by Gina Welborn
If they moved to Montana.
She clasped her hands together to contain the shaking. Took several deep breaths. She had to regain control. She had to be calm. She had to find a way to solve this problem. She would find a way. She always found a way. If she—
“Emilia, I know what you are doing.” Da’s Polish accent sounded like he’d immigrated to America recently instead of twenty-six years ago.
She stared at him. What was he talking about?
“You think you will find a way to solve this.” He frowned. “Stop! We are doing it my way this time.” Da motioned to the table, where Luci was placing bowls of stew. “We eat.”
His way? Emilia found her seat next to Luci. Something odd had come over her father. His face held more color than she’d seen in months, and his shoulders seemed straighter. And he wasn’t coughing. Though his clothes hung on his lithe frame, Da looked like he had renewed purpose, determination. A plan. How could this be? Da believed in living in the here and now, not dreaming of the future—an odd belief considering the years he’d fought in the War Between the States to prove his loyalty to his new country.
They bowed their heads.
Emilia stared absently at her lap as her father asked for the blessing. If Da were well enough to travel, they could leave for Montana sooner. All they needed was—
“Amen,” Emilia blurted the moment the prayer ended. “I will write to Finn, explain the situation, and—”
Da groaned, then looked up. “This I did already.”
“What?”
“Keep your voice down.” His voice lowered. “The walls have ears.”
Emilia fingered her spoon but didn’t pick it up. “When did you do this?”
“Two months ago, after Deegan made the first demand.” He took a bite of stew and then another. “Eat.” The moment she obeyed, he spoke barely loud enough for her to hear. “Finn has agreed to marry you by proxy.”
She collapsed against the back of her chair. “What?”
Luci grabbed the loaf of rye bread. “It means he marries a girl who is pretending to be you, and then, when you arrive in Helena, you’ll already be his wife. He must really love you to agree to a proxy.” She tore off a chunk, then handed the loaf to Da. “Right?”
“My girl listens well.” He broke off a section of bread, then gave the remainder to Emilia, his brown eyes narrowing on her. “Listening is as much a virtue as persistence.”
Emilia straightened. She listened quite well, despite what he thought. She ate several bites of the bland, meatless stew and the hard bread to keep from blurting out the myriad of questions flooding her mind. Once she had all the information Da was withholding, she’d be able to figure out what to do next. No one could make a plan like she could. No one could solve a problem like she could.
His bowl empty, Da left the table. He slid a box out from under the couch. He withdrew a buff-colored, paper-sized envelope, then walked back to the table.
Da sat next to Emilia, in Roch’s empty chair. He spoke in a hushed tone. “This is a power of attorney granting a woman named Yancey Palmer permission to stand in for you as Finn’s proxy bride. Monday morning you will take it to a notary, who will watch you sign.” He handed her the envelope. “Keep it safe because you must file it once you reach Helena to make the marriage official. Usually, it must be in the judge’s hands before he will agree to perform the proxy, but we don’t have time to mail it, and Finn has arranged for the judge to act based on our word that it has been signed.”
Emilia stared at her father, overwhelmed at the news.
“After it is notarized,” Da continued, “you will then meet us at Dearborn Station. Once the judge in Helena telegrams that the marriage has taken place, you, Roch, and Luci will buy train fare to St. Paul, and then on to Helena. I will move into the Old Soldiers’ Home. I will take odd jobs over the next three months to earn my train fare.”
“No, our plan has always been—”
“Listen!” Da barked in a tone he usually reserved for Roch. “The plan has to change.”
Emilia squirmed as she sat under his chilling gaze. She didn’t like this change. Da needed to trust her to do what she did best: find a solution and make it work. She had found Finn’s mail-order bride advertisement. She had convinced Da to move to Montana. She had taken the extra job. She had even figured out a timeline for leaving that accounted for Da’s health and Roch and Luci’s school schedule. Changing plans based on a frantic response to a crisis wasn’t wise.
Luci moved around the small table and crawled onto Da’s lap, laying her head against his chest. By the look on her face, Emilia knew her sister was close to tears.
Da kissed the top of Luci’s head. “We have to be practical, Emme. You don’t have enough to pay my fare, too.”
“I’ll buy tickets for the emigrant car.” Better to have her father with them, even if it meant the unpleasant prospect of riding in an open train car for three days.
“You know my lungs can’t—”
“But ours can! You can stay in second class.”
“There isn’t enough money for us all. You need money for food. You have to pay the lawyer for the power of attorney.”
Luci broke into tears. Da held her tight.
“Please, Da.” Emilia leaned forward, stretching her hands out to grip his arm. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be. “We have to stay together. I can find a way to buy us all tickets. Give me time.”
He shook his head. “There’s no time left.”
The front door opened. Roch, his face red and chest heaving, dark hair tussled by the wind, stepped inside. He closed the door. “I returned her books.”
Emilia straightened in her chair. Why were they making plans and not including her in decisions? She glanced between her father and brother. “What books?”
Roch shrugged off his woolen coat. “The library ones.”
“I wasn’t finished researching—”
“Shh,” said Da and Luci in unison.
“Someone had to,” Roch groused, “so you have nothing to keep you here.”
“And I bet you happily volunteered to take them,” Emilia snapped.
“If it gets you outta here quicker . . .” He shrugged. “Good riddance, I say.”
His hateful words ripped into Emilia’s heart. She held his gaze, waiting for a flicker of remorse, waiting for some sign he didn’t mean what he’d said. Something in the last year had caused him to hate her, but once they were all in Montana and life was good again, he would appreciate what she’d sacrificed for him to have a better life. He would remember he loved her.
Roch tossed his coat onto a wall hook, then headed to the stove. “I’m starving.”
Emilia stared at her brother. His words—if it gets you outta here quicker—resonated in her mind.
She gave Da a questioning look. “Doesn’t he know he’s—”
Da shook his head, cutting off the rest of her question. “You have to trust me, even with what doesn’t make sense.”
Luci managed a smile. Weak though it was, it seemed to say, it will all work out, Emilia; just trust Da.
Emilia clenched her hands together, lips pursed tight. Too much of his plan didn’t make sense. Roch would not get on the train without Da. She knew it. Da knew it. This new plan was destined to fail, at Dearborn Station to be precise, and then where would they be? Stuck in Chicago for another year, maybe longer? Or, worse, their family divided and living three states apart? Da’s lungs couldn’t take another year of working in the cotton mill. The family was stronger when they stayed together. She had to find another solution.
Roch filled a bowl with the last of the stew. He sat in Da’s usual seat and began eating.
Da patted Roch’s back. Then his knowing gaze settled on Emilia. “Emme, if you can’t trust your father, whom you can see, to do what’s best for you, how can you trust God, whom you can’t see?”
How dare he—!
Emilia snatched the envelope and walk
ed to her bedroom without another word. Da’s question was a slap in the face. This had nothing to do with God or her faith or even trust; it was about doing whatever was necessary to keep their family together.
She’d lost Mama.
She wasn’t about to lose another person she loved.
Chapter Two
Circle C Ranch, Montana Territory
Saturday, 5:43 P.M.
He was running out of time.
Finn Collins scratched his chin, his black winter beard hot and itchy. If only he could relieve the prickle in his soul as easily. He laid the yellow telegram announcing Emilia’s imminent arrival on the kitchen table, hoping the added weight wouldn’t be the proverbial straw to break the rickety legs. “Thanks for comin’ all the way out here to deliver this telegram, Miss Palmer, but it wasn’t necessary. I could have picked it up myself next time I was in town.”
Yancey Palmer grinned and scolded him with a glance. “Seeing as how I’m about to marry you, you can call me Yancey.”
The joke was getting old. Two months ago, when Emilia’s father first proposed the proxy marriage, Finn had asked Yancey if she’d be willing to secretly stand in as his bride. Though she’d kept the news quiet, every time she’d seen him at church, she’d wanted to pretend they had more of a friendship than they did. Because she was doing him a favor, he’d put up with it.
He winced when Yancey took off her leather gloves and added their weight to the table. It wobbled, and he grabbed the edge to keep it steady. He needed Yancey out of his house and fast, but she looked to be settling in for a cozy chat.
She took in the kitchen and the rest of his log cabin in one sweeping look. A small kitchen melded into a small sitting area, where a pine ladder led to a small bedroom loft.
Nose wrinkled, Yancey sniffed the air. “What’s that smell?” Without waiting for him to answer, she took two steps to the cast-iron stove and, after grabbing a stained towel, lifted the lid from the pot. A wooden spoon lay on the countertop. She picked it up, stirred the beans, and took a small taste. “Awful. Where’s your salt?” She reached over to open the yellow cupboard door nearest the stove.
He raced to block her from opening the next one. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Yancey jerked her hand away from the handle and spun to face him. “Really, Finn, I’m just looking for salt. Must you yell?”
If it would keep her out of his business, he’d not only yell, he’d pick her up and toss her out the door. The brown of her suit would match the dirt outside, so it wouldn’t even damage the wool. He took a deep breath to calm his galloping pulse. “Sorry, but proxy bride privileges don’t extend to rummaging through my kitchen.” He opened the cupboard with the salt and handed it to her.
She raised her blond eyebrows, her blue eyes twinkling. “May I? I wouldn’t want to be accused of seasoning your beans uninvited.”
Her saucy humor broke some of the tension in his chest. “Because you asked so nicely, of course.”
Finn peered across the cramped room at the clock over his rock fireplace. In two more minutes, three at the most, he needed to be out the door, disguise in hand, to meet Madame Lestraude’s new girls. Madame was already upset with him. He couldn’t afford to make her unhappy by missing the rendezvous point. She might demand her four hundred dollars back, at which point his ranch would shrivel and die.
The brutal winter blizzards had left thousands upon thousands of cattle all across Montana dead. For weeks on end, he’d worked with fellow ranchers to clear their swollen bodies from creek beds, hollows, and anywhere else the landscape was littered with their carcasses. His twelve remaining cattle were emaciated things hardly worth nursing back to health. But they were all he had left of his dream to run the finest ranch in Helena. A dream so close to death he was choking on the decay.
Madame Lestraude’s money had already been spent on alfalfa, fencing, a plow, and some new cattle. Though no one expected another hard winter like this last one, Finn wasn’t taking any chances. Never again would he be caught unprepared.
At least not by weather. Yancey Palmer was another matter.
Tapping his toes inside his boots, Finn waited while she salted his beans, tasted, added more salt, tasted again, and repeated the process twice more before replacing the lid. He didn’t want to raise her suspicions by asking her to leave—plus, being rude to a woman you needed to help you reach your dreams wasn’t wise—but he needed her gone. Now!
“Much better.” She looked around the room. “You could use some nice yellow curtains and a colorful rag rug.”
Finn checked the clock again, irritation rising at her dillydallying. “Don’t you think I should leave decorating to my actual bride, as opposed to the proxy one?”
She snickered. “Maybe, but it might make the actual bride—as opposed to the proxy one—feel welcome.” She cast another critical look around the room.
Would the woman never leave? Finn stuffed his hands inside his jeans pockets and squeezed them into fists. He was out of time. If she took offense and decided not to stand in for Emilia at the proxy wedding, he’d find someone else. He’d have to. “Sorry. I have someplace I need to be and I’m already running late.”
Yancey cocked her head, studying him for a moment, then raised her eyes to the ceiling and shook her head. “Honestly, Finn. Stop being so secretive. I understand why you wanted to keep your mail-order bride and wedding hush-hush in case things went sour, but there’s no reason to hide how you need to be somewhere.”
The reason she thought he wanted to keep his mail-order bride a secret was far from being true, but he didn’t disabuse her. She was leaving. That was all that mattered.
“Who are you meeting? Is it Hale?” Her eyes lit up and her voice went airy. “Is he going to be your best man?”
“Can I give you a bit of advice, Miss Palmer?” Finn pulled one hand from his pocket and tugged at the neckline of his green plaid shirt. “Stop chasing Hale Adams. You’re never going to catch him.”
Yancey gave him the exact shrug he’d seen her give his best friend, Mac—who was not only the county sheriff but a close friend of Hale’s—when he’d offered the same advice. How a woman said, That’s what you think, with the lift of her shoulders was a mystery. But pretty much everything women did was a mystery to him.
Yancey picked her gloves off the shuddering table. “What time do you want me to meet you at City Hall?”
Thank heaven she was still planning to help him! Finn walked to the door and held it open for her. “I imagine it will be somewhere around ten or eleven on Monday morning. Will you be working in the telegraph office then?”
“Of course.” She tugged the end of her glove and came toward him. “Do you think the ceremony will take much longer than fifteen minutes?”
He shook his head. The less he said, the faster she would leave.
“Then I’m sure my father will be able to take my place for a bit.”
They walked outside into the sunshine. Finn inhaled. The house, though solidly built, was too small, the walls too close together. The feeling too much like prison had been.
When they got to where Yancey’s horse was tied against a tree, Finn leaned down and cupped his hands to help her mount. She stepped into them with a little more force than necessary. Maybe his warning about Hale hadn’t been shrugged off after all.
She swung into the sidesaddle and adjusted her skirts. “Until Monday, Finn.”
“Until Monday, Miss Palmer.” He untied the horse and handed her the reins.
She slapped the leather strips and rode out so fast her straw hat fell back and her blond hair whipped in the wind.
Finn rubbed at his beard as he watched her ride out. The moment she disappeared, he raced back to the house, grabbed his greasepaint and bandanna, and ran for the barn. He prayed he wasn’t too late. If he missed getting those girls, Madame Lestraude was going to kill him.
Chicago
Monday, 8:16 A.M.
Emilia tappe
d her fingers on the office chair’s wooden armrests. Nipped at her bottom lip. Tapped her heels against the wooden floor. What would warrant Mr. Spiegel’s insistence that she wait here in his office to talk while he spoke to his father? Notify them she was quitting, turn in her uniform, and leave the building—that was the plan Da had agreed to if she was going to do this his way. Spiegel first, notary second, then meet at Dearborn Station by ten to telegram Finn that the power of attorney was signed so the proxy marriage could commence. She smoothed the pink fabric of her skirt. Tugged on the cuffed sleeves.
The wall clock ticked.
She glanced around Mr. Spiegel’s empty-save-for-her office. What was taking him so long? They didn’t owe her any back pay. She owed them nothing. More than one salesgirl had up and quit, leaving the others to work her shift. Emilia wasn’t a salesgirl, though. The customer service manager before her had spent a week training her before he moved on to managing the warehouse. She couldn’t stay here another week. Or another day.
She gripped the haversack’s leather shoulder strap across the bodice of her Sunday dress, drawing what comfort she could from it. After three years serving in the U. S. Calvary, Da had earned the promotion of being courier. Not a bullet or cinder had scarred the leather bag while he’d carried it. It had survived a war. Da had survived a war. He’d honored his commitment in the face of death and had not run. Nor would she run. Ever.
Emilia Stanek soon-to-be Collins did not run from a battle.
But she was running. Fleeing Chicago and their landlord’s greed. Emilia shifted in the chair. Da said they had no choice. Deegan could keep their month’s rent and everything in the tenement, save for their clothes and a few personal items. He could sell what they’d left behind, find new renters tomorrow. What he believed was their debt to him would be settled. It would all work out. She could trust Da to know what was best for his children.
