The Accidental Mail Order Bride

by Ruth Ann Nordin

  So he waited. And waited. He gave it a full half hour before he opened his door a small crack and peered down at the doorstep. It was the same basket he’d left her earlier that morning. Except, instead of fruits and vegetables, there was a covered plate and a cup with brown liquid in it.

  He gave a cautious glance at the cottage. She might be watching. It was very possible. But maybe, just maybe, she’d gotten bored of waiting for him to open the door and wasn’t watching. Either way, he had to know what was under the clean towel on the plate and what kind of drink was in the cup.

  He lowered his hat to hide as much of his face as possible and opened the door far enough so he could retrieve the basket, careful not to upset any of the contents in it. He shut the door then tipped his hat back.

  The aroma coming from the basket made his mouth water in excitement. Besides the meals Lois had made for Eric to bring out to him, he hadn’t had anything warm or homemade. He brought the basket over to the workbench and lifted the cloth. Mashed potatoes, a berry cobbler, cooked carrots, and pemmican.

  Surprised, he glanced back at the cottage. He didn’t see her peeking out the window. Maybe she was eating. He hadn’t thought she’d take the vegetables and fruits he’d brought her that morning and make him anything. He had assumed she’d fix herself meals and that would be it.

  After a moment of standing around like a person who didn’t know what to do with a basket full of delicious-smelling food, he finally took the basket to the other side of the building where he often ate. He placed the basket on the small table and set out each dish. He had just dug out the last dish when he realized she’d left him a note.

  Curious, he lifted the neatly folded piece of paper and opened it. It was a thank you note, and more than that, she expressed her appreciation for the food and the chair he’d given her earlier that day. She added she would bring him breakfast around eight the next morning. Then, at the bottom, she had signed Allie.

  He didn’t know why such a simple thing should choke him up, but he had to blink back a few tears. Taking the note, he neatly folded it back up and took it to the small box he kept on a shelf that was tucked into the back corner of the place. The box was one he’d made when he was ten to keep important things safe.

  Lifting the lid, he removed his mother’s wedding ring, his father’s pipe, and a small wooden train. He gently placed the note on the bottom and then put the other things on top of it. After he secured the lid, he carefully placed the box back on the shelf and returned to the table where the meal waited for him.

  He pulled up a chair and sat down, not sure which of the food he should eat first. Everything looked so good. A couple minutes passed before he was able to make up his mind. He started with the carrots and mashed potatoes. He’d grown up being taught to eat his vegetables first. Then he had the pemmican since that was the meat portion of the meal, and he finished up with the berry cobbler. It all tasted as good as it looked, which made it hard to take his time and savor everything. But he managed to go slow. This was a meal fit for a king, and yet, here he was, a lowly man who had nothing of significance to his life, enjoying it.

  When he was done, he washed the dishes and put them back in the basket. He retrieved a piece of paper and wrote her a note back, simply to thank her. If he’d been eloquent with words, whether in speech or in writing, he was sure he would have come up with something better. But as it was, all he could do was write out the thank you and leave it at that.

  Once he made sure she wasn’t anywhere outside, he hurried to the chicken coop and collected eggs, milked the cow, and gathered more berries. He quietly slipped around the side of the cottage, careful to crouch down low so she wouldn’t see him as he passed the windows. He left the items at the door then rushed off before she could notice him. After it was dark, he went to set traps along the paths where animals were known to frequent, hoping he could provide her with meat in the future.

  ***

  A week later, and Allie began to settle into a routine in her new life. Travis would leave her vegetables and fruits in a basket in the mornings, thanking her for her kindness toward him. On one morning, he even left fresh meat from an animal he’d skinned and prepared so that all she had to do was cook it. She, in turn, would make him meals and set them at his doorstep at the building he was staying in.

  Caroline and Phoebe had helped her clean up the rest of the cottage and had taken her to town so she could get anything she needed from the general store.

  Allie was surprised to learn that the store owner, Daniel, had given Travis credit since he took the old crates and other used items off his hands. In fact, Allie soon learned that a lot of people in town would give their junk to the owner who’d then take it to Travis.

  Phoebe told her that Travis put all the junk he could use in the building. This led Allie to wondering what Travis did with the junk he couldn’t use. Then, one evening, she noticed a fire was burning several feet from the barn. Upon investigating the matter, she saw a tower of a man burning items in a large bin. Fortunately, he hadn’t seen her. He was so timid she could only imagine what he’d do if he knew she was watching him.

  The next day, Lois came out with a few loaves of bread, two pies, and a plate of cookies. “I heard Travis married, and I thought by now you’d be settled in and ready to receive visitors.” With a grin, she added, “I couldn’t resist bringing something. I love to cook, and with it just being me, I can’t eat everything I make.”

  “Thank you,” Allie replied as she led her into the kitchen and poured them each a cup of coffee. “It’s very thoughtful of you to bring me something.” She gestured for Lois to sit and handed her a cup.

  “I don’t mind it,” Lois said as Allie sat across from her. “Travis is a sweet boy. He keeps so much to himself, and he has Eric bring me money a couple times a year.”

  Allie stopped drinking her coffee and lowered the cup to the table. “How does he give Eric the money?”

  “Eric comes out here and gets it. Eric does whatever he can to make things as easy on others as possible, and I’m sure you’ve noticed by now how shy Travis is.”

  “Yes.”

  Allie decided not to add that she had yet to see him. However, given how he went out of his way to make sure she had plenty of food and since he had also given her all new chairs to go around the kitchen table, she also realized he was a thoughtful person. Perhaps even more thoughtful than most.

  “You really can’t blame him,” Lois said. “The people have made up all those horrible rumors about him. If I was him, I probably wouldn’t want to show my face in town, either. There are some people who don’t know when it’s best to keep quiet, and sadly, you can’t control what they say. You can only control how you respond to it.” After a moment, she added, “I hope you don’t let the rumors stop you from seeing the man he really is.”

  Allie wasn’t sure how to answer that. But she did find Lois’ words reassuring, and she found it helped her ease further into her new life. From that point on, she no longer experienced a flicker of uncertainty every time she left food at Travis’ doorstep.

  ***

  A week later, Allie was beating the rug on a clothesline to get the dust out. God only knew how long it’d been since the neatly folded rug had been used since she found it in the bottom shelf of the dresser in the second bedroom.

  She swung the broom and hit the rug as hard as she could. Dust rose up and swirled around her, which, in turn, made her cough. She stepped away from the rug to get some fresh air, and as she did, she caught sight of a man riding a horse up to the property.

  She didn’t recognize him, and he wasn’t with Caroline or Phoebe. She thought about going to the building and getting Travis, but considering how painfully shy he was, she doubted he’d answer the door. Tapping the edge of the broom, she debated whether or not she felt safe enough to deal with him herself. After a moment, she realized her gut instinct wasn’t setting off any alarms. He didn’t seem to pose any kind of threat. So t
hat being the case, she walked out to meet him.

  “May I help you?” she asked.

  The rider pulled the horse to a stop, his eyes wide. “Does Travis Martin still live here?”

  “Yes. He’s in there.” She pointed to the building.

  He opened his mouth, as if he wanted to say something, and she guessed he was probably wondering who she was. If he knew Travis, then he must have expected Travis to be alone out here. Who knew how fast word would spread through town that she’d just married him?

  “I’m Allie,” she said. “I’m his wife.”

  “I didn’t realize he was looking for a wife,” the man replied. “But then, I’ve been too busy to worry about the latest news.” He slipped off the horse. “I’m Carl Richie.”

  It took her a moment to realize she recognized the name. This was the man who’d posted a mail-order bride ad pretending to be someone else, and what was more, his wife had been murdered and no one knew who’d done it. She gripped the broom in her hands and took a step away from him.

  Letting out a sigh, he said, “I see they already told you about me. Look, I don’t want any trouble. I have a wagon that needs fixing, and I wanted to ask Travis if he’d take care of it. Right after I talk to him, I’ll leave.” As if to reassure her further, he added, “I promise.”

  She studied him for a moment then realized she believed him. Relaxing her grip on the broom, she nodded. “Travis is in the building by himself. I don’t think you’ll be interrupting anything.”

  “Thanks.” Carl led the horse past her and went to the building.

  As he knocked on the door and called out Travis’ name, she turned her attention back to the rug. She banged more dust out of the thing, and if she was right, there was considerably less dust that swirled in the air this time.

  Encouraged, she continued beating the rug, only pausing when Travis opened the door and welcomed Carl in. Again, she didn’t get much of a look at Travis. No matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t get a good view of his face. If she’d been a man, she’d probably get to see him. But then, if she was a man, she wouldn’t have married him. What a frustrating thing it was to not be able to see what he looked like.

  By now, she’d dismissed the notion of him having three eyes or two noses or some other horrible deformity. If Carl, Eric, and Caleb had seen him and not been horrified, then the gossip about Travis had been unjustified. Not only that, but Travis struck her as a kind person. He didn’t have to bring her vegetables, fruits, milk, meat, or eggs. He didn’t have to clean the dishes before returning the basket to her, either. The condition of the property might leave a lot to be desired, but he was thoughtful and considerate. Those weren’t traits a monster would display.

  The door of the building opened, and she glanced over her shoulder. Carl shut the door behind him and got back on his horse. He called out a polite good-bye to her then trotted off the property.

  This was a strange town. Travis hadn’t been quite the scary man the judge would have her believe him to be. And just now, it didn’t seem as if Carl was all that bad. She didn’t get the gut feeling he was someone she needed to be wary of. Yes, what he’d done to Phoebe was wrong, but it was difficult to judge his motive based on the little she knew. She honestly didn’t know what to think.

  Well, she supposed it didn’t matter what she thought one way or the other. Things were the way they were, and she couldn’t do anything to change them. With a shrug, she renewed her grip on the broom and continued to beat the rug.

  Chapter Seven

  The next day, Carl plopped his gold panning supplies on the fallen log by the stream and rubbed his eyes. Maybe there wasn’t any more than a few flakes of gold in this entire stream. Maybe all this talk of gold was a demented man’s dream.

  If Carl was smart, he’d accept the fact that his father was deluded and let Abe have the stream and the land that went with it. And he would have, if he had anything else worth selling so he could get out of here.

  All he had was his cabin and a couple of animals. That was it. His entire life was summed up into all of this. And because of that, he had to try to find any gold that might be here. Colorado did have gold. But did this particular area have anything? The least he could do was keep going. One way or another, he had to find out.

  This was the kind of debate Carl had every day he came to the stream. And, as before, the argument was enough to convince him to gather his gold pan. He slipped the classifier into it and studied the stream for a good place to dig. After a moment, he decided to focus on the area around the tree roots. Taking his digging tool and spoon, he bent down and started pulling up samples of the dirt.

  He had just collected all the dirt he could fit in the pan when someone knocked into him from behind. The force of the impact threw him forward. He lost his balance, dropped the pan, and tripped over the tree roots. He landed in the stream, face first.

  He barely had time to figure out what was going on when the person grabbed his hair and shoved his face into the water. And held him there, pinning him down by sitting on his back. He couldn’t free himself from his attacker no matter how hard he tried.

  Just when he thought his lungs were going to burst, the person brought his head up. He gasped. The air filling his lungs did little to relieve the burning sensation, but it was good to be able to take a deep breath.

  But before he could enjoy it, the person brought his face back into the water and held it there. Carl had no idea how long he was under before his attacker brought his head back up.

  What was the person doing? What was he trying to accomplish? If he wanted to kill him, why didn’t he just hold his head under the water longer?

  The next time the person lifted his head, he whispered, “Confess to the murder.”

  “W-what m-m-murder?” Carl gasped.

  The person plunged his head back under the water. It was then Carl understood what the person referred to. Lydia’s murder. Someone had killed her. It hadn’t been him. He hadn’t left his cabin that night. But someone had done it, and logic suggested the killer was sitting on his back, demanding he confess to the crime.

  The person lifted his head again, and this time, Carl tried to look back so he could see who was on his back. But the person only forced his head back into the water. And this time, Carl hadn’t taken enough of a breath to prepare for it. He inadvertently tried to breathe in the water and gagged it back up.

  This time when the person lifted his head, he was too busy struggling to breathe in the air that he didn’t even try to find out who was attacking him.

  “Listen,” the person hissed, “someone’s got to take the blame. And it might as well be you. You’ve got nothing to live for. Out here. All alone. No family. No friends. The sheriff will go easy on you. Lydia was impossible. We all know it. You’ll just spend the rest of your life in prison. Say it was an accident. Say she fought against you and fell out of the wagon. That’s all you need to do. And if you don’t, the next time I come for you, I won’t let you live.”

  Then something hard hit the back of Carl’s head, and everything went black.

  ***

  Travis knocked on the door of Carl’s cabin a second time and waited. There was no answer. With a sigh, Travis tipped back his hat and ran his hand through his sweaty hair. On hot days like today, he wished he could remove his hat without worrying about what others would think if they were to see him.

  “You belong in the circus.”

  “Why don’t you put a cloth over your head so we don’t have to see you?”

  “You look like a bear attacked you.”

  And on and on the snickers went from the children he’d grown up with in Eastern Colorado, and even safely out here in the mountains, he could still hear them.

  Shaking his head, he forced back the memories and knocked on Carl’s door a third time. “Carl? It’s Travis. I came to fix your wagon.”

  Again, no answer.

  Travis descended the porch steps and went to
the barn, just to make sure Carl was still here. The saddle was still hanging on the wall, and two horses were in their stalls. It didn’t look as if Carl had gone anywhere.

  Then Travis remembered Carl made it a habit of panning for gold. Of course. He was probably at the stream. Travis left the barn and headed down the path that led to the gentle running water that wound through the property.

  “Carl?” he called out.

  The only things he heard were the water trickling over the rocks and birds chirping.

  “Carl?” he called out again.

  The stream was a long one, making it hard to tell whether Carl was going to be to his right or to his left. The trees lining the winding stream didn’t help matters, either. With a sigh, Travis picked one direction and made his way around the trees.

  It was times like this he wished he knew more about the property lines of the people around him. The last thing he wanted was to end up on someone else’s land, especially someone who wasn’t one of the few friendly people he’d come across in town. There were a couple who didn’t take trespassers lightly. He’d heard of a man who’d been shot two years ago for trespassing on someone’s land. It had turned out that the poor fellow had gotten lost.

  Travis’ steps slowed as he stepped into the stream so he could get a better view of his surroundings. “Carl?” he called out.

  Again, no answer.

  Travis glanced back in the direction he came from and decided to backtrack. If he didn’t find Carl in the other direction, he’d return home and come back later.

  On his way down the other way, he took a moment to kneel into the stream so he could wash his face and the back of his neck. Since no one was around to see him, he removed his hat and wet down his hair. The action did much to cool him down.