A Bride at Last (25 page)

“You’re going to wear a rut in the planks.” Will shook his head at Silas while lounging on the train depot’s bench. Will had removed his suit coat and rolled up his shirt sleeves despite the cool temperature. Medical school hadn’t changed his laidback friend much, beyond giving the man extra confidence . . . though that might have come from his bride, Eliza, more than his fancy degree.

If only Silas could be certain Kate would bring the best out of him, because Lucy sure hadn’t.

He pivoted at the end of the platform and shook out his hands, trying to release the tension.

Didn’t work.

He paced across the platform, thankful most of the crowd was huddled inside the depot, giving him space, and Anthony was at the post office. He didn’t know Kate was coming today, but he would know something was amiss if he watched his father’s nerves get the better of him.

Will let out half a laugh. “One would think you’ve never waited in this very spot for a mail-order bride before.”

“Kate’s not a mail-order bride.” He stopped midstride and turned his ear to the east. Yes, the rumble warring with his heart’s erratic beating was the barely audible approach of a train. How long until Kate arrived? Five, ten minutes? “She’s not desperate enough for that. She’s too pret—” He cut off before he got himself in trouble. Will’s wife had been a mail-order bride, and Eliza wasn’t pretty, though she wasn’t ugly either. He couldn’t afford to offend his best friend just because his nerves were shot.

“Oh, Kate might be desperate, all right. After she sees you pacing like a caged wolf, she might be desperate to hightail it back onto the train.” Will’s face lit with amusement.

On any other day, Silas wouldn’t mind being ribbed. “Not funny.” Kate wasn’t the kind that deserted; she was the kind that fought.

Maybe he shouldn’t have told Will what was wrong this morning. He was definitely rethinking inviting him to sit with him while he waited.

Will leaned back with a stupid grin on his face. He was way too jovial for the occasion.

Silas shook his head. Here he was, possibly jumping into another unhappy marriage, and his friend found him amusing. “My nerves are so tight I’m about to explode. You should be more sympathetic.”

Will acted as if he were enjoying a show. “If you wanted sympathy, you should’ve chosen Everett to wait with you.”

“Not if I want her to arrive alive and willing to marry me.” Will’s friend, Everett Cline, had had the worst luck with women he’d ever heard of. Having Lucy run away wasn’t nearly as bad as being jilted four times, as Everett Cline had been. Though the man had finally landed a happy marriage, with a gorgeous wife to boot.

Silas turned to watch the cloud of coal smoke billow on the horizon.

Maybe Kate would become his Julia Cline, a bride who’d stay. Bring him love and happiness and children—

“I thought you told me you didn’t know what you felt for this woman.”

He startled. How’d he forget Will was right there? “I don’t. How could I?” Though the thought of her giving him children heated his limbs enough he could shuck his coat.

Will’s grin grew wider. “I knew Eliza was The One the second
I saw her, though I had to ignore her, seeing how she arrived for another man.”

Silas rolled his eyes. “Now you’re telling tales. That’s nothing but hindsight.”

“Ah, but I recognize now what those feelings were, and I recognize them in you.”

“I’m glad one of us is certain of what I’m feeling.” He huffed, trying to find something to say to lighten the mood. “The men won’t welcome a married man to play chess in their club. I need someone to play with besides Anthony—and you’re lousy.”

“Considering how Kate’s already got you checkmated, I bet she’ll prove to be an excellent chess player.”

Just like a king stuck behind a wall of pawns, Silas was ensnared by the integrity he wanted to keep and half a hope things would work out. “I am indeed trapped.”

“Aw, Jonesey.” Will hopped up and slapped him on the back. “I’m teasing. A good woman isn’t a trap, or rather it’s a trap you don’t mind being in.”

Silas kept his eyes on the black dot of a train engine appearing under the smoke as more people wandered up from the streets to wait on passengers. “Eliza sure has you bamboozled if you’re willing to lie still in a snare.”

“Hmmm. Lying down in her snare is a fine place to be, my friend.”

Silas groaned. One would think Will was still on his honeymoon the way he couldn’t keep that silly look off his face.

His own honeymoon haze had lasted a day before Lucy found everything he did or owned unsatisfactory. “Don’t you have doctoring to do?”

“You trying to get rid of me?” Will nudged him with his elbow. “You’re the one who asked me to stand here and watch you pace.”

“I didn’t know you’d probe so much.” Silas waved at an
acquaintance from church, thankful the man didn’t come over to chat before joining the waiting crowd.

“No probing necessary, your agitation’s written all over your face. I’m just amusing myself.”

“A doctor’s job is to calm nerves, not ratchet them up.”

“Ah, but I’m not charging you for the hour, so you’re just a friend, and those I mercilessly taunt.” Will gave him a glare that was probably supposed to look malicious, but Will and
malicious
combined as well as oil and water.

“You’re in too good of spirits for me.” The hiss of the slowing locomotive would soon make talking difficult. “I’m facing potential doom and gloom right now.”

“You’re right, I’m much too happy for doom and gloom.” He pulled a cigar from his chest pocket. “I don’t smoke these, but Carl Hampden gave me a handful. Here.” He poked one toward him. “I’ll finally be feeling that fatherly pride you’ve been reveling in.”

“Fatherly pride? You?” Silas let Will’s smile leak onto his face, just a little. “Congratulations, Stanton.”

He clamped onto Silas’s shoulder. “Thanks.”

What would it feel like to be Will? Having a wife he loved, raising a child who’d love him in return, being so sure things would work out.

If he hoped for such things, and they didn’t come true . . .

The clamor of brakes and steam grew loud enough they’d have to yell to communicate, so they didn’t talk while the engine protested to a stop.

Would this locomotive bring him the same happiness Will and Everett had found? The opposite of what he’d attached himself to last time?

While the deafening noise of released steam dissipated, more townsfolk swarmed the platform, effectively corralling Silas’s fidgeting feet.

He’d asked Will to wait with him, but now . . . He turned to
face Will so the man could read his lips. “You wouldn’t mind if I asked you to . . . uh . . . not be here when . . .”

Will cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted. “Bring Kate by to meet the wife.”

He nodded and shook hands with Will before his friend bounced down the platform stairs.

If only he felt like bouncing. The dying hiss of the train muffled the heartbeat throbbing in his ears—the only part of him that bounced. The rest of his body weighed like lead, anchoring him to the platform.

As did the memory of his impulsive proposal.

And the feel of Kate’s lips on his.

Last to disembark, Kate didn’t bounce down the steps. Hesitating on the bottom stair, she put a hand to her brow to ward off the sun. Her simple straw hat’s tiny brim was uselessly decorative, hardly covering her auburn hair, which was prettier than the hat anyway.

He waved until she raised her hand in acknowledgment. Slowly, he wove through the crowd as did she, but he stopped before they got within talking distance. How did a man greet a woman he scarcely knew, yet had kissed like no woman he’d ever known?

He certainly couldn’t kiss her like that again in front of so many people—despite having done so in Breton.

His hand clamped onto his neck. Had he completely ruined her reputation? Was that why she came with no warning, no discussion? God forgive him for his loss of sanity.

A pretty woman, a mother for his child, a family—maybe his loss of sanity wouldn’t turn out so bad. Maybe he’d be as happy as Will with time. God wanted good things for him—the Bible said so.

He dragged off his hat and forged forward the last few steps.

She slowed, one arm crossed across her stomach and an
chored to her other arm carrying a valise. She looked intently in his eyes, making him squirm. What was she looking for?

He held out his hands as if approaching a hurting wild animal. “Can I take your bag?”

She shook her head, her eyes blinking rapidly, perhaps holding back tears, perhaps just irritated by smoke, but they were definitely red-rimmed. “You’ll need to get my trunks.”

He still held out a hand. “I can come back for them.”

She squeezed the bag’s handle tighter. Maybe she needed it? “I’m capable of carrying it myself—thank you.”

“All right.” He shouldn’t let a lady carry a heavy bag when he had empty hands, but her trunks were not yet retrievable. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Was she reliving the electricity they’d shared weeks ago? Was that what kept her as tongue-tied as he?

With her feet firmly planted on the platform and her back as straight as a fence post, she didn’t look willing to move. “I want you to know I can’t promise anything until I’m certain you’ve told me the truth about yourself.”

So her tongue untied first to bushwhack him. Kate wouldn’t be this wary if Lucy hadn’t talked so badly of him—some of her tongue-lashings likely earned.

His hands itched to reach for Kate, to make her rigid frame soften in his arms again, but that likely wouldn’t work right now. And he’d already ruled out kissing her. He fidgeted and ended up putting his hands in his pockets. “We don’t have to rush into anything. We can’t get married for a week or so anyway. Got to get a license and you a dress. If you want—”

“Dress?”

“Do you have something nice already?” He’d never seen her in anything but brown and navy wool dresses. She probably had lighter weight outfits, maybe in prettier colors, but that wouldn’t help now since the weather had turned cold. And he
had promised her the best wedding he could afford. He wished he’d not said that after taking a look at his farm, but a woman would want a nice dress at least.

She pulled at her neckline. “All I have are these. I put on collars and cuffs for Sunday.”

That’s what he’d thought. “I arranged for you to stay at Mrs. Langston’s boardinghouse. She’s a seamstress. Figured you could get some material from the mercantile and work on a dress with her.”

She seemed to be breathing easier and her hand relaxed on the handle of her bag. “I wouldn’t feel right asking someone I don’t know to work on my dress.”

“I don’t think she’d mind, but if she did, I could pay her something, or we could wait until you’re finished.” He waited until she looked him in the eyes. “When you’re ready.”

Finally, her shoulders loosened, and her chest rose with a deep breath. A smile even played on her lips.

He smiled back and offered his arm again. “Now, about seeing my farm. Will was right when he sent me those telegrams. It’s not in good shape anymore. I hope that won’t make you think less of me when you see how much money I’m going to have to pour into it to get it back to where it was just weeks ago. Anthony’s at the post office, so we could pick him up and head out. But my place is about fifteen minutes north, so if we go there tonight, you’d see little of the homestead before we had to come back. It might be best if I came for you tomorrow.”

She nodded. “Tomorrow’s fine. What about my trunks?”

“I’ll come back for them. We’ll get Anthony first. I’m sure you’re eager to see him.”

She swallowed and nodded again. He reached for her bag, which she thankfully released this time. He threw the valise in his borrowed wagon before taking her arm and guiding her
down the busy sidewalk. They walked a block of Main Street in silence. Weren’t women supposed to be talkative?

With every passerby’s side glance or raised eyebrow, his chest tightened, making it difficult to draw sufficient breath. The townsfolk were used to strangers coming off the train, but not one on his arm. Halfway to the post office, he cleared his throat. Guess he had to start the talking. “This is Main Street. Most of the shops you’ll want to visit are here. There’s Hampden’s Mercantile. You’ll find pretty material there for a dress—just tell them to put it on my account.” He pointed to the shop they were passing. “This is the tailor.”

Surely she could’ve read the signs herself, but it kept his mouth moving, so he kept pointing out which business was which. Hopefully talking would keep anybody from coming over for an introduction . . . or to ask pesky questions.

They passed Will’s old store, now a millinery, and Silas stepped in front of Kate to open the post office door.

Anthony sat staring at a chessboard, chin held in both hands, and then reached over to move his queen. He hadn’t told the boy Kate intended to come today, in case she’d not arrived for some reason.

Jedidiah glanced up from handing a woman a pile of mail. His gaze bounced off Silas and onto Kate. “Good afternoon.”

Anthony looked up, and his eyes brightened. “Miss Dawson!” He stood so fast he bumped the table and several of his chess pieces fell over. “You came!” He ran over and hugged her waist.

She wrapped him tight against her. “I told you I would.”

A woman who kept her word would keep her vows. Wasn’t that what he’d wanted most in a wife? A woman who’d never abandon Anthony . . . though they could run away together.

He pinched the bridge of his nose to snuff out the wayward thought. His fears were messing with his logic. She’d told him in Breton she believed the boy belonged with him, but she had
contemplated running when the boy was in danger of going with Richard.

Even if she didn’t find anything wrong with him personally, if she found life on a homestead too hard . . .

He’d just make sure to ease Kate into farm life—unlike he had with Lucy. He wouldn’t assume this go-around that his wife would know how crazy planting and harvest times were, how the fields demanded they work from dawn to dusk.