Lassoing A Mail-Order Bride Page 10

  “By stating your expectations in writing, you may appear less desperate than you actually are, which in turn makes you more desirable as a potential marriage partner.”

  Rocking his chair back on two legs, Simon asked, “What would I say?”

  “The letter spells it out. You need a grandmotherly type who isn’t afraid of hard work, knows about child-rearing and who is available by…” Ben paused to think. “Let’s give ourselves a comfortable margin. Say the first week in July for mutual interviews and discussion with another day to become acquainted before exchanging marriage vows. That leaves ample time for travel to Yankton to arrive by the fifteenth. I wager only women who are serious about marriage will respond under such short notice.” He took a drink of coffee. “But mark my words, respond, they will. You won’t lack for choices.”

  “Well, you’re the newspaperman, and we’re closer than most brothers.” Simon nodded as the possibility took root. “You’ll take care of it so the whole town doesn’t know?”

  “Every detail. The advertisement must entice a woman to respond while making it worth her time to pursue. I’ll assist with the interviews and selection, if you’d like.”

  Taking on a wife and handling the accompanying intimacy a woman would expect—and deserve—scared the hell out of him. It had been a long time since he’d entertained those sorts of thoughts about a woman.

  Simon reached for the whiskey, mumbling, “I wonder what the hell I’m getting myself into.”

  ****

  Reese Point — Chippewa Harbor, Upper Michigan

  Theodosia Morrison resisted opening the Matrimony Courier every time she passed the kitchen table despite curiosity eating her up. She couldn’t fathom anyone desperate enough to think wedded bliss could come of such silliness. Lena left the magazine yesterday with a plea for Theo to take a husband, change her name, and start a new life somewhere far away. No amount of reasoning could convince Lena that, in due time, town-talk would move on to a new subject and all would go back to life as usual. The community was as devoted to her as she to them. They’d never turn against her.

  “Theo? Are you here?” Lena called.

  Theo shouted over her shoulder, “Yes. In the kitchen. I’ve got fresh coffee.” It struck her odd that Lena wasn’t entering from the front door as was her habit. Humming, Theo took two cups from the cupboard, filled them, and turned. “What brings you—?”

  Lena hovered in the kitchen doorway, wringing her hands, her eyes bright withheld-back tears. Her uncle, Sheriff Strawn, and the bank president, Charles Beecham, stood beside her. Theo looked from one to the other with the realization that she wasn’t surprised to have the sheriff come to her house, even though three weeks had passed with nothing more than rumors running rampant. However, Charles’s presence alarmed her. Putting the cups on the table, Theo wiped her sweating palms on her apron, took a deep breath, and set her shoulders in preparation to bear whatever burden was about to be placed upon her.

  “Hello, Richard, Charles. Since it’s nearly nine, and you used the back door, I sense this is not a social visit, nor do you need my medical services.”

  Sheriff Strawn removed his hat. “I’ll get right to it, Theo. Given all the good you’ve done for this community and that you and Lena are childhood friends, I’m offering you a chance to get out of town before I have to arrest you.”

  “So, it’s come to that.” Her heart pounded, knees went weak, but she held herself together. “Out-of-sight, out-of-mind?”

  He nodded. “You could say that.”

  “I was not the surgeon.”

  “I know, but you helped Doc Tibbett with the ether.”

  The veiled accusation stung. “I have never administered ether with a resulting death. Walter Putnam was alive, albeit only by the grace of his cantankerous nature, when I was summoned to the Schaefer home to deliver their baby. Dr. Tibbett stayed.”

  “I talked to Doc Tibbett a few days ago about this. He said he stayed with Old Man Putnam all night, and he was holding his own at daylight when Albert showed up—”

  “No doubt attempting to weasel his way back into his grandfather’s good graces after being disinherited some months ago.”

  He continued without comment to her caustic observation. “After Doc left the Putnam place, he went by the Schaeffer place. You were just leaving, so you two went to your house and had coffee.”

  “Well, there you have it.”

  Lena took a step toward Theo, her face puckered with grief and worry. “Dr. Tibbett died yesterday. He was visiting his daughter in Timber Cove and, after lunch, he went out to the porch swing for a nap.” Her chin quivered. “He didn’t wake up.”

  Theo grabbed the back of a chair, disbelief blazing through her body. Swallowing past the little catch in her throat, she said, “I’ll miss him. We’ll all miss him.”

  The sheriff explained, “Albert inherited the bulk of the Putnam fortune, because the Will disinheriting Albert wasn’t found among Walter’s documents. Out-of-town relatives have hired lawyers to contest it.”

  “How does this involve me?”

  “Albert was arrested in Chicago under suspicion of murdering the old man and stealing the Will that disinherited him.” Strawn paused. “He swore a statement that incriminates you as an accomplice.”

  “Wha—? This is absurd. How am I his accomplice?”

  “He said you two are sweet on each other and needed the money to pay off his gambling debts so you can get married.”

  “Married? Me? Sweet on that unprepossessing, prating cockalorum?”

  “Mrs. Janssen saw him stop by a couple of times this month, and he brought up that you’ve been sitting together at church these past weeks.”

  Theo stared at him, aghast, her mind racing with wild, disconnected thoughts as she tried to make sense of the situation. “Mrs. Janssen is a nosy old biddy and, yes, Albert has been here, but I speak with him on the porch and only for a few minutes. At one time or another, every person in this town has visited my house. As far as church goes, he chooses to sit beside me, just as he sits with Susan Humphries and Georgia Baker, and every other single female in the community. He makes his rounds like I make house calls. I don’t seek him out. In fact, I go out of my way to avoid him.” She kicked a chair out of her path and stomped toward the dining room. “Where is that little bastard? I have a few words for him.”

  Strawn caught her arm. “Take it easy, Theo. He posted bail and disappeared. Pinkertons are looking for him. He won’t get away for long.” He released her, and she backed away.

  “It’s my word against his?”

  “Yes, now that Doc Tibbett is dead.”

  “Do you have a warrant for my arrest?”

  He shook his head. “Not yet, but Judge Nelson’s getting pressure to issue one. He’ll deny it, but he suggested I give you a head start. He doesn’t want you in jail any more than I do. Not for the likes of a confidence man like Albert Putnam.”

  Theo turned to Charles. “Why are you here?”

  Deep lines furrowed his brow. “The same as Richard and Lena. Because I care about you. Because we’re friends.” Reaching into his inside jacket pocket, he brought out papers and spread them flat on the table. “And, as your banker, I suggest you authorize me to handle your financial affairs, such as selling your house.” He placed a pen on top of the papers. “There’s also an authorization for me to withdraw your savings. You’ll need money for traveling.”

  Looking at Lena, Theo took in a deep breath then exhaled with a soft sigh. “The magazine.” She waved a hand toward the table. “You knew.”

  Lena’s tears spilled down her cheeks as she rushed forward to embrace Theo. “Only that the rumors had suddenly become serious accusations. Please, Theo, please, for your sake, you’ve got to leave. There’s a time to stay and fight, and there’s a time to disappear.” Lena stepped back, still holding onto Theo’s hands. “Don’t be a martyr. I couldn’t bear it.”

  Theo looked past Lena to the two men
she’d known since childhood—men who were good friends, decent men upon whom she could count and who had, in turn, relied upon her. “You think nothing will come of this if I’m not here as a daily reminder.”

  Both men nodded; Strawn answered. “We do. Given time and your distance from here, even if there is an investigation, it’ll blow over. Rightful inheritance is the force behind this. Greed is a powerful enemy. Albert is guilty as sin, or he wouldn’t have disappeared.”

  “So, I should simply—to quote Longfellow—fold my tent, like the Arabs, and as silently steal away?”

  The sheriff said, “That’s my advice, yes. I’ll say you were called to an ill family member’s bedside—you didn’t say where. No telling how long you’ll be gone. I’ll drive you to the dock in Haven Bay tonight, and you can take the boat to Chicago.” He paused and looked at her in earnest. “Train goes every direction from there.”

  “Leave in the dead of night? Won’t that confirm my culpability? Seal my guilt?”

  “This is already a scandal in a boiling pot ready for the lid to blow off. Don’t stay here and fan the flame. Leave, and you’ve got a chance for a new life. Maybe even be able to come back someday. Stay, and you’ve got nothing but grief. If you can’t be found, you can’t be questioned.”

  To run away stung her pride, and it rankled to kowtow to lies. “I could as easily be exonerated.”

  Their collective lack of response said otherwise. How could this be? Others looked to her for solutions to life’s challenges, not the other way around. It was a harsh irony that her career here was over at the hands of the very people for whom she’d dedicated her adult life to serving.

  “I’ll bring a wagon around at midnight. You’ll have room for a couple of trunks. We’ll put your household in storage until you want it sent or sold.”

  Theo looked down at the papers, making no move to read them. Charles picked up the pen. “I always advise clients to read documents before they sign…”

  She finished what he didn’t say, “But time is short, and I have to trust that all is in order.” She took the pen and signed each paper.

  Charles returned the documents to his inside pocket. “Richard will bring your savings.”

  “And I’ll miss you more than I have words to tell you.” Lena held onto Theo for many long goodbye seconds. “I want you to write, but if I don’t know where you are, I won’t have to tell if I’m asked.”

  Lena fled from the room, the sound of her muffled sob tearing at Theo’s heart. Theo reached after her, but it was too late to wish things to be different. Letting her arms dangle at her sides, she blinked back her own helpless heartbreak.

  Strawn placed a friendly hand on her shoulder. “Give it some time before you send a letter to me. I’ll see that she gets it. Better take a name no one around here will recognize.”

  She managed a nod, but couldn’t speak past the suffocating lump in her throat. The men tipped their hats, said goodnight, and followed Lena.

  Theo stared after them, numb, unable to move, hardly able to breathe until the click of the door latch snapped her out of her daze. Was the door closing to her future, or on her past? Her legs gave out, and she sat down hard in a chair, jarring the table when she nearly missed the seat. Cups toppled, spilling their contents over the tablecloth and magazine, and her Irish temper flared. With a violent backhanded swipe, she sent the magazine sailing and the porcelain cups crashing to the floor. Sucking in a ragged gasp, she fought back hot tears of bitter loss. Lies. It’s all greed and lies.

  She slammed her fists on the table. “No! Albert Putnam will not be my ruination. This—will—not—beat—me—down! I will not go to prison because of him.” It was too cruel, but there was nothing left for her here now that the town had so eagerly branded her a pariah. Maybe it was ancestral wanderlust rising within her; maybe it was the sting of betrayal. Either way, it was time to leave.

  The clock chiming reminded her that she had three hours in which to pack a lifetime’s worth of memories to take with her. Tidying up the mess of coffee and shattered cups, she also picked up the magazine and tossed it onto the table. It splayed open at the center, and the photograph of a man caught her attention, prompting her to glance again. Something in his eyes drew her. They shone with a hearty love of life. He was a handsome, mature man with strong chin, full head of hair, and confident bearing. Beneath his picture, his name stood out in bold letters—SIMON DRISCOLL. Interested, she read his advertisement.

  Well-fixed 48-year-old widower of decent appearance, excellent health, educated, patient disposition, & good habits seeks to marry widow of 45-55 of sturdy & healthy constitution who possesses good moral character, is tolerably well-educated, skilled in the art of housekeeping & child-rearing, has loving disposition, & will serve as helpmeet. Need not be regular church-goer or of independent means. By June 24th current year, send letter of interest with recent photograph to Benjamin R. Perlman, newspaper owner/editor, Platte River City Times, Platte River City, Colorado. Interviews July 1st and 2nd at Union Pacific Railroad Depot in Cheyenne, Wyoming Territory. Gentleman will sign agreement not to abuse or mistreat bride. Both parties will sign agreement stipulating should the union fail, each party retains ownership of possessions brought into the marriage while forfeiting claim on the others’. Partial travel expenses reimbursed to each lady who attends interview.

  Despite not meeting many of the qualifications, an idea sparked. Theo marveled at the ease with which she’d changed her opinion of people who advertised for spouses. Nothing in the advertisement precluded showing up unannounced, and she could reach Cheyenne in time to interview. The sense of urgency to find a wife and that each person could leave with what they brought with them, struck her as being a temporary solution to whatever problem he was trying to solve by marrying. Well, that suited her just fine. She, too, had a temporary problem and, since love didn’t factor into her plans, it seemed reasonable they could go their separate ways at some mutually determined point.

  In her mind, the marriage was good as done, which meant she’d already made the man’s decision for him—he just didn’t know it yet. Excitement fluttered in her stomach as she rummaged through the pantry shelves until she located the bottle of whiskey tucked behind the canned goods. Popping the cork, she put the bottle to her lips, mumbling, “Here’s to leaving the frying pan for the fire.” The warm liquid slid down her throat with silky ease, and she took another. “I wonder what in the blazes I’m getting myself into.”

  ****

  Cheyenne, Wyoming Territory – Union Pacific Railroad Depot,

  Public Meeting Room

  Simon checked his pocket watch. Four-thirty. Of the twelve women who’d sent letters, nine had shown with the last interview concluded a few minutes ago. He’d tried to look for each woman’s favorable attributes, but he found reasons to reject each one. Tee-totaler. Prudish. Too skinny. Too plump. Domineering. Meek. Narrow between the eyes. Scatter-brained. No sense of humor. His reasons were endless, even though he knew that attitude wouldn’t get him a wife. His heart just wasn’t in this. Although each in her own way would probably be a fine choice, he couldn’t see himself spending the rest of his life with any of these women.

  For the last six weeks, he’d been so busy fixing up the house and making it ready for his grandchildren, that he’d relegated the wife part to the back of his mind. But when he and Ben stepped off the train in Cheyenne, the realization that he’d be married by the end of the week took the wind out of him like a left hook to the gut and knocked him back on his heels. He kept asking himself what the hell he was doing.

  Rubbing his eyes, he blew out a tired breath and pushed away from the paper-strewn table. He wished Ben would return with the coffee. Then, they could gather up and call it quits for the day. Three of the women had indicated interest in more discussion, so he’d had supper with one last night, breakfast with another this morning, and lunch today with the third. He needed time tonight to bolster himself for spending a part of to
morrow with each of them again. He suspected one of the ladies wouldn’t pursue this any farther because his being the county’s undertaker hadn’t appealed to her.

  He held out hope that one or all of the remaining three women who’d sent letters, but hadn’t arrived yet, would still show up in the next day or two. Maybe he’d take a fancy to one of them. Pragmatic as always, Ben assured him there was nothing to worry about, since Cheyenne was rife with immediately available women. It was a short walk to the red light district, and he’d find more marriageable women to choose from than he could shake a stick at. His toughest decision would be redhead, blonde, or brunette. The idea of marrying a lady of the evening was looking more enticing as this whole ordeal wore on.

  Simon walked to the window, rolling his shoulders as he crossed the room, trying to ease the ache at the base of his neck. He gazed out, looking at everything, yet at nothing in particular. An old saying came to mind. Married in haste, we may repent at leisure. He sure as hell hoped not.

  “Excuse me. Mr. Perlman directed me here. I’m responding to an advertisement in the Matrimony Courier. Are you Simon Driscoll?”

  Simon closed his eyes, fortifying himself to face another woman with a façade of interest. “Yes, I’m Simon Driscoll. Your name?”

  “Tessa Morris.”

  He opened his eyes, frowning as he mentally ticked off the names on the list. Still gazing out the window, he asked, “Did you send a letter under a different name? I don’t recall a Mrs. Morris.”

  “Miss. Miss Morris. I’ve never been married and, no, I didn’t send a letter. In fact, I came across your advertisement but five days ago.”

  Simon turned. “I’m sorry, but the deadline—” The words died on his lips. Ben was in the doorway, pointing to the woman and nodding.

  “Mr. Driscoll, is something wrong?” She followed Simon’s stare and looked over her shoulder right as Ben stepped out of the doorway.

  His insides went topsy-turvy. Ben had a way with people. He couldn’t leave him to talk to this woman alone. No letter of introduction. He didn’t know anything about her, and he sure as hell didn’t know what to say.