Chapter One : Westward Courage
Free glimpse of the first book of this epic Oregon Trail saga
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Caroline Harper graciously accepted her tea with one sugar and sat back in her chair in the Pratts’ formal sitting room. With the sounds of clinking china and the other guests murmuring around her, Caroline kept her attention focused on her posture, smoothing down her violet silk dress, and making sure she remained as prim and ladylike as possible for the man sitting on her left.
Her host, the pastor’s wife Mrs. Pratt, had invited her for the afternoon, ostensibly as a social gathering with her daughter—Caroline’s best friend, Esther. But all the women in the room recognized this tea for what it truly was—an opportunity to introduce Caroline to the new family with the handsome, wealthy, eligible son that had only recently begun attending their church. Caroline had noticed the young man as soon as she had entered the room, and now she wanted nothing more than for him to notice her too.
“It is such a shame your brother wasn’t able to come, Caroline,” Mrs. Pratt said. “The Ross family would have so loved to meet him.”
Caroline smiled. While, yes, she had been loath to go out unaccompanied, she’d not had much choice. Her brother had been invited, but not responded to the missive. The truth was she wasn’t even sure where John was at this moment. Two days previously, when Caroline had received the invitation by post, she had been so excited and honored to be included. She had immediately run to her brother’s office to tell him all about it. John had looked at her blankly, stammered, and made some excuse about having to work.
Caroline had never before suspected her older brother of hiding anything from her, but the more peculiarly he acted, the more she had reason to doubt his words. She’d been almost tempted to surprise him at the family business one of these days, just for her own reassurance that everything was as it should be. John had always been the more responsible of the Harper siblings, joining their father’s company at a young age. Caroline could still remember the confident twenty-year-old John assuring his sister that he would always take care of her, and she never would want for anything.
She believed him.
That promise of protection that John had consistently given her was what had offered her security and confidence even long after their parents’ death. Caroline trusted John to look after their family business, their home, and their estate. She trusted him to look after her, at least until she was married. And she trusted him to look after himself.
Which was why, though he hadn’t seemed much like himself lately, she didn’t worry. John hadn’t been keeping normal work hours for months, and he dodged all her questions about it. But she had given up trying to understand her brother or even show an interest in the family business. He paid the bills, after all. She always got what she wanted, and that had to be enough for her.
So, instead, Caroline had attended the Pratts’ tea on her own. This was a position she’d found herself in more and more, she reminded herself when she had timidly knocked on their front door earlier. Her best friend, Esther Pratt, would be on the other side of the door, and Caroline would be just fine, looked after by the Pratts and safe. She was admired and wanted and could carry off the afternoon with grace.
After passing over her tea, Mrs. Pratt had turned her attention to the young man seated on Caroline’s left. As their host served each person, Caroline had a chance to look around the formal sitting room. The Pratts, the pastor’s family, were always at the latest edge of fashion. There were those in the congregation—uncharitable, selfish people, Caroline thought—who whispered about the impropriety of a man of God being so intent on the trappings of this world. Caroline shut her ears to it. Instead, whenever she was fortunate enough to visit Rosehurst, the Pratt family townhouse in Washington Square, she soaked in every detail of culture and luxury that Mrs. Pratt had recently acquired.
This time, Caroline’s eyes were drawn to the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that stood on either side of the marble fireplace. It seemed as though every time she visited the family had added to their collection. The books, in fact, were on display both here in the sitting room and in the library on the second floor. Over the years, Mrs. Pratt had been kind enough to allow Caroline to borrow whatever she liked. Even now, she could feel her palms itching to get a hold of the fine leather-bound literature, though she knew she should focus on the conversation around her.
Her brother John claimed to disapprove of her reading novels, but he had long given up trying to raise Caroline to any proper kind of young lady. She had been only ten when their parents died—drowned at sea on their way home from Europe. He had been twenty and old enough to take charge of the household. Through his half-hearted, though kind, attention, and the strictness of a series of housekeepers, Caroline had managed to learn all the rules of decorum that she needed to know for a girl of her position.
As a Harper, she had certain responsibilities. The family had long owned a growing ship-building business in New York City. Though both siblings were ostensibly owners, John ran it completely. He had started as a clerk at the age of fifteen and quickly learned the business. He was more than ready to take charge when called to after their parents’ death. For her part, Caroline was required for various social events, fundraisers, and functions throughout the year on behalf of the Harpers.
This was part of why she had been invited to the Pratt home. Over the course of an afternoon tea, she could get to know one of the families new to the church, but in addition to that said family could meet both of the Harpers.
Only, John had disappeared, so Caroline was bound to represent the family on her own. She was more than up to the task, always happy to do her duty as the young, glamorous Miss Harper.
“What do you think, Miss Harper?” the young man next to her said, interrupting her thoughts.
She started. “Oh! I’m sorry, I…”
She trailed off helplessly and took a nervous sip of her tea. The young man smiled warmly at her; he had noticed her and kindly picked up the thread of conversation to cover her confusion.
“We were just talking about theater. Have you seen The Tempest?”
She blinked in surprise and stammered. “No, I’m sorry, it’s been an age since I’ve been to the theater. My brother so rarely has time to accompany me. Especially since the Astor Place Riots.”
He nodded. “Of course. Well, perhaps you will allow me to accompany you some time. If you think your brother will not object.”
“Perhaps,” she responded with a smile that promised more.
The rest of the conversation continued throughout the room without them, while Caroline and the young man focused on each other.
“You’re Miss Caroline Harper, aren’t you?” He offered his hand. “Philip Ross. Those are my parents.” He pointed across the room to the fine-looking couple talking to Mrs. Pratt and her daughter, Esther.
Esther kept glancing at Caroline, smiling mischievously when she caught her eye. The two young ladies had spoken at length about Philip Ross over the previous week. This had been before they even had a chance to meet him, going over what each had heard about him, his business, his prospects, his rumors of attachments. Banking, extensive, and none, respectively.
“He’s sure to make a beeline right to you, lucky Miss Caroline Harper,” Esther had said teasingly. “You’re quite the catch—rich, beautiful heiress that you are. He’s sure to fall in love with you immediately. Remember me when he whisks you away to Europe for your honeymoon.”
But now, sitting next to Philip Ross, all thoughts or suspicions as to his motives went right out the window. He seemed completely sincere in his interest in the arts, in theater at least, with no apparent hidden agenda.
The two spent the next hour in a cocoon of their own creation, discussing the latest plays and novels to come over from London. He was less of a reader than Caroline was but seemed more than happy to listen to her extol the virtues of Mr. Irving or Mr. Poe. There was something delightful about the horror of such tales that she could not get enough of, and when she started talking about them, she found she had plenty to say.
She, in turn, returned questions back to him. In his early twenties, Philip Ross was not much older than she was, and had graduated from Columbia College the previous spring. He had taken a position at his father’s bank and told her he was learning the business quickly. She admired how he spoke about the opportunities afforded to men in his line of work.
“There are empires still to be built, Miss Harper,” he told her.
Caroline also admired his splendid chin as he spoke to her of his ambitions.
“And finance is the backbone of such empire-building. I’m proud to be part of an institution that can help leverage the American spirit and grow our influence all over the globe. Why, even now, men are darting all over the continent in hopes of building their own small empires in California or Oregon.”
The clock on the mantle chimed six o’clock.
Caroline looked around, stunned that the time had passed so quickly.
“Oh, goodness,” she exclaimed. “You’ll have to excuse me, Mr. Ross. I’m sorry, Mrs. Pratt. I need to be getting home.” Caroline stood, smoothing down her silk skirt. She moved to the door to gather her gloves, shawl, and bonnet. “My brother will be expecting me.”
“Let me have Arthur drive you,” she said, moving to signal to the butler.
“Thank you, but I’ll be fine. A walk at this time of day seems just the thing.”
“I’d be honored if you’d allow me to walk you home,” Philip said, also standing.
Caroline could feel herself blush, though this had been exactly what she was hoping for. She ducked her head and said in what she hoped was a demure voice, “That would be ideal, Mr. Ross.”
Grab your copy of Westward Courage on Kindle, Kindle Unlimited and in print: ATButler.com/OT01