1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

1878 Spring Falls, Kansas

Charlotte hurried down the street, anxious to leave the excitement buzzing behind her. What was making others excited, giddy even, made her heart sink down to her worn boots that were crunching through the snow. Her throat constricted as she tried to force back the sob that begged to release.

Everywhere she went, young women stood in excited clusters, giggling and talking about the festival. Their words punctuated her steps.

"…deep purple, with puffy sleeves," one woman said as she paused for a wagon to cross the street.

"Mine will be deep red. Mother special ordered the fabric," another dreamily sighed. "It's heavenly. "

She passed two men grinning and slapping each other on the back.

"…and then I'll ask her to marry me," one said. "Look at what I got her."

Charlotte dashed into the street and crossed to the other side before she could see what was in the box the man held, or hear another word about dresses.

Though she understood the joyous mood of the others, each and every word that her ears caught was like a wound to her already fragile heart.

She just wanted to go home. To hide and forget that in a few weeks, every single young woman in town—except for her—was going to be parading in their finest new dress, and getting chosen by one of the town's eligible men to join him for a sleigh ride…and a chance at romance.

The most romantic day of the year in Spring Falls, it was a time when many started courting and a few became engaged. Of course, that would never be Charlotte. Not when she couldn't even go to the festival.

Slowing her footsteps as the town faded behind her, Charlotte started the two-mile walk home. As she passed the trees heavy with new snowfall, she sighed. Was she overreacting? A friend had told her she was being silly. That you didn't have to attend the festival to find a beau. Charlotte knew that.

She also knew that she could attend even without a brand new dress. But why would she want to? Charlotte couldn't imagine being the only one there in a worn dress and shawl, looked upon with pity. She shook her head and pulled the offending garment closer.

Better to stay home. Best to not dare hope. Or dream. Dreams weren't for her. Not anymore. Not when they couldn't come true.

Charlotte had never attended the festival. It was one dream of many she'd given up on.

Truthfully, while it was the town's tradition, many of the courtships and flirting started well before the festival. The festival was just an excuse to take your relationship, or desire for one, to the next step. Most of the time the couple, or would-be couple, already had an inkling the other would approach them that day. Still, sometimes a young woman would bravely seek someone she'd had her eye on, and their romance blossomed.

Either way, it was something everyone she knew looked forward to. At one time, Charlotte had as well. But then circumstances changed, and her family was thrown into a difficult situation.

Still, a glimmer of hope had remained for her. The man she was interested in hadn't married or started courting yet. Even better, recently, he was said to have asked a friend if Charlotte had a beau. If he'd said that…could they possibly have a chance to get to know each other better? For her to be his pick for a sleigh ride ?

Charlotte wanted that to be her. Longed for it. For nearly five years now, she sighed whenever she thought about August Middleton. They had attended school together, where she, along with every other girl, had admired him. August hadn't ever married nor seemed interested in any one woman. His sole focus was his family's businesses.

He was several years older than her, so finished school two years before Charlotte, and through a large inheritance from his father was well situated. He was so wealthy, her mother once commented that he left a trail of coins and heartbreak in his wake and never stopped to take notice of either.

Things might be different now, though. Perhaps he was ready to settle down with someone, and that's why he'd asked about her.

Her home rose ahead, and Charlotte felt herself relax. Home. The one place that she could be herself and not pretend. Pretend that all was well since Father had died. Since his partner had schemed and swindled and taken almost every cent they had.

Father, in his infinite goodness, had never once complained. They'd managed to keep their house, but there was very little else.

Though she couldn't really remember what his partner had looked like, for she'd been so young, Charlotte hoped that she'd never see that swindling man again. She'd give him a piece of her mind—and more! Father died of a broken heart, of that she had no doubt. Her dear mother, though she never said a cross or pitying word, had suddenly gone from being a well-off matron of the town to selling her beloved dresses, jewelry, and household items one at a time to put food on the table and clothes on their backs.

The house would be sold soon. Of that, Charlotte was certain. There was simply no way they could continue to keep it, not if they couldn't get more income.

"There you are," her mother said cheerfully as Charlotte approached. She was wrapped in her threadbare shawl on the porch. The shawl used to be her mother's Sunday best. Now, she simply went without one at church, unless it was so cold she was forced to wear something. "Did you have a nice walk?"

"Yes, but no luck getting a job," Charlotte said, stopping beside her. "There's nothing available."

"We will be fine, even without it," her mother said. "Do not worry yourself."

Charlotte wanted to argue, but they had done that before and it always ended the same, with Charlotte apologizing as soon as she saw the deep sadness in her mother's eyes. So, instead, she nodded and smiled. "I am quite sure you are right," she agreed. "Mrs. Luden at the bakery asked me to stop by next week if the girl she hired yesterday didn't work out. "

"Wonderful," her mother answered. She smiled then. "I'll be inside soon. I just wanted to rest for a few moments and admire the snow. The trees are so pretty right now."

"Of course," Charlotte said. She patted her mother's hand. "I'm going to stir the soup and get warm."

As Charlotte walked inside, she couldn't help but feel a pang of regret and resentment. Her mother deserved better. She was so pale and weak. The doctor had said it was overwork and over worry. Charlotte couldn't agree more.

But this was their circumstance at the moment, and there was little they could do. And that was why Charlotte refused to let herself be laughed at if she went to the festival, and why she spent so little time in town. No, she would not be the poverty-stricken woman hoping to catch the eye of a man. She knew the one she wanted. He would also be the answer to a prayer.

What she needed to do was to learn if her friend was right, and he was interested in her too. August was always so busy. It might be that he had no idea of her family situation. If that was so, perhaps she could avoid the subject entirely.

Perhaps…perhaps there was a way to attract his attention. She could make something new to wear? Even a simple dress. Though she'd searched the house many times, and not once found anything she could use, maybe a miracle would happen and there would be fabric she had missed.

Slowly, Charlotte eyed each dress she had critically. Then, she studied the small box of her outgrown clothes. Bits here and there had been taken to make collars and cuffs and aprons until they were little more than scraps.

No. She had nothing. Just like always. Charlotte swallowed back both the lump burning in her throat and the tears that stung her eyes.

"Charlotte?"

Her mother's soft voice had her wiping her eyes quickly. "Yes, Mama?" she asked.

"Whatever is wrong, my dear?" her mother asked softly, sitting next to her on her bed. "Is it the job?"

"It's nothing at all," Charlotte lied.

But her mother knew, as she always did. Sadness creased her face. "Have they announced the date for the festival?" she asked.

"Yes," Charlotte hiccupped. "Everyone was clustered around talking about it. Looking forward to it."

"Will you go?" her mother asked.

"Of course not," Charlotte answered. She hoped her voice wasn't bitter sounding, but she couldn't be sure.

They sat quietly for a long time. This was the third year in a row they'd had this conversation. Her mother let out a long sigh. "I understand. I dislike you keeping to yourself and wrapped in sadness because you can't have the kind of experience that you hope for, but I understand. Truth be told, I wouldn't want to go either, were I in your shoes."

It wasn't just the festival and the desire for a dress. It was also the cloud of self-pity that kept trying to hover over her head, no matter how many times she pushed it aside. Charlotte didn't want to feel that way. She didn't. But despair was starting to fill her, and worry. Even if they sold the house and moved to a smaller one, how much longer could they manage? The situation was getting difficult.

"It will be fine," Charlotte said. The lies were coming too easily. Did that mean she'd given up hope of things ever getting better?

"What of August? I thought you mentioned he was interested in you," her mother said.

"It's only what I heard from Betty," Charlotte admitted. "I've not seen him yet to know. But, wouldn't that be wonderful? We would be well off again!"

"My dear, seeking a match only for a better financial situation isn't a good idea. You need to find someone you can love and who loves you. There's always been something about August that was…off-putting to me. Makes me worried. You understand, I only want what's best for you."

Charlotte knew her mother was right. But sometimes, she thought she'd settle for anyone if it put her and her mother in a better financial situation. In fact, if she couldn't figure out a way to help them soon, she might even consider becoming a mail-order bride—with the stipulation her mother came with her.

"Never you mind, dear. We'll plan a cozy evening in. All will be well, and perhaps next year you'll attend." Her mother squeezed her hand and left the room.

She, too, was lying, Charlotte knew. They were both well aware next year would be the same as this one, perhaps even worse.

Especially if August Middleton wasn't interested in her. There was no one else who would ever make her happy. This, Charlotte knew.