Grooms with Honor Series, Books 7-9 Read online

  “No offense, but surely enough Swedish immigrants were living in Chicago she could have hired help locally.”

  “Her lawyer said she wanted someone from her old hometown in Sweden to catch up on the news and to reminisce. Mrs. Eklund was a dear soul, and I enjoyed our time together.” Talking about Pelarne, Sweden was both heartwarming and heartbreaking. It both helped and hurt her homesickness.

  “So how in the world did you end up in the Montana Territory married to a man you didn’t know?”

  “Again, through her lawyer. Apparently, he was to provide for me after Mrs. Eklund’s death. Rather than providing me with housing and new employment, he arranged a contract for me with a mail-order agency. Three days after Mrs. Eklund’s funeral I was on a train with a note saying my destination and whom I was to meet there.”

  Linnea had no clue how far away she’d end up from Chicago. At least there were other Swedish immigrants to talk to in Chicago. Mr. Lundahl was the first person she’d been able to speak Swedish to since she’d left Illinois.

  Ouch! Her cheek stung like the dickens. She tenderly touched it and realized fresh tears were trailing down her face. If this kind man hadn’t helped her, she’d be insane and screaming in panic by now.

  Mr. Lundahl pulled the team to a stop in front of the house and pulled the brake. But instead of climbing off the wagon he turned to stare at her a moment.

  “Do you have any plans now for what to do? Any friends here you could move in with?”

  “I haven’t met anyone in Silver Crossing yet. After George picked me up at the train station in Miller Springs, we spent the first two days of our marriage, mostly in silence, traveling by wagon to this farm. I don’t know how big Silver Crossing even is.”

  Mr. Dalberg walked up beside the wagon to join in the conversation. “It’s a mining town, but smaller than Miller Springs. Doubt you’d find any ah, decent employment there. Probably be a miner who’d like a bride though.”

  Linnea couldn’t help shivering thinking of working in a saloon or marrying a stranger again.

  “What about the boy?” Mr. Lundahl asked as they watched Jamie run toward the horse corral. “I assume he’s your responsibility unless you can find him a home in Silver Crossing.”

  What about Jamie? The poor child lost his mother just a few months ago, moved to a remote, rundown shack, and was ignored by his father, probably in his own grief. Linnea was almost positive George had ordered a wife because of his son’s needs, not his.

  “I suppose I’m legally responsible for him? I don’t know if he has any family somewhere.”

  Mr. Lundahl climbed off the wagon and came around to her side to help her down.

  “I assume you don’t want to stay and fight Rhoades from kicking you off the land?” He waited for her nod of agreement before continuing.

  “We’ll escort you into Silver Crossing and see what the situation is there. I suggested to Dalberg and now to you, look for letters, photographs, or a family Bible that might give family information. Turn the mattress and any other hiding place you can think of for a money stash. I’ll go talk to Jamie and see if I can get any information out of him.”

  Mr. Lundahl started to walk away but turned back with another thought. “We’ll take your trunk into town with us, and anything else of George’s you think you could sell. You’ll need money now so just as well sell what you can. What livestock did George own?”

  “I’m guessing he owned the milk cow, the team of horses on this wagon and the two saddle horses in the corral by the barn.”

  “Let’s take them into town with us.”

  “There’s a flock of chickens too.”

  “How many?”

  “Twelve.”

  “Let’s catch them and bring them along. Better you sell them for laying hens or a stew pot than leave them for a predator to enjoy.”

  Linnea stood watching the man walk with purpose to talk to Jamie. He easily climbed over the wooden plank fence and caught Jamie. The child’s kicks and screams turned into sobbing as Mr. Lundahl wrapped his arms around him and held him tight. It didn’t take long for the boy’s arms to cling to Mr. Lundahl’s neck. Oh, what was she going to do with the poor child?

  “Ma’am,” Linnea realized Mr. Dalberg was calling for her to come into the house, so she turned to begin the search.

  The man had already dragged her trunk and the other into the main room. She was embarrassed he’s probably already lifted her trunk lid, but it sat by the door, ready to add anything else she wanted packed before being carried out to the wagon.

  The other trunk was open by the table, and Mr. Dalberg pointed to the chair, probably wanting her to look through it since it was now hers.

  Linnea had lifted the lid once, saw a beautiful quilt folded on top of the pile and never looked past it. She guessed it was George and his late wife’s wedding quilt and she didn’t feel she should intrude into his past marriage.

  Now she lifted the heavy multi-colored quilt out, handed it to Mr. Dalberg who hung it over the other chair by the table. The quilt had covered a small wooden chest, probably containing the information they needed. Mr. Dalberg lifted the box, perhaps a foot wide and a foot and a half long, out of the chest, and set it on the table facing Linnea. There was a lock on the front of the box, but the key was set in it, so Linnea turned the key and opened the lid.

  She pulled out the stack of letters tied with a faded blue ribbon and handed it to Mr. Dalberg to read. Linnea understood English but wasn’t very good at reading it.

  Next were studio portraits of people. She turned the first over to look for a written description on the back cardboard, but of course, there wasn’t any.

  The first photograph was of George, his wife, and a younger-looking Jamie. The studio name was stamped on the right hand of the cardboard frame, so Linnea held it up and pointed it out to Mr. Dalberg.

  “Columbus, Ohio.”

  The next portrait was George’s wedding photo because the couple was dressed in fine clothing. She didn’t know George’s age, but this photo reminded her that he was younger than herself. She held it up to Mr. Dalberg. “Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.”

  He went back to reading a letter but didn’t bother reading it aloud.

  The last portrait showed George and an elderly couple. Could have been his parents or maybe even grandparents by their age.

  “Philadelphia again.” Mr. Dalberg commented before she even held up the portrait.

  So maybe George was from Pennsylvania, but moved to Ohio sometime after they married? Underneath the photo was a folded piece of thick linen paper and Linnea recognized it as similar to hers and George’s wedding certificate.

  “George Meyer married Noreen Schmidt on March 10, 1879, in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.”

  Linnea nodded, understanding what he said as she watched his finger go over the words.

  If they had been married for so long, why didn’t they have more children? Probably had lost them in childbirth or later as toddlers, adding to George’s grief.

  There was nothing else in the box, so hopefully, Mr. Dalberg was gleaning information from the letters.

  Linnea lifted out the last item, heavy and wrapped in a woman’s dress. She flinched and took a deep breath as the corner of the book hit the sore spot on her hand. Mr. Dalberg took the bundle from her and unwrapped it, revealing a thick, heavy old Bible. Now some of their questions might be answered.

  Mr. Lundahl cleared his throat as he walked into the house, Jamie’s face tucked tight against his neck. The boy sniffled but wasn’t fighting being held now. The poor boy had been through too much in his short life. Linnea ached to comfort him, but Jamie wasn’t ready for her hugs yet.

  Mr. Dalberg opened the Bible, looking for the family names page. The two conversed as Mr. Dalberg found the page and pointed to names and dates on the page.

  “I told Dalberg I’ll talk to him privately when I’m not holding Jamie, but we can talk since he can’t understand us.


  “Jamie said they moved here after his mother died. Looking at the family page says Noreen died January 25th of this year.”

  “I found their wedding portrait and wedding certificate in this chest, so we knew her name and their wedding date.”

  “There are four children’s birth and death dates besides Jamie’s birth date.” He paused as Mr. Dalberg pointed out something again.

  “His wife died in childbirth according to the matching death date of the last child.”

  “Oh, my word. George and Jamie have gone through so many losses. Can you tell if there are siblings or parents still living by the family list?”

  “All deceased, and we need to find pen and ink to add George’s death date. This book needs to stay with Jamie.”

  “I can get them for you.”

  “Surely there are cousins, great aunts, someone left in Jamie’s family.” Linnea was stretching for help because she was panicking thinking she was Jamie’s only provider now.

  “Although it’s hard to believe a six-year-old would know for sure, He’s so traumatized...”

  “I’ve glanced through the letters. Seem to be from school friends she met in Pennsylvania,” Mr. Dalberg concluded. “You can read them in detail later, but I didn’t see any that looked like they could be from a parent.”

  Mr. Lundahl rubbed the boy’s back while slightly swaying back and forth, as you’d comfort a crying infant. Why hadn’t George and Jamie had the closeness that the stranger already had with the boy after an hour?

  “Any idea where money might be kept? A can in the pantry, under a floorboard? I can’t imagine burying it outside with the winters the territory has. Does Silver Crossing have a bank where there might be an account?”

  He turned to Mr. Dalberg for the answer. “There’s a bank in Miller Springs, but not Silver Crossing.”

  “It feels like Jamie’s fallen asleep. Can I lay him down somewhere while we search the house and pack up?”

  “I suppose the bed, but we need to search the straw mattress first. When I was putting clean sheets on the bed, I noticed one corner’s stitching was basted instead of stitched tight. It’s probably the hole used to stuff the mattress with straw, but could also be a place to hide money.”

  She shook her sore hand, and Mr. Lundahl narrowed his eyes.

  “You have burns we need to take care of before we do much else. Do you have another dress you can change into?”

  “My good dress.”

  “Well, it would smell and look better than what you have on now. You probably don’t realize part of your skirt was burned away showing your petticoat.”

  She gasped, horrified what she must look like to these men. There was only a tiny shaving mirror in the house, and she hadn’t had time to take care of herself after George’s death and Mr. Rhoades arrival.

  “Please don’t be offended but you do look like you’ve gone through a loss and a lot more today.” Mr. Lundahl gently reminded her as he and Dalberg walked into the bedroom.

  She watched as Dalberg stripped the bed, wadding the sheets up in his arms before laying them on her pallet of bedding in the corner of the room. He must have tossed her bedding there because it was usually stacked on top of her chest.

  Mr. Lundahl slowly sank down to the floor on one knee and gently laid Jamie on the bedding. The boy rolled once before settling down to go back to sleep. The poor child wouldn’t sleep well for weeks after today, so Linnea hoped he slept for a little while now.

  “I’ll draw up hot water from the stove reservoir so you can wash up and change clothes. Mr. Dalberg and I will search the barn for anything of value to take to town.”

  “You might poke around in the hay pile in the hayloft for a can or box of money. Yesterday he scolded Jamie for being up there, and I don’t know why. Shouldn’t little boys explore?”

  “All right we’ll be thorough going through the hayloft. Please take care of yourself while we check things outside. I’ll knock before we come back in.”

  Linnea stripped off her dress, amazed she wasn’t burned worse for all the burn holes in her clothing. If her petticoats would have caught fire...she shuddered thinking of it.

  She stared at her hand, reliving the dreadful second it was burned. She’d run outside, gasping in a panic seeing George trying to drag the burning hay out of the barn with a pitchfork. The wind whirled the flaming hay back against George’s leg, and two heartbeats later his clothing was engulfed in red and orange flames. The kerosene spilled on the hay had made the fire spread instantaneously.

  She rushed to George, shoving him hard with her right hand to knock him to the ground and away from the burning debris. Her move hadn’t worked, and the flames quickly covered the rest of his clothing. Bile rose in her stomach again. Could she sleep without dreaming that scene repeatedly?

  After she washed up, she used half her bottle of rose water on her singed hair and body before she dressed. There were holes in her top petticoat, but they could be mended. Linnea wouldn’t bother keeping the burned dress, it was too holey to save for rags, let alone filled with memories now.

  Time would tell if her burns would be permanent or heal. Right now, she was too numb with shock to know.

  Knocking on the door pulled her from her task, and she walked over to open it. Mr. Lundahl nodded, apparently approving of her appearance now. “We found this can in the loft. I’ll let you open it. We loaded tools, and we’ll add your two trunks next.”

  Linnea moved to the table and pried off the lid, emptying the contents on the table. Two double eagles and four dollar coins. Forty-four dollars. Well, that’s more than she came with, so it added to her funds. At least the livestock and wagon should bring a good price if someone needed them.

  “Anything else you want to take from the house?”

  Linnea looked around the room that had been her home for a week. George had said the house was furnished when he rented it so she couldn’t sell the furniture.

  She wrapped her grandmother’s silver candlesticks and George’s shaving mirror in George’s best shirt and jacket and packed them in her trunk. George’s clothing could be remade for Jamie’s use later.

  George probably sold most of their belongings before moving to the territory, so there was nothing else in the house to take.

  “No, nothing else. I think we had better go before Mr. Rhoades comes back. I’m guessing he went for the sheriff if there’s one in Silver Crossing.”

  “Why?”

  “To be sure he’s paid for the barn door repair.” Linnea had made sure the hay fire was out, at her skin and clothing’s own expense so there ended up being no damage to the barn except the front sliding door boards were a little black and sooty. If the man would ever paint the barn, the damage wouldn’t even show.

  “All right. We’ll tie the horses and cow to the wagons and come back for you and Jamie.”

  Linnea didn’t look back when they left the farmyard. This place would never bring back a memory worth reliving again.

  Chapter 3

  “You said you wanted a Swedish wife,” Dalberg said as they were leaving Silver Crossing. “She’s an old maid but seems to be made up of stern stuff. Not many women would make it through a day like the one she had yesterday without going screaming insane. Of course, there’s always tomorrow.”

  Elof didn’t bother answering. He’d learned the young man loved to give his opinions whether you answered him or not. The question was why he had opened up about his plans to the man in the first place. But Dalberg had been helpful to both him and the Meyers, so he shouldn’t complain.

  Silver Crossing was a mining town, consisting of a store, meeting house, boarding house and a saloon. There was also a row of log cabins and tents to house the mineworkers.

  Elof didn’t feel it was safe for Mrs. Meyer to stay there and said so. Other than working in the saloon or marrying a miner, there wasn’t much to offer a widow with a child in tow.

  He suggested she travel with them to Miller Springs o
r even on to Kansas if she wished. He knew the idea of going to a Swedish community appealed to her as it did him.

  Mr. Dalberg knew someone who bought the team and wagon at a decent price. The mercantile took the chickens in exchange for part of Meyer’s bill there. Mrs. Meyer had to use ten dollars from her stash to pay the rest of the bill.

  Elof didn’t mention the milk cow was a kicker to the stout man who bought her. He probably figured that out last night when he milked her.

  From the stilted conversations Elof had with Jamie, the cow was as much to blame for the fire as Jamie. The boy was holding the lantern so his father could see to milk in the dim morning light and the cow kicked out, startling Jamie and making him lose his hold on the lantern. Luckily, the cow wasn’t injured since George pushed the hay out the front door, saving the barn from burning. Only the boards on the front door were singed, whereas the man...

  Elof shook his head to clear that thought out of his mind. Elof was sure glad the body was wrapped in a blanket by the time he had to deal with burying it.

  When someone wanted to buy Jamie’s horse, the child cried until he was past exhaustion and then still continued sobbing. Elof couldn’t stand the thought of Jamie losing the last connection to his father, so he suggested to Mrs. Meyer she keep Jamie’s and his father’s horses for now. She agreed even though Elof knew she could have used the money.

  Now Elof rode George’s gelding, whom Jamie called Clem, alongside Dalberg’ big freight wagon, hanging on to Jamie who was asleep sitting in front of him in the saddle. The boy was tuckered out, so Elof didn’t make him ride his own horse, Curly, right away this morning. Curly was tied to the back of the wagon to stay with them.

  He and Jamie camped on the edge of town with the two horses last night. Mrs. Meyer stayed at the boarding house so she could take a bath and rest overnight. This morning she rode on the wagon seat between Dalberg and another man on his way to Miller Springs.

  “So what you gonna do in Kansas now that you’re out of the army?” The passenger, an older man, named Dunbar asked Elof.