Caroline's Promise (Valentine Mail Order Bride 5) Read online

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  Late that night, while Sarah slept, Caroline tiptoed into the front room of her friend’s apartment. She opened her fully-packed trunk and retrieved the small bundle she’d hidden between her best and her second-best dress. Two lacquered wood frames wrapped in a threadbare chemise, containing two of her grandmother’s paintings. She’d tried to throw them away earlier while packing, but Sarah had insisted she keep them.

  They’re heirlooms, your heritage, Sarah had argued.

  A heritage that had ruined her chances of marrying up.

  A heritage that called to her impractical nature.

  Caroline had inherited her grandmother’s looks—looks that marked her as exotic at best and attracted attention she didn’t want. She’d also inherited grandmother’s artistic nature.

  A curse, Caroline’s mother had called it. You’ll have to work harder than most to be accepted. To prove that you’re just as American as the person next to you. You can’t afford to fritter your time away with painting.

  She traced the slope of a mountain outlined in graceful black brush strokes. Fuji-sama, her grandmother had called it. Grandmother Akiko’s paintings were always simple, almost like a child’s painting. But with a just a few lines, she managed to suggest a landscape that Caroline longed to get lost in. Grandmother painted just enough for Caroline’s imagination to fill in the rest.

  They were so beautiful, they made Caroline’s heart ache. She doubted she would ever duplicate the elegance that Grandmother’s paintings emanated.

  Of course you won’t. Because you’re giving up painting, remember? Fresh start?

  She should throw them out. Cut ties to her past and hope Maxwell would love her for who she was, rather than for how she looked.

  But she found herself rewrapping the framed pictures in her chemise and hiding them beneath her dresses once again.

  Throwing away those paintings would be a betrayal. Grandmother Akiko had loved her. And as much as Caroline suffered for her heritage, she would always love her grandmother.

  Chapter Two

  Caroline stepped out of the passenger car and sucked in a deep breath of Arizona air. Hot, dry, gritty. She coughed as delicately as she could, attempting to clear the dust from the back of her throat. Should she need to earn money for a ticket back to New York, she supposed she could make quite a bit of money selling cups of water to new arrivals.

  She looked around. Aside from a few curious glances, no one seemed to be paying attention to her.

  She and Maxwell had agreed that neither of them would waste money on having photographs taken. Wouldn’t be practical. Besides, they both wanted their relationship to be based on something deeper than appearances. Maxwell had insisted that Caroline’s down-to-earth and practical nature had won him over. It would be a necessity for a rancher’s wife, he said.

  But as she scanned the streets around the train platform, she wondered if photographs might have been a good idea after all. Maxwell had described himself as “nothing special”—brown hair, brown eyes, and on the tall side. She saw half a dozen men matching that description. And none of them seemed to be waiting for her.

  The train had been a quarter hour behind schedule. He wouldn’t have given up on her that quickly, would he?

  “Luggage, Miss?” the porter asked.

  “It’s a brown-and-green trunk,” Caroline replied as she handed him her luggage ticket. Silly of her to paint it, maybe, but it contained everything she owned. She’d heard stories about the railroad losing luggage, and she thought her chest would be easier to track down if it looked unique.

  “Where ya want it delivered?”

  Oh no. She’d been expecting that Maxwell would be here to load the trunk into his wagon. “The Kaspar ranch?”

  The porter shook his head. “Have to charge you extra to take it all the way out there, Miss. Or I can lock it up in the station and you can come pick it up later.”

  “You can put it in that wagon over there,” someone chirped behind Caroline.

  She turned to face the newcomer—a fresh-faced young woman who couldn’t have been more than fifteen or sixteen. The girl’s lavender dress fluttered in the overheated breeze, ruffles accentuating her slender shoulders and hourglass figure. The sophisticated French twist that held her golden hair in place somehow looked perky and sweet on her rather than elegant.

  She was everything Caroline would never be.

  “You’re Caroline, right?” The girl lunged forward and embraced Caroline in an enthusiastic hug. “Bart sent me, Max’s best friend Bart. Max told you about Bart and me, didn’t he?”

  Caroline patted the girl on the back, more as a signal that she wished to be released from the hug than from a desire to be embraced. The girl kept hugging.

  “You’re even more beautiful than I expected,” the girl continued to gush. “Oops, Max said I wasn’t supposed to say anything about how you look. But it’s not an insult to say that you’re beautiful, is it? You are. Beautiful.”

  Caroline didn’t hear for an Oriental in the girl’s tone, but her heart sank a little anyway. If Max had thought to warn the girl not to mention anything related to Caroline’s heritage, did that mean he was trying to protect her from the same kind of bigotry she’d encountered in New York? Or did it mean that he had mixed feelings about marrying her?

  If the girl noticed Caroline’s drooping spirits, she didn’t let it stop her from continuing to chatter.

  “I’m so glad to meet you, Caroline. Max acts like he’s my other brother, so you’re practically going to be my new sister. I’ve always wanted a sister, do you have any sisters?”

  Um, what?

  “No, I’m…” An orphan, she’d been about to say, but decided to save that conversation for another day. “…an only child.”

  Caroline put her hands on the girl’s shoulders, pushing her back as if to get a better look at her. “And you are?”

  “Juliet.” The girl’s face fell, her eyes widening. “Max didn’t mention me?”

  Had he? She couldn’t remember. He’d written about a number of people in passing, but he wasn’t one to describe an individual in detail, even when that individual was himself.

  Caroline didn’t want to hurt Juliet’s feelings, though, so she said, “Of course he did, you just surprised me, that’s all. Is Maxwell coming to meet us?”

  “Everyone just calls him Max. He’s waiting for you at the church. I made him, it’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding. He was so nervous this morning, he barely ate breakfast. I can hardly wait to see your wedding dress.”

  “I don’t have a wedding dress.” More practical to make do with her Sunday best. But it wasn’t the dress that concerned Caroline. She’d assumed that Maxwell…no, Max… would meet her at the train station. That she’d have time to see his reaction to her before she married him.

  Promise me you’ll never be ashamed of who you are. Caroline squared her shoulders and lifted her chin as she remembered her promise to Sarah. She would work hard to be a good wife. To be a good mother to their children. She would be the most practical woman who’d ever lived.

  She turned to the porter. “Can you bring my trunk to the church?”

  “Consider it done, Miss.”

  Juliet grabbed Caroline’s hand and gave it a tug as she began walking toward the street.

  “You can borrow my veil. Ma helped me make it. Bart says he’s not letting me get married until I’m eighteen at least, even though Ma married Pa when she was my age. I don’t mind you wearing it. Something borrowed, right? Do you have something blue?”

  Caroline took a deep breath, letting Juliet chatter as they walked down the broad, unpaved street. They passed rough, unpainted wooden and brick buildings, none of them more than two or three stories tall. Of course, Arizona was nothing like New York—the big, flat-topped columns of red rock and the twisted, spiny plants she’s seen from the train had made that abundantly clear. The small frontier town of Chuckwalla was as far as you could get from th
e city Caroline had grown up in. For goodness sake, the tenement she’d lived in probably had a bigger population than Chuckwalla. Uncivilized is the word that people back home would have used.

  But…the sky. When she looked up, all she saw was the most gorgeous blue in creation. And there was so much of it. No tenements or skyscrapers to crowd it out, no brown haze of soot from wood fires and coal stoves. It looked like God had set an azure dome overhead to cap the world.

  She wanted to paint it.

  “…are you feeling well?” Juliet had actually stopped talking and was looking at her anxiously.

  Oops, she hadn’t realized that she’d stopped walking. Caroline forced herself to smile. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not nervous too, are you?”

  What had the girl said earlier? That Maxwell was too nervous to eat breakfast. Was that a good thing? A sign that he was excited to meet her? Or had his appetite been destroyed by second thoughts?

  What if he changed his mind after he met her?

  Caroline shook her head to banish the unhappy thought and resumed walking toward the church—one of the few buildings in town that didn’t look rough or uncivilized. The townsfolk of Chuckwalla cared enough about their church to side it with clapboards, recently painted white, and the brass cross on the top of the steeple shone in the late morning sunlight. That was civilization enough for her.

  She stopped in the church’s foyer, Juliet right beside her. The doors into the chapel were shut, but she heard piano music leaking through, and a man’s voice carrying the melody of Amazing Grace.

  Caroline’s trunk was nowhere in sight.

  The music swelled as a man in a Stetson burst through the doors. “Thank Heavens you’re here. Was the train late? Max is about to worry himself to death.”

  Caroline blinked. Three piece suit. No tie. His boots had been stitched in an elaborate swirling design. “My dress is in my trunk—”

  “Max isn’t going to care what you’re wearing.”

  “Bart!” Juliet protested. “A girl wants to look special on her wedding day.”

  “A girl wants her groom to be conscious on her wedding day.” He offered his arm to Caroline. “Ready?”

  Was she? Did it matter if she wasn’t?

  “Wait, the veil!” Juliet snatched Caroline’s hat and flung open a door against the far wall—a coatroom, as it turned out—and emerged from the large closet moments later carrying a huge bundle of sheer lace.

  Caroline flinched as the girl tossed the fabric at her face…no, over her head. The world took on a white haze as the veil draped itself over her. It was so big, went all the way down to her waist in front.

  Juliet clapped her hand with glee. “Perfect!”

  Perfect because it concealed her heritage? Or because it concealed her rumpled, dusty traveling dress? Was she really going to get married in the traveling clothes she’d been wearing for the past two days?

  “I need to change—”

  “Juliet says you look perfect, so you do.” Bart offered her his arm again. “Let’s go.”

  “What are you—”

  “Someone’s got to walk you down the aisle, don’t they?”

  This was it. Her last chance to back out. Once she started down that aisle, it would be near impossible to back out.

  She swallowed hard. Imagined Sarah and Mae and the others were waiting for her at the altar, her bridesmaids. Sarah would give her an encouraging nod. Mae’s eyes would be shining with joy. Each one of them would be there for her, supporting her in their own way.

  She took Bart’s arm and let him walk her through the doors.

  Chapter Three

  The man standing at the front of the church didn’t look at all like Caroline had imagined him. Brown hair, brown eyes, on the tall side, nothing special he’d said. False modesty? Or did he really see himself that way?

  Towering over the minister, broad-shouldered, square-jawed Max looked like he’d have no trouble picking Caroline up with one hand. His dark brown eyes smoldered with curious intelligence in a chiseled face that probably had women throwing themselves at his feet. This was the sweet, gentle man she’d been corresponding with?

  The hope that flashed across his face as he turned his head and caught sight of her made her knees weak.

  A cold sweat broke out along Caroline’s spine. Her vision narrowed, until all she could see was him. Looking hopeful and nervous and maybe something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She wasn’t sure how she made it the rest of the way down the aisle, or when Bart released her hand and took his place beside Maxwell, or what the minister said next. The pews were packed, but everyone’s faces blurred. A rustle of fabric beside her…Juliet, perhaps, standing in as maid of honor? She was too terrified to turn her head and look.

  She clasped her hands tightly over her stomach, to keep from fisting them in her skirts.

  Would he be happy when he lifted her veil and saw her for the first time? Or would he be disappointed?

  Now she really wished they’d exchanged portraits.

  Or did she? They’d gotten a chance to know each other without the prejudice of appearances interfering. In his proposal, he’d said he admired her practical, hard-working nature. There was only one way to find out if he’d meant it.

  Her husband-to-be said something, but her heart pounded so hard she couldn’t understand him. All she could do was watch the parting of his strong lips, the slight crease in his forehead as if he was struggling to remember the words. He smiled, and the crinkling at the edges of his eyes made the backs of her knees tingle.

  “Miss Holt?” Something touched her elbow. The minister. Waiting for her to reply. But what was she replying to?

  Did Max look worried? Why would he? If she said no, he’d have no trouble finding a woman to replace her. Someone who looked American.

  Enough of that. The voice in her head sounded distinctly like Sarah. He picked you. Prove him right.

  Max leaned forward and whispered. “This is the part where you say I do. Unless you’ve changed your mind?”

  “No,” She whispered back, thanking her lucky stars that she still wore the veil. He couldn’t see how hard she was blushing. “I mean, I do.”

  The minister touched her elbow again, eyebrows raised.

  Caroline cleared her throat and raised her chin, saying it loud enough for the spectators to hear. “I do.”

  Max held out his hand, palm up.

  He wanted to shake hands with her? What happened to you may kiss the bride?

  “Ring,” the minister hissed, loud enough that someone in the front pew snickered.

  Oh, right. Feeling like an idiot, she held out her hand. Max placed a plain gold band on her ring finger.

  Someone nudged her in the ribs. Juliet. Bart’s sister handed Caroline a larger ring, a match to the one Maxwell had just given her.

  Maxwell held out his own hand. Waited.

  Fingers trembling, she eased the ring onto his finger. Then she glanced up and froze, stunned by the joy shining in his eyes as he smiled down at her.

  The minister took a step back and gestured for the newlyweds to come together. “You may kiss the bride.”

  Caroline held her breath as Max moved closer and lifted the hem of her veil, revealing her face. He grinned. He had dimples too?

  “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Kaspar,” he said.

  Then he kissed her.

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  Voices reverberated through the darkness surrounding Caroline. She buried her face in the warm, solid something that supported her.

  “I think she’s awake.” A male voice.

  She opened her eyes with a start. Maxwell’s face hovered over her. He was the warm, solid something supporting her, his arms tight around her waist.

  Juliet, Bart and the minister stood farther away to one side. Everyone else looked concerned, but Caroline’s husband-to-be looked amused.

  No, husband. He’d given her a ring.

  “You didn’t
tell me you were the swooning type,” Max said.

  “I’m not.” She’d never fainted before in her life. Not even at her parents’ funeral. What must he think of her? He wanted a practical wife, and practical women absolutely did not swoon.

  She pushed at his chest. “I’m fine.”

  “Give it a minute.” He didn’t release her. If anything, he seemed to be holding her tighter. She’d never been so embarrassed.

  “Really, I’m fine.”

  “I’m not, seeing you drop like that. Makes me wonder what I did wrong.”

  What he did wrong?

  “Perhaps you’d like to have a seat and sign the papers?” The minister pointed to a small door on the side of the room. Juliet hurried to open it, giving Caroline a glimpse of a small office containing a desk and chairs.

  Sitting down would be good. Give her a chance to gather herself.

  “Yes, please,” Caroline said.

  Maxwell grimaced, but he walked her there, arm firmly around her waist. Once she was seated, he took the chair beside her and began to drum his fingers on his thigh. Impatient to move on to the wedding night? Or was that a sign that he was displeased with her?

  She vowed she would demonstrate her practical nature in as many ways as possible, to allay any fears her swoon might have stirred up.

  Moments later, the minister joined them. He produced a certificate of marriage and a fountain pen from his desk drawer, which he placed on the desk with a flourish. Then he smiled at Caroline. “If you’re not able to sign your name, my dear, it’s fine to make your personal mark. I’ll print your name below it.”

  Why wouldn’t she be able to write her own name? She’d heard that the frontier called uncivilized, but could things actually be so backward here that women were usually illiterate? Or was it that he thought her the savage? That she couldn’t write her own name?

  Caroline glanced at Max. The muscles in his jaw flexed as he flushed. “’Course she can write her own name. She’s not stupid.”

  “No offense intended.” The minister pointed to the empty line near the bottom left corner of the certificate. “Full name, please.”