’t seem any friendlier toward the others than she was toward him. Arthur told him when a caller came to introduce himself to Sophie, she asked her mother to send him away without seeing him.

  Still, it was only a matter of time before her attitude was bound to soften about having left Toledo. Noah planned to use his close proximity to the family to his benefit around the one girl whose interest he genuinely wanted to stir.

  “Fight! Fight!”

  The call came from across the street, where passersby were already circling a couple of young boys locked in a scuffle. No one seemed interested in doing anything more than watch, even when one broke free long enough to land a punch against the other boy’s cheek.

  “Hey!” Noah jumped through the crowd, knowing all too well that a fight lasting only a few minutes could feel like it went on forever. Not to mention leave more than a little sting. He grabbed the larger of the two boys—who was still a foot shorter than Noah himself—while he staved off the other with the long length of his arm. Working on the pumps regulating the water level along the canal had made Noah stronger than ever.

  “Punching each other isn’t going to stop whatever gripe you have,” he said. “You’d better not fight on the street, or you’ll both get fined for public nuisance. Now go home and work out some other way to settle this.”

  He shoved off both of them. His intervention was likely nothing more than a delay to yet another fight, but at least they wouldn’t be doing it with an audience of women and children. At least he hoped not.

  He would have returned to the bookshop to wait for Sophie, but one of the other spectators caught his glance. This boy hadn’t run off as fast as the rest of the gang of rogues.

  “Gordy?”

  The boy stopped, his back still to Noah. It took ten steps to reach him, and with each one Noah held out hope he was wrong. But he wasn’t.

  “I hope you just happened by,” Noah said, but Gordy’s guilty face told him otherwise. “You haven’t been mixing with that group of boys, have you, Gordy? In spite of what Artie and I told you?”

  Gordy plunged his hands into the pockets of his knee pants, hanging his head so all Noah could see was the top of his cap.

  “They’re friendly. To me.”

  “You don’t think sooner or later you’ll get in a fight with one of them, or do something you shouldn’t be doing?”

  Gordy squared his shoulders. “I know better than that. But a fella’s got to have friends. Friends my own age.”

  “Gordy!”

  Sophie’s call came from the sidewalk on the other side of the street.

  Gordy’s eyes sprang to his sister then back to Noah, for the first time with a hint of fear in them.

  “You aren’t going to tell her, are you, Noah?”

  Noah needed more than a few scant seconds to answer such a question, and Sophie joined them before he’d come close to any decision.

  “Didn’t you go straight home from school today, Gordy?” asked Sophie.

  Gordy shook his head, even though his gaze hadn’t yet left Noah’s. Under any other circumstance, Noah would have had no intention of tattling, at least for now. But he was treading carefully around Sophie and wondered if withholding something she’d likely find important would sit well if she ever found out.

  “I’ll escort both of you home,” Noah announced, and to his surprise Sophie didn’t object. But she did walk in front of him, taking Gordy by the arm in just the way he hoped she would take his someday. Easily, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

  “You staying for dinner, Noah?” Gordy threw the tentative question over his shoulder.

  Noah knew his answer wouldn’t meet the boy’s full approval, as it might have only an hour ago—before learning a good talking-to was in store.

  The very same answer was likely received by Sophie with the same lack of welcome—he couldn’t see her face—but he offered a broad and confident smile anyway. “Sure am!”

  Chapter 4

  Sophie heard only two sounds: a faint rustle from the tall, browned grass on the prairie in the distance and the scratch of the pencil against her notepad. She’d had to walk some distance to get here this morning, but the sky was clear and a southern breeze comfortably warmed the air. She’d been eager to leave behind the noise and smells along the busy streets and so had left just after dawn lit her way.

  Mr. Allenby once told her real wildlife artists would use specimens from taxidermists whenever they could, or on their own might wire a small, dead animal in place to allow thorough study for recording each detail with minute precision. Other than the time Alice’s cat had delivered a dead bird to her, which her friend promptly offered to Sophie, Sophie had neither the wherewithal to kill nor the desire to carry through with such measures, even in the name of art or science.

  Back in Toledo she would often do what she did now. Sit quietly and study whatever God sent her way. She had to depend on her own observational skills, since most animals did not stay long to pose. But her initial drawings were always swift, and her memory was strong. She kept her drawings in her notebook, and whenever she saw a bird she’d already documented, she would check again to be sure she’d recorded it as accurately as a live bird would allow.

  With her mind as quiet as her surroundings, Sophie realized she’d accepted sooner than she expected this move away from Toledo. The prairie was lovely with its tall, swaying grasses. It would provide all kinds of new animals to draw, she was sure of it. She certainly missed Mr. Allenby—he was a good teacher, after all. But perhaps what she really missed was his promise to introduce her work to an important publisher.

  It still pained her to recall what Father had said when she’d protested leaving behind her opportunities and artistic aspirations. He’d claimed Mr. Allenby was nothing more than a friendly, harmless old man with no real idea how to get her drawings published. As fine as her drawings might be, there were plenty of others who would see their work published long before hers ever would be.

  She knew he hadn’t meant to be cruel; in his way, he might even have been trying to protect her from hoping for something he thought impossible. But as she reviewed the drawing she’d just finished, of a bird she couldn’t name, with a stark red streak fringed with a contrasting white along the top of its black wings, she knew her work was true to life. It was good enough to be published. Wasn’t it?

  “Sophie! Sophie!”

  Sophie stiffened at the call of her name coming from two different directions. There was no hill or canyon to make an echo. Who could be calling for her out here?

  She stood.

  “I’m here!”

  She saw her brother first from one direction then Noah from another, both trotting closer, and each out of breath, with considerable concern on their faces.

  “What’s the matter?” she demanded. “Is everyone all right? Mother? Father? Not trouble with Gordy?”

  Arthur exchanged a curious look with Noah before they both burst into laughter. “Everybody’s worried about you, you great big ninnyhammer,” he said, gently shoving her shoulder.

  “Why in the world would anybody worry about me? I told Mother where I was going.”

  “Yes, and she told Father, who told me when I came by for breakfast. I started the alarm. I fetched Noah immediately and wouldn’t let Gordy or even Father come along for fear of losing either one of them.”

  Clutching the notepad closer to her chest, Sophie cast a glance at Noah, who was still looking on with an annoyingly clear residue of concern. “I have no idea why you should have sounded such an alarm.”

  “The prairie’s a dangerous place, Sophie,” Noah said softly. “Even here, close to the city. It’s easy to get lost in the tall grasses, for one, not to mention the snakes and wolves.”

  Lifting her chin, Sop
hie started back home exactly the way she’d come. “Despite what you might think, I’m not a complete ninnyhammer.” She kept walking without looking back. “I’d know enough not to get myself lost, and as for wolves and snakes, the grasses are still a ways off, so there wasn’t much risk of that either.”

  Although she never looked back at either one of them, she felt their presence as clearly as if they’d been breathing down her neck.

  “What’s that you’re holding there, Sophie?” called Noah.

  She pretended not to hear him.

  “That’s her drawing book,” her brother answered. “Don’t you remember? I showed you some of the pictures she sent in letters.”

  “Oh sure,” Noah said. “You’re pretty good, Sophie. So what did you draw today?”

  Pretty good. He obviously shared the same tendency for meager praise her father possessed, at least when it came to her talent. What other words went with pretty good? Tolerable, passable, satisfactory. Each of those terms would hardly inspire an artist to greater effort.

  Unless … that was all the regard her talent deserved.

  She increased her pace, not speaking a word all the way back to the house, where Mother offered everyone a delayed breakfast.

  Sophie went straight to her room and didn’t emerge again until after Father, Arthur, and Noah left for their jobs.

  “So you think they’re pretty good, then?”

  Noah felt little compunction about having borrowed Sophie’s drawings from Arthur’s letters even though he hadn’t asked him. He watched Ezra Pooley’s lined face for any sign that he could be wrong, that his infatuation with Sophie had fooled him into thinking her drawings were good enough to interest others besides himself and Arthur, both of whom shared definite partiality toward the artist. Ezra was as honest as he was old, and Noah knew he could depend on him for an unbiased opinion.