If the Prospect Pleases Page 6

  With her back to the animal, Mirah sneezed. “Excuse me,” she said, frowning. Then she sneezed again. “I—” Another sneeze followed. “This is just horrid. I don’t know what—”

  Annora smothered a giggle.

  “There.” Annabelle rose from her knees. “All done, Miss Baxter.”

  Mirah all but jumped off the stool and turned to allow the worker to help her off with the gown. She stiffened and her eyes widened. “A cat! No wonder I’m—” A succession of undignified sneezes brought tears. “And I’ve forgotten to bring a handkerchief.” In her camisole and drawers, she scrambled out of the pooled skirts at her ankles and made a dive for Annora’s reticule.

  Mama’s jewelry! Annora’s heart all but stopped instantly. “Here, let me help you,” she blurted, springing out of Gertie’s reach to reclaim her bag from Mirah’s fingers.

  But the younger girl was already rooting through it. Racked by yet another sneeze, Mirah yanked a lace-trimmed cloth from the bag.

  A cameo brooch dropped to the floor between them. Annora cringed and held her breath as Mirah dabbed at her eyes.

  “Not to worry, miss,” Annabelle said consolingly. “I’ve whisked Dimples right out of here. He’ll not be botherin’ ye now.”

  “The damage has already been done,” Mirah said despairingly. She clutched her stomach. “I feel rather ill.”

  Sliding the brooch out of sight with the toe of her slipper, Annora put an arm about the younger girl. “We need to get you home as quickly as possible.”

  “The mistress’s carriage is out back,” Gertie told them. “I’m sure she won’t be mindin’ if Annabelle borrows it to drive the young miss. Come on, dear. I’ll help you dress while Annie checks with Mrs. Fitzpatrick.”

  Mirah sniffed and nodded and allowed Gertie to lead her away.

  Just before they moved behind the dressing screen, Gertie glanced over her shoulder at Annora. “Hope you don’t mind stayin’ behind. We still have two gowns with hems to mark.”

  Limp with relief, Annora stooped down and deftly plucked the cameo up and returned it to the safety of her handbag.

  Her smile of victory made the whole day brighter.

  seven

  “Would you tell us a story, Pa?” Amy begged, turning soulful eyes up to Lucas. “Please? Please?”

  Her sister’s fervent nod gave the request even more weight.

  Looking from one sweet face to the other, Lucas was a goner. He straightened from tucking the pair into bed and swiped his shirt sleeve across his forehead. He had so much more to do before dark—but would there ever come a time when that wouldn’t be true? Exhaling a weary breath, he cocked one side of his mouth into a smile. “What kind of story?”

  “You know, about Baby Moses, like Mama used to tell us.”

  “No,” Melinda corrected. “About the little slave girl who helped her master with lep—lepro— Oh, you know.”

  “Leprosy. Well, tell you what,” Lucas suggested, reluctant to pass on tales he was trying to put out of his mind. “How about I make one up, instead.”

  “Oh, goody!” Golden-haired Amy sprang to a sitting position and clapped. Then, catching the frown her father leveled at her, she just as quickly lay back down.

  He winked, then rubbed his jaw in thought and squatted on one knee beside the bed the little ones shared. “Well, let’s see. . .”

  “No, Pa. ‘Once upon a time,’ ” Amy said in all seriousness.

  “Right. Once upon a time, there was. . .a pony named Star. He was named that because he had this patch of white right about—here.” He tapped his youngest daughter’s forehead, and she grinned. “Only Star wasn’t a very happy little pony.”

  The two young faces scrunched up.

  “Why?” Melinda asked.

  “Because he heard his owner tell a stranger that he could buy Star. And Star didn’t want to leave his pasture. He was happy there, prancing around with the other ponies. He wanted to stay where he was for a very long time. Maybe forever.”

  “Ohhh,” the girls moaned.

  “But what he didn’t know,” Lucas went on, “was that the strange man had two little girls at his house, who would love Star and take very good care of him.”

  “So he was really going to a happy place,” Melinda chimed in.

  “And the little girls would love him lots and lots,” Amy added, her blue eyes shining.

  “Right.” Lucas ruffled their hair, then winced at how stringy it felt. Why were the days so blasted short all the time? He needed extra hours to see to the farm and take care of little ones besides. There was no end to the constant chores.

  “Will you buy us a pony someday, Pa?” his older child asked hopefully, cutting into his musings and ending the story.

  “I’d love nothing more, pumpkin. . .if the crops sell and the day comes when I can buy that string of good horses I’d like. That won’t be for awhile, though.”

  “It’s all right,” she said quietly. “Mama told us you always do what you say. . .when the time is right.”

  Francie had said a lot of things, he recalled. She had set such store by all his grand dreams. But many of those dreams had died with her, and what the girls didn’t know was he hardly cared one way or the other about the old plans now. He was just going through the motions. . .and not doing such a good job, judging by the less-than-spotless appearance of these two motherless angels. Their bed sheets didn’t look a whole lot better than they did. He rose. “Well, time to sleep now. I’ll be right outside, so no whispering.”

  “But—won’t you hear my prayers first?” Melinda asked.

  He inhaled slowly. “Sure. Go ahead.”

  The youngsters steepled their tiny hands and solemnly closed their eyes. “Dear God, thank You for the happy day and the nice story Pa told us. Please give Mama a hug and kiss and tell her we love her. Good night, God. Amen.”

  “Amen!” Amy echoed.

  Lucas had to swallow hard. “ ’Night, you two. No whispering, remember.” A last smile, and he exited the little room—and promptly tripped over a pile of dirty clothes Melinda had dutifully gathered together.

  Man, if that lazy brother of mine deigned to spend half as much time lending a hand around the place as he did gallivanting off to town, maybe the place wouldn’t be such a shambles, Lucas groused, picking himself up. He bent to retrieve the soiled laundry to be added to his own stack for wash day tomorrow. He just hoped somebody would soon reply to the notice he’d sent east. And right now, he’d settle for just about anybody, no matter how old or decrepit she might turn out to be.

  ❧

  In a changing room in the church basement, Annora gazed in the full-length looking glass, not even recognizing the person staring back at her. Having stood still as a statue in Mistress Fitzpatrick’s Fashion Salon while the exquisite satin bridal gown was pinned and tucked and fitted to perfection, she had never once caught sight of how she actually looked. But here, now, observing the play of light over the folds of rich fabric, the pearls and white sequins shimmering with her slightest movement, her hair in a glorious cluster of ringlets, the enormity of what she was about to do settled oppressively over her spirit.

  “I could very nearly cry,” Mrs. Baxter said softly, fussing with the fragile veil of tulle and lace, arranging it just so over Annora’s red-gold curls. “This is one of the happiest moments of my life.” Leaning to bestow a hug, she smiled in the mirror at Annora’s reflection. “Pray, do not be nervous. On this most special of all days, you’ll be embarking on one of life’s wonderful adventures.”

  “I. . .I don’t know how to thank you,” Annora said around the thickness in her throat. “You and the Reverend Baxter. You’ve been very good to me. And I–I’m very—”

  “Pshaw!” her guardian exclaimed, obviously taking the incomplete statement as an apology for past wrongs. “All is forgotten. You’re going off on your own now. Be happy, that’s all we could ask. Now I must go next door and see that Mirah is dressing, then check on a few oth
er details. Nothing to worry yourself over. You’ve finished so early, you can just relax and think calm thoughts. When everyone has assembled upstairs in the sanctuary, and we’re ready for you, I’ll send Mirah.”

  “Thank you.” Unable to meet the older woman’s gaze, Annora smiled thinly and pretended to be entranced by her own reflected image. And all the while she listened to her guardian’s diminishing footsteps, her pulse throbbed with increasing intensity.

  At last the door at the top of the stairs clicked shut. Reminding herself to breathe, Annora waited a full two minutes, then crept up the steps, straining to listen for an indication of anyone else’s presence in the building. Hearing none, she let herself out the side door.

  Then she grasped her skirts and ran for all she was worth.

  ❧

  The Southern and Western Railroad Station in Philadelphia occupied a significant portion of South Broad Street. Annora tamped down her nervousness as she, Lesley, and Lesley’s beau, Michael Porter, joined the noisy throng of eager, excited people surging into the great arched hall. Once inside the vast interior, all sounds magnified accordingly, competing with the hisses and bursts of steam from the waiting locomotives, the chugging coughs of the departing ones. Annora eyed the flaring stacks with alarm, already having second thoughts about her impetuous act.

  “Are you positive you’ve got everything?” Lesley asked, straightening the collar of the apple green linen traveling suit she had loaned Annora. “Michael has already seen to your luggage, and I’ve packed a feast for you in the basket.” At Annora’s bleak look, she gave her a reassuring hug.

  “You’re doing the right thing,” the brown-eyed young man said confidently, clamping her shoulder. “It will all work out in the end, you’ll see.”

  “Yes. Do stop worrying,” Lesley gently scolded her. “You look divine.”

  “Then why do I feel like a louse?” Annora asked miserably. “You should have seen Mrs. Baxter’s face, Les. She almost loved me.”

  “Yes. Almost. That about says it. What she loved most was this chance to pass you off to the first available taker.”

  “Perhaps.” Annora swallowed. “Well, I don’t know how I’ll repay you both for all your help. I’ll never forget it.”

  “I should hope not.” Even though said in a teasing tone, Lesley quickly blinked away sudden moisture in her eyes. “You must promise to write the very minute you get settled. So I can stop worrying. You hear?”

  Nodding and fighting her own tears, Annora tried to smile.

  “All abo—arrr—d,” a deep voice called above the hubbub.

  Annora’s feet refused to move until her friends propelled her from behind. Nearing the portable steps to the huge passenger car, she felt herself being swamped with hugs.

  “Take care, Nora. God be with you,” Lesley breathed.

  The sight of her friends’ faces blurred behind a sheen of tears, and Annora could not speak. She touched her fingers to her lips and pressed them to Lesley’s, braved as much smile as she could to Michael, and mounted the steps. Turning on the landing, she lifted a hand in final farewell, then before her last shred of composure dissolved, she stumbled, unseeing, into the paneled car.

  ❧

  Someone gently nudged Annora’s shoulder.

  “Ticket, miss.”

  Opening her swollen eyes and lifting her head from where it rested against the sooty window, she beheld the portly conductor, resplendent in his crisp navy blue uniform. “I–I must have dozed off,” she responded inanely. Exhausted from the sleepless nights leading up to her almost-wedding, the steady rhythm of the steel rails had lulled her into oblivion. Her head throbbed as she rummaged through her reticule and placed her ticket in his extended hand.

  A quick perusal, and he punched it with a small silver tool, then returned it to her and continued up the aisle.

  Annora averted her gaze, chagrined that strangers might have been staring at her as she slept—a possibility she found less than comforting. But many of the remaining seats were unoccupied, and of the handful of passengers ahead, no one seemed to be paying her any mind. She exhaled slowly and relaxed a bit as the gently swaying car clacked along the rails.

  “Well, I see you’ve returned to the land of the living,” a woman’s voice said from nearby.

  Turning, Annora met the face of an elegantly attired young woman across the aisle and one row back. With dark hair and olive skin, she appeared only a few years older than Annora and held a small babe in her arms. Annora remembered having caught a brief glimpse of the woman through the blur of tears as she’d made her way to her own seat some hours ago.

  “I hope I didn’t make any embarrassing sounds,” Annora said, feeling the warmth of a blush. She noted the classic beauty of the mother’s face, framed as it was by its fashionable bonnet, and suspected her own appearance must surely show the effects of anxiety and the sad Philadelphia parting. Unconsciously, she reached up to touch her bonnet.

  The woman smiled kindly. “Not at all. I was only concerned that you might awaken with a stiff neck. I’m afraid these seats aren’t conducive to restful sleep. I’m Hope Johnston.”

  “Annora Nolan. Pleased to meet you.” Her gaze dropped to the child. “How old is your baby?”

  “Four months, already, and growing like a veritable weed. The time flies so quickly.” She paused. “I. . .couldn’t help noticing you’re alone. Are you journeying far?” the narrow-shouldered mother asked.

  “Quite far. Wyoming, actually. Cheyenne.”

  “Why, what a splendid coincidence! Little Rachel and I are on our way to join my husband at Fort Russell! We’ll practically be neighbors—for out west, anyway. I was afraid there wouldn’t be a living soul with whom to pass the long, dreary journey we have ahead of us. . .that is, if you don’t mind listening to a chatterbox. I do tend to get carried away—or so I’ve been told.”

  Drawing indescribable comfort from the very concept, Annora grinned. “I think that is what I need the most just now.” She gathered her basket and handbag and moved to the empty seat just behind the one she now occupied to make conversation easier. “Chatter away.”

  By the time the western sky was displaying bands of deepening colors, Annora had acquired a new friend. How like the Lord, she decided, to send along one of His angels—and a knowledgeable one at that. She took it as a sign of God’s approval.

  After having come east for the birth of her first child, Hope was now leaving her parents’ home in the Philadelphia suburb of Doylestown and making the return trip to her husband’s side. She had not only made the westward journey once before, but she knew the intricacies of changing from one train to the next all along the route. Annora breathed a prayer of humble thankfulness, and the greatest sense of peace she had known in a very long time flowed through her being. It made the poignant memory of the bosom friend she’d left behind a little less sad.

  Her trepidation at what lay ahead never quite left her, however. What if this Lucas Brent had already hired another housekeeper? What would she do then?

  eight

  The hiss of steam and the clanging bell were deafening as Annora finally stepped off the train in Wyoming several endless days later. She moved as far from the noise as possible, staying out of the way of the clusters of people greeting arriving individuals or bidding farewell to those about to depart.

  Her head buzzed with the information Hope Johnston had passed on regarding the territory in general and Cheyenne in particular. But despite all the preparation, Annora’s heart plummeted when she took her first actual look at the bustling frontier town.

  It was even worse than her imaginings. No cobbled, tree-lined streets here nor tidy rows of impressive business establishments. No huge river upon whose tides ocean vessels came and went. Instead, wooden sidewalks teemed with vagabond strollers, savage-looking miners, high-booted and shaggy-haired roughs, scouts in buckskins, young men wearing military blue, and rambunctious children. And there was no lack of saloons or gaming p
laces. The loud ruckus spilling out of some buildings in the vicinity made that very obvious, as did the appearance of some rather scraggly-looking individuals loitering near them.

  As Annora waited on the wide, level platform for her luggage to be unloaded, the hot afternoon wind whipped a sheet of dust over her. She brushed futilely at her already sooty and wrinkled traveling suit. Some grand impression she would make if Mr. Brent lived in town. . .and if he didn’t, that presented problems of a whole different nature.

  “There you go, Miss Nolan,” a railroad man said, setting her trunk down next to the valise she had kept with her.

  She smiled her thanks, wondering if there could possibly be a single article of clothing inside her luggage that would be less wrinkled than what she had on. During her final three days in Philadelphia, she had sneaked all the clothing she could manage over to Lesley’s, and her friend had taken over, packing as much as would fit into an old trunk in her parents’ attic. Annora wasn’t even sure what all she had with her, and the best she’d been able to do during the journey was sponge her face and hands clean from time to time and brush as much soot from her ensemble as possible.

  “Well, Annora,” Hope said, approaching her from behind, “I wish you every happiness in your new venture.”

  Annora turned to step into a parting hug that included the two of them and tiny Rachel as well. “Thank you. I was so glad to find a friend on that tiresome trip, Hope. I’m convinced the Lord put you there just for me.”

  Easing away, the brunette smiled, cuddling her sleeping baby daughter closer. “Actually, I thought it was the other way around. But in any case, I, too, am glad to know I have a friend in Cheyenne. Our paths may cross again one of these days.”

  “Now, wouldn’t that be a treat!”

  “Indeed. Well, I must go and check to see what the departure time is for the stage to the fort. I’ll be keeping you in my prayers.”