Porcelain White (Book 1)

Chapter Two

Instead of introductions, the sergeant gave her the handwritten note and the leather pouch of coins. Isabel looked up in bewilderment. "I'm sorry. Uh. I um can't read."

She handed back the piece of paper and coins with growing embarrassment, John Webster looked at the letter and began to read. "Tell Grant the deal is off, and I want my money, Captain Pichon."

"No. You must be wrong. My name is Isabel Grant, and I'm supposed to meet Captain Pichon; that's what Pa said, and I'm supposed to marry him today."

Her voice faded and tears blurred her vision. As thoughts raced through her mind, she heard a soft, gentle voice speaking to her, and she looked into the soldier's deep green eyes.

Sergeant Webster saw the scared look of abandonment come over her face as she comprehended the situation. Like a porcelain doll frozen in time, her dark brown eyes filled with emotion. John felt an overwhelming need to protect her.

"I'm sorry Ma'am; I'm just following orders." He handed back the note and the pouch of coins. Locked in her gaze, John felt his heart lurch into his throat. In a wave of panic, fear gripped his chest, and his lungs searched for air. He bolted back outside and left her standing in the empty lobby of the depot.

Isabel turned and looked back at the window and watched the tall soldier walked over to his horse. His tall frame mounted the horse with ease, and he steered it with a commanding presence.

She thought, "Why couldn't he have been the officer who would marry me? He is handsome, and he seems kind. Why did he leave so suddenly? What was wrong with me?"

Isabel noticed the ticket master staring at her. Her thin, cotton, lavender dress with pale flowers looked shabby in the afternoon light. Her hat felt out of place. She clutched a satchel holding her few meager possessions.

Scratching his head, he muttered to himself, "Every woman that has come off that train has been snatched up and carted off to be married before they knew what happened. I've never seen one left standing."

She looked at the sack of coins in her hand. Isabel's eyes stared at the polished wood floors and the potbelly stove iron stove. The small lobby had two wooden benches with maps and pictures on the wall and windows everywhere.

"Eh. You want a ticket, or don't you? Either you buy a ticket for the next train, or you got to leave; you can't stay here," said the ticket master.

"When is the next train?" asked Isabel.

"Where'ya from?"

"I got on the train at Calabash."

"That train runs again in three days."

"Can I buy a ticket, then?", she asked as she clutched the leather pouch tighter into her fist.

"Sure, yeah, you betcha. I open every day from 7 a.m. until 5:00 p.m.," said the little man with the striped engineer cap.

"Where will I go until then?" asked Isabel with panic in her voice.

"Maude Renshaw runs the big hotel down on Main Street," he said and then pointed her in the direction of the hotel.

* * *

The walnut clock chimed three o'clock when Isabel pushed open the front door to the hotel. She stood in awe as her eyes absorbed the grand lobby of The Redwood Hotel. The warmth of the dining room filled her nose with the smell of baked bread and simmering beef stew.

She glanced down the long hallway and then stared at the grand, wooden staircase. The registration desk held a position of prominence next to the stairs, and a velvet sofa and matching chairs adorned the rest of the lobby.