Chapter 4
The closer the train drew to Sweetwater Springs, the more Ivy's excitement built until she thought she might burst from anticipation.
Like a child, she pressed her face to the window, watching the Montana landscape unfold in all its rugged glory—pine forests climbing steep hillsides, snow-capped peaks piercing a sky so blue it almost hurt to look at, and in the distance, a toy town in a wide valley.
But it wasn't just the scenery that made her heart race. Somewhere, waiting on the platform, was her dearly beloved and deeply missed best friend.
Cora.
After Ivy accepted Mr. Rees’s invitation to be a governess to his daughter, she and Cora had sent each other a barrage of letters making plans.
Sometimes, two of Cora’s would arrive at the same time, even if sent a day or two apart.
Once they’d settled on what she should bring along, both for herself and her pupil, they turned to planning Ivy’s arrival.
The arrangement with Mr. Rees was unusual, to say the least. He'd been very specific in his requirements: Ivy's arrival must be kept secret. No announcements, no fanfare, no gossip spreading through town about the young woman come to live with a previously unknown widower and his daughter.
Cora had assured her that her fiancé, Brian Bly, would help with the plan.
They would pick Ivy up in a surrey borrowed from Dr. Angus Cameron, load her trunks, and drive her up the mountain road before anyone was the wiser.
The station-and-postmaster, Jack Waite, was an elderly man whose rheumatism kept him confined to his warm office during the cold months.
With any luck, he wouldn't even notice her arrival.
The train began to slow, its whistle announcing their approach.
Ivy gathered her satchel and the basket, her hands trembling with anticipation.
Through the window, she caught her first glimpse of the Sweetwater Springs depot—a charming building painted brown with cheerful yellow trim.
There, standing on the platform with her hand on a man’s arm, was Cora, bundled up against the winter cold.
She spotted Ivy, and, with an enormous grin, began waving madly, bouncing on her toes like a girl half her age.
Ivy laughed, tears already pricking at her eyes. She waved back through the glass, not caring if she looked foolish, not caring about anything except that she was finally, finally here.
Jostled by the movement, Brave let out a plaintive mew from inside the basket.
“We’ve arrived, sweet girl. You don't have to hide anymore.”
The train lurched to a stop. Ivy grabbed her satchel and the handle of the basket and pushed her way toward the exit, her heart pounding.
She hurried down the aisle and onto the platform steps, so eager she nearly tripped in her haste. But she caught the railing and descended safely, her gaze fixed on her friend's beaming face.
Cora didn't wait. She let out a squeal of pure joy and ran toward Ivy with her arms spread wide.
Ivy barely had time to drop her satchel before Cora launched herself into a hug. She kept a firm grip on the basket handle with one hand and wrapped her other arm around her dearest friend, and then the tears came in earnest—streaming down her cheeks.
“You're here!” Cora sobbed against her neck. “You're finally here!”
“I've missed you so much!” Ivy squeezed her tight, breathing in the familiar scent of lavender and wool.
How many nights had she lain awake in her bed in New York, dreaming of this moment?
How many times had she feared the reunion would never happen?
That her father would discover her plans and lock her in her room for the rest of her life.
But she was here. And Cora felt warm and real, and they were crying together.
A throat cleared politely behind them.
Cora's fiancé stepped forward, and Ivy got her first proper look at him. He possessed handsome, craggy features, and an expression of fond amusement lurked in his green eyes.
This was the man Cora had written about—the grumpy author who had stolen her heart. Looking at him now, his expression soft with affection, Ivy saw no sign of any curmudgeon.
“This is my dear Brian.” Cora sparkled up at him.
Brian flourished an ink-spotted handkerchief in each hand. “I came fortified. They don’t look it, but they’re clean. I promise,” he announced with mock solemnity. “Mop away those tears, ladies, or you’ll freeze your faces off.”
Laughing through her tears, Ivy broke apart from Cora and accepted one of the handkerchiefs. She dabbed at her eyes while Cora did the same, both of them sniffling and giggling like schoolgirls.
Brian took back the handkerchief from his fiancée. “You need to do better, darling.” Gently, he wiped the rest of the dampness from Cora’s cheeks. “No sense getting frostbite on this pretty face. There.” He dropped a kiss on her cheek.
How romantic. Ivy couldn’t help a stab of envy. She wanted a man to love and cherish her like this. “Let me see the ring.”
Cora tugged off a glove and extended her hand to show a gold band inset with a round, blue stone. “Oh, Cora. You’re really engaged!”
“Sometimes, I have to pinch myself.”
Brave let out a meow of protest.
Brian and Cora stared down at her basket.
Ivy pulled a guilty face, heat rising in her cheeks. “I rescued a starving kitten at the breakfast food stop.” She lifted the basket slightly. “Her name’s Brave. She probably wants out. To eat and…well….”
Brian’s lips twitched with apparent amusement.
He glanced over to where her trunks had been unloaded onto the platform.
“Let’s get you loaded up. Once we’re out of town, we can see to your kitten’s needs.
” His expression shifted, his gaze looking past her.
“‘The best-laid schemes o’ mice an’ men,’” his voice thickened into a Scottish brogue.
“‘Gan aft agley,’” Ivy finished the quote from Robert Burns’s poem, although she mangled the Scottish accent.
Brian flashed her a grin. “Spoken like a true governess.”
A short, bushy-headed man tottered toward them from the depot building, wrapped against the cold in a faded red-and-black patterned Indian blanket. Despite his obvious age and the stiffness of his movements, his wrinkled face was creased in a wide, curious smile.
So much for avoiding the stationmaster.
“Who have we here?” As he approached, the old man's eyes twinkled. “A pretty newcomer.” He doffed an imaginary cap. “I’m Jack Waite, miss. The station and postmaster. Welcome to Sweetwater Springs.”
Ivy's mouth opened, but no words came out. Their careful plan for keeping her arrival secret had just been foiled by an elderly man who should have been warming his bones by the fire. She exchanged helpless glances with Brian and Cora, but neither of them seemed to know what to say, either.
Jack tapped his cheek with one gnarled finger.
“Ah…something is afoot, I see.” He turned a knowing gaze toward Cora.
“Ever since you came to Sweetwater Springs, Miss Collier, you’ve exchanged regular letters with a Miss Ivy Jackson.
Even more so in the last few weeks.” He gave Ivy a satisfied nod.
“So I’m going to presume to guess you’re the very same Miss Jackson. ”
Brian chuckled, shaking his head. “I should have known. From interviewing you for my book on Sheriff Granger and the bank robbery, I learned not much around here gets past you, Jack.”
“True enough.” Mr. Waite puffed up slightly at the compliment.
“But you won’t see me flapping my lips. Unless, of course, I can prevent some harm.
” His gaze sharpened on Ivy. “A letter came through here not long ago from a resident I’d never heard of—one Torin Rees—addressed to you, Miss Jackson.
” He leaned closer, his voice dropping conspiratorially.
“Are you a mail-order bride? We’ve had plenty of them over the years. ”
As Brian barked out a laugh, Cora gasped.
Ivy felt her eyes go wide. “What? I most certainly am not!”
He held up his hands in mock surrender, spreading his twisted fingers. But his eyes still danced with curiosity.
Brian stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on Ivy's shoulder. “Well, Jack, we’ll have to trust to your discretion.” He met the old man's gaze steadily. “My neighbor, Torin Rees, has sent for Miss Jackson to be a governess to his daughter.”
Mr. Waite waggled his heavy eyebrows in Brian’s direction. “I remember a young fella—a handsome blade, I thought—’til I came closer and saw blue eyes full of sorrow and anger. He carried a baby wrapped in a blanket. No mother in sight.”
As the stationmaster spoke, his words were so vivid, Ivy could clearly picture the scene.
“He asked me for directions to—” Mr. Waite lifted his chin, pointing behind them “—Three Bend Lake. Later came an unloading of so many crates and trunks and tight-lipped men hired to haul them up that mountain road. They came back down and caught the next train out.”
“Well, then.” Brian let out a slow breath.
“Mr. Rees will appreciate you keeping those incidences to yourself. And Miss Jackson’s presence, too, due to his retiring nature.
Also because certain people—” he tilted his head in the direction of a brick building up the road “—would spread scandalous gossip about a woman living with a man without a chaperone. We wanted to keep Miss Jackson’s presence a secret. ”
Mr. Waite nodded sagely, all trace of his teasing gone. “No sense running afoul of those Cobbs. Them’s the shopkeepers.” He turned to Ivy with a kindly expression. “Best steer clear of their maliciously wagging tongues.”
“Yes, sir.” This is one of the oddest conversations I’ve ever had. She glanced at Cora, and the half smile and expression on her friend’s face showed she agreed.