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Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder. Papa and Reginald had stopped a porter, probably giving her description. She had nowhere to go except back to Reginald. She’d rather ride a barrel over Niagara Falls.
That left her one alternative. Wear the lily of the valley and take a gander at the groom.
“Where to?” she asked.
“New Harmony, Iowa.”
Where was that in Iowa? Did it matter? In Iowa was a farm, the answer she sought.
Clutching the ticket in her hand, Elizabeth thanked Sally, then dashed for the train. She boarded and found her seat, careful to avert her face. Within minutes, the engine worked up steam and lumbered out of the station. Once she’d presented her ticket to the conductor, she lost the hitch in her breathing.
The seat proved far more comfortable than the depot bench and she nodded off. Her last thought centered on the man who had sent for a bride.
What would she find in New Harmony, Iowa?
New Harmony, Iowa
Pickings were slim in New Harmony.
One last time, Ted Logan started down the list of the single women in town. There was the schoolmarm who’d bossed him like one of her errant pupils before they even made it out the door. He wouldn’t let himself be pulled around by the ear. Or subject his children to a mother who wore a perpetual frown.
And then there was Ellen, Elder Jim’s daughter, a sweet, docile creature who quoted the Good Book at every turn. With the church and all its activities at the center of her life, he doubted she possessed the gumption to live on a farm.
Strong as an ox, the blacksmith’s daughter could work alongside any man. But Ted couldn’t imagine looking at that face for the rest of his life. Well, he might’ve gotten used to her face, if she’d shown the least bit of interest in his children. From what he’d seen, she preferred the company of horses.
Then there was Agnes, the owner of the café, who came after him with the zeal of a pig after slop and appealed to him even less. Something about Agnes set his teeth on edge. Maybe because she forever told him he was right and perfect. Was it wrong to hope for a woman with a bit of vinegar? One who wasn’t afraid to set him straight when he went off on some tangent? And how would she handle his home, family and the café?
All godly women, but most weren’t suitable mothers for Anna and Henry. And nothing about any of them drew him.
That left his bride-by-post.
God’s solution. A woman of faith who loved children and life on the farm.
Ted tugged the brim of his hat lower on his forehead and scanned the passengers leaving the train. A young woman stepped to the platform, wearing the sprig of lily of the valley pinned to her clothing. His pulse kicked up a notch. Sally, his bride.
Gussied up in a fancy purple dress, not the garb of a farmer’s wife. Even gripping a satchel, she carried herself like a princess, all long neck and straight spine and, when she moved, as she did now, her full skirts swayed gracefully. He could hear the petticoats rustle from here.
She turned her head to sniff the flower, putting her face in profile. The plumed hat she wore tilted forward at a jaunty angle, revealing a heavy chignon at her nape.
He swallowed hard. Sally was a beautiful woman. He hadn’t expected that. She didn’t have a recent likeness. And he couldn’t have sent the only picture in his possession—of him and Rose on their wedding day. In the three letters he and Sally had exchanged, he had described himself as best he could, even tried to be objective, though he hadn’t told her everything.
It appeared she’d taken liberties with her description, too. Light brown hair, she’d said. Well, he’d call it more blond than brown, almost as blond as his.
Blue eyes, she’d written, though from this distance, he couldn’t confirm it.
Tall and robust, she’d promised. Tall, all right, but slender, even fragile.
He noticed a nice curve to her lips.
And a jaw that said she liked having her way.
Sally didn’t look strong enough to handle even part of the chores of a farmer’s wife. Well, he’d prayed without ceasing for a suitable wife and God had given him this one. He couldn’t send her back like he’d ordered the wrong size stovepipe from the Sears, Roebuck Catalog.
His stomach knotted. When a man prayed for wisdom, he shouldn’t question the Lord’s answer. Still, the prospect of marrying what amounted to a stranger was unsettling.
But Anna and Henry needed a mother to look after them. This morning, and countless others like it, left no doubt in his mind. He didn’t have what it took to manage the farm, the livestock and his children. Never mind the house and cooking.
Even if Sally couldn’t handle heavier chores, she’d said she could cook, clean and tend a garden, as well as Anna and Henry. That’d do. With all his qualms forming a lump in his throat, he moved out of the shadows. Might as well get on with it. The preacher was waiting.
He strode across the platform, nodding at people he knew. New Harmony was a nice town, though folks tended toward nosy. The news Ted Logan was seen greeting a woman down at the depot would spread faster than giggles in a schoolhouse.
When he reached his bride, he stuck out a hand. “I’m Ted.”
Not a spark of recognition lit her eyes. Had he scared her? He was a large man. Still, he hadn’t expected the blank stare.
“The flower…in the letters, we agreed—” He clamped his jaw to stop the prattle pouring out of his mouth. “You’re Sally, aren’t you?”
Her eyes lit. He gulped. They were blue, all right. Like forget-me-nots in full bloom.
“Oh, of course.” She offered her hand. “Hello.”
He swallowed it up with a firm shake. She winced. He quickly released his hold then held up callused palms. “Sorry, chopping wood, milking cows and strangling chickens have strengthened my grip.”
Her rosy skin turned ashen, as if she might be sick. How would he manage if he married another woman in failing health?
Chapter Two
Elizabeth swallowed hard. She’d never considered how fried chicken or cold milk arrived at the Manning table. Drat, she’d have to scrub her glove. Not that Sally’s intended looked as if he didn’t wash. He smelled clean, like soap, leather and sunshine.
Mercy, the man was brawny, wide at the shoulders with a massive neck, chest and powerful forearms. Not someone she’d care to cross. White creases edged his eyes in his tanned face, evidence of long periods spent in the sun. Those intense blue-gray eyes of his appeared to see right through her.
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