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  “No!” Elinor was dumbfounded. How could he think she wouldn’t want him? He was more handsome than the fuzzy photograph he’d sent of himself implied. He was polite, soft-spoken, but tall and strapping, with well-defined muscles that strained against his shirtsleeves when he stuck his hands into his pockets. What woman on earth wouldn’t fall at the feet of this man? “I’m delighted to have made the trip, and I have no regrets whatsoever!” It may have been bold to say, but she didn’t care—it was the truth.

  “Really?” He blew out a sigh of relief. “I have to say, I’ve been nervous as a rabbit since you stepped off that train. You’re even more lovely in person than in your miniature.”

  “I am?” She blushed, pleased at the compliment. She’d never tell Addie that he said it, but his words thrilled her.

  He nodded. “Though you’re taller than I expected—you looked so petite in your miniature. And I suppose I expected you to look more…uh…Irish.”

  Her heart squeezed. “More Irish?” She needed to end the charade…he was figuring it out already. But she was already falling for him, only moments after meeting him. What if he didn’t want her anymore, once he found out?

  He grinned sheepishly. “Yeah, I don’t know…I guess I thought you’d have freckles or something. It almost seemed like you had freckles in the photograph. But then, maybe it was my imagination, just assuming an Irish girl would have freckles.” He squinted at her hat, and she wondered if it was askew. “And come to think of it…you told me your hair was a light red, which I assumed would be a brighter red than it is. It’s more of a reddish-blonde, isn’t it?”

  “It is, y-yes. Strawberry blonde, they call it,” she stammered. He’d find out sooner or later. She had to tell him. “Mr. Cartwright, I…”

  “It’s alright. I didn’t mean to offend you. I don’t care one way or the other about freckles, and your hair is even prettier than I expected. I suppose I just had an idea of what an Irish girl would look like—but that’s silly, isn’t it? It’s not like you’re all the same,” he chuckled. “Hard to tell for sure what someone looks like, from a photograph, when it doesn’t show true colors, only how light or dark it is. Especially one in miniature. Please, I don’t want you to think I’m the least bit disappointed. On the contrary, I’m very pleased.”

  “You are?”

  “Of course! Look at you—not only are you a beautiful young lady, but you are also very accomplished.”

  “I am?” How could he know about her piano lessons, art lessons, French, and the like? He thought she was Addie…didn’t he?

  “Oh, don’t be bashful! A girl who can cook and sew as well as you? She’s worth her weight in gold out here. On top of that, you’re a book lover—that will come in handy, schooling our children. I might have to hide you under a blanket on the way into town, to keep the other bachelor fellas away.” He laughed at his own joke.

  Elinor didn’t laugh with him. She pressed her lips together, and thought she would be sick. He wants Addie, not me. He might think I’m pretty, but who cares about that, when you’re a farmer who is in need of a woman who can cook for a large household of children? When you need a wife who can school those children, keep a large kitchen garden, and sew clothes and patch holes in their clothes? He wants a girl like Addie—he’ll never consider marrying someone like me.

  She had done a bit of cooking, and helped Addie in her mother’s garden on occasion as a young girl, but that was years ago, and she hadn’t learned much more about sewing than how to make a seam. The little she had learned had been from Addie and her mother—and in the intervening years since she’d moved to the Back Bay, she’d learned not a thing that would be useful for a farmer’s wife. And though she had a fine education, she might not be well-schooled in the things that would be useful to teach farm children.

  The world spun around her, and she realized everything was about to fall apart. She couldn’t lose him—she couldn’t! He was there, within her grasp—the man she’d dreamed of all her life. The idea of him rejecting her tore her apart.

  Wait—no! I could become the wife he needs. Addie says you can learn everything you could ever want, from books! Gideon said there’s a library. I can read books, and become the best farmer’s wife there is! Then later, I can tell him the truth, and he won’t care, because he’ll love me—I’ll make him love me! He already thinks I’m beautiful, and by then, I’ll be able to be the type of wife he needs!

  “Addie, are you alright? You look pale. Here, let me take your valise.”

  She almost didn’t respond. Then she got ahold of herself. As she felt him take her arm, pulling the valise from her hand, she recovered, and looked up at him. “What? Oh, yes, I’m fine. Just a bit dizzy. I…I suppose my legs are just getting used to me standing still.”

  “Let’s find Porter and get you to the wagon. You must be exhausted. I apologize for using your Christian name—I didn’t mean to be so forward. I was just worried. You looked so pale.”

  “That’s quite alright. I understand.” She gazed up at him, shading her eyes from the sun. You can call me anything you want…as long as you call me yours. Her head spun. “When we’re married, you can call me Adelaide all you like.”

  “I thought everyone calls you Addie. You signed your letters ‘Miss Addie McGilvray’.”

  “I did?” And Elinor realized just how difficult it might be to pretend to be Addie. Sure, she knew Addie well, and she had memorized Gideon’s letters by heart…but Addie had never let her read the letters she had written back to him. She said it made her feel nervous to have Elinor looking over her shoulder while she wrote, and she didn’t want to write something that made her sound foolish, just because Elinor had distracted her. So she’d written them alone, and mailed them off, without Elinor seeing them, with the exception of the first reply she’d sent. She had no idea what Addie could have told him.

  “I mean, I did, yes, and they do—call me Addie, that is—but that’s because they’ve called me that since I was a child. Adelaide sounds much more grown up, don’t you think?” And it will remind me less of the best friend that I’m betraying, by pretending to be her, she thought.

  He smiled down at her. “I’m happy to call you whatever you like, as long as you let me call you mine.”

  Her heart galloped as he echoed her own thoughts from a moment before. Did a more perfect man ever walk the earth? Perfect for me, at least. She sighed with contentment, then blushed and looked away.

  Mr. Porter walked up to them, carrying Elinor’s baggage with ease. “Are these what you’re looking for?”

  “Yes, those are mine, thank you.”

  “Clay, Miss McGilvray is feeling a bit dizzy. Let’s get her to the wagon quick.”

  “No, you take her over to that bench, and I’ll get the wagon and pull around to the platform. Meet me there in a few minutes.”

  “Good idea.” Mr. Cartwright guided Elinor by the arm to a bench.

  She sat, disappointed to feel his warm hand release her arm as he sat beside her, setting the valise at his feet. She searched her memory for something from his letters to talk about. “So…you said your parents died not long after you arrived in Montana?”

  He turned away, scanning the mountains beyond. “Uh…yeah. Consumption. I looked after my two sisters and my brother—though he was already old enough to mostly look after himself by then. He’s over in Idaho, prospecting. Hattie got married two years ago, and lives in Butte now. Nina just got married in spring, and her husband dragged her out to California to seek his fortune. I get letters from her every month, though. Once she was married off, I felt like I could finally start my own life. I’ve lived for them for so long, I sort of forgot about what I wanted.”

  “And what is it that you’ve wanted?” she asked coyly, knowing, for the most part, what his dreams were, from his letters.

  “Well now, I’ve told you that I’d like to expand my farm, buy more land, more animals…” He slid his gaze toward her, his eyes sparkling.
>
  “And?” She wanted to hear him say it.

  “And…” he grinned, color flushing his neck red. “…a beautiful wife to be waiting for me with a delicious supper on the table when I come in from a day’s work with my sons.”

  She bit her lip when he mentioned the supper—she worried about her cooking skills—but her heart warmed when he mentioned sons. “And what about daughters?”

  “Oh, naturally, I’m anxious to have daughters too—just as pretty as their Mama—helping to cook, and set the table, and sew, and do all the other dainty girl-things that their ravishing Mama will teach them...”

  Elinor swallowed over the lump in her throat. Oh please, let me find some really useful books on keeping house.

  “…and when I come in, the girls will rush to the door to greet their Pa, giving me a kiss on the cheek. Then I’ll tell them to let Pa go, because he needs a kiss from his darling bride.”

  Elinor blushed, but she longed so much for the very scene that he painted for her, with his words.

  “And what about sheep?”

  “Sheep?”

  “Yes, do you like sheep? That is—I know you already have a few already—but have you ever considered having more?”

  He stared at her then, with a curious expression. “How did you know? Did I tell you? I don’t remember writing about it…”

  “About sheep? Only that you had a few, along with your cows and horses and chickens. But I was thinking that having a whole flock of them would be magical! I’d just adore watching their fluffy little bodies milling about out in the fields as they grazed.” She sighed in pleasure, imagining the idyllic scene.

  “I can’t believe you just said that!” He was awestruck. “That’s what I want to do! I enjoy farming, and I always want to grow hay, and maybe some barley or wheat, but what I really want to do is get into animal husbandry, on a small scale—particularly sheep. After the hard winter of ’86-’87, a lot of the cattle were killed off. They starved to death because too many ranchers depended too heavily on the open range.” The words poured out in rapid succession, as he expounded on what was obviously a favorite topic. “I was a ranch hand at the time, and I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “Is that why you got into hay? I’d imagine it must have become a very valuable crop in the following years.”

  “Yes!” he was excited. “I bought a farm that spring, and planted alfalfa. By summer, I had cut my first crop of hay—and the smart ranchers snapped it up. I charged a fair price, and sold out my first crop in a matter of weeks. I did so well, I was able to increase the number of acres I planted, each season. And like I said, I plan to buy more land, and expand into wheat and barley, and sheep, of course.”

  “You really have it all planned out, don’t you?”

  He nodded. “As farmers go, you’re marrying a pretty good catch, if I do say so myself. Then again, it’s not exactly an esteemed occupation.”

  “It is, by me,” she said softly. “And besides, it sounds like you’re going to end up as much a sheep rancher as you’ll be a farmer.”

  He grinned. “That’s true. I hope to have a hundred head by next spring.”

  “How sublime! I can’t wait.”

  “I’m amazed that you’re as interested in sheep as I am! I really do think we’re a suitable match. Madeline Porter has outdone herself, I’d say.”

  Elinor beamed. She couldn’t agree more.

  “There he is. Shall we?” He took up her valise, then stood and offered her his other arm.

  She took it, and they made their way toward Porter’s wagon, waiting near the end of the platform.

  The sense of lightheadedness returned when she realized she still had to face Madeline Porter. Elinor had committed to the continuation of her deception, and until she had passed muster with the shrewd matchmaker, her future as Mrs. Gideon Cartwright would be in peril.

  Chapter 9

  Elinor followed Mr. Porter into the butcher shop, while Mr. Cartwright held open the door. Both men removed their hats as they entered.

  She was amazed at how modern the shop was—how modern the entire town was. She had no idea it was such a bustling little city. Although it paled in comparison to the crowded city of Boston and its smaller surrounding cities, it was still a pleasant surprise to see electric and telephone wires strung by the dozen, running along the streets and crisscrossing the main intersections. Helena even boasted real sidewalks, although the streets themselves remained unpaved.

  She had noticed that there were shops of almost every type along Main Street, and although she knew that the Cartwright farm was about eleven miles north of Helena—just northwest of Lake Helena, according to Mr. Cartwright’s letters—she was happy to see that there was a town with most of what she might need, within a reasonable distance.

  The shop was bright and clean, with a short wooden counter running along the north side of the shop, on the left, and another longer counter running along the south wall, opposite the door. To the right, a wood stove sat unused in the oppressive heat of the butcher shop, and in the far corner, stood a small table and two chairs, which had two older men deep in concentration, waging a battle on a checkerboard.

  “Hey, there, about time you got back!” Another older man called out from behind the counter. “Now before you start in on me, Clay, I tried to get her to go lay down. She wouldn’t.” He cast an annoyed glance at the attractive brunette, swollen with child, who was wiping the counters. Behind her, a chubby-cheeked girl with dark hair sat in a high chair, playing with a rag doll, and chewing on its arm.

  “Oh, I’m so glad you made it alright!” the woman exclaimed, setting aside the cloth and wiping her hands on her crisp white apron. She smoothed her already-smooth French twist, and held out her arms. “Welcome to Helena!”

  She embraced Elinor briefly and awkwardly—her burgeoning belly an obstacle between them. “I’m Madeline Porter, and you’ve met my husband, Clay Porter, I see.”

  “Yes. I’m happy to meet you.” Elinor felt her nerves rising within her. Would she pass muster in Mrs. Porter’s eyes?

  “My dear, you must be so tired. I feel terrible for making you come to me in the butcher shop, instead of you being able to go straight to the hotel. Someone—” she flicked her eyes in reproach at her husband “—insisted that I rest, even though I’m perfectly capable of sitting in a wagon just as well as I am sitting here.”

  “You should be sitting in a chair, or resting in bed upstairs,” chided Mr. Porter. “But I gave in and let you stay down in the shop.”

  Mrs. Porter sighed. “Nevertheless, I’m glad you arrived safely, Miss McGilvray. And you’ve met your betrothed, Mr. Cartwright?”

  Elinor nodded. “Yes. We had time to get acquainted a little at the station. Mr. Porter was thoughtful enough to get my bags.”

  “Really?” Mrs. Porter raised an eyebrow at her husband. “It seems that Mr. Cartwright should have gotten them. I usually like my girls to wait to get to know their husbands-to-be until I’m present, so they can feel more at ease.”

  “Oh, I assure you, Mr. Cartwright put me at ease from the moment I arrived.” She smiled at her fiancé, looking adorably sheepish, standing with his hands in his pockets by the door.

  “I’m glad to hear it. But I’m sure you’re exhausted, so I’ll have Mr. Porter escort you across the street to your hotel, and you can socialize with Mr. Cartwright tomorrow when we all meet for lunch.”

  “Are you sure you’ll be up to it?” Mr. Porter interrupted. “You were so ill this morning.”

  “Nonsense, Clay. It’s only to be expected, with my condition. I felt ill on occasion when I was expecting Grace, and we both ended up just fine. I can’t sit in a rocking chair all day—my back couldn’t bear it.” She rubbed her lower back absentmindedly. “The short stroll across the street will be good for me, and I’ll be sitting in a chair in the restaurant.”

  Her husband sighed. “Alright, but I’ll be walking you over, and I’ll expect Mr. Cartwr
ight to walk back with you.”

  “I’d be happy to meet her here and walk over with her, as well. I’m sure you’ll be busy with your customers.”

  Mr. Porter thought on it. “That’s an idea. I never know how busy I’ll be, and Herman is having dinner with his lady friend tomorrow.”

  “That woman is too good for an old geezer like you!” Called one of the old men from the corner.

  “Hush your mouth Roy,” muttered the man—Herman—as he came around the counter. “You’re just jealous. Your wife can’t cook a tin of beans.”

  “If I was forty years younger, I’d take you outside, just for saying that.”

  “If you were forty years younger, and if it weren’t true,” mocked his companion, wheezing with laughter and slapping his knee.

  Roy grinned, showing a few missing teeth. “Darned if you’re not right. Maybe I am jealous, at that. Not to mention, that Agnes Johnson is still quite a handsome woman.”

  “You just keep those eyes of yours in your head,” growled Herman. But the twist of his mouth showed that he was holding back a laugh. “Or else I’ll tell your wife what you just said.”

  “You do that, and she’ll throw me out, and then we’ll see who Widow Johnson prefers,” he laughed—a high-pitched hee hee hee—and made his next move. “King me!” Roy grinned at his opponent, who begrudgingly topped off Roy’s black checker with another.

  “Ha!” gloated Herman. “There’s no competition, Roy. I’m the apple of my sweetheart’s eye.”

  Elinor found the exchange amusing, and thought it was precious that old folk could find love at their age. She hoped she’d meet Widow Johnson soon—her curiosity was getting the best of her.

  “Miss McGilvray…how rude of me,” said Mrs. Porter. “This is Herman Kirschner. He sold the place to Clay, and he still helps, part-time. He’s like family to us.”