Blaire's Ambushed Heart

by Marlene Bierworth

She had turned thirteen when the country went to war, and the leisure that Blaire had known while romping the vast open fields and woodlands had come to an abrupt halt. Danger laid around every corner and bush, and she was forced to stay home except for the occasional trip to the city when accompanied by her family. The youngster in her had wished to explore beyond the protective, confining walls of her assigned perimeter many times, to run freely within her childhood fields that had known only peace, but she was denied that indulgence in her war-torn world and her soul responded in similar turmoil.

  During the first two years of war, the submissive daughter gathered obediently with her mother and women in the community to sew in an effort to help support the soldiers. Over the next three years, she had been allowed to provide voluntary aid in the local infirmary, and her passion for medicine was born. There, on death beds and in the faces of men who had experienced the deepest horrors of war, Blaire’s every belief was challenged. While it was hard to bear at times, it had served to mold her into the woman she was today: a blended individual, born into privilege and refined in the fires of tribulation.

  At home, the solid sense of unity she’d always known escaped her when her family had been ripped apart at its foundational seams, torn along diverse political and moral paths. Blaire was no exception, for her defiance in accepting the pre-war norm for a girl of her status brought chaos not only to the Davis household but in the outlandish goals she had set for herself.

  At the conclusion of the war, life at Pine Crest was forced to change drastically, putting into practice new laws the conquering Union Army’s President specified. It had grieved Blaire when her eldest brother, William, had not returned home but stayed in St. Albans, Vermont, where he’d fallen in love with his wife, Emma. Having never met her, Blaire felt cheated that a Northerner had stolen her brother’s heart, and she’d had no say in the matter. Two other brothers had died in battle, leaving only Timothy and Sanford on the home front to help their father bring the estate into the new world without slaves. Her younger sister, Rosalie, was of a delicate nature and had little in common with Blaire.

  At the age of eighteen, Blaire’s hunt for a husband had proven an enormous task. The number of men returning from the war were already spoken for or had been snatched up by more agreeable and desperate girls, while Blaire, with her independent nature, seemed to keep men at bay. All things considered, it had been an easy decision on her part to follow her dream, attend the school of nursing, and continue working at the hospital close to home.

  Blaire sighed, realizing that, by her own choice, she stood on the brink of a change that would break Kentucky’s hold on her soul forever. In going to Minnesota, she would abandon the old life and take on the new, whatever that may be.

  Her reflective strolling landed Blaire in a little piece of her garden paradise. As a struggling teen, she had begged the gardener to create a section of wildflowers amongst the otherwise carefully manicured grounds of her mother’s selection. The bloodroot spread leisurely with its white flowers, meshing with other wild displays, creating an array of color that moved in arching waves throughout the space, reminding her of a rainbow. She smiled, knowing the sun always shone brighter after a storm and hoped it would be a valid prediction of her future.

  CHAPTER 2

  Pelican Rapids

  The northbound train ride was exhausting and exhilarating at the same time. Over a thousand miles of changing scenery overcame any twinge of homesickness attempting to drag her adventurous spirit down. The constant chug of the train and layers of black soot caused her to yearn for stopovers in the towns or cities along the way. There, she could exercise her legs and explore new and exciting cultures.

  Blaire tried to visualize Dr. Frazer’s settlement, as he’d so humbly labeled it, and wondered how these heartland communities would compare to her new home. They did possess the clear markings of the simpler existence he’d suggested in his letter, but that in itself did not discourage her. She did, however, note that a rougher crowd than that to which she was accustomed had settled many of these towns, taking full advantage of the convenience of railroad travel to grow their economy. The inhabitants included down to earth pioneer families, thriving business owners, and over-bearing, power-hungry men wearing three-piece suits who figured the world was theirs for the taking.

  All in all, her courageous heart bonded with the less stately homes and terrain she left in her dust, but when the conductor announced they were entering Minnesota, Blaire’s heart skipped a beat. Home, for better or worse, was very close at hand.

  The train stopped somewhere in the center of the fairly large—considering some she had seen along the way—town of Pelican Rapids. After placing her belongings in her valise, she left her cramped sleeping cubicle and moved toward the door of the train. An employee had dropped the portable steps at the exit, and she accepted the hand he offered to help her disembark the fiery black beast for the last time.

  “Your belongings will be unloaded shortly, miss,” he said as he reached up to assist the next passenger off.

  Blaire strolled to a nearby bench and threw her bag on top of it before surveying the landscape. She figured this must be the industrial part of Pelican Rapids, for she noticed a flour mill and a saw mill close by. The blacksmith and livery appeared to be a busy place, as travelers ending their trip rushed to hire or purchase horses to take the final leg of their journey. It hit her that she should be among the throng, and although she now hurried, she was too late—Chase Falcon, the man in charge, had exhausted his supply of buggies and horses. There appeared to be no one around at the moment for hire and she was advised to come back later.

  Blaire chastised herself for not being the bull at the front of the line. She’d never had to worry about such arrangements before, her father’s employees having always prepared the way before her. She’d have to change that way of thinking, really fast.

  Now that the train had stopped its belching dirt and dust, Blaire’s nostrils picked up the smell of freshwater in the air and decided to waste some time at the river that ran through the middle of the town. After battling the crowds of people at the train station, she needed that back-to-nature sensation before continuing on to the agency. Surely, some mode of transportation would come available soon.

  She spotted a flat rock and sat on it at the riverside. The water slid and thrashed over boulders as it passed her by. Blaire was so engulfed in the peaceful moment, she did not see the man who had moved in behind her, and startled when he spoke.

  “Good afternoon, miss. This is, indeed, a beautiful spot, nestled in the only quiet location in this quarter of land.”

  She stumbled to her feet and turned to face the rather tall man. He was lean in stature, and although casually dressed and immaculate in his appearance, he left her wondering as to how he made a living. His eyes were cool blue, speckled with light-white ripples igniting life into his entire face, much like the spring shore-water as it ran free of its icy prison. In other words, he was quite compelling to look at, and she found herself staring at the man and quickly averted her gaze toward the mill.

  Blaire cleared her throat to speak. “Quiet, indeed…as long as you don’t find the sloshing of the water wheel at the nearby mill irritating.”

  “And do you find it irritating?” the stranger asked.

  “Not at all,” Blaire said. “I find the lapping of water against wood rather captivating, a repetitive beat filled with musical laughter, like a private joke the river shares with those who have ears to listen.”

  “I love a good joke. What does it whisper to you?”

  She smiled, unsure if he were truly interested or making fun of her. What did it matter? She could speak as free as she chose during this brief interlude of independence, with Father out of sight and her soon-to-be-husband not yet quenching her free spirit. Before long, she would have to consider a man in her comings and goings, but for that day, she was unrestricted.

  “Man believes he has harnessed the
forces of nature to serve his industrial purposes, but the river claims to have merely allowed him a sharing privilege that can be evoked at a moment’s notice.”

  The man visibly relaxed, and his soft melodic laughter filled the air. “Rightly said, miss.”

  Blaire blushed and turned to the station. “Excuse me, sir, but I must return to the livery to ensure that my trunks are delivered to…” she stopped there, for it did not seem fitting to tell the stranger that she was headed to the Brides of Pelican Rapids Matchmaking Agency. He’d think her desperate—which, of course, she was—but there was no need to advertise. “To the hotel,” she concluded, cringing at the tiny white lie she’d spoken.

  “There is one located just back a ways on Birch Street, close to where the stagecoach stops.”

  “Thank you. I’m sure the driver will know,” she said, picking up her skirts to start the trek back to the station. “Good day, sir.”

  He bowed slightly, never taking his focus off her. Even as she hurried toward the station, Blaire felt his eyes follow her the entire way. The jittery feeling he’d awakened within her provided hope that she was still capable of falling in love—with her doctor who waited patiently at Ella Milton’s farmhouse where the business transaction would occur. It seemed odd to classify marriage as a business venture, but she supposed it was, indeed, the biggest transaction of her life. Tomorrow was her scheduled meeting with the matchmaker, and Blaire hoped she would not mind that she’d arrived one day early.

  With the life-changing moment close at hand and the unexpected feelings the stranger she’d encountered had stirred, Blaire became nervous of the upcoming match and she began to doubt her decision.

  Lyle Frazer stood in awe, staring after the most delightful woman he’d met in a long time. She walked with purpose, and he respected that kind of strength in a person. No chaperone or gentleman appeared to be traveling with her, and that fact seemed to boast of self-assurance, which attracted him to a woman. Of course, that had been his undoing the first time around, lessons learned the hard way. On the eve of his meeting the mail-order bride picked especially for him, Lyle reminded himself that he now preferred a more subdued and lean-on-him sort of woman who would be less troublesome.

  He felt guilty gawking at the stranger, as if he were betraying the woman who was waiting to take her vows and return home with him to Spalding, but he continued to stare after the woman he’d encountered on the shores of Pelican River, unable to will himself to look away. When she disappeared inside the train depot, he sighed, determining once again, to remain focused on his mission. He’d marry his perfect match very soon—Ella Milton’s track record, so far, he was almost guaranteed success.

  Lyle untied Jasper, from a nearby tree branch, mounted his quarter horse, and sauntered along the river, heading in the direction of the Milton barn, where he’d settled in two days prior. He’d arrived early, overly anxious to meet his bride and start living again; having hopelessly discovered that he wasn’t suited for the bachelor’s life. Lonely evenings had left him edgy and jealous of his neighbors. When he realized his medical practice had suffered because of it, he’d written the agency.

  The unforeseen death of his first wife had left him shaken and somewhat dubious about the whole family scene. One year of playing husband was all it had taken to disillusion him into thinking he was living a together-forever love story. Even now, seeking a bride did not come without apprehension, yet, with maturity came the realization that he and Liza-Mae should never have wed, and that provided him with a small fragment of hope that building a rapport with someone new might work this time—as long as he guarded his heart and gave it only when and if, the time and circumstance justified his relinquishing the strong-hold. In the meantime, there was no reason why they couldn’t enjoy a workable relationship.

  Lyle whistled as he turned away from the river and made his way to the Colonial farmhouse. The month of May had extended favorable weather in the friendly valley town of Spalding. The fierce winter had melted away, and farmers eagerly welcomed the chance to plow their fields and plant early crops in the ground.

  When the long laneway of the Pelican Rapids Bridal Agency came into view, Lyle glanced to his left and noticed a carriage approaching the front entrance of the white-clapboard farmhouse. He held steady and aimed Jasper straight ahead for the red barn. One thing he’d surmised in his short stay here was that Ella Milton loved company, or at the very least folks loved her, for wagons and carriages came and went quite regularly.

  Even knowing that his prospective bride’s appointment was not until the following day, he’d secretly hoped she’d be as eager as him and arrive early. If she delayed too long, they wouldn’t have any time to get acquainted before he’d be forced to return home to tend to his patients. Mrs. Jenkins, who lived miles from Spalding, was ready to deliver her fourth child; the last one hadn’t come into the world easily, and Lyle worried for her welfare.

  In the barn, he unsaddled his mount, brushed him down, and set him loose in the adjoining, fenced-in pasture land.

  “Anything exciting happening in town?” Josiah asked, as he tossed an armful of hay into the feed bin.

  “Just the usual hub-bub when the train pulls in,” Lyle said. “Seen lots of bags loaded for unknown destinations. Pelican Rapids will soon be bursting at the seams. Glad I only visit on occasion. Prefer the wide-open spaces in Spalding.”

  “I get you,” Josiah said. “Used to be quieter here, but I must confess, I like to watch new couples marching off to begin their journey together. My mother has been a lifesaver for many lonely souls.” Josiah cast a mischievous wink in Lyle’s direction. “Getting anxious to meet your new filly?”

  Lyle laughed. “I hope you don’t have an inside scoop that my match is of the horsy-type.”

  “I’ve seen all shapes and sizes come and go, but be assured, none of them stood on four legs and whinnied to get your attention.”

  Lyle waved and headed for the loft where he’d set up his makeshift room. His blanket lay perfectly straight on a soft mound of straw with another neatly folded and tucked around his bed. He picked up a chunk of wood and his knife and slid it into his pocket. He’d filled up on a big dinner at the hotel in Pelican Rapids and decided to head outside to sit in the apple orchard for a while. Hopefully, he wouldn’t fall asleep—food tended to do that to a person—because he wanted to finish his homecoming gift for his bride, and he’d sadly neglected his whittling skills far too long.

  He snuggled up against the trunk of an apple tree and surveyed his attempts at the project thus far. He’d wanted to craft a budding rose cradled in the arms of a huge leaf, not only to make her feel precious, like the delicate petals of a rose, but for her to know that security in his arms would cushion her from harm. That was his goal, but whether he’d achieved the magic as of yet, was a matter of taste. His carvings had won competitions at fairs when he was younger, but back then, his kin had littered the entire town so the judges might have been biased.

  His parents had begged him to return home after medical school and set up his practice closer to them, but by then he’d caught California fever, with its sweeping beaches, parties, and a class of woman from which he should have run instead of lingering long enough to be snagged by one. When reality hit, it was too late—the ring was on her finger, and her high social status had demanded an inescapable code that held both of them captive in their world. The only thing that kept him sane was helping in the hospital at wartime.

  For four years, Lyle allowed Liza-Mae and her family to drag him around like a puppet on a string. On that fatal night when the carriage had toppled from the bridge into the river, throwing him clear but leaving him unconscious after a head-on collision with a rock, Liza-Mae had not been so lucky. She had been pinned helplessly underwater by the weight of the wheel. His wife had drowned that night, and by the time he’d recovered from his injury, he’d missed the funeral.

  Lyle could not have left the state fast enough.


  The Frierson family falsely concluded that his leaving was due to overwhelming grief, and they spread that rendition throughout the sympathetic elite, when in fact—and he often wondered if the Frierson family hadn’t suspected it—Lyle had experienced a horrid sense of relief. It was a condemnation of the battle of his soul combined with jubilant freedom, and it kept him roaming the countryside until he’d landed in Spalding.

  By some lucky draw of the cards, he’d managed to save the town’s blacksmith from a close call with death, and the inhabitants of the settlement begged him to stay. Though it had eased his conscience to fulfill their need to have a doctor in their midst, it was the kindness of the people who did as much to heal his heart and mind. Soon, he fell into a routine, and the plea from the family to which he’d bid goodbye ten years prior to return to his childhood home had become nothing more than a distant memory.

  He raised the half-finished project to eye level and studied the symmetry of the piece, feeling pleased that he’d finally managed to shape the clump of wood. Lyle closed his eyes and envisioned the rose bush a patient had planted outside his infirmary in Spalding and tended to it as if it were a fragile baby. The details were of the utmost importance. The wooden rose had to somehow express life, hope, and love.

  Lyle pondered the last on his list: love. Could he learn to care for a stranger when his heart had never truly opened to the flamboyant California sweetheart who’d shared his last name? Perhaps the whole mail-order bride business was a mistake, one into which he should never have allowed Spalding’s old biddies to coax him. This was his chance to run. There was no need for him to be trapped in yet another heartless marriage.

  Maturity and his word kept him there. He’d asked the woman to come, and if she showed her face and agreed to wed, his integrity would not allow him to turn his back on such a commitment. Perhaps that would be enough. Only time would tell.