Page 2 of The Pursuit of Elena Bradford

2

Climbing into the stage to go to Graham Springs was every bit as dreadful as Elena had imagined. If her mother’s grim face was any indication, she felt the same as they and Ivy squeezed together on one of the bench seats. They had to adjust their skirts to make room for the two gentlemen in the seat across from them. At least, Elena prayed they were gentlemen.

One of them, a pale, slender man who appeared to be not much older than she, seemed a bit unsteady as he settled in a corner of the seat. He clasped his hands together but not before she saw how they trembled, as if the effort to climb into the stagecoach had taken all his energy. The other man’s gray mustache indicated he might be her father’s age. He had an air of importance about him as he positioned his knees among their ruffles with an irritated frown.

They should have worn their everyday dresses instead of their finest mourning attire. Elena had suggested that. Traveling by stagecoach was notoriously dusty. But her mother claimed they must dress in their finest in order to appear to be in the upper realms of society when they reached Graham Springs.

“As soon as we are settled in, you can forgo the mourning black,” she said as they packed their trunk with party finery. “I, of course, will continue to honor your father’s memory for the proper length of time, but he would not want his daughters to wallow in sorrow.”

Under her spoken words, Elena heard the truth. Gentlemen might not be attracted to someone wearing the black of sorrow. Her mother appeared to be right if the man’s scowl across from them was any indication.

With an icy look, her mother lifted her chin as she always did whenever unpleasantness threatened. A lady had no reason to reveal ill manners even if others did. Ivy, on the other hand, smiled at the man. Her sweet countenance made his scowl disappear like mist in morning sunshine.

“I do apologize for my foul mood, madam. Miss.” He looked from Mother to Ivy. A bit of his scowl returned as he eyed Elena, apparently not sure whether to address her as a matron or a miss.

Before he made a decision on that, Mother said, “Think nothing of it. This warm weather can worry anyone into a bad humor.”

“Yes.” He pulled at his collar and then the sleeves of his jacket.

Elena wanted to tell him that he should consider himself fortunate not to be dressed completely in black as they were. Black had a way of collecting heat and keeping it.

He went on. “My wife is forever admonishing me to remember my manners whilst I am traveling, even if things do not go smoothly.” He glanced at the man beside him who kept his head leaned into the corner of the coach with his eyes closed. “If only I could be as ready to sleep through the journey as our companion here.”

The other man spoke up without opening his eyes. “Best rest while you can. Once the coach begins moving, it can jostle a person into wakefulness.”

His voice was so quiet that Elena barely made out his words above the sound of the thumps and creaks of the coach as things were loaded onto it. She had to wonder if he was unwell and hoped somewhat fervently that if so, he wouldn’t convey his illness to his traveling companions.

“You speak truth about that.” The older man looked as if he might be worrying about the same as he scooted as far as possible from the other man.

The younger man half opened his eyes to look at them. “Best find a hold to keep your seat, ladies, and be prepared. The drivers like a fast start.”

“Again, our companion is right. If you are praying ladies, and I would assume you surely are, I’d suggest a prayer that the jehu brandishing his whip and taking this coach down the road doesn’t meet up with another reinsman anxious to prove which of them can be fastest with the mail. All at our expense.”

“Jehu?” Ivy looked from one man to the other. “What a perfectly odd name. Are you saying the man driving our coach is Mr. Jehu?”

The older man laughed. “The moniker comes from the Bible. Kings, I believe. King Jehu was reputed to drive his chariot without concern for life or limb. Since the reinsmen of these stagecoaches have the same reputation, they have been given the name.”

“Without the title of king.” The other man smiled at them. “But I’m sure our travel today will be without incident.”

“We can hope,” Elena said.

“And pray.” Her mother appeared to be doing that already as she closed her eyes and bent her head.

“I can’t wait for the stage to start.” Ivy bounced in her seat and stared out the square opening that served as a window. Mother touched Ivy’s arm to remind her of a lady’s conduct.

The young man’s smile was fuller now. “It must be your first traveling experience.”

“We have not previously had need to travel by coach.” Mother touched her eyes with a handkerchief.

Elena wondered how sincere her mother’s tears were, but then was ashamed of the thought.

“I do beg your pardon for my lack of understanding.” He leaned toward Mother. “Forgive my thoughtlessness and for not introducing myself. Andrew Harper at your service. What little I am able to give.”

The older man cleared his throat. “William Taylor here. The same as Mr. Harper, I shall be ready to assist you in any way needed during our travel.”

He didn’t sound quite as sincere as Mr. Harper, but Mother inclined her head. “Thank you. I am Juanita Bradford and these are my daughters, Elena and Ivy.” She motioned toward each in turn. “Your kindness is appreciated.”

Mr. Taylor nodded before he grumbled. “Whatever is delaying the start?”

“They must be waiting for someone.” Mr. Harper leaned back into his corner and shut his eyes again.

“Stages don’t wait for passengers.” Mr. Taylor stuck his head out the window to yell at the driver, who shouted something back that was better unheard.

The stagecoach creaked to the side as someone climbed up to the top. Then a man jerked open the coach door and smiled at them. “The jehu says there is room for one more in here.”

Mr. Taylor muttered under his breath and made no move to scoot over on the seat. The newcomer didn’t let that bother him as he pushed through the flouncy skirts and sank down between the two men.

When he tried to position a square-shaped parcel on his lap, one of the corners poked Mr. Taylor, who shoved the edge away from him. “Watch out, man. You should put that with the baggage.”

“No, I couldn’t do that.” The new passenger adjusted the parcel that then rested against Mother’s small carpetbag in her lap. “From the look of the clouds in the west, it might rain before I get to my destination.” He shifted it again and this time poked Elena’s knees.

“Sorry.” The man flashed a big smile at Elena and her mother but didn’t move the bundle away.

Elena was surprised when her mother smiled back at him, but perhaps it wasn’t surprising at all. The man’s smile was infectious. Elena felt her own lips turning up almost of their own accord, and Ivy put her hand over her mouth to hide a giggle. Of course, Ivy was ready to laugh about almost anything.

Mr. Taylor didn’t appear to be taken in by the man’s smile. “Perhaps you should give the package your seat if it’s that valuable and climb up to ride on top yourself.”

“Do not concern yourself, Mr. Taylor. My daughters and I are quite prepared to adjust to accommodate our fellow travelers.” Mother looked from the older man to the man causing a stir. “I don’t mind the edge of your parcel resting on my carpetbag.”

“That is so kind, madam.” The new passenger beamed at Mother while he adjusted the package as far from Mr. Taylor as he could. “It is very light, and I promise to keep it balanced.”

“Whatever is it? It seems large for a book.” Mother touched the edge of the parcel.

“It’s a canvas,” Elena said.

The new passenger’s eyes widened. “How did you know that, miss? Or is it madam?”

“She’s an artist.” Ivy spoke up. “And a miss.”

Elena and Mother both gave Ivy a look that made her shrink back into her seat and fall silent.

“Amazing.” The man with the package eyed Elena. “A lovely artist. And what do you like to create with your pens or paint?”

Before Elena could answer, Mother waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “She merely dabbles in art. Flowers and such.”

“As fitting a lady,” the man said.

Elena’s cheeks heated up, but that would hardly be noticeable in the crowded, overly warm interior of the coach. Her mother did consider her art nothing more than a frivolous waste of time. She often told Elena she would be better served to practice the pianoforte or the art of embroidery.

Mr. Harper opened his eyes as he roused from his corner of the coach to study her. His eyes were the lightest blue Elena had ever seen. Like a sun-washed summer sky. Somehow that added to his pale appearance. He shifted his gaze to the man beside him. “Is she right? About the parcel?”

“As a matter of fact, she is.”

“Then it surely must be the art of some master to make it so valuable you are inconveniencing everyone in our coach.” Mr. Taylor’s frown had not softened.

“Valuable enough. At least to me, since I am the master of the paint spread on this canvas.”

“Are you someone I might know were you to say your name?” Elena couldn’t stop her words even though they earned her mother’s disapproval. Ladies did have to watch their tongues in mixed company, and this company was very mixed. However, in such close quarters with knees practically touching, ladylike behavior seemed next to impossible until they could alight from the coach.

The crack of a whip sounded outside. Hooves pounded against the hard surface of the road. The sudden jerk of the stage knocked Elena back in her seat and slid the parceled canvas toward them. Elena held it away from her mother’s middle with one hand and grabbed the edge of her seat with the other.

“Mercy sakes.” Mother gripped Elena’s arm to steady herself.

When the artist laughed, Elena’s mother glared at him. He didn’t notice as he leaned across the younger man beside him to peer out at riders and horses scurrying away from the stagecoach. As they raced past the town’s buildings, his brown eyes lit up and he looked ready to cheer.

When Elena’s mother shoved the parcel back toward him with enough force to push it against him, he looked around with surprise that changed to contrition. “My apologies, madam. I should have paid attention to my painting as I promised. But I can’t seem to help myself when the jehu’s whip cracks through the air and the horses thunder down the road, giving way to nothing. There’s something exciting about being on the move.”

“If you want to go,” Mr. Harper murmured. “A fast start is more for the drama of the moment than necessary to our journey.”

“Drama enhances the scene,” the man said.

“I, for one, am in hopes that our driver doesn’t come across another coach that dares him into an even speedier competition.” Mr. Taylor brushed off his jacket. The dust rising from the road outside drifted through the window openings. “I find the necessity of going by stagecoach dusty, hot, and decidedly unpleasant.”

“The trip is shorter when the jehu hurries the horses along.” The still-unnamed artist shrugged when Mr. Taylor made a disgusted snort. “One must take the bad with the good.”

“There’s truth there, but since we are traveling companions, an exchange of names seems in order.” Mr. Harper sat up straighter as he looked at the man beside him. “I am Andrew Harper. These beautiful ladies are Mrs. Juanita Bradford and her daughters, Elena and Ivy.” He nodded toward each of them in turn before he went on. “William Taylor sits to your left. And who might you be, sir?”

“A pleasure to meet you all. Kirby Frazier here.” The man smiled first at Elena’s mother and Ivy and then looked directly at Elena. “And no, I have not yet found the fame that might make my name known to you.”

“But you have hopes this painting you are trying to protect from the rigors of travel will bring you that fame?” Elena ignored the jab of her mother’s elbow against her side.

Once she reached this husband-hunting paradise land, she would abide by the social rules of timid speak from ladies. But for these last hours before she had to surrender her freedom to save her family from poverty, she would speak her mind without worry that the men across from her might think less of her. These stage travelers were unlikely to be in her future.

“I fear my brushes have not yet painted that canvas, but this one—” Mr. Frazier stroked the parcel he held. “This one might be the key to my future to be the artist I would like to be. Perhaps you, as a fellow artist, can understand the desire to have the freedom to dabble in art by painting whatever thrills one’s soul.”

“Freedom,” Elena breathed the word as her heart felt suddenly heavy. She pulled in a breath and managed a smile. Marrying someone with a fortune would not necessarily mean she had to give up the pleasure of sketching and painting. A man of wealth could assure his wife had the freedom to pursue her own interests. If he so chose.

She would not think of how marriage to whomever she and her mother ensnared in their nuptials trap might mean the end of her artistic pursuits. Marriage could, instead, be a key to a pleasing future. One in which her mother, Ivy, and the twins would be safe. One in which she might even be happy. Might even find love.

Mr. Harper opened his eyes and peered over at Elena. “We all seek freedom in different ways and for different causes. Perhaps freedom from sorrow.” His gaze swept to where dust was settling on their black dresses. “Or illness. Or business failures.”

“Or freedom to succeed.” Mr. Frazier’s brow wrinkled as he looked at Mr. Harper. “All does not have to be from something. It can be to something.”

“To good instead of from bad.” Mr. Harper nodded. “A different perspective. A better one.”

“And one surely possible with the Lord’s help.” Mr. Frazier gave Elena’s mother a look that seemed more practiced than sincere, as though he aimed to win her favor so she wouldn’t insist the painting be placed with the baggage.

“So, what is it?” Mr. Taylor pointed at the parcel. “This painting that has the power to give a man freedom and the future he seeks?”

Without waiting for the artist to respond, Elena’s mother spoke up. “The Lord is the author of our future.”

“And he authored sadness in yours?” Mr. Frazier said.

Mr. Harper answered before Mother could. “Sorrows come to all in life at some time or other.”

Every line of his face drooped with such a sad expression that Elena had no doubt that more than sympathy for her mother was there. He had surely lost someone he loved not so long ago himself or experienced some sort of sorrow. Perhaps it was good Ivy was the one sitting across from him instead of Elena, for she might not have controlled the urge to touch his hand to let him know she noted his pain.

Ivy didn’t even appear to hear his words as she stared out at the countryside rolling past. Ivy was like that. Intent on the new and ready to leave any sort of sadness behind.

Even their father’s death had not dampened her spirits for long. In truth, their father had never spent much time with Ivy. She did not share his interests in gardening and reading like Elena had. Ivy had shed copious tears at the funeral, but then Ivy could shed tears over a mouse caught in a trap. She often refused to eat chicken for fear the fowl might be one of the chicks she had once petted on their housekeeper’s farm.

She was tenderhearted, their father said. Young, Mother said. Spoiled, Elena thought, but never with any animosity. She loved Ivy the more for her gentle ways. If only she wasn’t so beautiful that others noted Elena’s lack of the same.

Surely that wouldn’t be different at this Graham Springs they were headed toward. Their mother should have considered that and left Ivy with the twins at their cousins’ house. That might make it much easier for Elena to attract the proper attention from this as-yet-unknown stranger whom she must convince to marry her. She wouldn’t be the least surprised if any man she met would rather woo the younger sister than the older one.

But Ivy was too young. Too romantic to accept a match made for security rather than love. Oh, to have the privilege of such thinking.

Elena was so carried away with her thinking she had almost forgotten what Mr. Taylor had asked the artist until he repeated his question. “How can one painting, that even you yourself do not claim to be a masterpiece, set your future? Give you freedom, as you claim?”

Ivy must have been listening after all, as she turned from the window opening. “Yes, Mr. Frazier, please let us know what you have painted that promises such rewards.”

“The subject of the painting is not a secret.” The man smiled at Ivy. “It is a hotel with young women as beautiful as you strolling down a tree-lined pathway leading from the hotel to some springs.”

“That sounds lovely.”

Ivy was no doubt feeling the prod of their mother’s elbow in her side to warn her not to be overly friendly to a man they did not know.

“I hope Dr. Graham will think so as well and it will convince him to let me paint more of his Springs for advertisements and also to allow me to do portraits of those staying there.”

“You are going to Graham Springs?” Mother asked.

When he nodded, Ivy bounced in her seat and clapped. “So are we.”

Mother did lay a hand on her arm then. “Do sit still, dear. The coach wobbles enough without you adding to the jolts.”

“Suddenly the destination sounds even more appealing than it did moments ago,” Mr. Frazier said.

Beside him, Mr. Harper smiled but didn’t speak.

“And so where are you going, Mr. Harper, if you don’t mind telling us?” Elena felt no jab of her mother’s elbow. She must have given up trying to control this daughter’s unseemly behavior.

“That is my destination as well.” He smiled slightly. “I’ve been told a few weeks at the Springs can do wonders for a man.”

“Or a woman.” Elena’s mother gave her a sideways glance.

“Or a woman.” Mr. Harper agreed.

Elena didn’t stop smiling. At least not with her lips, although she knew the smile had drained from her eyes as she considered the wonders she was expected to make happen at Graham Springs.

Mr. Harper looked from her mother to Elena. Something in his expression made Elena think he had noticed the lack of cheer in her smile. He seemed ready to say something when Ivy spoke in an excited tone.

“Another stagecoach is coming up behind us. Very fast!” She leaned a little way out of the window.

“Best sit back and hold on, miss,” Mr. Taylor said. “I fear our jehu is taking the challenge.”

Whips cracked through the air as if to prove his words.

“A race!” Mr. Frazier leaned across Mr. Harper again to look out. “May the best coach win, and may that be ours.”

Ivy paid no mind to Mr. Taylor’s words as she peered out the opening. “There’s no room for the coach to pass.” She sounded as excited as Mr. Frazier.