Violet: Bride of North Dakota (American Mail-Order Bride 39)

by Heather Horrocks

  “It is just so sudden.”

  “Your coming to town was sudden. Your decision to become a mail-order bride was sudden.”

  Violet frowned. “I’m just not sure what I want anymore. When I first came here, I was thrilled to become James’s bride. But that’s changed, of course.”

  Amelia smiled. “But he came back. So he may be growing up.”

  “What about making Daniel jealous?”

  “Yes, about that. I think you going to the festival with James will certainly accomplish that end.” She cleared the table and poured them each a glass of warm cider. “I think you and Daniel make a striking couple. But I am certainly biased toward my brother.”

  “I am biased toward your brother, as well,” Violet confessed. Her heart starting to pound, she put her hand to her forehead. “I don’t believe I have ever been so confused.”

  “Then I do advise you to go to the festival with James. You can get more of a sense of whether you could see yourself as his wife, but if spending time with James makes Daniel come to his senses, perhaps you can still have Daniel. It’s a hard decision. I cannot make it for you.”

  Violet smiled ruefully. “Unfortunately, I don’t feel qualified to make it for me, either.”

  Amelia raised her mug of cider, and Violet clinked it.

  “To clarity.” Amelia smiled.

  “To people coming to their senses.”

  “To marriage.”

  They each sipped, and Violet thought: To love. And Daniel’s face flickered through her mind.

  I was remiss in not killing the fool earlier.

  (Journal entry, Daniel Lund, December 5, 1890)

  DANIEL BURNED AS WITH A FEVER. The brute had just touched her elbow! If it would not be unseemly to march over and punch James in the face in front of the entire town—in the church and at the Christmas festival, no less!—he would do it. But he could not do so in front of Violet, that sweet, innocent beauty who drove him wild.

  He’d thought he could help her find a husband—but if that were true, then he could let her marry James, her original groom.

  But James did not deserve her!

  Counting to ten slowly, oh, so slowly, he watched as James said something and Violet’s sweet laugh floated through the air to Daniel’s ears.

  Though the entire church was filled with townsfolk, Violet and James were all Daniel could see and hear.

  He would go mad this night! Balmy! Berserker!

  Amelia touched his hand. “They look well together, do they not?”

  “No, they do not.” He glared down at his sister. “They look to be the Beauty and the Beast.”

  “Ah, so you do read, after all. I thought perhaps you never paid attention in lessons.”

  “I paid enough attention to know that this is an abomination.” He motioned toward James and Violet.

  “Do you see a better alternative for her as husband?” Amelia asked sweetly.

  He paused. Yes! he wanted to scream. Yes! But he could hardly say that. He had fallen under the woman’s spell, but he still had no claim to her, nor would she want someone his age, someone so flawed as he. Despite the fact that he was falling in love with her.

  Her groom had returned and that had changed everything.

  His sister still stared up into his eyes.

  He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Amelia sighed and looked back at the abomination. “She is so pretty. And she has had many admirers tonight.”

  “May we please choose another topic of conversation?” He ground his teeth.

  “Of course. Women’s fashions, perhaps? See how Violet’s dress swirls about her fetchingly?”

  Shaking his head, he said, “I need something to eat.” And to drink, if he believed in such. This might be the day he started imbibing.

  “Before you go, brother, ask yourself this: Why do you not declare yourself to her? Let her make the choice.”

  He looked at Violet again. In her light blue dress, she glowed with loveliness. The dress did, indeed, flow about her fetchingly.

  He wanted her! He wanted her so much!

  Turning, he made his way to the food table and loaded up. If he kept himself eating, perhaps he wouldn’t kill anyone this day.

  He could not declare himself to another man’s bride, either. He would not.

  I have been told by the ladies in Minot that I am pleasing to the eye.

  (From letter by James Evans to Violet Keating mailed September 29, 1890)

  Despite the warmth in church, when the door opened and more townsfolk entered, Violet shivered with the breeze. The Christmas festival had begun at Saturday noon, and the sun was high in the sky. It was a day that looked as though it should be warm—but the air belied that. It was cold.

  James brought her hot chocolate.

  Gratefully, she wrapped her hands around the warm mug. “Thank you.”

  He sipped his own drink, which did not look to be cocoa, but alcohol of some type. “After we warm ourselves with our drinks, would you like to stroll about with me?”

  “Is it not too crowded to stroll in the church?”

  “Would you join me for a stroll around the church grounds, then? That would give us a few minutes of time by ourselves. We will be in full view of the entire town, if they just look out the windows or door.”

  Unsure, finally she said, “All right. For a few minutes.”

  She sipped slowly, but soon her chocolate was done.

  Around her, her neighbors were laughing, a fiddler played tunes, and others dancing. There were tables laden with food along the far wall. People wore their Sunday best. Apparently, this would be the last celebration before the community was snowed in, and everyone was determined to have fun.

  She caught sight of Daniel, who was hunched over a plate of food, his eyes intent on the plate. Everyone was having fun except Daniel. Her heart tightened. If only James hadn’t come back to town!

  James set both their mugs on the table and tucked her hand in his elbow. “Let me get your coat.”

  After they had bundled up for the cold, he held the door open for her. As they walked around the perimeter of the churchyard, James pointed out the flowers planted there and talked about the history of the building. As they reached a fence, he said, “I have something to show you.”

  She followed him through a small gate into the gardens behind. The plants there looked as you would expect plants in November to do—ready to hibernate until spring.

  “My mother planted this rosebush,” he said, pointing to a large bush along the fence, bare of flowers now. “Its blooms are a vivid red with a white stripe. Quite spectacular.”

  “It does sound beautiful. I look forward to seeing them next spring.”

  “I wish I had some to give you right now.”

  Violet could feel herself blushing.

  James seemed to be a thoughtful man. He was doing everything right. Well, except for leaving her at the train station. But since he’d come back to town, he’d been trying to woo her properly.

  He was handsome, really almost pretty, as Daniel had called him. It would be easy to wake up to a sight like his face, and they would have delightful-looking children.

  James stopped and turned to her, still holding her hand in the crook of his elbow, bringing their faces close. Looking serious, he said, “Violet, you are so beautiful. I very much want to make you my bride.”

  She couldn’t help but see Daniel’s face before her—the face of the man she was growing to love. The face of the man who hesitated to pursue her. The face of the man who was staring at his food right now—instead of coming after her.

  She couldn’t help thinking of the saying, A bird in the hand is better than three in the wood. James was asking her to marry him. Daniel was not. And a man who was ready to marry her was worth three who might never decide to pursue her.

  She didn’t know whom she was going to choose. She only knew she had to talk to Daniel once more, before she made her decision. To see if she could mo
ve him toward a declaration.

  Daniel had stood by tonight. If she refused James, would Daniel call on her? She knew he cared.

  “Well?” James asked, softly. “What do you say?”

  I have never seen Daniel so upset about anything as he was tonight at the sight of Violet and James together. He is smitten, but now that James is back in the picture, he is too honorable to act. They are meant for each other—and he is going to let his chance pass him by. Violet will end up marrying James Evans, and that will be a shame.”

  (Journal Entry, Amelia Halvorson, December 5, 1890)

  Tormented, Daniel set down his plate of food. It had tasted like sawdust in his mouth, but he had eaten it anyway. Trying to stuff down his despair at the thought of losing Violet, the first woman who had made him feel alive in a decade.

  And here he sat, stuffing his face, while James Evans danced with her and sweet-talked her and proposed marriage—the same marriage he’d been too afraid to have on the day she’d arrived.

  Amelia’s words came to him again—Why do you not declare yourself to her? Let her make the choice.

  Did he have the right to make his intentions clear? Now that James had returned? Clearly Amelia did not think it made any difference. And Violet had been so upset yesterday after James had reappeared, like a snake from under a rock.

  What if Violet preferred Daniel? What if he was letting her down by not speaking up for her? What if she would accept James’s proposal of marriage by default, simply because Daniel had not had the courage to speak up?

  That stirred him to action—but he couldn’t act for himself. He did not feel worthy to declare himself to her and ask for her hand. She didn’t know him that well yet, but he wasn’t going to let James slink back into town and steal her away. If she married another man, there were indeed better men in town than James.

  Dear Violet,

  I received your letter and must say you made it sound like your life is now all peaches and cream—but why am I getting the feeling it might not be so? Mayhap you’re having troubles as I am, with your fella. Rand was furious when he learned I am a Scotswoman. You all were right—I couldn’t hide my brogue. I lost my temper. And now, though I am married to Rand—this is so hard to say, but I have to tell someone. I have a confession to make. My marriage to Rand is in name only—it has not yet been consummated. He is angry still that I deceived him. Secrets are dangerous, love. Avoid them at all costs. And, to make matters worse, I have lost my wedding ring. Do ye reckon you can write back and tell me the truth of your own situation? It will mayhap make me feel better about my own.

  (Letter from Darby McClintock, written November 26, 1890, and received December 5, 1890)

  Violet looked into James’s eyes. He was still waiting for her response. Violet paused, still confused, and shivered in the cold breeze. “I do have some reservations still.”

  “I know I acted poorly, but I have apologized. Surely that must count for something.”

  “Of course it does. But it counts more heavily on the negative side that you left me to fend for myself.”

  “I know.” He sighed and looked away into the distance. “I hope you will find it within your heart to forgive me soon for that, dear Violet.”

  “If you will just give me a little more time. I am very confused right now.”

  “Is there another man?”

  Surprised, she looked into his eyes and chose her words carefully. “When you were not at the train station to retrieve me, I would have been destitute. A kind family took me in, for which I will always be grateful.”

  “But is there another man?” he repeated.

  She hesitated, and then said, “I have developed some feelings for a man, I will admit. But I do not fully understand the nature of those feelings. Perhaps it is just friendship.”

  “Who is the man?” he demanded.

  “I will not say. I do not even know if my feelings are just gratitude or the stirrings of love. But I feel I owe it to this man to talk to him about my feelings before I accept your proposal.”

  “I paid for your ticket. You owe me. You are my bride.”

  He gripped her arm painfully, and she tugged back. He held her tight.

  For the first time, fear coiled through her like smoke. “You are hurting me, Mr. Evans. Please release me at once.”

  James shook his head. “No. I will not let you go talk to another man. You are my bride. And you will be my wife.”

  And with those words, he slung her over his shoulder like a bag of potatoes, and strode through the small gate and toward the wagons.

  She beat on his shoulders, but he kept walking. She pushed up to see that there were only a few people outside—and none of them were looking at her. One man glanced at her, but then immediately away, heading for the church.

  The wind had picked up and would carry away the sound of her voice, but she called out anyway. Still, no one looked up.

  And then she found herself dumped unceremoniously into a carriage, one with doors with large, open windows that began to move even as she struggled to her feet. By the time she stood, the carriage was moving rapidly enough she dared not jump out.

  But she dared not stay in the carriage, either.

  I had hoped to win the hand of the fair Miss Keating, but accepted that I had lost when I saw that Mr. Evans had her slung over his shoulder. Apparently she is to be his bride, after all.

  (Journal Entry, Gregor Koch, December 5, 1890)

  DANIEL SEARCHED THE CHURCH FOR Violet’s face. Where before he had seen no one but her, now he couldn’t catch sight of her.

  Alicia Taylor sidled up to him. “Thank you, Daniel, for helping set up all the tables before.”

  Sweet little Alicia would have agreed to marry Daniel in an instant—if he’d ever asked. But she had never enticed him, so he’d been careful to be friendly but give her no reason to think he wanted a deeper relationship. “You’re welcome.”

  “I saved you some pie,” she said.

  “Thank you. That’s very thoughtful of you.” He took the plate of pumpkin pie with a nod and turned back to study the crowd.

  Still he didn’t see Violet. Or James, either.

  “Who are you searching for?” she asked.

  He would not hurt Alicia with Violet’s name, so instead he said, “James Evans.”

  Behind him, a man’s voice said, “I saw him five minutes ago. He flung his woman over his shoulder and tossed her in his wagon and took off.” Daniel turned to find Gregor Koch, who shrugged. “We both lost.”

  “His woman?”

  “The redhead. His mail-order bride.”

  “She’s not his woman,” Daniel growled.

  The man shrugged. “‘Tis semantics. He flung a woman over his shoulder, tossed her in his carriage, and drove away with her.”

  “And you didn’t stop him?”

  Gregor shrugged again. “I lost out. So did you. He’s the winner. Can’t fight that.”

  Panic nipped at Daniel. “Do you know where he was going?”

  The other man shook his head. “Only know he was headed on the road back toward the old mill, but he could have gone anywhere from there.”

  Daniel set down the uneaten piece of pie, retrieved his coat, and strode outside, determined to find her and bring her back.

  Daniel was going to rescue her—and if James had hurt even one hair of Violet’s head, he was a dead man!

  And when I know what I want, I go after it with all I have, and will not be denied.

  (From a letter from James Evans to Violet Keating dated October 8, 1890)

  In the back of the carriage, Violet was jostled and thrown from side to side. If they went over a bad bump, James would call back over his shoulder, “I’m sorry!” but he didn’t slow down.

  It seemed that if he were truly sorry, he would stop this stupid vehicle.

  What was he thinking? What was he going to do to her?

  When she’d first answered his ad, as she waited for his answe
r, as she rode the train for four days, as she pulled up to the station—she’d been thrilled at the thought of being his wife, his new bride that he was going to whisk away to the pastor’s house and then take to the home he’d been making pretty just for her.

  Where was that man? He hadn’t shown up at the train station—and he wasn’t here now. And she didn’t know who the real James was. But she knew he had crossed a line—and she was terrified of what he planned to do to her.

  She pulled herself to the side of the carriage and peered over the edge, holding tight to keep herself from falling back down. The trees flew by so fast that she knew she still didn’t dare jump out. But the horses couldn’t keep going this fast. They were huffing and puffing and would have to stop soon—or die. Surely he wouldn’t kill his horses. And when they began to slow down, she would jump out of this carriage. She was not going to die this night. She would put up a fight.

  And she would not become the wife of a man who thought he had the right to kidnap her.

  The horses slackened their pace, and her fingers were tightly clenched around the top of the edge. A little more, she sent in a mental plea to the horses. Slow down just a little more.

  And they did. Just a little more. Just enough.

  And then she saw a cabin, set against the trees—secluded and frightening.

  And she jumped.

  I have never been so afraid in all my life as when the woman I have grown to love was in danger. I would have given my life to keep her safe!

  (Journal Entry, Daniel Lund, December 5, 1890)

  Daniel spurred his horse. He could not know for sure where James had been headed—but he knew of the cabin the Evans family had purchased a year ago. It must be the place where he intended to bring his new bride.

  James had taken Violet in that direction, and Daniel thought he would find them there.