Page 4 of Willing to Wed the Rancher
Maybe he ought to get back on the train and return to Cheyenne and the Union Pacific that would take him back East.
As a fellow passed and jostled him, Franz steadied his hat and retreated a step so that he was almost plastered to the train car. He didn’t belong in America. He didn’t want to be in the uncivilized western town of Denver. And he certainly didn’t want to ride up into the mountains where life was even more rustic and remote.
He peered to the west, the afternoon sky a brilliant and cloudless blue. He couldn’t see the mountain range amidst the large buildings that surrounded the train depot, but he’d seen the peaks from his train car as he neared Denver. In May, snow still covered the summits, making them grander and more majestic than he’d imagined, going on for miles and miles from north to south.
Before leaving Germany, he’d briefly studied the geography and history of North America, and he’d learned that the Rocky Mountains started in Canada and spread across most of the western half of the United States. The presence of the mountain passes was what made traveling to California so difficult,especially before the transcontinental railroad was completed in 1869.
He’d read some of the tales of the early explorers and settlers, who’d used covered wagons to journey to the West. The trek had taken them weeks, even months.
Franz couldn’t imagine how he would have endured such a trip. Four days on the train had been long enough.
Had Eric and Luisa gone by train? He imagined they probably would have, especially since she’d been with child.
The very thought of her carrying Eric’s child sent a shaft of envy through Franz, as it always did. Perhaps the ache was a bit duller, like the stab of a blade that hadn’t seen the whetstone in years and was growing rusty.
Still, the sting of the betrayal would never go away altogether.
Franz pressed a hand against his tweed coat and felt the crinkle of the paper and envelopes in his inner pocket, the four letters Eric had sent him over the past year. The first had come after Luisa’s death, begging Franz for forgiveness. Eric had sent another several months later, pleading for forgiveness again and inviting him to visit. Two more had come only a few months ago in the spring.
The final letters had been decidedly different in nature, so much so that a strange worry had nagged Franz. It was a worry he hadn’t liked and didn’t want to feel, not after all that had happened. But Franz had sensed that Eric was in danger and was panicking, especially for his children.
In the last letter, Eric had asked Franz to take care of Dieter and Bianca if something ever happened to him. Eric had been worried the two children would be alone in the world without any support and would be taken to an orphanage.
Franz had wanted to say that it served Eric right for stealing his fiancée, that Eric had to live with the consequences of takingLuisa from him. Eric had been unforgivably selfish to gain her affection and woo her into sleeping with him, especially with the wedding plans underway. Then, of course, he’d gotten her pregnant and hadn’t been able to hide the affair any longer.
Franz hadn’t understood how Luisa could be more attracted to Eric. Although they both had light-brown hair and medium-blue eyes, Franz had always drawn the feminine attention more than his brother. Not only did he have sharper, more striking features, but he was more gregarious.
In the end, he simply hadn’t been enough for Luisa.
As much as Franz resented Eric and Luisa and had vowed to cut himself off from them, he hadn’t been able to ignore Eric’s letters. At least, not for long. And here he was, on his way to visit his brother.
Franz blew out a breath and reached for the handle of the steps leading into the train car. Yes, he needed to get back on and go home to Berlin to his prestigious position at Friedrich-Wilhelms-Universität, to his friends, and to his comfortable apartment near the campus.
Of course, the university had given him the time off without any hesitation. He was, after all, one of their best professors. At twenty-eight, his youthfulness and his new methods of teaching attracted young and eager students from all over Deutschland and even beyond. The board of directors didn’t want to lose him and had promised his job would be waiting upon his return.
Even so, he shouldn’t have come to America, where he was only stirring up all the old feelings. Over the past six years since losing Luisa, he’d learned to be content. He’d made peace with not being married. And he’d decided he would remain a bachelor in order to devote all his time to his students.
Now, with each mile he drew closer to Eric, he could feel himself growing more unsettled. The angst inside was surfacingin a way that it hadn’t in years. And the carefully crafted control of his life seemed to be slipping away.
He placed one foot onto the metal step leading to the train car, but his way was blocked by a young boy skipping down the stairs with his father and mother behind him.
“Hello, Professor Meyer.” The boy with wavy blond hair and several missing front teeth smiled at him.
“Good day, Wilbur.” Franz could speak English well enough that he’d had no trouble communicating so far. He’d studied languages during his own university days and was fluent in both French and English. He’d even spent one semester in England at Cambridge as a guest lecturer and had improved his English quite significantly then.
Wilbur had ridden in the seat across from him since changing trains in Cheyenne. The child had been talkative, and as soon as he’d learned Franz was a professor of history, geography, and philosophy, he’d bombarded him with questions for most of the journey.
Franz hadn’t minded. After the weeks of traveling and being out of his classroom, he’d enjoyed the opportunity to engage with Wilbur, especially after learning he was six years old, the age of Eric and Luisa’s firstborn child.
It had been fascinating to interact with the boy and to realize that Eric’s son would likely act very much the same, perhaps even look similar.
Wilbur held out his hand. “You were coming back for this, weren’t you?” The boy opened his fingers to reveal a gold chain holding two rings.
Franz lifted a hand to his neck to find that it was bare of the chain that he always wore.
A strange panic clamped around his chest, and he reached out for the rings, his fingers trembling as he took them from the boy. “Where did you find it?”
“It was on your seat,” said Wilbur’s mother, standing behind him and smiling down at her son.
