Mail-Order Cousins 2

by Joyce Armor

  Mail-Order Cousins 2:

  Per

  Joyce Armor

  Copyright 2018 Joyce Armor

  Smashwords Edition

  Cover: Vila Design

  Trusty Reader: Chris Gale

  Expert Formatting: Jesse Gordon

  Mail-Order Cousins: Per

  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

  Elizabethtown, Pennsylvania, 1874

  Some days she just wanted to put on her best gown and matching soft-leather slippers and go jump in the biggest mud puddle she could find. Wealthy heiress Priscilla Hughes Vanderhaven, known to her friends as Per, was becoming increasingly unhappy with her station’s requirements and feeling more and more as if she couldn’t breathe. It was don’t do this, don’t do that, you must do this, ladies never say that, you must say this until she wanted to scream.

  Per knew her widowed mother meant well in her own impossible, narrow-minded way. Sometimes, though, and perhaps most of the time anymore, she felt that her mother didn’t know her at all. She certainly never listened, truly listened to her daughter, continually dismissing her concerns. She was trying to fit Per into her own idea of what her life should be, to mold her into the kind of person her daughter had never aspired to be and lately cringed at the thought of becoming. If Per didn’t make a move soon, the society matron would marry her off to some wealthy, haughty, hoity-toity fellow who would give her mother’s answer whenever Per disagreed with him: “Nonsense.”

  She realized her attitude was fairly hypocritical since she enjoyed a few of the advantages of her wealth, particularly the travel. But she would give it all up in an instant for…for what? She wasn’t sure. Freedom? That was part of it. She also needed something that gave her life more meaning than it had now and a sense of accomplishment. She could not have been put on this earth solely to sip tea and smile.

  It was just a wisp of an idea that fateful day she got together with her cousins Sophie and Lindy. She and Sophie were 20, Lindy 21. They sat on a hillside overlooking Elizabethtown, Pennsylvania, where they had all grown up. The three young women made a vow to escape, to leave their homes for something better somewhere beyond. Sophie wanted out because she was treated like a slave by her aunt and uncle, who had become her guardians when her parents died seven years earlier. Lindy had six siblings and longed to be…not exactly alone, but on her own, somewhere she could be recognized as an individual and have her own home and family.

  The young heiress was shocked when she returned from a European cruise with her mother, who obviously had been trying to snag her daughter a wealthy prince on the trip, to learn that Sophie had actually done it; she’d left town. Per was truly happy for her and almost unbearably envious. Her cousin had gotten out by answering an ad for a mail-order bride. Lindy said she was marrying a merchant in a small town in Nebraska.

  “A mail-order bride.”

  Per pondered the concept. She had been told by one rejected suiter, and he meant it as an insult, that she had a mind for business. As a cultured young lady, the idea of mail-order brides should have horrified her, yet it didn’t. She had heard of the practice, which was an inventive scheme, she thought. Why not match marriageable women from the East, where there were so many war widows and other single ladies and so few single men due to the war, with men in the West? Thousands of men were building the frontier, which had attracted few women due to the hardships. She rattled it around in her brain. She could marry a rancher, a farmer, a banker or a merchant. It would be better than marrying a prince, with all the requirements and limitations that would entail. But what could she offer a mate?

  She tried to take an honest inventory of her attributes. What did she have to contribute besides cold cash? Though she had enough set aside from her pin money to travel west and live for a few months, her mother might cut off her inheritance if she left. So she couldn’t count on bringing wealth to a relationship of her choosing. She had nice, shiny black hair and a pleasing face and was in good physical condition from riding her horse, so there was that. She knew how to bake several different pastries. She had a good brain and apparently a head for business. She was stubborn, which may or may not come in handy. She was adept with a needle, although she much preferred mending or altering something to creating pointless embroidered flowers. She could play the pianoforte. Useless.

  Truthfully, if Per had a husband, she wanted to be a true partner, helping him in whatever capacity he wanted—on a ranch, on a farm, in any kind of enterprise.

  “Oh, let’s face it,” she said, and she did. She could barely cook and had never held a job in her life. Still, she knew there was more to living than smiling and being waited on, dancing and drinking tea. She didn’t even like tea.

  The very next day she saw the ad in the Philadelphia Inquirer, just as Lindy had told her Sophie had.

  Former trapper and scout, 26,

  wants to settle in eastern Oregon

  Territory with a wife to help him

  start a ranch. Must be intelligent

  and industrious and like animals.

  Gustavus (Gus) Burgen

  She read other ads, from farmers, ranchers and merchants. One prospective groom was an undertaker. But for some unknown reason, this was the ad that reached her. Oregon Territory. It sounded remote. There would be no balls, no tea parties, no dinner parties, no time for embroidering. Truthfully, it sounded heavenly. It also sounded challenging and like it would entail hard work. And a true chance to begin anew, to prove herself. Her heart sped up, and she suddenly felt more alive than she had…perhaps ever.

  Her mother was off at some garden party that Per had managed to beg off from. If she became a mail-order bride, she had no doubt she would need to sneak away, assuming she found someone who wanted her. Her mother would physically restrain her, if not commit her to an asylum, if she thought Per was moving away to marry a “nobody.”

  Did she want to make such a diametrical change in her life? Yes! A definite, unremitting yes. And the idea of starting a ranch from scratch held a huge appeal. It was definitely a metaphor for rebuilding her life. She was getting ahead of herself, however. Who said Gus would choose her? Hundreds of women might answer his ad. Then again, living in a remote area and, she suspected, camping for an undetermined amount of time, was not for everyone.

  She sat down at her escritoire to write to the man in Oregon. She liked his name. Gustavus sounded very Roman and warrior-like. She decided not to be too familiar to start with, and not say she was an heiress, especially since she might not be when all was said and done.

  Dear Mr. Burgen:

  I hope this missive finds you content and in good health. I was intrigued by your letter in the Philadelphia Inquirer seeking a wife to help you start a ranch. While I freely admit I have never been on a ranch, I have traveled extensively and picked up odd bits of information, such as how to thatch a roof and how to navigate by the stars. I
believe I would enjoy the opportunity to start fresh and help settle the American frontier.

  I am a hard worker and have been accused of being stubborn, which comes in handy when facing adversity. Also I am quite fond of animals, and have seen many varieties in my travels.

  I am 20 years old. I am 5 feet 4 inches tall and average in build, with black hair and blue eyes. I can ride a horse astride, too, if that matters (although my mother doesn’t know it and would be horrified).

  I hope to hear from you. Please direct any mail to me, should you choose to respond, in care of the Elizabethtown, Pennsylvania, post office.

  Good tidings to you,

  Priscilla (Per) Vanderhaven

  She debated about changing her last name, in case he had heard of the Vanderhavens, but decided to go along as she meant to continue—honestly. Well, except for the heiress thing.

  Chapter 1

  Gus Burgen knew he must have been out of his ever-loving mind when he placed the matrimonial ad. He also knew he had to have been drunk. Now he sat in his tent with a stack of 13 letters from potential brides. He didn’t believe there were 13 women in the world who would want to live in the Oregon wilderness, under primitive conditions, with him. Were they crazy? He had gone to Vale to buy supplies and stopped by the postal building to see if he had a letter from his brother. When the clerk handed him an entire stack of missives, that wild night started to come back to him.

  He had sat in his tent staring at the pile of letters for at least thirty minutes. He closed his eyes and ran his fingers through his long brown hair. It was getting kind of gummy. He needed a bath. Wearily he opened his eyes. Yep, the letters were still there, still unread. He remembered now it was that old coot Zeke, the mentor who had taught him how to trap and how to read the Oregon land, who had suggested he find a mail-order bride. He jawed on about how lonely the winters would be as Gus built his ranch. That was after his third or fourth shot of whiskey. Gus had to admit, even now, however, the old codger had a point. Of course, sharing his life with a companion would only be as good, or as bad, as the companion. Living out here in the wilderness with a woman who annoyed him or even one he felt indifferent to but responsible for would be his own version of perdition.

  Oh, what the hell.

  Absently he moved the brown lock of hair that tended to fall in his face and picked up the first envelope, tore it open and started to read the letter. It was from South Carolina and sounded like his little sister Gerta when she was about 13, childish and gushing. He set it aside with distaste and opened the next letter. This one, from Indiana, was barely legible, with atrocious spelling. The former trapper and scout had never thought of himself as a snob, but he came from an educated family. How difficult would it have been to find someone to help make a letter presentable? He set that one aside as well.

  Twenty minutes later, he had gone through 11 of the letters, finding them unappealing for different reasons, a fact he almost felt relieved by. Some of the women were too young or too old, a couple were too brazen for his taste. Others were vain or self-serving. One inquired about his net worth. Another one he could not pinpoint why it made him uncomfortable, yet it did. He looked at the signature of the twelfth letter. “Per” sounded like an interesting name. Unique. “Vanderhaven,” though, sounded snooty. She was probably too high-stepping for him, too citified.

  Then he started to read. All the women were happy to talk about themselves. This was the only letter so far that had seemed remotely interested in his well-being. She sounded intelligent and was well-traveled. That always offered inconveniences, so perhaps she wouldn’t be shocked by having to rough it at first. And she had a sense of humor, talking about riding astride without her mother’s knowledge and the skills she had learned on her journeys. He put the letter in a pile of its own and picked up the last one. After glancing at it and grimacing, he placed it in the big pile and picked up Per’s letter and read it again.

  He could be making a huge mistake, he realized. He would have to be blunt on what she could expect if she moved here. And he decided he would not tell her about his past. As far as she would know, his life began when he became a trapper. Once she heard what kind of existence she would lead here, he would most likely never hear from her again. He searched through his pack and pulled out a tablet, a bottle of ink and his quill pen.

  * * *

  Per felt almost giddy when she received the reply from Gus, which is how she thought of him now. Then she began to read the letter and had to laugh. It sounded like he was interested in her but was trying to talk her out of coming. He explained the hardships in detail, about living in a tent, most likely through the late spring and summer months. About having no privy, no close neighbors and several hours of sometimes difficult travel to the nearest town, about cooking on an open fire.

  Although his description should have intimidated or disgusted or frightened her, as no doubt was his intent, it had just the opposite effect. She wanted, no she needed to get back to basics, to find herself beyond the façade she had helped her mother build tea party by tea party. She knew in her heart after rereading this letter that she would move to Oregon. If she got there and found Gus Burgen had three eyes or was cruel or an unrepentant heathen with yellow teeth who scratched his crotch in public, she would move on, but she would never live in Elizabethtown again.

  She waited two days, until her mother left on a shopping trip to Philadelphia, and then rode her horse (astride) over to Lindy’s farm.

  “You’re really going to do it? I can’t believe it.”

  Per plopped down on Lindy’s bed. “Well, I have to wait for him to invite me, but I think he will, even though he was trying to talk me out of it in his last letter.”

  “If he’s trying to talk you out of it, why do you think he would propose? That doesn’t make sense.”

  Per smiled, smoothing out a wrinkle in Lindy’s starburst quilt. “It does, in a convoluted sort of way. I think he wants to make sure I’m tough enough to withstand the trials we’ll face. He wouldn’t want to marry someone and then find out she couldn’t cope with the rigors of frontier living.”

  Lindy sat down next to Per and took her hand. “If you leave, I’ll be alone.”

  That brought out a chuckle. “Alone as you can be in your huge family.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Per couldn’t help but see the sadness in her eyes. She put her arm around her cousin.

  “It was your idea in the first place to get out of Elizabethtown. And you were right.”

  “Yeah, but…”

  “No buts, Lindy. You’re next. You have to find the courage to follow your dreams, too. Look how happy Sophie is.”

  “She went through so much, though.”

  They had received a letter from their cousin explaining the fiasco that had occurred when she arrived in Nebraska to meet her intended. It turned out he owned a bordello and had lured her there to turn her into one of his “girls.” The amazing news was that Sophie was, indeed, married, to a Scottish rancher who was also a doctor. And she was madly in love.

  Per smiled. “I know it’s scary. I also know you cannot gain anything if you don’t take a risk. If you go on the same way you always have, you’ll get the same results.”

  “I just can’t imagine you living in the wilderness.”

  Per looked down at her smart riding attire. “Well, not dressed like this. That’s one of the reasons I came to talk with you. And I think we all live in a wilderness of one kind or another.”

  Per recognized that her wardrobe was not appropriate for the Oregon back country. Lindy dressed more simply than her cousin, and Per talked her into trading several dresses. They were comparable in size and could make the switch with only minor alterations. Lindy had no use for ball gowns, but they made arrangements to swap day dresses and a traveling outfit. Per also managed to convince Lindy to swipe a pair of breeches and a shirt from each of her 14-year-old twin brothers, Jonas and Jack, leaving $5 for each in their
place. She thought the boys’ clothes would come in handy as well. Additionally, Lindy threw in a split skirt for riding astride.

  The farmer’s daughter just shook her head after Per left. She stood in awe of her cousin’s courage and strength of character. Why, oh why, did she always come up with the great ideas and then pull back when it was time to follow through? She promised herself the next time she saw a copy of The Philadelphia Inquirer, she would read the matrimonial ads. She didn’t have to act on any, just read them. It was a start.

  * * *

  Per wrote an amusing letter back to Gus, promising she was made of sterner stuff than he feared and ready to tackle wilderness living that included isolation, wild animals and no privy. As she had hoped, his next letter asked for her hand in marriage. He included cash for traveling and a train ticket to Promontory Summit, Utah, and another from there to Reno, Nevada, where she would have to take a stagecoach to Canyon City and a different stagecoach to Vale in Oregon Territory. That’s where Gus would pick her up and where they would be married immediately. While that part of the arrangement was a little unnerving, she realized it wasn’t likely that a preacher would be traveling by their remote campsite, and she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—live with him there without being married.

  The instant marriage definitely gave her pause, though. Still, if his demeanor frightened or repelled her, she would just refuse to marry him. Of course she recognized that some people could hide their true selves. Her cousin Sophie had almost married that evil man who had lied in his ad for a mail-order bride. Per had always thought of herself as a good judge of people and hoped that skill would not fail her now.

  Over the weeks of waiting for the proposal, Per had surreptitiously gathered her Oregon wardrobe together. The last thing she wanted to do was put off her husband by being overdressed. And truthfully, the thought of not squeezing herself into some ritzy ball gown was liberating. Surely there was a pioneer woman hidden inside her high society persona.