Whitney Bailey - A Mistaken Match

“What do you mean?”

James’s brow knotted and his mouth became a hard line. “The man has two young children and a house falling down around them. His wife died last year, and he didn’t take it very well. He needs to tend to his children and himself as well as those fields.” His voice held an edge of concern.

Ann strained to see the Schneider house, expecting to find children playing in the yard. It stood quiet and empty. She turned to James to ask him another question about his neighbor, but the top of an envelope jutting from his pocket caught her eye. So that was why he’d been so quick to suggest the trip to town. He needed to telegraph the agency and mail the letter to Mrs. Turner. Another reminder of her unknown future.

“Do you have much business in New Haven?” Ann tried not to sound too curious.

“A bit.”

She waited for him to continue. He didn’t.

“Am I to accompany you on your errands?”

He shook his head. “Nope.”

It was like their trip from town to the farm all over again. Why must he swing betwixt friendly and withdrawn? Ann smiled through clenched teeth. “And what am I to do?”

“First you’ll buy the supplies you need to clean. And then—” he turned to look Ann straight in the eye “—you’re going to make yourself a new friend.”

“What kind of friend?”

His eyebrows arched. “You’ll see.”

* * *

James sighed inwardly. He abhorred being so short with Ann, but what else could he do? Every time he let down his guard with her, his head spun. It was a familiar feeling. He’d felt it every time he’d been in Emily’s presence. When she’d wanted something, he’d fallen over himself to do exactly as she’d asked, like a dutiful dog who only sees the good in its master. The need to please her had remained even as both his heart and God told him she was not the girl for him. At least now he knew how easily he lost his senses around a pretty girl. Better to focus on getting Ann to her intended husband and bringing his plain bride to the home where she belonged.

They drew into town and James turned onto the square and hitched the wagon in front of the first building. Davis Mercantile was neatly lettered in red and gold on the window.

“You can buy supplies in Davis’s. Charge them to my account,” he said as he helped her down.

“You aren’t coming with me?”

“I have a few things to take care of first. Mr. Davis can help you find what you need.”

James set off across the street. The post office sat on the other side of the square. Inside he handed the envelope to the clerk and asked him to calculate postage to England. He then spent ten minutes wording his telegram to the agency. Since he paid by the letter he had to get his point across as succinctly as possible. Afterward, he stepped into the library to fetch a book for Uncle Mac. Then he turned in the direction of the mill. He itched to confide in someone, and Frederick was his closest friend.

He stopped short on the wooden sidewalk a block away from the mill and chided himself. Ann had been in this town less than a day, and he’d left her unaccompanied. His weakness shouldn’t mean she had to suffer through new experiences in a strange country alone.

He continued to the mill, but only stayed long enough to write a note to Frederick informing him he was no longer needed at the courthouse that afternoon. He gave the note to the foreman, who assured James he would deliver it to his friend.

He returned to the square and walked straight to the mercantile. The dark interior of the store was a sudden change from the sun-drenched sidewalk, and for a moment James couldn’t see. He heard Ann’s lilting voice well before he saw her.

“And you’re sure this soap does a proper job?”

“Absolutely, miss. We don’t carry Sunlight, but Fels-Naptha won’t disappoint.”

The store came into focus, along with Mr. Davis behind the counter. His dark mustache rose at the corners as he smiled in greeting. “I’ll be with you in a moment, Mr. McCann,” Mr. Davis called.

Ann stood at the counter and turned her golden head to face him. She smiled softly, and her shoulders dropped a hair, as if in relief.

“How will you be paying, miss?”

James strode to Ann’s side. “Put everything on my account, Mr. Davis.” He could hear the tremor of nerves in his voice. Why was he so nervous? He’d done business with William Davis for years.

Mr. Davis cocked a brow, but reached for the ledger book and entered the total without question.

Ann looked up at James, her blue eyes telling him something. Introductions! Apparently, he forgot even the most basic of social graces while in her presence.

“Mr. Davis, this is Miss Ann Cromwell. She’ll be staying with me and Uncle Mac for a little while,” he announced with far too much force.

“Delighted to meet you, miss,” the shopkeeper replied. “It’s always nice to have new people come to New Haven.”

James silently thanked the man for not asking any questions. William Davis didn’t get to be New Haven’s most successful businessman by being nosy.

“Will there be anything else, Mr. McCann?”

“Did those new hand tools come in yet?”

Mr. Davis gestured to the farthest corner of the store. “Leroy just finished stocking them. Take a look. I think you’ll find the new auger design superior to the old one.”

James made his way to the back of the store while Mr. Davis wrapped Ann’s selections and tied the bundle with string. He tried to concentrate on a shiny awl in front of him, but Ann’s voice carried to him from the counter.

“This is a lovely town. On the drive in, I admired the many fine homes along the boulevard.”

Mr. Davis chuckled. “I don’t think any street here is fancy enough to be called a boulevard, but we do have some beautiful residences.”

“In London, large homes employ several full-time servants.”

“I imagine they would.”

“Is that the case here in New Haven, as well?”

“Oh yes, miss. Half a dozen families here have servants.”

“They do?”

Was James mistaken, or did her measured tone change? She sounded...anxious? Eager?

“Doc Henderson is the only one with live-in help. He has a cook and maid. Heard he’s looking for a new one, though.”

“A new cook or a new maid?” she asked.

He’d heard right the first time. Her melodic voice held a frantic edge.

“He employs one girl to do both.”

“A maid of all work.”

“If that’s what you call it.”

James stole a glance at the counter. Ann’s lips were pursed and her large eyes cast down.

“In England, a servant who both cooks and cleans is called a maid of all work,” she replied.

Mr. Davis’s eyebrows arched. “Is that so?”

Was Ann looking for work? But why? They would be hearing from Mrs. Turner within a few weeks, and after that she’d be off to her true intended. Was living with him so miserable she’d rather work for someone than live with him? Heat flamed his cheeks. He had to treat her more as a guest, and pray it didn’t lead him down a path to his own destruction.

Ann hoisted the packages off the counter but James arrived at her side in seconds and eased them out of her arms. “You shouldn’t have to carry such a heavy bundle,” he explained. Ann bit her bottom lip and murmured her thanks. Was she trying to stifle a laugh? He didn’t doubt it. Everything Ann Cromwell did or said took him by surprise.

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