They better than any could understand the pull of love and how powerfully it could motivate a person in the pursuit of a happier tomorrow. And with her parents’ all-encompassing love as an example, there was not an event short of divine intervention that could dissuade her from taking her place in history as the Baptiste family’s first ever mail-order bride.
Chapter 2
Three months later—July 17th, 1886
Julie blew out a quick breath, her eyes on the wild and ever-changing landscape outside her window. The gentle swaying of the locomotive forced her to brace a hand against the wall of her compartment. She squeezed her eyes shut before looking at the worn newspaper clipping clutched in her free hand: Mr. Wickes’s advert from the Heart & Hand Matrimonial Times.
Funny to think how such a small bit of ink and paper had spurred her toward the Montana Territory, a destination practically on the edge of the known world when compared to New York City’s familiar streets.
Turning away from the window, Julie folded the clipping along the well-worn lines of the creases she had made nearly a hundred times before, and tucked it into her reticule. A perpetual romantic with her head forever lost in her books, Julie had saved the clipping for luck. It wouldn’t do to lose it.
She needed the assurance of good luck now more than ever, because in a few moments’ time she would finally be face-to-face with Forrest Wickes, her betrothed.
Forrest Wickes was about to assume a real and tangible form. He would no longer be relegated to the scribblings of cherished letters. He would be her husband.
“Husband,” Julie said, testing the word out, careful to keep her voice low lest the nosy elderly passengers in the next compartment conclude she had finally succumbed to the madness the society pages had diagnosed her with.
Her departure had been an absolute circus. New Yorkers of all walks of life, employ, and station eagerly speculated as to why the Baptiste heiress had chosen to trade a life of luxury and comfort for the frontier. Naturally, madness seemed the most logical reason. Julie had arranged the details for her trip west, and the Baptiste family had done their best to keep her departure date a secret. However, the crowd of reporters and onlookers greeting the Baptiste family upon their arrival at the train depot demonstrated whoever continued to expose Julie’s intentions had, once again, been just a step ahead.
She wished unholy terror and ill-fitting shoes upon them for their meddling, and mornings full of cold oatmeal, and evenings spent with wet socks. Maybe even the curse of perpetually cold soup.
Yes, especially that.
Publicly observed goodbye or not, Julie had tearfully hugged her family goodbye, with kisses for her mother, hugs for Julian, and adamant promises to telegraph the moment she set foot in Gold Sky to her father, who pressed a small Swiss Holbein dagger into her hand, whispering, “This belonged to your great-great-great grandmother. She used it to fend off untoward advances. Use it similarly should the need arise with your new husband.”
Julie had tucked the dagger into her carpetbag, an item purchased solely for the journey, though she was very nearly certain she would have no need to take up the dagger in defense. Mr. Wickes didn’t seem the type of man to force a woman to do anything beyond her wishes, and he had met every requirement on Julie’s list for her future egalitarian-kind-educated-perhaps-also-mildly-attractive husband.
Though it was one thing to present oneself on paper and another to have it match reality. Julie understood her father’s gift and his instructions to use it. After all, there was no shortage of cautionary tales detailing the unfortunate circumstances of young brides, especially those in possession of means, who had fallen prey to men of ill repute.
Despite the risk, Julie trusted her gut feeling about Forrest Wickes. And in her mind, he was every bit the warm, kind, and intelligent man she had fallen in love with over the course of their correspondence. Besides, Julie was willing to assume the risk of being a mail-order bride, a disparaging title she had decided to wear with pride and honor, rather than resign herself to the available suitors she had known her entire life.
Julie’s time at Vassar had more than adequately equipped her with the skills necessary to educate young minds. All the long nights studying to obtain her certificate had been infinitely more rewarding than worrying about keeping the attention of a fickle beau. Her future husband giving her an avenue to utilize her training was a wedding gift Julie considered to be more valuable than all the European honeymoons or hand-cut crystal glassware the society pages would expect her to receive. Julie could only imagine their ridicule at her excitement over the simple teaching position, and for not the first time she was happy she had boarded the train a month ago.
A light rap on her compartment door caused Julie to jerk in surprise. Her reticule and her carpet bag tumbled to the floor.
“My apologies, Miss Baptiste. I didn’t mean to startle you,” the conductor said with a grimace. He rushed forward to lift her things from the floor, and handed her reticule back to her with a sheepish smile as he stepped back toward the compartment door. “I wanted to be certain you were ready to step off here at Butte City. You are our only guest with it as a final destination.”
“The only?” Julie raised an eyebrow. She followed behind the conductor, who gave her a quick nod of his head as he carried her bag.
“Oh, yes,” he said, throwing open the train car’s heavy door. “I must say that you, Miss Baptiste, have been the talk among the staff. A young lady such as yourself, coming all this way on her lonesome.” The conductor hopped onto the platform and turned back to her, extending a hand. “I understand there has been a fair amount written about it in New York City. Are you certain that your people will meet you here?”
Julie frowned at the conductor’s words. Even all this way from New York and she was still plagued by gossip. She took the conductor’s hand as he guided her over the gap between train and platform.
“I’m quite sure I’ll be met by my…” She paused and dipped her head. “People.”
The conductor grinned at her. “You’ll have to get used to talking like simple folk out here, Miss Baptiste. No other gently bred ladies such as yourself are this far from New York.”
“I’m not that gently bred,” she said, doing her best not to sound as exasperated as she felt, and gave her fashionable bonnet a tug. Suddenly the seemingly innocent and understated straw bonnet, with its single ribbon of green silk velvet and spray of sunny yellow blossoms, seemed far too fine for the platform she stood on in the middle of nowhere. Said platform was little more than a work of elevated cement and wood planks, with rickety-looking stairs leading down to a rocky dirt road disappearing off into what looked to be Butte City, if the word city were being used creatively.
The barely leveled road, covered in a smattering of gravel and rock, was slightly concerning, but the small collection of ramshackle clapboard and brick buildings made her curious to know if the founders of the settlement had ever gazed upon a city in their lives. The platform was empty save for the crew member unloading her two trunks from the storage car, and Julie swallowed hard at Forrest Wickes’s absence.
The conductor gave her a kindly smile. “Oh, you are where it counts, Miss Baptiste. I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but this is no place for a young lady like you. Not on your own, anyhow.”
A sudden holler pierced the air in perfect timing to the conductor’s words, and Julie jumped in alarm. Her gloved fingers once again tightened on her reticule. If Mr. Wickes did not make his entrance soon, she was going to have to make use of the smelling salts in her bag to keep her wits about her. The society papers expected her to return New York within a month of arriving in the Montana Territory, and Julie had no intention of proving them right. With or without Forrest Wickes at her side, she was absolutely not returning home.
“No offense taken.” Julie inclined her head to the man, though her eyes once again swept hopefully across the platform. A gunshot cracked from the collection o
f buildings, and this time Julie’s gloved hand flew out to grab onto the conductor, whom she stepped behind for shelter. A tense moment passed in which her resolve wavered, but it didn’t break as she forced herself to step away from the man.
She would sort out her next move with a clear head. She would not rush back onto the safety of the train, not even when there was a veritable gun duel—fight—no, battle—happening within earshot. At least she had the Holbein dagger in her reticule.
The thought cheered her, though she was sure there was some disparaging adage concerning daggers and guns capable of destroying the confidence the weight of the weapon in her reticule lent her.
“Ah, there, there, Miss Baptiste.” The conductor made as soothing a voice as he could manage, though Julie didn’t miss the wry grin he gave her. “That’s probably just the saloon down the road. Nothing to worry about this far away.”
“That all of it?” the crew member asked, nodding at her two trunks, which looked forlorn on the empty platform.
She frowned at the luggage. This was absolutely not the romantic scene she had played out countless times in her daydreams. This was what she got for reading penny novels. The fanciful things were capable of rotting a woman’s brain when it came to men, and Julie vowed to end her habit.
“Yes, sir. Thank you for your help,” Julie answered the man with a grateful smile. He looked startled at her genuine expression, but recovered a moment later by pulling off his work cap and returning her smile with one of his own.
“Of course, ma’am,” he said before giving the conductor a curious look. “We’re not leavin’ her here, are we?”
“It is her intended destination,” the conductor sighed, looking as if he didn’t care for it one bit.
“It’s too dangerous.” The crew member frowned, taking a step forward, his cap still in his hand. “She needs an escort. A woman like her has no business traveling alone in the first place.”
Julie’s cheeks flushed and she lifted her head at the statement. “I am perfectly capable, but I thank you for your concern all the same, sirs.” She threw her shoulders back with as much dignity as she could and marched over to her trunks. At the center of the platform stood a small bench, and she intended to drag her luggage there and at least have a seat while she planned her next move. She had just taken her first few steps with the trunk in tow when the crew member rushed up beside her.
“I’m sorry to have given you offense, ma’am. I meant none.” He stood tentatively beside her before clearing his throat. “May I?” he asked, gesturing at the trunk Julie had dragged behind her.
Julie considered telling the crew member that she was more than able to handle her own belongings, but she let out a sigh and gave him a quick nod. He was only trying to be chivalrous, after all. It wouldn’t do to take her own poor mood at her lonely reception out on the man. “Yes, please.”
“I hope you’ll accept my apology,” he said, taking her trunk and moving it toward the small bench with ease. He had just set the trunk down when Julie registered the neighing of a horse and the rattle of wagon wheels behind them. But it would be rude to turn away from a gentleman when he was making amends, so Julie kept her focus on the crew member.
“Of course I accept, and I offer my sincerest apologies as well. A month on a train has me more than a little out of sorts.” She offered him a smile.
He tucked his cap into the front of the coveralls he wore. “I’ll just get your other trunk, ma’am.”
“Thank you, sir,” Julie called after him.
“Now, Miss Baptiste, I’ll arrange for an escort to come and fetch you so that we might leave.” The conductor glanced down at the pocket watch he wore and shook his head. “I’d prefer to stay until your people arrive but I’m on a very tight schedule.” His eyes moved to the train where curious passengers either regarded her through the glass of the compartment windows, or, in a brash move, hung out from the windows with open interest.
“You aren’t leaving that girl here, are you?” an old woman called out to them from an open window. “She’s naught but a child.”
“I told you that was the Baptiste heiress,” another voice crowed.
Julie blushed. “I understand, sir. I do not wish to be any trouble.”
“I’ll stay with her,” the crew member who had just deposited her trunk by her feet said. “Catch the next train back, easy.”
“Very admirable, John.” The conductor looked impressed. Julie felt piqued once more and she opened her mouth to express as much.
“That won’t be necessary.”
Julie froze. The words she had just been about to speak had come from thin air. She turned her head to see a man striding across the platform toward them with a pained expression on his face. “Miss Baptiste, my sincere apologies,” he said, blue eyes fixed on her.
“Mr. Wickes?” Julie asked, her voice catching in her throat when he gave her a nod.
In all her love-addled daydreaming she had never dared to picture the man standing strong and sure in front of her. He more than fulfilled her request of mildly attractive.
Forrest Wickes was powerfully built, standing at 6’2 with skin tanned from hours in the sun, fine muscles, and a pair of broad shoulders visible even under the flannel of his work shirt. The abashed figure standing in front Julie was all man. No trace of boyishness in his face, unlike the suitors who had tried their hand at courting her in New York.
He yanked off the brown wide-brimmed hat he wore with a jerk of his hands, revealing hair that looked like spun gold. Julie wondered if it was as soft as it looked and her cheeks flamed at the thought. Swoon-worthy, indeed. An aquiline nose, chiseled jaw, and lips that could lead a woman astray rounded out the picture of Mr. Wickes, but it was the pair of blue eyes looking at her in apology that had Julie fighting the urge to pull out her smelling salts then and there. She was struck dumb at the sight of the man and could only stand in silence as he apologized to her.
“I meant to be here when you arrived but there was an incident, ah, just—” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of town. I, we, had to intervene. I apologize for not meeting you.”
Julie bit her lip. “W-was it the gunshots?” she asked with wide eyes.
He cleared his throat. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Oh my,” Julie breathed, her hand going to her throat.
“But don’t trouble yourself over it. It’s being seen to by, ah, my partner.” He held out his hands in a placating gesture before looking at the crew member and conductor as if he had just noticed them for the first time. “I thank you for bringing my fianceé safely to her destination.”
“Fianceé?” the crew member squeaked. Julie scowled at the man but said nothing as Forrest nodded.
“Since the New Year,” he said, and Julie warmed at the note of pride she heard in his voice. He turned to her with a tender smile. “After all the letters it’s awfully nice to meet you finally, Miss Baptiste.”
Julie’s early assertion that she wouldn’t need the Holbein dagger against Forrest Wickes’s advances was heartily confirmed by that single, achingly sweet smile.
“You’re a mail-order bride?” the crew member gasped, interrupting Julie's thoughts. The man had put together the pieces of the puzzle surrounding Julie’s solo journey, which only exposed him as a man who didn’t read. That fact alone would be enough to lower her opinion of him but the look he gave her now, a stare equal parts horrified and pitying, reduced her assertion of him to a negative summation.
Julie gave a nod of her head and did her best to look unaffected at his comment. “I am, sir.”
The crew member spluttered in shock. Julie cast him an annoyed look and toyed with the idea of offering him her vial of smelling salts. It looked like he would need it before long if this conversation went on.
Thankfully, the conductor seemed unruffled and tipped his hat to Mr. Wickes. “Glad you came along to collect her, then. I’ll rest easier about the young lady knowing a man of the l
aw is with her from here on out.”
Mr. Wickes’s shoulders squared, causing the sheriff's badge pinned to his leather vest to gleam in the sunlight. “Nice of you to say, sir.”
He put his hands on his hips, the movement drawing Julie’s eye to the revolver that lay snug there. She’d never seen a gun up close. Not even an hour into her new life on the frontier and things were already looking up in the ways of adventure and intrigue, far from her days spent hiding from suitors and avoiding social galas.
“Gentlemen.” Mr. Wickes put his hat back on his head with a nod at them before turning to regard Julie almost shyly. “Miss Baptiste?” he asked in a softer voice and held out his arm to her.
“Call me Julie, please,” she replied, tucking a gloved hand into the crook of his arm.
“Only if you call me, Forrest, ma’am—ah, Julie.”
“Certainly, Forrest.” Julie’s cheeks burned hot from noticing how solid Forrest’s arm felt under her hand. Thankfully, she managed to keep her voice even in reply. She followed him across the platform, mind racing for her next words when Forrest spoke.
“I’m sorry I was late,” Forrest sighed, clamouring down the stairs and turning to help her. “Never fails that we go somewhere early and end up having to settle the people down around here.”
Julie nodded, though she was more focused on how Forrest’s large hands felt on her waist as he bypassed the shaky set of stairs to set her on the ground beside him. She had little time to marvel at how deftly he had handled her when the sudden sound of a horse’s hooves made her turn to see a man approaching them on the back of a beautiful chestnut mare.
Stern gray eyes regarded her coolly from beneath the brim of a sweat-stained hat. He had, she saw, one hand resting on a shotgun at his side, and she wondered if it had been the gun she’d heard fired only minutes before. She couldn’t help but notice that while Forrest had done his best to clean up, his blond hair neatly combed, clothes freshly laundered and pressed, boots and badge shined within an inch of their life, this man had done anything but. In fact, it appeared to Julie that he had barely deigned to wash the sleep from his face before making his way to the train station.
Heart and Hand: Gold Sky Series Page 2
