by Gina Welborn
She could. Would.
She gripped her bag close. Her heels tapped against the floor. She worried her bottom lip. Despite the cool breeze through the partially open window, perspiration beaded at her temples. Maybe she should remove her black straw bonnet, but that would imply she was willing to stay for a while. She needed to leave. Good gracious, this was taking too long.
The minutes passed.
And passed.
The clock ticked.
And ticked.
The door opened. “And bring me the working samples of next month’s advertisements,” the voice behind her said. “We need to begin the summer with an explosion, metaphorically speaking.”
Emilia looked over her shoulder. Mr. Spiegel closed the door with his foot, his pudgy hands holding two steaming mugs, a folder under one arm.
He handed her a mug. “Sorry for the delay.” He moved around his cluttered desk and tossed the file in the clearing between mounds of papers and what looked to be past-edition catalogs. His metal chair squeaked yet held his bulk. “Dad and I have given your resignation some thought and we’ve decided not to accept. We need you to continue managing our customer service department.”
Emilia blinked. “But—but—”
He waved her to silence. “Relax, Miss Stanek. I have an offer for you.” He sipped from his mug, then motioned for her to do the same.
Emilia pretended to drink the bitter brew. How anyone could enjoy coffee was beyond her. After a pretend swallow, she forced a grin. “I am not interested.”
He set down his mug. “Don’t rush to judgment. I’ve reviewed your employee file. In the thirty-one months you’ve been working for Spiegel, you’ve arrived at work every day a minimum of five minutes early, never missed a day due to illness, your cash drawer has never come up short, and you have received one hundred and eight letters of praise from customers.” He leaned forward, his gray-eyed gaze intent on hers. “We receive complaints all the time. You are the only employee to ever earn such a plethora of compliments. Our business grows because customers like you.”
“Thank you.” Emilia stared into her coffee mug. Her cheeks warmed at his commendation. Knowing she’d put in an honorable day’s work was all the praise she needed. She couldn’t help glancing again at the Bavarian cuckoo clock on the side wall. Almost nine. She needed to leave. She took another pretend sip of coffee, then looked around for somewhere to put the mug. No empty space.
“Spiegel needs you,” Mr. Spiegel continued. “It’s why we are willing to increase your pay an additional twenty cents a day.”
Emilia nodded in gratitude. “I appreciate your generosity, sir. I have been honored to work for Spiegel, but—”
“Fifty cents.”
She stared at him. Hard. Was he serious? They would pay her a dollar plus fifty cents a day? At that rate she could save enough for Da’s train fare in one month instead of three. But if they stayed, they would have to pay Deegan. Finn—her dear, precious Finn, who had done the work to secure a proxy marriage—was expecting her. She’d give anything to see Finn in person. To hear him finally profess his love. To touch his cheek. To hold his hand. Leaving her father for three months—could she? What was she to do?
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? Da’s words scraped at her conscience.
The power of attorney weighed down her bag.
She knew what Da would say: It’s time to start your future in Helena.
Finn would agree.
She released a weary breath. “Thank you, sir, but I have accepted the marriage proposal of a wonderful man in Montana.” She stood. Shook his hand. Gave him her still-full mug. “It’s been my honor to work for Spiegel. I wish the company all my best.”
He offered a crooked grin. “Two dollars a day?”
That would make her one of the highest-paid employees, yet somehow it wasn’t a temptation. This was not her lot in life.
She shook her head. “Good-bye, Mr. Spiegel.”
Emilia was at the door when he called out, “Things in Montana may not be what you expect. If things don’t work out, you always have a job at Spiegel.”
She looked over her shoulder. “I know what I will find there, sir.” She grinned. “It’ll all work out.”
Dearborn Station
Emilia rechecked her haversack’s front latch to ensure it was buckled and the contents—signed power of attorney, telegrams and letters from Finn, money for meals, pencil, fountain pen, and her three journals—were safe. Her heart thumped against her chest. Never had she felt so small, so out of sorts. Even the busiest day at Spiegel had nowhere near the hundreds and hundreds of travelers and workers in Chicago’s newest and most charming (according to the Tribune) station. She didn’t see anything charming about it.
The marble floor bespoke an opulence unfitting for the Chicago she knew. Baggage handlers yelled. Customers bickered at the ticket counters. Harried travelers pushed through the crowds. Newsstands beckoned with papers from across the country. From other states. From other towns. From places Emilia had only read about. Because she’d never stepped outside the Chicago city limits before. She’d never ridden anything more than a cable car.
When she moved to Montana, she’d have to ride a horse. A horse!
Her mouth went dry. Beads of sweat trickled down her temple. I’m not doing this alone. You are with me, Lord, and You will keep us safe—this I know. She struggled for breath. “It will be all right . . .” she muttered because she needed to hear the words. She needed the encouragement and the reminder. With any luck, she’d soon feel what she knew.
Emilia stopped to give a man pushing a luggage cart room to pass. Ahead of her, Luci carried a basket of fruit. Da, dressed in his only suit, held Luci’s other hand and their tickets. Roch carried two carpetbags filled with what little clothing they had and the family Bible. For one with only a year’s schooling left, he was pretty dense not to realize the bags contained far more than what belonged to Emilia. Perhaps his exuberance to be rid of her clouded his thinking.
She released a nervous chuckle, yet her pulse continued to throb with each step she took closer to the boarding platform. Her stomach churned. She gripped the leather strap across her chest. She was choosing to trust Da. She should feel peace and calm, not as if she was about to lose what little lunch she’d eaten.
She wiped her moist forehead, then glanced around for Mr. Deegan, despite having no reason to be suspicious.
“Emilia, this way!” Da called out, waving at her.
She dashed over. Together they walked through an arched German Romanesque entrance, as elaborate as all the other moldings and pillars, the crowd worse than frantic shoppers at a sale. After maneuvering through the station, they made their way to the next train leaving for St. Paul. First-class passengers were already boarding when they arrived.
“Boarding for St. Paul!” the conductor bellowed.
Da released Luci’s hand. She moved next to Emilia and gripped her sleeve.
Da rested both hands behind Roch’s neck. “Son, I need—” He stared at him for a long moment. Then he cleared his throat. “I need you to take care of your sisters for me until I can join you.”
Roch’s eyes widened. “No,” he said, dropping the bags. The more he struggled to get free, the tighter Da held him.
“Stop, Roch.”
Roch’s forehead rested against Da’s chest. “I won’t leave you.”
Da met Emilia’s gaze. Tears welled in his eyes. “Being a man means sacrificing yourself for the good of your family.” He looked at Roch. “Your choice is to stay here and keep running with these boys you think are tough, or you can do the tough thing and give up what you want in order to protect your sisters.”
“Emilia has Finn. She doesn’t need me.”
Emilia flinched. She opened her mouth to respond, but Da spoke first.
“Oh, Roch.” He sighed. “The world is a dangerous p
lace. That Emilia now has Finn doesn’t mean she doesn’t need you, too. That Luci has Finn doesn’t mean she doesn’t need you. A father’s job is to look out for his girls no matter where they are.” Da stepped back and looked Roch in the eye. “Can I entrust this responsibility to you?”
Roch didn’t move.
Luci gripped Emilia’s hand. Emilia held tight.
Roch stared at the ground. His chin trembled. He sniffed, then nodded.
Da pulled the tickets out of his suit pocket. “Here.”
Roch held the tickets tight.
Luci dashed into Da’s open arms. Whatever he said to her, Emilia didn’t hear, not over the noise of the train and her own heartbeat. After several minutes, Da released Luci. She stepped to Roch, who immediately gripped her hand.
Emilia didn’t move.
Da stood there, staring at her, waiting, as if he knew she needed a moment to accept the finality of his plan. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. They were supposed to leave Chicago together. They were to step on the train full of joy and hope and anticipation. Emilia felt no joy, no hope, no anticipation. How could she?
She couldn’t leave without him.
“Trust me, Emme.”
Emilia struggled for breath. Her throat tightened, ached. This was not why she’d taken a Saturday shift. This was not why she’d sacrificed nine months working instead of spending time with Roch and Luci. She’d worked so hard, gotten so close, and now she had to trust someone else’s plan.
Trust meant taking a step forward. In faith.
Hot tears streamed down her cheeks. She could trust God and Da—her heart told her so. Her mind did, too. She could trust the agony on Da’s face. He would not choose to endure such pain without believing that sending them ahead without him was the best thing for them all. Emilia squeezed her eyes closed, ridding them of more tears.
She looked at Da. Pursed her lips and shifted her jaw as she fought for control of her emotions. “It will only be three months, right?”
He nodded, and she stepped into his embrace. Da held tight. She held tighter.
The train whistled.
Da kissed her forehead. With the pads of his thumbs, he wiped away her tears. “Let Roch help.”
Emilia drew in a deep breath. She nodded. “I love you.”
“I love—” His voice cracked. He rested her palm against his cheek, then placed a kiss in the center. “Three months.”
“Three months,” Emilia repeated.
The train whistled again.
“We’ve gotta go,” Roch said.
Emilia looked over her shoulder. With one carpetbag under his arm, Roch gripped the second with one hand and Luci with his other, walking to the boarding ramp and the second-class porter motioning them forward. Roch was right; they had to go. Finn was waiting. Their new life was waiting.
Emilia stepped out of Da’s hold and, without looking back, ran after them.
Chapter Three
Wednesday morning, 9:23 A.M.
“Next stop—Helena!”
The porter’s call interrupted Emilia’s discourse to Luci on what Finn had shared in his letters. As the train slowed, the porter strolled down the aisle, clearly at ease with the jerky motion of the car. Passengers in the three-quarter-filled car put away their papers and craned their necks to look out the windows. Like Emilia, they all seemed anxious to get off the train for more than a fifteen-minute stop.
Emilia laid the hairbrush in the lap of her pink skirt, then divided Luci’s dark tresses into three strands. As her sister bit into their last apple, she began the braid. “You’ll love Finn’s cabin. He built it himself from trees he chopped off his land. It’s two stories tall and has a hand-carved mantel. We can roast chestnuts in the hearth like we used to when Mama was alive. You and Roch can have your own rooms. Finn has two goats, a henhouse with five chickens, and—”
“We don’t know anything about chickens,” Luci interjected.
“—a garden we can help cultivate.”
Luci yawned.
“Stop,” Emilia warned. “You’re going to make me—” She raised her hand to her mouth just in time to cover her yawn. “See, I told you.”
Luci didn’t look the least bit ashamed of having yawned. Her brow furrowed. “Emme, we don’t know anything about milking goats or cultivating gardens.”
The older couple on the bench behind them snickered.
Ignoring the pair, Emilia pulled the braid tight. “If Finn can’t teach us, I am sure the library will have a book on the subject.” She took the ribbon Luci offered and tied it around the braid’s end, releasing it to hang to the middle of Luci’s back. “The Farmers’ Almanac is a wealth of information. We just have to learn when the first and last frost is. Gardening doesn’t seem difficult. Nor cattle ranching or animal birthing, which I will probably have to learn, being a rancher’s wife and all.”
Luci looked over her shoulder, her droopy eyes red from lack of sleep. “Are you nervous?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Da says you talk a lot when you’re nervous.”
Emilia opened her mouth to defend herself. She was meeting her husband for the first time. She was excited, not nervous.
“It’s all right.” Luci yawned again, then blinked rapidly, the action doing nothing to lessen how tired she looked. “I’m nervous, too.”
“Did you sleep any last night?”
Luci shrugged, took another bite of her apple, and stared out the window. “Helena looks bigger than I thought it would. And prettier. I bet it smells better than Chicago.”
“More than ten thousand people live here.” And Emilia knew only one.
Phineas Collins.
Finn.
Her husband.
“Finn says most of the brick and stone buildings were constructed since he moved here five years ago. In October there’s to be their second annual Harvest Festival. Finn says he will take us for a ride in a hot-air balloon. Won’t it be fun?” When Luci didn’t respond, Emilia shifted to look at Roch on the wooden bench across the aisle from the one she and Luci had shared since boarding. His back rested against the window, his legs stretched out, his eyes closed. Since leaving Chicago, he’d done nothing but sleep.
She tapped the toe of his shoe. “We’re here.”
His eyes opened to a slit. A low grumble came from his throat.
Emilia smiled. She could enjoy mornings even if he didn’t. Besides, this was the best kind of morning—one on which she’d see her husband. True, her heart missed Da. But the separation was only temporary, something she’d finally accepted after spending all her tears on the ride from Chicago to St. Paul.
“After we meet Finn, I have to file the power of attorney with the city clerk. Then we can get something to eat.” She paused, checking to see if the mention of food improved Roch’s mood. He continued to look uninterested. “Or we could go straight to the ranch. Finn said he’s looking forward to teaching you how to shoot, fish, and ride. Wouldn’t you like to?”
Roch glared. Why she expected a different response than the one he’d given her all trip she didn’t know. He knew how much she’d had to spend on their meals and how much she’d had to pay for the power of attorney. He knew she had seven dollars to her name. Yet he couldn’t show the least bit of gratitude.
Her shoulders slumped. “Three months, Roch, and then Da will join us. You’re going to love Montana.”
He scowled at her.
The train’s brakes squealed. Emilia reached under the wooden bench for her black straw bonnet. She put it on. After two-and-a-half days’ travel, this was the best she was going to look. She tied the black ribbon against the side of her jaw.
As the train came to a stop, Emilia leaned against Luci’s back to look through the dusty window. A crowd of forty or fifty people stood near the boarding platform. Whether waiting for loved ones or ready to board themselves, she couldn’t tell.
“Do you see him?” Emilia whispered.
Luci
shook her head. “I don’t know what he looks like.”
“He’s . . .” Emilia released a nervous laugh. “Actually, neither do I.” Finn hadn’t sent a photograph and had spent few words describing his appearance. About as tall as most men. Average-looking. From her view, everyone looked to be the same height. “Oh! He said his hair and eyes are brown.”
“Now that’s helpful.”
Emilia chuckled. “Are you smarting me?”
Luci chuckled, too, then took another bite of her apple. “If you subtract the women, children, and old men, it looks like you may have a dozen husbands. Hmm . . . is that him?”
Emilia leaned closer to the dusty pane, her heartbeat increasing. “Which one?”
“The one with the black hat.”
Her tired gaze settled on a man wearing a knee-length black coat, a tan pinstriped vest, and guns strapped to both thighs. Based on the heavy bristles on his cheeks and his rumpled appearance, one might guess he’d slept in his clothes. She knew the feeling. Average-looking would certainly not describe him. Good heavens, he was attractive. Considering the way he was straining his neck as he looked from train car to train car, she’d wager he was here to meet someone.
“You’re staring at Mr. Romeo,” came Luci’s soft voice.
Emilia’s cheeks warmed. She never should have read Shakespeare to her sister. “Yes, I am . . . at the badge on his left lapel. Finn is a rancher, not a lawman.”
“Your loss.” Luci bit into her apple.
“Excuse me, miss.”
Emilia turned to the couple sitting behind them. Considering the older man’s fine suit and the woman’s large feathered hat, full-skirted dress, and ornate lace collar, the pair looked more first-class than second. Unlike everyone else who’d boarded the train in St. Paul, she vaguely remembered these two boarding earlier that morning, in Butte, when almost everyone in the car, except herself and Luci, had been sleeping.
She gave them a friendly smile. “Can I help you?”
The plump woman eased forward with a concerned expression on her face. “We couldn’t help overhearing.” Her voice softened to a whisper. “Are you a mail-order bride?”
