This is a reprint of one of my stories that appeared at WOW! Women on Writing in 2014. You’ll also find it in Suppose: Drabbles, Flash Fiction, and Short Stories. The people in this piece are from The Sapphire Brigade series.

Emma Prospero meets a stranger on the train as it chugs toward her groom.

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Emma sobbed as the chugging train jostled her from side to side. Sunlight played with her amber hair, creating a fluctuating halo of radiance around her head.

The stranger across the aisle doffed his hat. “Are you all right, ma’am?”

She shook her head.

“May I take the liberty of sitting with you?”

She squinted through her tears at the audacious young man. His bushy mustache that twitched as he grinned made her smile. “It wouldn’t be proper for a strange man to sit with me.”

“And what’s proper about a young woman riding the train unaccompanied? May I introduce myself?” He bowed. “Roderick, at your service.”

“Roderick who?”

“Just Roderick.”

She peered in the opposite direction for a moment before she extended her hand. “And I’m just Emma.”

Shivers crept down her spine when he lowered his lips to her fingers.

The train lurched. It pitched him so close that she felt the caress of his mustache on her forehead and smelled the sweet fragrance of pipe tobacco on his breath.

He righted himself.

Emma’s face reddened. “Now that we’ve been introduced, I suppose we’re not strangers anymore. I believe I would enjoy your company.”

“May I ask why you were crying?” He offered her his handkerchief.

“My guardian arranged a marriage for me, and I’m on my way to meet my betrothed for the first time. But I intend to run away at the next station. I already abandoned my maid at the last stop.”

“In my opinion, women should have the right to vote, preach, and choose their own mates. However, are you not beholden to reject him in person?”

She tucked her tongue into her cheek. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Eluded your maid, did you?” His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Reminds me of a story about a maid. The master says to her, ‘Look, I’ve found a button in my salad.’ And the maid replies, ‘That’s all right, sir. It’s part of the dressing.’ True story, I tell you.”

“I hardly think so. I’ve heard that joke before.”

“But at least now you’re laughing. And you’re beautiful, Emma, even with those puffy eyes.”

She sighed. “I shouldn’t have been crying. I admit that my future husband’s correspondence makes him sound quite endearing, although a bit of a mischief-maker, I suppose. He plans to meet me at the New Salem station.”

“Quite the pickle. The man could be as ugly as the hind end of a mule and as old as Methuselah.” Roderick chuckled as he glanced at the open letter in her lap. The closing, “Yours with great affection, Lucas Ames,” was scrawled prominently in a messy hand.

He pursed his lips. “I know a Mr. Ames in New Salem. He’s a pleasant, older gentleman.”

She looked out the window, her lower lip trembling. And she redirected the conversation.

The miles passed too quickly as the strangers conversed. She laughed at his silly jokes and blushed whenever his gaze lingered for too long. He gawked into her eyes with an expression that made him appear almost adolescent.

As they neared the Howard Tunnel, her animated demeanor disappeared.

But she maintained her composure.

It’s 1840, in the United States of America, and I have no intention of letting a man determine my mood, especially a man I’ve never met.

When the darkness of the tunnel engulfed the train, Roderick muttered, “Tarnation with decorum!” He seized her and pulled her into his arms. She gasped as his mouth sought hers, and after a brief hesitation, she responded with an ardor so intense that she found it difficult to breathe.

A few moments later, they said their awkward farewells on the train platform, but her heart was still racing when she turned her back to him.

A middle-aged gentleman in a tailored suit approached her.

She bit her lip. “Mr. Ames?”

“Yes, my dear, at your service. You must be Miss Prospero.”

“I’m afraid I can’t marry you.”

He guffawed until his face turned red.

She scowled. “Why are you —”

“My dear, I’m not your intended. It’s my soon-to-be-doctor son. The rascal is sneaking up behind you.”

She whirled around, into Roderick’s arms.

Roderick smiled. Then his husky voice whispered in her ear. “May I properly introduce myself? Roderick Lucas Ames. My friends call me Lucas. Emma, will you be my wife?”

She pushed him away and propped her hands on her hips. “No!” But dimples appeared in her cheeks. “Not without another kiss.”

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You’ll find more short fiction like this in Suppose: Drabbles, Flash Fiction, and Short Stories.

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