by P. Creeden
“I... I... I can’t marry a woman I’ve never met like that. Certainly, that can’t be what my grandfather intended.”
The lawyer shrugged and began putting his papers back together. “I will call on Mr. Stewart, Miss Claudia’s father, today by telegram and arrange for you two to meet. I’m sure things will go well from there.”
“Telegram? Where is Miss Stewart?”
“In New York.”
Marcus’s eyes went wide. “New York! How am I supposed to meet with this woman and then marry her within thirty days? It will take a week before either I can get to New York or she can come here to Oklahoma.”
“Yes, I understand the implications. I’m sorry that things aren’t easy. But we will work as fast as we can for the best possible outcome.” The lawyer bowed and then started for the door.
Marcus tried to push up from his chair, but his knees went weak and he fell back in his seat. This was all too much. How could he be expected to handle all of this first thing in the morning? He’d not even eaten breakfast. Breakfast? How could he even think about eating at a time like this? What if they had a blizzard and the railroads closed down. Then it could be two weeks or more before this woman who was supposed to be his bride could arrive. How would they do this? How could they possibly do everything his grandfather wanted? Marcus’s heart weighed heavy in his chest. Even from the grave, his grandfather was determined to control Marcus’s fate.
By the third day of working to get stronger, Bethany was able to walk on her own and give the nurses some help with common tasks for the other patients. The doctor was ecstatic about her progress. “I think I’ll be able to let you out tomorrow. You’re well enough to be on your own, though I still suggest you take things slowly. Also do you have time for a visitor? Your gracious benefactors have come for a visit, if you don’t mind meeting with them.”
Bethany’s hand fluttered to her hair and her eyes went wide. How could she have a visitor right now? Her hair had to be a mess. When was the last time she’d taken a real bath? “I... How can the minister see me like this?”
The doctor lifted a brow, and his lip quirked into a half-smile. “It’s not the minister.”
Bethany’s brow furrowed. “Not the minister? How... Who? I thought my church was my benefactor?”
“For the most part, yes. But it’s truly one of the patrons of the church who has chosen to sponsor your care and stay. It is Miss Claudia Stewart,” he said with a nod and a hand to his chest as though he were giving the name reverence. “Would it be okay for me to let her in?”
Just then a small laugh peeled through the air as a woman in a pale blue bustle skirt and ruffles walked in. A shawl of a similar color covered her shoulders.
“Where is she? I must meet her right away.” The woman had reddish blond hair and fine features. She scanned the room until her eyes lighted upon Bethany. “It’s you, isn’t it?” she asked. “Cousin!”
Widening her eyes, Bethany found herself the victim of an attack-embrace she was wholly unprepared for. But she patted the woman’s back out of habit.
Finally the woman pulled away and turned to a nurse. “Would you please bring me a chair?” Then she turned back toward Bethany. “You’re Bethany, right? Bethany Stewart?”
She blinked up the woman. “Actually, it’s Campbell, and my maiden name was Thomson.”
“That’s what I meant. I knew it.” She playfully swatted her hand at Bethany as the nurse brought a chair, and then the young woman arranged her skirts so that she could sit upon the stool. “I knew you were my cousin the very moment I laid eyes upon you.”
“Cousin?” Bethany said, lifting a brow.
“Yes!” The woman said all excited.
The doctor cleared his throat. “Bethany Campbell, I’d like to present Claudia Stewart.”
Claudia’s smile widened as she wiggled a bit in her seat. “Yes, that’s me.”
“I don’t understand what is going on, Miss Stewart. Why do you keep calling me cousin?” Bethany asked, trying to be as polite as possible.
“Because, silly. You are. When the church was discussing who we could benefit in the hospital, your name came up. My mother nearly fainted. She said... ‘Bethany! My cousin Bethany?’ And then told us about how your father, Mr. Leland Stew—I mean Thomson—was her cousin and that you, being his daughter is her second cousin. Now I’m not sure about the order... but yes, we’re cousins.”
“I... I had no idea I had any family left here in New York.” Bethany swallowed past her drying throat. Tears stung the backs of her eyes. Could it really be true that she had family at least?
“Yes, you do. Now. I know that our family hasn’t been in contact much. In fact, my mother said that she hadn’t spoken to your father in at least twenty years. Before I was born, actually. And that my parents really didn’t want to have any contact with your family now, but were more than happy to help you in your time of need. They explicitly told me not to come here today to talk to you, in fact, because they don’t know what kind of person you might be.”
Bethany blinked. “What kind of person?”
Slowly, Claudia leaned in. “They were worried you might be the disreputable sort that would try to come and claim some sort of ownership of Stewart property or blackmail the family into taking you in. But I knew you wouldn’t be that kind of person,” she said, pulling Bethany’s hand into both of hers. “And I can tell you’re the honest, Christian sort just by looking at you. How could you be anything else?”
The dryness in Bethany’s throat worsened. She had no idea how to respond to Claudia. The young woman’s energy was so high, but it surprised Bethany that she didn’t seem to even notice the kind of mess that Bethany’s hair was in or the fact that she was sitting in the bed in a hospital gown. Claudia’s strawberry blonde hair was a beautiful shade, and her freckles seemed lighter colored and with more space between them than Bethany’s own. The young woman seemed to be about the same age as Bethany, maybe a couple years younger. And Claudia didn’t mind talking. She went on and on about what she’d planned to do with the rest of her evening and how she loved that she now had family that was at about her age and in the city.
“Someday you really must let me dress you up and come to a formal dinner with me. I’d love for you to attend a ball as well. But I guess we’d have to plan for your coming-out. Or maybe they only do that for younger ladies who haven’t been married... I really don’t know.”
Bethany laughed when she felt she should, but mostly she just nodded through the conversation.
Finally, Claudia gave her hand an extra squeeze. “Oh, Cousin Bethany. I know you’re getting out of the hospital tomorrow. Would you consider coming to my house at around tea time?”
“Tea time?”
“Yes. At four o’clock. It’s what we eat when we do not have a formal dinner.” She slipped a piece of paper into Bethany’s hand. “Here’s my address. I’ll expect you at four.”
“I don’t have anything to wear.” She patted her hair again. “My hair.”
Claudia smiled widely and shook her head. “No worries, Cousin. Come exactly as you are and it will give me a chance to play dress up with you. Don’t let anything stop you from coming. Four o’clock. Right?”
For a long breath, Bethany didn’t know how to answer, but when Claudia nodded, Bethany ended up nodding with her. And finally, she said, “Four o’clock.”
Chapter 6
Once Bethany was released from the hospital ward, she meandered down the street toward the boarding house where she’d been living. Everything made her feel out of sorts. Had it really been a week since that fateful day when she’d fallen in front of the carriage? The bright morning sun shined overhead, and she had to concentrate on where she was going, because for some reason, she was easily distracted by everything. The crowds around her made too much noise. The horses and carts the went by her on the street felt as if they moved too fast. Her heart raced in response to the stimulation of daily life in Manhattan.
Each step of the way, she found herself crouching against the walls of the buildings, trying to keep her distance from the roadway and the crowds of people who passed her.
The fear that she felt wasn’t focused on just the horses or carts—the means by which she was injured. She feared trusting that things would be sane around her. She feared hoping that she would be safe walking down the street. She felt that the moment she began to feel safe once more, she’d end up hurt again. When she rounded the turn, a Presbyterian church came into view, and she found herself walking up to it and slipping through the door. The moment the door behind her shut, blessed silence descended. The quiet around her there helped calm her nerves and settle her stomach. She felt, for the first time since she’d woken, a semblance of peace. Her footsteps clacked against the stone floor as she stepped across to the other side. The rhythmic sound had its own comfort for her too. Once she reached the altar, she knelt down and settled into prayer for peace. In that instant, before she’d even said all the words she knew she needed to say but couldn’t, she felt the presence of God with her. She remained kneeling there for as long as it took to feel normal once more, then she stood and let out a long breath.
“Is there anything I can help you with?” the minister of the church asked.
Slowly, Bethany shook her head. “If you have another exit, that might help me, one that would get me closer to the ladies’ boarding house next street over?”
The man nodded and then gestured for Bethany to follow him, which she did. The side door led to an alleyway and the back yard area of the church. With a squeeze of the older gentleman’s hands, Bethany nodded and smiled. “Thank you so much.”
Then she turned toward the back street. The noise level at the back of the church was much more tolerable than it had been at the front. Her head had stopped pounding and her ears no longer rang. Was she always going to be so affected by sound and people? She hoped not. New York wasn’t exactly the most quiet of cities. Was any city quiet? She slipped through the back area of the boarding house and noticed right away that things seemed different. There were several women with blue eyes and blonde hair, younger girls than Bethany herself, mostly. When she came in through the door, Mrs. Wesley, the lady who ran the house’s eyes widened. “Ms. Campbell! It’s so good to see you doing well. You’re out of the hospital then? Milly told us that you weren’t likely to make it.”
Bethany shook her head as her heart sank. “I’m doing well as could be expected.” She touched her temple where there was still a small bandage over the wound she had there.
Then the woman’s face fell. “But the only thing is... that we had a great number of immigrants come in from Amsterdam. I wasn’t expecting you to be returning... not so soon anyway. So I don’t have a bed for you. At least you have all of your things, right? Milly said that she gave it all to you.”
Milly. Terrible frustration came over Bethany as that name was repeated again. What had Bethany ever done to Milly to have the girl mistreat her so? She swallowed past her drying throat and shook her head as tears stung the backs of her eyes. “So you’re saying you have no room?”
“We’re at full capacity. Some of the girls have even made pallets on the floor to sleep. I cannot possibly take another person in. I’m sorry.”
Could this day get any worse? Bethany let out a slow breath. “Do you know where I can find Milly?”
The woman’s lips thinned as she shook her head. “I’m sorry, but Milly left days ago, without paying her last week of rent. She completely disappeared. Someone said they heard that she left for Atlantic City...”
“Atlantic City?” Bethany felt weak in the knees. She leaned against the wall to keep herself from falling. Thank the Lord that she’d allowed herself that moment’s rest at the altar in the church. If she hadn’t, she was sure that she would have collapsed. “How...” She wasn’t even sure what she wanted to ask.
But Mrs. Wesley had already gone back to business, and greeted more of those blond-haired, blue-eyed girls who came down the stairs. From Holland, apparently. Bethany’s vision blurred as tears came to the front of her eyes. She pushed off the wall and scrambled to make her way out the door. What was the point in staying here? She had no money. She had no place to live. She had nothing. What was she going to do? When she blinked, the tears slipped over her cheeks.
Though she was aimless, her feet took her down the familiar path that she walked every day. And when she came to her senses, Bethany swiped her cheeks, as she realized that she was heading in the direction of the sweatshop. Perhaps Mr. Flint would let her work the remainder of the day. It would give her hands something to do. And perhaps she’d lose this feeling of helplessness that overwhelmed her. Maybe one of the other ladies in the sweatshop could point her in the direction of a boarding house that was taking new tenants. Maybe she could convince someone to let her stay somewhere on the basis of her promissory if she at least worked the day and had someone vouch for her.
She’d given herself a modicum of hope as she stepped into the overcrowded sweatshop and her eyes went wide. So many blond-haired, blue-eyed girls filled the place. All machines were at capacity, and more of the women milled about, taking finished blankets and folding them and putting them on a pile that was nearly twice the height as it would have been for only one o’clock in the afternoon. Mr. Flint stood against the wall with a wide smile on his face, but as she stepped forward, and his eyes met hers, his brow furrowed in confusion. When she tried to speak, he shook his head and ushered her out of the building.
Once outside, he said, “It’s much too loud in there. I could not hear you. Mrs. Campbell. It’s good to see that you’re back on your feet. We were all praying for you after your terrible tragedy.”
“Thank you,” Bethany said with some measure of relief. “I’m doing much better now. Would it be possible for me to get my job back? I’m in need of—”
He hissed. “Oh, no. I’m sorry, but when you didn’t return, at first, we thought you’d given up your position. Then one of the ladies from the boarding house had told us what was going on, but before that, we’d already filled your vacancy. Also a new shipment of immigrants came in and the shop has been able to increase its productivity because they work for a dollar less per week, each.”
Her heart sunk. “A dollar less.”
“Yes. The company is able to hire more workers at the same cost. They are ecstatic with our increased efficiency.” Then he saw the way her face had fallen and his own good humor fled. “I’m very sorry, Mrs. Campbell.”
She swallowed hard past her closed throat. “No. It’s quite all right. Not your fault.”
How could she possibly compete with a boatload of new immigrants ready to work for nearly half the pay? She curtsied toward him and then started on the road past him. She had no idea where her feet would take her this time as she walked for what felt like hours. She ended up in Central Park. A bench called to her tired legs and she sat upon it, watching children play in an open field. Children, families. She had none of those things. When her husband had passed on, he’d left her utterly alone but now she had nothing at all. What was she going to do? In the distance, a bells rang to signify the hour. Three. It was three p.m. and she had nowhere to go. She reached into the pocket of her skirt to see if she could find her handkerchief, when a small slip of paper fell out. There on the paper was the address of the Stewart family. Claudia had wanted her to come for tea at four o’clock. Bethany stooped down and picked up the note. She wasn’t far from this area of Manhattan. Should she go? For a long moment, she just stared at the pretty penmanship on the paper. Then her stomach growled. She closed her eyes and clutched the paper. Would it be so wrong to allow someone to take care of her for an hour? Would it be all right for Bethany to get something to eat when she had no idea when her next meal would be?
After shoving the piece of paper back in her pocket, she started toward the main street, her decision made.
Chapter 7
It seemed as th
ough nearly everyone in town had made it to Marcus’s grandfather’s funeral. Several businessmen who dealt with his grandfather and worked with their ranch made it a point to come over and shake Marcus’s hand. Through it all, he felt nothing but dazed. There were too many hands to shake. Too many names to remember. Every other gentleman in town wanted to make sure that they introduced him to their daughter. Everyone seemed desperate to get a piece of Marcus now, and all he wanted to do was retreat to his job of foreman on the ranch and leave all this business and politics aside.
Finally, toward the end of it all, Mr. Brown, his grandfather’s lawyer, met up with him. “I sent the telegraph yesterday afternoon, as promised. But I have yet to hear back from Mr. Stewart. From what I understand, however, your grandfather and Mr. Stewart made arrangements for your nuptials before either of you were ever even born. When they both sailed across the ocean to this country as immigrants and landed in New York.”
Marcus shook his head, his heart still squeezing in his chest. “He’d never said anything to me about it.”
The lawyer shrugged. “I guess the old man liked to keep his secrets.”
“That much is for certain.”
After a long pause, the lawyer patted him on the shoulder and then walked back toward the crowd of people. Were any of the young women that he met that afternoon even Scottish? If Miss Claudia Stewart turned him down, would he be able to find a Scottish woman in town who would be willing to enter a marriage of convenience with him? His stomach ached with the way that it had done nothing but twist for the last full day. He grew tired and his head hurt. As soon as he was able, he slipped away from the crowd and into the kitchen.