A Mistaken Match Page 3

  “I’ve changed my mind. You do look like a farmer.”

  “You still don’t look like a maid.”

  Ann sighed and crossed her arms. She wanted to get to know him better, but he didn’t make it easy.

  They continued the rest of the trip in silence and Ann tried to ignore the bumps in the road that bounced them closer and closer together on the wagon seat. She let out a breath when James announced, “There it is.”

  James’s farm sat a quarter mile off the main road. A large whitewashed brick two-story with a gray slate roof and gracefully arched windows perched atop a small hill at the end of the drive. A deep porch sporting a sun-bleached porch swing ran along the front. The barn and other outbuildings shone bright with new red paint, and a neatly trimmed yard spread out in front of them. A well-tended garden filled with neat rows of green sat beside what appeared to be half a dozen fruit trees. Ann’s heart leaped to find something else that day that exceeded her expectations.

  James stopped the wagon in front of the porch steps and helped her down. As she stood waiting for him to return from the barn while he stabled the horse and put away the wagon, she admired the clumps of freshly planted white and yellow daffodils around the foundation. Had he asked a neighbor for some transplants for her benefit? James returned carrying her trunk and the quilt, and she tentatively held his elbow as they walked up the steps. His arm didn’t stiffen this time.

  An elegant panel of windows flanked either side of the front door, and it opened into a small but inviting entry. A long rag rug, shallow side table, oval framed mirror and a gilt framed photo of the very house they were standing in adorned the space. A graceful walnut railing curved along the staircase.

  He set the trunk down at his feet and gestured to the left. “This is the parlor.” A stiff horsehair sofa and chairs faced the fireplace. “And the dining room to our right.” Six curved-back chairs surrounded a cherry dining table. A high cabinet with glass front doors held a small collection of matching china dishes encircled with blue flowers.

  Ann smiled and nodded, hoping he could see how the house pleased her. Mrs. Turner had tried to prepare her for something small and sparse and her heart lifted in delight to see she couldn’t have been more wrong.

  “Where’s the kitchen?”

  “Through the door at the end of the hall. My father only put on a lean-to when he built the house.”

  Ann perked up at the mention of his father. “When will I get to meet him?”

  “Who?”

  “Your father, of course.”

  James set down the bags and rubbed his hands together. “I’m afraid you can’t. He and Mother died some years ago.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, and meant it. “When will I meet your brothers and sisters?”

  “No brothers or sisters. It’s just me and Uncle Mac.”

  “I thought all farmers had many children.”

  James laughed. “Where did you get an idea like that?”

  “In England, farmers always have scads of children.”

  “Did you grow up on a farm?”

  Her thoughts turned to the orphanage and the Atherton house. The simplest answer felt the easiest. “No.”

  “Mother and Father wanted more but the Lord only blessed them with me. A farm is hard work with only one son to help. I pray God chooses to bless me with many children.”

  Ann’s hands grew slick with sweat and her stomach lurched like a newborn foal finding its legs. He wanted children? Had her one request been overlooked? Ignored? Certainly her face reflected the nausea that lurched within. James tilted his head in scrutiny, and she drew in a deep breath to stifle the sickening dread that threatened to overtake her.

  “Are you alright?”

  What could she possibly say? Two dollars in coins jangled in her pocket book. It was all the money she had in the world.

  “I must have eaten something that didn’t agree with me.”

  He picked up her trunk and pointed toward the stairs. “I’m sure you’re worn out after all your travels. Let me show you to your room.”

  Upstairs were three closed doors. James stopped at the first on the right and opened it. Inside a small side table and dresser sat below a plainly framed mirror. A single bed hugged the wall next to the window. He marched in and set her trunk down in the middle of the faded green rag rug and draped the quilt across the top.

  “Uncle Mac has the room next to this one, but he’s in bed already. You’ll meet him tomorrow. My room’s across the hall, but I’ll be sleeping on the back porch.”

  “Is that really necessary? I’d feel horrid if you weren’t able to get a proper rest.”

  “Don’t feel bad on my account. I sleep out there most summer nights anyway.”

  “Oh.”

  “Can I get you anything?”

  Her head and neck ached and the fatigue of travel and stress enveloped her like a heavy blanket. She could only think of the inviting-looking bed. Ann shook her head.

  “Well then, good night, Ann. I’ll see you in the morning.” And with that, he left the room and closed the door behind him.

  Ann sank onto the bed. A dull ache throbbed across her temples, and she closed her eyes and tried to sort out the day’s events. The more she reviewed the day, the more peculiar it all felt. James had been nervous when they met, but something more hid behind his green eyes. It wasn’t only surprise. Was it confusion? Disappointment? He’d had plans to marry her the very next day—plans he’d quickly changed. Though she was relieved—surely they could get to know one another a little while before they were betrothed—she couldn’t help but wonder why the sudden change of heart? And what of that comment about wanting lots of children? Surely Mrs. Turner hadn’t made a mistake?

  She closed her eyes and replayed her exchange with Mrs. Turner in the cramped and stuffy offices of the Transatlantic Agency. Mrs. Turner had announced with resolution, “I believe you and Mr. James McCann will be as perfect a match as any.” Ann took deep, measured breaths and tried to slow her racing heart. Mrs. Turner wouldn’t make a mistake of this magnitude. Her business depended on it.

  Ann rose and stared into the mirror above the dresser, hoping to find some clue to James’s dismayed reaction at their meeting. The hint of a shadow traced under her eyes, and two stray hairpins poked their heads out like nosy children. She appeared as she expected after so many days on the train. She removed her brown felt hat and ran a hand over her forehead. The pain in her temples spread over her creased brow. Ann plucked out her hairpins and untwisted her coiffure. Her hair fell down past her shoulders and she groaned as the ache in her head eased.

  She opened her trunk and retrieved the few things she needed for her toilet. The pitcher proved empty, and James hadn’t shown her the privy. Did all men forget women had need of such basic necessities? The reality of sharing a home and life with another would drive anyone to distraction. Maybe that was all that was wrong between them—awkwardness and nerves.

  That thought cheered Ann, and she convinced herself of it on the short walk downstairs with the pitcher. If houses in America were like those in England, the well pump would be directly outside the kitchen door. James had also failed to supply her with a lantern or candles. Thankfully, the summer sun had not yet set, and soft fingers of orange sunset lit her way.

  She opened the kitchen door and found the room bathed in dusky light. James sat at a worn wooden table with his back to her. The floor creaked as she entered and he jumped from his seat, sending papers scattering to the floor. They both stooped to retrieve them and his fingers grazed hers. He snatched his hands back and ran them from the crown of his hair to the nape of his neck.

  “I’m sorry I startled you. I came to fetch some water.”

  James’s gaze fixed on the papers in her right hand. She passed them to him, but not be
fore she saw the salutation.

  “Why are you writing to Mrs. Turner?”

  James colored and opened his mouth to speak but clamped it shut. He pulled out a chair and directed Ann to sit down.

  “I’m sorry, Ann. I should have said something sooner. But when you got off the train, you caught me by surprise and I didn’t know what to do.”

  “You’re sorry? What has happened?”

  James locked his eyes with hers. “There’s no use beating around the bush. I never expected a woman like you.” He raked a hand through his hair.

  “The agency sent you to me by mistake.”

  Chapter Three

  The room spun. Her hands tingled strangely and the pitcher fell from her fingers. James lurched forward and rescued the pitcher within an inch of its smashing into the floor.

  “By mistake? That isn’t possible,” Ann protested. “Mrs. Turner gave me your name and you had mine. We exchanged letters. How could there be any confusion?”

  James set the pitcher on the table and stared at it rather than at Ann. Had she done something wrong in the previous few hours? She mentally picked through the events of the evening, but couldn’t uncover any clues.

  “I think the agency made a mistake when they matched us. I had one request and you don’t fulfill it.”

  Ann sank into the nearest chair. How could this be? Ann had suspected a mistake minutes earlier but brushed the thought away from her mind like a bothersome fly. Mrs. Turner didn’t make mistakes, did she? “We’ve only just met. We barely know one another. How could you already be so sure?”

  James met her eyes before dropping his gaze to the worn wooden floorboards. “I knew in an instant. From the moment I saw you.”

  “I don’t understand.” Mrs. Turner had prepared the girls for all sorts of excuses if their matches had a change of heart. They didn’t work hard enough. They cooked terribly. Her mind raced through several reasons why a man might object to marrying her, but none could be ascertained with a glance. He would have to know my heart. She shuddered at the thought.

  James met her eyes again. “At the train station today. You could see my surprise at the sight of you.”

  “You were nervous. To be honest, so was I.”

  James sucked in a lungful of air and pushed his words out in one long breath. “It was more than that. I was surprised because I expected a plain girl. An ugly girl, even.”

  Ann rubbed her aching temples. What on earth was he talking about? She’d also expected an ugly match, and had been pleasantly surprised. If only every girl at the agency, and every lonely bachelor in America could be so fortunate. “Forgive me, but I’m afraid I don’t see the trouble.”

  James ran both hands through his hair until it stood up in tufts. “I requested the agency send me someone as plain as they come. That was my one and only request.”

  Ann shook her head. She knew James McCann might have many valid reasons for rejecting her as a wife, and she had steeled herself for all of them. But she’d never expected him to outright lie. She squeezed her hands together to keep them from trembling. “No man would ask for such a thing.”

  James sighed. “I did. Farm life can be hard. I knew a pretty girl would expect more than I could give her. I don’t need that kind of nonsense.”

  Ann’s cheeks grew hot. Her heart thudded so loud she feared he could hear it. “Why go through an agency at all? I’m sure America has as many ugly girls as England.” She winced at the harshness of her own voice. She’d never been good at keeping her temper. Ann bit her lip.

  James brow creased. “I thought someone who needed to find a husband through an agency would have no other alternatives.”

  A shiver coursed through her. James McCann had described her situation perfectly. Still, she bristled with irritation on behalf of all the other girls at the agency. “You thought all mail-order brides were desperate.”

  “No, no.” He waved his hands as if to bat the words out of the air. “I meant no disrespect.”

  She sat up straighter. “What did you mean?”

  “I thought a mail-order bride would be more content with this life.”

  “This life?”

  “I’ve been working on this farm by myself far too long. Uncle Mac needs tending to. I need a helpmate.”

  “And why have you already deemed me unsuitable?”

  James dipped his head and smiled sheepishly. “A woman like you couldn’t know what hard work really is.”

  The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. “A woman like me? I’ll have you know I’ve worked harder than most men all my life.”

  James chuckled and coughed to disguise it. “I know you worked as a maid, and I’m sure that is hard work, but it’s not the same as farm life.”

  “You have no idea,” she replied between clenched teeth. The labor of farm life seemed a sweet reprieve in comparison to her former occupation. Her neck burned with heat and she clenched her hands until the nails cut into her palms as she fought to control her wretched temper.

  He dropped his gaze and turned away. “You don’t understand. Regardless, you’re to be someone else’s bride. It’s my fault. If I hadn’t been so surprised by your beauty, I would have put you right back on that train the instant I laid eyes on you.”

  “Back on the train to where?”

  “I know some other girl is supposed to be here instead of you, and you’re supposed to be married to some rich banker in California. Or an oil baron in Texas. I’ll send a telegram in the morning, so they know of the mistake, and a letter going into more detail. When we hear back from the agency, we’ll make the proper arrangements.”

  How could she fight this? James believed the agency sent her by mistake. In her heart, for her own reasons, she agreed. She took a deep breath and straightened in her chair. “It could be weeks before we hear from the agency. What shall we do until then?”

  “Only a few people knew you were coming, but I suppose there’s no way to hide your presence now. We’ll tell everyone the truth. We’re getting to know one another. When you leave they’ll assume you didn’t like me.”

  Ann laughed bitterly. James didn’t join her. “You aren’t serious?” she asked.

  “Those who know I chose an agency to find a bride already think I’m peculiar. It won’t seem odd to them that you decided not to marry me. And with Uncle Mac here, there’s no reason for anyone to think the arrangement improper.”

  “And what if you change your mind about me in the meantime?” Her stomach plummeted and her cheeks burned. Why had she asked that? He must think her positively desperate.

  James’s feet stopped tapping and his eyes locked with hers. “You aren’t supposed to be here, Ann. We must right this mistake.”

  The resolve in his voice broke something inside her. Her body ached with exhaustion. She’d come so very far, only to be turned away. Soon she’d be completely alone in this world. Ann had been so afraid of rejection, but never in her wildest dreams had she believed it would be because of this. She blinked hard, but it didn’t squelch the tears. They spilled over her lashes and spattered the tabletop.

  James reached for her hand and squeezed it tight. She allowed him to hold it, though she desired to wrench it away. “Ann, you’re a fine girl. Any man would be proud to have you as his wife. But I’m also certain if you’re here, some heartbroken fool has been sent the homeliest girl in all of England.” She forced a laugh, and he gripped her hand tighter. She wanted to squeeze his hand back until he yelped in pain. “Don’t you see? We must make this right.”

  She nodded, but the desire to pinch his fingers between her own remained. Ann dried her tears with a handkerchief from her pocket, and James excused himself to fill her pitcher. The moment the door closed behind him she snatched the papers from the table and turned them over.

 
Dear Mrs. Turner,

  It is with regret I must write to you so soon. Your agency assured me you would deal with any issues should they arise, and I have an urgent and pressing concern. As you must recall, my only request for a match was the girl be plain. The match you have sent to me, Miss Ann Cromwell, is the most beautiful girl I have ever—

  The letter ended there and she flipped the pages back over a second before James returned. He handed her the pitcher.

  “I should have voiced my concern the moment we met. Please forgive me.”

  Ann forced a weak smile. “It was an overwhelming moment for us both.”

  His shoulders slackened and he let out a long breath. “I appreciate your understanding.”

  Back in her bedroom, Ann splashed her face with cold water and tried to absorb what had happened. Mrs. Turner’s voice echoed in her head, as clear as in her office. This is your match, Ann. You must try to make it work. No dejected and miserable banker had greeted his plain bride today, with only his immense wealth to ease his disappointment. No lonely oil baron. If James didn’t want her, no one did. The agency intended her to be here or nowhere.

  As she readied for bed, Ann sorted through her hopelessly tangled thoughts. There had to be something she could do. She’d been faced with a seemingly insurmountable hardship before. She would simply have to work out her next course of action. She stretched out on the bed and stared at a crack in the ceiling. She had to think! She couldn’t return to London. Even if she could somehow pay for the passage, it pained her to even contemplate the life waiting for her there. No, she could not go back.

  She had only one choice. Stay in America. Hadn’t she heard someone on the steamship call it “the land of opportunity”? But could a young girl really support herself here, with no family and no references?

  Ann couldn’t cook, of that she was certain, but her years of experience as a maid had to be an asset. She hadn’t noticed many fine houses in New Haven, but there must be wealthy people nearby, and the wealthy were always in need of domestic help. She only had to seek them out and offer her services. She’d never imagined working as a scullery maid again, but without references, she would have to start again at the bottom. The wages were sure to be poor, and the tasks backbreaking, but they were backbreaking in England, too, and she’d survived them before. She was still young, strong. At least she would have food in her belly and a roof over her head.