The Engagement Bargain

by Sherri Shackelford

  “We’ll find out what we can about him,” Caleb said. “Find out why he was looking for you.”

  “She knew he was looking for me.” Anna’s words were barely a whisper. “Why didn’t my mother say anything?”

  Her thoughts should not have been voiced. She had a few theories, although none of them were suitable for sharing quite yet. The news was too raw, too immediate. She needed time. She needed distance.

  Caleb kept his vigil near the door. Seeking a chance for escape, no doubt. She smothered a sigh. Even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t leave her alone. He’d stay even if remaining made him uncomfortable. Because staying was the right thing to do, and Mr. McCoy always did the right thing. She mustn’t read anything deeper into his actions.

  “Perhaps she was protecting you,” he said.

  Anna scoffed. “If you knew Victoria Bishop, you’d know what a preposterous suggestion that is. She manages both her personal and professional life by rigid standards. She had a reason. She always has a reason. My middle name is Ryan. At least she left me a clue.”

  “Your mother must be quite an imposing woman,” he said, then held up his hands. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “No, you’re right.” He’d hit upon the truth. The man was far too insightful “There is no one quite like Victoria. I remember sitting on the footstool in her room, watching her dress for meetings. I never saw her hurry. Not ever. And she didn’t tolerate people who were tardy. Once, I had a nanny who was always late. It was such a shock, all that running around and panic. The nanny did not last long.”

  Dr. Smith was correct, Caleb’s talents were wasted on animals. He inspired her confidence, and she sensed he’d never betray her trust. He’d have made an excellent country doctor, moving from household to household, listening to his patient’s woes with that steady, compassionate gaze. Keeping their secrets and sharing their sorrows.

  “That must have been difficult,” he said.

  “I grew accustomed to the changes. Life was very busy for my mother. She was always needed. There were so many people who wanted her time. Looking back, I’ve often thought I was raised by everybody and nobody at the same time.” He must think her a melancholy fool. She forced a smile. “I make my childhood sound very lonely. It wasn’t. Not at all. There were always people around.”

  “Any children?”

  There he went again, asking the simplest questions and invoking the most complicated answers.

  “Sometimes, yes. Despite what the newspapers would have you believe, many suffragists are married women. I had plenty of children to play with. I told you, there was nothing solitary about my upbringing.”

  “A person can feel most isolated in a crowd.”

  Her eyes burned and she blinked rapidly. “I’m tired lately. Healing is much more exhausting than I expected.” She rubbed a hand over her forehead. “I think I overestimated my stamina.”

  Life had suddenly lost its sense of urgency. Away from the cause, away from the correspondence and the meetings and the demands, life had slowed. Without the bustle of activity, she’d lost track of her routine. Her days had lost their meaning. Who was she, if she wasn’t Victoria Bishop’s daughter?

  She’d built a pedestal of activities and proudly stood at the top. Her support had crumbled, leaving her vulnerable and exposed. In St. Louis, fighting for the vote was immediate and crucial. Away from the cause, women and girls went about their daily business, singularly unaware of the battle being waged in their honor.

  “You’ve had a busy few days,” Caleb said. “Rest. I’ll make all the arrangements.”

  Despite her exhaustion, annoyance flared. “If someone orders me to rest once more I’m afraid I might scream. I’m quite able to take care of myself.”

  She didn’t want rest. She wanted her energy back for fighting. She wanted to do something. She wanted to be something. Someone besides a victim.

  “A strong person takes care of herself. A stronger person asks for help.”

  “Who said that? Some wise philosopher?”

  “I did. Just now.”

  Anna laughed in spite of herself. “Then by all means, purchase my train tickets and make all of the arrangements. I’ll finally prove to you what a strong person I am.”

  “You don’t have to prove anything to anybody.”

  Anna reached for a rose dangling from a vase of flowers. The fragile petals broke free the instant she touched the stem, fluttering onto the floor. She’d been proving herself for as long as she could remember; there was no stopping now. Her mother was building a dynasty, and Anna was an integral part of that heritage. If she wasn’t fighting for the greater good, then what was the point of her existence? No one raised outside the Bishop household understood the expectations heaped upon her, and there was no use explaining.

  Little girls with fathers and mothers were ordinary. Anna was different, and that difference was extraordinary. Or so she’d been told. The childish explanation no longer soothed her adult heart.

  She glanced at her packed trunk. “The wonders of transportation by train. We’ll be in Cimarron Springs by suppertime. You must be relieved.”

  He must have been chafing at the bit to run as fast and as far as he could from her and the problems she dragged behind her like leaded weights.

  “There is no feeling quite like the joy of coming home,” he said. “You stopped there once when you met Jo. I know our little town is only a jumping-off place, a lunch rest on the way to somewhere better, but what do you remember about Cimarron Springs?”

  Once he was home, she’d never see him again. There’d be no reason. A perfectly sensible outcome. Except lately she wasn’t feeling quite as sensible as she used to.

  “I don’t remember anything. Not really.” She caught herself and smiled. “That must sound insulting, but I travel through so many towns, they all blend together. My stay in Cimarron Springs was brief. I sent a telegram, and Jo was working that day. We’ve been friends since that moment.”

  “I hope—” he paused, as though struggling for words “—I hope when you see Cimarron Springs again, you like our town.”

  She plucked the now bare-stemmed rose from the vase. Whether or not she liked the town hardly mattered. She wasn’t staying long, and both of them knew that. His words were only polite conversation, a way of passing an awkward moment.

  “I’m sure I’ll find your town quite lovely,” she said.

  Actually she hoped it was dreadful and smelly and filled with insufferable people. She didn’t want to be drawn into his world any more than she already had.

  Her life was in St. Louis. Everything she knew, everything she stood for was a lifetime away from Cimarron Springs. Gaining the vote for women was vital. Someone had to struggle for those who couldn’t defend themselves.

  Someone had to fight, and Anna had been chosen the moment she was born. Her mother lived as though victory was around the corner, a vote away, a state away, an amendment away. Anna had her doubts.

  She often wondered if any one of them would live long enough to see the day when men and women were treated equally under the law. They’d made great strides, but there were more and bigger challenges ahead.

  She never doubted her importance to the cause. In one afternoon in Kansas City, she’d spoken before hundreds of people. How many people could she influence in Cimarron Springs? A handful at best.

  Susan Anthony, Elizabeth Stanton and so many others had given much of their lives already, and Anna was privileged to have known them. She needed grand gestures for a grand cause.

  Caleb cleared his throat, and Anna realized he’d been trying to gain her attention. “What were you thinking about so intently?” he asked.

  “I was wondering how history will remember any of us, or if we’ll even be remembered at all.”

 
“That is a question for the ages.”

  She was changing, losing track of herself, and she desperately wanted her purpose back. Only one thing was certain, her purpose was not in Cimarron Springs, and they both knew it.

  Chapter Ten

  Cimarron Springs was love at first sight. Well, love at second sight, she hastily amended. She’d made that brief stop before.

  Leaning heavily on the railing, Anna exited the train and glanced around the crowded platform. Clouds had covered the afternoon sun, chilling the air. The depot sat at the far end of town, framed between the rows of buildings lining either side of Main Street.

  False fronts advertised the mercantile, the haberdashery, a blacksmith shop. All of the usual trappings of a small town. Picturesque covered boardwalks, the railings and eves painted a crisp white, contained the hustle of shoppers taking advantage of the temperate fall weather.

  She’d stopped here a year ago and hadn’t spared a glance at Main Street. She’d been in a hurry, her head down. She’d sent her telegram, and Jo had struck up a conversation. All too soon the train whistle had blown, and she’d boarded once again, never looking back.

  This time she drank in the scene, inhaling the scent of baking bread and admiring the yellowed leaves of the cottonwood trees.

  She’d been living with a vague sense of unease and fear for the past week, holed up in her guarded room. Having her first taste of freedom in a week was delightful.

  Izetta surveyed the platform and touched Anna’s arm. “I’m going to freshen up. Every time I travel by train I feel as though I’m covered in soot by the end of the journey.”

  “I’ll wait here,” Anna said, dreading another step. “Looks as though the porters are already unloading the baggage car.”

  She’d thought her wound mostly healed. The constant sway of the train had exacerbated her injury, and the incessant ache had become a frustrating nuisance.

  A tall man separated from the crowd, and Jo dashed around her. She launched herself at the man, and he caught her easily. Her husband, Anna hoped.

  Jo stood on her tiptoes and bussed his cheek, flipping off his hat in the process. The gentleman returned her enthusiastic embrace. Unused to such boisterous displays of affection, Anna’s cheeks warmed, and she glanced away. Jo pulled back and led her husband toward Anna. Without pausing in his stride, he reached down and snatched his missing hat.

  “I’ve brought us a visitor,” Jo said. “This is Miss Anna. Anna, this is my husband, Garrett Cain. Most folks around here just call him Marshal Cain.”

  The marshal offered a warm smile. “I realize this is the first time we’ve met in person, but I feel as though I know you from Jo’s description.”

  Anna held out her hand, and he clasped it, his palm calloused, his handshake firm but not brutal. “A pleasure to meet you, Marshal.”

  Mr. Cain reminded her a bit of Caleb. They were both tall and dark-haired, but that’s where the similarities ended. Jo’s husband appeared older, more jaded by time. His features were more angular and his eyes dark and guarded, not nearly as striking as Caleb’s green eyes.

  He wore a silver star stamped with the word Marshal.

  Caleb followed her gaze and winked, both of them remembering his childhood love of tin stars. Another gentleman tugged on Caleb’s sleeve, and Anna turned her attention back to the marshal.

  Though Jo’s husband was talking with her, Anna sensed that his focus remained on his wife. He held his arm wrapped around her waist, his fingers resting on her hip. The gesture was protective and sweet. If he resented Anna’s appearance in his life, he hadn’t let on, though she sensed a hint of wariness in his gaze.

  Anna pressed her hand against her bandaged side. “I hope you don’t mind a bit of upheaval on such short notice.”

  “Not at all. There’s always room for one more in Cimarron Springs,” the marshal said.

  “Where are the children?” Jo demanded. “Where are Jocelyn and Shawn? Where’s Cora?”

  “Coming along shortly. David is showing them his new horse.”

  “JoBeth!” a voice called. “There you are.”

  A stout woman charged ahead and elbowed the marshal aside, grasping Jo’s shoulders. “You had me worried sick.”

  “I’m fine, Ma.” Jo lifted her eyes heavenward. “You didn’t have to meet me at the train station.”

  “Of course I did. I had to make certain you were well with my own two eyes. You can never trust the menfolk with details. The newspapers aren’t much better either. The Kansas Post only said there’d been a disturbance at the rally. As though shooting someone was a disturbance. What’s wrong with the newspapers these days, do you suppose?”

  “Ma.” Jo leaned closer. “Remember what Garrett told you?”

  “Oh, right. Yes. Well. All’s well that ends well. I’m only glad you weren’t injured in the disturbance. Your Pa thinks they didn’t have more details because they were worried there’d be too much sympathy for the cause.” She huffed. “They certainly gave enough space for the editorials opposed to the woman’s vote.”

  “As you can see, I’m no worse for wear.” Jo splayed her arms as proof. “I’m fit as a fiddle.”

  Jo’s mother looked her up and down, a deep wrinkle between her brows, presumably deciding for herself whether or not her daughter was the worse for wear.

  Jo pulled away and indicated Anna. “This is Anna. Miss Ryan.”

  Mrs. McCoy started. “We’ve left the poor thing standing while you and I chatter.” She hooked her arm through Anna’s and tugged her toward a narrow bench. “Have a seat. I can’t tell you how exciting it is having a celebrity in town.”

  “Ma,” Jo pitched her voice in a warning. “I just reminded you.”

  “Yes, but your other poor...friend. That poor Miss Bishop person.” Mrs. McCoy widened her eyes at Anna, demonstrating how well she was holding to the deception. “A single injury was reported. That’s all the newspapers said. As though a woman nearly dying was no more important than the weather.”

  Anna touched her side. She’d been curious about the lack of interest in her injury, and yet she’d never considered the paper had failed to report more extensively on the shooting. Of all the outcomes she’d anticipated, she hadn’t expected this one. They’d trivialized her. They’d relegated her to the last page alongside the news of robberies and quilt patterns.

  A single injury was reported.

  She’d been shot, for goodness’ sake. There was a murderer on the loose. Well, an attempted murderer. Certainly that was cause for concern. While she’d never enjoyed the notoriety of her cause, the incident warranted more than a few lines. Without a single mention of the violence she’d experienced, they’d marginalized the cause, they’d marginalized her injury. They’d marginalized her.

  “At least everyone is safe.” Mrs. McCoy plunked down beside Anna and patted her hand. “After such an experience, are you certain you want to stay in that tiny little cottage Mr. Stuart calls a house? He hasn’t done a lick of work on it since his mother-in-law passed away.” She lowered her voice. “His mother-in-law lived there alone until she died. Not that Mr. Stuart didn’t like his mother-in-law, he just liked her better when they weren’t living beneath the same roof.”

  Anna searched for the question in Mrs. McCoy’s rapid-fire speech. “We’ll be fine. Mrs. Franklin and I are quite looking forward to fixing up the place.”

  Her suspicions were correct. Her secret was as good as out. How many more “slips” from Mrs. McCoy before the whole town knew she was staying here? Though she’d been shocked by the lack of newspaper coverage at first, the lack of interest worked in her favor. At least the papers hadn’t picked up the news, and for that Anna was grateful. If the reporters would rather suppress her shooting than risk sympathy for the Right to Vote movement, all the better for her.
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  “Let’s hope your enthusiasm doesn’t wane after you’ve seen the place,” Mrs. McCoy said. “It’s quite a job. I wish I’d known sooner. I’d have gotten the ladies together and cleaned the house for you.”

  “No, no. You mustn’t put yourself out. We’re quite capable of caring for ourselves.”

  “Of course you are! We simply want to leave you with a good impression of our little town. What do you think so far?”

  “Ma?” Jo planted her hands on her hips. “How can she think anything? She’s only seen the train depot.”

  “She’s had her first impression. Didn’t you, dear? First impressions are important.”

  “Your town is absolutely lovely.”

  The exact opposite of what she’d been hoping for when she’d decided on her stay in Cimarron Springs.

  Mrs. McCoy flashed a triumphant smile at her daughter. “Lovely is an excellent first impression. You’ll be coming for supper tonight, won’t you?”

  “Well, I, uh, I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

  Although the idea of meeting more of Caleb’s family intrigued her. There was Jo and three other brothers. She was interested in how such a large family worked.

  “Then it’s settled. You’re a guest. Don’t bring anything. We sit for dinner at six.”

  “All right,” Anna replied.

  She hadn’t realized she’d accepted the invitation, but it was too late now.

  Mrs. McCoy stood and glanced around. “Jo, have you seen your father?”

  “Not in the last five minutes since I stepped off the train,” Jo said, clearly exasperated.

  “If you do, tell him I’ve stopped by the mercantile. Picking up a housewarming gift. We want you to feel welcome.”

  “That’s very kind of you.”

  Caleb had finished his conversation and faced his mother. She grabbed him in a quick, fierce hug. “I’m so glad the three of you are home and safe.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Anna, if I can call you Anna, don’t forget to invite your friend for supper, as well.”