by Lucy Evanson
“That’s not very nice,” Polly said. “Especially considering that you’re not married either. Kind of calling the kettle black, aren’t you?”
“Not really,” he said. “The difference is that I’m not looking to get married.”
“You say that now, but trust me, you might want to someday,” she said. “Keep putting it off and you could miss your chance.”
David snorted, then shoveled a huge forkful of pie into his mouth. “Grrmph.”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Polly said, before rubbing her eyes. It was hard to say whether she was tired due to the time or due to having this conversation again. “You need somebody else in your life. You’re getting older,” she said. “And even though it pains me to say it, I’m getting older too. I won’t be around forever.”
David laughed. “You’ll be around a good long time yet,” he said. “And you’re right, I am getting older. I’m a grown man now, and I don’t need you mothering me. I’m not a child.” He took another bite of pie. “Can I have some milk?”
Polly got to her feet, took a pint bottle of milk out of the icebox and poured a glass for him. “Your parents hired me to look after you when you were barely a month old,” she said. “Mothering you is second nature now.”
He finished the rest of his pie with one enormous bite and then washed it down with the milk, entirely draining the glass. “Maybe so. But even my mom didn’t go on about marriage like you do.”
“If she were still alive, she’d feel the same way by now, trust me,” Polly said. “You think she didn’t want you to settle down with a nice girl and raise a family?”
David wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You see, though? That’s the whole problem,” he said as he leaned back and stretched, letting out a loud yawn before he got to his feet. “I don’t feel like settling.”
“It’s just a figure of speech,” Polly said as she also stood up. “The point is that she would want you to be happy. I want you to be happy.”
David stepped around the table and gave her a hug. It was very strange. He had memories of sitting on her lap as a child, and now he towered over her. He kissed the top of her head. “I am happy,” he said. “Just like this. And having a wife wouldn’t make me any happier.”
Chapter 3
Melanie nearly threw herself out of the carriage when they finally rolled to a stop at the train station. After five days of traveling in the summer heat, transferring from one ride to another as she made her way south, she was more than ready to exercise her legs, not to mention breathe freely. Some of her fellow passengers had been a bit larger than others, squishing her into the corner of the seat and assaulting her sense of personal space; others had been a bit more fragrant than others, assaulting her sense of smell. In comparison to Mr. Wendell, the aroma of the idling locomotive was downright delicate.
She stretched her arms and looked around as she waited for the carriage driver to unload the luggage. Mineral Point, from the looks of it, had a bit more going on than Peshtigo. Train service, for one, though there was more to it than that. She turned and looked down the street that appeared to lead directly into the heart of the town. The road was lined with buildings as far as she could see; some two- and three-story, many built with wood, but some from cream-colored brick. She could see the signs on the false fronts for a bank, a mercantile, and other stores. They even have gas streetlights, she thought, as she spied the poles that dotted the sidewalks. It’s going to take a while to get used to the big city.
“Here’s your bags, miss.”
Melanie turned to see the driver there with a bag in each hand and one under his arm.
“You want me to take them down to the baggage car?”
“No, I won’t be getting on the train,” she said. “My trip is over.”
The driver stacked the bags at her side and turned back to assist the other passengers, while Melanie examined the crowd milling around the station. The train must have arrived only recently as well, for there were still passengers descending from the cars and finding their friends and relatives among the people waiting on the platform. Others weaved through the throng, making directly for the street, where carriages for hire were lined up waiting.
No such luck for me. She had neither kin waiting nor cash to spend. It would have been nice to send word before her arrival, but she had snuck out of the house at the crack of dawn so as not to run into Randall one last time, and she hadn’t had time to send a wire. Not to mention that she needed every last cent for her trip; she only made it to Mineral Point in the first place by haggling over every leg of her journey.
She picked up her bags and headed off the platform, bumping her way through the crowd as she went until she made it to the street. It wasn’t easy handling three travel cases and her handbag all at the same time, and she hit more than a few knees as she was going, but in the end she navigated the throng and emerged on the other side. Melanie barely set foot on the dusty, hard-packed dirt when a young man rushed up to her.
“Let me help you with those, miss,” he said, reaching for her bags. His face was full of concern, as though he were sorry to see a young woman so overburdened.
“Oh, thank you,” Melanie said. She opened her handbag and took out a handkerchief. Between the summer humidity and the crowd of people she’d just waded through, she was already quite warm. “That’s very nice of you,” she added as she dabbed at her cheeks.
“So where are we going today?” The man turned his head to talk to her, speaking over his shoulder as they headed across the street.
“I’m going to visit my aunt,” she said. “She lives on a ranch...what was the name?” Melanie opened her handbag again and dug around for the scrap of paper where she’d written it down. “Tanner Ranch,” she said. “Do you know where that is?”
“Sure do,” he said, as he neared a rickety carriage and deposited her bags on the floor. “Won’t take but half an hour to get there. Maybe a little more. It’s just straight out that way.” He pointed down the road, which Melanie could see shot right through the town and eventually rose across the hills in the distance. There was no ranch in sight.
“Thank you,” she said. “But I actually don’t need a ride. I just needed directions.”
The concern she had seen in his eyes evaporated. “What do you mean, no ride? What’d you let me carry your bags for, then?”
“I thought you were just being nice to a lady.”
He grunted. “Being nice doesn’t pay the bills.” He reached for her bags. Melanie extended her hands, but he dropped them in the dirt and leaned against his carriage to watch as she scooped them up.
“Neither does being rude,” she said. “Have a lovely day.” Melanie turned, headed for the plank sidewalk on the shady side of the street, and started walking. She went scarcely a block when she spied a trio of men talking in front of a blacksmith shop across the way. They were all rough-looking men, with untamed beards, filthy clothing and, she guessed, filthier language. Melanie had known men like that her whole life. If they replaced their picks and shovels with axes and saws, they would fit right in among the woodcutters up in Peshtigo.
One of them noticed her looking at them, and he elbowed the others. The three of them made no effort to hide their stares, and little effort to hide their thoughts.
“You need some help there, miss?” the tallest one called, giving her a grin that revealed yellowed teeth accented with black.
She ignored him and continued on without giving them another glance. That much, at least, was the same here as it was up north: men were men. How nice it would be if all men were like Lord Wellstone, she thought. Respectful and honorable. But those times are gone forever, most likely. Not for the first time, Melanie had the distinct feeling that she was born at the wrong time, in the wrong place. Reading her novels, she often thought that she would have been more at home in Regency-era Britain than her native Wisconsin. This was a state that still bore the rough edges of what had
been a territory only a few years earlier, and wilderness forever before that. The social graces were flowers that took a long time to sink their roots in the land, and Wisconsin was sometimes unforgiving terrain.
It took her over half an hour to traverse the downtown. The shops were gradually replaced by houses, built close together; those were replaced by homes with broader yards and large gardens, and those were eventually replaced by open prairie.
Melanie set down her bags to rest her arms for a moment and looked at the road ahead. It didn’t look any shorter from this side of town. She had asked several people along the way and they had all told her she was heading in the right direction, though none of them had been able to say how long it would take to walk to Tanner Ranch. Apparently it hadn’t been done before.
She sighed, wiped her brow, and picked up her bags again. The road rose and dipped as it followed the hills out of the valley in which Mineral Point lay; another thirty minutes found her considerably farther from town but still with no ranch in sight. The land was pretty to look at, at least. There were fewer trees than she was used to, but the hills were covered with lush, thick prairie grass and the sky was the typical brilliant blue of summer. If she weren’t nearly exhausted from her trek uphill, she would have enjoyed the day.
Melanie stopped to catch her breath again and lowered her bags to the ground. The town looked small from up here, though she could easily pick out some of the taller buildings she had passed, such as the bank and Gray’s mercantile. She felt a twinge of regret at not hiring the driver from the train station, but she hadn’t anticipated just how long the road would be. Nor how steep the hills. She turned to look at the wagon ruts that continued to rise up the hillside. Just the thought of climbing the rest of the way was enough to make her legs hurt.
She took a seat on one of her traveling bags. She could already tell that it would be hard to stand up again, it felt so good to sit for a moment. A passing cloud, thick and fluffy as a down pillow, passed in front of the sun and gave her a splendid bit of shade. Along with the breeze that caressed the fields, it was now fairly comfortable. If she weren’t out in the middle of nowhere, presumably still far from her destination, she would have been happy to remain sitting there for a time.
Down below in the valley, she could see that a lone carriage was headed her way, having just left the outskirts of town. It was pulled by a single horse, and although it was difficult to be sure, it looked like a single driver.
Maybe I can get a ride, she thought. At this point, I’d even pay for it. She hated to spend any money when she had so little left, but in the fight between exhaustion and frugality, exhaustion had won. Meanwhile, there’s no reason to waste my time. Melanie opened her handbag, took out her book, and began to read.
Penny sat on a bench beneath the willow. The gardens before her were perfectly manicured already, but as she watched, two of the manor gardeners walked along the hedges, clipping and snipping as they tried to improve upon that perfection. She didn’t see room for it. The hedges were immaculately trimmed and presented a flawless exterior. Just like the manor house and the rest of the grounds. Just like Lord Wellstone. She had to wonder what, if any, flaws existed within.
“Good afternoon, Penny.”
His voice, so sudden and deep, startled her, and she turned to see Lord Wellstone approaching from the house.
“How are you fitting in? I trust Lydia is treating you well.” He favored her with a smile, though it did little to set her at ease.
“Well enough, Lord Wellstone,” she said, hoping that her voice would not betray her. The memory of Lydia’s shouted instruction was still fresh in her mind, however, and Penny felt as if any more talk of her introduction to the kitchen would send her over the edge. Scrubbing the floors at Harks House had never made her feel so low as she felt during her first morning at Whitelake Manor. Whether it was due to the way she stirred the broth, the way she peeled an egg, or even the way she mopped the floor, it seemed that Lydia was entirely dissatisfied with her. And she had not been overly shy about letting Penny know. “I’m grateful to be working here.”
“And we’re happy to have you here,” he said, then nodded at her and turned to go.
“Lord Wellstone,” she called, suddenly filled with an urge to find an answer to the question that had been pestering her. “Why did you choose to take me on here?”
Lord Wellstone’s expression seemed to freeze then. The warmth that Penny had noted in his eyes dissipated into the ether, like the heat from a dying fire. Only frost remained. “It was a promise I made to my wife,” he said. “She asked me to be kind to children. Surely there could be no greater kindness than opening one’s home.”
Penny nodded enthusiastically. “I agree, sir, I agree,” she said. “But why me, Lord Wellstone? I mean to say, out of all of us at Harks House, why did you choose me?” She had wondered it countless times. Had he removed her from that dreary existence out of simple goodwill? Or was there something more? Had he seen within her some spark that one day—not soon, perhaps, but one day—might grow into a bright flame of love?
He studied her for a long while, doubtless trying to decide how much to reveal to her. “You were the one who looked like you needed help the most,” he finally said. “You were the most pitiable.”
It was said that truth could be used as a weapon, and the truth of Lord Wellstone’s words indeed cut her sharply. Penny felt her face grow flush, and she had to exert a mighty effort to control her voice. “It appears that I owe your wife quite a bit, then,” Penny said. “I look forward to the time when I can meet her to express my appreciation.”
“That will be impossible, I’m afraid,” he said, as he turned on his heel. His voice had taken on an icy edge to match his expression. “She passed away.”
The sound of a creaking wheel caught her attention, and when Melanie looked up she saw that the buckboard was almost upon her. She slipped her bookmark between the pages, closed the book, and got to her feet as it approached.
The driver, at least, was dressed more respectably than some of the men she’d seen in town. His clothes were plain, but clean; his boots had been shined at least somewhat recently, and although she could see a bit of scruff on his cheeks, it actually looked good on him. He was already slowing down as she raised a hand in greeting. A bemused half-smile formed on his face. She guessed that he didn’t come upon many young women waiting for him out on the hillsides.
“Morning,” he called to her as the carriage rolled to a stop.
“Good morning. I wonder if you’d be able to give me a ride.”
He eyed the boxes at her feet. “Where are you going?”
“Tanner Ranch,” she said. “Do you know it?”
His brow furrowed slightly. “Yeah, I know it,” he said. “What are you going there for?”
“That’s my business,” she said. “Can you take me?”
He leaned back and crossed his arms. “I said I knew where it was. I didn’t say I was going there.”
She let out a heavy sigh, blowing a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Fine,” she said. “How much do you want to take me there?”
He grinned. “Two dollars.”
“Two dollars? Are you out of your mind?”
“No,” he said. “But I’m not the one who needs a ride, either.”
“I’ll give you ten cents.”
He snorted and snapped the reins. “You have a good day, miss,” he said as the buckboard started ahead.
“Twenty-five cents!” she called.
The buckboard stopped. “One dollar.”
Melanie bent to retrieve one of her bags and lifted it into the bed behind the driver’s seat, placing it among the sacks and boxes that were already there. “Fifty cents,” she said, “and that’s my final offer.” She hurriedly loaded the other bags and climbed up to the seat by herself before he could respond. “Let’s go.”
He gave her a long look, then chuckled and snapped the reins again. The carriage moved
slowly up the hill, though certainly faster than Melanie had been managing. In any case, she had no quibble with the speed; she was simply happy to be riding the rest of the way.
“So you know somebody at this ranch, then?”
“Of course,” Melanie said. “I’m not in the habit of just showing up at places where they don’t know me.”
He shrugged. “For all I know, you’re going around selling things. Maybe you’ve got samples in your bags there.”
“I’m not a peddler,” she said. “That’s my luggage.”
“Ah, I see,” he said, nodding. “You’re going to stay there for a while.”
“That’s right.”
“So who do you know out there?”
“I don’t see how it’s really any of your business.”
“Well, I’m the one giving you a ride there.”
“And in exchange I’m giving you fifty cents,” she said. “That’s the extent of our business, as far as I recall.”
“Fair enough,” he said. “I’m just making conversation.”
“If you don’t mind very much, I’d rather not talk right now,” she said. “I have some reading I’d like to do. I was just getting to a good part.” She removed her book from her handbag and found her place.
She watched as Lord Wellstone walked back toward the house.
“I’m sorry about your wife,” she called, but he only raised a hand to show that he’d heard her, then entered without once looking back.
The afternoon was warm, but Penny suddenly shivered, and she crossed her arms as she turned back toward the gardens. Rarely had she encountered so many events to roil so many emotions within her. The excitement of her first day at Whitelake Manor was long gone, and now even the tension that Lydia had filled her with had begun to ebb. She could only think of that poor man—
“So what are you reading?”
Melanie took a deep breath and let it all out in a loud, dramatic sigh. “I doubt that you’d appreciate it,” she said, “but it’s Love’s Summer Bloom, by Evelyn Swain.”
