An Imperfect Promise Read online

  An Imperfect Promise

  Abiding Love: Book 1

  Kari Trumbo

  An Imperfect Promise

  Copyright © 2018 Kari Trumbo

  All rights reserved.

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  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is purely coincidental.

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  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.

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  Second Edition

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  14 13 12 11 10 / 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2

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  Cover Design by Carpe Librum Book Design

  Edited by Breakout Editing

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Other Books by Kari Trumbo:

  About the Author

  To my sweet Hero

  who is my biggest champion and my strength.

  Thank you for believing in me even when I forget to believe in myself.

  1

  Albertville, Nebraska, 1902

  Seventeen hundred and sixty-two stitches and Gini could get off her knees in one more inch.

  “Just hold still, Mrs. Timms. This hem is just about done. Then both of us can have a rest.” If Gini was lucky, her thread wouldn’t run out before she was done, otherwise she’d have to stay on the floor for an extra minute while she cut off and knotted a short length.

  “Gini, I don’t know how you can do that—kneel so long on the hard floor. I know I’m tired standing here, but if I sat on the floor like that, my feet would fall asleep and I might never get up! You poor thing.”

  They’d been working at Mrs. Timms’s home, as her kitchen provided the needed privacy for trying on and taking off the garment quickly. Gini had memorized every groove on the hardwood floor. She’d been working on that particular dress for a week. A full week of kneeling on the floor, and Gini’s boss, Mrs. Dewey, would dock her pay because one dress had taken so long. It didn’t matter that it was tiered silk with a huge bustle and an intricately embroidered and laced bodice fit for a princess. All that mattered to Mrs. Dewey was that jobs were done in half the time she quoted. Gini would have to find some other way to earn a little money for the mercantile list this week.

  Mrs. Timms rested her hand lightly on Gini’s head until she looked up.

  “I’ve always envied your hair. So pretty. Most of us end up with either yellow or brown, but you’ve not only a lovely red, but look at those curls.”

  Heat flowed up Gini’s neck. She’d never quite learned how to take a compliment like that. Not to mention the unruly mass was simply in her way. Even now, it was merely tied back with a ribbon. She’d had no time to do anything more with it during her busy morning.

  “Thank you. Truth be told, I’d much rather have hair a little less…bouncy.”

  “That reminds me. There was a barber in town today. He was looking to buy the hair from dead people, can you believe it? Offered the doctor top dollar if he’d just snip it off, as no one would be the wiser. Can you imagine?”

  Gini’s fingers shook. Money, for hair? Could she do that? Her pay would be so short that week, and the children needed flour and meat from the butcher. The orphanage didn’t raise any beef of its own. She tucked one soft curl behind her ear. What did it matter? Hair would grow back, right? If people stared at her, it wouldn’t be any different than usual. They did anyway.

  “There. I think we are done, Mrs. Timms.” She knotted off the end and snipped the short remaining string. Though she’d never admit it to a client, her feet were asleep, and she used the stool Mrs. Timms stood on to force her own body up off the hard floor.

  Mrs. Timms twirled within the mass of blue silk and ecru lace of her gown and smiled. “Oh, Gini. It’s so perfect. Can I give you payment now?”

  As tempting as it would be to take the money, she’d learned the hard way never to do it. The money should never touch anyone’s hand but Mrs. Dewey. “I’m not allowed to accept your payment, but thank you. Mrs. Dewey would be happy to write you a receipt, and do tell her if you are happy with it.” It might make all the difference. Though, she should know better by now. Mrs. Dewey didn’t care how happy the townspeople were.

  She rushed to gather her sewing items from where they’d been scattered around the stool and tossed them into her sewing bag. If the barber had been in town long enough that folks were already gossiping, he might be gone.

  “Have a pleasant day, Mrs. Timms!” Gini rushed out the door but didn’t let it slam. Though sitting on the floor wasn’t where she’d wanted to be, it was still better than working a whole day in the dress shop. If she’d been qualified to do anything else… Gini grumbled at her wayward thoughts. They did her no good. No one else in town was qualified to work with Mrs. Dewey, and she needed the money.

  A brightly colored covered wagon sat in front of the doctor’s office with a roughly painted sign across the canvas. Hair trimming. We pay you! A man in a white smock stuck his head out of the back and eyed her. Gini fingered the ties on her yellow bonnet. It had originally been owned by someone who wore her hair up and under it, so it was quite large on Gini’s small head. If she did this, she’d have to wear the bonnet for a long time. There would be no other choice. Not that she had many to pick from anyway.

  “What you staring at, girl?”

  Gini gulped back the fear rearing its head in the back of her throat. “I heard you were looking for hair. What for?”

  He smiled, and white teeth glared back at her from beneath his combed and greased mustache. “I am looking to buy some hair, if you’re willing to sell. What do you want me to do with it?” His caustic tone did little to alleviate her stomach.

  It didn’t much matter what he used it for once it was gone. She had no use for clipped hair, but her children needed meat. She closed her eyes and pictured all ten faces. Needy faces.

  She yanked the bonnet from her head and heard his gasp.

  His eyes went wide. “Land sakes,” he whispered.

  “What will you give me?” She clenched her jaw to keep from backing out, even though she could see a crowd building in front of the stores along Main Street.

  “That’s some right pretty hair. I’ll give you two dollars.”

  “Three.” Gini held her breath. Two would barely pay for what they needed.

  He stepped down from the rig and fingered a curl, wonder evident in his eyes. “I can’t pass thi
s up.” He yanked a chair from the back of the wagon and pushed her down into it.

  Gini screeched, but his hand held her firmly in place as he rummaged behind him for something. She squirmed to get away from his hold.

  “Don’t move. Don’t want to cut’cha now.” He yanked the ribbon down, and with a creak and a snap, all the weight from her neck was gone. A breeze tickled the short curls, and Gini grasped at what was left of her locks.

  Gini sucked in her breath. Women stood around the narrow boardwalk, the tips of their fingers covering their mouths in shock. The barber handed her some coins over her shoulder. She looked at them and counted. He’d at least given her the full three dollars. As she shoved the money into her pocket, she ducked her head to hide. When the money was safely away, she buried her shorn head within the large ugly bonnet.

  No one bothered to ask her why as she tied the strings of her bonnet and left town. They knew why—the need was far too great to skip this opportunity. She had to hurry. Martha’s cow needed milking, and Gini was already late after her stop. But now the children would have enough meat for the month.

  Next month, that would be up to the Lord.

  John turned slowly in a full circle, an interloper in the home he’d ridden three hundred and fifty long, hard miles for. Almost a month in the saddle, and soon the house would be his. He’d never been there before, but desperate times made a man move, or stumble—he wasn’t quite sure which. His sister needed him, that much he knew. So here he was, but where was she?

  The silence within the huge house made him jumpy. He didn’t belong there or anywhere else, for that matter. He glanced into the parlor. Where could she be hiding?

  “Martha?”

  The room echoed back at him. The place was huge, big enough to require servants, but sat as silent as the hour before dawn. He took a step farther in the room and opened a squeaky cupboard door. He flinched as the floorboards creaked under the weight of his six-foot-two frame, and he jumped back. A door behind him swung open, then closed with a soft click.

  “Might I help you find something?” asked a soft voice from behind him.

  He jumped at the intrusion and the woman’s proximity, slamming his head on the open cabinet door. He flung it closed, swallowing the harsh words that came too easy these days. Who in blazes could that be? White stars danced in front of his face, obscuring his vision. The brighter they flared, the more his head screamed at him.

  He blinked the bright flashes and moisture from his eyes to reveal a young woman. Her hair was either the brightest red he’d ever seen, or the glow around her meant she was an angel. She stood maybe five foot, short for a full-grown woman. He felt as cumbersome as a giant next to her. She paused by the door, a small basket clutched close. Now that the stars were clearing, he could make out her pleasant smile and pale-green eyes framed by a mass of curly red hair, smothered by a great yellow bonnet he’d mistaken for a halo. He wanted to smile back, if only the pain in his head would let him.

  The subtle tightening in his chest brought back thoughts of Margot, the woman he’d left back in Kansas, with dark hair and blue eyes. Remembering her would get him nowhere but angry, and he turned from the girl, scrubbing a hand across his face to erase both images. No sense living in the past. A man wasn’t a measure of what he carried with him, but he’d learned from it.

  “I don’t think that’ll help.” She stepped farther into the room and he glanced at her as a smile flickered across her face. She laid a gentle hand on his arm. Too gentle. He pulled away. He wasn’t there for kindness. He was there to work, and to forget.

  “Would you like a cool rag? I could get one for you. You might get a bump on your head.” Her voice was soft and coaxing, like she was speaking to a wary child, not a grown man.

  He pinched the bridge of his nose and used the motion to wipe the water collecting there. “I can get a rag all on my own.” His tone was more abrupt than he’d meant, and when she stepped back from him with hurt in her eyes, he cleared his throat and tried again. “Who are you, and what’cha doing in my kitchen?” He pressed his palm to his forehead against the pain, praying the little angel would get what she needed and move on. If she asked where Martha was, he’d be in an awkward place, since she hadn’t shown herself yet.

  Her smile faltered. “Your kitchen? Oh, you must be Martha’s brother. I didn’t realize you’d arrived. She’s been waiting for you for so long. I’m Gini. Martha lets me trade eggs for milk.” She set the basket on the counter and held out her hand to him.

  He stared at her for a minute while he found his voice. The girl certainly wasn’t afraid to face a stranger. He reached for her hand, small inside his own. He’d never thought of himself as peculiarly large, but she made him feel so. Her hand was soft, though calloused with work, and she took it back as quickly as she’d offered it. A nervous smile bloomed and fell from her face.

  “John. I’m John. Do you need me to get the milk for you?” He should just slug himself. Could he sound any more daft?

  Was he imagining that slight smile or just seeing what he wanted to? She took the eggs out of her basket and placed them in an empty one on the counter. “No thank you. I’m rather capable at this point, I’ve been doing it for a few months now. I’ve got to finish here and get back to the children.” She turned but tossed another small smile at him over her shoulder. “It was good to meet you”—she hesitated, and her face tinged a pretty pink—“John. Welcome to Nebraska.”

  His heart plummeted. She had children. Why that bothered him, he couldn’t fathom, but he couldn’t just let her leave without saying something.

  “Oh, well. Nice to meet you…” he called out to her retreating form, squinting as his volume pierced his throbbing head.

  He’d have to ask Martha about her. There was no way he’d need that many eggs all on his own. Come to think of it, there was no way Dallas and Martha needed so many either. Gini and her eggs were a mystery.

  John took two of the fragile brown spheres from the basket and held them up, examining them. Gini had just provided him with a dinner he wouldn’t have to think too hard about, or her hens did, anyway. Since his sister had yet to appear, he’d have to make his own supper. He chuckled as he opened more cabinets and drawers, looking for a pan. Just maybe he’d take Gini’s advice and find a cool cloth too. His ears were ringing something fierce.

  2

  A door upstairs closed, echoing through the house, and he spun, grabbing for his six like a robber in a bank. Heeled shoes ran across a wood floor, and his plump sister appeared in the stairway, her arms held wide. Martha’s face wasn’t what he remembered—course, it had been almost twenty years since he’d last laid eyes on her. Deep lines that their ten-year gap in age couldn’t account for engulfed a face that looked too close to Ma’s for her age. Silver rimmed her once dark hair.

  “John! I thought I heard voices down here. You came. I’m so glad.” Martha wrapped him in her exuberant embrace, tightly enveloping him as much in her arms as in her lavender scent, and kissed his cheek.

  He flinched. He should’ve shaved that morning, knowing he’d be seeing his sister that day, and if he’d known he’d be meeting Gini… But he’d been too tired to deal with minor details on the trail. He was downright hairy and couldn’t wait for the chance to shave and scrub his skin clean.

  Martha worried her hands in front of her and bit her lip. “Dallas isn’t doing well, I’m afraid. We don’t expect him to last much longer.” She paused, and her glance flitted from his face to anywhere else in the room. For a moment, her shoulders sagged and she took on even more years. She looked haggard, as if she’d lived hard. “But he could hold on indefinitely.”

  It didn’t sound like hope in her strained voice, more like she was bone weary. Men sounded like that after branding season. She dashed a dainty kerchief under her nose. “Let me show you around. The house will be yours soon enough.” She bustled away in a flourish of petticoats as quickly as she’d come.

  He took on
e last glance around the kitchen and set down his eggs. He’d never allowed himself to dream he’d have anything like this home.

  John glanced out the window for a glimpse of the shy Gini, but she was nowhere in sight. If she came every day, it would give him a little something to look forward to. He curbed his wayward thoughts and followed his sister. Martha had always been a little flighty. She talked and gestured her way through a huge dining room big enough to hold a large family, if he was so inclined to have one. It held a long, stately table that would seat at least twelve people, more if they didn’t need so much elbow room. The paper on the walls was a deep blue with gold leafing.

  Martha moved along, her mouth chattering as fast as she walked. John only half listened, as he always had. Martha had done most of the talking growing up, and he’d learned the unfortunate habit of ignoring most of it. Though the house was big, it was the farm that concerned him most. The whole reason he’d ridden so far.

  She turned and sighed, her expression sour. He’d missed something she’d said. He struggled with knowing just how to respond to women, or if his input was even necessary, but in this case, it was obvious. They emerged on the other side of the dining room to find a den full of masculine furniture. Of all the rooms so far, this one would fit him. It held thick leather furniture a man could sink into and the faint smell of a long-ago smoked cigar. He turned to Martha and caught her breathing in the smell deeply as she closed her eyes. She opened them to find him watching her and hurried back to her tour.