A Promise for Spring (2 page)

Bride . . . Groom . . . He had been anticipating this day—been praying for its arrival—for so long it hardly seemed conceivable that it was truly here. Soon he and Emmaline would stand before Reverend Stanford and recite their vows. And then the sweetest of his dreams would become reality—he would take his Emmaline to the home he had prepared.

“So, Geoff, she’s comin’ today, huh?”

The greeting pulled Geoffrey’s gaze away from the silver trails of track. He glanced over his shoulder, then waved when he spotted Harvey Rawson’s thin, friendly face peering out from the depot’s window. With firm steps, Geoffrey crossed to the window and shook the depot manager’s hand.

“Yes, Harvey, today my Emmaline arrives.”

Harvey snorted. “You look ready for a wedding, all right—or a funeral! Those are pretty fancy duds for a rancher.”

Geoffrey looked down his length, scowling briefly. “Perhaps not appropriate for herding sheep, but I think I am perfectly attired for meeting my future bride.”

Harvey chuckled. “Nervous?”

Geoffrey considered the question. He had known Emmaline since she was a baby—had actually pushed her pram on lengthy walks through their small village with their mothers when he was a young boy. Letters from her father had kept her very much a part of his life during the years he had been in Kansas, getting his ranch started. What he felt was excitement and anticipation, not nervousness.

“No, Harvey, I am not nervous.”

Harvey laughed again, leaning his bony elbows on the counter and grinning widely. “Well, you’re an uncommon man, then, not nervous on his wedding day.”

“I have nothing about which to be nervous,” Geoffrey insisted. “Emmaline’s family and mine have been friends since well before my birth. We grew up together—her older brother Edward was my best chum.” A distant, shrill whistle drifted across the plains. He spun toward the sound. Here she came!

The Union Pacific engine chugged steadily toward the depot, its shiny black stack sending up puffs of gray smoke into the clear blue sky. The ground beneath Geoffrey’s feet vibrated as the train neared. When the huge black engine was within several hundred feet of the depot, the brakes screeched loudly enough to make the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention. A pressure built in his chest as the powerful locomotive drew ever nearer. And then, finally, the train squealed to a stop in front of the depot, the engine sputtering and heaving in exhaustion before it quieted with a release of white steam.

The engineer and his fireman hopped down from the tall engine and hollered a greeting to Harvey. Geoffrey’s gaze bounced along the lines of square windows on the three boxy passenger cars. At last a blue-suited conductor appeared in the open doorway of the middle car, and Geoffrey moved on unexpectedly shaky legs in that direction.

He pressed his hand against his suddenly jumping stomach.
Perhaps I am a bit nervous.
The conductor hopped out and placed a wooden step on the ground in front of the exit before lifting his hand toward the train car. Geoffrey’s breath caught, his footsteps slowing, when a slim, glove-covered hand emerged, stretching daintily to meet the hand of the conductor. Geoffrey swept the hat from his head and took off at a run.

He should be the one to take her hand and help her down. But he was moments too late. As he came to a stop beside the conductor, Emmaline stepped to the ground with her head lowered. Immediately her hands became lost in the folds of her skirt as she grasped the voluminous black muslin and shook it mightily. The flapping released a cloud of gray dust that swirled around her, and he took one involuntary step backward.

She must have seen his feet, because the swishing abruptly stopped. Her face lifted slowly, and her eyes—the gentle, nut brown eyes he remembered so well—seemed to travel from his boots up the length of his suit until they finally met his welcoming smile.

He sought words that would convey all of the longing and dreaming of the past five years while he had waited for her to grow up and come to him. But something lodged in his throat, and he had to swallow hard before he could speak. When he opened his mouth, only one hopeful word was uttered—one word that held everything his heart felt: “Emmaline . . .”

TWO

S
HE HELD HIS GAZE, her brown eyes as wide and fear-filled as a hunted doe’s. Realizing he was panting, Geoffrey pressed his palm to his stomach, trying to calm himself. He stepped forward, uncertain how to proceed. She stood so still and so silent.

“It
is
Emmaline, is it not?” Geoffrey disliked the apprehension he heard in his own voice, but her fearful reaction did not inspire confidence.

So slightly he thought he might have imagined it, she lifted her chin and gave a quick nod. The tip of her tongue sneaked out to lick her lips, and finally she spoke in a whisper-soft voice. “M-Mr. Garrett?”

“That is right. But, Emmaline, you mustn’t greet me as if I were a stranger.” He smiled in what he hoped was an encouraging manner. Beneath the coating of gray dust, her face looked deathly pale, making her brown eyes appear even larger than they were. Her hands shook, and he was certain he saw tears quivering on her lashes. In fact, those two clean paths down her cheeks must have been created by tears. Perhaps the ride had made her ill.

He coaxed, “Come now, you cannot have forgotten my Christian name.”

Again her tongue crept out to moisten her lips. Obediently she recited, “Geoffrey.”

He offered his brightest smile, settling his black bowler back on his head. “That’s my Emmaline!” At his words, she sucked in a sharp breath and reared back. Geoffrey’s brows lowered in puzzlement. What on earth was the matter with her? He looked toward the doorway of the passenger car. “Where is your great-uncle? Your father indicated he would be accompanying you.”

Her forehead pinched. “Uncle Hedrick became ill shortly after our arrival in America. He . . . he died, and the engineer said we mustn’t dally. A minister assured me he would be given a Christian burial. I was not even allowed to attend the graveside service.”

“Oh, Emmaline.” Geoffrey’s heart lurched in sympathy. “How difficult for you.”

“I left him with strangers in a strange town, in a strange land.”

Her voice quavered, and she blinked rapidly.

The sad story explained her reticence. He said, “I am so sorry for your loss.”

She nodded and then fell silent. Determined to turn her thoughts to more cheerful things, he stepped close and offered his elbow. “Come, Emmaline. We must retrieve your trunk from the baggage car, and then I have a little surprise for you.”

He hoped that promise might make her eyes light up in happy anticipation, but he saw no change in her expression at all. However, she did place her small hand into the crook of his arm.

They walked beside the train, and she kept her face aimed straight ahead, allowing him the opportunity to give her a thorough perusal. Her uncle’s death explained her attire. Dressed all in black—save her collar and gloves, which he assumed had once been white—she looked as if she’d just returned from a funeral. The dress was of the finest quality, but she was truly filthy. When might she have last had an opportunity to wash her face?

The reddish brown hair that emerged from beneath the dusty, feathered hat looked as if it needed combing and rearranging. There was a musty odor emanating from her, clearly discernible even over the odors of coal smoke and animals. What had he been thinking to have planned for their wedding vows to be spoken upon her arrival? Before they could have such a ceremony she would require a bath and a change of clothing. She looked nothing like the bride he had envisioned.

Geoffrey tried to set aside his disappointment. He was being unfair. Traveling by train across country, she would not have had a chance to clean up before meeting him. No doubt she was as uncomfortable with her rumpled, unkempt appearance as he was. Discomfort must certainly add to her timidity. If she looked nothing like the bride he had anticipated, her behavior was far from what he had hoped for, as well.

Eager to put her at ease, he asked, “Did you have a pleasant trip?”

“Y-yes, thank you.” She answered primly, still refusing to look at him. The stammer unsettled him. He didn’t remember her stuttering as a child.

He tried again. “I trust the accommodations on the S.S.
Wyoming
were satisfactory.”

Her chin quivered slightly before she replied. “Oh yes. Ququite. Thank you.”

“Did the ship’s maid assist you as needed?”

“She was quite helpful, thank you.”

This conversation was getting him nowhere. He stopped, forcing her to stop, too. He waited until she had turned her uncertain gaze upward. “Emmaline, please tell me what I am doing that frightens you. I do not wish for you to be afraid of me. I have—” How could he summarize all of his plans in such a way that he would not overwhelm her? He had expected a grown woman to step off of that train, but Emmaline behaved very much like a child in need of assurance. His voice dropped to nearly a whisper. “I have been looking forward to your arrival. It has been quite lonely, all these years away from my family. Your lovely face is an exceptionally welcome sight.”

Emmaline’s gaze darted to the side and her cheeks flooded with color. He noticed her free hand remained pressed tightly against the hip of her dirty dress. The fingers of that hand convulsed. Finally her lips parted and she brought her gaze back to his face. He had to lean forward to catch her airy words.

“I thank you for your kind welcome. I . . . I will be fine once I become accustomed to things here.”

She glanced across the dry, rolling prairie. A hot gust of wind caught her skirts, wrapping the full folds around her knees. She released the hold on her hip long enough to straighten the tangled layers of muslin. Then, again, she cupped her hip and finished meekly, “It is quite different from home, is it not?”

Geoffrey, encouraged by her lengthy speech, squeezed the hand resting in the crook of his elbow. “Oh yes, the landscape and climate are quite different from England’s. But I have adjusted, and I know you will, too.” He gave her hand another pat and started moving again.

They approached the baggage car, and Geoffrey squinted at the two men unloading goods. One of them climbed into the car, but the second one turned in their direction and swept his battered hat from his head. This gesture revealed the familiar tousled mass of red hair belonging to Max Tolbert.

Max grinned broadly and called out, “Ho, Geoff! So this is your Emmaline, eh?”

Geoffrey placed a hand on Emmaline’s back to propel her forward. “Emmaline, I would like you to meet an acquaintance of mine, Mr. Maxwell Tolbert.” They came to a stop before Max, who stood grinning stupidly. “Max, this is Miss Emmaline Bradford from Yorkshire County, England.”

Max held his hat against his chest. “How do, miss?” He plunked the hat back on his head and, offering a cheeky smirk, poked Geoffrey with his elbow. “But not ‘miss’ for long, eh, Geoff ?”

Emmaline stiffened, and Geoffrey wished Max had not been so brazen. These men did not understand polite conversation where ladies were concerned. “If you are referring to our wedding plans,” Geoffrey said in a formal tone, “then you are correct. I have made arrangements to exchange our vows before we retire to the ranch this evening.”

Geoffrey sensed Emmaline’s startled gaze swing to him. From within the car a voice boomed, “Max! Stop jawin’ an’ help me out here!” A crate slid across the wooden floor and nearly sailed through the open doorway.

Max lost his hat as he dove for the opening. He stopped the crate and then bellowed, “Fool crazy nincompoop! Watch what you’re doin’, Lyle!”

Lyle hollered back, “I am watchin’ what I’m doin’! You need to be watchin’ ’stead of yammerin’! We got work to do!”

Max continued to mutter but returned to work. Geoffrey led Emmaline well away from the train car and allowed the men space to finish their tasks. He spotted Emmaline’s wooden trunk marked clearly on its cover with her name, the name of the ship, and her destination of Moreland. Several other crates of varying sizes were removed, and finally a twelve-foot-long brown-paper-wrapped tube emerged. Geoffrey experienced a rush of delight when he spotted this item—his wedding gift to Emmaline.

“Max, if I bring my wagon round, would you and Lyle load my things for me?” Geoffrey asked as Lyle hopped out of the car.

“Sure, Geoff,” Max replied good-naturedly while Lyle scratched his head. “You ain’t exactly dressed for haulin’, are you?” Max gave Lyle a jab with his elbow. “Ol’ Geoff is gettin’ married today, Lyle.”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard.” Lyle shoved Max’s elbow away. His tone turned congenial as he offered, “ ’Gratulations, Geoff. Wishin’ you many years of happy.”

“Thank you.” Geoffrey took Emmaline by the elbow and steered her back toward the station. He called over his shoulder, “I shall return with the wagon momentarily.”

Geoffrey helped Emmaline onto the springed seat, then settled himself beside her. She grasped her skirts and pulled them close to her knees. Not even a whisper of fabric touched Geoffrey. He wondered if she held her skirts close to protect his clothing from the coal dust or to keep herself away from him. With a slight scowl, he released the brake and expertly guided the wagon to the waiting boxes. He and Emmaline watched in silence while Max and Lyle loaded everything into the bed of the wagon.

When the men were finished, Lyle pointed at the long tube that stuck out the end of the wagon. Scratching his head again, he asked, “What is that thing, Geoff? It’s heavier’n the crates o’ books we delivered to the schoolhouse last week!”

Geoffrey laughed. “That’s a surprise for Emmaline.” He glanced at Emmaline, hoping to see a spark of curiosity in her eyes. She stared straight ahead, seemingly unaware of the exchange between the men. With a disappointed sigh, Geoffrey issued a half hearted invitation. “Come out to the ranch in a week or so, Lyle, and you’ll see what was in there. Bring Clara with you to meet Emmaline.”

Lyle gave him a gap-toothed grin. “Sure thing, Geoffrey. Me ’n’ the missus’d be glad to come out for a hello. Bye now, Miss Emmaline.”