Homespun Bride. Jillian Hart
Homespun Bride
Jillian Hart
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Epilogue
Chapter One
Montana Territory, 1883
The tiny railroad town of Angel Falls was a symphony of noise. Because she was blind, Noelle Kramer had gotten the knack of separating one sound from another. There was the chink of horseshoes on the hard-packed snow and ice as teamsters and riders hurried on their way. The merry bell in the church steeple clanged a melody, marking the late-afternoon hour. The business-like clip-clip of ladies’ shoes on the swept-clean boardwalk was like a metronome tapping the meter. The low-throated rumble of the train, two blocks over, added a steady bass percussion as it idled on steel tracks.
It all painted a picture, of sorts, but there was so much missing. She could not see the colorful window displays of the shops. Were they bright with spring colors yet? While she could not know this, not without asking her dear aunt, who was busy fussing with their horse’s tether rope, she tried to picture what she could. She hadn’t been blind so long that she couldn’t remember the look of things. She only had to pull it up in her mind, the main street with its cheerful window displays, awnings and continuous boardwalks.
What she couldn’t picture was her friend Lanna, from their school days, who’d been in the dress shop when she and her aunt had stopped to pick up a new hat. Lanna had been bursting with happiness. The brightest notes of joy rang in her voice as she’d been fitted for her wedding dress.
Noelle closed her eyes against the pain; she closed her thoughts and her heart, too. She’d never asked what had become of the wedding gown she’d had made. The one she’d never had a chance to pick up for her wedding day.
She rubbed the fourth finger of her left hand, so bare beneath the thick woolen glove. She understood why Shelton had changed his mind. What surprised her was that her heart wasn’t broken; she’d not been deeply in love with him but she’d hoped for happiness anyway.
No, what had devastated her had been his words. You’re damaged goods, now. Her blindness was the reason she would never have a hope of marrying. Of being a wife and a mother. Her affliction was a burden to others. She, alone, could not tend fires and watch after servants or see to the dozens of details in the running of a household and caring for small children.
Still, she had a lot to be thankful for.
“Now, you settle down like a good horse.” Aunt Henrietta’s no-nonsense scolding easily drowned out the street noise. Even her gait was a sensible brisk stride and her petticoats rustled as she climbed into the sleigh.
“Is he giving you more trouble?” Noelle asked, trying to hide her worry.
“He won’t if he knows what’s good for him.” Henrietta settled her heavy hoops and plentiful skirts around her on the seat. “I gave him a talking-to he won’t soon forget. He’s a Worthington now, and he has a standard of conduct to uphold. I won’t be seen around town wrestling a horse for control like some common teamster.”
Noelle bit her lip trying to hide the smile for she knew her aunt was dreadfully serious. To Henrietta, appearances and reputation were everything. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. He’s probably just not used to all the noise in town.”
“I don’t care what he’s used to!” Henrietta huffed. The seat groaned beneath her weight as she leaned forward, perhaps in search of the lap blanket. “Where has that gone to? Wait, here it is. Cover up, dear. There’s a dangerous cold to the air. Mark my words, we’ll see a blizzard before we reach home, if we make it there in time.”
Noelle bit her lip again. She was endlessly amused by Henrietta’s drama. A blizzard? Surely that was a dire assessment of the situation. She held up her gloved hand but couldn’t hear any telltale tap, tap against the leather. “I smell snow in the wind. It is falling yet? I can’t tell.”
“Nothing yet, although I can hardly hear you. I shall never get used to that newfangled contraption.”
“Which newfangled contraption is bothering you now?”
“Why, the train, of course.” Henrietta took delight in her complaints, for her voice was smiling as she gathered the thick leather reins with a rustle. “I can tell by the look on your face that once again my disapproval of modern progress amuses you.”
“I wonder why the Northern Pacific Railroad didn’t ask you before they laid track through our valley.”
“That is exactly my complaint with them.” Henrietta gave the reins a slap and the gelding leaped forward, jerking them to a rough, swift start. “There, now. That’s more like it. I don’t put up with a horse’s nonsense.”
Or any nonsense, Noelle knew, which was why she hadn’t asked about Lanna’s dress when they’d left the shop. Why she tucked away her sadness. Henrietta didn’t have a mind to tolerate sadness. She always said that God knew best and that was that.
No doubt that was true. Sometimes it was simply difficult to understand.
The wind changed, bringing with it the fresh wintry scent of snowflakes. Noelle could feel them, as light as a Brahms lullaby, and she lifted her face to the brush of their crisp iciness against her skin.
Henrietta snapped the reins briskly, intent on directing their horse. “Do you smell that?”
“Yes, isn’t the snow wonderful?”
“Goodness, not that, dear. It’s the train. At least you’re spared the ugly view of the trailing coal smoke that hovers over the town like a black, poisonous, endless snake. What are we expected to do? Expire from the discharge?”
“I doubt the men in charge of the rail company are concerned by the smoke cloud.”
“Well, they can afford not to be! They are not here to breathe it in! And why do we need such progress? Gone are the days when a person labored to get to their destination. I walked beside my parents’ wagon halfway to Missouri, and it put the starch in my bonnet. It’s what’s wrong with young people nowadays. Life is too easy for them.”
The train whistle blasted, drowning out her words. And there was another more frightening sound—the high-noted terror in a horse’s neigh. Noelle cringed, panic licking at her. Years ago, their mare had made that terrified, almost-human scream when a rattlesnake had startled her and she’d run with the family buggy over the edge of the road. On that day, Noelle had lost her mother, her father and her sight.
Surely, that sound wasn’t coming from their horse?
She glanced around the street, as if she could see; it was habit, nothing more. She gripped the edge of the sleigh tight in reflex and in memory, but there was no time to open her heart in prayer. The sleigh jerked forward.