A Bride for Dwight Read online

  “Mary,” he interrupted gently, “I think you’ll find that most folks in Brownville generally give others the benefit of the doubt and mind their own business—for the most part,” he added with a nod to the gossipers who only cared about the spreading of shocking tidbits, and not about helping the unfortunate in their time of need. “Now, as far as I know, only Pauline Keller and I know the truth about that Hobbs fellow. I know I won’t tell anyone what you’ve told me in confidence, and I don’t believe she will. As far as anyone else knows, you were just the unfortunate victim of attack and theft.”

  Although she knew his words were well-intentioned, they didn’t make much difference.

  It had been bad enough losing her wonderful father. Then not knowing where her brother, Hank, had run off to, nor how to get a message to him. She thought about it every day, and prayed for God to intervene, because if Hank had been back to their cabin after that awful night when their pa had been killed, he wouldn’t have been able to find out where she’d gone. He might have been caught. She might never see him again! And now, this. This latest burden could very well be the straw that broke the camel’s back.

  Oh, how had everything gone wrong so quickly? In the space of one day, her brother had been accused of a crime he hadn’t committed and he’d barely escaped a hang-him-first-and-ask-questions-later mob, then their father had been killed in a fight defending his son’s good name, and soon afterwards the ferry company’s man, Clive Tobin, had come to tell her she’d have to vacate their shack.

  Had all that really only been three months ago? It seemed like a lifetime ago.

  She’d lived all her life with no mother, just a father and brother—but they’d been family and fiercely loyal to one another. They had never been able to settle long in any place to make friends or feel like it was home, because their father, Big Dan Robinson, had made his living as a fireman tending the boilers on steamboats and ferries. They had moved from town to town all around the West, most recently in Lincoln, Nebraska, when Big Dan had been hired onto the ferry, City of Lincoln.

  But, after that fiendish night, Mary had been forced to set off on her own, and she’d been doing pretty well until she’d been caught as a stowaway on a steamboat by none other than that snake in the grass, Washington Hobbs. Funny, she mused wryly, until now, I’d been thinking that was the silver lining to the dark cloud of my existence, because it had resulted in me settling here in Brownville, making friends, and starting to make a life for myself. But now…

  Mary let out a soft snort. It figures. Now, when she’d just begun to feel as if she were sinking roots into a place where she could be happy—this happens.

  Once again, the memory of the welcoming committee’s judgmental stares and intrusive questions came floating back, and letting out a pitiful sob, she squeaked, “What am I going to do? The church ladies will run me out of town!”

  The gentlemanly doctor cleared his throat and recaptured her attention. She eyed him again, only to see him smiling as if he had a secret plan.

  “Not if I have anything to say about it, my dear. Not if I have anything to say.”

  He patted her shoulder and gave an exaggerated wink, succeeding in making her respond with a bit of a smile as he assured, “You just leave everything to me, child.”

  She stared at him, wondering what the gentle physician had up his sleeve. Could she really let go and trust this kind man…and trust God to have her best interest at heart?

  In the space of a heartbeat, she decided, Yes, I can. Pressing her lips together, she squared her shoulders, and gave him a firm nod.

  After all…what else could she do?

  Crossing her fingers, she hoped his plan would be her anchor in the storm…and not end up a mooring rope around her ankle.

  Chapter 2

  The next day

  Louisville, Kentucky

  D wight “D.J.” Christiansen expertly directed his hansom cab to a stop alongside the curb in front of Madame C. Grunder’s well-known, high-end modiste shop located on Green Street—the shop to frequent for wealthier patrons.

  Sliding open the trapdoor near the rear of the roof, he smiled down at the passenger who had recently become a regular fare. “Here we are.”

  The pair of large, brown eyes staring misty-eyed up at him belonged to Penelope Haldeman, a headstrong and impetuous young girl. She and her wealthy, bank-owner father, Benjamin Haldeman, had hired Dwight’s cab numerous times over the last few months to go see plays at the theater or social outings in the evenings. The widower obviously doted on and pampered his only child. Dwight knew the man was doing his best to train up his daughter in the practiced arts of presenting herself as a refined lady, and that she was thusly expected to be the mistress of the house and help him host their many parties. This past week alone, Dwight had been summoned on more than one occasion to take the girl to the modiste’s shop for fittings in addition to other appointments in preparation for a rather large party at the Haldeman mansion.

  “Thank you, Dwight,” the girl purred, allowing her eyes to roam over his features as if he were the hero in a dime novel—or a delectable filet mignon on a gold-rimmed plate. “Will you wait for me?”

  Dwight suppressed a sigh of annoyance. The hero worship this young girl heaped upon him had grown old with the speed of a highballing locomotive. She must have seen hesitation in his eyes, as she rushed on, “My father will pay extra for you to do so.”

  It had all started the first evening her father had hailed Dwight’s cab to take them to the Buckingham Theater for a performance. On the way, Dwight had skillfully maneuvered out of the path of a runaway spider phaeton—a jaunty model sporting four extravagantly large wheels and pulled by two extremely wild-eyed horses. He managed the feat in the barest nick of time, thereby avoiding a collision and—in the words of the girl’s father—saved their very lives. Since that night, it had seemed to Dwight that young Miss Haldeman had found every excuse she possibly could to engage his services. He would bet a week’s pay she hadn’t even celebrated her sixteenth birthday yet.

  “Please?” she added now, blinking up at him with a silly amount of coquettish eyelash fluttering.

  Figuring that during the time Miss Haldeman would be occupied in the shop he might not find other riders needing his cab on this slow Monday morning, he glanced around and spotted a shade tree nearby that was big enough to get out of the sweltering, mid-summer, Ohio Valley sun for the ensuing wait.

  Acquiescing with a tip of his hat, he murmured, “Yes, miss. I’ll wait.”

  The girl’s countenance lit up with such a delighted smile, one would think that he was her Prince Charming and had just invited her to the ball to end all balls. Her blond curls cascading from underneath her fashionable hat bounced as she brought her gloved hands together in silent applause, rather like a small child being given a prize. “Oh, that’s marvelous! Thank you, Dwight!”

  Sliding the hatch in the roof closed, Dwight couldn’t help but roll his eyes as he climbed down out of the driver’s perch. Opening the half door of the open-air cab, he extended a hand to help the young lady alight.

  Once she had stepped onto the brick sidewalk, she retained hold of his hand with a surprisingly strong grip and gazed adoringly up into his face as he tried to gently extract his hand from hers. “I’ll try to hurry…” she was saying, “and today Madame Grunder is supposed to be finished with the gown she’s making for Father’s party next Friday. I…I hope you’ll like it.”

  His brows furrowed at this. “Me, Miss Haldeman?” He doubted he would even have occasion to see the creation, much less form an opinion.

  “Oh, please, won’t you call me Penny? I’ve asked you to do so, several times…”

  Dwight pressed his lips together, not wishing to encourage her in this overly personal exchange as the whole thing was making him decidedly uncomfortable. Indeed, her father had witnessed her calling him by his first name on one occasion, and the scowl the man had bestowed upon the hapless cab drive
r would have made any man cringe and stand down.

  “That wouldn’t be proper, Miss Haldeman. Your father wouldn’t like that,” he reminded her yet again. Then, before she could argue, he scampered back up into the driver’s box and added, “I’ll be right over there, miss. Take your time.” Then, he flicked Pepper’s reins and the big wheels of the small conveyance rolled smoothly over to the blessed shade.

  Setting the brake, he climbed down and made sure Pepper was comfortable before taking off his top hat to swipe his forehead. “Gadzooks, it’s hot today,” he mumbled, musing that it was still early and his shirt was already wet with perspiration.

  Turning his head as he reached up to unfasten several buttons at the neck of his black wool suit jacket, which his boss insisted he and his fellow driver wear, he glanced back toward the door of the shop where he found his passenger still standing. The longing look she was aiming his way set his teeth on edge. When she realized that he had caught her woolgathering, she turned and quickly hurried inside the building.

  “Son of a biscuit, this has got to stop,” he grumbled as he flopped down at the base of the big tree. Dropping his hat down next to him on the grass, he stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankle, leaned back, and closed his eyes.

  If this keeps up and her daddy gets wind of it, he’ll take his trade elsewhere, sure as the crow flies. Maybe worse—he might complain to Mr. Harrington.

  The thought disturbed him somewhat. Not that his boss, Richard Harrington, owner of Louisville Hansom Cab Service, would believe he was doing anything untoward with the young girl. Surely not…she’s just a kid! She probably still plays with dolls and has make-believe tea parties, like my sisters. At that, a small smile curved his lips as he pictured the many times his twelve-year-old, twin sisters, Grace and Faith, had done just that.

  Unbidden another image surfaced—that of his sister Olivia several years prior—when she’d developed a yen for one of the male teachers at her school. He remembered how he had been quick to blame the man for that attachment, until he had been informed of the truth, that it had all been dreamed up in his sister’s prolific mind in conjunction with one of the weekly serials in a newspaper she was reading…

  Giving his head a firm shake to try and dislodge the dread those ruminations aroused, he steered his thoughts to drift back over the past few months.

  The cabby business was doing fairly well…although not as booming as his boss had hoped. It was, after all, only one cab. More than once, his employer had talked about making another trip to New York to try and add one, perhaps several, hansom cabs to his fleet. A year previous, Richardson had been in New York visiting a friend and had become privy to a deal too good to pass up on a used cab. The idea intrigued him, so he’d bought it, had it refurbished, and shipped to Louisville. So far, however, he hadn’t made back his investment. The business employed two drivers—Dwight from daylight to dusk, and Tommy Sheffield for the evening and nighttime trade.

  Dwight had enjoyed good business from the Derby. Thirty cents for one person, and forty for two, was their normal fare, but Richard had raised it during Derby week—following the traditions of most Louisville businesses—to fifty cents and sixty, to take advantage of the out-of-town visitors.

  He’d only had one mishap where someone had beat him out of the fare—a man had hailed Dwight at the corner of Sixteenth and Jefferson to take him out to Churchill Downs, but upon arrival, had jumped out and run off without paying, promptly losing himself in the crowd. Dwight had given chase, but soon realized it was a lost cause and returned to his cab.

  He had shrugged it off, figuring that the man wanted to put every cent he had on the horse he was sure would win the big race, so he’d figuratively tipped his hat and wished the man good fortune. The incident hadn’t dampened his enjoyment of the brisk business. Derby week, and the weeks before and after, had added many a coin to his take home commissions.

  All in all, however, Dwight had found himself of late feeling hemmed in and restless. He wasn’t making enough to provide for the family, and it gnawed at him that his mother was forced to work as a maid to help make ends meet. When his father, Dwight, Sr., had been alive, they had enjoyed a comfortable, middle-class existence, and it galled him that he was letting his father down—although his mother refused to hear any of that kind of talk.

  With a resigned sigh, he wondered for the hundredth time since his father’s accident, how a proud stevedore who had won an award once for impeccable performance and safety on the job, had slipped on the wet cobblestones of the wharf and fallen into the rain-swollen Ohio River that fateful morning. If the authorities hadn’t assured the family that there was absolutely no sign of foul play, Dwight would have believed his father had been pushed. But the man had had no enemies!

  Aw well, at least we have one less to worry about and feed now that Pebs is married and gone.

  With that thought, he allowed himself a smile as he pictured his lovely sister, Pauline, and her deputy husband, Tobias Keller, happily wed and living in Brownville, Nebraska—where the family had sent her to escape a bad situation in Louisville.

  What a surprise their instant attraction and eventual love had turned out to be! Dwight had been so worried about her, knowing she was six hundred miles from home with no one but strangers, which included her proxy groom. He’d imagined her crying herself to sleep at night and housed in some sort of rattle trap cabin—although she had written right away that they had put her up in a beautiful home that had become a boarding house. When he had finally traveled there himself to give her the all clear and bring her home, and had seen the mansion, he’d been awed and quite impressed. Although it wasn’t, of course, nearly as opulent as the Fetterman mansion—where his mother was employed—it was still quite nice.

  With a slight wince, he remembered the harsh words he had said to and about Pauline’s husband, Tobias, once he had been informed of the danger and close calls his sister had weathered since her arrival in the small Nebraska town. He’d been insufferably rude, but, thankfully, Tobias was the forgiving sort and had accepted his apology later. They had both chalked it up to the actions of an overprotective brother.

  Then, his mind conjured up images of Pauline’s proxy husband down on one knee at her side as he made right a huge misunderstanding between the couple. The joy on his sister’s face at that moment was something Dwight would remember the rest of his life. Dwight’s desire to throttle Tobias Keller had disappeared in a heartbeat—to be replaced with a longing to experience that kind of affection and commitment himself someday.

  Wispy memories of his sister’s real wedding swam through his head then, like floating daguerreotypes. It had been a wonderful day for everyone in attendance. Meeting the infamous Hampton Gibson, Tobias Keller’s grandfather, the man everyone called the Wyatt Earp of Champaign, Illinois, had been—for lack of a better word—an experience, and the impromptu shooting contest comical and fun to watch. Pauline’s new friends in Brownville had been accommodating and nice—especially one. What was her name…Mary? She had caught his eye, but he’d never had the opportunity to talk with her. Something about her blue eyes and long, dark hair had appealed to him…but she’d kept her eyes downcast and demure when in his proximity.

  Dwight had been quite surprised to find himself enjoying his time in the little hamlet of Brownville, Nebraska. Though small, the town was bustling with amenities due to a rip-roaring steamboat trade. There were restaurants with delicious food, shops, barbers, and just about everything one could want. The town also had an abundance of saloons, although that wasn’t a vice in which he would need to indulge. Brownville sported not one, but two brick manufacturers, as well as two sawmills which furnished, among other things, plenty of firewood for the dozens of steamboats stopping there each day.

  Indeed, if he ever decided to leave his own hometown, that might not be a bad place to go. Louisville seemed to be getting more crowded by the day, and with new businesses springing up, competition for cust
omers was fierce and crime was on the rise…

  “Dwight! Help!” the voice of his customer interrupted his musings and he leapt to his feet. Looking her way, he saw that she was juggling a large box, trying hard not to drop it.

  He quickly slammed his hat back on his head, buttoned his jacket back up, and climbed into the driver’s perch on his cab before wheeling Pepper around in a tight circle. In moments, he rolled up to the young girl and set the brake again before jumping down and taking the box from her with a laugh.

  “Miss Haldeman, I hope this fits in my cab. If not, you might have to send someone back for it.”

  “Oh Dwight, I’m sure you can make it fit,” she cooed as she mooned up into his face. “I have complete confidence in you, you know. Why, I believe you can do anything!” she added with all of the simpering of a southern belle.

  “Well, miss, I’ll do my best,” he mumbled as he assisted her up into her seat and then wrestled with the large package, trying to secure it for travel. He finally decided to wedge it between the back of the cab and his legs and thankfully flicked the reins to commence the return trip.

  Aw well, another day, another four bits. Right?

  Just as the sun was setting, Dwight climbed the three steps up to the back porch and walked through the open door of the modest shotgun house on Sixth Street where he had lived all his life.

  Inside were four of the females that made up his family. Yes, there were times when he felt outnumbered, being the only pants-wearing human in a sea of skirts—but he was used to the moods and emotions associated with it. As his father used to say, they came with the territory.