The Secret Admirer Romance Collection

by Barratt, Amanda; Beatty, Lorraine; Bull, Molly Noble

  Stopping at the mercantile the following day, Meredith spied Marvin Pratt. Could he be the one who was writing to her?

  She hoped not.

  Although he would be better than the other possible admirers.

  Meredith stood next to the shelf containing the sugar and flour and attempted to spy on Mr. Pratt while remaining discreet.

  Marvin Pratt held a list in his hand and handed it to Mrs. Burris, the proprietor. “I’ll be needin’ these items for my ma.”

  “Very well, Marvin. Give me just a moment.”

  Mrs. Burris, who with her severe hair and glasses reminded Meredith more of a schoolmarm than a co-owner of the lone mercantile in Ellis Creek, bustled about, locating items for Mr. Pratt. When she finished, she placed the list on the counter and began calculating the total due.

  “That’ll be three dollars and eighty-seven cents,” she told her customer.

  Mr. Pratt dug his hands into his trouser pockets. “Can you put that on my pa’s account?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Thank you.” Mr. Pratt grabbed the crate with some effort and seemed to rest it on his protruding stomach for ease of carrying. “Well, hello there, Miss Waller. Pleasure seeing you here today.”

  “Hello, Mr. Pratt.”

  “What brings you out on this fine day?”

  “Oh, just some errands. And you?”

  “Retrieving some items for Ma. She’s making my favorite supper tonight: meat loaf with mixed vegetables. Couldn’t survive one day without her fine cookin’.” Mr. Pratt paused. “Reckon I enjoyed the church sermon a whole lot this past Sunday. Am thankful that my back isn’t giving me grief like it does on occasion.”

  Meredith swallowed hard. Hadn’t her secret admirer mentioned he was a man of God and thankful for good health?

  Not that Marvin Pratt wasn’t a nice man. On the contrary, he had always been polite. But at age thirty, he hadn’t yet found a way to live on his own without the care of his parents. “Have a fine day, Mr. Pratt.”

  “You as well, Miss Waller.” With an amiable bob of his round head, Marvin Pratt exited the mercantile.

  That’s when Meredith saw it. Mr. Pratt’s item list. Could it be the key to solving the letter mystery?

  She hoped the list was in Mr. Pratt’s penmanship, rather than his mother’s.

  “Mrs. Burris, may I see that list?”

  Mrs. Burris gave Meredith a befuddled look. “Mr. Pratt’s list of items?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  With a perplexed facial expression, Mrs. Burris handed Meredith the list. It was a man’s penmanship, Meredith was sure about that. But it didn’t match the handwriting of either batch of letters she had received.

  She let out an enormous sigh. “Thank you, Mrs. Burris.” Eyeballing her own list, she added, “I see that I need some baking powder.”

  Mrs. Burris’s eyes rolled behind large wire-rimmed spectacles. “Oh, that’s why you needed to see Mr. Pratt’s list. So you could discern what item you had forgotten. I thought as much.”

  Meredith didn’t want to lie, so she instead smiled. She offered a prayer of gratitude that Marvin Pratt was one more person to mark off her list of possible suspects.

  Gabe found that he enjoyed receiving and writing the letters. But most of all, receiving them. Meredith had elegant penmanship, and each letter held her soft scent of lavender. Who’d have thought he, Gabe Kleeman, man of few words, would become the author of letters? And who would have thought that Lula and Tillie would have actually thought up a worthwhile idea?

  Of course, the letters that the two best friends had written made Gabe cringe. Especially the poem. He would never write anything like that. Ever. Gabe did not consider himself a poet in any sense of the word, and he had never been syrupy or lovey-dovey.

  Through the letters, he found that he and Meredith had much in common. Not that he had ever doubted that. Having known her since school, he knew they shared many similar interests.

  Gabe read her most recent letter:

  Dear Secret Admirer,

  What traits do you most admire in others? What things in life vex you most?

  Yours Truly,

  Meredith Waller

  The answers to those questions weren’t difficult, although Gabe was glad he was writing the answers, rather than speaking them. Tillie had offered him stationery, and in his best penmanship, he wrote:

  Dear Miss Waller,

  The traits I most admire in others are kindness and helping those in need. What trait do you admire most in others? The things that vex me most are liars and those riding through town too quickly and nearly running someone over. What most vexes you?

  What is your favorite color?

  Yours Truly,

  Your Secret Admirer

  Gabe placed the letter in his trouser pocket. Later today, he would ride into town and deliver it. While it had become costly to keep Lula and Tillie in jawbreakers, it had been worth it. Gabe had all of the letters they had collected from Meredith. He also had their promised silence.

  What would become of this odd situation? Would Meredith ever find out it was him who had written the letters—well, the most recent letters? If she did find out, would she be thrilled or disappointed? Perhaps she’d rather it be someone like the wealthy Leopold Arkwright.

  Two days later, Gabe found a letter from Meredith in the tree. The objective was to avoid being there when Meredith was, lest she discover his secret. So far, he’d been lucky in that aspect. Climbing on his horse, he rode a short stretch before opening the letter:

  Dear Secret Admirer,

  Thank you for your letter. I am glad you appreciate helping those less fortunate. I, too, agree that liars and those riding too quickly through town are vexing. For me, I would add that sewing a crooked seam and having to resew it is irritating as well. Another thing that perturbs me is ungentlemanly behavior. As for traits I admire most in others, those would include honesty, thoughtfulness, and loyalty.

  My favorite color is purple.

  Yours Truly,

  Meredith Waller

  Gabe caught the scent of Meredith’s perfume on the letter and inhaled. He had been giving the letters much thought lately. Perhaps it was time to reveal who he was to her. But then again, maybe not. What if Meredith abhorred the thought of him being her secret admirer? While she was pleasant whenever they met in person, Gabe figured she likely had several other suitors vying for her hand in courtship.

  One of them was likely that brash Leopold Arkwright. Would Gabe have a chance against someone as wealthy and dapper as Leopold?

  If Meredith discovered that it was Gabe who sent the letters, would she be thrilled? Or would she kindly reject him? Forget about when he told her. How would he tell her? While the Lord had given him assistance in the shyness department, Gabe still struggled with stringing words together in her presence.

  Gabe nudged Dottie into a gallop as he passed by the Randels’ farm. That’s when an idea came to him.

  Later that evening, he penned yet another letter to Meredith:

  Dear Miss Waller,

  Are you attending the barn dance at the Randels’ next week? I plan to attend and would like very much the honor of dancing with you. I will be wearing a red bandanna on my left arm.

  Yours Truly,

  Your Secret Admirer

  Chapter 9

  More letters had arrived in recent days, and Meredith again contemplated the conundrum of why the most recent letters contained different handwriting than the earlier ones. If she were a Pinkerton detective, she would have already solved this mystery.

  As she shoved open the door to the Ellis Creek National Bank, an idea came to her. Perhaps she could cross another likely letter-writer off her list by asking for a sample of Leopold Arkwright’s penmanship.

  “Well, Miss Waller. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Leopold Arkwright adjusted the glasses on his pointed nose and offered her a wide grin.

  A grin that rendered many eligible
women in Ellis Creek flustered and giddy. But not Meredith. Mr. Arkwright’s “charms” had no effect on her.

  Meredith retrieved her coin purse and placed four coins on the counter. “I’d like to make a deposit, please, Mr. Arkwright.”

  “Certainly.” Mr. Arkwright leaned toward her through the banker’s window and offered a coquettish wink. “How are you this fine day, Miss Waller?”

  Meredith took in the site of Leopold Arkwright’s mutton chop whiskers, which framed his narrow aristocratic face; his thick glasses; and his even thicker eyebrows; and she offered a silent prayer heavenward: Lord, please, can my secret admirer not be Leopold Arkwright?

  Not that the man wasn’t amicable, because he was. But Mr. Arkwright had an excessive sense of self, and his intentions were a bit forward. “I’m fine, Mr. Arkwright. And you?”

  “Doing quite well. I certainly appreciate you choosing to do your banking at Ellis Creek National Bank.”

  Meredith didn’t mention that the Ellis Creek National Bank was the only bank in town.

  She pushed aside her thoughts of banking and deliberated about the real reason she had visited the bank: to discover if Mr. Arkwright was her secret admirer. Had he written any or all of the letters to her? She pushed aside the dismal thought.

  “Mr. Arkwright?”

  “Yes, Miss Waller?”

  “Could I kindly ask a favor of you?”

  “Most certainly. A buggy ride? A picnic? Accompaniment to the Randels’ barn dance next week?”

  At the latter, Meredith widened her eyes, and her heart raced. Hadn’t one of the most recent letters mentioned the Randel barn dance?

  “No, no, thank you, Mr. Arkwright. Rather, could you please write dearest bandanna dance on a slip of paper?”

  “Dearest bandanna dance? Why, Miss Waller, you are not only winsome, but you also have a marvelous sense of humor.” Leopold Arkwright threw his head back with a chortle, causing his neatly combed hair to flutter to the other side of his head.

  Without hesitation, the banker retrieved a slip of paper from his desk and wrote the words Meredith had requested. She held her breath. He then pushed it through the teller window toward her. “Now then, is that what you requested?”

  Meredith glanced at the writing, but she couldn’t ascertain if it was the same writing as the writing in the letters she had received. Did all men write in a similar fashion? “Could you also add the words…” Meredith made a show of pretending to think up more silly words. “Could you also write the words secret, forward, and barn?”

  “At your service, dear lady.”

  Meredith did her best not to roll her eyes at the banker’s exaggerated words and posture. He wrote the words on the same piece of paper then again slipped it under the teller window. “Thank you, Mr. Arkwright.”

  “My pleasure. Now, tell me, Miss Waller, shall I convene with your father and request his permission to accompany you to the annual barn dance at the Randels’?” His thick, dark bushy eyebrows knitted together to form one long, substantial eyebrow.

  Such a presumptuous man! “My apologies, but I will have to decline. Perhaps another time.”

  “Not to worry. As they say, it is to man’s benefit to be patient, as long as he is waiting on such a handsome woman as yourself. Although, I must say, I have been secretly admiring your loveliness.”

  Meredith swallowed hard. Had he just said secretly admiring? Did that mean secretly admiring by letter? She suddenly felt faint.

  “If you’ll excuse me.” She grasped her coin purse and the slip of paper with his writing sample on it. Then with what was left of her dignity, she hurried out of the bank.

  Never, ever had she wanted anything so badly as to not be the object of Mr. Arkwright’s affections or his letters. While some women in Ellis Creek would be honored to capture the man’s fancy, Meredith was decidedly not one of them.

  Later that afternoon, Meredith sat under the large cottonwood tree at her parents’ home. The letters she had received lay sprawled before her, open. Beside the letters, she had placed Leopold Arkwright’s penmanship sample.

  Counting on her fingers, she listed the things she knew to be fact. She knew that her secret admirer resided in Ellis Creek. At church last Sunday, she had glanced around several times to see if she could spot any other young unmarried men she’d not known of before.

  Her eyes had lingered on a certain Gabe Kleeman. Unfortunate that he couldn’t be the author.

  Meredith knew that the first letters were written in different script than the latter letters. Could it mean two different admirers? If so, that led to a larger conundrum.

  Reaching for her pencil, Meredith jotted down the names of her possible admirers with notes beside each name:

  Marvin Pratt: Handwriting does not match; however, discussed topics that could be related to topics mentioned in previous letters.

  Mr. Norman: Never really a suspect. Old enough to be my great-grandfather.

  Mr. Griggs: Lack of teeth, failure to bathe, never has expressed interest.

  Leopold Arkwright: Handwriting may or may not match (difficult to ascertain); could be a possibility; asked about dance in person.

  Gabe Kleeman: Wishful thinking. Does not know I exist.

  Meredith bit the inside of her lip. Was there anyone she was missing? If not, then all clues pointed to Leopold Arkwright. If that was the case, she would cease writing to him immediately, and she certainly would not look for him at the barn dance.

  Tillie took a sip of her lemonade. She loved attending the barn dances with Lula. Once in a while, someone asked Tillie to dance, but mostly it was that vexatious boy named Willard, who sat in front of her in school. His flaming, bright red hair gave Tillie a warning anytime he was about to approach her. “Have you seen Willard?” she asked Lula.

  “Not yet. I’m sure he’ll be here to ask his favorite girl for a dance.” Lula winked and giggled.

  “Meredith says that boys don’t always stay peculiar as they get older. If Willard wasn’t so downright idiosyncratic, I might take a liking to him. Do you think there’s any hope for Willard?”

  “No. Boys are all odd, if you ask me. Say, what do you think Meredith thought of the latest letters? Do you think she realizes the writing is different?”

  Tillie shrugged and popped a jawbreaker in her mouth. “If she has any suspicions, she hasn’t mentioned them to me. I’m just glad Gabe knows about the whole situation now. Makes things a lot easier with him writing the letters.”

  “Meredith does look a bit sheepish over there by the punch bowl. Do you suppose she’s waiting to see who walks in with a red bandanna?”

  “Won’t she be surprised! I don’t think she has any clue it’s Gabe. I know that Mr. Arkwright down at the bank fancies her. Say, there he is right now.” Tillie pointed toward the entrance.

  “We for sure cannot have Meredith marrying Mr. Arkwright. How will we ever be sisters forever if that happens?”

  Tillie looked at her friend’s concerned face. “No, we mustn’t allow Mr. Arkwright to set his sights on Meredith. It’s a right good thing that Gabe is smitten with her, too.” Tillie watched as Mr. Arkwright approached her sister. “A right good thing, indeed.”

  Chapter 10

  Meredith attempted not to appear nervous, but she knew she wasn’t successful. The man who’d written her the letters would be arriving any moment, if he wasn’t here already.

  She eyed the many people in attendance. Her parents were already dancing, as were Mr. and Mrs. Kleeman. Roxie and Perry were sipping lemonade on the sidelines, and Tillie and Lula stood in a nearby corner whispering and sharing giggles. Where was Gabe Kleeman? Had he decided not to come with the rest of his family? Meredith felt a twinge of disappointment in her heart. Would Gabe ever know of her secret admiration for him? Would he ever feel the same for her? The man rarely spoke and seemed to not notice her presence. Had someone else captured his fancy?

  “Care to dance?” Marvin Pratt sidled up alongside her wi
th a hopeful grin on his pudgy face.

  “I’ll have to pass at the moment, Mr. Pratt, although I appreciate your inquiry.”

  Marvin hung his head and pooched out his bottom lip. “All right, Miss Waller. But iffen you wanna dance, I’ll be happy to oblige.”

  Meredith acknowledged his response politely, grateful there was no bandanna on Mr. Pratt’s beefy arm. Ma would have her hide and then some if she wasn’t anything but polite. But she didn’t want to dance with Mr. Pratt. No, she wanted to wait and see who the man was who’d been writing her the letters—the man who had promised to attend the barn dance with a red bandanna around his arm.

  She squinted toward the entrance just as Leopold Arkwright sauntered in, his arrogance emanating across the room.

  Meredith gasped. His red-and-black flannel shirt caught her attention. She squinted in an attempt to reassure herself that a red bandanna had not blended in with the pattern. His gaze connected with hers, and he strutted toward her. Was there still time to hide?

  “Fancy seeing you here, Miss Waller.” Leopold Arkwright coyly grinned at her, exposing a mouth full of far too many perfectly straight teeth.

  “Hello, Mr. Arkwright.”

  “From your comment at the bank the other day, I took it to mean you weren’t going to be in attendance.”

  Meredith swallowed. To lie would never do. But how could she explain to the man that she hadn’t wanted to attend with him in a proper and kind way? Coming to the conclusion that there was no honest way, Meredith attempted a polite smile and avoided the question.

  “Would you like for me to continue writing letters to you?”

  Meredith’s palms grew clammy, and she tried to wipe them on her dress in as ladylike a fashion as possible. More letters? Had he been the one? “What letters?”

  “Why, such as the letters you had me write in the bank the other day.”

  He thinks those were letters? Relief flooded over her. “Oh, those letters. No, thank you, Mr. Arkwright. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must—”