Annie: A Bride For The Farmhand - A Clean Historical Western Romance (Stewart House Brides Book 3)

by Charity Phillips

  Jeremiah stood there for a moment, stunned, until Polly started to giggle again.

  “Wow,” she said breathlessly. “I really do startle you. You’ve definitely never been married before; are you sure you’ve even had a girlfriend?”

  “Hey!” Jeremiah protested, laughing. “I was startling you plenty earlier, so you have no room to talk!”

  “Well, you didn’t tell me you looked like one of those fancy cowboys,” Polly grumbled. “I’m sure you got more than looks from the girls in your heyday.”

  “Maybe, but none of them were right for me,” Jeremiah admitted.

  Polly smiled. “Lucky me.”

  His heart skipped a beat. “Lucky me, I think.”

  They talked more about their younger days over pie. Polly told him about her first crush, and Jeremiah told her about his. They talked about their family and friends well into the night, until Polly reminded him they both had things to do in the morning. He walked her to her room, and before she went in, she stopped and looked back at him, expectantly—but only for a moment; she hurried into the room and shut the door behind her before he realized that she might have been waiting for him to kiss her.

  Stupid!

  But that night his dreams were far more pleasant, and he drifted off to sleep with a smile on his face.

  ****

  The days slipped by, and Jeremiah felt more and more at ease. Polly was warming to him, and they were starting to get along swimmingly, even though there were still bumps every now and then—an odd remark about gambling, accidentally insulting a dress, or just brief bickering after a bad night’s sleep—but after a month and a half, they’d mostly settled into a comfortable rhythm. Polly had her first big order to work on, but she’d always have her things put away and dinner ready for him when he got home, and she was happy to see him, even if she was quiet. Jeremiah learned to stop taking her quiet moments too hard, and always took great interest in her day, taking care not to seem like he was brown-nosing her; this was especially because he really did find everything about her fascinating. Her nimble fingers, her dry humor, even the stories she had from years of working with men and women from all walks of life were enchanting to him. He whistled at the detail of her designs, which she kept in a notebook of fine paper bound with dark, polished leather, every drawing as sharp and realistic as the finished product would prove to be.

  “Have you tried painting?” he asked her one evening after looking at a page of designs for riding habits.

  Polly was surprised at the question. “A bit,” she said hesitantly, brushing away an errant curl. “I’m not very good.”

  “I bet you’re great,” Jeremiah said earnestly, taking her smaller hand in his.

  Polly blushed and smiled at him sheepishly. “You’re just saying that.”

  “I’m not,” he insisted. “I’d love to see something you painted. Anything. I know it will be wonderful.”

  She’d given him a wide smile, and her brown eyes sparkled with joy. And then she’d kissed him—though it seemed too simple to say that she ‘just’ pressed her lips to his; no matter how many times she did it, it was always electrifying, and it always left him gasping for air. He was pleased to see that Polly was left as giddy and breathless as he was, and that she felt comfortable enough to share kisses with him and even cuddle together on the sofa, but she’d so far stopped short of going public. Polly hadn’t set a date for the wedding, and she didn’t allow him to show affection toward her in public, insisting that they wait until they were official.

  “But aren’t we official now?” Jeremiah had asked.

  “Not until the minister decrees it,” she said mildly, and he’d been too afraid to push the subject that evening.

  But the men at mine had started asking, too—they’d all seen Polly by now, and the ones who had wives had met her, too, since she’d gone around to let them know about her business. But they’d all remarked on the title she introduced herself with: Miss instead of Missus, and always her maiden name. They, too, assumed it was already official, and Jeremiah couldn’t explain the problem—because he didn’t understand it himself.

  He walked over to Boone’s general store early one Sunday morning. The air was getting crisper, but he saw barefoot children racing around in their small yards as if the cold didn’t reach their skin. Jeremiah couldn’t remember what it was like to be so reckless; after Earl had died, he was especially wary of everything that could do him harm. Strangely enough, he was far less afraid to meet an untimely end than he had been during the previous year; what had changed?

  As he walked into the store, his train of through was derailed. Maxine Boone, Rose and Samuel Boone’s mother. She was in her seventies and going blind, but still insisted on coming into the store every single day to check on things. Right now, she was waving a stick at Ivan, their stock boy, with her wispy blonde hair gathered in a small, tight knot atop her head. Rose stood between them with her hands up in front of the woman in a pleading gesture, her chestnut brown hair done in an identical fashion.

  “I don’t care what you think! Ida’s store has got them, you should have them, too!”

  Ivan was shouting back at Maxine, his slim face going red. “None of the Mestizos even use this store, and they’re the only ones who buy—”

  “Why do you think they don’t use this store?” Maxine demanded. “You’re not trying to cater to them like Ida’s! Get some more product, maybe you wouldn’t be so slow all the time!”

  “Home deliveries make up more of our profits than—”

  “Bah!” Maxine waved her hands at Ivan dismissively and turned away from him, finally acknowledging Jeremiah as he approached the women and the young man bemusedly. “Smith! Jeremiah Smith. What can I do for you?”

  “I’d like to arrange one of those home deliveries, actually,” he said, blushing.

  “See?” Ivan said snidely. “We’re fine without those…Mestizos.”

  Jeremiah wrote his order down on a pad and handed it to Rose, bristling as he wondered what the boy had been going to say instead. “Actually, I know quite a few Mestizos at the mine. They’d love to give you their business, but I’m not sure they’d love to buy from someone who shows them no respect. You may not think you need them, but they surely don’t need you.”

  Ivan blushed furiously and stomped away, muttering a stream of curses under his breath. Rose laughed, her green eyes sparkling as she walked away after him, holding her lower back with one hand and small, round belly with the other.

  Jeremiah nodded to her. “How far along is she?”

  “Six months, about,” Maxine said. “Why the interest now? Don’t you have a dame? I here she’s pretty, too; not as pretty as my Rosie, of course.”

  Jeremiah smiled. “You know Rose and I are too different. Besides, Sam’s an old buddy. I bet she knows some unflattering stories about me. I actually just wondered if she’d need some new maternity dresses.”

  Maxine raised her eyebrows, catching on immediately. “Ah, the wife’s a dressmaker, is she?”

  Jeremiah nodded. “A damn good one, too.” He paused.

  Maxine cocked her head. “When’s the wedding?”

  Jeremiah didn’t even flinch; Maxine had an uncanny ability to pick out a problem before it was even hinted at. He secretly believed she really was keeping the store running.

  “I don’t know what, Maxine,” he said truthfully. “I don’t know when she’ll be ready.”

  Maxine leaned forward conspiratorially. “Well, why don’t you just ask her?”

  Jeremiah laughed, but he saw she was serious. He paused, turning the idea over in his mind. “You know,” he said slowly. “I guess you’re right. There’s no reason not to just ask.”

  “Don’t just ask,” Maxine said, grinning at him. “Did she just move across the country for you? Did she just agree to uproot her business? Maybe you ought to make a big move, so she feels ready to make hers.”

  Jeremiah stared at Maxine’s wizened face, stunne
d. She nodded and walked away, humming to herself in a satisfied manner, and he wondered how he’d been so thoughtless. Of course he should make a gesture out of it—why else would she be waiting to set a date? It had been almost two months, after all, and he’d neglected to show any initiative. It shouldn’t rest solely on her shoulders.

  As he walked past the barefoot children again, he saw a patch of wildflowers growing in a field behind the foundry. Jeremiah dashed behind the building and plucked a handful of the yellow and orange flowers, hoping she didn’t have any allergies she was forgetting to tell him about. A gust of wind ruffled his hair, and as the cold surrounded him, he realized why he felt so different about the world and his own mortality. For the first time in a year, he was happy—he was no longer young and reckless, but he was elated and joyful in a way he had never experienced before, and it was because of Polly. I have to let her know, he thought desperately; when she knows how I feel about her, her hesitancy will fade.

  Polly was cooking breakfast when we walked back in the house. She was wearing a soft yellow dress, and it highlighted the golden flecks in her warm brown eyes. She smiled and kissed him after accepting the flowers, and as she pulled away, her grin was slightly goofy. Jeremiah’s heart leapt in his chest, and he wrapped his hands around hers, feeling nervous all of a sudden.

  “Pollyanna, these two months have been like a dream,” he said earnestly. “I’ve never been so happy. I hope you’ve been happy, too.”

  Polly’s smile wavered. “I have,” she said cautiously.

  Jeremiah hesitated, but decided to press on. “I’ve gotten to know you, and I’ve grown to love you. You’ve changed my life, Pollyanna. You’ve changed me. I want you to make me an honest man. Please, will you marry me?”

  He expected her to laugh, gasp, or even cry in response to his proposal; he didn’t expect the complete lack of reaction he was met with instead. Polly stared at him, her mouth slightly open, but her voice frozen in her chest. The seconds dragged by, and Jeremiah’s heart started to pound in his chest. What was going on? Was he wrong—again?

  “Jeremiah,” Polly said softly. “I’m sorry. I’m still not ready.”

  It was like she’d slapped him, or even punched him in the stomach. His elation drained away, and misery and confusion surged through his body in twin rivers to fill the void. “I…I don’t understand. Why aren’t you ready? What am I doing wrong?”

  Polly’s cheeks pinkened, and she pulled her hands from his. “It’s hard to explain, Jeremiah.”

  “Try,” he demanded. “Please try to.”

  Polly closed her eyes. “Why won’t you just let me take my time?”

  “Because you won’t tell me why!” the words came in a shout, and Polly’s eyes flew open. He saw fear in them, but he surged ahead anyway. “You’re making me think I’ve done something wrong, Polly. If I’ve done something wrong, let me fix it! If not, stop punishing me for whoever did wrong you! Do you know how it feels to have someone turn away from you on the street? Are you that disgusted with me, is that it?”

  Polly’s eyes were swimming with unshed tears now. “No. It’s just…”

  “You’re ‘wary of the miners’ lifestyle,” Jeremiah finished for her angrily. “You’re convinced I’m going to run off with a parlor girl, is that it?”

  “No!”

  “Then what is it? What is it Polly?” He took a step toward her, and then another, his voice softening until his tone was pleading. “What happened? Did a miner destroy your family? Did a miner break your heart?”

  “No!” Polly shouted. “He broke my mother’s heart, and he dropped in and out of my life as he pleased. He was a viol, boozing, womanizing thief, and my whole life I looked up to him and waited for him to love me. Then he drank himself to death in the arms of a parlor house girl, and she took all his money and left him there.” The tears finally began to spill down her cheeks, but she kept talking. “But I never knew that, Jeremiah. I never knew any of that. My mother told me my Daddy was a traveling salesman and that he was off peddling his wares, and that was why I only saw him a few days a year. Then he died a year and a half ago, and my mother told me the truth. My father was a monster, Jeremiah, but I never saw that side of him. The father I knew was a lie. How could a man hide himself from me for twenty-five years?”

  She was sobbing now, and Jeremiah pulled her into his arms, his heart folding under the weight of his remorse. “I’m sorry, Polly. I’m so sorry. But I would never hurt you. I would never dream of treating you like that. I love you, Polly.”

  As soon as he said the words, she stopped crying; neither of them had ever said it aloud before now.

  She pulled back from him, wiping her tears away. “I love you, too, Jeremiah,” she said softly, and his heart nearly exploded with joy. “But it’s not enough.”

  “What?”

  Polly dropped her eyes. “The fear will never go away. It’s always going to be there in me, whenever you go out. I can’t lose you. I can’t lose part of myself to you and then have you rip it away. It happened to my mother. She was never the same.”

  Panic flooded Jeremiah, and he tried to pull her close to him again. “Polly, please. Please, just trust me. Just let me show you that I mean it.”

  Polly shook her head and moved away from him, her eyes filling with tears again. “Jeremiah, just leave me be. I’m sorry. We’ll figure something out later, okay? I’ll get back to New York on my own. I’m sorry.”

  She turned and ran from the room, and as he heard the door slam, he realized the bacon was burning.

  ****

  Jeremiah left the house and walked around the town, trying to expend his nervous energy as he strode the streets and alleyways of Sutter Creek. He went by the foundry and said hello to Isaac, who invited him to work with him on a part for a factory that was to be shipped out the next day. It took his mind away from his troubles for a while, and he felt calmer as he strolled home. The sun was setting, and when he pushed open the door, the kitchen was exactly as he’d left it that morning, with no sign of Polly having made lunch or supper. He could see the glow of a lamp from under the door, but he heard no movement that indicated she was packing or working. He thought about knocking, but he couldn’t work up the nerve, and finally turned from the door and retreated into his own room to nip into his bottle of gin before dipping into a dreamless sleep.

  He rose and left for work after eating a cold breakfast of fruit, cheese, and bread, unable to stomach anything more. Jeremiah was exhausted, and it showed; Fred kept asking if he needed a break when he saw him throughout his ten-hour shift.

  “I’m fine,” Jeremiah snapped continually, but he was working far slower than he did on most days, and his thoughts kept drifting back to Polly. What if she leaves? You shouldn’t have left. You should have stayed and talked to her.

  He couldn’t silence his internal monologue, so when Fred asked him if he was okay for the fiftieth time, he couldn’t contain his anger.

  “No, I’m not okay Fred—and you won’t be okay if you keep asking.”

  Fred stepped back in surprise, his pick axe dangling from his hand.

  “Jeremiah,” said a voice behind him.

  Jeremiah turned toward the voice, and his heart sank. It was Samuel, and he was beckoning him closer. He waited until he was within earshot, and braced himself for the reprimand that he knew was coming.

  Samuel put a hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t you take the rest of the day off? You look like you haven’t had much sleep.”

  Jeremiah was too tired to hide his surprise. “I’m fine, Sam.”

  Sam smiled. “You don’t look fine. This isn’t an option. Take the day off.”

  He sighed. “Fine. I’ll take the day off.”

  Jeremiah walked past his fellow miners dejectedly until he emerged into the sunlight, pulling his wool coat around his body to shield himself from the sudden breeze. He walked east, toward a wide patch of empty space populated with more wildflowers and strangely empty of ot
her life. This was an area that was usually filled with children, but they were all in school by now, so he had the field and a view the wide creed behind it all to himself. Jeremiah sat in the grass for longer than he meant to; he dozed off, and when he woke, his watch told him he’d been out of the mine for four hours. I guess I am a lot more tired than I thought. Maybe I should go home to sleep. He turned northwest toward home, then changed his mind and turned southwest toward the Knight Foundry, intending to see if Isaac was too busy to see him again.

  But the Foundry was closed, so he turned around and walked home. No one was outside the mine when he walked past again, and the streets were oddly deserted. He felt like Rip Van Winkle, looking at all the empty spaces that were usually so constantly bustling—had he slept for a hundred years? Had Sutter Creek become a ghost town?

  He pushed open the door and was shocked to find Rose cradling Polly as she sobbed onto her shoulder. Neither of them moved at first, and it almost felt intrusive for him to be there.

  “Ladies?” Jeremiah said hesitantly.

  They both looked up, and their reactions were astounding. Rose stood and yelped, and Polly shrieked so loud the hairs on his arm stood on end. They both rushed forward, but Polly got to him first, and she nearly knocked him down with the force of her hug. Her lips clamped onto his, and he shivered as that familiar burst of electricity seized hold of him and heated every cell in his body.

  “How?” Rose was saying wearily. “You were gone. They couldn’t find you.”

  Polly pulled back from him, tears still streaming from her eyes. She still couldn’t speak, so Jeremiah looked a question at Rose.

  “There was an explosion at the mine,” she said tearfully. “They put the fire out, but they found two unconscious bodies. No one found yours, so the rescuers reported you dead.”