Brides of Noelle

by Kit Morgan

  Once seated, she let her mind race over possible solutions to her dilemma. She could steal away in the middle of the night, but what if she ran into outlaws and was robbed? No, she needed a plan, a solid one. Most of all she needed someplace where she could hide, where Vernon couldn’t find her …

  “The chicken looks delicious,” Mrs. Fink commented as Polly served.

  “It looks overdone,” Vernon quickly snapped. “Take mine back.”

  “Vernon,” his mother said, “mind your manners. It’s perfect.”

  “I don’t think so, Mother. Your tastes differ from mine.” He got up from the table and picked up his plate. “Hello, lovey,” he said to Polly. “Show me the kitchen.”

  “Vernon!” his mother said. “I said it’s fine. Charles, do something.”

  Mr. Fink looked up from his plate. “If the boy doesn’t like what’s been served, he has every right to correct it, dear. Let him go see what else the cook has.”

  “Oh very well, go on,” his mother said. “But don’t make a nuisance of yourself.”

  Vernon smiled. “Of course not, Mother.” He looked Polly up and down again and motioned her toward the door.

  Dorcas saw the frightened look on the maid’s face and winced. “Mother, I don’t think …”

  “Quiet, Dorcas,” Vernon said. “We don’t care what you think. You might as well learn how to handle servants now that you’ll be married to me. Things not to my liking are things you’ll have to take care of.” He ushered the maid through the door and downstairs into the kitchen.

  Dorcas had an ugly feeling in the pit of her stomach and felt very sorry for the cook. Oh please, please, help me find a way out of this.

  The meal commenced, and everything was peaceful when Polly re-emerged with a bowl of mashed potatoes. Her face was red, her eyes swollen as if she’d been crying. Dorcas wondered what Vernon could have said to make her so upset. She served and hurried back to the kitchen as Vernon showed up, his face also red. And was that a scratch on his cheek? Just what had he been doing downstairs?

  “Everything all right?” Mr. Fink asked.

  “Yes,” Vernon said, seeming satisfied. “I simply let the servants know how I wanted my meat. I like things cooked a certain way, you see,” he added while looking at Dorcas. “But you’ll find that out soon enough, won’t you, sweets?”

  Dorcas’ gut twisted. Maybe simply packing a bag and leaving in the dark of night was the best solution, if not the wisest. It was certainly the quickest. And would outlaws treat her any worse than Vernon planned to?

  “Once we’re married,” he continued, leaning toward her across the table, “I can teach you all kinds of things.”

  “Our Vernon always was an industrious boy,” Mr. Fink commented as he reached for a platter of vegetables. “Very enterprising. I’d trust him with my business any day.”

  Dorcas swallowed hard. Would he trust him with his life? She was more and more convinced that she shouldn’t trust him with hers. The sooner she got out of this the better. But how? Her parents would never agree and think she’d gone mad.

  Then just before dessert, she got an idea. Of course – why hadn’t she thought of it before? But did she have enough time to act? “Mrs. Pettigrew,” she whispered.

  “What was that, my dear?” her mother asked.

  Dorcas plunged her spoon into her pudding. “Nothing, Mother. Nothing at all.” But it was something – a lifeline she needed to grab as quickly as possible.

  Chapter Three

  Noelle, several days later …

  “What’s the matter, son?”

  Elwood was sitting in the saloon, a glass of milk in his hand. He looked up to see who’d spoken, and found a clergyman. “Hello, sir,”

  The preacher took a seat across the table. “Howdy. Rev. Chase Hammond at your service.” He reached a hand across the table.

  Elwood gave it a healthy shake. “Pleased to meet you, sir. Elwood Hunter at yours.”

  “Pleasure,” the clergyman said. “Now tell me what’s troubling you.”

  Good grief, did he look that forlorn? “Me? Oh, you know … everything.” No sense in lying.

  The reverend laughed. “That sums it up. How about some details – maybe I can help.”

  “Much obliged, Rev. Hammond, but I don’t think you can help me with this.”

  “You’re new in town, aren’t you, Mr. Hunter?”

  Elwood nodded. “I arrived a few days ago. But I’m afraid my plans aren’t going as I hoped.”

  “Are you here to invest in the mine?”

  Elwood smiled and shook his head. “Everyone asks me that. And after speaking with your wonderful mayor, the silver mine appears to be a sound investment. However, I don’t seem to meet all the requirements.”

  The reverend raised his eyebrows and smiled. “Would one of them be the requirement of a wife?”

  “Yes. When Mayor Hardt informed me, I wasn’t prepared to have that item fulfilled. Not right away.”

  “Around here, no one is. Really, there are few women besides the ones already married. And the exceptions are …”

  Elwood drummed his fingers on the table and nodded. Of course a frontier town, like most towns, was liable to have a house of ill repute, but such women didn’t pique his interest. “Mayor Hardt was quick to point that out, thank you.” He took a sip of his milk.

  Rev. Hammond watched him. “Not a drinking man, I see.”

  “Never was – can’t hold my liquor for some reason.” He took another sip and continued tapping the table.

  “Well, son, as I’m in the marrying business, among others, I can help you with your problem.”

  Elwood laughed. “If there were someone around here for me to marry.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” the reverend said with a smile. “Around here we deal in mail-order brides.”

  “Mail-order brides?” Elwood said with some surprise. Not that it was news – Mayor Hardt had suggested that if Elwood got a mail-order bride and settled in Noelle, he could invest in the mine. He was especially eager when he found out Elwood had a bit of money, but then, what mine owner wouldn’t be?

  “What’s the matter, son?” Rev. Hammond asked. “Don’t you want to get married?”

  “Of course I do. But not to a perfect stranger.”

  “Lots of men around here have and are happy as larks. Ask a few if you’d like.”

  “No, I’ve seen it with my own eyes - the storekeeper at Cobb’s Penn, the blacksmith at the livery, the couple that runs the post and freight. And of course Mayor Hardt. But … maybe they were lucky. What if I’m not?”

  “It’s not a matter of luck, son, but attitude. If you expect bad to come out of a marriage, then that’s what you’ll get. But if you expect good, work to make it good, that’s what you’ll get. I inadvertently got myself a mail-order bride – she was supposed to be someone else’s, but that’s another story.”

  “You did?” Elwood asked with interest.

  “Yes, and I couldn’t be happier. My wife’s a fine woman, a perfect match for me. Things … tend to work out for folks around here. If you really want to invest in the mine, then I’ll help with the proper arraignments. Women don’t show up here out of the blue.”

  “No, I suppose they don’t.” Elwood drank the rest of his milk, set the glass down hard and motioned to Seamus. “Another.”

  The barkeep was quick to fetch his glass, refill it and return to the table. “That’s the fourth one you’ve had, Mr. Hunter. Isn’t four enough?”

  “Can never have enough milk,” Elwood stated. “Especially when you’ve got problems.”

  “Let him drink, Seamus,” the reverend said. “Can’t you see he needs it?”

  “Well, aye, but I hope there’s enough left for supper tonight,” Seamus returned to the bar.

  Rev. Hammond leaned forward. “Son, I’ve got connections. We can get you a bride in no time.”

  Elwood shook his head and picked up his glass. “I just can’
t see myself getting married right now. But investing in the mine is the only way I can make it here long-term. After speaking with some of the townsfolk, they make this place sound wonderful. And I like what I’ve seen so far.”

  “Then by all means, stay,” Rev. Hammond said with a smile. “Get yourself a wife, invest in the mine. You won’t regret it.”

  Elwood noted the clergyman’s heartfelt expression. “You really love it here, don’t you?”

  “Son, there’s no place like it on Earth.”

  “I can believe that,” he said with a chuckle. “Tell me, Reverend, how well do you know Sheriff Draven?”

  “Draven?” he said with a raised eyebrow. “Well enough. Why?”

  “Well …” Elwood glanced around, then leaned toward him. “I’m writing a book, see, and I’d very much like to interview the sheriff. I want to create a character like him, and the best way to do that is to sit down and speak with him awhile.”

  “Have you asked him?”

  “Of course, but he’s not keen on the idea. At least not yet.”

  The reverend smiled. “That sounds like Draven. He’s very private, but a good soul with a good heart. Oh, he’s rough to look at, I know, but …”

  “That’s part of why I want to create a character after him. He’s perfect.”

  “So you’re a writer?”

  Elwood sat up proudly. “Yes. I am.” He gulped his milk down and set the glass on the table. “And I’m opening a bookshop.”

  “A bookshop? Why, that’s wonderful – just what this town needs. I’ll help you any way I can.”

  “Thank you. Reverend – that’s mighty kind of you.” Elwood smiled. Maybe things were looking up. He motioned to Seamus. “Another!”

  Seamus placed his hands on his hips. “See here, lad, I can’t give ye any more. Ye don’t know my wife. If I let ye drink all the milk, someone’s going to pay for it, and I don’t mean money.”

  Rev. Hammond laughed. “Don’t worry, Seamus, I’m sure we can get more.”

  “From whose cow?” he shot back.

  Elwood waved at the barkeep. “Have it your way. Bring me some coffee.”

  Seamus nodded and headed for the back.

  Rev. Hammond watched him go, then turned back to Elwood. “How about I set something up with Sheriff Draven?”

  “Would you?” Elwood said, eyes bright. “That would be wonderful.”

  “My pleasure. Now tell me, where are you planning to put this bookshop of yours?”

  Elwood glanced around again. “There’s an empty lot right across the street from where the church is being built. I thought I’d build it there.”

  “Build?” Rev. Hammond said in surprise. “You must have a lot of money, then.”

  “Some,” Elwood confirmed. “I don’t want to use it all up, just enough to build something with small living quarters in the back. I know some townspeople would buy books from me, but I don’t know if there are enough to make a living at it. I’d have to supplement, preferably with my novels.”

  Rev Hammond nodded. “And your investment in the mine.”

  “Perhaps. I like the thought of making it on my own.”

  Rev. Hammond shook his head. “Son, I don’t know how much money you’ve got, but if you want to make it here for the long haul, you’ll need a wife. Thankfully we have the railroad coming in July. We’re planning a big celebration for it – you could be a part of that. But it’ll take a while before more folks move here. It could be years before your bookshop is able to support you. Do you have enough to get you through?”

  “Probably not. I keep running the numbers, and …” Elwood shook his head. “There’s my dilemma.”

  Rev. Hammond slapped the table, making Elwood jump. “Then let me help you. I know we can get you a fine wife. You’ll want one anyway if you’re settling here.”

  The preacher had a point. He would want one, so why not now? At least it wasn’t Gertrude Van Housen. Not that she’d have anything to do with him at this point – he could just imagine the tantrum she threw when she found out he was gone. He hoped she didn’t entertain thoughts of finding him. Sure, everyone would be upset he’d hightailed it out of Boston, but who could blame him? For Heaven’s sake, even her brothers couldn’t stand her most of the time! “All right, Reverend, I’ll do it. Find me a wife.”

  “That’s the spirit, son!” The reverend offered his hand again. “You won’t regret this.”

  Elwood shook it, smiled and thought, I hope I don’t.

  * * *

  Two months later …

  Dorcas let Mr. Burnside help her down from the stage. “Thank you,” she said with a smile, though her stomach was in knots.

  “Yer welcome, ma’am. The hotel’s across the street.” He tossed his head at it.

  Dorcas turned to look. “I’m sorry, but all I see is a saloon.”

  “Oh, don’t mind that,” Mr. Burnside said. “Seamus ain’t got a new one yet. But when he does, it’ll say the Golden Nugget Hotel and Saloon.”

  “Ah, I understand. Thank you for clarifying. I’d hate to think I was staying in a saloon.”

  “No, ma’am. Can I carry yer bags?”

  “Yes, thank you.” She glanced over her shoulder. She’d done a terrible thing, a terrible, awful, horrible thing. She’d left Denver the night before her wedding.

  But she had to! If Vernon got his hands on her, he’d do something she was sure to regret. Wasn’t running better than a lifetime of unspeakable horrors at that man’s hands? She’d never be happily married to the likes of Vernon Fink. Let her parents (not to mention the Finks) fret for a few weeks. They’d get over it.

  Vernon, on the other hand, might not. She hoped she covered her tracks well enough – she’d made sure to swear Mrs. Pettigrew the matchmaker to secrecy. Lucky for her, the eccentric widow happened to have an applicant when Dorcas went to see her. Better yet, it was in Noelle, which meant Daphne, her best friend who’d been sent to Noelle months before as a mail-order bride, would be there for her in her time of need.

  She followed Mr. Burnside across the street and into the hotel. “Seamus!” he called to the barkeep. “This here’s Miss Minx. She’s here to get hitched.” A few miners looked their way, smiled, then went back to their drinks or their cards, or both.

  “Good afternoon, lass,” the barkeep said with a smile. He came out from behind the bar, walked past a staircase, and went behind a counter on the other side of it. “Norah!” he called over his shoulder.

  A woman appeared, looked at her and smiled as well. “You must be the future Mrs. Hunter.”

  Dorcas swallowed hard. News traveled fast in small towns. She didn’t wonder if the entire population would attend her wedding. “Yes, I am.”

  “Happy to have ye. I’ll take ye to yer room.” Norah came around the counter and gave Dorcas’ arm a pat. “Is this everything?”

  Dorcas glanced at the bags Mr. Burnside carried. “Yes.” She glanced over her shoulder again. She couldn’t shake the feeling that Vernon was lurking behind a corner somewhere, waiting to pounce.

  “Aye, of course – follow me.” Norah went to the stairs, waited for Mr. Burnside and Dorcas to catch up and started her ascent. They reached the second-floor landing, went down a hall past several doors and stopped. “Number 4. If yer betrothed hadn’t got his little shop built, you’d be right next door to him. He was staying in number 5.”

  “He was?” Dorcas said weakly, checking behind her once more.

  “Are ya expectin’ someone, ma’am?” Mr. Burnside asked as he looked toward the staircase.

  “Oh, don’t mind me. Just … looking around.”

  “Aye, the place isn’t how we want it just yet,” Norah said. “But we’ll have it done by the celebration.” She put the key in the lock and opened the door.

  “Celebration?” Dorcas followed her inside.

  “The big Fourth of July celebration – we’re all looking forward to it.”

  Mr. Burnside set her bags down.
“And the railroad’ll finally be here at the end of July.” He tipped his hat. “Hope you and Mr. Hunter have time to help with the preparations.”

  “Mr. Hunter,” Dorcas whispered. “I almost forgot about him.”

  “Forgot?” Norah said in surprise. “How could ye – ye’re here to marry him, aren’t ye?”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” she said weakly. “Forgive me, I’m very tired.”

  “Denver is a long ride,” Mr. Burnside commented. “And it’s warm out. Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound …”

  “Oh, think nothing of it,” Dorcas said. “It’s far but not so far.” Not so far that Vernon couldn’t find her …

  Norah shrugged and handed her the key. “Supper’s at six. I like everyone to be prompt. The washstand’s over there, desk in the corner, bed and dresser. That should do ye until ye’re married. When is the wedding?”

  Dorcas blanched. “We … haven’t set a date yet. Come to think of it, where is Mr. Hunter?”

  “Oh, I meant to mention,” Mr. Burnside said. “He woulda come with me to Junction, ma’am, but he had some things he wanted to get ready before you arrived.”

  “What other things?” Dorcas asked.

  Mr. Burnside blushed. “I don’t wanna say too much, ma’am. I think it’s a surprise.”

  “Oh,” Dorcas replied. “Well, then let’s not spoil it.”

  “Aye, let’s not.” Norah winked at Mr. Burnside.

  Hmmm, just what sort of surprise was her future husband planning?

  Dorcas saw them out, closed the door and sighed heavily as she turned and sank to the floor, her face in her hands. “Oh Lord, what have I done?” It was only a matter of time before Vernon set out after her. The question was, would he find her?

  Finally she struggled to her feet, picked up her bags and set them on the bed. Should she unpack? What if she had to leave in a hurry? Oh heavens, had she made a mistake? Maybe she should’ve given marriage to Vernon a try … no! How could she submit to such … such …

  There was a sudden knock on the door, and she yelped.

  “Miss Minx?” Norah called. “Are you all right?”