If the Prospect Pleases Page 5

  His musings came to an abrupt end with the sound of giggles and pattering footsteps as his daughters scrambled aboard the wagon again. Flicking the reins over the horses’ backs, Lucas clucked his tongue. “Come on, boys. Let’s get on home.”

  ❧

  Annora stepped behind the folding screen to dress. Tired after standing motionless on the dressmaker’s fitting stool for most of the afternoon, she circled her head slowly, trying to relieve her stiff neck. Then she removed her petticoats from the wall pegs and began pulling them on.

  “Let me know when you need help fastening buttons,” Gertie Simms, the bubbly assistant called out.

  “Thank you, I will.” But less than anxious to return to the parsonage just yet, Annora continued her leisurely movements. The Baxters had spared no expense in providing her with a lovely trousseau. Indeed, under any other circumstances, Annora would have been in seventh heaven at the very thought of possessing such a glorious wardrobe. But although her guardians truly believed they were acting in her best interest, such an unwanted marriage made Annora’s very skin crawl. She was taxed to maintain a pleasant demeanor in their presence. There had to be some way of forestalling her union with the heir to the Thornby estate. A miraculous intervention by God. Please, Dear Father, don’t let this happen to me.

  “Ready?” Gertie asked, peeking around the screen, her bright blue eyes alight with friendliness.

  “Yes.” With a thin smile, Annora turned her back to the nimble-fingered brunette who appeared only a couple years older than herself.

  “La, what a pretty wardrobe you’ll be wearin’,” Gertie said breathlessly, slipping each pearl button on Annora’s dress through its corresponding loop. “Your missus chose all the newest fabrics from France and laces from Belgium. So elegant, they are, to work on.”

  “Yes. And I’m surprised at how quickly you’re finishing everything,” Annora said with fatal acceptance. No one seemed to care that her whole future was spinning out of control.

  “Well, my mistress has all us girls sewin’ past closin’ to fill the order. She’d have our heads if it was our fault that a grand weddin’ got held up!” Chuckling to herself, the slim girl straightened and stepped away. “There. Now, a few more fittin’s an’ you’ll not be seein’ the likes of us again for awhile.”

  “I’ve enjoyed getting to know you and the others,” Annora admitted truthfully. “Especially you, Gertie. I hope your mother continues to gain strength.”

  “Thanks, miss. It’s been a help, my earnin’ good money here. Little by little, the Good Lord supplies what she needs.”

  “Yes. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon, then. Do have a pleasant day.” Smiling, Annora crossed through the cluttered workroom. The small silver bell jangled in its bracket above the entrance as she exited.

  Late afternoon sunshine cast long shadows between the red brick buildings lining either side of Market Street. The coolness of the shady spots felt welcome to Annora’s feet as she traipsed along the edge of the cobbled road. Grateful that no one had accompanied her today, she gave in to the impulse to pop in on her best friend from church. The bakery Lesley’s parents owned was barely two blocks out of her way.

  As she neared the squat one-story building tucked between a leather shop and a printing business, the tantalizing aroma of fresh baked goods grew stronger. The overhead bell sounded as she opened the door and went inside.

  “Well, well,” Lesley said, looking up from behind the wide counter, her rosy lips widening with a smile. “A friendly face. Always a welcome sight.” She wiped her hands on the long apron covering her work dress and came to hug Annora. “What brings you by?”

  “Mostly I needed to see a friendly face myself,” Annora admitted glumly as the embrace ended and they parted.

  “Why? Whatever is wrong? Are the Baxters working you too hard—as usual?”

  “You haven’t heard?”

  “Heard what? I’ve been up at Wind Gap at my auntie Edna’s for the past ten days, remember? I just got home last evening.”

  At the look of puzzled concern on Lesley’s expressive features, Annora felt her own eyes fill with tears. “Oh, Les. You have no idea what’s happened. It’s just dreadful.”

  “What is?” Reaching for Annora’s hand, Lesley clutched it in both of hers, her delicate brows dipping into a vee above her clear blue eyes. “Oh, do tell me what has you in such a state.”

  Still struggling to contain her emotions, Annora drew a stabilizing breath. “I–I’m to be. . .married.” Then the floodgates let loose, and she collapsed, weeping, into her dear friend’s comforting arms.

  The slender honey-blond crooned softly as she patted Annora’s back. “I don’t understand. How can that be?”

  “They–they want to. . .get rid of m–me,” Annora sobbed.

  “Why, I’ve never heard anything so horrid,” Lesley said consolingly. “But—whom will you marry?”

  Annora couldn’t bring herself to answer. Inside, a part of her still clung to the hope that she’d awaken from this nightmare. . .that unless she actually uttered the truth aloud, it wouldn’t be real.

  “Who is it, Annora?” her friend probed gently.

  “I–I don’t even w–want to say his n–name.” It took two tries before she managed to force it past her lips. “It’s–it’s Percival Thornby!” The announcement spewed forth on a croaking whisper.

  Lesley’s breath caught in her throat, and she clutched Annora all the more tightly, stroking her hair as the sobs continued.

  How much time passed, Annora could not even guess. But when her tears began to subside, she sniffed and eased away, drying her cheeks on a handkerchief from her pocket. She had only a fragile hold on her control, and she knew if she dared to meet her friend’s sympathetic gaze, she would break down again.

  “There’s only one thing to do. You must run away,” Lesley declared adamantly.

  “Where could I go?”

  “I don’t know yet. But I’ll think of someplace, I promise.”

  Annora finally raised her lashes and searched Lesley’s face. The sight of the determination displayed there bolstered her courage. “Well, the truth is, I’ve applied for a position out in the Wyoming Territory. . .a housekeeper and nursemaid.”

  “Are you serious?”

  With a nod, Annora sighed. “I haven’t told anyone. But there hasn’t been time to hear if I’ve been accepted for the post. Someone else may have already been selected.”

  Lesley did not respond.

  “That position might also involve marriage.”

  The look that passed between them held a raft of unspoken implications, but Lesley was considerate enough not to press the matter. “When is the, um, wedding here supposed to take place?”

  Annora grimaced. “Sometime before Percy’s next birthday, two weeks away. . .the very moment all the plans have been finalized. I’m returning now from a fitting for my gown and trousseau,” she continued in a rush before another wave of tears swamped her. “I’ve never possessed such lovely, elegant things. The Baxters truly think they’re doing me a favor—and, of course, Mirah’s absolutely jumping with glee. You cannot imagine.”

  “This is all pretty grim,” Lesley agreed. “But perhaps you’ll hear from Wyoming before then. . .not that I wish to part with my bosom friend, you understand.”

  “I hardly think there’s time, Les. Everything is progressing so quickly.”

  “That may very well be,” Lesley said with conviction. “But I’m not about to stand by and do nothing while your whole life is thrown to the vultures. This wedding will not take place. You’ll see. Somehow, some way, we’ll come up with something. Some way out.”

  six

  In her room, early that evening, Annora heard the bell pull announce the arrival of a visitor downstairs. Shortly afterward, light footsteps sounded on the steps, pausing briefly on the second floor before continuing on to the attic.

  Annora sat up on her bed, and her questioning glance caught
her best friend’s pretty smile at the door.

  “May I come in?” Lesley asked breathlessly.

  “Of course.” Annora patted the coverlet beside herself.

  Lesley stepped inside and crossed the room, a small wrapped package in her hands. “I brought you something. . . so Mrs. Baxter wouldn’t feel it odd that I came.”

  “You’ve always been clever,” Annora teased as she accepted the gift. Smiling, she unwrapped the brown paper. Her heart contracted at the sight of a pair of fine batiste pillow slips. “Oh, Les,” she murmured, fingering the embroidered hems edged with handmade lace. “How beautiful. But these are things you’ve made for yourself, for the day you become a bride.”

  “Well, yes. But I wanted to give you something special, so when you’re an old married lady you won’t forget the girl who was once your dearest friend.”

  “You’ll always be my dearest friend,” Annora assured her with a hug. “Married or not.” Then, drawing away, she grew serious. “But if the gift was only a pretext, what is the real reason for your visit?”

  Lesley rose and tiptoed to close the door. “I don’t want anyone to overhear us,” she whispered, returning to her seat.

  “Why? What’s happened?”

  “Nothing. I’ve just been so consumed with worry for you, I wanted to find out if there’d been any word from Wyom-ing yet.”

  Annora shook her head soberly. “And I’d hate to surmise what would happen if something should arrive on a day when I’m not the one who picks up the household mail. I’d be called to account for such a scandalous act. Besides, in truth, I’m not completely sure that’s a better fate than what awaits me here.”

  “Well, I dare say, it can hardly be worse!” Lesley exclaimed.

  Annora conceded inwardly that her friend was likely right.

  “What will you do if there’s no response?”

  “I’m trying not to dwell on that.”

  A conspiratorial expression drew Lesley’s fine brows together. “Well, I’ll tell you what I would do, were I in your shoes.”

  “Oh? And what might that be, if I dare ask?”

  “I would go anyway.”

  The announcement hung suspended between them for a timeless moment. Then Annora shook her head. “How could I, Les? How? It’s possible that Mr. Brent has already hired someone else, you know. But even if he hasn’t, I’ve no idea of the price of a fare west, much less where I’d obtain traveling funds for such a journey. Then there’s the small matter of sneaking a trunk packed with clothes out of the house, to say nothing of lugging it all those blocks to the railroad station without anyone noticing.” She paused to take a breath, trying to convince herself a single one of those thoughts she had entertained was even feasible. “And even if by some miracle I could somehow manage all those things, the very idea of going so far by myself is–is. . .”

  “Shh.” Lesley put a comforting hand on Annora’s shoulder. “All of that, as my mother is so fond of saying, ‘is difficult, but not impossible.’ First things first. The money.”

  Her curiosity sparked, Annora met the confident gaze.

  “Didn’t you tell me that Mrs. Henderson salvaged a few pieces of your mother’s jewelry?”

  “Well, yesss. . .” Annora hedged. “But how could I part with those? It’s all I have left of Mama’s.”

  Lesley nodded in understanding as she toyed with one of her shiny blond curls. “But consider the alternative, Nora. Would you rather have the jewelry and go through with your wedding to Percy? Or could you put those sentiments aside and accept your mother’s help? I’m sure she wouldn’t want you to settle for a lifetime of unhappiness. Would she?”

  Annora could not even respond. What she needed most was time to reason things out. Time to pray.

  “Come by the shop again after tomorrow’s fitting. We’ll go together to inquire about a railroad ticket.”

  “I can’t promise,” Annora confessed. “But I will try.”

  “It doesn’t cost anything to ask, you know,” her friend urged softly.

  At the sound of approaching footsteps, Annora placed a finger to her lips.

  Three soft taps on the door, and Mrs. Baxter raised the latch and entered.

  Mirah, like an ever-present shadow, came in behind her mother, a gloating sneer curling one side of her lips.

  “We don’t mean to interrupt your visit,” the older woman began hesitantly, but something in her demeanor indicated she had news to impart.

  “We don’t mind,” Annora said, deliberately quenching an ominous premonition she had sensed on the pair’s arrival. “I’ve just been admiring these lovely pillow covers. Lesley made them herself.” Annora held them up for her guardian to see.

  “Why, they’re exquisite.” Mrs. Baxter beamed at the guest. “You do exceptional stitchery, dear.”

  “Thank you.” A faint blush pinkened Lesley’s fair cheeks.

  Then the minister’s wife returned her attention to Annora. “I thought you might be pleased to know we’ve set a day for your nuptials.”

  Annora’s mouth went dry, and her fingers clutched a handful of the coverlet beneath her to steady herself. She felt, more than saw, Mirah’s satisfied smirk.

  “Yes,” her guardian went on. “I probably should have waited to announce this tomorrow eve, when young Percival comes to dine with us again. But I just couldn’t contain it another moment. Mirah suggested Lesley might like to share in your happy news.”

  Trembling inwardly, Annora struggled for composure as a sickening dread turned her blood to ice.

  “Mistress Fitzpatrick assures me that after tomorrow’s final fitting, your trousseau will be delivered the very next day. So we shall schedule the glorious occasion for the week’s end. Mid-afternoon on Saturday.” The matron glowed with anticipation.

  The triumphant set of Mirah’s proud shoulders indicated in eloquent silence her own unbridled glee.

  It was all Annora could do to muster a polite smile. She met Lesley’s wide blue eyes in wordless misery.

  “How exciting!” That her friend’s enthusiasm was a sham was obvious to Annora as Lesley grasped her shoulder in a hug. “That is delightful news. I’m so happy for you.” But as she leaned close, she put her lips up to Annora’s ear. “Remember what I said,” she whispered.

  “Yes,” Mrs. Baxter gushed. “We’re thankful the Lord has enabled us to secure such a prosperous union for our Annora.”

  Lesley cleared her throat and rose to her feet. “Indeed. Well, I’d truly like to stay longer and hear more about the arrangements, but Mother insisted I come directly home. I just had to deliver my bridal gift. Perhaps another time.” With a last hug, she gave Annora a pointed stare, then turned with a smile. “I’ll be off, then. Good evening, Mrs. Baxter, Mirah.”

  “Good evening, dear,” the minister’s wife replied. “I’ll show you out.” Still smiling from her earlier pronouncement, she nodded to Annora, then ushered the willowy younger woman toward the stairs.

  The daughter of the household swung a furtive glance from Annora to Lesley, then back. “I’m just thrilled for you,” she gushed in syrupy sweetness. “Positively ecstatic.”

  You would be, Annora railed silently but held onto her composure as Mirah turned and fairly danced downstairs after the others.

  As the sound of their footsteps faded, Annora sank to her knees. . .but the fervent plea of her heart could find no expression. Three days. Three days!

  ❧

  Annora slept fitfully and awakened in the chill blue of dawn to hear the ice wagon rumbling up the cobbles on the street below, its vast store of crystal blocks leaving a trail of droplets in its wake. The bearded driver, so tall and lean he appeared to be all bone and gristle, was as regular as morning itself. . .he and the new day both reminders of God’s faithfulness.

  Her quiet time of prayer and Bible reading also instilled peace within her, and Annora had wrapped her mother’s treasures in handkerchiefs and tucked them into the bottom of her drawstring han
dbag. The moment the opportunity presented itself, she would steal away to Lesley’s. With that hope uppermost in her heart, she raced downstairs.

  Mrs. Baxter and her daughter were on the bottom landing. “Mirah will be going with you today,” the woman informed her.

  Annora’s spirit drooped low. Detaching herself from the younger girl’s overbearing presence would prove difficult now.

  The bleak thought only grew stronger as the two of them stood motionless on the dressmaker stools a little over an hour later.

  “This is so tiresome!” Mirah fidgeted as the hem was being pinned in her gown. “I can’t see why Mother insisted I have a new frock for this silly affair.”

  Annora could conjure up a few more descriptive terms for the occasion herself but held her tongue and made a quarter turn on her own perch so Gertie could continue around the rich satin skirt of the bridal gown.

  “How much longer?” Mirah groused. “My feet hurt. Father should have driven us here in the carriage. And I’m hungry.”

  “If ye’d be holdin’ still, miss,” shy, mobcapped Annabelle announced with surprising fervor, “I’d have ye done in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

  Mirah folded her arms and huffed but finally relented.

  Annora glanced across the workroom at the clock. Almost noon, and not a moment of it without Mirah, whose pouty presence had put a damper on the usual good-natured chatter among the seamstresses. The significant glances passing between them, however, bespoke far more than words. Annora released an unbidden sigh from deep inside.

  Just then, the resident cat ambled through the curtained doorway separating the workroom from the main part of the shop. After an elaborate stretch, it sought the soft comfort of its pillowed basket in the corner and curled up with a contented, almost inaudible, purr.