“Morgan Shipley.”
A quiet, but firm, voice came from inside the coach. He turned and met the stern gaze of the gray-haired woman.
“As a gentleman, you have an obligation to escort this woman to a safe location.”
The woman’s identity popped into his head, and he bit back a groan. The organist from his mother’s church in Fredericksburg. Guilt swamped him, and he ducked his head in a quick nod. “Ma’am, I mean, Missus Pennington, you’re right.” Dreading how his action might be interpreted, he walked around to the other side of the coach and stood next to the opened door. “Miss Franklin, please allow me to escort you to Treadwell’s Boardinghouse.”
“Why, Mister Shipley, that is ever so kind of you.” Miss Franklin extended a gloved hand.
“Allow me, miss.” Henry Demmon stepped close and handed her out to the boardwalk. “Just one of the personal services of Bain and Company.” He glanced over his shoulder at Morgan and shrugged before extending a hand toward the luggage on the roof rack. “Now, which one is your bag?”
Morgan gave his friend a grateful nod. Already, the nasal tone of Miss Franklin’s voice and her cloying manner grated on his nerves. But he would do what he’d been raised to do—act courteously to strangers. The walk from the stage depot to the boardinghouse was no more than four blocks, but the trip was the longest fifteen minutes of his life. Miss Franklin insisted on a narration of the various places of business and who owned them. Plus, something about Miss Franklin’s skirts restricted her steps, and he barely put one boot heel to toe ahead with each stride.
When he’d first extended his elbow toward Miss Franklin, he thought he spotted Ione in front of the mercantile. The urgency to get to her first and explain about this huge misunderstanding burned in his gut. Biding his time, he plastered on a strained smile and strolled the streets of his hometown like a tourist.
Thankfully, once they crossed Main Street, he spotted Missus Treadwell in conversation with Widow O’Hara in front of the laundry and walked toward them. “Missus Treadwell, I’m bringing you a new boarder. This is Miss Imogene Franklin.” He shot a glance toward the boardinghouse, hoping to catch sight of Ione.
“Oh, for tonight?” Her eyes widened. “With the cowhands from the cattle drive expected?” Her hands fluttered between her cheeks and her waist.
“Don’t be frettin’ now, Ellen.” The laundress swiped the back of her hand across her damp forehead. “Iffen yer too full up, send over Lydia. She can bunk with Biddy.”
“Thank you, Kathleen. I might have to accept that offer.” She turned to the stranger and nodded. “Excuse my manners. I’m Ellen Treadwell, and that building across the street is the family boardinghouse.”
The handles of the woman’s huge carpetbag cut into his fingers, but he couldn’t very well pass off the heavy thing to a woman. “Watch your step, Miss Franklin.”
As soon as the three stood in the foyer, Morgan breathed out a sigh of relief and dropped the bag next to the coat stand. “Miss Franklin traveled here from Boston. An unfortunate misunderstanding over some correspondence has occurred, and she’ll have to relay her needs regarding the length of her stay.” He lifted a finger to the brim of his hat then turned and dashed up the stairs. As he approached Room Five, he wondered what he would say to smooth over this troublesome situation.
He knocked but heard no response. “Ione, are you in there? I need to talk to you.” Leaning his forehead against the door, he hoped that this surprise event hadn’t ruined his relationship with the woman he now realized he loved. He splayed a hand against the wood for several seconds before he knocked again. Two more knockings went unanswered, so he dragged himself down the hall to his room. Supper time offered another chance for a talk.
***
Inside her room, Ione stared at the door, one hand anchoring her to the bedpost. At the first sound of his voice, she’d wanted to fling open the door and demand answers. But she had no right to demand anything from Morgan. Weeks ago, she’d learned he was writing to another woman with the goal of arranging a mail-order marriage. That fact should have shut down her feelings. What right did she have to expect anything? A schoolteacher couldn’t court. And wasn’t her teaching career more important? Wasn’t proving herself a success the very act that would make up for the embarrassing fact she’d cancelled her wedding?
Running footsteps along the hallway preceded a rapid knocking.
Her heart kicked up.
“Ione.”
Maisie’s voice. “Yes?” She hurried to the door and opened it.
“Penn spotted the dirt cloud caused by the cattle drive moving north.” Maisie bounced in place, her honey-colored braids flapping with each little hop. “They’re less than an hour away. Ivey’s hiding her panic well, but we could use your help in the kitchen.”
Ione spotted the excited gleam in her friend’s eyes. “I’m not very experienced with cooking. But I’ll do what I can.” She dashed back into her room to unclasp her brooch watch—a graduation gift from her parents.
Another knocking sounded, this time farther away. “Morgan, Penn asked for help getting the summer tables down from the loft. Thanks.”
Avoiding Morgan would not be possible for long. Sighing, she pulled her door tight and turned. A latch clicked from the end of the hallway. Unable to explain why, she glanced over her shoulder and spotted Morgan, who’d stopped with one foot into the hallway.
His gaze flicked to the door and back to her. “Ione?”
Sucking in a breath against the lump in her throat, she could only shake her head. She saw the hurt in his eyes that she’d ignored him scant minutes earlier. Self-preservation trumped all. Or was she just the biggest coward west of the Mississippi? “I’m needed to help prepare for the cowhand’s arrival.” With nothing more to say, she fled to the chaos of the kitchen where she was handed an apron and directed to a mountain of potatoes to peel. A mindless task that she could handle.
Ivey spouted orders like a ship’s captain, and her sisters jumped to obey with practiced ease.
Berg stomped through the back door. “I heard, love. What do you need?”
“Oh, Berg, you came.” Ivey whirled from the stove and flashed him a smile. She glanced around the kitchen where Ione peeled vegetables, Lydia kneaded biscuit dough, and Maisie sliced slabs of beef into cubes. “Take Ione’s pot of potatoes. They should cook all right over the forge fire.”
“Let me rinse these first.” Ione stood, carried the heavy pot to the sink, and pumped it half-full of water before swishing around the potatoes. Then she drained off the rinse water and added fresh until all were covered. “Where’s the lid, Ivey?” She looked around to see Ivey and Berg sneaking a cuddle over by the door. Their stolen intimacy reminded her of the cherished kiss she’d received in about the same spot last night. Her heart panged at the inexplicable loss she felt.
As she walked across the room and set the lid on the pot, Lydia giggled. “Since they married, they act like no one else sees when they act sparkish. Better wait a moment. Ivey’s ears aren’t working too well right about now.”
Living in the same household after being married must be difficult. Ione went back to the potatoes, wishing her hands were more nimble at shaving away the brown peels. Yet another task she’d never had to do before.
“And this is the kitchen.”
At Ellen’s statement, Ione glanced sideways and spotted the red-haired woman who’d hung on Morgan’s arm. Her blood ran cold. Although why? She didn’t know. Treadwell’s was the logical place for a traveler to end up. If Ione had thought the situation through, she could have prepared herself better. For now, she focused on peeling and took shallow breaths to still the racing of her aching heart. This woman was the one Morgan intended to marry.
“Miss Franklin, previously from Boston, Massachusetts, arrived in town today and will be boarding here indefinitely.” Ellen bobbed a stiff finger around the room as she made introductions. “My daughters, Ivey, Lydia, and Maisie. And the
new schoolteacher, Miss Ione Forrester.”
The woman who wore a gray shirtwaist with a white ruffle at the neck dipped a curtsey. “Ladies, I look forward to making your acquaintances.” She waved a hand in front of her face. “Sure is warm in this room.”
That was about the stupidest thing Ione had ever heard. Of course, the room was hot. She scraped the knife harder. This was a kitchen, and every spot on the stove held a pot or pan of cooking food.
“Now, the upstairs isn’t much to see, because once a room is rented, I don’t go inside uninvited. Let’s sit on the front porch where the air is cooler.” Ellen ushered the stranger away from the doorway and then popped her head back inside. “Ivey, did you light the stove in the bathing room? A few of those men will want to soak.”
“I’d like to see the bathing room.” Miss Franklin stepped into the kitchen again and glanced around, her nose crinkled. She tugged at the neckline of her dress. “Is it upstairs?”
An anguished gasp sounded, and Ivey glanced over her shoulder as she stirred the browning meat. “Oh, Mother, I’ve been so busy. Sorry.”
“I’m the logical one for the task.” Maisie dropped her knife and stepped to the sink to wash her hands. “Dylan will probably want to bathe before supper.” She walked across the floor and opened the door just past the double iceboxes.
“It’s off the kitchen? How absolutely quaint.” Miss Franklin minced her way to the open door, the train of her dress swishing with the sound of an angry snake. “Tin bathtubs? But where are the faucets for the hot and cold running water?”
Ione couldn’t stop her jaw from dropping. Had she sounded this snooty when she first arrived in Dorado?
Wood hit the sides of the metal stove with resounding clunks. Then Maisie stomped into the kitchen. “The water pails on top get heated by the stove, and the cold water comes from the pump.”
The clicking of Miss Franklin’s heels against the planking marked her path as she circled the room. “Good thing I brought my own French linens. These inexpensive towels are too rough for my delicate skin.” Smiling, she patted a hand on her cheek. “The curse of being a redhead, you know.”
Still peeling, Ione cast a sideways glance and spotted Ellen’s tight jaw. Poor woman. No one wanted to hear that what was being offered didn’t meet someone’s standards.
The back door jerked open.
Penn stuck in his head, his blue-green eyes dancing as he scanned the room. He waved a beckoning arm. “Maisie, come quick and see what Dylan’s driving.”
“He’s finally here?” Maisie hiked up her skirts and ran out the door. A second later, she let out a loud squeal. “You brought one. I can’t believe this.”
“Oo, who was that handsome gentleman?”
Pulled by the excited sounds, Ione stood and followed, wiping her hands on the apron. Coming up the street was a strange-looking horse-drawn wagon that was rectangular at the bottom but the sides angled outward. The roof was rounded and had a stovepipe sticking up through it. Others had followed from the kitchen and now crowded her from behind. Ione walked down to the street for a better view.
Now that she saw the bright green caravan from the side, Ione realized she’d seen a couple similar wagons near herds of sheep during her train trip from home. Except this one had shutters of lemon yellow that matched the spokes of the wheels. Painted along the roof line were red and blue flowers, white stars, and buttery crescent moons.
Maisie ran beside the wheels, smiling and talking as she moved.
“Whoa.” A grinning man pulled back on the reins and stopped in front of the boardinghouse. As soon as he secured the horses and jumped from the wagon, he scooped her into his embrace.
The hug confirmed the man was Maisie’s beau. Ione looked away from the couple’s private moment and connected with Morgan’s stare. Her stomach clenched, and she held her breath. Would he insist on speaking with her?
Arms crossed over his chest, he stood across the street, leaning against a wooden post. All his attention was focused on her, his hazel-eyed stare intense.
“Mrs. Treadwell, I have come to finally and officially claim your daughter.” Dylan swept off his hat, revealing dark hair, and bent at the waist.
Tossing back her head, Maisie laughed and clung to his arm.
Mesmerized by what she suspected was coming, Ione clasped her hands under her chin. Maisie had hinted that her beau, Dylan MacInnes, who lived on the Alba Ranch in south Texas, was working on a plan for them to get married.
With a hand clamped against her chest, Ellen stepped close to the wagon. “What’s this?”
“I twisted my amigo Gabrio’s arm, and in turn, he convinced an uncle in Mexico that my need for a small traveling home was desperate enough.” Dylan slapped a hand against the wooden side. “The uncle drove a hard bargain, but he sold me the vardo I needed to fulfill my promise of putting a roof over my sweet Maisie’s head.”
Dashing to her mother’s side, Maisie grabbed her hand. “Oh, please say yes, Mama. We’ve waited since Valentine’s Day last year, and we so much want to be together.”
A lump formed in Ione’s throat. The little wagon was proof of Dylan’s love, and she thought his gesture was so very sweet.
“No, this is not a real house.” Ellen shook her head as she stretched to look in a window.
Lydia climbed on a wheel hub to peer at the interior. “The inside looks almost like a doll house. Everything’s small.”
Dylan clasped a hand on Ellen’s elbow and guided her to the back steps. He threw open the door. “Go on and look inside. Cupboards for our clothes and incidentals, a bed to sleep in, a sink for washing. Best of all, a solid roof to keep out the rain. Campfire cooking has proved sufficient for decades on the trail.”
“You expect to take my child on a cattle drive? To start your marriage?” Eyes wide, Ellen glanced between the two, her voice shaking.
“I want to go. I want to be with Dylan.” Maisie squeezed past her mother on the stairs and inspected the inside.
Ione sympathized with the panic she saw in Ellen’s eyes. She’d seen it in her own mother’s eyes when her brother Chase had his last stand-off with Papa, packed his things, and rode off to work as a cowhand on a Missouri ranch. The course in life altered in the span of a few minutes. Ellen’s whole life was changing right before her eyes, and she wasn’t prepared.
With Lydia in tow, Ivey approached Ione and nudged her side. “We have to get back to the kitchen. Maisie doesn’t need an audience to work this out with Mama.”
“Coming.” Ione cast a glance across the street, but Morgan had disappeared. Shoulders slumped, she trudged back to the kitchen, preparing to be busy for the next couple of hours preparing and serving the evening meal to a dozen or so cowhands. One last look at the wagon confirmed Dylan’s surprise was about the most romantic act she’d ever witnessed.
***
After supper was concluded the previous night, Ellen tearfully agreed to give her blessing for the wedding that would take place at nine o’clock. And then the bride and groom would be gone for several weeks before returning to south Texas.
As the first rosy streaks of dawn appeared on Saturday morning, Ione was again in the kitchen, working as Ivey’s assistant. She was happy to pitch in and help to support this happy occasion. Ellen had promised pies and cakes to be served after the ceremony ended.
“Not enough time. How does she expect me to accomplish this?” Shaking her head, Ivey clapped her hands to her cheeks.
Ione bit back a giggle at the comical expression and rested her hands on Ivey’s shoulders. “Maisie won’t mind, and you know that. She’ll be happy with a single cake big enough to provide only two bites for every guest. She’s marrying her true love.” Her throat tightened at the truth in what she said. “Today, that’s all she cares about.”
Sniffling, Ivey gave her a watery grin. “Of course, you’re right. Maisie is poised on the edge of the big adventure that she’s been yearning for ever since our papa died. Now Dyl
an has figured out a way to give her that adventure.” Flexing her fingers and shaking her arms, she sucked in a big breath and let it out. “All right. Let’s get to work. I need a dozen eggs and a pound of butter from the left icebox.”
Three hours later, watching the simple wedding ceremony was as painful for Ione as it was sweet. She assumed Morgan was somewhere in the gathering, but she didn’t look too hard, because she wasn’t up to facing him yet. What she wanted was a few more hours to enjoy Maisie’s happiness, but Ione learned the truth that might break her hearts.
Because of the spontaneity of the event, the church was not available as the setting. So the small group of Treadwell’s boarders, cowhands from various ranches, and a few townspeople gathered just inside the open doors of Spengler’s Blacksmith Shop. As people arrived, the pastor assured all who listened that marriages held in a blacksmith’s shop were not so unusual, but, thank the good lord, this marriage would be blessed by a man of the cloth.
A flowing pale rose cotton dress with cap sleeves complimented Maisie’s athletic figure. A satin ribbon sash ran under the bodice and tied at the back into a big bow with long tails. With her hair tumbling in golden waves down her back, Maisie looked fresh and much younger than twenty years of age.
Dylan’s white shirt with a short collar and full sleeves contrasted with his dark hair and tanned skin.
But none of those details mattered, because the two now facing each other with hands clasped looked only into each other’s eyes.
Pastor Oswallt stood between them, holding his Bible, his light green eyes shining. “Welcome, family and friends of the affianced couple, Dylan MacInnes and Maisie Treadwell. I’ve been assured the haste of this ceremony has nothing to do with an impending wee one, but instead, it’s due to the need to move a large number of cattle. No matter the reason, we are gathered together to witness the binding in love of these two people.”
Chuckles sounded from around the close space, and a few boots scraped the hard dirt.
Ione's Dilemma: Dorado, Texas Book 6 (Grandma's Wedding Quilt 8) Page 11
