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

by Kit Morgan

  “Baking pies?” asked Garrett.

  “No, of course not. But you have to admit, that your housemaid’s pies are incredible.”

  “Betsy's a one-of-a-kind pie maker, that's for sure,” agreed Garrett.

  “Tell me, how long has that woman been in your employ?”

  “Didn't you ask me this earlier?”

  “I may have, but it's been a long and interesting afternoon. The events of the day have me a little muddled.”

  “Ever since I was a boy,” Garrett answered.

  “And she came out west with you, is that right?”

  “Yes sir she did. Why do you ask?”

  “I know her from somewhere, I just can't think of where.”

  “It will come to you in time,” assured Ammy. “Didn’t she mention you were familiar to her as well?”

  Cecil nodded. “Yes, she did. Perhaps she and I can discuss it together later.”

  “That's easily remedied,” said Garrett. “What say we go into the dining room?”

  They followed him across the foyer into the dining parlor, and then each took a seat. No sooner had they sat, Betsy popped into the room from the butlers pantry, a tureen of soup in her hands. Garrett smiled as she set it on the table. “Like to join us for dinner?”

  “What?” sputtered Cecil. “You're inviting your servant to dinner?”

  “Betsy and I have dinner together all the time,” said Garrett.

  “Mmmhmm, that we do.”

  “Why, I've never heard of such a thing!”

  “Well, Betsy's not your typical maid,” said Garrett. “In fact, I'm honored to call her one of my dearest friends, as is my mother.”

  Ammy smiled. “You must love being part of the Vander family, Betsy.”

  Betsy poured soup into a bowl and placed it in front of her. “That I do, Miss Winters. And you'll like being a part of the family too.”

  Her comment made Ammy’s spirits lift. The more time she spent with Garrett, the more she wanted to be a part of his family, and realized how lucky she was to have become his mail-order bride and not some dirt farmer’s from Kansas.

  Betsy set the tureen aside after finally serving herself, and took a seat. Garrett said the blessing and they began to eat. “Betsy,” began Ammy. “My father is trying to figure out where he knows you from. Didn't you mention you thought he looked familiar?”

  Betsy stared at Cecil a moment. “He does, but I can't recall where I would've seen him.” She stared at Cecil. “Maybe it was just somebody who looked like you.”

  “Then that would mean we both saw someone that looked like the other,” he said. “So unless we each have a twin out there somewhere, I'd say we've run into one another somewhere in the past.”

  “Nothing comes to mind, Mr. Winters,” said Betsy. “But that’s all right. I’ve seen you now. In fact, I can say I've seen you in my kitchen nosing through my recipe book.”

  Ammy slowly turned to her father with not only a smile on her lips, but an accusing stare. “Is that so?”

  Cecil had never spoken about other women to Ammy since her mother died. Betsy was the first woman to catch his attention, and frankly, he wasn't sure what to do about it. She was a common servant for crying out loud, with a tongue sharper than dragons teeth. Maybe that's why he liked her. He'd lost everything and what little money he had he was going to give to his daughter and Garrett. He was starting over with nothing, and maybe Betsy was a reminder of that. More importantly, anyone could tell that Betsy the maid was quite happy in her position and loved the Vanders. She wasn't some social climber like many of the women he'd known in Boston, nor a gold digger. Not that he had any gold left to dig… But there was a surety about her that he could not describe. She had self-confidence and knew who she was, and, from what he could tell, was a generous soul. Traits difficult to find among the rich and privileged women of Boston's high society.

  “Have you ever been to Georgia, Mr. Winters?” asked Betsy.

  “Georgia? I was in Atlanta once. Is that where we met?”

  “I have no idea,” she said. “I've never been to Georgia.”

  Garrett choked on his soup, and spewed a mouthful across the table at Ammy.

  “My goodness!” she cried and quickly grabbed a napkin to wipe the front of her dress.

  “Good grief!” Garrett said. “I so sorry… Betsy! Don't do that!”

  “I was just telling the man I ain’t never been to Georgia. I thought since he was from back east he might've been there and could tell us about it. You missed a spot, Miss Winters,” Betsy commented calmly as she pointed at Ammy’s chin.

  Cecil sat in open-mouth shock. It was all he could do not to burst out laughing. Garrett, meanwhile, got up and walked around the table to Ammy, his glass of water in hand. He dipped his napkin in it, and handed it to her. “Here this will help.”

  Betsy bent over the table and calmly dabbed at the tablecloth. “I think I'll go get the next course,” she said and stood without blinking an eye.

  Cecil watched her go, his heart in his throat. What a character! She was fiery and had a sense of humor!

  Garrett watched Ammy clean the front of her dress, then shook his head. “I'm sure Betsy can get that out before it stains.”

  “But… that means I'd have to take it off!”

  “Well, yes, but she probably has something you could wear.”

  “Oh dear, I'm afraid you're right. I'd hate for it to stain.”

  “You wait right here, I’ll go get…”

  “Here you go, Miss Winters,” said Betsy as she emerged from the kitchen with a robe. “You can change in my room if you'd like, it's just off the kitchen. Or maybe I can fetch you one of Mrs. Vander dresses.”

  “Whichever is easier for you, Betsy, thank you,” Ammy said as she stood.

  “You give me that dress and I’ll have those spots out in no time.”

  Ammy glanced between her father and Garrett. “I’m sure this will only take a moment, if you'll excuse me… I'll be right back.”

  Garrett pursed his lips together to keep from laughing and nodded. Cecil meanwhile, stared at Betsy, his mind racing through his past. Where did he know this woman from? And if he had run across her in the past, why hadn’t they become friends?

  * * *

  Ammy changed into one of Betsy's dresses. It was too big, and she decided to keep the robe for safety's sake in case there was another accident. Besides, it made Garrett laugh, and she liked it when he looked at her with a twinkle in his eye. This had to be the most comical dinner she had ever had. She watched as her father and Betsy bantered back and forth, almost like old friends. And even she began to wonder where they might've known each other before, but then her thoughts sobered. How was she going to get Garrett to hunger after their wedding vows wearing a robe at dinner not to mention a dress far too big for her? Shouldn't she be batting her eyes lashes at him or acting coy in some way? Instead, she was laughing with him and smiling at the antics of Betsy and her father. Yet there was something very attractive about Garrett when he laughed and had a good time.

  “I'm afraid the two of you will be fired as chaperones,” Garrett announced at dessert.

  “Fired?” huffed Cecil. “Whatever for?”

  “What are my parents going to think when they came home to find my intended wearing a robe?”

  “And my dress underneath it, Mr. Garrett,” corrected Betsy. “Let's not leave that out.”

  “Yes, but the way she has that robe wrapped around her, they’d never know. You can't see a speck of it.”

  “Well I can’t help if Miss Winters here is two sizes smaller than I am. That robe helps to keep it on her.”

  Ammy blushed and had to put a hand to her mouth to keep from laughing. The entire evening had gone awry, and she couldn't remember having such a wonderful time.

  “Good grief! How is she going to get home?” asked Cecil. “She can’t very well walk home wearing your robe.”

  “I put something on those spots b
ut it takes time. She can wear my dress home,” said Betsy.

  “I'll be okay Father, don't worry,” Ammy assured him. “Besides, I have my coat to wear over it.”

  “Ah, yes, your new coat,” Cecil said and looked at Garrett across the table. “Thank you for seeing to Ammy’s needs.”

  “She’s my intended, Mr. Winters. Of course I'm going to see to her needs. From now until we’re married,” he looked at her. “And then for the rest of her life.”

  “Er, speaking of which,” said Cecil. “When do you plan on having the wedding? Tomorrow, the next day?”

  “Certainly not,” said Garrett. “A week or two might not even be long enough for me to court your daughter properly.”

  Cecil stiffened in his chair.” Young man, she's a mail-order bride. You don't have to court her.”

  “I know. But I want to court her. She deserves it.”

  Cecil began to fidget. “There will be time enough for that after you're married…”

  “Let the youngins’ court,” interrupted Betsy. “What girl has a handsome man like Mr. Garrett wanting to court her proper, even if she is a mail-order bride? Why, it's every mail-ordered bride’s dream come true. Any girl in this town would give their right arm to have this young man do the same for her.”

  Ammy sat, stared at Betsy, and couldn't agree more. She wanted to be courted by Garrett, wanted to get to know him day by day week by week, until she couldn't stand it any longer and had to marry him. There was something about it that felt so right, rather than be forced into a marriage because of an evil man her father got involved with. The urge to tell Garrett in that moment was overwhelming. She knew she couldn't say anything. Or could she? She glanced at her father and wondered what he was thinking, or if he was thinking the same thing.

  “What do you suggest, Betsy?” Garrett asked. “That I go to the boarding house and read her sonnets from the street?”

  “You do whatever you want, Mr. Garrett. I'm just saying young ladies like that sort of thing.”

  “Do you?” asked Cecil.

  Betsy stared at him a moment. “Me? We ain’t talking about me, Mr. Winters. We’re talking about your daughter.”

  “But you’re a woman. How could a man court someone like you?”

  Ammy stopped breathing. What was her father doing for crying out loud? She quickly glanced between him and Betsy. He'd been without a wife for some time now. Could it be? She looked at Garrett. He was watching them too! She glanced back at Betsy. Was she blushing?

  “Oh my goodness,” Ammy whispered under her breath. Was her father flirting? She smiled. Maybe her and Garrett's wedding wouldn’t be the only one coming soon.

  Thirteen

  The next several days passed without incident. Literally. None. The gentleman whose law office Garrett was to work in took ill, and Garrett found himself suddenly immersed in the duties of a country lawyer. Which wouldn't have been so bad had he known exactly what to do. Unfortunately Mr. Clarkson was in no shape to give instructions, and so Garrett had to muddle through on his own. This, of course, put a damper on Ammy’s plans to woo Garrett to the altar sooner than he planned, and her father was getting nervous about the delays. “We can't wait much longer Ammy!” He told her that evening at dinner.

  As of the last two days, they were the only borders. Mrs. Hayes had gone into the kitchen to fetch dessert and coffee. “I know,” she told him. “But what can we do? Garrett is working all day.”

  “Take the man a basket of cookies or something!”

  “Where am I going to bake them?”

  “Here of course. There's a kitchen!”

  Ammy put her face in her hands and rubbed her tired eyes. She'd been having nightmares of men coming in the night to take her way, and didn't wonder if she needed to tell Garrett what could happen if they didn't marry soon. But what would he do? If she were a man, and his future bride told him that she had to marry or risk being dragged back to Boston, would he want to be involved? Wouldn't he think it was just a big hassle? But then, would he be just as upset if she didn't tell him and men came banging on their door one night?

  “A pie! That's it! Bake the man a pie!”

  “Father,” Ammy began as she took her face out of her hands. “I've never baked pie in my life.”

  “Well… then have that Betsy bake one for you!”

  Ammy groaned and slumped in her chair. “Speaking of Betsy, have you seen her of late?”

  “You know very well I've been spending my days with Prof. Hamilton at his bookshop. If I'm to live there, I might as well help him out.”

  Ammy gave him a playful smirk. Sure, her father was helping the good professor organize things during the day. But she also knew he snuck off to have lunch somewhere. Professor Hamilton amused himself by telling her so. Both had a pretty good idea where her father went. “I think if Betsy baked me a pie to give to Garrett, he’d be quick to know where it came from. After all, the man has been eating the woman's pies most of his life.”

  Her father chuckled. “Yes, I suppose you're right. I just want this whole thing to be over with. Then we can both sleep at night.” He studied her a moment. “You don't look good. You're worrying about this too much.”

  “It's why we're here, isn't it? Garrett Vander is the only solution to our problem as far as Reginald Van Cleet is concerned.” She stared at her father and sighed. “Do you, in all honesty, really think Mr. Van Cleet would send men after me?”

  “We can't take any chances, and have to assume the worst.” He took in her weary expression and leaned his elbows on the table. “Look, I know you're sacrificing a lot and that you're doing it for me.”

  “Oh father, sacrificing would consist of marrying Mr. Van Cleet, not Garrett Vander.”

  “You like him,” her father stated.

  “Yes, yes I do. The more time I spend with him, which unfortunately hasn't been much of late, the more fond of him I become.”

  “Why don’t you take him his lunch tomorrow instead of moping around here all day?”

  “I do not mope here all day. How can I, I’m the Snow Queen, remember?” she asked with a lop-sided smile. “This week I've been learning all my royal duties.”

  “Oh, yes, I'd forgotten about that business. How's it going?”

  “Why don't you come with me tomorrow and see?”

  “Sounds fine. What time do you meet?”

  “Ten in the morning.”

  “I’ll accompany you there, then we could to get your young man and take him to lunch?”

  “But Father, we haven't any money to buy lunch, do we?”

  “I've a little. Prof. Hamilton has insisted he pay me for my labors. Not much I’ll grant you, but enough to buy the three of us lunch tomorrow.”

  Ammy marveled at him. Her father had humbled himself considerably since Reginald Van Cleet took everything from him. But the thing she admired the most, was that he wasn’t bitter. At least not that she could see. His only concern, was her. “Then let's plan on it,” she said with a smile. “Besides, you'll get to see exactly what a Snow Queen does.”

  * * *

  The next day Ammy and Cecil attended the third meeting of the pageant committee, and everyone was in attendance, including Miss Brubauk, who Ammy observed to be not only sour in her expressions, but moods as well. Bernice Caulder, her young counterpart was more sullen, and spent most of her time sulking and pouting about this or that, only to be placated by the older woman. But today, Ammy saw something new; namely, Miss Brubauk smiled. In fact, the woman's expression was so foreign it took Ammy by surprise. She glanced around to see what could've put such a look on the woman’s usual pinched faced. “Oh no,” muttered Ammy under her breath. “It couldn’t be…”

  But it was. Mrs. Brubauk’s eyes were riveted on her father! In fact, the woman had a dreamy expression forming on her face! “Oh, dear me,” Ammy said flatly. She watched as her father spoke with Pastor Adams, and wondered if he could feel Miss Brubauk’s eyes boring into him yet. She had to
stifle a giggle when she noticed the woman begin to wind her way through committee members to get closer to him. Was she going to strike up a conversation? If only Garrett were here to see this!

  “Excuse me, Pastor Adams,” Miss Brubauk drawled as she reached the two men. “But I do believe I'm going to need help decorating the Snow Queen's wagon. A good strong gentleman would suffice.” She turned and looked right at her father! Ammy put a hand to her mouth to cover her smile. How much more obvious could the woman be?

  “Why don't you ask Mr. Smythe over there?” suggested Pastor Adams. I'm sure he'd love to help you.”

  Miss Brubauk glanced over her shoulder at Jonathan Smythe, who was helping make the decorations for the wagon. “He seems rather busy at the moment, don't you think?” She looked at Ammy's father. “I don't believe we've met.”

  Ammy watched as her father nervously cleared his throat. “Good morning, madam. I'm Cecil Winters, and you are?”

  “Miss Eunice Brubauk,” she said and looked him up and down.

  “Er, pleased to meet you, Miss Brubauk.”

  “Miss Brubauk is Martha Tindle’s sister,” Pastor Adams volunteered. “She's here visiting us from Portland for the holidays.”

  “How very nice,” said Cecil, “do you visit here often?”

  “Only when it suits me,” she answered. “And this time, I may entertain the idea of…” she looked him over again, … “staying.”

  Pastor Adam's eyes widened. “If you'll excuse me, I need to go find my wife.” He then slipped away to leave Cecil to fend for himself.

  Miss Brubauk didn't waste any time. “Have you come to stay in Independence, Mr. Winters?”

  “Um… perhaps.”

  “And how does your wife like it here?”

  “I… I'm a widower actually.”

  “Do tell?”

  Cecil gulped and took a step back. “Yes, my daughter and I thought to settle here.”

  “Daughter?” Miss Brubauk asked her face pinched as usual.

  “Yes, Ambrosia. She's… the Snow Queen.”