Contract to Wed (20 page)

Hello Readers,

Thank you for purchasing
Contract to Wed,
Crawford
Family Book 2,
and I hope you enjoyed Max and Jolene’s story. Please
share your thoughts with friends and family and with others on review sites and
social media. Follow me on Face Book or at hollybushbooks.com to hear about
Jennifer’s book or leave a comment. I love to hear from readers!

You can also read excerpts from my other Prairie
Historicals,
Romancing Olive, Train Station Bride,
Crawford Family Book
1 and
Reconstructing Jackson,
and Victorian Romances,
Cross the Ocean
and
Charming the Duke
at my website.
Red, White and Screwed
, a
Women’s Fiction title, is a new category for me and I’m hoping you’ll give it a
try! Find these books at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, and Itunes. 
Thanks again for your purchase!

A sample of
Reconstructing Jackson
is below
.

Reconstructing Jackson

Chapter One

May 19, 1867

“Need some help, mister?”

“I’ll be fine, thank you,” Reed Jackson said.

The conductor approached through whirls of black smoke and
repeated, “Do ya need some help?”

The whistle blew as Reed replied. “I’m a cripple, not deaf,
you jackass. I said I’d be fine.”

The conductor squinted through ashed air and hefted himself
onto the train’s step. “OK, son,” he shouted.

The train pulled away and Reed struggled to pull his bag on
to his lap and wheel himself to the step of the station house. A sign, swinging
in the locomotive’s draft, read ‘Fenton, Missouri - Population 6,502.’

“Is there a boy about who can get my trunks to the hotel?”
Reed shouted into the dim building. The scrawny station manager shaded his eyes
as he stepped into the dirt street.

“Where ya be headin’?” he asked.

“The Ames Hotel,” Reed replied.

Reed contemplated the man who was now rubbing his jaw and
eyeing his wheelchair; the last, hopefully, in a long line of nosy, prying
half-wits whom Reed had encountered on this tortuous journey. The man knelt
down and touched the leather strapping of the wheels.

“Please don’t touch the chair, sir,” Reed said.

He stood, eyes still perusing Reed and his belongings. “In
the war?”

“Is there someone able to bring my trunks to the Ames
Hotel?” Reed repeated.

“From the sound of that drawl, I’d bet my Helen’s berry pie,
you was wearing gray,” the stationmaster added.

The man’s self-righteous smile did nothing to lighten Reed’s
mood. He was tired, his leg hurt, and he wanted nothing more than complete and
utter silence, followed by a long soak in a tub. But this was to be his new
hometown. His fresh start.
This imbecile may need his services as an
attorney if he killed his pie-making wife, Reed thought.

“I served in the confederacy, sir.”

“Damn. I was right. A Johnny Reb, huh?”

“I consider myself a U.S. citizen,” Reed replied.

“Well, yeah but . . .”

“Excuse me,” Reed said as reached his hands to the wheels of
his chair. “I must get to the hotel. I’m expected.”

The stationmaster turned as a man and woman approached.
“Reed?” the man called.

“Henry.” Reed recognized his cousin from the remarkable
likeness the man had to Reed’s mother. Tall and dark with great smiles marked
the Ames family.

Henry clasped Reed’s hand and shook, turning to a petite
blond beside him. “Reed, this is my wife, Mary Ellen. Mary Ellen, this is my
cousin, Reed Jackson.”

“Pleasure to meet you, sir. How was your trip?” she shouted
over the clang, roar and bedlam of the station.

Mary Ellen Ames wore an expensive, up-to-date gown and
filled it most attractively, Reed noticed. He smiled his best Southern charm
and held her dainty, gloved hand in his. “Dirty, hot and long.”

She laughed and turned to her husband. “Our traveler is
weary, Henry. Let’s get him out of the sun and the dust.”

Reed was thankful this woman, his hostess was gracious and
mannerly. So unlike the passengers he’d been forced to sit beside and
occasionally converse with. He was sick of boorish behavior and basked in the
delightful smile Henry’s wife bestowed upon him. Henry must have married as
well as he possible could have in this God-forsaken town. His mother had told
him that her brother’s son had come west before the war, married and was a
successful businessman. She apparently was right.

Reed looked at the stationmaster as he listened in on their
conversation. “I was trying to hire someone to bring my trunks to the hotel
when you came.”

“Oh, yes siree, sir. Right away, sir.”

“Thank you.” Reed wheeled himself along beside Henry and
Mary Ellen as they walked away from the station. As the roar of travel sounds
dimmed, Reed turned to his cousin. “So what is life like here in the wild
West?”

Henry stopped, looked at Reed’s serious face and leaned
back, laughing. “The wild West? Fenton is hardly wild, Reed.”

“Well, we are west of the Mississippi, Henry? I was raised
to believe civilization begins in the heart of the South,” Reed said and
smiled.

“You’re teasing, Mr. Jackson. Why we have churches, shops,
theatres, and even a small hospital. The fine ladies of the Aid Society
consider Fenton a bastion of civilization.”

Reed regarded her sincere countenance. “Why, of course, Mrs.
Ames. Forgive me.”

“Please call me Mary Ellen. We are related, and I want you
to feel comfortable in your new home.”

“I would be honored if you would call me Reed or Jackson, in
kind,” he replied.

The streets of Fenton were busy with wagons, horses and
people. He watched as he wheeled and found some staring strangely at him, many
on their own way, paying him no mind. He dodged horses’ hooves, children
running and the hems of calico dresses.

“The sidewalk here in the main part of town runs right in
front of the hotel. Let me get you up the first step,” Henry said, taking the
handles behind Reed’s chair and turning him around.

It was humiliating to depend so entirely on others.
Strangers, Reed didn’t mind, but the thought of a relative helping him merely
negotiate the street riled him.

“I’m fine, now. Which way are we headed?” Reed said and
caught an embarrassed glance from husband to wife.

Mary Ellen Ames motioned forward.

Reed pardoned himself many times on the narrow sidewalk. He
passed the Fenton National Bank and a dreary theatre beside it and waited for
Henry to move a pickle barrel a few inches back in front of the general store.

Mary Ellen turned onto a wooden sidewalk lined with
flowers.  “Here we are.”

The Ames Hotel was indeed grand, yet to Reed’s thoughts,
homey. A wide porch held wicker furniture and guests reclined and chatted
there. Reed looked up at the large brick building, seeing three floors,
curtains blowing softly out of tall windows. White gingerbread trim edged the
porch pillars and roof. His gaze fell to six wide wooden steps, their backs
white, the footfalls, forest green.

“You’ve done well for yourself, cousin. A very inviting
hotel and busy from the looks of things,” Reed said.

Henry put his arm around his wife and looked up to the
building. “We’ve been very fortunate.”

The couple’s eyes met, and Reed felt the intensity from feet
away. They stared at each other, glowing, and Mary Ellen’s hand raised to her
husband’s chest. This must be quite an accomplishment out here in the prairie;
they rightly deserved to be proud, Reed thought.

Henry motioned Reed to follow him around the side of the
hotel. A swing under two shade trees held a mother reading to a child. Pots of
flowers lined the walk until Henry came to a gate. “We use this entrance, Reed.
Rarely use the front. I’ve lowered the latch so you can come and go as you
please.”

Reed followed his cousin and his wife through the gate. The
back of the hotel was a sea of activity. Sheets hung in the breeze near a huge
pot. Two women, their hair held back with red kerchiefs, straightening from
their stirring, turned and stared. A round man in white carrying dead chickens,
emerged from a shed and stopped abruptly. An old man painting a fence halted
his brush, mid-stroke. He sat his bucket down, pulled a paint-stained rag from
his pocket to wipe his hands and hobbled in Reed’s direction.

“Mr. Ames, Mrs. Ames, I sees your company’s here,” the
wizened man said.

“Arlo, this is my cousin, Mr. Jackson,” Henry said.

“Pleased to be meetin’ ya,” the rough, wrinkled man said and
held his hand out to shake.

Reed lifted his hand. “Likewise, I’m sure.”

“Looks like yer chair will fit after all.” The man circled
Reed, nodding. “I done worried for no use.”

Reed looked at the man quizzically until Henry motioned to a
back porch. The wide steps were partially blocked by a series of elevating
ramps. Reed stared. He looked up to his cousin with questions. Reed knew that
all in the yard listened intently, but it did not stop his comments.

“Your father’s letters implied that I’d have no trouble
getting into the hotel. That a back entrance was level.” He struggled to
maintain a polite tone but could not.

Henry rushed forward. “You won’t have any trouble, Reed.
Arlo and I built this ramp.”

Reed watched his cousin’s nervous face and hurried gestures.
He wheeled himself to the base of the ramp while his audience waited.

“Let’s all get back to work, now,” Mary Ellen said to her
employees. “We have a full house.”

Reed wheeled himself up the first ramp, stopped and turned
on the landing. The next level appeared steeper and Reed pulled the wheel hard
to get some momentum. Near the top, he began to roll backwards. Reed caught
himself and concentrated on the last ramp. From the corner of his eye, he saw
the laundresses and cook slyly watching his progress.

Arlo however could not restrain himself. “I tolds ya, Mr.
Ames. We needed another foot to make that second piece not so steep.”

Henry spoke softly. “We couldn’t lengthen the ramp anymore
without covering the coal cellar. It’s fine.”

Reed pushed himself up the last ramp and onto the porch.

“Yeeha,” Arlo shouted and threw his hat in the air. “I done
told ya it’d work.”

Reed heard Mary Ellen hush the old man and smile approvingly
to her husband. She climbed the steps and faced him. “That went well, don’t you
think?”

Reed Jackson took a deep breath and nodded cautiously. He
had yet to decide if he was insulted or thankful. Reed’s eyes were drawn to a
tall Negro woman in the doorway. She wore a black dress with a white scarf at
her neck and carried a large, wooden bowl of beans. Their eyes met, and he felt
a flash of anger in her stare. The woman looked out over the work in the yard,
and Reed noticed a quicker pace from all.

“Beulah, this is my husband’s cousin, Mr. Jackson,” Mary
Ellen said.

The woman’s head nodded once, and Reed was surprised when
she spoke. A rich cultured baritone met his ears. “Pleased to meet you, Mr.
Jackson.”

But Reed knew she was anything but pleased. Truthfully, Reed
was shocked into silence. He had never imagined his cousin keeping a darkie.
His father referred to the Ameses as nigger-loving liberals, Northerners with
no sense as to how the southern economy and ways, worked. “Beulah,” Reed said.

“Henry, dear, I saw the guests from San Francisco on the
porch. I want to fuss over them a bit,” Mary Ellen said to her husband and
turned to Reed. “Do excuse me. Henry will show you your rooms, and I’m sure you
two have much to talk about.”

Reed inclined his head. Beulah moved past him, down the
steps and into the yard. He heard a laundress reply to her low words. “Yes,
Miss Beulah.”

Reed’s eyes and brows rose to his cousin. “
Miss
Beulah?”

Henry smiled tight-lipped and gestured Reed to follow him
into the hotel. He unlocked a door and handed Reed a key. Reed looked around
the rooms that were to be his home. The rug was flowered, the walls covered in
pale blue paint with two large windows overlooking the side yard that held the
porch swing. Reed wheeled himself into the bedroom and the attached bathing
room. In the main room a large desk sat between the two windows. Amazingly,
someone had remembered to remove the chair. An overstuffed settee faced a small
fireplace with flowers gracing the mantle.

“Very nice, Henry,” Reed said as he looked around the room.

“Arlo’s painting book shelves for the corner. I thought you
may want to work from here for a while.”

“It seems you’ve thought of everything,” Reed replied. “I
thank you.”

Reed watched as his cousin turned away uncomfortably and sat
down in the upholstered chair.

“There are some things we need to discuss, Reed.”

“Of course,” Reed said and wheeled closer.

Henry shifted in his seat and leaned his elbows on his
knees.

“I fully expect to pay my way, Henry. I wrote your father as
much,” Reed said. Perhaps the hotel was not as profitable as his mother
claimed. Reed knew that appearances could well be deceiving.

Henry’s hands flew forward, and he grimaced. “The money’s
nothing. We’ll come to an agreement.”

Reed waited for the man to continue and wondered what was
causing his cousin such distress. Henry and Mary Ellen had offered him a home.
If not the money . . .

“It’s about Beulah.”

Reed shrugged, relieved. “Rest assured. I’d never let on to
your family that you keep a darkie.”

Henry turned, his eyes glittering. “I don’t keep a ‘darkie,’
Reed. She is an employee.”

Reed sat back in his chair and tilted his head with a smile.
“Whatever you want to call it is fine. I understand your reluctance.”

“No, Reed, I don’t think you do. Beulah manages this hotel
with Mary Ellen and me. We couldn’t do without her. And she gets paid at the
end of each week like the white employees, except more. I know many Southerners
came west with their slaves. There are some here in town. Neither seems able to
change. Not the white master, nor the Negro slave. And they’ve continued on as
before the war, here some two years after. Beulah however is a free woman.”

Reed nodded and lowered his eyes. “I see.”

“Will you, ah . . . will you be comfortable with this?”

Reed wondered whom the man would choose if Reed was, in
fact, uncomfortable. The Negress or his own flesh and blood? “It’s a new world,
Henry. The choices weren’t mine.”

Henry nodded and sighed. “Damn complicated subject, Reed.”

They sat quietly until Henry stood. “I imagine you’ll want
to get settled. I see your trunks being brought around. We eat together at four
and feed the guests at five-thirty. Turn left out your door, and you’ll run
into our kitchen.”