Mail-Order Bride Ink: Dear Mr. Vander

by Kit Morgan

  Sophie stood as well. “Are you sure it’s all right to leave?”

  Bernice glanced at the women chatting away at the front of the church. “I don’t think anyone’s going to miss us. Besides, they don’t look like they’re working on anything right now.”

  “No, they don’t,” Sophie agreed with a tiny smile. “What do you suppose the topic of conversation is?”

  “Jasper Munson, of course,” Bernice said as she motioned Sophie into the aisle. “Let’s go.”

  They walked to Main Street and straight to the café. Thankfully there was no sign of Fletcher anywhere, for which Sophie was eternally grateful. He had her so flustered earlier she didn’t think she could take seeing him again so soon, especially since all she could think about was that he’d fooled her into thinking he was a man of good character – and that kiss. Clearly he knew what it took to sweep a girl off her feet, the cad. She fumed just thinking about it.

  In fact, she fumed right until she heard the words … “You’re hired!” Mr. Gruber, the owner of the café, said with relief. “We’ve been swamped for weeks! Poor Darcy’s on the verge of collapse by the end of her shift.”

  Sophie looked at Mr. Gruber in shock. “You mean, I’m the only one to apply for the position?”

  “Yep. Everyone in town that needs a job has a job. Anyone else old enough to work here is only around for the summer months, then they head back to college or farm work.”

  “My goodness,” Sophie said. “I had no idea.” Indeed, luck was with her.

  They spent a few more minutes discussing the details; her first shift (which would start tomorrow morning) and when she’d be paid. She was happy to discover Mr. Gruber provided his employees with one meal a shift, so she’d eat for free. She wanted to be out of the Vanders’ hair as soon as possible, and if that meant one meal a day was all she got at first, then so be it. At least she wouldn’t be a bother anymore.

  Okay, that wasn’t it – why lie to herself? At least Fletcher wouldn’t be a bother to her anymore. “Thank you Mr. Gruber!” she said happily. “Thank you very much! I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “I’m looking forward to it. Come to think of it, can you cook?”

  She looked at Bernice, then her new employer. “Yes, but I don’t know if I’m good enough for your customers.”

  “I’ll be the judge. I do most of the cooking, but if you could help me out that would be a godsend. I’ll even up your pay.”

  Sophie smiled at her good fortune. Thank the Lord! “I’ll do my best.”

  “Perfect! Until tomorrow.” He smiled, turned and headed back to the kitchen.

  “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Bernice asked.

  Sophie shook her head. “I have a job,” she said in wonder.

  “Yes, you’re on your way. Next, you’ll get yourself a place to stay. But first let’s speak with your hosts and let them know.”

  Sophie nodded. “Yes, of course. I hope they’re all right with it.”

  “Of course they’ll be. The Vanders are some of the nicest people I know. They’ll be delighted to hear that you’re staying here.”

  Yes, but will Fletcher be happy about it? She closed her eyes against the thought. Why worry about what he thought? He didn’t want her helping him at this point anyway … until he’d decided to work his wiles on her. Well, she’d just have to make sure he didn’t work on anything else but Mr. Munson’s murder. That ought to keep him busy, with or without her help. Now that she had a job, she wouldn’t have the time anyway. Thank Heaven for small favors!

  “We’d better get back to the church,” Bernice said.

  Sophie suddenly straightened. “The church! Oh dear, I won’t be able to be on the decorating committee anymore.”

  Bernice laughed. “Why, because you have a job? Don’t think you’re getting off the hook that easily. Trust me, Mercy Vander will have you doing something to help out. Remember, you’re still staying there.”

  “Oh heavens, yes.” Sophie giggled. “The woman is a dear, and I do still want to help out. I just hope I’m not too tired after working all day in the café.”

  Bernice took her hand and gave it a pat. “Knowing Mrs. Vander, she’ll have you painting decorations from bed if she has to.”

  Sophie laughed and tried to picture herself cutting out paper flowers in her nightdress. Things were looking up and she had a feeling everything would be fine now. All she had to do was make sure she avoided Fletcher Vander at all costs. That, unfortunately, would be easier said than done.

  By the time Sophie and Bernice returned to the church, Mercy’s small army of volunteers was in full swing. But it wasn’t the Fourth of July Celebration’s colorful decorations they were working on – it was signs. “What’s this?” Bernice asked as they entered the sanctuary.

  “Oh, there you are,” Mercy said as she spied them. “I’m so glad you’re here. We need all the help we can get.”

  “Mrs. Vander,” Bernice said as she looked around. “What is everyone doing?”

  “Oh, just a little side project. My grandson’s running for mayor.”

  “Fletcher?” Bernice said in shock.

  “That’s right, he is,” Sophie said absently. “The sheriff’s suggestion, but his grandfather’s supporting it.”

  “Right you are, dear,” Mercy replied.

  Bernice gaped as she watched Mahulda Brock dip a paintbrush into a bucket and continue painting a flag on a poster. “Who is he running against?”

  “No one, so far,” Mercy said with pride. “Horace is getting too old to be mayor, and no one else wants the job. Anyway, who’s going to run against a Vander in this town?”

  “Yes, of course, but what does he know about politics?” Bernice asked.

  “He’s a lawyer, for Heaven’s sake – what else does he need?”

  Sophie put her hand over her mouth. She wondered if Fletcher’s grandparents knew of his ways with women. Come to think of it, would he be elected if the townsfolk of Independence knew his true character? Should she say something? If he could so easily lead women astray, what kind of mayor would he be?

  “Well, will you lookie here?” Mayor Vander bellowed behind her.

  Sophie yelped and almost jumped out of her shoes. Embarrassed, she quickly took a step back and brushed at her skirts.

  “A little tense?”

  Sophie closed her eyes in resignation. Fletcher. She turned around and opened them, and they automatically locked on his. “Mr. Vander.”

  He swallowed hard. “Miss Baxter.”

  His voice was soft, compelling, and worst of all, sad. She wanted to throw her arms around him, comfort him – and caught herself just as she started to lean toward him. “What are you doing here?” she said, too sharply. And good grief, what a stupid question – why wouldn’t he be here?

  “Isn’t it obvious?” he asked.

  Sophie did her best not to grimace. “So you’re really going to do it.”

  Fletcher saw the women happily painting campaign signs and forced a smile. “Yes, I am. It’ll be a nice change from law.”

  She raised an eyebrow at him. “What about Mr. Munson?”

  “You needn’t worry about that – I hope to solve his case before I take office.”

  Her eyebrow went up even further. “You sound awfully sure. What if you don’t solve it? What if you’re not elected?”

  “Oh, he’ll be elected, all right,” Grandpa Vander said. “I’ll teach him everything I know. That way Independence will be getting a younger version of me.”

  Fletcher rolled his eyes and smiled. “If you say so, Grandpa. But I think I’d rather stay the version I am.”

  Sophie had to smile at that. He seemed so genuine, so real. But how much was just an act? Why did he really want to become mayor? What was in it for him? Men with questionable character put themselves first, not others. She would have to keep reminding herself of that, lest she be swayed into thinking he was anything but what he really was. A cad, if she were to lis
ten to Priscilla.

  Speaking of which … “Oh my goodness!” Priscilla said as she entered the church. “Just look at all these busy ladies!”

  “Miss Holbrook,” Gran Mercy said with a little clap of her hands. “When did you get back in town?”

  “Just a little while ago. How are you, Mrs. Vander?”

  “Perfectly fine and looking for volunteers – it’s that time of year, you know! Would you like to paint or hand out flyers?”

  Priscilla glanced around the sanctuary. “Fletcher Vander for Mayor?” She looked at Fletcher with a huge smile. “Well, aren’t you just full of surprises?”

  “On the contrary – I’m being practical and logical about this,” said Fletcher. “It’s time I settled down.”

  “Running for mayor is settling down?” Priscilla asked, amused. She glanced at Sophie. “If you say so, Fletcher.”

  Fletcher stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth. “I admit, the more I think about it, the more excited I get.”

  His grandfather slapped him on the back. “That’s the spirit, my boy! First you become mayor, then get yourself settled. Worked for me.”

  “Isn’t he a little young to be mayor?” Priscilla asked.

  “Young?” Grandpa Vander boomed. “I wasn’t much older when I took the job.”

  “Actually, Grandpa, I think you were a lot older,” Fletcher argued.

  “I was?” his grandfather said in surprise.

  Sophie tried not to laugh as she watched them go back and forth. Oh, why did Fletcher have to turn out to be such a …. Such a …

  He turned to her, a warm smile on his face, his eyes nervously roaming over her, making her tingle. Drat, why did he have to appear so wonderful? Why couldn’t it be true? And why couldn’t she stop herself from falling for him?

  Sophie’s eyes widened. Oh dear, she thought. She already had, hadn’t she?

  Chapter 13

  Fletcher wanted to drown himself in Sophie’s eyes, but he couldn’t. Once he dove in, he’d never want to come out, and he couldn’t afford the distraction. It might put her in danger. He had to keep his wits about him at all costs. It took every ounce of strength he had to tear his gaze away, but he managed to turn toward the women working on his campaign signs. Not that he’d really need them. His grandfather was already spouting his victory all over town, and they hadn’t even filed the papers yet!

  He shook his head at the thought. Of course, no one seemed to mind so far, but Grandpa had been the mayor for so long, the townsfolk often humored him. Did they think he wasn’t serious? Hmmm, now there was a concern …

  “… Yes, isn’t it exciting? I start work tomorrow.”

  Fletcher spun at the sound of Sophie’s voice. “You … you what?”

  She smirked at him. “I was telling your grandmother that I start work tomorrow.”

  His mouth flopped open. “What? Where?”

  “Gruber’s Café,” his grandmother replied. “Isn’t that nice, dear? She’s going to be staying here in town.”

  “Well, yes, of course she is,” he said, still confused. Had his grandfather arranged this? He didn’t mention it. But she was the main reason he’d considered becoming … er, running for mayor. He’d need a steady job if he wanted to court her. He just hoped his behavior earlier at his grandparents’ house hadn’t squashed any sort of chance with her. He couldn’t apologize enough for it in his mind.

  But what a kiss …

  “I’m sure I’ll be quite happy here,” Sophie said. “Isn’t it nice to know one doesn’t need a man to get by?”

  Fletcher blanched. “What?”

  His grandfather did the same, only louder. “What?!”

  “Well, of course not, dear,” Gran Mercy agreed.

  “Now see here, young lady,” Grandpa Vander barked, “what’s this sort of talk? Whoever heard of such a thing?”

  Bernice, sensing a storm brewing, tried to calm the waters. “Surely you’ve heard of the suffrage movement, Mayor Vander.” She turned to Sophie. “Is that what you were referring to?”

  Sophie’s eyes were locked with Fletcher’s. “I’m just saying that a woman needn’t rely on a man to take care of her. A good thing too, being as how there are less and less men out there of good character.”

  Fletcher’s eye twitched. He hated that – it usually happened when he was getting flustered. Just what was she saying? Did she know he wanted to court her? Was she trying to let him know in her own subtle way that she wanted nothing more to do with him, that she’d moved on, determined to make a life for herself with or without a man? Or something more, something worse?

  Blast! He knew that kiss would cost him. But he wanted to make things right, to court her properly, get to know her. Heck, for all he knew, he might want to marry her! It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about it. Otherwise, why worry about running for mayor?

  “What’s the matter, Mr. Vander?” she asked tauntingly. “Nothing to say?”

  Fletcher sighed. “No, not really.” What could he say? He didn’t dare bring up the kiss, not here. But that’s what this was about, he was sure. He’d have to find a way to speak to her alone – he couldn’t leave this hanging between them. He had to assure her that her reputation was safe, that he’d kept their kiss to himself. As had his grandfather. Grandpa had promised not to breathe a word of what he’d seen, not even to Gran. Fletcher knew he’d keep to that promise.

  He glanced at Sophie, but she quickly looked away. She wasn’t going to make this easy. “How are you with a paintbrush, Miss Baxter?”

  “I’m not sure,” she said, then froze, as if catching herself. “I mean …”

  “No time like the present to find out, then.” He spotted a small container of red paint near Mahulda Brock. “Excuse me, Mrs. Brock – are you using this?”

  The elderly woman glanced at the small can of paint. “No, Fletcher, go right ahead.”

  “Thank you.” He reached for the can and turned to Sophie. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll get you started.”

  “Why, thank you dear,” his grandmother said with a smile. “Saves me the trouble.”

  “I’d like to help,” Bernice said.

  “Then let me show you what else is needed,” said Gran Mercy, taking Bernice by the hand and leading her away. That left Sophie little choice but to follow Fletcher, so she did.

  Fletcher went to the other end of the sanctuary and found a blank poster board. “Ah, just what we need.” He spied another one and brought it to where she stood. “I’ll go find us more paint.”

  “Us?”

  He made a show of glancing around. “I don’t see anyone else standing here. So yes, us.”

  Panic took over her face. What was that about? “I’m sure I can manage on my own. You don’t need to help me.”

  He smiled warmly. “Sophie, what’s the matter? Are you worried about your painting skills?”

  She shook her head. “No, it’s not that. Just … just …”

  Great Scott, but she was adorable when she was at a loss for words. Or any other time, really. But what was he going to do about it? For now, he placed the poster boards side by side, fetched a couple more cans of paint and rejoined her. “All the drop cloths are in use. Why don’t we take our materials outside?”

  She stared at him a moment in silence before finally saying, “If you insist.”

  He smiled, handed her two of the paint cans, tucked a board under each arm and picked up the remaining can. He’d managed to procure a couple of brushes earlier and stuck one in each pocket. As soon as they were outside he found a shady spot and leaned the poster boards against a tree, then opened the paint containers and gave each a stir. “There’s not a lot of blue left in this one.” He handed her a small can. “But it’s enough to get started.” He knelt on the grass and indicated she do the same.

  Sophie gathered her skirts around her as best she could and knelt in the grass next to him. “Now what?”

  “We paint, of course,” he
said with a bemused smile.

  “I know that,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But what do you want the poster to say?”

  “Oh yes – let me think a moment.” He looked up at the blue sky as he thought. “I suppose, ‘vote for Fletcher Vander’ has already been done. Maybe we should make these different.”

  He watched as her jaw tightened. “Yes, let’s.”

  He smiled tentatively, dipped his brush in the paint and painted two simple words. “There. All done.”

  She’d busied herself stirring what paint was left in her can. She looked at the board and gasped. It read I’m sorry. “Fletcher …”

  “I am, you know. Truly. There’s no excuse for my behavior earlier. I want to make it up to you, Sophie.”

  She gaped at him for a moment. “Don’t you mean ‘Miss Baxter’?”

  He removed his spectacles and blinked a few times. “If you prefer, yes, I’ll call you Miss Baxter.” He looked into her eyes and saw her fear – but of what? “Though given the option, I’d much rather call you Sophie, if you wouldn’t find that improper.”

  “Why so contrite now?” she asked, her eyes never leaving his. Her gaze, he noted, was as intense as his. She was searching for something in his eyes, he could tell, but what, he had no idea. Reassurance, perhaps?

  “I apologized to you before in my grandparents’ house, true, but I don’t think you took me seriously then. In fact, I’m curious as to why you didn’t.”

  She dabbed her brush into the container. “You shocked me. What was I supposed to think after … well, after a kiss like that?”

  He had to concede that point. “True. And I thank you for not slapping my face.”

  She blushed crimson. During their kiss it had been quite obvious that slapping him was the last thing on her mind. She’d kissed him back with equal intensity, which had shocked him! But he knew better than to bring that up, lest she become even more agitated.

  “I apologize, Sophie, from the bottom of my heart. And I would like to make it up to you by taking you to dinner.”

  “Dinner? Where, at the café?” She vigorously shook of her head. “No, I start work there tomorrow. That would be too awkward.”