The Thanksgiving Mail Order Bride (Holiday Mail Order Brides, Book Eight)

by Kit Morgan

  “Yes, that must be it,” Morgan agreed, chuckling nervously. “You’ve probably got me confused with another gentleman.”

  Daisy stared at him as anger took hold. Even stupefied by his looks, she wasn’t so dumbfounded that she couldn’t remember what was on the marriage contract. She remembered she’d set her satchel by the door. “Excuse me,” she said, and marched across the room to retrieve it. She snatched it up, took it to the counter, and began to rifle through the contents. She pulled out the contract, opened it and held it up in front of the man who looked as perplexed as she felt. “Are you Morgan James Tindle?”

  He nodded. “Yes, I am,” he replied warily. He looked at the contract, and his jaw dropped.

  “Oh my,” Mrs. Adams whispered. “I wonder … no, they wouldn’t have …”

  Mrs. Gail and Mrs. Edmonson looked at her without comprehension.

  Morgan, meanwhile, looked like he’d been poleaxed. He had a mail-order bride? How did this happen? Good grief, he certainly hadn’t sent away for …

  But of course he hadn’t. His mother, on the other hand … “Ladies … Miss Evers,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm. “Would you excuse me for a moment, please?” He left the storefront and hurried to the back of the building in order to find his mother.

  He marched down the hall to the stairs and took them two at a time. When he reached the landing, he stopped himself, took a deep breath, and opened and closed his hands a few times to help him calm down. This had to be his mother’s doing! Who else would be so rash? He took another deep breath and counted to ten before he burst into the parlor. “Mother?”

  He stopped short when he saw his mother seated on the sofa with his Aunt Eunice. Could this be her doing? “Mother,” he began again. “There’s a young woman downstairs who says …”

  “Who says she’s your mail-order bride?” his aunt finished. “Don’t worry, I’ve taken care of everything. She’ll be on the next stage out of here.”

  “You’ve done no such thing!” his mother snapped. “Morgan can decide for himself whether or not he wants to marry the girl.”

  “I didn’t even know there was a girl,” Morgan stated.

  “Well, now that you do, you can see for yourself if the two of you will suit.”

  “Nonsense,” Aunt Eunice said. “She’ll leave on the next stage, even if I have to pay for the ticket myself.”

  Morgan knew how controlling his aunt could be, and wondered why she was so adamant about getting rid of the girl, but first things first. “Mother, did you send away for a mail-order bride and not tell me?”

  His mother’s back went rigid. “Yes, I did. I did it because I love you.”

  He hated when she put things that way, partly because she was often right about her choices, and always because she was presumptuous about them. “You didn’t tell me because you loved me?” he asked skeptically. “This is hardly fair to me or to that poor girl!”

  “It worked with Pastor Adams, so why not you?

  “Because I’m your son!”

  “And he’s my pastor, my spiritual advisor. Would I do any less for my son?”

  Morgan groaned and rolled his eyes. “Mother, you know I love you, but I’d prefer to decide when I’m ready to get married.”

  “By the time you decide, I’ll be too old to enjoy grandchildren.”

  Morgan pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s ridiculous, Mother.”

  “I’ll go tell the little chit to be on her way.” Aunt Eunice announced as she stood.

  “No.” Morgan suddenly realized what the poor girl downstairs must be feeling, and held up a hand stop his aunt. “I’ll handle this. You sit and visit with Mother.”

  “Don’t trouble yourself, Morgan,” Aunt Eunice replied.

  “I’ve been troubled already …”

  “The little wretch downstairs isn’t worth it. I’ll set this to rights”

  Morgan’s stomach clenched. His aunt always did have a way with words, and they were usually the most hurtful ones. “Aunt Eunice, I said I would take care of it.” He spun on his heel and left the parlor.

  Downstairs in the mercantile, Mrs. Adams and the others were gathered at the counter. The mail-order bride was nowhere to be seen. “Where’d she go?” he asked, not bothering to hide the alarm in his voice.

  “She left, poor thing,” Mrs. Adams said.

  “Yes, she was very upset,” added Mrs. Gail. “We tried to stop her, but …”

  “She sure can run fast,” Mrs. Edmonson commented.

  “Oh good grief,” Morgan growled as he took off across the mercantile and out the double doors. He reached the street, looked up one way then down the other, but there was no sign of her. “Wonderful,” he said to himself. Now what was he going to do?

  Of course, he knew the right thing would be to go after her, sit her down and get this whole thing straightened out, if it could in fact be straightened. But the urge to march back upstairs and give his mother – and aunt – a good tongue-lashing pulled just as hard. But that wasn’t going to help matters, no matter how good it might feel. So, nothing for it, then – he’d simply have to hunt poor Miss Evers down and try to explain things as best he could. His mother may have gotten him into this mess, but he was going to do his best to get himself out it.

  As Morgan took off down the street, he hoped Mrs. Adams would leave her money on the counter while he went in search of his mail-order bride.

  Three

  Thankfully, it didn’t take Morgan long to find her. There were only so many places one could go in a town the size of Independence, and since she wasn’t in the mercantile, that left very few others to check. He thought first of the telegraph office, which also sold tickets for the stage, but figured a mail-order bride wouldn’t have enough money for stage-fare back to wherever she came from. So his first stop was at the local café.

  Sure enough, she was sitting at a corner table, sipping a cup of coffee. Morgan took a deep breath, crossed the room and sat in the chair opposite. The girl’s eyes widened, but she said nothing. “Miss …” Good heavens, I can’t remember her name … “I’m terribly sorry about this. It turns out my mother sent for you.”

  “I’ve figured that much out,” she told him flatly. She took another sip of her coffee and set the cup down. “I was not expecting any of this, I’ll have you know.”

  He held up a hand. “I understand …”

  “Do you really? Do you have any idea how far I’ve come?”

  He shook his head. He knew nothing about her. “No, I don’t. I admit that, and I’m sorry.”

  She took a shaky breath. “New Orleans.”

  He stared at her. She’d come all the way from Louisiana? This was worse than he’d thought – the poor thing must have been traveling for weeks. “I’m sorry,” was all he could manage.

  “So am I. The last leg of my journey was the worst, and now this.”

  “I do apologize, Miss…”

  “Evers,” she said. “Daisy Evers – not that it matters. You can’t even remember my name?”

  Morgan cringed. He was sure her name would stick with him for the rest of his life after this mess. “Miss Evers, I’m truly sorry you’ve had such a horrendous journey to get here, especially the last part as you say, but …”

  “But what, Mr. Tindle?” she said, her voice stern.

  Morgan looked at her, saw her eyes blazing, and took a deep breath. “But I want to make it up to you. I’ll not only pay for your stage-fare back to New Orleans, but I’ll give you extra money on top of it for all the trouble this has caused you.”

  She closed her eyes and rubbed both temples with her fingers. “This is giving me a horrible headache, Mr. Tindle, and your aunt hasn’t helped things.”

  “My aunt? What has she got to do with this?” he asked, then blanched. “Oh no … she spoke with you already?”

  She stopped her self-ministrations and gave him a sardonic look. “I rode on the stage with her from Portland to Independence.�
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  Morgan’s face drained of color. “Oh, I see,” he said, then swallowed. “You and Aunt Eunice on the same stagecoach … looks like I’m going to have to give you more than I thought to make up for this.”

  Miss Evers sighed wearily. “Right now, Mr. Tindle, I just want to enjoy a hot cup of coffee in peace. Would you please leave?”

  She was exhausted. He could see it in her posture and her pale skin, yet her cheeks were flushed in anger. He took a moment and tried to imagine himself in her position. “Perhaps you’d like to wire your family when you’re done drinking your coffee?”

  She looked at him a second time. “Mr. Tindle, I have no family. Coming here was to be the beginning of a new life for me. I can’t go back to New Orleans – there’s nothing there.”

  “But you’re from there,” he protested. “Surely you have friends, relatives …”

  “I just said that I don’t. I’m an orphan, Mr. Tindle. So no, there’s no one waiting for me in New Orleans with open arms of welcome.”

  He sat back in his chair, his jaw slack, and stared at her. What had his mother done? More to the point, what was he going to do? “You’re at least familiar with New Orleans, aren’t you?” He snapped his mouth shut. It was too late to take it back.

  “Mr. Tindle,” she said sharply, her lower lip beginning to tremble. “Please leave me alone.”

  His heart went out to her, while at the same time he wanted to throttle his mother. And maybe himself.

  “Excuse me.” They both looked up into the face of Winnie Adams. She carried the package he’d wrapped up for her at the mercantile. “I left the money on the counter for you, Mr. Tindle. Your mother was still upstairs. I’m afraid that there’s no one minding your store at the moment.”

  “Oh, good grief,” he said in a rush and stood. He looked at the pastor’s wife, then at Miss Evers, who stared numbly into her cup. “Look after her – please?” he mouthed silently to Mrs. Adams. She nodded in understanding and looked at the girl with compassion. He reached into a pocket, pulled out a few coins, and put them on the table. “Lunch is on me, Miss Evers, in case you haven’t eaten.” He turned back to Mrs. Adams. “As you’re aware, we have a problem, one that needs to be remedied as soon as possible. Would you mind keeping Miss Evers company, at least until I can get the mercantile taken care of?”

  “Not at all – go take care of your business. We’ll be here when you get back.”

  He smiled his thanks, nodded at Miss Evers – who wasn’t even looking at him – and hurried out of the café. He’d deal with his mother, get her downstairs to mind the store, then come back and get this whole mess settled. Perhaps then he’d be able to sleep that night.

  * * *

  “You don’t have to sit with me,” Daisy told the pastor’s wife. “I’d rather be left alone right now.”

  “I would think that right now is when you’d need someone with you the most. Call me Winnie, everyone else does.”

  Daisy let out a shaky breath and put both of her hands on the coffee cup. Its warmth seeped into her fingers to counterbalance the chill going up her spine. “What a horrible mess this is,” she said, giving the pastor’s wife a weak smile. “I’ve just had all my hopes and dreams crushed in one fell swoop.” Her lip trembled again, and she bit it to make it stop.

  Winnie reached across the table and touched her hand. “Don’t worry. It’s all going to work out, you’ll see. When I first came to this town, I went through the exact same thing.”

  Daisy fought to keep control of her emotions. “How so?”

  Winnie laughed. “It’s quite the story. My mother was very ill, and I’d been taking care of her for years and had never married. After she died, I became a mail-order bride to have a fresh start at life. But when I got here, I found out that my future husband, Luke, didn’t know I was coming.”

  “What happened?”

  “Well, three women in town thought Pastor Adams needed a wife, so they took it upon themselves to get him one. Problem was – stop me if this sounds familiar – they didn’t tell him. He didn’t find out until after we’d already met and started working together at the church.”

  “What?” Daisy asked in shock, and a hint of amusement. “How could he not find out?”

  “My three, um, benefactors – one of whom, incidentally, was Morgan Tindle’s mother – kept it a secret for as long as they could. When it did come out, I don’t know who was more upset about it, him or me. But we still got to know each other and fell in love. Now here we are.”

  “I’m happy for you – it’s a lovely story,” Daisy told her. “But what does it have to do with me?”

  “You mean, aside from Mrs. Tindle’s involvement? Well, if love could find a way with Luke and me, then why not with you and Mr. Tindle? You’re here now, and so is he.”

  Daisy looked away, unable to meet the woman’s eyes. She wasn’t about to grasp a false hope. “I think the difference here, Mrs. Adams, is that Mr. Tindle has no intention of marrying me, because he had no intention of ever getting a mail-order bride.”

  “Neither did Luke, on both counts.”

  “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I don’t see how any of this will work.”

  Winnie offered her a warm smile. “Then what will you do? Where will you go?”

  “That’s just it,” Daisy said as she leaned back in her chair. “I have no idea.” She closed her eyes against the tears that threatened. “I prayed before I came here and felt certain that this was what the Lord wanted me to do with my life. Not that I had much choice, mind you – New Orleans isn’t exactly hospitable to a girl like me.”

  “New Orleans?” Winnie gasped. “Is that where you’re from?”

  Daisy nodded. “Yes, I used a mail-order bride service from there.”

  “Really? Which one?”

  “The Ridgley Mail-Order Bridal Service.”

  Winnie’s hands flew to her mouth as she cried out. She quickly removed one and placed it on Daisy’s, who was clearly confused. “Eugena Ridgley?” she asked excitedly.

  “Yes, that’s the one.”

  “That’s my aunt! That’s who sent me here!”

  Daisy’s eyes widened at the news. “You’re kidding? Mrs. Ridgley is your aunt?”

  Winnie nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! Isn’t she wonderful?”

  Daisy had to agree. Even as sidetracked as Mrs. Ridgley had been during their business dealings, the woman was heartfelt and endearing.

  “Who escorted you to the train station, Jethro or Samson?” Winnie asked, still excited.

  “Jethro.”

  “Isn’t he a dear?”

  “From what little I know of him, yes, he is.” She released a long, slow breath as she stared once again at her cup.

  “It’s not as hopeless as you think,” Winnie told her, “so stop it.”

  Daisy looked up. “It shows that much?”

  Winnie nodded. “You must be the type who wears her heart on her sleeve.”

  “I try not to. It didn’t serve me very well in the orphanage.”

  “Do you mean Winslow?”

  “Yes, that’s the one. I didn’t spend much time there, though – only a few years, and they never did find out …” She looked away in guilt. “… my real age.”

  “They didn’t know how old you were? How could they not?”

  “There was some sort of a mix-up with the paperwork from the previous orphanage I was in. And then it burned down. Anyway, they thought I was a couple years younger than I am – sixteen instead of eighteen. I didn’t even know it until Mrs. Teeters, the woman who runs the orphanage, told me. Unfortunately, she told me the day before my eighteenth birthday. I didn’t have time to try to find a job, so she marched me straight down to Mrs. Ridgley’s office and I signed the contracts the same day. Now here I am.”

  “You poor thing,” Winnie said. “But don’t worry – we’ll figure something out whether you get married to Mr. Tindle or not, all right?”

 
; What choice did she have? Daisy looked at Winnie’s hand still holding her own. She let go of the cup and put a hand on top of hers. “Thank you … you don’t know how much I needed to hear that.”

  “Oh, I think I, of all people, would have some idea …”

  * * *

  Morgan entered the mercantile and, much to his relief, found it empty. His mother and aunt must still be upstairs. He certainly hoped no customers had come in while he was gone, but then if they had, they would’ve gotten what they needed and left their money on the counter. People in Independence were good that way; besides, Tindle’s was the only general store in town, so no one could afford to risk offending them by stealing.

  He went to the counter to check and, sure enough, there was a note with some money from Mrs. Peatman. She’d purchased some spools of thread and even wrote down the colors so he could take them out of inventory. “Thank you, Lord, that I live in a town full of honest people.”

  Well, almost full … He glanced at the ceiling and dreaded what he had to do. But no sense in putting it off – Miss Evers was waiting.

  Morgan headed up to his family’s living quarters, but when he got there the apartment was empty. Where was everybody? “Mother?” he called out. “Aunt Eunice?” Nothing. To make sure, he did a quick search of the rooms. His mother and aunt were gone, and his father was nowhere to be found either. He shook his head. “What a crazy day this is. Maybe I should’ve stayed in bed.”

  He turned and left his family’s lodgings and went back down to the mercantile. Somebody had to take care of the business, and it looked like it was going to be him. Unfortunately, this left Miss Evers at the café with Mrs. Adams, and how long was Mrs. Adams willing to stay there and chat? He knew she had other business to attend to – as a pastor’s wife, she always did. Next to his mother, Winnie Adams was probably the busiest woman in town. He hoped and prayed that someone would come into the mercantile, so he could send word to his father … provided that person knew where his father was …

  “Good grief,” he groaned and put on his store apron. Since he was stuck working, he might as well get some done.