“Are you feeling well?” The auburn-haired lady tilted her head as she spoke, concerned eyes studying his face.
“Yes, I’m, well . . . I’m . . .” Words seemed to escape him. Out of habit, Merrick ran a hand over his much smaller and neater beard. Was this Mrs. Stevens? She hadn’t said anything about a brood of children. He almost hoped the other lady, the one with the darker hair who was more petite and who wore an anxious expression, was Mrs. Stevens. She made him far less nervous than the beautiful, confident woman standing before him now.
She waited patiently for him to finish fumbling over his words, her lips curving into a gentle, encouraging smile.
“I’m Mr. Benton. Merrick Benton,” he finally managed to say, and he braced himself for her reaction.
But all she did was smile even wider and say, “Oh, how wonderful to finally meet you! I’m Mrs. Eleanor Stevens. This is my sister, Mrs. O’Neal, and her children.” She rattled off the names of the children, but all Merrick caught was that the oldest girl was called Gwynnie, and that—thankfully—all of the children belonged to Mrs. O’Neal.
The littlest one still stared up at him as if he really was a bear as Mrs. O’Neal began to cast her gaze around the platform.
“You two must go on,” she said, holding tight to the little girl with the ringlets. “I’m sure Mr. Whiteside will be here shortly.”
“I won’t leave you here alone,” Mrs. Stevens replied. “Do you know Mr. Whiteside?” She was looking at him again.
Merrick shook his head. It was easier to do that than to form words at the moment. The man must have land outside of town, or perhaps he was a newcomer. So many strangers arrived in Crest Stone every week that Merrick could no longer keep up with them all.
“Perhaps he left word with the stationmaster,” Mrs. Stevens was saying to her sister. “Would you like me to ask?”
Mrs. O’Neal nodded, and just as Mrs. Stevens took a step toward the depot building—and was about to leave him here alone with Mrs. O’Neal and the extremely curious eyes of five children—another fellow approached them.
“Pardon me, ladies, sir.” The man nodded at Merrick. “I’m looking for a Mrs. O’Neal?”
Mrs. O’Neal’s face lit up at his mention of her name. “I am she. Are you Mr. Whiteside?”
The man hesitated. “I am, but . . . Might I speak with you a moment?”
“Of course! Eleanor, I’ll see you soon.” With a squeeze of her sister’s arm, Mrs. O’Neal joined the man, her children trailing after her.
And leaving Merrick standing alone with this woman he was supposed to marry.
She looked at him then, that lovely smile back in place and waiting expectantly.
His mind chugged as slowly as the locomotive as it lurched its way into town. What had Clara told him to say?
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Stevens. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’m Merrick Benton.” The words were stiff and formal and—to his horror—essentially a repeat of what he’d already said.
Mrs. Stevens bit back what Merrick was certain was a laugh. “Yes, Mr. Benton. Or should I call you Merrick?”
“I . . . Yes.” It was the only thing he could think of to say. But even the thought of calling her Eleanor made him feel as if he might turn as red as a ripe tomato.
She said nothing, clearly waiting for him to speak again.
What was next in Clara’s instructions? He willed them back to his mind. Her trunk! He whipped around, searching for one of the boys who often waited at the depot in the hopes of making a coin or two by carrying passengers’ luggage. “You there!” he said the second he spotted one of them.
The boy hurried over. He was slim and reedy, and didn’t look as if he could carry a puppy, much less a woman’s trunk. But he was eager, and Merrick supposed that was good enough. “Will you carry the lady’s trunk? To the blacksmith’s shop, next to the livery.”
“Yes, sir.” The boy looked around. “Where is the trunk?”
“Oh,” Eleanor said, her face going slightly pink. “I don’t have one. I mean, Idid, but I gave it to my sister since she had so much more to bring with her. All I have is this carpetbag.” She held up a carpetbag that Merrick hadn’t yet noticed.
He sent the boy away and took the carpetbag from her. Now what was he to do? Nothing Clara had suggested had worked so far, and now he’d forgotten what was next.
After a moment, Eleanor spoke up. “I should enjoy a few moments to refresh myself after the journey,” she said gently.
Yes, that was it! He nodded and led the way across the platform. Thankfully, Eleanor kept up the conversation, and all Merrick had to do was nod or say the occasional “yes.” By the time they reached the blacksmith’s shop, he knew about each one of her sister’s five children, the mining town she’d lived in back in Kentucky, and how much the landscape had changed as she’d traveled west.
Merrick stopped outside the door to his one-room home behind the shop. Clara and Deirdre Wiley, who had marriedRoman’s business partner, had kindly offered to clean and tidy up the house for him. Merrick was hardly slovenly, but the single room had never been so perfectly neat and orderly as it had been when they finished. He’d been excited to show it to Eleanor, but now that they stood outside, he wondered if she would find it too small.
