A Begrudging Bride (Kansas Crossroads Book 11)

by Adams,Amelia C.

  “I’ve found that the best way is simply not to lie in the first place.” She tilted her head and studied him in that way she had, as though she could see into his soul. “You really like this girl, don’t you?”

  “I do.” David glanced around the room until he spotted Miss Waterford. “She’s the one over there carrying the bundle of tablecloths into the kitchen.”

  Caroline turned and nodded. “She’s very pretty.”

  It took David a moment to pull his eyes from her. “And she’s smart and funny . . .”

  “Essentially everything you want in a wife.” Caroline sounded amused.

  “Pretty much, yes. The only parts I haven’t decided about are the parts we haven’t discussed yet.” He pulled in a breath. “But I’ve lied to her from the start. What do you think? Have I ruined all my chances?”

  Caroline shook her head, looking somewhat grim. “I don’t know, David. You certainly haven’t helped them, that’s for sure. I’ll make friends with her and see if I can find out what she thinks about you.”

  “I’d appreciate that. Even knowing if I have any hope at all . . . Why did you come, anyway? Not just to check on me, I’m sure.”

  Caroline laughed. “No, although I was curious to see how you were coming along. My real reason is that Harriet, one of the waitresses from when the Brody first began, is expecting, and I’ve come to help. I received a letter from Elizabeth just the other day and was already thinking about coming when you cooked up this little scheme. I didn’t mention it because I hadn’t decided yet.” She stood up. “Let’s step into the parlor. I’m sure the girls would like us to leave the dining room so they can finish up their tasks in peace.”

  David followed her into the parlor, and they each took a seat near the fireplace. He had decided this was his favorite spot in the hotel. “So, what do you suggest I do now?” he asked.

  “I’m not convinced that I’m the right one to solve this problem for you,” Caroline replied. “You got yourself into it—I’m inclined to let you figure it out. On the other hand, I’m not sure you’re capable of it.”

  “As much as I’d like to think I am, you may be right,” David replied. He enjoyed his independence, taking charge of his own life, making the decisions that felt right to him, but this was far more complicated than anything he’d attempted before. And the more he interacted with Miss Waterford, the more important it was becoming, too.

  Caroline gave a long, slow nod. “Very well. In order to save you from your own foolishness, and hopefully to prevent that poor girl from having to endure any more of your awkward advances, I will help you.” She sat back and regarded him. “The river’s not far off, and the road shouldn’t be too slick right now. Why don’t you ask Tom to hitch up a horse and buggy for you, and you can invite Miss Waterford to go for a drive? Get to know her a little bit. Ask her questions and pay attention to her answers. In fact, if you talk to the kitchen, they’ll pack up a small lunch for you, and I’ll even cover her meal shift so she’s free to go with you. How about that?”

  “You’d wait tables?” David blinked, unable to imagine it.

  She gave him a tolerant look. “Who do you suppose came up with the entire waitressing system here at the Brody? Did you not hear the part where I helped Adam start this place?”

  David instantly felt embarrassed. “You’re right. I’m sorry—I just can’t envision you as a waitress. You seem so . . .”

  “Old?” she supplied.

  “No! I mean, elegant. Established. Mature.”

  She leaned forward and tapped her finger on his arm. “Let me explain something to you, and you’d best remember it if you’re going to try to court this girl—there is nothing whatsoever wrong with being a waitress. It’s not beneath my station in any way, and no young woman in that kitchen is worth any less than I am. It’s hard work, some of the hardest I’ve ever done, and it deserves your respect.”

  Now David’s face was on fire. “I never meant to say that I felt it was beneath you. I was just surprised, that’s all.”

  “Furthermore, ‘mature’ is a term I prefer to hear in reference to fruit trees, not to myself.” She sat back and clasped her hands on her lap. “I’m very glad that we’re having these little chats, David. You seem to be completely unaware of how you come across to people. You did live with other human beings at some point, yes? You weren’t raised in the jungle by baboons?”

  “There were no baboons, although I know that’s hard to believe.” He wiped his hand across his face. “I suppose I’ve spent so much time working the land and caring for my animals that I never paid much attention to society and all its laws and procedures.”

  “It’s more than society and all those expectations, David. It’s also about feelings and respecting emotions. You’re a good, kind, compassionate man—that’s something naturally within you. Now it’s a matter of expressing it in a way that others can understand.”

  “And how do I practice without making it worse?”

  She shook her head. “I’m not entirely certain, but being aware of it is a good first step. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to pay a visit to Harriet. She’s who I really came to see, and I’ve only managed to make it as far as the dining room since I arrived.”

  David stood as Caroline left the room, then took his seat again. He’d always known he wasn’t the most brilliant conversationalist, but he’d never given much thought to it. Perhaps that’s why he’d never made a connection with any of the young ladies in Wichita—he didn’t know how to speak to them, and so he could never get to know any of them well enough to decide if they’d be a good fit.

  It seemed that his transgressions were piling up faster than he could count them. If he simply got on the train and headed back to Wichita, he could put this whole experience behind him, and in time, it would fade from everyone’s memories. But that was the problem—he didn’t want to fade from Miss Waterford’s memory. He wanted to be a part of her future—he wanted to create new memories with her.

  It was time for him to overcome these weaknesses. He stood up and headed toward the stable—he’d ask Tom to hitch up a buggy.

  Chapter Nine

  Camille gave her bread dough another thump, covered the bowl with a clean towel, and set it on the shelf to rise. That was the eighth bowl she’d contributed to the collection, and her arms were exhausted. Amazingly, they’d go through all that bread before the day was over, and they’d have to mix up more before her arms had recovered. She’d have the strongest arms of anyone she knew at this rate.

  Mrs. Dupree came into the kitchen from outside, followed by Harriet. They both took off their wraps and then claimed seats at the table in the corner. Camille had liked Mrs. Dupree instantly when the woman arrived that morning. She was no nonsense, to the point, and beautiful all at the same time. She’d looked around, expressed her satisfaction with how well everything was being run, and then she’d stepped out of the way and let them get to it.

  Now she and Harriet had placed a bowl of potatoes between them and were working while they talked.

  “I plan to stay until the baby is a week old,” Mrs. Dupree was saying as she peeled one of the potatoes. “I’ve told Wallace to stop in here for his meals when he’s on shift, and so we won’t be entirely separated that whole time.”

  “A week, and even longer? Oh, I can’t ask you to make such a sacrifice,” Harriet protested. “That’s too much.”

  “Let me give you a little perspective on this,” Mrs. Dupree said. “I’m home alone every other night depending on where Wallace is on his shift. He picks up the train in Wichita and conducts it past Topeka as far as Kansas City, where he spends the night. Then he turns around and comes back home to me. The house is very quiet, and I don’t have much to do—all the housekeeping is done in an hour, and frankly, I’m bored. Being here will give me something to do. You must let me stay.”

  Harriet laughed. “All right. It sounds like I couldn’t stop you even if I wanted to. Honestly, th
ough, I’m glad you’re here. It’s so good to see you—you’ve been missed.”

  Tom opened the kitchen door just then and stepped inside after knocking the snow off his boots. “Miss Waterford?”

  Camille looked up from the carrots she was chopping while she’d been eavesdropping. Well, she supposed it wasn’t eavesdropping exactly—the conversation she’d been listening to didn’t seem to be private. “Yes?”

  Tom swept his hat off his head. His blond hair was stuck down like he’d dipped it in paste. That was what happened when one worked hard in the winter. It reminded Camille so much of her father that for a moment, she didn’t hear what Tom was saying. “There’s a certain gentleman who requests your presence for a buggy ride.”

  Camille blinked a few times. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Mr. Baxter wonders if you would accompany him on a buggy ride. The horse is all hitched up and ready to go.” Tom held his arm out toward the door.

  Camille shook her head. “We’re expecting the next train soon—I can’t possibly leave.”

  Mrs. Dupree spoke up from where she sat, her stack of peeled potatoes growing at an impressive rate. “Of course you can. I’ll cover your shift.”

  “But . . . but I . . .” Camille wanted to say yes, but she couldn’t imagine just leaving. All she knew was that when Tom had said “Mr. Baxter,” she’d begun to get excited to go.

  “Go ahead,” Harriet encouraged. “Caroline has it well under control.”

  Camille looked back and forth between the two. “And Mrs. Brody won’t mind?”

  Caroline waved her hand, the gesture making her look like a queen even though she carried a paring knife instead of a scepter. “I promise to explain that I sent you off. Now go—it’s actually a little warm outside right now. You should enjoy it while it lasts.”

  Camille untied her apron and hung it up. She couldn’t believe she was being given a shift off, and to go for a buggy ride, no less. “Please let Mr. Baxter know that I’ll be right out, then,” she told Tom, who gave her a grin before heading back outside.

  Camille dashed upstairs and grabbed her coat, then returned the way she’d come. Mrs. Dupree handed her a basket as she made her way to the door. “Just trust me,” the woman said with a smile.

  When Camille opened the kitchen door and stepped onto the porch, she saw Mr. Baxter waiting for her there, standing next to a horse and buggy. He stepped forward and took the basket, then offered her his elbow. “Thank you for coming, Miss Waterford,” he said as he escorted her across the snowy ground.

  “I must admit, I was surprised at the invitation, but it wasn’t unwelcome,” she replied. She hoped her voice hid just how very much she was looking forward to this.

  She climbed into the buggy with his help, and after he took the driver’s seat, they were off. He urged the horse on gently, merely wiggling the reins, which she liked. Some men were so aggressive with the whip, she couldn’t respect them at all. She’d always believed that you could tell a lot about a man by the way he treated his horse. It was an axiom of her father’s that she’d adopted for her own.

  “According to Tom, if we continue this way, we’ll find the river,” Mr. Baxter said as they drove along. “Have you seen it yet?”

  “No, but I’ve only been here a few days,” Camille replied. Mrs. Dupree was right—the sun was out, glinting on the snow and warming her face. Days like this made winter beautiful instead of dreary.

  “And what brought you here?” he asked.

  She took a deep breath. She didn’t owe him any sort of answer—she’d most likely never see him again after this week, and he wouldn’t know the difference if she chose to hide the truth. But honesty was important to her, so she decided to answer. “I’m an orphan, and I came out west in response to an ad for a mail-order bride. I only made it this far before I realized I couldn’t go any farther—I didn’t feel I was the kind of woman this man needed. Mr. Brody gave me this job—after I all but begged him for it—and that’s about the extent of it.” She paused, remembering. “Mrs. Dupree lives in Wichita, I believe she said. I wonder if she knows the man I was supposed to marry. She might be able to tell me something about him.”

  Mr. Baxter cleared his throat. “Would you change your mind if you knew more about him?”

  Camille shrugged. “I don’t know. I imagine he’s angry with me and probably doesn’t want anything more to do with me. Besides, I don’t know if my fate or my destiny would change based on what I learned.”

  “You believe in fate, then?”

  “I do, to a certain extent. Don’t you?”

  Mr. Baxter was quiet as he guided the horse around a curve. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “I’ve always lived life day to day, taking what came and making the most of it. I don’t know if I’ve had any experiences that were driven by fate. But then again, how do you know? There’s no proof of it.”

  “You’re asking, how do you know if something was fated?”

  “Yes. What’s the difference between something that was brought about by fate, and something that was a coincidence with a happy ending?”

  Camille pondered that for a moment. She hadn’t anticipated that their afternoon drive would become so serious, but she liked that Mr. Baxter was a man who had questions. She didn’t want to spend her time talking about the weather or some other nonessential topic—she’d much rather discuss things that were potentially more important.

  “I’m not entirely sure,” she said at last. “I think there’s a feeling of rightness about it, of peace, as though it was guided or brought to that point for our happiness. When I left the train in Topeka and didn’t go to Wichita, it was a weight off my shoulders, as though I was being given a second chance to determine my future. That was my choice, not brought about by an outside influence. But ending up at the Brody—I don’t see how that could be a coincidence. I fit here. I belong here. The other girls are just like me—we’re all alone in the world, but we aren’t alone anymore because we found each other.”

  Mr. Baxter guided the horse off the trail and brought the buggy to a stop at a vantage point where they could see the water. It was flowing, despite the cold weather, but ice chunks floated in it, bumping into each other on their way to whatever their destination might be.

  “I wonder how you can be certain that this marriage was the wrong choice, rather than your feelings being a case of premarital jitters,” he said as he looped the reins on the dash. “Aren’t all brides nervous before they get married?”

  “They are, and I’m sure that was part of it. Perhaps if I’d gone all the way to Wichita and met the man, everything would have worked out for the best. But given what little information I had and what little experience I’ve had, it seemed right to call it off. Plus, I felt as though I had no other choice but to get married, and I felt pushed into it. After all, what’s a girl to do when she’s suddenly orphaned? There weren’t any jobs in my community that were suitable, and with no other family . . . When I get married, I want to be in love with my husband. I don’t want to marry him just as a means to avoid starvation.”

  She glanced over and caught the solemn look on his handsome face. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Baxter. I didn’t mean to fill up your afternoon with all my deep thoughts and convictions. You’re probably regretting inviting me to come out.”

  “No, not at all. I’m glad we’re having this conversation, actually. I’ve been struggling with questions about destiny and what sorts of things are meant to be, and you’re helping to guide my thoughts.”

  “I am? I’ve merely mused aloud. What could I possibly have said that would be helpful?”

  He gave her a warm smile. “That personal choice should play a bigger part in one’s life than others’ expectations.”

  She thought back on their conversation. “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t use those exact words, but that’s the message I took from what you did say, most likely seen through the filter of my own situation.” He took of
f his hat and rubbed his forehead. “What if you decided that something wasn’t right for you, but someone else decided that it was completely right for them? What if you were at odds with each other on the point? Who would be right, and who would be wrong?”

  Camille tilted her head as she regarded him. “Are we still talking about my decision to stay here at the Brody? I feel as though we’ve switched topics.”

  “We have, a bit. I’m very curious as to your answer, Miss Waterford—what if you and another person were equally involved in the same issue, and you had conflicting feelings about it? How would you solve that dilemma?”

  “I suppose it would all depend on the issue,” Camille replied. “Is that all the information you can give me? It’s hard to answer this question when I don’t feel I know enough about it.”

  “I realize I’m being vague. I’m just not at liberty to say more.”

  Camille watched two particularly large pieces of ice bump into each other and swirl together before they were swept off by the water. They looked as though they were performing a mid-stream waltz. “I think I’d have to talk it over with the other person and see if we could figure out why we felt so differently. Maybe we’d had a miscommunication, or one of us knew more about the situation than the other. But you know, I think we’ve had enough deep conversation for one day. Should we see what’s in this basket Mrs. Dupree handed me?”

  “Let’s,” he replied, and she lifted it to the seat between them.

  Camille had seen everything that had been prepared in the kitchen that day, so she wasn’t surprised by anything she found, but she was pleased to see such a nice variety. Chicken, soft bread, some cheese, cherry pie, a bottle of cider—they would have a very nice riverside picnic indeed. Mrs. Dupree had even remembered the napkins.

  “So you grew up around horses, then,” Mr. Baxter said after he’d chewed and swallowed his first bite.

  “I could ride almost before I could walk,” she replied. “My father would put me in front of him on his saddle whenever he’d inspect our property. I think there’s no better smell than grass and horse on the wind.”