The Partridge: The First Day (The 12 Days 0f Christmas Mail-Order Brides Book 1)

by Kit Morgan

  3 – Liu Meizhen, 26

  Our lovely Meizhen hails from a professional family of acrobats from China. Her skills include speaking English, exemplary intelligence and the gift of balance and quick reflexes. She desires a husband who will make her laugh and is kind at heart.

  “Acrobats?! Mrs. Walters, where are you finding these women?” He shook his head, read the girl’s profile again and three words stood out – kind at heart. After a moment, Chase smiled and wrote “Woody Burnside” next to her name. He just hoped Woody was open-minded enough to not mind marrying a China girl – a lot of men in town would refuse. At least Colorado hadn’t banned such a marriage, like other states …

  He continued down the list, matching women to men as best he could. It was an arduous, nerve-wracking task with so little to go on. By the time he was half done, he was pulling his hair. Maybe he should have put the one he was currently working on with Woody Burnside – she loved animals, and he did tend those mules and his other critters. But then whom would he match Miss Liu with?

  “Egad,” he groaned. Finally he wrote Ezra’s son’s name, “Storm Thornton” down next to #7. He was a rancher, and hadn’t he bragged about the roast goose he’d made for himself and some of the miners for Christmas dinner last year? Hopefully that would do.

  Chase rubbed his temples as he continued, then reached into his pocket again. He was already beginning to forget the winners from the bridal draw. He pulled out a piece of paper and looked at his remaining list of grooms, then at #8’s description. “‘Active, with a keen business sense,’ eh? Then let’s put you with …” He scribbled a name next to hers and went on to the next bride.

  Soon he was almost done, though his headache was almost full-blown. He massaged his temples again and scanned his work. With a shrug he wrote “Silas Powell” next to #11, let his tired eyes drift to the next …

  “Good Lord!”

  12 – Agatha Boonesbury, 75

  Despite her age, Agatha still has a penchant for fun. Her life skills include dancing and playing banjo, and can amuse even the most stoic of men with her wit. Twice a widow, her spunk is unmatched and she would challenge a man of brawn and guts to keep up with her youthful agility.

  Chase made a squeaking sound in his panic. “Seventy-five!” How did he miss that? He’d been so happy to receive the list yesterday he must have misread it as “25.” “What am I going to do?” He looked at his list of grooms, then the profiles, then beat his head against the desk a few times. Thud, thud, thud …

  If only he hadn’t been so eager to write Mrs. Walters that her list of brides would suit just fine. The letter went out in yesterday’s post. He could always write again and tell her there were no suitable men for Agatha, but now the railroad’s cursed deadline hung over his head. She might not find a bride in time – then what would they do? It was bad enough he’d have to tell Charlie he was getting a bride whether he wanted one or not.

  He closed his eyes in resignation and sent up a quick prayer he lived long enough to see them all wed. Then he erased a name from earlier in the list – the only one that would remotely suit – and wrote it next to Agatha’s. He stared out the window, imagining his funeral. If Charlie didn’t shoot him, the groom he just wrote down might skin him alive.

  Of course, that left out the earlier bride, but that was an easier problem to fix … he hoped. He sat back in his chair, loosened his collar, took his pencil and with one last sigh wrote “Dr. Colin Deane” into the gap. There it was – a dozen grooms for Mrs. Walters’ dozen brides. As soon as the men turned in their letters tomorrow, he’d address each one to the groom’s prospective bride in care of Mrs. Walters, march down to Jack Peregrine’s post and freight, and send them off. Then, he’d hope and pray like mad the brides answered.

  Tossing the pencil on the desk, Chase rubbed his hands over his face a few times and looked at the ceiling. “Okay, the rest is up to You, Lord. Make this work, or we’ll all be in a heap of trouble.” He looked at the lists again. “Amen.”

  * * *

  December 24, The Golden Nugget Saloon

  “That’s it – put anything broken in the back, lads,” Seamus instructed the men hurrying to spruce up the saloon.

  Chase watched Seamus bark orders. The men’s brides were scheduled to arrive that afternoon, and he’d planned a group wedding for that evening, beating the deadline with almost two weeks to spare. If the couples were married on Christmas Eve, they had a cushion. Not that anything could go wrong, but Percy did say his uncle wanted to see the men settled with their brides by then. Surely they could manage it in twelve days.

  Now all he had to do was inform Charlie he was getting married. He’d put that off literally as long as he could.

  Then he noticed it had started snowing, which would add to the festive air they were trying to create. That gave him an idea – and another excuse to stall. “What’s this?” he looked around the saloon. “Tomorrow’s Christmas, Seamus! Where is the Christmas tree?”

  All the men stopped what they were doing. “Whoops,” Doc Deane remarked, setting down the chair he was holding.

  “Not a word any of us likes hearing you say, Doc,” Chase joked. “But could you see to a tree?”

  Doc Deane nodded, then glanced around the room. “Mr. Fulton, Mr. Thornton,” he called.

  Liam Fulton set down the spittoon he’d been cleaning and, along with Storm Thornton, joined him.

  “Have you an ax?” Doc asked Storm.

  “Sure, in the back of my wagon.”

  “Good. Think you can fetch it? We need to cut down a Christmas tree.”

  “A tree,” he said flatly. “You’re … you’re serious?”

  Doc Deane nodded. “Of course I am. Can we borrow it?”

  “Fine, but I’m not interested in cutting it down.”

  Doc Dean sighed. “Just fetch us your ax, please. Thank you.”

  Storm rolled his eyes, and went to get the ax.

  Doc nodded in satisfaction and turned to Liam. “You have any tree trimmings at your store?”

  “Well, a few, but …”

  Horatio steered around the freshly polished spittoons, smirking. “Don’t you know women? They’ll want a tree with all the trimmings. It is Christmas,” he added sardonically.

  “And who’s going to pay for these trimmings?” Liam asked.

  “Why, Liam, wherever is your Christmas spirit?”

  Liam gritted his teeth as his eyes narrowed.

  “Ah-ah-ahhh,” Doc Deane put a hand on his arm before he had the chance to pull it back. “Let’s worry about pulverizing Horatio later. Maybe each man can get something for his lady to put on the tree.”

  Liam looked at him, then at Horatio, who had already turned away to pester poor Culver, and smiled to himself. Let the blacksmith deal with the stuck-up dandy. “Very well.”

  The two men left the saloon as Chase stood at the bar and went over his list. “Men have their Sunday best ready … check.” He went to the next item. “Got themselves a shave and a haircut?” He glanced around the room – all the men were clean-shaven and looking as respectable as they could manage. “Check.”

  “Everything ready, Preacher?” Seamus asked.

  “I think so, Seamus.” Chase smiled. “Just about everything …”

  “What’s left?” Seamus asked.

  Chase swallowed hard. “Well …”

  “Ye mean ye still haven’t told him?”

  Chase shrugged. “I’ll get around to it, don’t worry.”

  “When?”

  Chase held his hands up helplessly. “The week after Judgment Day?”

  Seamus shook his head. “Maybe ye can tell him ye thought he’d like a bride, so ye went ahead and ordered him one.”

  “Too easy to reject her, then. Don’t think I didn’t consider it, seeing as it is close to the truth.”

  “Then why don’t ye tell him the whole truth – the railroad pressured ye into it. By way of Percy – that way, the heat is off ye.”
Seamus chuckled. “It’s a good thing ye and the mayor are such good friends, or there’d be you know what to pay later.”

  “Yeah. And I know just who’ll have to pay it.” Chase watched the men scurrying around. “No, I can’t do that to Percy, tempting though it might be to watch him suffer. It’s on my head. Besides, I’m the only person that can marry everyone.”

  Seamus shook his head again. “Not the only one. Judge Whipple rode in last night. Probably ride out tomorrow, though. But if the mayor shoots ye, we have a backup plan.”

  Chase rolled his eyes and grimaced. “How convenient.”

  Seamus laughed. “Don’t worry, Preacher, everything will turn out. Besides, what can possibly go wrong?”

  “Everything, is my guess.” Chase went back to his list.

  “Rev. Hammond?” Culver Daniels walked up with a worried look on his face.

  “What can I do for you?”

  Culver glanced out the windows. “It’s snowing pretty hard. You know what that means.”

  Chase looked out the windows again. The snow that had appeared so festive and serene a few moments ago looked like a blizzard now. “Egad!”

  “They’ll never get the wagons through the pass with just horses – we’ll have to have Woody use Jack’s mules go fetch them pronto.”

  Chase swallowed hard. The blacksmith was right – they’d need Woody’s help. He took care of Jack Peregrine’s mules and did shipping runs for him. Woody was a good driver and an expert at handling the animals. He’d be able to get the brides to town before the pass became choked with snow, but by then the women would be half frozen to death, the poor things. “All right … if this doesn’t let up in the next half hour, tell Woody we’re sending him and his team out there to meet them.”

  “Woody?” Horatio said with disgust. “Well, that’s one way to impress the ladies their first day in town – bring them in with teams of smelly mules.”

  “You got a better idea?” Culver asked, his jaw tight.

  “Gentlemen,” Chase said carefully. “The important thing is we bring them in safe and sound. They can’t be left stranded out in this weather – we have to get to them while we can still make it through the pass. You know how bad the road over the mountain can get. In fact, he’ll have to use the wagons equipped with runners to get through.”

  Horatio made a show of puffing out his chest. “You’re quite right, Reverend. I’ll see to it.” He hurried out of the saloon

  Culver and Chase openly gawked at him, then quickly sobered once he was gone. The only “seeing to” Horatio was interested in was making himself look good. But to do that, would he go so far as to accompany Woody to fetch the women? And how well would Woody put up with the arrogant prig’s company?

  Shaking his head, Chase turned back to his list and scribbled something down. “Have Doc Deane present when the women arrive,” he told Culver.

  Culver looked at what he’d written, (tend to Horatio after he’s tempted fate) and, hiding a smile, got back to work, leaving Chase to brood. If they were lucky, Horatio sporting a black eye would be the least of their worries today.

  Chapter 4

  December 24, later that afternoon …

  The storm seemed determined to thwart any attempts at matrimony that day. But Chase was just as determined to beat Percy’s foul deadline. Bible in hand, he stood near the saloon’s front door as the two wagons full of women finally rolled into town. Doc Deane joined him, ready to minister to any runny noses or frostbitten toes.

  Charlie, dressed in clean clothes, waltzed into the saloon from the back to greet the new arrivals. “Any luck up at the mine, Mayor?” Doc asked.

  “Not yet, but we found a few promising spots. The men have been digging there the last few days.” He straightened his jacket and brushed his hand over his face.

  Chase studied him. As Noelle’s leading citizen and mayor, it was kind of his duty to be there, but he didn’t look overly put out by it either. Maybe breaking the news to him that he had a bride wouldn’t be so bad …

  “Here they come!” Culver said excitedly as the first wagon pulled up in front of the building.

  Chase stiffened and glanced around. “Where is everybody? Only half the men are here.”

  “You didn’t expect to marry them off to their grooms this minute, did you?” Charlie asked. “Have some compassion, man – these ladies are probably cold and hungry.”

  Chase drummed his hand on his Bible. “Of course, of course.” He looked at the book and stuck it behind his back. “I’m sure the others will turn up. Best we take care of their brides first.”

  Charlie smiled and stepped outside. Chase listened as he greeted the women, his voice full of welcome and authority, and guided them through the doors of the saloon.

  Chase put his Bible on the bar, stepped forward and smiled. “Welcome to Noelle, ladies.” He immediately looked for one standing out from the rest, a leader, as the women filed inside. Mrs. Walters had informed him in her last letter that she herself would escort her lost lambs to Noelle, to make sure they were properly chaperoned and looked after.

  Unfortunately, from what he remembered from the brides’ profiles, several women were around the same age as Mrs. Walters. A bride by the name of Birdie Bell came to mind – didn’t hers say she was thirty, a couple of years older than Mrs. Walters? She’d also run her own business, a dressmaker’s shop in Denver. Naturally he’d matched her with Jack Peregrine – she could not only help him with his business, but with good old Grandpa Gus.

  Come to think of it, Mrs. Walters never did send a description of herself …

  But then he spotted the woman directing the others away from the saloon doors, of medium height with mahogany hair and snapping green eyes, and figured it had to be her. As she deftly shut the doors and turned to her charges, Chase squared his shoulders. “Mrs. Walters?”

  Mrs. Walters looked him up and down. “The esteemed Rev. Hammond, I presume?”

  “Yes, ma’am – at your service,” he said with a smile. He looked past her at the rest of the women who stood red-cheeked and shivering with cold. By the time he turned back to Mrs. Walters, she had gone white-faced, her lips pressed in a firm line. Uh-oh … He offered the woman his most charming smile.

  It didn’t help. “Rev. Hammond, your letters don’t do the town justice.” Her tone was even, her eyes greener than before, her smile tight. This couldn’t be good.

  “Mrs. Walters!” Charlie said, coming to his rescue. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to make your acquaintance at last!”

  She turned her venomous stare on him. “And you, Mayor Hardt, you let him write such letters? Why, this town is nothing like what he described!”

  Charlie straightened and took on an affronted look. “I’m afraid I didn’t see the letters our reverend wrote, but rest assured that whatever Rev. Hammond told you, well, he wouldn’t lie.”

  “No, I wouldn’t … didn’t,” Chase put in. “What you don’t seem to understand, Mrs. Walters, is that I wrote that first letter last August and …”

  One of the women emerged from the crowd, eyes wide and fixed on Charlie. Her movement drew their attention away from Mrs. Walters’ piercing stare. Chase watched her slowly approach his friend, her blue eyes brightening with every step. He had a strong feeling whose bride this was. At least she was pretty - maybe it would soften the blow.

  Sure enough … “I’m so pleased to meet you, Mayor Hardt! Your letters were very inspiring and I’m not a bit disappointed. I knew you were my intended the moment I saw you – you look exactly the way you described.”

  Charlie’s face twisted up in confusion. “What letters?” He looked at Chase for rescue, but Chase was busy coughing into his hand and trying to look innocent. He turned back to the woman. “I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake, ma’am. I’m not who you think I am. You’re meant for another man.”

  “You are Mayor Hardt, aren’t you?”

  Chase could feel his ears go pink. Here it comes … />
  “Yes, but …” Charlie, looking more confused than ever, stared at her, at Chase, at her. Then his jaw locked, and his eyes – those eyes that could stop a man dead in his tracks – went cold as a mountain stream. “I wrote letters?”

  Felicity huffed. “Good heavens, what’s wrong with you? You wrote me a letter and described yourself, and I must say you were very accurate. You weren’t so accurate about the town, but I’ll forgive that because you are the mayor and it’s your duty to paint the town in the best possible light …”

  As she talked, Charlie kept his eyes on her, but walked toward Chase with the measured steps of a gunfighter about to face an opponent. Only when he was within a foot of his friend did his gaze shift. “You didn’t.”

  Chase looked up from his fingernails. “What?”

  “Tell me she’s wrong or she’s crazy,” Charlie snarled.

  “Um … well …”

  “Because I know I didn’t write any letters. Which means that somebody else … did.” Charlie’s hand grasped Chase’s shoulder hard enough to pulverize bones. “You wouldn’t do that. Not you, not a preacher. You wouldn’t do something so low-down and rotten as to write a letter and deceive a woman into thinking she’s getting married to a man who has no intention of EVER MARRYING AGAIN!”

  A gasp sounded behind Charlie – not Felicity, but another woman. In the midst of the confrontation, the other brides had crowded around to hear – and maybe witness a killing.

  Well, there was no help for it at this point. Chase looked down, his shoulders slumping, like the proverbial lamb being led to slaughter. “I did, Charlie. I did it for your own gooaggggh!”

  To everyone’s horror, Charlie wrapped his hands around Chase’s neck and began to strangle him. Chase was vaguely aware of the stunned look on Felicity Partridge’s face as she gasped and quickly glanced around, as if expecting someone to jump in and separate them. No one did – the women were too stunned, and the men knew better than to get into the middle of this particular argument.