Mail Order Megan (Widows, Brides, and Secret Babies Book 11)

by Elissa Strati

  In fact, when offered the opportunity to travel, her maid Lucy had pertly declined. “I’m courting with William, you know, Miss. I’d likely have had to give my notice in a month or two anyway,” she’d added airily. The little baggage. I probably couldn’t have dealt with her lack of wit and conversation, anyway. But it would have been useful to have her here now. Or, she considered the bundle in her arms, maybe not.

  Megan turned her attention back to the conductor.

  “If I may be so bold as to suggest,” he offered, bowing slightly again, “there is another woman aboard, traveling with an infant, who might well be able to assist you. With your permission, I can bring her by for an interview once the Pinkerton agent returns to take your statement.”

  “Pinkerton? Then that horrid man was being sought by the authorities?”

  “Indeed, Madam, you have assisted in the apprehension of Willie ‘the Dip’ Dawson! He is notorious for preying on travelers who are careless of their belongings, but now is wanted for the murder of a young woman who may or may not have been his wife.”

  Properly shocked, Megan brought her hand to her mouth, encountering Camellia’s blanket. Despite her discomfort, she’d managed to drop back off to sleep with her head on Megan’s shoulder.

  In the confusion of people coming and going, the porter returned with the bottle which he handed to Megan and, indicating his wrist, said, “I tested it for you Madam. It should be just right. My wife and I have three of our own and she’s trained me! Name’s Johnson, Madam, should you need further assistance.

  The conductor held a brief conversation with Johnson, who glanced back at Megan, smiled, then nodded to the conductor and hurried off.

  “I’ve sent Johnson to fetch the Widow Kemble for you. If things work out between you, she is traveling all the way to Arizona Territory, too! Popular destination these days. And apologies for my bad manners, I’m Stevenson.”

  By now Megan had shifted Camellia onto her lap, having slid the waxed bag beneath her. It had been too long and she didn’t trust the layers to protect her clothing for much longer. The baby was suckling happily at her bottle, making soft slurping noises. Remember the cloth for her shoulder, Megan gently slipped the bottle from the grasping lips and tilted Camellia onto her shoulder, patting for the expected burp, which brought a huge smile to Mr. Stevenson’s face.

  “I see you are no stranger to infants, either,” Megan smiled, then introduced herself as Miss Maddux.

  “Miss Maddux, but I thought . . .”

  “My sister’s child.” Well, that’s near enough to the truth; I always thought of Sonia as a sister. “A tragic story.” Biting her lip, a tear crept onto her lashes and she blinked rapidly to dislodge it.

  While she suspected he was dying for a gossip, he remained circumspect, dipping his head.

  The train gave a small lurch and he reached out to the wall to steady himself.

  “Mr. Stevenson, how remiss of me not to invite you to sit down! And here you are doing me the courtesy of offering your protection.” Megan felt rather as if she’d invited the butler to join her, but surely this was a special circumstance.

  Mr. Stevenson clearly shared her sentiments as he thanked her but remained standing.

  CHAPTER SIX – The Pinkerton Agent

  The Pinkerton agent, when he returned a few minutes later, showed no such compunction and seated himself without so much as a by-your-leave. Pulling a notebook and pencil from within his jacket, he nodded to the conductor, saying, “Thanks, Stevenson. I can take it from here.”

  Doing his slight bow again, Stevenson murmured, “We are here to serve you, Miss,” and turned reluctantly to leave.

  “Thank you again for all your assistance so far this morning, Mr. Stevenson. I’m afraid I’ve been a great nuisance to you.”

  “On the contrary, Miss, you’ve been quite a heroine!”

  The agent watched Stevenson leave, then turned back to her.

  “I just need a statement from you about what happened, Miss? Mrs.?”

  “Miss Maddux, thank you. I am bringing my sister’s child to her father.”

  “Really? And what are the circumstances?”

  “That, sir,” she darted him a steely glare, “is a private matter and not your concern.”

  “You’re probably right. Hazard of the profession to want to know all the details.” He smiled at her. “Miss Maddux, before we go any further I wish to thank you for your part in the apprehension of Willie ‘The Dip’ Dawson. He’s a very bad man and you have done us all a great service.

  “My name is Ned Brandt, and I’m the Pinkerton agent who was assigned to track down and arrest Willie. Can you tell me how he came to be in your car?”

  “Thank you, Mr. Brandt,” she responded coolly, still not willing to relax her guard after his prying question. “The beast thrust his way into my compartment without permission and proceeded to hold me at gunpoint, demanding I call him Aunt Millie. He was insisting on holding Camellia, probably to enhance his disguise, and was reaching over to grab her when the train lurched and he fell.”

  “But you managed to disarm and disable him!”

  “Oh, he dropped the gun when he fell!”

  “Where is it?”

  “Behind the basket.” She tilted her head and nodded toward the corner. “It’s just a derringer but could have been deadly at close range,” she shuddered. “Was it the murder weapon?”

  “No, his lady friend was killed with a .45, and this,” he said, reaching for the weapon and eyeing it, “is a .22. Since I won’t need it as evidence, would you like to keep it? Providing, of course, you know how to use it.”

  “Why, yes. Yes, I would like to have a bit of extra protection, I do believe. And we were taught various means of self-defense at school.”

  “I caught the end of that altercation. Were those some of the moves they taught?”

  She nodded, rather pleased with herself that she’d held her nerve and actually used the lessons. But she still had a few questions.

  “Why,” inquired Megan, “is he called Willie ‘the Dip’?”

  “Well, he started out as a pickpocket in the train stations, ‘dipping’ into people's pokes and pockets. Even when he moved upscale to train robbery, he kept the name. Eventually we believe he partnered with a fellow known as ‘Droopy Pete’ because of his oversized handlebar mustache. We are not sure how someone who is that noticeable can disappear, so rapidly, but he has, time after time.

  “Willie has been nabbed once or twice although he's awfully slippery, too, but we've never managed to get our hands on Pete. As long as it was fairly minor, obviously the detectives concentrated on bigger game, but now murder has come into it. Once someone starts killing, he usually doesn't stop, so we are very concerned to capture him as quickly as possible.

  “We don't know for sure whether Pete is on the train, but do exercise caution as you move about! Please do not go any place by yourself.”

  “We are on a train. Where do you suppose I could go?”

  Casting a level gaze at her, the detective replied, “The train is its own little village, with its many cars. The dining car is just behind yours, so in order to eat it will be necessary for you to travel along the corridor and between carriages. Please be sure Mr. Stevenson or Johnson escorts you, even to the privy!”

  Blushing, Megan dipped her head in acknowledgement of his concern.

  Mr. Brandt stood up. “I think that about takes care of it. I’m proud to know you, Miss Maddux. Should you ever need a job, Pinkerton has need of intrepid women like you. I’d happily shake your hand were they not both full. But I see Mrs. Kemble is here so I’ll not take any more of your time.

  “You have the gratitude of the Pennsylvania Railroad and the Pinkerton organization. Thank you.”

  Surprised at this new twist to an already abundantly eventful morning, Megan nodded politely.

  “You are quite welcome Mr. Brandt. Thank you for your assistance in removing the varmint!”
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br />   Ned Brandt laughed and added, “I believe you might be due some reward money. I’ll be in touch.” Leaning over, he returned the gun to its previous position behind the basket. Then, raising his hat to her, he offered the same courtesy to Mrs. Kemble as he stood aside to permit her to enter. “Good day, Miss Maddux, Mrs. Kemble.”

  “Good day, sir,” the ladies replied, nearly in unison as, courtesies completed, he slipped from the room.

  CHAPTER SEVEN – Mrs. Kemble

  Johnson, who had held the door for Mrs. Kemble and then Mr. Brandt, now stepped into the compartment as well.

  “Mr. Stevenson explained about your sister, Miss Maddux; please accept my condolences. Unfortunately the ticket master neglected to indicate you’d be needing childcare so we are a bit short-staffed at present, or I’d have brought one of our Pullman maids to assist you. However, may I present Mrs. Flora Kemble, who used to work for us and is admirably skilled?

  “Meanwhile, here is a pitcher of warm water and a basin for you and the little miss.”

  He proceeded to set up the items in a drop-down table slotted to accommodate the items.

  “Thank you, Johnson,” Megan replied, rounded eyes watching his deft movements before turning to the tall, dark woman standing before her. “Won’t you please be seated Mrs. Kemble?”

  Mrs. Kemble nodded graciously, moving her own infant from right to left arm so she could adjust her skirt to sit.

  “How do you do, Miss Maddux,” she replied in a soft voice. “Has Johnson explained my situation?”

  “Only that you are traveling to the Arizona Territory.” And, seeing the porter was about to slip out the door, she called out to him, “Thank you, Johnson!”

  Although speaking as graciously as if about to pour tea for her visitors, Megan had been constantly shifting about, feeding and burping Camellia, and now, having moved the empty bottle to the basket, starting to peel back the layers of blankets and clothing to do something about the diaper whose pungence was beginning to permeate the air in the closed compartment.

  “Why don’t we switch babies,” suggested Mrs. Kemble, and I’ll take care of that diaper for you.”

  “Oh, would you? I’ve only changed wet ones and wasn’t quite sure how I was going to handle a soiled one. Anna was so quick I didn’t learn all her steps when she was showing me.”

  Mrs. Kemble laughed, a soft sound that burbled up and made Megan laugh, too.

  “Here, I’ll just lay Little Sam by your side. Just mind he doesn’t start rolling, if you would be so good.” Suiting action to words, she laid down her son and scooped up an unresisting Camellia, making deft work of removing wrappings, soiled linens, and washing her bottom with the water Johnson had brought.

  Once her arms were free, Megan had bent over and scooped up the sleeping infant next to her. He wasn’t much bigger than Camellia and had the fattest brown cheeks! But for now she needed to pay attention, so she tucked him close and watched as Mrs. Kemble explained each of her steps, cooing them to Camellia, whose eyes were fascinated by the feather atop Mrs. Kemble’s bonnet. Her arms started to wave, reaching for the object whose dancing movements had her so enthralled.

  “Oh, I can see you are a curious sort! I’ll have to remember to put my hat aside next time. It won’t be too long before those fingers of yours succeed in reaching!” Looking up as she finished diapering and dressing Camellia, she asked, “Is she always this sweet natured?”

  “You wouldn’t have thought so had you arrived half an hour past. She was screaming to raise the devil. But then,” Megan reflected, “so was I!”

  “I’m afraid your exploits are now being gossiped about throughout the train. It isn’t every day a woman and baby manage to stop a killer!”

  “Oh, dear! How disturbing!”

  “Oh, please do not worry—your name is not being bandied about. Mr. Brandt suggested it not be released, for your safety and privacy; I believe I am the only person, outside of Johnson, Mr. Stevenson, and Mr. Brandt, who knows your identity. Even Willie ‘the Dip’ has not been told.”

  Mrs. Kemble emitted her soft laugh again.

  “I was surprised by how tiny you are when I entered. Willie has been screaming to all and sundry that you are an Amazon, a virtual Viking of a woman, blonde hair and all!”

  Touching her rich, russet-brown tresses, Megan smiled with relief and a hint of mischief in her eyes.

  “Considering that my brother thinks me the soul of timidity, I must admit to my vanity being piqued to be thought of as a Viking! But what about you? Johnson said that you used to work for the railroad and now you are widowed? But, please, I don’t mean to pry if you wish not to share that information.”

  “Well, if you plan to hire me, I believe it would be in order. I used to work for the Pullman Palace Car Company, which is where I met my husband. I left when I was expecting Sam. He’s named after his father. Big Sam was killed when he interrupted a burglar who may have worked with Willie—that’s how I know Mr. Brandt. He is hoping to get Willie to confirm his accomplice’s name. It is my belief, based on all I have learned of the matter, that the man who killed my husband goes by the name of ‘Droopy Pete.’”

  Megan nodded. “Yes, that’s the name Detective Brandt told me. I think you heard him caution me against going anywhere unaccompanied until they can capture him.”

  “Oh, you had best heed that advice! Look what happened to my Sam!”

  Mrs. Kemble paused to compose herself, then continued.

  “The woman whose jewelry was saved was gracious enough to provide a small reward on which I have lived until Sam here was old enough to travel, but now I am going west as a Mail Order Bride.”

  Megan stared at the woman sitting across from her.

  “But so am I!”

  Smiling broadly, she continued, “My intended is a friend of my brother, but I’ve never met him, only corresponded. He seems to have a beautiful soul,” she sighed.

  “I’ve written to Moses, too, although I think he uses a scribe to write for him. Like me, he was emancipated as a child but I don’t think he has much education. I was lucky enough to be a house slave and had to help the white children, who thought it was a lark to teach me to read and cipher alongside of them. Moses is in a town called Tombstone working as a miner.”

  Megan’s eyes opened wide.

  “Do you believe in God, Mrs. Kemble?”

  “But of course, Miss Maddux!”

  “Well, I believe God caused us to be brought together this day. Because the father of that child you are holding has a mine in Tombstone.”

  Utter silence, beyond the clacking of the train wheels, reigned in the car for several minutes.

  They quickly agreed on terms of employment and Megan asked Mrs. Kemble to share her compartment to prevent any more strangers from attempting unwanted familiarities.

  “And I think it would be appropriate for us to use first names now,” Megan concluded as she helped tuck both sleeping children into the basket which she had set on the floor for their safety.

  “Why, yes, Miss Megan, I think that would be most appropriate!”

  “Hurry back, Flora! And if you see Johnson, why don’t you enquire whether we might not have some tea? I have a few pasties and sandwiches we can share as it is now well past the noon hour, and I find myself famished!”

  Her signature laugh rumbling from her throat, Flora went for her belongings.

  CHAPTER EIGHT – No Rest

  Johnson arrived accompanied by Mr. Stevenson who fussed a bit that the morning’s excitement had made them miss luncheon.

  “I’ll be happy to have the chef prepare a special tray for you!”

  “Oh, no need to bother. I’ve a lovely repast in my hamper that won’t improve by waiting to enjoy it, although I look forward to a good dinner.”

  “Then you must allow me to offer you some of the special jam tarts my wife sends along with me—she always sends more than I can eat so I am happy to share them with you.”

 
“Only if you will sit down and take a cup of tea with us!”

  Mr. Stevenson laughed ruefully. “I’m afraid they’d have my job if I were caught sitting with a passenger, but please know how much I appreciate the offer. There’s not many white folks’ll invite a black man to sit down with them!”

  “It wasn’t a black man, or even a man who came to my assistance earlier. It was you who were the first person who rushed in that door to help. I’ll not forget that Mr. Stevenson.”

  “And I’ll not forget your kindness, Miss. Now let me get you those tarts!”

  ~~~

  Their tea consumed, Flora decided to rest her eyes for a bit, but Megan felt a bit restless and decided to check the valise for the promised letters and journal. Reaching under the seat she pulled out a bag. But this doesn’t look right! I don’t remember it being this gaudy.

  She opened it and gasped, “These are men’s clothes. And this cloth sack,” she struggled to open the knot. “Flora! These are jewels! I have Willie’s valise!”

  Flora sat up, sleep forgotten. “Oh, heavens, I’d better summon Johnson!”

  Very shortly Johnson, Mr. Stevenson, and Mr. Brandt were all again crowding into the compartment, examining Megan’s find. Mr. Brandt recognized some of the jewelry as items from an earlier heist. A quick examination revealed several other sacks containing valuables, plus a stash of money, a few reticules and wallets, and a fur stole.

  “Your Willie didn’t do things by halves, did he? Looks as if he cleaned out half the train!”

  “This train hadn’t been out of the station long enough for him to start his rounds, although from the looks of things a pocket or two may have been picked. But I’m thinking we may be able to track his movements a bit from where items might have been stolen. Ladies, this may be worth a bonus! Especially if we can capture his accomplice!”

  With all the bustling about, both babies had decided they needed attention and the men quickly found excuses to leave, Mr. Brandt taking the valise with him. Fortunately, the other valise, which had fallen behind Willie’s, was located, as some of its supplies were now in demand.