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A Mistaken Match
A Mistaken Match
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A Mistaken Match

She laughed softly. A nervous laugh. “I gather my picture didn’t arrive.”

“It did...not.” His mind fogged. His hat remained in his hands and he replaced it before the urge to muss his hair became too strong.

“I imagine the post can be rather slow from England to Ohio.”

“Yes.” Words failed him. He couldn’t tear his eyes from her face. His mind skipped like a phonograph needle, playing the same thoughts over and over. Some sort of mistake. An enormous mistake. Thankfully Frederick returned and slapped him on the back. The jolt broke his trance.

“The trunk’s being loaded. Are you two ready?”

James stared at his friend. “Ready for what?”

Frederick smirked. “Didn’t you say you’d made reservations at Donahue’s?”

“Yes, yes.” He would follow his original plans for now. In a few hours he’d be at home and more than a few feet away from this woman and he could think clearly again. For now he struggled to keep his voice steady as Ann looked up at him through impossibly dark lashes. “I thought we could get some dinner in town before going back to my farm.”

“That sounds lovely.”

James offered her his arm, and Ann placed her hand on the sleeve of his jacket. He swore the heat radiated through two layers of material and scorched his skin.

Frederick cleared his throat. “It was very nice to meet you, Ann. Very nice. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The brim of her hat obscured her face, but he could hear the smile in her voice. Ann’s lilting accent sent a shiver through him. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, as well, Mr. Renner.”

“Frederick. Call me Frederick.”

“A pleasure, Frederick.”

Frederick winked at him and hurried away as fast as his short legs and ample frame would allow. He disappeared around a corner before James could think of a reason to convince his friend to stay.

Donahue’s stood four blocks from the station, but the journey felt like miles. Ann asked polite questions about each building they passed, and James tried his best to keep his eyes directly forward as he answered. The smallest glance at her face disoriented him, and he couldn’t help but notice how her beauty’s effects extended to passersby. He caught smiles of admiration, eyes slit with jealousy and two men received pointed elbows from their female companions for the mistake of looking too long. Several men outside the tobacco shop sent streams of juice down their shirts in distraction. Every eye in New Haven seemed to be fixed on Ann, save for his. Please, Lord, he prayed during the brief moments of silence. Grant me wisdom.

James couldn’t taste a bite of his two-dollar steak. He dutifully chewed the meat and swallowed, but his brain barely registered the meal. How many times had he walked past Donahue’s Hotel and Fine Dining and wondered when he might have an occasion to eat there? Now inside, he couldn’t be bothered to take in the grandeur of his surroundings or the extravagance of the meal. It all paled next to the beauty of the girl seated across from him.

Even as new rivers of perspiration trickled down his back and his hands trembled when he reached for the salt shaker, she showed no signs of being nervous. No one would guess she’d been traveling for days, let alone recently met the person she thought to be her future husband. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes were bright and her golden hair freshly styled. If only she knew what James had to say. His throat caught at the thought of telling her.

“I hope your steak is as delicious as mine,” she murmured.

Her lilting voice brought his attention to the piece of steak on his fork. How long had he been holding it? James took a bite. It sat as coarse and flavorless as week-old mutton in his dry mouth. “Yes, delicious.”

“Your friend Frederick seemed very nice.”

“Yes, nice.”

“Have you two been friends long?”

“Fairly long.”

Ann pressed her pink lips together and took a long draft of water from her cut-crystal glass. He couldn’t keep her at arm’s length for the entirety of the meal without upsetting her, let alone for the weeks or even months it would take to sort all this out. Yet he knew he couldn’t tell her in the middle of Donahue’s. She was a foreigner in a new land and none of this was her fault. He must be tactful.

“Frederick and I have been friends since we were kids,” he offered.

Her smile returned. “And he lives near you?”

“He lives here in town.”

“Shall we be seeing him in town tomorrow, or is he visiting your home?”

“I’m sorry?”

She cocked her head to one side. “He said he would see us tomorrow.”

Creamed spinach caught in his throat and his eyes watered. He took several gulps of water to keep from choking. “He did, didn’t he?” he croaked.

How could he explain this one? He would have to tell her the truth. At least part of it. “The agency said some couples marry almost immediately,” he blurted.

For the first time Ann’s calm demeanor broke. Her cheeks flushed and her eyes widened. Her hand trembled as she reached for her water glass. “Yes, Mrs. Turner said some choose to marry rather quickly.”

“So I’d made an appointment with Judge Vollrath at the courthouse for tomorrow. I’d planned for Frederick to meet us there and act as a witness.”

Ann bobbled her water glass but righted it before any liquid spilled. “You did?”

“But I’ve decided to cancel,” he added quickly. “It seems hasty.” Why hadn’t he started by saying that? Something about Ann Cromwell made it hard for him to put his thoughts in the proper order. He chastised himself as the red in her cheeks faded, returning them to their natural rosy hue.

“Mrs. Turner said many couples like to get to know one another before they marry. Assuming, of course, there is no—” she paused and her cheeks flushed again “—impropriety.”

Something about her embarrassment made James’s heart leap in his chest. It took everything he had not to reach across the table and take her hand in reassurance.

“I’m afraid I can’t afford to put you up anywhere, but my Uncle Mac lives with me. Never leaves the house, in fact. Would you object to him serving as our chaperone?”

She shook her head. “That sounds quite acceptable. I don’t imagine Mrs. Turner would object.”

James speared an impossibly thin potato with his fork and pushed it around the gold-rimmed plate. His next questions required delicacy. He knew nothing of Mrs. Turner and the Transatlantic Agency outside a brief correspondence and their ad in the New Haven Gazette. Fine English Girls Seeking Home and Hearth in America.

“I completed a profile for Mrs. Turner. Did you do the same?” He tried to sound casual.

“We all did. She also conducted extensive interviews before she matched us.”

James feigned immense interest in the pattern on his silverware. “So there were a lot of girls at the agency? And they all matched with someone?”

“Oh 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?

Chapter Two

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 and crossed her arms. She wanted to get to know him better, but he didn’t make it easy.

They continued the rest of the trip in silence and Ann tried to ignore the bumps in the road that bounced them closer and closer together on the wagon seat. She let out a breath when James announced, “There it is.”

James’s farm sat a quarter mile off the main road. A large whitewashed brick two-story with a gray slate roof and gracefully arched windows perched atop a small hill at the end of the drive. A deep porch sporting a sun-bleached porch swing ran along the front. The barn and other outbuildings shone bright with new red paint, and a neatly trimmed yard spread out in front of them. A well-tended garden filled with neat rows of green sat beside what appeared to be half a dozen fruit trees. Ann’s heart leaped to find something else that day that exceeded her expectations.

James stopped the wagon in front of the porch steps and helped her down. As she stood waiting for him to return from the barn while he stabled the horse and put away the wagon, she admired the clumps of freshly planted white and yellow daffodils around the foundation. Had he asked a neighbor for some transplants for her benefit? James returned carrying her trunk and the quilt, and she tentatively held his elbow as they walked up the steps. His arm didn’t stiffen this time.

An elegant panel of windows flanked either side of the front door, and it opened into a small but inviting entry. A long rag rug, shallow side table, oval framed mirror and a gilt framed photo of the very house they were standing in adorned the space. A graceful walnut railing curved along the staircase.

He set the trunk down at his feet and gestured to the left. “This is the parlor.” A stiff horsehair sofa and chairs faced the fireplace. “And the dining room to our right.” Six curved-back chairs surrounded a cherry dining table. A high cabinet with glass front doors held a small collection of matching china dishes encircled with blue flowers.

Ann smiled and nodded, hoping he could see how the house pleased her. Mrs. Turner had tried to prepare her for something small and sparse and her heart lifted in delight to see she couldn’t have been more wrong.

“Where’s the kitchen?”

“Through the door at the end of the hall. My father only put on a lean-to when he built the house.”

Ann perked up at the mention of his father. “When will I get to meet him?”

“Who?”

“Your father, of course.”

James set down the bags and rubbed his hands together. “I’m afraid you can’t. He and Mother died some years ago.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, and meant it. “When will I meet your brothers and sisters?”

“No brothers or sisters. It’s just me and Uncle Mac.”

“I thought all farmers had many children.”

James laughed. “Where did you get an idea like that?”

“In England, farmers always have scads of children.”

“Did you grow up on a farm?”

Her thoughts turned to the orphanage and the Atherton house. The simplest answer felt the easiest. “No.”

“Mother and Father wanted more but the Lord only blessed them with me. A farm is hard work with only one son to help. I pray God chooses to bless me with many children.”

Ann’s hands grew slick with sweat and her stomach lurched like a newborn foal finding its legs. He wanted children? Had her one request been overlooked? Ignored? Certainly her face reflected the nausea that lurched within. James tilted his head in scrutiny, and she drew in a deep breath to stifle the sickening dread that threatened to overtake her.

“Are you alright?”

What could she possibly say? Two dollars in coins jangled in her pocket book. It was all the money she had in the world.

“I must have eaten something that didn’t agree with me.”

He picked up her trunk and pointed toward the stairs. “I’m sure you’re worn out after all your travels. Let me show you to your room.”

Upstairs were three closed doors. James stopped at the first on the right and opened it. Inside a small side table and dresser sat below a plainly framed mirror. A single bed hugged the wall next to the window. He marched in and set her trunk down in the middle of the faded green rag rug and draped the quilt across the top.

“Uncle Mac has the room next to this one, but he’s in bed already. You’ll meet him tomorrow. My room’s across the hall, but I’ll be sleeping on the back porch.”

“Is that really necessary? I’d feel horrid if you weren’t able to get a proper rest.”

“Don’t feel bad on my account. I sleep out there most summer nights anyway.”

“Oh.”

“Can I get you anything?”

Her head and neck ached and the fatigue of travel and stress enveloped her like a heavy blanket. She could only think of the inviting-looking bed. Ann shook her head.

“Well then, good night, Ann. I’ll see you in the morning.” And with that, he left the room and closed the door behind him.

Ann sank onto the bed. A dull ache throbbed across her temples, and she closed her eyes and tried to sort out the day’s events. The more she reviewed the day, the more peculiar it all felt. James had been nervous when they met, but something more hid behind his green eyes. It wasn’t only surprise. Was it confusion? Disappointment? He’d had plans to marry her the very next day—plans he’d quickly changed. Though she was relieved—surely they could get to know one another a little while before they were betrothed—she couldn’t help but wonder why the sudden change of heart? And what of that comment about wanting lots of children? Surely Mrs. Turner hadn’t made a mistake?

She closed her eyes and replayed her exchange with Mrs. Turner in the cramped and stuffy offices of the Transatlantic Agency. Mrs. Turner had announced with resolution, “I believe you and Mr. James McCann will be as perfect a match as any.” Ann took deep, measured breaths and tried to slow her racing heart. Mrs. Turner wouldn’t make a mistake of this magnitude. Her business depended on it.

Ann rose and stared into the mirror above the dresser, hoping to find some clue to James’s dismayed reaction at their meeting. The hint of a shadow traced under her eyes, and two stray hairpins poked their heads out like nosy children. She appeared as she expected after so many days on the train. She removed her brown felt hat and ran a hand over her forehead. The pain in her temples spread over her creased brow. Ann plucked out her hairpins and untwisted her coiffure. Her hair fell down past her shoulders and she groaned as the ache in her head eased.

She opened her trunk and retrieved the few things she needed for her toilet. The pitcher proved empty, and James hadn’t shown her the privy. Did all men forget women had need of such basic necessities? The reality of sharing a home and life with another would drive anyone to distraction. Maybe that was all that was wrong between them—awkwardness and nerves.

That thought cheered Ann, and she convinced herself of it on the short walk downstairs with the pitcher. If houses in America were like those in England, the well pump would be directly outside the kitchen door. James had also failed to supply her with a lantern or candles. Thankfully, the summer sun had not yet set, and soft fingers of orange sunset lit her way.

She opened the kitchen door and found the room bathed in dusky light. James sat at a worn wooden table with his back to her. The floor creaked as she entered and he jumped from his seat, sending papers scattering to the floor. They both stooped to retrieve them and his fingers grazed hers. He snatched his hands back and ran them from the crown of his hair to the nape of his neck.

“I’m sorry I startled you. I came to fetch some water.”

James’s gaze fixed on the papers in her right hand. She passed them to him, but not before she saw the salutation.

“Why are you writing to Mrs. Turner?”

James colored and opened his mouth to speak but clamped it shut. He pulled out a chair and directed Ann to sit down.

“I’m sorry, Ann. I should have said something sooner. But when you got off the train, you caught me by surprise and I didn’t know what to do.”

“You’re sorry? What has happened?”

James locked his eyes with hers. “There’s no use beating around the bush. I never expected a woman like you.” He raked a hand through his hair.

“The agency sent you to me by mistake.”

Chapter Three

The room spun. Her hands tingled strangely and the pitcher fell from her fingers. James lurched forward and rescued the pitcher within an inch of its smashing into the floor.

“By mistake? That isn’t possible,” Ann protested. “Mrs. Turner gave me your name and you had mine. We exchanged letters. How could there be any confusion?”

James set the pitcher on the table and stared at it rather than at Ann. Had she done something wrong in the previous few hours? She mentally picked through the events of the evening, but couldn’t uncover any clues.

“I think the agency made a mistake when they matched us. I had one request and you don’t fulfill it.”

Ann sank into the nearest chair. How could this be? Ann had suspected a mistake minutes earlier but brushed the thought away from her mind like a bothersome fly. Mrs. Turner didn’t make mistakes, did she? “We’ve only just met. We barely know one another. How could you already be so sure?”

James met her eyes before dropping his gaze to the worn wooden floorboards. “I knew in an instant. From the moment I saw you.”

“I don’t understand.” Mrs. Turner had prepared the girls for all sorts of excuses if their matches had a change of heart. They didn’t work hard enough. They cooked terribly. Her mind raced through several reasons why a man might object to marrying her, but none could be ascertained with a glance. He would have to know my heart. She shuddered at the thought.

James met her eyes again. “At the train station today. You could see my surprise at the sight of you.”

“You were nervous. To be honest, so was I.”

James sucked in a lungful of air and pushed his words out in one long breath. “It was more than that. I was surprised because I expected a plain girl. An ugly girl, even.”

Ann rubbed her aching temples. What on earth was he talking about? She’d also expected an ugly match, and had been pleasantly surprised. If only every girl at the agency, and every lonely bachelor in America could be so fortunate. “Forgive me, but I’m afraid I don’t see the trouble.”

James ran both hands through his hair until it stood up in tufts. “I requested the agency send me someone as plain as they come. That was my one and only request.”

Ann shook her head. She knew James McCann might have many valid reasons for rejecting her as a wife, and she had steeled herself for all of them. But she’d never expected him to outright lie. She squeezed her hands together to keep them from trembling. “No man would ask for such a thing.”

James sighed. “I did. Farm life can be hard. I knew a pretty girl would expect more than I could give her. I don’t need that kind of nonsense.”