by Kit Morgan
Felicity smiled. She liked Avis, a pretty girl with brown hair she wore in a severe chignon and beautiful skin. “Did she miss me this morning when she rose? I did leave awfully early.”
“Of course,” Kezia said. “But we told her you had a meeting with Rev. Hammond. No better escort than a preacher.”
Felicity nodded. The reverend had called on her very early, wanting to get things squared away as quickly as possible. After hearing about the deadline, she understood why.
“There were men downstairs earlier,” Kezia said matter-of-factly.
That snapped Felicity out of her thoughts. “There were? Did they see their brides?”
Kezia shrugged. “The only man I’m interested in seeing is mine. I hope he comes soon.”
Felicity nodded in understanding. “Me too.” The room fell silent as each delved into their private thoughts. Neither of them even considered the possibility of rejection. No, that wasn’t true – Meizhen, being Chinese, was probably worried. The Chinese were often looked on in these parts as not being human. She thought the girl was very brave to become a mail-order bride.
She brushed her skirt off and wrapped her cloak tighter around her shoulders – she hadn’t bothered to take it off. “I’m going to go find Mrs. Walters.” Kezia didn’t say a word as she left. All she got out of Maybelle was a snort and a snore. A sure sign she was waking up.
Felicity went down the hall and spoke briefly with what brides she could find in search of Mrs. Walters. She hoped Chase was having better luck finding the mayor. If not, she was sure of at least one bride that would be leaving: her. Except that she didn’t have any place to go – at least none where her dignity would let her.
* * *
“Absolutely not!” Judge Henry Whipple said, and then drained his coffee. “I’m not staying in Noelle any longer than I have to. My stomach …” As if to make his point, the judge’s belly made an odd, gurgling noise. “You know how it gets with Nacho’s cooking. Ugh, that man should be the first married off.”
“Tell that to Nacho,” Chase countered. He’d run into the newly-arrived circuit judge in the saloon while searching for Charlie, but their conversation was far from encouraging. Judge Whipple was a bear of a man (of the “fat and ready to hibernate” variety) who didn’t tolerate nonsense, and at the moment was being downright surly. Why wouldn’t he want to stay and help him convince Charlie to get married – or better, help him see it done? That is if he could find Charlie … “But he’s got to get married!”
“Can’t force him. Wouldn’t be right.”
“But Miss Partridge is funny, kindhearted, dedicated to her cause …” He didn’t say what cause – who knew how the cranky old judge would react to a suffragette?
“And another thing! That battle-ax Mrs. Walters – who is this woman? I hear she’s threatening to pack the brides up and leave tomorrow. What’ll you do about that? Mayor Hardt is the least of your worries, if you ask me.”
“Now, Judge, it’s all in hand. I’m sure by the end of the day someone will be getting married. In fact, I guarantee it.”
Judge Whipple burst out laughing.
Chase rolled his eyes and sighed. “Tell you what – I’ll even make you a little wager.”
It took the judge a moment to get himself under control. “You? A wager? What are you talking about, Preacher?”
“You know I’m not a betting man, Judge.”
“Of course not! You’re a preacher – you shouldn’t be making wagers.” He glanced around, though hardly anyone was in the saloon. “But what is it?”
Chase thought a moment. Betting money wouldn’t be right. “I’ll … I’ll polish your boots for a year, every time you come through town, if no one gets married tonight.”
“And if they do?” Judge Whipple drawled.
“Then you …” He snapped his fingers. “You petition the men to build the town a new church come spring.”
“So … drum up some volunteers, or have my boots polished? Hmm…” He tapped his fingers against his leg. “I wouldn’t mind having my boots polished when I come through. All right, you’re on!”
“Wonderful. Miss Partridge is at the boarding house as we speak, talking with the other brides about the virtues of Noelle.” La Maison des Chats was as far from a boardinghouse as one could get, but he wasn’t telling the judge that. Make the town respectable and they’d need a boarding house. Then maybe a hotel.
“Virtues?” Judge Whipple snorted a few times, trying not to laugh. “Your mayor thinks the only thing virtuous around here is the gold in that mine of his.”
“If there still is any,” Chase remarked.
“He’s determined to find some. But in the meantime, you’d best fix this mess you’ve gotten yourself into. In fact, you fix this and I’ll get you volunteers next spring whether you polish my boots or not.”
“Agreed.” Chase grabbed his hat. “Now about Miss Partridge …”
“I don’t plan to be around long enough to find out what happens to her. I’m leaving.”
“But it’s Christmas! At least stay until tomorrow.”
Judge Whipple peered out the saloon windows at the snowdrifts. “Maybe. But if my stomach doesn’t settle, I need to go where I can find some decent food.”
Chase sighed. Nacho was an enthusiastic cook, but Mexican-style food would be like dynamite in the judge’s tender gut. “Very well. But I think you should stay. We’re having a Christmas service this evening – that will give some of the grooms and brides a chance to meet and calm Mrs. Walters’ nerves, I’m sure.”
“Christmas service? Hmmm … will there be food?”
Chase opened his mouth, thinking fast. “There … could be.”
“Will Mayor Hardt show up?”
“He’ll look a fool if he doesn’t. Are you sure you won’t stay and talk to him?”
“Be nice to have some cookies. Always enjoy cookies on Christmas.”
“Cookies,” Chase repeated dryly. So Charlie and a plate of cookies might well save the town. If Charlie had been smart, he’d have started thinking about the dwindling gold a long time ago. But he still wasn’t – and he might well dig himself into a grave before he believed it.
Judge Whipple stood, tipped his hat and headed for the door. “I want to visit with some folks while I’m in town. Who knows, I might stay just to see how this turns out.”
“I hope you will.”
His stomach grumbled again. “But I’m guaranteeing nothing, Preacher.”
Chase grimaced. “In regards to Miss Partridge, if you happen to see Mayor Hardt …” He hoped Charlie didn’t bite Judge Whipple’s head off if they did speak.
“Yes, yes, I’ll mention the woman.” With another hat tip, he left.
Chase got up and headed upstairs. It was beginning to look more and more like Charlie wouldn’t cooperate – and that meant the whole plan was in danger. They needed twelve weddings, not eleven or any lower number. Hopefully he and Judge Whipple could convince the mayor to step up.
He entered his room and plopped into a chair. The main thing to do was to make sure that someone, anyone, got married today. But who? Which couple was most likely to? Miss Partridge certainly wanted to get married, but her groom was absent, and she’d been vague about the other brides. Maybe he should talk to the grooms – the only ones he’d come across today were Nacho and Liam.
He pulled out his pocket watch to check the time. He said he would return in an hour – he’d better hightail it over to Felicity.
A thought struck him as he reached the saloon doors. “She’ll be heartbroken,” he said to himself. But if Charlie really did balk, could he find Miss Partridge another groom? Yes, that’s what he’d do, if she wished. Some of the other men were interested in a wife. But were any the type to make Felicity happy? Well, he’d just have to talk to her and see.
He continued on his way, stewing over the situation until his frustration reached its peak. In a pique, he clenched his fist and hit the neare
st object – a post in front of Nacho’s place. “Ow!” Worse still, it didn’t make him feel better. He shook out his hand and walked on, hoping no one saw his little outburst. He’d liked to have hit Charlie, but to find him would take too long – and that wouldn’t solve anything either.
Chase reached La Maison des Chats. He straightened his jacket, ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. “Well, here goes.”
* * *
“Felicity? Rev. Hammond is here to see you.”
Felicity looked up to see one of her fellow brides in the doorway of the bedroom. “Thank you. Tell him I’ll be right down.”
“Are you speaking with him in the parlor? Shall I make some tea?”
“Yes, thank you.” She watched her leave, then resumed the list she was making.
“What are you doing?” Maybelle asked as she had Minnie put up her hair. “Ouch! Watch what you’re doing, you idiot!”
Minnie’s jaw tightened. “Sorry.”
Felicity shook her head, partly in disgust and partly in sympathy. Minnie shouldn’t let Maybelle boss her around, or act as if she was her personal maid. But for some reason Minnie let her. Why, who could guess. She took a last look at her list of possible ways to further the cause in Noelle with the mayor’s help – provided she ever married him – then put it into her satchel.
“Writing down how you’ll survive?” Maybelle taunted.
“Quiet, you,” Felicity shot back. “You don’t know what’s going to happen to us anymore than anyone else.”
“I know I’m getting married. My groom left his card with the serving girl earlier.”
“Pearl is not a serving girl.”
Maybelle smirked. “Not to us, but trust me, she serves.”
Felicity narrowed her eyes at the woman. Maybelle had been positively mean to poor Pearl the night before. The woman was only trying to help. Never mind her occupation – she was kind-hearted and shouldn’t be treated that way. But Pearl didn’t seem the sort to take Maybelle’s abuse for long – she was sure to do something to the snob. Felicity just hoped she was around to see it.
She got up and headed for the stairs, bracing herself for whatever news Rev. Hammond had for her. “He’s the mayor,” she whispered to herself as she descended. “I can help him become more – a legislator, or even Governor.” She reached the bottom step and took a deep breath. “And after that, he could be President. I’d be the First Lady and the cause would …”
“What’s that?” Chase Hammond said as he stepped out of the parlor. “Were you saying something?”
Felicity stopped and stared at him. He wasn’t wearing a coat, his hat was off and he stood looking at her with the warmest, gentlest expression she’d ever seen. But then, he was a clergyman – weren’t they all supposed to be like that? “You’ll have to pardon me – I’m always muttering to myself.”
“That does tend to go along with woolgathering,” he said with a smile. “Won’t you sit down?”
She followed him into the parlor and sat in the nearest chair. “So did you speak with Mayor Hardt?”
His smile froze.
Uh-oh, this can’t be good, she thought. “And?”
The good reverend pulled a chair up next to hers and sat. He then plucked a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to her. “I haven’t even been able to find him.”
Chapter Thirteen
Felicity stared at the handkerchief in shock. “No …”
“Yes, actually – you have a smudge of something right there.” He pointed to his nose.
Felicity’s heart skipped a beat. “Oh.” She took the handkerchief and wiped her nose, wondering how the dirt got there. Probably when Pearl asked her to put wood into the cookstove earlier. “Thank you.” She handed it back. “You couldn’t find Mayor Hardt?”
Chase Hammond sighed softly as he tucked his handkerchief away. “He’s nowhere around. He’s most likely up at his mine, but it would take some time to get there and search for him. I’m afraid … he doesn’t want to marry.”
She swallowed once, twice, as her hopes crumbled. “I see.” If her intended didn’t want to get married, what would she do? “Is it something wrong with me?”
“No, no, no!” Chase assured her. He took a long breath and exhaled. “Okay, this will take some explanation. See, there were about two dozen men considering marriage, so we had to draw straws …”
She blinked a few times in confusion. “You did what?”
“We … we drew straws. I realize that’s not the most sophisticated way to solve a problem, but it was the fairest way we had.”
She popped out of her chair. “And he drew my straw? But you said he doesn’t want to marry – why would he take part?”
“No … see, he didn’t draw it. Percy and the other men insisted he and I be included in the draw – they didn’t think the town should have a single mayor, or a single pastor. He was absent at the time, so I drew on his behalf as well as mine. The one I drew for him was one of the short ones.”
“And because the railroad is insisting on at least twelve marriages, or they aren’t going to come …” She shook her head in disbelief. The whims of a railroad magnate, a tiny town totally unprepared for families, drawing straws … the whole thing was ridiculous! It was like something out of those terrible dime novels her mother read. “So what did he say when you told him?”
Chase gulped and stared at the rug. “I, uh … didn’t.”
“What?” Not meaning to, she leaned over him as if she was going to rain blows on him. “How could you not tell him?!”
“I was afraid he’d strangle me!”
Felicity gaped for several seconds before collapsing into her chair again and letting out one sharp bark of laughter. “Of course, he did that anyway …” Ridiculous, just ridiculous. “So that’s what happened,” she continued foggily. “You drew for him and he didn’t know. Any wonder Mrs. Walters is upset?”
“Felicity … it’s for the town …” He snapped his mouth shut.
Felicity gave him an angry nod. “So you’d marry, or make him marry, just to …” To what, see his vision fulfilled? To further his cause? Well, she had no moral high ground to criticize him there – wasn’t she doing the same thing? But Mayor Hardt wouldn’t do it, wouldn’t even give her a chance. He just ran and hid in a hole in the ground …
“I’m sorry things aren’t working out for you,” Chase said. “Charlie is …”
“Don’t speak of him,” she groaned. “What would be the point?” She got up and began to pace, glad the other brides were elsewhere at the moment. It wouldn’t set well with Mrs. Walters if she found out about any part of this conversation. She’d never hear the end of it, especially from Maybelle, who liked to taunt everyone.
“Felicity, I’ll find you another husband.”
She stopped on the other side of the room with her back to him. She didn’t want him to see the tears in her eyes. Mayor Hardt didn’t want her – he never had. No wonder he was so upset at Chase yesterday. He’d had no idea she was coming … wait. That meant … “Did you send the letter from him?”
“Yes, I did.”
She spun around, fire in her eyes. “You signed it from him?!”
“No. If you’ll recall I signed it ‘respectfully yours, your betrothed.’ I didn’t put a name.”
Felicity gaped at him. “Did you?” She was so upset she couldn’t remember. Come to think of it, she’d received only the one letter, the one Mrs. Walters handed her, telling her she had a match. At the time, all she cared about was that he was the mayor. If she’d been matched with some miner, would she have left Denver? Or gone to jail, got out and went back to her work with the suffragettes?
Yes, Chase was playing a game, manipulating a situation to his advantage, or at least his town’s. But wasn’t she just as guilty of that? She hung her head and paced some more.
“I’ll find you a good husband,” he said gently. “There are plenty of men left, Miss Partridge.”
“You’d rather go back to Denver?”
She shuddered. She didn’t have money enough for a cup of coffee – her father had sent her away with nothing – and she wasn’t sure she could go back even if she did have the money. Would her parents take her back? After all, she’d been such a zealot for the Suffragettes that they’d washed their hands of her. Not only that, but she might be arrested on the spot should she return. “No,” she finally answered, meek as a mouse.
“There are a few men that come to mind.”
Felicity looked up into Chase Hammond’s remorse-filled eyes. “I don’t know,” she sighed. She’d been striving for furthering the rights of women. Her personal life hadn’t come into it. She was willing to marry a stranger to further her cause, just as Chase Hammond was to save his town. What if she’d married an idiot, or a violent man? Heavens, her one sight of the mayor had been him attacking someone …
“You look a little pale,” he said gently. “Maybe you ought to sit down?”
She nodded numbly and sat as a tremor of horror ran through her. To be married to a bad man would be worse than being in jail. And while Chase had argued for Mayor Hardt’s goodness, was a man really good who’d attack a minister in broad daylight, regardless of the reason? Maybe she’d dodged a bullet when the mayor had fled the scene.
But it didn’t solve her problem – she didn’t just need a husband to survive, but the right husband. A man whose idea of excitement meant watching the fire in the hearth was not her cup of tea – she had to be active, involved, or she might go mad. Even if she went back to Denver, her father would see her married off to the first rich dullard that came along just so he wouldn’t have to deal with her. She’d watched too many women idle away their precious time doing nothing, their lives empty.
“Felicity?”
“I can’t go back,” she muttered to herself. “I won’t go back.” For the first time in a very long time, Felicity Partridge felt helpless.
