The Widower's Wife

by Prudence, Bice

  He seemed to be looking for someone. A companion perhaps, coming in on the train? She had watched most of the passengers as they had exited the station. There were no other young women besides herself, and certainly no one she would consider to be an equal partner to this man. She couldn’t help but wonder who he had come to see.

  By the way he was dressed, she presumed it must be someone important to him. When he didn’t appear to recognize anyone, she saw a worried look cross his face. As he started to turn back her way, Jillian quickly turned herself from him so he didn’t notice her staring. She took the last few steps to the ticket counter.

  “May I help you, miss?” the man behind the counter asked. He was quite a peculiar-looking young man with his hair parted in the middle and curled up on the sides. Thick, round glasses made him look older than he was, and an overgrown, unkempt mustache made it difficult to read his expression. When Jillian didn’t answer right away, he cleared his throat loudly.

  “Oh, yes,” she quickly recovered. In her haste to reach the counter and avoid being caught staring, she had almost forgotten her reason for being there. However, the rude manner in which the clerk had cleared his throat had reminded her of her intentions. “I wanted to inquire about the cost of a ticket to Providence, Massachusetts, and when the next train would be through.”

  “Let me see,” he replied, as he began looking though a list of train schedules while adding the numbers. “Your ticket will be twenty-seven dollars and thirty-five cents, and the next train will come through in three days. That would be Saturday, miss.”

  “Three days?” Jillian’s heart began to beat faster. What would she do? Where would she stay? The clerk cleared his throat. Despite her good manners and upbringing, Jillian couldn’t help but return a little of the clerk’s bad behavior and flashed him a rude look of her own. He seemed to be taken aback, but when he again spoke, she noted his manner of voice seemed only slightly more polite.

  “Excuse me, miss? Did you wish to purchase a ticket?” Jillian shook her head and worried he must think her strange.

  “No, no, I was just inquiring.” She turned to walk away, but her tutoring in good graces prompted her to add, “Thank you kindly for your time,” though not before she caught the look of irritation return to the man’s face.

  As she headed back to her trunk, her annoyance at the ticket agent’s lack of good manners faded quickly, though it was immediately replaced by frustration when her feelings of nervousness and worry returned. She dropped her head slightly, rubbing her hand across her forehead as she walked. Her mind was spinning, and she couldn’t think straight. She needed to calm herself and make some decisions. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes for a moment to help her focus, though she continued walking. How long should she wait before leaving? Where would she go? What would she do with her trunk?

  Just as she opened her eyes, she felt the wind being knocked out of her; she stumbled back, almost losing her balance. Mercifully, she was able to right herself again quickly before causing any damage to herself or anything else, saving herself from further embarrassment. She didn’t remember any pillars on the way back to platform, but what she had hit had surely been as hard as one. She looked up quickly. To her great horror, she realized she had not run into a pillar, but a man—the same good-looking stranger in the suit coat she had been admiring moments before. She wanted to turn away and escape her embarrassment, but she was compelled to face her shame. There, at his feet, lay her valise, which she had dropped when she had collided with him.

  The man didn’t seem to be remotely jostled by their collision, but he turned just the same to see who his attacker had been. At first sight, he wore a look of irritation, but the look was quickly replaced by something akin to sympathy when he saw the look of sheer humiliation she felt on her face.

  Before Jillian was able to apologize, another man came hurrying into the station lobby. Jillian and the stranger turned at the same time to observe the new arrival.

  This new man appeared to be middle-aged, at least thirty-five or older. He was balding on the top of his head but had tried to hide it by growing the sides long and combing them over the space that was so obviously devoid of hair. His nose would have been a bit too large for his face had his face been normal sized, but too many sweets and not enough exercise had rounded his face out, thus helping to blend in his nose a bit. He wore a hideous plaid suit that wouldn’t close across his ample stomach. Jillian eyed him curiously as he checked his pocket watch before scanning the small crowd that was still milling around the station.

  The thought suddenly occurred to Jillian that this new arrival must be Dalton McCullough. He had somehow been delayed, just as she had thought. True, he wasn’t much to look at, but she quickly hid the disappointed look that had crossed her face. Though he wasn’t quite what she had expected, she had to admit she hadn’t really known what to expect. The thought had once occurred to her that maybe she should suggest an exchange of photos. In the end, however, she had come to the conclusion that it wouldn’t be fair to Mr. McCullough. She didn’t want to judge him by how he looked but by what was in his heart, and she wanted no less for herself. He had been clear enough as to his expectations. He was not looking for someone to love, only someone to mother his children. In exchange, he would provide a good, comfortable home and a place of security. She couldn’t imagine that it would matter too terribly if they did not find each other attractive.

  The fact that he did not want a physical relationship was the reason his letter had interested her in the first place. Her sympathy for his plight in trying to raise three small children on his own had appealed to her heart. She had felt inexplicably drawn to his children and their need for a mother, but she was definitely not looking for a romantic relationship either.

  For a moment, she observed this new man again and his lack of physical prowess. Mr. McCullough had told her of his living conditions and that he was a farmer. She had assumed farming required continuous hard physical work and discipline to be successful and had presumed he would be in better physical condition. This man didn’t look like he did much of anything.

  Jillian quickly chastised herself again. She would not judge him. He would have a fair chance to let his actions prove his character. She thought back on the letters he had written her. His capacity for love was entirely evident when he wrote of his children as well as when he briefly told of the passing of his wife. His reverence and adoration for her was so translucent, it had touched her deeply. No wonder he had no desire for an intimate relationship. She could sense how utterly complete his heartbreak was at losing his wife. Dalton McCullough was a man capable of great feeling. If this was the man who wrote those letters, then surely he was beautiful inside, and that was what was most important to her. Besides, she had had her fill of handsome men who flattered and spoke of love, but who on the inside were as black as coal.

  The new arrival turned his head to scan the station again, obviously not seeing who he was looking for. Jillian stood a little taller, trying to catch his attention. Then she realized he must be looking for her yellow handkerchief! She must have dropped it during her collision with the tall stranger. She turned back to the man on the platform who stood before her. He was staring at her. A hot blush rushed to her cheeks again. Then she saw a small corner of her handkerchief just barely sticking out from under her valise, where it had fallen inches from his feet.

  Jillian took a step toward the man, still not able to find her voice to utter an apology. As she bent down to retrieve her belongings, he bent down at the same time and their heads collided. Jillian quickly stood up again and placed her hand to her head. The man grabbed his head as well, but in his other hand he held her bag.

  Finally, because she was sorely compelled to, she mumbled an apology. She feared the man in the lobby wearing the plaid suit would leave before she could get to her handkerchief. The man standing before her didn’t move, though she was sure he had heard her. Jillian kept glancing back at
the lobby, a worried look creasing her brow slightly as she did.

  “Pardon me, sir,” she tried again, “I don’t know what’s gotten into me today. I’m not usually so clumsy.” She kept glancing at her bag as she spoke, hoping he would hand it over before she was left stranded in this horrible station. She chanced another quick look over her shoulder. The man in the lobby was starting to look irritated. She did not want their relationship to start out with him angry at her. She turned her head back again to eye her valise.

  The man before her finally seemed to understand her urgency and stepped forward to giver her the bag he held. As he did, to Jillian’s horror, his foot came to rest unknowingly on her handkerchief. Now, just a small corner of yellow embroidery poked out from under his right boot.

  Two

  Dalton McCullough looked into the face of the extraordinarily beautiful woman who stood before him. Her hair was the most beautiful color of strawberry blonde. It looked as soft as spun silk, although she wore it tightly held back in pins and not in a soft style with loose curls, a style he felt would do her more justice. And those eyes—he had never seen a color so green! Her lashes were thick and slightly darker than her hair, as were her perfectly shaped brows. She had obviously come from money by the style of her clothing.

  He had noticed her when he had first run into the station, but he’d forced himself to look away. He hadn’t driven such a long way to the train station only to admire women, even ones as lovely as she. He had come to greet the woman who was to be his new wife, and he was late. Why didn’t I get an earlier start? he scolded himself again. He usually prided himself on being punctual, even with three small children to make ready. He had thought he had given himself plenty of time.

  Dalton worked hard yesterday to complete some extra chores in order to save himself some time this morning. Things were going smoothly until his daughter Jenny slipped and cut her leg on a nail as they were all getting into the wagon.

  Jenny, who usually remained calm in situations like this, went into hysterics. Dalton knew she was already extremely upset with him, and he had been walking on pins and needles all morning, hoping nothing would happen to make things worse. The flood of tears she had been holding back since the night before finally broke free of their dam, and she began to sob inconsolably. Lisa and Brenn, his two other children, weren’t used to their older sister crying and wailed right along with her. He had to take all three children back into the house so both Lisa and Brenn could witness him doctoring Jenny’s leg, making sure she would be okay.

  It was times like these that Dalton sorely missed his wife, Laurellyn. In truth, he still thought of her nearly every waking moment of the day, and his dreams at night were filled with her as well. The dreams didn’t hurt so much because he could fool his heart into believing that she was still lying there beside him. The days were different. There were constant reminders everywhere that she was gone, like her flower garden that lay ignored and overgrown.

  Laurellyn had loved flowers. Her garden was her pride and joy. Every room in the house had contained a jar or vase filled with those beautiful reminders of her. She always smelled of flowers, especially lavender and roses. Dalton fought to hold back his own tears as the sweet memories of his wife threatened to be his undoing in front of his children, especially since he was the only member of the family not in tears at the moment. He managed to hold back the flood, but he could not hold back the memories.

  Dalton forcibly pushed his thoughts back to the task at hand. He cleaned up Jenny’s leg as best he could with lye soap and alcohol, like he’d seen their mother do many times before. It was actually quite a bad cut, and out on the frontier, it was impossible to be too careful when it came to injuries. A small, seemingly harmless wound could sometimes mean the loss of a limb, if not taken care of properly. He wrapped a clean strip of cotton cloth around her leg and tied it off. Then he gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and patted her on the back.

  “Okay, Jenny Bugs, we need to get going. I really shouldn’t be late.” Jenny folded her arms across her chest and gave her father a stubborn glare. “Now, come on, Jenny, I’ve got to get you three over to Auntie Bet’s right now. We talked about this last night. Miss Grey will be in a new town and won’t know anyone but us. It wouldn’t be polite or nice to leave her standing at the station alone.”

  “Maybe if you’re late, she’ll turn around and go back to where she came from. And how come you got all fancied up just to go get her?” Jenny grumbled.

  Dalton let out an exasperated breath of air. His daughter wasn’t going to make this easy. He would surely be late now as it was.

  “Jenny McCullough, you will get in that wagon right now or I will carry you out and put you in myself,” he exploded out of frustration. And that’s exactly what Dalton ended up doing, for Jenny was bound and determined to be difficult.

  When they got to Aunt Betty’s house, Jenny clung to him and cried. Of course, that started the other two children howling again. Luckily, Aunt Betty took charge immediately and had things under control in a relatively short time, all things considering.

  “Come on, my little sprites, Auntie Bet has made some sugar cookies.”

  Dalton watched as Aunt Betty carried little Brenn and coaxed Lisa and Jenny into the house. She was actually Laurellyn’s aunt, but she had always been there for them both, and he considered her his aunt as well. In fact, if it hadn’t been for her, he was sure he couldn’t have made it on his own this long since losing Laurellyn. He could still hear Jenny’s sobs as she fought control over her emotions. Laurellyn, he thought as he hurried to the wagon, I pray I’ve done the right thing. He flung himself into the wagon and hurried through the gate.

  Somewhere in the station a man laughed loudly, interrupting Dalton’s thoughts and bringing him back to the present. The woman just stood there staring at him. It unnerved him somewhat because she kept fidgeting, nervously opening and shutting her mouth as if she wanted to say something. She also kept taking quick glances back over her shoulder at the odd-looking man standing in the lobby entrance. Dalton watched her as she spent an unusually long time making an observation of the man. Actually, he had been thoroughly captivated by the multitude of expressions that crossed her face, one after the other: shock, disappointment, resolve, relief, and finally admiration.

  Surprised, Dalton turned to look at the man. Even though he tried not to be critical, he didn’t know what she could have possibly seen that was worthy of her admiration. Maybe she knew him, knew his character. Nothing else made sense. But, somehow he couldn’t see how this elegantly dressed, attractive woman could possibly run in the same social circles as this man. When he turned his attention back to the woman’s face, the look of admiration had been replaced by a look of determination. Then she turned back to him and suddenly appeared overly nervous again, bordering on panic stricken. He was embarrassed to be caught staring, but he could not seem to pull his eyes away. He was too intrigued with this woman and admittedly a little amused too.

  When she spoke to him, her voice was soft and low, and he could detect a slight tremor to it. He could barely make out what she said. He could only assume it was an embarrassed apology for bumping into him the way she had. A moment later, she spoke again—louder this time—and though she was polite, she was unable to keep the distress out of her voice. He knew he was being rude, but he couldn’t seem to form the words in his mind to make a reply.

  When she glanced down to his hand, it dawned on Dalton that he was still holding her bag. She finally looked relieved when he stepped forward and handed it to her. For a moment he was glad he had helped ease her worry and wiped the panicked look off her face. Then, to his dismay, the panic returned even worse than before.

  Jillian had to do something quickly. She could hardly control her breathing. Her emotions were in such a state that she was starting to feel lightheaded and weak. All the worry and stress of the last hour were quickly becoming too much for her. She tried unsuccessfully to recall wh
en she had last eaten. It had surely been too long since she had given her body proper nourishment. If she did not find a remedy to this distressing situation quickly, she would likely be in more trouble, and she wished to avoid any further humiliation.

  “Pardon me again, sir.” Her mouth was suddenly dry, and her body trembled slightly. “I believe—” she paused, swallowing hard, “I believe you’re standing . . . on my handkerchief.”

  Between the fear of being stranded in a strange town and the panicked feeling that she needed to hurry, her emotions were unraveling quickly. She took another quick glance over her shoulder. The man in the lobby was gone. A look of horror crossed her face until gratefully, she spotted him talking to the clerk at the ticket counter. He would be inquiring about her, no doubt. A momentary feeling of relief washed over her and she turned again, back to the man before her. He hadn’t moved.

  Dalton was beginning to worry about the woman standing before him. He feared she would faint, overcome by emotion. He needed to get someone to help this troubled woman so he could find out what had happened to his new wife-to-be.

  He was again shaken by thoughts of Laurellyn. Would he ever be able to control the constant threat of tears, even at the slightest thought of his lost love? He would have to at least learn to hide his feelings in front of his new wife. Even though they would not share the same kind of relationship he had with Laurellyn, he did want her to feel comfortable and welcome in her new home.

  Dalton glanced down at the ground to hide his face and to take a moment to recover himself. As he did, he saw something small and delicate sticking out from under his boot. What was he standing on? He tried to recall what the woman had said to him moments before, something about a handkerchief. He moved his foot aside and bent down to retrieve the dainty-looking thing. It had been soiled badly, no doubt by his boot, and he cringed guiltily. As he slowly stood back up, he looked at it more closely. He noticed the intricate yellow stitching that went around the border. A small, yellow rose completed its perfect design.