reason, the warm coziness offered at that moment with Victoria, despite how she’d peppered him with questions, appealed to him. Without forethought, he leaned toward her again. “It would please my mother to know that you thought I spoke like a gentleman. I will have to include that in my Christmas letter to them.”
* * *
Victoria felt her merry expression slide away. Mitchell wrote regularly to his mother? Should she do the same to hers? Although they’d parted amicably, mostly due to Victoria’s determination to let go of any hard feelings, and partly because of her mother’s awkward relief, Abigail’s abandonment still stung her.
But she should write her. With Charles’s death, the care and control of Victoria’s inheritance should have fallen on Abigail, but since everything had been squandered, Mr. Lacewood had said that he would not bother Abigail with any more details. Victoria would turn twenty-one in a few months, probably before everything was finalized. If there was anything she didn’t understand, Mr. Lacewood had added, she could seek out her Uncle Walter’s advice. He’d even mentioned that they’d known each other in college years before. Walter would help Victoria.
But that wasn’t Victoria’s option of choice and she decided to say as little as possible on the matter. Soon enough, there would be no legal reason for Walter to assume control of her affairs. Besides, she wasn’t her mother. She was quite willing to take on the administration of her finances, such as they now were.
An unchristian thought popped into Victoria’s head. She could withhold any news from her mother. Keep her fully in the dark.
She tightened her jaw. It was a vindictive idea, though it lingered for a mere second. Could she really be that cruel?
Mitchell caught her attention as he shoved the envelope into his jacket pocket. She’d been watching him as he read, as she’d said earlier, but she hadn’t mentioned his deepening frown. Despite the cozy moment they’d just shared, something in that letter still bothered him.
What was it?
She sat back. It wasn’t her business, nor did she want it to be. There was already too much shared knowledge between them. His quiet suspicion when she revealed her silly plan for employment proved that much. Victoria tightened her jaw. She knew she couldn’t live off charity forever and knew she would never survive without a more substantial plan.
She had only one choice. She would settle in first and then ask around. Even a job as a store clerk would suffice, especially considering Uncle Walter’s plan to have her marry his business partner. Victoria felt her face heat, and she glanced over at Mitchell. Thankfully, he didn’t notice. She with her careful observation and he with his suspicion, they were proving to be quite a pair, reluctant bearers of each other’s secrets. It would be better if they stopped learning so much of each other’s business. It was quite unacceptable.
“Well, your ranch sounds very interesting,” she said in a clipped tone, effectively ending the conversation as she deliberately turned her attention to anything but him.
The train wended its way around some rolling hills, the trees’ lovely fall colors beginning to wane. The children grew bored of their game and their eyelids sank. Thankfully. She had no idea how to mind four children and a baby for three days.
Before long, Emily began to fuss again, her legs pulling up and her face scrunching into a pained expression. Victoria reached for her and to her horror realized the child needed changing.
In her haste to punish her mother, she’d leaped into a situation she hadn’t fully appreciated. Lifting the baby up, she knew they needed to visit the washroom first. Victoria threw a slightly panicked look at Mitchell, but the late nights with the baby and caring for his other children had taken their toll on him. He was fast asleep.
The porter passed at that moment and she asked him for another bottle of warm milk. He nodded and continued forward. The woman across from her stood at the same time Victoria stood, her expression knowing as her nose wrinkled. “If you nursed your baby, that mess wouldn’t smell so bad.”
What a crass remark. Victoria battled the embarrassment she knew she shouldn’t feel. “I’m not her mother. The baby’s mother died giving birth.” She lifted her chin and continued. “I’ve been employed to assist with the children.” There, she’d said it again. She’d been employed.
Would it get any easier?
The woman’s gaze softened as she looked down at the dozing children. “They’re motherless! Poor things.” Unexpectedly, the woman rolled her gaze up and down Victoria’s outfit before allowing it to drift over to Mitchell. “A mighty fine father he is.” She flicked her head to her husband, who sat with his chin to his chest, his eyes closed. “This one has yet to hold our baby.”
The woman then narrowed her eyes. “So you’re not his new bride, eh? Gives me hope if I ever get rid of this layabout.”
Victoria’s eyes widened. Good gracious, how was she to answer that? “I—I need to change the baby before the milk comes.”
The woman stopped her passage, her raw-boned features tightening in an intense stare. “My doctor told me that my milk ain’t no good and that new stuff they sell is better. But I can’t see how God would give us something bad for our babies. Too bad you can’t nurse her. I’ve always had plenty, I keep telling my husband.”
Still horrified at the unrefined topic, Victoria looked down at the woman’s baby as it rested comfortably in a basket tucked between the facing seats.
At a sharp turn, the car rattled back and forth, causing both women to grab each other. After the train returned to its usual rhythm, the young mother’s fingers lingered on the smooth fabric of Victoria’s smart outfit. “That’s a lovely thing you’re wearing. And a fine cut to it. Ooh, I’d do anything to own something like that.”
A smile grew on Victoria’s lips as the idea formed. “You don’t say?”
* * *
Mitch awoke slowly, with great resistance, as if being pulled from a pit of thick mud. The car was warm, suppressing his desire to rouse. Though he eased open his eyes, he still kept them hooded. The train’s rhythm made it easy to just sit there, his head rocking slightly as he leaned against the window. He felt as if he’d slept all night, but the setting sun blazed through the windows on the opposite side of the train. He’d slept for only a few hours, for the fall days were short.
Below, he could see Emily sleeping in her basket, a look of contentment on her face. And across from him, he noticed Matthew and John playing a game. Scratch cradle, by the looks of the taut string Matthew held. John was trying to maneuver his fingers inside to pull up on several lengths at once.
Beside him, Mitch noticed with his eyes still only half open, sat Victoria. She looked stunning in a warm, rose dress, the color practically glowing as the setting sun now cast gold and orange upon it. She had Ralph on her lap, and together they held the string of their own game of scratch cradle. Across from Ralph, perched on the opposite seat, was Mary, listening carefully to Victoria’s soft instructions on which strings to pluck. Because of the heat, all the children had abandoned their coats and hats.
Wait. Opening his eyes more fully, Mitch frowned at Victoria. A warm, rose-colored gown? It was flattering on her, but that wasn’t the gown she’d been wearing when he’d dropped off to sleep.
Did she think that afternoon dresses were necessary even on the train? Had she continued the
