John Grayson’s letter had stated that he hoped they would get on well together and both find their arrangement pleasant. He wanted an amicable relationship. That was close enough to love for Nancy. It was far better than the alternative waiting for her back in Buffalo.
She noted that Hal Grayson’s hand was devoid of a wedding band. “Forgive my breach of etiquette, Mr. Grayson, but are you married?” Her boldness made her face burn, but she was desperate.
His eyebrows lifted, no doubt surprised by her bold question. “I haven’t made a match as of yet,” he said.
“Your brother promised that I would have a good home here and be treated kindly,” she said. “I left everything for him, Mr. Grayson. I can’t go back. I’m truly sorry about your brother, but in his absence I must place myself on your mercy and beg your assistance.”
“I’m afraid there’s nothing more I can do, Miss Mitchell.”
“But you can’t just leave me stranded here.”
“I’ve purchased your passage back to Buffalo. This train is heading to Buffalo.”
“I told you I can’t return. It’s out of the question, Mr. Grayson. Until we find a suitable solution, I have no choice but to hold you responsible in your brother’s stead.”
“Me?” He staggered back a step with a derisive laugh. “No, ma’am. I’m not fulfilling my brother’s contract. That was an agreement I was against from the start.”
“An agreement nonetheless, Mr. Grayson. I have nothing to go back to because of the promise your brother made to me. And now I’m stranded in a strange town without any means to support myself. I have no other options. Not one.”
“I’m not seeking a wife, Miss Mitchell.”
“Well, your brother was and he made a commitment to me. A man of integrity would honor his deceased brother’s debts and agreements.”
He drew himself up as if preparing to bodily put her on the train, but it was already chugging out of the station.
Through clenched teeth, he said, “You’ve missed your train, which was extremely unwise, Miss Mitchell.” Releasing a growl deep in his throat, he said, “Wait here,” and headed inside the station.
Heart thundering, Nancy stood outside and tried to calm her racing heart. Warm June sunshine splashed across the worn planks of the platform, and yet she stood alone and shivering wondering if she’d just won a battle or made the biggest mistake of her life.
Chapter Two
As they pulled out of the depot, Hal noticed Miss Mitchell looking over at him. “This... awkward situation isn’t entirely my fault, Mr. Grayson.”
Hal said nothing. He was utterly baffled to find himself carting the woman home. He’d fully intended to put Miss Mitchell back on a train bound for Buffalo. He’d spent nearly every coin he had to purchase her return trip, and yet he’d simply stood on the platform while her train chugged out of the station.
He’d meant to send her back. He really had. But the minute he saw her step down from the train looking apprehensive and even a bit scared, he felt his anger and frustration shift to curiosity and concern. He had expected to meet a self-possessed twenty-year-old woman. He thought she would be plain, perhaps even uncomely, a woman whose only choice for marriage was to answer an advertisement. And while Miss Mitchell seemed poised and composed, she appeared younger and far from plain.
“What was I to do?” she asked, softly, her dark eyes peering from beneath her stylish hat.
Gads, he couldn’t look away from those dark eyes of hers. They had ensnared him at the station and made him forget his purpose in coming here. When he’d first seen her he’d experienced a sense of familiarity sweep over him, as if he was meeting a long lost friend, and yet he knew with certainty he’d never met the woman. He would have never forgotten a woman like Miss Mitchell.
“Are you so angry you won’t speak to me?” she asked.
He braced his elbows on his knees so he wouldn’t have to look at her. He couldn’t think while looking into those big brown eyes. “I’m not angry with you Miss Mitchell, I’m just... I’m trying to figure out what to do with you.”
“It’s a bit late for that, don’t you think, Mr. Grayson?”
He sighed. “I have no idea what to think at the moment.”
He’d expected a fragile flower, one who would be easily persuaded to return home when faced with the information of John’s passing. But instead he’d found a petite, red-haired spitfire, a determined young woman with a sharp mind of her own. Although wildly beautiful and desirable, Miss Mitchell would have been a terrible match for John Radford. He wouldn’t have appreciated her forthright manner and intelligence. He wouldn’t have known what to do with such a woman. John had expected a passive and plain wife. The spark of defiance in Miss Mitchell’s eyes said she was anything but submissive.
Still, when Hal cut his gaze to the young woman seated beside him, he sensed a bit of innocence and naivety about her that elicited a protective instinct in him – a feeling that wholly surprised him as much as discovering her stunning beauty.
Why was a woman with so many assets willing to marry a complete stranger who could offer her nothing? Hal knew John wouldn’t have lied about their situation, but had he neglected to tell Miss Mitchell what she’d be getting herself into?
But the more pressing question was why Hal had allowed her to distract him to such a degree that she’d missed her train?
It was a question he couldn’t answer and so he found himself returning to Fredonia with Miss Mitchell by his side, heading to the house he’d recently shared with his brother. Hal had nowhere else to take the headstrong woman.
As they traveled out Liberty Street, they passed William and Mary Tucker’s house. His neighbors greeted him with a warm wave and curious looks at the stylish young lady at his side. Hal considered throwing himself on their mercy and leaving Miss Mitchell with them, but he couldn’t impose on his neighbors. He was already in their debt. While he’d been in Fredonia for a number of months, he and John had only moved in next door a few weeks earlier and were just becoming friends with the Tuckers. Now that John was gone, Mary Tucker and his other neighbor, Martha Fiske, had been delivering Hal’s supper each evening. Their generosity and kindness was overwhelming and he couldn’t even think of imposing on them further with Miss Mitchell.
The only option was to put the woman up in his home for the night and then take her back to the station in the morning. She would have to make do with a dusty room and a bed with a lumpy mattress. That’s all he had to offer her.
The obstinate woman should have taken the train right back home instead of forcing his hand. John would have wanted Hal to ensure she had favorable circumstances and wasn’t left stranded. And Hal did feel a sense of duty toward the woman. She was here because of his brother’s foolish promise — and her own bad decision. But that didn’t mean he had to be happy with the situation.
Hal’s house was badly disheveled, sparsely furnished, and filled with grief. Until now, he hadn’t much cared, but when Miss Mitchell stepped into the small foyer, her look of shock made his face burn.
The disappointment in her eyes gouged his conscience for not preparing her, for not helping her understand what she was walking into. But her obstinacy and unwillingness to get back on the train had made him too angry to care. The woman was beyond unreasonable. She’d promised to marry a man sight unseen. She deserved what she got—or so he tried to convince himself.
“It’s just for the night,” Hal said, by way of apology. “I’ll return you to the station in the morning.”
Instead of weeping or complaining, Miss Mitchell drew in a steadying breath and walked through the house. Her pretty brown skirt stirred up balls of dust that rolled across the oak floor like tumbleweed. The cut of her stylish dress with its puffed sleeves and fitted waist emphasized her petite figure and told Hal two things: she was a fit, beautiful woman and her garments alone were worth more than he earned in a month.
She peeked in each room as she circled the
parlor and eventually found her way to the kitchen. “Three bedchambers and a cozy parlor will make a lovely home,” she said, although she sounded unconvinced.
A home? For whom? Hal didn’t ask because it seemed better not to know what was on the lady’s mind.
She entered the kitchen ahead of him. “The table is large enough for a family and there are... plenty of dishes,” she said, as her sharp gaze took in the mountain of unwashed plates and bowls and silverware piled in the sink and stovetop. Nearly every item in his home, including the dishes, had been inherited from the recently deceased previous owner, Harold Crandale, and the man’s generous daughter, Martha Fiske.
“Are you hungry?” Hal asked because he didn’t know how to excuse the inexcusable mess he and John had created. He gestured toward a wicker hamper on the sideboard. “You’ll find eggs, bread, and a crock of butter in the basket. My neighbor William Tucker brought over that crate of last year’s apples,” he said, gesturing to a wooden crate shoved into a corner. “They’re packed in sand and still very tasty. It’s all I have at the moment.”
“I’m quite content, thank you.” She looked around the kitchen and sighed as if preparing herself for an insurmountable job. “Where is your housekeeping staff?”
The idea was so preposterous it made Hal laugh. “You were to be our staff, Miss Mitchell, had you married my brother.”
Her eyes widened as she took in the disheveled rooms and dishes overflowing the sink. “I did not understand that to be the case. I believed I was to tend John’s home and direct our staff.”
“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you.”
“Not to worry, Mr. Grayson. I shall set about acquiring a suitable staff on the morrow.”
“You’ll return to Buffalo tomorrow,” he said, reinforcing the fact that she would not be staying and that he would not be honoring the ridiculous contract his brother had committed himself to.
She seemed not to have heard him as she examined the heavy cast iron stove squatting in the kitchen like an old mule. “Does the stove work?”
“Yes,” he said, baffled by the woman. How could such a tiny lady possess such grit in the face of their obvious calamity?
“That’s good.” She nodded and peeked into the parlor. “The oak floor will clean up nicely and the fireplace will make the parlor quite lovely I should think.”
Hal remained silent. He had no intention of talking about the merits of a house she would not be staying in.
As she surveyed the parlor her eyes lit up as she surveyed the pianoforte. The instrument, a rare treasure that had come with the house purchase, seemed to pull her across the room. Before he could comment, she tugged off her gloves and laid her delicate fingers across the black and white keys sending a discordant trill of sound across the parlor. “It’s badly out of tune, but such a beautiful instrument.” Her lips tilted upward, hinting at a smile. “May I avail myself?” she asked.
“Whatever pleases you, Miss Mitchell. I’ll get your bags and put you in John’s room for the night.” Hal nodded toward the door behind her. “I’ll sleep in the barn so there’s no... so you won’t... because I’ll be up late working.” Clearing his throat, he spun on his boot heel and headed outside.
The discordant sound of felt-covered hammers striking metal wires in the soundboard followed him out of the house.
When he returned, Hal deposited her valise on the only bed in the house, a wooden framed thing with a lumpy mattress where John had slept. Hal had been sleeping on the parlor sofa, but tonight he would sleep in the barn loft. He didn’t want any question about Miss Mitchell being compromised, because he was getting rid of her tomorrow. Gads! What had possessed him to bring her home? “I’ll return momentarily with your travel trunks and then bid you good night,” he told her.
She was so engrossed with the pianoforte she barely lifted her head to acknowledge him.
When he returned, he quickly deposited the heavy trunk in John’s room, fetched her second and third smaller but heavier trunks, and then headed to the foyer. “Good night, Miss Mitchell. I’ll be around at daybreak to take you to the station. I apologize that you’ll have to wait for your train, but I’ll need to get back to the mill as early as possible.”
Her delicate hands slipped from the keys and she turned to face him. “Must you rush out so soon?” she asked, appearing small and uncertain as she stood beside the pianoforte. “It’s still early and I thought... I hoped we might talk about our arrangement?”
He planted his hands on his aching hips and looked straight into her beautiful brown eyes. “There is no arrangement, Miss Mitchell. You’ll rest here for the night and I’ll take you to the station in the morning.”
Hal berated himself all the way to the barn. Nancy Mitchell wasn’t supposed to be here. Hal and his brother should be scrambling eggs and wolfing them down with cold coffee and buttered bread. They should be hunched over the scarred kitchen table too exhausted to hold their heads up and yet too excited to stop talking about how they would make the impossible deadline for delivering cherry planks to Edwards. Instead, Hal found himself camped out in his woodshop listening to the distant sound of the out-of-tune pianoforte and thinking about the ridiculously obstinate and painfully beautiful Miss Mitchell.
Chapter Three
Just before dawn, Hal entered his small home. He hadn’t slept much the previous night because his mind had raced with thoughts of his brother, his father, and the haunting eyes of Nancy Mitchell sleeping just mere feet away in his house. He’d known better than to bring the woman home, but he’d been too distracted by her to think clearly and make other arrangements. He would take care of the problem this morning. First, however, he needed to wash up and grab an apple for breakfast before taking Miss Mitchell to the station.
Two steps into the foyer the smell of smoke spiked Hal’s heartbeat and sent him bolting toward the kitchen.
He found Miss Mitchell standing beside the smoking firebox, coughing and fanning her face with a singed potholder.
“What did you put in the firebox?” he asked, trying to peer inside through tearing eyes.
“Wood.”
“I assumed that, Miss Mitchell. What wood did you deposit in the box?”
She coughed and pressed a kitchen linen to her nose. “Two chunks of wood from the wood box.”
“Did you add tinder?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
She nodded, eyes streaming. “I used a bit of newspaper that was in the box.”
That bit of newspaper would have been plenty to build a fire had she used kindling. “You need to start with tinder,” he said. “You have to wait until the flames are high before you add the larger wood. And one piece will suffice.”
She frowned and coughed. “I’ve never built a fire before, Mr. Grayson. Being privy to that information last evening would have been most helpful.” She squinted against the roiling smoke and coughed again.
“I assumed all women your age would know how to set a fire in the firebox.”
“Well, I assumed John would have staff to tend to that chore.”
Coughing, Hal threw open the windows in the kitchen. “A disappointment for both of us.”
“Apparently,” she said, her comment muffled by the linen.
Hal took up the iron tongs from beside the stove, locked onto the large chunk of oak and tossed it out the back door. “Keep the firebox closed until I return,” he said, then strode through the house closing all the doors behind him to keep the smoke out of the other rooms. How was it possible for a woman of Miss Mitchell’s age to have no experience building a fire? How did she cook anything? If she didn’t start her own fires, who had managed that task for her? Gads, he knew absolutely nothing about the woman. Had John known anything about his intended?
Outside, Hal fetched the smoldering piece of firewood, doused it in a pail of water beside the well, and laid the saturated log aside for later use. When he returned, he found Nancy standing beside the window, her back to him.
/> “Let’s get you out of the smoke,” he said. “I hope an apple will suffice for breakfast, Miss Mitchell, because I need to deliver you to the train station now so I can make that delivery.”
“I’m too ill to travel, Mr. Grayson. The smoke has made me feel quite dreadful, I’m afraid.”
“Is this a ploy of some sort?” he asked, becoming impatient and exasperated by the course his morning was taking. Because if she thought she could manipulate him again, he wasn’t having it.
The woman turned from the window, her face ashen, eyes streaming, hands trembling. “Forgive me, but I’m unable to make it to the chamber pot.” With a gasp she turned and hung her head out the window.
Hal stood open-mouthed as Miss Mitchell retched out his kitchen window.
“I... forgive me, Miss Mitchell... I apologize.” Ashamed of his own bad behavior, he crossed the floor to stand at her back. “Let me help you to your room where you can lie down for a spell.” He waited for her to catch her breath, then tucked her shaking arm against his side and guided her through the haze. “I’m sorry I don’t have a clean handkerchief to give you.”
With her face buried in the kitchen linen it was difficult to understand her, but it sounded as if she laughed... or perhaps she’d sobbed.
He opened the bedroom door and nudged it closed behind them with his foot. He led her to the bed and made sure she was seated on the mattress before he opened both windows to let in the early morning breeze. It was a bit damp and cool, but refreshing.
“This is highly unacceptable,” she croaked, holding the linen close to her mouth as if she might retch again.
Was she was referring to him being in her sleeping quarters? Or that she had vomited out his kitchen window? Or that she had spent a night in his home without a chaperone? It was all unacceptable by his measure.
“Why don’t you lie down, Miss Mitchell. If you can manage without assistance, I have a delivery I must make first thing this morning. I’ll air the house before I leave and then I’ll check on you when I return.”
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