by Jillian Hart
Miss Grant spoke quietly beside his shoulder. “The chief officer has a letter for you from the agency. And one from Paulette. Explaining everything.”
“I see.”
“And there he is,” she said, pointing to the officer. “Sir, over here!” Sophie flagged him down. The young man in uniform dodged past two crates filled with chickens, confirmed John’s name, handed him two envelopes sealed with wax, then darted back to the ship.
John said nothing. His pride prevented him from explaining his sense of loss and loneliness to Miss Grant.
The few decent women who did arrive here were snatched up faster than the hot strike of a match. He’d been so focused on his livery stables the past year, rising with the birds in the early morning, going to bed with the late call of wolves, there’d been no extra time to pursue the fairer sex. No time to dine a woman, take her dancing, or any other such extravagance. He’d finally vowed to make time, and then a neighbor had recommended the mail-order-bride catalog. He’d gotten to know Paulette from a few letters they’d exchanged, and her character seemed strong and understanding.
He lowered his head, chafed with hurt pride and disillusion.
Silence grew between him and Miss Grant. It muted the calls of the sailors working around them, and the stomping of hooves as his mare was led away.
His mare. John waved his arm at the deckhand. “See to it she gets to my main livery by the hour!”
“Yes, sir!”
John turned back to the young woman. His skin bristled, knowing she was witness to his intimate humiliation. He wasn’t the type of man who normally went about ordering a wife, and he’d had his doubts at first, too. He should have followed his gut from the beginning. This would be the last time he jumped into such a hasty arrangement. Seeing the pity in Miss Grant’s eyes made his stupidity all the harder to bear.
“Thank you for the news,” he said gruffly. “Good day.”
He turned to walk away, but she called out. “There’s more to tell you!”
Good grief. What more? He stopped in his tracks, swung around and frowned.
She’d gone pale. “There’s no obligation required on your part. I believe the agency spells it all out in the letter.” She hauled her bags up to her waist, as if ready to turn and run at any moment. She peered up at him and hesitated.
“What is it?”
“If you agree…if the circumstance pleases you…the agency sent me as replacement.”
Chapter Two
For the next few moments John was so stunned at Miss Grant’s declaration, he couldn’t speak. He weighed the idea in his mind, trying not to let his churning sentiments interfere with his logic. But he couldn’t help it.
“Everything’s explained in the letter.” She fumbled with her two bags. Disembarking passengers streamed behind her, headed for the boardwalk and center of town. “The agency thought we might be a good match.”
“Just to make sure I understand this. You’ve agreed to be my bride?”
Her bonnet shielded half her face from the sun, but the rays lit up the soft curves of her other side. “Well…I…I wanted to meet you first, and then…”
Was he supposed to take this lightly? The agency thought they could just send a replacement without consulting him first? Obviously they cared only about collecting their fee. “I don’t think I’m ready for this.”
“Sir?”
His temples were beginning to pound. He tried to control his mounting storm of emotion, but it seeped out in the cold spurts of his voice. “It’s too much to take in. Up until ten minutes ago, I thought I was marrying Paulette Trundle. Now I’m supposed to turn my head around and take another woman?”
She colored fiercely and pulled at her bonnet with a gloved hand. “I’ve had more than twenty-two days to think about it, and you’ve only had a minute.”
“Exactly.” His voice rumbled louder. Passersby turned their heads to stare, but he didn’t give a damn. “I’m still trying to sort through the blow. The woman I’ve been corresponding with for ten months decided she didn’t want to marry me. I have to ask myself why.”
She lowered her voice, darting glances toward the gawking strangers. “I don’t think it was you. I think it was the thought of living so far away in Alaska that got to her. But if you’ll read her letter…” she urged him again.
Maybe it was his anger at Paulette or his frustration at the agency that made him speak without thinking. He lashed out recklessly. “What about you? You think it’s perfectly fine for me to switch the juicy roast beef sandwich I was about to bite into for a slice of ham? One woman’s as good as the next? Where’s the dignity?”
“Uh.” Her mouth dropped open in horror. “How dare you!”
Tension sucked the oxygen out of the air. Then with a snap of her skirts, she whirled around, clenched a bag in each hand and stomped toward the boardwalk.
He groaned. Had those words come from his mouth?
“I’m sorry.” He chased after her, ducking under store signs and twisting his broad shoulders through the crowd to get closer. Now they were truly creating a commotion. People were openly staring. “I’m sorry.”
“Stay away from me!”
“I didn’t mean it.”
“You meant every word!”
He had. He truly had. And he was unable to muster the necessary facial expression to lie about it.
“It’s nothing personal about you. I meant it in a general sense. Here, let me help you.” He tried to grab one of her bags, but she smacked his chest with it instead. “Ow!” Recovering quickly, he hastened to explain. “I meant my dignity! Not yours!”
“Liar! Don’t come near me! Help! Anyone! Help!”
He planted his hands in the air in a gesture of surrender. “Hey, don’t do this. Don’t do this.”
Those green eyes he’d initially thought were so attractive now stabbed him with defiance. “Help!”
Three or four men took a step toward him. Heads pivoted on the boardwalk. A crowd formed around them. Just what he needed. More witnesses to his stupidity.
Miss Grant pulled back her shoulders and pressed up against the storefront sign of the ice cream parlor that read Salesclerk Needed. “This man won’t leave me alone.”
“Better get out of here, Colburne,” said the boot maker. “She doesn’t seem to like you.”
“It’s not what you think,” John told them. “I’m trying to help her with her bags.”
“She doesn’t seem to want your help, John,” said a miner.
She lifted her chin and snapped, “I’m perfectly capable of crossing the street, on my own, to the hotel. Where I’m sure I can buy myself a nice ham sandwich!”
He winced.
Just then, one of his stable hands came around the corner, spotted John and Miss Grant glaring at each other, and shouted, “Congratulations, John. This must be the lovely Miss Trundle.”
With a loud scoff of disgust, Miss Grant spun toward the stairs of the boardwalk and flounced toward the hotel and its bright red canopy. She already had a following of two or three men eager to help. Eager to court her was more likely.
What the hell was John supposed to do now? Did she have enough money to pay for a room? How long could she support herself in Alaska? Was he supposed to marry her out of pity?
How in blazes had this orderly situation gotten out of control?
That damn agency. And his damn meddling neighbors. He never should have listened to anyone for advice on how to find himself a wife.
After he’d finally calmed down and left the crowds for a quiet corner near the grassy slopes overlooking the harbor, John pulled out the letters. With a queasiness rolling up his throat, he read Paulette’s first.
Dear Mr. Colburne,
I’m awfully sorry to disappoint you, but I simply can’t go through with this marriage. It’s not like me to up and leave everything and everyone I know. My two beloved sisters live only two city blocks away. It seems like such a difficult voyage to Alaska,
and I think you’re best suited with another choice the agency may send.
Regards,
Paulette Trundle
The P and T in her name were signed with a flourish. She’d underlined her signature with three swirls. Regards. That was all. Her three previous letters had been signed with loving regards.
He read it a second time. Then a third. It still said the same thing. She didn’t want him.
Was there a pattern here in his private life? His last engagement, years ago, hadn’t worked out either. Through no fault of his own.
He sighed and looked out to the docks, where the crew of Miss Grant’s steamship was still unloading trunks, baggage and livestock.
He pulled out the second envelope, this one from the agency, unsealed the wax and read.
Dear Mr. Colburne,
Unfortunately, your first choice for a bride is unavailable. Miss Trundle sends her apologies and we must respect her decision.
On a brighter note, we do have several other suitable young American women, hardworking and interested in raising families. In her interviews, Miss Grant displayed a wonderful charm and sensibility to the harsher conditions of Alaska. She is widowed with no children. She comes from a remarkable family of physicians, and she herself wishes to practice midwifery.
In strictest confidence, I must tell you she parted ways with her father over his refusal to allow her to work. However, knowing the higher acceptance of working women in Alaska, I thought you might appreciate her skills in midwifery, and in regard to possibly raising your own future children.
If you find her unsuitable, please send word immediately and I shall seek a replacement. As we initially agreed, your fee is not refundable.
With very best wishes,
Mrs. Diana Shankford
Chairwoman, Seattle Mail-Order Brides
There was a lot to absorb in this letter. John stared at it for a long time, then tucked it back inside his jacket and headed for the Skagway Arms Hotel.
Still fuming at John Colburne’s insults, Sophie checked in to the smallest and least expensive room they had. She removed her bonnet and suit jacket, washed up, then barreled down the stairs again to speak to the desk clerk. A handwritten sign on the pine desk read Kitchen Maid Needed. It was gratifying to know there was work in this town.
“Could you please notify the ship’s crew where I’m staying? They said they would deliver my trunk.”
“We’ll look after it, miss.” The round-faced clerk pushed his drifting spectacles up the bridge of his nose.
“And where might I get a bite to eat?”
She had to be careful with her money, but her stomach pangs were turning into cramps.
“Straight down the hall to your right. The hotel diner. I believe the two gentlemen are waiting for you inside.”
“They didn’t leave?”
“No, miss. Insisted they’d like to buy you a meal.”
With trepidation, Sophie nodded. Several other passengers from the ship, seeking rooms, nudged past her to the front desk. Three men of various ages and sizes stepped back to take a second look at her face, openly interested. She wasn’t used to such attention and stepped away to the carpeted hall.
Her situation had changed so drastically from what she’d been expecting. John Colburne was not the man she hoped he’d be. She was looking for someone with a gentle side to him, but he was outspoken and rude.
She was officially “unengaged” again. A deep disappointment took root. After twenty-two days at sea, wondering and hoping for the best, trying to make herself as friendly and pleasing to the eye as she could, she’d been rejected. The sting of failure crept up her cheeks. Wasn’t there anyone out there for her?
Would her six years with Miles be the only marriage she’d ever know?
Not that she was complaining. She had at first, when her father had insisted that women didn’t belong in medical school but in the home of a good man, and had arranged for his forty-six-year-old accountant to marry her at sixteen. She’d fought her father and two brothers with every argument she could think of. She was too young; it wasn’t right she had no choice; she wanted an education like her brothers; her mother, in her grave, certainly wouldn’t approve of her only daughter not having a say in her own marriage. Nothing had worked.
So she’d married Miles. He’d turned out to be remarkably generous. But he continued to work his long hours, and, a year later, suffered from a brain inflammation that left the entire right side of his body permanently paralyzed. Fortunately she still had five more lovely years with him. And she’d gotten to know his loving sister, Belinda, a trained nurse and midwife who’d helped Sophie care for Miles. Belinda had been a godsend and had secretly trained Sophie in midwifery.
Oh, how her father had disapproved when he’d discovered it.
Sophie sighed. Her eyes still watered at the memory. Trying to gather her composure before she entered the dining hall, she stopped to look at a wall hanging. It was a landscape of Alaska, a watercolor painting of the midnight sun, blazing over ocean colors in striking depths of clarity. A pack of beautiful wolves roamed the slopes.
Whatever was meant to be, would be.
Lots of women in Skagway worked, she’d been told in Seattle by Mrs. Shankford. Laundresses, shop owners, even gold miners.
Back home, her two brothers, both surgeons like her father and equally demanding that women shouldn’t become doctors, were just as stuffy as he was. “I’m pleased,” she whispered to the big wolf in the painting, “to be out of the house in Portland.” Trying to cheer herself, she found the humor in her situation. “It got very confusing with Dr. Mead, Dr. Mead and Dr. Mead.”
The wolf’s lonesome eyes stared back at her.
She couldn’t support herself yet as a midwife. Miles had left her with very little money, since he’d been unemployed for the last five years of his life. She had hoped that a marriage to a successful businessman in Alaska would work to her advantage. As a widow, she was often overlooked by Portland’s eligible men, other than the much older ones, and this time she was hoping for adventure with someone closer to her own age.
Mr. Colburne’s insinuation that she had no dignity still blistered her pride. She had plenty of dignity. Enough to send him packing.
She was also aware of something unexpected about this town. The looks and admiration of the men around her had been disconcerting at first, but made her realize there were many eligible men in the vicinity.
Skagway wasn’t such a big frightening place. True, it was a crude town with simple buildings and many rough-looking characters, but it was also thriving. The possibility of meeting another suitable husband was quite high. If she found work in the meantime, she needn’t hasten into a marriage with anyone.
Perhaps she had more freedom here than she’d initially thought. It did worry her that she had only enough money to stay in the hotel for roughly two weeks, but she’d find work—of any kind, be it as a salesclerk in the ice cream parlor or a kitchen maid—until midwifery could support her.
Still, her heart bruised with thoughts of Mr. Colburne’s harsh words. If she ever laid eyes on him again, she’d slap his face is what she’d do—
“Hello.”
She wheeled around and her chest prickled with a thousand barbs. It was him. Cradling his hat at his chest, his blond hair rippling in the sunshine pouring from the front windowpanes, he towered over her.
“You again,” she muttered.
“I’d like to speak with you, Miss Grant.”
“I don’t have anything more to say.”
She took a step toward the diner, but he blocked her path. His bulk nearly filled the hallway.
His firm and serious profile was such a change in demeanor from the man who’d passionately kissed her on the docks.
But that kiss wasn’t meant for her. It was meant for another woman he didn’t truly know, Paulette Trundle.
Brushing aside the intimate memory, she glared at him.
He shi
fted his weight. “You have every right to be angry. Give me a chance to explain. There’s something we need to—”
“Hold on a minute,” she interrupted. “I know why you’re here.” When the thought came to her, she was even more discouraged and heartsick at this man’s character.
Chapter Three
With mounting annoyance, Sophie tried to skirt around John Colburne, but he stretched his arm across her path, touching the wall. “And why’s that?” he asked.
“You’ll have to write to Mrs. Shankford for a refund.”
He sputtered, speechless, and dropped his hand. It gave her some satisfaction to know she was getting to him as much as he was getting to her.
“I have no need for a refund. I’d like to pay for your voyage home.”
She clenched her jaw. “Impossible. This is home now.”
“Then allow me…” He opened his fringed suede jacket and removed his billfold, taking out a generous sum of thirty dollars. Back home, an average month’s pay for a man.
Half of her was riveted at the sight—being paid off by a stranger in a hotel as though she were a painted woman. The other half was acutely aware of why he was doing it.
He held out the money, but she didn’t go near it. He huffed in frustration and stuffed the money into her satchel.
“All right. I accept your money. Thank you. You’re hereby absolved of any further duty toward me.”