Sixteen Brides by Stephanie Grace Whitson Read Free Book Online Page B

closer watch at the last few stations. I hope they aren’t sitting unclaimed on some siding east of here.”
    “Ella.” Mama motioned for her to bend down and look.
    Ella looked. And plopped back down beside Mama. Men. A long row of men waited just below the weathered sign that read Plum Grove.
    “I told you there would be a parade of bachelors.” Mama grinned. “And we aren’t even to Cayote yet.”
    Ella was not amused. What were they doing there, anyway? Were they really there to meet the ladies? Apparently so, for that was Hamilton Drake talking to them, and whatever he was saying wasn’t making them happy.
    “I don’t know why he’s so upset. I think it’s nice. And kind of . . . exciting.”
    That was the youngest of the sisters-in-plaid, and since, other than introducing herself at lunch yesterday, she hadn’t said a word, everyone stared at her in surprise. She blinked. Glanced shyly at her three sisters. Shrugged. “Well . . . all I mean is . . . it’s nice to feel . . . welcome.” She turned back to peer out the window. “And the tall one in the plaid shirt is kind of . . . nice looking.”
    Ella adjusted her bonnet. None of it had a thing to do with her. She had chickens to check on. With a promise to meet Mama over at the Immigrant House, she hurried off the train. As she barreled past the men and toward the freight cars, one of them shoved Mr. Drake aside and stepped forward.
    “I like a beefy gal,” he said and, snatching his hat off his head, introduced himself as Ed Ostergaard.
    Beefy?! Ella ignored him and marched to the far side of the platform to watch and wait for her chance to check on her birds. It was impossible not to be aware of the tone as the men teased Mr. Ostergaard about his “beefy gal.”
    Silence made her glance back at the men and from them to the train. Watching them all watch Caroline Jamison would have been amusing if it weren’t also pathetic. Men. All alike. Their heads moved in unison, first up toward where Mrs. Jamison hesitated before descending, and then down as she took each step. Finally, all those heads moved from left to right as Mrs. Jamison glided across the platform to join Ella. Not a single one stepped forward to introduce himself to her. Struck dumb by a vision of loveliness. Ella scolded herself for the bitterness in that thought before Mrs. Jamison said something that turned her attention to Plum Grove.
    “Not much of a town, is it?”
    Ella pointed toward the framed outlines of three new buildings. “No, but it’s growing.” She indicated the grassy space between the train station and the buildings a short walk across the prairie. “Someday this will be a real road running alongside the tracks. And there”—she indicated the imaginary line running perpendicular to the tracks and toward the short row of half a dozen businesses—“that will be Main Street. I imagine they already call it that. See those red flags in the distance? Probably meant to stake out a town square.”
    Mrs. Jamison nodded toward the two-story log building next to the Immigrant House. “Where do you suppose a body gets logs for such an enterprise out here?”
    Ella didn’t know, but she intended to find out. Maybe she and Mama would have a log cabin.
    “Why does there always have to be a saloon,” Mrs. Jamison murmured, pointing to the one building “across Main” from the five false-fronted buildings identified as the Immigrant House, Haywood Mercantile, Plum Grove Dining Hall, Pioneer News, Lux Implements, and Ermisch Livery. “Do you suppose Cayote will look this . . . way?”
    “You mean this pathetic?” Ella said. “I hope not.”
    “And do you suppose we’ll have to face a similar welcoming committee?”
    For the first time Ella realized that Mrs. Jamison wasn’t really using her ruffled parasol to keep the spring sun off her lily white face. She’d perched it on her shoulder to block her view of the men—and theirs of her. Ella chuckled. “I never