Violet_Bride of North Dakota Read online

  When Daniel was through putting the fear of God into him, James would be sorry he’d ever forgotten—and would know he’d best not forget this sweet young thing again.

  Or he’d have Daniel to face.

  My expectations of being met at the train station by my groom were—shall we say?—derailed.

  (Journal Entry, Violet Keating, evening of October 15, 1890)

  Bouncing on the seat of the wagon, Violet held on to the side to keep herself steady—and to keep from sliding toward Mr. Daniel Lund, whom she had believed to be her groom. She was finding it difficult to give up her desire to be his bride. When she’d first spotted him on the platform, he had seemed so perfect for her, and the attraction—that feeling other women had talked about but that she had never really experienced for a man—had hit her strongly.

  She had never been so aware of a man’s presence before, nor felt so safe. And yet she had also never been as afraid as she was right now, riding in his wagon.

  She had already faced so many losses—her parents dying together in an accident, losing the house and inheritance because of the dishonesty of her father’s business partner, being forced out on the street because said business partner—the unethical Edward Frost—thought she would actually marry him to get her house back. She had decided quickly that she would rather die than marry such a scoundrel.

  Before, during all of these trials, Rachel had always been there to help her.

  Now she truly had no one.

  She had come all this distance, given up everything she knew, and come West to... what? She didn’t know.

  A groom who had either forgotten her—or who might even now be bleeding in the woods. Had he been attacked by bears? Or Indians? Or something worst, even?

  No, the very worst was that she had embarrassed herself in front of Daniel Lund, the man she had thought was her groom. She had taken his arm! She had been totally inappropriate with him! How could she ever look him in the eyes again?

  He had been kind and gentle with her, though, so perhaps he would not bring it up again, having now learned that she was under the impression she was to marry him today.

  Where could James Evans be?

  And would he possibly make her feel as safe as Daniel had in just seconds?

  She flicked a glance over at Daniel, large and sturdy and protective, and, for just a moment longer, allowed herself to wish that Daniel Lund had been her groom and that she would be marrying him in mere hours. Because he made her feel safe, just sitting quietly beside her.

  And then she stuffed down that desire even as she stuffed the two pages of correspondence into the envelope and shoved it roughly into her reticule.

  One of James’s flaws was that he had not picked her up at the station promptly.

  A second was that he had not picked her up—at all. He had not kept his word to her. That was only excusable if he were injured—but she couldn’t possibly wish him injured.

  This was certainly an inauspicious beginning to their marriage.

  I try to meet all my troubles with a happy attitude. Today, though, I found it difficult to maintain a smile.

  (Journal Entry, Violet Keating, October 15, 1890)

  BY THE TIME DANIEL PULLED the horses to a stop, Violet was determined to put on a happy face.

  After all, whatever had gone wrong, Daniel Lund was going to make it right for her. When he asked if she trusted him, she realized that she really did, even though they’d just met. She sensed that Daniel Lund was a man who kept his word. If he said he would find her groom and deliver him to her, he would.

  Daniel jumped down and hurried around, patting the horses on his way. When he reached her side of the wagon, Daniel smiled up at her, reaching in for the bag and lifting it effortlessly. Then he held out a hand to her. She was exquisitely aware of his fingers on hers, even through their gloves—probably because she had so brazenly taken his arm earlier.

  So she tugged her hand free, stood, and turned to step down, slid a little, grabbed the side tightly—and then felt his large hands on her waist, catching her and lifting her easily to the ground.

  He immediately removed his hands as soon as her feet touched the ground, but heat blazed everywhere.

  Which meant her face must have flushed red, as it always did when she was embarrassed. She would apologize for having taken his arm—but now he’d taken her waist! It appeared they were even in their inappropriateness.

  He looked down at her for a long moment and then slowly smiled, motioning toward the cabin. “This is my sister’s home.”

  Violet lifted her skirts to avoid the snowy dirt. Even through the snowflakes, she could see this was a comfortably large log cabin. There was an inviting front porch, the roof of which was supported by four thick, square, wooden pillars, and wrapped with a short railed fence around the perimeter.

  She climbed the stairs, suddenly weary to her chilled bones. She followed Daniel Lund to the door, where he knocked, and they waited.

  After a short moment, a young woman—whose golden brunette hair color matched Daniel’s brown-and-blond mix—opened the door, looking surprised. The woman wore a pink calico dress partially covered by a deeper pink ruffled apron that sported a hint of flour. A big, well-muscled man sat at the table, a plate of food before him. He placed his napkin on the table and came to stand by his wife.

  He was even taller than Daniel, dressed in a long-sleeved green flannel shirt, denim pants, and work boots.

  Amelia had the same blue-green eyes with flecks of gold as Daniel—and those eyes were looking from Daniel to Violet questioningly. Then a smile broke out on her face. “Come in.” She swung the door open and stepped aside.

  “Thank you,” Violet said, and crossed the threshold into a large, warm room that held a sofa and a medium-sized kitchen table and chairs., There was a window-sized opening in the interior wall on the right, allowing one to see into the kitchen, and a large stone fireplace on the left.

  Thank goodness for the fireplace, complete with logs blazing.

  As Daniel’s sister closed the door on the cold weather, Violet stood and enjoyed the sensation of warmth seeping into her.

  “May I hang your coat for you?” Her hostess asked. “Or would you rather keep it on for a moment?”

  Violet figured she’d be warm enough if she stayed closed to the fire, so she shrugged out of her coat. “Thank you.”

  Amelia hung it on a hook as Daniel set her bag down by the door.

  Then he straightened. “Amelia, this is Violet Keating. Violet, this is my sister Amelia Halvorson and her husband, Sven.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you both,” Violet said.

  They had quizzical looks on their faces, asking who she was without using any words. Daniel responded to that with, “I’ve brought her here to get out of the storm. Is it all right if I leave her here with you for an hour or two?”

  “Of course, but why would you leave her?”

  “Because,” Daniel scowled, “I’m going to go track down the sorry, no-good man who sent her a ticket and left her standing alone at the train station.”

  “A train ticket?” Amelia’s eyes widened. “You’re a mail-order bride?”

  Hesitantly, hoping Amelia wouldn’t look down on her, Violet nodded.

  “Who sent you the ticket?” asked Sven, looking genuinely interested.

  “James Evans,” Daniel said before Violet could utter the name, and he made the name sound like something you’d scrape off the bottom of your shoe. “And now, if you ladies will excuse me, I will go retrieve the groom.”

  He stomped back out into the snowstorm, which looked to be worsening.

  Why did Violet feel so bereft as he left? She didn’t know, but she couldn’t give in to despair. His sister seemed nice enough.

  If only this nightmare were over.

  Dear Diary, Tonight I had the interesting experience of seeing my confirmed bachelor brother look at a young woman he brought home, just like the wounded birds he’d alw
ays brought home as a child to fix their wings—and light up like the northern lights. It seems he’d like to now help Violet fly. Since James Evans is in the mix, I’m going to enjoy watching this play out. P.S. I like her very much. I hope he can get over the hurt Opal gave him and follow his heart.

  (Journal Entry, Amelia Lund Halvorson, October 15, 1890)

  Violet caught Amelia’s gaze. A gentle smile curved the other woman’s lips. “Do come sit at the table and let me fix you some supper. It will warm you right up. You must be frozen and exhausted after your travels.”

  “Thank you kindly.”

  She stopped. “Where did you travel from?”

  “Lawrence, Massachusetts.”

  “Did you hear that, Sven? This poor girl has been traveling for days!”

  Girl? She suspected she was only a couple of years younger than Amelia. She smiled.

  Sven nodded kindly and sat back down at the table. He picked up his fork and started eating.

  Amelia looked at him fondly and told Violet, “Sven is working evenings, in addition to his day work. We’re saving up to have a baby.”

  “Congratulations. When are you...?”

  Amelia smiled and patted her stomach. “She won’t be here—“

  ”—he,” interjected Sven, but his voice was teasing, and then he kept eating.

  “—for another seven months, about mid-May.”

  “My birthday is May 15,” Violet said. “It’s a good time of year for a birthday.”

  Amelia nodded. “I think so, as well.”

  “Do you have other children?”

  Amelia shook her head. “Sven and I have only been married eighteen months.”

  That didn’t matter to the many couples who got pregnant on their honeymoons. Violet hoped that didn’t happen to her. She hoped for time to get acquainted with the baby’s father a little before they added a child into the mix.

  Amelia motioned for Violet to sit at the other end of the table from Sven and next to Amelia’s plate.

  Amelia disappeared into the kitchen, walked past the cutaway in the wall, and a moment later came back, carrying a plate of food. “Roast pork loin with salted potatoes and onions, and some tart red currant jelly that makes it delicious.”

  “It looks absolutely delectable.” Amelia set the plate before her, and Violet was overcome with gratitude. “Thank you for your kindness.”

  Amelia’s smile grew larger. “You’re very welcome. Now eat.”

  So she did. The food was delicious—the best she’d had in days. Longer than that, even.

  Amelia said, “So you came all this way to marry?”

  “Yes.” Violet hesitated to say more. She didn’t want to be gossiped about and she didn’t yet know if Amelia was a person who would pass on information given in confidence.

  Amelia shook her head. “You’re far braver than I am, then.”

  Surprised, Violet smiled. “I doubt that. Besides, you are already wed and you are already out West. Where would you have gone?”

  “California, perhaps,” Amelia teased with a glance at her husband.

  Amelia’s husband snorted. “California, indeed. Do you suppose you would find a better man there? One that would put up with your shenanigans as I do?” He was also teasing.

  The large man pushed to his feet, handed Amelia his plate, which he’d eaten clean, and nodded at Violet. “Good to meet you, ma’am. Now I must go back to work.”

  “Excuse me while I see my husband off.”

  Sven grinned rakishly at his wife. “Ready to see me off, eh? Are you ladies going to throw a grand party while I’m gone?”

  “We are indeed, so you’d best work hard to pay for it.”

  Sven pulled his expectant wife in for a hearty kiss and patted her on the behind. He nodded to Violet, pulled on his coat, gloves, and hat, and strode out the door.

  A lot of energy left the room with him.

  “I do love that man.” She sighed. “I’ll be glad when he can stop working the evening job. I miss him, especially in the evenings. I’m glad you are here with me tonight.”

  Amelia sat back beside her, and they ate in silence until Violet sighed in contentment and leaned back in her chair. “Thank you. That was delicious.”

  A knock sounded at the door. Amelia excused herself and opened it.

  Another woman’s voice said, “Amelia, darling. I heard you had company.”

  “Mother, what are you doing out in this storm?”

  “I live three houses down. I’m hardly in danger of freezing. I need to borrow a cup of flour.”

  An older version of Amelia entered the door and stopped. “Why, you’re beautiful.”

  Embarrassed, Violet said, “Thank you.” She could feel warmth in her cheeks.

  “Daniel brought her here,” Amelia said smugly.

  “Did he now?” The older woman’s eyes sparkled as she crossed the room and took Violet’s face in her hands. “I couldn’t be happier to have you for my daughter.”

  “Before you jump to any conclusions, Mother, let me make introductions. Violet, this is my mother, Brenna Lund,” Amelia said. “Mother, this is Violet Keating. She is here to marry—“

  ”I know,” Brenna interrupted. “I heard Daniel picked you up at the train station.”

  “That’s because her groom wasn’t there.”

  The older woman pulled back in surprise. “You’re not here to marry my son?”

  Violet could only wish. “No, ma’am. I’m not.”

  Disappointment colored her eyes. “Then who?”

  Violet and Amelia exchanged glances. Violet said, “James Evans.”

  “But he’s just a young ‘un. He has plenty of family money but he doesn’t have the sense God gave a goose.”

  “Mother, you shouldn’t speak ill of the man Violet has traveled all the way from Massachusetts to marry.”

  Brenna sank into a dining area chair. “I am sorry to have disparaged your husband-to-be. Though if he falls through, please consider my son as his replacement. Daniel is a good man. Stubborn, but loyal.”

  “I do not believe your son is interested in me.” Embarrassed, Violet gave a little laugh. “I gave him quite a scare when I mistook him for James at the train station.”

  “Oh, he is definitely interested.” Amelia nodded emphatically. “I’ve never seen him looking at a woman like he looked at you. Like you were as precious as gold. You would be perfect for him. It’s a shame you’re here to marry...”

  Her voice trailed off.

  Violet had thought exactly the same thing not long before, but she had to remain faithful to the man who’d sent for her. She would be marrying James. If he hadn’t been killed in an accident, that is. “Tell me a little about James. What kind of man is he?”

  The two women exchanged glances. Amelia looked at her. “So you’ve never met him?”

  “No. I just arrived in town.”

  “What did he tell you?”

  “That he’s wealthy and handsome and young.” When neither woman spoke, Violet said, “Did he tell me true?”

  Amelia shrugged a shoulder. “His father is wealthy and he’s young enough to live on the goodness of his father, so that’s true enough. And I guess some women would consider him handsome.”

  Her mother snorted. “If they like big noses and weak chins.”

  “Oh, Mother, his nose isn’t that big.”

  Violet noticed that Amelia didn’t deny the weak chin.

  Disappointed, she realized that James had exaggerated in his letter. Misrepresented himself, even.

  But hadn’t Daniel called James “pretty boy Evans”?

  Now she didn’t know what to expect.

  She was more nervous than when she’d first stepped on the train, four days before.

  James Evans is a boy, and a foolish one at that. A man would have been at the station to meet his bride and made her feel welcome, not abandoned. If need be, I will make it my mission to find Miss Keating another man in Minot to marr
y, as I am sure there are many here who would be glad to do so. Even I have urges in that direction, though I will fight them back. I am too old for her, too jaded... too afraid of another betrayal.

  (Journal Entry, Daniel Lund, October 15, 1890)

  DANIEL DROVE THE HORSES DOWN the lane.

  He’d stopped first at the Evans home—the home of James’s parents, where James still resided while he fixed up the house he’d apparently purchased two months before. For his new wife—the same one he’d abandoned at the train station. His parents claimed they didn’t know where James was—but Daniel wasn’t sure he believed them.

  Next he’d checked both the church—which was empty—and the pastor’s home. Pastor Winter hadn’t heard anything from James since he arranged for the wedding several weeks before. The good pastor had been glad to have someone to complain to about having waited all afternoon and into the evening—and no happy couple had arrived. He’d arranged for witnesses, whom he’d finally sent home. And Daniel didn’t have the heart to cut him off, though he finally had to because the need to find James compelled him to move on.

  He’d also asked everyone he’d passed by if they’d seen or heard from James. No news.

  Now, having left the wagon and horses tied up partway down the block, he was stomping through the snow toward Minot’s most famous saloon—Jack Doyle’s—a brick building on the corner of Central Avenue and Main Street. He’d start bar-hopping here because he figured it was most likely he’d find the shirker’s ne’er-do-well friends here, if not the groom himself.

  Four years before, Minot’s first Christmas tree had been set up in Jack Doyle’s saloon and all residents invited to a party, where they were given gifts. It had been a memorable evening, complete with music and singing.

  He wasn’t feeling nearly so festive tonight.

  Daniel pushed through the door, grateful for the warmth inside the rough building. He brushed snow from his clothing before he went in any farther.