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

by Charity Phillips

  “That old bat has never liked you,” Frederick told her angrily. “All she has ever cared for was money and high society. Ridiculous.”

  Emma smiled kindly at Frederick, grateful for his support. Old Mrs. Hammersley had never been unkind to Frederick, who came from a wealthy family just a little farther south, but she had always despised Emma. Once, she had even called her the downfall of the family’s good name. In all reality, it should have come as no surprise that Emma and her daughter would be cut from the Hammersley’s ties.

  “I’m afraid her disdain for us has reached an unfortunate peak,” Emma admitted, still searching the paper. “I received a letter today and I imagine it is the final one.”

  “What did she say now?”

  “She has told me that she cannot support us and that she asks that I no longer write her.”

  Although Emma had managed to be strong that morning in front of her daughter, sitting up so late at night with Frederick, she couldn’t hold back the onslaught of feelings. How unfair it all seemed! Tears formed behind her eyes and she tilted her head back, blinking rapidly in an attempt to clear them before they fell. One small drop escaped from the corner of her eye and she was startled to feel the soft caress of a man’s hand wipe it away.

  She pulled her head up and stared over at Frederick. His expression was full of intensity, trying to express something that Emma couldn’t understand, or perhaps simply wasn’t ready to. He opened his mouth, eyebrows pulled together in sympathy, ready to say something, but Emma wouldn’t let him.

  She couldn’t. It was sympathy that was written across his features and she couldn’t hear it pour from his mouth, too. So, she jumped forward; she pulled the paper to her, finally spotting the ad she had been searching for.

  “I think I will respond to this ad.” She pointed to it, showing it to Frederick.

  He seemed to debate whether or not to press the subject of whatever he had been so intent on telling her before sighing and looking to her paper. She pointed out the small ad:

  MATRIMONIAL—A successful American bachelor, forty-two years of age, seeks a respectable woman of a moderate age for immediate marriage. Must be family oriented and desirous of a large family. Preferred skills include cooking, cleaning, and timely management of daily activities. Those above the age of forty need not apply.

  There was an address attached to the ad as well indicating that the bachelor lived out west in Livingston, Montana. It would be a long, arduous journey, despite the advancements of the railroad that Frederick had boasted of earlier in the evening. The West was a dangerous, wild place as many were apt to tell Emma. Full of outlaws and prospectors alike, most of that part of the country was still raw terrain waiting for civilized people to cultivate it. Emma didn’t know how committed she might be to such an adventure, but she knew that she was committed to the success and well-being of her only child. A man who had found his success out west might be her only opportunity to give her daughter a real chance at a good life.

  Placing the newspaper down on the table, a deep frown etched into his handsome features, Frederick didn’t look at her as he asked, “Surely you are not actually considering the likes of this?”

  “I am,” she protested, attempting to sound firm, though in her heart she was terrified. “Our lives here have grown difficult to the point where I fear I will not be able to take care of my darling daughter much longer. James’s family has demonstrated how little they care for me and my working is simply not enough to provide for my little girl.”

  Emma had been practicing her speech and her reasoning all day; she’d been hoping she would have been able to make arrangements before Frederick arrived. The danger of responding to such an ad did not escape her keen mind, however, she understood the necessity of it. Certain risks had to be taken; she only wished that she need not introduce her daughter to those same risks. All day, she had been trying to think of a way to keep her daughter safe even if her own safety could not be assured. In the end, she had come up with only one thing: Frederick.

  Reaching out, Emma placed her hands atop his, their warmth seeping into her cold fingers. “We are desperate,” Emma admitted in a small voice. “And I…” she hesitated, uncertain if she was ready to share something so deeply personal, even with Frederick. Finally, she told him, “I am not ready to spend the last of my days alone. I am a widow, but I am a woman, too.”

  Conflict raced across Frederick’s features, his soft brown eyes filled to the brim with worry and affection for her. There seemed to be torment there, too—she presumed it was due to being in such a position as he was, yet unable to help her.

  “And there is no one here… so much closer to your home that you might find to… to fill that void left by someone so dear to your heart?” Frederick’s words were careful, tip-toeing around something that perhaps should have been obvious to Emma, yet still seemed to elude her.

  Shaking her head, soft blonde curls slipped out of the pins meant to hold them up and drifted across her cheeks. “Who would I find here? I have no time for society parties to meet an eligible man, and those whom I might engage with on odd occasion have no interest in the likes of me. No, if I am to find a man, then I am afraid I shall have to look far beyond the walls of home.”

  Something eased in Frederick’s expression, though it was not a sign of relief. Instead, it was a mark of resignation; he had accepted that she would not be swayed.

  Finally, he said to her, “Very well, my dearest Emma. If you must respond to such an ad, then I must insist upon one thing only.”

  Frowning, Emma asked him hesitantly, “And what is that?”

  “That I make the long trek to Montana with you. As your chaperone.”

  ****

  Harrisburg, Pennsylvania - 1875

  Emma clung tightly to Margaret’s hand as she tried to follow as closely to Frederick as the station would allow. At least half a dozen times, they’d gotten separated and he’d had to come and find them. It was difficult with so many people, and with a bag in one hand and a child in the other, it was no wonder at all she was having difficulty keeping up. To his credit, Frederick of course was carrying the majority of the luggage. Once they actually arrived at their train and were beginning to board, there would be room in the baggage car for their luggage, and officials who worked for the station would be all too happy to help them. Until then, he carried most of their things, leaving Emma with only one small bag to contend with and Margaret only her porcelain doll, a gift from her father years ago.

  After a moment, Emma realized that she had once again lost sight of Frederick. He was a tall man with soft dark hair that was quite thick and very well maintained, and though she felt he was quite attractive, he blended in easily with the large crowd there at the Baltimore & Ohio station. Everyone seemed to be wearing the same dark coat as him, carrying the same amount of luggage, each with the same dark hair. The features she might find distinguishing were in his face, so open and soft, carrying with it a sweetness that never failed to make a smile ease across her lips.

  Panic began to work its way into her chest; they only had a few minutes more before they needed to be on the train. “Frederick?” she tried calling, though amidst the tooting of steam and the blowing of whistles, she couldn’t even hear herself as she called for him.

  Trying to stay calm for Margaret’s sake, Emma’s hazel eyes searched the station in hopes of spotting him. She was about to call his name again when a hand gripped on her shoulder, making her jump and cry out, “Oh!”

  “Emma, there you are!”

  It was Frederick, looking just as frazzled as she felt, if that was possible. Relief crossed his features when he found the both of them.

  “I’m so sorry!” Emma apologized immediately, as Frederick steered them towards a set of steps leading up towards the entrance to the train. “I tried to follow you, but this crowd is impossible! I never would have imagined—”

  “It’s alright, Emma,” Frederick soothed easily. “I wouldn
’t leave you behind.”

  Warmth eased through Emma, a sense of security returned now that she was once again with Frederick. His kindness ensured that nothing terrible would happen to her and her daughter.

  Frederick was familiar with traveling, because he dealt so often with both land prospectors and other realty agencies which required him to travel beyond his Hartford home. Margaret always told him he had such a boring job, but she never complained when he told her of his trips. It made for interesting stories of far off places to tell to them; he had no family of his own beyond his mother and father. In addition, it proved that, regardless of his family’s independent and inherited wealth, Frederick was a hard worker, determined to make his own mark in the world. It was the new American way and happened to be a trait that Emma very much admired in her dear friend. Now, however, she was simply grateful that his experience with travel allowed her and Margaret’s safe passage into the Wild West a little less daunting.

  Pennsylvania was the nearest station to pick up the Baltimore & Ohio train headed west, as Frederick told them, which meant they’d had to take a carriage all the way to the station. She was just grateful they wouldn’t have to go by wagon all the way to Montana! From what she understood, it was quite the journey. Later, in Minnesota, they would have to transfer companies altogether, but at least the same railway could take them most of the way there.

  The three of them shuffled in behind a growing line of people attempting to get on board. It was difficult, Emma being jostled about because there was such a large crowd. Many were attempting to get on the train, but others were merely there to bid their loved ones good bye and to wish them safe travels. It made Emma feel a little claustrophobic; although her days at work were in a relatively small room with a multitude of other young women, in the end it was still nothing like this. It didn’t help that she was already nervous about the things to come and she was unfamiliar with lengthy travel like this.

  Emma had been away from Hartford only twice in her life; Margaret had been only once. The first trip away had been originally planned right after her formal engagement to James. Of course, things didn’t quite go as planned. She had never met his family before and he insisted that, of course, she must at least once meet the elder Hammersleys. She agreed, hopeful that the family she was being brought into would be as warm and welcoming as she had always dreamed. Her own family had died of illness and misfortune, a curse that seemed to follow her into her adult life years later, leaving her with little beyond her determination to survive. When she’d met James, it had been a bit of a whirlwind romance; he was everything she could have hoped for. The prospect of his family—the older, motherly matron and the firm, but warm father—had been so inviting to her that she’d all but jumped for joy at the thought of meeting them. They were denizens of North Carolina, making their fortune before President Lincoln ever took office. Ultimately, the Civil War prevented their trip into the South—tensions were too high and it was simply deemed too dangerous to risk such a trip over a thing like engagement. When they finally did manage to meet James’s family, it was already two years after they’d been married and the war was finally over. Margaret was a year and a half old, and when they all traveled down to North Carolina, tensions were still high and the Hammersleys were incredibly cold. They never went again.

  The only other time Emma had been out of Hartford was for their honeymoon. It had been an exciting trip to the New York countryside. Shortly after that, Margaret had been born and they didn’t travel again until the war was over.

  Within seven years of Margaret’s birth, James had taken ill and by the time the poor child was only eight, her father had perished.

  Emma had become a widower at only twenty-seven years of age. At the time, she believed vehemently that she could never again love a man so much as she had loved her dear James. But time crept on without him; her grief subsided. Although she would never forget her lost love, she admitted to herself that her heart was strong enough to try again.

  As they boarded the train, Frederick presented all of their tickets and the man at the door waved them inside. There were several different cars full of seating arrangements; Frederick led them to a relatively secluded area and stored their bags away. Margaret immediately dove for a window to glance outside at all the people who remained on the platform, waving and kissing at their counterparts on the train.

  The three of them settled into their seats, and several moments later, the train left the station.

  It was an odd sensation to feel the movement of the train; different from the feeling of a hackney cab. There was a chug-chug sound and motion that went with it that was equal parts soothing and strange. For a long while, Margaret asked questions about the train—and about Montana, where they were ultimately heading—and all but plastered her little face and wide eyes up against the glass to look out the window. When it finally grew dark, Margaret began to yawn and settled down. Eventually, she wound up with her head in Emma’s lap.

  Emma slowly combed her fingers through her daughter’s silky curls; their car was mostly quiet with either sleep or thoughtfulness.

  “She is exhausted, the poor little thing,” Emma whispered quietly to Frederick so as not to wake her child.

  Frederick was sitting across from the two of them, looking fondly on little Margaret, as affectionately as any father might. “It is a long trip for someone so young.” He looked up at Emma, the tender expression on his face shifting to one of thoughtfulness. “And you? How are you feeling? It is a long trip for a young woman as well.”

  Emma gave a gentle shrug of her shoulders. “I am quite alright, I assure you. Not even tired, actually.” She laughed a little, quiet and nervous. Smiling ruefully at her chaperone, she admitted, “I’m nervous. It’s such a long distance to travel for a complete stranger.”

  Frederick’s lips pursed tightly together, and for a long moment, he didn’t say anything at all, the sound of the moving train the only noise filling the car. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than she anticipated. “It is not too late to reconsider.”

  Emma’s eyes widened in surprise. Stifling a sudden small laugh, she said, “Frederick, we are already on the train! We have bought our tickets, given my landlord notice and packed up everything I own! If anything, I think it is entirely too late, wouldn’t you say?”

  She said it lightly, almost teasing, but inside it was more of a panicked response. In all actuality, she was quite terrified of what was to come. What if the ad in the paper was merely a ruse and the man wasn’t interested in a wife at all? She had heard of dozens of terrible scams by men out west, taking in poor naïve women who simply didn’t know any better—or who were too desperate to not take the risk. She had shared only a half a dozen letters with the man—his name was Henry—and while he certainly seemed like an honorable, legitimate man, there was simply no way to know for certain if he was the man he claimed to be. Not until she arrived with her twelve-year-old daughter in tow.

  Oh, the relief she had felt when Frederick insisted on being her chaperone. It was a terrible inconvenience to him, she knew, but she could not muster up the courage to say no to him. He was her last friendly face and she couldn’t let him go.

  “I would pay for your return,” Frederick told her almost immediately, his eyes bright and his tone moderately insistent. It was almost as if he were eager for her to reconsider. “We can get off at the next station in Indiana and take the next immediate train back East to Hartford. It would likely take an additional day or two, but we would hardly be in a predicament. And as for living arrangements, I have a summer house that would be most suitable for—”

  Emma placed one hand over her chest in an effort to stop the sudden rapid beating of her lonely heart and held the other one up to stop him from continuing his entirely too generous offer. She was surprised by his vehemence; he was always kind, but this seemed excessive. The laugh that had originally been just at the tip of her tongue, more hysterical than amused,
died immediately. He was clearly worried about her.

  Turning serious, Emma told him, “There is no longer anything left for me in Hartford, though I do love it so. My future is in Montana, as is Margaret’s.”

  She glanced down at her daughter, sleeping peacefully despite the intensity of their discussion.

  “Do you truly and honestly believe that you will find love with this… this stranger?”

  There was a pleading note in Frederick’s voice that made Emma look up at his face. It, too, was filled with an imploring expression, his eyes speaking volumes to her. She once again felt that this was all too much of a reaction from him. He had been James’s closest friend, and certainly her favorite of the bunch. As James’s friend, he felt obligated to look out for the family dear James left behind, but sometimes Emma felt that this loyalty would be his downfall. Certainly, he didn’t owe them generosity of this degree.

  He is such a good, loyal friend, she thought, and wondered if that loyalty wasn’t clouding his judgment in this particular matter—or perhaps, like a good friend, he wanted only her happiness in the end.

  Emma wished that she could simply lie and tell him that the few short correspondence letters from her matrimonial suitor had been enough to spark a fire of love within her. But she couldn’t. It was a lie, and she couldn’t bring herself to lie to such a dear a friend, so she was as honest as she could bring herself to be: “I cannot love a man I do not know. But I am endeavoring with letters and this very trip to learn who that man is. Love grows with time; perhaps, then, I can grow to love him.”

  It was what she hoped for, though one of her greatest fears was to find that there could never be love between them and she would spend the rest of her days loveless.