yes. Dozens of girls came in every week, and all very eager to live in America. Most were matched with men far west of here. The Great American Frontier, I believe?”
James chuckled. “If you believe the newspaper advertisements.” So the agency teemed with potential brides, and he’d been matched with this one. She hadn’t been sent due to a lack of other options.
Ann leaned forward and cocked her blond head. Her soft blue eyes gazed at him expectantly. “Is there anything else you’d like to know?”
Yes. Why on earth did the agency match me with you when I specifically requested a plain bride?
Ann had hoped her meal with James McCann might break down this peculiar wall between them, but as he guided her to the wagon, she could almost palpate the barrier. She knew things would be awkward at first—the agency had prepared her for that—but she hadn’t expected the bewildered greeting or the clear discomfort.
They were both nervous, she reminded herself. She simply hid her nerves better. If only he knew how her breath had caught in her throat when she first laid eyes on him. She’d been expecting an ugly man, not a handsome one who sent her pulse racing. Perhaps if he knew, he could make eye contact with her for more than mere seconds.
James released her hand the instant she alighted from the wagon, as if her touch burned him. She glanced back at her trunk for the first time. A beautiful quilt lay folded on top. A pattern of intertwining gold circles rested on a background of forest green and sky blue.
“What’s this?” For a moment, she forgot the awkwardness between them and held up the quilt.
James glanced over as he juggled the reins. “It’s a present from Frederick.”
“A present for me?”
His cheeks flushed crimson. “For us. A sort of early wedding present.”
“Who made it?” Ann unfolded the quilt to examine it further. Even from a distance she knew it had been made by an expert hand. Up close the stitching proved exquisite.
“Frederick’s cousin is a seamstress’s apprentice. She works over there.” He pointed to a brick storefront with a bright blue awning squeezed between the tobacco shop and a mercantile.
“From this work she looks to be more than an apprentice.” She made a quick count of the stitches. “Why, there look to be fourteen stitches per inch!”
“You know quilting?” He sounded surprised.
Ann smiled. “Yes, well, embroidery mostly. Though I love any kind of stitching. The more stitches in an inch, the more accomplished the quilter. This work is some of the finest I’ve ever seen.”
“You didn’t mention it in your letter.”
There had been only two short letters exchanged between them before Ann had left. The expanse of the ocean made it difficult to have any kind of courtship. How very much like strangers they were.
“Your letter didn’t say much either.” Four paragraphs. He summed up his life in four short paragraphs.
They left the town behind, and James took off his hat and ran his hand through his thick sandy hair. The wind tousled it and gave him a decidedly boyish appearance. She studied his face. He possessed a straight, strong nose and finely lined lips. James McCann proved as handsome as they come.
“What do you want to know?” he asked.
Ann clapped her hands together. Finally! “How much time do we have?”
“The ride back to the farm is around forty-five minutes this time of year.”
Her stomach dropped, but she tried not to show her disappointment. It had been years since she’d lived more than a few blocks from the nearest store. “Isn’t that a rather long time?”
“Quite a short time. In the spring the skies open and this road turns to mud. That’s why it’s called Mud Pike. When the road turns soggy it takes two, maybe three times as long. On those days it’s faster to walk.”
The sticky heat of the summer evening clung to Ann’s back. She tried to push the thought of walking to town as far away as spring felt.
“You’re a farmer, aren’t you?”
James nodded.
“Are you originally from New Haven?”
James only nodded again. Ann sighed. She needed a new line of questioning.
“How old are you?” She tried.
James turned to her. “Didn’t the agency tell you all of this?”
“Yes, but I wanted to hear these things from you.”
“I’m twenty-five. You’re eighteen, right?”
“Nineteen in September.”
Ann waited for him to ask her a question but he remained silent.
“Isn’t there anything you wish to know about me?”
James took his eyes off the road and placed them squarely on Ann. She shivered under his intense gaze. “The agency said you used to work as a maid.”
“That’s correct. I was eight years in service.”
“You don’t look like a maid.” He sounded accusatory.
“May I ask what a maid is supposed to look like?”
His eyes narrowed. The effect made him look thoughtful rather than menacing. Ann sat up straighter and tried to look more confident than she felt. As his scrutiny continued, blood drummed in her ears and perspiration trickled down the back of her neck.
“I guess I never thought a maid would look like you,” he answered finally.
“And you don’t look like a farmer.”
James eyes widened and his lips drew into a broad smile for the first time that day.
“Alright, then. What does a farmer look like?”
Ann narrowed her eyes in the same way James had, and tried to mimic the intense scrutiny he had applied to her. Her efforts had the opposite effect. His smile grew wider. And what a simply splendid smile. Straight teeth and full lips. The fading light darkened the green in his eyes, and fine lines crept out from the corners. He sat perfectly straight as he drove, and his work-broadened shoulders tapered into a lean waist. The fingers of the hand holding the reins were long and slender, but thickly calloused. He’d likely worked hard every day of his life.
“I’ve changed my mind. You do look like a farmer.”
“You still don’t look like a maid.”
Ann sighed
