in a cloud of smoke and cinders—and the people about to disembark from it. After all, it wasn’t every day that a woman waited to meet her husband-to-be. Especially for the first time ever.
The porter stepped out, setting his movable wooden steps in place and making way for the passengers. Eagerly Savannah raised herself on tiptoes to see. As usual, most of the passengers surged out in small groups, then headed for one of the nearby hotels for a hurried meal. Only a few travelers carried full baggage. Those were the ones who meant to stay.
Her fiancé would be one of them.
Holding her breath, Savannah examined each male passenger in turn. One sported enormously fashionable whiskers. Another held the hand of a shy-looking lady. A third moved with the aid of a cane, his chest thrust outward with an old soldier’s pride.
Feeling suddenly uncertain, she sneaked a glance at the written description—unfortunately rain-splattered, thanks to one of her earlier vigils—that she’d carried with her for weeks. A familiar sense of disappointment struck her. He was not here.
None of these men bore the homespun features, sensible suit, and tentative smile described in the letter she held. None of them was the earnest Baltimore telegraph operator with whom she’d struck up a long-distance friendship so many months ago.
Giddy with the freedom and intimacy of the wires, she and her soon-to-be husband had shared their hopes and dreams … and, eventually, a promise to meet here in Morrow Creek. But their rendezvous date had come and gone five times now. Even a neophyte romantic like Savannah had the sense to realize something had gone wrong.
Well, she’d simply head back to her station and man the wires, Savannah decided as she squared her shoulders. It was possible her fiancé had already sent her an explanation for his tardiness. Her helper, Mose, might be receiving her fiancé’s romantic, apology-filled message at the station even now.
At the notion, Savannah felt somewhat cheered. She breathed in deeply, then took a final look at the train—just in case, for she was nothing if not meticulous. When her pen pal did not miraculously alight from the car, she turned away … only to find the station clerk’s sympathetic gaze pinned on her.
“Too bad,” he said kindly. “Disappointed again?”
Mutely Savannah stared at him. For the first time it occurred to her how foolish she’d been. She never should have allowed her hopes to draw her into town day after day.
“I’m sorry,” the clerk said. “If you’re looking for someone particular on the 10:12, maybe I can help you, Miss …?”
Reed. Savannah Reed. He wanted to know her name, she knew, but Savannah had all the reasons in the world not to share it.
At least not until she could change it in marriage.
Thanks to her position at the isolated telegraph station—where few people had cause to visit, much less to wonder about its new operator—Savannah had kept her identity a secret in Morrow Creek … at least so far. She wanted to keep it that way.
Reed was a common enough name, she reminded herself. For now, its ordinariness would likely protect her. Especially in the absence of any other potentially damning information.
“I’m Joseph Abernathy.” He gave her a smile—a speculative, curious-looking smile. “I don’t think we’ve met. Why don’t you come on over? Maybe I can help track down your tardy traveler.”
“Thank you, but I—I’m in a terrible rush.” Why had she let herself be drawn in this way? The station clerk seemed friendly, but word traveled fast in a small Western town like Morrow Creek. The more people she spoke with, the more difficult it would be to keep her secret. “I’m sorry. Please excuse me!”
Wearing her most harried expression, Savannah bustled away. She heard Joseph Abernathy calling after her, but she didn’t dare stop. She wasn’t ready to befriend anyone. Not yet.
Her high-buttoned shoes clopped across the platform as she pushed her way between the few lingering travelers. Once she’d reached a safe distance from Mr. Abernathy, Savannah relaxed. She allowed the anxious look to leave her face. Methodically she let her shoulders fall in their usual position. She eased her steps to a normal pace, then permitted her breathing to slow.
Almost home free. If she were smart, she’d still hurry, despite being clear of Mr. Abernathy’s inquisitive gaze. Mose was not as skilled at recognizing the various telegraph operators’ signatures as she was. Her beau’s distinctive manner of tapping out a message might go by unnoticed if she weren’t there to hear it. Raising her skirts, Savannah headed for the street.
She almost tripped over the little girl in her path.
“Oh, pardon me!” Savannah said. “I’m so sorry.”
The child gaped up. She stood alone, her blond hair in pigtails and her face wet with tears. She clutched a satchel.
“Have you seen my mama? She was right there—” she pointed with a shaky, chubby finger “—but now she’s gone.”
“I—no, I’m sorry.” Feeling rushed, Savannah cast a hasty glance around the platform. She saw no likely looking adults nearby. Knowing it was probably unwise to call further attention to herself, she nonetheless crouched beside the girl. She offered an encouraging smile. “Perhaps you could describe her to me?”
A sniffle. “Well …” The girl sucked in a breath and attempted a description. Her halting words were interrupted by choking sobs and another mighty sniffle. “M-M-Mama is—”
“All right.” Frowning in commiseration, Savannah raised her hand toward the child’s face. She flipped her wrist—a move borne of long practice—then brightly withdrew a handkerchief. “Use this, then try again.”
The little girl’s sobs abruptly stopped. Wide-eyed, she pointed. “You pulled that out of my ear!“
Savannah shrugged. “I thought you could use it.”
“Do it again! Do it again!”
Savannah smiled. When she’d been a girl, she’d been amazed by that trick, too. “Maybe after we find your mother. Let’s—”
“Wait, there she is! And Papa, too!” the girl shouted.
She raced across the platform at full tilt, then threw her arms around a relieved-looking woman carrying a lace-edged parasol. Beside the woman, a gentleman in a fine suit smiled at his daughter. He lowered his hand to caress her pigtails.
At the gesture, Savannah nearly sighed. She wished her mail-order groom were as dashing and caring as that little girl’s father. Her fiancé was on the decidedly plain side—at least if his modest descriptions of himself were to be believed—and his avowed affection for tinned beans was hardly awe-inspiring. But he was solid and good, Savannah reminded herself sternly. She didn’t care what his outsides looked like, as long as his insides came outfitted with a loving heart.
And as long as he arrived soon.
It wasn’t as though she were marrying for love. Not yet, at least. She could afford to skimp on a few of the luxuries.
“. and that lady helped me! She can do magic tricks!”
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