by Kit Morgan
Bernice groaned. “Mother, please …” She thought about pointing out that all of Miss Brubauk’s advice hadn’t helped Miss Brubauk land a man, but decided against it. With the state her mother was in, it wasn’t likely to help.
“And those so-called etiquette lessons Professor Hamilton and that Mr. Winters have been giving you – what have they done? Are you married? Of course not! Personally, I think they're wasting their time.”
“Then why did you go along with it when I asked if I could take lessons from them in the first place?”
“Because of what they cost.”
“Mother, they’re doing it for free!”
“Exactly!”
Bernice closed her eyes and sighed. Money. It was all her mother talked about of late, other than Bernice’s unmarried state. “Well, I enjoy them – and as they're not costing you anything, I'm going to continue them.”
“You do what you want – but do try to get yourself ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“To get married, of course!”
Bernice shook her head. They were just going around in circles now. “Mother! Married to who?”
Her mother smiled. “You'll see.”
A cold dread filled Bernice. Had her mother sent away for a mail-order groom? But according to the Professor and Mr. Winters, there was no such thing. Maybe they were wrong. And if there were mail-order grooms, and her mother somehow finagled one for her, what would he be like? What could one expect of a man so unable to manage his own affairs that he was sent across the country to woo a strange girl?
Egads. It didn’t bear thinking about. She jumped up from her chair. “I think I’ll go to my room now.”
“Aren't you late for a lesson?” her mother teased.
Drat! She did have a lesson today. A good thing, too – maybe Professor Hamilton and Mr. Winters could help her figure out what her mother was up to. It was one thing for a man to send off for a mail-order bride and another for the mystery matchmaker to do so, but to have her mother order her a groom? Bernice shivered. The man would probably have money, though – that seemed to be all her mother really cared about …
* * *
Jess and Sarah left the mercantile smiling. Joking back and forth with Morgan Tindle had taken up a good part of the morning, but now it was time to go home. It was also time for Sarah to speak with her husband about his mother. She’d almost brought it up during the ride to town, but didn't, afraid it might upset him. Also, it was his mother's business, but that business, if carried out, would have led to harm – to their marriage, and possibly to the farm.
Jess loaded a few things into the back of the wagon then turned to her. “Are we all set?”
“Not yet. There's … something I'd like to talk to you about.”
“Oh? Can't we talk about it on the way home?”
“No, I'd rather speak to you now in case it turns into a lengthy discussion. Which it might.”
His brow furrowed in confusion. “All right,” he said, glancing around. “Why don’t we take a stroll?”
“Good idea.” She slipped her arm through his and they crossed the street. She shivered as a breeze began to blow, and snuggled closer to him.
Jess smiled in response. “So, dear wife, what is it you want to talk about?
“I don't know how to say this. But, your mother was deliberately trying to get rid of me.”
He stopped short. “What? Are you sure? I mean, I'm know she’d had a hard time with all this, but I don't think she was …”
“She admitted it this morning,” she interjected. “And it wasn't only her.”
“What do you mean? Not Pa – he really likes you!”
“It wasn't your father. Let me start from the beginning.”
“Please do,” he said, eyes now wide.
They started walking again. “At first, I wasn't even going to tell you this. Perhaps it's not my place, but today your mother came to me and apologized for being so cruel.”
He stopped again. “Cruel? You mean she mistreated you? I asked if she had before and you said no.”
“She wasn't doing it on purpose, exactly – she felt she had to.”
Jess stopped a second time and faced her. “I’m not following you at all.”
She laughed. “Apparently Bernice’s mother made it her mission to get you married to Bernice.”
“What?! But… but what does that have to do with my mother?”
“I hope your mother doesn't get angry with me for telling you this … well, Mrs. Caulder offered to buy your farm. The notion was you and Bernice would marry and run the place while your parents went south with the Rudshaws.”
Jess's mouth slowly opened as he blinked a few times in disbelief. He shook himself, literally speechless.
“I know,” Sarah said. “It's ludicrous.”
Jess shook himself again. “It's beyond ludicrous! One, I would never marry Bernice Caulder – more to the point, I would never have Eunice Caulder for a mother-in-law. Two, why on earth would my parents even think about selling our farm? They’ve wanted me to take it over for as long as I can remember.”
“And you would,” Sarah said. “You just wouldn't own it, only work it. Mrs. Caulder would be your employer.”
“That doesn't make any sense! Why would Mrs. Caulder want to own a farm?”
“I was hoping you'd be able to tell me. The other question is, why would she want her daughter to marry a farmer?”
“Maybe because I was all that was left, other than Bernard Rudshaw. Maybe between the two of us she figured I was worth more. But even so, our farm isn't big. It's enough to support us and supply the mercantile with a few items, but other than that…”
“Maybe she hopes to resell it?”
Jess stared down the street, his face locked in concentration. “She wouldn't get much more for it than what we would sell it to her for.”
“So what does she want it for? Other than for Bernice?”
“That's a real good question.” He rubbed his chin in thought. “Bernice might know, though …”
“Do we have time to speak with her?”
“After what you just told me, we’ll make the time!”
* * *
“Oh dear,” Mercy Vander said with a sigh. “We’re no closer to solving this than we were a week ago!”
“Maybe if you’d spent more time looking for clues than discussing who the matchmaker might be, we'd be further along,” Maude Smythe complained.
Mercy blew a strand of hair out of her eyes. “But I know it has to be someone on this list.”
“Yes, a list that includes all of us!” Mahulda huffed. “I don't see why you added us to it.”
“It's just as Sheriff Walker said – everyone's a suspect.”
“I notice you're not on the list,” Maude pointed out.
“That's because I know I'm not the mystery matchmaker!”
“Yes, but how do we know that?” Mahulda asked.
Mercy sat more primly in her chair. “You'll just have to take my word for it.”
Mahulda and Maude exchanged a quick glance before they both gave her an impatient sigh. “Well? What have we got so far today?” Mahulda finally asked.
Mercy looked at her list. “Not a thing,” she lamented. “I swear, by now everyone in town has talked with Mr. Myers the postmaster. The poor man locked the door after I left this morning.”
“I certainly hope no one has any mail to post,” Maude commented with a frown. “I'm glad I don't.”
“He can't lock up the post office!” Mahulda barked. “That’s illegal, isn’t it?”
“Oh, who cares anyway?” Mercy said with a dismissive wave. “At least we know that the matchmaker didn't send mail out through our own post office. Otherwise, Mr. Myers would've seen the letter.”
“Letters,” Maude corrected.
“Face it, ladies,” Mercy said with a heavy sigh. “We’re never going to be able to figure this out.”
“As lo
ng as that mad matchmaker doesn't send away for another bride, what's the harm?” Mahulda asked as she reached for a cookie.
“She's right,” Maude said. “And besides, pretty soon everyone's going to get tired of looking.”
“Until he strikes again!” Mercy added. “Hmph! A fine thing for you to suggest, Mahulda, what with the fuss you put up about it these last months.”
“Yes, but as there are no men to marry off, I doubt the matchmaker is going to do much of anything now,” Mahulda said and took a bite of her cookie.
“You mean that's it? The two of you are giving up?” Mercy asked, aghast.
“Unless we come up with any new evidence,” Maude said. “I don't see the point of continuing.”
“Or if you'd like twenty-six dollars,” added Mahulda.
“Oh I don't care about the money,” Mercy said. “I care about …” She glanced around the parlor and giggled. “The fun!”
Maude giggled too. “It has been fun, hasn't it? But I think it's run its course for now.”
“Should we tell the others we've given up?” Mahulda asked.
“Garrett and Ammy? Oh, heavens no,” Mercy said. “They're having far too much fun. So are Cecil and Betsy.” She blew another wisp of hair out of her face. “Well, now that that's settled, girls, any new gossip?”
“Nothing here,” Maude said with a sigh.
“Me either,” Mahulda tossed in. “Not even a letter from Eva.”
Betsy entered the parlor with a fresh pot of tea. “Well?”
Mercy offered her a pout. “We haven't a thing! Maybe you and Cecil can come up with something.”
“Oh, we’ll come up with something, all right.”
“Like what?” Mahulda asked.
“Like a poppy-seed cake. Cecil thinks better when he bakes.”
Mercy laughed. “That man’s pies are better than mine.”
Maude smirked. “Who would've ever thought? But then, you loathe baking pies.”
“That I do,” Mercy agreed.
Mahulda set down her cup. “Well, if there's nothing more to discuss, I must be on my way. I have some errands to run before going home to prepare Mr. Brock his supper. Since Ellie doesn't work for me anymore and I haven't a husband who bakes, I have to do it myself.”
“Oh, I know how you feel, dear,” Mercy told her. “Remember, she's no longer in my employ either.”
“No she's not,” Mahulda agreed. “But you still have Betsy, and now you have a baking butler to boot!”
Mercy giggled like a school-girl. “Yes, I do, don't I?”
“At least this mystery-matchmaker business kept you from reminding us of it day in and day out!” Maude grumbled as she also stood.
“Now remember, girls,” Mercy said, ignoring her remark. “If you find out any new clues, you'll let me know right away, won't you?”
Mahulda groaned. “I'm done with the whole business. I don't want to hear another word about it.”
“I don't mind hearing about it,” Maude added. “I just don't want to have to do anything about it.”
Mercy looked at Betsy. “They've given up the hunt.”
“I'm sure the matchmaker don't mind,” Betsy said.
“Yes, but what are we going to do for fun?” Mercy asked her.
“Mrs. Vander, I'm sure you'll have no shortage of ideas.”
A knock sounded at the door. “I’ll get it,” Betsy drawled.
Mercy jumped to her feet. “No, no! Let Cecil do it! Mahulda and Maude haven’t seen Cecil answer the door yet!”
“Oh for Heaven’s sake, Mercy!” Mahulda snapped. “Who cares if we see Cecil answer the door! Besides, he's not a real butler!”
Cecil suddenly appeared in the foyer, gave a formal bow to the lot of them, then turned and answered the door. Mahulda’s jaw dropped, and she glared at Mercy. “I’ll be …”
No sooner had they heard the door open, than Cecil appeared in front of the parlor. “A Mr. and Mrs. Jess Templeton here to see you, ma’am,” he said formally.
“Oh good grief!” Maude snorted, trying not to laugh.
Jess and Sarah came into the parlor, gave Cecil a quizzical look, then turned to Mercy. “Mrs. Vander, is Garrett at home?” Jess asked. “We need to speak with him.”
“I’m afraid not – wasn't he at his office?”
“We know that he often comes home for lunch, so we thought we might catch him here.”
“What did you need to speak to him about?”
“Land and marriage.”
Thirteen
“There’s nothing for Mrs. Caulder to gain by buying your farm, Jess.” Garrett was sitting behind his desk in the law office, with Jess and Sarah on the other side. “Other than she’ll become the proud owner of one farm. Maybe she wants it to give to her grandkids?”
“Any grandkids Mrs. Caulder has won't be from me,” Jess said as he tapped his fingers against the arms of his chair. “I already have a wife.”
“Which makes it all the more curious why she's so adamant about the whole thing. I can't imagine your mother treating Sarah the way she did, but perhaps she saw some value in the deal …” Garrett's eyes suddenly widened. “That's it!”
“What?” Jess asked. leaning forward.
“It might not be the farm – what if there’s some sort of value in the land itself? Gold or silver, maybe?”
“But if that were the case, don't you think my family would've discovered it by now? I've lived there most of my life.”
“True,” Garrett said as he sat back in his chair, brows furrowed.
“We still haven't talked to Bernice,” Sarah reminded Jess.
“No, we haven't. Maybe she can tell us something.”
“Did your mother-in-law say when Mrs. Caulder made the original offer?” Garrett asked.
“I don't remember,” she said. “I’m not sure she mentioned it.”
“I'd be curious to find that out,” said Garrett.
“Maybe it has to do with when the Rudshaws are leaving,” Jess suggested. “That seems logical to me.”
“Yeah, but they've been planning to leave Independence for a while now. As far as I know they were just waiting for Bernard to get home, and he hasn't been here for more than a month or two.
“You're right,” Jess agreed. “He came home just before the big Valentine’s dance.”
Garrett sat up and leaned his arms on his desk. “Your best bet is to talk with Bernice. Maybe she's heard something her parents said that will give you a clue. It's not that the Caulders can't afford to buy your place – I know they've got the money. Maybe it really is some sort of situation that benefits both your families.”
“Yes, but only if Bernice were to marry Jess,” Sarah said darkly.
“Talk to Bernice,” Garrett advised. “It's about all you can do at this point. I'm sure your parents have no intention of selling the farm, but one never knows.”
Jess and Sarah both got up. “Thank you, Garrett,” Jess told him and held out his hand.
Garrett gave it a firm shake. “Any time. I'm sorry I wasn't in earlier when you came by, but I have this new habit of sneaking off to have lunch with my wife.”
Jess took Sarah’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Sounds like a good idea. But we’re going to have to get back. Ma’s probably wondering why we’re so late.”
They left Garrett's office more puzzled than ever. “Where do you think we’ll find Bernice?” Sarah asked.
“I have no idea. I was hoping if we spoke to Garrett first we wouldn't have to talk with Bernice at all. It’s … kind of touchy.”
“You mean her parents trying to marry her off to you?”
“Yes – and I don't know how Bernice feels about it.”
“Maybe Bernice doesn't know.”
He considered this as they walked. “Good grief, you may be right. Maybe she doesn't …” They reached the wagon, and he pulled out his pocket watch to check the time. “I'm afraid we won't be finding out today. We've got to get ho
me.”
“I understand,” she sighed. He helped her up to the wagon seat then climbed up himself. With a flick of the reins they were off.
As soon as they were out of town, Jess put his arm around her and looked into her eyes when she turned to face him. “Why, Mrs. Templeton, are you blushing?”
She looked forward again and gave him a sideways glance. “Me? Not at all.”
“If we weren't in such a hurry to get home, I'd be of a mind to make you blush even more.”
Her head snapped around to him. “Jess Templeton! Don't speak of such things!”
“Why not? Because were in public?” he asked in a teasing tone.
She looked around at the empty countryside. “Well … no … but …,” she stammered and blushed deeper.
Jess laughed. “If I’d known you were so much fun to tease, I’d have started earlier.”
“You must have all your strength back. You weren’t this bad a week ago.”
“A week ago we weren’t fully husband-and-wife.”
She couldn’t help but giggle. “And to think you were so quiet when I married you.”
“Well, I was practically at death's door.”
“You were not and you know it!”
“I felt like I was.” He leaned over to whisper in her ear. “But I know I wanted you then – and even more so now.”
Sarah felt her body grow hot. “You proved that last night, remember?”
“How can I forget? If it wasn't for all this mystery solving, we'd be in the barn …”
“The barn?!” Despite herself, her eyes lit up.
He laughed, kissed her on the cheek, then concentrated on getting them home. If he had his way, they'd still be making a trip out to the barn.
* * *
“Where have you been?” Mrs. Templeton asked Jess and Sarah as they parked the wagon in front of the house.
“Sorry we’re late, Ma,” Jess called down to her. “Our business in town took longer than expected.”
His mother stepped off the porch. “And? What did you find out?” she asked with a slight gleam in her eye.
