by Kit Morgan
Morgan groaned and leaned on the counter. “I'm afraid you're a victim of Mr. Vander's mother,” he informed her. “A growing occurrence of late.”
“What are you talking about?” her father demanded.
“Our mothers sent for our brides,” explained Garrett.
“Yes, but they seem to forget to tell us that they've done so,” added Morgan. “Not that I, myself, am complaining. I'm now happily married.”
Ammy’s eyes widened. “You mean to tell me your mother sent for me, and that you had no idea I was coming?!”
“That about sums it up I’m afraid,” said Garrett with a sigh.
Ammy turned to her father. “After all we've been through, and now this? What are we going to do?”
“Settle down dear, I'll take care of this.” He turned to Garrett. “It’s understandable if we've come as a shock showing up like this. But my daughter didn't travel all this way only to turn back. She came here to get married, and by God, that's what she'll do!”
Ammy watched as Garrett Vander's face paled. “But sir, I had no intention of getting married. I assure you this was my mother's idea, not mine.”
“Why, the audacity!” Her father cried. “I demand to speak with your parents at once!”
Ammy’s so-called intended, swallowed hard. “That can be arranged.”
She closed her eyes in frustration. If she didn't marry, and Reginald's men caught up with them, they would really be in trouble. This was their one chance to start a new life, even if it did mean she’d have to marry a stranger. She opened her eyes and studied her flabbergasted groom. He looked as confused as she felt, maybe more so, and stared at her with wide, green eyes. He was a strikingly handsome man, well groomed, and well dressed. In truth, she wouldn’t mind being married to him at all. “What are we going to do?”
Mr. Vander shrugged. “Let your father speak to my father, I suppose. I'm terribly sorry this happened.”
The man behind the counter cleared his throat. “Garrett, a word if you please?”
Mr. Vander gave him a single nod, then turned to Ammy. “Will you excuse me for a moment?”
“Of course,” she said in a voice weaker than she wanted.
“Don't you run off, young man!” her father called after him as he followed the storekeeper down a hall and out of sight. “Why the nerve!” He turned to Ammy. “I’ll see that Mrs. Ridgley put out of business!”
“Father, it was hardly Mrs. Ridgley's fault. How was she to know the man's mother answered the advertisement and not him?”
“This is preposterous!” Her father took a deep breath, as if preparing to explode, but instead, stared at her. “I'm so sorry, Ammy. But don't worry. I’ll fix everything. You'll be married before the week is out.”
“Don't be so sure, father,” she said in a low voice as she peered down the hall. “Besides Reginald Van Cleet wouldn’t send his men this far, would he?”
“Yes, I believe he would! Once he figures things out, that is. If he does, then I'd say we’re only a few weeks ahead of him, which means you've got to be married by Christmas!”
Ammy closed her eyes again and let out a heavy sigh. “I'll do my best, father.”
“See that you do, our lives might depend on it.”
Her eyes sprang open. “Lives? What do you mean?”
Her father shook his head. “Some things are best left unsaid. Let's concentrate on getting you married, and then you'll be safe.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but Mr. Vander and the mercantile owner emerged from the hall. “Are you hungry?” Mr. Vander asked.
Ammy took a step back, surprised by the question. “Hungry?”
“Yes, you've had a long journey. I propose that you and your father get something to eat at the café, while I go speak with my parents.”
Ammy’s father narrow his eyes at him. “No funny business now, you hear?”
“I wouldn't dream of it, sir.” Mr. Vander said politely and reached into his pocket. He pulled out some money and handed it to him. “The cafés just down the street. I'm sure you'll be much more comfortable there than in the mercantile.”
Ammy watched her father’s mouth twist up to one side as he struggled with indecision. She knew well they were out of money, and both of them were very hungry. After a moment of grinding teeth and a tight jaw, he took the money from Mr. Vander and then grabbed her by the hand. “Come along, Ambrosia. Let's do what he says. But if we don't see you within the hour, young man, I'll fetch the sheriff and have you arrested!”
“For what?” asked the mercantile’s owner. “He hasn't done anything.”
“We’re dealing with falsified information sent through a legitimate business. In short, fraud!”
Mr. Vander's eyes widened. He looked at his friend behind the counter and shrugged. “He does have a point.”
His friend rolled his eyes. “Just go tell your mother what's happened, then take her to the café so these poor folks can know what to do.”
“Right you are,” said Mr. Vander as he gave her a curt nod. He then quickly left the mercantile.
“Don't worry, I'm sure everything will work out fine,” said the storeowner.
“Well, I'm glad somebody's confident it will,” said Ammy. “But from the looks of things, I'm not so sure.”
“Believe it or not, but when my mother did the same thing to me, I felt just as Garrett does right now. But I love my mail-order bride, and wouldn't trade her for the world.”
“What’s your name, son?” Ammy’s father asked.
“Morgan Tindle. My family and I own this establishment. And you are?”
“Cecil Winters. And this of course, is my daughter, Ambrosia.”
“Pleased to meet you both,” said Mr. Tindle.
“Tell me, young sir. But how long have you known this Mr. Vander? Can he be trusted?”
“I've known Garrett all my life, and would have no problem trusting him with it. He'll not steer you wrong. No matter how things turn out, the Vanders will make sure you're taken care of.”
“Taken care of?” said Ammy.
“Yes, if you and Garrett don't marry, then I'm sure they'll pay for tickets to get you back home.”
Ammy was tired, cold, and hungry. So when her lower lip began to tremble from her exhaustion, she wasn't surprised. “We came here to start a new life. We’ll not go back to the old one.”
Morgan studied them. “Fine, you can start a new life here. This is a wonderful town with wonderful people. Now why don’t you do as Garrett suggested and get yourselves something to eat and drink. Some hot coffee would be good. You both look like you're half-frozen.”
Ammy's father put his arm around her. “He’s right. Let's get something warm in you, dearest. It will make you feel better.”
Ammy nodded and let him steer her toward the door. Her father stopped and picked up the satchels that held their meager belongings. During all the excitement she hadn’t realized she'd dropped hers. She was more in shock than she cared to admit. It had been a long, uncomfortable, journey west, and the thought of having to do it again filled her with despair. “All right, Father. Let's go.”
“Turn right when you get outside,” instructed Morgan. “The café’s a few doors down. Try the chicken soup, it’s delicious.”
She turned and gave him a weak smile before her father guided them outside. This was not how she envisioned starting her new life in Independence.
* * *
“Mother!” Garrett shouted as he burst through the front door of the house. “Mother! Come down here this instant!” He crossed the foyer to the stairs. “Mother!”
Mercy Vander ran to the top of the stairs and gaped at her son, eyes wide. “What is it? What's the matter?”
“You know perfectly well what's the matter!” seethed Garrett as he stomped up the stairs.
“I'm afraid I don't, dear. What has you in such a dither?”
“You do!”
“Me? What have I done?”
�
��You know perfectly well what you've done!”
Mercy gasped. “Garrett! What ever are you talking about?”
“I'm talking about my mail-order bride!”
“Your mail-order… bride?”
“Yes, and this one brought her father along!”
“What?”
“Don't play innocent with me, Mother! Tell me, was it just you, or was Father in on it too?”
Your father doesn't know anything more about this than I do!”
“And you expect me to believe you?! Where’s Father?”
“At his office, of course, where he always is at this time of day.”
“Good,” Garrett said as he grabbed her hand and began to pull her down the stairs. “We’re going to have a little chat with him and get this whole mess straightened out.”
“What mess?”
“Stop it, Mother, just stop it!”
“How can I stop something when I don't know what it is I'm supposed to be stopping?” she asked as they reached the bottom of the stairs.
Garrett grabbed her coat from a closet and wrapped it around her shoulders. “Let's go.”
“Where are we going?”
“To get Father.”
“What ever for? You're not making any sense!”
Garrett spun on her. “We’re going to fetch Father, and then were going down to the café, where my mail-order bride and her father are waiting for us.”
His mother gaped at him again. “You mean there really is a mail-order bride?”
“That's what I've been telling you!”
“And she brought her father?”
“Yes, and he's not a happy man right now.”
“Well for Heaven’s sake, why not?” Mercy asked in a huff.
“Because, dear Mother, I was not expecting a mail-order bride, and told them so.”
“But I wasn't expecting a mail-order bride either!”
“Well, if you didn't order me a mail-order bride, then who did?!”
“How should I know?”
“If you didn't, then Father must have! But until we talk to him, we’ll never get to the bottom of this.” He took her hand again and pulled her out the door.
It didn't take long to reach his father's office in the town’s small courthouse. Garrett hurried up the stairs to the second floor, and barged right in, pulling his mother along behind him. “Father!”
Horace Vander looked up from the papers on his desk. “Garrett, my lad. What's the matter? Is something wrong?”
Mercy yanked her hand from her son’s tight grasp and went to stand in front of her husband’s desk. “Plenty. What do you have to say for yourself?”
“What?” asked Horace, confused. “What's going on?”
“The mail-order bride you sent for is here,” Garrett announced.
“Mail-order bride!” boomed Horace. “What bride?”
“The one you sent for,” said Mercy. “Really, Horace, you couldn’t even tell me?”
“I didn't send away for a bride!” spat Horace in his defense. “This must be your doing again!”
“It is not my doing!” cried Mercy. “So it must be yours!”
Garret stood and watched his parents go back and forth, one on either side of the desk for a moment, before he'd had enough. “Quiet! Both of you!” The door was still open. Garrett turned to see several people gathered outside in the hall, amused smiles on their faces. “This is none of your business! Get back to work!” he said then slammed the door shut. Red-faced, he turned back to his parents. “Will one of you please explain to me what is happening?”
“Well it's perfectly clear to me, what's happening,” said his mother. “You have a mail-order bride.”
“That much I know, Mother. But who sent for her?”
“I can tell you in all honesty, dear, that it wasn't me.”
Both of them looked at Horace. “It wasn't me!” he boomed. “I wouldn’t know the first thing about sending away for a mail-order bride. That's your mother's department.”
“Not this time,” she said.
Garrett stood in stunned silence for a moment before he got his mouth to work. “Well if neither of you sent for a bride, then who did?”
His parents looked at each other, then at Garrett. “I don't know, dear,” said his mother. “I’m positive Martha wouldn't, and Maude would get a bride for Julian before she'd ever think of getting one for you.”
Garrett threw his hands in the air. “What am I going to tell these people? They're waiting at the café for us!”
“Then we'd best get this whole thing straightened out,” his father barked. “I'll get my hat and coat! No son of mine is going to tie the knot if he doesn't want to!”
“Is she a nice girl, dear?” asked his mother.
“How should I know?” asked Garrett. “I only saw her for a few minutes!”
“Sometimes a few minutes is all it takes,” she said in a bright tone.
“Are you sure you had nothing to do with this mother?” Garrett asked one last time.
“Of course, dear. If I had sent for a bride, I would've told you first.”
“She must be here by mistake then,” said Garrett, a bit calmer. “There's no other explanation.”
“Don't worry, son,” soothed his father. “We’ll get this whole thing straightened out. I think I've enough money on me to buy them tickets back to wherever it is they came from. We’ll be rid of them by tomorrow.”
Garrett reached for the door and stopped. An image of the girl he’d left at the mercantile loomed before him, and he belatedly realized how pretty she was. Despite the fact she was also exhausted from her long journey. How did Morgan get through this with Daisy? Garrett sighed. He married her, that's how. But, just as his father said, Garrett didn't have to marry this woman if he didn't want to. He opened the door, and together they left for the café.
* * *
“There there, dear. Don't cry.”
Ammy's father reached across the table and patted her hand as she fought against tears. Her exhaustion took over and she just couldn't help it. “I know I shouldn't be this upset, but I am. We've come so far.”
“Yes, and here we’ll stay. Our traveling days are over.” He leaned toward her. “No more running, Ammy,” he whispered.
She smiled and brushed away the few tears that managed to escape. “All right, we’ll take whatever the world throws at us, just as we always have.”
“That's the spirit,” he told her with a wink. “Now eat your soup before it gets cold.”
The waitress had no sooner put their bowls in front of them, than Ammy’s tears started. She wiped away a few more, then picked up her spoon and began to eat. Warmth filled her, and with it came a sense of well-being. Amazing what hot food could do for a poor, tired soul. But whatever comfort her chicken soup brought, was quickly taken away when Garrett Vander entered the café with a bear of a man and a petite woman in tow.
“Where are they?” roared the big man.
“Father, keep your voice down,” said Garrett as he walked toward their table. He reached it and stopped. “As promised, I've brought my parents. Now we’ll get this whole thing straightened out.”
Ammy's father stood. “You must be Mr. Vander senior,” he stated in an authoritative voice.
“Horace Vander’s the name,” he boomed and held out a hand.
Ammy's father grasped and shook it. “Cecil Winters, at your service,” he answered, and then got right to it. “We seem to have a problem. My daughter answered an ad for a mail-order bride and now that she's here, your son tells us he didn't send for her. Tell me sir, are you in the habit of sending away for brides and not informing your offspring that he’s to be married?”
“Of course not!” barked Horace.
“No, of course,” affirmed Cecil. “But apparently your wife, is.”
Mrs. Vander gasped. “I had nothing to do with this!”
Cecil eyed the pair. “I don't understand. Your son tells us you've done th
is sort of thing before.”
“Yes, I have. But not lately!” cried Mrs. Vander.
“Then who's responsible for this?” shouted Horace. What few other patrons there were hurried for the doors as fast as they could.
“Father, calm down, will you?” asked Garrett as he watched the last customer hightail it out of the café.
Clara came running from the kitchen. “Mayor Vander! What are you doing to my café?”
“Two coffees, Clara!” was his answer.
“Well! I never!” Clara took one last glance at her empty dining room, turned, and stomped back into the kitchen.
“Mercy, sit down.”
“Where, dear?” she asked as she studied the empty chairs.
“I don't care where! Just sit down so we can settle this!”
She grabbed the nearest chair and sat. Cecil, meanwhile, stood and stared at Garrett's father. “Did that woman call you Mayor Vander?”
“Of course she did!” Horace boomed.
Cecil exchanged a quick look with Ammy. Garrett Vander's father was the town mayor? “Oh dear,” said Ammy in a quiet voice. Now she was sure Garrett would never marry her. It might hurt his father's reputation. She let go a heavy sigh and shook her head in resignation. She could always find a job, as could her father, and between the two of them, start a new life.
“We’ll settle this here and now,” boomed Horace. He reached into his jacket’s inside pocket, and pulled out a billfold. “How much did it cost you to get here?”
“Not a thing, actually,” said Cecil. “You paid for the train and stage fare for Ambrosia here.”
“What?” Horace barked. He looked to his wife. “Did I?”
“I have no idea, dear,” she said.
“Garrett, what do you know of this?” he asked his son.
Garrett shrugged in exasperation. “I don't know! Nobody knows, except the person who answered the advertisement! And right now, I'd really like to know who that is!”
“Never mind about all that,” said his father in a huff. He turned back to Cecil. “How much?”
Cecil held up a hand. “I’ll not take your money. Ambrosia and I will find our own way in this town.”
“You mean you're going to stay?” Horace asked in shock.
