by Kit Morgan
The judge nodded, then looked at Daniel. “Son, I’d say you’re a very lucky young man, but if I heard your bride right, she didn’t write all of what’s in the letter in question.”
Daniel stood, dumbfounded. “What didn’t she write?”
“See for yourself.” The judge handed him the letter.
Daniel read it through, until he got to the bottom. “Oh. Well!” His face lit with a smile. “Shucks, that ain’t no news to me!”
Ebba still had no idea what any of this was about. “Daniel, aren’t you going to tell me?”
Daniel smiled at her. “Ah, sweetie, it ain’t nothin’ we don’t already know ‘bout each other.”
“But what is it? Mrs. Pettigrew had to have written something in that letter before she sent it to you!”
Daniel smiled and showed her the letter. “She sure did.”
Ebba looked … and her mouth dropped open. “What?” She turned to Daniel in shock.
“See? Nothin’ wrong with that,” he said. “I dunno why Nellie would take somethin’ so simple and start a bunch of trouble about it.”
The judge leaned over to look at Stanley, who was now conscious but had decided to stay on the ground for safety’s sake. “Mr. Oliver, I find you guilty of attempted rape. I’m having you transported to McNeil Island where you will serve out a sentence of two years for your crime. And if I ever hear you’ve attacked a woman again, whether a ‘soiled dove’ or any other, I will make you wish you were dead. Is that clear, son?”
Stanley gulped. “But Yer Honor …”
“Is. That. Clear?”
“Y-y-yes, Yer Honor.”
“Take this lowlife away,” the judge told Tom Turner, who’d just arrived too late with the water.
Tom shrugged, set the bucket down, helped Stanley up and led him off to jail.
The judge turned to look at Nellie. “And as for the matter of Mrs. Davis and the rumors she concocted that started this whole mess … ma’am, I find you guilty of disturbing the peace. I sentence you to community service for a term of six months.”
“Community service?” Nellie screeched. “You can’t do that to me!”
“Make it nine months!” the judge said, then rapped his gavel on the table.
“But that’s absurd!” Nellie shot back.
“One year! Or would you like to try for a year and a half?”
Nellie opened her mouth again only to have Mr. Davis clamp a hand over it. She struggled briefly, then glared at the judge.
Judge Whipple smiled. “Well, I’m glad that’s settled. One year of community service, right here in this establishment.”
Nellie’s eyes popped as she shook her head as best she could.
“No, not that!” Hank cried from the back of the room. “Have some mercy!”
“Your stew didn’t have any mercy on me,” the judge said. “Putting up with her is the least you can do.”
“Yeah, but this means we’ll all have to put up with her!” someone said. Others laughed … until they realized what it meant to have Nellie working at Hank’s for the next year.
“Well, I do need the help …,” Hank said with a shrug.
“And Mrs. Davis clearly needs a dose of humility,” Judge Whipple added. “Plus, look on the bright side, Hank – you won’t have to pay her.”
The place roared with laughter as Nellie stood in shock. She wanted to faint, but the men holding her wouldn’t let her.
The judge smiled in satisfaction and banged his gavel once more. “Court is adjourned!”
* * *
“And do you, Harlan Hughes, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
Harlan gave Mary’s hands a squeeze. “I do.”
The legal proceedings done, the Weavers had hurried to the church for Ma and Harlan’s wedding. Clayton and Spencer tagged along after locking Stanley up. Tom hated to stay behind, but someone had to go over things with the judge and guard their prisoner.
“And do you, Mary Weaver, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
Ma gazed into Harlan’s eyes. “I most certainly do.”
Bella and Calvin’s twins began to fuss, and each exchanged the baby in their arms for the other’s. That quieted them for the moment as the preacher continued. “Then by the power invested in me by Almighty God and the Washington Territory, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Sheriff Hughes, you may kiss your bride.”
“Simply Harlan will do, Preacher. I’m not going to be a sheriff anymore.” He looked at Mary. “Being this woman’s husband from now on is fine with me.” He took her into his arms and kissed her.
A cheer went up, along with a few wails from the little ones, as the Weaver clan clapped and whistled their congratulations to the newlywed couple. “Way to go, Uncle Harlan!” Clayton said, slapping him on the back. “It’s about time the two of you got hitched.”
The congratulations continued as Ebba took Daniel’s hand. “Thank you.”
“For what, sweetie?”
“For marrying me.”
Daniel turned her to face him. “Would there be a reason I wouldn’t?”
“Maybe if you’d seen what Mrs. Pettigrew added to my letter, you’d have changed your mind.”
“Are you kiddin’? That woulda made me want to marry ya all the more. To me, ya were just bein’ honest.”
“Except that it wasn’t me.”
“Don’t much matter now, does it? We both know it’s true.”
She blushed. “Yes,” she said as she locked eyes with his. “It is true.”
Ignoring the bustle around them, Daniel kissed her. “I hope I helped make it true.”
Ebba smiled against his lips. “You did.”
“Ya did too,” he whispered. “But promise me somethin’.”
“What?”
“When it comes time for our younguns to marry, and if’n any of them sends away for a bride, promise me we’ll read the letters they exchange?”
“Only if you promise that those letters never leave our house.”
“I promise!”
“Good. Then I won’t mind if any of our sons get themselves a mail-order bride.”
* * *
Denver, Colorado, 1901
Fantine sat in shock. “You mean, all of that happened because of one little sentence you added to that letter?”
Mrs. Pettigrew nodded. “Some people are horrible gossips, ma petite. They should not be allowed loose on the streets!”
Fantine sat, her eyes still wide with shock. “But Mrs. Pettigrew. What did you write in that letter?”
“What does it matter? Everything turned out all right in the end. In fact, the Weavers have kept me in their confidence and entrusted me to send each Weaver son a fine mail-order bride. I have ensured they are all happily married these last twenty years.”
“Twenty years? How so long? The oldest boy on the farm after Daniel was Alfonso was it not? And he only fourteen in the story you just told me.”
“Ah, but you forget about Rufi.”
“But she is a girl, Mademoiselle. She would not send for a mail-order bride.”
“No, but she sent for a mail-order husband!”
Fantine gasped. “There is such a thing?”
“But of course, ma cherie. I am a matchmaker, am I not? What does it matter if I have to send a man or a woman to a client?”
Fantine began to fan herself with a hand. “I have never heard of this before. How many men have you sent out to brides?”
“Not many, but I have done it.”
“And the rest of the Weaver family, you matched them?”
“I am still matching them,” she said, arching an eyebrow. “There are so many, and they just keep coming.”
Fantine nodded. “They must be their own town by now.”
“Not quite yet, as not all have remained on their farm in their lovely little valley. But there are enough.”
Fantine smiled. “Please, Mademoiselle. Will you not tell me what you w
rote in Ebba’s letter?”
Mrs. Pettigrew sighed. “Oh very well, ma belle. I simply wrote this. “I look forward to sharing a bed with you.”
Fantine’s mouth flopped open. “What? That’s it?”
Mrs. Pettigrew nodded. “That’s it.”
“But … but … how could so much trouble be caused by such a simple statement?”
Mrs. Pettigrew smiled as she went to hang the letter back on the wall. “The heart, mon agneau, it governs our actions, does it not?”
Fantine slowly nodded her agreement. “Yes, I suppose it does.”
“Well then, in the heart of a innocent, my simple statement brings joy. But in the heart of the wicked – in this case, a bored gossip – it lights the fires of contempt. For have you not heard the proverb, ‘out of the abundance of the heart, the mouth speaks’?”
Fantine slowly stood. “I think I understand. But does that make the town of Nowhere wicked?”
“No, only the wagging tongue of one woman. In her mind, she thought she was doing good, but she wrought nothing but destruction. The Weavers have written to me with tales of Nellie Davis. She is not someone I would like to know, at least not back then. In Ebba’s last letter to me, she says the woman has mended her ways. Too bad it took almost her whole life to do so.”
“Yes,” Fantine agreed. “Too bad.” She looked at the dozens of framed letters on the walls. “Tell me about another bride.”
Mrs. Pettigrew glanced around the room, went to the opposite wall and took a frame off its hook. “Ah, this one. Now this is a fine tale.”
“What is it? Who is it about? Another Weaver?”
Mrs. Pettigrew smiled. “No, not a Weaver. A man named Eli Turner.”
“Eli Turner? Who is that?”
“The younger brother of the Deputy Turner in the tale I just told you, the one who became the new sheriff in Clear Creek.” Mrs. Pettigrew smiled in remembrance. “Now there is a town with some interesting people in it. A person could write a book. Many books, in fact.”
“If they had, I would like to read them,” Fantine said with a smile.
Mrs. Pettigrew looked at her. “Then you are in luck, ma petite. I have some of them on my shelves, written by Sheriff Tom Turner himself. You may borrow them if you like.”
“Yes, I would like that very much.”
Mrs. Pettigrew set the frame in her hand on the desk. “Now, let me explain your other duties.”
“But will you not tell me the story of Eli Turner?”
“Not now – we have things to do. We are after all, first and foremost, matchmakers. If you are to be my assistant then I must teach you everything I know. So let us get started, shall we?”
Fantine smiled. “You mean … I have the job?”
“But of course, ma cherie. Now – to work!”
The End
(of that tale, anyway …)
Also by Kit Morgan
Be watching for Dear Mr. Turner, the next book in the Mail-Order Bride Ink series. If Dear Mr. Weaver was your first introduction to the Weaver clan, you can read more about them in the Holiday Mail-Order Bride Series. The books the Weavers appear in are:
His Forever Valentine (Book Three) – the family is introduced.
The Springtime Mail-Order Bride (Book Five) – Arlan and Samijo’s story.
A Midsummer’s Mail-Order Bride (Book Twelve) – another appearance by the family.
The Columbus Day Mail-Order Bride (Book Thirteen) – Benjamin and Charity’s story.
The Harvest Time Mail-Order Bride (Book Fourteen) – Calvin and Bella’s story.
All of Kit Morgan’s books can be found at her website www.authorkitmorgan.com. Be sure to sign up for Kit’s newsletter to learn more about upcoming books and special surprises!
About the Author
Kit Morgan, aka Geralyn Beauchamp, lives in a log cabin in the woods in the wonderful state of Oregon. She grew up riding horses, playing cowboys and Indians and has always had a love of Westerns! She and her father watched many Western movies and television shows together, and enjoyed the quirky characters of Green Acres. Kit’s books have been described as “Green Acres meets Gunsmoke,” and have brought joy and entertainment to thousands of readers. Many of her books are now in audio format, performed by a talented voice actor who brings Kit’s characters to life, and can be found on Amazon, Audible.com and iTunes.
