A Match for Sarah Read online

  Sarah inhaled deeply and tore open the seal on the envelope, slipping the single page from its folds. The stationary was baby blue, the writing elegant. It made Sarah feel like a woman of social worth, receiving an invitation to dine with one of the finest families in Texas. She scolded herself, for that was most definitely not one of her dreams. All that small talk about the weather, fashion, and the unkind gossip of those not following the do’s and don’ts within society’s well-defined boundaries seemed a waste of time and energy. The little girl locked inside her would prefer laying under the stars than finding herself with the stuffy likes of them.

  That was her chief motivation in leaving Texas—to become her own boss. That, and hopefully, the husband the matchmaker had chosen would be a free thinker, and she’d not be left trading one form of confinement for another.

  “Trust the matchmaker,” came the calm voice inside her, “and read the note.”

  She flipped it open and read:

  Dearest Sarah,

  I have prayed long and hard over your application and feel I have found the perfect man for you. He is not your run-of-the-mill type, and I feel you might enjoy his spontaneity. Presently, he is fixing up a separate cabin on the family farm to share with his bride—hopefully you. I trust you will wire me the time of your arrival so Nicolas Trafton can prepare your homecoming.

  Respectfully, Marianne Gordon,

  Mail Order Brides, Denver Colorado.

  Homecoming. It sounded so romantic and mysterious at the same time. Her intended was a farmer who was fixing up a house to welcome his bride, which showed eagerness on his part.

  Sarah sighed, knowing the worst part of her venture was still at hand; telling her mother. She decided to go to the telegraph office to send the acceptance wire and give her decision more finality when the time came to confront her mother. The news would not sit well with the woman who had high expectations for her daughter’s slave-like position within the Cranston kitchen.

  She jumped to her feet, eager to start the wheels of fate turning in her direction. How long might she need to pack? More importantly, how long could she withstand the disappointment in her mother’s eyes? It would need to be after the festive day on which they celebrated the role of motherhood, for she did truly appreciate her mother.

  Yes, May 25th—Sarah’s twentieth birthday—was the day she would depart. She sent the wire to Colorado, and for the first time in what she considered her grown-up years, she felt like her life was her own.

  “You did what?” Mrs. Parkesdale’s voice boomed. She glanced around the kitchen; no doubt pleased to see that her daughter had the decency to have chosen a private moment to dump this news on her when none of the staff were lingering nearby.

  “I am to be married, Mother,” Sarah said, pitching the part of the dream she knew her mother would like, as she’d been pressuring her that if she waited much longer, men would soon regard her as an old maid and run for the hills. “His name is Nicolas Trafton.”

  “You know nothing about him,” she cried. “This is foolishness. He could be some scoundrel who will mistreat you and who won’t appreciate your skills.”

  “All men appreciate a woman who can cook; it is a direct path to a man’s heart, you know. So, dear Nicolas will have no choice but to love me and treat me like a duchess when I fill his plate with generations of tried-and-true recipes.”

  “You realize you are simply changing kitchen locations. Your Nicolas will expect you to serve him the same as the bunch do upstairs.”

  “The difference being it will be in my home with my family.”

  “And yes, shall we talk of that! You will deprive your mother of knowing her grandchildren, all for the sake of living under a new roof?”

  “It is my dream, Mother. I can’t help but want to leave a legacy other than another Parkesdale woman who served the Cranston family.”

  “And what does this man do for a living?”

  “He is a farmer. A successful one, I daresay, as his entire family lives on the land and obtain a living from it.”

  “A farmer,” Mrs. Parkesdale grumbled, “he will stink like a cow.”

  “I’m sure they have water there for him to bathe in,” she said. “You will not dissuade me, Mother. I leave on May 25th.”

  “You’ve bought your fare already?”

  “No, but I have told the agency that is my departure date. I suppose I should have purchased my ticket so I could have specified my arrival day. How silly of me.”

  “The whole idea is silly, and I will not talk of it another minute. There are pies to bake for the table tonight.”

  “But it’s not our table, Mother. That’s the difference,” Sarah stated defiantly. “My husband and family will appreciate my work efforts in Denver, Colorado, and you choosing not to talk about it will not change the fact that I’m leaving.”

  Sarah tied the bib apron tightly around her waist and walked to the pantry to fetch the pie ingredients. Her future, now set in motion, appealed to Sarah, and although she’d miss her mother, she would follow the footsteps of many women who had traveled from their home state to marry a stranger.

  On May 25th, Sarah boarded the train after a goodbye birthday breakfast from the staff. Once she’d settled into her seat, she looked out the window and waved at her mother, who dabbed tears from the corner of her eye continuously. Sarah did likewise, adding to her conflicting distress. Leaving home and family was not as easy as she’d anticipated. Silently she begged the Lord to fill the void she felt growing quickly in her heart. Once the depot was out of sight, her unanticipated breakdown reinforced the fact that she was not nearly as brave as her convictions. The dream-life awaiting her at the end of the journey, could not break the gloom that settled over her.

  By the next town, she’d gained perspective and decided that reminiscing about what she’d left behind was not doing her mind the least bit of good. Sarah withdrew the gift from her bag that Mr. Cranston from upstairs had given her. He seemed the only one who understood her wandering spirit, and Sarah had chosen to rest her assurance on his sound philosophy; that everyone had their unique path to follow.

  She held the book and read the title: Romances of Important People. She chuckled. One last dig at the difference in their stations—or had the thought never crossed his mind? It had been hard to figure her employers out; one minute, they spoke as if you were a close friend, and the next, they shunned you. Perhaps that’s the way they kept control.

  At any rate, she needn’t concern herself with that a moment longer, for she was unemployed and headed to the altar to marry a farmer.

  She opened the book and found herself wishing the love stories featured pioneer women instead of those with whom her life did not compare. Celebrating the daring young women and their conquests would have proven better entertainment, but it did pass the time, and for that, she was grateful.

  The day the train pulled into Denver, Colorado, her heart pounded so hard the noise competed with the thump of steel against steel on the rails and the squealing brakes that assaulted her ears. She’d taken time with her toilet that morning, donning one of the best dresses in her bag. To help combat the never-ending black smoke that drifted in a backward direction from the chimney atop the engine car, she wore a dark dress instead of one of traditional bridal white. It was a comfortable fit, and with the fancy cameo brooch her mother had given her securely fastened on the collar at her throat, Sarah felt ready to meet Mr. Nicolas Trafton.

  She’d read in the Bible the story of Sarah, just that morning, who had left her homeland to make a life in the land where the Lord was leading her husband, Abraham. Although they had already wed at the time, it felt good to be in such company, and she would draw on the strength of this biblical character to help her submit to life in Denver. The farm was understandably not in town, and she hoped isolation would not be a deterring factor. She was used to people—lots of people, noise, and activity—and she questioned her move in these final moments before disemb
arking. But it was too late, and she scolded herself for so quickly abandoning her dream.

  Wanting the first impression to be a good one, she took the conductor’s hand and stepped casually off the train. As she moved forward, she popped open her flowered parasol to shelter her head from the warm afternoon sun, but also the sign she’d sent to the matchmaker for her match to recognize her. She scanned the area, and after a few minutes, a man stepped into her path and thrust his hand forward.

  “Are you Miss Parkesdale?”

  “Yes, Sarah Parkesdale.” She took his hand timidly and gazed into the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. Sarah felt drowned within their depths as if she were paddling upriver against the great whitecaps reflected in his pupils. Catching her breath, she withdrew her hand and looked at her feet, as was her custom when greeting strangers in Texas.

  His perfectly combed, wheat-colored hair shone and he wore a clean shirt and pants. Sarah was pleased he had not worn a suit to impress her, for surely a farmer had little need to draw such attention to himself.

  “The fancy parasol gave you away.” He chuckled uneasily. “I trust your trip was not too unbearable,” he said. “I know these black iron beasts can be bears.”

  “Bears?” She’d never heard a train described as a bear.

  Nick changed the subject. “I thought you might be hungry. We could eat before we gather at the church. Mrs. Gordon likes her matches to meet before saying their vows, just in case you have a mind to run off.”

  “You are eager, sir, to get the formalities over with?”

  “Only when you’re ready,” he stammered. “Just figured we could do it up while we were in town, is all.”

  The immediacy of being single one moment and married the next never hit her as hard as it did just then. Nicolas Trafton wasn’t hard to look at, that wasn’t the problem, but she knew nothing about him. Dinner was a good idea, and she grabbed at that lifeline.

  “Thank you, Mr. Trafton. I would appreciate some dinner first.”

  “Now you’re looking like a scared rabbit, and that’s not my intention,” he said as he grabbed her duffle bag. “You seem a mite young to be making such a big decision as marrying a stranger.”

  “I turned twenty the day I left home. Most would not consider that young.”

  “No offense, Miss Parkesdale. It just seemed a bit flighty to my way of thinking.” He started walking toward the road, and she looked nervously behind her. He seemed to read her mind, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that transparency.

  “Don’t fret. We’ll come back for your things later. Jake will stack it over there.” He pointed to a loading ramp. “I left the wagon at the diner. Thought you might be up for a walk to stretch your legs.”

  “That is very thoughtful of you. I do love to walk.”

  “I hope you like to eat, too,” he said, chattering she supposed, to fill in any awkward silences on their first encounter. “Pearl’s Diner has the best grub in town.”

  “I love cooking,” Sarah said. “I hope you will equally enjoy eating at home.”

  “With you across the table? A man would be a fool not to enjoy that.” He seemed tongue-tied after that little admission, but she felt relieved that her outward appearance had passed the test; one hurdle crossed, but so many more to go.

  At Pearl’s Diner, she was thrilled he’d gone to the trouble to guarantee a table by the back window that overlooked a captivating mountain scene. He remembered to pull out her chair, but she could see that it was an afterthought—perhaps he didn’t entertain ladies often. The gesture came as an encouragement. At least, he wasn’t the run-around type that marriage would have to tame.

  She did not like flirtatious men, the ones that wore dungarees or three-piece suits, and caused their wives constant grief. Sarah had seen many women live quiet lives of heartache.

  “Do you like wine, Miss Parkesdale—to help celebrate our happy day?”

  She sat back and smiled at the man. “You appear to have all the right words and manners today, sir. Have you been coached?”

  He roared with laughter and sat back in his chair, eyeing her closely. “My sister wanted to make sure I didn’t bungle it on the first day.”

  “You have a sister in Denver?”

  “I have three, heaven help me,” he said chuckling, “but the eldest is the most interfering. She is married to a Pinkerton agent, and together, they go about saving the world from the bad guys.”

  “Your sister is a Pinkerton woman,” she exclaimed. “I am impressed and look forward to meeting her.”

  “No doubt she’s leading the parade over to the church as we speak. Can’t have her brother tie the knot without some merrymaking to follow.”

  “Yes, I like her better by the minute.”

  “You should.” And then, without skipping a beat, he added, “If it weren’t for her, I’d have never agreed to marry a stranger from Texas. She pushed it on me.”

  Sarah’s heart sank. This hadn’t been his idea after all, but his sisters that had brought her to Colorado. That did not sit well with the soon-to-be bride.

  It so happened that the waitress arrived at that moment, saving her the need to respond to her disappointment. “No, thank you,” she said. “We can skip the wine.” Unable to keep her voice from revealing her hurt, she tried to shift the focus to him. “But please, order for us. I’m sure you know all the specialties they offer.”

  She listened to him ordering a list of food items as long as her arm and wondered how she’d ever get it all down. When the waitress left, she picked up her water glass and sipped, eyeing him over the rim.

  “You’ve gone silent on me,” he said, fidgeting with his napkin, unsure as to where to put it.

  Sarah picked up her napkin, and placed it on her lap, and watched him do likewise.

  “Gen knew I’d blow it, but she was hoping I’d last longer than dinner.”

  Sarah figured she’d speak her concern aloud to stop her mind from sifting through his recent blunder. “Do I understand it was not your idea to marry?”

  “Well, not originally, but I’m warming up to the idea.”

  “Thank goodness for that because I am here, expecting a man who is eager to say his vows and commit his life to our happiness.” She swallowed hard and added, “But sir, I can board the train again and leave if you so wish.” Sarah knew she’d never do that, but she wanted to hear his response.

  “You got this all wrong.” He seemed genuine as he leaned across the table and held her stare. “Just because it wasn’t my idea doesn’t mean we’re not a good match. Marianne never messes up.”

  “So, you still want to continue with your plan? We could wait for a spell if that would make you feel more comfortable.”

  He took her hand in his, and she felt the sweat of his embarrassment soak into her skin. “When you climbed down from the train, I was hoping you were my bride come home. And when you popped that sunshade, the flowers lit up my heart; it’s the God’s honest truth. I reckon Marianne Gordon did some fine picking—better than I could have done.”

  “Thank you for your kind words, Mr. Trafton,” Sarah said. “You have put my mind at ease somewhat, and I look forward to the rest of the day.” She could see relief sweep over his face, and she grinned. “I am grateful for the efforts you’ve shown in trying to make me feel welcome in your town, but if we are to be man and wife, I expect I shall encounter all the behavior your sister fears you will show prematurely. The top trait I’d like to see in a husband is honesty. I believe everything else will find its place if there are no secrets.”

  “That’s right kind of you to say because I think I can measure up there. My family says I am too opinionated and should keep some of my opinions to myself.”

  “And be assured that I will also have no reservations in letting you know when we are in disagreement for the sole intention of clearing the air and coming to a workable compromise.”

  “You seem to have this whole marriage thing figured out.”
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br />   She laughed and watched the tension lines diminish on his forehead. “We will learn together, Mr. Trafton. I hear it can be a long rocky road, but if we don’t get lost in the ruts we create, we’ll be stronger climbing out of the hole on the other side.”

  He took her hand in his. “My name is Nick—not Nicolas or Mr. Trafton—and if you’d do me the great honor of becoming my wife today, you’d make me a very happy man.”

  She laid her other hand on top of his. “My name is Sarah, and before God and man, I vow to do my best to make you never regret that decision.”

  Chapter Three

  When the couple arrived at the church, Nick took charge. “Don’t be nervous. It’s only my family. Some are better than others, but as Genevieve always says, you can’t pick your relatives. They’re God-given, whether you like it or not.”

  “You appear to have a high opinion of your sister, despite her pushy efforts to get you married off.”

  “Yeah, well, she’s a kindred spirit. I hope you like her.”

  “I’m sure I will,” Sarah said, nodding nervously toward the door. “Are they all waiting inside?”

  “Far as I know,” he said. “Sis has gathered the troops. No one was at her wedding, and she won’t see me have the same fate.”

  “No one came to hers?”

  “You know, Pinkerton couples are a secretive lot. Had her married off to the agent before the end of the interview. Met him and married him the same day.”

  “Much the same as us,” Sarah said. “Are they happy?”

  “Went through a bit of a rough patch adjusting at the beginning, but now they are deliriously happy. It’s rather sickening to watch at times.”

  “Happy is sickening to watch? Would you rather have them fight?”