Seven Brides for Seven Mail-Order Husbands Romance Collection

by Davis, Susan Page; Dietze, Susanne; Franklin, Darlene

  Chardy Stevens had said she couldn’t do that, she had to sell sugar by the sack. But in the end, she had offered to loan Maggie a cup from her personal supply. Chardy was a sweetheart. Taking care of her four little brothers, she understood what it was like to try to feed hungry young’uns when the purse was light. But still Maggie had hesitated. She didn’t want to be beholden, even for a cup of sugar.

  In the end, she had insisted on paying Chardy a few cents for it, a fraction of the cost of a five-pound sack, and Chardy had accepted. If only her friend knew—those pennies were nearly the last Maggie had.

  Today was Benjy’s birthday, and she wanted to give him a cake, even if she couldn’t afford any presents. She wouldn’t have splurged on sugar if it weren’t for that. Something had to be special for him today. He was turning nine, and his pa wouldn’t be there to celebrate.

  The house was more than a mile outside town, and Maggie hurried along, hoping the boys weren’t up to mischief in her absence. She supposed she ought to have taken them with her, but what could she have done with them during the meeting? Those ladies wouldn’t want two boys sitting in while they discussed the best way to find husbands.

  She smiled as she remembered how soberly Benjy had listened at breakfast this morning when Fred had asked her about the mail-order grooms.

  “Mama, why are the women in town putting up wanted posters?”

  “They’re not wanted posters, Fred,” she’d said quickly. “It’s just a form of advertising.”

  “What’s that?” Benjy asked.

  “Well, it’s a way of letting other people know if you need something—or if you have something they might want. Like the mercantile advertises when they’ve got a new shipment of goods coming in, so people will stop in at the store and buy something.”

  “But they’re not buying husbands,” Fred said, frowning. “The signs say ‘husbands wanted.’”

  “No, but the ladies want folks to know they’re open to marrying. We had a meeting Sunday afternoon—you remember.”

  “Yeah. You’re not part of the husband thing, are you?” Fred asked.

  Maggie had felt her face flush. She wasn’t going to tell the boys unless something came of it.

  “I told them I’d consider it. I’m supposed to go to another meeting today, as a matter of fact.”

  And now she was in it, up to her neck. She wondered how the boys would take the news. The women had set a date for a social time, where the ladies seeking husbands could speak to each of the men who had answered their advertisements and come forward as potential grooms.

  The women had done their best to sift through the letters that came in. All had agreed that the grooms must be honest and hardworking. In some cases, they must be willing to take on a family—like Maggie’s, for instance. She was widowed and had two boys. It might be hard to find a man open to raising Fred and Benjy. A man who was strong and would work hard to pay off the mortgage, so that they owned the property outright, fulfilling Rodney’s dream.

  She had to make sure he was a kindhearted man, though, before she would let him anywhere near her sons. Maggie was determined not to get into something permanent and then decide it wasn’t best for her boys.

  But she had to do something, and fast. The bank wouldn’t wait forever. When her husband died more than a year ago, near the end of the war, she had been left owing on the mortgage. They had hoped that when Rodney got home, he could get the ranch going and raise enough money within a year. Then the land would be theirs for good and no one could take it away from them.

  Only Rodney had never made it home.

  Three years, almost, since Rod had left home. Maggie had scraped by, tending to the land as best she could and taking care of the boys, but she hadn’t been able to buy the livestock he’d wanted. She had lived for the day Rod would walk up the lane and make the place prosper.

  She’d heard the war was over before she got the black-bordered letter announcing his death. Cruel, it was. Downright cruel.

  She shook herself as she approached the little house. It wouldn’t do to let the boys see her downhearted. Things had been hard enough for them since their pa left. This past year, knowing he wouldn’t ever come home, had been rough on all of them.

  The bottom step was loose. She ought to fix it—or challenge Fred to fix it. That’s what she’d do. He was learning to use his father’s tools and take care of their place. She was the only one here to teach him those things now. Unless this wild mail-order husband idea played out well and she found another man willing to help her shoulder the burden.

  She opened the door. The house was quiet. The boys normally played outside and met her on the lane. As she stepped inside, she looked toward the kitchen end of the front room, where the cookstove sat—Rodney’s pride and joy when he’d presented it to her five years ago.

  Maggie stopped in her tracks. A strange man sat at her kitchen table. Her heart pounded. Why had the boys let him in? She had an impression of shaggy, wind-blown brown hair, a week’s growth of beard, and worn, inexpensive clothes.

  He started to rise, but Fred said sternly, in his best imitation of his father’s voice, “Sit down, mister.”

  Then she noticed the shotgun. Fred had propped the barrel on the back of the chair she usually sat in, across from the stranger, to help him hold it steady. How long had he stood there, menacing the man?

  “Fred, what’s this?” She asked, setting her basket on a small stand near the door.

  “This here’s Sam Cayford,” Fred said.

  Benjy charged toward her, his face flushed. “Mama, what took you so long? We got you a husband!”

  Chapter 2

  With a cautious glance at Fred, Sam decided it was best to stay seated. He offered the boys’ mother an apologetic smile.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. It wasn’t my intention to bust in on your home like this.”

  She eyed him narrowly then frowned at Fred. “Why do you have the gun out, Fred?”

  “To make sure he don’t get away.”

  “Has he done something wrong?” she asked.

  She was pretty, and her righteous suspicion made her beautiful, even. Her hair was golden, a shade darker than Fred’s. The china blue eyes were the same. She wore a threadbare gray-and-black striped dress. Probably one she made herself, Sam thought, not because it looked poorly made—quite the opposite. But this woman looked smart enough to make nice clothing that fit her perfectly. A brighter color would have done her more justice, but then, she was one of those war widows, wasn’t she? That was why her sons thought she needed a husband.

  “Nothin’,” Fred said. “Not that I know of.”

  “Then why are you pointing that thing at him?”

  Fred shrugged.

  “Put it down.” When the boy hesitated, she said, “Now.”

  At last Fred turned the shotgun’s barrel slightly away, so that it pointed toward the window, not at Sam’s heart.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” he said in as genial a tone as he could muster. “I tried to explain to the boys that I was just passing through and I meant no harm.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  “I guess about twenty minutes or a half hour. Young Benjamin put my horse in your barn.”

  She looked down at Benjy, who clung to her arm.

  “He’s got a awful pretty bay horse, Mama. It’s a good’un.”

  “Why did you stop here?” she asked, still not moving from her position just inside the doorway.

  “Well, I didn’t, actually,” Sam said. “I stopped at the stream, up the road a bit, to water my horse. Young Fred here got the drop on me. He’s pretty clever, this one.”

  She turned her gaping face toward Fred. “You forced this man to come here? You threatened him?”

  “No, Mama, I didn’t threaten. I just told him to follow Benjy.”

  “And held the gun on him the whole time,” his mother said a bit testily.

  Fred frowned but said nothing.


  “Mister—sir, I’m so sorry.” She stepped toward Sam, her face now all regret and shame for her sons’ antics. “Can you forgive them? They’re good boys.”

  “I’m sure they were trying to help.” Sam almost smiled, remembering Fred’s words about getting her a husband, but the seriousness of the situation restrained him. The boy could have blown his head off without meaning to. And why did he think his ma needed help finding a man, anyway? She was smart enough to take care of that herself and pretty enough to find a man if she wanted one.

  She walked around the table.

  “Give me that.” She took the shotgun from Fred and rested it with the butt on the floor and the business end pointing toward the ceiling. “Now explain yourself.”

  “We went huntin’,” Fred said with a note of stubbornness in his voice.

  His mother glanced about the room. “I don’t see any rabbits, and besides, you’re not supposed to take the gun out without me saying so.”

  Fred scowled and looked down at the floor. “Well, we bagged us a new daddy.”

  The woman’s cheeks went scarlet. “I don’t need you bringing me potential husbands, Frederick Piner.”

  “But you went to that meeting to—”

  “Never mind about that.” She threw Sam a quick glance then looked sternly back at her son. “You put this shotgun where it belongs, and while you’re in the corner, you see if you can find your manners and put them on.”

  Relieved that things seemed to be getting back to normal, Sam stood. “Well, I’d best be getting on my way, Mrs—I’m sorry, I don’t even know your name.”

  “I’m Maggie Piner, and I do apologize for my boys.”

  “Think nothing of it, ma’am.” Sam reached for his hat, which rested on the table.

  “Would you like something to eat?” Maggie asked. “I think there’s some biscuits and gravy left from dinner, if the boys haven’t been into it.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I wish I could do more. I’d invite you to stay for supper, but I know you want to get to your destination, and there’s three hours or so of good daylight left.”

  Sam couldn’t help smiling. She was so pretty, and a tiny bit nervous, he thought. She was trying to seem confident, but he reckoned she was insecure on the inside.

  “Well, I … I guess I could use a drink.”

  “Sure. We have good water. I’m sorry I don’t have any coffee.”

  “That’s all right,” Sam said. Did she dislike coffee, or had she run out and not replenished her supply because money was tight? A cup would sure taste good right about now, before he hit the trail again, but he would settle for water. He wouldn’t mind learning a little bit more about this charming woman, either.

  She picked up a bucket from the floor beside the stove. “Boys, run out and bring some fresh, cool water for Mr. Cayford.”

  Fred came reluctantly to take the pail.

  “You can get his horse out, too,” Maggie said. “He’ll be leaving soon. Fred, you do that while Benjy fetches water.”

  The boys scurried out the door, and she took a thick white china cup down from a shelf.

  “They won’t be long. I wish I had Benjy’s cake made so you could have some.” She threw him a timid glance. “It’s his birthday.”

  “Oh? How old is he?”

  “Nine today. He’s a good boy. But I should start making the cake now.”

  “Don’t let me keep you,” Sam said. He was suddenly uncomfortable, but he couldn’t very well refuse the water now to get out of her way.

  “If you don’t mind, I’ll start putting it together.” She walked over to the stand where she had left the basket and came back with a small paper packet. She threw him a tiny smile. “My sugar’s in here. I couldn’t buy a whole sack, but I got enough for Benjy’s cake.”

  She got out a large yellow crockery bowl and set it on the end of the table, stooped over a small barrel, and came back with a big measuring cup full of flour.

  “A boy ought to have a cake on his birthday,” she said, “if nothing else.”

  Sam wondered if that meant Benjy would get nothing but his cake. How long had Mr. Piner been gone? If he died in the war, more than a year. Perhaps several years. It must be hard for the widow and her kids. And yet, she kept a neat, pleasant house. Her boys weren’t chubby, but they didn’t look starved either, and their clothes were whole and neat.

  The door opened, and Fred entered with the water bucket. He set it down by the stove and set the dipper in it.

  “Give Mr. Cayford a drink,” his mother said absently. Then, as Fred obeyed, she straightened and eyed him sharply. “Where’s Benjy? I told him to get the water while you got Mr. Cayford’s horse ready for him.”

  Fred filled the white mug with water and brought it to the table, setting it squarely in front of Sam before he faced his mother.

  “He’s gone to get the preacher.”

  “What?” Maggie dropped her wooden spoon. It clattered into the yellow bowl. “Why on earth did he do that? It’s more than a mile to Reverend Smith’s house. I don’t want your little brother walking that far alone.”

  “He’s not walkin’.” Fred raised his chin. “He rode Sam’s horse.”

  Maggie stared at him as though she couldn’t believe her ears. “Frederick Daniel Piner! Why on earth would Benjy ride off on Mr. Cayford’s horse? And why to the reverend’s house? We don’t need him.”

  “Sure we do.” A note of defiance crept into Fred’s voice. He glanced sidelong at Sam then back at Maggie. “We need him to marry you and Sam.”

  Sam’s stomach did a strange lurch, sort of the way he felt when a horse bucked hard and he knew there was no way to recover, that within a few seconds at most he was going to hit the ground hard.

  Maggie whirled around and grabbed another wooden spoon from a drawer. She turned with it raised in her hand. “That’s enough of this nonsense, Fred. You get up to your bed, and you stay there until I tell you that you can come down.”

  Fred drew in a quick breath. He looked at Sam. Sam looked away. He wasn’t going to give the boy any help in this escapade.

  “I mean it,” Maggie said, advancing on the boy. “You may be twelve years old, but you’re not too big for a spanking. Not if you’re going to behave like this to our guest. And bringing the reverend all the way over here for nothing. If your father was here, he’d tan your hide.”

  Tears made the boys eyes glisten. “If Papa was here, you wouldn’t need a husband.”

  Maggie gasped.

  Sam stood and cleared his throat. “I’d say that’s about enough on that subject, Fred. Best do as your ma says.”

  “Yes,” Maggie choked out. “Get up in that loft, right now!”

  She brandished the spoon again. Fred threw a look of bitter disappointment Sam’s way. Traitor, his shining eyes seemed to say. He turned on his heel and marched to the ladder in the corner and climbed up it, his back stiff with outrage.

  But he went. That was something, Sam thought. He wasn’t a bad boy. He wanted something good for his ma. It made him feel a little warmer inside to know Fred thought he would be a good thing for the family.

  “Thank you,” Maggie whispered.

  “He meant no harm.” Sam looked her up and down.

  She still stood with the spoon raised at shoulder height, staring after her son. Slowly, she lowered it. Color flooded her cheeks, and she seemed unable to meet his gaze. “I am so sorry. The boys can be a handful, but they’ve never outright disobeyed me like this. I’ve taught them better.”

  Sam considered his words carefully before speaking. He didn’t want to insult her or upset her further, but perhaps there was some truth in what the boy had said—or at least, Fred believed it was true.

  “He seems to feel there’s some great need here.”

  Maggie’s breath squeezed out of her, and her body sank a little, her confident pose collapsing until she stood meek and defeated with the spoon dangling loosely from her
fingers. When she looked up at him, tears glistened in her eyes.

  “He frets more than he should. A boy that age shouldn’t have to shoulder the worries of a whole family. He wants to take his father’s place, you see.”

  Sam couldn’t keep his lips from twitching. “That’s not such a bad attitude, but it seemed to me that he was mighty anxious for me to take his father’s place.”

  Maggie’s eyes snapped up to meet his. She looked horror stricken for a moment, but when Sam smiled, she softened.

  “I guess he did. He oughtn’t to have brought you—or anyone else—into this. I can handle it. If not here, then somewhere else.”

  “What do you mean?” Sam asked.

  She hesitated.

  After a moment, he said softly, “Whyn’t you go on making your cake, Mrs. Piner? And maybe you can tell me a little bit about your situation. The preacher’s coming, and it seems I ought to know what to tell him.”

  “Oh, I don’t know …”

  He wasn’t sure if she was going to crumple or not, but after a moment she seemed to find new strength.

  “You can go now if you want. I’ll speak to the reverend. You needn’t stop to explain anything.”

  “That’s all right. I’ve got to wait for my horse anyway.” Sam sat down and placed his hands on the table. “Maybe you can tell me a little bit about your late husband.”

  “Rodney.” She looked into the middle distance between them when she spoke his name. “He went to fight three years ago. That’s the last we saw him. Word came early in ’65, not long after the truce.” She blinked back tears. “He was a good man.”

  “I’m very sorry,” Sam said.

  She dashed away a tear and turned to a cupboard nearby. She came back a moment later with two eggs in her hands. One was plump and brown, the other was smaller and speckled. She gave a rueful chuckle. “Those hens have kept us going when we couldn’t get meat. We’re down to four now, though.” Her brow wrinkled.

  Another cause for worry, Sam thought. “How many’d you start with?”

  “At one time I had two dozen, but … the foxes.”

  He nodded. “They’re heartless.”

  She met his gaze then. “I’m likely to lose the ranch, Mr. Cayford. I didn’t tell the boys, but Fred found out somehow. I think he saw the notice I got from the bank. Or maybe he overheard something. I don’t know, but he’s taken on this big worry. When I said I’d consider going in on the mail-order husband project, I guess he saw it as a solution. He thinks a man could put this place in order—with his and Benjy’s help, of course.”