Cinda's Surprise Read online

  Copyright

  ISBN 1-58660-026-5

  All Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  © 2000 by Barbour Publishing, Inc. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the permission of the publisher, Truly Yours, PO Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683.

  All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover illustration by Chris Cocozza.

  one

  South of Chicago, 1883

  “Smile, Cinda.”

  Cinda stopped just short of running into David Swan in his own front yard. In her worry, her gaze had been focused on the ground and not on where she was going. Now, she looked up at her best friend’s new husband with an apologetic smile.

  “Oh, hi, David. Is Allison inside?”

  Cinda had rushed over to see her friend as soon as the mail had arrived. Normally, she strolled along, enjoying whatever pleasures the day had to offer; however, today in her haste, she had heard nothing but her own rushing thoughts and had seen even less. She hadn’t even seen David until he spoke to her.

  David was six-feet one-inch tall, broad across the shoulders but lean in build, with a kind face and thin and sandy blond hair. He stood firmly in her path. “I won’t tell you until you smile. You’ll never get a husband with that scowl.”

  Cinda gave him a quick, forced smile. The last thing she felt like doing today was smiling.

  “You’re a pretty girl, Cinda. If you smiled more often and looked up once in awhile, you’d catch a husband in no time.”

  Her cheeks warmed at his compliment. She could see that look in his eyes—help poor, shy Cinda, so she doesn’t become an unhappy old maid. Why were all old maids assumed to be miserable? Wasn’t it possible for a spinster to be happy? “Now, who said I was fishing for one, anyway?” she asked him.

  “Aren’t all young ladies looking for a man to put a ring on their finger?”

  Here he was playing big brother again; she was irritated by his teasing, but if she could choose a brother, he would be David. She could see now he was amused. Putting her hands on her hips, she stood up to her full five-feet eleven and one-half-inches. Like this, she could intimidate most men unless they were young, handsome, and unmarried—then it was Cinda who was intimidated. She was tall, but she never felt she could measure up in the eyes of a potential suitor.

  Less than two inches shorter than David, she was almost eye to eye with him, as she was with most men. “No, David. Some of us are independent souls and don’t need marriage to feel complete.” Her own words hurt her because she wasn’t so sure she was one of the independent souls.

  David opened his mouth as if to counter, but Cinda spoke quickly. “Allison? Is she inside?”

  David’s hesitation made her uncomfortable. She hoped he wouldn’t harass her further. She had had enough for one day. “Yes. She’s in the kitchen,” David said finally with half a grin.

  ❧

  Allison glanced up at her friend lurking in the doorway and smiled. “Don’t just stand there. Peel me some apples.” Allison stood at the kitchen worktable stirring the ingredients for a piecrust. “You can help me make these pies for supper.”

  Cinda had no siblings while Allison was the only girl of five children; the two had developed a special sisterly bond rooted in friendship.

  “I’ll just spoil it. You know I can’t cook,” Cinda countered, staying out of the way by the door.

  “Nonsense. That’s your aunt talking.” Allison set a paring knife on the table next to a bowl of last year’s apples she had brought up from the cellar.

  Cinda sat down in one of the kitchen chairs. She thought Allison painted the perfect picture with her white apron over her light blue blouse and navy skirt and her blond curls pulled back with just a wisp dangling beside the smudge of flour on her cheek. She obviously enjoyed being a wife and mother-to-be.

  Cinda forcefully pushed the thoughts away. She picked up an apple and started peeling. “How are you and the baby doing?”

  Allison patted her growing stomach. “Great. He’s an active one.” Allison put a glob of dough on the floured end of the table. “David fusses over us already. He’s going to be a great father.”

  “It’s hard to believe you are six months along. You hardly show.”

  “Seven. It’s this skirt and the apron over top.” She smoothed the layers of fabric tightly at the top and bottom of her rounded tummy. She was definitely pregnant.

  Cinda peeled apple after apple.

  When Allison had the crusts rolled out, she sat down and sliced the peeled apples. “Out with it.”

  “What?” Cinda looked up from the apple she was peeling, surprised.

  “You’re frettin’ over something. You might as well tell me before it spoils these pies.” Allison waved her knife in the air.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to bring my troubles down on you, but I’m in an awful fix. I don’t know who else to turn to.” Cinda let out a heavy sigh.

  “What has your aunt Ginny done now?”

  “It’s not her this time, but I hate to think what she will say when she finds out.” Cinda wiped her hands on the dish towel and laid it back on the table, then pulled a letter from her pocket. “It’s this letter.”

  “Who’s it from?”

  Cinda lowered the letter to her lap and looked down. “A man.”

  “A man? Who?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Didn’t he sign it? Are you sure it’s from a man then?” Allison picked up another apple and sliced it.

  “Mr. Rawlings is definitely a man!”

  “How do you know this Mr. Rawlings?”

  “I don’t,” Cinda exclaimed. “That’s just it. I’ve never heard of him until today when I opened this letter.” She waved the letter in the air.

  “It’s probably just a mistake then. Take it back to the post office and tell them to return it to Mr. Rawlings.” Allison let out a sigh of relief.

  “I can’t do that.” Cinda could tell her friend was brushing this off as inconsequential.

  “Then write to Mr. Rawlings yourself and tell him he made a mistake.”

  “I can’t do that either.”

  “Why not?” Exasperation coated Allison’s heavy sigh. “It would be the proper way to deal with it. Honestly, Cinda, when there’s a man concerned, you can make a problem where there is none.”

  “He’s coming here—today.” Cinda’s voice squeaked. “He’s coming for me!”

  When Allison’s eyes widened, Cinda’s stomach flipped. Cinda could tell her friend was trying to hide her surprise.

  “Now, why would this Mr. Rawlings, whom you don’t even know, be comin’ after you?”

  “I don’t know.” Cinda twisted her hands together in her lap. Her aunt had convinced her she was no good for any man; her tall stature had confirmed it in her own mind.

  “It can’t be all that bad.” Allison patted Cinda’s hand. “Read the letter aloud and let’s see what Mr. Rawlings has to say.”

  Cinda unfolded the letter and drew in a deep breath. “ ‘Dear Miss Harrison,’ ” Cinda started calmly. “That’s me. There is no mistaking that. I’m the only unmarried Harrison in town. In fact, I’m the only Harrison in town.”

  “Just read on.”

  “ ‘I have enjoyed your letters and feel I know you well.’ ” She stopped and looked at her friend. “Did you hear that? Letters. With an s, meaning more than one. He has letters from me! I didn’t write any letters. H
ow can he know me?”

  “Go on,” Allison said.

  Cinda looked back to the letter. “ ‘After these months of correspondence, I look forward to finally meeting you.’ These months!” Cinda choked out the words and looked wide-eyed at Allison. “He says he has been corresponding with me for months!”

  “So far, there is nothing so terrible to have you so worked up.”

  “Oh, it gets worse. A lot worse.”

  “Just finish the letter. Or I’ll be havin’ this baby before I find out what all the fuss is about.”

  Fuss? Allison thought she was making a fuss over nothing. Well, she would soon see there was a great deal to fuss over. Cinda’s hands shook as she continued.

  Since we have come to know each other through our letters, and due to a deficiency of time, if it’s all right with you, we will need to be married immediately and return for the spring planting.

  Cinda’s voice was fairly shaking by now.

  I will arrive in the afternoon on the second of April.

  Yours truly,

  Lucas Rawlings

  Cinda meticulously refolded the letter. “That’s what all the fuss is about.”

  The two women sat in silence for a few moments.

  “The postman simply delivered it to the wrong house.”

  “No!” Cinda showed her the address. There was no mistake; the letter was meant for Cinda. “I’m a mail-order bride! What am I going to do?” This kind of thing might happen up north in Chicago—but not in their sleepy little town.

  “There has to be a good explanation for all this,” Allison said as she put the tops on the two pies and trimmed the edges. “Someone must have been writing to Mr. Rawlings using your name. Would you open the oven for me?” She picked up the pies and slid them into the oven.

  Cinda closed the oven door. “Who would do that to me?”

  The women fretted over that question while the pies baked. Finally, Allison jotted down something on a piece of paper and sent it off with the freckle-faced boy next door.

  two

  An hour after the note was sent, Vivian and Eve came prancing up onto the porch in a fit of giggles. Cinda and Allison were sitting in wooden rocking chairs on the front porch. Allison was knitting some booties for the baby, and Cinda was working on a half-sewn baby shirt. This was the first spring day warm enough to be outside, and despite their anxiety, they were enjoying the fresh air.

  “Allison, it’s good to see you looking so fit,” Vivian said cordially.

  “Yes. You do look fit, Allison,” Eve echoed.

  Eve wore a low-cut green velour walking dress with her shawl hanging around her elbows. Her black hair was pulled back in the front with ringlets cascading down behind. Vivian’s tawny hair was done up in a stylish chignon with jeweled combs. She was dressed in a peach walking dress with a mass of ruffled lace about the neck, upper chest, and sleeves. Vivian could wear all that flounce because she was small, as were Eve and Allison. Cinda seemed to be the only one inflicted with height; she could never get away with all that frill on her tall frame. Suddenly, she drooped her shoulders and pulled her head down between them, feeling overly large.

  Vivian and Eve turned simultaneously to Cinda. “How do you do, Cinda?” Eve said in greeting. She turned to Vivian and giggled again. A mischievous smile played on Vivian’s lips.

  “Sit down you two, and tell us all about Mr. Lucas Rawlings.” Allison’s irritation was evident in her tone.

  The chastised Vivian and Eve sat down dutifully, one on a wooden bench and the other on a straight-back chair. “How did you find out about Lucas?” Vivian asked.

  So these two are behind the mysterious letter. Had they written to Cinda pretending to be this man—or was there really a Lucas Rawlings? Cinda pulled out the letter. “I received this from him this morning.”

  “Vivian!” Eve scolded. “How did that get past you?”

  “I haven’t been at the post office much lately. My wedding is only two weeks off.” Vivian folded her hands in her lap.

  “Vivian, maybe you should tell us the whole story,” Allison said.

  “Oh, do let me tell it. It really is quite amusing,” Eve jumped in, eager to tell all. “You remember when we stayed over at your parents’ house the night before your wedding, Allison?” She paused until the others nodded, then continued. “Remem-ber that advertisement in the ladies’ magazine for finding a husband? Remember the letter we wrote? We sent the letter, Viv and I.”

  “It was just for fun. You said you weren’t going to really mail it. I threw that letter away.” Cinda was trying to convince herself that this couldn’t be happening. Marry a stranger? The thought was appalling.

  “I was the one who took it out of the trash. Viv and I rewrote it.” Eve’s grin widened as she pointed to herself. “We improved it.”

  Cinda felt the blood drain from her face. “I knew something bad would happen. I never should have agreed to let you use my name.” She slumped in the chair and put her head back.

  “Who else was there?” Vivian said. “Allison was getting married the next day. I had just gotten engaged. And Eve already had three beaus buzzing around her. It wouldn’t have been fair to add another one to her hive when you had none.”

  “What happened after you sent the letter?” Allison’s voice was tinged with annoyance.

  “We didn’t send it right away,” Eve went on. “But about a month after we did send it, we received the first letter from Lucas. We wrote back to him, and before we knew it, we had a regular correspondence with the man.”

  “Regular correspondence!” Cinda gasped, confirming her fear. Her stomach knotted and lodged in her throat.

  Allison gave Cinda a sorrowful look. “Where are the other letters?” Allison demanded.

  Eve pulled a bundle of letters out of her reticule. “There are four of them.” She handed them to Cinda.

  Cinda stared at the stack, too paralyzed to take them from Eve. If she didn’t touch them, they weren’t real. It was all a bad dream, a nightmare.

  Allison reached over and relieved Eve of the collection. “Shall I read them aloud, or do you want to read them in private?” she asked Cinda.

  Cinda found it difficult to speak. All she could do was shake her head. She didn’t want to know any more about the man. She wanted it not to be true. This couldn’t be happening.

  Allison took the top letter and opened it.

  Dear Miss Harrison,

  I acquired your name through the Matrimonial Agency.

  Cinda grimaced. She closed her eyes to block out Eve’s and Vivian’s excited faces.

  Allison hesitated a moment then continued.

  I would very much like to begin correspondence with you. Since we live some distance apart, I’ll have to court you by mail. If this arrangement is satisfactory with you, I will expect to receive your correspondence.

  Sincerely,

  Lucas Rawlings

  Cinda shook her head. No, it wasn’t satisfactory.

  “He’s not very verbose,” Vivian acknowledged, “but he does sound educated and refined.”

  “Educated and refined! He could be a desperado for all you know,” Cinda shot at them.

  Allison opened the next letter.

  Dear Miss Harrison,

  I’m sorry to say that I don’t have a way with words as you do, but I will do my best to answer your many questions. I live on a prosperous farm outside a small town called Buckskin. Montana is the most beautiful country you will ever see. Majestic mountains that reach clear up to the big blue sky. Sparkling rivers and fertile ground. A man could grow just about anything here he put his mind to.

  I am twenty-eight years old and share your love for the Lord. Life has not always been easy but God has been good to me.

  I have never been married and so I have no children of my own. I do like children and hope to have some one day. Family is very important to me. It is the backbone of this country, God’s own design.

  I anxiously awai
t your next letter.

  Respectfully,

  Lucas Rawlings

  Cinda could feel Vivian’s and Eve’s eyes on her. Allison opened the next letter.

  No, no, Cinda wanted to shout. She didn’t want to hear any more, but all she could do was sit there.

  Dear Miss Harrison,

  I do so enjoy your letters. To answer your further questions, most folks in town consider me tall, though I am not overly so. I have dark hair and blue eyes. Buckskin has a population of two hundred people, more or less, mostly cattle ranchers spread out across the rolling hills. We have a general store, telegraph-post office, church, and we even have a local doctor.

  My farm lies to the south of town and supports six horses, twenty-five laying hens, a rooster, a milking cow, and a sow with nine piglets. There are also five apple trees, two peach trees, two cherry trees, and one plum tree, a large garden area, and even a water pump in the kitchen as well as one outside.

  The house is two stories with four bedrooms and a large front porch with two rocking chairs. Not far from the house are wild blackberries and huckleberries. The farm does quite well and provides a good life.

  I look forward to your next letter.

  Cordially,

  Lucas Rawlings

  He sounded like a peddler selling his wares. Cinda sucked in a small, quick breath as Allison unfolded the last letter. Wouldn’t she ever stop this torture? Cinda bit her bottom lip, knowing that this was the one where he asked the question.

  Dear Miss Harrison,

  I feel as if I know you so well from your letters and have come to the conclusion that we would be most compatible. I can provide well for you and give you a good life.

  Cinda buried her face in her hands and shook her head as Allison went on.

  I hope you don’t think it improper of me to ask without our ever having met, but as I said, I feel as if I know you. Would you do me the honor of accepting my proposal of marriage?

  Warm regards,

  Lucas Rawlings

  Cinda heard Allison fold the last letter and heard the shuffle of papers as she added it to the others. The silence hung heavy in the air.