Winning The Rancher's Heart (Mail-Order Brides of Salvation 2)
Page 5
She shook her head to chase out the envious thought and began walking toward the brick-and-limestone mansion where her charges lived. A white-clad street-sweeper stopped and tipped his hat at her as she scooted around the pile of debris he’d been collecting. Only last year and the sidewalks been laid down, and they’d saved her several months’ wages—since she was no longer traipsing through mud (and worse), her skirts and boots lasted longer. The Mayor claimed every street in the city would have sidewalks within the next few years.
The closer she got to Buckley House, the slower her feet wanted to move. Every workday was a trial. Three days ago, young Master Arnold had put a cricket in her soup when she wasn’t looking. Little Miss Geraldine threw a squall whenever it was time for lessons, regardless of the subject. When she’d described the children’s behavior to their parents, they’d told Anne sternly that it was her job to teach the children how to behave.
An impossible job, when their parents indulged every whim and instructed staff to do the same. By the end of each work day, she wanted nothing more than to run home and pull the covers over her head.
Even if Kenneth had been false to her in his letters, marrying him couldn’t be worse than tutoring Master Arnold and Miss Geraldine. Could it?
Church bells echoed in the distance. Late! Anne gathered up her skirts and hurried down the path to the servant’s door at the rear of the east wing of Buckley House. The heavy, plain wood door scraped across the threshold as she yanked it open. Like most of New York’s wealthy, the Buckley’s saved the marble columns and curlicued masonry for the front of their home.
Evans, the butler, stood waiting in the cramped, dimly-lit entryway that led to the kitchen on one side and quarters for house staff on the other. What was he doing here? Had he come to chide her for being late? He never had before. Perhaps he was waiting to oversee a delivery.
“Morning, Evans,” Anne said as she tugged at her bonnet strings, loosening the knot that dug into the underside of her chin. “Are the little Master and Mistress well today?”
Evans gave her a sad smile and held out an envelope. “I regret to inform you that you’ve been let go.”
Let go? Tears swam in Anne’s eyes. They should have been tears of shock, but all she felt was bone-deep relief. As if she’d been in prison these last three years and had unexpectedly earned parole.
No, she needed this job. She had no family to fall back on, and twenty-two was too old to go back to the orphanage.
She raised her chin and squared her shoulders as she accepted the envelope, gave Evans a watery smile. “May I ask why?”
Evans glanced over his shoulder before answering. “Little Master’s done his usual. Hit himself with one of cook’s wooden spoons, then showed the bruise to Lady Buckley and claimed you beat him for answering wrong at lessons.”
“I would never!” But she had no doubt that spoiled child Arnold would accuse her. “I must explain—“
“It won’t do any good. You’re the eleventh tutor to suffer this fate. Lady Buckley dotes on her son. Best to take your pay and find another position as quickly as possible.”
Anne quickly examined the contents of the envelope—it contained only a few days’ pay. What would she do? She’d barely enough here to pay what she owed for her bed in the shabby room she shared with three other girls this week.
Worse, Lady Buckley had given her no reference. What employer would be willing to take her on without a letter of reference?
Her stomach clenched with fear. She’d be out on the street in a few days. The things that happened to girls on the street…
Evans looked over his shoulder again, then produced a piece of paper from his waistcoat pocket. “This agency specializes in finding employment for staff without references. Won’t pay as much, of course, tutoring’s not an option, but you’re young and strong. You’ll make a fine maid.”
A maid. Not only had she lost her chance at the education she’d dreamed of, now she wouldn’t even be able to use what little knowledge she had to educate others.
Her dismay must have shown on her face, because Evans patted her shoulder awkwardly. “Now, now, it’s honest work. And if you do well at your next position, you might gain a reference there.”
“Thank you, Evans.” Dazed, she tucked the paper into her threadbare reticule, along with her meagre earnings.
Behind Evans, the kitchen door opened slowly. Little Master Arnold peeked around the corner, a smirk distorting his chubby red face. Deliberately waiting until he’d caught her eye, he stuck his tongue out at her.
Little Master. He was a little monster. And she’d never have to see him again.
She straightened, as if she were a lady herself, and walked out through the servants’ door with all the dignity she could muster.
It wasn’t until she made it back to the grubby boardinghouse room she called home that she let herself think about what to do next.
Removing her overcoat, she sat on her creaky cot and examined the paper Evans had handed her. A name and an address on the other side of town. She’d have to spend a good chunk of the severance pay she’d just received to get there and back for an interview.
Was it worth even going? To be a maid? Spending her days emptying chamber pots and scrubbing dishes. Honest work, like Evans said, but also dreary, poorly-paid work. She’d be paid in room and board, with a pittance to cover her personal expenses. She could work the rest of her life and not save enough for nursing school tuition.
What other choice did she have?
The door to her room opened, letting in the stench of cabbage and cheap beef. Mrs. McDermott, the widow who operated the boardinghouse, scowled at Anne.
“You’re supposed to be at work. Can’t pay rent if you don’t work, girl.”
“The children were ill, so my employer gave me the day off.” Anne had no doubt that if she confessed that she’d been let go, Mrs. McDermott would start looking for another girl to fill Anne’s bed. “I thought I’d rest a little.”
Mrs. McDermott pursed her lips disapprovingly, but handed Anne a letter. “Your uncle out west must have a great deal of free time, to write you so often.”
Anne blushed and forced herself to move slowly, when she wanted to snatch the letter out of Mrs. McDermott’s hand. The landlady was quite strict about the “moral character” of her tenants, and had been outspokenly contemptuous of young women who submitted their photos to the increasingly-popular mail-order bride catalogues in hopes of finding a husband.
Anne disliked lying, but telling the woman that Kenneth was a distant uncle who’d moved to Texas seemed a better choice than being evicted with barely a penny to her name.
“I’m feeling a little ill myself. I hope I haven’t caught a fever from the children—”
Mrs. McDermott retreated quickly, slamming the door behind her. Anne sighed. Finally, a moment of peace.
Hands shaking, she tore open the envelope. Inside she found a thin piece of paper, folded into thirds. As she unfolded it, a second, thicker piece of paper fell out.
A train ticket. To Salvation, Texas. Departing the day after tomorrow.
My dearest Anne,
My brother Daniel tells me that I am being overhasty, but I can wait no longer. Will you be my wife?
Fondest wishes,
Kenneth
P.S. He tells me that I am overconfident as well, sending this ticket without hearing your reply first, but I believe I have come to know your heart these past months.
All the air rushed out of Anne’s lungs at once. Was Kenneth’s letter the answer to her prayers? Or would she be jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire? If he’d proposed yesterday, while she still had a job, she’d know if this fluttering in her belly was a sign that she should accept—but now, she had to wonder if it was simply relief that he was offering her a way out of this mess.
She clasped her hands and prayed as hard as she could. She prayed until her fingers ached.
Should I go to Salva
tion?
Should I marry Kenneth?
But no answer came.
Maybe this was a test. Maybe she was supposed to trust that the Lord had brought her Kenneth because that was the path He wanted her to tread.
Deep in her heart, she wanted it to be true. Could her heart be trusted?
To join Anne on her journey to find love and faith on the western frontier, order your copy of Winning the Doctor’s Heart!
The Mail-Order Brides of Salvation series
Winning the Deputy’s Heart
Winning the Rancher’s Heart
Winning the Doctor’s Heart
Winning the Homesteader’s Heart (coming in September 2015)
Winning the Wrangler’s Heart (coming in October 2015)
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