He withdrew the page from the envelope, skimmed it, and handed it back. “I didn’t write it.” He nodded toward the bundle in her hands. “Nor any of those.”
“But your name—Zach Taggerty.” She pointed to the name on the page. “You answered my ad as a mail-order bride. We wrote. You sent for me. Said we would marry.”
“Marry? Ma’am, you have the wrong fella. I don’t have time for one more problem.” His gaze went to Poppy. “Make that two. Now I best be on my way.”
Amelia stuffed the letters into her traveling case, took it in one hand and Poppy in the other, and followed him. “I have no place to go.” Her swallow echoed for everyone to hear. “Is there a hotel?” How much would that cost? She didn’t have to shake her purse to know few coins remained in it.
Zach sighed and walked back to the counter. “Mr. Jarvis, doesn’t the preacher have a house where people in circumstances like?—”
His wave in Amelia’s direction was too dismissive for comfort.
“Like this?” he finished, his voice not softening one bit.
The storekeeper nodded, and Amelia’s dismay deepened. She didn’t come here to hole up in a little room somewhere, though, of course, she had no idea what this house offered in the way of accommodation. Could be the room was sunny, bright, and welcoming. But that wasn’t what she sought.
Mr. Jarvis rubbed his jaw. “At the moment, it’s full to the gills with two women in from the goldfields needing medical care and a young family. Preacher Stone’s wife might offer her a room at the parsonage, but she is taking care of a sick woman and her sick young ones. Don’t think she needs more people to tend.”
Amelia huffed. No one needed to “tend” her. Indignation evaporated. Her shoulders slumped. No one was offering her the home she’d come west to enjoy. It was all she could do not to grab the storekeeper’s hand and beg for his assistance.
Mr. Jarvis gestured to Zach. “You could take her home. Maybe she could be of help with your—” Rather than finish, he shrugged as if more details were unnecessary. Those present already knew the situation.
Zach jerked back. “You don’t think my life is complicated enough already?”
Amelia drew herself up, bristly enough to scrub the inside of a potato pot. “I am not now, nor have I ever been, a problem or a complication.” She had half a mind to leave the store and set out on her own. She might have, too, except she couldn’t drag Poppy up and down the streets begging for a place to sleep.
Zach glanced around the store as if hoping a miracle would emerge from the dark corners. His gaze stopped at the post office wicket. “Where did you say you found this ad about me?”
There was postal service right here in Golden Valley? Why hadn’t he sent letters to her from here instead of the fort, which she now knew was a three-day stagecoach journey away? Unless he didn’t want anyone to know of their correspondence.
He waited for her to answer his question.
“Youfoundmein theMatrimonial News. It’s a paper.” From her bag, she pulled the copy that carried her ad and flapped it before him.
He eased it from her grasp and scanned the pages. “I don’t see my name. There’s nothing but numbers. I don’t understand.”
She remained silent. Could he not see that the ads were posted anonymously? Replies sent to the paper were forwarded to the specific person.
He searched the page before him. “Aha. Here is the answer to your problem.” He folded the page back and read, “‘Farmer in the Dakotas near the Badlands seeks a marriageable young woman. I have a pretty little farm. I’m a churchgoer. Promise to be a good provider.’ There. Write him, and he’ll marry you.”
Someplace betweenfarmer in Dakotaandprovider, Amelia lost her voice. And her brave front. And the strength in her legs. She clutched the counter. Now would be a perfect time to remember to pray, though not a thought formed in her head apart from,God, help me.Never before had three words been so heartfelt.
“Mr. Jarvis, can you give the lady some paper and ink? Oh yeah, and an envelope, please. Put it on my bill.”
Mr. Jarvis didn’t move. “Zach, I don’t like the way you’re handling this.”
Zach crossed his arms and leaned back. “What would you suggest?” Before the man could answer, he added, “Besides taking her home, which I’m not going to do.”
“I’d say she deserves a chance.”
“You got paper or not?”
Shaking his head with disapproval, Mr. Jarvis handed Amelia the writing material. “Miss Pressly, I am so sorry about this.”
“It’s not your fault.” She bent her head over the paper and concentrated. She needed a place to live, so it behooved her to make sure this letter provided all the right information. Enough about her to reassure the man. Of course, she had to mention Poppy.
She’s my friend’s child and very sweet-natured.
Did she need to reveal the circumstances of the child’s birth? No, not yet, but she would before they’d corresponded long. It was only fair that any man planning to marry her and become Poppy’s father was made aware of the sweet child’s background.
