A Mail-Order Christmas Bride

by Livia J. Washburn

  “I’m not certain it’s proper.” Her bridesmatron patted and pinned Phoebe’s hat. “I mean, you and Ronnie trotting up the aisle together—although, he truly looks like a thoroughbred this night.”

  “Us marching together doesn’t seem to matter to the reverend,” Ronnie chimed in. “He thought it up.”

  Phoebe ached with more longing than ever. “Oh, Sissy.” Even her tongue quivered with excitement. “You’ve done a stunning job. You turned my everyday hat into a bridal marvel.”

  Ronnie’s eyes softened; she saw herself in them. “You’re beautiful, darlin’.”

  Then Sissy chided, “Stop fiddling with Phoebe’s hat, and get a wiggle on. Choir’s starting up the processional.”

  He reached for Phoebe’s right hand. She held on, her own knees turning to water. Her left hand strangled the bundle of red silk roses Sissy had tied with long trails of cheerful ribbons.

  The organ pumped out Hark the Herald Angels. Matching his stride to hers, Ronnie guided her up the aisle. Folks from every pew peered and waved and cooed, and pride washed over every inch of her while love melted her heart.

  She was getting married to her true love.

  The warmth of a hundred gazes heated her back. Gliding to the altar took the duration of the lovely Christmas tune. Somewhere behind her, the church doors opened and slammed. A bit of commotion ensued while a few old gossips shushed the latecomer.

  The reverend’s kindly smile, her breathlessness. Ronnie’s strong hand, Sissy’s giggle…

  “Dearly beloved.” The clergyman coughed once, then intoned, “We are gathered here to join in holy matrimony Miss Phoebe Adelaide Pierce and Mr. Ronald Leviticus Heisler…on this holiest of nights and in the presence of their kith and kin…”

  The organist fingered a meaningful glissando across the keys.

  “Phoebe, will you take…”

  “Stop!” A loud voice so thundered through the church, the startled organist toppled across the keyboard.

  The congregation gasped as one above the dissonant chord.

  “Stop, reverend, I say.”

  “Who are you, man?” The pastor glared down the aisle. “How dare you disrupt this sacred vow? It’s not even the proper time in the ceremony for me to invite complaints.”

  Ronnie’s hand tightened hard around her fingers. Phoebe dared not turn, for it was a voice she’d heard in nightmares.

  For almost five years.

  “I am Second Lieutenant Henry Otto Mortensen Mergenthaler. I protest this marriage, reverend. You may as well halt the rigmarole now.”

  Phoebe’s knees gave way, and she hung on to both Sissy’s and Ronnie’s hands. “Henry.” She could barely breathe. The name came out without a sound.

  “On what grounds?” Pastor Mills glared.

  “This woman is the mother of my child.”

  Sissy let go as if Phoebe burned her, but Ronnie’s grip tightened on her arm, unrelenting. He would not let go. Somewhere, the fancy veiled hat rolled off like a wheel. No matter this frightful intrusion, she was his.

  Wasn’t she?

  He’d never let her go. Would he?

  He’d promised.

  Time fuzzed in the candlelight, and the noisy chatter of the outraged congregation turned to deathly dark quiet… The air around her turned green, and Phoebe thudded against Ronnie’s chest.

  …However long later, she opened her eyes, eyelids itching, brain blurry. A horsehair settee under her, Ronnie held her hand but stared like she was a museum piece he was prohibited to touch. In a dark corner, Henry paced like a caged animal.

  Henry! Blood froze in her veins.

  “What happened?” she croaked. “Where am I? Hen…Ronnie?”

  Reality chugged her best-forgotten past full steam into a nasty present. Her heartbeat almost failed.

  Ronnie’s right hand tightened over hers, the left rested on her forehead. “Are you all right?”

  “I don’t know.” Fear claimed her. He hadn’t added the darlin’. She scooted up the back of the settee and tried to blow the clouds from her mind. Breathing deep, she leaned hard against him, looked him straight on. Ronnie’s eyes had dulled, but she was certain she still saw an ember of his love. “Yes, Ronnie, darling. I’m all right, now.”

  “I think you best tell me what this is about.”

  She used her free hand to wipe away tears. “I will. But please, I need to talk to this man first. Ronnie, trust me. I never thought I’d see him again. I thought he’d likely drowned.”

  “Is it true? You have a boy?” The glow saddened, but he still held her close to his side.

  She nodded and kept their gazes tied together.

  “With him?”

  “Yes.” Phoebe ached at his heart-rent tone. “Ronnie, it happened after one time. And he abandoned me immediately.” Now was the opportunity to implicate Margot, but all Phoebe could manage was, “I…had advice drafting the letters to you. It seemed wiser to tell you about Franklin when I got here.”

  “But—”

  “I know. I wasn’t honest. I understand if…the agreement is off.” Her gloomy tone echoed his, and she pawed at her neck to stop her desperate pulse.

  “Phoebe—” Ronnie’s anguished cry.

  “Please, Ronnie. Just give me a few minutes. I’ll get this straightened with Henry. Then, you and I can…see what’s next.”

  “All right.” Her tall cowboy slumped like an old man when he stalked out of what she deduced was the reverend’s study. Walls lined with a million books. A plain wood crucifix standing guard. At least Jesus wasn’t hanging on it, watching, to further her humiliation.

  The walls moved as she sat up, gulped down the sickness in her gullet. “Henry, what is this? Why have you shown up now, to ruin my life? Again.”

  He came to stand in front of her. Even with her seated, he wasn’t tall, and his forehead had lengthened with a tremendous loss of hair. His face tightened in an angry red. However had she found him handsome?

  “I just found out about the kid three days ago.” Henry pounded the armrest. “I came by your father’s house on a business venture. I’ve been hustling to find you ever since. I never thought…”

  Now was the time to say out loud the things she’d spoken for years inside her head. She took a deep breath. “Of course you didn’t, Henry. You abandoned me. Where have you been? I thought you must have drowned.”

  His face purpled. He sat so quickly next to her she cringed. “I fulfilled my naval engagement, then I remained in Egypt for a while.” The way his mouth formed the words, the way his eyes flicked past her, promised another woman had been involved.

  She sighed, wishing the past done and gone. Except for Frankie, her dear little soul. “Henry, you didn’t magically appear in Egypt the…the next day after you and I, you know. You never wrote. You never inquired how I might be.”

  “I was facing danger, Phoebe.” He rolled his eyes. “I had more important things on my mind.”

  More important things than a virgin’s love. Her heart hardened, and she moved as far away as possible. “I see. Then I can’t imagine why on earth you’re here now.”

  “I’m a father. I want my son.”

  “You never even knew you had one. You never bothered to see.”

  “Well, I know now.” His eyes turned to slits. “And I want him.”

  “But you didn’t want me.”

  Henry smirked. “It’s obvious you found someone who does. Although…” He yanked his head toward the window. “This place, this East Slope, is primitive. I’ve a hard time imagining the prim proper debutante I bedded surviving out here in the wilderness.” He looked her over, up and down. “You’re still attractive. With your upbringing, you’d fit in with Chicago society. If it means having my son in my life, I might as well take you back.” He waved his hands and shrugged.

  Shock pummeled her. The armrest dug into her ribs. “You take me back? I was never yours in the first place! You left without even a good-bye. Or a look back. We�
�re done. We were done before we started. I think you best leave.”

  “I want my son.”

  “He is mine.” Her teeth ground together. “And I’m in love with Ronnie. I intend to become Mrs. Ronald Heisler. Tonight. Franklin will be joining me and his new father in a few days.”

  “I’m his father.”

  “Are you? Did it occur to you even once in the past fifty-seven months to…find out for sure?” The lonely terror might have churned again but for…Ronnie. Dear Ronnie. The foibles of life…

  “Perhaps I’ve changed.” Henry’s teeth had grown very big in fifty-seven months. “I have left the Navy and will soon undertake my uncle’s printing business in Chicago. I sought out your father as an investor. Margot and…the boy had just arrived. I’ve seen him. And my son will not reside in Colorado.”

  Phoebe tried to stand and leave, but her legs wouldn’t behave. Her mouth was fine, though. “Once I’m married, he’ll be Ronnie’s son.”

  “I’ll get a barrister. I’ll fight you.”

  Her heart stopped. She knew Ronnie was not a rich man, and legal matters costly. Would a courtroom truly find Henry a worthy parent? He wasn’t named in the birth records. Could Phoebe find it in her heart to lie and swear? Panic gripped her throat. “You need to leave. Now.”

  “We’re not done, Phoebe. You can’t lie about the child,” Henry sneered. “I knew immediately upon seeing him. And I know I was the first.” He snapped a finger on his knee. “From your—distaste—of the act, I sincerely disbelieve you bedded another man so quickly after me.”

  “Trust me on this, Henry. It wasn’t the act. It was you.” True. She eagerly anticipated all day long lying in Ronnie’s arms all night. Tonight. And now.

  A tornado burst through the doorway, a whirlwind with arms that punched Henry to the ground. “How dare you insult my bride! You wanna meet behind the saloon, I’m your man.”

  Ronnie, her brave gentleman of the Wild West, stood tall and proud, rubbed his knuckles against his well-muscled thigh. Her heart tugged. Like a beaten school boy, Henry hunched over his knees. When he looked up, blood smeared his cheeks, and Phoebe shamefully hid a smile.

  “I thought you strong and stalwart, defending the American consulate. You insult the Navy. I want you gone, Henry.”

  He scrambled to his feet. “This is not over, Phoebe.”

  “It is for now. You heard the lady. Git.” Ronnie raised his fist again, and Henry dashed from the room.

  The door opened long enough for Phoebe to realize the Christmas service had continued without them. What would happen next? “Ronnie, how’s your hand?” she asked instead. “Are you all right?”

  “Are you?”

  She motioned him next to her on the settee. “I hope so. But I fear I’ve made a mess of things.”

  “Not your fault, bearing a child. It happens. Reckon we all…make mistakes we can’t take back. But with him? That mudsill?” Disappointment colored his eyes.

  Phoebe wasn’t quite clear what a mudsill meant, but from Ronnie’s disgust, she decided to use the term soon on Lester. “He was glamorous in his uniform. And I was but seventeen. I didn’t know any better.” She shrugged, grieving. “And I didn’t know you then.”

  “Well, you mighta told me. You wrote enough letters.”

  Time for the truth. She shivered. “That was truly wrong. You’d have had a choice then. But you still have a choice.”

  “How’s that? You won’t wed me now?” He moved so their shoulders no longer touched.

  She was cold to the bone. “Oh, Ronnie, I have more to tell you. It isn’t just my son.” Her fingers skipped across her lap but stopped just south of his. “I haven’t been honest in other ways, either. But I love you so much I didn’t want any of it to—prevent our happiness.”

  Ronnie stiffened next to her. “What are you saying?”

  “I don’t doubt my love for you. But…my sister pretended to be me. In all those letters. She reckoned no man would want me, after Henry, you know.” Phoebe’s voice broke. “And in truth, nobody back home did. Then, Margot made me a mail-order bride. And found a man wanting one. Right here in East Slope where she knew the Maroney sisters have made homes. I’d at least have friends— well—acquaintances.”

  “You mean—” He reached for her, but for this second, she held him off.

  “Yes. I need to finish. Margot had no qualms about…starting over in East Slope. I mean, me starting over in East Slope. But it was her, all this time. And I didn’t know. I didn’t know a thing.”

  His handsome forehead crinkled like a map full of roads and trails. “I…thought it was you, writing for four months. When did you find out?”

  “Three days ago.”

  “Three days ago?” He shouted so loud she cringed again. “Why dagnab did you go through with it? You could have begged off. All this time, me thinking we’d wed tonight—”

  Remembering their kiss, their words, the heat between them, she took his face in her hands. Just as he’d done with hers at the supper table. “Perhaps it’s shallow, but your picture. I fell for you practically on the spot. And your letters, so impassioned and lyrical.” Hands down, she glanced away. Purposely avoided the crucifix. “And I confess, Margot’s explanation grew on me. I would like a father for Frankie. A husband and home for myself. More children. Please understand.” Fingers curled into a ball, or she’d take his hand. “Ronnie, if this was the only way, perhaps Margot made sense, after all. Yet, I know it’s a tremendous deceit.”

  Love and hopelessness swamped her. She sank to the floor, knelt at his feet. “Ronnie, I can’t imagine you forgiving me. You want a wife and you got a—faker. I should have told Margot no at the onset but—Ronnie, you’re not obligated in any way.”

  “What do you mean?” His sun-kissed face had paled.

  “My so-called signature on your marriage contract is a forgery. Plain and simple. Margot practiced with carbon paper. You have no obligation to me. Because I’m not the me you thought I was. Am.” Pain tore through her belly. “Oh, Ronnie.”

  He laid his hands on her head, removed the pins holding tight her scroll of hair. Its warmth tumbled down her back. Then he sighed. The pins scattered like rainfall. “I got no right to judge, my darlin’. You been duped, too. Truth is, I’m Black Ankles.”

  “What?” Phoebe grabbed his legs else she’d tumble in another faint. Black Ankles? Gentleman Outlaw? Hero of the downtrodden?

  No! Her Ronnie was a rancher. “I don’t believe you.”

  “It’s too true.” He stared at the crucifix now.

  “No. You look nothing like the books. And I’ve ready every one. Save for the last one, as I said.” Panic skimmed her, but she held tight to his knees.

  “Nobody ever saw my true face.”

  Phoebe forced her nerves to calm. “I don’t understand. I don’t. Or perhaps I do. Yes, I do!” She looked up into his eyes. “The volume before last had Black Ankles’s sentence commuted…but he’s back on the hunt for horses to steal! He gives the money to orphans.”

  Ronnie reddened. “My sentence of seven years in Yuma did get commuted, Phoebe. After three. But I’m not a horse thief any more. I got decent. I got a chance to start over. You see—” His long strong fingers ran down the length of her tresses. “Some inmates revolted. Not me, never me. I deserved my sentence. Tremaine made me realize. Pa and Hezekiah, too. I stayed peaceful and obedient.” He stopped for a while, eyes black with bad memories. “But during the insurrection, I saved the warden from getting killed by a mob. Once the riots quelled, the territorial governor set me free as a reward.”

  “But—”

  “Phoebe, I had some help restituting my wrongs. Got a chance for a new life as a rancher. Time for a bride, kids. But decent gals won’t wed an outlaw.”

  “But you did your time. You’re forgiven. And you had such a good disguise.”

  “Still, an outlaw is an outlaw. All day I’ve been itching to confess.” His eyes turned their normal gray-blue. “
Before we struck those vows. But, I was afraid you’d…you’d think me a mudsill and—and leave me.”

  She took his hands. His pain, hers. Shared guilt and secrets, but most of all, shared love. Her heart bloomed. “Ronnie, you are redeemed. If you still want to marry me, I—well, I still want to marry you.”

  “Truth is, Phoebe,” he brought her up beside him again on the settee, “it weren’t me, doing the composing of all those letters. And the tintype ain’t me, either. Tremaine and I look identical, being twins. Him and Judith and Elspeth all wrote those fine letters proclaiming my love. I didn’t know. Until today. Not that I don’t love you. I do.” His arm slowly reached across her shoulders, and she cuddled into his hard form. “I am certain of it. I read all your letters fourteen times, in a row. Took me most of the day. And knowing how you felt, I just gave you my heart and my soul, too.”

  “But Margot wrote those letters.” Phoebe started to laugh so hard the divan shook. “And your identical twin? He’s the man I fell for?”

  “Seems like it.” Ronnie laughed, too, like a hymn of rejoicing. Secrets and guilt and deception, and most of all, their families’ love and good intentions, danced around the room like dust motes. “Seems we’ve both been hornswoggled. What do you think we should aim to do next?”

  “About Henry?”

  “Nope.” Ronnie shrugged against her like Henry was nothing. “Our Judge Nusskracker is a powerful jurist. He’ll fix things right. I meant…” He kissed her fingers one at a time. “I hate to say, but I mislike the thought of a forced marriage so soon. I mean, since we really aren’t who we—I mean they—said we are. And I reckon the church service is over by now. But I—” Ronnie’s voice softened so low she barely heard. “I sure don’t want to lose you soon as I found you.”

  “I don’t either, darling. How about we…” she hesitated and he said the next words out loud with her. “Court each other for a while.”

  “Like a proper couple.” His hot mouth nuzzled her neck. “And fall in love with each other all over again. For real, this time.”

  “Ronnie, it is real this time.”

  “I know, darlin’. Deep down. So I reckon one week’s time’s all we need. How about us becoming man and wife on New Year’s Eve? The celebrating after will be righteous, I promise. East Slope knows how to throw a fandango. And you’ll have time for Sissy to fix you up with a real wedding dress.”