A Mistaken Match

by Whitney Bailey

  He had noticed!

  Before she could respond, James stepped abruptly from the kitchen into the hall. His footsteps moved from the dining room to the parlor. He returned, his lips pulled down into a frown. “The other rooms haven’t been cleaned. What have you been doing all this time?”

  His accusation warmed her blood again. She rose from her chair and drew a deep breath to calm her temper. “I am not lazy, James McCann.”

  He gestured about the room. “No lunch and a dirty house. What do you call that in England?”

  “I’ll have you know it would have been my pleasure to clean your filthy house. You would have walked in the door and lost your senses at the great beauty of clean floors and windows not covered in grime. But you’re out of supplies.” Ann bit her lip to keep from saying more, though she feared the damage was done.

  James’s eyes widened and the taut muscles of his jaw relaxed. His voice grew soft. “I’m out of supplies?”

  Ann stood up straight and clasped her hands submissively behind her back out of habit. She’d assumed this same stance whenever her employers addressed her while in service. She realized this immediately and let her hands fall to her sides.

  “I used all of what you had cleaning the kitchen. I should have told you earlier.” If you hadn’t stomped out of the house before I could.

  James dipped his sandy head and his cheeks colored. “Figures. I paid a woman from town to clean the house but she obviously cheated me. House is still dirty and she took the extra soap and polish with her.”

  He ran a hand through his hair and glanced at Ann. He looked...sheepish? Like a schoolboy caught with candy in his desk. “I’m sorry I accused you of being lazy. What have you been doing this morning?”

  “I made Uncle Mac breakfast, though he didn’t come to the door when I knocked. I left the food on the landing.”

  “It’s my fault for not making proper introductions. We’ll right that this afternoon. What else did you do?”

  Her heart raced as she dipped her hand into her apron pocket. James would likely think her time better spent staring at the wall than working on needle lace. She withdrew the piece from her pocket. “I worked on this.” She held out the handkerchief and cringed when he took it from her with dirty fingers.

  She gestured to the cloth. “I’m sure you think such work is worthless, but I had nothing else to fill the time. I would have cleaned had I found more supplies,” she repeated.

  James examined the handkerchief as she spoke. Over and over, he turned it in his calloused hands. The more he studied it, the lighter his touch became, as if he handled a fragile porcelain cup. “You did all of this? The lace?”

  She nodded.

  His eyebrows raised and Ann saw a flicker of what appeared to be admiration. “No one helped you?”

  Ann laughed at the absurd question. “Do you see anyone else here?”

  James chuckled softly. “I meant—did someone help you with this before you arrived in America?”

  “No. I began the work a week ago.”

  “After lunch we’ll go into town for cleaning supplies. You’ll take this.” He gently folded the handkerchief into quarters and set it in her hand. His fingertips brushed her palm. The touch sent a warmth through her hand. She set her jaw and shook off the feeling.

  James cobbled together a stew for lunch. “For Uncle Mac,” he explained as he ladled the first steaming bowlful. He paired the stew with a mug of milk and they took the meal upstairs together. They hadn’t even reached the top step before Ann spotted the breakfast tray. The spotless plate and empty mug suggested at least someone had enjoyed his meal that morning.

  James rapped on the door. “Uncle Mac? Lunch is ready.” Bedsprings creaked, but still the door didn’t open.

  “Best leave these here. There’ll be plenty of time for introductions when we get back from town.”

  After lunch James retreated upstairs and returned wearing a clean shirt. His freshly scrubbed cheeks shone pink and water droplets clung to his tousled hair. Ann made a mental note to refill the pitcher in his room.

  While James hitched the wagon, Ann stood outside and took in the expanse of land. Row after row of young green plants stretched in all directions. A small grove of oaks and maples, no more than five or six acres, anchored the east end of the field.

  “May I ask what you did outside this morning?” Ann asked James as he helped her onto the wagon seat.

  “Hoed the fields.”

  The field nearest Ann seemed enormous as she imagined someone clearing the weeds row by row. “When will you be done?”

  James laughed drily. “A job like that is never done. Not until the corn grows tall enough to shade out the weeds. I’ll be out here every morning until then.”

  “And when might that be?”

  “Well...” James paused and rubbed his chin. “We have a saying. ‘Knee-high by the Fourth of July.’ When the stalks are that tall, we should only have a week or two more of weeding.”

  Weeks and weeks of hoeing this sweeping vista of green. Ann made a note to help him beginning tomorrow.

  “What crops are you growing?”

  James’s eyebrows rose and his shoulders drew back. “Corn in the big south field and some wheat in the north field. Most everyone around here grows either corn or wheat as their main crop.” He pointed to the next farm. “Hal Schneider has corn, too.”

  The meandering rows of corn on Ann’s right weren’t planted with nearly the precision of James’s fields, and weeds were in abundance. In a few spots she couldn’t tell the crop from the intruders.

  “It looks like Hal Schneider needs to weed,” she observed.

  James glanced at the field. “Hal has a lot more than weeding to do.”

  “What do you mean?”

  James’s brow knotted and his mouth became a hard line. “The man has two young children and a house falling down around them. His wife died last year, and he didn’t take it very well. He needs to tend to his children and himself as well as those fields.” His voice held an edge of concern.

  Ann strained to see the Schneider house, expecting to find children playing in the yard. It stood quiet and empty. She turned to James to ask him another question about his neighbor, but the top of an envelope jutting from his pocket caught her eye. So that was why he’d been so quick to suggest the trip to town. He needed to telegraph the agency and mail the letter to Mrs. Turner. Another reminder of her unknown future.

  “Do you have much business in New Haven?” Ann tried not to sound too curious.

  “A bit.”

  She waited for him to continue. He didn’t.

  “Am I to accompany you on your errands?”

  He shook his head. “Nope.”

  It was like their trip from town to the farm all over again. Why must he swing betwixt friendly and withdrawn? Ann smiled through clenched teeth. “And what am I to do?”

  “First you’ll buy the supplies you need to clean. And then—” he turned to look Ann straight in the eye “—you’re going to make yourself a new friend.”

  “What kind of friend?”

  His eyebrows arched. “You’ll see.”

  * * *

  James sighed inwardly. He abhorred being so short with Ann, but what else could he do? Every time he let down his guard with her, his head spun. It was a familiar feeling. He’d felt it every time he’d been in Emily’s presence. When she’d wanted something, he’d fallen over himself to do exactly as she’d asked, like a dutiful dog who only sees the good in its master. The need to please her had remained even as both his heart and God told him she was not the girl for him. At least now he knew how easily he lost his senses around a pretty girl. Better to focus on getting Ann to her intended husband and bringing his plain bride to the home where she belonged.


  They drew into town and James turned onto the square and hitched the wagon in front of the first building. Davis Mercantile was neatly lettered in red and gold on the window.

  “You can buy supplies in Davis’s. Charge them to my account,” he said as he helped her down.

  “You aren’t coming with me?”

  “I have a few things to take care of first. Mr. Davis can help you find what you need.”

  James set off across the street. The post office sat on the other side of the square. Inside he handed the envelope to the clerk and asked him to calculate postage to England. He then spent ten minutes wording his telegram to the agency. Since he paid by the letter he had to get his point across as succinctly as possible. Afterward, he stepped into the library to fetch a book for Uncle Mac. Then he turned in the direction of the mill. He itched to confide in someone, and Frederick was his closest friend.

  He stopped short on the wooden sidewalk a block away from the mill and chided himself. Ann had been in this town less than a day, and he’d left her unaccompanied. His weakness shouldn’t mean she had to suffer through new experiences in a strange country alone.

  He continued to the mill, but only stayed long enough to write a note to Frederick informing him he was no longer needed at the courthouse that afternoon. He gave the note to the foreman, who assured James he would deliver it to his friend.

  He returned to the square and walked straight to the mercantile. The dark interior of the store was a sudden change from the sun-drenched sidewalk, and for a moment James couldn’t see. He heard Ann’s lilting voice well before he saw her.

  “And you’re sure this soap does a proper job?”

  “Absolutely, miss. We don’t carry Sunlight, but Fels-Naptha won’t disappoint.”

  The store came into focus, along with Mr. Davis behind the counter. His dark mustache rose at the corners as he smiled in greeting. “I’ll be with you in a moment, Mr. McCann,” Mr. Davis called.

  Ann stood at the counter and turned her golden head to face him. She smiled softly, and her shoulders dropped a hair, as if in relief.

  “How will you be paying, miss?”

  James strode to Ann’s side. “Put everything on my account, Mr. Davis.” He could hear the tremor of nerves in his voice. Why was he so nervous? He’d done business with William Davis for years.

  Mr. Davis cocked a brow, but reached for the ledger book and entered the total without question.

  Ann looked up at James, her blue eyes telling him something. Introductions! Apparently, he forgot even the most basic of social graces while in her presence.

  “Mr. Davis, this is Miss Ann Cromwell. She’ll be staying with me and Uncle Mac for a little while,” he announced with far too much force.

  “Delighted to meet you, miss,” the shopkeeper replied. “It’s always nice to have new people come to New Haven.”

  James silently thanked the man for not asking any questions. William Davis didn’t get to be New Haven’s most successful businessman by being nosy.

  “Will there be anything else, Mr. McCann?”

  “Did those new hand tools come in yet?”

  Mr. Davis gestured to the farthest corner of the store. “Leroy just finished stocking them. Take a look. I think you’ll find the new auger design superior to the old one.”

  James made his way to the back of the store while Mr. Davis wrapped Ann’s selections and tied the bundle with string. He tried to concentrate on a shiny awl in front of him, but Ann’s voice carried to him from the counter.

  “This is a lovely town. On the drive in, I admired the many fine homes along the boulevard.”

  Mr. Davis chuckled. “I don’t think any street here is fancy enough to be called a boulevard, but we do have some beautiful residences.”

  “In London, large homes employ several full-time servants.”

  “I imagine they would.”

  “Is that the case here in New Haven, as well?”

  “Oh yes, miss. Half a dozen families here have servants.”

  “They do?”

  Was James mistaken, or did her measured tone change? She sounded...anxious? Eager?

  “Doc Henderson is the only one with live-in help. He has a cook and maid. Heard he’s looking for a new one, though.”

  “A new cook or a new maid?” she asked.

  He’d heard right the first time. Her melodic voice held a frantic edge.

  “He employs one girl to do both.”

  “A maid of all work.”

  “If that’s what you call it.”

  James stole a glance at the counter. Ann’s lips were pursed and her large eyes cast down.

  “In England, a servant who both cooks and cleans is called a maid of all work,” she replied.

  Mr. Davis’s eyebrows arched. “Is that so?”

  Was Ann looking for work? But why? They would be hearing from Mrs. Turner within a few weeks, and after that she’d be off to her true intended. Was living with him so miserable she’d rather work for someone than live with him? Heat flamed his cheeks. He had to treat her more as a guest, and pray it didn’t lead him down a path to his own destruction.

  Ann hoisted the packages off the counter but James arrived at her side in seconds and eased them out of her arms. “You shouldn’t have to carry such a heavy bundle,” he explained. Ann bit her bottom lip and murmured her thanks. Was she trying to stifle a laugh? He didn’t doubt it. Everything Ann Cromwell did or said took him by surprise.

  Chapter Five

  Ann waited on the sidewalk while James placed her purchases in the wagon. She’d almost burst out laughing when he suggested the parcels were too heavy for her to carry. She was used to carrying basket upon basket of firewood up three flights of stairs for most of the year. The package of soap, polish and scrub brushes weighed nothing in comparison.

  “Where to now?” she asked when he rejoined her on the sidewalk.

  “Remember that friend I promised you? She should be in there.” James pointed to the blue awning directly next to Mr. Davis’s store. New Haven Dressmakers.

  The shop appeared empty, but a bell clanging above the door brought a young woman bustling in from the back. Dark abundant hair piled high atop her head added even greater height to her tall and slender frame.

  “Good afternoon, Delia. I wanted you to meet Ann Cromwell.”

  The woman’s eyes widened and a broad grin broke across her face. In an instant she had Ann clasped in a hug. Ann stiffened and managed a feeble squeeze in return.

  “So you’re Ann! But didn’t you mean to say Ann McCann?” The girl winked at James. Flames licked Ann’s cheeks and she turned to find James’s face suffused with pink. He took a half step back and bumped into a dress form, which teetered precariously before he righted it. James ran a hand through his thick hair and Ann’s stomach tumbled. Did all men look so handsome when they were embarrassed?

  She must change the subject, for both their sakes. “Were you the one who made that beautiful quilt?” she guessed. She recalled James saying this shop employed its maker.

  The woman beamed. “Did you really think it beautiful? Frederick saw me working on it weeks ago and asked to buy it.”

  “And you are Frederick’s cousin?”

  The young woman placed a palm to her forehead. “Where are my manners, Mrs. McCann? I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Ardelia. Ardelia Ludlow.”

  Ann shook her hand, and knew they couldn’t let this woman’s assumptions go uncorrected any longer. “It’s still Miss Cromwell.” She glanced again at James. His face flushed scarlet.

  “Forgive my mistake.” Her smile didn’t dim and she laughed. “I’d say I’m still Miss Ludlow, but no one calls me that. My friends call me Delia, and you should, too.”

  Ann felt a twinge of the familia
r and fumbled back to the jumble of memories from the day before. “I met a woman from New Haven on the train yesterday. She told me she had a daughter near my age. You both have the same last name.”

  Delia clapped her hands together and brought them under her chin. “You met Mother? What a coincidence!”

  “This woman said she’d been visiting her sister.”

  Delia nodded her head vigorously. “That was her, alright. She visited my aunt in Pataskala. Just had her tenth child—can you believe it?”

  “Your mother was so kind to help her.”

  Delia pointed to a cluster of chairs in the corner and a love seat. “Please, let’s all of us sit and have a chat.”

  James rocked back and forth on his heels. The color in his cheeks diffused.

  “Maybe I should leave you two alone,” he offered.

  “Nonsense!” Delia exclaimed. “Miss Cromwell, implore him to stay.”

  Ann bit her cheeks to keep from smirking. As if she could convince James to do anything.

  “If I’m to call you Delia, you must call me Ann.”

  It didn’t seem possible, but Delia’s smile grew broader.

  “Ahem.” James cleared his throat. “Ann, did you bring that...uh...thing I asked you to?”

  Ann bit back another smirk. So like a man to refer to a lady’s handkerchief as a “thing.” “Yes, I did,” she replied, and fished the piece from her pocket. “It isn’t quite finished.”

  No sooner had the lace left the folds of Ann’s skirt than Delia snatched it from her hand.

  “This needle lace is exquisite! Did you make this yourself?”

  Ann nodded. Pride stirred in her middle.

  “Handmade lace and embroidery are rare skills around here.”

  “It isn’t as difficult as it appears. I am far more impressed with your quilt work.”

  Delia’s dismissed Ann’s compliment with a wave of her hand. “Everyone quilts. My baby sister is already better than me. But lace like this!” She chewed her lower lip. “I wish I could buy this piece for the shop today.”

  “Buy it?” Ann’s voice rose half an octave. She paused and continued in a more ladylike tone. “You believe you could sell my lace?”