Christmas Mail Order Angels: The complete 11 Volume Set

by Darlene Franklin

  *

  “Take your hands off my wife.” Alex slammed the door behind him. He’d seen enough through the front window and heard enough upon entering to know that he might have been wrong in his assumption of Phoebe’s knowledge of the diamonds. “How dare you speak so inappropriately to Phoebe.”

  “Wife seems such a relative term.”

  The second Rochester unhanded her, Phoebe rushed to Alex’s side. “He’s mad.”

  Rochester patted her cheek on his way to the door. “Remember what I said, my dear. Marry me, hand over the dress, or see a physician.” He sailed out the door, leaving the scent of an overpowering sweet cologne behind.

  Alex shoved aside the desire to follow the man and knock him to the ground. “Are you all right?” Alex held Phoebe at arm’s length.

  “I’m fine. Where did you go? You were gone for hours.” Sadness clouded her eyes. “Why would he say such a thing?”

  He wanted to kiss the sadness away, but a niggling feeling that she might not be totally truthful held him at bay. Should he be upset that she might have known about the diamonds? Should he care that she might have had plans all along to dissolve their marriage? It had been his idea to have the trial period, after all.

  He let his hands fall from her shoulders. “I took a walk. It’s very cold outside.”

  The look in her eyes told him she expected more of an explanation. He didn’t know what to tell her. He’d walked until his feet had gone numb, running through his mind about whether he wanted her to stay or go. Whether she was telling the truth about the diamonds. He was no closer to knowing what he wanted than when he had left.

  He ran his gaze over her beautiful face again. Yes, he wanted her to stay. Even if she had lied about the diamonds.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked. “I can warm up lunch.”

  “I’m starving.” He forced a smile. “Have you eaten?”

  She shook her head.

  “Then, we’ll eat together.” He gave her a courtly bow, waving her up the stairs ahead of him.

  While Alex washed up, Phoebe heated the stew and dished up bowlfuls. It wasn’t until they were seated across from each other that he returned to the subject of Rochester’s visit.

  “I don’t want that man stepping foot anywhere near you.” Alex stirred his spoon in his bowl. “For now, I think it best you remain upstairs.”

  “Like a prisoner?”

  “No.” He sighed. “I don’t think he’ll stop at hurting you.”

  “Shall I give him the dress?” Tears shimmered in her eyes. “It isn’t worth it.”

  “The diamonds.”

  “What if he shoots you? He’s a good shot. I’ve seen him at the range.”

  It warmed him to know she cared whether he lived or died, but a yard of satin and lace wasn’t worth the headache. The presence of the diamonds changed that way of thinking. “I thought of replacing the diamonds with beads, but that would take more time than we have, and once Rochester realized the substitution, he’d be back more dangerous than ever.”

  Who would have thought that mild-mannered Alex Vaughn would be involved in such a dangerous feat? He had to admit to a bit of enjoyment. He almost felt like a spy for some secret organization.

  “What did he mean by seeing a physician?”

  Her face turned the color of a ripe tomato. “He will ask for a court order to determine whether or not we have … uh … consummated our union.”

  Alex’s mouth dried up. His heart threatened to burst free of his chest. “I’m not totally sure that’s even possible. I can ask Homer.”

  “No!” Her head whipped up. “I’ll die from shame.”

  A nerve above his left eye started to twitch. He crossed his arms. “We have a decision to make. I don’t condone divorce, Phoebe. If not consummating will shame you now, it will shame you later.”

  “I know.”

  He had to lean close to hear her. “Am I that repulsive to you?” He asked, placing his hand over hers.

  “To the contrary.” She raised her head. “I thought you didn’t want me.”

  “I’m a man. You’re a beautiful woman.” What more was there to say? Obviously a lot, from the pained look on her face. “What?”

  “Nothing.” She sighed and stood. “I’ve decided to stay in Angel Vale for as long as you will have me.” She turned, then glanced over her shoulder with eyes that threatened to drown him in their depths.

  He tried to swallow, but with no moisture in his mouth, it was impossible.

  She tilted her head, giving him a clear view of her lovely neck.

  She reached up and pulled the pins from her hair. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen the heavy locks fall down her back, but it was the first time she’d given him the invitation to touch. He lifted a strand and brought it to his face, his eyes seeking hers.

  “Are you sure?”

  She nodded and took his hand. “Yes.”

  9

  Thanksgiving came and went with no sign of Benedict Rochester. Phoebe stood at the window of the shop, listening to the sounds her husband made as he created his beauties. The small clucks of his tongue, the murmurs. She didn’t think it possible to love a man so intensely. While they’d taken the important step of consummating their union, she longed to hear him say those three very important words.

  She supposed she could be the first to speak the words out loud, but was that proper? She glanced over her shoulder. There was no doubt Alex cared for her, but love? She just wasn’t sure what a man in love acted like. He was kind, patient, and mannerly. Despite stories to the contrary, the physical act of marriage was quite pleasant. Most likely, because of Alex.

  He must have felt her gaze, because he looked up and smiled, his eyes big behind those ridiculous glasses. Then, he returned to his work without a word.

  Turning back to the window, she placed a hand over her flat stomach and prayed that God would bless her and Alex with a child.

  Arms wrapped around her from behind. Alex nuzzled her neck. “What are you looking at for so long?”

  “The brides wandering up and down the sidewalk, bundled against the cold.” She smiled. “Here I am, warm in my husband’s arms.”

  “And happy?”

  She leaned into him. “Mmm.”

  He planted a kiss on her neck and released her, no doubt to return to his work.

  The only thing marring the tender moment was the stony look on Benedict’s face as he glared from across the street. Even from that distance anger radiated from him.

  Phoebe fiddled with the lace around the collar of her dress. It would be so much easier to hand over the diamonds. They meant nothing to her, other than headache and danger. But, Alex said he might have let them go had the man requested instead of trying intimidation.

  Why had Mrs. Rochester sewn them to the dress? Had she meant for Phoebe to have them, or were they merely an oversight, forgotten when she’d passed away? Oh, how she wished she could sit beside the old woman’s rocking chair once more and ask her so many questions.

  After the death of her mother and her father’s escape into a whiskey bottle, Phoebe never thought she’d find another mother figure. Then, she’d met Mrs. Rochester. Three years later, she was without a dear friend and a job. Now, she was married. Strange how life tossed out surprises.

  Benedict tipped his hat and strolled in the direction of the saloon.

  Phoebe turned from the window and pulled a rag from the pocket of her apron. She wiped down the small table where she sketched, then dusted the jewelry case. When finished, she removed her apron, hung it on a hook in a small alcove behind Alex’s work bench, and grabbed her thick shawl.

  “I’m going for a walk while the sun is shining,” she said.

  He glanced up. “Be careful. Don’t leave the main road. I don’t trust Rochester. We may not have seen him the last few days, but I’ll bet my boots he’s still around.”

  She nodded, leaving out the fact she’d seen him just moments ago staring at
the shop. She had no intention of going far, but wanted to see whether she had had a response to her telegram about her books and to see whether the store carried anything she could purchase as a Christmas gift for Alex.

  A blast of cold air slapped her in the face the second she left the warmth of the shop. She tightened the shawl around her and quickly walked the short distance to the mercantile. Inside, it was pleasantly warm, smelling of pickles and wood smoke. Two elderly gentlemen bent over a checkerboard next to the stove.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Vaughn,” Mr. Underwood, the owner, said with a smile. “How may I help you?”

  “Would you have a telegram for me by any chance? Mail perhaps?”

  “I do. Both, actually.” He handed her the telegram and an envelope. “Anything else?”

  She nodded. “I’m looking for a gift for my husband. Something unique.” She turned and glanced at the shelves of sundries and mining equipment. “I’m afraid I might have waited too late.”

  “He’s always sketching his jewelry, right?”

  “Yes.” She turned back to him. “Do you have something?”

  “A miner ordered a leather-bound notebook a few months back and died before he could claim it. No one else has expressed an interest in it.” He pulled a parcel from under the counter and peeled back the protective paper.

  A deep brown leather book, bound with lighter strips of leather, peeked from under the plain paper. “It’s beautiful. How much?”

  “Two dollars.”

  “So much?” She bit her lip in thought. What could she possibly barter with? If only she had her books. Wait.

  She opened the telegram from Mrs. Rochester’s daughter, Alice.

  Books on their way. Stop. Watch out for Benedict. Stop. He is upset about mother giving you diamonds. Stop. He will only gamble them away. Stop. Mother left him plenty in allotments. Stop. If you see him, tell him I said to come home. Stop.

  She slipped the telegram into her pocket. “Will you take a leather-bound Bible in trade?” She hated to part with the one given to her by Mrs. Rochester, but would rather part with the expensive book rather than the simple one her mother had given her on her sixteenth birthday. “It has illustrations.”

  He pondered the idea for a moment, then nodded. “It’s a deal. Take the journal and bring me the Bible when you can.”

  “I’m expecting a shipment of books. Hopefully before snow blocks the railroad. You’ll have it the moment I do.” Feeling quite pleased with herself for purchasing Alex a gift without using his credit, she tucked the book under her arm and hurried home.

  *

  “Mail.” Phoebe tossed an envelope in front of Alex and bounded up the stairs before he could ask about the package under her arm.

  He glanced at the envelope, realized he couldn’t read it through his glasses, and removed them before retrieving the letter from his former pastor. Finally. But, now that he and Phoebe were husband and wife in every way, the letter might not be as important.

  He took the letter to the table next to the window and settled in the chair to spend some time with the most godly man he knew. The pastor’s handwriting filled three pages.

  My Dearest Alex,

  First of all, God bless you on your marriage. I am thrilled beyond measure that you have found a good woman in that out-of-the-way-place you’ve chosen to live. Yes, I still bear a small grudge that you moved away instead of becoming a pastor. I’m joshing you.

  If I knew the answers to making a woman happy, I’d be the richest man in the world. Can any of us lowly men understand such amazing creatures? I think not. That’s part of the joy in marrying one.

  If you truly want to understand women more and love your wife as God intended, I suggest you read the Song of Songs by the wisest man, Solomon. You’ll get no better advice.

  Alex grinned as the rest of the pages were filled with local news of the residents of his hometown. When he’d finished, he folded the letter back into the envelope and slid it into his pocket. The Song of Songs? He couldn’t remember spending much time in those particular pages.

  No one had had much faith in him when he’d left his home in Massachusetts to prospect for gold. Now, he owned his business, small though it was. Come spring, he’d place advertisements in the eastern newspapers about his jewelry.

  He glanced at the ceiling above him as the sound of Phoebe’s footsteps tapped across the upper floor. Not only was he quite comfortable in his own right, it turned out that he’d married a wealthy woman. He grinned. Life was good, and he was blessed.

  He pushed to his feet and glanced out the window. Benedict Rochester stood toe-to-toe with another man in the middle of the street. While both men were yelling, Alex couldn’t hear what they were saying. Wind kicked up the dust and carried it away, along with their words.

  It was tempting to go out and see what other trouble Rochester was causing, but Alex thought it wise to stay as far away from the man as possible. It didn’t bode well that he was still in town. If he didn’t leave soon, the man would be stuck in Angel Vale for the winter, and a thorn in Alex’s side for months to come.

  “Lunch!”

  He chuckled. He loved the way his refined-looking wife yelled down the stairs at mealtimes, like she was calling in the field hands. It almost made him wish he were coming in from plowing.

  He bounded up the stairs with the enthusiasm of someone much younger than his twenty-eight years and planted a big kiss on his wife’s cheek. She blushed prettily and waved him away with a wooden spoon.

  “You shouldn’t play around with a woman next to a hot stove, Mr. Vaughn.”

  “But I can’t resist a kiss from you, Mrs. Vaughn.” He laughed and sat at the table.

  “Very well.” She placed a thick soup in front of him. Plump dumplings floated on top.

  Her purchasing the cookbook was the second best thing that had ever happened to him. Maybe third. Marrying her had moved to number one, sending owning his own shop to second place.

  “I spotted Rochester outside. He hasn’t left town after all.”

  She sighed, her smile fading. “I got a telegram from my employer’s daughter, Alice Rochester. She says Benedict gambles away every cent he has and is left with a monthly stipend. The diamonds were not an accident. Mrs. Rochester meant for me to have them.”

  “What will you do with them?”

  “What will we do, you mean.” She sat across from him. “What would you like?” She propped her chin in her hand.

  “I’d like to build you a house.”

  “Then, that’s what we’ll do.” She dipped her spoon in her soup, leaving him feeling as if he could fly.

  10

  “I’m going to the mercantile to see if my books came in.” Phoebe smiled at Alex as she wrapped her cloak around her shoulders. She needed to fulfill her part of the bargain with Jake Underwood. Christmas was three days away, and, she needed to do it without her husband getting suspicious.

  “Don’t be gone long.” He glanced up from his desk. “The snow is really starting to come down.”

  “I won’t.” It was nice to have someone worry about her.

  She stepped outside and blinked against the snow swirling around her feet and stinging her face. She thanked God the mercantile was close and practically ran to the safety of the store.

  “Did my crate come in?” she asked, shaking the snow from her shawl.

  “Well, good morning to you, too, Mrs. Vaughn.” Mr. Underwood grinned from behind the counter. “And, yes, it did.”

  She clapped her hands. “Let’s get our agreement taken care of and I’ll send Alex over for the crate in a while.”

  Mr. Underwood pried open the top of the crate. “There’s a lot of books in here.”

  “I love to read. I’ve been absolutely lost without them.” She retrieved the thick, leather-bound Bible and opened it. Between the cover and the first page was a letter. She folded it and tucked it into her pocket. She’d read it later. “Here you go. Thank you very m
uch.”

  “My pleasure doing business with you, Mrs. Vaughn.” He smiled. “Tell Alex I said howdy.”

  “I will.” Grinning because she’d managed to procure the perfect Christmas gift for her husband without spending his money, she stepped back into the blustery weather.

  As she passed the small open area between the mercantile and the jewelry shop, a hand clamped over her mouth and yanked her between the buildings. She struggled to fight free, but an arm snaked around her middle and pulled her off her feet. No matter how she fought, she couldn’t bite the hand that held her or connect her kicking feet with the body behind her.

  Something hard pressed into her side. “I got no qualms about pulling the trigger.”

  Benedict! She screamed behind his hand.

  “I’m going to release you,” he said. “If you scream, I will march into that shop and shoot your husband where he sits. Nod if you understand.”

  She nodded.

  He released her and stepped back, keeping a pistol aimed at her belly. “Now, you’re going to walk ahead of me into those woods.”

  “It’s storming, Benedict. We’ll freeze.”

  “I’ve a cabin tucked back in there. Then, I’m going to write your husband a note, offering to exchange you for the diamonds.”

  “The diamonds are mine. Your mother gave them to me. She left you a stipend. Alice said so. If you didn’t gamble—”

  “My business is mine. Now walk.”

  Her heart as numb as her feet, Phoebe hunched over and stepped into what was quickly becoming a blizzard. Her captor was insane! They wouldn’t survive an hour in such a storm. At least Alex was safe. She’d rather die along with Benedict, than have Alex take her place. She knew without a doubt, he’d try to switch with her, offering his life instead.

  Oh, why hadn’t she confessed her love to him? How silly to think he should say it first. Now she may never have the chance. She’d die without him ever knowing how he had captured her heart in his tender hands, or that she didn’t regret for one moment marrying him.