Transforming Emma Read online

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  Transforming Emma

  Lockets & Lace

  Book 20

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  By Linda Carroll-Bradd

  Copyright © 2020 All rights reserved by Linda Carroll-Bradd

  This novella is also Book 9 in the author’s “Dorado, Texas” series.

  ISBN: 978-1-940546-35-3

  Dedication

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  This book is dedicated to

  The hard-working authors of the Sweet Americana Sweethearts blog who provide the world with sweet/clean historical romances about North Americans between 1820 and 1929.

  This book is also dedicated to all those women in history who strived to create equality between the sexes.

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  Acknowledgements

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  This book is part of a multi-author series sponsored by the authors who write for the Sweet Americana Sweethearts blog. My appreciation and thanks go to those other authors who helped develop the Lockets & Lace series of books.

  A special thank-you goes to

  Shenoa Carroll-Bradd for her helpful comments and proofreading of this manuscript,

  and to

  Black Widow Books for the cover design.

  Thanks to my forever love, Randy, who is ever patient while I disappear into my creative cocoon to create my characters and their world.

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  Disclaimer

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  All the characters described in this story are fictional. Other characters are not based on any real persons, past or present. Any resemblance to real persons, living or deceased, is coincidental and unintended.

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  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Disclaimer

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Lockets & Lace Books

  Other Books by Linda Carroll-Bradd

  About the Author

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  Chapter One

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  Late April, 1878

  At long last, Emmaleigh was headed home…to Tumbling Spur, the Wallaches’ beloved ranch in Dorado, Texas. Waiting at the foot of the ballustraded and carpeted stairs of the Patee House, she scanned the well-appointed lobby. Sunlight streamed through large windows overlooking the busy streets of St. Joseph, Missouri. Well-dressed guests chatted while seated in lush upholstered chairs. Potted plants set on the thick rugs near groupings of chairs and settees provided a sense of privacy. Colorful paintings set in carved wooden frames provided the backdrop for conversations that buzzed through the air, though not a phrase was intelligible.

  Aunt Nadine was late again. Or, as she suspected, the lady, astute in the nuances of status among her peers, wished to be alone on her descent down the wide stairs. Emmaleigh drummed fingers on the shiny balustrade then dropped her hand to her side. A lady didn’t reveal her impatience. Their scheduled train would depart too early tomorrow to allow her time for exploring or sightseeing. She pressed fingers to her velvet reticule. The resulting rustle of her ticket on the Hannibal-St. Joseph Railway reassured her.

  Emmaleigh glanced around again, noting the cut and fabric of the gowns she could see. Her floral shirtwaist blouse contained peach tones in the same hue as the pinstripe in her cocoa brown skirt. The ensemble appeared subdued enough for a walk about this crossroads town but made of quality fabric that indicated she possessed wealth. Today, she wanted to locate a bookshop to buy a novel or two for the upcoming week-long journey.

  Would Tumbling Spur Ranch look the same? Or had she changed so much in the year and a half away that the place she was raised would no longer feel like home?

  To quell her nerves, she wandered to a display tucked around the corner of the hotel’s registration desk. In a small alcove, wooden posts held a worn, thin saddle, bridle, a small, special-edition Bible, and a battered leather mail pouch called a mochila. A calligraphied card stated the displayed items had been used in the April, 1860 to October, 1861 run of the Pony Express from this exact 140-room luxury hotel. The route included 184 waystations set about ten miles apart, 120 riders, and 400 horses, ending at the B.F. Hastings Building in Sacramento, California. Riders were young, sometimes in their teens, couldn’t weigh more than 125 pounds and rode shifts of between 75 to 100 hours, stopping only for fresh horses. Such excitement. She leaned closer to look at the deep pockets on the mail pouch that covered the saddle.

  “Oh, Emmaleigh, there you are.”

  At the familiar voice, Emmaleigh straightened and turned.

  Aunt Nadine glided across the polished floor, her oval hoop skirt swathing a wide path.

  Two men backed up against a wall to avoid being swept aside.

  “I told you to wait near the stairs so you could be better seen by the hotel guests.” While speaking in a low tone and glancing around, the middle-aged woman smiled and patted the sausage-shaped curls surrounding her wrinkled cheeks.

  Emmaleigh didn’t have the heart to tell her aunt that not only was her hairstyle at least a decade out of date, but that she was also two decades too old to wear it. She’d overheard the modiste giggling with her seamstress assistant over the vain inappropriateness. “I was looking at the Pony Express display of items the riders actually used.” She waved a hand toward the alcove.

  “Where are your gloves?” Her light blue eyes widened. “A refined lady is not seen without them.”

  Refined? For a girl raised on a Texas cattle ranch? Sighing, Emmaleigh tugged open the cords of her reticule. “My hands were hot.”

  “Comfort matters not. You must always keep them within reach. How else can you signal your interest to a man?”

  Maybe I could use my words while we have a conversation? To forestall a longer lecture, she tugged them on. Aunt Nadine never considered that Emmaleigh, almost twenty years old, wasn’t looking for a husband. Weary of the oft-stated argument, she merely smiled. “Shall we go into the dining room?” She linked an elbow with her aunt’s. “I want to explore the city a bit after breakfast.”

  Nadine shook her head and the curls at her cheeks swayed. “But we don’t have a male in our party to escort us. Perhaps we should have asked Alwin, er, Mister von Braun to stay over until our departure.”

  How her aunt thought a busy rancher would have altered his schedule—no matter the years of friendship between the two families—amazed her. That he and his wife hosted them for three days was enough. Emmaleigh noted several of the man’s wandering glances to the closest window to know he wished to be elsewhere than inside with tea and whist. “Remember, he told us the foaling season was upon him. We couldn’t have imposed more than we already had.”

  Emmaleigh guided them to the right at the next hallway and followed the scents of fried meat and fresh bread. “Aunt Nadine, we are capable of strolling along the storefronts unaccompanied. I saw women out by themselves when we arrived yesterday. I want to see the Nave and McCord Mercantile and walk the aisles where pioneers bought supplies before embarking on the long trail to their new homes in Oregon. Or we could take a trolley to see even more of the sights. I heard the city’s founder, Joseph Robidoux, named downtown streets after his eight children.”

  A dark-haired man wearing a crisp white shirt and black jacket and trousers stood next to a doorway barred by a velvet rope. “May I ask for your reservation, ladies?”

  Nadine sniffed and looked down her thin nose. “We are paying guests of the hotel, sir.”

  At her aunt’s imperious tone, Emmaleigh bit back a sigh. Why did Auntie have to make every conversation about what was personally due her? “No reservations, sir, so we’ll be glad for any available table. Near the window would be wonderful.”

  “Not near the window.” Nadine wagged a finger. “Too much sun is not healthy. I’d expect a man in your line of work to know such a fact.”

  The maître d’ glanced at a large paper in his hands.

  A young, blond waiter arrived at the doorway, and a whispered conversation ensued.

  “A table is now available.” The older man smiled. “Within sight of the windows but not next to them.”

  Emmaleigh beamed. “Thank you.” Then she turned to the young waiter and nodded.

  The blond man unhooked the rope before leading them into the dining room.

  From experience, Emmaleigh knew to let her aunt lead, even though progress was often slow due to her voluminous skirts and the small space between tables. But her aunt was a sweet person who wanted the best for her, and Emmaleigh wouldn’t have had the education she just finished without Aunt Nadine’s support. The initial six-month visit Father approved honored his late wife’s wishes for Emmaleigh to attend her alma mater and learn social graces. When Emmaleigh discovered Miss Bishop’s Finishing School for Young Ladies also offered an academic curriculum, she convinced her aunt to lobby her older brother for a longer stay.

  Now, she’d have to hide what she’d learned because Father thought a woman should cede her thoughts to her husband or the other males in her life.
Like her hero Elizabeth Cady Stanton said, “Woman’s discontent strengthens in exact proportion to her development.”

  Nadine struggled to fit her skirts under the table. “I should ask to speak to the manager. These tables are set much too close for comfort.”

  Emmaleigh flashed a smile at the waiter then looked around and nodded to those seated nearby. She held her menu card near the side of her mouth. “Please don’t, Aunt Nadine. This table is well situated, and the maître d’ obviously responded to your wishes. Besides, I am so hungry I can barely wait to eat. Let’s have a nice meal and then go sightseeing.”

  An hour later, she finally emerged through the lobby doors of the Patee House and stopped in the shade under the portico supported by white columns. She breathed deep of the spring air. How her aunt lingered over a pot of tea. No argument or attempt to hurry changed her belief that a meal should be allowed to settle before a body rose from the table. Sometimes, Emmaleigh wondered if her aunt had ever moved with energy or excitement.

  Sunshine beamed in an azure sky etched with a few wispy clouds. The air didn’t chill nor did it warm the cheeks. Horse-drawn farms wagons and buggies rolled along the hard-packed dirt road. The conveyances filled the spaces on both sides of the trolley track running down the middle. To avoid another lecture, she tugged on her gloves and fastened the frog closure at the neck of her hip-length woolen cloak.

  “Emmaleigh, come escort me down these steps.” Aunt Nadine tied a big bow with her bonnet ribbons under her chin.

  “Coming.” She moved as close as Auntie’s hoop skirt allowed and held out her forearm angled like a bird’s wing. “Six steps are here, before we reach the sidewalk.” Once down the stairs, she positioned herself on the side closest to the street and started off with slow steps. “That kind waiter told me of a bookshop we might like to investigate.”

  “You were rather forward in asking him questions.”

  Polite conversation with a person in the service trade was not being forward. Emmaleigh laughed. “I had to ask questions if I wanted to find out where to go for my errands.”

  “In my day, young ladies didn’t speak with strangers.” She pursed her lips tight. “That’s why an escort is preferred.”

  “Oh, Auntie, I think you’re teasing me. Father told me stories about your actions at town dances.” She hesitated at the intersection and looked for a break in wagons and riders on horseback. “The bookshop we want is in the next block or two and across the street, I believe.”

  “I meant like here in a city where we don’t know people. Strangers could have ill deeds in mind.” Aunt Nadine furrowed her brows and waved her closed fan toward the street. “This traffic is too busy. Crossing this street unaided is risking life and limb.”

  “Well, I could always go on my own. You could stay here.” Knowing that proposal would be rejected, she kept watching for a break in the traffic.

  “Absolutely not. Who knows what trouble might occur?”

  “Look. A space will open right after this buggy passes.” Emmaleigh clamped a hand over her aunt’s hand clinging to her arm and moved forward. She would not be deterred from obtaining reading materials for the trip. At the next corner, she followed a group of three pedestrians crossing the main street and stepped onto the boardwalk. “That wasn’t so hard.”

  Aunt Nadine puffed and patted a hand against her chest. “Emmaleigh, your stride is too long. And we mustn’t get so far away we can’t find our way back.” She flicked open her fan and waved it in front of her face.

  “The Patee House is four stories tall and provides an excellent landmark.” Emmaleigh glanced around at the immediate surroundings. If she didn’t pique her aunt’s interest with a distraction soon, she’d be forced to listen to her fretting for the rest of the trip. She spotted a quaint-looking sign hung over the door to a two-story, clapboard building. The Bavarian Jewelry and Watch Repair Shop. Perfect. She swept a hand toward the store. “Look, Auntie, let’s go inside and see what is on display. You can tell me if anything reminds you of your wedding trip with Uncle Fredrick.”

  Aunt Nadine looked at the sign and blinked fast. “The lettering and the shape do remind me of Bavarian signs.” She crinkled her nose. “But we don’t need a watch repaired.”

  Emmaleigh stepped to the window and cupped her right hand around her eyes. “I see brooches and lockets, in addition to watches.”

  “Well, all right.”

  The bell over the door gave a sweet tinkle.

  Aunt Nadine struggled to pull her skirt through the doorway, having to turn sideways to enter the shop.

  Once inside, Emmaleigh walked toward the central glass display case. Silver and gold pocket watches lay on multi-layer trays lined with rich burgundy velvet. A few timepieces were propped open on small wooden stands so the etching on both sides could be viewed. The delicate detail on circling vines or flowers was exquisite. She wished she had money to surprise Father with a present. But setting aside funds from her allowance always eluded her.

  “What piece might I show you today, miss?” A sandy-haired man walked from behind a curtained area at the back and stopped on the other side of the display case.

  “I’m admiring the work.” She pointed at the gold watch nearest her. “Did you do the designs?”

  “I’m apprenticing, but my papa made many of these pieces. Others we have bought over the years from people looking to fund their travels.” He reached into the case and lifted out the watch she indicated. From below the counter, he pulled a square of cloth on which to display the watch. “Many contain inscriptions. Like this one says, “My darling Minnie, Love Elbert, May 15, 1861, Hold this close until I return.’” He looked up, his brow wrinkled. “I read those words and wonder if he was leaving for war. And if he ever returned.”

  Hot tears filled her eyes. “I didn’t immediately think of a soldier, but, of course, the date fits.” She reached out a finger and stroked the cool metal. “The watch must have been precious. I wonder what made Minnie give it up.” She looked at the other pieces in the case and realized the previously owned ones arrived in the shop with an unknown story. A pang shot through her chest. Never had she inspired such caring in a man’s thoughts. Then an image of coffee-brown eyes under twin slashes of eyebrows crossed her mind. Brett…the ranch hand who taught her to fish and ride and hunt. The lanky teen with mischief in his eyes promised to teach her to two-step but never did. Why had she thought of him?

  “Emmaleigh, come look.”

  Nodding her thanks to the man, she turned and crossed the floor. The shop’s side walls held shelves containing racks, wire stands, and trays to display lockets, pins, earrings, and brooches. On the lower shelf sat a row of lace-edged linen handkerchieves and lengths of finely woven lace.

  Nadine held a length of lace fabric between her outstretched hands. “Wouldn’t this pattern be lovely for a wedding veil?”

  Ignore the wedding comment. “So pretty.” Emmaleigh fingered the fine tulle edged with a wide border of lacy blooms. “The petals remind me of the lupines growing wild in the meadows on Tumbling Spur Ranch.”

  “I thought you’d like it.” Nadine smiled. “I want to buy this length and have a veil made as my gift of something new for your trousseau.”

  Emmaleigh crinkled her nose. “Auntie, I’m not even courting.” Although Ambrose Benton, the son of Auntie’s best friend had been quite attentive.

  She shrugged and stepped toward the counter. “I have a feeling about this piece. Young man, please help me. I’ll want this length wrapped well. We’re traveling to Texas tomorrow.”

  Emmaleigh touched the edging of a handkerchief between thumb and forefinger. So delicate. She hadn’t seen such quality since her father packed her mother’s things for attic storage.

  “My Bridget sewed the lace.”

  At the man’s quiet voice, she started and looked to where an older man with lots of gray in his brown hair stood in a doorway with the curtain pushed to one side. Through the opening was a workshop area with a small counter and a lamp set at each edge. A cloth spread on the flat surface held tiny pieces and the empty casing of a pocket watch. Next to the lamps were wire stands holding glass globes filled with water. Magnification of the work space while he worked? She’d seen the like in a science class. “Your wife?” She watched for his confirming nod. “Compliment her on the beautiful work.”