It was his custom to keep the place aired out, open to the elements, unless the weather became unbearably cold. Barrett hated winter and from the looks of the graying sky, it would be a long, hard one this year.
Leaving the work bench, he reached for a shovel and scooped up a mound of shavings. He hobbled to the hearth and tossed them in. Immediately, the fire grew, the bright red flames lighting his face. For a few minutes, he leaned on the shovel, allowing it to take the weight of his right side. Since losing his leg from the knee down during the Civil War, it often ached once the weather became cooler.
Arthritis, the town doctor had said, which to him made no sense. How could a missing limb have anything? What the doctor failed to understand was that someone forgot to tell his upper leg the portion past the knee was gone.
The prosthesis Barrett wore helped him live a life of somewhat normalcy and unless someone looked closely, it was hard to tell the leg was missing through his thick britches. The pronounced limp did attract attention. He figured it to be the reason for overly long looks when he went into town.
At a low bark, he looked to his dog. Fella had raised his large head and looked toward the door.
“Someone coming, Fella?” Barrett limped to the door, the dog beside him. Sure enough, in the distance, a wagon appeared. “Must be the Hendersons,” he told the dog, who looked up to him as if understanding. “Baby crib. They must be anxious. I told them I’d deliver it.”
He smiled at knowing the couple would be pleased with the finished product. He’d made it much grander than the price he’d quoted. A first child, after all, deserved a beautiful crib. Then the children that came after would also enjoy the comfort of a well-made bed to sleep in for the first years of life.
Upon nearing, the two people on the bench lifted their hands in greeting. The wagon stopped and the man climbed down.
It was hard to hold back a chuckle when Maggie Henderson chastised her husband, Donald, for not moving faster and helping her down. “Hurry now, help me down. I can’t wait to see it.” Hands moving frantically, she motioned for him to come closer.
Once her husband assisted her from the bench, she hurried to the shop and continued on past Barrett without greeting.
“Where is it?” She froze and turned to look at Barrett, her round eyes filling with tears. “Oh my goodness.” Now her steps became slow and deliberate, her posture almost reverent. “Is this our baby’s crib?”
Donald came alongside as Barrett neared the crib. “Yes, this is it. I would have delivered it tomorrow.”
Maggie walked around the small bed, her hand sliding over the top of the sides, headboard and footboard. “It’s more beautiful than I could have ever imagined. We didn’t pay you enough for this, Barrett. I know this is worth a lot more than we paid.”
Upon arriving in Wyoming, everyone called him Barrett, his mother's maiden name and it had stuck. Alexander, the soldier, was left behind in the east, which suited him just fine.
“It’s what your child deserves. This is my way of paying for your kindness over the years. I don’t know how I would have made it when I first moved here if not for the both of you and Mrs. Wilkes’ hospitality and help.”
“Don’t be silly,” Maggie said, her eyes never leaving the crib. “We love you and treasure your friendship. Can’t imagine life without you in it. You’re family.”
He cleared his throat at his friend’s words. No matter what she said, they had saved his life and no matter how long he lived, it would be impossible to ever repay their kindness.
That Donald had insisted on paying something for the crib had been an argument that Barrett had not won. Yet, now watching the couple looking down at the empty space, he knew they pictured their soon to be born child in it.
“I have coffee brewing,” he said as he motioned to the stove in the corner of his shop. Next to it, he’d placed a couple chairs so whoever stopped by could warm up and rest.
“Perfect, it’s getting quite chilly.” Donald walked to the stove. “Tried to talk Maggie out of coming out in this weather, but she wouldn’t hear of it.”
If ever there was a man perfect for the feisty Maggie Henderson, it was her patient husband. Quite older than her, he doted on her and she never wanted for anything within their means to acquire.
Donald was a second generation farmer and descendant of a gold miner who’d struck it rich in the early eighteen hundreds. Thanks to his grandfather’s good luck, he and his brother, Jack, could afford a modest yet comfortable life. Jack, not yet married, lived with the Hendersons and also worked at the farm.
They were finally able to convince Maggie to move away from the crib and sit near the warmth of the stove. As soon as she sat, her husband moved a stool closer and lifted her feet to help her relax. “Rest, dearest.”
“My goodness, Donald, I’m not ill. I’m just with child. You don’t need to coddle me so.” Her smile belied her words and when they were followed by a content sigh, it was obvious Donald had done the right thing.
Barrett poured himself a cup of coffee. He was glad to get a break, not just from work, but the loneliness of everyday life with only a dog for a companion.
Maggie looked past him to the doorway. “Anything new in town?”
Since he went into town regularly, perhaps twice a week, Maggie always asked him for news. They only traveled into town about once a month.
“The Downeys are refurnishing their entire house. Now that they’ve moved into the new one,” he said, referring to the banker and his wife.
Maggie shook her head. “That woman is hard to get along with. Arrogant and abrasive, she never has a kind word to say. How can you work with them?”
“I’m making this table for them now.” He motioned to the piece he’d been working on. “I mostly speak to the husband since she defers the basic pieces to him. He’s not easy to work with, either. I believe, for the more decorative items, they are traveling into the city to purchase them.” Although he didn’t care for the people, work was work and he needed an income.
“Of course they are,” Maggie rolled her eyes. “So arrogant, they don’t realize your work is so much better than anything they could possibly buy in Casper.”
Barrett chuckled. “I should hire you as my personal advertising representative.”
“Well, it’s true.” Maggie’s gaze rested on the crib. “Wait until everyone sees what you made the baby. You’ll have more orders than you can handle.”
“I welcome the work. It will keep me busy through the winter.”
Donald cocked his head and studied him. “There are other things to do besides work, my friend. What you need is a good woman. A wife. Have you considered it lately? ”
It was not the first time he’d been asked. Sometimes the question annoyed him. Other times, he wondered how anyone could forget his missing leg. A woman would not want to be tied to a cripple for life. Sure. Right now at twenty-seven, he could manage. But the older he became, the harder it would get to walk and move about.
“Not really. Too set in my ways, I suppose,” Barrett replied with his usual answer. “Not sure any woman wants a man who refuses to change.”
“Ha!” Maggie got to her feet and pointed at him. “You are not telling the truth. Just like any human, once you fall in love, any such notion will flutter away like a butterfly in the wind. ‘Sides, just because you never heard back from the Matrimonial Gazette doesn’t mean you won’t find love soon.”
“Love, huh?” Barrett wasn’t sure what to think about that. He’d never allowed himself the opportunity to get close enough to love anyone. When he was young, he’d been infatuated a couple times, but never so much so that he actively pursued a woman.
“And,” Maggie continued, “your face is the likeness of what I imagine angels look like. You make most women tongue-tied and leave them without ability to breathe. Do you not notice how much attention you always get?”
This time, he laughed. “Maggie, I do think your state has affecte
d your way of thinking.”
Her husband laughed along with him and shook his head. “She’s become quite poetic lately. However, friend, I have to agree that there are few men who I will admit are attractive. You do have a good likeness. Even Mrs. Cornelia takes more notice than is appropriate for a married woman.”
With an exaggerated shiver, Maggie looked to them. “Don’t even mention that woman. After how she treated that poor girl, Edith, last month, I’ve avoided her.”
“It’s common for women of a questionable background not to be treated well, dearest.” Donald neared his wife and attempted to guide her back to the chair. “Nonetheless, I agree with you. To not only refuse her a room for the night, but to then throw dirty dish water on her was unnecessarily cruel.”
The hotel owner had a roving eye, the main reason for the way his wife mistreated the younger woman when she’d come to the hotel soon after arriving in town. It had been obvious by the woman’s overly made up face and lack of decorum she came from a not-so-gentile life. No doubt, Cornelia Bloom would not stand to have a woman such as this under the same roof as her husband, Charles.
The men loaded the crib in the back of the wagon later that day. After Barrett agree to come for dinner later that week, the Hendersons headed home.
Barrett returned to the shop and looked to his dog. “Fella, I think it’s time for us to have supper and get ready for bed. It’s getting too late to do any more work today.” The table would be completed by the end of the week and he’d go to town then. He’d ensure to stop at the mercantile and the barbershop. Between the two, he’d get plenty of information for Maggie, who’d made him promise to keep an ear out for something interesting she was missing.
He smiled, making his way to the front door of his modest log home. Maggie hated not going to town regularly. If Donald wasn’t careful, they’d end up moving closer to town, just so Maggie could stay abreast of what happened on a daily basis.
The interior of Barrett’s home was dark and cold. As usual, after a long day standing while working, his limp was more pronounced.
He slogged to the kitchen and pushed wood pieces into the large cast iron stove to start a fire that would soon warm the entire space. After that, he began chopping ham and potatoes to place into a pot to boil. By the time the stew was done, he would have heated water for a hot bath.
As the weather grew colder, he took regular heated baths. The warmth of the water helped soothe his aches. It was a habit now to bathe quite regularly with salts and such. A luxury he didn’t take lightly as he spent much of the warmer weather chopping wood and hiring young local boys to cut more. He stockpiled wood all year, so once winter came he could continue to bathe.
Later that evening with a blanket across his lap, Barrett read by the glow of a lamp but could not concentrate on the words. Inevitably, his gaze would lift in thought. Could he aspire to have a wife? He was aware of his attractive face, but no matter how handsome, it did not make up for his lack of wholeness. It could be he used the lack of his lower leg as an excuse, but he doubted it.
If he ever married a woman, he wasn’t sure how it would be that she could look upon him bereft of clothes and not be horrified. It was not just his leg that was scarred, but a cannonball and bullets had shredded the flesh across his lower stomach and side. Other than the leg being blown off, the rest of his lower body was intact. But his chest, stomach and back bore the scars of war, of a person caught in crossfire while attempting to save a friend.
Perhaps if he considered it more, the leg was the least of his worries. There were his other scars, both seen and unseen, that would not allow for him to live a normal life, ever. Nightmares often tormented him until he woke sweating and rattled.
No, a woman didn’t deserve to be tied to someone like him. He would not make a good husband.
Even if he wished for a family with all his heart, it was a wish he’d have to let go.
Chapter 3
Philadelphia
Perhaps it was the endless drizzle combined with the chill in the air that caused the sensation of impending catastrophe. More than likely, it was Christina’s anxiety at stealing away from home without her father’s permission. After all, her every waking hour, had been controlled by him. When a shiver traveled down her spine, she pulled the thick cloak tighter around her shoulders.
Her serviceable brown boots clip-clopped on the wet cobblestones. With each footstep, laden pockets swayed and hit the top of her thighs. Her mother had given her a knotted handkerchief heavy with coin and pressed several bills and a pearl necklace into her shaking hands. When Christina had bent to kiss her mother goodbye, the woman had shooed her off, telling her to hurry and rush through the garden lest her father return early.
A single tear escaped and Christina sniffed. It would not do at all to cry at a moment like this. It was already hard to see and the empty street frightened her. This was the time to keep her wits about her and ensure to stay alert lest someone try to accost her.
A woman alone on a quiet street made for an easy target. Not that she considered herself weak, quite the opposite, the years of hard physical work had ensured she could stand and defend herself. At least, it was what she hoped, as she’d not had to do so ever. Besides with her injured wrist, there was not much she could do with that hand at the moment.
Finally, she found the address. Clearly, it was the right place as in front of the doorway was a black carriage.
Lights flooded from the windows of the well-appointed townhouse, illuminating the wet street. The carriage horses pranced with apprehension as Christina neared and studied the numbers beside the door to ensure she was, indeed, at the right location.
“Four Six Six,” Christina read out loud. It was the location she was to meet Lady Eugenia Price.
She’d become acquainted with Lady Price, an attractive and stylish woman at social functions. Lady Price had a quiet elegance that spoke of the upper class, on few occasions she’d been allowed to attend. Christina often wondered if she was considered of the same class as the people at the dinners she’d attended prior to her father deciding not to allow it.
Her father’s friends were all quite wealthy, living in huge homes with servants and such. As a child, she’d always felt out of place when visiting any of the families that, for whatever reason, included hers as part of the accepted circle. At the time they had two servants, then one, until finally she took over all domestic tasks.
Over time, as her father became less socially inclined and miserly, the lack of interaction with the elite class was something she didn’t miss.
At her knock, a maid opened the door and escorted her to a parlor of sorts. No sooner did she enter than Lady Price appeared.
“Hello, darling. Here, come stand by the hearth. You’re shivering.” Lady Price placed an arm around her shoulders and guided her to the cheerful fire. The caring touch was almost her undoing and Christina took a fortifying breath.
It was then that she noticed there was another person in the room. An elegant gentleman, with whispers of gray at his temples, dressed in impeccable attire, stood by the windows peering out at the dreary weather.
Lady Price followed her line of vision, but did not make introductions. Instead, she seemed more interested in Christina’s state. “Are you all right? Would you like to sit?”
“I’m confused as to what I’m doing here, actually,” Christina admitted, shaking her head. “What did my mother tell you?”
She was led to sit on a settee beside the fireplace before Lady Price spoke. The woman sat close, her gentle smile reassuring.
“Norma and I met several times. She’s rather concerned about what your future holds. The man you are set to marry is not a good person. Quite the opposite. There are things about Oliver Winston few people know. However, your mother is one of them.”
Of course, she’d heard the rumors while at market, about his strange penchant for young girls and the fact some had disappeared after being summoned to his home.
However, being that the man was one of the richest in town, he’d never been charged of any crime. It was all hearsay as far as Christina was concerned as no one ever named the missing girls. Nor had anyone ever come forward to say they personally witnessed anything.
“I have heard some things. However, Lady Price, it’s mostly gossip. I will admit I do not want to marry him. He does seem very austere and makes me uncomfortable.”
Lady Price nodded, her gaze moved to the older man, who maintained his back to them. “It’s best for you not to know some things, dear. However, it is fortunate you are leaving and will not marry him.”
“Where will I go? I don’t know what to expect.” A tear escaped and she wiped at it in the frantic hope the woman did not notice. “I’m terrified of going to a wild, untamed place. It could prove as horrible as remaining here.”
Once again, Lady Price placed a reassuring arm around Christina’s shoulders. “I have contacts out west, associates that help me place women with good men who are investigated fully until I am satisfied they are upstanding with good values and morals. I run a mail order bride campaign to help good men out west find wives and start families.”
The news both shocked and intrigued Christina. “Truly?”
Lady Price nodded, moving away just a bit. She took Christina’s hand. “Do you know Wilhelmina Wilkins?”
“Yes, of course. She was a lovely friend to me. Although I rarely got a chance to speak to her before she left to go care for her elderly aunt.”
The sound of rain falling harder made them both look to the window. Lady Price chuckled. “Oh dear, forgive my manners. Christina, this is my dear brother, Thomas Price. This is his townhouse. My brother has graciously offered to drive you to the train station tomorrow morning.”
The man, seeming more distracted in whatever he spied outdoors, turned to give her a nod. “Nice to make your acquaintance.” He then looked back out the window. “Finally, the man comes to take the horses to the stables. I was about to go in search of him.”
Christina, A Bride for Christmas (Brides for All Seasons Book 6) Page 2