Violet_Bride of North Dakota

by Heather Horrocks

  If he didn’t get there soon enough, James might have proceeded with the consummation before the marriage. Getting the cart before the horse, as it were.

  Daniel couldn’t bear it if anything happened to the girl! He’d taken it upon himself to protect her, and he was determined to do so, to keep her safe from any unseemly actions—and kidnapping her was the ultimate unseemly act.

  He was in love with her. He’d finally realized that. Though he didn’t feel worthy to declare himself to her.

  Again, Daniel pressed his horse to go faster.

  He had to get there in time! And, depending on what James had chosen to do, Daniel might destroy the man.

  I am longing for a loving husband who will protect me and our future children—and you sound like such a man.

  (From letter from Violet Keating to James Evans dated September 29, 1890)

  Violet hit the icy, cold ground with an “Oooph!” and rolled, getting tangled in her dress and coat.

  Rolling to a stop, bruised and scratched by rocks, she untangled herself and rose to her feet. Looking after the wagon, she saw he was almost to the cabin.

  He hadn’t spotted her yet, and she began to run, first back up the road, but then she realized she would have to go into the trees to hide.

  A wolf’s call sounded in the distance, and she shivered.

  Into the woods, where scary things hunted at night.

  She paused, glanced back, and stepped into the trees, running in her flimsy slippers.

  She heard a yell behind her. He’d realized she was gone!

  She ran faster, and kept running until, finally, she had to stop to catch her breath, which was ragged with the exertion.

  Behind her, she heard curses and running footsteps, much closer than she’d hoped.

  Perhaps she couldn’t outrun him, so she would hide. She quietly pressed herself against a tree. In the darkness, he shouldn’t be able to see her.

  She tried to still her ragged breathing so he wouldn’t hear her, and her heart pounded ferociously—loud enough she feared James would hear the sound. She heard his footsteps pound closer, and closer, and closer—and then she saw his shadow as he ran past on the road, his curses loud as his breath grew more deep as he ran.

  Fear overtook her. Fear—and anger! Rage, even, burned within her.

  After a long moment, she carefully stepped back from the tree.

  What now? Did she run back to the cabin, climb onto the bench of the carriage, and push the horses back into town? If she did, would he jump into the wagon as she passed and overcome her?

  Did she stay where she was, staying hidden long enough to give Daniel a chance to find her? Oh, how she hoped he would find her! But did he even know she was gone?

  The wolf howled again. Was it her imagination, or was it closer now?

  The carriage it was, then.

  I was caught between the man who’d kidnapped me and the wolves I could hear howling closer and closer.

  (Journal Entry, Violet Keating, December 5, 1890)

  AS QUIETLY AS SHE COULD, and keeping to the shadows of the woods, Violet made her way back through the woods toward the cabin.

  Another wolf howled. That one was definitely closer! Shivering, she stepped onto the road and ran toward the carriage. She glanced back but couldn’t see James for the curve in the road.

  She climbed up and saw the handgun on the bench seat. Ignoring it, she took the reins and flicked them. The horses stepped, but the carriage didn’t move.

  And then she realized her mistake!

  He must have taken the time to set the brake!

  Quickly, she jumped down. She didn’t know how to do it, didn’t even think she had the strength. But she would try. She had to.

  Then, from the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of movement. It was James! And he was moving rapidly toward her!

  Her heart jumped until Violet thought it would leave her chest altogether. She pulled on the brake, but it didn’t budge.

  He was going to capture her again! She would not let that happen!

  She grabbed the gun and held it in shaking hands, pointing it at him. She stood, slowly, her heart pounding but her mind suddenly clear from the surge of adrenaline. “Stop there, Mr. Evans.” Surprised, she found her voice did not falter but rang out clearly in the cold air.

  And he did stop. Breathing hard, he ran his hand through his hair. “You should put down that gun, Violet. You could hurt someone.”

  “You are misbehaving, Mr. Evans. I want to go back to town.”

  The clouds shifted then to reveal his face. He didn’t look as frightening as she thought he would. He was, just as he’d claimed, very handsome. But he was also, as he had never mentioned, exceedingly immature.

  He crossed his arms. “You are my bride. I bought your ticket here. And now I have brought you home. We made an agreement.”

  “I was your bride. We did make an agreement—and then you broke it by leaving me standing at the train station.”

  “I was just overwhelmed with the prospect of caring for a wife. I know that is hard to understand.”

  “Perhaps not so hard, as I, too, was overwhelmed at the prospect of leaving everything and everyone I know behind to travel nearly two thousand miles to marry a man I had never before met.”

  He stood, silent, for a long moment. “You’ll see reason in the morning. Why don’t we go inside where I can light a fire and make us warm.” He motioned to the cabin. “This is the house I told you about, the one I’ve been preparing for my bride. For you.”

  “Mr. Evans—”

  ”James. We are to be wed. The least you can do is use my name.”

  He stepped closer, more slowly and less threatening, but she took a step back, and steadied her hands. “Do not force me to shoot you, Mr. Evans. I thought you to be an honorable man.”

  “I am, my darling. I am going to marry you and make an honest woman out of you and father your children. Oh, sweet, beautiful Violet.” He knelt. “Violet Keating, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  She looked down upon him—and all she felt was disgust and revulsion. Softly, she said, “James, while you have been gone, I have fallen in love with someone else.”

  “Name the cad.”

  “Daniel Lund. His family has sheltered me since you left me.” Another wolf howl. “To the wolves, as it were.”

  He tightened his grip on her hand. “I shall call out the man.”

  “He has done nothing wrong. He has been a complete gentleman, rescuing me from being homeless in a strange town.”

  “But Daniel is far too old for you. The thought of you with him is positively repulsive. And he will always be a bachelor.”

  She looked into his eyes. “I wondered, after you returned, if we could still make a marriage work between us.”

  “We can—” he began, but she held up a hand and silenced him.

  “I do believe we both need to look elsewhere. I will work to repay you for the ticket.”

  Looking chagrined, he shook his head. He let out a breath and seemed to deflate, to become a smaller man. Perhaps he had given up, finally. “No, that is not necessary.”

  But she thought it was. “It will make everything clear between us.”

  Again, he shook his head. “No, my darling Violet. I was wrong to have left you. It eats at me that I did. It’s what brought me back to you. In the hopes that there was any chance at all...”

  He trailed off and they stood silent. Then he drew in a deep breath. “Has he proposed to you?”

  She shook her head. “Not yet.”

  “And he will not, for he is a confirmed bachelor.”

  “I still will not marry you. I want that completely clear between us.”

  “May I make a proposal of a different sort?” He ran his hand through his hair again. “You have come all this way to marry me. Now you want to marry Daniel, but I do not believe that will happen. May I propose that I give you the ticket I sent you as a weddi
ng gift—whether you marry me or Daniel. I will step back and see if Daniel proposes. And if he does not, will you then marry me?”

  “No more kidnappings? Ever?”

  “No more. It was rash of me to do so.” He drew in another deep breath, more manly than a sigh, but in the same vein. “And to show that my intentions are honorable, I will buy you a return ticket that you may use at any time.”

  She paused. That sounded fair enough, though she would never marry James, no matter how many tickets he purchased. “Agreed.”

  “How long do you need before you are convinced Daniel will not propose? A month?”

  Surely that would be long enough. She nodded.

  He put out his hand. “May we shake on our deal?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “Let me take you home.”

  “I have a better idea. You take off the brake, and you stay here in this house while I ride back to town. I will send back the carriage tomorrow morning.”

  “I cannot let you go off by yourself. People will talk.”

  “I suspect that they are talking now. And that perhaps you are hoping talk of scandal and ruin might force me to marry you, after all.”

  After a long silence, he nodded. “Climb in, and I will take off the brake.”

  Was he really going to let her go? Or did he still have plans to grab her and take her inside?

  Since her only other choice was to run with the wolves, she clutched the gun and climbed into the carriage.

  I have never seen a more beautiful sight.

  (Journal Entry, Daniel Lund, December 5, 1890)

  His horse was breathing hard, but Daniel kept pushing him. He had to find Violet before it was too late!

  Every cell of him was filled with rage. He would find Violet, rescue her—and then pound James into the ground.

  A killing rage, berserker hot and wild, filled him, and each hoofbeat drove him on.

  If even one hair of her head had been damaged, he would kill James.

  He turned a curve—and his horse jumped, as did he.

  A carriage bore down on them from the other direction! Was it James? Or someone else? Even with the flickering northern lights overhead, it was hard to make out.

  Until he drew closer and then he saw—Violet was driving the carriage! And she seemed all right!

  Oh, thank all the angels in heaven, she was safe!

  He urged his horse forward as she pulled on the reins and pulled the carriage to a stop beside him.

  He jumped off his horse and crossed to the carriage, climbing in beside her and taking her hands.

  He pulled her into his arms and she clung to him. Her curves, the scent of her, her tears—

  “Did he hurt you?” He released her and got hold of himself. He would kill the man.

  “No.” She shook her head and took his hand. “He did not hurt me. And he’s going to leave me alone now.”

  “Just like that?”

  “We came to an agreement.”

  His heart went cold and he pulled back. “Will you be marrying him then?”

  “Oh, heavens, no.”

  “You don’t want him?”

  She looked into his eyes and smiled. “No, I don’t want James Evans.”

  And with those words, relief blew his rage away. She was safe. She would not be marrying James. Everything was great.

  Except it wasn’t, because she had to marry someone.

  And, looking at her, he realized that someone couldn’t be him. He still was the inappropriate choice for her.

  “Then I won’t kill him.”

  She laughed shakily. “That’s probably for the best. Thank you for your restraint.”

  “I will just maim him.”

  “Promise me you will leave him alone. He is a mere boy playing at being a grownup.”

  He blew out a breath and willed himself not to take her in his arms again, not to run his fingers through her tousled hair, not to kiss her inviting lips...

  There was no hope for him.

  “Daniel?” she said, questioningly.

  “Yes.”

  “I feel I must declare myself.”

  Confused, he nodded.

  She took a deep breath, then a second. “I have to tell you this.”

  But then she didn’t say another word. The tension between them was so high he could barely stand it. “What?” What, my love, my beautiful Violet?

  “I believe that I am...” Another breath. “Falling in love with you.”

  Stunned and shocked—and panicked—he tipped his head back. His heart clenched and then did double time, heating him up in the cold night air. “What did you say?”

  I have been extremely forward and declared myself to Daniel. He was unmoved.

  (Journal Entry, Violet Keating, December 5, 1890)

  “YOU ARE NOT SO OLD AS to be hard of hearing, I think,” Violet said. “And this is difficult for me to say even once.”

  He was stunned. “You cannot love me. You are confused. I am not suitable for you.”

  “You do suit me.”

  But he shook his head more vehemently. A panicked feeling choked him, freezing him now where before he was overheated. “I cannot marry you, Violet.”

  Her eyes widened until she looked like some sort of baby animal, pulling at his heartstrings.

  “I see,” she said finally, quietly. “Then I will return home.”

  “Home? To Amelia’s? I will escort you.”

  She smiled. “Perhaps home to Massachusetts.”

  “Don’t do anything rash.”

  “Rash?” She laughed harshly. “Like crossing the country to find true love? No, I am not likely to do anything rash again.”

  It started to snow as she lifted the reins. He climbed out, and she flicked them, leaving him and his horse standing as snowflakes began to dust both their coats.

  He stared after her.

  She loved him? Surely not. She was young and didn’t know what she wanted. She would soon tire of him. She had come here all excited to marry a young, handsome, rich gentleman. He feared she would soon tire of Daniel and his quiet daily routine.

  And he would never survive it if she did.

  She loves me?

  (Journal Entry, Daniel Lund, December 5, 1890)

  All the way back to town, following the carriage that held the most beautiful woman in the world, watching the northern lights flicker overhead in all their beauty, her words played over and over in his head.

  She was falling in love with him.

  Why? What could she possibly see in him? And even if he believed that he could have her, what would keep her from realizing he was not worth keeping, just as Opal had?

  She was falling in love with him?

  His heart pounded faster than his horse’s hoofbeats and he thought his chest might explode.

  Did she truly not want James? The younger man was immature, but good looking and smooth and charming and charismatic and fun.

  Why would she want Daniel, who was none of those things?

  As they reached Amelia’s house, she pulled the carriage to a stop.

  He jumped down and set the brake for her. “I’ll take care of the horses.”

  “Thank you,” she said, without looking into his eyes.

  He watched her walk to the house and disappear inside its warmth.

  She couldn’t have meant it about going home.

  I fear I will never wed Miss Violet Keating. She loves Daniel Lund and it is obvious he cares for her, as well. I wish things had gone differently, but realize that life must go on. Perhaps I need to get right back on the horse—and send for another mail-order bride.

  (Journal Entry, James Evans, December 5, 1890)

  Daniel put the three horses away, safe and warm, and saddled another horse for the return trip to James’s cabin. It had stopped snowing, and between the moon glinting off the fresh snow and the greenish-blue flicker of the northern lights, there was plenty of light, even this late at nigh
t. He guessed it was about midnight.

  He rode more slowly this time, as he was not panicked. A white-hot, indignant anger burned in his chest, but it was not the red berserker rage that had filled him before.

  He would normally not call on anyone at this time of night. But James had lost his right to any respect after what he’d done.

  As he neared the cabin, he could see the smoke from the chimney float across the moon.

  Climbing down, he tied his horse to a branch, patted his back, and frowned.

  James must have heard hoofbeats, since the door opened and he was silhouetted in the doorway. “Daniel?” he asked, his voice nervous.

  Daniel frowned even more. “James.”

  He put up his hands in defense. “I didn’t hurt her.”

  “You threw her over your shoulder and into your carriage!” He strode toward the door and grabbed James by the shirt front, slamming him against the wall. “Did you touch her after that?”

  “No. I wouldn’t. I didn’t even kiss her.”

  He could see the fear in the younger man’s eyes. He held him there a moment longer, and then let him drop. “Then you’ll live through this encounter.”

  James coughed. “I’m grateful to hear that.”

  Daniel forced himself to not punch the younger man. Forced his gaze away from the worm. Then, surprised, he looked around the cabin.

  Pink gingham curtains hung on the windows, a maroon rocker of the sort that women rocked their babies in sat by the fireplace, on which there were hung two stockings.

  “It’s not Christmas for another two weeks.”

  James shrugged. “I was excited for my first Christmas as a married man.”

  Daniel shut the front door, shutting off the cold blast of air. “I’m trying to give you the benefit of the doubt here, but you hurt her by not being at the train station that day to pick her up.”

  James said, “She didn’t even know me, so I couldn’t really break her heart. I embarrassed her, I’m sure.”