by Kit Morgan
Mrs. Dunnigan scrunched up her face, narrowed her eyes and looked Honoria over top to bottom. “Uh-huh. Thought so.”
“Thought … what?”
“Younguns,” she remarked in disgust.
“You thought what?! Consarnit, just say it!” Honoria could speak her mind too; she just suffered for it more than Mrs. Dunnigan seemed to.
The matron leaned across the counter, her eyes intense. “You’re in love.”
Honoria reeled back. “I am not!”
Mrs. Dunnigan smirked and nodded. “Uh-huh. I’ll get your cinnamon.”
Tears stung the back of Honoria’s eyes as Irene turned away. She put a hand to her mouth to stifle a sob. Yes! she screamed in her head. Yes, I AM in love, so much I want to die! The thought of Major and Miss Lynch marrying soon made her feel like she was walking to her own demise. Each day brought her closer, closer, until finally she’d be no more.
“Need anything else?” Mrs. Dunnigan asked as she straightened and turned around, a tiny bag in her hand. She twisted it, tied it closed with string and set it on the counter. “You know, he talked about you while he was here – said he’ll be sorry to see you go. England’s a long ways off.”
Honoria opened her mouth but couldn’t find her voice, and was afraid to say anything regardless lest she start sobbing. Her emotions were out of control at this point. She needed to take care of business and leave as soon as she could. She turned and headed for the other side of the mercantile to find gifts for her brothers.
“I ain’t much of a romantic – that’s Wilfred’s department. But he sure looked like a man in love.”
Honoria grabbed a display table for support. Was the woman trying to hurt her?
“You know, I don’t like that Lynch woman. Reminds me too much of those plantation women back in Alabama, always looking down their noses at us normal folks. But I suppose she has her reasons …”
“Stop!” Honoria yelled from across the store. “Enough! I don’t want to hear anymore.”
Mrs. Dunnigan came out from behind the counter. “Then what are you going to do about it?” she barked back.
Honoria stood, stunned. What was she talking about? She turned, grabbed a small hunting knife and scabbard and two books, marched to the counter and slammed them down. “I’ll take these.”
Mrs. Dunnigan picked up one of the books. “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland,” she read. “You sure Calvin’s gonna like this? I know he’s a big reader and all, but …”
“It’ll be fine! How much?”
Mrs. Dunnigan stared at her. “Honoria Cooke, you are a stubborn, spoilt girl.”
Honoria gasped. “What?!”
“You heard me. You’ve wanted for nothing all your life, and now when it comes time to give something to someone, you get stingy.”
Honoria backed up a step and shook her head, her mind reeling. What was she talking about? Had Mrs. Dunnigan finally gone around the bend? Or maybe she had …
“Don’t look at me like that – you know it’s true. Forgive them and move on!”
“Forgive? Forgive who?”
“Mr. Comfort and that Lynch woman.”
Honoria’s lower lip started in again. Oh no …
“And another thing –”
“Stop, please …”
“– spoiled and stubborn you may be, but this is the only time I’ve ever thought you cowardly!”
That got her attention. Honoria opened her tear-filled eyes, only just realizing she’d closed them. “What do you mean?” came out barely a whisper.
“Honey, you want something, you go after it. For the life of me I can’t figure out why you haven’t – unless it’s because you haven’t forgiven that man for being such a fool.”
“What?” Honoria was completely lost at this point and just wanted to leave.
“You heard me. Consorting with the likes of that Lynch woman – what. An. Idiot. And now you’re going to England and he’s going to Denver!”
Honoria’s eyes went wide. “Denver?”
“To check on his pa. They ain’t heard from him, not even after writing twice. No one’s heard from that mail-order bride establishment neither. So it ain’t all Miss Lynch’s fault, you see, even if I do think she’s a tarted-up shrew.”
Honoria swallowed hard. Oh – now she understood! Major wasn’t making her life miserable – she was. Her suffering was her fault, because while she’d fallen in love with the man, she’d done nothing about it except become angry and miserable and plan to run away. In short, being cowardly. Mrs. Dunnigan was right – she did need to forgive Major and Miss Lynch, let them marry and move on, not work herself into a state because she wanted something she couldn’t have.
“Oh my Lord,” she whispered. Mrs. Dunnigan had backed her into a corner and let her have it. And it was just what she’d needed.
“Well?” Mrs. Dunnigan huffed.
Honoria let the tears fall as she smiled at the cantankerous old woman. “Oh, Mrs. Dunnigan, thank you.”
“I’ll pay you back as soon as I’m able,” Major said while packing his carpetbag. He and Andel Berg were at the men’s camp, from which Major would soon be leaving to catch the next stage out of town thanks to Andel’s generous loan. His eventual destination was Denver, to check on his father and see what the story behind Lucretia Lynch’s arrival was. Very few people knew he was going, but soon all of Clear Creek would, since he’d told Irene Dunnigan that morning. Once she told Fanny Fig, everyone would know. Including Honoria.
A tiny smirk formed on Andel’s face. “That you will.”
Major looked at him. “You make that sound like a threat.”
“Consider it a promise.”
He shoved a few more small items into the bag. “My brother Michael is the best one to speak with if you still want to investigate introducing different crops into your country. You’ll find him most intelligent.”
“If he’s anything like you, I’m sure he is. In fact, all your brothers look to be very capable.”
“Matt could use some smoothing out, but he’s young,” Major cautioned.
“Not for long. The prairie has a way of turning boys into men. Good men, for the most part.” Andel shifted his weight as he stood, making the floor of the cabin creak.
“You’ll give my regards to your wife?”
“Yes, of course.” Andel rocked again.
“Is something wrong?”
“Don’t you find it a little strange that not only your letters to this Mrs. Pettigrew, but Mr. Lynch’s letters as well, never made it?”
“We don’t know that for sure. For all we know Mrs. Pettigrew is slow to respond.”
“Not to me she wasn’t.”
Major stopped what he was doing and looked at him. “What?”
“I sent her a letter. And got a prompt reply.” Andel reached into his coat pocket and pulled out an envelope. “From the Pettigrew Bridal Agency.” He handed it to Major.
Major took it, pulled out the letter and began to read.
Your esteemed Royal Highness:
Andel shrugged. “The title has its perks. I’m surprised she didn’t send a telegraph, but since Clear Creak doesn’t have its own office …”
Major returned to the letter.
I’m sorry for any misunderstanding on the part of Mr. Major Comfort. I am acquainted with his sister Pleasant, who used my services some months ago to procure a husband. I hear from her now and then, and am happy to know she is blissfully wed.
He looked at Andel. “She is, you know.”
“So I’ve heard. Read on. I think you’ll find the next part quite interesting.”
To answer your question, I’ve never met or heard from a Buford Comfort, only his daughter, who was accompanied to my office by a different relative, a Miss Phidelia Hamilton.
Major looked up from the letter. “What does this mean?”
“Keep reading …”
Major’s jaw muscles began to twitch as he continued.
Regarding
the matter of Miss Lucretia Lynch. A woman by that name, accompanied by her father, did seek my services several months ago, but did not find the applicants I had on hand to their liking. I have not seen them since.
I hope this helps. I’m sorry if the information is sparse, but that is all I know.
Au revoir,
Mme. Adelia Pettigrew
P.S. Give my regards to Her Majesty the Queen. I hope to visit your country someday.
Major’s throat tightened. He wanted to crush the paper in his hand, but it was the only proof he had that … good grief! He looked at Andel. “What are those two trying to pull?!”
“Mr. Lynch and his daughter? A very good question.” Andel crossed his arms over his chest. “I like a good mystery as much as the next, but when it involves family I am no longer amused.”
“Family?”
“Honoria Cooke.”
Major gulped. “You’re related to the Cookes?”
“Not by blood, but by vow. I swore an oath to protect my wife no matter the cost. When I did, it was simply duty, but has since become something else entirely. While living here, that vow extended to the Cooke family, and as far as I’m concerned still does. They have been like family to me, as have the Wallers, and through them the Drakes.” A wry smile formed on the big man’s lips.
“Lynch mailed my letters along with his own,” Major thought aloud.
“Did he?”
“Or not,” Major made a fist. He wanted to hit something, or someone. Any angrier and he’d risk hitting Andel, which wouldn’t be the wisest thing to do. Archibald Lynch, on the other hand…
“Tell me one thing,” Andel said, interrupting his thoughts.
“What?”
“If Miss Lynch hadn’t claimed to be your mail-order bride, would you have pursued Honoria?”
“Pursued her? I beg your pardon, Your Highness, but I don’t see where that’s any of your … oh, right. Family, you said. But what makes you think I had any interest in …?”
“Oh come now, Mr. Comfort. Anyone with eyes could see.”
“Truly?”
“Truly,” Andel said with a grin. “May I offer some advice?”
Major could finish packing and walk away, but the brute would catch him in two strides. Besides, given how he’d clearly been bamboozled by the Lynches, he could probably use all the wisdom he could get. “Certainly.”
“Don’t take the stage today. It’s Christmas Eve, and you should spend the holiday with your family, not in some lonely stage stop. And there’s no rush to get to your father now.”
Major stared at the carpet bag on his cot. “No, there isn’t.” He glanced up. “I need to speak with Mr. Lynch, however.”
“Indeed. I think Mr. Lynch is some sort of … what is the term? Confident man?”
“Confidence man.”
“That’s it. For some reason, he wants his daughter – if she is his daughter, not just his partner in crime – married to you, badly enough to stage this whole affair.”
“But why? I have nothing! I am nothing!”
Andel shook his head. “To be something does not always involve owning a great house and lands, or living in a palace for that matter. Surely you know that.”
Major sat on his cot and ran his hands through his hair. “I know what you’re referring to. Losing Comfort Fields was a blow to my family. Still is.”
“Yes, I can see that. But you are not Comfort Fields. You never were.”
Major looked at him. “You’re right. Perhaps I’d forgotten that.”
“And your brothers as well. Perhaps they need the eldest to remind them?”
Major pondered that. “Perhaps. Once ‘the eldest’ gets it through his own thick skull, of course.” He sighed. “Thank you, Andel.”
“You are most welcome, Major. Or would you prefer Quince?”
“I’ll answer to either. So never mind Denver.” Major reached into his pocket and pulled out the money Andel had given him.
But Andel waved it off. “Keep it. Consider it payment if I need further assistance from you.”
Major knew at least well enough not to refuse a gift. “Actually, I could use further assistance from you. I’d like to know why Mr. Lynch is doing what he’s doing.”
“Don’t we have a rehearsal to go to?” the giant asked.
“In my view, the rehearsal seems less important.”
Andel nodded. “True. I would be happy to help you see to it that justice is served?”
“Justice? I don’t know that they’ve actually committed a crime …”
Andel groaned. “Are you blind, Major? Don’t you see how they’ve robbed you already?”
Major blinked, frowned, blinked. “This seems to be my day for discovering my own foolishness. Very well, then – spell it out for me, if you’d be so kind.”
Andel laughed. “I shall. But first …” He closed the distance between them, wrapped an arm around Major and crushed him to his side. “… first, Mr. Comfort, allow me to show you how things are done here in Clear Creek.”
“Do I have … a … choice?” Major managed.
Andel smiled. “No.”
“Somehow I knew…. you’d … say that.” Andel began to drag him toward the door. “Where are … gasp … we going?”
“For this, we’re going to need some help.”
Chapter 18
Honoria stood off to one side as Annie led the first few songs, followed by the solo and duet performances. The audience was made up of the rest of Clear Creek’s residents, including the men from the men’s camp. She marveled at the amount of talent in the little town. Some of the performances were astounding – Bowen and Ellie Drake’s rendition of “O Holy Night” was otherworldly, and Mr. Mulligan and Mr. Dunnigan managed a surprisingly capable “Good King Wenceslas.”
Then it was the children’s turn. Honoria waited for the adults to clear the chancel before she started ushering the children into it. The littlest ones were very excited and kept stopping to turn and wave at the audience. “Come now, don’t dawdle,” she whispered, even as people in the first few pews laughed.
Maddie came to the rescue. “Listen to Miss Cooke, we don’t have all day.” She touched Honoria on the arm. “Here, I was asked to give you this.” She handed her a piece of paper.
“What is it? Who’s it from?”
“Read it later – you haven’t time now.” She dashed off to the piano, having volunteered to play for the children’s numbers
True enough, Honoria thought, taking a deep breath. It was probably just a note from Mrs. Upton about the refreshment tables – maybe she didn’t think they had enough of something. Well, she couldn’t worry about it now. She shoved the note inside the pocket of her dress that held her handkerchief, focused on the children fidgeting as they waited for her and gave them a stern yet playful stare.
The children quieted and stood at attention. She raised her hands and gave Maddie a single nod. The opening chords from “Joy to the World” filled the church, and then the children’s voices did.
Honoria had never felt so proud. It seemed a small thing to lead them in a few Christmas songs, but at the same time she was an integral part of something new and fun. She’d help bring it about. In that moment, she realized how much she loved Clear Creek, its people, and most of all, her family.
Two more songs, and her part of the performance was over. The children laughed and giggled with excitement as they exited, Preacher Jo helping them along as mothers came out of pews to gather their own and add them to the audience.
Once the children were settled, Honoria took her seat at the end of the second row on the right, with her aunt, uncle and cousins. Her parents sat in the first with her siblings and the Dunnigans. Uncle Colin leaned over to whisper in her ear. “Well done, poppet. It's not going to be the same around here without you.”
She turned away, grimaced, then looked at him. “It's not like I'll never come back.”
“You might not if you find a hus
band.”
“If I do, I hope he finds ranch life to his liking.”
“Takes a sturdy bloke to live out here,” he commented with a grin.
“Shhhh!” Mrs. Dunnigan chastised, turning around to glare at them.
“My apologies,” Colin whispered with a brilliant smile that he knew annoyed her.
She scowled at him and turned back just as the piano started playing “Angels We Have Heard on High.”
“Oh, I love this one!” Honoria heard her father say.
Honoria smiled and relaxed. She was so used to playing some part in the Christmas play, she’d never had the chance to watch it. She sat, listened, laughed and clapped along with the rest of the townsfolk.
Then she remembered the note tucked into her sleeve. Between songs, she excused herself and went to the refreshment tables at the back of the church. When she got there, everything looked in order, though without the normal amount of lanterns lit it was hard to tell, and Mrs. Upton wasn’t there to ask. She didn't want to go looking for her. Finally she decided to just read the note. She pulled it out and held it up toward a lantern to see.
Meet me in the livery stable after your performance. M.C.
Her heart stopped. Major wanted to meet her in the livery stable? Good grief, what on Earth for?
She quickly glanced around. He probably wanted to talk with her before he left for Denver, but what about? Of course, she wanted to talk to him too. Maybe he figured if they spoke during the concert, they'd have more privacy. She shrugged, then remembered her coat was in the church office. There was no way to get to it without disrupting the performance, so she opted to simply go without. As quietly as she could, she slipped out the church doors and into the crisp night air.
Outside was the Platonic ideal of a white Christmas, but she didn’t have time to dally. The concert would be over soon and she was supposed to be in charge of the cookie table. She hurried along, admiring the moonlit snow as best she could. She always thought the sight was terribly romantic. She had a fleeting thought of being kissed by Major in the falling snow, the moon glistening off the white snow-covered ground …
