Christmas Mail Order Angels: The complete 11 Volume Set

by Darlene Franklin

  “Fine!”

  Hadn’t she wanted work to do? More confused than ever, Alex headed out into the slow-falling snow and took the ten steps needed to enter the mercantile. “Any mail for me?”

  “A book.” The young woman behind the counter smiled and handed him a brown paper wrapped parcel. “But, I think it’s for your wife.”

  Alex turned the parcel over in his hands. “This all?”

  “Oh.” She turned and grabbed a letter. “This goes with it.”

  The letter was addressed to Phoebe Ross, not Phoebe Vaughn. It must be important. He tipped his hat at the girl and rushed home, praying the letter didn’t contain bad news.

  7

  “Phoebe?”

  She glanced up from the table where she made adjustments to the sketch of the daisy necklace. She took the envelope and package that Alex held out to her. A smile spread across her face as she unwrapped a copy of Around the World in Eighty Days by Jules Verne. She ran her hand over the leather cover. “It’s from the estate of the woman I used to work for.” How precious the cost. They didn’t have the money to send such a thing.

  “I didn’t know you enjoyed reading.” Alex sat across from her. “You didn’t bring any books with you.”

  “They were too heavy and took up too much space in my chest.” Oh, how it had pained her to leave such precious items behind.

  “Is there someone we can contact to ship them here?”

  “Mrs. Rochester’s daughter was always kind to me. We could ask her.” As long as she didn’t have to have contact with Benedict.

  “Write out the telegram and I’ll send it right away.”

  Just when Phoebe was convinced her husband had no idea how to relate to her, he went and did something so kind, it brought tears to her eyes. She smiled through them. “Thank you.” She scribbled the information and slid it across the table before taking a closer look at the envelope. Rochester! Her heart sank.

  “Is something wrong?” Alex reached across the table and laid his hand over hers.

  “I can’t imagine what could be wrong. Mrs. Rochester has passed away. This letter is from her son.” Phoebe shuddered. “He asked me to marry him and grew quite angry when I refused.”

  “I think you should open the letter.” A muscle ticked in Alex’s jaw as he straightened.

  Phoebe opened the envelope and withdrew a single sheet of the cream-colored stationary the Rochesters used for business correspondence. Her eyes scanned the page. She gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth, raising her gaze to Alex’s. “Benedict is accusing me of stealing the wedding dress. He said I forced his mother to leave it to me in her Will.” She shook her head. “Mrs. Rochester gave it to me the day before she died. I know she wanted me to have it.”

  “Do you have a copy of the Will?” Alex leaned forward, his elbows on the table.

  “No. It’s only a dress. What would Benedict want with it?” He was doing this to get back at her for refusing his proposal. Well, it wouldn’t work. She no longer needed the dress. It could be shipped back immediately. “But, that’s not the worse part. He’s coming here to demand restitution. We need to telegraph him and let him know I’m returning the dress.”

  “Absolutely not.” Alex shook his head. “The dress is yours. It means something to you. I have no problem paying for my wife’s wedding gown.”

  There he went being kind again. How was she ever going to cope if he didn’t want to continue their marriage past Christmas?

  “Thank—”

  The bell over the door jangled. In strolled Benedict Rochester, wearing a fancy pin-striped suit and a sinister smile.

  Phoebe jumped to her feet. “I only just received your letter.”

  Alex stood and placed himself at her side. “I’m Alex Vaughn, Phoebe’s husband.” He thrust out his hand.

  Benedict sneered and did not return the gesture. “I don’t believe it. A frigid woman like Phoebe would never wed a stranger.”

  “That is where you are wrong, my friend.” Alex put his arm around her waist and pulled her close.

  Benedict sighed. “Annul the marriage, dear, and return home where you belong.” He brushed drops of snow from his shoulders. “You don’t belong in this … town. Mother prepared you for life as a Rochester. The gown you stole was to be your wedding gown for me, not some backwoods cowboy.”

  “I was educated in Boston.” Alex’s grip tightened. “I’m a jewelry designer, not a cowboy.”

  “Pardon my mistake.” Benedict’s lip curled. “I will return in the morning for your decision, Phoebe. Either marry me or be arrested for thievery.”

  “I will pay you for the dress.” Alex stepped forward.

  “I have no need of your money.”

  “Stop.” Phoebe placed a hand on Alex’s chest. “I am already married, Benedict. What do you not understand?”

  “Then, get a divorce, my dear. I’m sure if the courts know how distraught you were over Mother’s death, they’ll grant you one easily enough. After all, women are fickle creatures and prone to impulsive acts.” He tipped his hat and strode outside.

  “What am I going to do?” Phoebe clutched Alex’s shirt.

  “We’ll fight him. He can’t force you to marry him. Let’s go speak with Homer. He’s the only legal voice we have in Angel Vale.”

  Fear, white hot and liquid, ran through her. Her hands trembled as she grabbed her shawl from a hook by the door and followed Alex to Homer Reynolds’s office. “Won’t he be closed for the day?”

  “We’ll pound on the door until he answers. His sweet wife will let us in.” Alex smiled reassuringly down at her. “Don’t worry. Benedict has no grounds here.”

  Phoebe glanced to where the other man pushed through the doors of the saloon. Without a hotel in town, that was the only place to rent a room. She hoped the lack of amenities in town would send him quickly packing, taking her new worry with him.

  Alex knocked on the door. Moments later, Mrs. Reynolds, a pleasant expression of greeting on her face, answered the door.

  “Mr. Vaughn and his lovely wife. Come in.” She stepped aside and waved them in. “I pray that married life is agreeing with you?”

  “Yes, ma’am. We’d like to speak with Homer, if that’s all right,” Alex said.

  “Please, have a seat. He’s just finishing dinner.”

  Phoebe sighed. Once again, she’d let other activities interfere with her duties. Alex must be starving.

  They took their seats in front of the same desk before which they had spoken their vows. No longer riddled with confusion and uncertainty, Phoebe studied the Reynoldses’s home.

  The room they waited in held nothing more than a desk and three chairs, a lamp and a bookcase. It lacked a feminine touch. Phoebe leaned and peered through the door. The parlor was strictly doilies, lace, and floral curtains. The two rooms were as opposite as the husband and wife who occupied them.

  Alex reached over and took her hand. “Don’t be nervous. We’ll fix this.”

  She nodded, grateful she wasn’t alone. Whether their marriage was real in every way or not, they both took their vows seriously. Phoebe, for one, would act as Alex’s partner for as long as he wanted.

  *

  Alex squeezed Phoebe’s hand, wishing he could stop her trembling. Kiss away the worry line between her eyes. Let her know he was there in whatever capacity she needed. But, other than standing by her side, there was little he could do until she stated whether or not she wanted an annulment.

  He stood when Homer entered the room, regaining his seat when the man waved him down.

  “Don’t tell me the marriage isn’t working,” Homer said, scowling.

  “No, that isn’t why we’re here.” Alex tightened his hold on Phoebe’s hand when she tried to pull free. “We have a problem we hope you can help us with.”

  “Don’t make me wait all day. I rushed through supper for this.”

  Alex explained the situation about the dress and Rochester’s threat. When he’
d finished, he settled back in his chair to wait for Homer’s opinion.

  “It’s his word against hers in regards to the dress,” he said. “He can’t force you to get a divorce. The only thing the man can do at this point is make life miserable for you. It would help if you could find someone to testify that the dress was to your wife.”

  “His sister,” Phoebe said. “We’ll add it to the telegram.”

  “Blackmail is against the law,” Homer stated. “I’d pay a visit to the sheriff, if I were you.” He stood. “Looks like we’re done. No payment needed. I wouldn’t know what to charge for five minutes of my time.” Shaking his head, he left them to see themselves out.

  Alex chuckled. The man’s gruff demeanor always amused him. He might not be socially skilled, but he knew his legal information well enough. He turned to Phoebe.

  “Let’s go send that telegram.” He kept Phoebe close to his side, sharing his body warmth as they moved to the mercantile, which also acted as the post office and telegraph office.

  “Should we visit the sheriff tonight?” Phoebe asked.

  “Let’s wait until morning. There isn’t a lot Rochester can do before then.” He opened the door and ushered her inside out of the cold.

  She glanced up at him with such trust in her eyes, he prayed he wouldn’t let her down. If she’d look at him every minute of every day, just that way, he’d do anything in his power to keep her safe and happy.

  He ran his thumb down her cheek. “I’ll take care of it. Trust me.”

  She nodded, her eyes wide. “I do.”

  They sent the telegram, paid the required funds, and traipsed to the newly opened Angel Vale Eatery. Alex opened the door, again letting Phoebe enter first. Once inside, they stomped the snow from their boots and waited to be seated.

  “That’s one of the women I arrived with.” Phoebe gave a small smile to the pretty woman behind the counter. “I think her name is Henrietta. She used to be a cook.”

  “Angel Vale is changing. For the better, in my opinion.” Alex grinned and followed a man to a corner table.

  “I’m sorry for not having dinner prepared,” Phoebe said, sitting down and spreading a napkin across her lap. “I intended to warm up what we had left over from lunch.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Now we have lunch for tomorrow.” He glanced around, scowling when he spotted Rochester at a table across the room.

  The man curled his lip and turned his attention back to the menu. Phoebe was beautiful and all, but the man was wealthy enough to have any woman he wanted. Why go to such lengths to get his hands on Phoebe’s dress? There was more to the story than Alex knew.

  He studied his wife’s face. Did she hide secrets behind those gorgeous eyes, or was she really just looking for a better life and he got lucky? He shrugged. The arrival of Benedict raised suspicions that had no place in Alex’s mind. He’d rather enjoy a nice dinner with his wife. There wouldn’t be many opportunities for them to venture out of their small home.

  Last winter, Alex had occupied himself designing jewelry in preparation for opening his shop. This year, months stretched before him. Months with little to do other than more sketches until the weather cleared enough to mine again. He’d recently placed an order for some precious stones to add to his creations. If they arrived before Angel Vale was snowed in, he’d have a bit of work to do.

  Otherwise, if Phoebe decided next month not to continue with their marriage, and moved to the big building erected for the brides who had chosen to wait before wedding their prospective grooms, he’d be the loneliest man in Angel Vale. If she did stay, he’d spend the cold winter getting to know his bride better. Then, if God smiled upon him, the next winter they might have a baby to raise.

  “You look pleased with yourself,” Phoebe said over the top of her menu.

  “Just thinking of the winter months ahead.”

  “I hope I can get the books shipped in before then.” She glanced out the window.

  “This flurry will melt away. We have a few weeks before the heavy snow arrives. Probably by Christmas.” Alex decided to go with the stew, a filling meal for a cold day.

  He watched as Rochester headed for the door. He stopped and tipped his hat at Alex. The man reminded him of a dog he’d seen once that had gone rabid. No life in its eyes.

  Alex would have to stay on his toes to keep the man away from Phoebe. At least until he determined whether or not Rochester actually had a reason for following Phoebe to Angel Vale.

  8

  Phoebe pumped water, grateful to Alex for thinking ahead and wrapping the pump in hay and pieces of an old quilt. Still, the morning was frigid and fetching water an unpleasant chore.

  She glanced up at the one window in their living quarters. She could have asked Alex to fetch the water, but it had been her duty since day one. Why hand it over just because the weather turned cold?

  Bucket full and hands red and chapped, Phoebe hoisted a bucket in each hand and tried not to splash her skirt. It would freeze before she reached the door. Despite her care, the hem of her skirt was frozen and heavy as she trudged up the stairs.

  She stopped at the sight of Alex digging through her trunk. “What are you doing?”

  “Oh.” He jerked upright, her wedding gown in his hands.

  “You’re crushing my dress.” She set the buckets on the floor and reached for her gown.

  He held it out of her reach. “There has to be a reason Rochester is so bent on retrieving this frilly thing.”

  “He’s only upset because I refused his proposal.” Was it so hard to believe that she was desirable enough to send a man over the edge?

  “It’s more than that.” He spread the gown over the bed and plucked at the glass beads on the front. “I assume the Rochesters are wealthy?”

  “Yes. Very.” She tried again to grab the dress, but Alex stepped between her and the bed. How dare he rummage through her things and refuse to give them back?

  “I wonder …” He tossed the dress over his shoulder and dashed downstairs.

  Phoebe thundered after, trying not to trip over her sodden skirt or slip in the puddle the melting ice from her hem had left on the floor. “What are you looking for?”

  “A reason for him to travel to Angel Vale for a dress.” He put on his magnifying glasses and moved the lamp close, setting it on the fabric.

  “Don’t burn it!” She moved the lantern back.

  He peered at her, his eyes owlishly large behind the lenses. “Why are you worried about me getting a closer look?”

  “What?” She stepped back. “I’m not worried about anything, other than you ruining my wedding gown.”

  He made a noise in his throat and bent back over the bodice of the dress. “Just as I thought.” He straightened and removed his glasses. “These aren’t glass beads. They’re diamonds.”

  “Diamonds?” Her blood drained to her feet.

  “You mean to tell me you were unaware?”

  “Of course, I was. Had I known, do you think I would have traveled to Angel Vale and married a stranger?” She snatched the dress to her chest and smiled. “Mrs. Rochester had quite the sneaky way of giving me more than just the dress.” The dear woman. No wonder Benedict wanted it returned.

  Alex’s face had gone stony. “You were willing enough to agree to a marriage in name only. Perhaps you intend to leave for the city with your riches the moment the snow melts.”

  She shook her head. “No. I’m sorry. That wasn’t what I meant at all.” She reached for him, but he stepped back out of reach. “Please. I’m in shock, is all.”

  “I need some time alone.” He grabbed his coat from a peg next to the door and rushed outside.

  Tears filled Phoebe’s eyes. She hunched over the dress and let them fall. She’d managed to undo in one minute what it had taken weeks to build. He would never love her now. Tomorrow was Thanksgiving. She would be hard pressed to find something to be thankful for.

  She made her way upstairs and folded the dr
ess back into the chest before throwing herself across the bed. “Oh, God, hear my prayer. Heal the hurt I’ve done to Alex. Let him love me.” She pulled the pillow over her face and sobbed.

  When her tears were spent, she splashed some of the water she had carried up over her face and changed into a fresh skirt. Alex still hadn’t returned to their room by the time she finished washing the breakfast dishes. She set some bread to rise and went downstairs.

  The sign on the door still showed they were closed. She flipped it to read open, not really expecting customers on such a frigid day. At least not until closer to Christmas.

  She sat at the table and pulled her sketchpad to her. She would design jewelry while she waited for her husband to come home.

  An hour passed and still no sign of him. She headed upstairs, put the bread into the oven to bake, and checked the pantry for tomorrow’s feast. She was as prepared as she could be. A small turkey would be delivered in the morning, plucked and ready for roasting. Potatoes sat in a bowl on the table, and jars of vegetables rested next to the stove.

  The noon meal came and went and still Alex didn’t return.

  Phoebe folded her arms on the table, rested her head, and cried some more tears. Spent, she got up, cleared the food from the table, and settled into the one rocking chair in the corner to read.

  The bell downstairs jingled. She bolted to her feet and rushed to the shop, hoping, praying, it was Alex returning. She stopped and frowned at the sight of Benedict.

  “Leave.” She pointed to the door. “You are not welcome here.”

  “Where’s your husband?”

  “Running errands.”

  Benedict stepped closer until she felt his breath on her face, spelled the liquor. He tilted her chin until she looked at him. “You don’t have the look of a wife. You still have the innocence of a maiden.” He grinned. “If you haven’t consummated your marriage, it will be easy enough to annul.”

  She slapped him, the sound seeming to echo through the shop. “You are absurd and drunk!”

  He grabbed her arm, his fingers digging into her flesh. “I can have a court order you to be examined by a physician. Or,” his lip curled, “you give me the dress.”