Adela's Prairie Suitor (The Annex Mail-Order Brides Book 1) (13 page)

Startled, Adela spilled some of the cream on the long work table. If she got a job, she wouldn’t have to go back to Uncle Hector. “Oh, that would be wonderful. I know most people think it tedious work, but I really enjoy it.” She’d never felt such accomplishment as working on the books for Byron’s farm. She wondered if he’d succeeded in getting the money he was due.

“There’s just one problem.” Carianne brought out the crock to butter the bread. “The job is in Philadelphia.”

A new setting. Maybe that’s what Adela needed to start over. “Oh…well, if that’s where the Lord would have me go, I’ll go. I can’t keep living off your generosity.”

“You know you can as long as you wish, or at least until I have to move to England.”

Adela beat the cream until it frothed. “I’ll miss you three so dreadfully, as I did when I was in Kansas.” But then she’d had Byron to occupy her thoughts.

Byron still occupied her thoughts. After a decent interval, she intended to write him to find out how he and his mother and Lem were doing. Even how Hilda Jane was doing. In the meantime, she kept praying his conscience would compel him to write her. She didn’t want to think Byron could be as cruel as he had been.

Sadness passed over Carianne’s features as if she had read Adela’s thoughts. “Let’s not think of it now. Perhaps you’ll find a job here, if you insist on making your own living.”

Carianne had already ladled out the peaches in dessert bowls, but Adela took the bowl of whipped cream to the ice box. “Let’s wait until later to dollop the cream.” She untied her apron. “I think I’ll go see if I can help Ramee and Prudie. I suppose we’ll eat as soon as they’ve finished.”

“You suppose correctly. Tell them it’s almost ready.”

Byron got out of the hackney he’d taken from the train station. He paid the driver. “No need to wait,” he told the driver. If Adela wasn’t here, or if she wouldn’t see him, he’d walk to the nearest boardinghouse. He’d need a long walk to contemplate his future.

The impressive red brick house of classical Georgian design loomed before him, rich and formal, reminding him he was in a different world from his Kansas farm. Why would he think a genteel woman like Adela would marry him? Especially after the way she’d been treated. If all he got from his trip was her forgiveness, it would be worth it.

No, honesty compelled him to admit he wanted more.

He lifted the elegant brass knocker and drew in a deep breath, wishing he’d taken the time to wash the grime of the train off, but Adela had seen him worse than this. He had to rap several times before the door open.

An attractive young woman dressed like one of those ladies on the cover of Ma’s
Ladies Home Journal
stood before him, a curious look on her face. From Adela’s description of her friends, he knew this was Carianne. He was fortunate she answered the door. If he remembered correctly, she was described as the sweet-tempered one.

He swept his bowler to his chest. “Please excuse the intrusion, Miss Barlow. Is Adel…Miss Mason at home?”

Carianne nodded. She might be sweet, but her scrutiny made Byron think she could be harsh if she wanted to. He hastily gave his name, praying she wouldn’t slam the door in his face. She hitched her chin, inspecting him as if she knew she held the keys to his heaven and would make sure he was worthy before letting him in.

After several painful moments, her eyes softened, and a winsome smile curved her lips. “Come in. I’ll get her for you.” He stepped over the threshold and closed the door behind him as she turned away, adding, “You don’t look a bit like Jesse James.”

He didn’t know what to make of that, but his heart kicked into a faster beat in anticipation of seeing Adela. Would she take one look and run? Trying to calm his nerves, he glanced around the stately foyer and into the drawing room beyond, torturing the hat in his hands.

After managing a few steps forward, he turned to study a painting of a pastoral scene when he heard the door open from behind and jerked around.

Adela came into the room and stopped, leaving a lot of space between them. Byron closed the distance. “Adela, may I speak to you? I have a lot of explaining to do.”

She seemed reluctant to tear her gaze from his, but after several heavy seconds, waved a hand toward the drawing room. He took in the room with a glance. Chippendale furniture, dark green brocade sofa, and matching arm chairs. She sat on the edge of the sofa.

Byron pulled the chair facing her a bit closer and sank into the cushioned seat.

Adela kept her head downcast and folded her hands in her lap. He remembered those hands, small and soft. Now that she was close enough to touch, Byron couldn’t pull his words together.

An uncomfortable silence hung over them. He coughed. “There’s been a great mistake made, and I don’t exactly know how to explain it.” He fished in his pocket and pulled out Ma’s envelope. “Maybe if you’d read my mother’s letter, you’d understand.”

She didn’t lift her head, but took the letter he held out to her with a fleeting glance from under her dark lashes. The look was so enduring, his heart turned over. After what seemed an eternity, she tore the envelope open and took out the sheet. Byron watched her face with a lump in his throat. Would she accept Ma’s explanation? What would he do if she didn’t?

The letter trembled ever so slightly in Adela’s hands as her brows furrowed in disbelief. Finally she turned those beautiful doe eyes on him. “Your mother forged that note to me? But why?”

“Clint Lynstrum convinced her Hilda Jane would run off if I married you. Ma’s…she’s kind of smitten with Clint…but she asks your forgiveness, as I do.”

“There’s nothing for you to be forgiven, Byron. You were misrepresented. Perhaps I shouldn’t have run off as I did, but I…” She followed this up with a feeble smile, and he swallowed the lump rising in his throat. “It’s just that I’d thought you’d come to care for me, then when I read that awful letter I thought was yours…I felt such pain I only thought to run away.”

He inched the chair a little closer. All the elegant words he’d practiced left him. “I did care for you, Adela. I do…more than care. I love you. When I found you gone, I felt a despair I’d never imagined. My life was miserable without you.”

She leaned forward. “It was?”

He dove in his pocket again and brought out the ring. “I got this when I was in St. Louis, and I’m offering it to you—with my heart.”

She took the ring as her eyes grew wide. “It’s so beautiful.”

“Not more beautiful than you, Adela. Will you take it—and my heart?”

He wasn’t doing this right. The chair scraped against the marble floor as he dropped to one knee. “Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

Silence cloaked the room until Byron could hear his heart racing in time with the clock. Tears coursed unheeded from Adela’s downcast eyes to track over flushed cheeks.

A muffled feminine voice hissed from behind the door. “Say yes.”

He didn’t know which of Adela’s friends spoke, but he was grateful to her because Adela took the prompt.

Tears shone in those eyes when she looked up, then she looked over his shoulder and stood, her movement a bit wobbly. Then she slammed into him, almost knocking him over. “Oh Byron, I love you. My heart is so full, I can’t even express how much.”

He slipped his hand behind her neck and drew her to him, then kissed her puffy lips. “Will you marry me right away, so we can return home together?”

She nodded. “Yes, yes...I want—” He silenced her with another kiss and heard footsteps running in from behind.

Loud applause brought them both to their senses. Adela’s three friends surrounded them, clapping as they might when the curtain fell on a long awaited play. Byron scrambled to his feet, his arm sheltering his bride-to-be.

“We were about to sit down to a supper of roast beef sandwiches, if you’d like to join us,” Adela said.

“Oh no, I’m going to take you to the best restaurant in town, and we’ll stop by your pastor’s house and make the arrangements for tomorrow. I know that’s not much time for you to get ready, but I have to get back to the farm. It is harvest.”

“We’ll have the wedding right here, in the garden, tomorrow afternoon,” Carianne said. “Don’t worry about the preparations. We’ll take care of everything.”

The women scattered, supper apparently forgotten. Byron laid his arm around Adela’s shoulder, and they strode toward the door. “You won’t be bothered with Hilda Jane. She ran off with the stage master. Ma’s going to marry Clint, so the house will be all yours. You don’t have to worry about what color the curtains are, or how many lemons you use. And you can do with me whatever you want.”

A giggle escaped from Adela’s smiling lips. “I’ll probably be reminding you of that sometime in our future.”

It snowed the next day. Light fluffy flakes that matched Adela’s mood. For that reason, the ceremony in the garden would be short, but oh-so-beautiful with the snow frosting the hedges and topiaries—and the hot house flowers Carianne ordered.

Ramie furnished the wedding gown, one she’d designed for a client. She’d make another for Miss Turnbull. Ramee was making a name for herself in dress design. Adela would be the best dressed bride in New England.

As she beheld her reflection, the gown took her breath away. It might have been designed for a debutant, someone Adela certainly wasn’t, but it suited a bride better. Satin and lace of purest white. Modest bodice and leg-o-mutton sleeves. Overskirt shot with silver thread gathered into a bustle and falling into a short train. It was a gown designed to draw everyone’s attention to the woman who wore it, though Adela sought no one’s approval except Byron’s.

There was no one to give her away, and Byron didn’t have a best man standing at his side, but Adela had three of the most beautiful and loving bride’s maids a bride could want.

She shivered from the cold and nerves as she joined Byron and the minister under a white rose covered arch, snow sticking to her hair and lashes. Then Byron took her hand, warming her clear through.

He pressed a chaste kiss on her lips after their vows, and everyone rushed back inside as the snow grew heavier.

Adela and Byron took their places at the dinner table where her friends and the minister and his wife waited. Prudie furnished the sumptuous feast, though she assured everyone she didn’t do the cooking, lest they be afraid to eat.

The food was delicious, of course, and hearts light.

Since their train was leaving at a set time, they couldn’t linger. Adela climbed the stairs to her bedroom one last time to change her wedding gown to a more sensible traveling dress. When she’d left this house before going west, she’d felt hope mixed with trepidation. Today there was only joy, though it was bittersweet to bid her friends good-bye again.

Ramee came out of the dressing room carrying a carpetbag. “I’ve packed your wedding gown. I’ll take it down for you.”

“Are you sure you want me to take it? Miss Turnbull won’t know I wore it.”

“You must take it, and hand it down to your daughter someday.”

Her daughter? Yes, more than one daughter, please God, and sons too. She could picture guiding a little hand to set a stitch and a little boy hounding his father’s steps.

Ramee hooked her by one arm. “Don’t forget to hang the dress up as soon as you get on the train. It’s still damp and might mildew.”

“Where can I hang it on the train?”

Carianne took her other arm. “I’ve secured a private car for you and Byron. It goes through almost to Crabapple.”

Adela was aghast, though the idea of spending her wedding night in a comfortable rail car traveling forty miles an hour excited her. “Thank you, but it’s too much. You should not have done that.”

“Of course I should. A newly married couple must have privacy on their honeymoon.”

She looked from Carianne to Ramee. “Oh, I am so blessed.”

Prudie called from the stairs. “Your carriage awaits.”

Her husband also awaited, at the bottom of the stairs, staring at her with admiration and tenderness. With a heart almost too full to contain her excitement, she tripped down the stairs toward him
.

“Don’t forget to throw your bouquet,” Ramee called, thrusting the flowers in her hand.

“What foolishness,” Prudie said, coming to bestow a congratulatory kiss on both bride and groom.

Carianne got between them and squeezed them both, then stepped backward. “She’s right. You throw your bouquet as you leave.”

Adela and Byron stopped at the door, and she turned to face her friends. Prudie hovered in back, as if she was determined not to catch the bouquet.

Turing her back to them, Adela determined to throw the hothouse orchids high and wide to make certain Prudie caught it.

But when she swung around, it was Ramee who held it up, triumphant glee showing in her face. Adela blew them all a kiss and took her husband’s arm.

The sun had broken through gray clouds with only a few flakes carried on the breeze. The carriage indeed waited to take them to the depot. It was time to depart for their prairie home.

Thank you, dear reader, for reading
Adela’s Prairie Suitor. The Annex Mail-Order Brides
, are prequel novellas to my long historical series,
Under Cerulean Skies
, the story that changed the direction of my writing and my life.

If you enjoyed this book, and even if you didn’t, please leave a review at Amazon.com and Goodreads. I write only for the Lord’s glory and the reader’s pleasure, so I would much appreciate your opinion.

The following is an excerpt from the next book in the
Annex Mail-Order Brides
series,
Ramee’s Fugitive Cowboy.

Chapter 1

Cambridge, Massachusetts, 1882

After sticking a knife in her back, did he have to act so pleased about it? Ramee Abbott wrenched her gaze from the document in hand to meet Jackson Crandal’s satisfied smile. Her friends had warned her about him, but his influence and charm mesmerized Ramee like a cobra its prey.

Jackson was a Harvard graduate, the son of a New York textile manufacturer, a prominent member of society. He’d courted her. Whispered words of love. Proposed marriage. She had to look at the contract again to make sure she wasn’t mistaken.