The Holiday Mail Order Bride (Holiday Mail Order Brides Book 9)

by Kit Morgan

  “No, it … wait, here it is. He's … a philanthropist?”

  Cecil froze. “A philanthropist? Good heavens! Do you often deal with such men?” he asked Mrs. Ridgley.

  “He might mean something different,” she said. “I had an application not long ago that stated the man was a grass tycoon.”

  “Grass tycoon?” asked Ammy with a smile. “Whatever did he mean by that?”

  “It turned out the gentleman was a farmer and raised wheat and hay.”

  Cecil and Ammy laughed, their mood lightened. They'd found a solution to their problem. “What do you suppose this Garrett Vander really does?” asked Ammy.

  Mrs. Ridgley shrugged. “I've sent people to Independence before and my guess is, this particular gentleman is a businessman. In fact, the last time I got a request from Independence, it came from this same address. He must be a friend of the pastor and mercantile owner who requested brides. My own niece married the town pastor as a mail-order bride.”

  Ammy’s eyes brightened as she looked at her father. “Independence sounds like a nice little place, doesn't it?”

  “Yes, my dearest. A nice place to start a new life and raise a family, maybe even a place to start over… for some folks.”

  She understood, and smiled at him. Together, they’d each start a new life in Independence, Oregon.

  Two

  Independence, Oregon, in the home of Mercy and Horace Vander …

  “Betsy!” Mercy Vander cried as she came down the stairs. She crossed the foyer into the parlor. “Betsy, have you seen my shawl?”

  Betsy her long-time maid, looked up from her dusting. “Which one? You have at least five.”

  “The cream-colored one. You know, the one you made me last Christmas?”

  “It's hanging on your rocking chair, right where you left it, Mrs. Vander.”

  Mercy blinked at her a few times. “Oh, silly me, that is where I left it, isn't it?” She scurried out of the room, across the foyer, and into the dining room. She grabbed the shawl off her rocking chair and wrapped it around her shoulders. “Thank you, Betsy!” she called.

  “You're welcome, Mrs. Vander,” Betsy shouted back from the parlor.

  “Now, where's my reticule?” Mercy muttered at she glanced around the room. “Betsy?”

  “It's in the kitchen Mrs. Vander, right where you left it.”

  Mercy thought a moment before her eyes lit up. “So I did!” She hurried out of the dining room and down the hall to the kitchen. After a moment, she reappeared in the parlor. “I'm off to my committee meeting for the Christmas pageant. I won't be home for lunch.”

  “I knew that. But will Mr. Vander be home for his?”

  “Oh, dear,” said Mercy. “I'm afraid I can't answer that. But you know Mr. Vander is happy with a sandwich.”

  “Mmmhmm. Do I ever. That man could live off of nothing but sandwiches and be content.”

  “True. Oh, and we’ll both be home for dinner,” Mercy reminded her. “And don't forget to set an extra place for Pastor Adams and his wife. I invited them yesterday to dine with us. I did tell you, didn't I?”

  “Mmmhmm, about ten times.”

  “Really?” Mercy said as she shook her head. “Land sakes, I guess my mind isn't what it used to be. What would I do without you, Betsy?”

  “Lord only knows,” Betsy said dryly as she returned to her dusting.

  “Well, I must be off,” said Mercy. “I'll see you this afternoon.”

  “You have yourself a fun time, Mrs. Vander. I hope you come up with some good ideas. Last year's Christmas pageant and parade could have done with a bit more excitement.”

  Mercy rolled her eyes. “We don't discuss last year's Christmas pageant, or the parade.”

  “Sorry. Just thought I'd mention it considering I was one of the many, suffering in the audience.”

  “Your opinion has been noted, Betsy. I'll be sure to inform the others.”

  “Mmmhmm, you do that, Mrs. Vander.”

  Mercy smiled, waved, and then headed out the front door to her committee meeting. No sooner had the door closed, than her son Garrett came bounding down the stairs. “Betsy! You beautiful, wonderful thing you!”

  Betsy stopped her dusting and eyed him. “What do you want?” she asked with suspicion.

  “Just because I greet you with a heartfelt good morning, is no reason to become suspicious. What's for breakfast?”

  “Maybe if you'd gotten up on time, you’d know.”

  “Can I help it if I like to sleep in now and again?”

  “Seems to me since you've been home from college, there's been a lot now and especially again,” she commented.

  “But I have to enjoy my last few days of freedom before I join the workforce.”

  “What workforce? I’m the only workforce in this house.”

  “Father does his fair share,” said Garrett with a grin. “But city politics aren’t for me, Betsy, you know that.”

  “Yeah, I know. So when are you figuring on opening up an office?”

  Garrett flopped onto the nearest piece of furniture, a small chair by the fireplace. “Soon, I guess. I'm going to go speak with Mr. Clarkson today.”

  “Well it's about time,” she chided. “That man needs to retire and enjoy what few years he has left in this world. You'd be wise to work alongside him for awhile before he does just that.”

  “As is my plan,” he said and stood. “Clarkson and Vander, Attorneys at Law”. How does that sound?”

  “Sounds mighty fine, if Mr. Clarkson agrees to it.”

  “He will. My father has already spoken to him.”

  “He did? Good for him,” said Betsy with a smile.

  “Yes, isn't it though?” Garrett said, his face solemn. “But the rest is still up to me.”

  “Of course it is. Your father is smart enough to let you establish yourself. You don't need him to pave the way for you.”

  “I don't want him to,” he said, his face serious. “I want to make my own way, build my own empire. If he can do it, then so can I.”

  “Young, restless, and ready to tackle the world, aren't you?” she asked with a smile. “Next thing you know, you'll be wanting a wife.”

  “No, not me!”

  “Mmmhmm. What about you chasing after Morgan Tindle’s intended when she first came to town?”

  “That was weeks ago,” he told her with a wave of his hand. “I've got to concentrate on my law career. I'm going to be the best lawyer this side of Salem.”

  “After Mr. Clarkson retires you'll be the only lawyer this side of Salem.

  “Well, then, it'll be easy for me to get clients, won’t it?”

  Betsy rolled her eyes as she smiled. “I think a wife would suit you fine. What a lucky girl she'll be when she finds out she's married to the only lawyer… this side of Salem.”

  Garrett laughed. “Yes, and that's exactly why Mr. Clarkson is going to take me on as his partner. That poor man has more work than he knows what to do with. I can't keep him waiting any longer. I’m afraid my days of carefree living have come to an end.”

  “At least you stay out of trouble. I have to say Mr. Garrett, that I'm proud of you.”

  He nodded appreciatively. “Thank you, Betsy. That means a lot to me coming from you.”

  She got back to her dusting. “If I had had children, and a boy, I would hope that he’d grow up into as fine a young man as you have.”

  He smiled at the compliment. “Betsy, how come you never married?”

  She stopped dusting and shrugged. “Because I never found a man I liked.”

  Garrett laughed, closed the distance between them and grabbed her. “If I was twenty years older, I'd marry ya!” He kissed her on the cheek and let her go.

  “Get out of here, you young scoundrel!” she admonished and hit him with her feather duster.

  Garrett laughed, turned on his heel, and went to the kitchen to scrounge up some breakfast. Betsy shook her head and then looked to the ceiling. “Lor
d have mercy. I sure hope whatever bride he’s got comin’ is able to handle him.”

  * * *

  “So, you're really going to go through with it, eh?” asked Morgan.

  Garrett nodded as he ran a finger along the mercantile's front counter. Garrett finished his breakfast, and decided to pay his friend Morgan a visit at the mercantile. “Old man Clarkson is going to take me on as partner, endow me with his wisdom, and then I'll take over when he retires.”

  “So are you planning to do that all in one day?” Morgan laughed. “George Clarkson isn't getting any younger, you know.”

  “Yes, I realize that,” said Garrett. “But he's not in his grave yet either.”

  “No, not yet, but he looks like he might be paying Julian’s parents a visit soon, and not as a social call.”

  Garrett smirked at the mention of Julian, their mutual friend, whose parents were the town’s undertakers. He turned and walked down the counter the other way. “How's married life?”

  “You’re changing the subject,” said Morgan.

  “That's because there's nothing else to talk about in the other one. I'm starting out my illustrious career as a lawyer/assistant/apprentice if you will, while you’re starting out your life in matrimonial bliss.” He stopped, turned, and looked at Morgan with a grin. “So… how are things?

  Morgan grinned back. “Peaches and cream.”

  Garrett groaned. “You're a lucky man, my friend. Daisy is a beautiful woman and a fine cook. She’s also sweet and kind. Julian and I would count ourselves lucky to find such a woman. I'm happy for you, Morgan.”

  Morgan's grin turned into a heartfelt smile. “Thank you, Garrett, I'm glad you feel that way. There are a few gentlemen in town jealous of my good fortune.”

  “Really? Who?”

  Morgan shrugged. “Jess Templeton, for one. Or so I'm told.”

  “Jess Templeton? He's not even here!”

  “His mother wrote him as soon as she found out Daisy was in town. It seems the matrons around here are jealous of my mother too.”

  “Why? Because she was able to marry off her precious son?”

  “That, and the fact she now has help in the mercantile.”

  “What? No mention of grandchildren?”

  Morgan laughed. “I think that goes without saying, don't you?”

  “Well, it couldn't have happened to a nicer fellow. The rest will have to get their own brides, be it by mail-order or some other means.”

  “Like going to Portland?”

  “Oregon City is closer,” Garrett pointed out. “As is Salem.”

  “What about you? When do you think you'll tie the knot?” Morgan asked.

  “I've decided to wait until after I'm better established. Julian plans on doing the same.”

  “But Julian is already established, for the most part. He works with his parents and is part owner in the business. Like me, Julian and whomever he marries will take over when his parents decide to retire.”

  “All true,” agreed Garrett. And all the more reason for me to get myself established first. I need to have my foot in the door of a growing business before I take on a wife.”

  “Very sensible of you,” said Morgan. “I'm sure your future bride will appreciate it.”

  Garrett ran his finger over the counter where he stood. “Was it hard marrying a woman you hardly knew?”

  Morgan leaned against the counter and thought a moment. “I wouldn't say I hardly knew her. We did spend some time together before we married. But I suppose if she’d gotten off the stage and we went straight to Pastor Adams, then yes, things might be different; at first anyway. I love Daisy, I love her with all my heart and I wouldn't trade her for the world. I’m blessed the good Lord sent me such a woman.”

  “Julian and I have talked about going to Oregon City or Portland to find a bride.”

  “What for?” asked Morgan. “That would take too much time.”

  “No more time than it would take to send away for a mail-order bride.”

  “Well as I see it, it's not something you and Julian have to worry about right now. You've got a good plan Garrett, you need to stick to it.”

  “I plan to. I'm glad I came back to Independence. I can practice law here just as easily as anywhere else.”

  “Except clients back east won't pay you in chickens and pigs, which is what you might get out here.”

  “I don't think I'll mind keeping a few chickens,” Garrett said with a smile.

  The bell over the door rang, interrupting their conversation. A man and a young woman entered the mercantile. “May I help you?” asked Morgan.

  “Yes, maybe you can,” said the woman.

  Garrett straightened and nonchalantly studied her. She was beautiful, with dark hair, hazel eyes, and the creamiest skin he’d ever seen on a woman. He backed up a step or two and tried his best not to gawk.

  “Was there anything in particular you were looking for?” asked Morgan.

  “Not a thing,” she said. “But a who.”

  “Who?” said Morgan confused.

  “Yes,” she said as she approached the counter. “I'm looking for someone. I just got into town, you see, and thought they would meet us when the stage arrived, but…”

  “But they failed to show up, is that it?” asked Morgan.

  “I'm afraid so,” she said and bowed her head.

  “Maybe they're running late,” suggested Garrett wishing to join the conversation.

  “Well, I should hope so,” said the gentleman beside her. “Better late than disrespectful.”

  “I'm sure your relative is simply running behind,” said Morgan. “There's been a lot of rain lately, and some of the outlying roads are quite muddy.”

  “Yes, makes for slow going,” added Garrett.

  The woman turned to the gentleman. “That must be it. Why else would he not have met us?”

  “Who is your relation?” asked Morgan. “I know everyone that lives around here, and could tell you if the road they’d have used is bad or not.”

  “Oh, he's not a relation,” the woman said and blushed.

  “Not yet, he isn't,” said her gentleman companion.

  “Yet?” Garrett and Morgan remarked in unison.

  The woman's blush deepened. “What my father means, is, I'm a mail-order bride. My intended was to meet me but must have been detained.”

  Garrett and Morgan exchanged a quick look. This exquisite creature was a mail-order bride? “Who is he?” They asked at once.

  “My intended?”

  “Yes, what sort of man leaves a beautiful woman,” Garrett stopped and glanced at the man beside her. “Ahem, leaves a beautiful woman and her father alone and deserted the day of her arrival? Why, the cad should be horsewhipped!”

  “Calm down,” said Morgan. “He's probably stuck in the mud.” He turned to the girl. “Who is your intended? Maybe we can help you find him.”

  She smiled. Garrett thought it brilliant. Who on earth did this wonderful vision belong to? He took several steps toward her, intent upon her answer. “Yes, who is he? I still say he ought to be horse whipped for not meeting you.”

  Her smile broadened and she looked between the two of them. “Perhaps you know him. I'm sure he must be around your age.”

  Garrett and Morgan leaned forward at the same time. “Yes?” Morgan urged.

  She smiled that brilliant smile again. “His name is Mr. Garrett Vander.”

  Garrett's knees gave way and he crashed against the counter. He grabbed hold of it and pulled himself back up to a standing position. “Excuse me?” he sputtered.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked alarmed.

  “Yes, speak up,” demanded her father. “Don't tell me this gentleman she's come to marry is someone of ill repute!”

  Morgan stifled a chuckle and looked at Garrett. “Yes, why don't you allay their fears and tell them who the blighter is?”

  Garrett openly gawked at the woman, speechless. Gathering his wits about hi
m, he swallowed hard. “Garrett Vander you say?”

  “Yes,” she said. She took in his shocked expression. “Oh, please don't tell me there’s something wrong with him. I've come so far.”

  “So have I,” Garrett muttered.

  “What was that?” her father asked. “Speak up! If the man's a drunkard, gambler, or has some other horrible vice, tell us now and we’ll take the next stage out of here! I’ll not see my daughter married off to some disreputable scoundrel!”

  “Disreputable scoundrel?” repeated Morgan with a grin. He turned to Garrett. “Do you think her intended is a disreputable scoundrel?”

  Garrett stiffened. “Maybe not, but I think his parents might be.”

  “I know the feeling,” said Morgan. “All too well.”

  “What are you talking about?” asked her father. “Let's have it! Tell me if we've come here for nothing.”

  Garrett swallowed again. Hard. He looked at the girl, could see the disappointment on her face, then took in the angry face of her father. “It's hard to say,” he said and grimaced.

  “What do you mean, it's hard to say?” barked the man. “Look, we've traveled thousands of miles to be here and are not in a position to… Well, where can I find this man? I'll deal with him myself!”

  Garrett let go a long sigh. “This has to be my mother’s doing.” He threw his hands in the air. “Who else would do such a thing?”

  “What has your mother got to do with any of this?” asked the woman. “Do you know my intended, or not?”

  He looked at her with a lopsided grin. “Yes, I know Mr. Vander, I know him very well.”

  “And?” She inquired.

  Garrett shrugged. “You're looking at him.”

  Three

  Ammy gasped as her father let out something between a bark and a grunt. “What?” he snapped. “How can you be Garrett Vander? Don't play me for a fool, young man!”

  “I'm not playing anyone for a fool, sir,” said Garrett as he tried to stay calm. He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “I'm as surprised as you are.”

  “Surprised?” said Ammy. “You sent for me!”

  Garrett shook his head. “No, I didn't.”