Copyright
ISBN 978-1-60260-994-5
Copyright © 2010 by Colleen L. Reece. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the permission of Truly Yours, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., PO Box 721, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683.
All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.
Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.
One
June 1880
San Joaquin Valley, California
“I’m not going to school in Madera any longer.”
Dolores Sterling’s personal Declaration of Independence hit the spacious kitchen of the white stucco, Spanish-style ranch house on the Diamond S cattle ranch like a burst of gunfire.
Solita, the diminutive Mexican housekeeper, dropped the tortilla she had been tossing. Dori’s brother, Matt, straightened from lounging in the doorway. Storm signals flashed in his bright blue eyes, eyes the same color as his sister’s. He parked his hands on his hips and glared down at her. Four inches taller than Dori’s five-foot-seven height, Matt’s high-heeled cowboy boots allowed him to tower even farther over her.
“You what?”
Dori gave Matt her most charming smile. “I’m going to Boston for a three-year term.” She clenched her hands behind her back and tossed her head until her black curls danced. “I already wrote to the school. They are holding a place for me. All you have to do is to send the money.”
Matt snorted. “I do, do I? What if I refuse?”
“Then you’ll cause me to break my word. I told them I was coming.” Dori ignored Solita’s gasp. “It’s a matter of honor, Matt.”
“What’s honorable about going behind my back and promising such an outlandish thing?” he raged.
If Dori hadn’t known how much her brother—who had taken their father’s place after he died—doted on her, she’d have been intimidated. She mumbled, “Sorry, but I figured you’d say I’m too young. I’m not. I’ll be sixteen years old in a few months. You need to start treating me like a young lady, not a little girl.”
Matt exploded with laughter. “You, a young lady?” He pointed at her worn riding skirt and vest. “How do you think you will stack up against those Boston blue bloods?”
Dori proudly raised her head. “I’d rather have good, red, western blood than all the blue blood in America,” she retorted. “Besides, I can become just as much a lady as any sissy East Coast girl.” She ignored the cynical little voice inside that challenged, oh yeah? and rushed on. “This is where I’m going.” She held out a worn magazine advertisement extolling the virtues of Brookside Finishing School for Young Ladies in Boston, Massachusetts.
Matthew said nothing.
Dori turned to Solita. “You think I should go, don’t you, Solita?”
The housekeeper, who had become Matt and Dori’s substitute mother after the death of Rebecca Sterling many years before, waited until Matt finished reading the advertisement. Then she quietly said, “Señor Mateo, I think that Señora Sterling would be glad for her daughter to attend such a school.”
“Gracias, gracias, Solita.” Dori grabbed the housekeeper. She whirled her into a mad dance, blew Matt a kiss, and dashed out of the kitchen. With Solita on her side, Matt would never refuse to let her go—or would he? Not quite certain, Dori paused just outside the doorway. She knew eavesdropping was wrong, but her whole future hung in the balance.
“Our casa will seem empty, but you must release the señorita,” Solita said. “She is unhappy here, like a little bird wanting to try her wings and fly. Your mamá and papá would have allowed it, had they lived. Since they are no longer with us, you must decide what is best for her, not what is best for you.” She sighed. “And for me.”
Dori sneaked away, knowing she had won.
❧
Once Matt reluctantly consented, the next few weeks flew by in a maze of preparations. Matt paid the exorbitant fee required by Miss Genevieve Brookings, owner and headmistress of the Brookside School. He imported a dressmaker from Fresno. If Dori was going back east, she would go in style with the proper clothing.
Unfortunately, Dori’s idea of “proper clothing” did not coincide with Miss Mix’s. When the prim dressmaker produced a pair of corsets, Dori rebelled. “I don’t wear corsets. My brother thinks it’s unhealthy for young girls to be forced into instruments of torture for the sake of fashion.”
Miss Mix gasped. “You discuss ladies’ undergarments with your brother?”
Dori reveled in the woman’s horror. “Of course,” she said innocently. “He’s so much older than I that he helped dress me when I was a little girl.”
Disapproval oozed out between the pins in Miss Mix’s pinched mouth for the remainder of the dressmaking sessions, and she reminded Dori that “Pride goeth before a fall.”
Dori came off triumphant by correctly quoting Proverbs 16:18: “ ‘Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall.’ ” When Dori’s trunks were packed and ready for the long train trip, they contained both lovely and practical clothing: hats, gowns, shoes, etc.—but nary a hated corset.
❧
Dori enjoyed the train ride back east with Matt, despite being cooped up in a small space. When she grew weary of sitting in the plush seats, she strolled through the cars, wondering. Where were her fellow passengers headed? Dori smiled to herself. Surely no one else was going to the Brookside School. The knowledge made her feel superior. So did dreaming about what Madera would think of her when she finished her schooling. I’ll come home a young woman, she realized. The cowboys on the Diamond S will gape—but my girlhood will be left behind. Will becoming a lady mean giving up the freedom I’ve always enjoyed?
Like a summer squall that attacks the unwary without warning, a new and unwelcome thought plagued Dori. She had shrugged off Matt and Solita’s warnings that some of the young ladies at Brookside might look down on her. Who cared? She could hold her own against any snobbish girl. But what if I meet and fall in love with an easterner? Someone who considers everything west of Chicago uncivilized? Could I give up my home for him? Dori sniffed. Lord, it was fine for Ruth in the Bible to promise she’d follow her mother-in-law wherever Naomi led, but I’m no Ruth.
Dori squirmed in her seat. How foolish to be concerned over what might lie ahead. A scripture Solita often quoted when Dori or Matt worried about what might happen came to mind. “Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.”
It was enough for now that each day brought new sights—the wonder of America. Dori had never been farther from Madera than Fresno, and a visit to San Francisco several years earlier. She shivered. The tall buildings huddled together for protection against the Pacific Ocean on one side and San Francisco Bay on the other had seemed to close in on her. Dori had never seen so much water, not even when the rivers around Madera flooded. She’d sighed with relief when she and Matt left the city behind.
Dori found Chicago even more crowded and stifling than San Francisco. Changing trains swept away her feelings of superiority. Big and bustling, with people rushing to and fro in and out of the station’s doors, Dori felt dwarfed by its immensity. She stayed close to Matt until her personal needs could no longer be denied. A smiling agent directed her to
the proper place.
“Don’t be too long,” Matt warned. “Our train was late so we only have a short layover here.”
“All right.” Heart pounding, Dori took careful note of the way to the facility so she would know how to get back to Matt. She had no trouble reaching the room marked Ladies and hurriedly took care of her needs. She washed her hands at one of the gleaming sinks and started back toward Matt, but was caught up in a horde of people rushing in the opposite direction. All of them appeared to know exactly where they were going. Feeling like she’d been trapped in a stampede, Dori became hopelessly disoriented. She couldn’t see over the tall hats many of the gentlemen wore. Was this how a salmon felt while trying to swim upstream? For the first time in her life, Dori panicked. Where was Matt? What should she do? What if they missed their train?
She swallowed hard. Please, God, help me find my brother.
It was the first prayer Dori had uttered in weeks, except for asking God to make Matt let her attend Brookside School. Fear threatened to suffocate her. What if God didn’t answer? The crowd of pushing, shoving people swept her along. Caught in their midst, Dori screamed at the top of her lungs, “Matt! Where are you?”
Her cry for help was lost in the clamor. A train whistle shrieked a warning, summoning passengers to get on board or be left behind. The multitude reached the outside doors, Dori still in their midst. If she couldn’t free herself, she would be carried onto the train with Matt left behind. Or—Dori blanched—forced onto the wrong train.
Terror changed her to a wildcat. Elbows out, Dori rammed into those around her. “Get out of my way!” she shouted. Muttered curses from those she struck rang in her ears, but she cleared a passage and fought her way to the side. She clung to a doorpost while the uncaring crowd rushed on.
The wheels of the train began to move. Dori screamed for her brother again. A heavy hand fell on her shoulder. Tears streaming, she looked up. “Matt! Thank God.” Dori sagged in his arms.
Matt snatched her up and raced toward the already-moving eastbound train.
“Hurry,” the conductor cried from his position at the bottom of the steps.
With a mighty leap Matt reached the bottom step and lunged up to safety. The conductor followed and raised the steps behind him.
All Dori could do was cling to her brother and cry.
❧
The clackety-clack of the incoming train’s wheels dwindled into silence. Brakes screeched. The engine shuddered, gasped, and died—as if glad to have reached its destination. It had been a long, hard run from Madera, California, to Boston, Massachusetts: three thousand miles of mountains and canyons, cities and small settlements, and always that monotonous clackety-clack of gigantic wheels carrying Dolores Sterling away from everything she knew.
“Well, we’re here.” Matt stepped into the aisle and stretched. “Need a hand?”
Dori shook her head, not trusting herself to speak. What she could see of Boston through the train’s dirty windows depressed her. The drizzle from the weeping skies added to her misery. So did the tall buildings closing in on each side of the street and threatening to smother her.
Dori shuddered and pulled her traveling cloak closer around her trembling body. She clutched her reticule and followed Matt up the aisle and onto the station platform. Once inside the horse-drawn carriage that rumbled and swayed over the cobblestone street, she huddled in the corner of the musty-smelling vehicle, closed her eyes, and gulped back homesickness. I can’t look back. Yet she couldn’t help reliving the frightening incident in the Chicago train station.
A hard jolt flung Dori against Matt. She opened her eyes. She was no longer lost and terrified in the Chicago station. Or on the train, badly shaken and unable to tell Matt what had happened and how frightened she’d been. She was in Boston with a single, unanswerable question drumming in her brain: Why did I plead, beg, and insist on coming east to school instead of staying home on the Diamond S where I belong?
Two
The creaking carriage stopped in front of an ivy-covered building that jutted three stories into the scowling sky. Dori stared at the fancy sign identifying it as the Brookside Finishing School for Young Ladies. Several smaller attached buildings trailed away from the main structure like the tail of a kite. This gloomy place couldn’t be the academy Dori had seen advertised. Enticed by glowing descriptions of sunlight sifting through huge trees and dappling the manicured lawn, she’d dreamed about drinking lemonade there. Or—better yet—beating a bevy of well-dressed young ladies at croquet. Now the only sign of life in the sodden front yard was a pair of long, skinny legs beneath a black umbrella.
Matt paid the driver and held out his hand to assist Dori.
“Step lively, miss,” the driver advised. “Looks like it’s going to pour.”
Stepping lively was the last thing Dori wanted to do, but Matt helped her out of the carriage and hurried her along a cobblestone walk. Before he could lift the heavy knocker, the massive doors swung open. A cadaverous-looking individual with an expression as mournful as his night-black clothing bowed. “Come in, sir, miss. I’m Scraggs. May I take your coats?”
Dori stared. This caricature of a man who looked like he’d stepped out of a Charles Dickens novel must be a butler. How Curly and Bud and Slim would howl if they could see her now. A ripple of laughter escaped.
Matt sent her a disapproving glance but Scraggs didn’t even blink. He efficiently hung their wet garments on a nearby rack and said in a voice as colorless as his long face, “This way, please. Miss Brookings is in her office.”
He even talks like a Dickens character, Dori thought. If he ever smiles, I’ll wager his face would crack. She followed Matt and Scraggs down the hall that appeared longer than the main street in Madera. Their footsteps sounded loud on the marble floor and echoed from the high ceiling and cream-colored walls adorned with a frieze of smirking cupids. How different from the Diamond S ranch house and its colorful Spanish-style decor. No wonder Scraggs looked like he never smiled. Who could smile in this morgue watched over by those awful cupids?
When they reached a door marked Office, Scraggs tapped.
“Enter.”
The chill in the word sent shivers down Dori’s spine.
Scraggs swung the door open and announced, “Mr. Sterling. Miss Sterling.” He waited for Matt and Dori to go in, then stepped out and closed the door behind him.
Dori’s heart fell like a rock with her first glimpse of Miss Genevieve Brookings, owner and headmistress of the Brookside School. Worse, Dori’s besetting sin flared. Solita had warned her since childhood about the danger of relying on first impressions, but Dori continued to make them. Now, inwardly rebelling about her intolerable situation, she curtseyed when presented, then sank into a hard chair. She looked at the skeleton-thin, pale-faced headmistress with flaming red hair seated behind a huge desk and decided she detested her. Especially when the middle-aged woman in stark black silk turned to Matt, who occupied the chair next to Dori.
“Dear Mr. Sterling,” Miss Brookings gushed, “we are so pleased that you chose our school for your charming sister. I am sure she will be a credit to Brookside. We cater to only the finest young ladies.”
Dori’s lip curled. She should be called Babbling Brook. She runs on and on like the creeks in the Sierra Nevada. Dori bit her lip to keep from disgracing herself by laughing.
“We do have a slight problem.” Miss Brookings’s thin hands twisted a white handkerchief. “I, however, am sure it can be worked out to everyone’s satisfaction. As you know, we limit our enrollment to twenty young ladies. When we accepted Dolores, we didn’t realize Gretchen van Dyke would be returning this year. She is the only child of one of our wealthiest merchants and has been with us since she was twelve. Unfortunately, the poor girl fell ill last spring and was forced to leave school. I’m happy to say she has now regained her health and is eager to return.”
She bared her teeth in a travesty of a smile. “I apologize for not informing yo
u of this earlier. By the time we realized Gretchen was returning to school, you were already on your way.” She spread her hands in a helpless gesture. “We can’t afford to offend dear Mr. van Dyke, now can we?”
Joy exploded in Dori like fireworks on the Fourth of July. Bless Gretchen, the merchant’s daughter. Dori tingled with anticipation until she could barely sit still. Her heart raced. She felt her mouth widen into a delighted grin. Thanks to “dear Mr. van Dyke’s only child,” Dori Sterling could go home without losing face.
Yippee-ki-ay!
She clapped one hand over her mouth, fearing she had spoken aloud.
Matt stared at Miss Brookings. His words fell like ice pellets into the silence. “Madam, we paid your fee in good faith. This van Dyke girl will not be taking my sister’s place.” He stood, as if to end the conversation. “Now if you will excuse me, I have a train to catch.”
Dori felt her heart break from disappointment. In a matter of seconds, she had plunged from the heights of happiness to the depths of despair. She stood, tried twice to speak, and at last got a few words out. “M–Matt,” she stammered, “if the other girl really wants to come back, I. . .”
Her brother’s jaw set in a way that boded no good for Miss Brookings, who had sprung from her chair and come around from behind the desk. “You are staying, Dori, or I’ll see that the authorities hear of this.” He took Dori’s arm. “Walk me to the door.”
Miss Brookings’s pale eyes filled with alarm. So she’s human, after all, Dori thought. Or maybe afraid of what Matt might do. A lot of good that will do me. The Babbling Brook will hate me for sure if Matt makes her let me stay.
“Please, Mr. Sterling, you misunderstand me.” Miss Brookings’s crumpled handkerchief fell to the carpet. “I am making an exception to accommodate your sister. Dear Gretchen is just your age, Dolores. You’ll be in the same grade. But”—she shook her head—“you’ll have to work hard to keep up with her. Gretchen is our finest student.” She paused, then added, “I just know that you two will become bosom friends.”
Romance Rides the River Page 1
