A Mistaken Match

by Whitney Bailey

  “She let you stay?” Delia whispered, her eyes open wide.

  Ann laughed cheerlessly. “No. But what she did do would be considered generous by any member of her class. Saintly, even.”

  “What, then?”

  “She packed me into a carriage within the hour and sent me to the orphanage from which I’d come.”

  “With the baby?”

  “No. She took him from my arms the moment Dr. Shields left the room. It was the last time I saw him. Months later I heard her previously barren sister had given birth to a beautiful, blue-eyed boy.”

  “She gave away your baby?” Delia stared at the ground and shook her head from side to side.

  Ann nodded. The pain from the retelling began to subside, and the familiar numbness around her heart returned.

  “How could anyone do such a thing?”

  “It could have been worse. Far worse. It was fortunate her sister desired a baby. I had no means of caring for him. And Mrs. Atherton was trying to impress Dr. Shields with her compassion when she placed me in that carriage. Otherwise, I would have been flung out of the house with only the clothes on my back.”

  Delia leaned forward and squeezed Ann in an embrace so tight she had to hold her breath.

  “I’m so sorry for what happened to you, Ann. Do you miss him?”

  Ann turned her gaze down. “He is with a family who can provide him more than I could ever imagine. I try not to think much more about him than that.”

  “What happened next?”

  “The orphanage received me, despite my age. I suspect Mrs. Atherton paid them to take me in. I also suspect she knew the baby was her grandson.”

  “Oh, Ann! How horrible, to be surrounded by all those children after losing your own.”

  Ann shrugged. “I tried not to think about it. Two years passed and the orphanage asked me to leave to make room for another girl in a similar predicament. By then all of London had heard the tale of Ann Cromwell—the servant who gave birth in the attic.”

  “Is that when you decided to find a husband through an agency?”

  “What else could I do? I couldn’t afford passage out of England, and no one would hire me.”

  “Couldn’t you have left London and found work in another town? Somewhere no one had heard of you?”

  Ann patted Delia’s hand. “A maid is nothing without references from her previous employer. No one risks hiring a servant without them.”

  “What about work outside service? Your embroidery is exquisite. Aren’t there apprenticeships in England?”

  A sigh tickled Ann’s throat. “Yes,” she drew out slowly. “There are apprenticeships, but those are purchased, not bestowed, and I didn’t have a pence to my name. I had only one avenue of employment available to me, and I was not about to take it.”

  “What was that?”

  “Girls in my situation...” Ann searched for words delicate enough for Delia’s ears. “Without references, a girl is left with little else but the body God gave her. Sometimes she is forced to sell even that.”

  Delia’s hands flew to her mouth. Her eyes opened wide.

  “So you see,” Ann continued, “marrying a man I’d never met sounded quite appealing in comparison.”

  “Of course it did! Oh, Ann, I’m so glad you came to New Haven.”

  “And now I’m about to leave again.”

  “Why don’t you stay here?”

  Ann sighed. “I’ve had enough personal scandal to last ten lifetimes. I can’t stay here and be known as the girl James McCann cast aside.”

  Delia pursed her lips. “I suppose you’re right. Everyone knows you’re a mail-order bride.”

  Ann threw up her hands. “Exactly. And though I thought I could find work as a maid somewhere, after speaking with Mr. Davis, I’ve learned I would need to cook as well as clean.”

  “You can cook a little, can’t you?”

  “Only if the results don’t have to be edible.”

  Delia laughed.

  “My cooking is positively dreadful,” Ann assured her. “I considered purchasing a cookbook, but they might as well be written in French. I don’t know mincing from dicing.”

  “I have an idea!” Delia announced. “I have a free day from time to time. What if I came out to James’s farm and gave you a few cooking lessons? I’m certain your lace will be a tremendous success anywhere you go, so I don’t worry about your making ends meet, but you should also learn to cook for yourself.”

  “I couldn’t let you come on your day off.”

  “Nonsense.” She patted Ann’s hand. “It would be my pleasure. I’ll even show you how to do a few things around the farm. Have you ever milked a cow?”

  Ann snorted. “I’d never even seen a cow up close until I came to the farm.”

  “Well, you’ll learn that, too.”

  Ann leaped to her feet and leaned down to wrap Delia in a firm hug. “Thank you so much for your kindness. I truly am a horrible cook, but with your help there may be hope for me yet.”

  Delia grinned. “That’s the spirit. Mother always says the first step to success is deciding not to fail.”

  Ann giggled at the pithy observation, but it endeared her to Delia’s mother all the more.

  “If I do my job well, James may not want you to leave,” Delia added.

  Ann could tell Delia watched for her reaction to the comment. When Ann said nothing, Delia continued. “Is that something you would want?”

  Ann gazed out at the courtyard lawn and thought of James. His patience with his Uncle Mac. His dedication to the farm. The way he teased her so. A spot in her middle twisted at the thought of him. She couldn’t tell if she found the sensation pleasant or painful. “I don’t know,” she finally answered.

  “Don’t you like him?”

  “He’s lovely,” Ann rushed out. “It’s only that...” She pictured James on Sunday playing with the children at the church picnic. The twisting sensation persisted, but now she recognized it as pain. “I don’t know how, but Mrs. Turner made two errors in sending me here. I’m in no part what he wants. Not in face...or in body. I know James would be happier with any other girl but me. And I’m afraid that may be true of any man.”

  “Listen to what you’re saying, Ann! How could that be true?”

  The sun grew suddenly brighter and the air much too hot. A bead of sweat tickled Ann’s jaw.

  “Girls at the agency are allowed to make requests of their matches, though they are only sometimes followed. Often they request to be sent to a home in New York or matched with a man who’s only a little ugly or fat or old.”

  Delia giggled and Ann managed a weak smile.

  “I only had one request. I assumed it was why I had to wait so long. I asked to be matched with a man who did not desire children.”

  A wrinkle sprang up between Delia’s brows. “You don’t want children?”

  Ann wiped at the tears streaming down her cheeks. “It’s not a matter of what I want,” she whispered. “My punishment for my transgressions has been manifold. Even if I were to desire children, I can never have another baby.”

  Chapter Nine

  Ann had never told another soul of her barrenness, save for Mrs. Turner at the agency. Delia’s expression morphed from shock to pity, the same as Mrs. Turner’s had.

  “Are you sure?” Delia whispered. “How could one really know such a thing?”

  Ann drew a handkerchief from her pocket and twisted it in her hands. “I’m certain. When I arrived at the orphanage they had no knowledge of my giving birth just a few hours before, and I was too ashamed to tell them. They sent me to work straight away. My limbs were weak from blood loss, and every inch of me ached, but I feared I’d be cast out if I couldn’t perform my duties. Within days I burned
with fever and my body racked with a horrid pain. I collapsed in the midst of scrubbing the floor. A week passed before Mrs. Atherton could be persuaded by post to pay for a doctor. By the time he arrived, my fever had broken, but the damage was done. The doctor said the infection had taken away any chance of my becoming a mother again.”

  Delia’s deep brown eyes glistened. Her lips parted to speak, but she was interrupted by a bell chime. It chimed again and her eyes grew wide. “It’s two o’clock!”

  Ann’s heart skipped a beat. Had her ramblings caused her friend to be late? “I’m so sorry, Delia. I never should have kept you! Will Mrs. Williams be cross?”

  “No, no.” Delia stood and squeezed Ann’s shoulder in reassurance. “Mrs. Williams will likely not even notice. After her own lunch she often puts her feet up on a sofa in the dressing room and falls asleep.”

  Ann matched Delia’s long strides across the courthouse lawn. They passed Davis Mercantile, and Ann glanced at her reflection in the window and stopped short. Red, puffy eyes stared back.

  “I look a fright!” She gasped and clapped her hands over her tearstained cheeks.

  “No worries. We have a washroom in the back of the shop. And after you’ve freshened up, you can use the dressing room to work on your needle lace until James fetches you.”

  Ann gulped. She didn’t want anyone to see her like this, but the thought of James seeing her in such a state tripped her heart. She shook off the thought. Why did she desire to look pretty for a man who wanted her to be anything but?

  * * *

  James strode toward New Haven Dressmakers with his heart in his throat. Frederick had been a good friend and not asked for an explanation as to why Ann wasn’t staying. They’d talked business, though James had found it hard to concentrate. As Frederick walked him through the framed outline of the mill’s new expansion, James couldn’t stop wondering about Ann. What was she doing with her time in town? Were she and Delia getting along as well as it appeared? It was nice she’d been able to make a friend.

  Why on earth are you still thinking about her? he scolded himself. He’d seen Ann only a few hours before. In a few weeks he would never see her again.

  I’m worried about her working with Priscilla, that’s all. Few could handle Priscilla Vollrath’s temper or wrath. In fact, after meeting with Priscilla, Ann had likely declined the job even quicker than she’d accepted it.

  The shop was empty when he arrived, but the clanging bell summoned Delia within seconds.

  “Ann, James is here!” she called over her shoulder as she strode toward him. “How was your afternoon with my cousin?”

  “The addition is coming along well. They should be able to double their business in a few years.”

  Ann appeared from the back of the shop. James began to grin but caught himself when he saw something was wrong. She smiled, but her normally bright eyes were dark with sorrow.

  “Is everything alright?” He reached out to take her hand but caught himself again.

  Ann’s eyes widened, and she brought a hand to her cheek.

  Delia stepped between them.

  “Ann is fine!” she said, with far too much enthusiasm.

  James craned to see around Delia. “Was it the meeting with Priscilla? Was she terrible?”

  Delia glanced sideways at Ann. Did Delia wink?

  “How would you expect it to go?” Delia asked, her eyes narrowed at James.

  Something strange was going on, but James couldn’t put his finger on it. Had Ann angered Priscilla in some way? Perhaps the whole thing had turned out even more poorly than he expected. He knew he should have stayed. Despite himself, he longed to shield Ann from conflict and discomfort.

  Ann placed a hand on Delia’s arm. Delia moved aside and Ann stepped forward.

  “My meeting with Priscilla was a pleasure,” Ann announced. “We agreed upon a pattern, and I believe she’ll be quite pleased with the finished product.”

  “Really?” He couldn’t imagine anything about dealing with Priscilla being described as a ‘pleasure.’ He studied Ann’s sweet face. “I imagine Priscilla can be a difficult customer.”

  Ann shook her blond head. “I look forward to contributing something to her special day.”

  “Before she left, Priscilla even said she looked forward to working with Ann,” Delia added.

  Well, if that didn’t beat all. Ann was a regular diplomat. James’s chest swelled with pride, despite his attempts to squelch the feeling.

  She’ll make a fine shopkeeper’s wife, he reminded himself. Or maybe her true match is a politician or bank president. Someone in a position of influence over people, who seeks a canny and capable spouse. Ann was proving herself to be a woman of many skills. Pity few of those skills were of use to a poor farmer. He had to remind himself of this every time her blue eyes looked his way.

  “Ann, I must send you home with enough thread to keep occupied this week,” Delia announced.

  Ann and Delia excused themselves to the back of the store and returned several minutes later, murmuring over the contents of a brown paper sack. They said their goodbyes, and Ann made arrangements to return the next week for her second meeting with Priscilla.

  James stole glances at Ann as he drove home. She was normally so talkative during their trips, as if the silence had to be filled. But this time she drew a piece of lace from her pockets and lowered her head over her work. It was a wonder she could accomplish anything as the buggy jostled among the ruts of the dirt road. She remained so quiet, something had to be wrong. He couldn’t shake the image of her emerging from the shop’s back room. She almost looked as though she’d been crying.

  A mile into the trip, he had to know.

  “Did your meeting with Priscilla really go as well as you said?”

  Ann lifted her golden head and gazed up at him. “She knows what she wants and has exquisite taste. It will be both a challenge and a pleasure to work with her.”

  “The challenge part you’ve got right.”

  Ann giggled but hurried to conceal the mirth behind her hand. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  James leaned toward her and whispered, as if someone would hear and run off to tell Priscilla, “Tell me the truth. Didn’t you find her to be a little... What’s the word I’m looking for?”

  “Arrogant?” she blurted, and covered her mouth again, but she couldn’t disguise the smile in her eyes.

  He laughed. “I was thinking haughty, conceited or maybe even vain.”

  “Surely some people must like her. Mrs. Williams said the whole town would come out for her wedding.”

  “Not because they care to see her get married. No one in New Haven is fool enough to turn down a free meal.”

  Ann’s forehead creased. “I spent all afternoon with her and never inquired of her fiancé.”

  “Victor’s not as bad as Priscilla, but he’s caught up in all the excitement. I don’t know if he realizes what he’s committing himself to.”

  “You know him well?”

  “No.” James ran a hand through his hair. “Victor’s only been in town a year. I can’t say I’ve spoken to him more than twice, and only in passing. He works for Frederick at the mill.”

  “Really? A millworker?” There was no mistaking the surprise in Ann’s voice.

  “You expected Priscilla to choose someone a little more...exciting?”

  Ann’s expression softened. “I may have been mistaken about her.”

  James shook his head. “No, you’ve only underestimated her desire to be the first to possess anything new. It’s why she’s so keen on having your lace in her dress. And Victor isn’t just a millworker. Frederick brought him on from Columbus to groom as foreman. He was the most eligible man in New Haven the moment he arrived. No girl in the county stood a chan
ce once Priscilla set her eyes on him.”

  They were passing a squat white farmhouse sitting close to the road, and a plump woman in a red checked apron opened the front door and waved. James pulled back on the reins and Old Harriet slowed to a stop.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Rausch,” James called. “Any trouble?”

  “Afternoon, James. No trouble at all. Wanted to let you know our cherry trees are plumb covered in ripe berries. I’ve been pitting and canning for days, but I’ll never be able to get to them all before the birds do. Would you like some?”

  James turned to Ann. “What do you think? Fancy some cherry pie?”

  Her head bobbed. “I would adore some!”

  James alighted from the buggy, and as always, Ann jumped to the ground before he could reach the other side to help her down. Mrs. Rausch lent them baskets, and they picked cherries from her laden trees until their lengthening shadows reminded him Uncle Mac still needed supper.

  It wasn’t until James took Ann’s basket from her hands to place it on the floor of the buggy that he saw she’d picked almost double his bounty.

  “How did you do that?” He marveled. Most of the remaining cherries had been high up on the tree. He’d strained and stretched and only managed to fill his basket halfway. Her cherries threatened to overflow.

  “Hmm?” Ann looked up from her needle lace. “How did I do what?”

  “Pick so many more cherries than me?”

  Ann clucked her tongue. “You spent too much time hunting for clusters of cherries,” she stated. “I picked the lone ones scattered throughout the branches. It’s much more efficient.”

  It took a lot to surprise James. He scrutinized the petite girl beside him.