by Kit Morgan
True love? Hardly. Was there such a thing as loathing at first sight?
“Nothing to say?” he asked.
She stared at him, a cold feeling in the pit of her stomach. “No, not really. In fact, just … no.”
“No what?” he said with a contemptuous roll of his eyes.
Millie nodded to herself. She knew what she was about to tell him was going to send her parents’ world crashing down. “No, we’re not getting married.”
Hubert’s eyes narrowed on her. “You haven’t much say in the matter,” he said calmly.
“I have plenty of say. It’s my life.”
Hubert had the unmitigated gall to smile. Broadly. “Ahhhh,” he purred. “Now there’s where you’re wrong.”
Millie’s stomach rolled. “Excuse me?”
He glanced beyond her to the foyer. Her parents were in the library down the hall. The parlor doors were wide open for propriety’s sake, but he wasn’t going to take any chances and kept his voice low. “I know something you don’t know. And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll be a good little girl and cooperate.”
“Cooperate with what?” See, I can sound just as snappish as you, you cold fish.
He gave her an oily smile. “Marrying me, of course. You can’t back out – it’s already in motion. Besides, you’ll have anything you want. What’s the matter with you?”
She gaped at him. “I’m sorry to have to inform you, but we are not getting married. This is ridiculous – my parents can’t force me and neither can you.”
“Oh, can’t I?”
“No, you can’t, Hubert Pafput … Puffpif … oh, for heaven’s sake, that’s reason enough. I can’t even figure out your name!”
Hubert looked insulted. Good. “Pufpaff. And you’ll wear it well.”
“I won’t wear it at all.” Millie did her best to make each word an icicle.
“What is going on in here?” Mr. Porter bellowed as he stormed into the foyer and looked at them. “I’m trying to do the books!”
“Father …,” Millie cried as she stood.
Hubert was out of his chair so fast she didn’t have time to finish, and put his arm around her. “Mr. Porter, we’ll marry at once.”
“No, we will not!” Millie declared. “Father, talk sense to this man – he’s gone ‘round the bend!”
Mr. Porter’s face fell and he gave Millie the most defeated look she had ever seen.
“Father?” she asked, her voice cracking.
“When?” he asked Hubert.
“As soon as we can,” he said, tightening his grip. “I’d like to have her.”
“What?” Millie said indignantly. “Have me?”
Hubert brought his face to her ear. “Oh, yes …,” he hissed.
She reacted without thinking, and kicked Hubert in the shin. He didn’t cry out, unfortunately, but he did take his arm away, and that gave her the chance to move to the other side of the room.
Mr. Porter cried out, though. “Millie, don’t!”
“Father, do something!”
“I’m afraid I have,” he said, tears in his eyes.
Millie stared at his pale face, and began to feel pale herself. Something was very wrong. Why else would Hubert be acting like he owned her? “Father, what have you done?” she whispered.
Mr. Porter audibly gulped. “I had to sell the company. It was that or go bankrupt. Hubert here was kind enough to buy it.” He looked away. “On one condition.”
Millie’s knees went weak. She suddenly felt like she was trapped in some badly-written “penny dreadful.” “You didn’t …”
“I had to.” Her father’s jaw trembled.
Unfortunately, Hubert’s jaw was working all too well. “If you haven’t guessed, dear Millie, that condition is your hand in marriage.”
Two
Millie couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe. All she could do was stand and stare at the man who’d taught her there was a solution to every problem, though sometimes you had to dig for it. Mr. Obadiah Porter, obviously, hadn’t dug nearly deep enough. Her mind was on fire with questions, so many that she couldn’t get one to come out of her mouth.
“She’ll be made the queen of Beckham, sir,” Hubert said with a smile, edging toward her again.
His haughty voice snapped Millie into action. She spun on Hubert, her look warning him not to come any closer. “No thank you!” She turned to her father who stood stock still, his face etched in horror. “What happened?” she demanded. She had to know what would make the man sink so low as to make her part of a business deal.
“There’s no use talking about it, Millie,” her father said in defeat. “What’s done is done.”
“Without my consent!”
“Millicent, get a hold of yourself!” Hubert commanded. His voice was a little shaky – apparently that kick had done some good. And he wasn’t moving toward her anymore. “No wife of mine is going to act like a spoiled child.”
“I am no wife of yours and I never will be. Did it ever occur to you to court me the conventional way instead of stooping to something like this? Are you so lacking in confidence that you have to make a woman a part of a deal to get her to marry you?”
That enraged him enough to close the distance – partway. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with,” he hissed, shaking a finger at her. “Your parents are doing what they think is best for you and I strongly suggest you let them.”
“You’re right about one thing,” she growled back. “I do have no idea whom I’m dealing with – and no desire to find out. Good day, Mister Pudpatch – you can see yourself out, I trust?” She glared one last time at her father, then ran past him to the stairs.
She took them two at a time, not caring how unladylike it might seem. This was unacceptable! And clearly there was no use trying to talk sense into her father or Hubert. Something else had to be going on. Hubert had shown no interest in her whatsoever in the past – why go through so much trouble to have her hand now?
Millie reached her room and slammed the door behind her. Alone, the enormity of the situation hit, and she fell onto the bed, her whole body shaking. She was even more angry than she’d let on, kick or no kick, and knew that her temper could get her in a lot of trouble. She knew it was best to let herself calm down before speaking with her parents again. Hubert, she wouldn’t speak with again under any circumstance.
She lay on her back and stared at the ceiling. What could have possibly happened to make her father do this? At least it explained her mother’s behavior that morning – she had to have known about it. But still, none of it made sense. It wasn’t like her parents to act so … desperate.
Her fists clenched and unclenched, trying to think of what could have driven her parents to such measures. Maybe she should talk to Mr. Brewer at the factory – he was the bookkeeper, after all, and should know what was going on. Yes, that’s what she’d do! She got off the bed, grabbed her reticule from her dresser, donned her shawl and left her bedroom.
What sounded like a heated discussion reached her ears and she tiptoed to the stair landing. “Your daughter is being so unreasonable,” she heard Hubert say. He sounded like a … well, a spoiled child throwing a tantrum.
“I’m sorry! We’ll have a talk with her! She’ll come around, you’ll see!”
“She’d better. I’ll see us wed by Friday if it’s the last thing I do!”
“Friday?!” Millie squeaked, then quickly covered her mouth with both hands.
Mercifully, they didn’t seem to have heard her. “She’s strong-willed and stubborn is all,” her father said. “She’ll make a good wife in time, you’ll see.”
“I’m sure she will. However, she did make a good point – and you should’ve kept your mouth shut. I’d have been more than happy to court her until we were married, but no, you had to go and tell her she was part of our deal!”
Millie peeked around the corner to try to see her father’s face, but his back was to her. If she wasn’t c
areful, Hubert might see her. She ducked back and swallowed hard. Today was Wednesday! What was she going to do? If she couldn’t talk her parents out of this moonstruck arrangement, she’d become Mrs. Hubert Pitsplat in a matter of days! Her stomach roiled at the thought.
She scanned the upper hall, spied the servants’ stairs and snuck over to them. They led straight to the kitchen. She hurried down them, being careful to slow at the bottom in case the maid or Mrs. Griggs the cook were nearby. Thankfully all was quiet. She crept down the last few steps, surreptitiously made her way to the back door and slipped out.
Once on the back stoop, she breathed a sigh of relief. What a day! And it was far from over. She shook off a chill as she crossed the backyard to a gate and out to the alley behind the house. She glanced up and down it to make sure no one saw her, then cut down the alley to the street beyond.
Once there … good heavens, where was she going? Mr. Brewer wouldn’t be at the factory this time of the day – it was after five o’clock, and the facility was usually padlocked by four. And unfortunately, she had no idea where Mr. Brewer lived. What to do? If that pinhead Hubert was bent on marrying her by Friday, she had less than 48 hours to stop it.
Millie clutched her reticule to her chest and started walking. She went about four blocks when she came to Rock Creek Road. She stopped short. There was something about it, something familiar …
“Of course!” she cried, then pressed her lips together. But the few people around paid her no mind.
Millie shuddered with relief as she recalled Jessa’s note, and the address of the matchmaker Elizabeth Tandy. If there was ever a time for a backup plan, it was now. Not that Millie had any sort of plan yet, but visiting the matchmaker would be a start. She’d rather send herself off as a mail-order bride to some dirt farmer out West than marry the likes of Mr. Pitstuff… Pupsack … Hubert!
She went up the street and found the house number. Taking a deep breath, she marched through the open gate, up the walk and knocked on the door. A tall, handsome gentleman answered. “May I help you?”
Millie swallowed hard. “Yes, I’m here to see the matchmaker.”
He looked her over. “Do you have an appointment?”
“Er, no. This is a bit of an emergency.”
“Emergency, you say?” he mumbled and looked her over again. Was he the butler? Though well dressed, he didn’t wear the jacket of a servant, but he did have the manner of one …
She nodded. “Is the … ah … is Mrs. Tandy in?”
“I’m Mr. Tandy,” he said and stepped aside. “Do come in.”
Millie nodded and entered. The house was well-appointed, and she wondered how much money there was in the matchmaking business. Good heavens, how much did it cost to use the services of a matchmaker? Did she have enough in her reticule?
“Follow me,” Mr. Tandy instructed and led her into a large office.
A pretty blonde woman was sitting at a desk, writing. She looked up as they entered. “Bernard, who do we have here?”
“She says she has a … matchmaking emergency.”
The woman’s eyes widened slightly. “Do come in and sit down,” she said as she stood and came around the desk. “I’m Elizabeth Tandy – you’ve met my husband Bernard.”
Millie took the hand offered and gave it a friendly shake. “How do you do? I’m Millicent Porter. I … I desperately need your help.”
The Tandys exchanged a quick look. “Come,” Elizabeth said, “sit down. Bernard, would you mind getting us some tea?”
“Not at all, my dear,” he said with a slight bow, then left the office to do as she’d asked.
“Poor dear – he was my butler for years. Can’t seem to break old habits.”
“You married your butler?” Millie asked in shock.
“Yes, what’s wrong with that? We love each other – that’s all that matters.”
Millie looked at the expensive carpet as her words sunk in. “Yes, I agree, which is why I’m here.”
“What seems to be the trouble?”
“I’ve been informed today that I’m to be married.”
“Informed? Whatever do you mean?”
“My parents made some sort of an arrangement … one I’m embarrassed to disclose.”
“You must give me the details. I assure you I will hold everything you tell me in the strictest confidence. You wouldn’t be the first bride to run from an unwanted arrangement.”
“I wouldn’t?” Millie asked in surprise.
“Heavens, no. I’ve dealt with quite a few over the years. All had good reason to leave Beckham, I assure you.”
Millie’s shoulders slumped in relief. “Then I’m not the only one?”
“No. But tell me, what sort of an arrangement was made? Who is the groom?”
“Suffice to say, someone I have no interest in. My parents arranged it as part of a business deal.”
“What? A business deal? But that’s absurd!”
“Well, that’s what I think!” Millie agreed as she straightened. At least Elizabeth seemed to be on her side. “I don’t know what happened, but my father sold his business to someone to keep from going bankrupt,” she explained as Mr. Tandy brought in a tea tray and set it on a small table. “Apparently I was to be part of the deal and marry the buyer.”
The Tandys looked at each other, their faces grave.
“Is something wrong?” Millie asked, her own eyebrows raised in concern.
“Who is the man?” Mr. Tandy asked.
Millie closed her eyes. “Hubert Piff … puff …”
“Pufpaff,” he said sourly.
“That’s it!”
“You mean the Pufpaff Paper Company?” Elizabeth asked.
“Yes,” her husband confirmed. He sat and began to pour them each a cup. “I can understand your concern, Miss Porter. For a Pufpaff to make such a deal is most unusual.”
Millie raised an eyebrow at him. “Wait a minute, how did you know there was a deal, you’re weren’t in the room when I …”
“Bernard hears everything. It was always part of his job as my butler,” Elizabeth explained. She gave him a concerned look before she turned to Millie. “We’d be more than happy to help.”
“You are?”
“Yes, as we think there might be more going on here than meets the eye,” Mr. Tandy said.
“What do you mean?” Millie asked, eyes wide. Just what had her parents gotten themselves – and her – into?
“First things first,” he said. “Let’s get you safely out of Beckham, then we’ll deal with this other business.”
“But what about my parents?”
“I’ll do some digging, find out what happened,” he said. “Suffice to say some … untoward things have been going on in Beckham over the last six or seven years, things that don’t bode well for young ladies such as yourself. We thought the trouble had stopped, but now it seems it may be back. It would be best if you weren’t caught up in the middle of it.”
“My husband is right,” Mrs. Tandy affirmed. “We need to get you out of town right away. When a man from a family as wealthy as the Pufpaffs suddenly decides to marry, but uses a business deal to cinch it, there’s something else going on.”
Millie sat, her mouth half-open in astonishment. It was quite obvious she wasn’t the first person to come to this couple with such a dilemma. “What is going on?”
Mr. Tandy looked up at the ceiling and released a long sigh before answering. “Miss Porter, are you familiar with the term ‘white slavery’?”
Millie squeaked in alarm.
“I’ll take that as a yes. Now, let’s see about getting you out of here.”
* * *
Weatherford, Texas, April 1896
Justin Weaver pulled back on the reins and brought the team to a stop. He and his employer, Nate Dalton, had come to Weatherford to pick up supplies and a special package. Namely, a passenger on the noon train.
“Looks like we’re a few minutes early,” Nate said
as he checked his pocket watch.
“Yessir,” Justin agreed. “Might as well relax.”
“You can, I’d better go give Mr. Green down at the mercantile our list. He can start to fill it while you wait for …” He pulled a paper out of his pocket and read it. “… Miss Porter. Be very careful with her. She’s probably frightened.”
“Poor thing. Did Elizabeth give any other instructions concernin’ her? What if she asks about her future husband?”
“I’ll explain to her all the details. You just fetch her and bring her to the mercantile.”
“Will do, boss.”
Nate gave him a single nod, climbed off the wagon and headed for the mercantile.
Justin watched him go and smiled. Nate was an easygoing sort and often the one sent to pick up the brides. The Dalton ranch had become a stopover – a safe house, really – for women needing the protection a husband could bring. They were sent out as mail-order brides by a group of dedicated matchmakers scattered across the country, trying to keep the women safe from a band of white slavers whose operations were apparently also nationwide.
The heaviest concentrations of both were in New Orleans, San Francisco and Beckham, Massachusetts. And Texas was the wisest place to send the women, since there was plenty of wide-open land to get lost in, plenty of unattached men willing to marry them, and plenty of honest folks (often armed) willing to defend them.
Miss Porter, their newest arrival, had a husband waiting for her in California – a town called Oakdale, to be precise. But to avoid her becoming a potential victim of the slavers, she was being routed through Dalton, Texas, as many others had been. So far it had worked like a charm – the slavers were none the wiser, not even after their ham-handed attempt at hurting the Blues and Daltons by abducting their children. It had met with swift justice – none of the abductors had survived to tell their bosses.
A train whistle blew, pulling Justin from his thoughts. He climbed down off the wagon seat, walked to the platform and watched the train come to a screeching, steam-filled stop. Within moments passengers began to disembark and he waited for the one that looked confused, frightened and out of place. But he didn’t see anyone like that.
