Governess's Dilemma (9781460320600) Read online

  MYRNA McBRIDE IS HEADING TOWARD HER FUTURE

  When her train derails in Hillsdale, Michigan, a wealthy stranger offers her shelter—and a position in his household. Grateful yet wary of the mysterious man, Myrna must guard her secrets—and her heart.

  Returning home upon his brother’s death, Dalton Freed is now heir to a grand estate and guardian to his niece. Dalton desperately needs Myrna’s help. But even as he looks forward to seeing the beautiful governess each day, he suspects she’s keeping secrets. Can she ever earn Dalton’s trust and bring light and laughter back to his life?

  “The maid? She stitched my head?”

  “Yes.” A quirk of a smile tilted his lips. “She once thought to be a nurse.”

  “And you held me,” she whispered.

  His smile disappeared. “No need to look so disturbed. It was necessary to keep you still.”

  She shook her head on the pillow, not sure what she meant. “I only just came to the realization.…”

  “It’s the laudanum. A few days’ rest will, with all hope, see you fully recovered.”

  “Thank you for all you’ve done.” Her words came soft.

  He looked at her in mild surprise. “Of course. I could do no less. I’ll leave you to your rest now.”

  Myrna watched him go, her emotions torn. She disliked her current situation and that Dalton Freed had been the one to aid her—numerous times. But a lifetime of lessons harshly learned taught her not to trust in outward appearances. Her host may behave at present like a harmless lamb, but beneath the genial disguise she still suspected a wolf lurked.

  And she would never again become the devourer’s prey.

  PAMELA GRIFFIN

  loves to write, and her books have entertained readers for over a decade. She is a multipublished, award winning author, and a six-time winner of the Carol Award. She enjoys research, especially historical, and her stories are set in a wide range of states, countries and eras. With each book, her goal is to entertain with believable, lovable characters and intriguing plots that inspire the reader. She would not be where she is today but for the grace of God, and she gives Him all the glory, dedicating every book to Him. Her family has also been a great help to her in the development of her stories—her dad in providing her with anything needed and putting together her website; her mom, her chief critiquer since book one; and her brother and two sons, significant aids to her in research when asked. She is thankful for every one of them and also to all of her readers.

  Pamela Griffin

  The Governess’s Dilemma

  A warm and heartfelt thank-you to my wonderful critique partner, Theo, and to my amazing mother—both are invaluable to me in all they do and the advice and encouragement they give.… For my patient and loving Savior, who taught me how to trust again, a never-ending lesson.

  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

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  1856

  (near Hillsdale, Michigan)

  Myrna stared out the streaked window at the icy particles that swirled past at a frightening speed. She felt as if her own inconstant future mirrored the bleak scene.

  Cold. Stark. Perilous and uncertain.

  Elizabeth, her young, excitable neighbor until yesterday, had told her with anxious eyes that her life must not be blessed. Elizabeth’s mother, Mrs. Flaherty, suggested that the good Lord might be trying to get her attention. Even the affable grocer, Sean, had given his usual quirk of a smile and dollop of advice—that forces beyond her control were taking her on a not-so-merry adventure—as Myrna dug deep into her reticule for the tight wad of dollars to pay off her store credit. Money gained at a steep price, her peace of mind lost in the trade.

  Perhaps they were all correct in their conjectures, she thought with a weary sigh, resting her head against the icy window.

  “Uhhnnnh...”

  The soft murmur of complaint broke into her dismal thoughts and came from the fragile young girl using Myrna’s skirts as a pillow. Earlier, Sisi had pulled off her coat, though the railcar was hardly warm, and Myrna used it to cover her. Gently she pushed stray tendrils of light brown curls from the child’s damp forehead, finding her skin heated to the touch. She drew her brows together in concern.

  Sea-green eyes, a shade lighter than Myrna’s, groggily opened.

  “Are we there yet?” Sisi asked with a yawn.

  Myrna grinned at the endless question again repeated. “I told you, we won’t be there till the morning. And likely won’t be at our cousin’s till the early evening.”

  Myrna didn’t admit she had no idea exactly where their cousin lived, having only an address on a sheet of paper found in her late father’s things. But she didn’t wish to cause Sisi undue alarm. For being all of seven, the child had endured far more fear and uncertainty than many people three times her age.

  “Do you think he’ll like us?” Sisi pushed herself up to sit, using Myrna’s legs as leverage. The coat slid from her thin shoulders and fell to the bench.

  “I’m sure he’ll love you, my pet. Who could not?” She tweaked Sisi’s nose. This earned her a ghost of a smile, as if Sisi was afraid to let the scrap of happy confidence bloom.

  There had been far too many wavering smiles in the past and so many disappointments. It wasn’t fair, not one bit, and Myrna silently vowed to do all she could to make Sisi feel safe again. If she must work from the first glimmer of dawn to past the setting of the sun, she would do it. The prospect of meeting a distant cousin and begging for work and a roof over their heads failed to settle well with her McBride pride. But for Sisi, she would grovel in the dirt if she must.

  Again she noted the pinched look on Sisi’s flushed face.

  “Are you not feeling well, sweetness?”

  “I’m hungry,” Sisi complained, holding her tummy.

  Myrna wasn’t surprised. The bread and cheese Mrs. Flaherty gifted them with before their hurried departure had been devoured long hours ago.

  Spotting the flowered hat of the lady who earlier had been selling apples from a basket, Myrna fished a penny from her reticule. “Then we must do something about that. I’ll just be a moment,” she reassured before rising from her seat and maneuvering the narrow aisle, heading to the front of the train car.

  Almost there, she watched a porter move through the door of the attached car. He made eye contact, giving a polite tug of his cap. The mild boredom in his eyes flashed to alarm at the same time the earsplitting screech of metal grinding against metal filled her ears. Rapidly he swung his head around to look.

  Terrified, Myrna grabbed the nearest bench seat before whirling to hurry back to Sisi. The gaslights flickered. A stir of hushed voices lifted in alarm. A woman screamed.

  The train car jarred with the horrendous force of impact, followed by a distant explosion. Thrown off her feet, Myrna grabbed for a handhold, catching nothing but air. She cried out Sisi’s name in the moment before her head smacked against something hard, and her mind went black.

  *
* *

  Dalton grabbed the seat before him, unconsciously flinging his free arm sideways in protection against the elderly woman to his left.

  The car went dark. Somewhere, a woman screamed, her panicked words lost in the shrieking and weeping that filled the former gaps of nocturnal silence as the car swayed and careened. Dalton lost his hold, thrown to the aisle. Pain ripped through his upper arm. At last the railcar swung to a slow standstill, landing back on all wheels with a thudding crash. The acrid stench of smoke and flame pervaded his nostrils.

  Struggling to curb his fear, Dalton awkwardly sat up. “Are you all right?” he asked the woman, who lay slumped over on his seat. The whirling snow outside the windows provided a muted glow of light. Where it failed to reach, there remained only thick darkness.

  The woman gave an abrupt nod, pushing herself up to sit. “I—I think so. My leg is stuck.”

  That area was in shadow. Dalton could barely see the floor or her skirt to view the damage and attempt to extricate her from the wreckage. He found he was able to move, his legs intact and functional, unhampered by debris. But his left arm throbbed with fire and felt useless. Glancing down, he saw a patch of darkness had soaked through his sleeve. Except for feeling as if he’d been in a fistfight and had come out on the losing side, he felt otherwise unscathed. Yet no matter how he tried, he could not release the woman from her predicament using one arm. She moaned.

  “I’ll find help.” He shivered as a sudden gust of wind hit him. Windows were broken, the freezing air blowing through both sides. From somewhere he heard a man pray in broken syllables for divine intervention.

  Dalton carefully stood to his feet. A powerful wave of dizziness threatened to send him to his knees, but he fought it and moved up the narrow passage. The only porter he’d seen recently had been at the front of the car, and he headed that way.

  On either side, passengers worked to free themselves from debris, crying, whispering, taking inventory of their condition. The dark shape of a woman hobbled his way, knocking directly into him. He grabbed her around the waist to stop her when she tried to push past and take him with her in the process.

  “Please.” Her husky plea came to him from the shadows concealing her face. “I must find Sisi.” She put an unsteady hand to her head. In the minimal light, he barely made out a dark streak running down one side of her temple to her cheek. “Sisi, where are you, my pet? Why won’t you answer?”

  Her voice wavered on a hysterical note and she swayed. Dalton grabbed her by the arms. Her knees gave out and instinctively he brought her close, barely able to hold her up, his injured arm weakened with pain.

  “She was sleeping,” the young woman went on in a dazed manner against his overcoat. “In my lap. She was hungry, and—and I left her. I never should have left...” Her limbs went slack again, and Dalton tightened his hold around her slender form.

  He was surprised about all this commotion over a pet when people were badly injured and in need of immediate aid. She seemed confused, and he wondered if she even knew what she said.

  “Sisi has to be all right. If she’s hurt or—” she let out a pitiful whimper that tore at his heart “—I’ll never forgive myself. She didn’t want to go, but I had no choice.” The woman sobbed and grabbed the lapels of his coat. “You must help me find her!”

  “There’s a passenger back there with her leg trapped—”

  The woman in his arms clutched his coat more tightly and gave it an angry little shake.

  “Don’t you understand? She’s all I have left! She’s so small and fragile—Sisi!” she called again, breaking free from his hold and managing to step past. At once, she stumbled. He let out a soft exclamation and grabbed her again before she could hit the floor. An apple rolled away from her skirts and under a bench.

  “You’re wounded, in no shape to search.”

  “I have to! She’s somewhere near—”

  “You can barely walk—”

  “Please—she’s just a child!”

  He blinked in startled realization. “Sisi’s a child?” The passengers he’d seen in their car mostly consisted of men along with a handful of women. He hadn’t known children were on board.

  “Of course,” she snapped, then grabbed her head and groaned. Pressed against him as she was for support, he could feel her entire body tremble.

  “All right,” he said more quietly. “Don’t panic. I’ll find her. What does she look like?”

  “Brown hair. Blue dress...”

  “Stay here.” He helped her to sit on the nearest empty seat. “Don’t move,” he stressed, concerned that she might faint if she tried.

  The pale light of winter coming from outdoors now reached her face, and she looked at him with huge, glazed eyes that did not appear to see him. Clearly she needed help. But Dalton was no physician and could only manage what was within his means.

  “Sisi!” he called as he retraced his steps down the aisle, kicking aside another apple that almost tripped him. He looked in every niche and corner, repeating her name. Many passengers were being helped or helping others. The beefy, dark-skinned porter took charge, urging people toward the exit. Dalton told him of his trapped seatmate. The man assured him that he would see to the woman, then attempted to steer Dalton toward the exit with the other passengers.

  “Not yet,” he insisted, pulling away. “I must find someone first.”

  Glancing outside, he noted with relief that the heavy snowfall had lifted. Landmarks of the countryside could be seen from the long line of windows. They weren’t far from town.

  With the train emptier and with less to obstruct his vision, Dalton spotted a strip of blue cloth from beneath a seat where the outside light hit it. His heart dove to the bottom of his chest at the thought that the child might be crushed. He saw a thin leg in a black stocking move and hurried forward.

  “Sisi?”

  At a soft whimper, relief washed through him. Despite the fiery ache in his arm, he reached for the child, managing to pull her from beneath a bench seat that had broken in the collision and under which she hid. “It’s all right,” he comforted the tiny girl who powerfully shook in the cradle of his arms. “You’re safe.”

  “Where’s Mar-ma?” she whimpered, her voice so soft and groggy he barely understood her. “I want Marma.”

  “Are you Sisi?”

  She gave a jerky nod. A bad bruise covered her left cheek and eye, and her lip was bleeding. But he didn’t sense anything in her body broken, and she didn’t squirm in great pain as if it was.

  “Do you hurt anywhere?”

  “My face. And my tummy.”

  He saw no blood on her dress and guessed there must be bruises beneath. Carefully he stood with her and made his way toward her mother. The woman had vacated the seat where he’d left her and searched the floor in front of it.

  “Madam?”

  Unsteadily she turned, grabbing the back of the bench seat for balance. In the dim glow, her face brightened.

  “Sisi!” She struggled to stand and reached for the child, hugging her even as Dalton held fast.

  “We must get off this train.” Smoke drifted everywhere, but whether it came from inside or outside he had no clue. “Can you walk?”

  “Yes.”

  The woman followed as he led the way through the darkened interior. They were almost to the exit when she staggered against him.

  “Easy,” he gently warned. The porter helped them both step down onto snowy ground that reached almost to his knees. Once they trekked a safe distance away, with the woman clutching the back of his coat for balance, he set the child on her feet, afraid he might drop her. His wounded arm ached dreadfully, unable to handle even her slight weight any longer.

  Everywhere, passengers stood huddled or sat in the snow, their faces pale with shock, their eyes haunt
ed. Most looked with horrified wonder and confused disbelief at what was left of the train on which many of them had been sleeping until minutes ago. Dalton also turned to observe the devastation.

  At a bend in the track, fire leaped from a railway car, near what was left of the mangled engine. Scattered victims lined the area along the length of what remained of the train. Dalton could barely make out shapes in the distance but could see the disaster well enough to realize another train had collided with them head-on.

  “Dear God in heaven help us all,” he heard his elderly seatmate whisper. He silently added to her prayer for help to arrive soon, relieved to see that the porter had made good on his promise to free the woman sitting beside him.

  Dalton had never witnessed such massive destruction. Both locomotives were twisted and broken. Railway cars lay on their sides or at odd angles off the tracks, those closest to the crash having received the worst of the impact as fire from the explosions licked up their metal sidings and shimmered in the darkness. Their car and others toward the caboose remained upright, having received less damage.

  At the sound of a child softly crying, Dalton looked back at the woman and her daughter.

  With the orange glow from the distant fires illuminating her face, the woman appeared younger than he first thought. Too young to have a child Sisi’s age. He placed her at twenty. The child appeared to be a little younger than his niece, who was nine.

  Sisi’s glassy eyes turned up to him, as if pleading with him to make her world right again.

  “Help should arrive soon,” he reassured her, placing a gentle hand against the child’s head. “The depot isn’t far. They would have received word, and telegraphs will spread the news.” He found it ironic that a few minutes more and he would have safely disembarked from the train.

  The vacant look remained in the woman’s eyes.

  “You should sit down,” he quietly ordered.

  Her gaze lowered to his torn sleeve. “You’re bleeding.”