The Convenient Mail Order Bride Page 2

  “I’ll send a missive when I get there,” she said after she cleared her throat.

  “We both will,” her mother added.

  “You’re very brave to do this,” Beatrice told Phoebe. “I don’t know if I’d have as much courage.”

  Phoebe clasped her hands. “I’m sure you could if you had to, but,” glancing at Phillip, she smiled, “you’ll never have to. You two are steadfast and true.”

  “I hope your marriage will be a good one,” Beatrice replied, her voice soft.

  Phoebe hoped so, too, but she was too afraid to say it aloud. She took a deep breath and released it. “Let me know the baby’s name and birthday. Ma and I will send the little one something special.”

  “I will.”

  Phoebe hugged her niece and nephew again, this time telling them to be good and obey their parents.

  The conductor announced it was time to board the train. Forcing down the nervous flutter of butterflies in her stomach, Phoebe made another promise to write to them then led her mother to the train.

  Abe had been thoughtful in giving them good seats in the passenger car. They would have a comfortable ride out West, and while a part of her couldn’t deny the sense of adventure that waited for her, another part was terrified she was making the biggest mistake of her life. This was a huge moment. She was about to meet the man she’d marry. This would be the man she’d have children and grow old with. He’d be a big part of her life. And to think she hadn’t even met him yet.

  “You’ll be fine,” her mother assured her, placing her hand over hers. “Deep down, I can feel it.”

  Phoebe forced herself to smile. She hoped her mother was right. There was nothing more she wanted than to look back on this moment a year from now and be grateful she took such a risk. And maybe she would. Maybe this would be the best thing that ever happened to her.

  ***

  Upon her arrival at the small town in the Colorado Territory, Phoebe had the sinking sensation her decision to come out West was the worst one she’d ever made.

  “What do you mean Abe Thomas isn’t expecting me?” she asked Carl Richie, who’d met them at the stagecoach.

  At least Carl had the decency to look contrite as he said, “I wrote the ad and the letter on his behalf.”

  Of all the scenarios that had played out in her mind during her trip, not a single one prepared her for this.

  Phoebe glanced at her mother, whose eyes were wide in horror, then turned her gaze to the few buildings and dirt road that made up the town stuck in the middle of a bunch of trees. Only a couple of people loitered on the boardwalk where the stagecoach had dropped her, her mother, and their trunks off. That stagecoach was still there, but neither she nor her mother had the money to buy a ride back to the train to take them back home.

  Phoebe turned her gaze back to the man. “Since that’s the case, you’ll be paying for us to go back to Ohio.”

  If she wasn’t in such a state of shock, she might be suitably upset with him. But as it was, the shock was holding her in place, preventing her from acting in a very unladylike manner.

  “I sort of used all my money to get you out here,” Carl explained with what he probably thought was an adorable shrug.

  She, however, found nothing adorable about it.

  “But he needs a wife,” Carl quickly said, as if this made up for everything. “He’s been by himself on ten acres and a large cabin. He has more than enough room for you and your ma.”

  “He might have enough room for us, but what if he doesn’t want us?” Phoebe snapped, finally getting angry enough to let him know she wasn’t at all happy about this. He might have thought it was a good idea to lie, but she didn’t. And she seriously doubted Abe Thomas would either when he found out. “You never even bothered to ask if he wanted you to place the ad for him,” she added.

  “Oh, he’ll want you when he sees you,” he replied, scanning her up and down with more interest than he had a right to. “You’re prettier than any other lady around for miles. Why, if I weren’t married, I’d consider hauling you off to my home right now.”

  Once more, a spark of anger shot right through her, and this time she didn’t snap at him. This time, she smacked him on the head with her drawstring purse.

  “Ow!” His hand went up to his head just before his hat fell off. “What’d you do that for?” He picked his hat up. “I was paying you a compliment.”

  “Some compliment,” her mother said, giving him a good whack with her own purse. “You were undressing her with your eyes. You have no business doing that since you’re not Abe Thomas.”

  “It’s as Ma said. No business at all,” Phoebe replied, thankful she had her mother here with her. At least they could put their heads together and come up with a plan on what to do next. “I believe we have better things to do with our time than talk to this crow.” And that was exactly what he looked like with those beady little eyes and the large nose and wiry dark hair. “I’m glad you’re not Abe Thomas,” she told him. “Someone as pretty as me can’t be mismatched with someone like you.”

  A round of chuckles caught her attention. She spun around in time to see a tall, imposing man heading her way. She narrowed her eyes at him when she noticed the doors to the nearby saloon doors swinging. He wasn’t drunk, so she guessed he owned the place. After all, the owner made money off of getting men drunk, not from drinking.

  Well, he’d better not think she’d be willing to offer her services in a soiled place like that. She’d heard horror stories of women who had to offer their bodies for a piece of bread out West. Such a thing would never happen to her. Even if she had to scrub outhouses, she’d never be a prostitute.

  “You might as well get out of here, Carl,” the man said. “You’ve caused enough trouble already.”

  “You of all people know Abe Thomas needs a wife,” Carl told him. “It’ll be good for him to mind his own affairs.”

  “That’s not for you to decide. Run along. I’ll clean up the mess you made.”

  Shoulders slumped, Carl gave her one last pathetically apologetic look then scurried off like the rat he was.

  She would have enjoyed the defeated expression on his face had the situation not been so grim. She looked at her mother, wondering if she trusted this new man who was going to supposedly help them. Her mother gave a slight shake of her head, and Phoebe sighed in disappointment. So her mother wasn’t sure if they could trust this stranger any more than they could’ve trusted Carl.

  “I’m a lady,” Phoebe told him, deciding it was just as well they get this over with as soon as possible in case he planned to haul her off to the saloon. “I came here to be a wife, not a prostitute.”

  Taking off his hat, the man said, “I didn’t mistake you for a prostitute.”

  Sensing the sincerity in his tone, she relaxed. “Alright.” She took a deep breath then said, “Do you know Abe Thomas?”

  “It’s a small town,” he said. “Everyone knows everyone around here. I’m Eric Johnson. I’m the sheriff.”

  “Sheriff? But I thought you owned the…” Her voice drifted off in embarrassment as she considered another reason why he might be in the saloon. Perhaps he’d been with a prostitute, though it surprised her he’d do such a thing while it was still daylight. Didn’t men like him usually wait until it was dark? She cleared her throat. “Well, it doesn’t matter. What’s important is what to do about Abe Thomas. Do you think he’ll want a wife?”

  “It’d be hard to say no to someone as pretty as you.”

  She frowned, not sure how to respond to that.

  “I can see you don’t know if you can trust me or not,” he said. “I was in the saloon because I needed to talk to the owner. There was a brawl last night. Believe me, you don’t want to know the details.”

  “We thank you for not giving them,” her mother replied.

  He grinned. “You two got spirit. I think you’d do well with Abe Thomas. He doesn’t care much for weak women…I mean, ladies. I�
�ll take you on out to his place, but I want to talk to him before he meets you. It’ll give me a chance to soften him up.”

  Soften him up? Phoebe didn’t like the sound of that, but what choice did she or her mother have? They had to at least try. If Abe said no, they would figure out what to do then.

  “I’ll come back with a wagon to load your trunks,” he said, “then we’ll head on out. He’s a good thirty minutes away, so you’ll want to take care of any personal needs now.”

  As he turned to leave, her mother spoke up. “You’ll be bringing along a preacher, won’t you? In case he says it’s alright, I want to make sure my daughter’s reputation is protected.”

  “Ma’am, this isn’t like the East,” he said. “We’re far removed from civilization out there. No one cares about reputations.”

  “I care.” Then after a moment, her mother added, “Don’t you got a preacher in this town?”

  “A traveling one, and he won’t be due out here until two or three weeks. If you’re concerned about your daughter’s reputation, make sure you stay in the same room with her. Believe me. No man wants to touch a lady who’s sharing a room with her ma.”

  Phoebe didn’t like this new turn of events. She turned to her mother as he went across the street. “Maybe we should stay at an inn until the preacher gets here. I have a little money left over.”

  They searched through the small town, and to their despair the only place that also served as an inn was the saloon. Phoebe didn’t know if she could bring herself to spend a single night in a place where men would be getting drunk and finding a room with a prostitute. Just the thought made her sick to her stomach.

  Eyes filling with tears, she asked her mother, “What did we get ourselves into?”

  “Now, now, you can’t blame yourself,” her mother replied, putting her arm around her shoulders. “Neither one of us knew Carl was deceiving us. If it’d really been Abe who posted the ad and wrote the missive, we’d be just fine.”

  Shaking her head, Phoebe dug out a handkerchief from her purse and dabbed her eyes. “This is terrible. We can’t even get on a train. We’d have to wait for the stagecoach to come get us, and the driver said he won’t return for a month.”

  “We’ll do as Eric Johnson said and make sure to spend the night in the same room at Abe Thomas’ house.”

  “If Abe Thomas is even willing to let us stay there.”

  At this point, she didn’t know if their luck would even get them that far. Things were quickly going from bad to worse, and she was afraid of how much worse things were going to get before the day was done.

  “We’ll think of something,” her mother promised. “It’s a thirty minute ride out to Abe Thomas’ place. That will give us time to think.”

  Her mother was right. Everything was happening so fast. They needed to take a moment to calm down and consider all of their options. But first, they had to find out what Abe was like and see if he’d be willing to marry her. They mustn’t get ahead of themselves. One thing at a time. She took a deep breath and released it. They just had to take it one thing at a time.

  Chapter Three

  Abe Thomas pushed back his long black hair over his shoulder. Had he known he was going to end up fixing a hole in the roof when he came into the barn, he would have pulled his hair back.

  He struck the hammer into a good part of the barn roof and groaned. Why was he letting his morning run-in with Carl Richie ruin his day? All he’d needed was a few items from the general store, and Carl started telling him other items he should buy.

  “You should get more staple items like flour, sugar, and coffee,” Carl had said as he followed him.

  “If I want your opinion on what to buy, I’ll ask,” he’d told Carl. “Or better yet, you give me the land and stream that’s rightfully mine.”

  Carl, in turn, had denied Abe had any rights to them and left.

  Abe shook his head and sat back on the roof, his gaze going down to the section of land at the bottom of the gentle slope that bordered the row of trees. The trees were young, having been newly planted. But they included that stream and land, and those belonged to him. Carl put those trees there as a sign, but nothing could change the truth.

  The sound of a horse’s neigh took Abe’s attention from the row of trees to a wagon coming onto his property. He narrowed his eyes. Between the trees, it was hard to tell who it was. All he knew was that there were three people in that wagon.

  To be on the safe side, he climbed down the ladder and grabbed his rifle. Then he checked to make sure it was loaded. Going to the small window, he slid the end of the gun through the lower left corner, careful not to be obvious. He held his breath and focused through the sights. The wagon was winding its way along the path leading to the barn. That was good. He’d get the intruders exactly where he wanted them.

  His finger caressed the trigger of his gun. If it was Gene Carter, he’d pull the trigger without hesitation. Gene was worse than Carl, and that was saying something considering both weren’t worth a pound of dirt.

  After what seemed like some very long few minutes, he finally saw the driver of the wagon. Eric Johnson. He relaxed and lowered the gun. He put the gun back on the rack and headed out of the barn. As soon as he realized Eric had two women with him, his steps slowed. What was Eric doing bringing them all the way out here?

  Though the question was on the tip of his tongue, he patiently waited for Eric to pull the wagon to a stop a few feet from him. Eric instructed the women to wait in the wagon, set the brake, and then jumped down.

  “How are you doing, Abe?” Eric greeted.

  “I don’t know. What are they doing here?”

  Eric glanced at the two women who quietly sat close together, one considerably older than the other. The bonnets on their heads blew in the breeze, and Abe detected a few blonde strands that had come loose from the younger one’s bun. The older one whispered to the younger woman who nodded and squeezed the older one’s hand. It was a tender gesture, one his mother used to give him. They must be mother and daughter.

  “Can we talk in the barn?” Eric asked, his gaze going to the open doorway.

  “Alright.” Abe led the way into the barn, choosing to stand in the area that allowed him to see out the window without the women seeing him. “What’s this about? You never brought any women out here before.”

  “I don’t know how to best explain the situation, so I’m just going to come out and say it. Carl posted a mail-order bride ad on your behalf.”

  It took a moment for Eric’s meaning to sink in. Eyes wide, he gestured in the direction of the wagon. “Are you telling me that young woman out there thinks she’s going to be my wife?”

  “Well, not really.”

  “What do you mean, ‘not really’?”

  “She believed she was going to marry you, but she thought you posted the ad and wrote her a missive telling her to come out here. Look,” Eric took his hat off and wiped the sweat from his brow, “I wouldn’t have brought her out here under other circumstances, but as it turns out, she and her mother don’t have anywhere else to go. They were both deceived in making the trip to this territory. I didn’t promise her you’d marry her, and she knows you might say no. But I thought it wouldn’t hurt to talk to you.”

  Abe shook his head and glanced out the window. The young lady’s head was bowed toward her mother’s, and the two were quietly talking, probably lamenting the possibility their fate was in the hands of a half-breed. They were as white as white women could get. There was definitely no mix of Indian blood anywhere in their lineage.

  “Why don’t you marry her?” Abe asked, finally turning his gaze back to Eric. “You’re white. Her life will be easier if she marries you.”

  “I already posted a mail-order bride ad.”

  “That’s an even better reason for you to marry her.”

  “It would be except I already started a nice correspondence with one. She’s as down on her luck as that woman out there is.�
� He put the hat back on his head. “I got a chance to talk to the woman on my way out here, and I think she’d make you a good wife. Her name is Phoebe Durbin, and she came from Ohio. Her brother can no longer support her and her mother because he has a wife, two children, and one on the way. Phoebe had no suitors back there, so she answered a few ads. Whatever Carl wrote about you, it must have been good because she said you sounded like the most sincere and nicest man from the missives she received.”

  Abe couldn’t help but laugh at the irony. Sincere and nice? How did Carl manage such a feat? “Did she bring the missive he wrote?” he asked.

  “She did, but I didn’t read it. I didn’t feel it was my place to get that personal.”

  “Alright. Stay here.” Abe left the barn and went straight to the wagon.

  The two women stopped talking and watched him as he approached them. He had to admit the young one was pretty. Maybe even beautiful despite the fact that she was so pale. But that was to be expected since she likely wore hats and bonnets to protect her face from the sun, as he’d seen other white women do.

  His interest at the moment, however, was in the missive Carl wrote, so he wasted no time in asking about it. “Eric said you got a missive that was supposedly from me?”

  “Yes,” she softly replied then pulled the strings of her purse open.

  He noticed her hands trembling and wondered if she was afraid of him because he had some Cheyenne blood in him or if she was afraid he’d tell her and her mother to get off his land.

  She finally dug the neatly folded paper out of the purse and handed it to him. “I-I didn’t know Mr. Richie wrote it.”

  He snorted. “I wouldn’t exactly call him ‘mister’. He doesn’t deserve the respect.”

  He took it from her and turned back to the barn. He wasn’t willing to tell her he didn’t know how to read. Yes, he knew a few words, but the script was more like scribbles to him. Once in the barn, he handed it to Eric.