Poppy: Bride of Alaska (American Mail-Order Bride 49) Read Online Free PDF Page B

looked for a seamstress job.  
    Inspiration struck as he picked up his bag and headed for the gangway. On his return, flush with his family’s fortune, he would track down Poppy and buy her a first-class ticket on the luxury steamer Queen . After they filed for an annulment, of course. That would set everything right.
    Buoyed by his resolution and soothed guilt, Matthew stepped outside and appraised the City of Topeka , every electric light blazing in the dusky light of dawn. At almost two hundred feet, the black-hulled beauty looked more than capable for the journey to Alaska. A single smokestack jutted up from the top deck, nestled between two masts, and lifeboats hung from their davits. A few men milled about but the weather drove most below to the two covered decks.
    Dozens of men loaded crates of supplies and bags of mail into the ship’s deep hold, while only a handful loaded passengers’ luggage. December wasn’t the height of tourist season in Southeast Alaska, so what few passengers came aboard were heading there on business.
    A purser offered to escort Matthew to his cabin, giving him a quick tour of the ship along the way. The dining saloon was much more sumptuous than he imagined, with deep red carpeting, beautiful, carved wood chairs, and fresh white paint.  
    “Every stateroom on all three levels overlooks the water,” the purser explained. “And the promenade’s two levels are covered, as I’m sure you noticed, so you are protected from the elements.”
    Matthew chuffed. “Even in December?”
    The purser had the good grace to look abashed. “For the most part. Ah, here we are.”
    The door opened wide on a tiny room. Two narrow bunks built into the wall barely left space to turn around, much less open the small, pull-down basin opposite them. Above them, a rack and netting awaited his solitary bag. An eight-inch round porthole looked out to sea and was set above a fold-down seat just wide enough to sit upon. Hooks by the door served as the ‘wardrobe’ for this room, as nothing else could possibly have fit.  
    At one point in his life, the sparse accommodations would have sent Matthew into an indignant huff. Those days were but a memory, and now he was just grateful for a warm space to sleep.  
    The purser left before Matthew could scrounge up a few coins, and he was even more grateful for that. Not because he was cheap — he’d always been a handsome tipper in the past — but because he’d left most of his meager savings for Poppy. He’d be lucky to make it to Sitka with anything left in his pockets.
    No matter. This time of strife and poverty would be soon behind him, he felt it in his bones. And if he ever became chilled on this voyage, the hate that burned in his chest for Vinchenko would keep him warm. If only he could rid himself of the ugly weight of his guilt at lying to Poppy.
    Matthew’s arms ached as he struggled to shove his suitcase onto the rack above the bunks. It was being as stubborn as his new ‘bride’, which just made him push even harder, taking his frustration out on his case. Finally, the blasted thing slipped into place — at a funny angle but he was just relieved it had finally stopped giving him trouble.
    The voice that sounded in the open doorway sent a shudder of shame rippling down his spine and, inexplicably, a soothing warmth to spread over his skin.  
    “I hope you left room for my bag, husband .”

Chapter 4

    The rough, wild water of the Strait of Juan de Fuca mirrored Poppy’s soul. The sea was angry and unforgiving, bashing the hull of the ship with rock-hard waves, much like how she wanted to bash Matthew’s skull for trying to leave her behind. Glancing across the main saloon to the leeward side of the ship, a dozen or so men dangled over the rail outside, heaving their lunch into the gray depths. She preferred the windward side so she could see what was coming at her.  
    “Is this seat taken, dear?”  
    A rotund, grey-haired woman wobbled