by Kit Morgan
He narrowed his eyes at her. “Where?”
She sighed. “Independence, Oregon.”
“Oregon! There’s nothing in Oregon!”
“Oh, but you are wrong. There are many fine things in Oregon – including Sheriff Jace Diamond, her new husband.”
“What! You sent her off to be the wife of a sheriff!”
“It is a good living.”
“It’s pitiful!” Mr. Haverdash began pacing again. “Independence, you say? Mail-order bride. A sheriff. What a horrible fate!”
“What is so horrible about it?” Mrs. Pettigrew inquired as Mr. Tugs handed her a cup and saucer.
“I’ll tell you what!” He stopped his pacing. “You sent her off to marry a complete stranger! What fool goes to a place they’ve never been to marry a stranger?”
“Many women have done it,” Beryl commented.
He turned to her. “Oh? And why haven’t you? I’ll tell you why – because it’s dangerous. You don’t know what to expect. You could arrive and discover that your future husband is an idiot!”
“Like Ronald Finch?” Beryl countered.
“I … you … arrrgh!” Mr. Haverdash might have torn at his hair if he had more.
“I concede there’s a certain risk involved,” Beryl admitted, “but Katie obviously found Mr. Diamond to her liking or she would have written me and told me so.”
His eyes bulged. “Troublemaker!”
“Realist,” Beryl replied.
He threw his hands in the air, groaned again, then turned to his wife. “That’s it, Petunia – we’re going to Oregon!”
Beryl stood again. “What? You can’t do that.”
“They can do that,” Mrs. Pettigrew admitted.
“You have no idea what you’ve done to our daughter,” he spat. “The danger you’ve put her in, the heartbreak, the toil!”
“Oh, for Heaven’s sake, being a mail-order bride isn’t that bad.”
“Oh, no? Then why don’t you become one?”
“Bertram …”
“You stay out of this, Petunia!”
Mrs. Haverdash sighed and took a sip of tea.
Beryl’s eyebrows rose, but not in surprise. She liked a challenge. “For your information, it’s because my parents haven’t tried to toss me off to a dull-witted lecher like Ronald Finch. But yes, why don’t I? If it’s good enough for my best friend, who is now much happier – it’s good enough for me. Mrs. Pettigrew, do you have any candidates?”
Mr. Haverdash hadn’t expected Beryl to call his bluff, but he recovered quickly. “Well, do you?” he demanded of Mrs. Pettigrew. “Why not let her suffer the same fate as our Katie?”
“She’s not suffering,” Beryl said.
“How do you know? You haven’t heard from her!”
“Yes, I have.”
“What?! She hasn’t written us!”
“And no wonder, the way you’re acting.” Beryl turned to Mrs. Pettigrew. “How many happily married brides do you have now?”
“All of them are, to be truthful. They write me and tell me how wonderful their husbands and new lives are.”
“You’re lying,” Mr. Haverdash hissed.
“I have an office full of letters to prove it, if you care to see them,” Mrs. Pettigrew informed him with a cold smile.
“Mrs. Pettigrew,” Beryl repeated, “do you have any candidates available?”
“I have one that came just today – from the same town where I sent your friend.”
“Do tell?” Beryl said with raised eyebrows. “Perfect.”
Mrs. Pettigrew’s eyebrows rose as well. “Are you sure of this, ma petite?”
Beryl smiled back. “Yes, I am. I want to become a mail-order bride.”
Chapter Two
Beryl Branson was often told by her parents that her mouth and her will, put together, were a deadly combination. And this time they were right. She did leave them a note to let them know she was becoming a mail-order bride, but they were in Europe. By the time they got the message, she might already be married. But she was willing to sacrifice to make sure Katie’s parents didn’t ruin her friend’s new-found happiness. At least she hoped Katie was happy. She’d only gotten that one letter since Katie left for Independence.
Now here she was, on a train with Bertram and Petunia Haverdash. She hoped one day Katie would return the favor. Maybe she could babysit the many children Beryl hoped to have. She’d dreamed of a big family since her parents told her about the Weavers in Washington and their exploits. There were so many of them they could be their own town. Her parents were married on their farm and she’d been a few times when she was younger, but hadn’t been for quite some time, despite the fact her mother’s sister was married to one.
“Are you sure about this, dear?” Petunia whispered.
Beryl glanced at Mr. Haverdash, his head against the window, his snores drowning out the other conversations around them. “Certainly I am, or I wouldn’t be doing it.”
“But won’t it come as a shock to the poor man?”
Considering the speed with which Mr. Haverdash had organized and executed their departure, it was a possibility. She’d answered the man’s letter and told him she looked forward to uniting with him in holy matrimony, but left out details – such as she’d never cooked a day in her life, nor could she sew.
In her defense, money had always taken care of that for her. She had a dressmaker. Her parents employed a huge staff at their mansion in Baltimore. She’d never wanted for anything. Maybe that’s why she was such a risk taker – it kept her from being bored. “You needn’t worry about me, Mrs. Haverdash.”
“Oh, but I do.” She looked away. “I worry about everything.”
Beryl glanced at her. Petunia Haverdash was a nervous sort, always had been, and had been fussing since the train left the station days ago. She was the one that insisted they travel with Beryl to meet her groom. After all, it would be improper for a young single lady to travel alone.
But Beryl knew well the only reason Mr. Haverdash agreed to accompany her was to have the pleasure of presenting her to Katie and accusing her of ruining Katie’s life. Heaven forbid it would be Katie’s fault, or that he had any hand in her leaving in the first place. By golly, she’d teach this man a lesson if it killed her.
She thought of Mr. Ephraim Stone, the man she was off to marry. Not that she would marry him – she’d had several days travel to think about her rash decision. But she did have to prove her point to the Haverdashes. Naturally she’d see that Mr. Stone was compensated in some form. She had a fair amount of cash on her and could obtain more if she needed. It was the least she could do for wasting the man’s time. And who knew? Maybe she’d like him and go through with it.
“Independence! Coming into Independence!” the conductor called as he went through their car.
Mr. Haverdash grumbled as he came out of his doze. “What’s that? Are we there?”
“Yes, dear,” Petunia said. “Now please try to control yourself. The man is a sheriff, after all. Make a scene and he’ll arrest you for disturbing the peace.”
Beryl hid a smile. She liked Mrs. Haverdash, though she couldn’t figure out why she’d married Mr. Haverdash. Oh well, that wasn’t her concern – protecting Katie was.
“Well, Miss Branson,” he blustered. “I think we should find your young man first and take you straight to the preacher.”
Beryl stopped as she reached for her satchel. She hadn’t counted on this. “What’s the rush?”
He smirked. “You’re the one that was so keen on becoming a mail-order bride. So let’s make you a bride, shall we?”
Great, he was on to her. “Perhaps Mr. Stone isn’t in such a rush, sir. Not all couples marry on the day the bride arrives. Especially not after the sort of trip I’ve had.” She smiled sweetly.
He smiled in return. Not a good sign. She also noted he didn’t help her with her bags. He was still angry. She supposed she couldn’t blame him, except that if he’
d listened to Katie in the first place, none of this would be happening.
“Look, Bertram,” Petunia said as they stepped off the train. “What a cute little town.”
Mr. Haverdash surveyed the train platform and the buildings beyond. “Looks uncivilized to me. Probably full of thieves and outlaws.” He turned to Beryl. “I hope you know what you’re doing, young lady.”
“Of course I do.” She tucked her smaller satchel under her arm, picked up her other two and strode across the platform. She wouldn’t let him get to her. She had enough to worry about – like explaining to her groom that she wasn’t really here for him. But she might have to marry him anyway. She’d pictured herself doing so, but halfway through their journey began to have second thoughts. Was she really willing to become a mail-order bride just to defend Katie? Would she lose this challenge?
Her back stiffened at the thought and she marched on.
“Just where do you think you’re going?” Mr. Haverdash asked with a huff as they left the platform.
She kept walking. “The hotel, where else?”
“And not to find your groom?” he taunted.
She crossed one street, looked up and down and, not seeing a hotel, continued on to the next.
“Don’t look now, Petunia,” Mr. Haverdash said, “but Miss Branson is getting cold feet …”
That did it. Beryl dropped her satchels onto the boardwalk, turned and marched back to them. “I am here to get married, is that understood? If I wasn’t, I never would have made this journey. If I wish to marry my future husband today, I will. If I wish to marry him tomorrow, I will. Do you have a problem with that?”
“Yes, because I don’t think you’re going to marry him at all.” Mr. Haverdash dropped his own luggage and crossed his arms to boot.
Petunia interrupted the standoff. “Bertram?”
“What is it?”
“The sheriff’s office is across the street.”
“What?” He turned and, sure enough, there it was. Katie’s future (current?) husband could be in there at this very moment.
Beryl had to admit she was just as curious about him as Katie’s parents. She hoped he was a good man, a kind one that would take care of her friend and make her happy.
The three of them were rewarded when a tall, dark, handsome man with a badge on his lapel stepped out of the office, closing the door behind him. He went to a big black horse tied to a hitching post, mounted and rode off. They glanced at each other during their silent truce as he headed down the street away from them. “Wow,” Beryl said.
“Well, he’s certainly handsome,” Petunia commented. “Don’t you think so, Bertram?”
Mr. Haverdash narrowed his eyes at the retreating figure. “How do we know that’s him? Maybe it’s a deputy.”
Beryl looked around. “I don’t know if this town is big enough for a sheriff and a deputy.”
He smirked. “Exactly! An insignificant speck, probably full of outlaws!”
“If it was full of outlaws, Bertram, they’d have a deputy,” Petunia said.
Since the logic was unassailable, Mr. Haverdash ignored it, picked up their luggage and headed off.
Beryl did her best not to laugh. “Are you tired, Mrs. Haverdash?”
“Now, dear, I told you to call me Petunia – you’re almost a married woman, after all. And now that you mention it, yes. I could do with a hot meal and a nap.” She looked up and down the street. “Then again, considering this heat, maybe cold sandwiches are in order.”
“And some iced tea?”
“That would be lovely.” She put her hand on Beryl’s arm. “We only want what’s best for Katie. A marriage to a lowly sheriff is just so … so …”
Beryl shook her head. “Beneath you? Except you’re not the ones marrying him. Why not let Katie decide for herself?”
“Katie can barely decide what dress to wear in the morning. But Bertram and I are experienced in marriage – better to let us decide.”
Beryl frowned and picked up her luggage. Petunia, though sweet, was no better than Katie’s father on that score.
They caught up with Mr. Haverdash at the hotel doors and went inside. Before Beryl could protest, he’d signed them all in and given the hotel clerk the money. “What are you doing?” she demanded. “I can pay for my own room.”
“Consider it a wedding present.” He smirked again and glanced around the lobby. It was quaint and charming, but to him … “Uncivilized.” He grabbed their luggage and headed for the staircase, his wife obediently following.
Beryl shook her head, then turned to the hotel clerk. “My key?”
He pointed at the Haverdashes’ retreating figures, and she trudged up the stairs after them. This was not turning out the way she’d envisioned it. Her stubbornness had gotten her into this – she’d just have to use it to get her out.
Her truce with Mr. Haverdash ended after they put their things away, headed downstairs again to find something to eat and he approached the hotel clerk. “I presume it’s too much to ask if this establishment has a dining room?”
“I’m afraid we don’t. I recommend Gruber’s Café down the street.” The clerk pointed again.
“Thank you,” Beryl told him. “Are there other restaurants in town?”
“No, ma’am, just Gruber’s.”
Mr. Haverdash smiled triumphantly, thinking he’d just scored a point. Really, he just didn’t like small towns. But Beryl was sure Katie did, and that’s who they needed to find.
Mr. Haverdash, though, had other ideas. “After we eat and you regain your strength, you should be fit enough for the altar.”
Beryl did her best not to roll her eyes. The man was relentless! “So you’d rather see me wed than see your daughter.”
“Trust me, dear, today you’re my first priority. It’s what you came for, isn’t it?”
If the man wasn’t Katie’s father, she’d smack him! Maybe she should anyway. But again, this was her fault. “I’m afraid you may have to wait. Mr. Stone might not even know I’ve arrived.”
Petunia gasped. “She’s right, Bertram. He wasn’t at the station to meet us.”
His face screwed up. “Confound it, how could I forget that?”
“You must be slipping,” Beryl said as she brushed past him to the hotel door.
“Regardless, as soon as we’ve had some nourishment, we find your betrothed!”
This time, since she was facing away, she did roll her eyes. “Fine. Let’s.”
Once on the boardwalk she spied the café and headed for it, hoping the food was good. As it was, she was getting a sour feeling in her gut. She always did when things weren’t going right and currently, they definitely weren’t.
Inside Gruber’s, a dark-haired, blue-eyed young woman was serving. Beryl stopped and stared at her. She was beautiful, innocent-looking and … somehow familiar. But how could that be? She’d never seen her before. “Hello,” the young woman said. “You must have just come in on the train.”
“We did,” Mr. Haverdash huffed. “Where can we sit?”
“Pick any table you’d like. I’ll get you some water and menus.” The girl dashed off toward the kitchen.
“There’s a nice table over there, Bertram.” Petunia pointed.
Mr. Haverdash harrumphed, took his wife’s arm and headed that way. Beryl glanced around as she followed. The café wasn’t big by any means, but like the rest of the town had a certain charm. The few patrons watched her cross the room to a table where Mr. Haverdash was pulling out a chair for Petunia. By the time she reached it the young girl was approaching with a tray.
Beryl sat as the waitress began to serve. “Here are your waters. Are you visiting relatives in town?”
“That’s none of your business, young lady,” Mr. Haverdash snapped. “Now about our menus?”
The waitress pulled the menus from under one arm and handed them out. “The lunch special is a ham sandwich and potato salad. Would you like some iced tea?”
“
Oh, I’d love some,” Petunia gushed. “Is the potato salad good?”
“I think it’s lovely,” their waitress said.
Beryl watched her and smiled. “Have you always lived here?”
“Me? Yes, all my life,” she said shyly.
Beryl smiled at her. “I’m Beryl Branson and this is Mr. and Mrs. Haverdash. They’ve come to visit their daughter Katie, who came here recently as a mail-order bride. I’m sure she’s now happily married?”
The waitress’ eyes brightened as she smiled. “Mrs. Diamond? Yes, she was just married.” She sighed. “Lucky girl.”
Touché. Beryl smiled at Mr. Haverdash. “Do you know where they reside?”
“They have a small house on the edge of town, not far from Dr. Stone’s office.”
Now it was Mr. Haverdash’s turn to smile. “Stone, you say?”
“Doctor?” Petunia chirped. “He didn’t say anything in his letter about being a doctor.”
Beryl thought a moment. Petunia was right – Mr. Stone only stated that he held a prominent position in town. A doctor – well! This was no uneducated bumpkin.
“Probably some cheap charlatan,” groused Mr. Haverdash as he grabbed his water, drained the glass and held it out to the waitress. “Get me another.”
Their waitress hurried to comply.
“Really, Bertram,” Petunia said. “You don’t have to be so rude.”
“I’ll be rude if I want to. If it wasn’t for this one across the table –” He waved at Beryl. “– we wouldn’t be sitting here in the first place!”
Beryl sighed as their waitress returned with the full glass and set it on the table. “Do you know what you’d like to order?”
The door of the café opened before anyone could answer, drawing the waitress’ attention. Her eyes got round as saucers and she fumbled with the small notebook in her apron pocket. “Mr. Markhel,” she gasped.
Beryl and her lunch partners gaped at the man. He was huge, over six and a half feet tall, and handsome with crystal blue eyes, broad shoulders and silver-white hair tucked beneath his hat. A few wisps had escaped and hung around his face, longer than men’s hair usually was. He had everyone entranced, their waitress doubly so. Had she stopped breathing?
