A Mistaken Match Read online

  “I waited a few months, hoping things would get better.”

  James ached to tell her more. How he’d spent every Sunday church service scouring the congregation for a suitable bride and always coming up short. The dull pain of envy that pulled at his chest every time he saw a young family strolling through town. He’d never wanted to send away for a bride, but the life he wanted was slipping through his fingers.

  Ann’s clear blue eyes were wide. Her hand remained on his arm and her slim fingers applied a firm pressure. “You needed help on your farm. With your uncle. There’s nothing wrong with that. Everyone has their own reasons for using the agency.”

  Could she read his thoughts? James stared into her eyes. He’d thought they were simple pools of robin’s-egg blue. He now saw the pupils were rimmed with a spectacular dark violet.

  “I know my cooking is atrocious, but cleaning your home will never fill my day. Will you allow me to assist in meal preparations while I’m here? I promise my sandwiches are edible.”

  James smiled. “That would be nice, thank you.”

  “You shouldn’t starve in the interval, provided the next girl is ugly enough for you,” she added. “Though I hope she never knows about your specific conditions. Such a thing would destroy her.”

  His shoulders tensed. “I would never tell her. She would never know.”

  Ann tipped her head toward him. “Are you certain she wouldn’t discover it?”

  Heat rose in his cheeks. “Not even Frederick knew of my request. Only Uncle Mac, and he couldn’t tell someone if he tried. And I never asked for an ugly girl. Simply a plain one.” He imagined as he grew to know his match, she’d become beautiful in his eyes.

  Ann shrugged. A blond curl slipped from its pin and fell against her neck. “I see how much help you need. If a plain girl is the most capable, I hope you find her. But perhaps—” Ann paused and pursed her lips “—perhaps a pretty girl could make you a good wife.”

  Something in his heart softened at her words and heat spread over his cheeks. He longed to grasp her wayward curl and twist it between his fingers. Instead he placed a hand over hers. As his sun-darkened fingers came to rest upon her pale ivory hand, the memory of Emily’s alabaster skin flashed before him. This was why he couldn’t trust himself with a pretty girl. They drove him to distraction. He could hardly form a rational thought.

  James wrenched free from her light grasp. “I’m certain a pretty girl—a girl as beautiful as you—would leave the moment she laid eyes on this farm.”

  He stomped back into the house to get away from her, but not before a thought buzzed in his ear like an annoying fly.

  But Ann didn’t leave when she saw the farm. Ann stayed.

  Chapter Six

  After meeting Uncle Mac, Ann’s heart ached for James. The burden of running the farm and caring for the old man must be enormous. She’d offered to assist with meals on impulse but soon realized how the act could assist them both. Her conversation with the shopkeeper had yielded one helpful bit of information. Maids in America were expected to both cook and clean. She could approach each meal as an opportunity to improve her cooking, and thus her chances at future employment.

  She would purchase a cookbook the next time she was in town, though she wasn’t sure how much good it would do. She’d perused one at the store and been utterly stymied by the directions.

  Days passed and her optimism flagged. Each morning James rose early to tend to the animals and weed his fields, and she disappointed him a few hours later with burned eggs, or raw eggs, and coffee that was entirely too strong...not to mention rather chewy.

  One evening she tried to recreate James’s simple stew and instead served a burned and oversalted gruel. By the end of the week she’d burned more than half the eggs she cooked, and her first loaf of bread was so heavy James teasingly suggested they use it as a doorstop.

  Before each meal she placed a tray of the same food outside Uncle Mac’s door. And after each meal she retrieved a spotless tray. When Ann retrieved his dishes after serving the stew, Uncle Mac abruptly flung open his bedroom door and rewarded her with a broad grin. “Good,” he mouthed, pointing to the empty stew bowl.

  Ann surmised the old man’s sense of taste had declined with his ability to speak.

  Between meals she cleaned. Oh, did she clean! At the Atherton home and the orphanage, the scrubbing and dusting and polishing were done on a weekly or even daily basis. This home had gone ages without proper cleaning, and it proved filthier than she’d first realized. Years of dirt and grime filled every crease and crevice, and the cleaning left her no time to assist James in the fields as she’d planned.

  Sunday morning she leaped from her bed, flung open the window casings and sent up a silent prayer of thanks. Her heart fluttered at the thought of seeing Delia, her one friend, and learning what Mrs. Williams thought of her lace. Good news could mean money in her pocket, the opportunity to repay James and the hope of supporting herself in America.

  She raced to beat James to the kitchen, but he’d arrived first as always. He pulled a skillet from the oven as she entered.

  “You didn’t have to make breakfast,” she said, relieved he had.

  Her voice startled him. He bobbled the skillet before setting it atop the stove with a clatter.

  “This isn’t breakfast. It’s johnnycake. We have a meal after church every week in the summer. Everyone brings a dish to share.”

  Ann stepped forward to find a deep golden cake. Steam wafted over the surface and carried a softly sweet scent.

  “I could have made something,” she offered, half-heartedly.

  “You certainly could have. How about toast? Or sandwiches? Or toast?”

  As always, James’s eyes widened in surprise after he teased her, as if he didn’t know from where the words had come. She found it oddly endearing. Ann poked an elbow into James’s ribs, and he grasped it and gave it a squeeze in return. Her face warmed.

  “I’ll make something for next time,” she assured him. She would be a better cook by next week. It wasn’t possible to be worse.

  “And I’ll make another johnnycake just in case.” James winked and Ann moved to elbow him again. He dodged her attempt but bumped into the counter and sent the open canister of flour off the edge. James caught it upright in his arms before it hit the floor. The jolt sent a billowing cloud of white flour erupting out of the canister and into James’s face and hair.

  Ann didn’t breathe. Neither of them moved. James’s eyes remained closed, and the wash of white gave him the appearance of a classic Greek statue. A Michelangelo in coveralls. The curve of his mouth turned slowly up at the corners. His lips parted.

  “A little help?”

  Ann drew forward and took the canister from his hands. His eyes remained closed.

  “What can I do?” She couldn’t hide the amusement in her voice. He chuckled. The shudder of movement sent a cloud off his shoulders.

  “I’m afraid to open my eyes.”

  Flour coated his long lashes and dusted his lids. Reaching out to touch his face, flour sifted to the floor beneath her fingertips. As she worked, his warm breath caressed her skin. She resisted the urge to brush the flour from his lips.

  Focus on the task at hand.

  “Try opening your eyes now.”

  His lids rose slowly. Ann had thought his eyes were green. Up close they were clearly hazel with flecks of gold.

  Ann’s heart galloped. His face was so close. An unmistakable gentleness rimmed his eyes. She didn’t see him move, but she sensed his strong body drawing closer.

  Her heart strained. She couldn’t do this. It would only bring both of them heartache.

  “I’ll fetch you some water,” Ann mumbled as she turned away.

  Was that a sigh behind her? She didn’t let hersel
f look.

  “There’s no time for that. I’ll clean up under the water pump.”

  After rinsing off outside, James tromped upstairs with wet hair to change. When he returned he wore the same suit from the day they met. He’d looked so handsome that day. James was taller and trimmer than most men, and the tailored clothing accentuated his frame in ways his work clothes could not. His thick hair lay neatly parted, but when he caught her staring he reached up and mussed it back into boyish waves.

  Outside, James hitched the buggy, rather than the buckboard. It only seated two. “Does Uncle Mac always stay home from church?”

  “He prefers to stay home and read his Bible.”

  The trip to church was even longer than the one into town. A few miles into the drive they turned west, and soon the sights were strictly farmland with the occasional farmhouse dotting the landscape. As they approached each home, James recited their family name, followed by some odd bit of trivia. The Cooks’ orchard produced the best apples for cider. The Zwebels had two of the fastest horses in the county. The Fladts ran an inn, but their own fifteen children took up most of the rooms. Ann watched as men readied their wagons and buggies, while their wives herded children and balanced covered dishes in each hand. Without exception, everyone waved their arms with abandon or called out a warm hello.

  The wagon crested a hill and revealed a steeple in the distance. They rounded a corner and the entirety of the church came into view. The white steeple topped a brick building adorned with arched Gothic windows and ornate stained glass scenes. “My father donated the largest trees in our woods for the church’s frame,” James said.

  Before the horses had even come to a stop in front of the hitching post, Ann scanned the crowd for Delia. She glanced toward the church entrance as a dark head disappeared through the doors.

  “I see Delia!”

  James looked up but she was already out of sight. Ann scrambled from the buggy and bounced on her heels as she waited for James to join her. Each passing stranger smiled in greeting and kept on staring. By the time James reached her side, Ann was ready to climb back into the buggy.

  “No one here will bite,” he said as he offered his arm.

  She forced a laugh. “Of course not. They’ll only nibble.”

  James laughed, but she only gripped his arm tighter.

  From the outside, the church appeared remarkably similar to the one Ann attended back in England, but on the inside it couldn’t have been more different. Quiet but lively conversations echoed against the stained glass. Where were the hushed tones? The uncomfortable reverence?

  “Where are we to sit?” Ann asked, puzzled. She was accustomed to servants sitting in the back with several empty pew rows in the middle to separate them from their employers. Here, everyone appeared to be intermingled with no regard to wealth or class.

  James pointed to an empty pew on the left, close to the back. “I like to sit here. Keeps me from blocking too many people’s views.”

  Not only were the seating arrangements far different from what she was accustomed to, so was the sermon. In the Church of England, servants’ obedience to their masters was always a popular topic, followed by servants being cheerful in their work. Ann had heard these sermons so often she imagined she could recite them from memory.

  The pastor preached on loving thy neighbor as thyself. He asked the parishioners to treat each other as equals, and in the same way they wished to be treated. Ann tried to imagine the same message being preached back in England, to a congregation clearly divided by class.

  At the end of the service everyone moved into a large tented area outside. Under the tent sat a long row of tables, and soon these tables filled with a bounty of food. Platters of sliced ham and chicken legs were followed by crocks of beans and potatoes. A mismatch of earthenware and porcelain bowls swam with tomato salad, string beans and scalloped onions. As each new dish was placed, Ann’s stomach groaned a little louder.

  James retrieved the johnnycake from the buggy and nestled it on the last table between a lattice-top blueberry pie and a crumble-topped cherry cobbler. It looked plain and homely next to its decorated neighbors. Discouragement pressed on her as Ann pondered how many weeks of practice it would take for her to learn to duplicate the simple johnnycake, let alone the gems surrounding it.

  They’d no sooner entered the line for food before the first of many ladies approached with a shy smile and inquisitive eyes.

  “Ann Cromwell.”

  “London, England.”

  “We’re still getting to know one another. We don’t know when the wedding will be.”

  She repeated the same answers to the same questions over and over. If few knew of her arrival before, everyone in the county knew now. Older ladies clasped her hands between theirs. Younger ladies eyed her up and down and squeezed her so tightly she almost couldn’t breathe.

  Had she detected a hint of malice in their greetings? After the sixth or seventh girl the revelation hit her straight on. The smirking smiles and too-tight embraces were the results of jealousy. Mrs. Ludlow had been right. James was a very eligible bachelor. If only these girls knew they had no reason to be jealous of her, and that he would be sending her away the first chance he got.

  Ann forgot everyone’s names as soon as she heard them. Friendly smiles and envious eyes blurred all the women together. It was no matter. Soon she would be leaving New Haven and would never see any of these women again.

  By the time they’d reached the end of the line, Ann’s plate overflowed and she’d grown eager for a few moments of quiet. As if reading her mind, James guided her to a table farthest from the crowd. She’d taken her first cautious bite of something foreign but delicious when a hand gripped her shoulder. Startled, she pulled away to find Frederick Renner.

  “Enjoying the fine weather?” he asked, but didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he moved around to the other side of the table and thumped James between the shoulder blades before dropping his considerable weight onto the bench beside him.

  James gave Frederick a playful shove and continued eating. Ann forced a smile and wondered if Frederick already knew about James’s plan to send her away.

  “So, Ann, I heard you’ve met my cousin Delia.”

  “Yes, I did. Do you know where she is?”

  Frederick pointed, and Ann glanced behind her. Delia stood by the food tables and waved her long arms over her head when she noticed Ann looking her way. Her tall form moved swiftly toward them and Ann leaped to her feet to meet her. Delia greeted her with a ferocious hug. Tears welled up in Ann’s eyes, and after Delia broke the embrace Ann kept her back turned to James and Frederick so she could whisk the wetness away unnoticed. It had been too long since she’d had a friend.

  “I have wonderful news for you, Ann.”

  “You spoke with Mrs. Williams?”

  “She adored your handkerchief. Said she hadn’t seen anything like it outside Columbus, and even there she wasn’t sure they had anything so fine. She’d like to sell them and can give you sixty percent of the sale.”

  Ann never had a head for figures, but before she could even think James had done the math. “She’ll get three dollars for each?” he asked.

  Delia’s brown eyes twinkled. “No...she’ll get six! I thought each handkerchief would bring five dollars, but Mrs. Williams thinks she can sell them for ten!”

  James choked on a bite of beans. His face turned red and he sputtered out a cacophony of hoarse coughs. Soon half a dozen men were on their feet and thumping his back. Finally, he drew a ragged breath and held up his arms in surrender. Still, a few of the more enthusiastic heroes had to be grasped by the wrists to stop the onslaught of thumps and whacks.

  After a few raspy breaths, James snatched up his napkin and drew it over his face. He removed it to reveal an incredulous expression. “You mean
to tell me people are willing to pay ten dollars for a single handkerchief?”

  Delia grinned from her position beside Ann, where she’d seated herself during James’s coughing fit. “Maybe more. Mrs. Williams set the price based on what she’d seen in Columbus. But as I said, she’s seen nothing quite so beautiful.”

  Ann’s stomach fluttered. She’d been as surprised as James at the news, but fought to retain her decorum. She took a large bite of berry pie and savored it until the butterflies settled enough for her to speak.

  “That is wonderful news,” she whispered. This was an immense understatement. Ann’s very life depended upon her ability to find a livelihood and succeed at it.

  Delia laughed and draped an arm around Ann’s shoulders. “Can you bring more to the shop this week?”

  “Yes. I have several finished.”

  “Mrs. Williams said she’d love to see them.”

  After Ann finished her plate, Delia insisted on making additional introductions, and led her about the picnic grounds. Next she guided Ann to a small field next to the church where a group of children played. A man crouched in the middle of a particularly boisterous fray. Children of all ages and sizes tackled him from every angle. Well-muscled arms reached out from the center of the pile and plucked boys and girls off his back. When he stood and shook off the last of them, the thick shock of sandy hair was unmistakable. It was James!

  His face was the picture of mirth as children tugged on his arms and legs. His strong hands pushed them gently to the side until he was approached by a tiny girl with dark hair. He bent down and swung the child onto his shoulders. Ann’s chest twinged.

  “James adores children,” Delia stated matter-of-factly.

  The twinge repeated, only this time it migrated to her middle.

  “And children obviously love James,” she murmured.

  “Sadie Schneider looks particularly charmed by him,” Delia observed.

  “Is she the one on James’s shoulders?” Ann studied the child. Her dark brows and eyes gave her a naturally serious appearance, but her entire face lit up in delight as James galloped the two of them about. She had great fistfuls of his hair in her hands and used them to guide him like reins on a pony. Only the state of Sadie herself detracted from the happy picture. Her Sunday dress appeared crumpled and stained, and her shiny raven hair had not been brushed for some time.