A Begrudging Bride
Kansas Crossroads Book Eleven
by Amelia C. Adams
With special thanks to my beta readers—Bobbie Sue, Catherine, Erin, Jeene, Mary, Meisje, Nancy, Renee, Tami, and Tracy.
Dedicated to my fifteen-year-old son, Joseph, who might cringe at having a romance novel dedicated to him—but a reminder that the calm, steady, faithful guys are the ones who are the nicest to have around. Thanks for your example.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Epilogue
Sneak Peek
Chapter One
Kansas
1876
Camille Waterford clutched her reticule as the train pulled into the Topeka station. “We’ll be stopped for half an hour,” the conductor announced. “Feel free to get off, stretch your legs, and maybe eat a little something at the hotel, but listen for the whistle so we don’t leave you behind.”
Getting off the train sounded wonderful. In fact, there was nothing Camille would rather do. Gathering her skirts in one hand, she climbed down and stood on the platform. The sky was a bit overcast, but it wasn’t snowing like it had been in Kansas City. She paced along the edge of the platform, her stomach twisting and turning, and finally, she sank onto a bench near the station. She couldn’t do it. She just couldn’t. She’d become more and more certain with each passing mile.
She rose from the bench and approached the ticket window. “Excuse me, sir. How do I get my luggage off the train?”
***
The hotel loomed over her, looking at once both grand and foreboding. The man at the station had recommended that she come here, and she had no other choice but to trust him. She was on her own in completely unfamiliar territory. She climbed the steps and entered, her satchel feeling as though it would pull her arm from its socket.
The lobby was warm and inviting, the walls covered in rich wood paneling and the rugs done in emerald green and rose. A room that looked like a parlor was off to the right, and ahead of her was a counter. A kind-looking young woman with brown hair stood behind it, a smile on her face.
“Hello,” she said. “Are you here for lunch? You’re right on time if you are—we’re in the middle of a meal service.”
Camille swallowed at the thought of food. On the one hand, she was very hungry, but on the other, she didn’t feel well. “I just came in on the train. The man at the station—I believe he said his name was Mr. Hoover—said you might be looking for another waitress. Is that the case?”
The woman laughed. “We’re almost always looking for new waitresses. Why don’t you come sit down and have something to eat, and we can talk it over afterwards? My name is Elizabeth Brody. My husband, Adam, is the owner of the hotel.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am. I’m Camille Waterford.” They really were hiring? A wave of relief washed over her. If they would take her in, if they would pay her a wage . . .
“Well, Miss Waterford, the dining room is this way. Please let me take your satchel and put it in our closet for safekeeping while you eat.”
“Thank you. I’d appreciate it.” She handed it over, grateful that she wouldn’t have to lug it a moment longer. It contained everything she owned in the world, and while she didn’t possess much, it was still heavy.
Camille took a seat at a table with several other ladies she recognized from the train. She glanced around the dining room, noticing in particular the young women who bustled back and forth from the kitchen. Could she do that? She imagined she could—she’d always been a hard worker, and her mother had often complimented her skills in the kitchen. At the thought of her mother, the knot in her stomach grew even tighter, and when the waitress asked what she’d like, she could only mutter, “Just water, please.”
The girl paused. “We can’t let anyone leave on an empty stomach. Isn’t there something else you’d like? Mr. Brody would be glad to help out—he’s very generous.”
“No, thank you—it’s not the money. I’m just not feeling well.”
“Would you like to speak with Dr. Pettigrew? He’s sitting right over there—he just popped by for some lunch. He does that when his wife’s out of town.”
Camille smiled. “Really, you’re too kind. I’m sure I’m all right. Just the fatigue of travel.”
The girl gave her a warm smile. “If you change your mind, just let me know.” She brought Camille a glass of water and then went on with her other duties.
Camille sipped slowly, wishing her nerves would calm. She’d be fine—she would have to be fine. There was no other alternative. She had nowhere else to go. At that thought, the room begin to spin, and she rested her cheek on the palm of her hand.
A few minutes later, Mrs. Brody touched her shoulder. “Miss Waterford, Mr. Brody is ready to see you now.”
Camille rose on unsteady legs and followed the woman down the hall back toward the lobby. The door to an office stood open, and she was ushered inside.
“Miss Waterford, is it?” asked the handsome blond gentleman behind the desk. He half rose in greeting, then motioned for her to take a seat. “I understand that you’d like to apply for a job here.”
“I would like that very much,” Camille said, sinking into the chair. Mrs. Brody sat down near her, giving her a silent sort of comfort.
“What are your skills?” Mr. Brody asked. “And what brings you here?”
“My skills are all the basics—cooking, cleaning, sewing, ironing, and that sort of thing. As far as what brings me here . . . well, you might say that I’m a refugee.”
Mr. Brody leaned forward and put his elbows on his desk. “I beg your pardon? What sort of refugee?”
Camille exhaled. She hated having to admit what she’d done, but if she wanted the chance to start over, it was best to be honest from the beginning. “I’m supposed to be getting married this afternoon to a man from Wichita. I’m a mail-order bride, you see, but I . . . I just can’t go through with it. I thought that if I worked here, I could save up some money and pay him back for my train ticket. I’ll write to him, of course, and tell him my plans.”
Mr. Brody nodded. “I see.” She couldn’t read his expression—was he angry with her? Thinking it over? He had every right to ask her to leave—he might not want her on his staff if she couldn’t keep her promises.
After another very long moment or two, he nodded again. “You seem like a young woman of character, even though you’re breaking your commitment,” he said.
He didn’t sound angry, thank goodness. “I don’t want to break it. I’m usually very careful to keep my word at all times. It’s just . . . well, this is different. This is marriage to a man I’ve never met, to someone I’ve only written to a few times, and I just don’t see how . . .”
She’d thought she was all right, but as she spoke, the room began to spin again, and she couldn’t help it. She slid down onto the floor, and the last thing she heard was Mr. Brody asking, “Is Dr. Pettigrew still in the dining room?”
***
Camille opened her eyes and looked around. She was lying on a bed in a nice room, a fire crackling in the hearth across from her.
“Well, there you are.” An older gentleman in a dark suit looked down at her and smiled. “No need to worry—you’re tired and emotionally exhausted.
Nothing some sleep and a few good meals won’t cure.”
She raised her head and looked around. The waitress who had been so kind to her downstairs was seated on a chair in the corner, most likely to lend the doctor a hand. “I’m not sure what happened,” Camille said.
“You fainted in Mr. Brody’s office,” the girl explained.
Gracious. How embarrassing. “That’s hardly the best way to ask for a job.” Camille pressed her hand to her forehead. “He must think I’m completely unsuited for hard work.”
“No, not at all. He’s a bit of a soft touch, actually—if more girls fainted when they came in to ask for jobs, we might have more waitresses than we knew what to do with.” The girl smiled and came to the side of the bed. “My name is Grace.”
“It’s good to meet you. Thank you for taking such good care of me.”
“Truth be told, you did look like a specter when you walked in.”
“And with a little time and some good Brody Hotel meals, she’ll be good as new in no time.” The doctor picked up his bag. “Call me if you need me.”
“We will, Dr. Pettigrew. Thank you,” Grace said. “Mr. Brody says to be sure to send him the bill.”
Camille opened her mouth to protest, but both Grace and the doctor ignored her.
As soon as the man left the room, Grace turned back to Camille. “Now, I’ve heard the most delicious rumor. Are you really a mail-order bride?”
Rumors? Already? Well, that couldn’t be helped. People did love a scandal. “Yes. Or rather, I was until I changed my mind.”
Grace dragged the chair closer and sat down, looking like she was ready for a good bit of gossip. “Who’s the groom? Or, I should say, who was the groom?”
Camille exhaled. She felt so ashamed when she thought about him. “His name is David Johnson, and he’s a rancher in Wichita. I answered his ad, we wrote back and forth a few times, and he sent me train fare. And now . . . now I’m fainting in hotels and breaking promises and being completely untrustworthy.”
“Oh, I don’t think it’s as bad as all that.” Grace leaned forward and rested her elbows on the edge of the mattress. “Where are you from?”
“Kentucky. My father owned a horse-breeding business out there, but he passed away five years ago, and then my mother passed three months ago, and I thought marrying Mr. Johnson would be a good alternative for me. He sounded nice, you see, and I didn’t have anywhere else to go. We had horses in common—he has several, and I thought it would give us something to talk about if nothing else. But . . .” She didn’t know how to end that sentence.
“But he’s a stranger,” Grace supplied.
“Exactly.” Camille studied the design of the quilt beneath her. “Who made this? It’s lovely.”
“Mrs. Brody’s mother, before she passed away. Well, of course it was before she passed away. Can’t very well sew after you’re dead. Anyway, she made one for every room in the hotel. I never met her, but she was quite handy with a needle, from what I hear.”
“I can see that.” Camille sighed and closed her eyes for a moment. “So, I’m here for a few days whether or not I get the job, then? Doctor’s orders?”
“Oh, you’ve got the job. I heard Mr. Brody say as much.”
Camille’s eyes flew open. “I do?”
“You do. I told you he’s a soft touch.” Grace laughed. “He’s a good boss, and his wife, Elizabeth, is just as kind. I count my blessings every day that I found this place.”
“But what if I’m not any good at it? What if I drop the trays or get the orders wrong or . . .”
Grace looked at her curiously. “You sound as though you don’t want the job after all.”
“I do! Very much. I just . . .” Camille looked down at the quilt and traced the pattern with her finger. Such delicate stitches. “I’m scared I’ll lose it. What would I do then?”
Grace reached out and touched her shoulder. “If you were to lose this job, and I don’t believe you will, there are plenty of other businesses here in Topeka. You could work almost anywhere, I’m sure of it. There are more men than women out here in the west, and the shops are always looking for bright salesgirls.”
“That’s good to know.” Camille tried to smile. She was so grateful for the kind way she’d been taken in, but she wouldn’t rest easy until a few more things were settled. “Do you have any paper and a pen? I need to send a letter.”
Grace looked surprised. “Right now? You’ve only just woken up.”
“I know, but it’s to Mr. Johnson. The man I was supposed to marry. I should tell him I’m not coming—he should know as soon as possible.”
Grace nodded. “Right. I can see why you’d be anxious. There’s paper in the desk there. Can you stand?”
Camille thought she could, but she didn’t think she ought to make any promises until she’d tried it. Grace held her arm while she came to her feet. It was only a few steps to the desk chair, and she made it without any terrible mishaps.
“You get started, and I’ll throw a little more wood on the fire. Tom will mail your letter for you when you’re done.”
“Who’s Tom?” Camille asked.
“He’s our handyman, and really, he’s one of the nicest fellows you’ll ever meet.” Grace grinned. “And his wife’s about to have a baby any day. We’ve been making blankets and crocheting little booties for a couple of months now, and we’re all so excited, we really don’t think we can wait much longer.”
“You all seem like a family here,” Camille said, her heart twisting a little at the thought. She missed being part of a family, of having people around her who cared about her and wanted to know how her day had been, who were concerned for her welfare, who cheered her on when things got rough. After her mother died, she’d lived in a boarding house until things were arranged with Mr. Johnson, and she’d never felt so lonely in her life.
“We are. I’m one of the newest members, so I don’t know everyone as well as they know each other, but they’ve been so welcoming, and I know they’ll be the same with you.” Grace gave her an understanding smile. “Now, you write that letter, and I’ll stoke the fire. If I don’t, it’s liable to go out, and I think Dr. Pettigrew would have my hide if I let you get cold.”
Camille pulled a sheet of paper out of the drawer in the desk and stared at it. This was the hardest letter she’d ever had to write in her life, even harder than the first one she had written in response to the advertisement. After thinking about it for a few minutes, she began.
Dear Mr. Johnson,
Pleasantries are usually expected at the start of a letter, but I must leap ahead and get to the heart of the matter. I owe you an apology for my behavior today. I’m sure that at this very moment, you’re standing at the train station, wondering where I am. The truth is, I got off the train in Topeka, and wasn’t able to convince myself to get back on it. I’m not just delayed. I’m not coming, Mr. Johnson, and as much as it pains me to say it, I won’t be marrying you.
It was never my intention to lie to you or disappoint you. I enjoyed your letters and I believed we could make a very nice sort of life together, but I’m not sure we could ever truly love each other, and we both deserve that, don’t we? A real and genuine love that can weather any storm and withstand any sort of difficulty? As I’ve examined my thoughts and my feelings, I just don’t believe I’m ready for that kind of commitment. You’re a man who needs a woman by his side, and I’m afraid that I’m yet just a girl.
I am, however, a girl who honors her word, and while I’m breaking it by leaving you without a wife, I will pay you back every cent you sent me for my train ticket. I’ve already found a job here at a nice hotel, and I’ll send you money every paycheck until you’re paid in full. You won’t find yourself hurting on my behalf—at least financially.
I hope you’ll forgive me, and I hope you’ll find a kind, sensitive woman who will love you wholeheartedly and be the kind of helpmeet you need.
Sincerely,
Camil
le Waterford
She looked over what she’d just written and supposed it would have to do. She was so sorry, so terribly sorry for breaking her promise, but if she had gone through with it, she knew she would be miserable forever, and she’d make him miserable too. Better that he be irate with her for a few weeks than to be tied to a woman he couldn’t stand for the rest of his life.
Chapter Two
David Johnson stood on the train platform at the Wichita station, scanning the passengers as they disembarked. None of the young ladies were traveling alone, and none of them looked confused as to where they were going. Where was Miss Waterford? The telegram she’d sent the day before had seemed clear that she’d be on this train, but now the train stood empty, and there was no bride.
Wallace Dupree, the conductor, lowered himself onto the platform after checking over the train one last time as part of his duties. He had been a good friend to David over the years, and Caroline, his new wife, was generous with her cooking. He strode over to where David stood and slapped him on the back. “Come to the house for dinner,” he invited. “Caroline says it’s been too long since she’s seen you.”
“Thank you. I might as well,” David replied, falling into step beside his friend. “I didn’t get what I was expecting on the train today.”
“Oh? And what were you expecting?” Wallace asked.
David felt his face go red to the tips of his ears. “A wife,” he mumbled.
“What? A wife? What on earth are you talking about?” Wallace sounded completely incredulous.
David’s face grew even warmer. In another moment, he wouldn’t even need the scarf he wore. “Well, a few months back, I got to looking around and realized that I had just about everything I wanted in life but a family. I mean, I’ve worked hard and I have a nice place, several head of cattle, horses, some acreage, a little money in savings, but I’m all by myself. I don’t have anyone to talk to when I come in at night, no one to congratulate me or commiserate with me. The girls in town . . . well, there are several nice ones, but they’re either engaged or not interested, and I’ve never felt drawn to any of them.”
A Begrudging Bride (Kansas Crossroads Book 11) Page 1
