by Kit Morgan
Dear Miss Cucinotta
Kit Morgan
Contents
License Note
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Also by Kit Morgan
About the Author
ANGEL CREEK PRESS
Dear Miss Cucinotta
(Mail-Order Bride Ink, Book Eight)
by Kit Morgan
© 2019 Kit Morgan
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without permission in writing from the publisher. All characters are fictional. Any resemblances to actual people or livestock are purely coincidental.
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License Note
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Chapter One
Denver, Colorado, 1902
Fantine LeBlanc sat and stared wide-eyed at her employer, Mrs. Adelia Pettigrew. “What a wonderful story, Madame!”
“Yes, it was, wasn’t it?” Mrs. Pettigrew said in satisfaction. “But I only told you it so I could tell you another.”
Fantine blinked in confusion and sat back in her chair. “What is this?” The woman had just told her about the three Callahan sisters who sought her help in escaping their deranged aunt, who’d planned to marry them off to old codgers as part of a business deal. How horrible! It was a long story that took Mrs. Pettigrew several days to tell. Now she was telling her it was just a warm-up? “I do not understand, Madame. What do you mean, it was only to tell another?”
“Well, I can’t very well tell you this one until you know the story I just told you. Otherwise how will you keep track of everyone?”
Fantine shook her head. “I have kept track so far, have I not?” She looked at the framed letters decorating the walls of her employer’s office. “Is there another letter you wish me to fetch? And does this next story also take place in Clear Creek?”
“Oui, on both counts.” Mrs. Pettigrew turned in her chair to view the wall behind her desk. “Up there, third from the top. You will need the ladder, ma petite. Don’t worry, I will wait for you.”
Fantine gulped, her eyes traveling up the high wall. “I will do my best.”
“Make sure your best involves fixing us both a cup of tea after you bring the ladder. We will need it for this one.”
“We will?”
“Oui, ma chere. For it is full of adventure!”
Fantine’s eyes rounded. She always did like a good adventure story. “Oui, Madame!” She hurried from the room returning a few minutes later with the ladder. She set it against the wall, gulped again and began to climb.
“Careful, Fantine,” Mrs. Pettigrew called. “Remember what happened last time?”
Fantine clung to the ladder. She didn’t want to remember last time, but saw it clear as day. She’d lost her footing, fell and made a perfect landing on top of poor old Mr. Tugs, the gardener/butler. He did break her fall, and miracle of miracles, neither of them suffered from the accident. But Mr. Tugs was out in the garden this time, specifically the tool shed. As soon as he saw her toting the ladder across the back lawn, he’d shuffled inside and hadn’t come out.
“To your left, Fantine,” Mrs. Pettigrew instructed. “Yes, that’s it. Stretch!”
Fantine clung to the ladder with one hand and reached with the other. Perhaps she should have had her employer specify again which letter she wanted before she climbed. Her fingers reached the frame. She barely managed to lift it off the nail, lost her balance and … “Oh! Mrs. Pettigrew!”
Her employer caught the letter, then looked up at Fantine clinging to the ladder for dear life. “Merci. Now come down before you hurt yourself.” She turned the frame right-side-up and read the letter. “Oui, this is the one.”
Fantine reached the bottom of the ladder, shaking like a leaf. “Oh thank goodness!”
“Indeed. It’s time for tea,” Mrs. Pettigrew waved her away.
Fantine glanced at the ladder, sighed in relief and went to fetch the tray she’d prepared earlier. By the time she got back, Mrs. Pettigrew had retaken her seat and was examining the letter again. “What does it say?” the girl asked as she poured.
“I will read it to you.” She cleared her throat.
Dear Mrs. Pettigrew,
My name is Rufina Cucinotta and I live in Nowhere in the Washington Territory. I am of marriageable age and seek a husband. As there are no men near me, I thought you could help or, at the very least, give me some advice where I might find one. You helped my brother-in-law Daniel Weaver find his bride Ebba – Daniel’s brother Calvin is married to my older sister Isabella. All of us live on the Weaver farm a day’s ride from Nowhere.
This is part of my dilemma, for living here in such an isolated place makes it impossible to find a husband. If I ask my older sister and her husband, they will say I am too young to marry. Other family members will tell me the same. What it really comes down to is they don’t want me to leave the farm. I look after not only my six younger brothers and sisters, but the other children here as well. By the way, Ebba and Daniel now have a beautiful baby girl – one more child I will have to look after. I love children, but I want my own life too, including children of my own one day. Sometimes I feel like I am expected to always look after others’ children.
Part of the family is traveling to Clear Creek, Oregon mid-summer. I will be going with them, but only to look after children. Otherwise, would I be invited? No. We will be staying for several weeks. Calvin’s mother married a man who used to be sheriff there. He has lots of friends and wants to visit all of them. So instead of watching children at home, I will be watching them in another place.
If I am lucky, I will meet a man there. But would he be someone my family would approve of? That is my other dilemma, that they might not like anyone I choose. The Weavers are protective, and as I mentioned, they do not wish me to live anywhere but the farm. What chances do I have to find a beau?
I am, to use an expression I heard, at the end of my rope. Any advice you can give would be most appreciated.
Sincerely,
Rufina Cucinotta
Fantine stared at Mrs. Pettigrew over the rim of her teacup. “That poor dear.” She leaned toward her employer. “Did you find her a husband?”
Mrs. Pettigrew smiled. “After a fashion. This was an unusual case – I had never received a request from a woman for a man before. But as luck would have it, I found a man soon after.”
“You did?” Fantine grinned. “Did you send him to Nowhere?”
Mrs. Pettigrew smiled back. “No, ma belle. I sent him to Clear Creek.”
The Pettigrew mansion, May 1879
Rufus Branso
n jumped out of his seat in a huff. “I want him married, do you hear me?”
Mrs. Pettigrew arched an eyebrow. “There’s no need to shout, Rufus. My hearing is quite good.”
His eyebrows shot to the ceiling. “I know you can hear! I’m angry!”
“No, dear sir, you are desperate. There is a difference.”
Rufus Branson sat, a defeated look on his face. She’d read him like a book – again. “Adelia, cut the formalities. We’re friends, remember? You must also remember my position.”
“I do remember. Are you calm enough now to discuss it?”
Rufus ran his hand through his white hair, looking sheepish. “I am now. Thanks to you.”
“I say what I have to say. You don’t scare me like you do so many others.”
“Including your maid?” he teased.
Mrs. Pettigrew glanced at the parlor doors. “There was no need to yell at Paulette. She does not know you like I do. Now to business. You seek a bride for you grandson, oui?”
He nodded. “I’ll apologize to her later. Yes, my grandson Carlyle needs a wife.”
“Can he not find one on his own?”
“Not in this case. He needs a good wife.”
She placed her sliver monocle over one eye and peered at him. “As opposed to a bad one?”
“Yes, exactly!”
She let the monocle fall into her hand. “Thus your desperation? Or is there more?”
“I’m not getting any younger, Adelia.”
Mrs. Pettigrew began to clean her lens. “Hmm, you are right about that.”
“Adelia, this is serious business!”
“I agree – and you need to calm yourself if we’re to conduct any.”
“Yes, yes, of course.” He cleared his throat.
Paulette entered the room, a tea tray in her hands. “Your refreshment, Mrs. Pettigrew.”
“Thank you, Paulette. Set it on the table, please.”
The maid set the tray on the table between her employer and her guest, served them both and left quickly, steering clear of Rufus the entire time.
“Sugar?” Mrs. Pettigrew offered.
“Thank you.” He let her plop two lumps into his cup and gave it a stir. “My son and daughter in-law have been dead these past eight years now. I’ve done all I can for Carlyle – saw that he finished school, sent him to college, made sure he’s respected and well-trained in business.”
“So what is the problem? Why can he not get a wife on his own?”
“In Baltimore? Gold diggers, the lot of them! Or worse.”
“So you came to Denver seeking a wife?”
“No, I came to you. Denver, New York, Philadelphia, San Francisco, Boston, Baltimore – especially Baltimore – they all know the Branson name. Everyone who’s anyone knows he’s to inherit my fortune. What’s to stop the boy from making a bad decision? Just look at my poor Reinhold! If he hadn’t married that awful woman, he’d probably still be alive.”
“And Carlyle would never have been born,” she pointed out before taking a sip of tea.
Rufus sighed. “I’m getting to old to worry about this, Adelia. You’re the expert here – find my grandson a wife with a good head on her shoulders. Someone who knows the value of work and has a pure heart. Heaven knows finding one in any of the places I mentioned would be like looking for a needle in a haystack.” He took a sip himself, coughed a few times, then set his cup and saucer down. “I won’t last long, that’s the truth of it.”
She stared at him a moment, her jaw slack. “Have you seen a doctor?”
“Dozens. They all say the same thing. I’m dying, Adelia – there’s no way around it.”
She set her cup and saucer down as well. “Oh, my poor, sweet friend …”
He smiled. “We had our times, though, didn’t we? You, Xavier and me? Such a pity he died so young.”
Mrs. Pettigrew glanced at the portrait of her late husband hanging over the fireplace. “Yes, such a handsome man.”
Rufus turned in his chair. “He cut quite the figure, especially when he was wearing his eyepatch.”
“Oui,” she agreed. They both stared at the portrait a moment. It had been painted not long before Xavier Pettigrew died. Not one to show off his wealth, he’d worn a simple work shirt, suspenders, denims, a slouch hat and his eyepatch. He was unshaven, smiling and missing a few teeth. He stood, leaning on a pick ax, looking like he hadn’t a care in the world.
And why should he? He and Rufus had both struck it rich in Cripple Creek back in 1860 and come away with millions in gold. Xavier, already married to Adelia, led a simple life (albeit in a mansion in Denver) and invested the rest. Rufus went back home to Maryland, invested too and made even more money than Xavier. Now he was the proud owner of Branson Mills, Branson Textiles, Branson Mining … oh and the Branson Atlantic Railroad which ran from Maine to North Carolina through all the big cities of the East.
“I want my grandson to take over my holdings with confidence and a solid helpmeet,” Rufus said as he turned to face her. “Not some money-grubbing, selfish, conceited …”
“Enough, my friend, I understand.”
“You’re good at this sort of thing, Adelia. I’m not. I’d be too hard on any candidates Carlyle managed to find.”
“Hmmm, I dare say I agree.” She picked up her teacup and tapped it a few times. “Let me think a moment. I might I have a solution to your problem.”
“Really?” he said hopeful.
“Yes.” She took a sip of tea and set the cup down. “Are you familiar with the Weavers of Nowhere?”
“The … who? Of what?”
“Good. Just as I thought.”
“Who are they?”
“Nobodies from Nowhere. They are perfect!”
“Wha …?” he blinked a few times. “Adelia, what do you have rattling around in that head of yours?”
She couldn’t suppress her smile. “Something fantastique!”
He screwed his face up. “And dare I ask what’s so fan-tah-steek about it?”
“Your grandson will need to take a little trip.”
“What sort of trip? And what has that got to do with anything?”
She laughed. “Oh, my dear friend, wait and see.”
“You’re talking nonsense again. Just where are you planning to send my boy?”
Mrs. Pettigrew smiled. “To a town called Clear Creek in Oregon.”
“But I thought you were talking about no one from nowhere and … oh, why did I bother?”
“Why? Because we both know I am very good at what I do. And you need someone who is very good.” She took another sip of tea. “Now, the woman I have in mind for him is from a little town called Nowhere, in Washington Territory. But I am sending your Carlyle to Clear Creek in Oregon to meet her, as she says she will be there for several weeks. And while there, she will be surrounded by less of her very hard-working, boisterous and highly protective family.”
Rufus’s eyes lit up. “Ahhh …”
“Oui. And he would not be the first person I’ve sent to Clear Creek to be married. However, this is the first groom.”
“Who cares, so long as it works?” Rufus said happily. “What else can you tell me about her?”
“Her family … wait, I should clarify. She grew up in an Italian family – you know their families can get very large indeed. But after her parents passed on, her eldest sister married into another large family, who live on a farm a day’s journey from the town of Nowhere. The sister brought this young lady, still a child then, and their five brothers and sisters to join her husband’s brood.”
“My. That must’ve been a challenge for her.”
“Indeed – so you can see that she has inner fortitude. And as the farm is somewhat … isolated, she must get along with those around her, and she must work hard. She is good with children – in fact, the family trusts her to care for all the children in the extended family – and she wishes to have her own someday.”
Rufus sat back in
his chair. “Ah, to live to see grandchildren.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes. “What else?”
“One of the brides I sent to Nowhere is married to a man of the same family. There are four brothers who married mail-order brides, all from different places. So this young woman has learned to get along with many different sorts of people.”
“She sounds perfect. Is there a picture of her?”
“Alas, no. But according to the bride I sent to Daniel Weaver a few years ago, her sister Isabella is incredibly beautiful.”
“Well, hopefully the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.”
“Indeed. But will love blossom? We can only try and see. In the meantime, your grandson must also learn the value of hard work.”
Rufus squinted. “What? You mean farm work? Physical labor?”
“Oui, not just how to push the pencil. She might not like such a man.”
“But I’ve groomed him to take over my businesses,” Rufus argued. “Not a, not a farm!”
“True, but there are other things he must learn in order to take over your businesses. Things such as hard work, patience, perseverance, steadfastness. And most importantly, how to work with other people. Did you not tell me he keeps his nose in a book all day? Fine for a clerk, but not a titan of industry.”
Rufus took a sudden interest in the sugar bowl. “Yes, that’s so.”
“You have sheltered him?”