A few nights later, after Jeremiah had drunk himself into a stupor, he realized his friends were right. He couldn’t sit in his living room forever, stewing in his memories of times long gone now. But mail order brides married doctors and lawyers—even Earl had said so, years before. Who would want a dirty miner who was gone ten to twelve hours a day?
But it was Earl who ended up helping his brother find a bride. His death was so shocking to the little town—most of whom had been helped by the jovial miner in one way or another—that Central Eureka Mining wasted no time in validating his life insurance policy. As his only living kin, Jeremiah received $2,000 for his brother’s untimely death, meaning that not only would he not have to worry about supporting himself if he took time off, he could now take a wife, even with reduced hours.
But now he’d have no time to prepare for Polly’s arrival, and that filled him with dread for more reasons than one. Polly was sweet, intelligent, and thoughtful—but she didn’t seem to be excited about living in a mining town. Jeremiah assured her that there would be plenty of young women and employed matrons to make clothing for, and that he would be around to help her transition into life in Sutter Creek, but her words carried a sort of bleak hesitance nonetheless. She’s just nervous, like you, he kept telling himself. Maybe she has someone writing for her, and her words are coming out wrong.
But how else could he take words like ‘I’ve been made wary of the miners’ lifestyle’? He couldn’t say he could blame her for that, but his letters weren’t filled with anything besides pleasant details of the quiet life he led now. He made it clear to her that he wanted her to feel welcome when she arrived, and her letters acknowledged that fact—but Jeremiah couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something he wasn’t being told.
That night, he hurriedly scrubbed down his house and readied the second bedroom for Polly’s arrival. Jeremiah’s black hair was damp with sweat by the time he finished, so he shoved a hat on his head before trotting two houses over, to pound on his bosses’ door.
Samuel opened the door a moment later, his green eyes lighting up as they fell on Jeremiah. “Jer! Are you joining me and Douglass for cards?”
“'Fraid not tonight, Samuel,” Jeremiah said hurriedly. “I need tomorrow off, if that’s alright. Give my shift to one of the others, they could use it more than I.”
“Everything alright?” Samuel asked as the sound of men’s laughter exploded behind him.
“Yeah,” said Jeremiah, pausing before elaborating. “Polly’s coming in early.”
Samuel’s smile was filled with compassion and something close to pity, and Jeremiah had to fight to keep from scowling. Samuel was a widower who had been married for ten years, and thought he knew what was best for everyone—and what was best for everyone was always marriage. “I’m mighty glad to hear that, Jeremiah! It’s about time.”
He grunted and started to back away. “Thank you, Sam. I’ll see you Monday, then.”
Samuel nodded, smiling knowingly as Jeremiah turned and headed back down the row of houses and away from the smell of tobacco and baked beans. That wasn’t so bad, he thought. Now if only I could turn that busted old buggy I have into a carriage, maybe I’d feel more sure of myself.
There was nothing else to be done, however, so Jeremiah found himself washing and crawling into bed just before midnight. He dropped off into a deep sleep despite his whirling thoughts, and he dreamed of falling down a bottomless mine shaft, his voice being swallowed by the air rushing past him during his rapid descent. When he woke, he couldn’t remember dreaming at all.
The next morning was so turbulent for him that he couldn’t even eat any breakfast, settling for a few gulps of coffee to fortify his nerves. Most of his neighbors had already risen and went off to work, and he could hear children chattering across the street as they fastened into their shoes and ushered to school; the predictable noise was comforting, but the pounding of hooves shattered his momentary calm. Jeremiah leapt up from the kitchen table and poured his coffee down the sink, wiping his hands on his pants nervously as he rushed to the door.
The carriage was already being unloaded by the time he got to it, and he could see a ruffled gray skirt moving behind the mid-length curtain shielding the open carriage from the open elements. He wondered what was taking so long, and then the curtain parted—and out came an enormous white hat topped with steel-colored silk flowers. The hat was followed by a short woman with the most flawless exterior Jeremiah had ever seen—creamy, unblemished skin, a heart-shaped face, softly curving lips and huge, honey-brown eyes to match the brunette curls piled atop her head. She stepped out and placed one hand on her slim hips as she blinked slowly in the sunlight, apparently startled by the brightness of the day. Then her head turned, and her demure expression changed to one of soft surprise as they took in Jeremiah’s appearance.
“Hello,” he said, taking a step toward her as the driver lugged her bags to the front door. “Miss Clark? I’m Jeremiah.” He took her hand as she extended it and squeezed it gently, enjoying the color that suddenly rushed to her cheeks. He’d slicked his wavy black hair away from his forehead to accentuate his cobalt blue eyes, and he was very thankful then that he’d put on suit. Nothing like great first impression.
Polly composed herself and smiled. “Nice to finally meet you, Jeremiah. It’s Polly, please; I think we’re past Miss and Mister, don’t you?”
His heart did a funny sort of tumble in his chest, and Jeremiah nodded. “I suppose we are.”
He slipped a few coins into the carriage driver’s hand and led Polly into the house, excitement growing inside him. “Would you like some coffee, or some breakfast? We have all the standard fare—but I bet you’d like to get settled first?” He turned toward her, worrying that his words were coming out more rushed than he meant them.
Polly nodded, clutching her hat to her chest as she stood uncertainly in the center of the living room. “That would be fine, thank you.”
So he showed her to the room she’d be staying until they married, her low-heeled shoes making sharp clicks against the wood floors as she walked. Jeremiah set both of her trunks at the foot of the bed and pointed her toward her wash basin and furniture, hoping they met her standards.
“This dresser has a tricky knob,” he warned. “Pull and twist on it, it pops right off. Earl was the handy one, but…anyhow, I’ll get it fixed soon.”
Polly nodded again, and Jeremiah noticed that her eyes had fallen on a worn woolen work cap on one corner of the four-poster bed. Jeremiah cursed himself silently as Polly picked it up and examined a dark spot near the flimsy brim, her fingers holding it gently, as though it were dynamite.
“Is this yours? There’s blood on it.”
“No,” he said quickly, feeling embarrassed. “It was my brother’s. I’m sorry; it was his favorite hat, and we were never good at getting stains out.”
Her features went blank, and she was silent as she handed it to him and he shoved it into his back pocket. “It’s a couple of years old, that stain. I don’t think even a professional like yourself could make this old rag new again.”
“No,” Polly said carefully. “I probably couldn’t.”
She held his gaze a moment longer, and Jeremiah felt again that there was unspoken meaning behind her word. But Polly dropped her eyes from his before he could finish forming a question in his mind, heaving one of her trunks onto the bed so she could begin to unpack.
“If it’s alright with you, I’d like to get settled,” she said. “And then maybe a lie down. I have quite the headache.”
Jeremiah nodded, his earlier elation slipping away. “Can I get you anything? Medicine? Some water?”
Polly shook her head and smiled, her lips pressed together in a thin line. “No, thank you. That will be all.”
Jeremiah stepped out into the hall as the door shut behind him with a snap, wondering why it felt like he’d just been dismissed by a disapproving supervisor rather than his new wife.
> ****
Polly was in her room for three uninterrupted hours, and when she came out again, her eyes were slightly reddened. He thought she would join him at the kitchen table, but she stopped just before sitting.
“I’m not feeling well,” she said in a hushed voice. “I think I’d like to have a bite to eat, and then lie down some more.”
He made her some soup and brought it to her room, but he didn’t see her again until nightfall, when she apologized once more and said she’d see him in the morning. Her curls were unbound and fell around her shoulders like a golden-brown waterfall, and he was mesmerized by her beauty as she spoke. It wasn’t until she walked away again that he realized he had been staring at her intently each time he’d seen her that day. That probably didn’t help her feel comfortable, he scolded himself. Settle down, you old dog.
She was in bed all day Sunday, and assumed she’d be well again by the next day. But Monday morning, she seemed even less comfortable than before. He rose a full two hours before needing to head off to work; he was unable to sleep in much longer than sunrise on most mornings. Jeremiah combed his hair nervously and cut his beard close to his jaw, remembering that Polly had told him she’d been frightened of beards until she was a teenager. They’d joked about it in their letters to each other, and Jeremiah had looked forward to teasing her about it in person as they bonded and grew easy with each other—but the playful Polly he’d gotten to know in correspondence had, so far, been missing. As he watched her move silently around the kitchen after a single word of greeting, he wondered if he’d mistaken her tone. Had she only been being cordial with him, instead of affectionate? Earl always called him a lady-killer, and he’d had his share of admirers, but Pollyanna was a proper lady—she had her own funds, had her own home before she’d moved, and was used to going to the sort of parties where all the ladies wore long white gloves and had their fingers kissed over glasses of champagne. He’d read all of that in her letters—but had he misread her eagerness?
Polly finally sat down to have a bowl of oatmeal, and Jeremiah decided to test the waters. “That was a beautiful dress you were wearing yesterday,” he said, smiling. “It looked like something you made for a special occasion.”
Polly looked up from her bowl in surprise. “Um…thank you. It’s just a simple trumpet skirted gown. Not special at all.”
Jeremiah tried to hide his disappointment. “Well, I guess Sutter Creek isn’t exactly New York. I bet you’re used to real elegance. We’ve got some things to out here, though, don’t you worry. My brother and I weren’t the type who went without culture our whole lives.”
Polly laughed, and the sound wasn’t as kind as he expected. “I’m not sure we like to do the same things, Jeremiah.” Her smile seemed forced.
Annoyance rose in him for the first time, and he couldn’t stop himself from sounding aggressive. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Polly’s cheeks reddened, but she met his eyes resolutely. “If the garters I found in your brother’s room are any indication, you’re more like the miners I’ve known in my life than you led me to believe.”
His annoyance turned swiftly to anger. “Like those ‘dirty men’ you wrote to me about in your letters? The ones you’ve already said I was nothing like?”
“Did I mention I found three different sets of garters?” Polly shot back, her voice shaking. “That’s more than dirty, Jeremiah. Do you men ever clean your rooms? Or are you too busy getting your jollies?”
“Don’t you talk about my brother that way,” Jeremiah said, louder than he intended. “He was a good man. Better than any man I knew. Everyone in this town loved him.”
Polly sniffed. “I shouldn’t be surprised.”
He stood suddenly, and he saw a flash of regret in her eyes as he strode toward the coat rack. “I’m going to work. Maybe you ought to acquaint yourself with that room a little more.”
The door slammed behind him, and he half expected Polly to come after him, but he was too angry to care. She had no right, he thought, fuming; to snoop around is one thing, but to be judgmental about it was another. A man had urges, and so did women; who cared if they helped each other as long as everyone was willing? But as he got closer to the mine, his anger cooled, and he admitted he should have gone through the room more thoroughly after Earl’s death. He’d been so unwilling to accept his passing that he’d only done a cursory sweep of the room and changed the linens, unable to look too closely at his grief; Jeremiah certainly wouldn’t have been happy if he moved into a new room and found used undergarments left by the previous occupant, either.
It was nearing dark when he left work, and he was too drained to be angry anymore. As he walked past the saloon, Jeremiah told himself he would try to be less defensive and more considerate toward his new fiancé, even if that meant staying quiet when he felt he shouldn’t. He was beginning a new chapter now, and he owed it to Earl to give real happiness a try. Fred had been right about that, at least.
Jeremiah opened his front door and was greeted by the smell of something savory baking in the oven. Polly was bent over something on the counter, her back to him as she poked at the dish with a fork. She was wearing a crisp green gown with a white apron tied around her middle, and her brown curls were piled atop her head again. She jumped when she turned and saw him standing at the doorway, and the fork she was holding went clattering to the floor.
“Oh!”
Jeremiah walked into the kitchen cautiously. “Hello. Are you making supper?”
“Shepherd’s pie,” she said, her eyes glittering with anxiety. “And I have a cherry pie cooling on the counter as well, for dessert. Do you like Brussels sprouts?”
“I love them,” Jeremiah said, and Polly smiled.
“I thought so. I wasn’t sure.”
She looked down at her hands, apparently working herself up to speak. Then she raised her eyes again. “I’m sorry about this morning.”
Jeremiah didn’t try to hide his surprise. “Uh…thank you.”
“I was tired,” she continued. “And I think I told you before, I’m not exactly a fan of the miners’ lifestyle.”
“I know,” Jeremiah said mildly. “You’ve made that clear.”
Polly sighed and pressed her hands to her eyes, and Jeremiah felt a sudden rush of remorse for his cold attitude. He reached out and took both of her hands in his, forcing her to meet his eyes.
“Polly, I don’t know why you’re so against miners, and I won’t pretend I don’t want to know. But I don’t need you to tell me, I just need you to try not to feel that way about me. You were so sweet to me in your letters, and I’m still the same man. Have I done anything to make you think I’m not the man you wrote to a year ago?”
Polly shook her head slowly, and shame was starting to take over her delicate features. “No, you haven’t. I…I feel very silly now.” A blush spread to her cheeks, and she met his eyes sheepishly. “Jeremiah, I’m very sorry. You must think I’m quite rude.”
“No, just human,” he said kindly. “And maybe tired and hungry, like me. Is the food done?”
Polly smiled brightly and started to pull dishes down from the cupboards. “How was work?”
“It was okay,” Jeremiah answered as they started to serve themselves. “I’m more interested in your day, though.”
Polly’s pink lips curved up in a joyous smile, and Jeremiah felt his heart do another energetic tumble. “I actually did finish a dress that I’ll need to send back East. It’s a silk gown for a wedding. I’ll get acquainted with the town tomorrow when I find the post office, I suppose.”
Jeremiah nodded. “Did any of the neighbors come by yet?”
“A woman named Rose Boone came by, Samuel Boone’s sister,” Polly said. “She gave me the cherries for the pie, actually. Very nice woman.”
“She works at Boone’s general store,” Jeremiah said. “Hardest working woman in the town.” He took a bite of food, then closed his eyes in bliss. “Wow, this is great, Poll
y.”
She smiled and dipped her head demurely. “You’re too kind.”
“I’m serious,” Jeremiah pressed, happy to see the rosy tint back in her cheeks again. “This must be what they serve in heaven. How did you escape the gates?”
Polly giggled and waved one hand at him. “Oh, stop, you fool. You’ll swell my head with that talk.”
Jeremiah smiled and met her warm brown eyes. “You mean there’ll be even more of that lovely face?”
Polly shook her head and laughed again. “How did you get so good at flattery? Are you sure I’m your first wife?”
Jeremiah chuckled. “If you aren’t, it’s news to me. Sure doesn’t look like a woman has ever lived here.”
After they finished eating, they cleared away the dishes together. Jeremiah insisted on helping wash, so he handed her dishes to dry after he scrubbed them in the basin. They stood with barely two inches of space between them, and he was painfully aware of every move she made. He nearly dropped a plate after their hands collided and he felt a sizzling flare of energy where their skin met, and tried to laugh it off while Polly teased him about it.
“Aren’t you red in the face, Mr. Butterfingers! How do you mine anything with those hands?”
“I may not be able to hold plates, but I can hold axes,” he answered. “And forks, unlike you.”
Polly gasped, feigning offense. “You startled me! That’s not fair.”
“What’s fair? You startled me,” he answered, smiling.
“How? By touching you?” she demanded.
Jeremiah turned toward her to meet her eyes. “Well…yes. You’re distracting me, too.”
Polly opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. He suppressed his laughter as she searched her mind for something to say, but she settled on saying nothing. He was afraid he’d made her uncomfortable again, and looked for a way to correct it.
Then she surprised him again but taking a step closer to him and placing both hands on his broad shoulders. His heart stopped for a moment as she gazed up at him, her expression nervous and giddy all at once. Then she pulled herself up to his height on the tips of her toes and pecked his lips, pulling back before he realized what was going on.
Annie: A Bride For The Farmhand - A Clean Historical Western Romance (Stewart House Brides Book 3) Page 61
