Mercy: Bride of Idaho (American Mail-Order Bride 43)

by Jacquie Rogers

  “What does one wear to such an event?” She didn’t have much in the way of wardrobe. “Is it a formal affair?”

  “I reckon if chaps and spurs are formal, then it is. We’ll set up in the barn—there’ll be dancing, food, and spirits. All the ladies bring desserts and Ray cooks everything else.”

  Ray pointed his fork to the window. “I already got the pit dug and I’ll lay the fire Wednesday night. Be ready to start the beef in early on Friday morning. I’ll feed the sourdough starter then, too.”

  “I ordered a case of whiskey from Wilson last week,” Harper said. “He’ll bring that out, and maybe some...” His cheeks flushed. “Well, never mind.”

  Food and dancing were good—Mercy loved to dance—but none of her three dresses would do for a party.

  She and her sister as well as several of the ladies from the factory had taken wedding dresses with them, but the Eatons hadn’t had the funds for anything fancy, and Mercy certainly didn’t have anything nice enough to wear to a party. Then she remembered the money she had left over from the trip out. She could use that for material and thread.

  “Is there a clothing store near?”

  Ike shook his head. “No, but Old Lady Hiatt has lots of dry goods, if that helps.”

  “I’ll take you to Henderson Flats on Monday morning, if you want to go,” Harper offered.

  “Thank you. I’d like that.” She could make a plain dress in a day—she could easily sew a nice dress between Monday afternoon and Friday. “Could we go first thing?”

  “Bright and early.” Harper grinned at her. She wondered if Quill ever grinned. She’d make sure he did.

  Sunday, she dressed for church, but didn’t see that anyone else intended to go.

  “The land is our church,” Ike said. “Once you’ve ridden the range, you don’t need to be stuck in a building to be with the Lord.”

  After breakfast, she spent an hour reading scripture, then went outside, where Dog greeted her with a stick.

  “I’m going to name you Lobo. ‘Dog’ is too plain for you—you look half-wolf.” She dutifully tossed the stick and the dog raced after it. At that moment, Ray stepped out of the chicken house with a bucket of eggs. In his enthusiasm to fetch, Lobo bashed into Ray’s side and the cook dropped the bucket.

  “Dang,” Ray said as he stood and patted the dirt from his clothes. “Every egg in the bucket is busted.”

  Inky, Mercy’s new name for the cat, didn’t seem to mind as he happily lapped at the raw eggs.

  “I’m so sorry. Lobo wanted to play—”

  “Lobo?”

  “He needed a name. It seemed to fit.”

  Chapter 4

  Monday, May 4, 1891

  Quill rose with the dawn but Ray already had coffee made and was out milking the cow. After pouring himself some coffee, Quill sat at the table and got out his notes for the roundup. Every man in the outfit needed to know what would be expected of him and when. The better organized, the less distress on the cattle—and the happier the cattle, the more beef they’d produce. Roundup was an important time.

  And, he had to admit, he’d be glad to get away from the Circle ID while Ike was courting Mercy. Quill had a hard time swallowing the fact that the old fellow, lonesome as he may be, would want such a young bride.

  Pretty, too—even more so after she’d cleaned up. Her hair had changed from gray-brown to brilliant red. Her smile hadn’t changed, though, beaming so bright, he reckoned she could light up a room at night. The thought made him groan. The last thing he needed to be thinking about was his great-uncle’s bride, especially in her nightclothes, no matter how shapely and beautiful she was.

  Instead, he checked his lists—what supplies to buy, how many horses they needed to get for the remuda, then made lists for checking tack and equipment, including outfitting the wagon, inspecting the branding irons, and sharpening the knives. Everything had to be done ahead of time for the roundup to be a success.

  Uncle Ike lumbered in, holding his back. “You’d think the bed bucked me off, what with as stiff as I am in the morning.”

  Quill stood and pulled out a chair. “Sit and I’ll get you some coffee.”

  “Don’t mind if I do. You and me have some talking to do. Where’s your cousin?”

  “Likely not out of bed yet.”

  “Go get him. We’ll take our coffee out in the barn.”

  The old man wanted to tell them something, and it appeared as though he didn’t want Miss Mercy to hear. Might as well get it over with. “I’ll be right back with Harp.”

  Ten minutes later, with Ike bellyaching about his rheumatiz and Harp nursing a hangover, the three men sat on benches in the barn, all swilling coffee. Quill had brought the whole danged pot out since it sounded as if his uncle had some sort of proclamation he just had to get out at five in the morning. Even Dog and Cat were still asleep.

  Uncle Ike took a flask from his jacket pocket and poured a dollop into his coffee. “Damned rheumatiz. Can’t hardly move right after I get up. Generally, I just sit around until the parts start working again, but I need a little lubrication this morning.”

  Quill reckoned whatever the old man had to say, he likely wouldn’t want to know anyway, so he didn’t push his uncle to get on with it. Harp sat hunched over his elbows on his knees, and rubbed his eyes. He had too much twenty-one-year-old vinegar for his own danged good—at least he’d had it last night. He didn’t look too good today after spending from Saturday afternoon to late Sunday night at the Silver Sage with his friends.

  Quill slurped the scalding hot coffee and waited.

  Harp ran his fingers through his hair, as if that would do any good whatsoever, and blinked the blur from his eyes. “Is this about roundup? Because if it is, Quill has everything handled, and what he hasn’t done, Jake has.”

  “No, Harper, it ain’t about roundup. I think you both know it’s about the woman, Miss Mercy Eaton.”

  “You sure do know how to pick a looker,” Harp said.

  “I didn’t know what she looked like for sure. Her pa sent a small picture and I couldn’t tell much about her features, but I could tell she was a live one. And that’s what I’m gonna tell you—what this here ranch needs is a woman. We’ve got everything else—a nice spread, a decent herd, good solid buildings—but that don’t make a home. A woman and kids make a home, and we haven’t had any young ’uns around here since Quill was a sprout.”

  Quill wanted to ask his uncle when he planned to marry the gal, and if it would be before or after roundup. But he couldn’t bring himself to get the words out.

  Luckily, his cousin had no such qualms. “So when are you marrying her?”

  “Me?” Uncle Ike grinned. “Hell, I’d be honored to have a woman like her but I’m too damned old.”

  Quill let out his breath. At least his uncle hadn’t gone off the deep end for a woman less than a third his age.

  “I brought her out here for one of you two.”

  “Us?” Quill and Harp chorused. Quill saw that his cousin was equally hornswoggled.

  “I have no intention of marrying anyone,” Quill said, while Harp sat there with his mouth open. Quill had made up his mind a long time ago that women didn’t stick around. His own mother had dumped him. The only woman he ever courted took off with some gambler. No other woman would get the chance to desert him—he’d make sure of that.

  Uncle Ike went on as if neither he nor Harp had said a word. “The only thing I haven’t decided is whether to let her pick which one of you she wants to tame, or let the two of you decide which one is lucky enough to get her. Either way, I want a baby around here by next year, on account of I ain’t gonna last much longer.”

  “I’m too young to get married,” Harp said, his voice sounding a mite on the shrill side. The same Harper, Quill noted, who tooted his own horn about how grown up he was when he wanted to go out drinking and carousing.

  The two of them looked at Quill. He held up both hands. “Not me. I’m not th
e marrying kind. I’d a whole lot rather rent my women.”

  The old man flicked his gnarled hand at the both of them. “She’s a beautiful little gal, and one of you two owlhoots is gonna marry her and make her a happy woman.” He took another drink of his whiskey-laced coffee.

  Quill didn’t know whether to be relieved that his uncle wouldn’t be marrying Mercy, or pissed that he expected Quill or Harp to cave in to his wishes. Quill had a ranch to run and Harp had wild oats to sew. Wedded bliss wasn’t in the cards for either cousin, especially now, and Uncle Ike knew it. The old man must have eaten some loco weed.

  Harp shrugged. “She looks happy as a spring filly in a field of dandelions already.”

  “Mark my words, whoever wins her will be even happier,” Uncle Ike said. “We’ll see which one of you gets lucky. I expect you both to show her proper respect at the party next Friday. She won’t know a soul and you can imagine how you’d feel under those same circumstances, so introduce her around and include her in the fun. As far as I’m concerned, she’s already a member of the family.”

  “That won’t be no hardship.” Harp stood and stretched his back. “I best get my chores done. Miss Mercy needs to go to the store and buy some material for her party dress. I reckon if we leave by seven, we’ll get there about the time the store opens.”

  “She can have anything she wants, and tell Tresa to put it on the Circle ID tab.”

  Tresa Hiatt owned the store, and had coddled Quill for years. When his mother had first dumped him off at Henderson Flats, Old Lady Hiatt used to sneak licorice whips to him when Uncle Ike wasn’t looking.

  After Harp left, Quill reminded his uncle that Miss Mercy thought she’d be marrying him.

  “Don’t you worry about that—I’ll set her straight. Just be your charming self at the party.”

  Quill scowled and made up his mind to be gone all week as much as possible—especially during the blasted party. He hated parties anyway, far preferring to ride out on the range and tend the cows. If he wanted a drink, he’d buy a jug. If he wanted a woman, he’d rent one at the Silver Sage.

  The roundup started in a few days and he had plenty of work to keep him busy until then, so he wouldn’t have to deal with his uncle’s matchmaking for the next month, at least. By then, maybe Uncle Ike would find some sense.

  But Quill couldn’t help thinking about Miss Mercy Eaton. She was sure as hell easy on the eyes.

  * * *

  Mercy rose early and dressed, then took paper and pencil from her reticule and commenced to writing a letter to her sister. She’d promised Patience that she’d write as soon as possible, and since she was going to town, it had to be done now so the letter could be mailed.

  Only thing was, she couldn’t get the words out. She couldn’t tell Patience of the unhappy situation—after all, there were several wonderful aspects of this adventure, the best being her bedroom suite. So, to prevent Patience from rushing to Idaho to save her, Mercy told of the wonderful house, embellishing it a bit, the party and her plans to get material for a dress, and that Isaac Fairchild seemed to be a very nice man.

  None of that was a lie. Isaac Fairchild had endeared himself to her in a way, even though she also felt slightly betrayed. But she wouldn’t dwell on such things. After finishing her short letter to Patience, she addressed the envelope and tucked it away to be mailed in Henderson Flats.

  By the time she got downstairs, Ray was busily dishing up the biggest breakfast she’d ever seen in her life. The aroma of bacon filled the whole house—she’d been salivating for fifteen minutes already. He’d baked biscuits, fried potatoes, scrambled a gallon of eggs, and made another gallon of gravy.

  “You were right about no leftovers,” she said. “Those men can sure eat.”

  “Yep, they’ll be here in a minute, so you might as well set yourself down and have a cup of coffee while you wait.”

  “How about I help you?”

  “All done. And after you eat, Harp’s taking you to town. I understand you have a dress to make, so you better get to it. You’ll have all the time in the world to help me out after the shindig’s over.”

  “I’m not used to a life of luxury. After I graduated from school, I worked in a factory, and of course with a family of six, there’s always something that needs to be done at home.”

  “A few days off won’t hurt you none, then. I expect you’ll find plenty to do around here once you get settled in.”

  Their conversation was cut short when Harper came in. “The other two will be here pretty soon. I got here early to drive Miss Mercy to Henderson.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “You’re looking right pretty this morning.”

  She felt her face heat up. One thing she wished she could control was her blushing, but redheads were cursed with it. “I’m used to getting up early.”

  “Dig in,” Ray said. “Eat so’s you can be on your way.”

  “Shouldn’t we wait for the others?”

  “Naw, they’ll be in whenever their bellies tell them to.”

  “And believe me,” Harper said with a mouthful of biscuit, “that won’t take long.”

  They ate quickly—Mercy only wanted coffee and a biscuit, but Harper ate more than she ate in an entire day. From the looks of supper the night before, this was a regular occurrence with the Circle ID men. They didn’t lack for hearty appetites.

  “Ready to go?” Harper shoved away from the table after taking one last gulp of coffee. “The store will be open by the time we get in town. I know Mrs. Hiatt just got a shipment in—with luck, she’ll have a good batch of dry goods and you can find something you like.”

  “I’m sure I will.” She stood and headed for the coat rack, where she’d hung her wrap and bonnet. “Oh, wait—I must fetch my reticule.”

  “You won’t need it. The Circle ID has an account there. Uncle Ike said you can get whatever you want.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Thank Uncle Ike.”

  “But I still need to get it—I’ve written a letter to my sister and it needs to be mailed.” She wondered if Harper wanted her around. She knew Quill didn’t, but then that was understandable. Neither of them probably approved of her commitment to marry their uncle.

  It took an hour to get to town. Mrs. Hiatt, a short plump woman with a big gap-toothed smile, greeted Harper with a hug, and Mercy could see she was the sort of person that everyone loved. “And what do we have here?”

  “Uncle Ike’s mail-order bride, Miss Mercy Eaton.” He held out his hand toward Mrs. Hiatt. “Mrs. Hiatt is the owner of this store. Her husband is the town marshal.”

  Mercy worried that she’d not approve of the age difference. For that matter, Mercy wasn’t too keen on it, but she’d deal with it. At least he was a kindly old man—the situation could’ve been a whole lot worse.

  “You can call me Tresa. I rather like young ladies with red hair. Used to have red hair myself.” She took Mercy’s arm. “Now what can I show you?”

  “Fabric. I need to make a dress for the roundup party, but I don’t even know what sort of outfit would be proper to wear.”

  Tresa waved Harper away. “You go on about your affairs, young man. We have some woman’s business to take care of.”

  After Harper left, Mercy asked, “Does it bother you that Mr. Fairchild sent for a mail-order bride?”

  Tresa winked. “Don’t you worry yourself, honey. Everything will work out just fine.” She headed for the bolts of fabric and Mercy followed. “Now, let’s take a look at what we have.”

  Chapter 5

  Other than taking her meals with the family, Mercy had kept to her room since returning to the Circle ID from Henderson Flats. She loved her sitting room. The large window let in lots of sunshine and the brightness made the sewing easier, besides cheering her up.

  And she was truly delighted to find that what she’d thought was a secretary was actually a Singer. She’d always wanted one but the Eatons had been too poor. Of co
urse, she’d used sewing machines at the factory so she knew well how to operate one.

  Everything about her new situation was delightful... except she didn’t want to marry a seventy-year-old man, no matter how sweet he was. But contracts were signed and she’d make the best of it.

  “Been busy?” Ike asked at breakfast the next day after Quill and Harper had left.

  “Sewing and sewing and sewing. I’m not going to tell you what I bought—my dress will be a surprise.”

  She’d found some vivid blue silk, and sky blue silk that matched it, so she decided to use the darker blue for the bodice and skirt, and make an overskirt with the sky blue material. The price had been dear but she managed to get a good deal, so she also purchased a length of ivory lace to trim the bodice and sleeves.

  Blue looked best on her—she’d been told that all her life. Of course, her first color choice would’ve been purple because that was by far her favorite color. But she’d been told too many times that redheads didn’t look good in purple. She fully intended to have a purple dress someday, maybe even for her wedding, but for the party, she opted for the tried and true.

  Ike winked at her. “I’m sure it will be beautiful—you could wear a gunny sack and still be pretty.”

  “You’ve never told me when the ceremony’s to be.”

  “That’s because I don’t know. And it won’t be to me. I brought you out here to tame one of my two nephews. Harp’s a mite young to get married but he’s got a charming side to him. Quill is just that—prickly. But under all that gruffness, there’s a man who needs some lovin’. Every man should find the love of his life.”

  “And you?” Utterly astounded, she could barely get the words out. If there was ever a time for her to swoon, which she’d never done, Ike’s bombshell would’ve brought it on. Instead, she blushed again, for she wanted Quill more than any man she’d ever met. She’d already grown fond of Ike, but he was at least fifty years older and she’d sorely hoped for a young, handsome man.