My Forever Love

by Wendy Lindstrom

  Hal had told John in no uncertain terms that he needed to break the agreement with the woman.

  John just laughed and promised Hal that he’d soon be thanking him for bringing in a lady who could tend their house and put some decent meals on the table. Then he said he needed to deliver the lumber and drove out of the mill whistling a happy tune as if their conversation was over and Hal’s opinion didn’t matter.

  Oh, no, it was a long way from over.

  Hal blew out a breath and flexed his fingers. He needed steady hands and a clear mind for carving such a detailed piece. One wrong arc with the gouge could ruin the whole lid of the chest. But his head felt ready to explode and concentrating on the intricate detail proved impossible.

  The sound of the barn door banging closed signaled his brother’s return.

  “John! Get in here,” he hollered. They were going to have it out and get this problem resolved so Hal could clear his mind and get back to work.

  When Thomas Drake stepped inside, Hal’s irritation jumped a notch. Not because he didn’t like the man. Drake, a dark-haired somewhat stocky man about Hal’s age was actually becoming a friend. Hal liked and greatly respected his competitor, but he wasn’t interested in leasing his sawmill to the man.

  Hal tossed the veiner tool onto the workbench and raised an eyebrow. “I suppose you’re here to bend my ear about leasing the mill?”

  “I wish I were,” Tom said quietly. Hal expected to see a grin light Tom’s face as their back and forth was becoming a bit of a friendly debate that Drake seemed to enjoy. But there was no light in Tom Drake’s face. All Hal could see in the man’s eyes was pain. “There’s been an accident, I’m afraid.”

  Hal’s heart started pounding.

  “The axle on your wagon broke and —”

  “Is John all right?” Hal asked stepping toward Drake. “Has he been hurt?”

  Tom’s shoulders seemed to deflate and he shook his head. “I’m sorry, Hal. Reggie Orwald found him beneath the wagon and it was… it was too late.”

  An ocean roared in Hal’s ears. He heard Drake talking, but felt as if he were floating in thick liquid that made it difficult to move, to breathe, to understand.

  “The front axle broke and the wheels snapped off. We suspect John was thrown off the seat. The crash surely startled horses and... well, it seems they pulled the wagon over top of him.”

  Shaking his head, Hal backed away from the words that were pelting him like shards of ice.

  His back slammed into the workbench, jarring his tools, shattering his composure. Crushing pain gripped his chest. His breath came in ragged gasps. He couldn’t get enough air.

  “Your brother is at Doc Kinley’s house.”

  Hal shook his head. “This is a mistake.” He glanced toward the door, expecting his brother any minute. “John was delivering a load of pine planks. It can’t be him.”

  Thomas wrung the black cap he held in his hands. “Reggie didn’t know John and thought he might work for me so he came by the mill to let me know. I went to Doc Kinley’s to make sure my suspicion was true before I came to see you. I’m sorry Hal, but it’s your brother, John Radford.”

  Gut-punched by the news, Hal sagged forward, his back against the workbench, his knees barely able to support him. It couldn’t be true.

  “I’ll help any way I can,” Tom said, his voice coming from the end of a long tunnel.

  A loud buzzing filled Hal’s ears and his body quaked. The smell of cedar wood shavings that he loved so well turned his stomach.

  It couldn’t be true.

  He’d just talked with John. They hadn’t even finished their argument.

  How could his brother be... dead?

  John was smiling when he left the mill. He was happy — and alive!

  Oh, God.

  Oh, no...

  Dear Mr. Grayson,

  I will be arriving the Dunkirk station June 2nd at 6 o’clock.

  I look forward to meeting you in person.

  Your intended,

  Nancy Mitchell.

  Hal Grayson folded the mud-spattered letter and jammed it into the pocket of his dusty trousers. He clenched his fists around the reins and directed his team of rented horses toward the Dunkirk train depot and a meeting he did not want to have.

  He should be delivering a load of cherry planks to A. B. Edwards store, not meeting his brother’s intended. But his brother, John Radford, couldn’t make the trip because he was...

  Dead.

  Hal squeezed his eyes closed and then opened them wide trying to clear the gut-wrenching nightmare he couldn’t seem to awaken from. His brother, John Radford, was really gone.

  On any other day, the clip-clopping sound of the horses’ hooves and rattle of the wagon would have rocked Hal into an easy state of woolgathering. But today even the singing birds and warm sunshine on his shoulders agitated him. How could life go on as normal when everything was upside down? How could his strong, healthy brother be dead?

  Dropping his forehead into his palm, Hal squeezed, trying to force the image of John’s inert body out of his mind. “You should have listened to me,” he whispered, his throat thick with grief and love. Hal lifted his face to the breeze, deeply regretting that one of his last conversations with his brother had been so heated and upsetting.

  But John’s insistence that they needed a woman to tend their house and prepare their meals had vexed Hal. It wasn’t that he’d disagreed with John that they needed a caretaker for their home. They worked sixteen hours a day, wore their clothes for days at a time before washing them in the creek and tossing them over a sagging clothesline to dry. They barely slept. They ate apples and eggs and bread given to them by their neighbors. Their small house had grown dirty and remained scantily furnished, a sad fact neither of them had time to worry about. They were too busy trying to keep their sawmill business afloat.

  That’s why Hal wouldn’t entertain the idea of John taking a bride because they couldn’t afford the expense.

  They’d been hunting bigger dreams.

  Hal and John were making monthly payments on a small home and sawmill they were buying from Tom and Martha Fiske. They believed if they worked hard they could earn enough money to help their father as well. Progress was slow, but Hal was earning income by carving spectacular pieces for Addison Edwards’ store and also partnering with John in their new sawmill. They had made their first whole dollar of profit the week before John died.

  That’s when John had revealed that he’d advertised for a wife — and that he’d found one.

  Miss Nancy Mitchell, a gal from Buffalo, had answered John’s advertisement.

  Her train would arrive in a few short minutes.

  With a snort of disgust, Hal sat upright and turned his wagon onto Central Avenue and headed toward Dunkirk. Leafy maple trees lined the street on either side, reminding him of one of his favorite areas back home in Buffalo.

  The irony of meeting his brother’s intended made his gut burn. How could John have accepted a bride he’d never even met? Little wonder that John hadn’t a clear thought since receiving Miss Mitchell’s letter. That’s likely what distracted him from noticing the problem with the wagon wheel until the axle snapped in half.

  A flood of regret and anger filled Hal’s chest and restricted his breathing. He wanted to shout out his pain and hurl it past the leafy tops of the maple trees. He wanted to howl and rant and force time to move backwards so he could rescue his father’s new sawmill from being repossessed by Lloyd Tremont — and save his beloved brother from death.

  But it was too late.

  And so Hal drove toward the train station because there was nothing else he could do.

  Sick to his soul over the whole mess, Hal pulled up at the depot and parked the wagon. Sunshine streaked across the hard-packed yard and bleached the wooden slats on the platform of the depot. Other carriages and wagons were arriving, perhaps to fetch a friend or family member coming in for a visit, or to send a loved one
off on their own journey. The expressions of anticipation or trepidation on the faces around Hal indicated both. Neither of those emotions were present within him, however. He was too numb to feel anything. And this was merely a bit of business he needed to deal with so he could return to work.

  Still, he wondered what his own expression revealed. Grief? Agitation? Anger?

  Dread. That’s what he felt inside. His stomach ached with dread as he stepped down from the driver’s seat. To even mention John Radford’s name wrung Hal’s insides. To reveal such tragedy to Miss Mitchell would be gut-wrenching. What would she think of this turn of events? Would she offer quiet condolences and return home? What else could she do?

  What else could anyone do?

  A howl of grief rose up in Hal’s throat, choking him. He sucked in sharp breaths as he strode to the ticket office. Five minutes later, he stood on the platform, fists clenched, waiting to meet his brother’s mail-order bride.

  As the train came to a stop at the Dunkirk station, Nancy turned from the window where she’d been watching the landscape pass and sat up to adjust her hat. Her heart ached and she was scared and terribly homesick for all she’d left behind. She hadn’t wanted to leave. She loved her family deeply and had never thought to run off this way.

  But staying would have forced her to do something that would have broken her sister’s heart.

  Better that it be her own heart she was breaking.

  Passengers folded newspapers, straightened skirts and coats, gathered their children and valises and began departing the train.

  Nancy stood, wavering with indecision, the ribbons on her hat left untied. What if John Grayson didn’t like what he saw? What if he decided he didn’t want to marry her?

  Her stomach rolled and for the life of her she couldn't seem to draw a full breath.

  She was running away.

  She was going to marry a man she’d never met.

  And she’d lied to secure John Radford’s agreement.

  Mile after mile she had practiced her name Nancy Mitchell, she silently repeated. Mitchell... Mitchell... Mitchell. Changing her last name was necessary because... because the Grayson family hated her father.

  She had heard her father state this truth to her mother in a recent discussion they’d recently had over supper.

  Nancy didn’t know much about the Grayson family because they socialized in different circles, but her father knew Daniel Grayson well and seemed to consider the man a friend. Other folks spoke highly of the Grayson family, so when Nancy found John Grayson’s advertisement seeking a bride to join him in Fredonia, she grasped his offer with both hands and answered as Nancy Mitchell, using her mother’s maiden name.

  The lie was necessary and yet the deception ate at her. Her only comfort came in knowing she would do all in her power to be a good wife and to create a loving marriage with John. She would tell him the truth as soon as it was possible to do so, when she felt he might understand and forgive her this one falsehood.

  But withholding information was a form of lying, too, and so it was more than one lie on her conscience.

  She’d also lied to her cousin James to get him to deliver her and her trunks to the station.

  So many lies! Nancy gripped her stomach fearing she might be sick. The lies bubbled like acid in her gut, eating at her.

  A young lady in a stylish blue dress and matching cape exchanged a warm glance with her handsome young escort as they passed Nancy’s seat. Their love for one another was obvious. Nancy envied them. Would she and John ever look at each other with that same warmth? Or would he ultimately hate her because she’d lied to him?

  Adjusting her gloves and smoothing her skirts into place, Nancy told herself there was nothing to do but to step off the train.

  Negotiating her way to the door on shaky legs proved difficult. She used the high seatbacks to keep herself upright and moving through the car. As she stepped from the train, she clutched her small reticule and surveyed the milling crowd. Not one face looked familiar. Not one person approached her.

  What if he’d changed his mind? What if he’d gone back to Buffalo?

  Clasping a palm over her roiling stomach, she scanned the crowd.

  Laughter and shouts of joy sounded around her as families and friends reunited. She hooked the wrist chain of her reticule over her forearm and straightened her shoulders. Her legs trembled as she stood on the platform with too many people casting curious, probing looks at her as they rushed to and fro.

  Where was he?

  As the porter deposited Nancy’s three trunks on the platform, she tried to present herself as a confident woman rather than a nervous girl still in her teens — another falsehood. Smoke billowed from the gasping train and made her eyes tear as it pulled out of the station. Her stomach felt upside down and her breath came shallow and fast. The letter she’d received from John Radford was kind and assured her of his character and his intent. Surely he would be here, so she would just have to wait for him to approach and hope he found her acceptable. And she prayed she would find him acceptable in return because if she didn’t... her life would go from bad to worse.

  One pleasant looking older man asked if she needed assistance, and for an instant she was hopeful he might be John Grayson. Unfortunately, the man had come to fetch his brother returning from Albany. So Nancy waited while the crowd thinned, observing each man that passed, wondering if this one or the next would smile and announce himself. Not one of them did. The longer she stood alone the faster her heart beat and the stiffer her back grew. What if her intended didn’t show?

  She couldn’t go back.

  As the crowd thinned, her eyes met the dark speculative gaze of a man on the other side of the platform who seemed to be observing her. With a slight nod, he tucked his dusty hat beneath his arm and headed toward her. He was taller than she’d anticipated—and very handsome.

  Her heart beat faster. Her cheeks warmed and she wondered if the man walking toward her with a confident stride was her future husband.

  Another train pulled into the station in a cloud of billowing smoke, blasting its arrival and shattering her nerves.

  “Miss Mitchell?” the man asked, his voice respectful, yet unmistakably strong and commanding.

  As she took in his soiled clothing and circles of fatigue beneath his eyes, she nodded to let him know he’d found his intended. She hoped he wouldn’t notice her aversion to his dirty, unkempt clothing.

  He didn’t smile. He didn’t extend his hand. He waved a filthy piece of paper in front of her face. “I’m Hal Grayson, John Radford’s brother. I received your letter to John and regret to inform you that he must cancel your agreement because he…because he recently died in an accident.”

  Stunned, her gaze jumped between the letter and his unwavering gaze.

  “I’ve purchased your passage back to Buffalo,” he said, his eyes wrought with grief and... anger? “I apologize for your trouble. I’ll load your bags while you board. The train will be departing again in minutes.”

  Sawdust covered his clothing and perspiration wet the underarms of his shirt. He towered above her, thin for his height, and yet despite his frown, she couldn’t think of another man more handsome... or indifferent.

  A few passengers stepped off the train, greeted their friends and loved ones, then gathered their belongings and rushed off.

  “You’d best hurry, Miss Mitchell,” he said, nodding toward the open train door.

  She glanced around her believing there had been a terrible mistake. “But I don’t... John promised to meet me here.”

  Hal Grayson’s lips twisted. “As you can see my brother is not here. He was laid to rest in Buffalo four days ago. While I was there I tried to locate you after his funeral to save you the trip. But I was unable to find a Nancy Mitchell in Buffalo. I regret that his death has changed your plans, Miss Mitchell. It’s rather inconvenient for both of us.”

  “Oh, dear... I’m terribly sorry,” she said, realizing her
words were offensive. “I only meant... I’m sorry.”

  Her plan was crumbling. Of course, Mr. Grayson had been unable to find Nancy Mitchell in Buffalo, because Nancy Mitchell hadn’t exited until she’d answered John Grayson’s advertisement. Helplessly, Nancy searched the station for the man she was supposed to meet, the man who had provided a means for her to escape the disastrous marriage her father had arranged for her. But that man wasn’t coming, so she turned to the only hope she had. “I can’t go back, Mister Grayson.”

  “I’m afraid you must,” he said without batting those long black lashes of his. With a curt nod toward the train, he added, “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but you’ll need to board now, Miss Mitchell.”

  She shook her head and threw herself on the mercy of the only person who could help her out of this predicament. “Please, Mr. Grayson. I had an agreement with... with your brother. I can’t go back because I... I simply must stay.”

  His dark eyebrows lowered in a scowl. “Your services are no longer required, Miss Mitchell. Now please board the train before it leaves without you. I emptied my purse purchasing your ticket. I can’t afford to put you up in a room for the night.”

  “My services?” Her temper flared. “I was to become your brother’s wife, Mr. Grayson, not a servant who provides a service.”

  He raised his palm as if to apologize for his offense. “Beg pardon, Miss Mitchell. My brother sought a woman who could prepare our meals and tend our home. Those are the services he advertised for in exchange for marriage, yes?”

  “His letter said he was looking for love.” Nancy retrieved John’s letter from her purse and waved it beneath Hal Grayson’s arrogant nose as he’d done so unceremoniously with the letter she’d sent to his brother. Thanks to years of debating her father at every turn, she’d grown adept at outwitting a worthy opponent. “He wanted love, Mr. Grayson.”

  Hal’s eyebrows shot upward in surprise and then slashed right back down into a scowl that was already becoming familiar. Although he didn’t say it, she could tell he didn’t believe her claim.