Brett collected his fishing pole from the tool shed and headed back toward the tracks that ran along his buildings. A mile south was where he was going. To where the cool water of the Smoky Hill River flowed westward, leaving enough moisture behind for a few trees to shade the grassy banks. There was no better way for a man to collect his thoughts than to spend a few hours fishing.
As he stepped over the first rail of hardened steel, he couldn’t help but remember the work that had gone into laying every inch, and the faint rumble beneath his feet had him looking eastward. A man could see for miles in this country, and though it was little more than a dot on the horizon, a westbound train was making its way into Oak Grove.
Knowing there was no need for him to meet it—there wouldn’t be anyone needing a blacksmith or chicken or horse feed, he turned his gaze southward and continued over the tracks and past the few houses that sat on the east edge of town.
Jackson Miller lived in one of those houses. He’d been lucky enough to marry one of the brides. Maggie McCary. Steve Putnam had married the other McCary sister, Mary. Brett had hoped he’d stand a chance with Maggie or Mary, especially after tasting Mary’s cooking. That was what he missed most about home. Ma’s cooking.
That wasn’t completely true. Although he missed the tasty and plentiful meals Ma always had on the table, he’d learned enough from her to cook reasonably well for himself. Leastwise enough to satisfy his appetite. What he really missed was having others around the table to share meals with him. Being one of eight kids, his family home had never been quiet. Not like his little house was. Quiet and empty.
He was tired of the quiet. Tired of being lonely. And when he was tired of something, he took action. Just like he’d done today.
The music from the reception faded as he walked on, and by the time he arrived at the river, the only noise interrupting the afternoon air was a whistle announcing the train had arrived in Oak Grove. He smiled to himself. Soon that very train would be bringing him a bride.
* * *
The shrill sound of the train whistle had Fiona Goldberg closing her eyes and saying a brief prayer. She’d been praying since they’d left Ohio, and one more couldn’t hurt. It wasn’t as if she was asking for a miracle, just a bit of comfort to settle her nerves. Then again, that in itself might be a miracle. She was rather frazzled. The train ride had been a long one, and the boys weren’t used to such confinement. Neither was she.
“Are we there, Ma?” Rhett asked with hope making his blue eyes shine.
“Yes.” Giving her trembling hands something to focus on, she folded his collar back into place. “This is Oak Grove.”
“Don’t look like much to me,” Wyatt said with as much disgust as he’d shown when they’d left Ohio.
Knowing there were times when it best served the purpose to ignore her seven-year-old’s attitude, she stayed focused on straightening Rhett’s collar. At five, he was looking at their move as an adventure rather than a necessity. “I’m sure it will be a wonderful place for us to live,” she said.
“I’m not,” Wyatt mumbled.
Fiona held her breath in order not to snap at her older son. All of their nerves were frazzled.
“Can we eat soon, Ma?” Rhett asked. “I’m mighty hungry.”
She pulled up a smile just for him and kissed his forehead. “As soon as possible. I promise.” Then she turned to Wyatt. “Gather the satchel from under the seat, please. And put your hat on.”
Wyatt grumbled, as he’d taken to doing lately, but did as told. By the time the train rolled to a jerking and squealing stop, both boys were seated beside her and waiting for the conductor to announce they could depart. If she could have found her voice, she would have told the boys to be on their best behavior, but her own misgivings about marrying a stranger—with two children in tow—had her throat burning and her eyes stinging.
Refusing to let her children see her fears, she smiled at each of them and then nodded as the conductor waved them forward.
Wyatt was the first one out the door, followed quickly by Rhett. As Fiona descended the steps, joining them on the platform, Wyatt mumbled, “Told you it weren’t much of a town.”
She couldn’t disagree, not at first glance, but she’d seen worse places. The town was small, but the buildings were nicely painted and the streets fairly well kept. The thing that struck her as odd was the lack of people. There weren’t any, and the stores looked closed.
“There’s the sheriff’s office,” Rhett said, grasping a hold of her skirt.
“It sure enough is,” a portly man said, walking out of the depot and toward them. “You’d best behave or you’ll be visiting it.”
Her spine stiffened as Fiona gathered Rhett closer. “Pardon me, sir,” she said to the stranger, “but there is no call—”
“Fiona Goldberg, I’m assuming,” the man said, dabbing at the sweat on his forehead with a white handkerchief. “I’m Josiah Melbourne.”
Chagrin burned her cheeks. “M-Mr. Melbourne,” Fiona stuttered. “I apologize, I didn’t—”
“Recognize me? Of course you didn’t.” He stuffed the kerchief in his pocket and then pulled the lapels of his suit across his thick chest as he said, “You sent me a picture. I, in turn, did not send you one.”
Her stomach bubbled. The picture she’d sent had been the one taken of her and Sam shortly after they’d been married. She’d snipped the photograph in half before sending it and still felt guilty about doing that. Despite how his life had ended, how their lives together had been, Sam had been her husband and she still owed him the honor she’d vowed on their wedding day.
Swallowing around the lump that threatened to completely close off her airway, she said, “Hello, Mr. Melbourne, it’s nice to meet you.”
“I’m sure it is.” Looking at the children over the top of his wire-framed glasses, he continued, “And these are your two boys. Wyatt and Red, I believe.”
“Rhett,” she corrected. “Wyatt and Rhett. Wyatt is seven and Rhett is five and they—”
“Let’s be on our way, shall we?”
Fiona glanced over her shoulder, wishing they could step back on the train and start over. Not only had she blundered their initial meeting, Mr. Melbourne’s interruptions were not leaving a pleasurable first impression on Wyatt. His eyes had narrowed, much like Sam’s used to do when he’d been irritated.
If she had the ability to change time, to start over, it would be before today. Before she’d had to make a choice about the new life they were embarking upon. Sam’s death had left them penniless and homeless. She’d done her best to make a living, but feeding two boys cost more than she could make doing laundry and sewing, and she’d refused to ask the Masons to give her another month of reduced rent.
“I’ve instructed that your belongings be delivered to the house,” Josiah said as he grasped her elbow and started walking along the platform. “This way. It’s on the other side of the tracks. The house is owned by the town and with my permission you’ll be allowed to stay there, rent-free, for this upcoming week, after which time we will be married. Next Saturday. At the church.”
