Love Finds You in Poetry, Texas (4 page)

Less than a month after mailing the letter, Belinda steered the family wagon through the center of Poetry, past the mercantile, the barbershop, and the hotel, and then south toward the nearby town of Terrell. She could scarcely keep her jittery nerves in check. A trickle of moisture made its way down her back and she squirmed, wishing the glaring sun overhead would tuck itself behind a cloud. Perhaps then she could stop perspiring.

Turning to Greta on the seat beside her, she garnered the courage to begin a well-rehearsed speech. “I, um...well, thank you for coming with me today.”

Greta fussed with her bonnet and then turned back to her with a perplexed look on her face. “Can you tell me why we’re doing this now?” she asked, tugging at the neckline of her dress. “This is one secret that has gone on too long. What’s so important that we have to leave the store in the middle of the day and go to Terrell? And in this heat no less!”

Drawing in a deep breath, Belinda tried to gain her composure. Her cousin would likely think she’d lost her mind, once she heard the reason. Perhaps she had. These last few weeks, Belinda had begun to wonder about that very thing herself. Many times, in fact. Oh, how she prayed this would all work out, that she hadn’t somehow gotten ahead of the Lord. She cleared her throat. “I, um, I’ve been keeping something from you, Greta.”

“I’ve guessed as much and am glad to finally hear you confess it.” Greta suddenly looked interested. Now beaming with anticipation, she leaned over and whispered, “What is it?”

Belinda carefully plotted out her next words. “Well, you know about my matchmaking services, of course.”

“Who doesn’t?” Greta snorted in an unladylike fashion. “People all over town are talking about you!”

“Very funny.”

“
Funny
scarcely begins to describe it.” Greta looped her bonnet strings in place and then gave Belinda a pensive look. “But which part of your matchmaking are you referring to? The part where you asked Samuel Bromstead to shave his beard so that he would look more appealing to Old Widow Hanson, or the part where you told Reverend Billingsley to polish up his wedding sermon because we’re about to have an influx of marriages in Poetry?”

Belinda groaned. “This has nothing to do with Samuel Bromstead or Ella Hanson. I’ve been withholding important information because I wasn’t sure how you would respond to my news. We’re headed to the train station to fetch a potential bride for one of our town’s most eligible bachelors.”

“A b–bride?” Greta grabbed her arm and gestured for her to slow the wagon. “A real, honest-to-goodness bride? For
whom
?”

Belinda felt her cheeks heat up.
Gracious.
If Greta reacted this way, what would the others do? Her mother, father...Georg?

“Belinda?” Greta continued to stare at her as the seconds ticked by. “Who is the bride
for
?”

She took a deep breath and spit out the name as quickly as she could. “Georg.”

“G–georg? Georg Kaufman?” Greta clamped a hand over her mouth and then laughed uproariously. “I don’t believe it! He actually went along with you? Oh, this is priceless! He’s more desperate than he appears, to be sure. I would never have guessed this of him.”

“Well, I...”

“I can’t believe he paid you money to do this.” Greta chortled. “Wait till the others hear that he’s gone and fetched himself a bride from out of state! He’ll be the talk of the town. I can only imagine the chatter now.”

“He, um...” Belinda exhaled sharply. “He didn’t exactly fetch a bride for himself, Greta.”

Confusion registered in her cousin’s eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I mean...” Belinda swallowed hard and shifted her gaze. “He doesn’t know I’ve done this.
I
fetched her. For him.”

At this, Greta’s eyes grew so wide that Belinda feared they might pop out. “Oh, Belinda, what have you done?”

“Do you think I’m awful?”

“Impulsive, to be sure. Awful, no. Your heart is in the right place, but I wonder about your method. Have you given this careful thought?”

Both girls turned their attention back to the road, neither speaking for a moment. The horses’ hooves clopped along, creating a steady rhythm. Unfortunately, Belinda’s heartbeat moved much faster—so fast that she had trouble breathing. Or was it just the heat?

Greta finally broke the silence. “Truly, Belinda, what sort of nonsense is this? Who is this woman? Does Georg even know she’s coming?”

“N–no.” Belinda shook her head but quickly explained. “Her name is Corabelle Watkins. She’s from New York. I...well, I paid for her train ticket. I’m sure Georg will reimburse me later, when he realizes that she’s the perfect woman for him.”

“He will?” Greta did not look convinced. “But how do you know she’s the one for Georg? How would you even begin to guess his taste in females? He’s so reserved and closemouthed about such things. Always has been. Remember when we would tease him about girls in school? He would never play along. In fact, the only girl he ever spent time with was you, and even you couldn’t crack that hard shell.”

“I know. But don’t you see? That’s what makes this so perfect. He would never do for himself what I can do for him. So I
must
do it. I have no choice, really.”

“Hmm. Well, I do think you’re right in saying that he would never pursue a woman on his own. He’s far too shy. But what you’re doing for him isn’t exactly yours to do, at least from my vantage point.”

Belinda groaned. “So you think I’ve overstepped my bounds? I prayed about this, Greta. I really did. And I felt like Corabelle was supposed to come to Poetry. She’s just what we need—a woman from the big city to share a sense of refinement and culture with those of us who, well, with those of us who need it.”

“A refined city woman?” Greta shook her head. “Marrying a small-town barber? This, I must see to believe. And what about your scientific notion that a husband and wife must share common interests?”

“I feel sure they are as much alike as they are different,” Belinda said. “Corabelle is a shopkeeper. Georg works in a shop as well. She is a godly woman. He is a godly man. I daresay they will get along splendidly.”

“We shall see. But I have a feeling this refined city woman is going to take one look at our little town and board the next train back to New York.”

Belinda bit her tongue to keep from adding fuel to the ever-growing fire. Instead, she lifted up a silent prayer, asking the Almighty to move mightily on her behalf.

They arrived at the train station in short order, and Belinda waited alongside Greta for the two-fifteen from Dallas. After a cursory glance at her reflection in the station window, she turned back to her cousin. “How is my hair? Do I look a fright?”

“You look fine, but why does it matter?”

“Well, Corabelle is from New York, as I said, and I want her to think that we Texans are civilized. I don’t want her to bolt simply because she’s put off by the external.”

Greta snorted again.

Minutes later, a long blow of the whistle from the approaching train pierced the air. Belinda took a few steps closer to the track, her nerves more jumbled than ever. The grinding of the brakes tightened them even further. Plumes of dark gray smoke now filled the air, along with the familiar taste of ash and soot. Belinda put her handkerchief over her mouth to keep from coughing as the train came to a halt just yards from where they stood. Off in the distance another train unloaded cattle cars. A light afternoon breeze picked up the heady scent of the animals and blew it their way. Belinda coughed, all the while thinking what a poor first impression this might make on their guest.

She watched as passengers stepped down from the cars. One by one they came, but none looked like the Corabelle Watkins she’d pictured in her head. Surely this woman would rival the debutantes from Dallas or Houston.

Finally, just about the time Belinda was ready to give up, she heard a female voice rise above the noise of the other passengers. “This unbearable heat will be the death of me yet!”

Belinda looked up, taking in the young woman exiting the train. Her honey-colored hair was twisted up in the latest fashion and fastened with silver combs. The hairstyle showed off a slender face with delicate features, right down to the perfectly placed cheekbones and flashing green eyes. And that dress! Belinda had never seen such finery. Well, not since her last trip to Dallas, anyway.

The porter, a weary-looking fellow, followed along on the woman’s heels, muttering several “Yes, ma’ams” and “No, ma’ams” as she ordered him about.

“Do you suppose that’s her?” Greta asked, her eyes narrowing.

“I’m not sure,” Belinda whispered in response. “Only one way to know for sure.” She took a few steps in the woman’s direction, doing her best to appear both professional and courteous. “Corabelle Watkins?”

“Indeed.” The wrinkles in the woman’s brow faded, and those green eyes suddenly sparkled with anticipation. “Are you Belinda Bauer, then?”

“I am.” She extended her hand but the woman seemed not to notice. Instead, she began to fan herself.

“Is it
always
this hot in Texas?”

“Only in midsummer,” Belinda explained. “Our winters are quite cool, and the in-between seasons are lovely. Not too hot, not too cold. The springtime, as I told you in my letter, is absolutely beautiful.”

“Folks come from all over the country to see the wildflowers,” Greta said.

“Oh yes, the vetch is quite exquisite,” Belinda explained. “The grounds around this part are covered with tiny purple blossoms in the springtime. And, rest assured, the other seasons—barring summer—are mild in comparison to the North.”

“I see.” Corabelle seemed to relax a bit. “So, no snow, then?”

“Rarely.”

The lovely young woman laughed. “Perfect! Perhaps I have moved to the right place after all.”

Belinda quickly made introductions. “Miss Watkins, I’m happy to introduce my cousin, Greta Klein.”

“Happy to make your acquaintanace.” The woman extended a gloved hand, and Greta took it with a welcoming smile.

Minutes later, Corabelle’s many possessions filled the back of the wagon, and the women were on their way. As they made the ride to Poetry, the newcomer complained without pausing for breath—about the train ride, the food she’d eaten, and, of course, the heat. She finally turned her attention to their surroundings. “My, Texas is rather...flat. You do have some lovely plains, but nothing in the way of mountains.”

“Not in this part of the state,” Belinda explained. “But out West—”

“I always love a nice trip to the mountains,” Corabelle said. She followed this statement with another sigh. “But I suppose I will get used to the terrain, over time. The cotton fields are nice. And you do have some pretty trees. We don’t have many of those in the city.”

“Oh, but the things you
do
have!” Greta said, the tone of her voice escalating to one of sheer delight. “Tall buildings. And opera houses. And museums. I’ve heard so many wonderful things about New York City!” On and on she went, singing the praises of city life. Belinda wanted to pinch her. How could she ever persuade Corabelle to stay if Greta continued to carry on so?

“So, tell me about this wonderful man I’m to wed.” Corabelle’s eyes now sparkled with excitement. “I’ve come so far to meet him, and yet all I know is that he’s a godly man who shaves other men’s faces.”

Greta giggled.

“Georg is really nice,” Belinda said, trying to redeem the conversation. “Quite handsome.”

Greta wrinkled her nose and shook her head.

“What?” Corabelle looked at her with a worried expression on her face. “You don’t find him handsome?”

After a shrug, Greta said, “To be quite honest, I never thought about it before. He’s all right, I suppose. But he’s like a brother to me, so I never paid much attention.”

Again, Belinda wanted to pinch her. She would have to remember to give her cousin a speech on matchmaking etiquette.

Corabelle pursed her lips and her eyes narrowed. “So I’m to marry a plain man.” After a pause, she said, “Well, no bother. Looks aren’t everything. At least he owns his own business. A barbershop. That’s nice.”

“Owns his own business?” Greta slapped her knee. “That’s a good one. His pa owns the barbershop. Always has. Georg just works there. And I don’t think he particularly likes it.”

“Oh, I see.” Corabelle sighed again, this time more dramatically. “So, I’m to marry a plain,
discontented
man who works for his family but isn’t terribly happy about it. Anything else I should know?”

“Yes.” Belinda was determined to get in a few words before Greta ruined this whole thing. “You will find that Georg Kaufman is one of the kindest, noblest men you will ever meet. He is friendly to everyone and actively participates in community and church events. Unlike my friend here, I do not find him one bit plain. Why, he’s the handsomest man in all of Poetry.” How could anyone doubt it?

“And he does have all of his teeth,” Corabelle added with a smile. “That’s a plus.” She turned to Belinda, the creases between her eyes deepening. “You weren’t exaggerating about that part, were you?”

“No, I assure you, he has a mouthful of teeth.”

At this, Greta almost fell off the wagon laughing. After coming up for air, she turned to Belinda and whispered, “Since when do you find Georg handsome?”

Belinda shushed her and continued to look at the road ahead. Greta glanced at her with a hint of suspicion in her eyes.

Corabelle seemed oblivious to their quiet conversation. She continued to comment about the weather, the surroundings, and the fact that she hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in days. Eventually, she got around to talking about Georg once again. “So when do I meet him?” she asked. “And why didn’t he come to fetch me at the station? If I’m to be his bride...”

“We need to talk about that, to be sure,” Belinda said. “There is one other little detail I’ve left out.” She paused for a moment then rushed her next words. “Georg doesn’t exactly know I’ve sent for you.”

“W–what?” Corabelle paled.

“He doesn’t even know you exist.” Greta doubled over with laughter. “Isn’t this fun!”