Gracie had read many stories of the dangers that were common in the rough terrain, but with Mrs. Dobson’s shrewdness and assertiveness, Gracie’s fears and anxiety were eased. And though Gracie hadn’t developed a close friendship with the other girl who had recently relocated to their community from Pennsylvania, it was nice to know she would have a familiar face with her when they arrived in Montana.
“Gracie, is that you?”
She followed her father’s baritone voice to the back bedroom, where her mother was rubbing his injured arm and shoulder. She stood by the door, surprised her father would allow her to see him like this. Since the war, where he had lost his right arm, he only allowed her mother to assist him and see him without his shirt.
“Yes, Daddy?”
“Go in that dresser and get me a clean shirt.”
“Joseph,” her mother interjected, “I’ve got you a clean shirt right here.”
“I don’t wanna wear that one. I want Gracie to get me another.”
Her mother didn’t argue further as Gracie went to the dresser and pulled out a shirt that looked similar to the one draped across the foot of the bed.
“Lynn, will you get my medicine?”
Her mother glanced down at her father curiously, her hands hovering over his maimed flesh. “Don’t you want me to help—”
“Gracie can manage. Ain’t that right, baby girl?”
Gracie nodded, equally surprised by the request, however. Her father had never asked for her help before even though his injured arm was a regular source of pain for him. The doctors said it was all in his head, nothing more than “phantom” pain, but whenever it struck, her father would be gripped with agony because of it. Her mother was also taken aback by his unexpected request, but she simply nodded and left the room.
“You’re not scared, are you, baby girl?”
“Of course not, Daddy,” Gracie said, crossing the room to where he sat on the bed.
“It’s okay to be a little scared, y’know.”
She stared at her father for a moment as the real meaning of his words began to sink in. He wasn’t asking if she was scared of him or his injured arm—he wanted to know what she felt about tomorrow and the future. This was the first time her father had asked her about it. When Mrs. Dobson had approached them about the potential arranged marriage, her father hadn’t said much about it, but given her family’s current financial situation, she knew it was an offer she couldn’t readily refuse. And as much as her parents had done and sacrificed for her, she knew it was her turn to give them something in return.
But now, she didn’t know how to respond to her father. Did she tell him the truth or leave him with some reassurance?
“I might be just a little scared, Daddy,” she confessed. “But I’m also excited. I’ll get to see more of the country and will have more stories to write to you and Mama about.” And I’ll know that you and Mama won’t have to worry about money for a long time.
Her father chuckled. “You do tell some great stories.”
“So do you,” Gracie teased. After the war, even with all his suffering, her father had told her about the many fascinating places he’d seen and the many different people he’d met along his travels. Though it had been an unfortunate cannon blast that had taken his arm, the pride in his voice from having served his country and fought for their freedom had been quite apparent.
They both fell silent as she helped him into his shirt, careful not to jar his injured flesh. As she tugged the shirt down over his head and torso, it was hard to ignore the faded welts that marred his broad back. Even after all these years, she couldn’t forget—or forgive—her selfishness that had led to his whipping. She had brought him so much pain, and he continued to endure more. Agreeing to an arranged marriage was the least Gracie could do to ensure he wouldn’t have to worry about finding work.
She stepped back as her father rose from the bed and began tucking the ends of the shirt into his pants. He was lean and tall and, despite his missing arm, still possessed a commanding presence. He always kept his face shaved, and even now his handsome, weary features were free of facial hair.
“Is there anything else you need, Daddy?”
For a moment, he stood there awkwardly staring at her. Then, to her surprise, he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her into a tight hug. Without hesitation, Gracie folded her arms around him and returned the fierce embrace. Though she knew her father loved her, he wasn’t always so openly affectionate. She took full advantage of that moment and hugged him tighter.
“I sought the Lord, and he answered me and delivered me from all my fears.” The heaviness of her father’s low words pierced through her despair and Gracie realized it was he who was afraid for her. “I love you, Gracelynn Melody Shaw. And I’m gon’ miss you.”
Those words were her undoing and for the first time in weeks, Gracie let the tears flow as she buried her face into her father’s shirt, letting herself get lost in her misery, even for just a little while.
Her father rested his chin on the top of her head, slowly rubbing her back. “Shh, hush now. You have nothing to cry about. You gon’ see the rest of the country, remember? And you gon’ have lots of stories to send back to us. Ain’t that right?”
Gracie nodded. The words she wanted to speak were lodged in her throat, and all she could do was cling to him.
“You just make sure that husband of yours treats you right, Gracie. ‘Cause if he don’t,” he said gruffly, “all you have to do is write to me, and no matter what it takes, I’ll be there to come getcha. No matter what.”
Chapter 3
“All aboard.”
“Come on, girls,” Mrs. Dobson called over her shoulder. “We don’t want to miss this train.”
Gracie followed after the older woman, with Madeline close at her heel. They had just gotten their many bags checked in to the baggage carrier and were now rushing to the passenger car.
This was Gracie’s first time travelling on a major railroad, and everything was so confusing. Gracie gave another silent prayer of thanks for having Mrs. Dobson on the trip with them. She would have never managed to figure her way through the mad hustle of the busy train station. And Madeline had been just as confused as she’d been. She imagined the reality of their final departure must be overwhelming for the other girl, because for her it certainly was. But Gracie was good at internalizing her stress and anxiety, and she used that skill to keep her legs moving.
The whistle sounded, signaling the train’s imminent departure, just as they reached the steps of the car.
“Come now, ladies,” Mrs. Dobson said sharply, wisps of her graying brown hair working their way out of her bonnet as she rushed down the train platform. “Your awaiting grooms provided handsomely to marry two lovely Christian girls and we can’t disappoint them.”
Gracie wasn’t used to hearing the word “groom,” and for a moment, she almost turned on her new boots and hurried in the opposite direction. But that was the impulse of the silly, immature girl still in her. She was a soon-to-be-married woman now and needed to behave like one.
With the assistance of a young porter, they climbed onto the passenger car and came face to face with a stern looking conductor.
“Hold it right there,” he said tersely, staring at her and Madeline. Though Madeline was a few shades lighter than her, it didn’t stop the man from regarding them with equal loathing. “You Negresses need to go to the last car with your kind.”
Gracie shouldn’t have been surprised, and yet she was. She was also very upset.
“These girls are with me, sir,” Mrs. Dobson said briskly, waving him aside. “Please move out of our way so we can take our seats.”
“Look, lady, I don’t want any trouble,” the burly conductor said, anger flushed brightly on his round cheeks. “Now you either take them to the next car or—”
“Or what?” Mrs. Dobson challenged. “You will physically assault a woman of the church and two innocent Chri
stian girls? I didn’t think so, because the fire I would rain down at your feet would not be pleasant. Now, sir, kindly move out of our way.”
The man glared at them, frustration plain on his ruddy face. “Take them to the back,” he snapped then turned and marched down to the next car.
Gracie followed Mrs. Dobson to their seats, passing white passengers who openly gawked at them. She tried her best to maintain a serene expression, but found it difficult to do under the intense scrutiny of the crowded car. The incident was humiliating enough without their speculation, but there was one passenger who wasn’t eyeing her like some show attraction. If anything, he looked to be fast asleep, his hat pulled over his face and his legs propped up on the seat across him.
Gracie could understand why Mrs. Dobson chose to sit with this stranger—it was the only section in the train car that could seat the three of them together and was still far enough in the back to keep the hostile conductor content.
“Excuse us, sir.” When the man didn’t acknowledge them, Mrs. Dobson cleared her throat and not so subtly nudged his leg with her knee.
The man finally pulled back his hat, and Gracie drew in a sharp breath. At the small sound, the man swung his gaze to her, and the breath she forgot to release remained lodged in her throat. She recognized the cool, penetrating gaze from yesterday. It was the same man who had been watching her from the courtyard, whose gaze she had felt before she had even seen him. His beard-covered jaw was much sharper and prominent than she anticipated.
But it was his eyes that drew her. Standing only inches away from him, she could finally make out their color.
Firewood.
That’s what they reminded her of. They were the color of fresh firewood—a dark, tawny brown that held the same kind of heat. Even now, as he moved his gaze over her like a warm caress.
“Do you mind, sir?” At Mrs. Dobson’s pointed question, the man slowly removed his legs from the seat across from him. “Thank you,” she murmured stiffly.
The man inclined his head, but never took his eyes off Gracie. Her cheeks warmed at his assessment, and she averted her eyes as she followed Mrs. Dobson into the narrow space. To her dismay, the older woman took the seat at the window, across the man, forcing Gracie to sit beside him as Madeline came up behind her and took the seat across from him.
Gracie tried not to make a big deal over the seating arrangement, though she tried to create as much distance as she could in the close space. The wide skirt of her new dress, however, still brushed against his long legs. Her betrothed had been generous with his money, providing an advance to her family, a donation to the church, and additional funds for her to purchase whatever supplies she would need. Mrs. Dobson had made sure the majority of that money went to new dresses and boots. Whatever had been left over, Gracie used to fill one of her trunks with books.
“Are you comfortable, Ms. Gracie?”
Gracie whipped her head around and stared at the stranger. She could only imagine the stunned expression on her face. How…? Then she realized he must have been standing among the crowd the entire time she’d been on that stage with Reverend Mavis.
“Yes,” she finally managed. “Thank you.” There was a hint of awareness in the man’s gaze that again held her captivated.
Mrs. Dobson deliberately cleared her throat and the corner of the man’s lips quirked into a slight smile. Something in Gracie’s belly fluttered.
“Have you two met?”
At Mrs. Dobson’s abrupt question, Gracie tore her gaze from the man’s and brought it to the older woman’s suspicious glare. Her face was paler than usual, most likely from their dash to board the train, but her eyes were clear and sharp.
“Yes, ma’am,” the man said. “I had the pleasure of hearing Ms. Gracie sing yesterday.”
“During the celebration,” Gracie added, feeling the need to explain her unusual acquaintance with this stranger. She didn’t even know his name and yet felt as if they had just been caught in a secret.
Mrs. Dobson sized him up, her lips pursed and her moss-green eyes watchful. “Well, since you were gracious enough to allow us to sit with you, it’s only proper that we formally introduce ourselves, Mister…”
“Logan Finley, ma’am.” He held out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Gracie was taken aback by his politeness. There was something about him that made his civility not insincere just…unexpected.
She also picked up on his slight accent. Usually she was good at placing someone’s background based on their dialect, but she couldn’t pinpoint his. Though there was something familiar in the slow lilt of his words, she still couldn’t quite identify it.
Mrs. Dobson took his hand and proceeded to formally introduce them. Madeline nodded to the man, yet remained quiet for the most part. While they weren’t close, Gracie knew the girl was still grieving the loss of her former fiancé.
Gracie was also surprised by the gloved hand the man extended to her. Although there was a bite in the morning air despite the warm weather, the train car was comfortable enough that there was no need for gloves and she found his use of them odd. But as not to appear impolite, she slowly slipped her hand into his. There was strength in his grip, as well as a surprising gentleness.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Finley.”
“Pleasure’s all mine.” The heated glint never left his copper-brown eyes. He held her hand in his for a moment longer, and she couldn’t ignore the soft tremors that coursed along her hand against the rough feel of his leather glove.
What she was feeling toward this stranger was unusual and inappropriate. She had only just met the man—a strange white man who was probably capable of anything, despite his good manners and obvious proper upbringing. She didn’t like to judge a person until they gave her something to judge them for, but there was something about his eyes that made her think there was a more impassioned man lying dormant inside him.
She tugged her hand from his grip and he released her. Clasping her hands on her lap, Gracie turned to stare out of the window. The gray fog and weather-worn buildings began to roll by as the train slowly pulled out of the station.
This was it.
She was leaving her home—her family—for good.
~~~
“Where are you traveling to, Mr. Finley?”
Logan focused his attention on Mrs. Dobson’s question, and away from the silent woman sitting beside him. She was prettier than he initially realized. Where he’d stood yesterday, he hadn’t been able to see just how large and captivating her curious, mahogany eyes were. She even smelled nice, like the vanilla spice his mother would harvest in Mexico when he was a boy.
“I’m on my way to Colorado, ma’am,” Logan replied. “For work.”
Mrs. Dobson nodded approvingly. “Like so many young men of our city. Working is good, but don’t forget God and the church.” She pulled out a fan from her sleeve and began fanning herself rapidly. “‘And whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto men.’ Colossians three twenty-three.”
Logan nodded politely. Though it had been a while since he’d read the bible—or been in the presence of young Christian ladies—it hadn’t been hard remembering his Southern upbringing and manners, which seemed to put the older woman at ease. The two young women, however, didn’t seem impressed with his manners. In fact, they both seemed lost in their thoughts.
The train continued its jostle and roll, forcing his leg and shoulder to brush lightly against the tense girl beside him. The polite thing to do would have been to slide over and give her some space, but Logan made no attempt to move, enjoying the small contact. After all, he was a man—not a saint.
“I hear a slight accent, Mr. Finley, but can’t seem to place it,” the woman said thoughtfully. “Gracie here is skilled at linguistics and geography. She is one of my star pupils. Can you place his accent, dear?”
Logan stiffened as she turned to him. He hoped she wasn’t as go
od as Mrs. Dobson claimed. The last thing he wanted to do was discuss his upbringing, especially his life as a Southern planter.
“No, ma’am, I don’t believe I’ve heard Mr. Finley speak long enough to place it.”
“Well, from your speech and manners, you’re certainly not from the city. Tell us, Mr. Finley, where are you from?”
“I’m originally from Mexico,” Logan said. “My mother was a Mexican native and my father was an Irish immigrant.” He felt Gracie’s gaze on him and turned to her. There was a curiosity in her eyes he hadn’t expected, but it made him want to share all of himself, if only to have her continue looking at him with such interest. But he wasn’t an idiot. The minute he mentioned his upbringing in Maryland, it would only open him to questions he had no intentions of sharing with anyone.
“What an unusual mix,” Mrs. Dobson murmured. “But that explains your unique inflections.”
Logan didn’t think so. His “accent” came from years of trying hard to rid himself of his native language. As a young man, new to a foreign country, he’d been more interested in being accepted that he had all but renounced his Mexican heritage. Now, as an adult, he realized his mistake in that because it left him with only a vague memory of his mother’s culture and a weak grasp of the Spanish language.
“And where are you lovely ladies headed to?” he asked, changing the subject.
“Montana,” Mrs. Dobson replied.
Logan raised a brow. “That’s rough territory. What are fine Christian women like you heading out there for?”
The older woman smiled knowingly and patted her bosom. “Don’t you worry, Mr. Finley. It’s not my first time escorting a couple of blushing brides to their awaiting betrotheds.”
Logan tensed, stealing a quick glance at the rigid, silent girl beside him. So she was to be married. He didn’t know why that knowledge bothered him, but it did. Very much.
“Montana is a long way from New York.”
“Yes, well, finding good Christian women is a rarity in those parts, Mr. Finley. Especially for the Negro man. But our congregation strongly believes in fostering the Christian faith by encouraging the development of family.”
The Brightest Day: A Juneteenth Historical Romance Anthology Page 3