Mona Hodgson - [Hearts Seeking Home 01] Page 2

  Another five minutes passed before the bride’s mother reopened the side door and stepped into the room.

  “Good.” Tiny’s attempt at a whisper was a wasted effort. “Looks like it’ll be over soon.”

  Caleb nodded, hoping Tiny was right.

  Hand in hand with her daughter, the older woman nodded toward Otto. He pulled his mandolin from a side table and started playing an upbeat rhythm. Then she turned expectantly to her daughter.

  Without moving into the room, Miss Goben stared at Boney. The color drained from her face. She looked frozen in place as she motioned for Boney to come to her.

  Boney left Garrett’s side and walked to Miss Goben.

  When the music stopped, the bride’s mother swept faded brown hair from her face. “Keep playing, Vater.”

  When Otto resumed the melody, the mother jerked her attention back to the bride and groom. “This isn’t—”

  Boney raised his hand, one finger lifted. “We need a moment, ma’am.”

  “But—”

  Ignoring the mother, Boney held his arm out to Miss Goben. When she laid her hand on his jacket sleeve, he escorted her out the front door. The bride’s mother wasn’t the only one left with wide eyes and a slack jaw. Caleb closed his mouth. Miss Hattie Pemberton took quick steps to her brother Charles’s side.

  Tiny attempted another whisper. “And this? What’s this?”

  “Unusual.”

  “Think she went cold on him?”

  “May have.” Miss Goben was proving to be as fickle as spring weather. She’d told Boney no one minute then shown up at camp with a change of mind, as if playing with a man’s heart were an acceptable sport.

  Five minutes later, Boney slipped in through the front door, his jacket open and his face long. Tugging his string tie loose, he spoke in whispers to Otto Goben. The bride’s mother fought to get a word in edgewise until her father was finally able to silence her. Boney then spoke to Garrett and the pastor before facing the small crowd.

  Pressing his felt hat to his chest, Boney cleared his throat. “Thank you all for coming to share in mine and Anna’s … uh, merriment. While we regret any hardship we have caused you in joining us, Miss Goben and I have decided not to wed.”

  Murmurs swept across the room until a door creaked at the back of the house and the bride’s mother marched out of the room.

  Caleb followed Boney and the other hands out the front door.

  When they reached the hitching rail, Frank slapped his misshapen felt hat on his thigh and looked at Boney. “When I saw you talkin’ to her at that first wagon train meeting, I figured she was trouble. A young woman like that alone at a town meeting? Just ain’t right.”

  Boney shook his head and took off toward camp. Poor fellow expected to be wed and spending the night with his bride. Now, like the rest of them, he was stuck with a bunch of trail hands.

  Caleb hadn’t remembered seeing Anna Goben at the town meeting. But she was unforgettable now. And Frank was right—she was trouble. Boney was a good man. A better man than deserved having to do Miss Goben’s dirty work, having to stand in front of everyone with his heart broken, or at the least his pride wounded. And now the young woman would be traveling west with them.

  Unless she planned to back out of the trip too. Wouldn’t hurt Caleb’s feelings any if she did.

  2

  Mutter stood in Anna’s bedchamber, her fists planted on her hips and her face tight. “Everyone’s gone. Including your grandfather.”

  Anna drew in a fortifying breath. “I didn’t intend—”

  “I never figured you for bein’ so careless, Anna Mae. Men like Boney don’t grow on trees like apples, you know.”

  “I’m only eighteen, Mutter. I hardly think my decision not to marry Boney means I will live my life as a spinster.”

  “Time moves faster than you think.” A shadow crossed Mutter’s face. “You just passed up your best chance to escape your life taking care of us.”

  Anna moistened her lips, giving herself time to think. What was she to say to that? “Boney and I are good friends, nothing more.”

  “Friendship is a stronger foundation for a marriage than most. If your father and I had been friends … well, things might have turned out differently.” Shaking her head, Mutter stared at Anna with steely eyes. “You careless fool!” She spun toward the door and slammed it shut behind her.

  Defying her weak knees, Anna stepped out of the pink dress and hung it in the wardrobe, her mind hanging on every memory of the past hour. When she’d said she couldn’t go through with the ceremony, Boney said he understood her decision. He even looked a bit relieved when she said his proposal meant the world to her but it would be wrong for her to marry him. His gracious acceptance of her last-minute decision had settled her stomach. She’d felt peace about not getting married today.

  Until Mutter stormed into the kitchen and followed her to the bedchamber. And when Hattie refused to even attempt to convince Anna to go through with the ceremony, Mutter pitched a fit and sent Hattie home.

  Anna pulled her worn calico dress from the wardrobe. A good and honorable man, Boney had seen to the announcement himself. He didn’t make her face his buddies or her mother in front of the crowd.

  Sighing, she slid the dress over her head. Nothing had changed for her, except that she’d added insult to injury and wasted everyone’s time. Her only hope for seeing Mutter or Großvater stand on their own two feet again lay in her family’s journey west. The adventure of being active, out in nature, and interacting with other people had to be what would make the difference for Mutter. To make her the strong one again. Anna couldn’t bear seeing them withdraw from life—and from her—much longer.

  Anna perched on the bench at the dressing table and laced her boots. Mutter was wrong—she hadn’t made a stupid mistake calling off the wedding. She and Boney didn’t love each other in a romantic way, and Hattie was right to remind her that it mattered. It wasn’t fair to Boney that she marry him because of Dedrick, or because she was tired of being the only strong, responsible family member.

  Pots and pans clanged on the other side of the wall. The bean kettle. Was that where Mutter had stashed her latest bottle? Her fingers trembling, Anna looped the buttons down the front of her dress. She pulled a shawl from the wardrobe then ventured out into the sitting room. The scent of working men lingered along with the extra chairs they’d gathered for the wedding guests. Mutter had apparently found her consolation and settled into her bed with it.

  This was the last place Anna wanted to be. Großvater had the right idea in leaving the house.

  Willing herself to step lightly, Anna slipped out the front door and down the steps. A chilling breeze alerted her to the clouds gathering across the Missouri River. She tugged her shawl tight and took quick steps down the hill toward Heinrich’s Dry Goods and Grocery. She preferred to be the one who gave her quilting circle sisters an explanation of her last-minute decision.

  When Emilie Heinrich, now Emilie McFarland, wasn’t busy with her courses at Lindenwood Female College, she helped her father in his store. Maren Wainwright had also recently wed and given up her job at the store, but she’d agreed to help out during the rush to provision wagons for the grand departure next week. Anna’s widowed friend Caroline was also in Mr. Heinrich’s employ. At least until next Tuesday, when she would join the westbound caravan, employed as a nanny for the Kamden family.

  At the bottom of the hill, Anna turned right on Main Street and paused for a moment outside the millinery. She’d lost count of the number of hats she’d designed, created, and sold to the proprietor. That and candle sales to Mr. Heinrich had been what had kept her family afloat this past year and a half. She’d make sure to stop at the millinery another day this week to say good-bye. Right now, she was on a mission.

  At the next corner, Anna crossed the street and walked the cobblestone sidewalk in front of the Old Capitol Building that housed Johann Heinrich’s Dry Goods and Grocery. This ti
me she had no candles to deliver and no shopping list to fulfill, only a desperate need to see the smiles of her friends.

  When an ache gripped Garrett Cowlishaw’s bad knee, he instinctively bent to rub his leg.

  “You okay, Boss?” Caleb, one of his five trail hands, pushed his derby back on his head.

  Garrett straightened. “Yeah. Thanks.” The pain easing, he let out a long breath. “Leg just had to remind me it’s there.”

  Caleb pulled a flour sack from the pile. “How many did you say we needed?”

  Garrett glanced at the shopping list in his hand. “That and one more should do it. Came for blankets and beads, but, well, Boney still has other things on his mind, and I was coming to the store anyway.”

  After a quick nod, Caleb added the flour sack to the wheelbarrow they were using to collect supplies. “You suppose he’ll be any less distracted, now that the wedding’s been called off?”

  Garrett shrugged. “I expect so. And he won’t have a dithering wife to contend with.”

  Caleb opened his mouth to speak but looked past Garrett instead, his eyes widening.

  “Pardon me?” The familiar voice tensed Garrett’s shoulders.

  How long had she been there? He hesitated to face her, but turned around anyway. The widow Caroline Milburn pinned him with a fiery gaze, her eyes as green as spring grass. She’d heard him. When he and Caleb had come into the store, Caroline must have been concealed behind the counter in a huddle of customers. Now she stood before him looking like a scorned schoolmarm.

  Swallowing the lump in his throat, Garrett removed his slouch hat. “Mrs. Milburn.” He pointed the hat at his trail hand. “You know Caleb Reger?”

  “We’ve met. Yes.”

  “Mrs. Milburn.” Caleb gave her a polite nod, unable to draw her attention.

  How was it that the redhead could appear so becoming in a simple work frock and a smudged shopkeeper’s apron?

  She crossed her arms. Her chin jutted out. “Dithering wife, Mr. Cowlishaw?”

  He should’ve known the widow wouldn’t let his statement go without a strong rebuke.

  “I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn you might allow such mockery among your ranks.” Her shoulders squared. “But you, Mr. Cowlishaw, purported to be a Southern gentleman—I wouldn’t expect such disrespect to fly from your mouth. Whoever the woman, I’m sure she doesn’t deserve your harsh judgment.”

  Garrett let out a huff. “It was a private conversation, ma’am.”

  “In a very public place.”

  He couldn’t argue with that, but … “You were not privy to the whole of the conversation.”

  Caroline Milburn tipped her face toward the ceiling, her jaw set. “I simply misunderstood your meaning?”

  “Probably not. Only the context in which I said it.”

  She glanced at the clock above the counter. “The wedding?” She uncrossed her arms, her eyes widening. “You were talking about Anna?”

  “We were there, ma’am.” Caleb raked his hair. “But it didn’t happen.”

  “I don’t understand. Anna said—”

  “She got cold feet and called it off.” Caleb took a step back as he spoke.

  She shifted her gaze to Garrett. “Thus earning your reproach.”

  Unable to resist the opportunity for rebuttal, he offered her a slight smile. “Dithering, as in wavering. Indecisive. That fits Miss Goben where Boney Hughes is concerned, for she’s done nothing but change her mind. I simply stated that he is better off not marrying a woman who is not sure of the union, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Her mouth pursed in a frown, she looked at their wheelbarrow. “Flour. Did you need help finding something else?” she asked, her voice icy.

  “Actually, I was wondering about Johann. I heard he’d had another of his spells this morning. How is he?”

  Caroline looked at a closed door at the back of the store. “He’s resting upstairs. His daughter, Emilie, and the doctor are with him.”

  “Please tell him we asked after him and offered our best.”

  She gave him a curt nod. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  “There was something else.”

  Her chin dipped as she glared up at him. “Well?”

  “I ordered blankets.”

  “Red ones?”

  “Yes ma’am.” Her narrow-eyed frown told him he was fortunate she didn’t have a ruler in her hand, for his knuckles would’ve surely received a good rapping.

  “They’re in one of those casks.” Caroline pointed toward the crates and barrels along the back wall.

  Garrett nodded. “Thank you.” He took a step toward her. “Just one more thing.”

  Her perfectly shaped eyebrows arched.

  “We’re leaving one week from today—the Boone’s Lick Wagon Train Company.”

  “Yes, I know. Thus the rush on supplies.”

  He nodded, working the brim of his hat. “It’s going to be a difficult journey.”

  “You made that point in your speeches at the meetings. Hard work. Illness. Hostiles.”

  “And you’ll be traveling with a Scottish family you don’t really know, with traditions and foods you’re not accustomed to. Carrying tremendous responsibilities.”

  “You don’t think I can eat haggis or handle the Kamden children?”

  Garrett kept those doubts to himself. “I wish you’d reconsider and remain in Saint Charles with your own family.”

  Her shoulders went back again. “You should know by now, Mr. Cowlishaw, that I am not a dithering or wavering woman. Nor am I indecisive.”

  “You indeed are not.”

  Sighing, she glanced at the counter where Maren Wainwright held up a cast-iron skillet. “I must help with the other customers.”

  “Of course.” He returned his hat to his head. “Thank you.”

  She gave them each a sharp nod and walked away.

  Garrett grabbed the handles on the barrow a little too forcefully and wheeled it to the back wall.

  Caleb lifted a few crate lids and sacks, then turned toward him. “The widow certainly had you doing a dance.”

  “Never mind that.” He let go of the cart and took the crate lid from Caleb. “As Boney found out today, women are complicated.”

  “Yes.” His trail hand sighed. “They are.”

  “You have a story to tell?”

  Caleb shook his head. “We weren’t talking about me.”

  They never were. The young man was as tightlipped as a catfish about himself. In the employment interview, Garrett had asked Caleb about his family and involvement in the war. Caleb was just as mute on those topics as he was about his love life. A hesitancy Garrett shared. He would carry his own secrets on the road west.

  “Found the blankets.” Caleb lifted a sack from the crate. “We all have bedrolls. Expecting a freeze out on the prairie in July and August, are you?”

  Garrett chuckled. “We’ll be wishin’ for a chill in the air.” He shook his head. “They’re trading materials for the Indians. They like blankets and beads. A little something I learned on my first run west.” While Caleb added the blankets to the cart and closed the barrel, Garrett glanced toward the rack of spice tins where Caroline Milburn now helped a customer, red curls dangling at her neck. So much for trying to get on her good side, or at the very least not aggravate her.

  “Boss?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Does the widow know you stare at her?”

  Jerking his gaze from the counter, Garrett met the younger man’s grin. “I wasn’t. I don’t.” He scrubbed his whiskered chin. “I might have been thinking. Have a lot on my mind.”

  The grin still planted on his face, Caleb held his hands up in mock surrender. “I don’t care if you stare at her, Boss.”

  She would care.

  “Just don’t get all atwitter and propose marriage to her.”

  Garrett laughed. “No chance of that. Mrs. Milburn and I would have to at least like each other before that coul
d happen.”

  “You’re telling me you don’t like her?” Caleb’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

  “She doesn’t like me.”

  “Because you can’t help putting your foot in your mouth?” Garrett sobered in a memory. “First, because of my uniform.” To avoid looking at her, he glanced at the shopping list: coffee, sugar.

  “Same uniform I wore.”

  “But you didn’t step into her path wearing gray trousers and kepi while she waited for word on her missing husband, a Union colonel.”

  A shadow darkened Caleb’s eyes.

  “She was with her sister, two nieces, a nephew, and stranded by a broken wagon wheel when I happened upon them.” He remembered seeing the accusation and pain in her eyes, and shook his head as if it could set the memory free. “You would’ve thought I had horns and carried a pitchfork.”

  “For a lot of folks, we did.”

  One particular Thursday last fall crowded Garrett’s mind. He’d stood before Caroline Milburn, holding a letter from the Department of War concerning Colonel Milburn. He was the devil that day. Garrett gripped the cart handles and looked over his shoulder at Caleb. “I might stare at the widow now and again, but that’s the extent. Let’s leave it at that.”

  “Whatever you say, Boss.”

  Garrett wheeled the cart toward the front of the store. All he did was irritate Caroline Milburn, reminding her of the life she’d never have. He needed to avoid her. A difficult task with her bent on going west with the caravan, thanks to Ian and Rhoda Kamden giving her the means to do so.

  He shook his head. He’d best concentrate on his own affairs and the task at hand. “Let’s finish the shopping and get back to camp. You get two sacks of coffee. I’ll find the sugar.”

  Caleb nodded and walked toward the mounds of burlap sacks against one wall.