“Go.” She had to let him go and fulfill his promise.
“Go get Deanna and the boys?” Through her half-opened eyes she saw him frown. “Please don’t leave us, my love.”
“No.” She couldn’t be alone. Not with the way she felt. This tugging, this pulling of something carrying her like an ocean drawing her out into a hot sea. “Don’t … leave me.”
“I won’t.” Barden sat down next to her on the bed, gently pressing his lips to her cheek.
“You’re never alone.” The words were spoken into her heart. Caroline sensed the presence of others in the room, but she couldn’t see them, although she knew they beckoned her on.
I want to stay. Let me stay for Barden.
Barden’s footfall rumbled down the stairs even louder than the boys’ had done coming up the night before. He rushed into the kitchen. “Her fever has broken!”
He swept Mrs. Reed into his arms and twirled the woman around.
Mr. Woodson stopped stirring the potatoes he was frying in the skillet. “Glory be!”
Deanna rushed into his arms just as Barden released Mrs. Reed.
“You really love Caroline, don’t you?” Deanna’s eyes took on the dreamy gaze he’d often seen in females enthralled with the notion of romance.
“Yes, I care deeply for your sister.”
“And I can tell she loves you, too.”
She did. He knew it in his very being. “I believe so.”
“So when ya gonna get hitched then?”
“Hitched? You mean married?” He lowered his head. What are Your plans, Lord?
“Ain’t that what you came here to Turtle Springs for?” Woodson pushed the potatoes around in the frying pan again.
“Actually, no. I came here at the behest of the Freemans.”
“Mary and Uziah?” Deanna looked up at him.
“The Freemans felt I could help with the work here.”
“So you weren’t here for the auditions?” The girl tossed her braid over her shoulder and backed up. “Whew! Good thing we listened to Sis and didn’t tease you about being a mail-order groom!”
“No. I’m afraid I was here on a bit of a jaunt. Thought myself a holiday cowboy … but that didn’t work out.”
Now what to do about his obligations. “I’m ordained by the Church of England …”
“You ain’t in England, anymore.” Woodson quirked an eyebrow at him. “In case you haven’t noticed.”
“I have taken note. In the meanwhile, I have a hungry inn owner upstairs who I’m the very willing footman for. What do you have for me to take upstairs?” To the woman he couldn’t live without.
Chapter 11
Late June, 1866
Despite the drizzle, Caroline sat outside on the bench, an umbrella held overhead and pillows propped around her. After being abed for over a week, recovering, the fresh, cool air lifted her spirits.
Someone turned the corner into the alleyway. Steel-gray hair curled beneath a bowler hat as a stranger strolled toward her. The powerfully built man must have been a fearsome sight when he was younger, but as he neared his kind, dark eyes urged Caroline to welcome him.
He removed his hat and tucked it under his suited arm, despite the rain’s increase. “Are you the owner of the inn?” The man’s accent was heavy, but much different from Barden’s, with a roll to it, unlike Barden’s clipped tones. “Are you Mrs. Kane?”
“Yes, I am.”
“I’m looking for … a friend.”
Movement from behind her caught her attention. Head down, Barden rounded the corner, wiping his hands on a dishtowel, and surged toward them. “Good heavens, woman, it’s raining out here. You’ll catch your death yet!”
Her beloved almost reached her when he stopped.
The stranger beamed at Barden. “Mr. Granville, I am here.”
“Sinclair!” Barden opened his arms and the two embraced each other like long lost friends. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s a rather convoluted tale, but—”
“Let me get this misbehaving lady inside before you tell me all.”
As Caroline rose, she swayed, and Barden caught her. He lifted her into his arms.
“What did I tell you, Caroline?” He shifted her weight in his arms, the scent of his clove shaving soap teasing her senses. “Don’t push yourself.”
“Have you been ill, Mrs. Kane?”
“Indeed she has; we could have lost her. But praise be to God she’s with us yet.”
Sinclair glanced between the two of them, his brown eyes seeming to take in everything. He followed them into the kitchen and then on to the restaurant, where Barden finally lowered her into a chair.
“Thank you.”
“Sinclair was my manservant in England, Caroline.”
Mr. Sinclair patted moisture from his face with a creamy handkerchief. “Was is the operative word. Lord Cheatham wasn’t at all pleased when he’d learned I’d encouraged your interest in the Beadle’s books. Nor that I knew you’d taken holiday in America to try your hand at cowboy life.”
“Outrageous!” Barden’s face twisted in an anger she’d never seen before. “How could he simply dismiss you?”
Bowing his head briefly, Barden leaned against the back of his sweetheart’s chair. His little cowboy venture had cost his valet his position. “How did you get here, Sinclair?”
“I actually came in search of you, sir, to ensure that you were well. I didn’t hear from you after that message from your hotel.”
“After I was attacked …”
A muscle in his valet’s jaw twitched. “If only I’d been here to help you.”
Barden motioned for his friend to sit. “You’re here now. How did that happen?”
“I’d put aside funds for my old age, and I appear to be in it now.”
“You’re hardly in your dotage.” Barden laughed. “In fact you look to be in remarkably good condition.”
Sinclair patted his midsection. “American food agrees well with me thus far!”
Mrs. Reed wheeled the teacart in. “I understand we have guests.”
“Indeed.” Barden waved a hand toward his former servant. “May I introduce John Sinclair, an old and dear friend.”
Sinclair shot him a look of gratitude. “And responsible for him taking this lark by coming to America and scaring the wits out of us back home.”
Mrs. Reed’s cheeks flushed. Was she blushing? “What will you do here, Mr. Sinclair?”
“I’m hoping to go for a land grant.” Sinclair’s cheeks, too, took on a rosy hue. “Perhaps out here or back further east.”
Caroline leaned in, resting her elbows on the table. “To become a farmer?”
“Own my own bit of land. My father was a tenant farmer. I only took up the life in service when we’d had two droughts back to back.”
“I see.” Mrs. Reed’s wide eyes seemed to be taking in much.
“I met your friends the Freemans.” Sinclair rapped his fingers on the table. “Good people.”
“Indeed. They saved me.” In more ways than one. He gazed at Caroline. What would life have been like without her in it?
Mrs. Reed served them each tea, her hands a bit unsteady as she poured for Sinclair. Thank God her rheumatism seemed to have improved enough for her to hold and tip a teapot again.
“Thank you, madam.” Sinclair’s dark eyes took on a gleam as he looked up at Mrs. Reed.
“Call me Mae.”
“Delighted to do so.” Sinclair gave her a cheeky grin.
Caroline turned to Barden. “Have a seat.”
After pouring in milk, Sinclair used the sugar tongs to drop two chunks of sugar into his tea.
“I should have let you pour your milk first, like Barden does.” Mrs. Reed blinked down at Sinclair.
As Barden settled into his chair, Caroline beamed up at him, her face still wan but just as beautiful. Thank God she’d soon fully regain her health.
“No trouble at all. Thank you.” Si
nclair drew in a deep breath, exhaled, and fixed his gaze on Barden. “I have a bit of news I felt you should hear directly from me, since it is my fault you are here.”
Barden sipped his tea, eyeing Sinclair over the top of his teacup. “What might that be?”
“The parish has rescinded their offer of a position.”
He gulped the hot tea. “What?”
“When your father heard what you had done, he wrote to the bishop and told them he wouldn’t sponsor the living for you.”
Ire rose up in him, quickly chased by confusion and then relief. “I never realized Father had anything to do with the position—it was so far from home.”
“Yes, that horrid man …” Sinclair raised his hand and then lowered it. “My apologies, but he never deserved a good son like you.”
And Barden had never deserved a companion as faithful as John Sinclair. A man who would follow him across the ocean to check on him, who was a better father to him than his own had been.
Caroline laughed. “I guess you don’t have to write that letter to them after all, do you, Barden?”
Squeezing her hand, Barden leaned closer to the woman he’d spend the rest of his life with. “But what then shall I do?”
Caroline cocked her head at him. “Besides marry me?”
“Have you decided?” Barden chuckled. “I believed you’d hired me on a temporary basis, but now I understand you had something else in mind.”
The door to the inn opened, and the mayor and her new husband, the sheriff, entered, trailed by Melissa and Alan and the preacher.
“We’re married!” Melissa, dressed in a pretty pale blue dress with lace-edged flounces, moved past the others to Caroline’s table. “I’m Mrs. Henderson now.”
Barden and Mr. Sinclair stood.
“Congratulations!” Caroline grinned up.
Melissa pressed a quick kiss to Caroline’s cheek. “How’re you feeling?”
Barden cleared his throat. “She’s going back upstairs to rest soon. Congratulations on your wedding.”
Reverend Smith nodded to them. “You still going to substitute for me next Sunday, when I visit my daughters?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I assume you won’t be utilizing the Book of Common Prayer.” Sinclair’s droll expression made Barden chuckle.
“No, indeed.”
Sheriff Ingram moved forward and shook Barden’s hand. “Think about my offer, too.”
Caroline narrowed her eyes at him, in question.
Mrs. Reed tapped his shoulder. “Would you like me to pull these tables together?”
Instead of a country parish council meeting, Barden found himself in Kansas, surrounded by people trying to put their village back together again after a terrible civil war. And he had perfect peace that this was where he belonged.
After Caroline awoke from her nap, Barden brought her to the saloon, protectively steadying her on the boardwalk.
“I want to show you what I was telling the mayor about … before you nodded off earlier.” He ran his thumb over her chin, sending a delicious thrill through her. “I should have carried you up to bed sooner.”
Her cheeks heated. Very soon they’d be married and sharing a bed together. She stepped away from him and scanned the main floor, spotless and serene … so unlike the place had been when formerly occupied.
Barden squared his shoulders. “Can you imagine your American veterans coming to a place where they could not only recover from the ravages of war but be retrained?”
“Mayor Ingram says we need more men, more businesses. Why not try?”
“I hope she’s right—that the council might donate the building.”
“If not, perhaps there’s another way.” Upstairs, in her room, was a bank check that Barden’s rancher friends had sent as a wedding gift. They were off on a cattle drive and wouldn’t make it back for the nuptials. Nor would Alvin and Virginia be there to attend, but the Freemans would be.
She took two steps toward him and pressed her hands against his chest. “With more people coming to Turtle Springs, the sheriff said he might need a deputy.”
“I’m a good shot, but Caroline, I did not pursue ministry simply because I wasn’t going to be Lord Cheatham. I want God to direct my path.”
She leaned her head against him, and he tucked his chin down. “Do you think substituting for Reverend Smith will be enough?”
“I’m not sure. But if I can meet the needs of men, like those who came through here and headed off to the fort, and men like Luke Collins, then I’ll have served well.”
Caroline snuggled in, turning her head, listening to his heart beat out a steady booming rhythm. “You’re a blessing to everyone who comes through the inn.”
Barden stepped back. “I don’t know what I’ll be doing for certain, my love, but I do know that wherever and whatever I am doing, I want you there by my side.”
“How about in your arms?” Caroline grinned up at her fiancé, and moved closer, lifting her face up for a kiss.
Barden’s lips covered hers. Mail-order husband or not, this Englishman’s heart belonged to her.
Author’s Notes
The Civil War, with its use of the minie ball, resulted in death or devastating injuries. So many soldiers lost their limbs or were otherwise injured. While researching the history of Fort Mackinac for my upcoming Barbour release, My Heart Belongs on Mackinac Island: Maude’s Mooring, I was struck by the fact that when the mainly empty fort was reoccupied after the war, the men were mostly injured veterans. In the protected and isolated fort, high above the Straits of Mackinac, these men (who were, on average, the oldest soldiers to occupy the fort) had lighter duties than elsewhere. Phil Porter, director of Mackinac State Historic Parks and author of the book, A Desirable Station: Soldier Life at Fort Mackinac, 1867–1895 (available at the Fort Michilimackinac store, online at Barnes & Noble, and elsewhere), included information about these disabled veterans occupying the fort. Company “B” of the 43rd Regiment of Infantry, whom I included fictionally in this novella, occupied the fort in 1867. I had the fictionalized company coming through Kansas for the purposes of this story. Although some of the names are of real soldiers, their portrayal here is pure fiction. For a nonfiction account, I suggest you read Mr. Porter’s wonderful book.
I’d also like to say that while I often “borrow” the names of real-life people, such as Caroline (Caryl Kane—a reader/reviewer friend) and childhood neighborhood friend Joel Martinchek, their portrayals in the story are, of course, fictitious. Granville, for my hero, was borrowed from Pagels’ Pal, Chris, not from Downton Abbey; and Barden was my friend Libbie’s maiden name. There really was a Tumble Inn near where I grew up. My mom used to like to say “Tumble Inn and roll out!”
My grandfather, Lloyd E. Fancett, Sr., was a ranch hand, or “cowboy,” out West as a young man. His parents had immigrated to Michigan from Maidstone, Kent, England. Although I never got to know him, I’ve often wondered what it must have been like for him to come from that British background, yet to become a cowboy! He certainly wasn’t alone, as there were a number of British ranchers on the American frontier.
Carrie Fancett Pagels, Ph.D., “Hearts Overcoming Through Time,” is an award-winning Christian historical romance author. Carrie’s Amazon Christian Historical Romance bestselling novella, The Fruitcake Challenge, was released September, 2014. Her short story, “Snowed In,” appears in Guidepost Books’ A Christmas Cup of Cheer (2013). She’s the Amazon bestselling and top-rated author of Return to Shirley Plantation: A Civil War Romance (2013). Her short story, “The Quilting Contest,” will appear in Family Fiction’s The Story 2014 anthology. Carrie is a finalist for the 2014 Maggie Awards for Excellence for her unpublished novel Grand Exposé. She’s a former psychologist (25 years) and is a mother of two.
Louder Than Words
By Gina Welborn
Dedication
For my sister-in-law Cené Burrow.
Because you like Gone with the
Wind … which this story is nothing like. But still.
Acknowledgments
Special thanks to my ISTJ sister who happily decided which Kansas museums this ESTP writer (and her daughter) needed to visit, found the addresses for said museums, and then drove us to the said museums after seeing how I parked at Sephora. To my thirteen-year-old ENTP daughter who, as I drove home, happily explained the Meyers-Briggs personalities in words I could understand. Mostly. Somewhat. Not really. But it was exciting!
Do know, in light of how you two laughed at my parking skills, this special thanks is only 88.4815162342 percent sincere.
Build afire under them; when it gets hot enough, they’ll move.
—President Andrew Jackson, who signed into law the Indian Removal Act of 1830. The US Supreme Court overruled this law, yet Jackson defied the Court’s ruling, thereby forcing 16,000 Cherokees to march over 2,000 miles west to Oklahoma Territory. Four thousand died.
Such cold-blooded butchery was never before seen—such deliberate, hellish cruelty.
—Sarah Fitch, survivor of Quantrill’s Raid (the Lawrence Massacre)
Marriage is an adventure, like going to war.
—G. K. Chesterton
A tree is known by its fruit; a man by his deeds. A good deed is never lost; he who sows courtesy reaps friendship, and he who plants kindness gathers love.
—Saint Basil
What good is it, dear brothers and sisters, if you say you have faith but don’t show it by your actions? Can that kind of faith save anyone? Suppose you see a brother or sister who has no food or clothing, and you say, “Good-bye and have a good day; stay warm and eat well”—but then you don’t give that person any food or clothing. What good does that do? So you see, faith by itself isn’t enough. Unless it produces good deeds, it is dead and useless.
JAMES 2:14–17 NLT
Chapter 1
The greater the obstacle, the more glory in overcoming it.—Molière
Seven Brides for Seven Mail-Order Husbands Romance Collection Page 47
