The Soldier’s Sweet Return (Preview)

Chapter One

May 1867
Prairie Bend, Kansas

Julian Rivers hadn’t set foot in Prairie Bend for over six years, and the place sure had changed. Ever since the little farming town had been mentioned in a farming journal as a stellar example of the industry, it had begun to grow but he hadn’t been there to see most of it.

He walked with a slight limp along the road into Prairie Bend, taking notice of the buildings that had sprung up like spring daisies around City Hall. It was a rather large, grand, building for a town that was still mostly bare bones. Though there was now a bathhouse, a saloon, a fancy hotel, and a smart looking bank. The post office had its telegraph wires strapped to the poles that ran the length of the main street. So much innovation and change. He was glad. Things looked as though they were going well. 
That was good. Julian had plans, a lot of them. He would have to find lodgings and then he could invest some of the money he’d made into the business he wanted to start up. He had to show that he was a gentleman and a businessman, and it was imperative that he do it relatively quickly. To that end, he had saved every penny he could, traveling as cheaply as possible to get home with most of his money still in his possession. He just hoped it would all be worth it. That he would finally be worthy. 

As he walked down the street, nodding to the folks who caught his eye, he saw that they looked well off at least from their attire. There were even some of what Julian took to be the latest fashions on display, especially when it came to the ladies. Many of them were staring at him though. He hadn’t expected that. Maybe they didn’t get many new faces and after so long, his would definitely count as new. 

“Well, look what the wind blew in,” a voice sneered close by. 

Julian looked around. He’d been so enthralled with the changes that he hadn’t been paying attention to his surroundings. His old lieutenant would have been disgusted with him for that oversight. 

The man who had spoken was familiar. Julian was willing to bet he’d gone to school with the fellow although his name currently escaped recall. 

“Looks like a vagrant to me,” his friend, a man with no front teeth and terrible acne scars said. “He look lost to you, Bernie?” 

“Absolutely, Jedd. Lost as a babe in the woods,” Bernie said smiling. 

“I’m not lost,” Julian said mildly. “I’m heading to the Union Saloon, and we should be able to act as friends. I’ll be happy to buy you both a beer.” 

“Well, you’re plum out of luck there,” Bernie said with a nasty chuckle and a sly look over at Jedd. 

As Julian tried to work out which part of his proposal they’d had a problem with, he read Bernie’s decision in his eyes before his hands began to move. It was a skill they taught when a man went to war. 

Look your enemy in the eye because his decision to kill you, will show up there first. 
Dropping the duffel bag that held all his worldly possessions on the dusty ground, Julian managed to duck under the first swing of Bernie’s large fists. He had always been big for his age, as Julian recalled. They’d called him Bernie the Bear because he was as slow and brutal as one. 

Julian danced out of his way, being spry and light, despite the slight limp, a souvenir from the war. 

Recovering, Bernie came at him again and that was when Jedd got a lucky punch in. It clipped Julian’s ear as he turned, having spotted the man circling him to come at him from behind. It dazed him just enough for Bernie’s blow to his gut to land perfectly, knocking all the air out of Julian’s lungs. 

He doubled over but didn’t collapse. As Jedd came in for another shot, Julian managed to get his foot in Jedd’s way and the man went sprawling. And then suddenly Bernie was backing up, his hands in the air as Julian gasped and careened into the railing of a store. 

“I’m sure I told you what would happen the next time I caught you fighting in my town,” a familiar voice said. “What did I tell you, Bernie?” 

“I’m going, I’m going,” Bernie protested. “Come on, Jedd. Shake a leg.” 

They hurried away, looking back over their shoulders at Julian and his savior. 

Julian managed to get his breath back and stood up straight. He rubbed where Bernie had hit him. It was like being punched in the gut by an anvil. Luckily, it wasn’t his first time in a bad fight, and he recovered quickly. 

“Oh, my good gracious!” Julian said as he recognized the man who had come to his rescue, although the sheriff badge was a new addition. “Rowan! Is that you?” 

“I should be asking you that question,” Rowan said beaming. “How are you here?” 

“What do you mean?” Julian asked frowning. 

Rowan, a tall man with broad shoulders and a winning smile, frowned at him in return.

“Haven’t you heard? You’re supposed to be dead.” 

Julian’s heart jumped into his throat. Dead? “Where did you get that idea from?” he asked. 

Rowan looked around. They were garnering a lot of attention, and that wasn’t something that Julian wanted particularly. Especially not if folks thought that he was dead. Gosh, that was a surprise. And his folks? Did they think so too? 

“Come with me,” Rowan said picking up Julian’s duffel bag and taking him by the arm he marched him up the street. “We can talk in the Corn Cob Saloon. That is where you were headed, right?” 

“The what? When did it stop being the Union?” Julian asked.
 
“Not so long ago. It’s under new ownership,” Rowan explained as they walked up the street to the saloon. “You remember old Pete Harris?” 

“The potato farmer?” Julian asked. It was all becoming a little unreal, his homecoming. 

They entered the saloon through the batwing doors and set them swinging back and forth with their passage. 

“Yeah, well, when Duke who owned the Union died without any kin, Pete bought the place up and changed the name. He was going to call it the Spud, but no one liked that, and so he went for the Corn Cob and we all kind of went along with him,” Rowan said.
“Although that was before I got back from the war.” 

Nodding Julian digested the story. Things certainly had changed. 

“I take it that Pete offers a room and a meal like Duke used to?” Julian asked, in case, a lot of things had changed, including how saloons in the area were run.
 
Chuckling, Rowan nodded. “Some things don’t change that much. Come on, I’ll buy you a couple of beers. It’s the least I can do for my best friend’s unexpected resurrection and homecoming.” He paused before they reached the bar and turned to look back at the door they had just come in through. “Although, if you want a good room, there’s always the hotel.” 

Julian shook his head. The hotel looked far too grand for him. Anyway, he was saving his pennies. “Nah, way too much like where officers would stay. I’m just a sergeant. I’ll stay in the saloon, thanks.” 

Rowan smiled. “Figures.” 

They walked up to the bar that ran to about half the length of the room and Rowan ordered two beers from a man Julian didn’t recognize. He picked them up and led Julian to a table at the back. The saloon wasn’t busy it being midday on a Tuesday, and only the old regulars were there playing cards and watching the goings on with half an eye and a full ear. 

Julian was glad to sit. He’d had a tough journey out west; the hardest and longest part being the walk from Lawrence to Topeka to Prairie Bend. Luckily, he’d managed to get a ride or two from farmers on their carts part of the way, but his feet were sore, and his leg ached a good deal. 

“Okay,” Rowan said, taking a sip of his beer. “We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.” 
“I’ll say,” Julian agreed as he eased himself into a chair. “When did you become a sheriff?” 

“When I got out of the army,” Rowan said with a grin. “The moment the South was defeated I handed in my papers, and I was out. Gone! I couldn’t get away fast enough for my liking. What happened to you? Why didn’t you write and let us know you’re fine?” 

Julian nodded. “I guess I’m going to have to apologize for that a good deal,” he said. 
Rowan gave a look that said, you’d better believe it.

“Before I go down that unpleasant rabbit hole, I’d like to say thanks for saving me back there,” Julian said, meaning the encounter with Bernie and Jedd. “I wasn’t paying attention and I got distracted.” 

“It’s my pleasure,” Rowan said. “Those two are on our run out of town list, so, no harm shaking them up a little.” He chuckled. “So, what happened? The last I heard of your platoon you were ambushed and killed to a man. How did you survive?” 

Julian gritted his teeth. This wasn’t something he liked to talk about, but he owed Rowan. They’d grown up together, been the best of friends all through school. Rowan’s folks owned the farm next to Julian’s folks and they had been friendly, which was how Rowan and Julian had become close. 

“I got lucky,” Julian said, flatly. “When we were ambushed, I was shot in the leg. I went down quickly and Charlie Scholes, who was my friend, was shot in the head and landed on me. I just lay there under him, in shock for ages. They must have thought I was dead because that second bullet, the one between my eyes I was waiting for, never came. When I realized it wasn’t coming, I got up. Angus McDougall, a fellow farmer’s son, was also still alive, but shot in the shoulder. Together we managed to make our way to the camp not more than twenty miles away. Of course, my leg was nicely infected by the time I got there, and I spent the end of the war in a fever in a medical facility in Virginia.” 

Rowan stared at him. “And you’ve still got your leg?” 

Julian chuckled and nodded. “Yes sir, it’s still my actual leg. The bullet went right through and nicked a few things on the way but nothing they couldn’t fix. It was the blood poisoning that almost got me. I was just lucky there were some real good doctors there who took care of me.” 

Looking stunned Rowan sipped his beer. “And then?” 

“And then? Well, I needed some time,” Julian said. “I wasn’t fit company and Angus told me about an opportunity to work for the railway. We both went, applied and I started as security and worked my way into cartography, and I worked there for the last eighteen months or so.” Julian knew he was giving Rowan the bare skeleton of the story, but two years later, he still had nightmares. How could he put those things that terrorized him into words so soon? 

“And you never thought to write?” Rowan asked sounding more than a little put out. 

“After spending five years knee deep in death, how keen were you to have to relive it for all the folks back here?” Julian asked. “I sure wasn’t up to the task. That ambush did something to me, Rowan. It broke something in me and only that stint on the railway, riding back and forth has given me the strength to come back here and start my life again.” 

Rowan’s eyes lost their anger then. He nodded. “I know how hard it is to come back home after that. The things we saw.” 

“The things we did,” Julian said, his voice hollow and strange. 

They shared a companionable silence, both knowing there were things they would never ever say out loud and didn’t have to because they both knew. 

It was surprising how fast they finished their beers. Rowan signaled the bartender for another round, and it came quickly. 

“So, why did you think I was dead?” Julian asked. 

“Your folks got the telegram from the army,” Rowan said. “It said you’d been shot and killed in the ambush. They had a ceremony for you and everything. We can go and see your tombstone if you like. It’s in the cemetery by the church.” 

“But, there was no body,” Julian said, frowning. 

“Actually, there was,” Rowan said. “Chester went to fetch it. It was in a bad way, and they held a closed casket service for you. It was very touching.” 

Julian blinked. His older brother Chester had gone to fetch his body? But Chester hated him, always had. The brothers had never gotten along, not for one second. They’d been at each other’s throats their whole lives. Why would his brother suddenly care so? 

And if Chester had changed and felt the need to give him a proper burial, what had his folks gone through thinking he was that mangled body? 

Guilt rushed through Julian. He hadn’t realized that the folks here thought he was dead. If he had, he would have come home sooner. The thought of how that must have affected his folks brought grief and a fair amount of guilt into his heart. 

But he hadn’t known. How could he have? No one in the army ever mentioned he was dead.
 
“I’d better send my folks a telegram,” Julian said. “Let them know I’m here and I’m okay.” 

“I think this might be something I should take care of for you,” Rowan said, slowly.

“They took it hard, Julian, real hard. I think I should go out there and inform them of the happy mistake before you head on out to the farm. You were planning to visit them, right?” 

“Of course I was,” Julian said. “I was going to find myself a horse and ride out in the morning.” 

“Wait on that, okay?” Rowan said. “Even though it’s good news sometimes folks react in strange ways. Trust me on this. I know, why don’t you write them a note saying you’re here to see them or something. Don’t go into anything. It’ll be best if you tell them what happened in person.” 

“You were looking out for them,” Julian said. 

Rowan nodded. “Chester’s been better lately. He stopped drinking so much since you died.” 

Julian nodded, wondering how long that would last now he was alive again. 

Taking his notebook from his pocket, Rowan handed Julian a stub of pencil and sat drinking his beer in silence as Julian wrote his note. It wasn’t what he wanted to say but it was a start. He just apologized for the mistake and explained that he was fine and would come and see them in a couple of days. 

After handing the note to Rowan, Julian took a long pull of his second beer. When he put the glass down he was aware of someone standing by the table. 

Looking up, he saw that it was a woman. 

“Maple?” he asked shooting to his feet as was proper when greeting a lady. 

Rowan’s little sister, her blue eyes sharp and inquiring bore into him. “Oh, my goodness! It really is you!” she cried. Without hesitation she threw her arms around Julian’s neck and hugged him. “We thought you were dead!” 

“I know, Rowan was just telling me,” Julian said hugging her back. As much as she was Rowan’s little sister, she had become like one to him too. 

“So, where have you been?” Maple asked.
 
“Don’t pester him,” Rowan said as Maple pulled up a chair and sat. 

“I’ve been around,” Julian said, grinning. “It’s good to see you.” The beers were definitely starting to do their job and relax him. 

“Isn’t Cordelia waiting for you?” Rowan asked Maple. 

She sighed. “No, it’s my day off. But I am absolutely going to tell her about you tomorrow when I see her.” She said this last bit to Julian. “I think you’re going to prove to be exactly what she’s been looking for.” 

Julian’s heart did a small jig in his chest. Cordelia Fitzroy was the girl he had fallen in love with in school, but had never had the courage to approach as more than a friend. The idea that he might be what she’d been looking for tingled through him like an electrical current. 

Chapter Two

It was such a pity that mirrors didn’t lie. No matter how much Cordelia Fitzroy tried to force her smile she couldn’t make it stick. And she would be expected to smile a lot in the coming hours. 

She sighed and wished that her mirror would lie or that she was a better actress. When it came to faking a smile her lips and cheeks played along without hesitation. They responded to her thought—that she should put on a smile—instantly achieving the required result. It was her frank and honest green eyes that always gave her away. Despite her efforts, they remained cold and distant whenever she thought of her engagement. Forced slavery would be more like it. And hadn’t they just gone to war to abolish such things? Apparently not when it came to parents forcing their daughters into relationships they weren’t interested in. 

Cordelia would have to fake it. Especially since she would be spending the day with her mother, a sweet woman who always seemed so clueless as to how Cordelia was feeling. So, despite her unhappiness and reluctance to marry the man her father had decided she would, Cordelia would have to put on a show.

Brides-to-be were supposed to be deliriously happy, or so she’d heard. This meant that while she was out looking for wedding dress material at the haberdashery in Prairie Bend that morning, she would have to pretend that every time someone mentioned her pending nuptials, she didn’t feel like throwing up or running away. She would have to exclaim at the silks and the satins and be extremely excited about lace and ribbons. 

Cordelia rolled her eyes. Who in their right mind got excited about such rubbish? Lace and ribbons indeed. She would much rather be taking her usual shift at the soup kitchen at the church than looking at fripperies. But her mother had insisted, and she asked for so little from Cordelia, how could she refuse?

“Knock, knock!” The door opened behind Cordelia and her best friend and companion Maple came striding in. She was beaming happily. But then Maple was generally happy and sweet like the syrup she was named after, although she insisted she was named after the tree. 

“Good morning,” she said brightly. “Are you ready for today?” 

Cordelia turned from her mirror set on her vanity and regarded her friend. “Morning, Maple. You look lovely.” 

“Oh? Do I?” she asked and giggled. Maple was a world class giggler. “I have some news that you’re never going to believe.” 

Cordelia didn’t have to force her smile now; it came bubbling up. Maple always had news from town. Heaven knew how she got it, but she was better than the local newspaper. 

“Okay. I’m all ears. What is it this time?” Cordelia asked. It had to be something big for such an expression to be plastered on Maple’s heart-shaped face. “Tell me Thomas was caught in a freak snowstorm and froze to death?” she asked. Of course, that was ludicrous since it hadn’t snowed there in months, but one could wish. 

“Deli!” Maple said using her pet name for Cordelia. “Don’t be silly. You’d know that long before I did. No, the news is better and far more bizarre than that.” 

Maple gestured to her to come and sit on the bed with her so she could speak softly. Not that Cordelia thought anyone would be listening to their conversation. They were just silly women after all, but it didn’t hurt to be careful. 

They moved to Cordelia’s bed and sat side by side now speaking softly. 

“Well?” Cordelia asked. 

“You remember Rowan’s best friend Julian, the one who was killed in the war?” Maple asked. 

Cordelia remembered him well. He had always been so polite and kind at school. Her father had been rising in the political ranks going from a prominent businessman to finally land the position of mayor of their little town. Of course, his ambition hadn’t ended there as he was currently in the race to be governor. His achievements had always made Cordelia’s peers either standoffish or almost sycophantic with her trying to get something out of the relationship other than friendship. Only Maple hadn’t cared about her father’s standing or influence and had remained Cordelia’s best and truest friend. Cordelia had spent a lot of time at Maple’s parents’ farm growing up, and so her brother Rowan and his best friend Julian had always been in Cordelia’s life, even if she hadn’t counted them as fast friends. 

“I remember his funeral,” Cordelia said. “It was so sad. He was always so thoughtful, and he helped me climb that oak tree in your folks’ backyard even if it meant he got caught when we played games.” She didn’t add that she’d always thought him handsome as well. There was no point in adding that when speaking of the dead. 

Maple giggled. “Then you’re going to love this,” she said. “He’s not dead.” 

Cordelia tried to work out where the joke was. It had to be a joke, didn’t it? How could someone who they had buried in the cemetery almost two years ago be alive now?

“I’m afraid this joke has gone right over my head.” 

“It’s not a joke,” Maple said shaking her head so forcefully that her brown hair slipped its bun and tumbled down around her shoulders. “Oh, drat,” she said and moved to the vanity to put her hair back up. 

Cordelia followed her and helped her with the fine brown tresses. They were so soft. What did Maple do to make her hair feel like that, Cordelia wondered. 

“I think you might need to explain this situation,” Cordelia said as she wound Maple’s hair around and around into a bun. “How can he possibly be alive?” 

“It was a mix up at the army offices,” Maple said regarding her in the mirror. “They sent the wrong Julian here. So, some other poor parents have been looking for their missing son all this time, while our Julian was out there doing whatever it was he was doing. Rowan made me leave before I could find out.” 

“So, where is he now?” Cordelia asked pinning Maple’s hair in place. “Where has he been?” 

“All over apparently,” Maple said, the excitement radiating off her like she was a small housebound sun. “He’s looking good though, Deli, really good.” 

Cordelia bit her lip and lowered her voice, bending so that her lips were close to Maple’s ear. “What are you thinking?” 

“Well, nothing right now,” Maple said. “A lot would depend on him.” 

“That’s true,” Cordelia said. “But we’ve been looking.” 

“Yes we have and maybe…?” Maple asked. 

“I’ll have to meet him but yes, maybe,” Cordelia said. She nodded happily and clasped her hands together as she turned from Maple. Could this be it? Could Julian back from the dead be the thing she’d been waiting for? Could he help her? Would he help? There was so much at stake that Cordelia would have to take special care not to make a rat’s nest of it. If she blew it… gosh the consequences would be dire. 

Now her smile came naturally without being rehearsed or forced. 

“This is good news,” Cordelia said. 

Maple nodded. “But now we have to go. Your mother is waiting downstairs,” she said.
 
Cordelia nodded. Julian Rivers was alive and well. Who would have ever thought that would be possible? The army had said he was shot and killed in an ambush. How had they gotten their information so wrong? It seemed mindboggling and yet it had to be the truth because Maple would know Julian anywhere. If she said it was him, it had to be him.

But would he want to help them? That was the question. Cordelia sighed and finished getting ready. Speaking to him, even just casually, finding out what his plans are would tell her a lot. She would have to set that up as soon as possible. 

“When do you think I could speak to him?” Cordelia asked. 

“Tomorrow evening at dinner at Rowan’s,” Maple said. “I knew you’d want to speak to him, so I suggested it at breakfast this morning and Elise, that darling wife of his, just loved the idea. She forced Rowan into it. I love that she takes my side in most things.” 

“How could she not?” Cordelia asked with a grin. 

For a moment they held hands and smiled at each other excitedly. 

“Maple, you are a wonder, and just when I had begun to lose hope,” Cordelia said. 

“Don’t worry, I have a feeling things will turn around,” Maple said grinning. 

Cordelia nodded. “Let’s hope so. But now we’d better not keep Mother waiting.” 

The two friends hurried downstairs and found Cordelia’s mother, Eileen, waiting in the foyer. She was pinning a hat to her hair. 

“Oh, you look lovely Cordelia,” she said, beaming. “Are you excited to shop for the fabric for your wedding dress?” 

Cordelia forced a smile and nodded. “Very,” she said, meaning, not at all. “I can’t wait.” Which translated to let’s get this over with.

They went out of the front door and down the steps to the drive where Phelps, an old man with gray hair, waited to drive their buckboard into town. They climbed in and soon were off heading down the drive away from the mayor’s mansion. 

It was a thirty-minute drive in the buckboard and Cordelia had been dreading it for a fortnight since Thomas Ambrose and her father had decided that she should become Thomas’ wife. 

There were several problems with Thomas Ambrose. The first was that he was at least ten years older than Cordelia. Also, he was a stiff, pretentious person who came from money and so had no understanding of the people in Kansas. 

These were farmers, blacksmiths, farriers, store owners and ranchers. They toiled at their jobs all day with their hands and made things. They built things and nurtured things, grew things. They made the world a better place with their toil, and it was measurable in actual things, not just bank statements indicating profits earned. 

Cordelia considered them real people and they needed someone real to govern them. Her father seemed to have forgotten that as mayor, he was supposed to care about his people. But now he was spending all of his time with Thomas and his views and priorities had become muddled. And now he was trying to marry her off to the wretch despite her protestations. 

As the buckboard rattled its way down the track to town, Cordelia stared out of the window and thought about Julian. It had been so long since she’d seen him. What was he like now? Had he come back with a family in tow? Maple hadn’t said much, just enough to pique her interest. 

Cordelia’s mother shifted on her seat. “Your father isn’t going to be home tonight,” she said, apropos of nothing. “He said he’s staying in town until Friday. He’s leaving all of the planning for the fundraiser ball next weekend to me.” 

“Do you need some help?” Cordelia asked kindly. Her mother was a simple woman who seemed to live largely in her own head. She seldom had any idea what was going on around her, which was a pity because if Cordelia could ever use some help herself, it was now. 

“Oh yes, I would greatly appreciate it if you two could help me with the invitations,” her mother said, smiling, “There are an awful lot of them that need to go out before Friday. And of course, you can invite a couple of your friends too. As reward for helping me to set it up.” 

“Who is going to be there?” Maple asked. “I’ve never been to a fundraiser before.” 

“It’s so dull,” Cordelia said. “All the men stand around talking politics until their wives drag them to go and dance. Then they’re back at it again until they pull out their money and start donating to the cause.” 

“Oh,” Maple said. “And the cause is your father’s campaign to be elected as governor?” 

“Yes,” Cordelia said. “It’s the first of many of its kind we’ll be hosting and attending.” 

“It will be quite the adventure,” Eileen said with a smile. Then her smile faded. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you Cordelia. There might be a bit of a delay with your wedding.” 

“Really?” Cordelia asked, her heart beating hard in her chest suddenly. 

“Yes, I was in your father’s study before we left, trying to find a suitable date to suggest to Thomas for your ceremony and…” she said shrugging. “I can’t seem to find an open weekend between now and the election.” 

Cordelia’s breath caught in her throat. “Really?” 

“Yes, well, no, I tell a lie,” Cordelia’s mother said looking uncomfortable. “The truth is, there is a weekend in August and one in September. I suppose one of those would have to do.” 

For an irrational moment Cordelia had thought that her mother was about to tell her that it was all off and she wouldn’t have to marry Thomas Ambrose this year or any year. But a reprieve was good too. 

“I’m sorry darling,” her mother said. 

Cordelia’s smile was genuine. “I don’t mind,” she said. This would give her time to make her plans. She would get out of this ridiculous marriage somehow. Maybe by finding out what secret her fiancé and father were hiding. 

“Are you sure?” her mother asked. “I would hate to spoil your plans or dash your hopes. I know that you want to please your father but rushing into a marriage is not wise either.” 

“I’m sure,” Cordelia said and smiled at Maple who grinned back.

“Oh, and speaking of engagements, Elise, Rowan’s wife has invited me to dinner at their house tomorrow evening,” Cordelia said. 

“That sounds like a wonderful idea,” her mother said beaming at Maple. “Is it a special occasion?” 

“Elise wants to have some friends over before the baby comes and she has no time for anything else,” Maple said. 

“How far along is she?” Cordelia’s mother asked.
 
“Ready to pop,” Maple said with a shrug. 

“That’s wonderful,” Cordelia’s mother said. “You should take her something, maybe get Mrs. Watson to run up some baby clothes while we’re there today.” 

“Speaking of which,” Cordelia said, trying her luck. “Do we still have to go fabric shopping today? If the wedding can’t take place until August or September, this seems premature. Surely, we could wait?” 

“Oh no,” her mother said. “You know how busy Mrs. Watson gets. She will need time to tailor your dress perfectly. Don’t you think?” 

Cordelia nodded. “Yes I suppose so.” 

They rode on in silence for a bit, the only sound the rattling of the buckboard.

“Why don’t you stay in town tomorrow evening with Maple? Then you won’t have to ride back so late? If It’s alright with you, Maple darling?” Cordelia’s mother asked, breaking the silence. 

“I’d be delighted to have her stay with me,” Maple said grinning.
 
Maple shared an apartment above the general store with Alice Wilkins who worked for the local paper. She wrote the fashion column, and so Maple was always very aware of what she couldn’t afford to buy and desperately wanted. 

“Alright,” Cordelia said. 

And so it the plans were set. 

A little while later the buckboard rolled into Prairie Bend and pulled up outside the haberdashery. All three women got out and went up the steps into the store. Mrs. Watson was a plump woman with red cheeks and frizzy blonde hair that seemed determined to always escape any ties she tried to use on it. 

She smiled widely at Cordelia and her mother, not paying Maple much attention at all. Shopkeepers especially seemed to have inner compasses that followed the money. 

“I’ve put out the bridal satin and the silks for you over here on the table,” Mrs. Watson said.

Soon Cordelia was drowning in a world of patterns and material in which she had no interest at all. She would happily get married in an old flour sack if it was to the right man, and Thomas Ambrose was most certainly not that man. Without a doubt. 

He wasn’t the right man for a lot of things: Kansas, Cordelia, her father. He was just wrong through and through. 

Looking out through the haberdashery window, Cordelia saw a man who looked a bit like Julian coming out of the bank on the other side of the street. He walked with a slight limp, favoring his right leg. Was that Julian? Back from the dead, like Lazarus. What a story that was. What a miracle. With luck he would bring a miracle with him and somehow save her. Perhaps he would save them all.