Adela's Prairie Suitor (The Annex Mail-Order Brides Book 1) (3 page)

It was an old argument, one that set Byron’s teeth on edge. “If I’m not man enough to hold on to the farm without help, I’m not man enough to marry anyone.”

She sent him a sidelong, piercing gaze. “We’ll see about that.”

He didn’t like the way she said it.

Ma got busy straightening her apron. “After you finish hanging the wash, go on and move your things out to the barn, and I’ll fix the bed later. Mind you, supper may be late. I’m going over to Hilda Jane’s to collect that afghan pattern I’ve been meaning to get. You don’t have any objection to me telling Hilda Jane about our guest, do you?”

He shook his head. Hilda Jane had to be told, and he certainly didn’t want to be the one to do it.

The train’s whistle jolted Adela, alerting her and everyone within hearing distance it was time to board. Smoke from the stack stung her nostrils, and a weight the size of a boulder settled in her stomach. The leave taking was harder than she’d imagined.

She wanted to go. Byron waited, but how hard it was to leave these dear friends. They crouched in, surrounding her, as if trying to prevent her escape. With tears gathering at the corners of her eyes, she held out her arms. They all fell into a tight hug.

“Kansas is so far away.” Ramee’s moan brushed Adela’s ear. They’d all been reminding her of that fact, as if she didn’t know.

She broke their hold, and sniffing back the tears, smiled. “I’ll write the moment I arrive.”

“And tell us everything that happens.” Carianne’s voice cracked with emotion.

“I shall, and I want to know what all happens here.” Adela knew—they all knew—they might never see each other again. She couldn’t think of that now. Life was full of changes, some joyous, some sad. This was both.

She forced a cheerful tone. “Ramee, I want you to write me all about your next encounter with the dashing Mr. Crandell. Prudie, you must tell me all about your confrontations with Professor Hodgstead.” She looked at each friend in turn. Carianne’s tear-filled eyes were Adela’s undoing. Her mouth wobbled. “Please tell your grandmother I’m so sorry I let her down.” She continued on a sob, “I took her money, promising to uphold a woman’s right to the best education and—” Tears spilled over and she swiped at her eyes. “I couldn’t do it, so I have nothing to give in return.”

Carianne’s arms went around Adela. “The money isn’t important. Your happiness is worth more than all the money in the world.”

Adela choked back another sob. Would she find happiness? Nothing in life was guaranteed, but she had to take the chance.

Ramee gave Adela’s arm a gentle squeeze. “You have to choose what’s best for you. Where would the world be without women who devote themselves to their children and families?”

“You must follow your heart, Adela.” Prudie’s voice held a quiver so unlike her. “If things don’t work out, you can get on that train and come back to us. Just know we’ll be praying for you.”

Carianne dried her eyes with an already soggy handkerchief. “Indeed you can, but if God has laid it on your heart to go to this man, then you must, and you’ll never regret it.”

That’s what Adela thought too. God led her to read Byron’s advertisement. He wanted her to get on this train. At that moment, the whistle blasted again, making them all jump. “I have to go.” She gave them all a kiss. “I’ll find a seat by the window to wave good-bye.”

She squared her shoulders and turned. Falling in line with the other passengers, she made her way to the train’s entrance. She found an empty seat on the side that would afford her a view of her friends and slid across the hard leather covering to the dingy window.

They huddled where she’d left them, Carianne and Ramee sobbing into their handkerchiefs, Prudie staring up at the train.

Adela tapped the window, trying to get their attention, but with all the noise, that was like pecking on a brick wall. It took a couple of minutes before her friends caught sight of her and waved. Adela yelled “good-bye” as if they could hear her and kept waving until the final whistle blew, demanding clearance on the track.

She felt the rumble of the massive engines as the train slowly moved forward. Adela twisted around and looked back until the train picked up speed and her friends disappeared behind a building.

Melancholy seeped through to her bones. She already missed them.

They were the only close female friends she’d ever had. At the tender age of ten, she’d moved into her staunch Puritan uncle’s household. Uncle Hector frowned on any frivolity, especially female chit-chat. It only led to gossip, he said. To hear him tell it, only women gossiped.

She sagged against the back of the seat. If Byron didn’t propose, she’d have to move back in with Uncle Hector. It would take a lot of groveling. He’d warned her if she left, she couldn’t come back. She’d never felt so alone.

No—not alone.
Lo I am with you, even until the end of the world.

All trepidation left her on a sigh. Jesus was with her. She opened her reticule and found the little blue testament she’d been given at her first communion. The scripture strengthened her resolve, and she looked up to find they were now traveling through the countryside. Trees flaming with the colors of fall, farms with men, animals, and machinery worked.

What would Kansas be like? Flat and treeless she’d heard, but definitely with farms
.
Now that she was on her way, she was eager to see Byron’s farm, maybe her future home. But there was a lot of country to cross before then.

A new thought came to mind. She knew nothing about Byron’s mother, and that seemed strange to her now. Bryon wrote much about the father he’d lost last year, but little about his mother. Adela so hoped to get along with his mother.

Memories surged of her own sweet mother she’d lost so many years ago. Mama brushing her hair, buttoning her shoes, letting her help “cook.”

She tried to conjure up an image of Mrs. Calhoun. Byron hadn’t even mentioned his mother’s given name, but Adela hoped in time she could call her Mother. She’d be homey and smell of Calamine soap and cinnamon. Mother Calhoun would show her how to do the farm chores and teach her how to cook all the dishes Byron loved. In the afternoon, they’d sew and knit. They’d plan a baby’s layette.

Heat flooded Adela’s face,
and she glanced around to make sure no one noticed. This castle in the air had gotten way too high. She’d better wait to make sure there was a wedding before thinking about babies.

The next four days and nights became a blur of stops and starts, countryside and small towns, occasionally a city where a decent meal could be had. Being a young, single woman traveling alone, she attached herself to any matronly woman who seemed friendly, or couples, or families. During the course of her journey, she shared conversations and meals with at least a dozen strangers. She thanked God for these guardians.

When they crossed the Missouri River her nerves began to quiver. At Kansas City, she changed trains for the last time. Fortunately, this line went through Crabapple, the little town where Byron lived.

She wished there was time to find a rooming establishment where she could bathe and change clothes, but it wasn’t to be. After giving the conductor her ticket, she took the first seat available and considered her appearance. Her cotton pink print dress, so crisp when she started out, was now limp and covered with soot. Even worse, she probably smelled as badly as her fellow passengers.

Her reflection in the smoke-darkened window revealed wisps of hair falling down around her ears and a smudge on her cheek. How could she meet Byron looking like this? Before they arrived in Crabapple she had to visit the train’s necessary and try to repair her hair and wash her face. She wished she’d thought to put a fresh pair of gloves in her reticule, but hadn’t, so she peeled off the grimy ones, stuffed them in her bag, and brushed off her dress as best she could.

A lot of new passengers got on in Kansas City, and Adela knew she wouldn’t have the seat to herself. Every time a matronly lady appeared, Adela tried to encourage her to sit. Sure enough, a short, plump, fiftyish woman with salt and pepper hair tied into a bun at the back of her head stopped. With a pleasant nod, she took up her side of the seat and a little more besides.

Adela took the woman’s proffered hand and introduced herself.

“Name’s Ester Hawkins.” Mrs. Hawkins squeezed Adela’s fingers. “Where’s a pretty little thing like you traveling to?”

“A little town called Crabapple, Kansas.”

Mrs. Hawkins reared back, her dark brows stretching as far as she could get them. “Do tell? I’m going to Crabapple myself. I live there. My husband and I originally came from North Georgia and moved to Kansas back in seventy-four. He got a hankering to run a cattle ranch and got a good deal on the spread in Crabapple. Fellow who owned it was getting in on the Land Act and move on to Nebrasky. Abel, that’s my husband, didn’t qualify since he fought for the Confederacy, but we still benefited since we got the place in Crabapple cheap.”

The querulous woman stopped for breath and chuckled. “Well, I do run on, don’t I? You got folks in Crabapple? It’s a little place. I’ve probably heard of them.”

“No, I’m just…visiting Byron Calhoun…oh, and his mother.”

Mrs. Hawkins smiled. “His mother? That would be Bertha. Shore enough, Bertha and I have been friends for the longest time. Wonder why she never told me about you, but I’ve been back in Georgia visiting my daughter and her family for the past six weeks.”

Surely Byron had told his mother about corresponding with Adela. “She…that is, Mrs. Calhoun doesn’t really know me. We’ve never met. Her son invited me.”

That brought a scowl on Mrs. Hawkins’s brow. “He did?” Her lips twisted into the semblance of a smile. “Byron has grown into a fine young man. I heard he became a deacon in the church.”

Adela didn’t know quite what to think of that. She’d not thought to become a deacon’s wife. Weren’t there strict requirements required of deacons and their wives? An image of Uncle Hector rose before her. “Sit up straight, Adela. No wandering eyes. One must maintain a sober demeanor in church.” The wife of a deacon would have to be sober in church and out.

Byron hadn’t mentioned that in his letters. Likely there were many things he hadn’t mentioned. Some of the giddiness she felt at the prospect of meeting her possible husband deflated. But if he had hidden things from her, she could hardly complain. She’d kept things from him as well.

She glanced out the window where an endless sea of prairie waved in the wind, devoid of trees and buildings and civilization. So different from Massachusetts. Forcing her nerves to relax, she reminded herself she’d only promised to come to this foreign land for a visit. If she and Byron didn’t suit, she could return home—to Uncle Hector.

Being deep in thought, she almost didn’t catch Mrs. Hawkins’s question, “How do you know the Calhouns?”

She jerked around to find Mrs. Hawkins’s brown eyes widened, her features set in a friendly smile. What explanation could she give that wouldn’t sound as bizarre as the truth? There was none.

“I…that is…Mr. Calhoun posted an advertisement for a bride, and I’m—” She smiled to release some of the tension. It didn’t help. “I’m coming to get to know Mr. Calhoun…and his mother, of course. He’s my…my suitor.”

Mrs. Hawkins’s grin froze in place for several seconds, then she squinted as if inspecting Adela for the first time. “Mr. Calhoun—Byron—sent off for a bride?” She pointed a stubby finger. “And you’re the bride?”

Adela nodded. “I know it sounds extraordinary, but many women go west to become brides.” She sought to make her behavior seem less strange. “Most of them marry as soon as they arrive, but Mr. Calhoun and I agreed we should get to know each other for a time.”

Mrs. Hawkins’s hand flew to her mouth and her eyes popped as if she just realized Adela might have escaped from an asylum. “Oh, my.”

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s just that I was under the impression—Bertha told me—Byron was planning to marry Hilda Jane Lynstrum.”

Byron pulled up on the reins of Nellie, his bay mare, set the brake, and jumped down from the buggy. A good hour until the train arrived—if it was on time, which it never was. He marched straight to the barber shop.

Maybe there was time for a shave, and Claude might have some of that toilet water he joked about. Sweat trickled down Byron’s back. He could sure use some toilet water. Normally, he’d have scoffed about such doings, but he wanted to smell good for Adela, and that bath he’d taken last night was long gone. No time for a haircut, but he’d ask for just enough oil to hold the waves in his hair.

He’d intended to get to town early enough to get both a shave and a haircut, but Ma had stopped him as he was leaving the house. She wanted him to clean out the pantry. Why she waited until he was going out the door, he didn’t know. Nor did he understand why she’d want the pantry cleaned out when it hadn’t bothered her for years.

She’d set him straight on that point. Ma couldn’t abide having a houseguest who might find a cluttered room in her house. It was useless to argue, and it pleased him to think she’d want to impress Adela. Never mind, it was unlikely Adela would ever need to look inside the room. They’d never used the pantry for its intended purpose. It had become a junk room.

Byron believed he should honor his mother’s wishes no matter how silly, and it was clear she thought a cluttered pantry would reflect poorly on her as a housekeeper.

The job would’ve gone so much faster if he threw everything out and burned it. Ma was horrified at that suggestion. She had treasures in that room. Though all Byron found were broken pieces of furniture and pottery, odds and ends, he hauled the stuff out to the barn, aware the minutes were ticking. He was nervous enough at the prospect of meeting his prospective wife without the risk of being late.

Now, here he was, looking like a hay-seed with sprigs sticking out of his rumpled Sunday clothes. He didn’t know what made him hotter, being delayed or the weather. After being cool and rainy the past week, the weather had turned hot with a blazing sun in the cloudless sky.