“Sure, sometimes, if you run right after her. Instead, you give her a few minutes to cool off, then you go after her. But if you wait too long, she thinks you don’t care. Heck, I learned that my first year of marriage.”
Chop. The cleaver rang from the force with which Clay wielded it.
“It’s been two days, Clay. And my bet is that the girl is waiting for you. Or she was, anyway. And you’ve waited two days too long.”
“She deserves a good life,” Clay murmured. “A better life than I can provide her with. I can’t make her happy.”
“Is she really that shallow? That greedy?” Herman stepped closer, and put his hand on Clay’s shoulder. “If she is, then she is the one who isn’t good enough for you.”
Clay pulled away. “You don’t know her. She’s the most amazing woman I’ve ever met. But she was brought up a certain way, with a lot of wealth and privilege. She’s gone through rough times the last year, but even then, it was still a privileged life, compared to life out here.” Compared to the life she’d have with me, he thought. “But she’s an amazing woman. She has amazing strength, and I don’t even think she knows it. Five minutes with Cara, and she was learning how to cook and wash dishes.”
“Leave it to Cara to give someone the courage to try something new,” Herman laughed. “But if Madeline is so wonderful, isn’t she worth taking a chance on? Opening up to her? Giving her the choice between a life with you and a life of privilege?”
Clay let the question hang in the air for a moment, walking away to brace both hands on a nearby table. He hung his head, looking away. “And what if she doesn’t choose me?”
“Then she isn’t the woman you think she is. But at least you’ll know. You won’t spend the rest of your life wondering, and wishing you’d had the guts to ask. You just need to find out what it is that she really wants most in life.”
“I think…I think I know the answer to that. Partly, at least. She wants someone who wants to marry her for who she is, not for who her father was.”
“And you do.”
He looked over at Herman. Nodded. “I do.”
Herman coughed, a spasm that turned into a fit, lasting for nearly a minute. When it subsided, he cleared his throat. “You know,” he panted, trying to catch his breath from the exertion, “if I got a whole lot worse overnight, found myself on my deathbed tomorrow, there’s only one thing—one big thing—that I’d regret. And it’s not living my life without money, or luxury, or greater success. And I think it’s the one thing that you’ll regret—and Madeline will regret—if you make the wrong choices in life.”
“What’s that?”
“Not taking a chance on love. Putting other things—foolish things, that don’t matter one whit—before love. It’s too late for me. I hope it’s not too late for you.”
“Fine. You win. I’ll go see her tonight.”
“Clay. It’s been two days. You’d better go see her now.”
Tension pulled at Clay’s insides. “You think I really messed things up by not going after her?”
“Yes. But you won’t know how bad until you talk to her. Tell her how you feel, boy, and find out if she feels the same way. No matter how things turn out, at least you know. One less thing to wonder about, and regret, when your day comes.”
***
Clay walked at a brisk pace. A small part of him wanted to take his time and enjoy the sunshine and the unusually mild winter day—and maybe avoid the conversation he was dreading—but a sense of urgency drove him on. He’d wasted two days, and he didn’t want to risk wasting another minute. He had to apologize, and find out if he had a chance with her. The bright sunshine and gray-blue sky made him feel hopeful.
He nodded to a few people he knew as they passed him by in sleighs. He tried not to think of the loss of his own sleigh—Madeline’s well-being and safety meant far more than a stupid sleigh. Even if it had been the fastest sleigh in town.
When he came to a train blocking the road as it passed through town, he stood like a little boy waiting for his turn to use the outhouse—fidgeting, anxious, and unable to hold still. Finally the train’s last car had passed and he quickly crossed the tracks and continued on toward the boarding house.
Will she be home? She might have found a job by now. If she had, he could only hope she hadn’t started at the job yet. He’d packed another pail with a picnic dinner, and hoped that if Madeline consented to join him again, that Mrs. Preston would afford them the use of her dining room.
He had only a block left to go, and rehearsed once again, in his head, the words he wanted to say to Madeline.
I’m sorry about the other day, he would say, and I’m sorry I didn’t go after you. I wasn’t sure what you were upset about, and I thought you just wanted to get away from me. So I let you go. The truth is, I care about you. If you have plans to seek out suitors, I won’t stand in your way. But if you have feelings for me, then I want to court you myself, if you’ll give me leave to do so.
He liked it. It was short and to the point, yet didn’t make him too vulnerable before he could find out how she felt about him. He’d leave the pail on the porch before he knocked, and wouldn’t ask her to eat with him if it sounded like she planned to move on with another man.
Clay recited the words in his head one more time before he finally arrived at Mrs. Preston’s doorstep. His heart raced like a schoolboy with his first crush. You’d think I was asking her to marry me today, not to just share a meal. He swallowed over the dry lump in his throat, set the pail on the porch to the side of the door, and knocked.
Moments later, Mrs. Preston answered. “Clay!” Her face registered surprise. “I…uh…didn’t expect to see you today.” She looked past him, down the street.
Did Madeline already have company? Or was she expecting a different visitor? Clay’s heart sank, but he forced the thought out of his mind. “I came to pay a visit to Miss Barstow, if she’s available.”
Mrs. Preston’s eyes flicked behind her, to the right, then met Clay’s stare. “I…she’s…she’s not here, Clay.”
“Oh.” That was it, then. His shoulders sagged as the air left his lungs. “She’s already got a beau, doesn’t she? She’s out with him now?” He cringed, looking away and dreading the words that he knew he was about to hear.
Mrs. Preston blinked. “I…she…she’s not out…she’s…she’s gone.”
He looked up at her, his blood running cold. “Excuse me?”
She fiddled with the edge of her flour-dusted apron. “Look, I’m not supposed to…she made me promise…” Her eyes flicked back and to the right again.
“Mrs. Preston, please, tell me what’s going on!”
Her gaze drifted over his shoulder again, then she sighed and stepped back into the house, holding the door open for him. He stepped in, more afraid than ever to hear what she had to say.
“I was supposed to give you this, but not until after she…until after one o’clock this afternoon.” Mrs. Preston reached into a little basket that sat on the table behind the “Ring Bell for Service” sign, and pulled out an envelope. She held it out to Clay.
He took it and held his breath as he opened the envelope and pulled out a single sheet of folded stationery. As he read over the precise, feminine script that flowed across the page, his heart thudded in his chest.
Dear Clay,
I am very grateful to you for all your assistance. You have gone to great lengths to protect and help me, and I will never forget it. But I cannot keep relying on you to help me survive. I have received a generous offer of marriage from a man I knew back in Boston, and I felt that accepting it would be in the best interests of everyone involved.
I know that I owe you and Cara a lot of money, and as soon as I am formally engaged to Mr. Dalton Ashby, I will ask him to send the funds that I owe you. I have made him aware of my debt, and he has no qualms about meeting that obligation for me.
Please tell Cara that I said ‘thank you’ for all her help, as w
ell, and that I will miss her. I deeply appreciate your kindness and generosity, and I apologize for my outburst the other day. I was feeling overwhelmed, and my behavior was inappropriate, especially toward someone who has been my “guardian angel” ever since I set foot in Montana. I shall never forget you.
Sincerely,
Madeline
“She’s getting married.” His hands shook as he folded the letter and stuffed it back into the envelope. His eyes burned, and he swallowed hard. Herman had been right. He’d waited too long. “I’m sure she’ll be very happy.”
“You think so? Hmph.” Mrs. Porter crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not so sure. She went out that first day to look for a job in high spirits, and came back in tears. Told me after dinner that night that she wouldn’t be staying as long as she thought, because she was going back to Massachusetts to marry a man she’d known there. But by the expression on her face, you’d have thought she was going back for a funeral. She’s been pale and teary-eyed ever since.”
Clay stared at the innkeeper. “She has?”
“Yes indeedy. I had half a mind to tell you, seeing as how it’s written all over your face that you’re smitten with the girl. But she swore me to secrecy. I’ve never heard of such a thing—a young girl getting engaged and wanting to keep it a secret. Here I was thinking maybe you were finally ready to settle down again, and next thing I know, she’s got herself a new fiancé. Well, you know what they say—marry in haste, repent in leisure. Something tells me that girl’s going to have a life time to repent if she goes through with that marriage.”
Clay….she called me Clay, not Mr. Porter. And she signed with her own Christian name, as well. That meant something. It had to mean something! His heart raced. “One o’clock. You said she told you not to give me the note until after one o’clock.”
“Yes.” Mrs. Preston looked befuddled. “But she didn’t expect you’d be by today, and maybe not even at all. She told me if you hadn’t come by yet by the time you made the next delivery from the butcher shop, that I should give it to you—”
The train! He’d seen a train just ten minutes before.
“Is that when her train is scheduled to leave? One o’clock?”
“I…I would imagine so, since she specified that—”
He glanced at the grandfather clock that stood nearby. Five minutes to one o’clock. “Thank you Mrs. Preston. Thank you.” He leaned forward and hugged the woman hard enough to make her squeak, then opened the door and vaulted down the steps, leaving a surprised Mrs. Preston to stare after him from the doorway.
Chapter 20
Gazing at the rolling, snow-capped mountains that surrounded the valley, Madeline was surprised to discover that she would miss them. She could only see part of the beautiful view from her place on the train station platform, and she tried to commit the scenery to memory, knowing she would likely never see it again.
In Boston, she would be surrounded by multi-story buildings, brownstones, and the few trees that lined the streets. Boston Common and the Beacon Street Mall were as close to nature as one could get in the heart of the city. To see the mountains, one must travel to the Berkshires, or up to New Hampshire, and it just wasn’t the same.
Montana was like a foreign land to her, and though it lacked many amenities and luxuries she had grown accustomed to, she would still miss the raw beauty of the “big sky” and wide-open plains or rolling prairies between sections of the Rocky Mountains. The Helena valley that stretched to the east of town was a lovely area that imparted a sense of peace. Montana had grown on her in the short time she had been there, and her experience in the west had changed her. She wasn’t the same person who had arrived by train eight days before.
The train pulled into the station, spewing a gush of steam into the air as it squealed to a stop. Madeline stood back to give the debarking passengers space to pass by.
Mr. Ashby’s manservant, Jennings, was checking in their baggage, while she and Mr. Ashby waited on the platform. Her valise sat at her feet, and she was grateful to have warmer temperatures and far less wind than she had when she alighted from the train over a week before.
She was standing, she realized, in the very place she’d met Clay Porter when she first set foot on Montana soil. Somehow, it seemed like a lifetime ago.
Miss Barstow? She remembered his first words to her, and the fluttery feeling in her stomach when she’d turned and caught her first look at him. Handsome—that had been her first thought. And excitement—yes, she had to admit to herself that it had been excitement—at the idea of marrying a man who was far more appealing than she had thought he would be. And a moment of crushing disappointment when she realized her mistake.
Appealing. Yes, that was the word for him. She remembered his hearty laugh.
I’m Clay Porter. Your driver.
She remembered the shiver that ran through her when he reached for her valise, and his hand brushed hers…
Forget him, she thought. He isn’t yours. He never was.
He was Tabitha’s. Years after his wife’s death, he was still hers. Not Madeline’s. He could never let himself belong to anyone else.
She remembered lying on Martha’s bed in Cara’s cabin, with Clay’s words ringing in her ears. I’ll take care of her…whatever it takes. He had been willing to marry her. If he had to. He was a gentleman, and had a generous spirit, but Madeline would rather become the old, dependent spinster of the Barstow family than marry a man who was with her out of sympathy.
Why not, an irritating voice piped up in her head, when you were willing to hop on a train and marry a complete stranger? And you’re marrying Dalton for the sake of convenience. What is the difference?
The difference is that Croft was a mistake, and Dalton loves me, she answered in her head. Clay doesn’t.
Madeline pushed thoughts of Clay aside and tried to focus on her upcoming wedding as she waited for the conductor to allow passengers on board. She knew Dalton wanted to be married before spring, and knew there wouldn’t be time to visit Paris to have a dress designed. She’d always wanted a House of Worth gown for her wedding, but would have to settle for a New York designer. She was behind on the latest fashions, but had no doubt that Dalton would spare no expense. She would still get the wedding of her dreams—or very close to it.
Then why did she feel so melancholic? Two weeks ago, she would have been ecstatic to marry Dalton, rather than some haberdasher or a Montana rancher. Dalton Ashby would redeem her in the eyes of Boston society. There would surely be whispers for a while—especially about her mad dash to Montana—but marrying into the Ashby family would save her from the ongoing mockery of being married to a businessman or store owner. She could hold her head high again!
And that’s all I need to focus on, she reminded herself.
The call went out for passengers to board.
“At last,” Mr. Ashby sighed with relief. “I can’t tell you how eager I am to leave this place. Montana Territory sounds quite exciting, but really, it’s as dull as any backwater town in Massachusetts.” He picked up Madeline’s valise for her.
Jennings arrived just in time to board. “I’m sorry to be tardy, Mr. Ashby. I wanted to make sure they handled Miss Barstow’s trunks properly as they loaded them.” He was carrying his own bag, and bent down to take Mr. Ashby’s as well.
“Quite so, Jennings. Thank you.”
The three of them walked over to the passenger car, and Mr. Ashby held out his hand to help her up the steps.
“Shall we?” He smiled at her, his green eyes sparkling with happiness.
Time slowed, and Madeline stared at him, unblinking. In a surge of emotion, she was overcome with the desire to hear her name called out from the small crowd around them. She imagined herself turning around to see Clay running down the platform toward her, begging her not to leave.
“Miss Barstow?” Dalton’s smile faltered. “Are you ready to board?” He held his hand out farther toward hers. Waiting.
<
br /> The vision died away, and her hope vanished with it.
No one called her name.
She took Dalton’s hand without looking back.
***
The icy roads glinted like mirrors as the sun’s brilliant rays reflected into Clay’s eyes. He slipped and fell more than once, scrambled to his feet, and ran on. He was halfway to the station when he heard the shriek of the train whistle, piercing the air.
“NO!” he cried, and ran as fast as he could. He coughed, his lungs raw from the pain of breathing in great gulps of icy air. Was the train leaving early, or was Mrs. Preston’s clock running behind? Please let me get there, please let me get there in time, he chanted over and over in his head.
Three blocks.
Two blocks.
One more.
No!
He could already see a trail of smoke as the train steamed away.
“WAIT!” he screamed as he tore across the train station lot, dodging sleighs and wagons and people carrying baggage. He ran up the platform steps two at a time, shoving men aside and weaving between the woman and children. “Stop the train! Somebody stop the train!”
It was too late. He ran all the way to the end of the platform, but the train was already a good quarter of a mile down the track. He considered running after it, but he knew he wouldn’t make it. If only he’d taken the time to saddle up Sunny and ride over to the boardinghouse instead of walking, he’d have made it in time to stop the train!
Clay doubled over, his hands on his knees, gasping for air. His lungs were on fire, but he didn’t care. It was nothing compared to knowing that he was too late.
She was gone. He’d lost her.
He felt the sobs welling within him, beyond his control.
***
Clay coughed and gasped for air, his head spinning from the exhausting sprint from the boardinghouse. He was so dizzy, he almost thought he heard someone calling his name.
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