Page 6 of The Drifter's Bride
Addison leaned forward. “What are you working on, Papa?”
“This is the letter for your Aunt Ingrid,” he said, as if that explained everything.
Addison blinked. “Aunt Ingrid? She wrote to you?” Her heart jumped.
“I talked to your Uncle Elias who had opinions on the matter.”
“When did you see Uncle Elias?”
“He was here on business a few weeks ago. We had dinner.”
“Oh. I’m sorry I missed him.” She picked at a thread on the edge of her sleeve, making a mental note to snip it. “What did he say?”
“He thinks it would be good for you to go visit Weston and Ingrid before you get married.” Papa waved his hand in the air, as if dismissing such a notion. “Perhaps get these wild thoughts out of your head before you settle down and do your duty to your family.”
She held her breath. “So you wrote to Aunt Ingrid?”
“I sent your Uncle Weston a telegraph.” Papa ran a hand down his face. “Took a few days because they live out in the middle of God knows where. Did you know they have to take it by stagecoach? There isn’t a train or anything that even runs out there. I don’t know what kind of hovel my sister is living in. But—”
“Did you hear from them?”
“Oh, yes.” He picked up the piece of paper on his desk and blew on it. “Ingrid wrote back. She knows that while your mother and I are not in favor of this expedition, you have made a choice much as she once did. She has advised me she will act as your chaperone and keep you out of trouble. Try not to embarrass your aunt.” He gave her a frown, but she could see the smile in his eyes as well.
Addison dug her toes into the carpet. She didn’t want to jump up and dance around the room. It was bad enough that Papa thought her some heathen for wanting to go west. Gripping her hands on the side of the chair, she tried to look as demure as possible. Lowering her head, she looked up at him beneath long lashes. “Yes, Papa. I will be on my best behavior,” she said, realizing that they were waiting for the ink to dry on the letter her father was writing.
“Four months. I give you four months, and you will be back here, if not before.” He broke eye contact as he folded up the missive and shoved it in an envelope. Taking a stick of wax, he held it over a candle before letting the red droplets fall to the crisp paper. Addison watched as her father pressed a seal into the hot liquid swirled with black soot, then blew on it to harden the wax.
She barely clamped her lips together before her squeal of excitement escaped. Four months was more than enough time to make it permanent. She wasn’t ungrateful for the life that Papa provided her. She just didn’t want to have to compromise. Papa could sell the business, her cousin could take it over, anything but her having to swallow her pride and dignity to marry a man that she didn’t love.
Papa held the envelope towards Addison with two fingers and it was all she could do not to snatch it from his fingers and hold it close to her chest. Her fingers itched as she hesitantly took the thick envelope and flipped it over. There, in her father’s bold script, was all she needed to see.
Ingrid Chapman.
“Thank you, Papa,” she said, practically leaping from her chair. She walked around the desk, and threw her arms around her father’s neck, planting kisses on his cheek. “You won’t regret this.”
His arms wrapped around her waist, and he pulled her in for a hug. “I already do. I understand the boys wanting to go west, but I never imagined that you would do the same.”
“I just want an adventure before I get married, Papa. I want to say I’ve done something before I become someone’s wife.” She tucked the letter in her pocket. “Did you talk to Uncle Elias about Walter?”
“Yes. He arrives on Thursday. The lad was quite happy about the whole affair. Apparently, you were correct that he doesn’t want a life of politics. How did you know?”
“His sister and I correspond regularly. I am glad it worked out.”
“For now.”
“For now?” Addison wrinkled her brow, not at all sure she liked the tone or the words.
“Yes.” Papa gave her a tired smile. “All summer to be surrounded by filth, dirty cowboys, no stores, and you’ll be begging me to come home. I won’t be surprised if I hear from you or your Aunt Ingrid after just one month.”
“But I get to go on a train!” She was practically jumping for joy. It should bother her, but Addison couldn’t work up the energy for that. Perhaps Mama wouldn’t do well out west. Addison understood that, but she wasn’t a delicate flower waiting for someone to move her from her father’s parlor to their own.
Her brothers left in April with their families and everything they could fit in three wagons. Papa still hadn’t approved of her going and her brothers weren’t going to take her without his permission. Even if Papa had approved, there wasn’t any room for Addison in the wagon, and the thought of walking most of the distance held little appeal.
The stories of her Aunt Ingrid walking all the way from Independence, Missouri to Flat River, Nebraska, alongside her husband, sounded very romantic. But she didn’t have a husband, and there would be no hand-holding either.
She had hoped that Papa would eventually relent and contact the Chapmans and she’d be able to take a train in the warmer weather. What Papa didn’t know was that Addison was determined to go, with or without his approval. She had been studying the train tables and knew which ones would get her closest to Flat River. Even if she left without Papa’s permission, if she timed it correctly, it would be days before he knew she was missing.
But that was moot now. She gave a little dance around the desk.
