Adela's Prairie Suitor (The Annex Mail-Order Brides Book 1) (2 page)

Relief calmed Adela’s racing heartbeat as Carianne smiled. “Oh, he’s very handsome. Not as good looking as the Casanova Cowboy…but very nearly so.”

Prudie and Ramee came at a trot. Ramee settled beside Carianne and peered at the photograph. “He looks much like a young Jesse James.”

Adela snatched the picture from them. “Jesse James is an outlaw.” Not even her friends could disparage Byron Calhoun and get away with it.

“Soooo—outlaws can be good looking.” Ramee took umbrage as gracefully as a barnyard chicken, but of course, she was only teasing. Adela sent her a warm smile.

Prudie slipped beside Adela and perused the photograph. “He’s quite presentable, but Adela, all you know is what he wrote. The truth is you don’t know this man. How can you consider marriage?”

“That’s not true. We exchanged three letters, and he’s told me all about himself—revealed his heart in his written words.” That was stretching the truth a bit, but she’d read between the lines. “He’s going to move to the barn and give me his bedroom during my visit. How gallant is that?”

“Your visit?” Prudie’s voice softened. “Then you don’t intend to marry him right away?”

Ramee reached across Carianne to squeeze Adela’s arm. “That puts a new light to this madness. You about scared me to death.” She pressed her other hand to her heart. Ramee was given to dramatics.

Prudie tucked a stray tendril behind her ear. “We understood these mail-order marriages took place the minute the bride arrived.”

“Oh no.” She’d explained things badly. “Mr. Calhoun and I both agreed we need a month to get to know each other.” She shrugged to show a nonchalance she wasn’t feeling. “So it’s possible…I’ll return a spinster.”

This apparently made them all happy. Everyone relaxed until Carianne tapped Adela on the knee. “Who will chaperone? You can’t just use Mr. Calhoun’s bedroom, even if he moves to the barn.” Despite being the youngest, Carianne played mother hen to the group.

Adela laughed. “His mother lives with him…that is, Mr. Calhoun takes care of his mother. His father died last year. I think that shows strength of character, don’t you? That he takes care of his mother, though she could have gone to live with his married sister.”

Ramee twisted her rosebud mouth. “It does show strength of character, as you say, but it also means his mother will likely live with you after the wedding. How do you feel about sharing your house with another woman?”

“Sharing the house with his mother pleases me greatly.” Having lost her own mother at the age of ten, Adela welcomed the prospect of living with her mother-in-law. “I’m certain Mrs. Calhoun and I will get along well.”

Prudie hugged her. “You can get along well with anyone. Haven’t you put up with me for over a year?”

Adela hugged her back. “I count all of you my dearest friends. How I’ll miss you.”

“Kansas is so far away.” Carianne’s tone indicated it might as well be China.

Indeed, the distance loomed in Adela’s mind. A thousand miles would separate her from her friends, but she couldn’t dwell on that. Byron waited at the end of those miles. “I’ll write every week, and you’ll come visit me.” She looked from one to the other, reading nothing but love mixed with regret in each pair of eyes. “If I should decide to marry Mr. Calhoun, you will come to my…wedding?”

Carianne hugged the other side of Adela. Ramee moved around to the back of the sofa and wrapped her arms around Adela’s neck as she spoke into Adela’s ear. “Of course we’ll come, but you must promise us one thing.”

Adela twisted her head around and darted Ramee a questioning glance.

Ramee squeezed Adela’s shoulders. “If you don’t develop a deep affection for this man, and he for you, you must come straight home with no regrets. You deserve no less than love, dearest.”

“She’s right,” Prudie added. “You must expect love before marriage.”

“I believe By…Mr. Calhoun already looks upon me with some affection, or he wouldn’t have invited me to his farm, and I’m convinced he’s an honest, Christian man.” Adela sent up a little prayer that she was right.

Carianne kissed her cheek. “Then that’s the most important thing. If he’s a Christian, he will love you.”

Adela clutched the letter and photograph to her chest. How true. Byron would love her before asking for her hand. If he didn’t come to love her, he wouldn’t propose. It was as simple as that.

They all surrounded her in a hug. “Don’t forget, you must love him too,” Ramee said. Adela wouldn’t forget. She was half way in love with Byron already, but even as she basked in her friends’ approval, a jot of guilt niggled her. She’d not been exactly honest with Byron.

She hadn’t told him she attended college. He wanted a wife to help run a farm, a woman used to hard work, not one who could translate Latin. She’d explained that she lived with the Harvard Annex women, but hinted that she served as their maid. A stupid lie, but when the time was right, she’d confess. After she’d proven she could do the work of
any farmwoman.

Byron Calhoun nudged his hat back and gazed into an azure sky. Couldn’t ask for better weather for harvesting. He hoped it would last at least a few more days, so he could take some time off from the field work. Adela would arrive next week, but having grown up on a farm, she’d understand about harvest.

He certainly couldn’t blame the poor crops on the weather. The fault was his alone. If Pa was still alive, they would’ve planted more and earlier. The truth was Byron didn’t have the heart for farming. Never had. He’d never listened to Pa, asked questions.

How was he to know his father would be dragged to his death by an unbroken horse? Grief rose in his throat, and he swallowed hard. With Pa gone, they’d lost more than a pair of hands. They’d lost a lifetime of experience.

With a shake of the head, he pulled a red, sweat-encrusted rag from his pocket and wiped his brow. He ought not to have left Lem out in the field. Lem was a good hand, but he was getting old—as old as Pa was, or near abouts. Byron had to do most of the heavy work.

He flexed his aching muscles and started the trek from the red-roofed barn, across the hard-packed yard to the porch steps bordered with what was left of Ma’s roses.

The farm needed another hand, but Byron couldn’t hire one this year. He wouldn’t get enough money from the year’s crops to hire anyone next spring, either. Even though he couldn’t make much sense out of Pa’s books, Byron knew there wasn’t any money put back.

He had to be a fool to send off for a bride. If he couldn’t afford a new farmhand, how could he afford a wife?

Then he remembered why he’d written that advertisement in the first place.

Hilda Jane Lynstrum.

Hilda Jane had set her cap for Byron when she came back from that finishing school. She used all her considerable charm and wiles to get him to propose. But Hilda Jane had never appealed to him, even before he knew she was self-centered and hypocritical.

Trouble was, Hilda Jane’s pa would be glad to pay off Byron’s debts if Byron would marry his daughter. No one could blame Mr. Lynstrum. Hilda Jane had the kind of reputation that made decent men run the other way.

Byron knew her pa had him in his sights as the best candidate.

If he wasn’t careful, Hilda Jane would get him in a compromising position and have him standing before a preacher with her pa’s shotgun in his back.

He’d decided the safest way to avoid that fate was to marry somebody else. Problem was Ma liked Hilda Jane and had promised Mrs. Lynstrum on her deathbed their children would marry. He and Hilda Jane had been young’uns at the time, so Ma didn’t think to confer with him. Now she’d apparently forgotten he had a mind and heart of his own.

His mind told him there were plenty of other women from whom he could choose to give his heart—and he had. His ad garnered over two dozen replies, and he’d prayed over all of them.

Only one survived his scrutiny.

Adela Mason
.

She’d revealed her heart in her reply. Maybe that was what drew him to her. There wasn’t a smidgen of coyness in her letters. No, she’d been open and honest about her longing for a home and family. He’d read those long missives over and over and found loneliness stamped on every page—a loneliness that matched his own.

Adela had grown up on a farm, and you’d have thought farm life was second only to heaven in her mind. In the following letters, she told him about her friends. It was evident she loved them, and they loved her. That revealed Adela’s loving nature better than anything.

In her last, short missive accepting his invitation, she admitted she hadn’t told her friends about Byron and was afraid of their reaction. He could relate to that. He hadn’t told anyone either—not even Ma.

Ma had to be told now because Adela would be arriving next week, and Ma would naturally want to know why he was bringing a strange woman home.

His hand shot out to open the door, then froze. He grabbed the lapel of his coat instead and found the photograph secured in the inside pocket. He’d kept it there since receiving it in Adela’s last letter.

Byron studied the image of the dark haired young woman, and his pulse sped. For the first time, he fully realized this woman might be his wife. He ran a finger over the picture’s surface as if he could reach out and caress her and look into her soulful eyes. His heart thudded harder.

Adela
. What a pretty name. He imagined coming home after working in the fields and calling out, “Adela.” A warm, mellow feeling settled deep in the pit of him. She might be the mother of his children. His heart did a complete somersault.

He’d show Ma the picture, and she’d see why he’d invited Adela to visit with the prospect of becoming his wife. After tucking the photograph back inside his pocket, he opened the door and stepped inside.

No sign of Ma. He strode through the cozy parlor into the kitchen. Through the window, he caught sight of his mother outside, hanging the wash.

He let the back door slam to catch her attention. She peeked around the legs of a pair of his jeans she’d just pinned to the line.

“What’s happened?” Ma was a worrier. “Why’re you back from the fields so early?”

“Nothing’s happened, Ma.” He sauntered up beside her. “I just have something to tell you is all.”

“Help me while you’re doing the telling.” Ma shoved the corner of a sheet at him.

Byron took the sheet and stretched it over the line. “I’m going to move out to the barn. Could you change the bedding in my room today?”

Ma spoke around the clothes pins held in her teeth. “Why’re you moving to the barn?”

“I’ve invited a young lady to stay for a month. She’ll be using my room.”

Ma dropped the pins and whirled on him. “Who?”

He swallowed and met her piercing gaze. Might as well get this over with. He squared his shoulders. After Pa’s passing, he’d become the man of the house. He wouldn’t be intimidated. ‘Course he should have told Ma about Adela before now. “I sent in an advertisement to one of those eastern magazines for a bride. Miss Adela Mason from Massachusetts answered. I invited her out here to get acquainted.”

Ma’s mouth stretched wide enough and stayed open long enough for a swarm of flies to go in. Lucky for her the flies were gone for this year. After several painful seconds, she sputtered, “Why would you have done a fool thing like that? What about Hilda Jane?”

There it was. The main bone of contention between him and Ma. He slammed his hands to his sides and rolled his eyes to the heavens. “Ma, we’ve talked about that. Hilda Jane and I don’t get along. We don’t even have the same beliefs.”

Ma propped her fists on her hips and glared. “And I’ve told you you could bring her around to your thinking if you tried. Anyway, after you’re married, it won’t matter. A wife will follow her husband.”

“I’d like for my wife and me to start off on the same foot.” Byron drew in a deep breath, trying to control his ire. This was his mother, and she deserved his respect. He fumbled inside his coat for Adela’s picture. Forcing a wide grin, he held it out for Ma to see. She’d be impressed by the photograph.

She took the picture and inspected it with squinted eyes. “This is a fancy woman.”

He knew it wasn’t a compliment. Dance hall girls were called fancy women. “She is not.”

Ma shoved the picture back in his face. “Look at the dress she’s wearing…and that fancy hat.”

Byron had to admit Adela’s clothing was fancy compared to what women wore

hereabouts. He’d never even noticed her dress before. And it didn’t matter to him now. “That’s the way ladies dress back east.”

“You don’t know anything about this woman. Mark my words, she’ll come out here and pick your pockets and skedaddle before you know what happened. I’ve heard of such like happening.”

“Miss Mason and I have been corresponding since March. I know her well enough.” That wouldn’t set well with Ma. He held up a pair of his long johns as a shield before throwing them over the line. “She has a fine reputation. Her minister sent me a letter to affirm that. I sent her a letter attesting to my character from Pastor Reinhart.”

Ma was bent over to retrieve another piece of clothing. She jerked up so hard a bone creaked. “Since last March. You discussed this with Pastor Reinhart but didn’t say anything to me, your own mother?”

He laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Ma. I should have told you. I just didn’t want to upset you until I had to.” He pulled her into a hug. “It’s just a visit. Adela may not want to marry me—probably won’t. She’ll be more company to you than to me.” He sure hoped that wasn’t true.

When Ma remained silent, he tried to think of something else to placate her. “Adela grew up on a farm. She’s looking forward to helping you with the chores.” He took the pin bag from her. “Let me finish hanging the wash for you, and you go rest up before supper.”

Ma sniffed. “You always were hard-headed like your pa. How I wish he was still with us.”

“Me too.” Byron liked to think Pa would have praised him for having the gumption to send for Adela.

Ma closed her eyes and blew out an exaggerated sigh. “Clint Lynstrum would help you out with the farm, if you’d marry Hilda Jane.”