by Cat Cahill
But she could hardly let him accompany her home if they weren’t married . . . She had to be brave, and besides, he’d just said every word he’d written in his letter was true. She clutched her skirts tightly, as if they might give her strength, and said, “Mightn’t you like to freshen up before we go to see Pastor Collins?”
Mr. Wendler’s brow furrowed. “Pastor Collins? I spent an hour or so with the man. He was . . . entertaining.”
Celia bit her lip again, trying not to laugh at Mr. Wendler’s impression of the minister. “He’s the only preacher in Last Chance,” she said by way of apology. “We have no judge in residence, and besides, I believe it important to marry in a church.”
His smile dropped a little, and he blinked at her as if she’d spoken a foreign language.
Celia wanted to disappear. She shouldn’t have been so bold. It was too much to hope that he’d been completely truthful.
Too much to hope that she might find a good, decent man who wanted to marry her.
Chapter Five
“Marry in a church?” Jack echoed Mrs. Thornton’s words.
“Yes,” she said hesitantly, her cheeks aflame.
Jack stared at her. This woman with the fire-colored hair and quiet, assessing mannerisms wanted him to marry her. Half of him could hardly believe it. The other half wanted to run as fast as he could, right out of town.
Mrs. Thornton pulled her lower lip between her teeth, something he’d already begun to notice she did when uncertain. After a moment, she spoke in a quiet voice. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have . . . But it was in the advertisement. And you mentioned it in your letter. I thought . . . isn’t that why you’re here? Unless . . .” She ducked her head, her cheeks going pink again. “You don’t wish to marry me. I understand.”
She took a step backward and began to turn as guilt crept through Jack. He hadn’t meant to make her think any such thing. In fact, he—or any man—would be counting their blessings to marry a woman like her.
He reached out and grabbed hold of her wrist. She stopped, glancing down at where his hand curled around her slender arm. Jack immediately let go. He cleared his throat and forced his shoulders back. “That isn’t what I meant at all.”
Hope dawned on her face, as obvious as the rising sun in the morning. This woman would be hard-pressed to conceal any of her emotions, Jack thought. Every thought she had reflected in her expression. He’d never met anyone so . . . honest. It was endearing.
“Then what did you mean?” she asked, clearly not trusting him.
Not yet.
“I apologize. I was merely taken aback at how quickly it was to happen.” Well, that and the very thought of marriage made him want to scamper like a rat into a hole. But he wasn’t about to tell her that.
Besides, she was right. The advertisement had clearly stated its intent. And he’d replied, acknowledging his willingness to marry. It had seemed so easy to do, back in his cramped room in New York, desperate to get out of the city and away from Sullivan and Garrity Shane.
But now that he was here, and an honest-to-goodness beautiful woman was waiting for him to lead her to the church and promise her forever, it felt awfully real. And awfully final.
Jack swallowed. What else was he to do? Go dig coal in some hills back East? Or kill himself laying track for some railroad company? Besides, would it be so terrible to be wed to a woman as intriguing as Mrs. Thornton? He held out an arm, crooked at the elbow. “Mightn’t you escort me somewhere to wash up first . . . What is your Christian name? I can hardly go on calling my intended by her formal name.”
She blushed again, sending a grin across his face and making him feel as if he’d struck gold. Perhaps Last Chance would be where his fortunes finally turned.
“Celia. Well, it’s Cecilia, but I much prefer Celia.” She looped her arm around his and gave him a shy smile.
“Celia.” He tested the name. “I like it. It suits you. I’m John Preston Wendler, known to most as simply Jack.”
“Jack,” she said, looking up at him, and he thought he’d never tire of hearing her say it. “My sister will let you wash up at her home.”
He wasn’t so sure about that, considering the downright skeptical looks the other Mrs. Thornton had given him earlier, but he let her accompany him to the boardinghouse to collect his bag. As she lead the way to the post office, he sent up a prayer of thanks that it appeared Celia had a home separate from that of her sister. He wasn’t certain if he could live with the other Mrs. Thornton’s withering looks day in and day out.
Celia explained her request to her sister, who scowled at Jack as he stood near the door. At least she wasn’t crying. He could handle outright loathing better than weeping any day. She made him wait in the front room and brought a filled pitcher, washbasin, towel, and small mirror to him.
When Celia retreated to the rear of the house, Mrs. Thornton stood against the doorway that led to what Jack supposed was the home’s kitchen. She watched him, frowning.
He tried to ignore the hostility that emanated from her, concentrating instead on locating the comb within his bag. He’d have preferred a bath, but that appeared not to be an option. Perhaps he could get one once he arrived at Celia’s home. Why hadn’t she taken him there? It must be located at the far end of town, and besides, he supposed it would have been improper for him to be alone with her in her house when they weren’t yet married.
“I don’t trust you,” Mrs. Thornton said, so out of nowhere that Jack nearly dropped his comb.
“I beg your pardon?” He smiled at her, but that only seemed to make her frown even more.
“You’re a fast talker. Words slip off your tongue much too easily, and I didn’t like the way you began flirting with my sister the very moment you met her. I suspect you act in that manner with every pretty woman you meet.” Mrs. Thornton crossed her arms, the gold of her wedding band glinting in the late-afternoon sunlight streaming in through the windows. Jack hadn’t seen nor heard of a Mr. Thornton. And given the way the woman cried so easily, he suspected she too was widowed.
It hadn’t escaped his attention that Celia wore no ring, and yet was also clearly widowed, given the way in which she’d introduced herself.
Jack set the comb down, satisfied that he’d gotten most of the dust from his hair, and turned to face Celia’s sister. “Contrary to your impressions of me, I am not a rake. I enjoy the art of conversation, which has treated me well in business circles.” Well, that was a stretch, but he would have done well, if he’d only landed on the right idea. He’d certainly had no trouble attracting investors. “I promise to treat Celia well.”
She watched him with narrowed eyes, and Jack felt as if he were speaking to Celia’s father, instead of her sister.
“I’ll hold you to that promise. If you break it, I’ll see to it that you regret it mightily.”
He raised his eyebrows, but he didn’t doubt her words. Mrs. Thornton clearly cared deeply for her sister.
“If you’ll excuse me, I must get back to my work.” She turned away and slipped behind the long counter.
Curiosity got the better of him. “Do you run this place alone?”
Without looking up, she said, “I am the town’s postmaster and telegraph operator since the death of my husband. So yes, I do the work alone. As you’ll find most businesses in this town are run.” Her voice cracked a little, and petrified he’d make her cry again, Jack turned back to the mirror.
He finished up the best he could with a lady present and then excused himself to change his clothing. When he emerged, Celia was waiting for him in the front room. She’d put on a pale green dress that set off her brilliant hair and seemed to match her eyes. She looked like an enchantress from some old legend, and Jack couldn’t look away.
“You look very nice,” he said, which barely scratched the surface of what he really thought.
“Thank you.” She ducked her head. “So do you.”
Celia’s sister sighed loudly from behind th
e counter.
Jack swallowed every reason he had to run back to the depot and extended an arm to Celia. He was creating a new life here. It was time to put his old self to rest. The new Jack Wendler would be a family man. He would run a simple business with no wild ideas and come home each night to a lovely wife.
“Mrs. Thornton, would you care to accompany me to church to be wed?” He used an overly formal voice, hoping to put both himself and Celia at ease.
She giggled and took his arm. “I will.”
And without a backward glance at her sister’s disapproving expression as she followed them out the door, they headed to the church.
Chapter Six
Celia woke early the next morning in Faith’s house in town. Her sister must have already arisen, because Celia was alone in the bedroom. She stretched and thought back to the prior evening. After an awkward marriage ceremony that lasted much longer than it should have, with Pastor Collins intoning for far too many minutes about God’s plans for them and the righteousness of marriage, it was too late to drive out to the farm. Celia was secretly relieved. Being alone with Jack was slightly terrifying, as nice as he was. Not to mention that it avoided any awkward discussion about where Jack would sleep, since his only option here was the settee in the room that served as both Faith’s parlor and the post and telegraph office.
Celia washed and dressed before making her way to Faith’s kitchen, where her sister had already cooked a small breakfast. Food was in shortage all over town and at most of the farms, given the hot, dry summer and then the blizzards that had killed what was left to be harvested. Heather Barnes had led the effort to save the meat from the livestock that had frozen in the blizzard, but even that was beginning to run low, given that everyone in town had been dependent on it. Ned had thankfully already harvested a small amount of vegetables, some of which Celia had brought to Faith, and butchered their hog before his death. And thankfully, she still had the cow and calf she’d brought to town with her when she came to stay with Faith, but there wasn’t much else either here or at home.
Faith had scrounged up a few eggs, likely purchased from some lucky soul whose chickens had survived, and she served these now with a few small potatoes and no meat. Jack emerged from the parlor barely a moment after Celia arrived. She couldn’t help smiling at her new husband. He certainly was handsome with his dark hair neatly combed and his strong jaw. But good looks only went so far, as she’d quickly learned with Ned. Jack was certainly more amiable than her first husband, however. She prayed he’d continue to enjoy her company. Surely God wouldn’t give her the burden of an uncaring husband more than once, would he?
“Good morning, Mrs. Wendler,” he said, smiling at her.
Celia immediately went warm from head to toe. That smile would be her undoing, she was certain of it. “Good morning,” she said in return.
“This looks awfully good, Mrs. Thornton,” Jack said, spearing a potato on a fork.
He was thoughtful enough not to mention the small amount of food or the lack of meat, and Celia was grateful for that. She made a note to bring her sister some of the salt pork she had set aside for winter. Faith thanked him, and they ate mostly in silence.
When they finished, Faith shooed them out of the kitchen while she cleaned up.
“We’ll need to stop by the livery,” Celia said, setting the small bag of clothing she’d brought to town with her on one of the chairs in the front room. “I have only the one horse, which I rode into town. The other perished with Ned.”
“You had two horses?” Jack raised his eyebrows, as if this impressed him.
“Yes, two are a necessity.” Celia couldn’t imagine plowing the fields with only one horse. It might have worked, but the single horse would have tired quickly. She tried not to think about how they’d need to replace the missing horse before spring.
Jack still looked confused, but instead of asking whatever question was on his mind, he took up both of their cases and held the door open for her. They made the short walk to the livery and collected the livestock from Becca Collingsworth, who had been living and helping at the livery since the blizzards.
“I didn’t expect a cow and . . . a baby cow,” Jack said when she emerged with the animals.
Celia laughed. “She’s a calf. Her name is Freda. And the cow is Mrs. Hewlett.”
“Are you sure you want to bring them home?” He scrunched up his eyebrows as if he couldn’t imagine what she’d do with them.
“Of course. We’ll need them for milk and butter.” She petted Mrs. Hewlett’s soft nose. “Mr. McFarland was kind enough to keep them for me while I stayed with Faith. He didn’t charge me, just offered to take some of the milk as payment.”
Jack gave the cow a puzzled look, as if he’d never seen such a thing before. And perhaps he hadn’t, living in the city. Finally, he said, “Why don’t you ride and I’ll lead the cow and calf?”
“Are you certain?” Celia asked. She clamped her mouth shut before she suggested they share the horse. It was a long way to the farm, not impossible to walk, but much more feasible on horseback. She tried to imagine sitting so close to Jack in the saddle. She clenched her gloved hands together to try to keep from blushing.
“Absolutely,” he said. “I’ll enjoy the walk.”
He took her hand as she stepped onto an overturned wooden crate to mount the horse. His grip was firm and reassuring, and for half a moment, Celia felt as if she had no worries at all. Not about her new marriage, not about the farm, not about Faith and her grief, not about her friends in town, not about surviving the winter. They all disappeared in Jack’s calm face and steady hand.
“We need to head west from town, along the river,” she said, trying to pull her head back to the here and now.
Jack’s eyebrows knitted together again, but he nodded and they were on their way. As she rode, and as Jack led Mrs. Hewlett and Freda, he peppered her with questions about the town, the shops and other businesses, and the people who lived there. She answered them, mostly happy not to have to drive the conversation herself. Celia was never particularly confident in her ability to converse with folks. It was so hard to think of what to talk about, and then she worried she might be boring the other person. But with Jack asking the questions, she could be certain he was interested in her responses. It made her feel at ease, as if talking to this man she’d only just met was as natural as talking with her own sister.
“Perhaps tomorrow I can come back to town and inquire about openings at the bank or that empty building on Stage Coach Road,” he said, glancing back as they left Last Chance behind him.
Celia furrowed her brow. She wanted to ask why, but Ned would have rankled at such a question. Not wanting Jack to pull away from her so quickly, she pushed the question away, saying lightly, “There’s much to be done at home,” and hoping he might understand that a farm takes up all of a man’s waking hours, and more.
“Your sister certainly has her hands full with running both the post and the telegraph machine,” Jack went on as they left the town farther behind. He squinted into the distance toward the bluffs as if he were looking for something.
“Oh, but she’s happy to do it. I believe she sees it as some sort of tribute to Aaron, to keep it all running as well as he did. Besides, no one else knows how to operate the telegraph machine.” In truth, Celia worried Faith was working herself ragged as a distraction from her grief. She’d known no one as devoted as Faith and Aaron had been to each other. She’d hoped so much that she and Ned might have grown to have such a relationship, but that was never to be.
But perhaps now . . .
She glanced at Jack, the chill breeze blowing his long coat out behind him as he led Mrs. Hewlett and Freda along behind him. She could hardly believe he’d agreed to marry her. She’d never wanted anything so badly as she wanted love like Faith and Aaron had. But truthfully, she’d settle for at least a friendly marriage, one in which her husband spoke to her on a regular basis and didn’t treat her
as if she were only there to keep house.
They turned off the river road to head south toward Chimney Rock. After about twenty minutes, she caught him gazing across the plains, his forehead lined in confusion.
“How much farther is it?” he finally asked.
“Only another couple of miles,” she answered. “It generally takes an hour to an hour and a half to get to and from town.”
He pursed his lips together and then smiled at her. “Your former husband must have enjoyed country living.”
“He did,” Celia said, wondering how a man who didn’t could possibly be a farmer.
They went on, Jack not saying anything more. Celia’s curiosity grew. What was he thinking? Was he eager to see their home? What would he think of the farm? She hoped he’d take to farming, given he’d never had the experience.
“There it is,” she said, when the house, barn, and other outbuildings came into view. The land looked lovely against the backdrop of some small bluffs, a mile or so south of the house, and Chimney Rock rising above toward the southeast.
Jack stopped short, Mrs. Hewlett lowing in complaint.
“What is it?” Celia stopped the horse.
He was looking at the property as if he’d never seen a barn before. Then he looked at her, a somewhat terrified look in his eyes. “It’s a farm.”
Chapter Seven
The vastness of this cold countryside seemed to swallow Jack whole as he looked again from Celia to the farm.
The farm.
“You didn’t mention you had a farm.”
She swallowed visibly and twisted her fingers around the horse’s reins. “I’m sorry, I assumed you knew when I said I’d been staying with my sister in town.”
Jack didn’t know why he hadn’t put the pieces together. The cow and calf. Her careful mention that there would be a lot to do at home when he’d talked about taking on a job in town. The sheer distance from Last Chance. No one in their right mind would live so far away from civilization in this vast nothingness unless they were working the land or raising livestock. He didn’t know what he’d expected to see as they’d traveled. A country estate, perhaps? He could have laughed at his own naivete. Instead, he turned from the very farm-like weathered barn and ramshackle house to a worried Celia.