A Bride for Noah (2 page)

Regardless, my confidence in this venture continues. If fortunes are to be made in the West, I am convinced they will come from lumber, which we have in abundance. If we can produce a shipment large enough to command the attention of timber buyers in San Francisco, we will move forward with our plans to build a mill and turn this camp into a permanent settlement.

If you feel like visiting this lush land, bring an ax. There is plenty of work for all. Or a wagonload of women, which would do wonders for the men's attitudes! You will be hailed as a hero without splitting a single log. (In my mind's eye I see Aunt Letitia's spine stiffening in outrage. Please assure her that I merely jest!)

With sincere regards, your nephew,

Noah

February 17, 1852

Chattanooga, Tennessee

Mr. Coffinger read the final words of the letter aloud. Though Evie Lawrence did not intend to snoop, there was no help for it. Her employers were settled in their sitting room, and the wide-open archway between the dining and sitting rooms did nothing to prevent her hearing their every word. Taking care to keep her attention fixed on polishing the mahogany buffet until it shone, she hid a smile. The Coffingers' nephew had hit the peg squarely on the head with the prediction of his aunt's response to his jest. The rotund woman's backbone had become as rigid as a fire poker in her seat on the sofa, and her already-thin lips compressed into near invisibility.

“From childhood that boy's sense of humor has been base and uncouth.” Her long nose rose into the air to deliver a disapproving
sniff. “Were his poor mother still living, I should be forced to inform her of his inappropriate comment. No doubt it would break her heart.”

Evie made a final pass with her polishing cloth and then began wiping dust from the crystal and china before returning the items to their positions. Though she kept her back turned away from the sitting room and its occupants, the couple's image was reflected in the glass doors of the hutch.

Mr. Coffinger answered with a guffaw. “My sister would have laughed and then jumped up to assemble a wagonload of women to deliver to Oregon Territory.”

After a chilly pause, Mrs. Coffinger spoke in a frigid voice. “Unfortunately you are correct. She may even have
supported
this ridiculous scheme of Noah's from the start. Wisdom and good sense do not run strongly in your family. You are evidence of that, Miles.”

Evie held her breath. If her mama had ever insulted her father—God rest his soul—in such a manner, his anger would have flared and, though he had been a patient man, he would have answered with a fiery reply. Nor would Evie have blamed him. But Mama had loved Papa too deeply to ever insult him. Had not her death of a broken heart six months after his passing proven so? Evie closed her eyes against the rush of tears that always threatened when she thought of the loss of her parents. Two years had passed since she'd laid Mama to rest. How long would it be before the memory failed to stir up such a painful response?

Apparently Mr. Coffinger had grown familiar with his wife's barbs. In the months since Evie had been in service here, she'd become accustomed to her mistress taking her vexations out on her longsuffering husband. Instead of becoming angry, he merely folded the letter and slid it inside the breast pocket of his evening jacket. He lifted his glass from the low table between them, leaned back in his upholstered armchair, and sipped the amber contents while watching his wife over the rim.

Mrs. Coffinger seemed not to mind, or notice, his silence. “It begins to sound as though this scheme too will fail. Of course I warned Noah from the start against the foolishness of moving to the wild and unpredictable West. Such a waste of money should not have been permitted.” She leaned forward to pick up her teacup from the table. “You should have put a stop to it, Miles. Your responsibility as his uncle and only living relative demanded it.”

“The money was his to spend, my dear, left to him by his father,” he replied mildly. “He would not have appreciated my interference.”

“Interference?” Her teacup clanged down on the saucer with such force Evie thought it might shatter. “
Guidance
is what he needed. And what you failed to provide. Though perhaps Noah was better off without the benefit of your so-called wisdom. Your advice would have done him more harm than good. Since you exercise ignorance more than wisdom in your own affairs, how could you advise others?”

Another haughty sniff, and the sound grated on Evie's nerves like a shovel scraping across a grave. For a moment she considered offering her handkerchief in false concern for her mistress's sniffles, but decided against the sarcastic gesture. She needed this housekeeping job. Besides, after several decades of marriage, Mr. Coffinger could certainly defend himself against his wife's sharp tongue.

His bland response proved her point. “My dear, one would almost think you dissatisfied with our manner of living.”

Evie's glance swept the room, taking in the spindly-legged French tables, the elaborately framed artwork on the walls, and the intricate design of the plush rug that warmed the polished wooden floor. She set a freshly dusted crystal decanter in its place on the buffet.

Mrs. Coffinger leaned over her thickset middle to return her teacup and saucer to the table. “It is a miracle that we still have a home after the unwise investments you have made.” She shook her head as though chiding a child. “That odious man with the timepieces and that so-called doctor with his ice machine.”

“I still say the machine is a sound idea.” He drained his glass and rose from the chair to head toward the sideboard. “Imagine being able to produce ice all the year round.”

“The man took your money and disappeared to Florida.” Double-sniff this time.

Evie balanced the last plate on its display stand and turned from her task to find Mrs. Coffinger's gaze fixed on her. Red spots appeared on the woman's already rouged cheeks. Apparently she had forgotten Evie's presence.

She recovered and straightened on the sofa cushion. “Evangeline, does your young man work for his living?” Her gaze slid across the room to her husband, where he stood near the sideboard sipping from a refilled glass. “Or does he pretend to be an
investor
?” The word slid across her tongue as though it were rancid oil.

Evie glanced at Mr. Coffinger, whose normally placid expression had begun to look strained.

She schooled her voice before answering. “James works at the port, loading cotton and other goods onto the boats.”

“A solid job, then.” The woman jerked an approving nod. “You can rely on a man who makes his living with his hands.” After a pointed glance toward her husband, she rose. “I must check with the cook to make sure dinner will be on time tonight. She has served the meal twenty minutes late twice in the past week, and my constitution is greatly affected.”

She swept from the room, leaving Evie alone with Mr. Coffinger. Gathering her soiled cloths and the jar of furniture polish, Evie avoided the man's gaze. She had never felt sorrier for anyone than she did him for being married to such a sharp-tongued woman. She wouldn't want him to see pity in her eyes.

As she turned to go, she caught sight of his face. He studied the doorway through which his wife had disappeared, his expression thoughtful. He gave no indication he was even aware of Evie's presence. What thoughts circled behind those passive features? The
object of his contemplation must certainly be his wife and her sharp words. But Evie saw no sign of anger, or irritation, or even sadness. Only a shade of speculation.

When she headed for the doorway, her rags and polish in hand, he started out of his reverie. The eyes he turned her way focused, and the corners of his lips twitched beneath his mustache.

“Miss Lawrence, please accept my apologies for”—he lifted his glass and gestured toward the doorway—“voicing our private concerns in your presence. Truth is, you're so quiet I'd forgotten you were there. It's no doubt disconcerting to one about to enter the bonds of matrimony to hear an old married couple exchanging tit for tat.”

Evie longed to say the conversation had been far too one-sided to be called an exchange, but she bit her tongue. Any answer would only make matters more awkward. Instead she bobbed a curtsy and continued for the doorway.

Mr. Coffinger stopped her. “Your intended. You say he is employed at the docks?”

Though she had no desire to enter into a conversation about James with Mr. Coffinger or anyone else, what could she do but answer her employer politely? “Yes, sir.”

“An unstable occupation these days, to be sure, with the railroad gaining strength in Chattanooga. Not tempted by the lure of gold to journey westward, is he?”

More than one of James's friends had packed their belongings and headed west after hearing accounts of gold nuggets as big as a man's fist lying on the ground, ready to be scooped up. Though she and James had differing opinions on many things, concerning the search for gold they were agreed. Only an imbecile would leave behind his family, friends, and livelihood to answer that golden siren call.

She lifted her head and answered Mr. Coffinger squarely. “No, sir, he is not at all tempted by such a fool's errand. James is far more levelheaded than that.”

The man's features fell. “Ah, well. I'm sure that's for the best.” He waved his tumbler again toward the doorway, this time in dismissal. Then he raised the glass to his lips and drained it.

As Evie stepped toward the doorway to take her leave, he was heading once again toward the sideboard and the crystal decanter.

“Miss Lawrence? One last thing before you go.”

She paused in the act of stepping across the threshold and turned to find him watching her. “Yes sir?”

He slipped a hand into his jacket and withdrew the folded letter. A wide grin appeared beneath the bushy mustache as he waved it in the air. “If you ever consider heading west, let me know.”

Evie's spine went nearly as stiff as Mrs. Coffinger's had earlier. Why would the man even
consider
that she would travel to the West in his company? And for what? To become a…a
fancy
woman in the wild for that nephew of his? An insult, that's what it was. Her virtue had been called into question, her reputation placed at risk. Why, she should give her notice at this very moment. Throw the polishing rags in the man's face and march out of the house, never to return.

And she would have too, except for the frustrating circumstances in which she currently found herself. Her family home was gone, overtaken by an unsympathetic uncle after her parents' passing. The larder in the small room she rented was nearly empty. Her skirts were mended to the point that she was forced to mend the mends in order to clothe herself decently. If not for this job as Mrs. Coffinger's housemaid, she would be penniless.

Be not rash with thy mouth, and let not thine heart be hasty to utter any thing before God: for God is in heaven, and thou upon earth: therefore let thy words be few.

The verse rose in her mind in time to silence her hasty words. Instead, she lifted her nose in a haughty imitation of the man's wife, gave a dignified nod in farewell, and swept out of the room.

Evie moved through the streets of Chattanooga toward the boardinghouse she called home these days. The draw of Mulberry Avenue was too strong tonight to be withstood.
Railroad Avenue,
she corrected herself. Her childhood had been spent growing up in her grandfather's big house on Mulberry Avenue. Last year, with the completion of the Memphis and Charleston railroad, tracks had been laid down the center of the road and the street's name changed. But in her mind it would always be Mulberry Avenue.