The WESTWARD Christmas BRIDES COLLECTION: 9 Historical Romances Answer the Call of the American West
Page 40
“I did it?” Suzette shook her head. “Not at all. You did it, and I know you too well. You’ll give me the credit.”
Her mother shrugged. “Some of the best inventions were creations born of seeming failure. Why don’t you do this instead?” She motioned toward a bowl of strawberries. “Slice them for the topping on the cheesecake.”
That she could do, and it was something she loved. The summery scent of strawberries rose as she cut into them. She popped one into her mouth whole, not worrying about the fact that a bit of the juice was now trailing onto her chin. Some things in life were perfect. Strawberries were one of them.
Too soon the fruit was sliced into ruby circles, and her mother sprinkled a light dusting of sugar over them. “That will make the strawberries juice up, which we need for the topping.”
Everything her mother did was magic. She knew exactly what to do and how to do it. And she was patient, endlessly patient with her daughter.
Mama put the strawberries aside. “I’ll finish the bread and prepare the chickens.”
Suzette grinned at her. “Need my help?”
Her mother laughed.
“It might be faster if I don’t help,” Suzette said.
“You’re doing fine. You’re only eighteen, and you’re old enough to learn, and that’s what you’re doing. Now, go on upstairs and decide what you’re going to wear, dear. Our guests will be here in less than two hours.”
Once in her room, Suzette sank onto her bed. Her room, with the thick draperies blocking out the sun, was cool but closed. Summer in St. Paul could be extremely warm, and now, with the still-heavy heat of September upon them, the thought of being encased in weighty silk was nearly unbearable.
She reached for her nightstand and opened the drawer. Inside, under the usual assortment of handkerchiefs and lotions, was a piece of paper.
Carefully she removed it and smoothed it over the brocade coverlet. It was a page torn from a magazine, an advertisement for a product, but she’d cut away the words so only the picture remained.
A girl was seated on a bucking horse, its pinto-spotted back saddleless. Her legs were covered with a deep coffee-colored leather fringed skirt, and on her feet were light brown riding boots. Her shirt was plaid with small pearl buttons along the front.
Her hair was unbound, trailing behind her in a glorious cloud of reddish-gold. The painter had caught her midwave, her cowboy hat held aloft.
She looked free and exactly opposite of how Suzette felt.
What would it be like to be her? To be riding across the prairie, the wind lifting her hair so that it trailed behind in a stream? What would it feel like?
She touched the braided bun at the back of her neck. A grown woman couldn’t let her hair down, and she certainly couldn’t let it be free in the wind, especially not while riding a galloping steed across the open prairie.
No, she had to wear an oppressive silk dress when the air was so hot it almost baked her like one of the chickens in the oven.
Her life was one of blessing. Her mother had taught her well on that part. Her family was well-off, and daily she benefited from that. There was always enough food, and it was deliciously prepared. In the winter she was warm, and in the summer she was cool. Her clothing was beautiful. She had a family who loved her. She closed every day with the same three words: “I am blessed.”
She lacked for nothing.
It wasn’t that she was ungrateful. In fact, it was just the opposite. God had given her so much. But should she live the life she’d been blessed with and accept it without question?
She’d been given the opportunity to do as her mother did. Mama supported charities—she was sure that tonight her mother would take the opportunity to promote one of her favorite causes, providing fresh produce to the needy, especially the elderly and the children of the community. She’d never seen her mother take advantage of the wealth they had except to find a way to use it for the good of others.
It wasn’t that Suzette didn’t want to do that. She’d offered as much as she could, guided by the skillful hand of her mother, but the fact was that in the midst of this, she had no vision of who she was. Her soul cried out to explore the world, to feel the wind in her hair, both metaphorically and physically.
Sometimes, although her mother had never shown the least amount of impatience or despair with Suzette’s lack of abilities, she had those emotions about herself. She was impatient. The role she’d been given simply didn’t fit her. It was like wearing someone else’s shoes.
She looked at the picture one more time, feeling the longing in her heart, and with sadness she put it in back in the drawer.
Some things were just not meant to be. This was one.
She sighed and stood up and crossed to the armoire. It was elegantly carved teak, something her grandfather had brought back from one of his many trips overseas. It had made the voyage across the ocean, coming from some far-off land with an exotic name and interesting smells and unusual foods.
This armoire had seen more and done more than she had.
She resisted the childish urge to kick it, and instead opened the brass latch and took out the blue silk dress. Until something in the universe presented itself, the fact was that she was a rich girl in St. Paul, Minnesota, and that was her lot in life.
She could live with that. Maybe.
A thousand tiny buttons later, she was dressed for dinner. The aroma of roast chicken and freshly baked bread tickled her nose, and her stomach growled in anticipation.
Voices rose from the bottom of the staircase as she began her descent to join them. Some were familiar. She recognized the baritone of their minister, Reverend Williams, and the soft cadence of her mother’s pleasant chatter. One voice she couldn’t identify, and she guessed it was their guest.
As she joined the gathering in the parlor, her mother nodded at her. “Suzette, I’d like you to meet Eugene Caldwell. He’s very active in the community garden project.”
Mr. Caldwell rose and bowed. He was short, with closely cropped gray hair. “Miss Longmont, my pleasure indeed.”
She curtsied slightly, feeling as if she were in an old-fashioned play with their courtly visitor and, behind their guest, saw her mother’s eyes twinkle. “The pleasure is mine, sir.”
Reverend Williams greeted her heartily, and by the side chair, she saw Harrison standing. “Suzette,” he said.
“Harrison,” she responded, summoning a smile she didn’t really feel.
Every strand of his straight blond hair was in place. For a fleeing moment, she wondered if he’d ever dreamed of it disarrayed by the wind, but just as quickly as it came, she dismissed the thought. Harrison’s life was as tightly ordered as his suit. Every bit of it was in order.
“Is Papa here?” she asked, turning back to her mother.
“He’s delayed at his office, but he’ll join us shortly,” Mama answered. “Would you like some tea while we wait?”
The next half hour was filled with the sound of idle chatter, an art Suzette had never completely mastered. Harrison, she noticed, spoke only when spoken to—like a good child, she thought a bit nastily.
She had to quit that. He was a child of God. He had the right to her respect for that alone. He had never done anything to hurt her or anyone else, as far as she knew. She mentally rearranged her approach. Kind. She could be kind. She could.
Finally, Molly, their elderly housekeeper, made a brief appearance at the door to the room and motioned Mama over.
“Let’s go on into dinner,” her mother said. “I’m sure Joseph will be with us soon.”
Suzette found herself sitting next to Harrison. Did he feel as uneasy as she did?
Mr. Caldwell spoke. “Your mother has told me that you prepared the lovely floral arrangement I see. It’s as lovely as you are.”
“Thank you,” she began, “but—”
Her mother shook her head ever so slightly and interrupted her. “You may be interested to know that the flowers ar
e from our solarium, Mr. Caldwell, and Suzette has shown a nascent talent in arranging.”
Nascent? Suzette coughed into her napkin. Surely her mother meant nonexistent.
“You have a solarium here?” their guest inquired with interest. “Might I have a tour of it after our repast? The ability to grow blooms without regard to the external weather elements is fascinating to me.”
“Of course you may,” Mama answered. “It’s very clever. Joseph saw one in Chicago, and he had one built in our house. We have only had it in operation for a few months, but so far it’s quite charming. It’s windowed, and cast-iron pipes will bring in steam in the winter to heat the room.”
Reverend Williams added, “It’s a lovely room, and we do quite enjoy the blossoms that the Longmonts share with us each Sunday. Why, as matter of—”
“I’m so sorry,” Papa’s voice boomed from the door of the dining room. “I was delayed by a courier, but I made the best time I could. I hope I’m not too late.” He nodded at each of their visitors. “I’m glad to see you started without me.”
“We have just begun,” Mama said. “Now, let’s try the soup. By the way, the cunning bread triangles are tinged with rosemary. I hope you like them. Again, we have Suzette to thank for them.”
Suzette stifled a laugh. Her mother would never lie, and this was certainly not a falsehood. Only she neglected to mention that Suzette forgot to add the yeast, which resulted in having to invent a new culinary creation.
Dinner began in earnest, with many compliments from their guests and a lively discussion of the new community park and garden that were being planned. As Suzette had expected, her mother interjected her idea of a vegetable garden that would benefit those who weren’t able to provide for fresh produce on their own.
She noticed that her father was unusually quiet. Occasionally he touched the breast pocket of his jacket, from which a slight piece of paper stuck out. What could it be?
Harrison didn’t speak much as the others discussed the weather, the upcoming gardening project, the advantages of a strong railway system, and the growth of the city. Mama kept the conversation flowing, filling in adeptly for her husband’s prolonged silence.
At last, Reverend Williams and Mr. Caldwell pronounced the dinner excellent, and after wiping their mouths on thick linen napkins, they adjourned to the parlor, where Mama served tea from china cups that had been in the Longmont family for years. They were so delicate that Suzette dreaded using them. She was sure eventually one would just shatter in her fingers.
After a tour of the solarium, which their guests pronounced splendid, Reverend Williams and Mr. Caldwell thanked the Longmonts for an excellent evening and left.
Harrison was reaching for his hat when Papa spoke abruptly as he withdrew the white rectangle from his pocket. “This is why I was late. I have a letter from Richard’s Tom out in the Dakota Territory.”
Suzette froze. Richard was her uncle, her father’s brother. Her cousin, Tom, had married a lively woman named Winnie, and they’d moved to the Dakota Territory to try a new life. After they’d settled there, the announcement that a baby was on the way had been of some concern to Mama. Tom and Winnie were quite removed from them in Dakota, and they’d been adamant that they weren’t returning to St. Paul so Winnie could have the baby in the new birthing hospital. What if something were to go wrong?
Compounding that had been the news that baby Annylee had been born in the midst of a tornado in early July. If the details of the event had gotten to Mama’s ears, she hadn’t shared them with Suzette. All she knew was that the baby was healthy and thriving.
Mama tilted her head and smiled. “Did he speak of their daughter? Annylee is such a lovely name.”
“Winnie has broken both her arm and her leg in a bad fall, and Tom needs help,” Suzette’s father said bluntly. “She can’t take care of the baby at all.”
Everyone froze. Her mother’s expression spoke volumes, as she was clearly trying to determine what to do to help.
Her father held the letter in his hand. His face was stony.
Beside her, Harrison stood, his hat partway to his head.
“I will go,” her mother said, breaking the suspended moment. “I’ll talk to the women at church to see if one of them is able to fill in for me and host the mission dinner. Oh, and the rally for the expansion to the sanctuary—that’s next week—and, let’s see, what else? Molly can certainly take care of the house and meals here. I can leave tomorrow afternoon, the day after tomorrow at the latest, and—”
Suzette heard herself speaking. “I’ll go.”
The three turned to her. “You?” they said in unison.
“I have no commitments. I can go.”
“But it’s the Dakota Territory,” her father said. “It’s wild. Untamed. Not at all predictable.”
Her heart leapt as her mind began to unfold the plan. Wild? Untamed? Not predictable? It sounded like paradise.
She’d known Winnie since they’d been children. Winnie had lived next door to her for a while.
She remembered the early days with Winnie, when they both would play in the yard at Winnie’s house, as they rode sawhorses left there by construction workers. It was a long-forgotten memory, buried under the day-to-day exercises of learning to become a woman of means.
Winnie’s childhood had been the cause of much subdued discussion between Mama and Papa, conversations Suzette was sure they didn’t know she was aware of. Winnie’s mother had died when she was quite young, and she’d been raised by her father, a well-meaning man who was ill-prepared for single fatherhood.
When Winnie and Tom had met at the Longmont home, it had been truly love at first sight. Winnie had been invited to Suzette’s fourteenth birthday party, which meant Winnie would have been nearly sixteen.
Tom had been there, a dashing young man of seventeen misspent years. His early life had also been the subject of consternation within the Longmont family. It wasn’t that he had been bad. He simply hadn’t had much of an interest in a career.
Marriage seemed to have settled them both—or so the families had hoped. And then, one day, they’d announced they were headed for the Dakota Territory to find their fortune in the free land being offered by the government.
As soon as they’d left, Tom’s parents had gone on an extended European trip—probably, Suzette thought, to rest after the effort of raising Tom.
Letters had come from Winnie and Tom, letters of hope and promise, telling the Longmonts of the beauty of the territory. Crops, they’d claimed, fairly grew on their own. All one had to do was fling seeds onto the lush land and wheat grew. Corn grew. Vegetables of all kinds sprang up and prospered.
Or so the family had been told. Now they needed help.
Suzette looked at her parents hopefully. “How hard can it be?”
“But you can’t—”
“You don’t know—”
“It’s not—”
The three spoke at once.
She laughed. “I know I can’t arrange flowers, but is that going to be necessary out there? All I have to do is help with the baby. I’m only an extra arm and leg. That’s all.”
“It shouldn’t be long,” her mother said to her father. “And Winnie and Tom could use some assistance.”
Her father’s lips thinned as he pondered the situation. “I suppose, if it’s not for too long.”
“When will you come back?” They all turned as Harrison spoke. They’d forgotten he was there.
“I don’t know,” she said, laughing. “It’s September now, so Christmas, maybe?”
Her father’s glance shifted from Harrison to her mother. “It might be good for her, too.”
Suzette seized upon the words. “It would be! I would learn to cook and garden and take care of the most beautiful baby in the world. Plus,” she added, knowing that she was about to deliver the final point in her favor, “it’s the godly thing to do.”
For one very long minute, the world stopped moving.
Suzette held her breath as her parents locked gazes, unspoken sentences winging between them.
She pleaded with God, begged Him, cajoled Him. Please, God, let them say yes. Please. Please. Please.
At last her father nodded. “All right. You may go. I’ll arrange for a railway ticket for you tomorrow. But remember that we are here, waiting for you. I’ll send enough money for a return trip home. Use it if you feel the need to.”
Her mother hugged her then took her father’s arm and left the room.
Harrison spoke again, this time softly. “Christmas, maybe. That’s over three months away.”
Three glorious months, she thought.
“You can come home sooner. Maybe you will,” he continued. “You should, actually. The territory isn’t safe for young women alone.”
“I won’t be alone. I’ll be with Tom and Winnie and Annylee.” She turned to him and stopped at the expression on his face.
For the first time, she saw emotion—clear, real, pure emotion.
He was sad.
Harrison sat alone in his room. He should go to sleep, he knew that, but the evening had taken a turn that he’d never expected.
So Suzette was leaving. Perhaps it was only for a brief period, but even the thought of that shook him more than he’d ever expected.
For as long as he could remember, their futures had been intertwined. Everyone, from the family to the community, assumed they’d eventually marry.
And so had he.
He stood up and paced the length of his room, his mind running through a litany of what he did wrong. He didn’t ask her to go with him to any social events. He never tried to speak to her alone. He had not spoken his mind. He hadn’t given her any indication that he felt anything more than an abstract friendship for her.
He simply wasn’t interesting. He got up every morning, went to his father’s railway transport business, opened the ledger, and wrote in small, neat, even letters. Then he came back to his family’s home, ate dinner, and went to the living room where he sat with the dog and read the newspaper. Eventually, he retired to his room, picked up his Bible—he was determined to read it from Genesis to Revelation—and perused another chapter. Then he said his evening prayers and asked for God’s grace on the poor, and went to bed.