Conner's Contrary Bride

by Barbara Goss

  Conner’s Contrary Bride

  Barbara Goss

  Book 1 of

  The Matchmaker’s Mix Up

  Copyright © 2020 Barbara Goss

  All rights reserved.

  Cover by Covers and Cupcakes

  Editor: Elise Sherman Abram

  All Scripture is quoted from the King James version of the Holy Bible.

  All the characters described in this story are fictional. They are not based on any real persons, past or present. Any resemblance to real persons, living or deceased, is coincidental and unintended.

  Table of contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  Spring 1870

  Agatha sighed and stretched her shoulders which were stiff after bending over the papers on her desk for hours. She rubbed her neck, sighed, and smiled at her cat, Cleo, who sat on the desk’s edge, watching her.

  “We did it, Cleo. This month’s matches are complete.” She scratched Cleo’s head. “Now, I’ll have a few days to rest before the next batch arrives.”

  “Grandmother!”

  “Yes, Maggie?” Agatha replied loudly.

  “I can’t find my Sunday shoes.”

  Agatha got slowly up from her chair, rubbed her back, and called, “I’ll be right up.” She looked at Cleo. “Oh, dear! It’s past your dinner time.” She stroked the cat’s back and said, “I’ll be right back as soon as I find Maggie’s shoes.”

  As well as running regular newspaper ads to bring clients to her successful matchmaking business, she raised her deceased daughter’s child, Margaret, for the past six years. Maggie was now eighteen, and Agatha hoped to teach her the matchmaking business eventually, so she could retire. Her body ached for that to happen.

  After climbing the stairs painfully, she entered Maggie’s room and found the shoes under the bed.

  “Did you even look there?” Agatha asked.

  “I thought I had.” Maggie shrugged. She embraced her grandmother. “Thank you.”

  Agatha rubbed Maggie’s back lovingly. “You might consider my age and look more carefully next time. Those stairs get steeper by the day.”

  Maggie nodded contritely.

  “Come down and set the table. I can tell by the aroma that the roast is done.”

  Agatha descended the stairs carefully and returned to the den. She stopped short, her eyes barely focusing on the scene before her as her papers flew from one end of the room to the other. She grabbed her head with both hands and gasped.

  The cat had spread the matches throughout the room. Cleo rolled over the papers, pouncing on them playfully while scattering them in obvious delight with her tail.

  “Cleo!” She gasped before closing her eyes and falling backward. She would have fallen to the floor had her granddaughter not caught her.

  “Oh, my!” was all Maggie could mutter.

  Dr. Sawyer had settled Agatha in bed while continuing to monitor her heart rate and pulse.

  “Will Grandmother be all right?” Maggie asked.

  The doctor shook his head. “It looks like apoplexy. I’ve seen it a few times.”

  “What’s apoplexy? Can you fix it?”

  “Doctors aren’t one hundred percent sure, but we think it’s brain-related, and I can’t fix it, unfortunately. I’ve seen cases where the patient improved somewhat, but I doubt she’ll ever recuperate completely. She’s still unconscious, but I can tell by her sagging face she’s lost control of her whole right side.”

  Maggie twisted her fingers. “Is there anything we can do?”

  “Just let her rest, and pray for her recovery.”

  “But she needs to get her matches out. The people have already paid for the service. What should I do?”

  Dr. Sawyer shrugged. “I know nothing about that. Maybe you could finish up for her. It would take your mind off her illness.”

  “I’ve watched her do it plenty of times, but I wish she could advise me about the details.”

  “I’m afraid that’s impossible.” The doctor stood. “I’ll come back every day and let you know how she’s doing. Send for me if she gets worse.”

  After the doctor left, Maggie sat and held her grandmother’s limp hand. “I’ll find a way. I know I can’t match them as well as you can, but I’ll do my best. The first thing I’ll do is cancel next month’s newspaper ad. I’d like to learn the business, but I’m not sure I’m ready yet.”

  Maggie stood with a determined look. “I can do it! I don’t want you to worry. I’ll start on it right away. I’m young and eager—I’ll match them all again.”

  Maggie kissed her grandmother’s forehead and said, “Of course, I can. I’m your granddaughter, after all.”

  Luckily, Agatha was meticulous and had handwritten notes on the tops of the questionnaires. She had the ages of the applicants written at the top and also the state where each lived noted. So, all Maggie thought she had the time to do was match those and get them out quickly. She remembered her grandmother sending a letter to each of the applicants, telling them about each other and sending the transportation money to the women. How hard could this be?

  Chapter One

  Jefferson City, Missouri, Two Years Earlier.

  Dr. Conner Beauregard Van Gates IV stood on the front lawn of his home. The rain dripped lazily from the brim of his black homburg hat. He sighed, having realized that the weather reflected his mood. Conner stared at the sign before him and shook his head sadly before grabbing it and pulling it from the ground. He stared at the sign that read, Dr. Van Gates’ Office, and then threw it into the nearby garbage bin. Conner brushed his hands together and walked into the house.

  He shook out his wet overcoat and hat, hung them by the fireplace, gazed at the mess on his desk, and he sighed. He had to pack it all away.

  As he was throwing the papers into a crate, his housekeeper, Bertie, cleared her throat from the doorway.

  “Yes, Bertie?”

  “Will you need help packing?”

  Conner turned to study her. She’d been a loyal housekeeper these past four years.

  Bertie looked at him the same way she had when Mary had died, her brown eyes full of loving concern. She was one of those women that gave no clue to her age. Her hair was mostly brown with just a few wisps of gray. While on the plump side, she got around the house like a whirlwind. His face softened, and he smiled at her. “I will, thank you.”

  If it hadn’t been for dear, sweet, Bertie he wouldn’t have survived his wife’s death the year before. She’d been strong and soft and sympathetic at the same time.

  “I packed the wardrobe, but I haven’t touched the highboy yet.”

  He saw her give a quick nod before she headed for the stairs. “Right away, sir.”

  “Bertie, wait!” he called, having thought of something important he needed to settle with her.

  She returned to his side and looked at him with expectant eyes.

  “Where will you go when I leave?” He couldn’t meet her eyes as he spoke. It was a subject they had yet to broach.

  Bertie shuffled her feet. “I’m not sure.”

  “Do you have any family?”


  “Just a cousin in Iowa, but she’s living with her daughter’s family.”

  “I’ll give you a letter of recommendation. You could get another live-in job somewhere.”

  Bertie cast her eyes downward. “I’d appreciate that, sir.”

  Conner knew she would have a hard time finding a position in a good household, given that she’d stood by him when the entire town had turned against him, and people tended to have long memories. And Bertie knew it too.

  “Or…” He paused to gauge her reaction to his next words. “Or, you could join me in Hays City.”

  “Oh, sir!” was all she said letting her face finish the sentence.

  Conner cleared his throat and turned away at the sight of her tearing eyes. “I’ll need a good housekeeper there, and we’re used to each other’s ways.”

  “I’ll finish packing your things,” she said, wiping her eyes. “Then, I’ll work on mine.”

  When Bertie had gone, he picked up the letter he would have tossed into the bin had circumstances been different. It was the letter from the Hays City town council in Kansas who needed a doctor for their growing town. Leaving Jefferson City, Missouri wouldn’t have been a consideration had the town not turned against him for letting his wife die in childbirth.

  He pounded his fist on the desk. As if he hadn’t done everything in his power to save his beloved wife and infant daughter. Unshed tears burned his eyes. People had stopped coming to his office for treatment, so the letter was like a gift from God. He wondered how Hays City had known he needed a fresh start. Conner supposed Reverend Thatcher had something to do with it.

  Hays City, Kansas

  January 1870.

  Bertie escorted the day’s last patient out the door. She closed the door, leaned against it, and sighed. “Doctor, I’m tired.”

  Conner looked up from his paperwork and removed his spectacles. “I’m sorry, Bertie, I never expected my caseload would be this large so soon. When I took the job, I didn’t realize I would be the only doctor in town.”

  Bertie pursed her lips and sat down on the opposite side of his desk. “Sir, I can’t keep up with the cooking and housework, while helping you here in the office. It’s nearly six o’clock and I haven’t even started dinner yet.”

  Conner stood. “I’ll treat you to dinner at Rusty’s.”

  Bertie scrunched up her nose. “I suppose we have no choice.”

  “I realize the food isn’t on par with your cooking, but I hear the soups are good.” He took her arm. “We’ll use this time to talk about how to solve our problem.”

  Bertie and Conner discussed the weather and the situation at the office over bowls of hot beef lentil soup. When their tea and dessert arrived, Bertie blurted, “You know what you need, Conner? A wife.”

  Conner frowned and faked a laugh. “First of all, there aren’t a lot of single women here in Hays City, at least none of the marriageable type anyway. Secondly, I could never replace my Mary.”

  “Hogwash,” Bertie said. “Plenty of people find a second spouse and they come to love them just as much. The heart has a lot of room.”

  Conner leaned back in his chair and let out a frustrated laugh. “Who would you suggest—Scarlet or Abby from the Velvet Palace?”

  Bertie pulled a folded newspaper from her pocket. “That’s what I thought you’d say. Have a look at this.” She unfolded the paper and slid it over to Conner.

  After scanning the paper, he shook his head. “A matchmaker service?”

  “I heard this woman’s been successful in matching couples for over twenty years. All you need to do is fill out a form with your likes and dislikes, and she matches your answers with those of her female applicants. My friend, Rose, found the perfect husband using her service.”

  Conner gave Bertie a patronizing smile. “I know you mean well, Bertie, but I don’t go in for that type of thing. If God wants me to have another wife, He’ll send me one.”

  “That’s just it,” Bertie said. “you can pray to win at poker, but before you can win, you need to at least play the game.”

  Now, Conner laughed for real. “What does poker have to do with anything?”

  “God will provide, but you need to help him by applying and letting him send you someone. God knows there aren’t any marriageable women here, so, you have to help Him.”

  Conner read the article about the matchmaker. He knew Bertie had his best interests at heart, and heaven knew that he did need someone. Conner missed Mary every single day, but it was true, especially at night when he found himself alone in his bed. He missed having someone in which to confide, someone who would listen to his thoughts and ideas.

  “I would love the companionship of a wife,” Conner said, “but matching my likes with some stranger doesn’t ensure we’d fall in love.”

  Bertie sighed. “That’s true enough, but you said you could never love another the way you loved Mary, anyway. If you didn’t love her, at least you’d have the companionship of someone compatible with you.”

  Conner refolded the newspaper page and slipped it into his pocket. “I’ll think about it. Thank you for caring, Bertie.”

  Alone in bed, Conner read the article again. For a reasonable fee, after filling out a form, he could get a bride with the same interests and likes as his. If he decided to try it, he’d pray for God to send him the perfect woman. Bertie was right, the least he could do was to throw his hat in the ring. He’d have to rely on God to do the rest.

  In the meantime, he’d see if he could get someone to help out in the office. Maybe one of the housewives in town could use a bit of extra cash and work for a few hours a day. He couldn’t expect Bertie to keep the house and run the office. He’d ask around in the morning.

  A month later, Conner received his questionnaire from the matchmaker. He scanned some of the questions:

  Are you a morning person or a night person?

  What is your favorite beverage?

  Are you a church-goer?

  Do you like pets?

  What kind of music do you enjoy?

  Do you prefer living in the city or in the country?

  What is your favorite dinner entrée?

  Do you enjoy reading?

  Would you rather picnic in a park, or dance at a ball or barn dance?

  Do you want to have children?

  He flipped through the questionnaire; there were three full pages of questions in total.

  Conner sat at his desk and answered the questions honestly. His doubts disappeared at the thought of marrying someone who had the same answers as him. Whether it led to love or not, they’d certainly enjoy the companionship. Heaven knew he needed help in the office, too.

  He finished answering his questionnaire and sent it along with his money by wire to the matchmaker. He sighed with relief. It was done. He wondered how long it would take for his bride to arrive. Now that he’d accepted the idea, he was somewhat excited about it.

  Chapter Two

  Bertie poured Conner a cup of coffee. “So, what time does... um... what was her name?”

  Conner pulled the telegram from his breast pocket, “Elsie. Her stagecoach is due in around noon, but Carson Peters said it’s never on time.”

  Bertie took a seat at the kitchen table beside Conner. “Will Reverend McDougal be ready?”

  “Yes, the ceremony will take place at three. I’ll have you and Mrs. McDougal as witnesses.”

  Bertie seemed to study him, making Conner leery of her next question.

  “Conner, where will she sleep?”

  Conner gave her a wink. “Certainly not with me, if that’s what’s bothering you. She can have my room, and I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” Bertie stood and refilled his cup. “She can have my room, and I’ll sleep in one of the beds in the clinic for now.”

  Conner let out a sarcastic laugh. “Here I am, starting a marriage in a small flat at the rear of my clinic; I need to buy a house.”

 
“All in good time,” Bertie said. “It is convenient being so close to the clinic.”

  “Remember the piece of land I was telling you about? It’s still available. I’m sure this woman will want a bigger and better home. I’m actually ashamed to show her my small, lowly flat. I’m sure she’s used to better.”

  Conner pushed away from the table. “I’d better get the buggy ready. You’ll be at the church on time?”

  Bertie laughed. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’ll drive the buckboard.”

  “Hmm.” Conner shook his head. “Perhaps I should take the buckboard and you the buggy. The woman... um... Elsie is bound to have a trunk or two. Don’t you agree?”

  “Oh, yes,” Bertie said. “A woman coming to live here permanently would have a lot of luggage. I’ll take the buggy, then, or even walk. The church is not that far.”

  “No, you take the buggy, I don’t want you walking through Hays City unchaperoned.”

  Just as Conner prepared to jump onto the buckboard, a rider skidded to a halt in front of the clinic.

  “Doc, I need help. I got shot,” the man cried as he leaped from his horse, holding his shoulder.

  Conner sighed. He knew it would probably make him late for the stagecoach drop off, but he had no choice. “Come on in, and I’ll take care of it.”

  The stagecoach stopped at the hotel to let off passengers and then continued to the livery to change horses. When Conner finally reached town, he saw the stage at the livery, and he rushed to the hotel, but there wasn’t a soul waiting in front of the hotel. He looked to the left and the right, but he didn’t see a woman waiting for him. He scratched his head, and walked back to the livery, which was where he found the driver leaning against the coach, drinking coffee.

  Conner approached the man. “Did you let a woman off by the hotel today?”