“May I write to you?” She pulled a pencil from her bag for Stella’s address. Maybe Nash would take the hint.
He didn’t. He chatted with Clifford about Pinkerton work. At last, Ellen couldn’t pretend to linger over her coffee anymore. Or postpone the necessary. She stood. “I need to find a stagecoach east. Work tomorrow.”
Stella and Clifford kissed her cheeks and left Ellen and Nash on the street in front of the restaurant.
Best do this clean and quick. Ellen thrust out her hand. “Goodbye—”
“Ellen?” He spoke at the same time.
“Yes?” Please. Say you’ll write.
He looked at her collar. “The day of the barn fire? I’m sorry.”
Ah. She waved her hand as if she’d forgotten about it, although she’d feel the effects of that kiss if she lived to a hundred. “You already said you regret kissing me.”
His stern gaze lifted. “I regret not asking your permission, not the kiss.”
His words sank to her bones. “You aren’t sorry?”
“I’d like to do it again, actually.”
Oh!
He led her around the corner, away from the street. “I was young when I married and went to war. Only a year or so older when my family died. After that, I kept everything at a distance, except the one thing I’d never lose, and that’s the Lord. My work’s fulfilling, and I care about my friends, but something’s different now. This is the first time in a long while I’ve wanted something more than I feared I’d lose it.”
“What do you want?” Her voice sounded croaky.
He twisted a tendril of her hair around his finger. “To not let you go.”
His fingers didn’t even touch her skin, but her cheeks burned anyway.
“I’d like to call on you.” His fingers fell. “But if you don’t feel the same, I’ll be grateful to call you friend.”
“No.” She took a shaky breath. “Not friends. I’d like you to call. On me.”
She’d never seen a smile brighter than the one stretching his handsome face. “I’d like to show you where I live.”
She’d gladly eat squirrel and acorn mush with him, but she couldn’t resist a tease. “Don’t you live under a tree?”
“I’m thinking it’s time I had a roof. My land’s been cleared for a long while.”
“You own land? I thought you were a bit of a wanderer.”
“I’m a bit of everything. But yes, I own land. And a few businesses. My brothers in Maine invested, and every few years I go back to handle things. But enough of that. Where’s your job, so I can take you to a supper where the coffee’s hot and the biscuits are soft?”
She couldn’t resist giggling. “I don’t even know your first name.”
“Nash.”
The joker. Her eyes rolled.
“It’s my last name you don’t know, ’cause everyone calls me Nash. It’s Rawlings.”
“What a coincidence. I’m working for Rawlings Mining and Transport, in a town called Poppy.” The change on his face made her stomach flip. “What’s wrong?”
“You’re my new telegrapher?”
My?
He was Mr. Rawlings. Her wealthy boss, not a mountain man. And his business, as he called it, involved several industries that employed everyone in Poppy.
“You didn’t know it was me?” How much gold had he found, to be this rich? And shouldn’t he look happier about her working for him?
“My secretary compiled a report of applicants’ experience, without names. I picked the best of the lot. You.” Nash puffed out a breath. “I don’t want to be your boss.”
“Because I’m a woman?”
“Because I think I love you, Ellen, and I’d never want you to fear for your job on my account.”
His words tumbled in her brain. At last she picked out the ones she liked most. “You love me? Maybe?”
“No.” He smiled. “I’m sure I do, even though I’ve not known you long. But don’t worry about your job. The telegrapher’s office is in town, not on site, so you don’t report to me. You don’t even have to see me if—”
“I think I love you, too.”
He didn’t blink. After a moment, his hand cupped her cheek—the one he’d kissed the day of the fire. “Even though it’s crazy, after four days?”
“Even though.”
“And we can get to know each other off the train?”
“I’d like that.”
His gaze was on her mouth. “I want to kiss you, but it’s not proper for the boss to kiss an employee.”
“I don’t report to you, remember?”
That was all he needed. His head lowered, and he covered her lips with his. She relished the warmth of his closeness, the strength of his arms about hers.
Too quick, he pulled away. “Sorry, Ellen.”
“Again?”
“We’re in public.”
So they were. She flushed hot. Probably blotched. But didn’t really mind.
Nash hoisted her valise onto his shoulder with his satchel. Then took her hand. “We made pretty good partners on the train. What do you say we share a stagecoach to Poppy?”
She met his smile. “There’s no one else I’d rather travel with.”
He held her hand the entire trip. And she hoped he’d never let go.
Epilogue
April, 1877
The town of Poppy lived up to its name, as golden poppies blanketed the surrounding hills alongside yellow mustard, purple lupine, and pale green grasses. The town of Poppy had also turned up, every last member, to the newly completed stone-and-timber Rawlings house for Nash and Ellen’s wedding. Ellen flushed hot as the townsfolk clapped and cheered at their first kiss as husband and wife. She no doubt splotched like a tomato.
Who cared? Nash was her husband now. She popped to her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.
“That’s enough, you two.” Stella, her matron-of-honor gown straining over her round midsection, fisted a hand on her hip. “Cut the cake before your train leaves without you.”
Best man Clifford slipped an arm around his pregnant wife’s shoulders. “Can’t believe you’re honeymooning on a train, after the last time.”
“Seems fitting, but it’s not a long trip. Just to Oakland, then the ferry to San Francisco. We won that fancy dinner at the Palace Hotel, after all. Although you’re right, we did everything backwards.” Nash led the way to the cake table. “A honeymoon trip first, courtship second.”
Ellen shook her head. “That wasn’t a honeymoon. A crazy stunt with honeymooners, yes. But I doubt any of them found it romantic.”
Nash’s fingers tightened on hers. “I did.”
“Me, too.”
Stella smiled at her husband. Since they’d settled in San Francisco, they’d grown closer again. Ellen hugged her friend.
It seemed they’d scarcely had a taste of the fruity cake Stella crafted before Nash lifted her into a beribboned carriage, they said their farewells, and were off to the train depot. Ellen smoothed the flounces of her white dress, but since she’d spotted Nash in his wool suit—no buckskin in sight—she hadn’t thought once of her appearance, just his.
Not that their clothes mattered. She curled her arm into his. “I love that you take me as I am, quirks and all.”
“I love who you are. You’re who God made you to be.” He grinned down at her. To think, this compassionate, handsome man loved her.
In August, she’d boarded the Honeymoon Express to begin a new life. Little had she known the miracles God had planned for her. A purpose. Friends in the Howells and even in little Gabe, whose mother often wrote to Ellen on his behalf. And a beautiful home built by her new husband’s own two hands.
“Something fretting you, sweetheart?” Nash kissed the top of her head.
“No, why?”
“Your fingers are tapping my arm. Thought you might be telegraphing something.”
She was. She just hadn’t realized it.
Dash. Dot dot dot dot…
Author’s Note
Today, we use the international version of Morse code adopted in 1912, not the original developed in the 1840s by Samuel Morse (now called American Morse Code). For example, when Ellen prays Please, her P is comprised of five dots—not the dot dash dash dot in use today.
The Jarrett-Palmer Express, a promotional cross-country railroad trip, traveled from New Jersey to San Francisco in under eighty-four hours in June 1876.
Susanne Dietze began writing love stories in high school, casting her friends in the starring roles. Today she’s blessed to be the author of over half-dozen historical romances. Married to a pastor and the mom of two, Susanne loves fancy-schmancy tea parties, genealogy, and curling up on the couch with a costume drama and a plate of nachos. She loves to hear from readers! Come say hi on her website, www.susannedietze.com.
Just for Lucy
by Kim Vogel Sawyer
Chapter One
Near Kingsley, Kansas
Spring 1891
Miss Emmett?”
Amelia gave a start and sat upright, careful not to dislodge Lucy’s tousled head from her lap. She fixed her bleary eyes on the gray-haired conductor.
“Yes, sir?”
“It’s almost eleven o’clock.”
She looked out the window. Sunshine bathed the passing landscape. Nearly midday then, not nighttime. She shook her head, trying to bring herself to full wakefulness. The week of forcing herself to stay awake both day and night to keep watch over her charges had finally caught up with her. Tiredness weighted her like a millstone.
“We’ll be pulling into the Kingsley station in roughly ten minutes. You and the little girl are the only ones departing the train in Kingsley, and no passengers are waiting to board, so the engineer says the stop’ll be brief—just long enough to make use of the water tank.”
The man spoke nonsense. Why did she need to know about passengers’ comings and goings or the water-tank usage? Amelia blinked several times. “A–all right…”
“It’s been a long journey, hasn’t it?” An understanding smile crinkled his eyes. “But it’s almost over now. As I said, only ten more minutes. I’ll get your things gathered up. Why don’t you wake the little girl and… er… ready her and yourself to depart.”
Finally Amelia understood. After her days and nights of jostling along the rails, delivering children from the New York City orphanage to their new parents in various towns in Indiana, Illinois, Missouri, and Kansas, she must be a rumpled mess from head to toe. And the engineer required a hasty leave-taking so he could be on his way. She wouldn’t inconvenience him. “Thank you very much. We’ll be ready when the train reaches the station.”
The kindly conductor hurried up the aisle, his gait matching the rocking motion of the train.
Amelia turned her attention to the child curled on the padded bench. From the moment little Lucy had arrived at the Good Shepherd Asylum a year ago, orphaned by the influenza that marched from apartment to apartment in her family’s tenement building, she’d been Amelia’s pint-sized companion. Saying goodbye to the child would be torture, but what other choice did she have? The matron of Good Shepherd, Miss Agnes, only allowed two-parent families to adopt, claiming it was in the best interest of the children. Amelia couldn’t argue. God Himself created man and wife. She could only trust that Lucy’s new mama and papa would grow to love her as much as Amelia already did.
She petted Lucy’s silky brown ringlets, crooning softly, “Lucy, sweetheart, you need to wake up.”
Lucy’s thick eyelashes threw a shadow across her rosy cheeks, and her sweet lips released a little sigh of contentment. She nestled more thoroughly into the folds of Amelia’s brown plaid skirt.
Tenderness filled Amelia. If only she could let Lucy sleep until she was ready to rouse. The days of being cooped up in such a small space had been so difficult for the little girl. But in less than ten minutes they would vacate the train. She would deliver Lucy into the care of Edwin and Ruby Early. Both she and Lucy would begin new lives.
Dear God, now that it’s upon me, I’m not sure I’m ready to—
Pain stabbed, tears threatening. Ready or not, the arrangements were made. She couldn’t change them now. Miss Agnes had already hired someone to take Amelia’s place at the orphans’ asylum. She’d emptied her small room that had been her home for the past eight years—all of her earthly goods traveled with her. After this last duty to Good Shepherd—delivering Lucy—she’d be free to pursue a different life than caring for other people’s abandoned or orphaned children. But what would that life be?
With a sigh, she took hold of Lucy’s narrow shoulders and gently lifted her. The child yawned, rubbed her eyes with her fists, and then looked around in confusion. Her gaze met Amelia’s, and a precious smile broke across her features.
“Miss Meela.” Lucy flopped forward into Amelia’s arms.
Amelia choked back a sob. She set the child aside and rose. “Come along now. We’ll visit the necessary room and freshen ourselves. Your mama and papa are waiting.”
Lucy took Amelia’s hand and followed obediently. Trustingly. More tears threatened.
As Amelia led Lucy to the little room in the corner of the car where a washstand and chamber pot awaited passengers’ use, she set her lips in a firm line and sent up a silent petition. Or perhaps more accurately, a command. God, let Lucy’s new parents be good to her.
They finished freshening as best they could with the bit of water remaining in the bowl and a cloth already sorely in need of laundering and exited the washroom. Back in their booth, Amelia pulled her trim-fitting jacket over her shirtwaist and settled her flower- and ribbon-bedecked straw hat, her going-away gift from Miss Agnes, over her hair. She smiled at Lucy. “Now then, we—”
The train’s brakes began to screech, and the car jolted. Lucy flung herself into Amelia’s arms. Amelia held tight to the little girl, whispering assurances. Thank goodness they’d reached their final destination. The poor child had reacted in fear with each raucous start and stop of the mighty locomotive. With a series of shrill shrieks and noisy blasts, the train came to a halt outside a small clapboard building.
Releasing a sigh of relief, Amelia took Lucy’s hand and guided her to the back landing of the passenger car. As he’d promised, the conductor had retrieved Amelia’s trunk and Lucy’s bag from the storage car. Both items waited on the landing next to the man’s feet.
He hopped to the dusty ground with more grace than she’d expect from someone of his seemingly advanced age and set out a little wooden stool for Amelia. She stepped down while he lifted Lucy, swooping her through the air and making her giggle as he did so. He set Lucy beside Amelia and then reached for her trunk.
“Let me carry these to the station porch so you can keep hold of the little one. Wouldn’t want her dashing off and getting trampled by a passing wagon.”
The streets were nearly empty, the town especially quiet compared to the boisterous bustle of New York. The likelihood of getting trampled seemed slim, but Amelia didn’t argue. She’d rather hold Lucy’s hand than lug her secondhand trunk. She smiled her thanks and trailed the man to the porch. He thumped the trunk on the edge, flopped Lucy’s bag on top of it, and then turned as if he intended to speak to her. But the train whistle split the air. He tipped his hat, whirled, and leaped onto the passenger car’s platform as the steel wheels began rolling forward.
Amelia pulled Lucy to her side, and they waved at folks behind the train windows. When the caboose rolled past, she searched the area, expecting Mr. and Mrs. Early to emerge from the station’s waiting area. In their correspondence with the orphanage, they’d promised to meet the train. The blaring whistle had surely alerted the entire town to the locomotive’s arrival. So where was the couple?
She guided Lucy to a bench pressed against the station’s yellow-painted siding, and they sat. With her hand on the child’s knee, she kept her alert gaze on the street. Wagons passed, the ho
rses’ hooves and rattling wheels stirring dust. People ambled in and out of the few businesses lining the street. A few folks glanced in Amelia’s direction, some even smiled, but no one approached the station.
Lucy fidgeted as the wait lengthened. Although Amelia had hoped to keep the child’s hair neat and her apron fresh until her new parents arrived, guilt bade her to allow Lucy the freedom to skip up and down the boardwalk and release some pent-up energy from the long days on the train. While Lucy cheerfully hopped from knothole to knothole on the wide planked porch floor, Amelia moved to the station ticket window and tapped lightly on the glass.
A slender man in a crisp blue uniform immediately stepped to the opposite side of the window and slid the pane upward. “Yes, miss?”
Amelia rested her fingertips on the ledge. “I wondered if Mr. or Mrs. Early left a message with you.”
The man drew back. “Early, did you say?”
“Yes, sir.” She patted her reticule, imagining the paperwork inside. “Edwin and Ruby Early.”
“Edwin an’… an’ Ruby?”
Did the man have a hearing problem? Amelia nodded.
“You’re askin’ if they left a message?”
“That’s right.”
He glanced back and forth as if seeking rescue. “What about?”
She wasn’t in the habit of divulging private matters to strangers, but she needed answers. “About being delayed. I expected Mr. Early and his wife to meet me at the station, but—”
He slammed the window closed and hustled away from the glass. Such a peculiar reaction to a simple statement. Moments later, the man darted from the station and crossed the street. He disappeared inside the building on the corner of the next block—the one with a sign marked SHERIFF’S OFFICE hanging from a bracket above the door.
Amelia stared after him, trepidation making her pulse skip as erratically as little Lucy’s clumsy game of knothole hopping. She wove her fingers together, pressing her joined hands to her ribs, and watched for the station worker’s return. Within a few minutes the clerk and a man with a bold silver star on his chest strode in her direction. The depot worker headed back inside the station, but the lawman stopped directly in front of Amelia.
The Rails to Love Romance Collection Page 40