A Mistaken Match Page 2

  The puff and clatter of the approaching train rumbled softly in the distance. The small crowd on the station platform buzzed and pushed forward like a swarm of bees, and James moved to join them. Frederick tapped him on the shoulder and held up a large cardboard sign with Ann Cromwell neatly lettered in black paint. “Don’t you need this?”

  James waved him off. Like the unnecessary new suit and haircut, Frederick and his cousin Delia had insisted on the superfluous sign. “I’ll know her when I see her.”

  “How exactly? You don’t have a picture.”

  James exhaled. Frederick was a good friend, but he didn’t understand why James sought a bride from outside New Haven. He’d be flabbergasted if he knew how I expect to recognize her. He pushed the sign back into Frederick’s hands. “I just will.”

  The train entered the station and James’s heart quickened. He clenched his fists at his sides, willing them to remain there instead of mussing his hair as he often did when he was nervous. In mere moments he would be face-to-face with his future wife, God willing. A young woman alighted from a third-class car and glanced back and forth across the platform.

  It was her! Wasn’t it? His legs carried him forward before he could hesitate. As he strode closer, her features and form grew clearer. Yes, it had to be her. Tall and broad shouldered with mouse-brown hair yanked back into a severe bun. He drew close enough to observe a constellation of pockmarks on her cheeks. Her small eyes darted about before landing briefly on James. He smiled. Her brows pulled into a crease and she glanced away.

  His heart fell. The sign! Frederick had been right after all. He recognized his bride, but she clearly didn’t realize he was her groom. His steps stuttered, but only for a moment. He couldn’t very well leave her on the platform while he fetched it. He approached the woman and removed his hat.

  “Excuse me, miss?” Did his voice always sound so hoarse?

  The corners of her mouth turned down and her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

  “Clara! Clara, dear, I’m so sorry!” A thin, middle-aged woman in a blue dress with similar mouse-brown hair and an equally painful-looking bun appeared at James’s side and wrapped the young woman in a tight embrace. “We had the time wrong. I thought we were arriving early, and here you are, poor niece, left waiting all by your lonesome.”

  Warmth swept over James’s cheeks as a vise of embarrassment replaced the drumbeat of nerves in his chest. The tall woman eyed him warily over her aunt’s shoulder as he replaced his hat and backed slowly away. He drew a deep breath. Ann Cromwell stood somewhere at this station and he needed to compose himself so he could find her. The crowd quickly dispersed as trunks were carried to waiting wagons and reuniting families finished their embraces. He scanned the thinning platform until two figures caught his eye. Frederick, cardboard sign in hand, speaking with a woman dressed in a dark green traveling dress with her back to James. Frederick’s eyes goggled.

  James had no doubt the true Ann stood before his friend. Frederick’s gaping surprise told him everything. He chastised himself for not being the first to greet her. Rivulets of sweat coursed down his back and his shirt clung to every inch of his torso as he rushed over to join them.

  “There you are, James,” Frederick said as James approached. “We’ve had a bit of confusion. Miss Cromwell saw the sign and thought I was you.”

  “I am so sorry to have kept you waiting, Miss Cromwell.” Her diminutive size surprised him. The agency shared her height, but he never imagined she’d be so...petite. He stepped around the pair and at that same moment, she lifted her face to him in greeting.

  “Oh my,” he breathed. His heart stopped and his mouth went dry as a haystack. Golden blond hair framed a delicate face accented by high cheekbones. Her eyes, as blue as a robin’s egg, blinked in the sun and her full, rosebud mouth turned up in a hesitant smile. “Are you the real James McCann?” Her voice held a teasing tone.

  It took several beats for James to shake off the shock of finding a beauty instead of the plain, even homely woman he specifically requested. He removed his hat and held out his hand. She placed her impossibly small hand in his. “Yes, I am. Nice to meet you.” Oh no. There’s been a mistake. A terrible mistake.

  “Do you have any trunks, Miss Cromwell?” Frederick asked.

  “Please, call me Ann. And yes, I have one.”

  She handed him her claim ticket, and Frederick stepped away to wave down the nearest porter, leaving James to shift his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other. His heart raced, but no longer from anticipation. The cold flush of panicked sweat threatened to soak through his jacket.

  The smile on Ann’s perfectly pink lips slowly faded as the silence between them grew. He had to say something. Anything. “You’re Ann Cromwell?”

  Her brows knit. “I am.”

  “From the Transatlantic Agency?”

  She laughed softly. A nervous laugh. “I gather my picture didn’t arrive.”

  “It did...not.” His mind fogged. His hat remained in his hands and he replaced it before the urge to muss his hair became too strong.

  “I imagine the post can be rather slow from England to Ohio.”

  “Yes.” Words failed him. He couldn’t tear his eyes from her face. His mind skipped like a phonograph needle, playing the same thoughts over and over. Some sort of mistake. An enormous mistake. Thankfully Frederick returned and slapped him on the back. The jolt broke his trance.

  “The trunk’s being loaded. Are you two ready?”

  James stared at his friend. “Ready for what?”

  Frederick smirked. “Didn’t you say you’d made reservations at Donahue’s?”

  “Yes, yes.” He would follow his original plans for now. In a few hours he’d be at home and more than a few feet away from this woman and he could think clearly again. For now he struggled to keep his voice steady as Ann looked up at him through impossibly dark lashes. “I thought we could get some dinner in town before going back to my farm.”

  “That sounds lovely.”

  James offered her his arm, and Ann placed her hand on the sleeve of his jacket. He swore the heat radiated through two layers of material and scorched his skin.

  Frederick cleared his throat. “It was very nice to meet you, Ann. Very nice. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  The brim of her hat obscured her face, but he could hear the smile in her voice. Ann’s lilting accent sent a shiver through him. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, as well, Mr. Renner.”

  “Frederick. Call me Frederick.”

  “A pleasure, Frederick.”

  Frederick winked at him and hurried away as fast as his short legs and ample frame would allow. He disappeared around a corner before James could think of a reason to convince his friend to stay.

  Donahue’s stood four blocks from the station, but the journey felt like miles. Ann asked polite questions about each building they passed, and James tried his best to keep his eyes directly forward as he answered. The smallest glance at her face disoriented him, and he couldn’t help but notice how her beauty’s effects extended to passersby. He caught smiles of admiration, eyes slit with jealousy and two men received pointed elbows from their female companions for the mistake of looking too long. Several men outside the tobacco shop sent streams of juice down their shirts in distraction. Every eye in New Haven seemed to be fixed on Ann, save for his. Please, Lord, he prayed during the brief moments of silence. Grant me wisdom.

  James couldn’t taste a bite of his two-dollar steak. He dutifully chewed the meat and swallowed, but his brain barely registered the meal. How many times had he walked past Donahue’s Hotel and Fine Dining and wondered when he might have an occasion to eat there? Now inside, he couldn’t be bothered to take in the grandeur of his surroundings or the extravagance of the meal. It all paled next to the beauty of the girl seated across from him.
<
br />   Even as new rivers of perspiration trickled down his back and his hands trembled when he reached for the salt shaker, she showed no signs of being nervous. No one would guess she’d been traveling for days, let alone recently met the person she thought to be her future husband. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes were bright and her golden hair freshly styled. If only she knew what James had to say. His throat caught at the thought of telling her.

  “I hope your steak is as delicious as mine,” she murmured.

  Her lilting voice brought his attention to the piece of steak on his fork. How long had he been holding it? James took a bite. It sat as coarse and flavorless as week-old mutton in his dry mouth. “Yes, delicious.”

  “Your friend Frederick seemed very nice.”

  “Yes, nice.”

  “Have you two been friends long?”

  “Fairly long.”

  Ann pressed her pink lips together and took a long draft of water from her cut-crystal glass. He couldn’t keep her at arm’s length for the entirety of the meal without upsetting her, let alone for the weeks or even months it would take to sort all this out. Yet he knew he couldn’t tell her in the middle of Donahue’s. She was a foreigner in a new land and none of this was her fault. He must be tactful.

  “Frederick and I have been friends since we were kids,” he offered.

  Her smile returned. “And he lives near you?”

  “He lives here in town.”

  “Shall we be seeing him in town tomorrow, or is he visiting your home?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  She cocked her head to one side. “He said he would see us tomorrow.”

  Creamed spinach caught in his throat and his eyes watered. He took several gulps of water to keep from choking. “He did, didn’t he?” he croaked.

  How could he explain this one? He would have to tell her the truth. At least part of it. “The agency said some couples marry almost immediately,” he blurted.

  For the first time Ann’s calm demeanor broke. Her cheeks flushed and her eyes widened. Her hand trembled as she reached for her water glass. “Yes, Mrs. Turner said some choose to marry rather quickly.”

  “So I’d made an appointment with Judge Vollrath at the courthouse for tomorrow. I’d planned for Frederick to meet us there and act as a witness.”

  Ann bobbled her water glass but righted it before any liquid spilled. “You did?”

  “But I’ve decided to cancel,” he added quickly. “It seems hasty.” Why hadn’t he started by saying that? Something about Ann Cromwell made it hard for him to put his thoughts in the proper order. He chastised himself as the red in her cheeks faded, returning them to their natural rosy hue.

  “Mrs. Turner said many couples like to get to know one another before they marry. Assuming, of course, there is no—” she paused and her cheeks flushed again “—impropriety.”

  Something about her embarrassment made James’s heart leap in his chest. It took everything he had not to reach across the table and take her hand in reassurance.

  “I’m afraid I can’t afford to put you up anywhere, but my Uncle Mac lives with me. Never leaves the house, in fact. Would you object to him serving as our chaperone?”

  She shook her head. “That sounds quite acceptable. I don’t imagine Mrs. Turner would object.”

  James speared an impossibly thin potato with his fork and pushed it around the gold-rimmed plate. His next questions required delicacy. He knew nothing of Mrs. Turner and the Transatlantic Agency outside a brief correspondence and their ad in the New Haven Gazette. Fine English Girls Seeking Home and Hearth in America.

  “I completed a profile for Mrs. Turner. Did you do the same?” He tried to sound casual.

  “We all did. She also conducted extensive interviews before she matched us.”

  James feigned immense interest in the pattern on his silverware. “So there were a lot of girls at the agency? And they all matched with someone?”

  “Oh yes. Dozens of girls came in every week, and all very eager to live in America. Most were matched with men far west of here. The Great American Frontier, I believe?”

  James chuckled. “If you believe the newspaper advertisements.” So the agency teemed with potential brides, and he’d been matched with this one. She hadn’t been sent due to a lack of other options.

  Ann leaned forward and cocked her blond head. Her soft blue eyes gazed at him expectantly. “Is there anything else you’d like to know?”

  Yes. Why on earth did the agency match me with you when I specifically requested a plain bride?

  Chapter Two

  Ann had hoped her meal with James McCann might break down this peculiar wall between them, but as he guided her to the wagon, she could almost palpate the barrier. She knew things would be awkward at first—the agency had prepared her for that—but she hadn’t expected the bewildered greeting or the clear discomfort.

  They were both nervous, she reminded herself. She simply hid her nerves better. If only he knew how her breath had caught in her throat when she first laid eyes on him. She’d been expecting an ugly man, not a handsome one who sent her pulse racing. Perhaps if he knew, he could make eye contact with her for more than mere seconds.

  James released her hand the instant she alighted from the wagon, as if her touch burned him. She glanced back at her trunk for the first time. A beautiful quilt lay folded on top. A pattern of intertwining gold circles rested on a background of forest green and sky blue.

  “What’s this?” For a moment, she forgot the awkwardness between them and held up the quilt.

  James glanced over as he juggled the reins. “It’s a present from Frederick.”

  “A present for me?”

  His cheeks flushed crimson. “For us. A sort of early wedding present.”

  “Who made it?” Ann unfolded the quilt to examine it further. Even from a distance she knew it had been made by an expert hand. Up close the stitching proved exquisite.

  “Frederick’s cousin is a seamstress’s apprentice. She works over there.” He pointed to a brick storefront with a bright blue awning squeezed between the tobacco shop and a mercantile.

  “From this work she looks to be more than an apprentice.” She made a quick count of the stitches. “Why, there look to be fourteen stitches per inch!”

  “You know quilting?” He sounded surprised.

  Ann smiled. “Yes, well, embroidery mostly. Though I love any kind of stitching. The more stitches in an inch, the more accomplished the quilter. This work is some of the finest I’ve ever seen.”

  “You didn’t mention it in your letter.”

  There had been only two short letters exchanged between them before Ann had left. The expanse of the ocean made it difficult to have any kind of courtship. How very much like strangers they were.

  “Your letter didn’t say much either.” Four paragraphs. He summed up his life in four short paragraphs.

  They left the town behind, and James took off his hat and ran his hand through his thick sandy hair. The wind tousled it and gave him a decidedly boyish appearance. She studied his face. He possessed a straight, strong nose and finely lined lips. James McCann proved as handsome as they come.

  “What do you want to know?” he asked.

  Ann clapped her hands together. Finally! “How much time do we have?”

  “The ride back to the farm is around forty-five minutes this time of year.”

  Her stomach dropped, but she tried not to show her disappointment. It had been years since she’d lived more than a few blocks from the nearest store. “Isn’t that a rather long time?”

  “Quite a short time. In the spring the skies open and this road turns to mud. That’s why it’s called Mud Pike. When the road turns soggy it takes two, maybe three times as long. On those days it’s faster
to walk.”

  The sticky heat of the summer evening clung to Ann’s back. She tried to push the thought of walking to town as far away as spring felt.

  “You’re a farmer, aren’t you?”

  James nodded.

  “Are you originally from New Haven?”

  James only nodded again. Ann sighed. She needed a new line of questioning.

  “How old are you?” She tried.

  James turned to her. “Didn’t the agency tell you all of this?”

  “Yes, but I wanted to hear these things from you.”

  “I’m twenty-five. You’re eighteen, right?”

  “Nineteen in September.”

  Ann waited for him to ask her a question but he remained silent.

  “Isn’t there anything you wish to know about me?”

  James took his eyes off the road and placed them squarely on Ann. She shivered under his intense gaze. “The agency said you used to work as a maid.”

  “That’s correct. I was eight years in service.”

  “You don’t look like a maid.” He sounded accusatory.

  “May I ask what a maid is supposed to look like?”

  His eyes narrowed. The effect made him look thoughtful rather than menacing. Ann sat up straighter and tried to look more confident than she felt. As his scrutiny continued, blood drummed in her ears and perspiration trickled down the back of her neck.

  “I guess I never thought a maid would look like you,” he answered finally.

  “And you don’t look like a farmer.”

  James eyes widened and his lips drew into a broad smile for the first time that day.

  “Alright, then. What does a farmer look like?”

  Ann narrowed her eyes in the same way James had, and tried to mimic the intense scrutiny he had applied to her. Her efforts had the opposite effect. His smile grew wider. And what a simply splendid smile. Straight teeth and full lips. The fading light darkened the green in his eyes, and fine lines crept out from the corners. He sat perfectly straight as he drove, and his work-broadened shoulders tapered into a lean waist. The fingers of the hand holding the reins were long and slender, but thickly calloused. He’d likely worked hard every day of his life.