Page 2 of The Love Knot

The paper crinkled as Tori carefully folded the letter into thirds and handed it to Claire. “I see why you’re going, though I find it odd that your sister is going to such lengths to protect her trousseau. Would your father really forbid her from keeping it at home?”

Claire thought about her father and his unpredictable rages. “Aye. Though I imagine Mam tried to hide it from him as long as possible. If Polly did something that warranted expulsion from the family, Da would not want any of her things left behind to remind him of her.”

A picture of the battered steamer trunk she and Polly had used to store their trousseau rose in Claire’s mind. A broken clasp that wouldn’t lock. A dent in the lid. Rust on the hinges. Yet together they’d placed all their dreams for the future inside. Pillowcases Claire had lovingly embroidered as she imagined her future husband lying beside her. Quilts Polly had pieced out of dress scraps destined for the rag bin. They’d been beautiful. Her sister might be flighty when it came to most responsibilities, but she was a craftswoman when it came to quilting. Her stitches precise, her appliquéd edges flawless. Miss Fester would be lucky to have her.

“The two of us had such romantic dreams.” A wistful smile curved Claire’s mouth. “Most of it pure foolishness, but it got us through the lean times.”

At least until the day Claire realized that dreams couldn’t be trusted. Practicality was the only way to ensure one’s future.

She’d left most of her trousseau behind when she answered Stanley Fischer’s advertisement for a mail-order bride, not wanting the sentimentality that had inspired their design to follow her into her sensible marriage. Then, of course, she’d met Mr. Fischer, and all thoughts of marriage, sensible or otherwise, had run screaming into the abyss.

“I can understand Polly wantin’ me to keep her trousseau, but why insist I meet the train in person? Could not the box simply be shipped to me and brought in by Mr. Porter? There’s something more to this story. Something me sister’s too ashamed to admit, even in a letter. Whoever’s bringin’ the box must be bringin’ explanations, as well. ’Tis the only thing that makes any sense.”

Tori’s hand covered Claire’s and squeezed. “I remember well what it was like to be young and foolish, but no trouble is insurmountable. She’ll survive, Claire.”

“But she must be so frightened.” Claire grasped Tori’s hand with a desperation she’d been denying for days. “No home. No family. She has friends, but they’re all as flighty as she is. They’ll be no help.” She yanked her hand away and pushed to her feet, then paced in front of the bench, her boot heels clicking a sharp staccato rhythm as she moved. “The day I received her letter, I wrote back, urging her to come here to Harper’s Station. I even sent her funds for train fare. Whatever trouble she’s in can’t follow her here. Surely.” Her pace slowed as she lifted her gaze to the east, blinking against the glare of the morning sun, and then she stopped altogether. “She won’t come, though. I know it in me bones. There’s a lad she’s fond of back home. A scoundrel for certain, but she loves him with all the dramatic devotion of a sixteen-year-old’s heart.” She shook her head, as much to wish the truth away as to acknowledge it. “No. She’ll not be leavin’.”

Tori stood beside her and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Then you should go to Seymour and learn all you can from this family friend your sister has entrusted with her secrets. Perhaps then you’ll know how best to help her.”

Claire nodded. “’Tis all I can do.”

An hour later, the outskirts of Seymour rolled into view, and Claire’s grip tightened on the arm of the freight wagon’s bench.

“Almost there.” Ben Porter turned a friendly smile in her direction, but all Claire could manage was a sickly twisting of her lips in response.

Why couldn’t the road be longer? No, that wouldn’t be sufficient. Getting mired in a bog would be better. Or set upon by masked bandits. Then she’d not be at fault for missing the train. She would have made an effort in good faith, after all. Done her duty. But the Lord had cursed her with sunshine, good roads, and peaceful travel. She eyed the one cloud overhead that contained a touch of gray along its belly.

It’s not too late for a lightning strike and runaway horses, Lord. Really. I wouldn’t mind. Not that I want any harm to come to Mr. Porter, mind ye. Just turn his massive beasts around and run them back toward home.

Sunlight glistened off the gray-rimmed cloud and bleached it white.

Claire dipped her chin, her spirit chiding her. She was being cowardly. Such wishes belonged to a child, not a woman of eighteen. God had not given her a spirit of fear, but one of power and love and a sound mind. ’Twas high time she put that sound mind to work and focused on her Lord’s power and love instead of the spiteful nature of a particular mercantile owner.

“You sure you don’t want me to stay with you?” Mr. Porter’s brow puckered with concern. “I can postpone my deliveries until after you’ve met the train.”

His kindness shamed her. Forcing her fingers to uncurl from around the bench handle, Claire folded her hands in her lap, then slowly raised her gaze and shook her head. “’Tis no need. Ye’ve already gone out o’ yer way for me as it is. Besides, there’s no tellin’ how long I’ll be visitin’ with the friend me sister sent. I haven’t seen a body from home in months. ’Twill be good to swap stories and hear how me family fares.”

Her escort eyed her doubtfully. “You sure?”

Bright red lettering swam into the corner of Claire’s vision as they passed the first few buildings of town. Claire swallowed hard. Don’t look. Don’t look. But her glance defied her mind and darted around Mr. Porter’s broad shoulders to dance over the large, imposing sign. Fischer’s Emporium. Claire shuddered.

“Miss Nevin?”

She jerked her attention back to the man at her side. “Sorry.” She forced a smile. “Go on and tend to yer business, Mr. Porter. I’ll be fine.”

He frowned but thankfully didn’t argue. “You know where to find my brother’s livery, right? I spoke with him yesterday and reserved a horse cart for you. He’ll have everything ready whenever you decide to head back.”

“I know where to go. Tori wrote out the directions for me.”

The freighter nodded. “Good. If you need anything—” he paused to glare at her—“anything, you head to the livery. Bart and Addie will take care of you.”

“Thank ye. I’ll remember that.” Mr. Porter meant well, she knew. But going to Bart Porter’s livery was going to be hard enough without lingering for an extended visit. The stables stood only a block from the emporium.

She’d already plotted a route to get from the depot to the livery via side streets so she could circumvent Fischer’s store. If the horseflesh Porter’s brother rented her was half as good as he claimed, she’d be able to rush past the emporium in a blur on the way out of town and neatly avoid any contact with the man she’d jilted nine months ago.

It wasn’t cowardly. It was . . . intelligent. No one with half a brain poked a rabid wolf just to prove herself brave. Much wiser to evade the beast’s vicinity altogether.

“Here we are.” The wagon slowed as Mr. Porter brought his draft horses to a halt.