The Annex Mail-Order Brides: Preque (Intrigue Under Western Skies Book 0) Read online

  She hadn’t told him she attended college. He wanted a wife to help run a farm, a woman used to hard work, not one who could translate Latin. She’d explained that she lived with the Harvard Annex women, but hinted that she served as their maid. A stupid lie, but when the time was right, she’d confess. After she’d proven she could do the work of any farmwoman.

  Chapter 2

  Byron Calhoun nudged his hat back and gazed into an azure sky. Couldn’t ask for better weather for harvesting. He hoped it would last at least a few more days, so he could take some time off from the field work. Adela would arrive next week, but having grown up on a farm, she’d understand about harvest.

  He certainly couldn’t blame the poor crops on the weather. The fault was his alone. If Pa was still alive, they would’ve planted more and earlier. The truth was Byron didn’t have the heart for farming. Never had. He’d never listened to Pa, asked questions.

  How was he to know his father would be dragged to his death by an unbroken horse? Grief rose in his throat, and he swallowed hard. With Pa gone, they’d lost more than a pair of hands. They’d lost a lifetime of experience.

  With a shake of the head, he pulled a red, sweat-encrusted rag from his pocket and wiped his brow. He ought not to have left Lem out in the field. Lem was a good hand, but he was getting old—as old as Pa was, or near abouts. Byron had to do most of the heavy work.

  He flexed his aching muscles and started the trek from the red-roofed barn, across the hard-packed yard to the porch steps bordered with what was left of Ma’s roses.

  The farm needed another hand, but Byron couldn’t hire one this year. He wouldn’t get enough money from the year’s crops to hire anyone next spring, either. Even though he couldn’t make much sense out of Pa’s books, Byron knew there wasn’t any money put back.

  He had to be a fool to send off for a bride. If he couldn’t afford a new farmhand, how could he afford a wife?

  Then he remembered why he’d written that advertisement in the first place.

  Hilda Jane Lynstrum.

  Hilda Jane had set her cap for Byron when she came back from that finishing school. She used all her considerable charm and wiles to get him to propose. But Hilda Jane had never appealed to him, even before he knew she was self-centered and hypocritical.

  Trouble was, Hilda Jane’s pa would be glad to pay off Byron’s debts if Byron would marry his daughter. No one could blame Mr. Lynstrum. Hilda Jane had the kind of reputation that made decent men run the other way.

  Byron knew her pa had him in his sights as the best candidate.

  If he wasn’t careful, Hilda Jane would get him in a compromising position and have him standing before a preacher with her pa’s shotgun in his back.

  He’d decided the safest way to avoid that fate was to marry somebody else. Problem was Ma liked Hilda Jane and had promised Mrs. Lynstrum on her deathbed their children would marry. He and Hilda Jane had been young’uns at the time, so Ma didn’t think to confer with him. Now she’d apparently forgotten he had a mind and heart of his own.

  His mind told him there were plenty of other women from whom he could choose to give his heart—and he had. His ad garnered over two dozen replies, and he’d prayed over all of them.

  Only one survived his scrutiny.

  Adela Mason.

  She’d revealed her heart in her reply. Maybe that was what drew him to her. There wasn’t a smidgen of coyness in her letters. No, she’d been open and honest about her longing for a home and family. He’d read those long missives over and over and found loneliness stamped on every page—a loneliness that matched his own.

  Adela had grown up on a farm, and you’d have thought farm life was second only to heaven in her mind. In the following letters, she told him about her friends. It was evident she loved them, and they loved her. That revealed Adela’s loving nature better than anything.

  In her last, short missive accepting his invitation, she admitted she hadn’t told her friends about Byron and was afraid of their reaction. He could relate to that. He hadn’t told anyone either—not even Ma.

  Ma had to be told now because Adela would be arriving next week, and Ma would naturally want to know why he was bringing a strange woman home.

  His hand shot out to open the door, then froze. He grabbed the lapel of his coat instead and found the photograph secured in the inside pocket. He’d kept it there since receiving it in Adela’s last letter.

  Byron studied the image of the dark haired young woman, and his pulse sped. For the first time, he fully realized this woman might be his wife. He ran a finger over the picture’s surface as if he could reach out and caress her and look into her soulful eyes. His heart thudded harder.

  Adela. What a pretty name. He imagined coming home after working in the fields and calling out, “Adela.” A warm, mellow feeling settled deep in the pit of him. She might be the mother of his children. His heart did a complete somersault.

  He’d show Ma the picture, and she’d see why he’d invited Adela to visit with the prospect of becoming his wife. After tucking the photograph back inside his pocket, he opened the door and stepped inside.

  No sign of Ma. He strode through the cozy parlor into the kitchen. Through the window, he caught sight of his mother outside, hanging the wash.

  He let the back door slam to catch her attention. She peeked around the legs of a pair of his jeans she’d just pinned to the line.

  “What’s happened?” Ma was a worrier. “Why’re you back from the fields so early?”

  “Nothing’s happened, Ma.” He sauntered up beside her. “I just have something to tell you is all.”

  “Help me while you’re doing the telling.” Ma shoved the corner of a sheet at him.

  Byron took the sheet and stretched it over the line. “I’m going to move out to the barn. Could you change the bedding in my room today?”

  Ma spoke around the clothes pins held in her teeth. “Why’re you moving to the barn?”

  “I’ve invited a young lady to stay for a month. She’ll be using my room.”

  Ma dropped the pins and whirled on him. “Who?”

  He swallowed and met her piercing gaze. Might as well get this over with. He squared his shoulders. After Pa’s passing, he’d become the man of the house. He wouldn’t be intimidated. ‘Course he should have told Ma about Adela before now. “I sent in an advertisement to one of those eastern magazines for a bride. Miss Adela Mason from Massachusetts answered. I invited her out here to get acquainted.”

  Ma’s mouth stretched wide enough and stayed open long enough for a swarm of flies to go in. Lucky for her the flies were gone for this year. After several painful seconds, she sputtered, “Why would you have done a fool thing like that? What about Hilda Jane?”

  There it was. The main bone of contention between him and Ma. He slammed his hands to his sides and rolled his eyes to the heavens. “Ma, we’ve talked about that. Hilda Jane and I don’t get along. We don’t even have the same beliefs.”

  Ma propped her fists on her hips and glared. “And I’ve told you you could bring her around to your thinking if you tried. Anyway, after you’re married, it won’t matter. A wife will follow her husband.”

  “I’d like for my wife and me to start off on the same foot.” Byron drew in a deep breath, trying to control his ire. This was his mother, and she deserved his respect. He fumbled inside his coat for Adela’s picture. Forcing a wide grin, he held it out for Ma to see. She’d be impressed by the photograph.

  She took the picture and inspected it with squinted eyes. “This is a fancy woman.”

  He knew it wasn’t a compliment. Dance hall girls were called fancy women. “She is not.”

  Ma shoved the picture back in his face. “Look at the dress she’s wearing…and that fancy hat.”

  Byron had to admit Adela’s clothing was fancy compared to what women wore

  hereabouts. He’d never even noticed her dress before. And it didn’t matter to him now. “That’s the way lad
ies dress back east.”

  “You don’t know anything about this woman. Mark my words, she’ll come out here and pick your pockets and skedaddle before you know what happened. I’ve heard of such like happening.”

  “Miss Mason and I have been corresponding since March. I know her well enough.” That wouldn’t set well with Ma. He held up a pair of his long johns as a shield before throwing them over the line. “She has a fine reputation. Her minister sent me a letter to affirm that. I sent her a letter attesting to my character from Pastor Reinhart.”

  Ma was bent over to retrieve another piece of clothing. She jerked up so hard a bone creaked. “Since last March. You discussed this with Pastor Reinhart but didn’t say anything to me, your own mother?”

  He laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Ma. I should have told you. I just didn’t want to upset you until I had to.” He pulled her into a hug. “It’s just a visit. Adela may not want to marry me—probably won’t. She’ll be more company to you than to me.” He sure hoped that wasn’t true.

  When Ma remained silent, he tried to think of something else to placate her. “Adela grew up on a farm. She’s looking forward to helping you with the chores.” He took the pin bag from her. “Let me finish hanging the wash for you, and you go rest up before supper.”

  Ma sniffed. “You always were hard-headed like your pa. How I wish he was still with us.”

  “Me too.” Byron liked to think Pa would have praised him for having the gumption to send for Adela.

  Ma closed her eyes and blew out an exaggerated sigh. “Clint Lynstrum would help you out with the farm, if you’d marry Hilda Jane.”

  It was an old argument, one that set Byron’s teeth on edge. “If I’m not man enough to hold on to the farm without help, I’m not man enough to marry anyone.”

  She sent him a sidelong, piercing gaze. “We’ll see about that.”

  He didn’t like the way she said it.

  Ma got busy straightening her apron. “After you finish hanging the wash, go on and move your things out to the barn, and I’ll fix the bed later. Mind you, supper may be late. I’m going over to Hilda Jane’s to collect that afghan pattern I’ve been meaning to get. You don’t have any objection to me telling Hilda Jane about our guest, do you?”

  He shook his head. Hilda Jane had to be told, and he certainly didn’t want to be the one to do it.

  Chapter 3

  The train’s whistle jolted Adela, alerting her and everyone within hearing distance it was time to board. Smoke from the stack stung her nostrils, and a weight the size of a boulder settled in her stomach. The leave taking was harder than she’d imagined.

  She wanted to go. Byron waited, but how hard it was to leave these dear friends. They crouched in, surrounding her, as if trying to prevent her escape. With tears gathering at the corners of her eyes, she held out her arms. They all fell into a tight hug.

  “Kansas is so far away.” Ramee’s moan brushed Adela’s ear. They’d all been reminding her of that fact, as if she didn’t know.

  She broke their hold, and sniffing back the tears, smiled. “I’ll write the moment I arrive.”

  “And tell us everything that happens.” Carianne’s voice cracked with emotion.

  “I shall, and I want to know what all happens here.” Adela knew—they all knew—they might never see each other again. She couldn’t think of that now. Life was full of changes, some joyous, some sad. This was both.

  She forced a cheerful tone. “Ramee, I want you to write me all about your next encounter with the dashing Mr. Crandell. Prudie, you must tell me all about your confrontations with Professor Hodgstead.” She looked at each friend in turn. Carianne’s tear-filled eyes were Adela’s undoing. Her mouth wobbled. “Please tell your grandmother I’m so sorry I let her down.” She continued on a sob, “I took her money, promising to uphold a woman’s right to the best education and—” Tears spilled over and she swiped at her eyes. “I couldn’t do it, so I have nothing to give in return.”

  Carianne’s arms went around Adela. “The money isn’t important. Your happiness is worth more than all the money in the world.”

  Adela choked back another sob. Would she find happiness? Nothing in life was guaranteed, but she had to take the chance.

  Ramee gave Adela’s arm a gentle squeeze. “You have to choose what’s best for you. Where would the world be without women who devote themselves to their children and families?”

  “You must follow your heart, Adela.” Prudie’s voice held a quiver so unlike her. “If things don’t work out, you can get on that train and come back to us. Just know we’ll be praying for you.”

  Carianne dried her eyes with an already soggy handkerchief. “Indeed you can, but if God has laid it on your heart to go to this man, then you must, and you’ll never regret it.”

  That’s what Adela thought too. God led her to read Byron’s advertisement. He wanted her to get on this train. At that moment, the whistle blasted again, making them all jump. “I have to go.” She gave them all a kiss. “I’ll find a seat by the window to wave good-bye.”

  She squared her shoulders and turned. Falling in line with the other passengers, she made her way to the train’s entrance. She found an empty seat on the side that would afford her a view of her friends and slid across the hard leather covering to the dingy window.

  They huddled where she’d left them, Carianne and Ramee sobbing into their handkerchiefs, Prudie staring up at the train.

  Adela tapped the window, trying to get their attention, but with all the noise, that was like pecking on a brick wall. It took a couple of minutes before her friends caught sight of her and waved. Adela yelled “good-bye” as if they could hear her and kept waving until the final whistle blew, demanding clearance on the track.

  She felt the rumble of the massive engines as the train slowly moved forward. Adela twisted around and looked back until the train picked up speed and her friends disappeared behind a building.

  Melancholy seeped through to her bones. She already missed them.

  They were the only close female friends she’d ever had. At the tender age of ten, she’d moved into her staunch Puritan uncle’s household. Uncle Hector frowned on any frivolity, especially female chit-chat. It only led to gossip, he said. To hear him tell it, only women gossiped.

  She sagged against the back of the seat. If Byron didn’t propose, she’d have to move back in with Uncle Hector. It would take a lot of groveling. He’d warned her if she left, she couldn’t come back. She’d never felt so alone.

  No—not alone. Lo I am with you, even until the end of the world.

  All trepidation left her on a sigh. Jesus was with her. She opened her reticule and found the little blue testament she’d been given at her first communion. The scripture strengthened her resolve, and she looked up to find they were now traveling through the countryside. Trees flaming with the colors of fall, farms with men, animals, and machinery worked.

  What would Kansas be like? Flat and treeless she’d heard, but definitely with farms. Now that she was on her way, she was eager to see Byron’s farm, maybe her future home. But there was a lot of country to cross before then.

  A new thought came to mind. She knew nothing about Byron’s mother, and that seemed strange to her now. Bryon wrote much about the father he’d lost last year, but little about his mother. Adela so hoped to get along with his mother.

  Memories surged of her own sweet mother she’d lost so many years ago. Mama brushing her hair, buttoning her shoes, letting her help “cook.”

  She tried to conjure up an image of Mrs. Calhoun. Byron hadn’t even mentioned his mother’s given name, but Adela hoped in time she could call her Mother. She’d be homey and smell of Calamine soap and cinnamon. Mother Calhoun would show her how to do the farm chores and teach her how to cook all the dishes Byron loved. In the afternoon, they’d sew and knit. They’d plan a baby’s layette.

  Heat flooded Adela’s face, and she glanced around to make sur
e no one noticed. This castle in the air had gotten way too high. She’d better wait to make sure there was a wedding before thinking about babies.

  The next four days and nights became a blur of stops and starts, countryside and small towns, occasionally a city where a decent meal could be had. Being a young, single woman traveling alone, she attached herself to any matronly woman who seemed friendly, or couples, or families. During the course of her journey, she shared conversations and meals with at least a dozen strangers. She thanked God for these guardians.

  When they crossed the Missouri River her nerves began to quiver. At Kansas City, she changed trains for the last time. Fortunately, this line went through Crabapple, the little town where Byron lived.

  She wished there was time to find a rooming establishment where she could bathe and change clothes, but it wasn’t to be. After giving the conductor her ticket, she took the first seat available and considered her appearance. Her cotton pink print dress, so crisp when she started out, was now limp and covered with soot. Even worse, she probably smelled as badly as her fellow passengers.

  Her reflection in the smoke-darkened window revealed wisps of hair falling down around her ears and a smudge on her cheek. How could she meet Byron looking like this? Before they arrived in Crabapple she had to visit the train’s necessary and try to repair her hair and wash her face. She wished she’d thought to put a fresh pair of gloves in her reticule, but hadn’t, so she peeled off the grimy ones, stuffed them in her bag, and brushed off her dress as best she could.

  A lot of new passengers got on in Kansas City, and Adela knew she wouldn’t have the seat to herself. Every time a matronly lady appeared, Adela tried to encourage her to sit. Sure enough, a short, plump, fiftyish woman with salt and pepper hair tied into a bun at the back of her head stopped. With a pleasant nod, she took up her side of the seat and a little more besides.