Lottie: Bride of Delaware (American Mail-Order Bride 1)

by Kit Morgan

  “Yes, there’s no shortage of heroism in my family’s past. It didn’t hurt that she was the daughter of the biggest cattle baron in west Texas.”

  “And the rest is history,” Ferris added with a dramatic sweep of his arm. “So, when are you going to tell her?”

  Sam stared at the papers in his lap as Ferris’s words sunk in. “After we’re married.”

  “Why after?”

  He glanced out the window, then turned back to him. “Because even though she’s a mail-order bride, I still want to marry for love.” He sighed and smiled. “Silly romantic notion, I know, but … I want her to love me for me, not my family’s wealth. I want her to get to know me – that’s one reason I decided to come get her and travel home to Clear Creek together. It will give us time to get used to each other, have the opportunity to talk … before the family gets a hold of her.”

  Ferris nodded thoughtfully. “Wise decision.”

  “I think so. I’m sure she’ll be frightened after what she’s been through. To lose one’s job with no hope of finding another … it rather makes me feel like a knight on his way to rescue a damsel in distress.”

  Ferris chuckled. “You really are a romantic.”

  “I get it from Father, but don’t let Mother hear you say that.”

  “Trust me, I won’t. What do you think your damsel is doing now?”

  “She should have read my last letter by now. I imagine she’s gushing over her upcoming wedding. Isn’t that what all women do?”

  “Of course, what else?”

  Sam sighed in contentment. “I do believe I’m going to enjoy married life.” He smiled at the thought, closed his eyes to rest them a moment and tried to envision his future bride. She would be a delicate flower, in need of protection and his wise counsel. He’d make sure he kept her safe and knew she’d make a fine addition to the family. Soon they’d have children, God willing and his mother would be elated over her first grandchild.

  That thought made him smile wider, and he let his mind drift. What could his delicate little flower be doing at this very moment – helping her sister and roommates? Delivering food to the poorest of the poor or mending clothes for a sick widow? Whatever she was doing, he was sure she was putting in her best effort to see it well done.

  Two

  Lottie, her face red with frustration, slapped the ticket counter with her gloved hand. “What do you mean, you’re not sure?!”

  The ticket master looked at her nervously. “Getting mad isn’t gonna help ya, ma’am,” he replied in a flat Down East accent. “It’s like I told ya, my memory ain’t so good. Besides, do you realize how many folks come through here every day? How’m I supposed to remember ‘em all? And Brown’s a common name, after all …”

  Lottie gave him an impatient sigh. “He’s of medium height, with dark hair, black as paint. He wears it slicked back. A Van Dyke beard, just as black, and pointed.” She stopped there, trying to think of what else to tell him. “A pot belly. And he would have been dressed in a suit – a nice one, with a long frock coat.”

  The ticket master scratched his head. “Hrmmm … medium height, ya say? Van Dyke … an older man?”

  “No, not really. Middle aged, maybe – perhaps forty years of age? I’m not really sure how old he is.”

  “Hrmmm … ya know, I might have seen him yesterday.”

  Lottie’s face beamed. “Do you remember where he purchased a ticket to?”

  “Seems to me a man fitting yar description got hisself a ticket to Dover.”

  “Dover? Delaware?” Lottie squeaked in shock. “I’m from Dover,” she added absentmindedly.

  “Are ya now? Well, ain’t that nice. He a relative of yars?”

  She grimaced. “Not exactly. But it’s very important that I find him.”

  “Don’t recall his name, but that’s the only fella I remember like ya described that bought a ticket yesterday.”

  Lottie nodded. “Thank you, thank you very much.” She turned, her pleated skirt swishing as she did. She was too poor to afford the latest fashions – what few clothes she and Leora had were secondhand and several years old. The sleeves of her two-piece dress were nearly worn through at the elbows. She’d have to patch them soon, but couldn’t quite bring herself to do it – it would make her far-less-than-well-to-do-status even more evident. It was hard enough replacing the button trim each time one popped off.

  But the worn wool kept her warm, and that’s what counted. She wrapped her frayed shawl more tightly around her thin shoulders. A new wool dress would be lovely – if she could afford one …

  Which brought her thoughts to the inevitable. She now knew where Bob Brown had fled to. The problem was how to convince her new husband they should take a trip to Dover. She didn’t have enough money for train fare there and back. Unless … no. She couldn’t use any of the money he’d sent. Leora and the other girls would need it to live on until they left to meet their own grooms.

  Leora … Lottie shut her eyes against unshed tears and left the station. She and her sister had never been apart, and now they were forced to marry perfect strangers from different states just to survive. Drat that Mr. Brown! “I bet he burned his own building down for the insurance money,” she grumbled as she walked. “What a selfish man!”

  Lottie continued to mutter to herself as she headed home. “What sort of lunatic does such a thing? Of all the nerve!” Indeed, the more she thought on it, the angrier she got. It wasn’t just her and Leora – many of the women who’d been employed by the Brown Textile Company might never see their friends or relatives again. Most were orphans, or women from families so poor they’d had to leave so there’d be enough food for their younger siblings.

  Many had traveled far from their home of origin to find work, of which there was little for women – little that wasn’t illegal, that is. Besides, she’d heard of women who’d succumbed to promises made by the owners of houses of ill repute. The women were often never seen or heard from again, and those who were ended up objects of pity.

  Lottie sighed in frustration, her breath forming a little cloud before her. It was getting colder. At least Leora would be going to California – wasn’t it a lot warmer there? She certainly hoped this pastor-groom of Leora’s had a good solid church. She never wanted Leora to miss meals, or not have enough money to buy fabric for a new dress. Would their parishioners donate clothes for the poor girl?

  “Oh, stop it!” Lottie scolded herself. She came to a halt and glanced around as she slowed her breathing to calm down. No one seemed to pay her any mind – they were all heading home, just as she was, to eat their evening meals. She took another deep breath and let it out slowly. Brown’s Textile hadn’t paid well, but it was better than most of the alternatives. She and Leora had sworn to each other they would die before they ever let things get that bad.

  Except now they may never see each other again. She swallowed hard and moved on.

  When she finally got home everyone except Leora was in bed. She didn’t realize she’d been away so long. Leora took a bowl of soup out of the warming oven along with a piece of bread. “This is all that’s left. We have enough food for breakfast, then that’s it. There isn’t any more. Thank the Lord your Mr. Cooke sent funds.”

  Lottie gave her a solemn nod as she reached for the bowl. She sat at the kitchen table as Leora fetched her a spoon. “I’d better count it and write down how much to spend each day.” She looked at her sister. “You’ll want to make it last as long as possible. Tell Beth she’ll have to curb that sweet tooth of hers.”

  Leora smiled. “I’ll tell her. No more candy from Mr. Bibb’s shop.”

  “Get only the essentials.”

  Leora sat next to her. “What did you find out? You seem disappointed.”

  Lottie sighed. “On the contrary. I found out Mr. Brown bought a train ticket to Dover yesterday.”

  Leora sat back, bug-eyed. “He … Dover? Why in Heaven’s name would he go to Dover?”

  “My q
uestion exactly,” Lottie said. “For that matter, why didn’t he leave town before now?”

  Leora leaned forward with a quirky smile. “Maybe because he had no reason to. Especially if he didn’t do anything wrong.”

  Lottie rolled her eyes and plucked the spoon out of her hand. “He was probably just laying low.”

  Leora closed her own eyes and rubbed one temple with her fingers. “You’ve been reading ‘the book’ again, haven’t you?”

  “That’s beside the point, and you love it as much as I do. By the way, did you pack yours?”

  “Why would I be packed yet? I haven’t even heard from my groom!”

  “You will. When you do, don’t forget to pack it.”

  Leora nodded and looked away. Like so many that had worked at the textile mill, they were orphans, their parents killed in a fire when Leora was fifteen and Lottie thirteen. They’d stayed with a distant aunt, but after one year she died. They’d found work at Mr. Brown’s and had been there ever since.

  But each of them had one treasure in their possession, a copy of the story compilation The Pirate’s Peril and Other Adventures by C.I. Sayer. They’d read the stories every time their father had taken them to the local bookshop in Dover. The man loved to read and never denied his daughters the chance. So his daughters had developed a taste for Sayer’s lurid tales – who was he to argue? Leora and Lottie’s interest in reading had doubled after they’d gotten their hands on the huge book.

  In time, they grew to love the ‘penny dreadfuls’ so much, he’d purchased them each a copy of Sayer’s collection – just days before he and his wife died in that fire. Lottie and Leora had been spending the weekend with friends, and had taken their precious tomes with them so they could entertain everyone with the stories. The two books were all they had left of their parents – the fire had destroyed everything else.

  “Maybe you should stop reading it for a time,” Leora said softly. “I think it has you … overwrought.”

  Lottie eyed her over her spoon. “I am not overwrought.” She slurped her soup, knowing it irritated Leora.

  Leora cringed. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

  Lottie smiled. “I do try.”

  “I hope you mind your manners around your new husband.”

  Lottie set the spoon down. She didn’t want to have to think about him just yet – she wanted to solve the mystery of the fire first. She’d been stewing over that ever since she’d recovered from the shock of the blaze itself.

  “You know,” Leora mused, “when I first heard something crash through the window, I thought maybe it was a rock thrown by those horrid boys from the feed store down the road.”

  “The Simpsons?” Lottie shuddered. “I can see why you’d think that.” The Simpson boys often harassed female employees as they left the mill to go home. The poor girls had no choice but to walk by the feed store to get to the main road.

  Leora shook her head “But when I heard the second sound, that big whoosh, and felt a sudden blast of heat, I knew something had burst into flame. Whoever threw … well, whatever started the fire, couldn’t have done it in a worse place. Everything under that window would catch fire faster than those Simpson boys can spit. Which I suppose is why the culprit picked that location.”

  “And the Simpsons didn’t know the layout of the mill,” Lottie added. Wait, was Leora taking her side all of a sudden? “Besides, why would they? They’d go to jail for it. They’re unruly, I grant, reckless even, but not dumb.”

  Leora pondered her words a moment. “I suppose not. Their father would take them behind the feed store and give them both a good licking.”

  “With a strap of harness, no doubt,” Lottie concluded. “No, I ruled them out early on. That’s what got me started thinking it was an ‘inside job’.”

  “Why haven’t you spoken with Roberta, the mill’s bookkeeper? She spoke with Mr. Brown just before it happened.”

  “Because about the time I thought of it, she sent word to all of us to gather in the park so she could tell us her big news. Everyone was so relieved over her mail-order bride scheme that … well …” Lottie looked at Leora. “You became more important. I wanted to make sure you were taken care of.”

  Leora smiled, a tear in her eye. “I love you too, Lot. Funny that I’m the oldest, yet you’re the one that takes care of me – and everyone else.”

  Lottie smiled at that. “Eighteen months isn’t that much older. Besides, Father always told me to look out for you.”

  Leora laughed. “That’s because you’re so much feistier than I am.”

  “True.”

  Leora took one of Lottie’s hands and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Everything will turn out all right, you’ll see. All of us will get wonderful husbands. If it makes you feel any better, why don’t you ask Roberta about it now?”

  “That’s what I started to say, I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because as far as I know, she’s already gone. Alice went to see her not long ago and said she was preparing to leave. She’s probably married by now.”

  “Oh, that’s right, she was the first to get herself a groom. Where did she go again?”

  “Wisconsin.” The way Lottie said it, it might as well have been the Moon.

  Leora sighed. “We might be scattered to the four winds, but at least everyone will be taken care of. Isn’t that enough?”

  Lottie picked up her spoon. “It may have to be. I haven’t the train fare to go to Dover to track down our employer before Mr. Cooke arrives.”

  “And here I’m starting to wish you could.”

  Lottie hid her surprise behind a smugly raised eyebrow. “My logic is irresistible.”

  Leora shook her head in resignation and stood. “As I’ve said, you’re impossible.”

  “I know.” Lottie returned her attention to her soup.

  * * *

  “Are you sure flowers are a good thing?” Sam asked as Ferris gave him a last once-over.

  “Yes, I am.” Ferris brushed at Sam’s coat with his hands, then straightened his hat. “Perhaps a bowler would be more fashionable too. I don’t know why you insist on that crusty old thing you’re wearing.”

  “Because it’s my favorite hat. I’m not from the East and I don’t care who knows it.”

  Ferris raised an amused eyebrow. Sam was dressed as a simple cowboy heading to a Sunday meeting. “That might be fine for those working for Van Cleet Shipping – they know you work a ranch. But this is your bride we’re talking about.”

  “Let her think I’m a just a cowboy.”

  “Except that you informed her you were here on business,” Ferris reminded him.

  “By Jove, you’re right. Bloody well forgot about that. Maybe I can tell her I came east for the purpose of … selling cattle?”

  Ferris gave him a satisfied smirk. “That’s my job.”

  “Yes, and a fine job it is too. Maybe I should be you.”

  “Don’t even think about it. You’re Samuel Harrison Cooke, fourth in line to the Stantham estate and duchy.”

  Sam blew out his breath and stared at the door of their hotel room. “Lawrence isn’t exactly a bustling community, is it? Factories, mostly.”

  “Don’t change the subject.”

  “Perish the thought. I am not changing the subject.”

  “You are,” Ferris said and admired his handiwork one last time. “Crusty old hat or no, you clean up nice … for an English fella.”

  Sam scowled at him. “About the flowers … don’t they make me seem desperate?”

  “Desperate? Don’t be silly – they make you look like a gentleman …” Ferris suddenly stopped, his mouth pressed into a firm line, then smiled at him like a Cheshire cat. “Ha! I don’t believe it. You’re nervous!”

  Sam closed his eyes as if counting to ten. “I am nothing of the kind.”

  “Oh yes, you are!” his friend teased, hands on his hips. “You, a graduate of Oxford, a world traveler …”


  “Let’s make sure that doesn’t come out until I get her home, shall we?”

  Ferris ignored him and continued. “Duels, gunfights, not to mention that train robbery you stopped along with Doc Drake last year.”

  “Stop. Desist. Doc foiled that robbery all by himself if you recall.”

  “After you shot the leader of the robbers in the leg and knocked him off his horse.”

  Sam threw up his hands in exasperation. “Are you quite through? Can we go now?”

  Ferris chuckled. “After all that, you’re nervous over one woman?”

  “Because I’m about to marry that one woman – whom, I might point out, I’ve never seen!”

  Ferris chuckled at his tirade, then calmly said, “I told you, you should’ve asked for a photograph.”

  “Enough!” Sam said as he grabbed Ferris’s own hat off a chair and tossed it at him.

  “Don’t crush your flowers,” Ferris advised as he caught it.

  “I will not crush my flowers –” He looked down and found he was squeezing the stems of the bouquet as if it were Ferris’ neck. “– oh.”

  “Nervous,” he shot back in a teasing tone.

  “Fine, I’m nervous.”

  “You know, if you don’t like her, you don’t have to marry her.”

  Sam could only stare at him.

  “What? You didn’t know that?”

  “I did. It’s just that … I’ve committed myself. This Miss Mitchell has been through a horrible ordeal, losing her job and so forth…”

  Ferris gave him a knowing nod. “… and you’re determined to save her.”

  Sam swallowed. By Heaven, the man was right. He already felt responsible for her. After all, if he didn’t marry her, what would she do? “I gave her my word.”

  “No, you didn’t. You’ve taken no vows. But you did do something more binding.”

  Sam raised both eyebrows at that.

  Ferris took a step toward him. “You gave yourself your word that you’d take care of this girl.” He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a piece of paper, perused it, then looked at him. “Miss Lottie Mitchell, 156 Benton Street. So, what say we go fetch your mail-order bride?”