Shameful Celia (The Mail Order Brides of Boot Creek Book 3)

by Carré White

  “I’m pregnant,” I giggled, thinking it funny to toy with her.

  “We all know that. But when are you due? I need to have some sort of time frame, if I’m going to find you a husband before you have that baby.”

  Nick sat again, drinking coffee, while staring off into space.

  “I’m going to have this baby soon, Mrs. Hershey. Really soon.”

  “Oh, my word!” She looked aghast. “Then I had best get to work. I’ve arranged a lunch for you and Mr. Holter. He’s a lovely farmer who lost his wife six months ago.”

  “He has four children!” said Nicolas. “All under the age of seven.”

  “All the more reason he needs a wife, and soon. Those kids are about to run him ragged. He’s so desperate for relief, he said he would marry a pregnant widow.” She tapped well-manicured fingernails on the table. “I do believe you’re going to like him. Can you be ready by twelve?”

  “I can.” The idea of marrying someone with that many children boggled my mind, but I had always wanted a large family.

  “You can’t be serious.” Nicolas sat straighter, his look incredulous. “She’s about to give birth any second, and you want to throw her into a household with four small children? Then there’s the washing, the cleaning, the food making, and such. How on earth would she even manage that?”

  “You can organize some help from the ladies of the congregation. They can come in shifts and lend a hand.” Mrs. Hershey had everything under control.

  “I’ll have lunch with him. I shouldn’t pass up an opportunity to eat, especially at a restaurant.” I would be open-minded and sensible, because I was in need of a husband.

  Nicolas scowled. “This plan of yours is madness, Doris.”

  “Not at all. I’m sure once these two meet, they’ll feel the weight of attraction, and it will trump all other considerations.”

  “I doubt it,” laughed Nick. “The weight of attraction? Is that akin to how a fifty pound sack of flour feels?”

  “Oh, this isn’t funny,” she admonished. “Marriage is a serious matter.”

  “It is. That’s why I dislike this mail order business. How can two people develop feelings for one another through letters? You can’t fall in love with a piece of paper. You have to spend time with that person to truly know their character.”

  “You’re a man,” I said baldly. “You have that luxury. Your belly doesn’t swell with a life form that needs food and shelter. I have no choice, Nick.”

  “But you shouldn’t snatch up the first person who crosses your path. Just because you have a baby coming, doesn’t mean you should marry a balding, grumpy old man with a passel of unruly children.”

  “Don’t most men end up like that anyhow?”

  “No, they don’t.” His anger grew, because a tic appeared in his cheek. “Walter Holter married late in life. He married his cousin, no less. She was on her way to California when her husband died of cholera. She’d already had one child. In her desperation, she married old Walter, who then begot three more kids on her, before the last killed her.”

  He threw up his hands.

  “He couldn’t have cared less if that woman needed rest, working her to the bone. I remember seeing her after she had Anna, and she was wan and weak. If you want to know what killed that poor woman, I’ll tell you. It was Walter Holter. That’s who.” He glared at Mrs. Hershey. “That’s the type of man you want her to marry?”

  “You objected to Harvey Wood and now Walter Holter?” Mrs. Hershey fought a smile. “Who, pray tell, do you think would be worthy enough to marry Celia?”

  “How would I know? Just not Walter Holter, unless you want her to end up six feet under well before her time.”

  “I’ll still have lunch with him. I don't think lunch and conversation will kill me.” Getting to my feet, I faced Nicolas, who stared at me with his mouth slightly open. I smiled prettily. “I hope you eat your breakfast before it gets cold. I have to get myself ready. I’ve my hair to redo completely.”

  “That brings me to mind,” said Mrs. Hershey. “I’ve some clothing Teresa Butterfield gave me. You can borrow the dresses, until you don't need them any longer. They’ll fit you far better than the calicos.”

  “I haven’t had a new dress in ages.”

  “Well, they’re not exactly new, but they’re gently worn.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Hershey. I sure do appreciate your kindness.”

  “I’ve left them by your door.”

  My grin could not be contained. “I can’t wait to try them on.” It would be a treat to wear something different. “I’ll see you this evening, Nick. You have a good day now.”

  He scowled. “You as well.”

  Rushing to my room, a fit of giggles took over, the feeling jubilant. I had never had a greater abundance of food in my life or such good company. Two hours later, I had readied myself, tying the sash of the bonnet beneath my chin. Having braided and twisted my hair, I secured it with pins at the nape of my neck. The artful bun jutted out from beneath the bottom of the hat, my creation on display for the world to see. Glancing at myself in the mirror, a happy, exuberant woman stared back at me.

  “Wish me luck.” I uttered a silent prayer, hopeful that I might find Mr. Holter appealing, and hurried for the door.

  I arrived at the hotel a few minutes past twelve, not wanting to appear too eager for the meeting. Not knowing what the man looked like, I waited in the lobby, as businessmen and ladies passed by. Spying myself in a mirror, a woman in a draped skirt and bodice met my gaze. The garment came in two pieces, but it was large enough to accommodate my belly, because the bodice flared over my hips, somewhat diminishing my condition.

  “I suppose it’s you,” said a voice behind me.

  I turned to find an older, graying man in a hat. “Yes?”

  “Mrs. Wellington?” He sounded slightly nasal.

  “Yes.”

  A hand came my way. “Walter Holter.”

  “It’s Celia. How do you do?” I shook his hand.

  “I’m well.” His eyes traveled over me. “You’re prettier than I expected.”

  “Why, thank you.” I struggled to find something polite to say. “You’re … you’re more distinguished. Well, for a farmer. Most farmers I know are rather rough.”

  He ignored that, saying, “Mrs. Hershey says you’re from Texas.”

  “Amarillo originally, and then Alvin.”

  “I’m not sure where that is.”

  “Near Houston.”

  “I have family in Texas.”

  “How nice.” I smiled politely.

  “Let’s go in, shall we?” He held out his arm.

  “Certainly.” I rested my hand near his wrist, as he led me to the entrance of the restaurant, which brimmed with people chatting and eating.

  “I have a table already. I’ve been waiting for you.”

  “Oh, I hope I didn’t keep you too long.”

  “No. You were mostly on time.” We sat towards the back by an enormous fern. “Here you are.” He pulled out a chair.

  “Thank you.”

  “What sorts of food do you like to eat?”

  “I love food. I’ve had several dishes here already, but I’m eager to try the Minced Beef with Egg Garnish.”

  “I’ve had that once. I didn’t care for it.”

  A waiter approached, dressed in a starched white shirt and dark blue vest. “How are we this afternoon?”

  “Just fine,” said Mr. Holter. “I’ll have an iced tea, please.”

  The waiter handed out the menus. “And you, Miss?”

  “Lemonade.”

  “Would you care for fresh bread while you wait?”

  I nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, yes.”

  “I’ll return momentarily.”

  After he had gone, I turned to Mr. Holter. “Mrs. Hershey says you have four children.”

  “I do.” He eyed the menu shrewdly. “These prices are all too high.”

  “That’s a lot for
a new bride to take on.”

  “It is, but most wives have quite a few children. It’s the one job you ladies have. I don’t see why you can’t perform that duty and often.”

  “I come from a large family.”

  “So do I.”

  “I want to have more than one child. Did you know I’m in the family way now?”

  “Mrs. Hershey said something to that affect.”

  “I’m having this baby soon, sir. That means it’s five kids.”

  “It is.”

  “That’s a great deal to manage, I mean, for you. It’s expensive to feed and clothe so many.”

  “Are you asking if I have money, Mrs. Wellington?” His gaze narrowed.

  “No. I’m wondering if you want to take care of my baby.”

  “Why wouldn’t I, if I married you? I told you I want a large family.”

  “Yes.”

  He pointed to the menu. “It’s highway robbery what they’re charging here.”

  “I’ll only have the potato soup. I’m not all that hungry.” But, I could eat a four-course meal easily, my belly protesting.

  “That’s a wise choice, my dear.” He squinted, eyeing the menu, which hid most of his face.

  Chewing on my lower lip, I sat in silence, as the conversation died. It wasn’t until the waiter returned to take our order that he spoke, saying, “What you people charge here is a crime.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Holmes.”

  “It’s Holter, you dolt!”

  “My apologies.” The waiter forced a smile. “Are you ready to order?”

  I knew without a shade of a doubt that lunch would be the only thing Walter and I would ever do together again. He wasn’t my sort of fella in the least. Not one bit.

  Chapter 10

  Although lunch had been an unmitigated disaster, I felt certain the evening would end in a happy fashion. I eagerly anticipated walking to the church before seven, wanting to participate in Bible study. I had a Bible, which had belonged to my mother, the book covered in soft, fading leather. My mother had folded the top edges of some of the pages, marking her favorite readings. I tucked the book into a deep pocket in my skirt, glancing at myself in the mirror one last time before leaving.

  The hallway smelled of cooking, some of which had been my doing, because I had prepared supper for Nicolas earlier, making pork chops with fried apples. It was an easy dish, and Pastor Kinsley had eaten it with relish, asking for seconds. It pleased me that he liked my cooking, but the true joy of the moment had been sitting with him at the table, just the two of us with the candle flickering away heartily. Our conversation hadn’t been all that substantial, and I found the moments of silence pleasant and natural, allowing for my own thoughts.

  As I approached the church, the windows shone from the lights within, while the sound of voices emanated from the building. Several horses had been hitched to the post, while carriages remained unoccupied beneath the Coyote Willows. Slipping past the doors, I spied Nicolas speaking with a group of women. He noted the movement, his head shifting in my direction. He excused himself, striding towards me. It was odd, but I felt a thrill rush through me, watching his approach.

  “You’re here,” he said.

  “Of course.”

  “I want to introduce you to everyone. That way you can become acquainted with the other ladies in town.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Come this way, and I’ll introduce you.”

  He escorted me to several groups of people, men, women, and couples, until my head spun with dozens of names and faces. By the time I had met everyone, we were ushered into a smaller room near the nave, to sit at several tables. Pastor Kinsley handed out several study pamphlets, titled “Sharing Truths”, which I rifled through quickly, anticipating the reading.

  “Welcome, everyone,” said Nicolas, standing in the center of the room. “I’m glad you were able to meet Mrs. Wellington. She’s the newest member of Boot Creek, and I’m sure she’ll fit right in with everyone soon enough.”

  People stared at me, and I lowered my head, embarrassed.

  “Last week we read the fourth chapter, so we’re on five now. We’ll take turns reading, and then we can share about what we read or whatever else you wish to speak about, as long as it pertains to spiritual matters.” He glanced at a woman across the way in a royal blue hat. “Miss Ford, you may begin, if you wish.”

  She cleared her throat, smiling charmingly. “Yes, Pastor Kinsley.”

  From where I sat, she faced me, and I observed her closely, noting how she batted her eyelashes. Disconcerted, my attention returned to Nick, who seemed oblivious, staring at the pamphlet in his hands, while the lovely Miss Ford read. I wasn’t typically jealous of other women, mostly because if anyone had ever looked sideways at Lloyd, I would have thought them insane. But Nicolas was an entirely different matter. I could easily see how any woman would want his attention. Handsome and personable, he would readily make a fine husband for some lucky lady. Why he was not married remained a mystery, and, the longer I was in his company, the more I wished to know why. Sensing my attention, he glanced my way. Realizing I should be reading, I lowered my head quickly and found where I was on the page.

  After we had finished the discussion, which I opted not to participate in, wanting to just observe this first night, we were treated to coffee and cake, the ladies having brought the desserts with them. I found myself speaking with Miss Ford, her demeanor friendly and open.

  “I’m staying at an apartment in the Men’s Emporium.”

  “Oh, I see,” she said. “I do believe that’s where Pastor Kinsley lives, isn’t it?”

  “It is. He’s down the hall.”

  Her smile faltered somewhat. “There are other renters as well, correct?”

  “Yes, but I haven’t met them yet. I’m new in town.”

  “I was told you lost your husband. I don’t mean to pry, so if you don’t wish to speak about it, do say so.”

  “It’s no secret I was married. Yes, he died. Got trampled by his own bull.”

  Her eyes widened. “Goodness, how awful.”

  “It was. The horn went right through him. Guess old Macintosh wasn’t so thrilled with Lloyd.”

  “Macintosh?”

  “He named all his animals, but it wasn’t hard to remember who was who, because we only had four.”

  “I see.”

  “Are you from Boot Creek?”

  “No, I’m from Connecticut. My father wanted to settle west in Colorado to be with his brothers, but he decided the winters were too harsh, so we came here.”

  “It’s dreadfully dry in this part of the world. I’ve never seen snow in my life.”

  “I’ve seen plenty of snow.” Nicolas approached, smiling slightly. “I didn’t know this was one of Mrs. Wexler’s new tenants.”

  “She’s very new,” he said.

  “And already she’s settled in rather well, don’t you think?” Her eyes roamed over me.

  “That would be Mrs. Hershey’s doing. She’s managing Celia’s care.”

  “Is she now? The mail order bride fiasco?”

  “If you ask Doris, she’d say it’s a smashing success. Two couples are already married. She’s determined to see Mrs. Wellington settled as well, sooner than later.”

  Her expression turned thoughtful. “Are you still mourning your husband, Mrs. Wellington?”

  It was customary to wear black the entire year, but I did not have the funds for such clothing. “I … I suppose so.” No one had ever asked me that question.

  “How long has he been deceased?”

  Only having known Nicolas for a short time, I had observed him closely, mindful of his facial expressions and knowing exactly when something bothered him by the way he clenched his jaw, as he did now.

  “Mrs. Wellington is a special case, Lillian. Her condition makes it rather imperative that she find a husband.”

  Her mouth fell open. “Oh, my! I had no clue! I thought perhaps s
he was fond of eating.” She smiled sheepishly. “You’re having a baby?”

  “Yes, a boy.”

  “How on earth do you know that?” A delicately formed eyebrow shot up.

  “I just know.”

  “It’s late. I should escort you home,” said Nicolas. “I’ve got to put a few things away, and then we can leave.” His attention remained on me.

  “All right.”

  Miss Ford’s smile evaporated. “Well then, I guess I’ll just have to save my question for another time.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Did you wish to speak to me? You should’ve said something.”

  “It’s of no matter.” She reached for her handbag. “I’ll see you on Sunday anyhow. Perhaps, you can spare a minute then.”

  “If it’s urgent, Lillian, you can come to my office whenever you wish. My door is always open.”

  “Yes, you seem inclined to help every person that crosses your path.” I perceived she might be referring to me, her look now verging on baleful. “I shall go then. I can’t compete with poor, unwed mothers.” She brushed by us, her bustled skirt fanning out behind her. “It was a lovely reading. I do always enjoy Psalm 27:4.”

  Nicolas seemed at a loss, staring dumbstruck. He would have escorted her out, but she hurried for the doors, leaving alone. I murmured, “She’s upset about something.”

  “I suppose she is.”

  “I’m pretty sure I know what it is.”

  He glanced at me. “You do?”

  “Certainly. She fancies you.”

  This topic of conversation did not sit well with him. “Let me put these books away, so we can leave.”

  I helped him tidy the room, pushing chairs beneath tables and wiping away the crumbs from cakes and muffins. When we finished, Nicolas turned the lamps down, and we closed the door behind us, venturing into the hallway.

  “Did you enjoy yourself?” he asked.

  “I did.” We had left the building, standing before the doors of the church, while I waited for him to lock them. “Miss Ford is lovely. I couldn’t take my eyes off the trim and frill of her bustle. It was well done. I’ve never owned something that fine before, but,” I glanced at my outfit, “this comes close.”

  “I’m sure once you’re married, your husband will shower you with pretty things.” My laughter surprised him, his look questioning.