“But…?”
“But it was supposed to happen to me!” she cried, flailing her hands upward in exasperation. “You never cared about animals, and you’re fond of the city, with your library books and your big family Christmases, and…”
“I know. I understand.” Addie stepped closer and took Elinor in her arms. “You’re right, it doesn’t seem fair.”
Elinor laid her head on her best friend’s shoulder and sobbed, hugging her close. She knew she should be thinking about how lucky she was to have a friend like Addie…but all she could think about was Gideon Cartwright’s letter, still clutched in her hand.
And how she didn’t want to let it go.
Chapter 2
July 1890
The Cartwright Farm
North of Helena, Montana
The sun bore down on Gideon Cartwright as he sat in the hard metal seat of his mower, while Dash and Cody, his two Percherons, pulled the heavy two-wheeled contraption across the fields of alfalfa. He looked to the side and watched the grass fall, like reedy little soldiers before the whirring, clacking sickle bar that extended along the ground from the right side of his mower. He reveled in the sight of the rich green of the mature alfalfa crop. The field bore the hallmark of a field ripe and ready for cutting—a mere hint of purple alfalfa blooms, etched across the endless acres of tall, leafy grass.
He had long weeks of work ahead of him, but that was a good thing—it kept him from thinking constantly about Adelaide. Who am I fooling? No it don’t! Can’t keep that girl from my mind for half a minute. I’m lucky I don’t get myself killed out here, I’m so preoccupied.
A distracted mind wasn’t something a farmer wanted to have, especially when running harvesting machinery. He’d known of too many farmers—or their children—who’d come to harm or lost their lives in farm accidents.
He came to the corner of the section he was cutting, he tightened his grip on the reins and pulled back on the lever beside him, raising the sickle bar. Then he cued the horses, and they side-stepped to the right in tandem, which twisted the mower until it had made a 90-degree turn, and now faced down the next side of the square patch of field he was working on. The horses waited while he pushed the lever to lower the sickle bar again, and he gave the command for them to continue. Gideon watched to make sure the sickle bar was close to the ground, yet far enough above it to avoid cutting the alfalfa too short.
I can only hope I’m attentive enough when I have children of my own. He couldn’t imagine the horror of losing a child. It was hard enough losing parents—the pain of his mother’s cruel death was still fresh in his memory, five years later. Even now, remembering sent a piercing pain through his gut.
He inhaled deeply, trying to purge such dark thoughts and calm his breathing. The sharp scent of fresh-cut grass filled his nostrils, mixed with the smell of horseflesh. That scent brought him firmly into reality—the smell of success. The smell of money. Mowing time would be his favorite time of year, if it not for the long days with the hot sun beating down on his back. The autumn cutting would be more temperate, though not as green.
Sweat dribbled down from where leather band inside his hat brim stuck to his head. He whipped the hat from his head, one-handed, swiped at the sweat with the back of his forearm, then plunged the hat back onto his head, all the while holding the reins to make sure the horses stayed the course.
Behind him, reams of cut alfalfa lay fallen in flat swaths. In the afternoon, he’d hitch the horses up to the dump rake and rake the fallen swaths into puffy windrows, where it would stay out in the sun for a few days while he worked the other fields, until the hay needed to be turned over, using the dump rake again. When it was dried to a very pale green, he’d get out the buckrake, attach the horses behind it, and push it, a pile at a time, across the field, toward the hay derrick.
Gideon took satisfaction in knowing that his first cutting would be in—half of it stacked, half of it already sold—long before Adelaide McGilvray arrived. It was worth all the work, just knowing he’d be well-prepared when he took on his new wife. He knew the work would get done sooner with another person to drive a second mower, dump rake, or buckrake at the same time. But he only had one of each piece of equipment, and he’d rather put in more hours than hire more equipment and a second driver. The six-man “skeleton crew”—which he’d use for creating the two-story stack of hay with the log scaffold and the hay derrick—would be expensive enough.
At least the work kept him focused—less of his brain available to worry about whether Adelaide would truly be a satisfactory match for him, or whether she’d be happy in Montana, or happy with him, or if she’d even show up at all.
That sent another icy rush of fear through his heart. It had been weeks since he’d sent the letter to her, making arrangements for her trip out. It felt like he should be getting a letter back any day, but in truth, Adelaide probably hadn’t even received that letter yet. And he wouldn’t hear back from her for almost three weeks after that—by which time she would, hopefully, already be aboard the train and well on her way to Montana.
Please, please God, let her get on that train.
Adelaide seemed to be the perfect match. Well, maybe not the perfect match—but a pleasant one. She hadn’t expressed much excitement about living on a farm, but she wasn’t opposed to it. She was happy to just get out of her parents’ house and be on her own, away from the clamor of her brothers and sisters. She looked forward to having a family of her own, but eagerly awaited the early years of marriage, when it would be quiet—just the two of them, settled down and just starting their family. He agreed with that sentiment wholeheartedly.
He remembered growing up with two sisters and a brother of his own, always living in close quarters—he couldn’t imagine adding another three children on top of that. No wonder Adelaide longed for the peace and quiet of the West!
He wished she was more in tune with his thinking—he worried that farm life might not agree with her. That worried him most of all, when he couldn’t make his mind shut down at night. But she had said as long as there was a library in Helena, she would be happy. He wondered if he should have told her that inclement weather, and the heavy work of planting and cutting time, might interfere often with her planned library excursions. If he had, would she have changed her mind?
I’ll just have to find a way to feed her literary appetite, somehow. It was really important to him that she was happy. He’d longed for companionship for so long, but having to become the man of the house at sixteen—and the sole head of his family at eighteen—had eliminated the time or energy for courting. Besides, he had needed all his free time—on the rare occasion he’d had it—to keep his younger siblings on the straight and narrow. I only hope I succeeded, he thought.
Once Nina, the youngest, had finally left home to marry, it had taken less than a week to realize that running a farm by himself was harder than he’d expected, and since Emmett wouldn’t be coming back from his mining claim anytime soon to help, he was in a pickle—there was no time for courtship, especially living so far from town. He was almost relieved when a friend at church had suggested Madeline Porter’s services. It sounded like she’d arranged quite a few happy couples, and though it wasn’t easy to afford, seven months before he’d see another harvest, he’d managed to pay the expenses.
Well worth the investment, he thought. Adelaide was a pretty girl, petite, with a friendly face. She was well-read and could play the violin, which would help in schooling their children, and after growing up in a large family, she was sure to be able to keep up with the grueling work that came with running a farmhouse and caring for children. With endless days of laundry, preserving, and tending a kitchen garden, it had taken all four of the Cartwright children to run the house well. Things were starting to fall apart now that Gideon had to handle everything himself—even though there was only himself to provide food and laundry for. He’d had to let the kitchen garden go this year—there had been no time
to think of it, when he had one hundred acres of his land planted in alfalfa this year.
Yep, Miss McGilvray can’t arrive soon enough. And as long as the weather stayed fair, he should get all the hay in before her arrival. He was eager for a companion, for a friend, and yes, a lover. At twenty-four years old, it was high time he had female company in his bed. I’ve done my duty—actually, Pa’s duty—for long enough. It’s time I moved on with my own life, and have someone to share it with.
Chapter 3
Tuesday, August 4, 1890
Newbury Street, the Back Bay
Boston, Massachusetts
It’s wrong. All wrong.
Elinor stared at herself in the mirror, her pale face almost as white as the embroidered veil that framed it. The scalloped-edge veil was pinned to her head, then topped with a crown of silk honeysuckle and orange blossoms, accented with wax buds, all in shades of white and cream.
She looked down at her waist-length jacket bodice. It was fitted so narrow, with her stays pulled tight, that she could scarcely breathe. Though the pleated and ruched basque back and the pointed bodice front flattered her figure, she didn’t feel pretty. She felt as if she were drowning in the waves of satin that surrounded her as she sat at her vanity. Behind her, the pleated bustle and asymmetrical train was being fluffed and fussed over by her mother.
“Just look at the frills cascading down the back of the bustle!” her mother gushed. “What a sight you’ll be! Theodosia Vessey’s wedding gown didn’t have double rows of broderie anglaise at the hem—only a single row! Oh my dear, you’ll be the talk of the Boston Art Club!” She sighed with pleasure, looking over Elinor’s shoulder and meeting her eyes in the mirror. “That Theodosia will be green with envy! How fortunate you are that we didn’t have a June wedding. An August wedding gave our seamstress the chance to out-do the rest.”
Over-do, you mean, thought Elinor. Her dress had so many pleats, pin-tucks, frills, and trims that she felt more like a doll than a bride. It was embarrassing.
“You know, dear, if all goes well, it’s possible we could be invited to join The Country Club out in Brookline. I know your father says it’s too far to be worth it, especially given the extravagant cost, but you can’t put a price on something like that, can you? And as lovely as your dress looks, I’m sure the members will think that we’ll fit right in!”
This doesn’t feel right. Her wedding wasn’t supposed to be a game of trying to out-do everyone else in society. It was supposed to be about love and commitment. Well, in this case, about commitment, at least. Love wasn’t a part of the equation. It was a luxury that she hadn’t been afforded.
A soft knock on the door finally ended her mother’s incessant gloating, as Mrs. Travers was forced to answer it. Elinor barely registered her mother’s conversation at the door, until she heard her best friend’s name whispered.
“Adelaide, right now isn’t the time. We’re about to leave for the church.”
“Addie’s here?” Elinor craned her neck to see her dear friend, but her mother held the bedroom door open only a few inches. “Let her in, Mama!”
“Now see what you’ve done?” Mrs. Travers hissed through the small opening. “We’ll be late. Mrs. Dorrigan never should have let you in.”
“A housemaid let me in,” came Addie’s muffled voice, “she said Mrs. Dorrigan was too busy with preparations to answer the door.”
“That Betsy!” Mrs. Travers grumbled. “The girl has been here a month—how long does it take to learn the rules of the house? I never should have let the last girl go. This one is much worse.”
“Mama, you forbade me to invite Addie to the wedding,” Elinor called. “The least you can do is let me see her before we go.”
Her mother sighed, then held the door open—barely wide enough for Addie to slip through. “Very well. You have five minutes, young lady, then out you go. I’ll be in the carriage, Elinor. Don’t make your father wait. You know how he gets.” Her mother left, closing the door behind her a little more firmly than was proper.
Addie stood by the door, her hands clutched together in front of her. Elinor knew her friend well, and could see that she was as nervous and anxious as she herself was.
“Well…are you ready for the big day?” Addie’s smile was tight.
Elinor had to swallow hard over the lump in her throat to keep back the tears. This would be the last time she saw her friend. Today she married, and her husband wouldn’t allow her to see Addie any more than her parents did. Not that it mattered—in a few days, Addie would be boarding a train bound for Montana, to meet Gideon, the hay farmer with the warm, cheerful smile.
Elinor closed her eyes and imagined the photograph that he’d sent, which she had memorized every inch of. She thought of his dark blond hair, looking a bit shaggy and in need of a haircut, and his light-colored eyes…were they blue? He’d described them as a “hard-to-define” color, somewhere between blue and green and hazel.
She shook her head, pushing away such thoughts. Her best friend in the world was leaving forever, and all she could think about was Addie’s fiancé! You always want what you can’t have, she thought. Forget him. He’s not yours. Besides, he could turn out to be older or fatter than his photograph. Or maybe it wasn’t his photograph at all. Or maybe he’s just as dull and unemotional as Walter is.
But she knew he wouldn’t be. He would be just as magnificent as he sounded in his letters, and he and Addie would fall in love and have many beautiful children together…children who would never be best-friend-turned-sisters with her own children, as she had always hoped.
“Elinor, please don’t cry,” Addie said, coming up behind her. “If you start crying, I’ll start crying. And I’ll never stop. And your face will get all blotchy, and you’ll look horrible up at the altar.”
“I don’t care!” Elinor let the tears come. “I don’t want to marry him. I don’t want you to leave. I don’t want to be left behind, alone and miserable.”
“It will be alright. Don’t you worry. Things will work themselves out.” Addie stepped behind her, looking over her head, their eyes meeting in the mirror. She put her hands on Elinor’s shoulders, patting them gently. “Just because you don’t start out in love, doesn’t mean you won’t end up in love.”
Another knock sounded at the door, louder and more firm than Addie’s had been.
“Who is it?” Elinor asked. It must be Papa.
“It’s me.”
“Walter?” Elinor’s eyes widened, matching Addie’s expression in the mirror.
Addie patted her shoulder. “I’ll go answer the door. He shouldn’t see you before the wedding.”
“No, I’ll do it. I just won’t open it enough for him to see me.”
Gathering her heavy skirts, she walked to the door, the swish of satin loud in the silent room.
She opened the door a crack, but stayed behind it so he couldn’t see her. “Walter, you’re not supposed to see the bride before the wedding.”
“Oh, bother. We aren’t the superstitious sort, are we?”
“Well…no. I don’t really believe anything bad will happen, but I think following the traditions is more…romantic. Don’t you?”
Walter chuckled. “This isn’t exactly one of those tawdry romance novels that the less-educated are so fond of, is it?”
Elinor shot Addie a look…and Addie looked away, hiding her expression. Though Addie was enamored with poetry and Shakespeare, Elinor favored an exciting romantic story. She savored any book that she knew would have a happy ending. Walter’s words were as shocking as a slap to the face.
“How did you even get up here? Where’s Mama? She’ll drag you off by the collar if she finds out.”
“I brought my buggy in the back service gate. One of the housemaids answered the kitchen door when I knocked, and I bribed her to let me in.”
Poor Betsy. That girl is bound to be fired someday. “You’re lucky that Mama is out front in the carriage. She’d tan your hide if sh
e found you up here. I can’t imagine what you were thinking—this is so unlike you.”
“True. I just stopped by to…well, I’m not sure why.” Walter sounded puzzled. “I felt drawn to come—I suppose I thought that you might be nervous. I hear brides can be that way on their wedding day. Perhaps talking to someone who is calm and less emotional would help a bit.”
Addie, joining Elinor behind the door, raised an eyebrow. Elinor knew she was wondering the same things—was Walter implying that Elinor was over emotional, or was he implying that he felt no real emotion over their impending marriage? Or was this evidence that Walter’s cold façade was softening?
“Walter…why are you marrying me?” Elinor finally asked the question she had wondered for so many months.
“What do you mean?” His puzzled tone had returned. “I found you to be a suitable match. Why else would I ask you to marry me?”
“But why do you find me a suitable match? That is…you’ve never expressed any particular feelings for me, and surely there were more ‘suitable’ matches out there. My father isn’t as well-to-do as yours, nor is he all that well-respected in society.”
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