“I thought so,” Rebecca replied, and the disgust on her face was evident. “If you aren’t fit to take care of a child, you can just leave Amelia here with me.”
“You named my daughter?”
“Someone had to,” Rebecca said with a ragged sigh. “Look, Beth was my best friend too and I cannot believe she’s gone either, but Amelia was her world during her pregnancy. Beth used to tell me how beautiful Amelia was and that if it was a boy she was going to name him Edward.”
“She never told me that,” Chance whispered, staring at the child in Rebecca’s arms.
“Did you ever ask?” she questioned softly, pulling back the fabric, revealing a pinched angry face that stared up up, at him almost accusingly. He felt less than a worm at that moment and knew that no matter the cost, he would spend his life making it up to Amelia.
“I’ll take her home and make this right.”
“Leave her here with us,” Rebecca countered, staring at him almost in a challenge. “If you can’t care for her, I certainly will. You have the bar to tend to, no other children to help out, and you are alone. A man can’t raise a baby on his own. You need a woman’s touch.”
“I’m not giving up my child.”
“I’m not going to let Beth’s girl be neglected any more than she already has been.”
“I will be back shortly,” Chance said firmly, his mind whirling with regret and rage. “I will be taking my daughter home and appreciate you helping out during our time of need.”
He turned, hopped on his horse, and immediately rode straight for town. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do, but abandoning his child, his Amelia, wasn’t anywhere in his plans. All he needed was a person with a loving gentle touch to help him raise her. If his mother was alive, he’d have her move in with him and provide for them both, but she’d passed away not long after he’d married Beth. His brother had left for California with his family – and he had no intention of following his younger brother out there. His mind racing, he did the only sane and logical thing he could do.
He bought a goat.
Chance rode back to Rebecca’s home only to have her laugh at him shamefully. Her peals of laughter made him burn in humiliation, knowing he’d goofed up. He felt like an idiot buying the goat, but it was the only thing that he knew of that was low maintenance. He had no room for a cow, plus they were costly. Goats made milk, according to the man that sold it to him.
“What about a bed? Nappies? Do you have something to catch the milk in to feed Amelia? How do you plan on working when she is waking up at all hours of the night?”
“I’m not giving you my child!”
“I’m asking you to think!”
“I am… I’m trying,” Chance snapped angrily.
“Trying doesn’t keep a child alive nor allow her to thrive. You have to nurture and care for her – and buying a goat doesn’t make you a daddy.”
“So, what do I do? Where is Phillip anyway? Does he know you are refusing to give me back my daughter? He ought to take you in hand…”
“And what?” Rebecca laughed again.
“Look,” Chance said with a heavy sigh, his shoulders sagging. “I need advice and I can’t give up on the only piece of Beth that I have left. I know Amelia is better off with you, but I just can’t quit on her.”
“I know you can’t and I understand, but this isn’t a game anymore. You have to put her first over yourself – even over your wants and needs. I know you need to mourn Beth, and you want Amelia with you… but you need someone to care for her.”
“Like you?”
“You need to remarry or have someone come stay with you.”
“Remarry? Beth isn’t cold in the ground yet,” Chance said angrily. “My wife just died and you, her best friend, are wanting me to replace her?”
“I said you need to marry for Amelia – not to fall in love. You need someone that can love and care for Amelia like her own.”
“But Beth…” he whispered painfully.
“I can tell you that if the shoe was on the other foot, Beth would remarry in a heartbeat to the first man that could provide what she needed. She was always a scrapper like that and could make a purse from a sow’s ear. You need a woman to care for your child – that’s it. Send off for a mail order bride so you don’t have to deal with the guilt of betraying your wife on top of failing your daughter.”
“You tell it like it is, don’t you? No sugar-coating it there, Rebecca.”
“Phillip prefers it that way,” she said with a smile. “Now, I’ll give you two weeks and help out, but you’ve got to do something or she stays with me. Agreed?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Nope.”
Chance was stunned that three days after he’d posted his ad for a mail order bride that there was a response. It was short, sweet, and to the point. He was glad that there was no drawn out emotion there, no misunderstandings, and no expectations. This would be a marriage of convenience and that was it. His world was now centered on keeping his Amelia happy and healthy. The rest of it would just fall into place somewhere behind her… somehow.
I would be more than happy to care for your child and maintain your home.
Children are a blessing from the Lord. I can be there Tuesday – Melanie.
Stunned, Chance realized that the solution to his worries about Amelia would be arriving soon. He needed to prepare another room for his new guest, because he had no intention of this marriage being more than name only. He felt bad enough as it was at remarrying so quickly but Beth, the townsfolk, and Amelia would have to forgive him someday, or he would gratefully stand at the gates of heaven and try to explain the choices he’d made.
It was too late now to change his mind.
His bride would be here in two days.
Chapter 3
Melanie exited the stagecoach and thanked the driver for being so gracious with her along the way. They’d had to stop several times for her nausea, but thankfully she found chewing on mint seemed to help some. She kept sprigs handy whenever she could and gathered what she could find when they stopped to let the passengers stretch their legs. It was a long journey; she was sincerely glad it was over, and was now looking forward to her future with hope.
She had no idea what to expect – other than hoping he was a kind, warm-hearted, tender man with a good head on his shoulders. She didn’t want to be married to another pigheaded man who treated her terribly, as if she was a possession. Instead, she hoped and prayed that maybe she could at least become friends with her new husband – perhaps even grow a tenderness between them.
… One could hope – right?
Looking around, she saw the town seemed to be a lot larger than what she’d imagined in her mind. There were several buildings lined up along the main strip of road, as well as several elaborate stone buildings. Stunned, she marveled that one of the bigger buildings was a courthouse, while another was a bank. Back in the small town she grew up in, you had to ride over to Sommersville where the post office was located. The mercantile functioned as a bank of sorts (mostly because the owner was filthy rich and stingy as the day was long).
There was even a bar – a large saloon.
She idly wondered if there were fallen women about and hoped they stayed far away from her new home. Liquor could be the devil’s drink and they never kept it in the house except for a small vial to clean wounds. The Smithsons had a moonshine still where they supplied their friends in exchange for goods. Her mother called them heathens under her breath but only because they struggled too – and they didn’t have a still of their own. She might have thought differently if they had.
An unexpected warm breeze caught her dress, whipping it around her legs. She grew up in a valley and such gusts were surprising. She pushed down her gown modestly, glancing up to see if anyone noticed her ankles being exposed; she saw several others were doing the same. It made her smile faintly, realizing that maybe she could fit in here because she was just like them.
/> Here she wasn’t the murderess widow.
Here she would be just another face in the crowd with a baby in her belly and one on her hip. The idea warmed her heart until she realized that she’d omitted telling her prospective, unknown groom that she was pregnant.
A violent swirling pitch to her stomach sent her staggering to the alleyway between the buildings. Grabbing her reticule, she plucked several mint leaves and tossed them idly into her mouth, chewing as she tried to calm her raging stomach.
“Miss? Are you alright?”
“Yes, travel makes me ill,” she fibbed quietly, tossing a glance over her shoulder and freezing. The man behind her had a quiet, morose expression on his face that caught her attention immediately. He had the saddest, most somber eyes, that made her wonder if he’d ever smiled at all in his life.
The stranger wasn’t handsome by modern standards.
Most women dreamed of a healthy man with a large thick moustache like her Herbert or a thick beard that covered his chin and was trimmed neatly. Instead, he had neither, but the image he made was striking. Dark, combed hair with heavy brows only seemed to accentuate his solemn eyes. His lips had a downturn to them and she surmised it was because he’d just witnessed a strange woman depositing her lunch neatly onto the ground.
She’d been so proud of herself for holding back the nausea most of the day but it was bound to happen at some point or another. Eating bland foods, fresh air, and the mint seemed to be doing the trick. She’d made it close to sunset, which was a record as of late.
Clearing her throat and swallowing, she turned and stuck her chin up in the air gracefully, adjusting her bonnet. She had no business ogling some strange man and didn’t want to encourage him in the slightest. She was there to be married and her groom was supposed to meet her there at the post where the stage had deposited the travelers. Looking around, she saw a lot of people milling about, but none were headed this way.
“My apologies,” she said stiffly with a nod. “Thank you for checking on me.”
“Certainly,” he replied before stepping back to let her pass.
Melanie walked back to the stage, accepting her worn valise that held a few of her possessions, and took a seat on a nearby wooden bench. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the man standing on the plank walkway before the saloon. He was leaning against the wood paneling, watching the area. His arms were crossed over his vest and his brow furrowed deeply as he looked forward.
Several others were helping unload a large chest off the stage, as another man was standing there welcoming one of the other women she’d met along the way. Her name was Sally and she was returning to her sister’s home after her own husband had passed away. Both widows had talked, shared stories, and commiserated along the way. Sally was the person who’d told her about the mint leaves, as her own pregnancies had been rough.
Looking around, Melanie saw the man was staring at Sally with a deeper frown on his downturned lips. Perhaps he had a sour disposition and was a grumpy fellow like Rhys was back home? She hoped there wasn’t anyone like that here in her new town – last thing she needed was a bigger know-it-all that brought everyone down.
Smoothing a crease on her wrinkled gown from her travels, Melanie hoped that whoever her groom was, she got along with him well. She closed her eyes and imagined a smiling, cheerful man that was easy going and bright. Maybe the child she would be caring for as her own would be a sweet cherubic child with a sunny disposition. It felt like she’d had such a struggle, such a fight to be her own person, that she didn’t realize just how bad things were until Herbert had passed. The last two weeks had brought a sense of relief that blossomed inside of her – making her guilt exponential.
She was a horrible wife.
What kind of woman was relieved to be free of her marriage?
She’d been desperate for more and gratefully accepted the offer from Herbert because he could provide a better life. Wasn’t she running headfirst into the same situation – blindly this time? Perhaps this was a huge mistake? She wondered if she should just get her things and hop back on the stage.
Sally interrupted her train of thought at that very moment.
“Melanie, is your groom supposed to meet you here?” she asked politely, laying a hand on her shoulder almost in silent sympathy.
Melanie’s heart hammered in her chest as she began to feel extremely nervous about the entire situation. Her world felt like it was crashing down on her as the past few weeks hit her like a ton of bricks. Tears welled up as she looked up at Sally’s smiling face. They’d talked for the past few days and she’d never once cried. She didn’t even cry at Herbert’s funeral, but now, those tears were boiling over her lashes.
“Shhh! There, there dear,” Sally said in a rush, sitting beside her on the bench and taking her hand.
“I don’t know why I’m crying,” Melanie whispered thickly. “This isn’t me.”
“You’ve had a lot happen lately and it’s enough to make any soul cry, child.”
Melanie smiled at that.
Sally was about thirty years older than her and treated her like a beloved aunt. She had a heart of gold that made anyone feel at home. Her grey-streaked hair was pulled back tightly, and she hugged her immediately before thrusting a handkerchief at her.
“Wipe your eyes and take a deep breath.”
“Thank you.”
“Nothing in this world is worth sobbing over,” Sally said knowingly. “Sometimes the tears just come, and you need to look at it like a release of tension for what has been put on your plate. Then you take a deep breath and figure out how to handle the next mess deposited on your little shoulders.”
Melanie gave a watery chuckle, feeling better already.
“I’m glad we met.”
“Of course – and if your man doesn’t show, then you come find me at my sister’s and the three of us women will make it through the day somehow. She lives on the edge of town with her passel of children and her husband.”
“I appreciate the offer but I need to just get myself settled… I think.”
“The offer is always there, child.”
“Thank you.”
They sat there together silently for a few moments watching the commotion in the street slowly dwindle down as the sun began to set, casting a brilliant orange hue across the land and the buildings. Melanie watched as a sheriff and pastor walked over towards the saloon, talking with the man she’d briefly met earlier. She could almost imagine the dressing down he was probably getting as their heads were bent together in discussion.
“He’s a fine-looking gentleman, isn’t he?” Sally whispered knowingly, and Melanie jerked back from the other woman in surprise causing her to laugh at the reaction. “Honey, I’m an older woman and widow – not dead. I can appreciate a fine figure of a man just like any other woman.”
“He looks so sad though,” Melanie whispered in a silent confession.
“Really? I thought he looked like an arrogant son-of-a-gun,” Sally grinned. “That belt slung low is eye-catching too.”
Melanie gaped at the other woman in shock.
“You’ll catch flies like that,” Sally warned and patted her hand. “Here they come.”
She snapped her mouth closed with an audible click that caused Sally to smile at her sideways conspiratorially. The woman could surprise her with some comments that were made casually sometimes. She had an opinion and made sure you knew it – whether you liked it or not. She liked that about Sally – she was honest and true to herself.
“Melanie Wesson?” the sheriff said gruffly, eyeing Sally, who was preening under his gaze. Melanie reached over and pinched the back of the woman’s arm to remind her that she wasn’t alone. Surely this wasn’t the man she was here to marry? How horrible would that be to wed a man that her friend was ogling? He was the only one standing before them with a belt slung low on his hips.
“I am Melanie Wesson,” she admitted, getting to her feet, and saw the other man�
�s shoulders slump in defeat. Oh no – was this her groom? The sad fellow? “May I help you, sheriff?”
“I’m here to witness your marriage that our dear padre is going to host. Then I’m going to run you out to your new home as a favor to ol’ Chance here,” he said, tossing a thumb in the direction of the man whom she’d met briefly.
“You’ll need a second witness, won’t you, sheriff?” Sally preened.
“Yes ma’am,” he said with a smile, staring at her. “Smart and lovely.”
“Cut it out, Robert,” Chance interrupted with a weary sad smile, pushing his hands into the pockets of his trousers. He dug out a small simple band and she saw him swallow hard before he handed it to the pastor with a sigh. The man, Chance, looked about as enthusiastic as a person could be if they were mucking out a horse stall.
So much for happy and smiling, she mused dejectedly.
“Let’s step inside and get this done,” Chance said quietly.
“I won’t be marrying you in a saloon,” Melanie whispered horrified.
“I meant here,” he said flatly, pointing at the building that served as a stage and post office. “I thought you might prefer a bit of privacy rather than saying our nuptials in the street.”
“Oh.”
“Get inside dearie; I married my husband in a stable,” Sally whispered, grabbing her by the elbow and pulling her inside. “You take what you can and move on. It’s a man’s world and truthfully, he’s being thoughtful of your privacy.”
“He peddles alcohol,” she whispered.
“Better than flesh,” Sally countered with a glare over her shoulder. “Right?”
“Ma’am, I don’t harbor any women like that in my place,” Chance bit out, his cheeks flushed slightly and his lips pressed hard together. “I don’t cotton to that, so if you are headed there for work…?”
“Excuse me?” Sally turned, drawing herself up angrily and putting a finger in Chance’s face only a hair’s breadth from his nose. “Listen here, boy…”
Mail Order Melanie Page 2
