Buch lesen: «Winning The Mail-Order Bride»

Chapter One

The single fly that buzzed between the people sitting shoulder to shoulder in the pews in front of him annoyed folks. Not Brett Blackwell. When the fly finally landed on his shoulder, he let it be. The fly wasn’t any more irritating than the sweat rolling down his neck, and the bug probably wasn’t any happier than he was. Not usually prone to selfish thoughts, Brett wasn’t sure what to do with the melancholy that sat inside him. It had to do with the ceremony taking place in the front of the church.

The folks up there were getting married. He’d paid money to have a chance that one of the brides the Oak Grove Betterment Committee had brought to town would pick him, but that hadn’t happened, and there wasn’t a whole lot of hope inside him to say he might have another chance at getting married anytime soon. Only five brides had arrived instead of the twelve Mayor Melbourne had promised, and though the mayor claimed more would arrive soon, Brett was with the other dozen or so men who figured Josiah was just blowing hot air. The mayor liked to do that. Put Josiah Melbourne behind a podium and a person’s ears would wear out before Josiah’s voice would.

Brett figured the town should be glad that at least five gals had arrived on the train a month ago. There couldn’t be a whole lot of women willing to travel to the center of Kansas to marry a stranger. Although Oak Grove was a nice little town, and growing as folks hoped it would, it was a long ways from everywhere else. Dodge City was a solid hundred miles south. Yet good people lived here. He liked most of them, and despite his own melancholy, he was genuinely happy for the men who were marrying the brides the Betterment Committee had brought to town.

Those men were some of his best friends. Steve Putnam had been the first to welcome him to town a few years ago, and he’d spent plenty of hours fishing in the Smoky Hill River with Jackson Miller, one of the other men standing up there. That was what he should do today, go fishing. It had a way of settling a man’s thoughts.

However, his thoughts might never be settled again. Not until he found himself a wife like Steve and Jackson had.

As he was taller than most everyone else, his gaze easily surveyed the heads ahead of him, until it settled on Josiah Melbourne’s. The mayor was sitting front and center as usual. Abigail White, wearing a hat full of flowers, sat beside Josiah, and Teddy, Abigail’s brother and one of Brett’s best friends, sat beside her. Teddy had been hoping for a wife too, as had several other men in the church.

Just last night he and Teddy had talked about that, about how they doubted the full dozen of brides Josiah had promised would show up, and how there wasn’t a whole lot either of them could do about it.

The fly left his shoulder, and Brett watched as it circled a couple of people before it flew toward the window and ultimately buzzed out the opening. The fly’s freedom sent Brett’s thoughts in a different direction. That fly could have given up, or hit the glass and knocked itself out. But it hadn’t. It had found a way to change its situation, and that was what he needed to do.

Change the situation.

He’d done that before. Had left Wisconsin to change his life and settled here in Oak Grove after completing his time with the railroad. He wasn’t sorry he’d done either of those things. He wasn’t sorry he’d chosen to set up his blacksmith shop here in Oak Grove or that he’d opened up a feed store to go along with his blacksmithing. He wasn’t sorry for anything he’d done. That was how he chose to live his life. A sorry man wasn’t good for anyone, including himself.

Brett sat up a bit straighter, listening as the preacher blessed the unions of the couples getting hitched, and when the preacher offered a prayer for the newly wedded couples, Brett bowed his head and added his own. Then, as an afterthought, he included a quick one for himself. That if God had a mind to, sending a few more brides to town would be appreciated, especially if one took a liking to him.

The services ended shortly thereafter, and he stood in line to shake each man’s hand and give his congratulations to the brides. Then he stepped aside and waited for Teddy to exit the doorway.

It was time he found a wife of his own. On his own. Well, not completely, he needed a little bit of help.

While people continued to file out of the church, congratulating the happy couples, Brett mentally went over the message he’d send his mother. Word for word so it didn’t sound like he was desperate but that there was clearly an element of urgency He could send her a letter, but a telegram would be better. Short and to the point, a telegram would, in itself, tell his mother how speedily he’d like a response.

Teddy not only owned the local newspaper, he ran the telegraph office, and because of the festivities happening, which Teddy was sure to want to attend, Brett would offer a few extra coins to have the message sent today. He usually wouldn’t ask for a favor when the office was closed, but seeing the new brides and grooms looking so happy—which they had a right to be—increased the urgency inside him.

When Teddy finally walked down the steps, Brett waved to catch his attention and was extremely glad when Teddy’s sister, Abigail, remained behind. Abigail wasn’t married, and at one time or another, almost every man in town had considered courting her, including him. Everyone had quickly changed their mind. For him, it wasn’t because she was as thin as the pencil she always kept behind one ear or that the end of her pointed nose had a hook sharper than a hawk’s, it was her voice. Its high-pitched squeak was more irritating than a wheel needing grease and Lord but that woman was nosy. As the town’s one and only reporter, she felt she had a right to know everyone’s business and that it was her duty to write about it. Every picnic and stroll she embarked upon with a possible suitor ended up in the newspaper. His consideration of Abigail as a possible wife hadn’t gone that far for him. He had no desire to read her thoughts about his size or accent.

“Say, Brett,” Teddy said in greeting. “New preacher did a good job, don’t you think?”

“Ya, the brides and grooms sure look happy.”

“Have a right to be, don’t they?” Teddy said with a bit of his own melancholy showing.

“Sure do.” Glancing over to make sure Abigail was still busy talking to the preacher and the mayor, Brett nodded for Teddy to follow him a short distance away. “I have a favor to ask.”

“Sure, what is it?”

With another glance in Abigail’s direction, Brett said, “I need to send a telegram home. A private one.”

Teddy, who didn’t resemble his sister in any way other than the ink stains on his hands, glanced over his shoulder before saying, “Your privacy is safe with me, you know that.”

“I do,” Brett agreed. “And I appreciate it.” Shrugging, he added, “I don’t have a piece of paper handy.”

“That’s all right, just give me the gist of it. Abigail has a habit of reading any notes left lying around. Not that I’d leave yours lying around, but you know what I mean.”

Brett nodded and leaned closer to whisper, “I need to send a message to my mother, Henrietta Blackwell, in Bayfield, Wisconsin.”

Teddy nodded. “Got it. What’s it to say?”

“I want her to send me a woman willing to marry me. Right quick-like.”

“What’s the woman’s name?”

“I don’t know,” Brett admitted. “Whoever she can find.”

Teddy sighed and then nodded. “So you aren’t holding out any hope for Melbourne to produce the other women he promised?”

“No, but even if more do arrive, there’s no guarantee they’ll find me a suitable husband. There’re a lot of men to choose from.”

“Don’t I know it,” Teddy replied. “Think your mother knows two women?”

Brett didn’t want to push his luck but could understand why Teddy asked. “Can’t say,” he replied, “but let’s just start with one.”

“All right.” Teddy glanced over his shoulder again. “I’ll go send it right now. Abigail’s heading straight over to the reception. She plans on writing a special edition of the Gazette about the weddings.”

“I’ll head that way too—keep an eye on her.” Brett dug in his pocket. “How much do I owe you? I’ll pay extra, this being so urgent and all.”

“No charge,” Teddy said, “with the understanding that if your mother sends you a suitable bride, I have your permission to ask her to send one for me. Abigail and I don’t have any family we can ask, and she hasn’t left too many friends in the wake of our travels either.”

“Fair enough,” Brett replied, shaking Teddy’s hand. Rather than express his understanding that Abigail probably hadn’t left any friends anywhere, he simply said, “I’ll see you later.”

“I’ll let you know as soon as it’s sent,” Teddy replied, turning about.

Brett waited until Abigail walked down the church steps and then, keeping one eye on her, for she would surely question Teddy’s absence if she noticed it, he fell in among the crowd of folks making their way to the open meadow where the reception of all five couples was to be held.

There, he made small talk with several folks and ate a plate of food from the tables the women of the town had laden with kettles and platters to go along with the side of beef that Steve Putnam had provided to be roasted over an open fire.

Normally appreciative of every meal he ate, Brett couldn’t say he tasted much of what he put in his mouth. By the time he saw Teddy, who gave him a wave that said the telegram had been sent, Brett had had enough of the party and headed up the road toward home.

His mother would know exactly what type of woman would make a good wife. One who could cook and hopefully wanted a big family. Several boys for sure, but he wouldn’t mind a couple little girls either. Actually, he knew he wouldn’t mind the slightest if they were all girls. As long as he had others to share his home with, he really didn’t care. His businesses provided enough income to feed as many children as his new wife wanted.

He’d closed down both shops in order to attend the weddings, and considering most everyone in town was still at the wedding reception, there was no sense reopening them. Therefore, after crossing the railroad tracks, he rounded the big building he’d built two years ago with lumber brought in on the railroad from his family back home and crossed the little field to the house that had also been built with solid northern pine. Kansas didn’t have enough trees for all the lumber it needed, and after he’d left home, he’d let it be known his family had plenty of good Wisconsin lumber to sell and the railroads made getting that lumber to where it was needed far easier than it ever had been.

He’d set up plenty of accounts for his family’s business back home before and after he hired on the railroad and started looking for a place to call his own.

Not all the lumber in Oak Grove had come from Wisconsin, but a good amount had. Just last month he’d helped unload a train car full of Blackwell Lumber. It had been for the town, so he’d gotten a good deal on it from his older brother. The town was building a few small houses just a ways past his. Hoping to sell them to new residents. Ready-made homes were one sure way to bring in new citizens. That was what the mayor had said, and the town council agreed with him. Just like they’d agreed when Josiah had suggested building the church and the schoolhouse and sending money back east to have brides sent out here.

Done worrying about those brides, Brett collected his fishing pole from the tool shed and headed back toward the tracks that ran along his buildings. A mile south was where he was going. To where the cool water of the Smoky Hill River flowed westward, leaving enough moisture behind for a few trees to shade the grassy banks. There was no better way for a man to collect his thoughts than to spend a few hours fishing.

As he stepped over the first rail of hardened steel, he couldn’t help but remember the work that had gone into laying every inch, and the faint rumble beneath his feet had him looking eastward. A man could see for miles in this country, and though it was little more than a dot on the horizon, a westbound train was making its way into Oak Grove.

Knowing there was no need for him to meet it—there wouldn’t be anyone needing a blacksmith or chicken or horse feed, he turned his gaze southward and continued over the tracks and past the few houses that sat on the east edge of town.

Jackson Miller lived in one of those houses. He’d been lucky enough to marry one of the brides. Maggie McCary. Steve Putnam had married the other McCary sister, Mary. Brett had hoped he’d stand a chance with Maggie or Mary, especially after tasting Mary’s cooking. That was what he missed most about home. Ma’s cooking.

That wasn’t completely true. Although he missed the tasty and plentiful meals Ma always had on the table, he’d learned enough from her to cook reasonably well for himself. Leastwise enough to satisfy his appetite. What he really missed was having others around the table to share meals with him. Being one of eight kids, his family home had never been quiet. Not like his little house was. Quiet and empty.

He was tired of the quiet. Tired of being lonely. And when he was tired of something, he took action. Just like he’d done today.

The music from the reception faded as he walked on, and by the time he arrived at the river, the only noise interrupting the afternoon air was a whistle announcing the train had arrived in Oak Grove. He smiled to himself. Soon that very train would be bringing him a bride.

* * *

The shrill sound of the train whistle had Fiona Goldberg closing her eyes and saying a brief prayer. She’d been praying since they’d left Ohio, and one more couldn’t hurt. It wasn’t as if she was asking for a miracle, just a bit of comfort to settle her nerves. Then again, that in itself might be a miracle. She was rather frazzled. The train ride had been a long one, and the boys weren’t used to such confinement. Neither was she.

“Are we there, Ma?” Rhett asked with hope making his blue eyes shine.

“Yes.” Giving her trembling hands something to focus on, she folded his collar back into place. “This is Oak Grove.”

“Don’t look like much to me,” Wyatt said with as much disgust as he’d shown when they’d left Ohio.

Knowing there were times when it best served the purpose to ignore her seven-year-old’s attitude, she stayed focused on straightening Rhett’s collar. At five, he was looking at their move as an adventure rather than a necessity. “I’m sure it will be a wonderful place for us to live,” she said.

“I’m not,” Wyatt mumbled.

Fiona held her breath in order not to snap at her older son. All of their nerves were frazzled.

“Can we eat soon, Ma?” Rhett asked. “I’m mighty hungry.”

She pulled up a smile just for him and kissed his forehead. “As soon as possible. I promise.” Then she turned to Wyatt. “Gather the satchel from under the seat, please. And put your hat on.”

Wyatt grumbled, as he’d taken to doing lately, but did as told. By the time the train rolled to a jerking and squealing stop, both boys were seated beside her and waiting for the conductor to announce they could depart. If she could have found her voice, she would have told the boys to be on their best behavior, but her own misgivings about marrying a stranger—with two children in tow—had her throat burning and her eyes stinging.

Refusing to let her children see her fears, she smiled at each of them and then nodded as the conductor waved them forward.

Wyatt was the first one out the door, followed quickly by Rhett. As Fiona descended the steps, joining them on the platform, Wyatt mumbled, “Told you it weren’t much of a town.”

She couldn’t disagree, not at first glance, but she’d seen worse places. The town was small, but the buildings were nicely painted and the streets fairly well kept. The thing that struck her as odd was the lack of people. There weren’t any, and the stores looked closed.

“There’s the sheriff’s office,” Rhett said, grasping a hold of her skirt.

“It sure enough is,” a portly man said, walking out of the depot and toward them. “You’d best behave or you’ll be visiting it.”

Her spine stiffened as Fiona gathered Rhett closer. “Pardon me, sir,” she said to the stranger, “but there is no call—”

“Fiona Goldberg, I’m assuming,” the man said, dabbing at the sweat on his forehead with a white handkerchief. “I’m Josiah Melbourne.”

Chagrin burned her cheeks. “M-Mr. Melbourne,” Fiona stuttered. “I apologize, I didn’t—”

“Recognize me? Of course you didn’t.” He stuffed the kerchief in his pocket and then pulled the lapels of his suit across his thick chest as he said, “You sent me a picture. I, in turn, did not send you one.”

Her stomach bubbled. The picture she’d sent had been the one taken of her and Sam shortly after they’d been married. She’d snipped the photograph in half before sending it and still felt guilty about doing that. Despite how his life had ended, how their lives together had been, Sam had been her husband and she still owed him the honor she’d vowed on their wedding day.

Swallowing around the lump that threatened to completely close off her airway, she said, “Hello, Mr. Melbourne, it’s nice to meet you.”

“I’m sure it is.” Looking at the children over the top of his wire-framed glasses, he continued, “And these are your two boys. Wyatt and Red, I believe.”

“Rhett,” she corrected. “Wyatt and Rhett. Wyatt is seven and Rhett is five and they—”

“Let’s be on our way, shall we?”

Fiona glanced over her shoulder, wishing they could step back on the train and start over. Not only had she blundered their initial meeting, Mr. Melbourne’s interruptions were not leaving a pleasurable first impression on Wyatt. His eyes had narrowed, much like Sam’s used to do when he’d been irritated.

If she had the ability to change time, to start over, it would be before today. Before she’d had to make a choice about the new life they were embarking upon. Sam’s death had left them penniless and homeless. She’d done her best to make a living, but feeding two boys cost more than she could make doing laundry and sewing, and she’d refused to ask the Masons to give her another month of reduced rent.

“I’ve instructed that your belongings be delivered to the house,” Josiah said as he grasped her elbow and started walking along the platform. “This way. It’s on the other side of the tracks. The house is owned by the town and with my permission you’ll be allowed to stay there, rent-free, for this upcoming week, after which time we will be married. Next Saturday. At the church.”

A river of fear raced through her, once again making her question what she was doing. “One week is not very long to get to know someone,” she said quietly.

“I believe I’m being generous, Fiona. You agreed to marry me. I could have had that arranged for today. Furthermore, I just paid for three train tickets from Ohio to Kansas. That wasn’t cheap.”

It took considerable effort to get past the flare of anger that started to swirl inside her. She was here and would make the most of it, but she wouldn’t be belittled. “I’m sure it wasn’t, Mr. Melbourne, and yes, that is correct, I have agreed to marry you, but a small amount of time for the boys to get used to the idea would not be unfair to them, or me. It’s only been six months since their father—”

“That is not my problem,” Josiah said.

It wasn’t his problem, it was hers, and her hope of this being a solution was souring quickly. After church one Sunday a few weeks ago, Reverend Ward’s wife had told her about Oak Grove’s willingness to pay for the westward passage of any woman who would agree to become a mail-order bride. Mrs. Ward had heard about the invitation for brides from her sister over in Bridgeport and had quite openly suggested that the best thing Fiona could do for her and the boys was to leave Ohio.

Understanding they’d worn out their welcome at the church—if they’d ever been welcomed—Fiona had gone home that night and penned a letter to Josiah himself. Mrs. Ward had conveniently given her the name and address. Fiona had included her picture, not wanting anyone to be disappointed, for she’d never claimed to be a beautiful woman. She was too tall for that and her hair too dull and lifeless. She’d also been completely honest in explaining she was a widow with two young sons, and that although she didn’t live in Bridgeport, had never been there, she had heard about Oak Grove’s need for brides and hoped she qualified.

The hold Rhett had on her hand tightened as they stepped off the platform. She looked down and smiled at him, wishing there was another way to ease the apprehension on his young face.

“The week I’m offering is not for you or the children,” Josiah said as gravel crunched beneath their feet. “It is for me to see if you will make a suitable wife. Besides being the mayor of this community, I’m an attorney. A man as prominent as myself needs to have a wife who can be looked upon just as prominently. One who understands the importance of such a position.”

Fiona bit her lips together and breathed through her nose. She’d never been looked upon prominently. However, she had her pride, and honor, and could hold her head up despite the worst of situations. She’d been doing that for the past six months in ways she’d never had to before. And would continue to, if for no other reason than the sake of her sons. “I explained the untimely and unfortunate death of my husband in my letter, Mr. Melbourne, and—”

“Yes, you did, Fiona, and let me assure you, if I deem you worthy of being my wife, neither your husband’s death, nor his infractions, will ever concern you again.”

She bit her lips together again and willed her anger to ease. He wasn’t a tall man. The top of his head was about level with her chin, and his shoulders twisted back and forth as he strutted along beside her. He was rather rude and pompous, but those were all things she could and would overlook in order to see her children clothed, fed and living under a roof that didn’t leak. She’d had to overlook worse things.

In fact, she’d been overlooking things her entire life. Having been taken in as a small child by family members who’d already had enough mouths to feed had instilled a certain amount of accepting things as they were.

Drawing a deep breath, she said, “I thank you for this opportunity, Mr. Melbourne. Perhaps once you’ve shown me the house, you can enlighten me with a list of your expectations.” As long as she knew what had to be done, she could do it.

The smile he bestowed upon her made her insides gurgle, as did the way his chest seemed to puff outward.

“I knew you’d be trainable from the moment I read your letter, Fiona. I’m so glad I wasn’t wrong.”

Knowing full well it wasn’t what he was referring to, Fiona couldn’t stop herself from replying, “I’ve been housebroken for some time, Mr. Melbourne. All three of us have been.”