Mail-Order Cousins 3

by Joyce Armor

  Mail-Order Cousins 3:

  Lindy

  Joyce Armor

  Copyright 2018 Joyce Armor

  Smashwords Edition

  Cover: Vila Design

  Trusty Reader: Chris Gale

  Expert Formatting: Jesse Gordon

  Mail-Order Cousins: Lindy

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  All characters in this publication are purely fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Near Elizabethtown, Pennsylvania, 1875

  In the three months Melinda Cait O’Hara had spent reading the matrimonial ads in The Philadelphia Inquirer, she had responded to three. One was a banker in Colorado. She was relieved when he didn’t write back because she realized shortly after posting her letter to Denver that she had responded to him because he was the kind of husband she should want, wealthy, successful and solid. After rereading his advertisement a dozen times, she could see he also seemed stiff and unyielding. Her father was Irish, and while she was more cautious than her cousins Per and Sophie, who had become mail-order brides fearlessly, Lindy did have a wee bit of humor to her. She would not do well with unyielding. Like any good half Irishwoman, she also possessed a healthy dose of fatalism. Maybe she couldn’t do any better.

  One of seven children, Lindy helped the O’Hara family on their 60-acre farm in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, where they grew corn, tomatoes, cabbage and sugar peas for market. In addition, they raised dairy cows, which they sold and also used to produce and sell eggs, milk and cheese. Although the O’Haras were not rich, they were almost completely self-sufficient and doing well enough to clothe and feed the large family and set aside a little money for unforeseen circumstances. And every farmer—particular Irish farmers—knew there were nearly always unforeseen circumstances. The real wealth in the O’Hara clan, Lindy had long since recognized, was the love they felt for each other. She adored each and every member of her family, even her annoying teenage twin brothers. They were all educated at home by their mam, a former schoolteacher.

  In her panic after realizing she shouldn’t have written to the banker, Lindy went too far in the other direction and responded to a blacksmith in Arizona. On the surface, there was nothing wrong with that. Blacksmithing was certainly an honorable profession. The man, however, lacked a grasp of good grammar, which she had tried to overlook, but he also was too crass in what he wanted in a wife, right down to listing height and weight requirements. He failed to respond to her, too, much to her relief.

  Then a matrimonial ad seemed to speak to her, and for the life of her, she could not figure out why. It was from Texas, of all places, a state she had never thought of moving to. She pulled out Cal Bronson’s original letter and studied it, word by word.

  Wanted: A fit, healthy wife

  with cooking skills who is

  comfortable with horses. Ability

  to shoot accurately would also

  be helpful. I am 27 and a

  Texas lawman, with a ranch near

  San Angelo. Reply to Cal Bronson at:

  Rancho Guarida, San Angelo, Texas.

  The letter was curt and devoid of romance or kindness, and it was annoying that he wanted a “fit” wife (which she translated to “not fat”) but didn’t mention his own physical description. So what was it about this gruff man that attracted her? “Attracted” might be too forceful a word. She couldn’t blame him for wanting a healthy wife or a decent cook. Maybe it was the fact that he hoped she could shoot accurately, which she could, yet that didn’t make much sense either. Was it that he was a lawman? That was probably it. She had heard about the Texas Rangers and would be proud to be married to one, although loving a lawman would be stressful, never knowing if he would come home safely. And more than likely, he was a deputy sheriff or railroad officer or stagecoach guard and not a Texas Ranger.

  In any case, since the banker and the blacksmith didn’t write back and the man from Texas still might, she could end up married to an officer of the law. Her response to Cal Bronson was both informative and evasive as well as brief. She had no intention of describing her fitness or lack thereof.

  Dear Mr. Bronson:

  I am responding to your ad in The Philadelphia Inquirer. My name is Melinda Cait O’Hara, but most everyone calls me Lindy. I am 21 years old and live on a farm outside of Elizabethtown, Pennsylvania with my parents and six siblings.

  I am a good shot with a pistol and a rifle and a good cook. I’m also familiar with horses and can ride well. I am 5 foot 5 and have reddish-brown hair and green eyes, which I am told twinkle with humor at times.

  I would like to know where your interests lie and learn more about your ranch. I look forward to hearing from you. If you are inclined, please respond to me in care of the Elizabethtown post office.

  Sincerely,

  Lindy O’Hara

  Marrying a lawman. Maybe even a Texas Ranger. She let that thought roll around in her head for a while before opening Cal Bronson’s letter about six weeks later. It was a little friendlier than his ad. He told her he was pleased she could cook and shoot well and did not mention that she had not described her body shape, which was, in fact, slim. And she was fit as well, although she felt absolutely obstinate about not telling him that. He said he was a sharpshooter himself and described the ranch as medium in size, with two dozen horses and 600 head of cattle. He mentioned that between his ranch and his law-enforcement duties, he had no time at present for many other interests, although he did enjoy working with wood. He added that the ranch house included several bedrooms and a nice parlor. Then, near the end of the letter, he wrote: “At the risk of sounding too forward, would you consider becoming my wife?”

  She dropped the letter as if it was on fire.

  Holy mother of God.

  Chapter 1

  Until the moment Cal Bronson proposed, the correspondence to become a mail-order bride hadn’t seemed real; it was kind of a lark. Lindy O’Hara thought of it as just sticking her toe in the water. Once he took that rash step, she had a monumental decision to make. Her first inclination was to give in to the panic and decline him outright. How could he possibly think he knew her well enough to propose after one letter? Her second impulse was to put him off for several months. If he didn’t know her, she certainly didn’t know him.

  Does any mail-order bride know her intended, though?

  And how many marriages were miserable when the couple had courted in the traditional fashion? She had witnessed several, including her Uncle Ephraim and Aunt Portia Armstrong’s union. Sophie’s guardians barely spoke to each other, although they always had been united in their contempt of Sophie. Then something Per had said came to mind. You cannot gain anything if you don’t take a risk. Her cousin also had mentioned something about never getting new results if you continue the same behavior. If she didn’t do something soon, she would end up on this farm forever. As much as she loved the farm and her family, she wanted a home and a life of her own. It wasn’t farming she wanted t
o escape; it was the feeling she was living her parents’ lives. She wanted to live her own life. It was the natural way of things.

  Could she do it? Could she travel all the way to Texas alone to marry a lawman she had never met? At that point she noticed a lump in the envelope and discovered her fiancé—she was just trying the label on to see how it fit—had sent a train ticket and $100 for meals and “any other expenses” along the way. He also had told her in the letter, which she finally picked up and reread, that she would need to pay the stagecoach fare from Dallas to San Angelo, which should be no more than $10. The train ticket was for the following Monday. That gave her five days to make a life-altering decision. Realistically, though, she would have to make up her mind in time to make any necessary clothing alterations, pack and tell her folks, so maybe three or four days. Yes, she was cautious. Yes, she was borderline terrified. Yet Sophie had done it and was very happy, despite some initial problems. Per sounded so confident before she left that Lindy had no doubt her marriage would work out, or if it didn’t, she still would be fine.

  Lindy walked over to the mirror above her bureau and looked at herself, really looked. She wasn’t beautiful but had been told many times she was pretty. Her green eyes were probably her best feature. She went back and forth on whether or not she liked the freckles sprinkled across her nose. She did like her auburn hair, which was wavy but not too curly. Her nose didn’t seem to be too big or too small. It didn’t have a hook or any bumps. She always had dressed simply; she was a simple person. She sighed. It wasn’t her appearance she doubted. Cal Bronson would like it or he wouldn’t. Perhaps it was her strength she felt wary about. No, not her strength per se. Her strength of will? She had faced enough adversity in her life to know she could withstand much before breaking down. She certainly was capable of performing household and farming/ranching duties. And raising children. She had cared for her younger siblings for years and had done much of the cooking in the last two years since her mother’s hands became arthritic. Her sister Bridget would be able to take over that duty, and Anya would help.

  And then she realized where her weakness lay. It was in her belief, or lack thereof, in her ability to secure a lasting, loving relationship. Her one experience at love had been disastrous and left her gun shy, perhaps permanently. When she was 16, Cory Anderssen, a handsome, blonde, blue-eyed school sports hero, had toyed with her and absolutely gutted her. He made her believe he loved her and she gave her whole heart to him as only a 16-year-old hopeless romantic could. Then she’d overheard him ridiculing her behind her back, saying it was only a matter of time before he bedded her as his friends laughed and congratulated him. The next time the boy came to call on her, she met him with a cocked pistol. She had to repeatedly assure her parents her former boyfriend had not violated her, and everyone eventually forgot about it, everyone but her. The whole experience shattered her confidence in affairs of the heart, as well as her belief in her ability to judge a man’s character, and she had never quite gotten them back. Well, Cal Bronson didn’t say anything about love, did he?

  She impressed herself by making her decision in two days, not the three or four she had allotted. Before she could change her mind, Lindy O’Hara, the Irish farmer’s daughter, rode to Elizabethtown and sent a telegram to Cal Bronson in San Angelo confirming her acceptance of his proposal. She half expected she’d try to call the telegram back after it was sent, yet she found herself surprisingly calm. And she remained that way until it was time to face her parents with the news. It was one of the hardest things she had ever done.

  Lindy was not a secretive person by nature, and she had shared with her folks her cousins’ turns as mail-order brides, even Sophie’s near disastrous experience that found her married to a different man than she had written to. Her parents were not fans of Sophie’s guardians, so when they stormed the farm trying to find out where their charge had gone, the O’Haras were unable (as in unwilling) to help them. Lindy spoke of Per’s adventure only in general terms to protect her folks. The wealthy, snooty and always forceful Candida Reeves Vanderhaven had tried to bully Lindy into telling her where her daughter had gone, but she feigned ignorance. Her parents actually were ignorant in that regard so couldn’t help her either. As for Lindy, it was not her information to share, and she would never betray her cousins.

  The O’Haras had just finished a fine supper of potato pancakes and corned beef. Lindy and her parents, still seated, were enjoying cups of coffee. It was Bridget’s turn to wash the dishes, and the twins went off to feed the horses. The three younger children were outside playing with Clancy, the family’s collie. It was now or never.

  “I’ve made a decision,” Lindy announced, brushing some imaginary lint off her yellow day dress. Her heart was pounding.

  Her parents looked at her expectantly but calmly, almost as if they knew what she was about to say. They were so dear to her, her hardworking da with his sturdy build, ruddy complexion and blue eyes that fairly sparkled. Her mam’s figure was rounded now after birthing so many children, but she was still lovely, her auburn hair, in its usual braided bun, streaked with gray in a way that only enhanced her beauty.

  “Would this have anything to do with those letters you’ve been receiving, lass?”

  It wasn’t an accusation. Her father was smiling.

  Lindy took a sip of her coffee, then carefully set the cup in the saucer. They were part of a tea set her grandmother had brought from Ireland and so cherished. Her voice didn’t even sound like her own when she said, “I’ve decided to become a mail-order bride.”

  Following a long moment of silence, her father sighed. “’Tis not surprising, lass, since your cousins left to do the same.”

  “The thing is, Da, I…I’ve accepted a proposal.”

  Her mother looked shocked for a moment before setting her cup down and taking Lindy’s hand in her hands with the swollen knuckles. “I know it’s been hard for you being the oldest, Melinda. You have had a great deal of responsibility from a young age. But don’t be too hasty.”

  Lindy felt tears pricking her eyes. “It’s time. I need to go.”

  “Tell us about the man.”

  Her parents had married when her da was 19 and her mam 18, so they couldn’t very well argue she was too young at 21. Her father had that look. He could be fierce when he wanted to be. She couldn’t quite maintain his gaze.

  “He’s a Texas lawman.”

  “Saints preserve us,” her mother gasped.

  In a lengthy conversation that featured a few tears, a laugh or two and much love, Lindy managed to paint her intended as a man who would keep her safe, not as one who would be gone for days or weeks at a time and always in danger. She told them about his ranch and made it sound as if she had gotten to know him well. There was no way she could tell them they had only exchanged one brief letter each. Then her parents would know what she had already figured out: She was out of her mind.

  * * *

  Cal Bronson was not an impetuous man. He thought things through, weighed his options and chose his actions accordingly. Oh, there were times when he had to make split-second decisions, typically in life or death matters, but this was not one of them. So why was he leaning on a post outside the stage depot, awaiting his soon-to-be bride? Although he did want a wife, a companion, a helpmeet, a lover, he figured it would take six months to a year to secure one through the mail. That would give him time to get his mind around it and wrap up this thing he was embroiled in.

  So why in hell had he proposed to Lindy O’Hara after receiving one letter from her? He had gone over and over it in his mind, and the only thing he could come up with was that something in that first letter had touched him, and he was afraid if he drew out their correspondence over months, she could be writing to others and might choose someone else. Why that had filled him with panic, he had no idea. In fact, he thought it was ludicrous. Yet, here he was, all 6 foot 3 of him, awaiting the stage that was supposed to hold Miss O’Hara. Maybe she’d chan
ged her mind. He had mixed feelings about that. He wouldn’t for the life of him put her in danger, yet wasn’t that what he was doing? He should have sent a telegram back to her postponing the wedding. Why hadn’t he? He wasn’t sure he believed in fate, yet he felt it pulling him in the direction he had gone.

  He heard a yell then, and the stagecoach came careening around the corner. That old coot Hiram Jensen always drove too fast. The driver rarely brought the stage in late, though; he’d have to give him that. Cal straightened up, removing his black hat and running his fingers through his dark blonde hair. He had gotten a haircut this morning and it felt too short. He put the hat back on and took a step closer to the stage. Maybe she wouldn’t get off. Maybe she had never gotten on.

  The conveyance had barely stopped before Jensen pulled the brake, jumped down, dust flying, and opened the door. He was a wiry little fellow but deceptively strong and capable. A businessman in a tailored black suit, who looked to Cal like a banker, or maybe a lawyer, started to exit the vehicle when the driver put a hand on his chest and shoved him back inside.

  “Ladies first, ya jasper. Ain’t ya got no manners?” That was a nice, gentlemanly thing to do. Who knew Hiram Jensen had a civil bone in his body? Then the driver turned and spit a wad of tobacco in the street.

  Cal held back a laugh. The first one out of the stagecoach was a matronly woman in a drab gray dress who was greeted by a man and a woman who could have been her twin and probably was. The man, who wore spectacles, looked like an accountant. Cal Bronson was always observant; it had saved his life more than once. Next came a bright-eyed young nun, and for a second he had the bizarre thought that this was his bride. Of course, that made no sense, especially when the driver helped the next person disembark. She was very pretty, her green eyes and auburn hair, which was kind of askew, perfectly complementing each other. She had a smattering of freckles across her pert nose that somehow gave her a friendly, approachable look. Her green dress had seen better times; it was dusty and wrinkled. She wasn’t one of those little wispy women, yet not husky either. She looked the height she had claimed, 5 foot 5, and he felt relief that she did look fit. Ranching was a hard life, and a woman without stamina wouldn’t survive.