A Mistaken Match

“Is he a nice man?” Ann’s voice cracked.

“Yes, he is.” Her head cocked to the side. “But don’t you know that, dear?”

“I’ve never met him.” Ann’s cheeks burned and she turned her head down, knowing full well the woman would soon guess the nature of their relationship. This reinforced why she’d avoided talking to anyone during her travels. She’d been assured that respectable women became mail-order brides all the time, but the idea still made her blush.

“Well, James McCann is a fine man. Any young woman would be blessed to have him.”

Ann’s gaze snapped back to the woman’s face. No judgment or mocking that she could observe. Only a warm smile that creased her cheeks so deep her eyes almost disappeared.

“You said you didn’t know him well,” Ann murmured.

“He doesn’t get to town much. His obligations on his farm keep him very busy. He’s also quiet and keeps to himself mostly, but he’s honest and decent. He’s in church every Sunday, he comes from a fine family, and I know for a fact he pays his bill at the store in full each month.” She wagged her finger to punctuate these last two points.

“And you say that any young woman would be blessed to marry him?” Ann tried to smother feelings of hope. Certainly this woman had no reason to lie? She’d imagined James McCann desired to send away to England for a bride because he had few other choices. She certainly wouldn’t be here if a pretty face and no references could get a servant girl more than a room in a brothel.

“Oh yes. He is—or rather was—a very eligible bachelor.” She bobbed her head in emphasis, and the loose bun on top bounced along with her.

“Might you even say he is kind?” Her voice was plaintive, even to her own ears.

The woman pursed her lips and patted Ann’s hand. “Very kind. Generous, too.”

Ann exhaled at the news. The girls at the agency had guessed right. She’d made an ugly match in James McCann. Most of them had been matched with men living in western America, where she’d been told eligible brides were as rare as the gold the men sought. When she shared with them the news of her future home in Ohio, these girls had smirked knowingly. He’s either ugly or wicked, they’d said. It relieved her to hear he was the former. She’d take an ugly, kind man over a cruel, handsome one any day. She hadn’t entered into this endeavor with any romantic notions. She only desired someone who could provide for her. To expect more would be foolish.

“I never introduced myself. I’m Mrs. Margaret Ludlow. And your name, dear?”

This question could be her chance to make a new start with a new identity! But no. James McCann already knew her by her name of the past eight years. It would have to remain. “Ann. My name is Ann.”

“Nice to meet you Ann—soon to be Ann McCann.”

She’d never thought to test out her new name. The result sounded like a silly joke, and she mouthed it silently for the first time. It possessed a surprisingly pleasant cadence. She liked it, all things considered.

Before she could ask Mrs. Ludlow any more questions, the conductor entered the car and announced their impending stop in Columbus. Her stomach quivered and she immediately regretted eating the apple. Despite misgivings, Mrs. Turner at the agency had allowed Ann to make this journey alone. Moral support proved a powerful thing, and most girls were required to travel in pairs. Clients weren’t happy when the brides they’d paid for got cold feet and failed to arrive. But Ann never intended to back out of the agreement. The orphanage had no more work for her, and her reputation as a servant for the upper class had been forever tarnished. Marrying James McCann was the best chance she had at a decent, stable future. Still, as the train edged closer to the station Ann wondered what would happen if she disembarked at the next station and disappeared into the crowd.

Mrs. Ludlow leaned over and pointed out the window. “We’re almost to my stop.”

“Your stop?” Ann’s heart fluttered. She’d found some measure of comfort in thinking this woman would be with her until her journey’s end.

“Didn’t I say? I’m staying in Columbus with another sister for a few days. Don’t worry. New Haven is only thirty more minutes.”

Mrs. Ludlow moved with excited efficiency, smoothing out the wrinkles in her traveling dress and using her palms to beat away at the dust clinging to the hem. Her haphazard toilet made Ann conscious she’d been traveling all day without so much as a glance at her reflection. She fetched a pocket mirror from her bag and bobbled it on her knee as she repinned her hair at the nape and smoothed the locks around her temples.

Mrs. Ludlow glanced over as Ann tidied herself and nodded approvingly. Ann smiled inwardly under the woman’s gaze. She’d been born into little, but God blessed her with beauty. She could only guess her looks had garnered a premium price as a prospective bride. No doubt the reason the agency accepted her application, despite their initial hesitation.

When the train finally ground to a stop, Mrs. Ludlow hoisted her carpetbag onto her lap. “There’s my sister’s husband,” she said, pointing to a stout man grimacing at his pocket watch. “I’d wait with you until the train departs, but the poor man doesn’t have an ounce of patience.”

“Thank you, but I’ll be fine. It was very nice meeting you.”

Ann ached for her to stay.

“The pleasure was mine, dear. May I call on you sometime?”

The question jarred her. She would soon have a home—her own home—in which she could accept visitors.

“Certainly. Of course. I would like that very much.” Ann stumbled over the words.

“I’ll let you settle in before I do. Every married couple needs time to get to know each other.”

Ann’s stomach turned to ice at the reminder of her approaching wedding night. How much time did she need to get to know a stranger? “I look forward to your visit.”

Mrs. Ludlow repeated her goodbyes several times and stopped at the door and waved before stepping from the train. Her brother-in-law hurried toward her and snatched the bag from her hands in chivalrous impatience.

Ann immediately missed Mrs. Ludlow. It had been weeks since she’d had a real conversation with anyone, and the woman’s kindness had reopened a loneliness Ann had tried hard to deny. Soon new passengers boarded the car and Ann’s heart dropped when the train lurched forward twenty minutes later, and she remained seated alone.

In that moment she would have welcomed even the most irritating of seatmates to distract her from thinking about what lay ahead. A new life in a new country. An intended husband whom she’d never met. After weeks of wondering and waiting, only a train stop stood between Ann and her future.

* * *

James McCann ran a calloused hand along the side of his wagon and grimaced. “I should have brought the buggy, Fred.”

Frederick Renner ambled over, his portly frame casting a shadow over the wagon boards. James had wiped down the seats and swept out the wagon bed, but most of the boards were split at the ends and embedded with the grime of farm work. The entire contraption could have done with a fresh coat of paint.

“Doesn’t look so bad to me,” Frederick offered. “And haven’t we already covered this? She’s going to have luggage. Probably a trunk or two. They would never fit in the buggy.”

“We could have left them with the stationmaster. I could have come back tomorrow with the wagon.”

Frederick chortled. “Boy, are you in for trouble if you think a woman would be content to be parted from all her worldly possessions for an entire day.”

James sighed. His friend was right. The buggy was the more attractive vehicle, but the wagon was the practical choice. The only choice. He wanted everything to be perfect for his bride, but if the pain of losing Emily had taught him anything, it was practicality served one so much better in this world than beauty.

“Besides,” Frederick continued, “if you’re trying to impress her, I’m sure that suit will do the trick.” He jabbed a chubby elbow into James’s ribs.

James tugged at the dark suit jacket, the new fabric stiff and unforgiving. The collar seemed to grow tighter by the minute. He slipped a finger between his neck and the material. A sparse breeze raked over a trickle of sweat and teased him with coolness. If only the day hadn’t turned stifling, maybe his heart wouldn’t beat so quickly.

The puff and clatter of the approaching train rumbled softly in the distance. The small crowd on the station platform buzzed and pushed forward like a swarm of bees, and James moved to join them. Frederick tapped him on the shoulder and held up a large cardboard sign with Ann Cromwell neatly lettered in black paint. “Don’t you need this?”

James waved him off. Like the unnecessary new suit and haircut, Frederick and his cousin Delia had insisted on the superfluous sign. “I’ll know her when I see her.”

“How exactly? You don’t have a picture.”

James exhaled. Frederick was a good friend, but he didn’t understand why James sought a bride from outside New Haven. He’d be flabbergasted if he knew how I expect to recognize her. He pushed the sign back into Frederick’s hands. “I just will.”

The train entered the station and James’s heart quickened. He clenched his fists at his sides, willing them to remain there instead of mussing his hair as he often did when he was nervous. In mere moments he would be face-to-face with his future wife, God willing. A young woman alighted from a third-class car and glanced back and forth across the platform.

It was her! Wasn’t it? His legs carried him forward before he could hesitate. As he strode closer, her features and form grew clearer. Yes, it had to be her. Tall and broad shouldered with mouse-brown hair yanked back into a severe bun. He drew close enough to observe a constellation of pockmarks on her cheeks. Her small eyes darted about before landing briefly on James. He smiled. Her brows pulled into a crease and she glanced away.

His heart fell. The sign! Frederick had been right after all. He recognized his bride, but she clearly didn’t realize he was her groom. His steps stuttered, but only for a moment. He couldn’t very well leave her on the platform while he fetched it. He approached the woman and removed his hat.

“Excuse me, miss?” Did his voice always sound so hoarse?