Mail-Order Brides of the West: Bertha: A Montana Sky Novella (Montana Sky Series)

by Debra Holland

  “But I’d hoped, being with Mrs. Seymour’s guests, you would have become less shy.”

  The criticism stung. Bertha lowered her gaze.

  Her mother didn’t know the real reason she’d gone to the Mail-Order Brides of the West Agency was to find a husband. Mutti thought her daughter had been assisting the widow with an extended house party. “I did make friends, Mutti, truly I did. And we correspond.”

  Bertha had planned to keep her mail-order match secret from her family until the last minute, for she’d known she wouldn’t be able to long withstand the loving, concerned pressure they’d apply for her to remain at home instead of leaving St. Louis. In the West, away from her overpowering family, perhaps she could become herself—whoever that was—instead of the shy, overweight Bucholtz daughter, the turkey among the swans.

  Now that her plan had fallen through, she didn’t know what to do next.

  Her mother sighed. “You have never participated much in our social gatherings, and I have not pushed you to do so, hoping you’d find your feet. Perhaps I was wrong to be so lenient. But with your elder brothers and sisters married, and your younger sisters with more suitors than they need, it’s now your turn. How are you going to find a husband if you remain hidden?” She gestured toward the kitchen.

  Bertha remained silent, studying the lone springerle on the platter as if the small pig knew the answer to her mother’s question.

  “You are twenty-three, hetzaline. Do you not wish for a husband and a home of your own? A family?”

  “Yes, Mutti.” Afraid she’d expose her shame and disappointment about returning home unwed, Bertha couldn’t meet her mother’s gaze.

  Not that Mrs. Seymour was at fault. The matron had found two possible husbands for Bertha, but both matches had fallen through. I can’t even become a mail-order bride, something unpleasant Prudence Crawford, with all her faults, had managed.

  “I must insist, meine Tochter.” Her mother’s tone was gentle, yet firm. “From now on, you will join your sisters in the parlor. No more hiding in the kitchen.”

  Bertha’s heart sank. “But the cookies?”

  “How do you think we managed when you weren’t here? The girls and I will help Rose with baking, instead of being lazy and leaving everything to you.”

  Resigned, Bertha poured herself a cup of tea and loaded a small plate with the remaining cookies. At least, eating will give me something to do. Maybe if I take tiny bites, make sure I’m constantly eating, I’ll have an excuse for not talking to anyone.

  “As you prefer, you may remain near the door or in the corner for tonight. Tomorrow, however, I expect you to be in the midst of everyone, although if you are more comfortable sitting with one of your sisters, that is acceptable.”

  Both options sounded torturous. She loved her sisters and knew they loved her, but sitting next to any of them highlighted their differences. Their vivacious energy and curvy figures only served to make Bertha feel boring, tongue-tied, and fat.

  Sitting alone, trying to force conversation with men who kept sneaking glances at one of the other Bucholtz girls, was excruciating. Some of the suitors did make the effort to draw her out, but with her quiet, short responses, they obviously found any sustained conversation heavy going and soon turned away to someone more entertaining.

  With a wave of her hand, Mutti made a get-along gesture toward the parlor.

  Resigned to her fate, with the cup and saucer in one hand and the plate of cookies in another, Bertha trudged into the parlor. She spied a wooden chair in a corner behind the grandfather clock and hurried to sit down. As she’d hoped, the clock partially screened her from view. The loud ticking and strident clangs of the hands hitting the hour kept others away from this spot.

  Truthfully, if she were allowed to remain in a corner like a mouse and just observe, she’d be quite content. Her time away from her family had given her a new appreciation for them.

  Her sister, Elise, seated on the far side of the room and surrounded by no less than four beaus—two of them brothers—rose and walked over toward the mail slot. Picking up two letters that had fallen through, she studied the addresses. She handed one to Heinrich and scanned the room. When she saw Bertha, Elise waved the letter and threaded through the room in her direction.

  Elise had the thinnest waist of all of the Bucholtz girls, accentuated by a tightly drawn corset. Still, she had a curvy figure that acted as a magnet for men. Her pink cheeks and happy smile showed her pleasure in the attention. Her blue-green dress accented her eyes, and loose blonde curls artfully tumbled around her face, bouncing when she moved. She stopped in front of Bertha and brandished the envelope. “From Montana Territory.”

  Bertha’s heart gave a little leap. Y Knot or Sweetwater Springs? She had friends from the mail-order bride agency in both towns, and her correspondence with the six women was a bittersweet highlight to her days. She loved hearing details about her friends’ new lives, but the letters also served to remind her of her own lack of a match.

  As disappointing as her time at the agency had turned out to be from the expected result of courtship, the experience had given her a chance to become acquainted with women who were totally different from the German trading families who made up the Bucholtzs’ social circle.

  “Thank you, Elise.” With a smile of anticipation, Bertha took the letter and glanced down at the return address to see Mrs. Michael Morgan written in precise copperplate. It took her a couple of seconds to realize the letter was from the former Prudence Crawford. The former mail-order bride had a nasty streak that she’d often directed Bertha’s way. The woman had married Michael Morgan, the owner of a gold mine outside of Sweetwater Springs.

  Bertha’s stomach clenched as if she’d been hit. She blinked to clear her vision and read the name again, before tucking the letter between her leg and the side of the chair. Whatever Prudence had to say could wait. Maybe I’m better off just throwing the letter in the trash.

  Elise gave her a curious look. “Aren’t you going to open the letter?”

  Bertha forced a smile. “Later.”

  Her sister nodded and moved back to her seat.

  Any enjoyment Bertha had gained from her observations of her family had vanished, because she remained too aware of the letter burning through her skirt and several petticoats. Finally, the top of the hour bonged, startling her. A headache tightened around her forehead, pulsing in response to every beat.

  Judging she’d remained long enough, she waited until her mother was focused on a conversation and slipped into the kitchen with her letter. She stopped only long enough to ask Rose to brew her some willow bark tea. Not wanting to explain, she fled up the cramped servants’ staircase because she didn’t want her mother catching her escape if she used the main one.

  Once inside the bedroom she shared with two of her sisters, Bertha took refuge in the peace and silence. Hers was the middle of three iron beds spaced in a row and separated by narrow tables holding oil lamps and books. Puffy white featherbeds and folded quilts made by the girls covered each one.

  Bertha took a seat on her bed; the featherbed puffed around her. She stared at the envelope, debating what to do. Finally, curiosity won over dread.

  Prudence’s first line leaped out.

  I’m writing you an apology for how dreadfully I’ve treated you.

  Bertha gasped. Prudence never apologized unless Mrs. Seymour ordered her to do so.

  Marriage to Mr. Morgan and living in a tiny Western town has opened my eyes to my true character. While I won’t go so far as to say I’m reformed—and I’ve forbidden Michael to use the word tamed—I’ve become a much better person and am now ashamed of my cruel behavior toward you. I hope the time will come when you’ll find it in your generous heart to forgive me.

  “You must be joking,” Bertha said aloud, as if her nemesis were in the room. “It would be like you to play such a cruel trick on me, Prudence.”

  Bertha reread the letter more carefully this time. T
he message sounded nice, sincere, and entirely unlike the mean woman she knew. She glanced at the signature to be sure she had the right person.

  Mrs. Michael Morgan (the former Prudence Crawford)

  Bertha studied the shapes of the letters. She hadn’t seen many samples of Prudence’s handwriting, but from what she recalled and, as unbelievable as it seemed, this was, indeed, written in the woman’s hand.

  Still in disbelief, Bertha read through the letter again. This time, the sincerity of Prudence’s apology came through. “Whatever has happened to you in the West?” she marveled, speaking as if the woman could answer. “Is Michael Morgan a wizard, who cast a spell on you? One of amiability, perhaps?”

  She moved on to study the woman’s next shocking point.

  I’m also writing to you with a job offer. The boardinghouse in Morgan’s Crossing where twenty-five miners live is in need of a cook and housekeeper. I will not spare you the details—the house is a dreadful place—a pigpen where the men are fed slop. I’ve prevailed upon my husband to hire someone to replace the man who’s currently in charge.

  I’m recommending you with praise for your patient character, your excellent habits in regard to work and cleanliness, and your fine biscuits. (The current proprietor makes ones like stone!) Flattered, Bertha wondered if she should consider taking the job.

  She dropped the letter onto her lap. If one of her dear friends in Montana Territory had written with the offer of a position, she would have snapped up the invitation. But she was more inclined to run from Prudence’s proposal. Well…she thought a self-derogatory addendum, waddle in the opposite direction.

  No, I can’t trust her.

  A burst of laughter drifting up from the parlor made Bertha bite her lip. Suddenly, Prudence’s job offer seemed more appealing. She went over the details.

  My husband will pay you a generous salary (I will see to that) but more importantly, you will be needed, and I suspect that fact may be the most enticing to you.

  Bertha wrinkled her nose at the paragraph, not liking how well Prudence knew her.

  And yet, something about the position tugged at her.

  She pressed her lips together, rose, and moved to a desk in the corner of the room. Before she totally discarded the idea, she needed to consult her friends in Sweetwater Springs. Hopefully, Darcy Walker, the astute mail-order bride Bertha had known the best and who’d married a man equally as wise, would have some advice.

  She took out a sheet of paper, dipped a pen in the inkwell, and began to write.

  Dear Darcy,

  I’ve just received the oddest letter from Prudence Crawford, whom you may know is now Prudence Morgan and living in Morgan’s Crossing, which is located near to Sweetwater Springs. Perhaps you’ve even seen her.

  Truthfully, I didn’t pay Prudence any mind when she made her match. In my disappointment at Mrs. Seymour’s decision to close the agency, I shut my ears to Prudence when she babbled about the details. But what I do recall was that she would be living in a mansion and be first lady of Morgan’s Crossing.

  Prudence offered me the job as cook and manager of the boardinghouse, which serves twenty-five miners. She described the place as “filthy.” While daunting, I like the idea of the challenge. I’m sure the miners must have big appetites, and you know how much I enjoy feeding people. Also, this is a place where my talents are needed, which is very important to me.

  In her letter, Prudence actually apologized for the harm she’d caused me! She seemed sincere, but this is Prudence!

  Bertha drew the quill under the name hard enough to scratch the paper.

  She dipped the nib into the inkwell and asked Darcy the most important question.

  Can this change be true?

  She sighed and continued.

  So I’m writing to you for advice and, of course, any insights that Trudy and Lina can provide. I would love to take the position, but I’m afraid to depend on the mercy of Prudence Crawford!

  Sincerely,

  Bertha Bucholtz

  P.S.

  The bonus would be that I’d be living in Montana Territory, and I might occasionally be able to visit my dear friends in Sweetwater Springs. The thought is almost enough to make me put up with Prudence!

  Bertha folded the letter and slipped the paper into an envelope, wondering which she hoped for more—a positive response about Prudence from Darcy and the possibility of a new life in the west or a confirmation of her misgivings and remaining in St. Louis.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Darcy Walker rode on the padded wagon seat next to her husband Gideon on the way to church in Sweetwater Springs. She was happy to be wearing a favorite outfit, which had arrived only last week in the trunks shipped by her former lady’s maid—one of the servants whom Darcy continued to employ at the family homes in New York and Newport, Rhode Island. The two-piece dress had a slate blue silk crêpe de chine bodice with darker velvet trim. The silk skirt over a velvet inlay fell in layers of ruffles down the back, giving the illusion of a bustle without the inconvenience of hauling the wire contraption around behind her.

  The September morning was cool but sunny, and they’d made good time on the way.

  She glanced in admiration at her husband, who wore a new blue suit and bowler that had recently been sent by his tailor in Crenshaw. She knew Gideon preferred his comfortable old clothes, but he dressed in the suit to please her. “Let’s stop by the train station and pick up our mail before the service. Maybe there will be a letter from Y Knot I can share with Lina.”

  This early, the main street through the town was still mostly empty of churchgoers. Nonetheless, Darcy kept a sharp eye, hoping to spot Lina, a former mail-order bride and one of her best friends, who’d married Gideon’s neighbor Jonah Barrett. She suspected Trudy Flanigan and her husband Seth wouldn’t make it today as they raced the weather to bring in the harvest.

  As much as she enjoyed the quiet time with her new husband in their isolated forest home, Darcy also looked forward to Sundays when she could, weather permitting, spend time visiting with her friends, although she sometimes saw Lina during the week because they lived so close.

  They arrived at the livery—a two-story building, the boards weather-beaten to gray. A stableman stepped from the wide-open door and took charge of a brown Appaloosa horse, dropped off by a church-going cowboy. He lifted a hand in greeting. “Leave the wagon right there,” he called. “I’ll move it for you.”

  “Will do.” Gideon reined in the team and set the brake. He tied off the reins, jumped down, and walked around to help Darcy off the wagon.

  As she climbed down, Darcy tried, unsuccessfully, to keep her skirt from touching the wagon wheel, or losing the matching velvet shawl, which slipped from one shoulder. She grimaced and made a decision about their future mode of transportation.

  Once on the ground, Darcy fluffed her skirts and took Gideon’s arm. As they walked toward the livery, she was careful to hold up her hem and avoid manure piles. “It’s time to buy a surrey,” she announced. “Wagons are designed for men, not women in skirts, even if we are forced to put up riding in them.”

  Gideon’s eyes widened, and his gaze shot over his shoulder. “We just bought that wagon.”

  “We bought the wagon for hauling the lumber and other things while we were building the house, as well as for delivering the furniture you make,” she pointed out in a practical tone. “But you must admit, it’s not the most comfortable vehicle in which to ride.”

  He smiled, crinkling the skin around his silvery eyes. “I wonder if I’ll ever get used to having a wealthy wife.”

  “I wonder if I’ll ever get used to having a husband,” she teased.

  “Guess I’ll have to add on to the stables.”

  As they came near the station, Jack Waite, the short stationmaster and postmaster, hobbled across the platform and down the steps to them. He waved an envelope. “I saw you through the winda,” he said with a grin. “Since I’m on my way to church, I though
t I’d save you the trouble of coming inside.”

  “How kind of you, Mr. Waite.” Darcy took the letter from him.

  He tipped his hat to her. “A fine day to stroll down the street. Might not have many more such. Need to take advantage of every one.”

  Smiling at his congeniality, she nodded. “We’ll see you at church, then.”

  He touched his hat.

  Darcy studied the envelope. “It’s from Bertha. I wonder how she’s adjusting to being home. It’s too soon for her to have received Lina’s letter about having dinner with Prudence and Michael.” Her grip on Gideon’s arm tightened. “Oh, I wish I could see Bertha’s face when she reads about Prudence’s conversion to congeniality. She’ll think we are joking.”

  Gid gave her a thoughtful look. “I think the change is lasting. I didn’t receive a sense of falsehood from Prudence.”

  Darcy fell silent. She and Gideon had gone round on this topic once before, with her expressing disbelief and him reassurance. He’d never known the nasty Prudence, so he had an easier time accepting her change. Darcy liked the new Prudence, but she was afraid to trust the woman and completely let down her guard. “I guess the situation is more about me. If I grow fond of Prudence, and she reverts to her former self, I’ll be hurt.”

  He nodded.

  “When we were at the agency, Prudence didn’t play off her nasty wiles on me because—” Darcy lifted her nose in the air in a mock haughty attitude “—I have a higher social status and more wealth. She picked on those she considered beneath her station.”

  “I’m sure you were their champion.”

  “If I was around. The wily woman would often wait until she was alone with her victim or victims. She was particularly cruel to poor Bertha, who was too even-tempered and shy to defend herself.”

  With a shrug, Darcy dismissed the dilemma of Prudence’s lasting change. “Oh, well, this isn’t something I have to worry about today. I suppose only time will tell.” They stopped in front of the mercantile, and Gideon patiently waited while she carefully opened the envelope, pulled out the letter, and began to read.