Mail-Order Marriage Promise. Regina Scott
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she looked sad, mouth dipping.
“I doubt a companion post will do, Mr. Wallin. I cannot be available the hours that would likely be expected.”
That again. Once more, he felt the temper he hadn’t known he had threatening. “Begging your pardon, ma’am, but most places expect a day’s work for a day’s pay.”
“So I am coming to learn, but I’m afraid I must insist on it.” Behind her came a coo, as if a dove had been let loose in the room.
John frowned, but she thrust out her hand. “If I could have the funds you promised?”
At least he could do that much for her. He dug into the pocket of his coat and offered her the money. “I wish you would reconsider,” he told her. “I sincerely doubt you’ll find another situation like this in Seattle. Folks who come here generally aren’t afraid of hard work.”
The coo had become a whine, accompanied by the sound of material rustling. Were there rats in the room? Perhaps he should find her somewhere else to stay.
“I’m not afraid of hard work, Mr. Wallin,” she said, fingers tightening on the door. “I am simply unable to provide it at present. Thank you for your help, and good day.” She started to shut the door, and a howl erupted behind her.
John’s hand caught the door. “Wait. What was that? Are you all right?”
For a moment she hesitated, her gaze on his as if determining how easy it would be to refuse to answer him. Then she released the door and stepped back. “That, Mr. Wallin, is the reason I was willing to become a mail-order bride.”
She turned and headed for the bed, and John stepped into the hotel room. Now he could see two chubby fists waving in the air above the bed. She bent down and swept up the baby.
“There now,” she crooned. “It’s all right. Mommy has her little man.”
She had a child.
He drew in a breath. That explained so much—her reason for seeking a husband so urgently, her need for additional funds, her stringent requirements for a position. But it also meant his job of finding her a situation had just grown exponentially harder.
The baby calmed in her arms, blinking his eyes as he stuffed one fist into his mouth.
“What’s his name?” John asked, venturing closer.
“Peter,” she said, but so begrudgingly he wondered if she thought he’d argue over the matter.
The lad seemed about four months along. That was generally when they discovered their hands, if his nieces and nephews were any indication.
“I suppose Beth knows all about him,” he said.
She blushed, the pink as deep as the sunrise. “Actually, I never wrote Beth about him. When I first answered the ad, I was rather sick, and I thought I might lose the baby. Why explain something that might never come to pass?”
She bounced the little fellow up and down on her hip, wiggling her nose at him and setting him to smiling. John fought a smile himself.
“And then when he was born,” she continued, “I was afraid to tell her for fear you might not want to send for me. I thought, that is I hoped, you would want him, too.”
And he hadn’t given her the chance to find out. He could feel her yearning now, and something inside him rose to meet it. He shouldn’t give in. She needed a better man than him.
“Is that why you didn’t want me to come up?” he asked instead. “Because of Peter?”
She managed a smile. “I was more concerned that I didn’t have a chaperone. I couldn’t leave him alone to come downstairs.”
John glanced back. “If we leave the door open, that ought to satisfy propriety. And you could have told Beth about Peter. She would probably have sent for you sooner. She loves babies.”
“Do you?” She shot him a look equal parts challenge and concern.
He shrugged. “I’m an uncle eight times over. I’m used to babies.”
Her frame relaxed, but she sighed. “What a very great shame you weren’t the man who placed the ad I answered, then.”
Perhaps it was a shame. But he didn’t feel ready to be a husband, much less a father.
Peter reached out a hand, and John offered him a finger to squeeze. Such a strong grip for a little fellow. He seemed like a healthy lad, with round cheeks and sparkling eyes that might yet turn the purple of his mother’s. His dressing gown of linen with its sweater over the top was clean and tidy, at least for the moment, but John knew exactly how many things a baby could do to clothing and anyone nearby. He’d been spit at, wet upon, and had a handful of hair yanked out at one point or another. That fetching black-and-white checkered gown Dottie wore today didn’t stand a chance.
“What did the ad say?” he asked, suddenly curious as to what would have made this woman take a chance on him. “What convinced you to answer it?”
She cocked her head, a smile hovering. “It said, ‘Wanted—sweet-natured wife who will brave the wilderness and make a happy home filled with love.’”
Good thing no one else in his family knew he was supposed to be the author, or he would never live it down. “I’m sorry Beth raised your hopes.”
Her smile faded, and the room seemed to darken. “So am I. I truly have no idea what to do now. I know no one in Seattle but you and Beth and two friends who just left for the Duwamish. You can understand why working could be difficult.”
“You have no family?” John persisted.
Her mouth tightened. “None that will take in Peter. They suggested I put him in an orphanage.”
John cringed. Having been raised in a big, loving family, he could not imagine giving away one of his siblings. Even his youngest brother, Levi, at his worst had been helped, not shunted aside.
“And his father’s family?” he asked.
“Cannot be contacted,” she said.
Why? Were they as heartless? Or had she and her husband married against their wishes? Yet who would refuse a grandchild, especially if their son was gone, as must have been the case with her husband if she was free to marry again?
As if the baby felt the hopelessness of their situation, his face sagged, and he began to whimper. She drew him closer, rocked him from side to side. Her eyes closed as if she longed to block out their reality.
“I suppose,” John heard himself say, “there’s only one thing we can do. You better come out to Wallin Landing to live with me.”
Live with him? Dottie clutched Peter close. John Wallin had already told her he had no interest in marriage. How could she live with him?
She felt heat gathering in her cheeks. “I cannot like your assumption, Mr. Wallin. I don’t know who gave you the impression that I’m the sort of woman who would put herself under a gentleman’s protection, but I assure you that you are mistaken. I think you’d better leave.”
His cheeks were as red as hers felt. “Please forgive me, Mrs. Tyrrell. I didn’t mean... That is, it wasn’t my intention...” He squared his shoulders and met her gaze straight on. His green eyes pleaded for understanding. “I have a good, solid farmhouse. You and Peter are welcome to live in it until you decide what to do next. My brother’s logging crew has taken over my parents’ cabin. I’m sure I can bunk with them in the meantime.”
Nothing in that open face shouted of dishonesty. He was either the kindest man she’d ever met, or the wiliest.
Dottie cocked her head, watching him. “You’d give