Adela's Prairie Suitor (The Annex Mail-Order Brides Book 1) (4 page)

Claude took his sweet time shaving Byron’s two-day whiskers, and only fifteen minutes remained until the train was due as Byron left the barber shop.

He had his boot on the buggy rail when a frantic feminine voice hailed him. “Byron, Byron, wait.” With skirt bunched in both hands, Hilda Jane rushed toward him, her feet tapping a beat on the wooden sidewalk.

Byron automatically removed his hat and ran a hand through his hair. Now he’d messed his hair. Leave it to Hilda Jane to show up at the most inconvenient times.

She stopped before him, and he waited as she heaved from her exertion. “I’ve had an accident, Byron.”

“What accident?”

She pointed down the street. “I ran up on the sidewalk, or rather, Sukie did. You know how that fool horse is. Anyway, the wagon wheel got stuck between the slats in the sidewalk. Could you help me get it out?”

What else could he do? He shoved his hat back on his head. “Let’s go.” It wasn’t a gentlemanly thing to do, but he made for Hilda Jane’s wagon with wide strides, making her run to keep up.

If Hilda Jane had tried, she couldn’t have chosen a worse place to run up on the sidewalk. Not only was a plank missing, but it was right beside a hitching post. The rain from yesterday had left puddles in holes where horses had pawed the ground.

His boots squished in the mud as he bent over to inspect the back wheel, fallen through the crack and wedged so tight the horse couldn’t pull it out.

On the other side of the mud puddle, Hilda Jane leaned beside him and let out a hollow giggle. “It was all my fault. I was trying to see the new dress in Davidson’s Dry Goods, but you’d have thought this stupid horse would’ve kept in the road.” She straightened when he did. “You can get it out, can’t you?”

“Go to the horse’s head and hold her until I give you the word, then make her back up. Don’t let her move until I say.”

“Of course, Byron.” Hilda Jane scurried around him to take Sukie’s reins with both hands.

He watched until he was sure Hilda Jane had the horse secured. The wheel was covered in mud. There was no way to do this without dirtying his hands. Clenching his jaw, he grasped the wheel in two places and braced himself. His muscles strained against the fabric of his shirt and coat. Should have taken the coat off, but he’d been too preoccupied to think of anything except Adela arriving to find him missing.

Hilda Jane interrupted his concentration. “You all gussied up to meet your mail-order bride, huh?”

“Yeah.” He found a bent nail caught on the wheel rim, holding it fast. All he had to do was twist it out of the way.

“Bertha’s still in a state that you don’t want me. Pa too.”

Sweat trickled down Byron’s forehead and stung his eyes. “You know as well as I do, we don’t suit each other.”

“Oh, I don’t care a bit. I found a man who wants me—real ambitious he is. He owns his own stage route.”

Byron maneuvered the nail out of the way. “That’s good, Hilda Jane.”

“Except Pa don’t want me marrying up with someone who’ll take me away, so don’t tell Pa.”

Hilda Jane didn’t have to concern herself with him telling her pa anything. If she’d finally settled for one of the men she ran after, it suited Byron fine. That the man in question might take her away was even better.

With the wheel finally free, he managed to get it out of the hole. At that moment the horse lurched back, shoving him with the wagon. For a moment he tottered trying to gain some purchase, then lost it, falling on his rear in the mud puddle.

No need to worry about getting his hands dirty now, and from the stench of it, water wasn’t the only thing in the puddle. Some horse had left a good sized pile of manure at that spot.

“Byron.” Hilda Jane had her hand at her mouth. “Are you hurt?” The horse and wagon were free. Hilda Jane ran toward him as Byron scrambled to his feet. “That stupid horse pulled right out of my hands. Oh, look at you. Your good suit is ruined. Is there anything I can do?”

He didn’t bother to look up. “No, Hilda Jane, you’ve done quite enough. You can be on your way now.”

“Well, you bring that suit to me later, and I’ll clean it for you. Thank you ever so much, Byron.”

He examined the sorry state of his clothes while racing down the street. The train’s whistle sounded in the distance. Why today of all days would the train be on time? He couldn’t meet Adela looking and smelling like this. Scudding to a stop in front of the dry goods store, he went inside.

Howard Davidson looked up from behind the counter. “Howdy, Byron. Can I help you?”

“I need to buy a pair of pants. Fell into a mud puddle.” Byron marched to the table holding stacks of pants and overalls.”

“Don’t have any to match your coat, but you might find a pair of denims.”

Frantically, Byron shifted through the stacks. The only pair of denims that fit him in the waist was two inches short. They’d have to do.”

“You can change behind this curtain.” Howard held the fabric strung up across the back.

Byron darted through the opening. “Thanks, put it on my account.” A total waste of good money, not to mention time. He had an urge to strangle Hilda Jane—not a very Christian thing to be thinking.

After changing, he wiped his muddy boots with the dry part of the ruined pants. The stench of manure followed him as he moved back into the store. “I’ll get the pants later, Howard. Thanks.”

Howard raised his hand in acknowledgment, but kept his head down. Probably hiding his amusement. A loud whistle blast let Byron know the train had left its passengers and was leaving. He jumped onto the buggy. Frustration tightened around him like a vice, and he hoped Adela hadn’t found him missing and got back on the train. Sweat beaded his forehead, but a little sweat wouldn’t make him smell any worse.

Adela stood on the depot platform and watched Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins ride away in their buckboard. They’d kindly asked if they could take her to the Calhoun farm, but Adela refused. Byron promised to meet her, and she’d wait—all night if necessary.

He had to have a good reason for being late. The idea that he might have forgotten her, or worse, decided against marrying her, was not to be born. Yet when the train pulled out of the station, the smallest doubt began to bother her.

She sat on her trunk, no other place being available, and looked up and down the street. He wouldn’t strand her. She went over in her mind details he’d written in his letters. Maybe she’d missed something, but she didn’t know what.

Every time a man came up the road, she strained her eyes, hoping it was Byron, only to be disappointed. She had his appearance set to memory.

She sat, looking down at her hands clasped in her lap until she heard a conveyance stop. Byron jumped down from his buggy and strode to her. There was no mistaking his dark hair and eyes, but he was taller than she’d envisioned.

“Miss Mason?”

Her lips curved into a smile as she stood. “Mr. Calhoun.”

A wide grin revealed firm white teeth. He doffed his hat. “Sorry I’m late. Didn’t mean to. Welcome to Crabapple.”

Should she give him her hand? She wasn’t wearing gloves, so maybe she shouldn’t. “Thank you. I haven’t been waiting long.” She sensed he was as uncomfortable as she was.

“Let me get your luggage and we’ll get going.”

She followed him to the buggy. After he’d put her trunk and carpetbag away, he touched her elbow, obviously to assist her into the buggy. She lifted her skirt with one hand and reached for the buggy seat with the other. Then she missed her footing and fell back against Byron’s chest. Heat flooded her face as he clasped her about the waist and lifted her onto the seat as easily as if she’d been a kitten.

While he ran around the horse, she took the opportunity to press her palms to her cheeks, hoping to cool her face and bring it back to a normal shade. He climbed into his seat and took the reins. Adela drew in a deep breath to calm herself, and got a whiff of an earthy mix of hay, horse, and manure with a hint of men’s cologne. Anyone else might have found it offensive, but it brought back memories to Adela of greeting her father at the end of the day.

It didn’t take long to get out of town, and Byron pointed out the farms of his neighbors. The cultivated fields were all surrounded by brown prairie grass. “That’s the McClinok Ranch, the M, double Bar,” Byron observed. “Pa bought up a large parcel of land of the other side of our farm, and I’d planned to start a ranch, but we weren’t counting on Pa…leaving.”

His mention of his father reminded her. “I’m so sorry you lost your father. Both of my parents died when I was ten, but I well remember how bad it was.”

“I can imagine. That was mighty young to lose your parents. What happened?”

“They went to nurse my uncle, who’d come down with typhoid. Uncle Hector was my mother’s brother, and she insisted on going. Papa wouldn’t let her go alone. As it happened, Uncle Hector lived, but both Mama and Papa died.”

“That was tragic. I believe you wrote you went to live with your aunt and uncle after that.”

“I did. Aunt Alma died several years later, and Uncle Hector never remarried. He was a circuit judge and was away much of the time. I was really raised by the servants, a housemaid and a cook. Oh, they were very kind, but still not like parents.”

Byron was busy making a turn in the road, so she added, “I’m looking forward to meeting your mother.”

Maybe it was her imagination, but she thought he stiffened. “She’ll enjoy having another woman around. She’s been lonesome since Pa died.”

Adela wanted to mention Hilda Jane Lynstrum, but couldn’t think of a polite way to do so. At any rate, she suspected the subject would present itself before long. A rock of discontent had settled in her middle when Mrs. Hawkins mentioned that Byron was romantically involved with Miss Lynstrum.

They approached a whitewashed wooden house with a red barn and corral beside it. When Byron drove into the yard, Adela assumed this was his farm. She swung around in her seat to take it all in.

A few chickens pecked in the dirt at the side of the house. The corral was separated in two sections. A horse hung its head over the top and a colt frisked about in circles. The other section contained several cows.

She looked down and found Byron holding his hand out to her. Laying her fingers in his palm, she managed to disembark without mishap. As they walked to the front porch, she glanced up to the sloping roof and weathervane. The whole place was picturesque. It was exactly like she’d pictured it in her mind.

Nerves tightened at the prospect of meeting Mrs. Calhoun, but when he held the door open for her, she didn’t see anyone in the neat parlor.

“Ma, are you in the house?” Byron walked around Adela and opened the door of another room. “Ma.”

He crossed the floor. “I don’t know where she is, but let me show you your room. Then I’ll bring in your bags.”

Before they’d reached the bedroom, the front door opened. Adela swung around and found a scowling, gray-haired woman dressed in calico and white apron, standing just inside and holding a basket of eggs.

Byron went to his mother’s side and took the basket. “Ma, this is Miss Adela Mason.”

Adela put on her best smile and ambled forward, hand outstretched.

Mrs. Calhoun took Adela’s hand. “Yes, I’d assumed as much. Did you have a pleasant trip, young lady?”

“Yes, ma’am…that is,” Adela released a nervous laugh, “as pleasant as one can have on a train.”

Mrs. Calhoun took the basket out of Byron’s hand and strode to the closed door. “Hadn’t traveled on a train but once and that was enough for me. Not natural to travel that fast, I’ve always thought.” Propping the basket on her hip, she backed through the doorway.

Byron looked after her as if he couldn’t believe it, then shifted his gaze back to Adela. “I’ll just go get your luggage.” He took long strides to the front door like he couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

Left in the middle of the room, Adela turned in a circle. That was it? Not only was Mrs. Calhoun not welcoming, Adela sensed hostility in the woman. Should she go find her, try to make conversation? Go to the room Byron indicated was to be hers? Since she couldn’t decide, she stayed rooted where she was.

Byron came back with her trunk hefted on his shoulder and carrying her carpetbag in his hand. She followed.

He set her luggage just inside the bedroom door and moved aside to allow her to enter. It was a comfortable room. Blue checkered curtains fluttered in a breeze at the open window. An oak frame bed stood in the middle with matching highboy and table with washbasin and pitcher. A rag rug lay beside the bed and a rocking chair at the window. A small bookshelf ran along the wall.

Byron looked decidedly uncomfortable, whether from being in a bedroom with the woman he planned to court, or because she wasn’t what he’d expected, she couldn’t tell.

His shoulders rose and fell in a sigh. “Well, I’ll let you get settled. Come back to the parlor when you’ve a mind. I expect Ma’s still in the kitchen. She’ll likely be starting supper soon. If you need anything, just let us know.” He backed out the door before she could say a word.

Byron went in search of Ma, calling himself all sorts of stupid oafs. He’d wanted to say so much to Adela, things he’d waited all summer to say, and now he couldn’t get two words out that sounded half way intelligent. And Ma was no help, rushing off to the kitchen the minute she met Adela.

Ma was standing at the table with canisters of flour, sugar, and lard beside a large blue bowl. Peeling an apple, she didn’t look up. “Did Miss Mason get settled?”

“I guess she’s in the process. Couldn’t you have been a little more friendly? Seeing as how she’s going to be your daughter-in-law. I’ve seen you welcome stray cats with more warmth.”

Ma gave him a sharp glance. “I figured after a long journey a body would want to rest and get acquainted with her surroundings.”

Maybe that was true. Byron picked the dangling apple peel from the knife and popped it into his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully for several seconds. “She’s very pretty, isn’t she?”

Ma continued paring. “Guess she’s right presentable, but I always thought the women around here to be pretty.”