His Forever Valentine (2 page)

H
e’d witnessed Charlotte’s heart break apart piece by piece over the years, and before he went off to school.  Her mother did the most damage, filling the girl’s head with ideas of marrying into the Riley family, and belonging to one of the biggest apple farms, if not
the
biggest in the area. Nellie Davis’s ambition had crushed her daughter’s heart one blow at a time, and Matthew often wondered if she hadn’t pushed Clayton on Charlotte so hard, would her feelings be the same for him? Or, traveled elsewhere if left to their own devices?

“Are you planning to attend the Valentine’s
dance?” she asked. She walked down the length of the counter and ran a gloved finger along the polished wood as she went.

Matthew’s eyes gravitated to he
r small waist. Visions of dancing with her in his arms flooded his mind. “I hadn’t thought about it. I’d … I’d quite forgotten about the dance.”

She turned to him, her face void
of emotion. “I see.” She reached into her reticule and pulled out a list.  Without looking at him, she walked along the counter and handed the paper to him. “Here’s what I need.” She slowly raised her eyes. “It’s nice to have you back, Matthew,” she said softly. She then glanced to the front windows.

He took the list from he
r as his heart sank. All the fight seemed to have gone out of her. Where could the spitting, fiery, minx he’d left four years ago be hiding?  Maybe what his mother said was true, that Charlotte had become a prisoner of her own actions, and now, sad and lonely, she was a far cry from the girl he grew up with.  She’d told him last night what sort of gossips the Davis women had become, not to mention conniving and underhanded when it came to getting what they wanted.  He was familiar with how Mrs. Davis could be. He’d witnessed her antics all his life. But Charlotte didn’t start to become like her mother until she got old enough to catch the eye of the young men in town. At fourteen she’d been a beauty, and actually quite sweet, even though she had a habit of speaking out of turn, and didn’t hesitate to fight for something she wanted or believed in.  It was her strength, and he remembered it well. But what happened to quell her fighting spirit? 

“I’ll get these things for
you, Charlotte” he said gently. “Wait right here.”  His heart went out to her. For the first time, Matthew noticed her melancholy, and realized she held something in her eyes he hoped never to see.  Regret.

Matthew decided to find out
if what his mother said about Charlotte was true, and anything else mentioned regarding the Davis family. He needed to find the Charlotte he knew. She had to be there, she just had to! After all, she was the reason he came home.

* * *

Charlotte watched as Matthew climbed a stepladder to get a jar off a high shelf. He’d gotten taller since she last saw him, a
lot
taller. She remembered when they were the same height, and tried not to laugh as she recalled the time she’d punched him in the nose. He didn’t cry out, he didn’t do anything except stare at her, his fists at his sides, until finally, he just walked away. She’d given him a bloody nose and Abbey told her the next day he’d been furious, but that he wasn’t about to hit a silly girl. He wouldn’t be a man if he did, and besides, his pa would tan his hide if he found out about such a thing.

S
he studied him as he busied himself behind the counter to fill her mother’s order. His shoulders had become much broader, his hair darker. A dark blonde when he left, it was now a golden brown, still thick and with a slight wave. She remembered having her hands in it while playing in the creek down at Mr. Johnson’s swimming hole. She’d tried to dunk him after he called her a silly name.  He dunked her instead, and so she’d taken two fistfuls and pulled him underwater. He in turn had grabbed her ankles and yanked her feet out from under her …

“What are you smiling at, Charlotte?”

Charlotte glanced up. Mrs. Quinn, Matthew’s mother, stood on the other side of the counter and stared at her. “Nothing. Just thinking.” She approached the counter and stole another glance at Matthew’s new muscular physic. He wasn’t the gangly boy who went off to Boston four years ago.  No, Matthew Quinn may have left Nowhere a boy, but he’d most definitely come back a man.

A very handsome man …

“Have you started on a dress for the Valentine dance, Charlotte?” Mrs. Quinn asked.

“Yes, Abbey and I both have. I’m making my own this year.”

“Well now, isn’t that nice. How does Abbey like being married?” Mrs. Quinn asked as she began to wrap some of Charlotte’s purchases in brown paper. Matthew hopped off the ladder and handed her a bottle of hair tonic.

Charlotte found herself staring a
t his hands. “She’s adjusting to it. Billy and daddy get along fine, but …”

Mrs. Quinn leaned forward. “But?”

Charlotte took a deep breath. “Mother …
she
hasn’t adjusted to Abbey’s marriage yet.”

“Oh, I see.” Mrs. Quinn smirked.

Charlotte caught sight of her curled lip, and turned away.

Matthew swallowed hard.
He decided, (as he searched for a bottle of Professor Pomadorie’s Hair Tonic) to ask Charlotte to the Valentine’s dance. From the sounds of things, no one else would escort her, which gave him the perfect opportunity.

“Er, Charlotte?”

She turned to him, her face softened. “Yes?”

“I was
wondering … if you don’t happen to … have an escort to the dance…”

Mrs. Qu
inn’s eyes narrowed at his stammering just as Mrs. Riley burst through the mercantile’s doors. “She’s here!”

Cha
rlotte and Matthew spun to her. Leona Riley, Clayton and Spencer’s mother, grabbed the counter to catch her breath. “Land sakes! I got the date wrong! She’s arriving now, this very minute!”

Mrs. Quinn gasped in delight and clapped her hands together. “Oh
, Leona!  How exciting!” She turned to Matthew and hugged him.  He let go a small grunt as she crushed him to her chest, and eyed an equally confused Charlotte.

“Oh, just think
! Another wedding!” Mrs. Riley said gaily.

“Wedding?” Charlotte choked out. “Who’s wedding?”

Matthew managed to peel his mother off him. “Yes, who’s getting married now?”

The matrons faced him, both with
equally enormous grins. “You are!” they said in perfect unison.

  Matthew took a step back and stumbled.
“What?!”

“Now before you go getting upset, hear your mother
out, dear.” Mrs. Riley consoled.

Matthew grabbed the counter if for nothing else
, to squelch the sudden urge to wring his mother’s neck. “Mother? What have you done?”

  “Matt
hew, you know I love you …” she began. “And after all, if things worked out so well for Clayton and Spencer …”

Charlotte gasped. “You
got Matthew a
mail order bride
?”

Mrs. Qui
nn turned to her. “Yes, but this is none of your business, Charlotte.”

Charlotte’s mouth opened in shock. “Excuse me? In about ten minutes the whole town will know.”

“Only if you go around telling everyone!” she snapped back.

“Mother, I’ll ask you not
talk to Charlotte that way.” Matthew interjected.

“Oh Matthew, you stay out of this,” his mother
said as she waved him away.

“Stay out of it? You
ordered
me a mail order bride without me
telling
me, and you’re asking
me
to stay out of it?”

“I was talking to
Charlotte,” she said in a huff.

Charlotte gasped again. “Well, I never …” She turned to Matthew. “I’d like my purchases, please.”

He gathered them up and was about to hand them to her, when he remembered what he was doing before Mrs. Riley burst through the door. “Charlotte, may I …” he looked his mother right in the eye before turning back to her. “Escort you to the dance?”

“Matthew!” his mother cried. “You are
not
taking that … that … I
got
you a mail order bride!”

“
Without
asking me!” he retorted.

Mrs. Quinn spun to her friend. “Leona! Do something!”

“Oh, dear! My boys didn’t make such a fuss!” Her eyes darted back and forth in recollection. “Well… maybe a little… but they understood what drives a mother to do these things.”

“What? Have you gone out of your mind?” Matthew’s voice cracked on the word
mind,
which made him wonder.  Did his mother and Mrs. Riley not think he had one? “I appreciate the thought, but, you just can’t go ordering a mail order bride without consulting me first.”

“Matthew
, dear,” Mrs. Riley began. “You might be upset now, but these things all come out right in the end.  Why, by the time you’re married, I’m sure you’ll be head over heels in love!”

Matthew’s mouth flopped open. “In
love
?”

Charlotte slowly backed away from the heated argument.  She’d had quite enough at this point.  Then …

“Heaven only knows if this town has any decent women left in it
to
marry!” Mrs. Quinn added. “Except maybe Charlotte here, but one can hardly call her de …” She clamped her lips in a hard line. “I … I didn’t mean …”

“Mother …” Matthew warned.

“I’m sure you did mean it.” Charlotte said. “I know what you think of me, Mrs. Quinn.” She turned to leave.

“Wait!” Matthew called after her. He ran
out from behind the counter to where she stood. “Charlotte, my mother didn’t mean what she said.”

She looked up at him, her eyes full of regret. “You’ve been away a long time, Matthew.” She let go a heavy sigh. “Your mother’s right.”

Matthew stared down at her in disbelief. “What?”

“Every town has their Harpy, Matth
ew,” she told him then set her eyes on Mrs. Quinn. “I guess that makes me the Harpy of Nowhere.”

“Charlotte, I did not call you a Harpy.” Mrs. Quinn stated.

“Enough!” Matthew bellowed. He glanced from one face to the next. “Women!” He turned to Charlotte. “You! You’re going to the dance with me.”

Charlotte’s face lit up.

“I mean, may I escort you to the dance?” He then spun on his mother. “And you! I don’t care who this woman is you thought I needed. I am perfectly capable of picking out my own bride! So whomever she is,
send her back!
”

The door to the mercantile closed with a loud thud.

Everyone turned. A beautiful girl stood in front of it, a satchel in her hand. She swallowed hard and gave Matthew a tentative smile, and why not after witnessing such a tirade?  “Ma … Matthew Quinn, I presume?”

Matthew stepped toward her. “Yes …” She was st
unning, and he couldn’t help admiring her beauty as she shivered by the door. But was it from the cold, or his temper tantrum?

“I’m Seq … Rose. Rose Smith. Your mail order bride.”

He froze, speechless, and stared at her like some kind of idiot.  He sensed, more than saw the satisfied smirk on his mother’s face, as Mrs. Riley gasped in delight.

Charlotte looked the girl up an
d down, glanced to Matthew, and headed for the door. “It appears you won’t be escorting me after all, Matthew.”  With that, she walked right up to Miss Smith and said, “Welcome to Nowhere.” She then stormed out of the mercantile, and quite possibly, out of Matthew’s life, forever.

Two

Charlotte left the mercantile, went down the steps to the street, and walked about three feet before the tears came. She lowered her face to hide them from the townsfolk who passed by, and pulled a lace hankie from her reticule.  For the first time in her life, Charlotte felt the cold sting of loneliness. Not the kind one feels when the house is empty because the family went to church and left you home sick with a cold. No, this was the kind all women feared, the kind that said:
you’re going to be alone for the rest of your life
.

She straightened her shoulders, lifted her head, and walked on. She couldn’t afford to let it get her down.  She had errands to run and didn’t want to let anyone see her crying.  It was bad enough when a couple of weeks ago, Elle and
Summer had seen her tears. Tears brought about by her failed attempt at getting some attention-
any
attention- from the Riley brothers.  It wasn’t until a few days ago, she realized how pathetic she was in thinking she could get, or
need
such attention from them.  Clayton and Spencer were married now, happily too.  What right did she have to encroach on that happiness?  None. 

Charlotte sniffed back anoth
er tear and let the January wind dry her eyes.  Her face was as red as the next persons because of it, so no one would suspect she’d been crying. 

She headed to
Mrs. Jorgensen’s to pick up one of her mother’s dresses that needed mending.  Her mother never mended her own dresses. She always insisted the dressmaker do it, even when they couldn’t afford it, and all to keep up the appearance of wealth and status.  Nellie Davis wanted the whole town to know that they had it all, and wouldn’t you just love to be one of us?  Charlotte had lived that way so long, she believed it, and though much of it was true, her family
did
have more money than most, she never appreciated it growing up like she did now.  After what happened a couple of weeks ago- the day a phony Marshall came to town and took off with Spencer’s bride Elle and herself, she didn’t appreciate anything.  It was amazing how the threat of losing her life, changed her outlook. She’d seen her life differently ever since, and was appalled at how much of it she’d wasted.

Charlotte stepped onto the boardwalk, taking her time, and watched what townsfolk were out and about.  She noticed they avoided her, did not speak to, or acknowledge her in any way.  A few women glanced furtively at her,
and then whispered to each other as they passed.  She caught the words
gossip
, and
never be married
and steeled herself against fresh tears.  She’d never noticed any of it before, because she never cared.  Now that her eyes were open to the world, she saw the havoc she’d wreaked upon it, and for the first time, felt the pain that went with one, glaring, fact.

No one liked her.

Now that she thought on it, Abbey was her only friend, but could one count one’s sister as a friend?  If she didn’t, she’d have none!  How sad was that?  She thought back on her life and the friends she’d lost over the last few years.  Had she alienated them? Or driven them away because she started turning into … into … what?  Her
mother
?  Yep, that would do it.

Charlotte reached her destination and went into the dress shop
. “Hello?” she called when she got to the counter. “Mrs. Jorgensen?”

“I’m coming!” came the dressmaker’s reply from the back room. “Who is it, please?”

“It’s me, Charlotte Davis …”

“Oh.”

Charlotte listened for the rest of her response, but none was forthcoming.  She sighed, even Mrs. Jorgensen didn’t think much of her.  A shiver went up her spine at the thought. How was she to reconcile all she had done?  Looking back she tried to see herself as others did, and came to the conclusion she didn’t like herself very much either.  But how was she going to fix it?  Should she leave town and start fresh somewhere? But then, where would she go?

“You want your mother’s dress, no doubt,” Mrs. Jorgensen stated when she came to the counter. “You tell her to stop sendi
ng me things she can fix! It wastes my time! Abbey could have mended this easily.
You
could have done it.”

Charlotte looked at her. What to say? If she was going to turn over a new leaf, and
start changing her image, she had to start somewhere. “Perhaps Mother thought you could use the business. It is winter, after all.”

Mrs. Jorgensen looked away. Winters could be hard, especially if the orchards didn’t do well and the fall harvests weren’t what they ought to be.  It affected the whole town. This year had been good, but …

“You tell your mother I appreciate the business, but you girls are both capable of mending a small tear like this. Why send something out to be mended when it can be done at home?”

“You have a valid point, Mrs. Jorgensen. I will relay that to Mother.”

The shopkeeper stared at her. “Thank you …” she said with a raised brow, then looked Charlotte up and down as if she’d never seen her before.

Hmmm, that went well.
Charlotte thought as she reached into her reticule and pulled out some money.  She paid her, picked up the wrapped bundle, and made to leave.

“Are you making your dress for the Valentine’s dance?” Mrs. Jorgensen asked.

Charlotte turned to face her. “Yes, I’ve already started. I hope to have it done next week.  Abbey already finished hers.”

Mrs. Jorgensen smiled. “I’m glad to hear it. All women should sew when they can. Makes my life easier.”

Charlotte smiled. “Good day, Mrs. Jorgensen, and thank you.”

She gave her another quizzical look. “You’re welcome, Charlotte.  I’ll see you again.”

Charlotte left the shop, pleased. She stopped and took a breath of crisp, cold air.  “That felt … good,” she said to herself. Who else could she practice on? Let’s see, did she have time to get a cup of coffee at Hank’s restaurant?  Maybe he could be her next, ah … experiment. If she went about this logically, she might not suffer any repercussions- namely, getting her feelings hurt. Because if there was one thing Charlotte had come to realize, was how little she’d allowed herself to feel anything over the years, except her burning desire to become Mrs. Clayton Riley.

Yet, was such ardent desire really hers? Or was it a product of her mother’s raging ambition?  Now that Clayton and Spencer were both married, there was nothing for her mother to strive for, except to marry Charlotte off and get both her daughters out of the house.  Right now it was all her mother could do to put up with Abbey’s new husband, Billy.  Having him under their roof had been an adventure in, and of itself.  But it wasn’t going to last for long. Billy had been talking with their father about moving to Clear Creek in the spring, to take a deputy position there.  Tom Turner had given him an earful of how great the town was, and sold him on it.

Charlotte sighed as she ente
red Hank’s. If Abbey and Billy decided to leave in the spring, she would be alone.  The thought made her stomach twist into a cold knot as Hank approached.  When he reached her, he looked at her as he would an annoying fly, but she would not be deterred. “Good day, Hank. I hope you are well.”

He raised a suspicious brow, and said nothing.

“I … I sure could use a cup of coffee.”

His expression changed to one of concern. “Are you all right, Miss Davis?”
he asked and pulled out the nearest chair.

She sat. “It’s frightful cold outsid
e, and I don’t know where Abbey has got to.  I thought I’d come in and enjoy your coffee while I warm up.”

He eyed her before he nodded. “Oh, yes … I’ll get you cup. Would you like anything else?”

“The coffee is fine, thank you ever so much,” she said sweetly.

He quirked a brow, one would think she had a horn growing out of her head.  But the folks of
Nowhere were just going to have to get used to it.  Charlotte was determined to be everything she hadn’t been before. Decent, kind, humble … okay, so maybe she should take it one step at a time.

Hank brought her the coffee. She smiled at him. Today marked a new day
in the life of Charlotte Davis! With practice and prayer, (
lots
of prayer) she’d have her reputation turned around and give herself the hope she needed. To find a man
she
wanted, not one her mother convinced her she did.

* * *

He didn’t want her. She could see it in his eyes. From the sounds of the conversation she interrupted, he had no idea she was coming. Rose gulped. “I … I looked for someone when the stage got in, but didn’t see anyone waiting to meet me, so I came here.”

“And right you were to do so, my dear!” a middle-aged woman in a blue dress consoled. “You poor thing, you must be plumb tuckered out.”

“I’m Mrs. Quinn,” a tall, thin, grey-haired woman said. She wore a calico dress and wiped her hands on her apron as she approached. “I’m Matthew’s mother. I sent for you.”

“You …
you
sent for me?”

“Well, now,” the other woman said. “Can’t a mother send for a bride? It worked for me, dear. Twice.”

Rose looked from one face
to the other before she focused on Matthew Quinn.  He stood off to one side, rubbing his temples as if he had a ferocious headache, and perhaps he did. All her thoughts of romance and high adventure came crashing down. She swallowed hard and clutched the handle of her satchel until her knuckles turned white. She didn’t know what to say, so stared at her intended, as if such a stare would force him to look at her.

He did, but not with a look of welcome, but of sympathy.
Oh, dear God. Here it comes.

“Miss … er …
” he raised his brow, his eyes darting this way and that. “What did you say your name was?”

Her heart sank as
she fought to keep her lower lip from trembling. “Sequoia Rose Smith,” she said softly. “Your mail order bride?”

“Ah, yes … about that,” he said and went to where she stood. “I’m terribly sorry …”

“He’s not dressed!” Mrs. Quinn interjected and kicked him in the shin.

“OW! Mother!”

She grabbed him and pulled him toward a hallway behind the counter. “I’ll see he’s properly attired!” she said over her shoulder in a rush. “Then the two of you can get acquainted!”

“Oh, now
, won’t that be nice,” the other woman commented brightly. “But where are my manners?” she said as Mrs. Quinn dragged her son down the hallway, around a corner, and out of sight. A door slammed. Both women jumped at the sound.

“Er, I’m Mrs. Riley, and I suppose I’m partly responsible for you being here.”

Muffled shouts could be heard coming
from behind the unseen closed door. Mrs. Riley’s eyes widened at the sound. “And I think it’s lovely that Mrs. Ridgley has sent us such beautiful brides!”

A loud crash
, followed by a shrill shriek, made both women turn.

“Just wa
it … er, ah … until you meet Summer and Elle,” Mrs. Riley said as she slowly looked back to her and smiled. “You probably already know them. You did come from Winslow …”

Another crash.

Mrs. Riley cringed. “…didn’t you?”

Rose shuddered.
“I knew them, but not very well. I arrived at Winslow after the fire…”

CRASH

“Oh! Merci
ful Heavens!” Mrs. Riley cried then quickly collected herself. She smiled. “Wait right here, dear, while I go see what’s keeping Matthew.”  She turned, hurried down the hall, and disappeared around the corner. 

Rose listened as she knocked on a door and asked, “Is everything all right? May I come in?” The sound of a door opening came next, followed by …

“Good Lord! How did
that
happen?”

Rose could stand it no longer. She went down the hallway, turned the corner
, and stopped up short. Matthew was sitting in a kitchen chair, grasping the seat with everything he had, while his mother tried in vain to pull a bucket off his foot. The woman’s rump was almost on the floor, she was pulling so hard. It was more than Rose could take. A giggle escaped.

“I’m glad someone finds it amusing,” Matthew quipped. “I certainly don’t.”

Mrs. Riley put a hand to her mouth to stifle her own chuckle. “How ever did you manage?”

Mrs. Quinn straightened, and dropped her load. The bucket-covered foot crashed to the floor.

“OW!”

“Oh, stop. It can’t hurt that much.” Mrs. Quinn scolded. “You always did have big feet.” She turned to Rose. “We were discussing your … arrival, when Matthew backed up and stepped into it.” She turned to him again. “If you had put it back in the storeroom, this never would have happened.”