“I’m pleased to meet you, Miss McGilvray,” the man said with a friendly grin.
“Likewise, Mr. Kirschner.” She nodded, trying to hide her amusement at his exchange with his…friend? Acquaintance? Rival? She wasn’t sure.
“And don’t pay no mind to old Roy. He’s a cheeky fellow.”
A barking laugh erupted from Roy. “You find yourself a new girl, and suddenly I’m the old one? I’m two years younger.”
“But you look ten years older,” Mr. Kirschner quipped.
“Enough, you two,” interrupted Mrs. Porter. “Let’s allow poor Miss McGilvray to check into her hotel room.” She turned to Elinor. “So nice to meet you, Miss McGilvray.”
Elinor’s conscience prodded her. She couldn’t keep up the charade. The guilt consumed her every time she heard her friend’s name called. But how could she admit her wrongdoing in front of an entire shop full of strangers? “Yes…I’ve enjoyed meeting you as well,” she managed, her mind occupied with the predicament she’d placed herself in.
“Clay, get her over to the hotel now, she looks rather pale.”
“I can do it,” Mr. Cartwright finally spoke up. “I’d be happy to.”
Again, Mrs. Porter’s eyebrows raised. Elinor wondered how many times the woman had gotten her way with the mere lift of a delicately arched eyebrow. She suspected the answer was ‘countless’. She seemed to have a way with people—a kind, but firm, way—especially with men.
“Uh…then again…I…uh…” Mr. Cartwright stuttered “…I best be going. Got a lot of chores to get done today, if I’m to take another trip into town tomorrow.”
“That’s a good idea.” Mrs. Porter smiled pleasantly. “Why don’t you meet me here just before noon tomorrow, and we’ll meet Miss McGilvray at noon in the hotel lobby for our luncheon. How does that sound, dear?” She directed the last at Elinor.
“Delightful.” Elinor smiled, but inside she felt her insides shrink, in fear of meeting the intimidating woman once again. She was genteel, beautiful, and obviously very intelligent—Elinor feared that she would discover her secret before the luncheon was through.
“It’s all set then. Oh my…” Mrs. Porter held a hand to her stomach, and swayed a bit on her feet.
“What is it?” Mr. Porter rushed forward.
“Nothing, nothing, just a touch of nausea. The little darling kicked me right in the stomach. Oof.” She let her husband take her arm.
“Mama! Mama fat.” The little girl pointed to her mother’s expectant belly.
“You’re lucky you’re so cute,” her mother frowned, then her mouth curved into a wry smile. “I can’t fault her for telling the truth.”
“Now who’s talking nonsense?” Clay asked, guiding her behind the counter. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”
“Even if I’m as big as a house?”
“My dear, you glow when you’re as big as a house!”
“Oh, Clay, really, that’s not a compliment!”
He laughed, and once his wife was seated comfortably, he asked Mr. Kirschner to keep an eye on her.
Mr. Cartwright sidled up to Elinor. “I guess I won’t be seeing you at the hotel tomorrow.”
“Yes.” She blushed under his gaze. She wished they would be dining alone. She didn’t feel like she needed Mrs. Porter’s protection, or her assistance feeling at ease. She already felt like she’d known her new fiancé a very long time.
“Well then, until tomorrow,” he said, nodding at her before slipping his hat onto his head and turning to walk out.
Mr. Porter donned his own hat, then picked up Elinor’s valise. “Shall we?”
Chapter 10
Thursday, August 28, 1890
Elinor returned to her hotel room after the luncheon with Mr. Cartwright and Mrs. Porter. It went better than she had hoped. Mrs. Porter hadn’t asked her any penetrating questions—the only unusual comment made was her observation that Elinor was taller than she had expected, after seeing the miniature Mr. Cartwright had shown her a few weeks before. It caused Elinor a few tense moments, but if Mrs. Porter sensed anything amiss, she didn’t let on.
Mrs. Porter talked about other happy couples she had matched up, and Mr. Cartwright gave an update on how the crops were doing at his farm, and how many chickens he had amassed—purely by accident, because a few of his hens were insistently broody, and kept laying eggs out in the field, and hiding to sit on them. A new clutch of eggs had just hatched the week prior. Elinor was delighted, and couldn’t wait to see the baby chicks.
Whenever anyone asked a question about “Adelaide” and her family, Elinor replied as briefly as possible. It was fortunate that she’d known the McGilvrays so well growing up, but she hadn’t visited the household more than once every few months over the last two years. Instead, she and Addie would meet up at the library in Boston—it gave Elinor the perfect excuse to meet Addie, without having to tell any lies. Her mother never questioned Elinor’s trips to borrow new books. But she and Addie often spent more time giggling about boys and school than talking about their families. Therefore, some questions asked about the McGilvray household were more difficult to answer than others—in such cases, she gave Mrs. Porter and Mr. Cartwright a brief answer with as little detail as possible, and fabricated some information, when necessary.
As she removed her hat, and set it on the dresser, she sighed in relief. Finally, she was able to relax and not feel on edge. The luncheon had been very stressful, and she left the restaurant feeling awful about herself. The guilt of every lie piled one on top of another.
Am I making a mistake? I can’t pretend to be Addie forever. Sooner or later he’ll find out. What if I’m never the kind of housekeeper that he is expecting? Perhaps I should confess after all. But when? After the wedding? Or perhaps right before—that will give me enough time to show him what an ideal match we are, but still let him have the choice of whether to marry me—Elinor—or not.
She paced the room, her stomach curdled from distress. But what if he doesn’t want to marry me? What if he’s angry that I lied? What if he’s repulsed at the idea of marrying a woman so thoroughly unsuited to life as a farm wife? The thought ate away at her. He was everything she had ever wanted—and truly, she believed she was exactly the type of girl he needed, even if she couldn’t cook or sew. He wouldn’t have been satisfied with Addie, who didn’t like sheep—or many other animals—and who probably would have hated living so far away from town. Gideon had said that under normal circumstances, aside from church, he only went into town once a month, maybe twice if he needed something important. Not at all during the cutting seasons. Addie would have hated being so far from a library. No, I’m the perfect choice for him. I just need time to learn the skills that Addie has. Then he’ll truly appreciate what a favorable match we really are!
She walked over to the window, just in time to see Mr. Cartwright…Gideon, her future husband…leaving the butcher shop, where he’d walked with Mrs. Porter after leaving the hotel. She watched him walk around the corner and disappear, then reappear on horseback, turning right to head out of town. She wished they were already married, and was riding her own horse alongside his, heading back to their home.
She clutched her stomach, which ached from the tension of the day. I can’t live like this. I have to tell him. The wedding was scheduled for Monday. I’ll tell him when I see him on Saturday, she decided.
Surely he won’t turn me away.
***
Saturday, August 30, 1890
Gideon paced the hotel lobby, waiting for Adelaide to descend the stairs. He chastised himself for arriving so soon. I should have walked around the block a few times. Now I look like a nervous sap, pacing the floor.
Then he thought he felt her presence, and turned toward the stairs in time to see her making her way down. He was struck again by her simple beauty. Her dress—a light, flowing summer dress in a shade of blue—accented her eyes perfectly. He thought of how many of the men from churc
h and from the Grange meetings had taunted him, telling him he’d get a round-faced, homely girl who couldn’t cook so much as a flapjack. It might be difficult fighting back his pride when he escorted his new bride to church and social events.
“Miss McGilvray, you’re early.”
“You’re earlier.” She smiled.
“I admit, I was anxious to see you.”
She blushed, casting her eyes downward, the smile remaining on her lips.
The fringe of her lashes against her cheeks made his heart pound. He couldn’t believe that such a charming creature would be his bride in only two days. He hadn’t slept at all the night before, thinking of her. He was reluctant to take her to the Porters’ butcher shop. “Since we’re both early, why don’t we take a stroll around the block before we go to the butcher shop to go over the details of the wedding service with Mrs. Porter?”
“That would be fine. I…I’d like to talk with you.” She still didn’t raise her eyes to meet his.
He was impressed with her modesty. Though she’d seemed eager and a bit bold the day they had met—which he had to admit, he enjoyed too much—she appeared more modest and reserved now. “I’m all yours.” He offered his arm, and she took it.
They walked outside and turned to the right, passing by a floral shop. Several people were taking advantage of the last days of summer, out making purchases or going for a stroll themselves.
As they walked, the silence stretched on, until at last he felt he needed to fill it. “I like your dress,” he said. “You look very pretty today.”
“Thank you.” Adelaide’s voice sounded strained.
Did I say something wrong? Perhaps she thinks that I’m placing too much emphasis on her looks. I just wasn’t expecting her to be quite so pretty. But she’s very intelligent and well-read, so perhaps she’s insulted that I’m focusing on her looks. His heart jolted. Could she be having second thoughts? It took all his concentration to keep his breathing even. He struggled for something to say. “Were you able to bring your collection of Shakespeare with you?”
She came to an abrupt halt, forcing him to stop as well. “I…” Then she took a deep breath, and walked on. “Actually, no. I was afraid to bring more than two bags, and they were tremendously heavy—I could only fit in a few smaller books.”
“You left all your Shakespeare behind? You were so concerned about bringing as many as you could. You suggested you might end up with nothing but books and a traveling outfit,” he laughed.
“Yes, well…I was joking, mostly. I wish I could have brought more books, but you did say there was a library after all. So I just brought what was practical—my Bible, a few romances, and a book on animal husbandry.”
“Really?” Now Gideon stopped, turning to look at her. “I have to say, I’m pleasantly surprised at your interest in sheep, and now in animal husbandry in general. I thought you had mentioned in your letters that you weren’t all that interested in animals.”
Adelaide opened her mouth, then closed it again. “I…did. But…I’m marrying a farmer, and farmers are going to have animals, as you do. I thought it was high time I learned about them. And of course, once I read about the sheep, I just fell in love with them.”
He was touched—she left her beloved Shakespeare behind, just so she could study animal husbandry on the train, for him! He’d have to remedy that situation. But still, something bothered him. Something he just couldn’t put his finger on. “I appreciate all your effort. I think you’re going to make a wonderful farm wife.”
“You do?”
“Sure. I’m just eager to sample that home cooking of yours. With seven brothers and sisters, I’m sure you helped out a lot in the kitchen.”
“Sure. Of course. But…remember, I’ve been working at a shirtwaist factory for the last few months, so I…I haven’t helped out as much as I used to. And…and then, mother liked to do a lot herself, so I mostly just followed her instructions, or cleaned up behind her while she cooked.”
“That’s alright. I don’t mind if you hone your skills on me and my sad bachelor belly.” He patted his flat stomach for emphasis. “Anything you cook has surely got to be better than my cooking, since my sister left.”
“I’ll certainly try my best,” she murmured quietly.
She seemed uneasy, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d said something wrong. By then, they’d circled the block, and were almost back at the hotel.
“We’ve almost come full circle, and you haven’t told me what you wanted to talk about.” He came to a stop just before the hotel, and across the street from the butcher shop.
“I…” She looked up at him, her mouth open as if she were about to speak. Then she closed it, and blinked rapidly. “I just wanted to talk in general, that’s all. You know, just spend time together.”
“Oh.” He frowned, sure that she’d meant she wanted to discuss a particular topic. But then, they still didn’t know each other, so he must have read her expression incorrectly. “Adelaide, you seem…distracted. Are you having second thoughts?”
“No! No, of course not. That’s the last thing on my mind. It’s just that—”
“Because if you were, I would understand. I don’t want you to marry me out of obligation. If you’ve changed your mind, or you need more time to think, or if you are questioning whether we are a match—”
“No! That’s certainly not it. It’s just that…that…” She looked away, then met his gaze again. “I think I’m just overwhelmed with the long journey, the new environment. Really, I just need a few more nights of restful sleep, and I’ll be right as rain.”
“Ahh. Fortunately, you get two more nights of sleep in comfortable solitude, before you’re stuck sleeping next to me for the rest of your life.”
“Mr. Cartwright, I would never consider myself ‘stuck’ sleeping next to you.” She looked up at him with a sweet smile. Then it gave way to a horrified as the color drained from her cheeks. “Oh my! That’s—that’s not at all what I meant—”
“Don’t trouble yourself, Miss McGilvray,” he patted her arm. “I know exactly what you meant. I feel the same way.”
The color returned to her face in a tremendous blush. “Let’s not keep Mrs. Porter waiting,” she said, then let go of his arm and crossed the street.
He had to walk fast to keep up.
Chapter 11
Monday, September 1, 1890
The small crowd of well-wishers gathered on the curb to wave and toss rice in the air as Elinor and Gideon pulled away in his wagon, heading for home.
Home. Our home. I’m Mrs. Gideon Cartwright.
Adelaide Cartwright, her conscience prodded.
Oh no! What have I done?
She’d told herself that she’d tell him the truth on the morning of the wedding. She’d rent a horse from the livery and ride out to his farm. But she didn’t know how to get there. That’s what she’d told herself, anyway.
Then she promised herself that she’d tell him at the church, before the ceremony. After all, she couldn’t very well start off her marriage with a lie, could she? But when she had arrived, she couldn’t make herself do it. She imagined him denouncing her as a liar and a fraud in front of the entire church.
Then, moments before the organ music had begun, she had decided she would flee—just as she had before her wedding to Walter—and take the next train back to Boston. She would explain her mistake to her parents. They’d take her back—surely they’d be over their anger by then—and she’d never have to look Gideon in the eye and admit her guilt.
But the idea of never looking Gideon in the eye—of never seeing his handsome face or warm smile again—stopped her in her tracks. She couldn’t. That was the one thing she could never do. She had to be with him.
So she went through with it.
When the minister asked if she, Adelaide McGilvray, took Gideon Cartwright as her husband—and all the rest that went with it—she had said yes. A resounding yes.
He
r marriage was a sham.
She wasn’t even sure it was valid. It seemed that she remembered reading that a marriage was contracted between a man and a woman and God, and that the minister was just the officiant. So a marriage between two Christians was valid, even if done without a minister—although it was highly improper and not legally binding.
But was it valid in her case? She took him as her husband—by whatever name she gave, she, Elinor Travers, chose him for a husband.
But what about Gideon? He chose Adelaide for his wife. Not Elinor. Was he marrying her, or the woman he thought she was? Therein lies the truth, she thought.
They rode most of the eleven miles north, to his farm, in silence. She took in the beautiful views, but most of her mind was focused on her dilemma—did she give herself body and soul to a man she might not even me validly married to?
I’ve really made a mess of things. How do I fix this? I can’t tell him now—he looks so happy.
He turned, catching her watching him, and winked, a slow smile spreading across his face. She blushed, shifting her gaze to his hand, twined in hers, and couldn’t bear the thought of him pulling it away—of pulling himself away from her, heart and mind, and casting her aside.
But I can’t give myself to him if our marriage isn’t a real marriage. If only I knew that he was marrying me—the woman in front of him—and not just the woman he knew only in letters. Because she wasn’t that woman.
“You’re so quiet.” He squeezed her hand. “Are you nervous?”
“Nervous?” Her voice shook. Did he know? Had he figured out something was amiss?
“Yes—your hand is trembling.” He lifted her hand and kissed it. “You don’t have to worry. Everything will be fine.”
“It will?” She was confused.
“Yes. Most brides—and probably many grooms—are nervous before their wedding night. I’m a bit nervous myself. But we’ve both waited so long, just as we waited so many months to be together. I can’t imagine that it will be any less wonderful and exciting than the first time we met.” He smiled, and she noticed the way his eyes lit up every time he did.
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