Elise didn’t feel any different from her old self as they boarded the train, except that she was relieved not to have to go back to the factory. She certainly didn’t feel as she expected a new bride should, elated and giddy, eager to start a new adventure with the man she loved. Captain Hart—no, not captain, Bowie, as she’d learned at the hasty wedding ceremony—kept his hand on her elbow, guiding her through the crowds at the station as if he feared she might bolt.
She patted her handbag, feeling the crinkle of paper. The ink was barely dry on their marriage certificate, and here they were leaving New York for Texas already. Not that she had any long good-byes to say. Her uncle had boiled, red in the face, then glowered and grunted a “good riddance” when she’d told him she was leaving. Of course, what else could he do with Bowie and the dog right there to protect her from his wrath?
The pastor of her little church had taken a long look at Bowie, his rifle, and his dog, and asked her in a hushed whisper if she was sure she wanted to do this. After she assured him she did, the wedding was done in a blur. All she could remember was how Bowie’s hand engulfed hers, and how steady his voice when he repeated his vows.
Vows to love, honor, and cherish her.
And she’d promised to love, honor, and obey this man for the rest of her life.
There hadn’t even been a wedding kiss.
As he handed her up the steps into the train, the enormity of what she was doing washed over her like an unexpected wave at the beach, threatening to topple her. She stumbled as her breath caught in her throat.
“All right?” His deep voice behind her made her jump.
“Yes. I’m fine.” Her words sounded as weak and quavery as she felt.
The porter took her valise and Bowie’s saddlebags, their only luggage, and frowned as the dog—Stonewall—leapt aboard.
“Livestock is not allowed in the passenger cars, sir.” He looked down his narrow, hooked nose and sniffed.
“He’s got a ticket.” Bowie showed him the pasteboard, his face impassive. The man examined the slip, sniffed again, and held open the door.
“This way, ma’am.”
Not miss but ma’am. She pressed through her glove against the plain circlet of gold Bowie had placed on her finger. From spinster to bride, from miss to ma’am, in the space of an afternoon.
She followed the railroad employee, with Bowie and the dog coming along behind, and to her surprise, the porter continued past the bench seats in the passenger section to the end of the car and into a private compartment. “This is your berth.” He stowed her bag in an overhead rack. “We’ll be pulling out soon. Dinner service is in the forward car at seven p.m. and a porter will be around to pull down your bed at nine if that pleases you?”
“Fine.” Bowie stepped aside to allow the man to leave, and Elise surveyed the little room. A private compartment all to themselves? Polished wood and glass everywhere, velvet seats. Such luxury. She felt as out of place in her worn, faded dress as a tin cup at a tea party. Could Bowie really afford this?
He put a coin in the porter’s hand, something large enough to make the man’s eyes widen and for him to bob his head. “If there’s anything you need, please, let me know.”
Bowie nodded and stepped inside the compartment. “Will this do?”
Stonewall jumped up on the seat and looked out the window, leaving a nose-print on the glass. Elise took off her gloves, finger by finger, comparing the train accommodations to her uncle’s cramped, mean rooms above the factory. “Will this do? This is the nicest place I’ve been in since…”
“Since?”
She took a steadying breath and swallowed. “Since my parents passed away.” Removing her bonnet, she smoothed her hair.
“When was that?”
“During the War. A week before you were brought in to the Fort Slocum Hospital, actually.”
He stilled in that way she’d noticed several times now, so still she knew he was concentrating solely on her. “So you were in mourning when we met.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes.” She sat on the bench across from the dog, testing the springs, running her hand over the burgundy velvet cushions. Bowie took the seat across from her, resting his rifle against the bench, patting the dog. There wasn’t much room in the compartment, and Bowie and Stonewall seemed to fill most of it. “My parents passed away within two days of each other, of an illness. I was volunteering at the Fort Slocum hospital, and after the War, most hospitals wouldn’t take an unmarried woman as a nurse. It was one thing to help out in a crisis, but afterward, the proprieties must be observed. There were many War widows who needed the jobs, anyway. My uncle is my only relative, and I went to live with him. I had nowhere else to go, and no money to get there, even if I had a place to go.”
“That’s how I found you. You mentioned the button factory once in the hospital.”