Mona Hodgson

by Too Rich for a Bride

  “Look out below,” Abraham called from the loft. He, his brother Isaac, and their dad began tossing bags of straw over the edge, toward the ice wagon.

  “Thanks for the extra help, fellas,” Tucker called back.

  “Mr. Tucker.” A gentle tug pulled at his trouser leg.

  Tucker looked down into the round face of Otis’s third-born son.

  “I do it now, Mr. Tucker? You showed me good.”

  Tucker handed Noah the pig-bristle brush and lifted him so the lad could reach Titan’s mane. “Your turn.”

  Holding the brush firm, Noah took a long, slow stroke through the mane, from the roots to the tips. “Titan, buddy, you’re a real good horse,” he whispered, then twisted around to look at Tucker. The toddler’s eyes shone. “See, I even talk to ’im nice like you do.”

  Tucker chuckled and nodded. “Yes. It seems I’ve become quite the conversationalist. With horses.”

  Deep laughter echoed off the barn walls as Otis swung a thick leg over the edge of the loft and climbed down the ladder. “That’s the most I’ve heard you say today.” Stopping just outside Titan’s stall, Otis swatted straw from his flannel shirt.

  “I was even worse company before you all showed up.” Tucker shifted Noah to rest against his chest while the boy continued brushing the mane and chattering at Titan.

  “Something on your mind?”

  Someone. Uninvited. Camped in his thoughts like a squatter who refused to leave.

  “That Sinclair sister with the hatpin?” Otis grinned.

  Tucker raised a brow.

  “Just a guess.”

  “A mighty good one.”

  “My arm’s tired, Mr. Tucker.” Noah dropped his arm to his side. “Can I go play?”

  Tucker lowered the boy to the ground and retrieved the brush. Noah scampered off to the sacks of straw and began standing them up against the wagon wheels.

  Tucker exited the horse’s stall and joined Otis. “I went and made a fool of myself in front of Ida Sinclair at the opera house last night.”

  “Forgot to change out of your mucking trousers, did ya?” Otis’s dry humor could cheer a sleepy bear.

  “Worse than that.” Tucker repositioned the hat on his head. “Yesterday afternoon, I found her on the bench out there”—he tipped his head in the direction of the creek—“and joined her. We had a real good talk about Willow and such.”

  “Sounds like the two of you are drawing together.”

  “I thought so too. Then I went to Morgan’s concert with Miss Hattie and Miss Dunsmuir.”

  “I see.”

  “As a friend. Anyhow, Miss Sinclair was there and she’d changed out of her woolen frock into a bluebird-blue ball gown. With Mr. Wagner at her side.”

  Otis groaned. Tucker’s sentiments exactly, seeing those two together like that.

  “I told her it was good to see her again; that she’d had quite a transformation from what she’d been wearing earlier at the creek.”

  “You didn’t.”

  Tucker hung his head. “I did.”

  “Naomi would call that crowing from the fencepost at midnight.”

  “It was supposed to be a compliment.”

  “Meant to tell Wagner you too were fond of Miss Sinclair.”

  “It was?” He was. Tucker slapped his thigh, causing a cloud of straw dust to encircle him. “What do I do? She wouldn’t even look at me at church this morning.”

  “You could write her a letter. Most women will read a letter, even if they won’t hear you out.”

  “Another good idea.” Tucker swished his felt hat to clear the cloud of dust away from his face. “Good thing I plan to keep you around.” He smiled. “Now that we’ve solved all my problems, what do you say we talk about you for a change?”

  Otis leaned against a post. “What do ya want to know?”

  “You said you were planning to have Boney Hughes invest in some stock for you. How’s that going?”

  “I did. A little bit. With the extra pay you gave me. But I plan to buy a whole lot more when ol’ Boney finds the ripest opportunity, as he puts it.”

  Tucker plopped his hat on his head as if it could cap his reservations. He wondered which would be the bigger adventure—Otis’s stock speculation or his own with Miss Ida Sinclair?

  Alone at last.

  Ida smoothed out a piece of onionskin stationery on the writing desk in her room. Despite Kat and Nell’s objections, she had managed to bow out of the after-church Sinclair family gathering at Nell’s. She wasn’t in the mood to rehash Judson’s or Kat’s concerns about her work. Or about her social life, for that matter.

  Instead, she’d enjoyed a bowl of sweet potato soup and corn bread in the boardinghouse kitchen with Miss Hattie and Faith. Thankfully, not a word was said about Tucker or Colin or the opera house except that Morgan had played “Home, Sweet Home”—a favorite song of Miss Hattie’s and her George. Miss Hattie couldn’t help but make a comment about how she wished everyone could have such a home, sweet home.

  In Ida’s weaker moments, she found herself wondering what that kind of love would be like. The kind that warmed Miss Hattie’s heart with fond memories years after her good-byes with George.

  When she caught herself thinking like that, Ida drew on her own memory bank and remembered horrid men like Bradley Ditmer, who couldn’t be trusted, and puzzling men like Tucker Raines. A man who could endear himself to her one moment and rile her the next.

  No, friendship would be challenging enough after last night’s fiasco. She had no desire for romance.

  Ida dipped her quill in the ink bottle and began to write, content to hide away in her room for a few hours.

  Dearest Father,

  Thank you for the letter. I was so pleased to hear from you. We all were.

  I shared your news with Kat and Nell, and we’re already looking forward to your visit in ’98.

  If only Vivian were here. Summer didn’t seem soon enough. But if Ida mentioned her concerns about her youngest sister, Father would just tell her she’d overspent her big-sister worries. Ida sighed, breathing a prayer for Vivian.

  To answer your question, Father, I am gainfully employed and making splendid progress in the business world. The stock exchange is exciting and quite profitable.

  Ida chose to leave his other question unanswered. She’d considered telling him about Colin Wagner escorting her to the opera house and that she’d agreed to see him more on a social basis. She didn’t want Father to be concerned that she was all business, like everyone else seemed to be, but saw no reason for them both to wallow in confusion where the men in her life were concerned.

  Before Ida could add another sentence, she heard footfalls on the stairs.

  “Ida, you still up here, dear?” Miss Hattie called.

  So much for solitude.

  Ida wiped the quill dry on a piece of felt and returned it to the desktop. She then crossed the room and opened her door to Miss Hattie.

  “I apologize for disturbing your peace, dear, but I have a delivery for you.”

  “The postmaster is working on a Sunday?”

  “Otis Bernard brought it by.”

  She’d seen Otis outside the stockbrokers’ building a time or two but hadn’t exchanged more than a few words with him in passing. “I think Boney Hughes might be buying stock for him. I’ve seen them together at the Exchange. He probably wants my advice on a matter.”

  Hattie held out a small envelope. “He said the letter is from Mr. Raines.”

  Ida glanced up at her landlady, who merely nodded. Ida sighed and accepted the envelope. Miss Sinclair was written in well-practiced penmanship. Flipping it over, she read a brief note on the flap: “Please read.”

  “So he knew I wouldn’t want to read it, and he’s right.” She hung her arm, letting the message dangle. “I don’t want to hear what he has to say.”

  “Then don’t read it aloud.” A mischievous grin tugged at her landlady’s rounded cheeks, causing her silv
er-gray eyes to shimmer like the Atlantic in afternoon sunlight.

  “You are enjoying this far too much, Hattie.”

  The older woman tittered.

  When Hattie turned toward the door, Ida walked to the window and lifted the envelope to her nose. She breathed in the ice man’s earthy scent. He smelled of the outdoors and fresh air. And ink, most likely from the pages of his Bible.

  She shouldn’t read his letter. She shouldn’t have anything to do with him. Not if she wanted to guard her heart.

  She opened the envelope.

  Dear Miss Sinclair,

  I so enjoyed our visit at the creek yesterday afternoon.

  But your change in demeanor last night alerted me that my comment had offended you. That was never my intention.

  Apparently, what I meant as a compliment came out as a warning to Mr. Wagner of my fondness for you.

  His fondness? What did that mean? Ida sank onto the bed. “The man is impossible.”

  She hadn’t realized she’d said it aloud until Miss Hattie spun around in the doorway and sat on the bed beside her. “They all are, dear.” She patted Ida’s hand. “Even my George. Without God’s grace manifesting itself in amazing ways … Well, let’s just say that without God’s grace, our marriage wouldn’t have lasted a day past the ceremony.”

  Ida returned her attention to the letter.

  I hope you can accept my apologies.

  Fondly,

  Tucker Raines

  She stood and walked back to the window just in time to see a shiny black carriage roll to a stop in front of the walkway below. A carriage Ida recognized. “What is he doing here?”

  Hattie rose from the bed and joined her at the window. “Why, it’s Mr. Wagner.” She clucked her tongue. “I do declare, Ida dear, you’re more popular than my peach cobbler at a church picnic.”

  Ida laid Tucker’s letter on her bed. He would have to wait.

  Miss Hattie followed her down the stairs but still managed to arrive at the front door first.

  Colin Wagner smiled at them over a perfumed bouquet of silk roses. Yellow ones. “Miss Hattie.” He doffed his bowler. “Miss Sinclair, I hope you don’t mind my stopping by unannounced like this.”

  “We were just chatting.” Hattie opened the door wider. “Won’t you come in?”

  “Thank you, but I won’t keep you, ladies.” He handed Ida the flowers and met her gaze. “I hoped you’d agree to have supper with me this Saturday. I’ll come for you at five o’clock.”

  Ida refused to look at Hattie. She didn’t need to see her gaiety, nor did she require her permission. “Saturday at five would be fine. And thank you for the roses.”

  “You’re welcome.” Colin placed his hat atop his head and turned back to his carriage.

  The moment the door clicked shut behind him, Hattie spun around. “Very popular, I’d say.”

  Yes, well, according to her family and even to Miss Hattie herself, that could all change soon enough due to her career. On her way to the kitchen to fetch a vase, Ida breathed in the sweet scent of perfumed roses. She’d best nurture her relationships in the business world.

  Beginning with Mr. Colin Wagner.

  TWENTY-SIX

  aturday morning, Ida lifted her teacup from the sofa table in Hattie’s parlor. “During my lunch break yesterday I found a new sofa in Johnson’s Quality Furniture that I think would look perfect in here.”

  The older woman glanced around the parlor, then down at the sofa beneath her. She rubbed her hand across the burgundy velour fabric as a mother might stroke her child’s forehead, checking for a fever. “You know, George and I picked this out of a catalog. Had it shipped from Philadelphia.”

  That alone dated her furniture. Ida took a sip of peppermint tea and leaned back in the Queen Anne chair across from her landlady. “I just thought you might want something a bit more … modern. A yellow settee or a beige fainting couch could really brighten it up in here.”

  Hattie stared past Ida at the fireplace, where split pine snapped and popped in its attempts to warm the room. “I don’t know.”

  “I say if you have the money to purchase new furnishings, you may as well enjoy it.”

  “Dear, I’m content with what I have.”

  Ida couldn’t relate to being content with what she had. But then she hadn’t had a chance to even start acquiring things.

  “I’ll be the first to tell you that the lure of wealth and finery is great with all the new stores here.” Hattie glanced toward the window. “Advertisements seem to float in the air as freely as autumn leaves.”

  It wasn’t as if Ida expected to have it all. Or even that she wanted everything she saw. She opened her mouth with a ready reply, but when the door knocker sounded, her words changed midthought. “They’re here. You sure you don’t want to go shopping with us today? Might do you good to get out.”

  “I’m sure, dear. You girls enjoy your sister time.”

  “We will. Might even start a wardrobe for my niece. Or nephew.”

  Nell’s womb was still empty, and her heart still ached to give Judson a child as she watched Kat swish side to side in a green woolen maternity dress. Ida had seen to it that the clerk at the millinery shop gave them a dressing room large enough to accommodate all three sisters.

  You are my fortress, Lord. In You will I trust. I will not be jealous of my sister. I will rejoice in You blessing her and Morgan.

  Stopping to face the mirror, Kat ran her hand over the paisley skirt while Ida bent down and brushed the hem straight.

  “Which dress do you like better, Kat?” Ida glanced at the golden yellow broadcloth frock Kat had already tried on.

  Their second-born sister raised a brow and shrugged her left shoulder.

  Nell gripped the bodice of the woolen dress and pulled it, to be sure it would stretch sufficiently for the baby or two who would very soon fill it. “I think my niece or nephew, or perhaps a set of both, would look positively darling in this one. And stay warm too.”

  All three sisters giggled.

  “One infant will surely keep us all busy enough until yours comes along.” Kat winked at Nell, and gave her a knowing smile.

  “I like both dresses.” Ida reached for Kat’s hand and looked at the price tag on the hem of the sleeve. “I’ll buy them both for you.”

  Kat shook her head. “I don’t need either dress. Morgan can buy me one, and Vivian will probably want to make one for me. I certainly don’t need four.”

  “Don’t be silly. Of course you do.” Ida opened her reticule. “Besides, what’s the point in being a successful businesswoman if I can’t share the wealth?”

  Nell moved to Kat’s back and began unhooking the bodice. She leaned toward her sister’s ear. “You know you can’t win this battle, right?”

  Kat drew in a deep breath. “I can’t seem to warm up this winter, so if you insist on buying me a dress, I’ll take this green one.”

  “I do.”

  “Then thank you.”

  Nell had just followed her sisters out of the dressing room when Tucker Raines sauntered through the front door of the clothing store.

  He removed his felt hat and dipped his squared chin. “Ladies.” He may have been speaking to all of them, but it was Ida he seemed to be studying. “Did you receive my note?”

  “I did.” Ida’s words matched the stiffness in her back.

  “And?”

  “Apology accepted.”

  “Good. Does that mean you won’t be avoiding me at church tomorrow?”

  Ida raised her chin a notch while Nell tried not to laugh. “Does it mean you won’t embarrass me in front of Mr. Wagner?”

  “You intend to see him socially again?”

  “I do.”

  He rubbed his neatly trimmed beard. “Then I’ll do my best to behave myself.”

  Ida’s chin quivered as if she were trying not to smile while Kat and Nell covered theirs. “Good enough.” She reached out and shook his hand. “Friends.”


  It could have just been her imagination, but Nell was pretty sure the man’s sculpted shoulders sagged. As soon as Tucker let go of Ida’s hand, which he seemed reluctant to do, Ida marched to the cash register and began fumbling in her reticule. But her furtive glances toward the glass door as Tucker stepped outside betrayed Ida’s declaration of mere friendship. And when the ice man turned back around and caught her looking, his full-face smile said he knew it too.

  “And what will you have tonight, Mrs. Cutshaw?”

  “Um.” Kat looked up from the Third Street Café’s paper menu at the feather that stuck out of Maggie’s single white braid. “It all looks so good that I’m having trouble deciding what to order.”

  Across the table, Morgan leaned forward. “You don’t feel like the veal cutlet this time?”

  Kat felt her nose wrinkle. She shook her head. These days her appetite, at best, was as unpredictable as Colorado’s weather patterns.

  Maggie pressed her hand to the red gingham apron at her stick-thin middle. “I was like that when I carried my young uns. All five of ’em. Felt like I could eat a whole menu’s worth of food, but not all of it sounded appealing.”

  “Exactly.” Kat glanced back down at the listing.

  “Me and the mister aim to please, especially where the appetites of growing babies are concerned. He’ll make you most anything that sounds good to you.”

  “Cabbage salad?” Kat asked.

  The feather bobbed. “He can do it.”

  “A sausage patty?”

  Maggie pulled a small notepad and stub of a pencil from her apron pocket. “I can tell I best be writing this down. Memory’s not what it used to be. So far we have cabbage salad and a sausage patty.”

  “And pickled beets.”

  Morgan clapped his hand over his mouth.

  “Two buttermilk pancakes.” Ignoring Morgan’s poor attempt to stifle a chuckle, Kat took one last look at the menu. “And a dish of banana pudding with raisins on top.”