The Bride Lottery: A Sweet Historical Mail Order Bride Romance (Prosperity's Mail Order Brides Book 1)

by Kristin Holt

  She still had a clear picture in her mind of Mr. Sam Kochler entertaining the crowd of men and women alike with a surprisingly good dramatization of Mark Twain’s The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County—an absolutely delightful, funny mining story set in Angels Camp, California. The tale appealed to the miners and ladies alike, evoking laughter in all the right places, sighs of appreciation from plenty of females, and unfortunately, made Evelyn fall a little more in love with him.

  He’d made her laugh, held her attention, and made her wish—again—he sought a bride. It was such a shame that of all the men in this out-of-the-way little corner of the Rocky Mountains, he was the only one—well, other than Irving the Army cook—not interested. But by the way he’d seemed to step from a solely administrative role into the festivities as a reluctant participant—even if he’d lost a bet—she’d begun to wonder.

  Was it possible he’d changed his mind about choosing a bride?

  Did she, the least attractive of all fifteen ladies, have a remote chance with him?

  Oh how she wished it were true…but all the wishing in the world wouldn’t change his mind.

  Now, as the picnic drew to a close, physical exhaustion and emotional weariness had her thinking of her narrow bed at the Quarters. Her body had gone through many changes, far more than the horrible discomfort of her now abandoned corset. Her breasts had grown larger and far more tender. She’d still been sick, too frequently—though she’d had more good days than bad. Tiredness seemed to overtake her when she least expected it. After that fine meal of fried chicken, she needed a nap.

  Some of the miners and brides were playing croquet on the town green that afternoon, but she intended to return to her room in the Quarters and sleep.

  Sam Kochler stopped her at the edge of the green with a smile and a wave.

  For him, she’d skip her nap altogether. “Good afternoon, Mr. Kochler.”

  “May I walk you to your door?”

  She hid a too-eager smile and accepted his offer. They walked side by side along the path that represented a street, along the front of the saloon and barber shop. The Quarters lay several hundred feet further away, with a majestic mountain rising at its back.

  “Congratulations on your fine performance last night.”

  “Ah, that.”

  “It was exceptional. You were exceptional.”

  “Just a little something I picked up along the way.”

  That made her wonder. It must’ve been a hit in Atlanta, where the theater was almost as big as in New York. After Grandma’s frequent outings to see shows, she could almost imagine Sam had been that kind of stellar performer in his previous life. “Did you perform that story in Atlanta?”

  He paused, his brows pulling together. “A time or two.”

  “On a grand stage?”

  “What? No. Never that. Just for friends, at parties, after-dinner entertainment.”

  When they were out of the hearing of others, Sam dropped the conversation thread. He pulled a telegram from his pocket and handed it to her.

  Out of habit, Evelyn accepted the missive. Telegram? She raised a brow, looked to him for an answer. “What’s this?”

  “Seems your parents are looking for you.”

  A rush of panic flooded her chest, seemed to swamp her limbs. “Excuse me?”

  She opened the paper, her bare hands trembling. She’d left her gloves off after lunch, tucked in her reticule. She halted in a patch of sunlight to read, the wash of light glaring off the yellow Western Union paper. Mr. Kochler stopped at her side.

  Daughter Missing. Twenty years of age. Did not arrive in San Francisco on Southern Pacific. Strawberry-blonde hair, blue eyes. Uncommonly tall.

  With every word she read, her stomach seemed to cramp tighter.

  Name: Evelyn Brandt. Any word, please respond. Allan Brandt.

  Evelyn closed her eyes against the sudden shift of the earth, spinning and causing her to doubt her bearings. Naturally, Father knew she’d disembarked. Uncle Joseph would’ve sent a wire, notifying him she hadn’t arrived as scheduled.

  Beside her, Mr. Sam Kochler waited with remarkable patience. He didn’t rush her, even as his gentle, warm grasp took her elbow in hand.

  His fingertips seemed to caress the tender flesh at the inside of her elbow, despite the layers of fabric. She felt that touch all the way down her spine.

  “Mrs. Brandt?” He cleared his throat. “Evelyn?”

  She blinked. Latched her gaze onto his as if he were her anchor.

  “Who has seen this telegram?” she had to know. But why, she wasn’t sure. Perhaps it rested entirely upon her humiliation at being caught embarrassing her parents. Again. Why had she thought it would be acceptable to deviate from the course her father had set, even for a few days? She’d known they’d worry.

  Had it had been a mistake to assert her independence?

  They’d evicted her from their home and cut her out of their lives. And they’d done it with blatant disappointment.

  “No one. Not in camp…town, I mean.” He cleared his throat. The telegram came up the canyon with the mail delivery today. The mercantile serves as the post office ‘round here. As it’s not addressed to anyone specifically, I had to read it.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize.” He turned to face her fully and cupped her elbows in his hands. With such gentleness, he sought the truth in her eyes. Those remarkable, long-lashed hazel eyes held genuine concern. “What are you running from? Do you need help?”

  Emotion she didn’t want to understand swept out of nowhere and warmed her clear through. She’d craved this very kindness and courtesy from her parents.

  She glanced about—had anyone overheard? Could anyone hear now?

  He seemed to recognize her worry. “Let’s walk, shall we?”

  He offered his arm. Just for the pleasure of touching him, she tucked her hand through the crook of his elbow. He felt so solid, so sure. It would be so easy to lean on him and accept anything he offered.

  After several paces, he said, “I want to help.”

  Emotion constricted Evelyn’s throat, sure as a fist clenched about her airway. All she could do was nod. What a kind, decent man.

  But then she shook her head. There was nothing he could do. How had her parents determined, so quickly, so soon, at what stop she’d disembarked? Had they a spy on the train, reporting back?

  That seemed too far-fetched, even for Allan Brandt’s unlimited resources and ruthless business prowess.

  Still, parental concern radiated through the written words. Underneath the propriety, the bluster, these were still her parents and she loved them. She knew they loved her, though they scarcely showed it.

  Until the day of Dr. McKinstrey’s house call that revealed the pregnancy to her parents, they’d seen her as a good girl: obedient, cooperative, and eager to please. Frankly, she still saw herself that way. But the consequences of that ill-fated afternoon had not only shamed her, they’d effected her parents, too.

  “I’m so embarrassed.” …for falling in love with the wrong man, succumbing to his seduction, and giving little to no thought of the consequences for herself and her family. Though it hurt, she understood her parents’ decision to send her west.

  Had she no shame? She’d put herself in this predicament and aggravated it by disregarding her parents’ instructions.

  The embarrassment spread further than that. She was so very sorry Sam Kochler had to learn she’d acted foolishly and stepped off that train, another act of willful disobedience.

  He covered her hand where it lay on his elbow. The touch of his firm, strong hand on hers made her heartbeat quicken. He stood so near as they walked, his strong shoulder brushed hers.

  He gave her strength.

  Silly, but true.

  She needed to tell her parents. Guilt wouldn’t allow her to leave them wondering any longer.

  “Knowing the line as I do, I figure your f
ather,” he’d surmised accurately, “sent this telegram to almost all if not every single rail station along the way. He must want very much to find you.”

  She nodded. Guilt swelled within her. Of course her parents worried; they loved her, in their confining and strict way. She’d known they’d fret, and she’d defied them.

  Still, Sam didn’t pressure her for answers or an explanation. If she wasn’t careful, she’d fall just as hard, just as fast as she had for the likes of Daniel Tracy. And that would not be good.

  Yet the beginning of this friendship, this easy association with Sam Kochler had her wanting to see where it might lead. If she were to have a chance at marriage and forming a family that included the baby her parents wanted to take from her, she had to stay a while longer, just until she knew if Sam Kochler could possibly be interested in her. She couldn’t tell her parents where she was until then, or she’d lose her opportunity.

  She would tell them.

  But first, she had to learn whether Sam had any interest in her at all.

  All her training, every lesson in deportment failed to prepare her for this.

  How could she be so forward as to ask this man, “Are you interested in me?”

  She cringed at the thought as every insecurity surfaced. Pregnant. Fallen. Disobedient. Why would he be interested?

  Asking outright would never do. She’d have to exercise a bit more caution than that. She might not know how she’d determine his interest, but knew she’d find a way. Brandts were nothing if not resourceful.

  First, she’d talk with Caroline, who’d proved to be a trustworthy, reliable friend. If anyone knew how to help her, Caroline would.

  “You would be ever so much more comfortable with a maternity corset,” Caroline said as she and Evelyn undressed in their shared bedroom that night.

  Evelyn’s cheeks pinked. She felt naked going without the foundation garment she’d worn since she’d been a girl in short skirts. “Is there such a thing?” She knew so very little about maternity anything.

  “Oh yes. Marvelous devices. They expand with a series of hooks the further along you get. The support is vital to your good health.” Caroline took a brush to her long hair.

  Evelyn mentally tabulated the money she had remaining. Even if she could manage to place an order for a maternity corset at Sam Kochler’s mercantile, she possessed only enough money to see her fed until she reached California.

  Did she dare spend the cash, even for a corset? If she decided to continue on to California, the purchase of a maternity corset could result in a day or two of going hungry.

  She slipped on her nightgown and removed several pins from her hair. “I can’t see myself walking into Mr. Kochler’s establishment and asking him to order me such an intimate article of clothing.”

  “He’ll probably be more embarrassed than you.” Caroline giggled. “I’ll go with you, if you like.”

  Evelyn set a handful of hair pins carefully on the little writing table. “No, thank you.”

  “You’re blushing.” Caroline donned her nightgown. “With thirty nine other men on this mountain, he’s the one you’re interested in. I suppose I can see why ordering a maternity corset through him could be a tad bit embarrassing.”

  Here it was, her ideal opportunity to seek Caroline’s advice and insight. She drew a breath, reminded herself she’d already made the decision to ask, and jumped in before she could doubt herself.

  “I asked Mr. Kochler if he has a special girl.”

  Caroline’s face brightened? “You did? What did he say?”

  “He says he doesn’t.” She worked the long row of buttons from chest to neck closed. “I’m inclined to believe him, despite the rumors.”

  “Tom told me all about it.” Thomas Hagenmeister had called on Caroline two evenings in a row. “He said his sweetheart, a Miss Olivia—maybe it was Octavia?—Sheline of Atlanta was all Sam could talk about, ever since he came to Colorado and set up shop.”

  Evelyn’s pulse sped up. Surely he hadn’t lied to her? He’d seemed so sincere…but then, so had Daniel.

  Caroline went on as if oblivious to Evelyn’s distress. “He wanted to marry her before he left the South, and asked her again by letter just last spring. She turned him down, permanently.”

  With her heart pounding in her ears, Evelyn soaked in her friend’s explanation. It made sense.

  “Tom thought Sam would surely throw in with all the others, want a mail order bride himself, given he’d come to the end of the line with the young lady from Georgia, but Sam didn’t want to.” Caroline sat on her cot, her feet tucked beneath her, and brushed her long honey-blonde hair.

  The stories lined up. Sam had told her the truth…just hadn’t elaborated. She couldn’t blame him. She wasn’t eager to tell a soul the sordid details of her failed love affair.

  “How might I go about asking him,” she asked, sitting beside Caroline on her bed, “if he might reconsider?” All afternoon, she’d tried to prepare herself for this conversation. No matter those hours spent formulating the best way to ask, she still felt awkward and gangly.

  Why would Sam want to consider courting her? She’d heard whispers, noticed prominent stares from several other bachelors—they’d taken note of her figure and suspected she was in the family way. Though they knew her as Mrs. Brandt, a supposed widow, no one had called on her. She’d seen how frequently young men came to the Quarters’ door seeking time with any number of the young ladies.

  The bachelors didn’t want her.

  Of a sudden she found it impossible to look her beautiful, confident, virtuous friend in the eye. “Never mind.”

  “No, no,” Caroline soothed. “It’s a good question. I have just the thing. You’re going to order a maternity corset at his store.”

  “What? No.”

  “Yes. Tom tells me Sam worked for years in the finest of men’s and women’s clothing shops serving Atlanta’s elite. He’s a consummate professional. I’ll bet my last nickel his response to your request for a maternity corset answers your question. He’ll reveal whether he is or is not interested in you as potential wife.”

  “How?” Intrigued, Evelyn forgot her embarrassment.

  “If he’s not remotely interested in you as a woman, if he simply sees you as a customer, he’ll place the order without a twitch. He’ll be happy to take your money and thank you for your business.”

  “And if he might be interested?”

  Caroline’s smile widened. “I do believe, if Sam Kochler has noticed you as a young lady, if he’s thinking about reconsidering his decision to not send for a bride, that you’ll be able to tell.”

  Evelyn nearly lost her composure. “This is where I need your help. I don’t understand men, Caroline. I have no brothers, my father is the least emotional man you’d ever care to meet, I hardly ever see my sister’s husband, and—”

  “Your husband is…lost.”

  Evelyn bit her bottom lip. She squeezed her eyes shut so she wouldn’t have to look at her friend. She’d nearly confessed the truth…and the only man I ever loved lied to me and I believed him.

  Caroline took Evelyn’s hand and squeezed. “He’ll stammer, he’ll blush. I doubt he’ll look you in the eye. He’ll need measurements, but just asking for them will be quite the entertainment. Do say you’ll let me come along just for the amusement.”

  Evelyn relaxed enough to laugh along with her friend. “No.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “This is something I need to do on my own. I’ll watch for these obvious signs you speak of.”

  “You’ll tell me all about it afterward?”

  “Maybe.”

  Caroline giggled. “When? When will you place this private order and assess your gentleman’s interest?”

  Evelyn considered the upcoming days’ schedule. “If I’m the only customer in the shop, I’ll do so tomorrow afternoon, when our talent show rehearsal is through.”

  Caroline threw her arms around Evelyn’s shoulders. “Afte
rward, I’ll expect a full report. So pay close attention—I want to know everything.”

  After breakfast, the brides rehearsed for the Ladies’ Talent Show to be held that evening. Dora, the group’s self-appointed chair, took charge of the gathering and announced the order in which the events would proceed.

  Evelyn protected her fair skin in the shade of a pine, wrapped in a shawl to ward off the morning chill. She enjoyed the practice, until she caught sight of her least favored miner…that Pickle Pike.

  Last night, Sam had made it clear the women were to have all of today without men hanging around. After a very busy week, they needed time to prepare and practice.

  But there Pike stood, squinting against the sun, staring at her. The fine hairs on her arms rose as his gaze wandered ever so slowly down her body from breast to belly to hem and back to belly. She tightened her shawl protectively, hoping the fringed ends would mask her changing figure.

  He paused, tipping his head to the side, as if questioning what he saw.

  She refused to let Putrid Pike rattle her and focused her attention on Dora, ruling her little kingdom. Dora invited the next act, a duet to be sung by sisters Anna and Amy Duprize to come forward. The sisters spent the first minutes of their practice time deciding where they’d stand, rehearsed entering from stage right as the previous act curtsied, and exiting stage left at their conclusion.

  “Mornin’.” Pike hovered too near her right shoulder.

  She hadn’t heard him approach—and she startled—knocking her hat askew. In that moment of panic she noted just how very alone she was. The others stood on or near the grandstand, a good twenty yards away.

  “Well now,” he drawled, his tone condescending. “Don’t know how to say good morning? Think you’re too good for that?”

  Her heartbeat raced, lurching forward as if she’d been running hard and long. She couldn’t let him see her fear. She swallowed, tried to calm herself. “Morning.”

  “That’s better. Can’t have you thinkin’ you’re better than us honest men, eking out a living in these mountains.”