The Mail Order Bride of Break Heart Bend (Break Heart Brides Book 2)

by Rachel Bird

  If only Charity could find a way to brighten her sister’s life. Then everything would be perfect.

  “Here’s one for Naomi.” Mae held up an envelope. “From Minnesota. Why don’t you put it in your pocket? Then you won’t forget to take it to her.”

  “It’s from Uncle James, I’m sure.” Charity groaned on her way past Mae. She returned the ladder to the storeroom, calling out, “I’ll bet my only hat he’s commanded us to return home yet again.”

  Under her breath Charity muttered, “Break Heart is our home now.” She went back out to the front counter and picked up the letter. “That’s my cousin’s handwriting.” Relieved, she opened the envelope.

  “Charity?” Mae’s eyes widened in shock. Opening someone else’s mail simply wasn’t done.

  “Oh! No. It’s not what it looks like. I wrote to my uncle in Naomi’s name to tell him once and forever we won’t be returning to Minnesota. But this answer is from my cousin Persie.”

  “In Naomi’s name?” Mae chided gently. “I should think he’d know her penmanship. If they’ve corresponded in the past, he’d even have a sample of it.”

  “No fear of that. I imitated Naomi’s handwriting. But listen to this:

  “My dear, dear cousin,

  I’m terribly sorry to have to tell you my father remains absolutely apoplectic over your Astonishing Refusal to return to the bosom of your family. He’s utterly convinced you’ll all be murdered in your beds by Wild Indians (!) or end up married to Nefarious Outlaws (!!!).

  Connie still wants to know if you have met any Handsome Cowboys. (Between you and me, I do believe she secretly plans to move to your environs to teach when she completes her education at Winona Normal School.)

  “Wouldn’t that be wonderful! I wonder if Connie will have her certificate by the time the new schoolhouse is built. Oh, and Persie did ask about cowboys before. I forgot to…”

  Charity felt Mae’s silent censure and looked up. Her employer’s eyes were wider, her eyebrows raised even higher—in dismay this time, as if she’d spotted a customer sneaking a packet of Fleischmann’s into their pocket. Charity felt her cheeks grow hot.

  “It’s a perverse hobby of mine. Pa used to joke that I could have a successful life of crime as a master forger. You see, I thought if Uncle James heard it from Naomi that we’re determined to stay in Break Heart, he’d be more willing to take it as gospel fact.”

  “You are a confounding young lady.” Mae tsked her tongue and shook her head, but by the twinkle in her eye, Charity knew she wasn’t really mad.

  “I use my talents only for good, I promise.”

  “If you say so. Oh my…” Mae studied an envelope from the pile. “What do you make of this?”

  The letter was addressed to Mr. Jonathan Overstreet in an impressive cursive hand, replete with a nicely flourished J and O, in care of Mrs. Abigail Vanderhouten of Vanderhouten Brides.

  “From a Miss Lavinia Cruikshank of Baltimore, Maryland.”

  The L and C were equally elaborate.

  “Great thunder on the mountain. I believe Abigail has found a bride for Mr. Overstreet.

  “So it would appear,” Mae said. “Oh dear. I do hope Naomi won’t mind.”

  “Mind?” Charity made a face. “No fears there.” She’d confided her concerns about Naomi to Mae.

  “If she dislikes working for Jonathan so much, why not find something else?” Mae said. “There’s a help-wanted sign in every shop window in town.”

  “She needs a place where she can have Luke with her. Also, she doesn’t want to leave Mr. Overstreet hanging. If he has found a bride, that will let her off the hook. But between you and me, I think Naomi’s tired of caring for somebody else’s house and children.”

  “I imagine she’s been doing just that a good long while.”

  Charity nodded. “She calls Damon Demon.”

  Mae patted her arm. “We should probably keep that to ourselves, dear.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Charity felt all warm and cozy inside. She loved it when Mae called her dear. How awkward—and almost terrible—it was to admit she felt a closer bond with this woman, whom she’d known a month, than she ever did with her own mother.

  In her family she’d always been the odd one out. The butt of jokes. The one with a thousand crazy schemes that never turned out right. As the oldest, Naomi was Ma’s confidant. And then Belle had been so beautiful! Ma had looked to her second daughter to fulfill all her own hopes and dreams. Faith was Pa’s favorite. Hannah, being the youngest girl, received more attention from both Ma and Naomi than she wanted.

  And of course Luke was everybody’s darling boy.

  Charity, stuck in the middle, mostly went unnoticed unless to be criticized. In a way, it was Pa’s fault she was so adept at forgery! It was the only thing he’d ever admired about her. The only thing anybody had.

  Naturally, she’d dedicated herself to mastering the dark art.

  “Maybe Naomi should have married Mr. Overstreet.” Mae’s words yanked Charity out of her reverie. “Then it would be her house and her stepchildren she was looking after. Maybe she’d have children of her own.”

  “Oh, I don’t…” Charity grimaced. “She doesn’t think of Mr. Overstreet that way. He’s not…”

  “Worthy of her?”

  The raspy twang raised the hairs on the back of Charity’s neck. It was the voice of a man who should not be in the store. In fact, he shouldn’t be anywhere within town limits.

  “What are you doing here?” She’d been so caught up in her and Mae’s discussion she hadn’t heard the chime at the door.

  A lanky, somewhat disheveled red-haired fellow swaggered up to the counter, grinning like he was the Almighty’s gift to the fair sex.

  “I came to pay respects to my strawberry tart.” Unlike Gil Breaux’s easy charm, this sad attempt fell flat. “How’s my favorite girl?”

  “I’m not your girl, Red John. And you’re a fool if you think calling me a tart would help your cause.”

  The fool barked out a laugh, delighted by her ire. “You’re a real pistol, Charity. I knew that the first time I clapped eyes on you. I think you’re wonderful.”

  “Well, stop.” She stepped forward, but he didn’t budge. “Get out of my way. I need to deliver a letter to Mrs. Vanderhouten next door. Better yet, get out of Break Heart before Faith sees you and throws you in the calaboose.”

  “Aw, come on, Charity. Can’t you see you’ve captured my heart?”

  Mae looked ready to come help, but Charity shook her head in warning, hoping she’d stay safe behind the counter. Red John had proved mostly harmless, but why take a chance? He was a Deckom, and the Deckoms were bad news.

  “If you want a wife so much, I suggest you consult Mrs. V.” As if Abigail would ever put a Deckom in her book!

  “The only Break Heart bride I want is you.”

  “I’m never getting married.”

  “Don’t say that, darlin’!”

  “Why not? It’s the truth.”

  She didn’t care who knew it. Ma had been forty-two years old the day she died, with another baby on the way. She’d married Pa when she was sixteen, and from the get-go, she’d been with child more often than not. Only six of her children still lived, the others lost to accident and disease. Charity didn’t know how she’d borne such woe.

  The only guarantee in a married woman’s life was that sorrow and loss, or the fear of them, would fill her days. As far as Charity could see, there was an easy enough way to avoid that fate.

  Red John shuffled a step, still blocking her way to the door. “Think of the cute passel of little redheaded monsters we’d have.”

  “You’re wasting your time, Red John,” Mae said. “Like Charity said, she’s never getting married.”

  “That’s just not right.” He looked stricken. “It’d be a crime against nature. You’re too much of a goddess not to procreate.”

  “Ew, stop. I mean it!”

  Red J
ohn’s only saving grace was that he truly found her red hair attractive. But then that wasn’t surprising, since his was worse!

  Most people, if they said anything about it at all, teased her mercilessly. Charity could still hear Aunt Gwennie condoling Ma about it. What do you expect with that red hair? She’s been touched by the fire of demons! Pa had once told his sister-in-law to hush her mouth with such blasphemy, and after that Charity hadn’t paid Aunt Gwennie any mind—on any subject.

  But it was maddening that, of all people, Red John was the one who didn’t object to her carrot-colored locks.

  “Like I said, what are you doing here? Sheriff Fontana says you’re not supposed to come into town.” She moved around him.

  “Well, he ain’t here, ain’t… isn’t he?” He nimbly darted ahead of her. “Now don’t get your dander up. I’m not here to cause any trouble. I’m just passing through on business.” He puffed up his chest. “I’m in charge of the horses at the Trading Post, now that…”

  The light in his eyes faded.

  Now that your cousin Frank is dead.

  Frank Deckom had been shot by his own mother, Big Mama Deckom, Red John’s aunt. No one really understood why she did it, not even the eyewitnesses.

  There was a standoff at the Trading Post, the Deckoms’ compound just upriver from Break Heart Bend. Frank had been holding a gun on Belle, and Big Mama escaped arrest for his murder by claiming she was trying to save the hostage.

  Save Belle by shooting her own flesh and blood? Nobody believed that.

  Big Mama had gone into a rage that day over a toy drum Sheriff Fontana showed her, given to him by Jane Stedman, who worked for Abigail next door. It was all so mysterious, and the only one who knew the real story behind the drum—Jane—wasn’t talking.

  Charity should take pity on Red John, losing his cousin and all, but he irritated her no end. “I hear Jessop is Big Mama’s second-in-command now.”

  At the mention of his other cousin’s name, real fear played over Red John’s face. Charity had seen Jessop only once, the day the Deckoms came upon her family in their distress at the riverbank. Each of the gang had gone after one of the sisters, and Charity had been too busy fighting off Red John to think much about anybody else.

  But looking back on that day, though Jessop Deckom hadn’t said much, he’d been the snakiest of them all, with a cold and cruel air about him. He’d scared Hannah so much she’d pulled inside herself and hadn’t begun to come out until Jane Stedman befriended her.

  “I’m on my way to Rosamund.” Red John sidestepped the subject of Jessop.

  “Who’s Rosamund?”

  “Rosamund’s not a person, silly. It’s a town. I’m going there to meet a man about buying horses for Big Mama’s new buggy.”

  Red John stopped moving entirely and she almost plowed into him. His feet were spread, blocking the aisle.

  “She heard about the fancy rig Fontana gave his bride, and now she wants one for herself.”

  “Quit stalling me.” Charity slipped around him, and the bells chimed brightly as she opened the front door. “I need to go.”

  “Um…” Red John grabbed her wrist and glanced sideways furtively, like he was looking through the walls into the modiste’s showroom. “I don’t think you want to do that.”

  “Oh, really? Now I definitely do.” Charity twisted out of his grip, bolted outside, and raced next door. With a fatalistic groan, Red John followed.

  “Hello?”

  The dressmaker’s showroom was empty.

  “Hannah?”

  A shuffling sound in the back with a muffled cry of distress.

  “Hannah!”

  “Now don’t get yourself all riled up,” Red John said.

  “Why?” Heart pounding, Charity made a beeline for the stockroom. Hannah was there, standing between Abigail Vanderhouten and Lily Rose Chapin, the manager of the town’s bawdy house. Hannah looked at Charity, her eyes as big as saucers.

  Big Mama Deckom was there too.

  And her rifle was aimed at Jane Stedman’s heart.

  Chapter 3

  “Where do you think you’re going, little lady?” said the man acting in Fontana’s absence.

  Faith Steele hated that tone. She’d heard it often enough, coming out of Uncle James’s mouth. The voice of unkind authority. The voice of the adult over the child, of the man over the woman. Of the one with all the power reminding her she had none.

  She paused in the doorway of the sheriff’s office. Where was she going? Somewhere she could breathe.

  “I need to go to the Lilac and ask Charlotte Gensch something.”

  Crossing Main Street, she felt her lovely new world crashing down around her. Servants, be obedient to them that are your masters according to the flesh, with fear and trembling, in singleness of your heart…

  She automatically turned to scripture—it was always her first resource and best solace. But obedience? With Fontana, obedience came easy. He was tough, but he was reasonable and treated her with respect. With Harman Polk… She couldn’t do it. She wouldn’t!

  Also, she hated the assumption she must justify herself to him. Where do you think you’re going?

  Still steaming, she clomped up the stairs to the Lilac Hotel and nearly trod upon Charlotte Gensch coming out the front door.

  “Faith?” The innkeeper looked at her with kind concern. “Is something the matter?”

  Mrs. Gensch and her husband Teddy, Break Heart’s mayor, owned the one nice hotel in town. They’d been wonderful to Faith and her family, not only giving them an extremely fair rate on rooms until they found a house to rent, but they’d also given Belle a job running the hotel kitchen, and Mr. Gensch had taken Luke under his wing, even taught him how to whittle.

  “Pardon me, Mrs. Gensch. I was lost in my own thoughts.”

  Mrs. Gensch had asked all the Steele sisters to call her Charlotte, but Faith couldn’t bring herself to do it. It was fine for Belle and Naomi, even Charity. They were older, in their twenties. Charlotte and Abigail slipped easily over their tongues. But to Faith it just felt… disrespectful.

  “I guess I’m in a pucker over that Harman Polk.”

  “The poor man,” Mrs. Gensch said. “I doubt any could come up to Sheriff Brady’s standards.”

  Faith sighed. “You’re right, I suppose.” But she still didn’t like Polk.

  “I was just going down to Tagget’s to pick up the mail. Care to walk with me, say hello to your sisters?”

  “That would do me good.”

  Charity worked at Tagget’s General Store, and Hannah, though not yet fifteen, had secured a position next door as assistant to Jane Stedman, the strange but marvelous seamstress. Their employer, Abigail Vanderhouten, was a dressmaker of somewhat lesser talents but a saleswoman of extraordinary ability who ran a mail order bride service on the side.

  Mrs. Vanderhouten had been eager to match Belle with a cattleman about fifty miles north of town, but Belle and Break Heart’s sheriff had fallen in love instead.

  No matter, Mrs. V had said cheerfully, truly delighted to see Brady Fontana find love at last. We’ll see what we can do with Naomi, Charity, and Faith. And Hannah too, when the time comes.

  Faith shook her head at the thought. She supposed she would get married one day—didn’t everybody eventually?—but not as a mail order bride. She would have to know a man before she’d give herself to him, body and soul. She’d seen the way Pa and Ma had looked at each other. She’d settle for no less than that kind of love.

  Charity was another story. She’d adamantly declared against the institution on many occasions. No, Faith was confident neither she nor Charity would find husbands through Break Heart Brides.

  But it would be wonderful if Naomi could.

  At twenty-five, Faith’s oldest sister was practically a spinster. She’d spent most her life taking care of Ma’s house and Ma’s children, and now she was taking care of Mr. Overstreet’s house and his kids. Nobody said anything—why make he
r feel worse about it?—but they all knew she wasn’t happy.

  Faith would love to see her oldest sister with a house and family of her own. Romantic love didn’t have to be part of the mix. Naomi didn’t care about that sort of thing. But in any case, she meant to hold out as long as she could. She was only nineteen. She had time.

  Meanwhile, setting aside Polk’s unfortunate intrusion, she was having a lark as a deputy.

  “That’s odd,” Mrs. Gensch said. They’d reached Tagget’s and she had her hand on the door. “I think it’s closed.”

  “That can’t be right.” Not a good sign this time of the morning. Faith peered through the windowed storefront. “I don’t see anybody.”

  Mrs. Gensch jiggled the handle a second time.

  “Maybe they’ve gone next door.” But why close the store in the middle of the day?

  A battered one-horse wagon was stopped in the street near the modiste. It was the wagon Chet McKinnon drove the day he pretended to take Belle and Luke for a picnic, while all along he’d planned something more nefarious. Beside the wagon, tied to the hitching post, stood a gray Appaloosa. Argentino.

  Faith knew that horse.

  It belonged to Red John Deckom.

  The dress shop was unlocked. Faith and Mrs. Gensch stepped inside to a showroom empty and eerily silent. Then Hannah emerged from the back, eyes big, chin trembling, and her face drained of color.

  “Can I help you?” She greeted Faith and Mrs. Gensch distantly, as though they were mere customers. Barely getting the words out, she jerked her head toward the back room.

  Faith put her finger to her lips and lifted her Colt from its holster. She sneaked past Hannah to peer through the open passage to the back.

  Mae Tagget and Abigail Vanderhouten stood together, so close they seemed to be holding each other up. They wore the stricken expression of hostages—something Faith had seen once before. Beside them stood Lily Rose Chapin, looking merely disgusted.

  And Charity was there too—with Red John Deckom grasping her arm. She spotted Faith, and they exchanged a look. Charity had on a brave face, but Faith could tell her sister was scared.