Page 6 of Miles. Alton & The 9:04 (Modern Mail Order Brides #19)

T hom Brown faced Saturday morning with a bout of optimism.

Yesterday, in his estimation, had been a fluke.

After months of correspondence and Thursday night chats with Carrie, he'd never thought to ask for a full figure shot of the woman.

A bit hippy, he didn't mind, but her attitude when meeting him in person was a complete turnoff.

Today was a new day, and he washed his body, added a dash of cologne, and brushed his hair, adding a bit of gel.

One held a sign for The American Ghost Hunting Society, another held a sign for the Alton Philatelists Society, and Jerry, the local drag queen who was in charge of the Beekeeper’s Association. They all, like Thom, awaited one person.

He stood back.

He didn't move forward when he spotted her in the train's doorway.

He observed her actions as she disembarked, obviously expecting all three groups. What he didn't see, and couldn't help but notice, was the little lady didn't look up and search the crowd for the man who potentially could be her future husband.

Thom Brown considered himself to be an observant man.

He noticed minor details about people which in the long run amounted to character traits that couldn't be overlooked.

He found the first flaw in the lady's character.

Try as he might to not feel some sort of way about Agnes's behavior, the anger began to bubble up when she went into her oversized bag and removed her planner to schedule afternoon meetings with each of the people.

Once she completed the task, she looked into the crowd, searching for Thom. She smiled and waved.

He simply nodded his head in acknowledgement that she'd finally seemed to remember why she was here on his dime. She excused herself from the mini fan club, making her way to him. A wide smile covered her face.

“'Well, hello, Thom Brown,” she said, extending her hand.

“Miss Agnes, looks as if you have a busy afternoon planned,” he said. “I see you brought no luggage.”

“I plan to take the 6:30 back tonight,” she said. “Today is simply an opportunity for me to meet you in person, see your home, and determine if a life in Alton is for me.”

“The scheduled meetings after our lunch today I assume are to line those things up for yourself,” he said, using a very calm voice.

“Pretty much,” Agnes confirmed. “Yes, if this works out with us, that would be wonderful, but at the end of the day, whether I am your wife or not, I am still my own person. I have my own interests and hobbies, and meeting with the locals to see what is in place is important to me.”

“Understandably, considering I paid for you to come to town to meet me, it seems, I dunno, a bit off-putting,” he said.

“Off-putting is this conversation,” Agnes said, playfully swatting at him. “What were your plans, Mr. Brown, to take me to lunch, show me your home, make out, and possibly test out the waters before you buy the product?”

“No, Ms. Agnes, that is not my style. I booked you a room at the local bed-and-breakfast, which reminds me, I will need to cancel,” he told her. “Since you've researched everything else, did you choose where you wanted to have lunch?”

Agnes, a moderately attractive woman, had soft brown eyes.

She wasn't physically fit, but she wasn't a slouch either.

Her height was ideal, reaching just under his chin, and she had mousy brown hair and a smile that changed the entire appearance of her face.

Thom loved the smile and Agnes's sense of adventure.

“Of course; there is a place close by that has great seafood,” she said. “We can go there.”

“We can, but I think I told you on more than one occasion of my shellfish allergies.”

“They have food other than shellfish,” she challenged.

“Yes, but if it is cooked in the same oil or on the same grill as the shellfish, I mean I'm not looking for Kashrut or anything, but I also don't want to spend the rest of the weekend with my eyes swollen shut either,” he countered.

“You're Jewish?”

“No, I simply use the term as an example.”

“Oh, so where do you wish to take me for lunch then?”

Thom looked at the woman. He really wanted her to get her stamp-collecting, beekeeping, ghost-hunting ass back on the train and out of his life.

This was going poorly, and he didn't understand how so many months of talking each week and finally meeting in person could sour him on any one person, let alone two.

Suddenly, in his spirit, a calmness arose.

At least he was finding out ahead of the potential nuptials versus afterwards.

“I know a place,” he told her, leading the way to his Jeep.

“This is a rugged vehicle. You do realize once we have kids, this thing will have to go,” Agnes said.

“Or perhaps, Agnes, I have more than one vehicle, and this one is something I worked very hard to earn,” he said. “And what do you drive?”

“I have a minivan,” she told him. “Yeah, I may need something else as well. My van has ghost-hunting equipment and honey all over the seats.”

“Well, you do realize once we have kids, your ghost-hunting time may be cut down until the kids are a bit older,” he said, intentionally wanting to poke the bear.

The bear rose on its hind legs and attempted to eat Thom Brown.

The sweet woman who spoke softly of making honey with her honey turned into a honey badger and was trying to eat his face.

They arrived at a small bistro that offered a varied fare of fish, chicken and beef.

There would be something on the menu to sate her appetite, or at least he hoped.

The light repartee turned into a full joust as she bantered back and forth over the meal that took utterly too long.

Thom wanted the entire afternoon to come a rapid close.

It didn’t seem to matter what he said. She wanted to countermand his words, or simply challenge him on every single topic they addressed.

He didn’t like Agnes Spignew in person. Suddenly, she looked up from the half-gnawed steak, squinting her eyes at him as if she were accusing him of nefarious intentions.

“I want to see this house of yours,” she snapped at Thom.

“Why? You're not going to be living in it,” he said softly, exhaling the breath he’d been holding.

“I heard that.”

“I said it loud enough.”

“Listen,” she said as he settled the check. “This is going all wrong. We have so much in common and there is a possibility for us to work out a pleasant life together.”

“How do you see that happening, Agnes, when we haven't gotten through our first meal without you arguing with me on everything from my choice of the chicken salad to me needing hearty proteins,” he said, trying to keep to his promise and show her the home. “I also feel like you’re taking me for granted, scheduling meetings with others on my dime.”

“Thom, I would never take you for granted.”

“Really? I paid for your train ticket, but you didn't even offer to throw in the tip on the meal. You’ve arranged conversations with other men after our luncheon as if I didn't alter my entire schedule to spend the afternoon and day with you to discuss a potential future together. How are you not taking for granted my feelings of you arriving here, but planning to meet with other men? I might not be cool with that Ms. Agnes.”

They left the bistro, in the Jeep heading towards the property. Agnes seemed emotionally invested in seeing the museum and Thom’s train collection. Each time she opened her mouth to speak at him, because she definitely wasn’t talking to him, he pulled away from the tenuous connection.

“Jeez, calm down. I'm here, aren't I?” she asked, looking at the old train station as they pulled up to the building. “We have a start. Oh, is this the museum?”

Agnes loved the old train station. Her initial desire to investigate soured as she examined her environment. Then she turned on Thom.

Her face was contorted as she looked at him, eyeballing him from head to toe. The snark in her voice began to anger him. “Did you buy all of this stuff?”

“I've been collecting since I was 13,” he said.

“I looked at your financials, I mean you own this building, plus the house.

What's the mortgage on this and the home? I would hate to have to empty my savings to help you maintain your little dream here,” she told him, looking about the place.

“Who cleans all of this stuff? Are you expecting me to help you clean hundreds of trains and knick-knacks and bobblywobs?”

“Madam, I am expecting absolutely nothing from you,” Thom said, looking at his watch. He was done with Agnes Spignew. “Oh, it's almost time for your next meeting; let's get moving.”

“Oh, so soon?” Agnes asked, looking at the adorable little home with the wide front porch. “I wanted to see the house.”

“We wouldn't want to be late, now would we, Ms. Agnes?” he said, nearly pushing her into the Jeep.

Thom barely came to a full stop to let the woman out of his vehicle. He told her to take care as he tooted his horn twice and rolled away. Normally, he wouldn't do such a thing, but Jerry, the local Beekeeping Queen, was waiting for Agnes at the curb.

“What the hell is going on?” Thom asked as he drove home.

He'd taken out chicken breasts to sear on the grill for supper. There were paint samples in the dining room for choices of wall colors in the home and even a few fabric choices for drapes.

“All I'm asking is to be loved,” he said, feeling forlorn. On the back porch, he stood looking out over the dream he wanted to fulfill. A sound, familiar yet distant, caught his attention. He followed the noise, nearly jumping three feet when he spotted Petr Qwill underneath the new Adirondack chairs he’d recently built.

He took out his phone to call Jiminy. “Petr is here at my house, eating my new chairs. Come get your damned spiky pig before I gut and grill his ignorant ass.”

“Testy. Testy. But I'm on the way,” Jiminy said, making haste to get to Thom's place.

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