The Piper
The Eleventh Day
Amanda McIntyre
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, place, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Twelve Days of Christmas Mail Order Brides series
The Eleventh Day*The Piper
Copyright © 2017 by Amanda McIntyre
Cover design by Erin Dameron-Hill
Edits by Kristina Cook
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
Published by Amanda McIntyre
http://www.amandamcintyresbooks.com
https://www.amazon.com/Amanda-McIntyre/e/B002C1KH2Q
Printed in the United States of America
Created with Vellum
To the pioneering women, past and present, that I have had the honor to know and work with.
Contents
About the Series
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
About the Author
Other Books by Amanda McIntyre:
Find out how the series wraps up on the 12th day…
About the Series
Be sure to check out all the wonderful authors in this inter-related Twelve Days of Christmas Mail-Order Brides.
Noelle, Colorado, is in danger of becoming a ghost town. Twelve men commit to an outrageous plan to save the mining community and have only twelve days to accomplish it…if brides they ordered will cooperate.
Noelle, Colorado, is in danger of becoming a ghost town if the railroad decides to bypass the mountaintop mining community. Determined to prove their town is thriving and civilized, twelve men commit to ordering brides. When the twelve upstanding women arrive, they wonder if they’ve been duped. The raucous town is nothing like it was portrayed. Then again, neither are the brides…Get them all HERE: http://amzn.to/2ibnG7S
The Partridge: Day 1 by Kit Morgan
The Dove: Day 2 by Shanna Hatfield
The French Hens: Day 3 by Merry Farmer
The Calling Birds: by Jacqui Nelson
The Ring: Day 5 by Caroline Lee
The Geese: Day 6 by Peggy Henderson
The Swan: Day 7 by Piper Hugely
The Maid: Day 8 by Rachel Wesson
The Dancing Lady: Day 9 by Mimi Milan
The Lord: Day 10: by Danica Favorite
The Piper: Day 11 by Amanda McIntyre
The Drum: Day 12 by E.E. Burke
Prologue
December 1876 Denver, Colorado
Genevieve sat at her writing desk staring at the snow being lashed by the winter winds outside her window. Her bag was packed for the trip, waiting downstairs by the front door of her uncle-in-law’s rambling Victorian home in Denver. She pulled the shawl close, scrunching her shoulders to the shiver of anticipation and the unknown awaiting her. This would be the culmination of all she’d worked for these many years since she and her mother-in-law moved from the East coast to live with her brother. Shortly thereafter, she took on a position of director of a mission sponsored by the congregation of the Denver Methodist church—the church where her step-uncle served as deacon board member and his wife played organ. Her position was as a matchmaker of sorts, director of the Benevolent Society of Lost Lambs. Fairly new to the church, the group had been a place to house women who found themselves in circumstances unknown, needing assistance. They welcomed all women of various age, races and family dynamics. With the onset of the many catalogs that popped up and the advertisements soliciting brides for the men who’d gone west in search of making gold and land claims, Genevieve became aware that these seasoned women (some more than others) deserved a happy marriage and if there was any possibility of a new chance for some of these women the Society of Lost Lambs was the hope for many.
The soft glow of the kerosene lamp cast shadows on the bundled stack of letters sitting never far from reach on her writing desk. The blue ribbon faded and frayed now with time served as a reminder of why she’d chosen the path of match-making. She picked up the pencil and began the entry on the blank page of the journal her mother-in-law gifted her on this new adventure.
December 1876
Tomorrow we board a train bound for the first leg of our trip to Noelle, Colorado. A small, but picturesque little town (if Pastor Hammonds description holds true) blossoming ripe for new families. The women I travel with are a diverse lot yet among us is a camaraderie, a purpose—a hope. Our common desire is to establish hearth and home in this New West. These are not your delicate flowers of society. For the most part, they are seasoned (some more than others) resilient, capable women who I am certain will be an asset to the admirable suitors Pastor Hammond has so carefully chosen. The way is paved with uncertainty. Most grand adventures are. And I will be there—at their side—not only as a representative of our society’s goals, but also as a woman, making sure that each of these women I have come to know receives the happiness they so richly deserve…
Genevieve paused. Her gaze lighting on the intricate patterns of frost on the window pane. Would there be houses such as this? Draped canopy beds with thick quilts piled high for warmth on a winter’s night? Warm wool-tufted rugs underfoot? The scent of a warm stew wafting from a well-stocked kitchen? She had her doubts that Noelle was Utopia. She glanced at the letters and the gold watch on its delicate gold chain.
Time.
The war had taught her the meaning of it. A short-lived marriage. A widow’s mourning dress. A forbidden kiss from a man deemed her husband’s closest confidant—she shook her head to dissolve the ancient history. A dozen years had passed. There’d been no word after his departure. It was better left as it was, she had finally convinced herself. She had a new life. A new mission. Genevieve picked up her pencil and with a cleansing sigh finished the first of many entries to come—
“I retire now with a sincere hope during this season of miracles that our journey together makes us stronger, and that the camaraderie we share through common experience will be a bright and shining example of our mission purpose. May our God go with us and may He bless these women with long and happy marriages.”
Genevieve picked up the letters and tucked them in the tapestry satchel she’d carry with her on the train. The watch was placed with her other dressings laid out and ready for the early morning train.
Chapter 1
The eleventh day of Christmas
January 4, 1877 Noelle, Colorado
Genevieve dabbed her eyes with the lace-edged handkerchief given to her as a wedding gift by her mother-in-law. Bittersweet memories lodged free from her surrounding stung as sharp as the wintry Colorado wind.
Her wedding day. That, too, had been a winter’s day, a lifetime ago—the intimate gathering, the house aglow with festive warmth. Thoughts of war had been set aside at least for a few hours. The images blurred, but the emotions attached to them--long since thought buried--surfaced with stark clarity at the sight before her.
A small tree, gaily decorated. A potbelly stove providing warmth against a cold, bitter wind. A bride, holding a simple nosegay of evergreen and ribbon aw
aiting her marriage vows. A handful of women who’d been virtual strangers but a few days ago stood together on this frigid Wednesday morning, bonded by the journey that had brought them from Denver to Noelle, Colorado—their future home.
Genevieve glanced at the watch—her husband’s—that had been returned to her after his death.
A quarter past the hour and Penny’s intended, Silas Powell, appeared to be late for his own wedding.
Birdie Peregrine looked at Pastor Hammond. “Shall I send Jack to look for him?” she asked, her blue eyes sparkling with determination.
The preacher smiled amiably. “Thank you, Mrs. Peregrine, but I don’t think that will be necessary. Silas isn’t exactly known for his punctuality. Let’s give him a few more minutes.”
Birdie shot a questioning look to Genevieve. After all, she was the matchmaker that had managed for the most part to marry off a number of the brides she’d escorted from the Benevolent Society of Lost Lambs in Denver, just ten days ago. She nodded. “The pastor is right, let’s wait a few moments more.” She forced herself to smile at Penny whose stoic gaze unsettled Genevieve.
Birdie patted Penny’s shoulder, then fluffed the lacy veil the gifted seamstress had made for the new bride. Birdie had taken a particular shine to Penny over the past few days after news began to circulate through town that this was Penny’s third trip to the altar, due to the untimely deaths of her previous husbands.
Genevieve had found the woman’s penchant for ill-fated luck remarkable, but chose instead to see it as merely coincidence. However, considering the strange incidents revolving around Penny over the past couple of days, convincing miners--already a superstitious lot—had not been so easy. Even Silas, her intended, had gone out of his way to avoid his prospective bride after the debacle of spilling his whiskey on her barely after they’d arrived. And their arrival in the midst of a snowstorm on Christmas Eve was nothing that any of them had expected.
Genevieve caught Pastor Hammonds ever-present smile. She’d come to realize that most times he used it to elicit a calm assurance. Today, however, it served as a reminder of the struggles and hardships that lay before these women in this barely civilized place. A place she had thought this side of heaven given Pastor Hammond’s poetic portrayal of an idyllic place to establish a home and family for each of her prospective brides.
Not all had wanted to make the journey despite the pastor’s rosy description. Penelope Hamilton Jackson was one such woman. She’d come to Denver after hearing of the society’s benevolent work and had offered her services to help other women. It had been Genevieve who had talked her into giving married life one more chance. Begrudgingly, she’d agreed, and Genevieve had her twelve brides she’d promised to escort personally to Noelle. True, she could just as easily have sent them off on their own. There was nothing in the agreement stating her presence was necessary on the journey. To accompany them had been her choice and one she’d not taken lightly. She felt wholly responsible not only for their safety, but also to verify the men chosen were acceptable companions for marriage. In addition, she wanted to prove to her superiors that the mission could be useful in placing a variety of diverse women in good marriages.
Pastor Hammond held her gaze as he spoke to the small waiting crowd. “Folks, I like to think that God performs some of his best work in times like these. Let us raise our voices in song to pass the time.”
His voice, a rich baritone began, “God rest ye, merry gentlemen…”
Those present, mumbled along, appearing less certain it appeared that music was going to change the current course of things.
Genevieve stared at the preacher. He’d offered the same congenial smile as they stood ankle-deep in the drifts during a blinding snowstorm. Emerging weary and frazzled each woman shivered beneath the only capes they had over their thin dresses. The narrow passage through the mountain pass would have been harrowing enough in decent weather, but the storm created its own dangers and she’d been grateful the wagons were covered so that the women couldn’t see how treacherously close to the edge of the mountainside they were at times.
Half-frozen and scared, they looked to her, uncertainty glazing their eyes. Genevieve had taken one look at the less-than-picturesque surroundings and turned her gaze on the good preacher for a clear explanation. Climbing down from the make-shift sleighs (crude wooden wagons modified with runners) to the snow-crusted street she and the other brides took in the tumble-down buildings, most in need of repair, they followed Pastor Hammond into a building with Golden Nugget saloon painted across the upper half of the structure. Genevieve’s heart wondering of the nightmare she’d shepherded these women into.
She’d not been moved then by the Pastor’s charming smile. Indeed, she’d been livid to discover that they’d been brought here under a delusion that Noelle was like heaven on earth. She’d threatened to return to Denver post-haste if the pastor didn’t secure a suitable dwelling for the ladies until each was married. Herded in to the saloon, they’d waited and watched as a handful of men determined a solution to the problem.
“There’s only one place big enough and nice enough for those lasses.” Genevieve overheard the saloon’s bartender speaking aloud.
It was the pastor who had encouraged Sherriff Draven- a man who appeared fresh off a wanted poster—and through negotiations she’d preferred directly not to be part of—to be in charge of letting a woman named Madame Bonheur know that her ladies would need to relinquish their home called for the new brides at La Maison des Chats, which according to discussion was one of the most lavishly furnished buildings in Noelle—at least until all the brides were wed.
Arguably, after seeing the rest of the town, it was the most habitable of all the structures in town, but the take-over had not endeared Madame to Genevieve nor her brides. Especially since it meant that madam and her resident ladies had been forced to move their business across the street to an abandoned two-story ramshackle saloon.
That had been eleven days ago. At present, it seemed like an eternity.
Genevieve sighed. After a week of watching her brides married off she realized that Pastor Hammond was not the only one guilty of having created a façade. She, too, had embellished on the truth. In her correspondence she’d painted glowing profiles of each woman in a glorious light. Descriptions that any sane man would kill to marry. In truth, this odd mix of women was a broad study in diversity and eccentric backgrounds. Each came from tumultuous lives, seeking a fresh start in a new place. And with any luck, she hoped to deliver to each woman the happiness they truly deserved.
But with each passing day she’d come to realize that, as rough as it appeared, Noelle had promise. She felt confident that the women she’d brought to this little town had the potential to create a solid, close-knit community. Aside from that, the railroad hierarchy hadn’t given them much time to create a plan for survival. Desperate times called for desperate measures. The town needed brides to secure its survival and she meant to see to it that they met that need.
“Ack! What eejit brought in that godfersakin’ goose!” Seamus, the Golden Nugget bartender, chased the squawking bird from behind the bar, swatting at it with a hand towel.
Molly Thornton lunged for the goose as it waddled through the small group of women, nipping excitedly at their skirts.
Pastor Hammond paused only a heartbeat before he raised his chin and sang a little louder over the din. A cacophony of honks, song, and shrieks filled the room. Genevieve stood to one side taking in the scene, wondering seriously about God’s sense of humor.
“Storm, you and yer missus best be gettin’ this varmint out of my saloon or it’ll be gracin’ my dinner table this very night!” Seamus threatened.
The quiet man rose calmly from his chair, working with his new bride to try to capture the belligerent fowl. They cornered it finally behind the festive little Christmas tree that had been set up near the front window of the saloon. Seamus, known as a lovable curmudgeon with an Irish temper, had at fi
rst, thought it a bit too prissy for a saloon, but had gotten into the spirit of things with everyone involved. However, by the eleventh day, the bartender’s patience had worn thin, and so too, his pockets, complaining the saloon was losing revenue. He was more than ready to get back to the daily task of pouring whiskey and breaking up bar fights.
“Pastor Hammond,” Seamus growled in agitation.
The preacher ceased his singing and looked at the ruffled barkeep. “I agreed on a daybreak wedding only because Mr. Hardt is my boss and he owns this saloon. But I run the place.” Seamus glanced sheepishly at the waiting bride. “You may recall we open early on Wednesday for cards and beer.” He glanced out the dingy thick-paned windows then back at the preacher. “I got men waiting outside and the wind is as cold as a witches ti--” He swallowed the rest of the statement realizing the curious gaze of several female eyes were upon him.
Pastor Hammond raked a hand through his thick hair and spoke with strained patience to the man “Well, then Seamus, why don’t you have the men step inside. They can wait there on the other side of the room for a bit,” he reasoned. “It shouldn’t be too much longer.”
Genevieve glanced around at the handful who’d come to witness the wedding at the crack of dawn on this winter morning. Most of them the brides previously married-Meizhen; wife of the official animal expert in town--Woody Burnside, Birdie; wife of Jack Peregrine of Peregrines Post & Freight, Fina; wife of diner owner, Nacho Villianueva, Kezia; wife of the blacksmith, Culver Daniels and lastly, Molly Thornton; recently married to Storm who crouched on the other side of the tree cornering her frightened pet goose, and of course, Felicity, the Reverend’s new wife. Along with that sat a handful of motley-looking miners who’d been released from their duties for the day by mine owner, Charlie Hardt in order to celebrate Silas’s marriage.
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