Mail Order Bride- Winter Read online

  She smiled again. “And yes, that too. That’s why I didn’t want you to leave.”

  For a minute, he hunched forward, staring down at his linked hands. Big hands, powerful hands, that had cut into living flesh to remove foreign matter; sensitive hands, infinitely gentle hands, that had soothed the crying of a sick child and eased the pain of a birthing mother.

  He drew in a breath. “So. You gonna play nursemaid to my cats while I’m gone, or what?”

  She stared into those beautiful eyes of his. “I’ll do it. If you can talk your way around Florence McKnight, that is.”

  “Excellent!” His face lit up with the glow of a thousand candles. “Okay. You’re done here, right? C’mon.” Whether she was done seemed to make no difference; he grabbed her elbow and yanked her upright. “I’ll walk you home, and then I’ll go get my furry little charges and bring to your room. Good ole Flo can chaperone and listen to me explain all about what you’ll need to do.”

  “If this works out, then I’m happy I could help.”

  “You just want to pet the kittens.”

  She smirked. “Yes.”

  “I knew you had a compassionate heart.”

  He smiled as she grinned.

  Chapter Ten

  Established businessman seeking wife to share future.

  Good prospects in small town; will be well cared for.

  If interested, please respond to “Ualraig,” c/o this newspaper

  1871, 15 January

  Dear Mr. Ualraig,

  I take pen in hand to reply to your recent advertisement in my small town’s

  local newspaper. As a spinster woman with but few family members, I would

  be interested in applying for the position which you described. I am, to judge

  by the opinion of those who know me best, considered comely, with a

  temperate disposition and above-average intelligence. Should you wish to

  correspond, I would appreciate your providing me with more personal particulars

  about yourself, in the hope that we may find common ground for the future.

  I await your reply.

  Respectfully,

  Hannah Burton

  COMELY? WELL, REASONABLY so, given the look she’d seen in some men’s eyes. A temperate

  disposition—well, now, there she might be taking liberties with the truth. Truthfully, Dr. Gabriel Havers was smart and intelligent. He had beautiful eyes and a handsome face. And why was she thinking about him this way? They were nothing more than friends. But he was intriguing, charming, funny, and caring. She knew a marriage can’t be based solely on good looks. She felt the spark, but they didn’t connect. They were too different. She needed to concentrate on her future groom. What if her prospective bridegroom wanted a wife of exquisite prettiness and very limited brainpower?

  1871, 19 January

  My dear Miss Burton,

  I am in receipt of your recent letter, describing your situation and applying for

  the position as my spouse. You have told me just enough to pique my curiosity.

  As an established businessman, I would need a helpmeet to share in all my

  endeavors, both social and professional, along with acceding to me all rights

  that a husband would normally expect from his wife. With some modesty, I can

  say that I occupy a respectable position in my place of residence, and I have

  been blessed with sufficient means to comfortably support a family. Should we

  each find the other both suitable and compatible, a marriage to me would,

  I assure you, provide a position of ease and security. I look forward to hearing

  from you once again at your earliest convenience.

  Sincerely yours,

  Ualraig

  “Oh, bother!” cried Hannah in exasperation, upon perusing this missive. “But what do you look like? What sort of personality quirks do you have? And where, for heaven’s sake, do you live? How can you possibly reveal so little in so many words?”

  And just what, pray tell, did he mean by that enigmatic phrase about acceding all rights that a husband would normally expect from his wife?

  It was a chilly, drizzly, dreary Sunday morning. Hannah attended early church services, had remained for sociality and a potluck dinner in the hall afterward. The Forresters were absent; she discovered later, upon chatting with Molly, that Camellia had awoken with a debilitating headache, and Ben hadn’t wanted to leave her alone. Nor had the sheriff made an appearance; as officer in charge of enforcing the law for today, he was probably taking his leisure behind the barricade of his desk.

  “Did you scurry on over to the stagecoach station yesterday to wave my boss a fond farewell?” asked Letitia with a grin. She had brought her bowl of hearty corn chowder, topped by baking powder biscuits, and a cup of steaming-hot coffee to the corner table where her sister had settled in.

  “Of course not,” Hannah replied crossly. “Why should I? It would make more sense for you to be there, in case he had any last-minute instructions.”

  “Oh, he gave me plenty of those, all right. Verbal and written, with notes to check all his medical books for anything he hadn’t already mentioned.”

  Hannah eyed her sister curiously. “Do you feel confident about your capabilities for the enormous task he’s set for you?”

  “Thank you so much for reminding me!” A brief trill of laughter. “I have mixed feelings, not surprisingly. Mostly about how inadequate my abilities might be. But I take comfort in the fact that at least this time he’s leaving someone in the town with a bit of medical knowledge. During his past trips, you know, there was no one here at all. So, tell me, Hen,” she paused for a sip of coffee, “all about how Gabe was able to foist his cats off onto you.”

  Hannah scooted herself over to make room, as Molly appeared with her own plate and utensils. “Huh. What choice did he have, when you turned him down flat?”

  “I couldn’t very well turn him down flat,” protested Letty, “when he never asked me.”

  “Never asked you? But he said—”

  “You can’t believe a word out of that man’s mouth,” was Molly’s jaundiced opinion. All three siblings were sitting together, now, watching their husbands congregate on the outer rim of the crowd to talk over whatever male subjects might come up.

  “Oh, don’t be that way.” Letty was spooning up the chowder with gusto. Ambrosia. She decided she might need to ask for another serving. “Gabe is the best of the lot. He didn’t ask me, because he wanted to ask you.”

  “Why?”

  Letitia’s famous moonstone-blue eyes, whose color and intensity had first caught the adoring attention of her mail order groom, crinkled with amusement. “Because he’s courting you, dear Hen.”

  A half-choke, a splutter, and a gasp for breath as Hannah, caught unaware, set down her mug with a thump. “What?”

  “Of course he is.” Delicately Molly bit into a chunk of cornbread dripping with butter. “Anyone with half a brain could see it.”

  “Well, I have half a brain,” said Hannah, “and I know you’re right. I’m just in denial.”

  Letitia chuckled. “The book he bought for you at Abigail’s shop.”

  “That was very special.”

  “The box of sweetmeats he presented you at Christmas.”

  “He gave all of us a box of sweetmeats,” was Hannah’s retort. “But I see what you mean.”

  “And now cats. Not one, but three.” Her two adversaries, obviously cohorts in crime, exchanged an amused glance. Then giggled.

  “May I remind you that he has given me not one single cat, let alone three. He merely put them into my care while he’s gone. And I thought it would be fun to take care of them. And I’ll give them back when he returns.”

  To all intents and purposes, Letty was bent upon spooning up more chowder. “M’h’m.”

  Molly was, meanwhile, concentrating on the addition of sugar to her mug of tea. “M’h’
m.”

  Looking from one to the other, Hannah stared at them and giggled. “I cannot believe you two are a party to this—this insane scheme! You know Gabe and I could never get married. We don’t even get along that well.”

  “Oh, we’re not parties to it, sister, dear. But we are cheering him on. He is a very good catch. Somebody you can be happy with, just like you want.”

  “He is quite the charmer. Or maybe it’s that charming smile. I do feel drawn to him. And I fight it, but we’re drawn to each other. I can’t believe I just admitted that.”

  Another shared giggle.

  “Give him a chance, sister.”

  Belatedly mindful of the room packed with church-goers, idly chatting and dining, Hannah hunched down in her seat to keep their very private conversation private. “Well, you may stop such nonsense immediately. Because we’re not a good match. Because all he’s interested in is—um—and I’m busy with a—um—”

  “Hen. What on earth are you talking about?”

  Pinky-rose color rushed across her high cheekbones, and she deliberately modulated her voice almost to a whisper. “Well, Gabe is involved with Abigail Fitzsimmons, as you must know.”

  Molly stared. “Oh, fiddlesticks. You’re just imagining things.”

  “No, it’s true. I’ve been around the store often enough to see—and hear. Obviously, he’s completely captivated with the woman, just as she is with him. In fact, she told me so.”

  Lining both knife and fork neatly along the edge of her empty plate, Letty picked up her cup to ask, “And you?”

  The blush deepened. “Uh. Well. I suppose I ought to tell you. I’ve followed in the steps of my sisters—all three of you.”

  “Hannah Burton!” Molly hissed. Her black curls, drawn up into a becoming knot under their frippery of blue flowers and blue ribbon that was considered a hat, fairly bounced with excitement. “You haven’t gone and sent off for a Mail Order, have you? Can you possibly be serious? You criticized us for doing the exact same thing!”

  “I know. I know. And I’m sorry. But—I suppose I’ll have to admit it—I was wrong. And my situation—warrants...such a drastic undertaking...”

  Letitia reached a sustaining hand across the table top. “Tell us.”

  Sunday dinner patrons were beginning to finish up, pile crockery together, and drift toward the door and their waiting mode of transportation. Glancing around, while the noise level gradually decreased and the crowd density gradually thinned, Hannah sighed and briefly explained.

  “Do you think you’ll pursue it?” Letty screwed up her lovely mouth into a grimace; clearly she was as discountenanced by the potential suitor’s response as was Hannah herself.

  “Well, ladies, you got your gabbin’ all done for the week?” Reese, meandering over in that lazy, hip-swinging, cowboy way he had, asked cheerfully.

  “We do not,” said his wife with dignity, “gab. In answer to your ill-mannered inquiry, however, I can answer that, yes, we have caught up. Somewhat.” She shot both her sisters a warning glance: We need to discuss all this later; and, rising, tucked her arm through the crook of her husband’s elbow. “Come along, Hen, it’s nasty weather outside. We brought Molly with us, so we’ll see you both safely home.”

  The cats were quite adorable, Hannah, returned later to her snug, serene room to unwind herself from layers of outer wear, would have to admit. They were already worming their way into her good grace, the little rascals. And she’d made the mistake of giving them names. Who could resist it, when Mama Mimi, a brilliantly-colored calico, occasionally left her kittens sound asleep to seek out human cuddling on Hannah’s lap? She was having the best time with them, and they made her smile. Just like Gabe made her smile. She couldn’t believe the thought had crossed her mind. And she found herself thinking about him. What would it be like to be his wife? She pondered on it for quite some time.

  She knelt down before the wooden grocery box which was their bed, lined with several of someone’s old shirts (evidently Gabe’s) for comfort and warmth. Two tiny kittens, just a few days old, one amazingly pure white (Ivory) and one pure black (Inky), were nuzzling and nursing their mother; the atmosphere of the whole room radiated peace and contentment, deepened by Mimi’s loud purrs.

  Mrs. McKnight had, after putting up a token argument, capitulated at last to Gabriel’s importunate appeals. See, these poor critters have got no home, he had pointed out. Well, yeah, I reckon they do, kinda, with me, but, see, I gotta be outa town for a while, b’cause my mother is dyin’, and—yeah, it’s a mournful trip, but things’ll be easier for me to bear if I know my little foundlings will be well taken care of, and that can only happen here, if you approve, Florence, you dear lovely lady, and—oh, bless your Christian heart and soul, I really do appreciate...

  Hannah stretched out one finger to gently stroke the cat’s cheek as she thought about the absent doctor. She, who had had nothing to do with any species other than human, ever, in her lifetime, was already getting attached to these small vulnerable beings, and she would miss them horribly when he returned to re-stake his claim. Maybe in her future, she could have a cat one day. She would love to care for one.

  For now, the afternoon, with its hours of gloomy skies outside and a crackling fire inside. stretched before her with sweet freedom. Time to respond to her correspondent’s message.

  1871, 21 January

  Dear Mr. Ualraig,

  Thank you for your reply to my last week’s letter. It is certainly reassuring for me

  to be told that you are financially well-situated. However, I must admit to some puzzlement at the vagueness of that reply, as I had hoped that we might

  find a variety of subjects to which we both might relate. I would appreciate

  knowing more about you, as far as your likes and dislikes, your family, your goals

  for the future, and so on. Since I live in the same town as that of my three married sisters, you can understand that I should desire not to relocate elsewhere, and

  would like to hear your thoughts on this.

  I remain still a sincere applicant,

  Hannah Burton

  There, that ought to do it. She could walk over to the post office tomorrow morning, first thing, and trust the government agents to get this missive delivered into its rightful hands.

  The rest of the afternoon passed quietly, restfully; she read a few chapters from one of the books she had checked out from the library, flipped aimlessly through the pages of Friday’s Gazette, even took a well-deserved nap, with Mimi briefly snuggled in beside her. After a hearty meal at Mrs. McKnight’s laden supper table, she lay awake for some time that night, wondering how soon she might expect a rejoinder to her brief hopeful note.

  And, if she heard nothing at all from her prospective suitor, what would she do next?

  Chapter Eleven

  JANUARY TEASED TURNABOUT residents with a few days of warmer temperatures—enough to set icicles melting and frost to bleed away from window panes—and glimpses here and there of actual sunshine. Then, like some cruel adult offering a piece of chewy licorice to a delighted child, only to snatch it back, the weather changed once again, blowing in another round of cold and freezing rain.

  Hannah stayed busy. The reporting et al job that she had cadged from Oliver Crane allowed her to work irregular hours, if she so chose; and during the nastier days she chose to remain in her room, snug and cozy with the cats.

  “There’s something very tempting about this whole setup,” she confided late one afternoon to Mimi, who had left her kittens sprawled in sleep to seek out Hannah’s inviting lap. “I could very easily get used to living in luxury. Huh.”

  The fire was freshly replenished and happy to burn its supply of pine, and Hannah had procured a nice tea tray from the kitchen and settled with absolute bliss in her rocker. Sleet slashed at the windows, hissing like a cobra upon contact with the glass. But the draperies were pulled almost shut against drafts, and the lamps and candles were flaming
nicely. She thought about the doctor and wondered what it would be like to live here as his wife. She knew he’d treat his bride right and would love her with all his heart.

  In this mood, with the quiet soothing her very soul, it seemed almost natural to spare a thought for Gabriel, and wonder how he had fared during his travel east, and to actually miss his presence. Or perhaps she missed their spirited wrangling they engaged in upon every encounter. The thought made her laugh. Their difference of opinion, their controversy on so many topics, their occasional war of words added spice to the routine of life and work.

  “Like the fizz of champagne,” she told Mimi, stroking the cat, “instead of drinking something flat and insipid. Or the glitter of diamonds in sunlight, as opposed to a plain chunk of metal. Does that make sense to you?”

  Mimi stretched her front paws, kneaded against the afghan beneath her furry form, and yawned. Clearly it made perfect sense to her.

  Hannah had cheated in the performance of her feline caretaking duties. While she was happy to take table scraps from the boarding house kitchen, or Filmer’s Butcher Shop, the idea of having to dump and refill the cat’s “convenience” appealed to her not at all.

  So she had decided to spend a dollar or so of her weekly newspaper salary to hire the Gazette’s handyman, Cornelius Throckmorton, for the task. According to their agreement, he would appear every few days with fresh sand and do the necessary clean-out. It helped that she provided a nice bottle of whiskey from the Drinkwater Hotel stockroom, as added incentive.

  During one of the more temperate days, she had spent an afternoon cheering up Camellia, who, per Ben’s putting the word out for her three sisters, was feeling imprisoned and depressed. Hannah arrived bearing a box of beautifully decorated cookies from the bakery (how satisfying to walk about with cash in her reticule and an ever-growing bank account) and a box of Earl Grey loose tea from Abigail’s shop.