No, the one true anxiety he had wouldn’t come true. It couldn’t. He was not the same man as his father, and he’d be amuchbetter, more patient, and more kind husband, and—hopefully—a father.
The crowd had grown significantly on the platform for the delayed train. It seemed that half of Grover’s Gulch stood here waiting for someone to arrive. Their depot wasn’t much to look at—a barely finished ticket office and some hastily constructed benches along the platform—but it had been seeing the arrival of more and more people since its creation that previous spring. Most of the miners still arrived on foot or on horseback, too poor to pay for train fare, but their arrival had brought more business-minded men like Jonathan and, eventually, a few ladies. But most of those women who did come to Grover’s Gulch were already married to husbands who’d arrived here first. Those who weren’t usually came to provide services to the miners. Unmarried women of an upstanding nature were few and far between in Grover’s Gulch, and Jonathan wasn’t the first man to send for a mail-order bride. Or pastor-ordered bride, as was more accurate in this situation.
Almost as if it were answering his impatient thoughts, a white cloud of steam rose between the mountains, signaling the advance of the train. People pressed forward on the platform, and Jonathan said a prayer that his wife-to-be would be all he hoped.
It wasn’t long before the train steamed around the last bend into town, sending plumes of white clouds into the bright blue sky. The wheels squealed against the rails as it came to a halt at the platform.
While most of those waiting took a step forward, Jonathan stepped back. He didn’t know which car she’d arrive on or any sort of description of her looks. But he figured there couldn’t be that many unaccompanied young women arriving in Grover’s Gulch.
And he was right. Most of the passengers who emerged from the train were male. A few were couples, and there were a handful of women who were either far too old or far too wealthy-looking to be Mrs. Lee.
As he scanned those emerging from cars near the far end of the platform, something wrapped itself around his leg.
Jonathan startled, glancing down quickly. There, with short arms holding tight to his leg, stood a small boy.
“Hello,” he said uncertainly. His experience with children was nearly nonexistent, but he hoped that by acknowledging the boy’s presence, he’d look up and explain what he was doing.
But that wasn’t to be, because the tow-headed child simply held on and buried his face in the leg of Jonathan’s trousers.
“Hello?” he said again, uncertain what to do next. He glanced up, hoping the boy’s mother would come retrieve her son, but no one appeared to be looking in his direction. He skimmed the crowd again in the hopes he hadn’t missed Mrs. Lee. Those on the platform had thinned out some as passengers and those they met slowly drifted away to wagons or destinations in town.
This wouldn’t do. How could he meet his intended if this child wouldn’t let him go?
“Boy,” he said, cringing some at the way it sounded. It was what his father had called Jonathan and his brothers before he unleashed his anger upon them. “Son,” he said instead. “Where is your mother?”
The spot on his trousers where the boy pressed his face had grown damp. The child was crying.
“Have you become lost?” he asked, the realization only just dawning on him.
The little boy’s head moved up and down, but he didn’t budge from where he held on.
“Do you need help finding your mother?”
Another nod.
Jonathan sighed. He couldn’t help the boy if he continued clinging to his leg. “Why don’t you let go? I’ll help you.”
But the child still didn’t move.
“Pardon me, sir,” a female voice said.
Jonathan looked up to find a young woman with soft blue eyes, a well-worn travel cloak, and unruly curls that sprung in defiance from beneath her hat standing before him. She was so arrestingly pretty that when he opened his mouth to greet her, no sound emerged. He wrenched his jaw shut as the boy squeezed harder against his leg.
“I am looking for a Mr. Jonathan Clark. I don’t suppose you might know who he is?”
This was Mrs. Lee. Jonathan blinked at her as if she were an apparition. How had he gotten so lucky? “I am he,” he finally managed to say.
“Oh.” Her eyes widened at his words. She glanced down at the child clinging to his leg. “My pastor didn’t mention you were a widower.”
