Violet_Bride of North Dakota

by Heather Horrocks

  Your friend, Violet

  (Letter mailed November 1, 1890)

  DANIEL WAS STILL AVOIDING VIOLET—but what else was new? He had been for nearly three weeks. In fact, she could trace his avoidance to one specific moment—when she’d kissed his cheek.

  That’s when he’d started staying away in earnest. He found excuses to work out of town, to deliver furniture, to do pretty much anything that would keep him away from her.

  So she had begun to accept invitations by some of the gentlemen in town and had been escorted to dinner with Amelia as chaperone.

  She’d thought she was doing the right thing by taking matters into her own hands—in this case, her own lips—but she’d made a mess of it. She was now admitting to herself that a romance could never be between her and Daniel. And so last week, when Gregor Koch had called on her, she had accepted his invitation. And Paul Carlson’s. And Jonathan Vogel’s.

  Thanksgiving dinner was the first meal Violet had shared with Daniel since The Kiss. She supposed she could begin to measure time in Minot as Before the Kiss and After the Kiss. What had she been thinking? Of course he wouldn’t want to get involved with a woman forward enough to kiss him uninvited.

  As she gazed across the Lund family dining table, she caught Daniel’s eye. He was always watching her—and also always jerking his gaze away when she looked at him. To tell the truth, it would be a relief to marry someone else and not have to deal with this anymore. He obviously couldn’t take his eyes off her—and at the same time he wanted nothing to do with her.

  Today he looked sad. And he had good reason—Amelia had told her that his faithful old dog Duke had died this past week. And Violet had not yet had a chance to give him her condolences. She intended to before she left, if she could only find a moment alone with him.

  Brenna and Gabriel Lund were hosting dinner today. Violet and Amelia had been cooking for over a day to help prepare the feast that was now laid before them on a groaning table. Brenna’s linen napkins, goblets, and company dishes marked this meal as special from the moment Violet and Amelia had arrived—early, to help Brenna with final preparations.

  The meal had started with an appetizer of gravlax—salt- and sugar-cured salmon—with creamy mustard-dill sauce. Next came roast turkey and fruit-and-walnut stuffing. Mashed sweet potatoes and gravy. Roasted vegetables and Danish red cabbage. Swedish lingonberry preserves and pumpkin cookies. And mulled apple cider to wash it down.

  The meal had been a joyous event—for everyone but Daniel. And for Violet, for she, too, felt keenly Daniel’s grief for his old dog. She wanted to tell him how sorry she was, if the moment would ever arise.

  That moment didn’t come during the meal, or afterward when the laughing family cleared the table and washed the dishes. Nor when they played games of Tafl, a strategy board game played on a checkered game board, similar to a chessboard and also having two opposing armies.

  It didn’t come during the multiple toasts of mulled cider. Or during the talking after.

  Finally, when Amelia said, “We’re going to go home now,” Violet decided it was not going to happen tonight at all, a melancholy thought.

  “All right,” she said. “I’ll get my coat.”

  And that action, with no trying on her part, led to the moment. She reached the coat hooks just as Daniel came out of his parents’ bedroom wearing his coat. His eyes widened when he saw her and he nodded and moved to go past her—but she touched his sleeve. “Daniel, Amelia told me that Duke died this week. I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am. He was a wonderful dog.”

  He met her gaze full-on for the first time in weeks. His face softened and he nodded. “Thank you. Duke was a wonderful dog.”

  An awkward pause followed. She decided she had nothing left to lose at this point, so she just said, “I wish I could take this heartache away from you.”

  His gaze sharpened. What had she said wrong this time? She turned to leave, but he caught her hand in his.

  She turned back, surprised, her eyes widening.

  “Why would you say that? About heartache?”

  She drew in a deep sigh and prepared to say goodbye to any hopes she might have had with Daniel, even as the warmth of his hand teased her. “Because I know Opal caused you great heartache. And now Duke. And because I care about you.”

  Still holding her hand, he turned his face away. He seemed to be struggling with his emotions. Holding her breath, she waited.

  He turned back to her and said, in a quiet voice, “And you would never cause me heartache?”

  “I hope never to do so.”

  He looked into her eyes for a very long moment, and her heart caught. Finally, he smiled softly. “Thank you. That means a great deal to me.”

  Dear Violet,

  I’m married now. I assume you are, as well? In all honesty, I considered stopping my letter there, as you have not seen fit to respond in any meaningful way. I’m not going to worry quite yet, but if I don’t hear from you soon, I may have to talk my new husband into trying to find you. We’re leaving for our honeymoon today. We’re going to New York City! We’ll be visiting my mother, which makes me very happy. My dear friend, Mrs. Gentry, played the role of mother to me during the wedding. She seemed very pleased to do so, and I feel very blessed. The entire church turned out for the event. Thomas had a wedding dress brought in from Boston, and I was able to tailor it to a perfect fit. He looked incredibly handsome, and I’ll never forget the look of pride and joy on his face. I’ve no doubt I looked at him in exactly the same way. There was so much food afterward! People seem to really love Thomas, and I was warmly welcomed. I think what I have to say next will surprise you. I am completely in love. I have a family, including an eleven-year-old daughter and, God willing, perhaps soon I’ll have one on the way. Best of all, I think you should know I not only love Thomas, but I trust him as well. I hope you are faring well, and expect to hear from you soon.

  Yours truly, in love and affection, Mrs. Rachel Buchanan

  P.S. Sir Lancelot has moved beyond food and shelter, and now has his own cushion, a loving family, and many hands to pet him. Life is wonderful.

  (Letter mailed November 28, 1890, and delivered December 4, 1890)

  VIOLET COMPLETED THE PAPERWORK ON the shop’s last major project—furniture for the new boarding house. That should keep the bills paid for a few months.

  It had been hard to focus on work for the past week since Thanksgiving. Daniel was no longer avoiding her, but had been attentive to her, smiling, joking with her, looking at her as though she were the most precious person on earth.

  She stood and stretched her back. She’d been on the stool for the entire morning, and was hoping Amelia would arrive with dinner soon. Looking at the wall clock, she saw she had another hour. Too bad her stomach didn’t agree.

  A man walked inside the shop—and he was followed by about ten other men. She’d grown used to men coming in, even in groups, but these men were different. They all looked nervous, especially the younger man in the lead.

  Inside, the other men lined the walls as if they were waiting for something to happen.

  Anxiety floated through her like a smoky mist. She didn’t have a good feeling about this, not at all!

  Still, this would be a problem for the Lunds, not her, whatever was going on. So she forced herself to smile and say, “Welcome to Lund Woodworking, gentlemen. May I help you?”

  The younger handsome man nervously took off his hat and clutched the rim in both hands. As if he had reminded the rest of them of manners, the other men followed suit.

  He was a tall, youthful, slender man with dark curly hair, expensively dressed. He was past handsome to almost pretty, but in a masculine way.

  The outside door opened and two more men entered and took their places along the wall, doffing their hats, as well.

  She realized she recognized some of these men, that they’d come in before to meet her.

  What on earth was going on?

&n
bsp; The young man stepped forward. He was the spokesman, then? He seemed young for the job, as many of these other men were older, in their thirties, forties, fifties. One older man had white hair and beard.

  “Miss Violet Keating?” the young man asked with a deep, resonant voice that made her think he must have a beautiful singing voice. His brown eyes were flecked with nervousness.

  “Yes?” she answered, tentatively. Why was he asking for her, and not one of the Lund men? “I am Violet Keating.”

  “I am...” He paused, gulped, and then went on in a rush. “I am James Evans. Your groom.”

  All the air seemed to leave the room.

  James? Her groom? Her runaway groom?

  She couldn’t speak, but her eyes widened and her lips parted in shock.

  He stepped forward—and all the other men did, too—so she must have paled enough that they were concerned she would fall off the stool.

  “I owe you an apology, ma’am,” James said. “I have been a fool, and I hope you can find it within yourself to forgive me.”

  James Evans? The man she should already be married to—and would have been if he hadn’t left her at the station? That James Evans?

  “Will you, ma’am? Forgive me?”

  “I...” She stammered. “I need to think.”

  “I understand. I want you to know that I would be honored to take you to the pastor’s house right now and marry you.”

  She might be in shock, but she wasn’t crazy. Narrowing her eyes, she said, “I am afraid it is past time for that, sir.”

  “I thought it would be so, and I realize I will need to court myself back into your good graces. We will need to get to know each other. Would you honor me by attending the Christmas festival with me tomorrow?”

  She’d made plans to go with Daniel’s family and was hoping to spend some time with Daniel.

  Still in shock, she wondered what her duty here was. James had paid for her ticket. Yes, he had run—but he had now returned and was ready to honor his commitment.

  But did that mean she still had to honor their agreement? Or had he forfeited that when he’d first broken it?

  “Please, ma’am.” He lowered his voice. “You see all of these men?”

  She looked around the room at the others, watching avidly, wondering what she would do. She wondered, herself.

  “Please find it in your heart to attend the festival with me. It will allow the townsfolk to see that I am trying to make up my mistake to you, and it will show them that you are a woman of grace. Please say yes.”

  She looked into his eyes, unable to speak, still confused about her responsibility here.

  “Please, ma’am,” he said in a whisper. “I’m begging you.”

  She found herself saying, “Yes.” What on earth was she doing?

  He drew in a deep breath of relief. “Thank you. May I pick you up at 11:00? At the home where you are staying, the Sven and Amelia Halvorson home, is that correct?”

  She nodded, avoiding the eyes of the other men.

  James stepped forward and took one of her hands. “Thank you, Miss Keating. You are as beautiful as I imagined you from your letter. I will leave now, so these men can follow me out and mock me, as I’m sure they will.”

  Her insides were chilled as she watched him leave. The other men followed him, each stopping by the door to look back at her. Her smile was frozen on her lips.

  When she was alone, she bit back a curse word that normally never passed her lips. It didn’t pass them this time, either, but it did run through her mind.

  James had the worst timing in the world. First, he hadn’t been there when he should have been. And now he was here when she wasn’t sure she wanted him to be.

  She needed to talk to Daniel—but how could she possibly talk to him about this?

  A fool begged killing today.

  (Journal entry, Daniel Lund, December 4, 1890)

  As Daniel approached the shop, he saw men pouring out of it.

  What was going on?

  Martin Nelson, the Hansen brothers, a full dozen more. All men he knew. Some customers, some not.

  And then he saw James Evans, stuffing his hat on his head with a grin. As if he’d never turned tail and run.

  Anger sparked through Daniel, white hot and overwhelming.

  How dare James show up after hurting Violet as he had?

  James caught sight of him, and took a step to the side, tipping his head. “Afternoon, Daniel.”

  Daniel took a step closer. “What were you doing at the shop, James?”

  “Making some things right.”

  “Some things can’t be made right.”

  James must have sense his hostility, for he put up his hands as the other men formed a semi-circle, watching them. They were probably looking forward to a fight. Daniel was looking forward to one, as well.

  “I apologized to the lady.”

  “You are a coward.”

  “I am.” James nodded. “But I’m hoping to make it right. She’s going to the festival with me.”

  Shocked, Daniel repressed the urge to punch the other man’s face. It took everything he had—every bit of strength he had—to get himself under control. Then he said, “Sounds like the lady is far too forgiving.”

  “Thank goodness for me.” James grinned again and turned back to the other men. “Good show?”

  Some nodded, others looked nervous and stepped back, perhaps recognizing the rage burning within Daniel. Idiots, all of them.

  Jealous and furious, he pushed through them and into the shop, without another word.

  Violet looked at him. She stood behind the counter, back against the wall, as if huddling.

  Instantly, his anger faded and his protectiveness toward her took over. “Are you all right?”

  She blew out a shaky breath. “I’m not sure. I’m in shock.”

  “I saw James leaving the shop. I nearly punched him.”

  “He asked me to go to the festival with him, and I was so confused, and all those men were watching, and I...” She faded off. “I’m sorry, Daniel.”

  Skirting the counter, he went to her and took her hands. “It’s understandable. I was shocked to see him. Maybe if he’d invited me to the festival, I’d have gone, as well.”

  She smiled at that, and his heart pinged. “Thank you, Daniel. You are my best friend and you always seem to know what to say to make me feel better.”

  Just when he’d opened himself up to the possibility of loving this woman, his heart broke within him, and he wished for things he could never have. Especially now that pretty boy Evans was back in town.

  He didn’t feel he could pursue her now that her original groom had come back.

  My dearest Darby,

  I have been worried about you, fearing that your Rand might have learned of your... secret. I will not name it here in the event he has not. Regardless, you have been in my thoughts. I hope Rand is everything his letter stated, and that you are happy. My groom is everything he stated—and so much more than I could have ever imagined. My life here has certainly been different from single life in the boardinghouse. Please write and let me know how it goes with you.

  (Letter from Violet Keating to Darby McClintock, written November 21, 1890)

  Violet stumbled through the door of Amelia’s home.

  The other woman rose from the sofa where she sat embroidering. “Are you unwell, Violet? You are so very pale.” Amelia set down her embroidered work and took Violet’s cold hands. “Why, you’re freezing! Why are you out by yourself?”

  Violet choked out a shaky laugh. “My groom has returned.”

  Amelia tipped her head, surprised and smiling. “Has Daniel declared himself, then? Oh, that is wonderful news. I am so thrilled to have you for my sister.”

  Violet shook her head, tears threatening. “Not Daniel.”

  Amelia’s eyes grew wide. “Another man in Minot?”

  Violet fought to control herself. She did not want to cry. “
James Evans.”

  Amelia gasped and put her hand to her heart. “No!”

  Violet nodded.

  “Please sit down,” Amelia said.

  Violet dropped like a sack of potatoes onto the middle section, and Amelia sat back down beside her. “He came to the shop, followed by a dozen or so men looking for some entertainment, I suppose. He said he was ready to take me to the pastor’s house immediately.”

  “No!” Amelia shook her head.

  “Yes.”

  “The nerve of him! After abandoning you so cruelly when you first arrived.” Amelia sat down again and took Violet’s hand. “What did you tell him?”

  “That it was past time for that.”

  “It certainly is.” Amelia studied her. “My dear, what are you going to do?”

  “I am confused. Am I still committed to marrying him? He did pay for my ticket, but I feel perhaps he negated that by leaving me at the train station, practically at the altar.”

  “I agree. You owe him nothing.”

  They sat in silence for long minutes. Finally, Amelia said, “Do you wish to marry James?”

  “At this moment, I don’t know what I want. I am stunned.” Violet sighed deeply. “He asked me to go to the festival with him. I said yes. It was all those men watching. I felt unable to refuse. And then Daniel came in and I told him what happened—and he didn’t give me any hint that he was disturbed by James returning. I thought he was interested, but now he doesn’t show that he is.”

  “My brother is such a dolt.”

  “How do I get out of it?”

  “Perhaps you don’t,” Amelia said, appraising.

  Violet raised an eyebrow. “What?”

  “Go to the festival with James.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Go and see if there are any sparks with this man. See if you still want to marry him. And if you do, then marry him.”