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.”
A river of fear raced through her, once again making her question what she was doing. “One week is not very long to get to know someone,” she said quietly.
“I believe I’m being generous, Fiona. You agreed to marry me. I could have had that arranged for today. Furthermore, I just paid for three train tickets from Ohio to Kansas. That wasn’t cheap.”
It took considerable effort to get past the flare of anger that started to swirl inside her. She was here and would make the most of it, but she wouldn’t be belittled. “I’m sure it wasn’t, Mr. Melbourne, and yes, that is correct, I have agreed to marry you, but a small amount of time for the boys to get used to the idea would not be unfair to them, or me. It’s only been six months since their father—”
“That is not my problem,” Josiah said.
It wasn’t his problem, it was hers, and her hope of this being a solution was souring quickly. After church one Sunday a few weeks ago, Reverend Ward’s wife had told her about Oak Grove’s willingness to pay for the westward passage of any woman who would agree to become a mail-order bride. Mrs. Ward had heard about the invitation for brides from her sister over in Bridgeport and had quite openly suggested that the best thing Fiona could do for her and the boys was to leave Ohio.
Understanding they’d worn out their welcome at the church—if they’d ever been welcomed—Fiona had gone home that night and penned a letter to Josiah himself. Mrs. Ward had conveniently given her the name and address. Fiona had included her picture, not wanting anyone to be disappointed, for she’d never claimed to be a beautiful woman. She was too tall for that and her hair too dull and lifeless. She’d also been completely honest in explaining she was a widow with two young sons, and that although she didn’t live in Bridgeport, had never been there, she had heard about Oak Grove’s need for brides and hoped she qualified.
The hold Rhett had on her hand tightened as they stepped off the platform. She looked down and smiled at him, wishing there was another way to ease the apprehension on his young face.
“The week I’m offering is not for you or the children,” Josiah said as gravel crunched beneath their feet. “It is for me to see if you will make a suitable wife. Besides being the mayor of this community, I’m an attorney. A man as prominent as myself needs to have a wife who can be looked upon just as prominently. One who understands the importance of such a position.”
Fiona bit her lips together and breathed through her nose. She’d never been looked upon prominently. However, she had her pride, and honor, and could hold her head up despite the worst of situations. She’d been doing that for the past six months in ways she’d never had to before. And would continue to, if for no other reason than the sake of her sons. “I explained the untimely and unfortunate death of my husband in my letter, Mr. Melbourne, and—”
“Yes, you did, Fiona, and let me assure you, if I deem you worthy of being my wife, neither your husband’s death, nor his infractions, will ever concern you again.”
She bit her lips together again and willed her anger to ease. He wasn’t a tall man. The top of his head was about level with her chin, and his shoulders twisted back and forth as he strutted along beside her. He was rather rude and pompous, but those were all things she could and would overlook in order to see her children clothed, fed and living under a roof that didn’t leak. She’d had to overlook worse things.
In fact, she’d been overlooking things her entire life. Having been taken in as a small child by family members who’d already had enough mouths to feed had instilled a certain amount of accepting things as they were.
Drawing a deep breath, she said, “I thank you for this opportunity, Mr. Melbourne. Perhaps once you’ve shown me the house, you can enlighten me with a list of your expectations.” As long as she knew what had to be done, she could do it.
The smile he bestowed upon her made her insides gurgle, as did the way his chest seemed to puff outward.
“I knew you’d be trainable from the moment I read your letter, Fiona. I’m so glad I wasn’t wrong.”
Knowing full well it wasn’t what he was referring to, Fiona couldn’t stop herself from replying, “I’ve been housebroken for some time, Mr. Melbourne. All three of us have been.”