The Baker’s Christmas Miracle
(Mail Order Brides of Dayton Falls – Book Five)
Cheryl Wright
The Baker’s Christmas Miracle
(Mail Order Brides of Dayton Falls – Book Five)
Copyright ©2019
by Cheryl Wright
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book
Thanks
Thanks to my very dear friends (and authors), Margaret Tanner and Susan Horsnell for their enduring encouragement and friendship.
Thanks also to Alan, my husband of over 45 years, who has been a relentless supporter of my writing for many years.
And last, but by no means least, thank you to all my wonderful readers who encourage me to continue writing these stories. It is such a joy to me, knowing so many of you enjoy reading my stories. I love writing them as much as you love reading them.
Chapter One
Westlake, Wyoming – 1880
Abigail Martin leaned against the flour-covered counter and sighed.
The bakery was busy today, busier than she’d anticipated. There was a lot of work to be done before she could leave for the day.
“Abigail!” Her father was not pleased. He’d obviously noticed her standing around doing nothing. She felt sorry for him as he worked far longer hours than she did.
He was up with the birds to get the ovens fired up and prepared for baking. “Yes, Father,” she said meekly, knowing it was senseless to argue. He always won.
He’d been good to her over the years, reared her after Mother had suddenly died when she was a small child, but now she was a slave to his whims.
She worked from dawn until dusk for nothing more than board and lodgings.
Abigail glanced around – one day this would all be hers. With no older brother to snatch it from under her, it was something to look forward too, even if it was some years away.
Abigail scrubbed at the counter, ensuring it was spotless. Next she’d tackle the tables. Now that all the customers had left, it was easier to clean up.
She rinsed the kitchen cloth in the warm soapy water and moved onto the first table. Peter Jones and his rowdy friends had sat there last. They’d spilled food all over the tabletop, no doubt on purpose to cause her more work.
Peter had asked her six times now to marry him, and she’d refused him every time. She knew the likes of him. He’d never once had a nice word to say to her. Treated her like a slave, not a potential wife.
No, his eyes were on the bakery, not the baker’s daughter.
When she met the man she was destined to marry, she’d know. And until then, she wouldn’t set off down the wedding aisle. She certainly wouldn’t be doing it for the likes of him. He was nothing but a gold digger.
When she finished cleaning the tables, she tackled the chairs. She scrubbed them all down every night, then swept the floor.
Last thing before she left at night, she scrubbed the floors until they shone. She didn’t mind the hard work, not really, but it would be nice to get something for her trouble. Even a few measly dollars would be acceptable.
She had to rely on her father for everything, even down to her cheap gowns and work aprons.
“Abigail,” he yelled as he finished cleaning the last oven. She hurried over to see what her father wanted.
She looked into his face. He looked far more tired recently, and she wondered if he might be unwell.
“Yes, Father?”
He slammed the oven door shut and stared at her. “We need to talk.” He led her over to the recently scrubbed tables and sat, indicating she should do the same.
When he stared at her for over a minute, she began to worry. “You’re scaring me, Father,” she said quietly. Was he ill and dying? She couldn’t bare it if he was.
He reached across the table for her hand. “I’ve decided to sell the bakery,” he said gruffly.
She stared at him in horror. “Sell the bakery?” Her inheritance? She’d worked so hard for many years with nothing to show for it. And now this.
Surely he would give her some of the funds from the sale? The moment the thought entered her head she knew it would never happen.
She swallowed hard. “When is this to occur?”
He smiled. Surely he didn’t think she was happy with his decision?
“I’ll hand it over in six weeks. In the meantime, we are to teach Mr Jones everything there is to know about running a bakery.”
Mr Jones? Surely not…
“I also promised Peter that you would become his wife. It’s in the contract.” He leaned back and crossed his arms across his chest. “You won’t let me down, will you, Abigail?”
He glared at her, as though he was daring her to refuse. “No, Father,” she said, all the while her mind was ticking over trying to fathom how she could get out of this disastrous contract her father had negotiated without her permission.
“Good.” He pushed back his chair and stood. “Mr Jones will be here at the crack of dawn Monday, expecting to begin learning the trade.”
Abigail’s hands were fisted at her sides. How dare her father make such an outrageous deal with a man she despised. And how dare he include her as part of the sale!
She determined then and there not to be sold like a side of beef. If Mr Peter Jones thought she would go quietly, he had another think coming.
* * *
“My dear girl,” Miss Bethany Wilde of the Mail Order Bride Agency told her. “There are several young men looking for brides right now.” She shuffled some papers around her desk, until she finally settled on a small pile of hand written sheets.
“I don’t care who or where it is as long as it’s not here in Wyoming.” Abigail was adamant. If she was too close to home, Peter Jones was likely to drag her back kicking and screaming, forcing her to marry him.
Miss Bethany, as she preferred to be called, shuffled through the papers. “That eliminates several of these potential grooms then.” She pulled out the offending pages and put them aside.
Abigail reached out and snatched one of the remaining pages from her hands. “This one will do.” It was obvious from her expression Miss Bethany was horrified she’d made the decision without even reading the information provided.
“Oh no, Miss Martin. That won’t do – you must select a groom. I pride myself on matching…”
She was interrupted by Abigail’s words. “Matching? There is no matching when it’s all by mail, surely?”
Miss Bethany stared at her open-mouthed, but Abigail was having none of it. “I must leave immediately. My father has sold me to a man, along with his business.”
There, she’d said it. It sounded just as vulgar now as it did when her father had first said the words to her.
“Oh my dear girl…” Miss Bethany was visibly upset at this information. “When do you plan to leave?”
Abigail took a deep breath. “Immediately. He’s taking over the business Monday.”
Miss Bethany flew into action, and provided Abigail with all the relevant information. “You will love Dayton Falls,” she said. “I’ve sent several brides there now, and they’ve all settled in very well and eventually fallen in love with their husbands.”
Abigail swallowed. She didn’t care much for love right now. What was more important was getting as far away from Wyoming as she could in the shortest possible time. The quicker she married, the more unavailable she was to Peter Jones.
* * *
Dayton Falls, Montana
Ethan Harper looked up from his position on the floor where he was assembling the display cases.
He glanced over to where his brother Patrick, a carpenter, was working and was surprised to see people huddled around, watching his every move.
He knew when he’d purchased this empty store it would garner some interest, but he didn’t realize how much.
His plan had been to move in quietly and prepare the store for opening day without an audience. It was now obvious that wasn’t going to happen.
He dropped the hammer to the floor and stood up, stretching the muscles that had begun to cramp. How long had he been down there?
Checking his pocket-watch, Ethan discovered it was well over two hours. Time for a break anyway.
He brushed the sawdust off himself and ran his fingers through his chestnut colored hair. He stood staring at the group of women standing outside in the cold morning air, then strolled outside to join them.
“Good morning, ladies,” he said amiably. “How can I help you?”
They all began talking at once – it was like a gabble of turkeys.
He held up a dusty hand. “One at a time, please!” They all looked at one woman, an older lady, who stepped forward.
“Good morning to you, Sir,” she said. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Mrs Jensen. We were wondering what you are building here? Is it something of interest to the wives of Dayton Falls?”
He smiled. He couldn’t help himself. His humble little store had drawn some interest, and it wasn’t even open yet.
“Well ladies,” he said slowly. “I rather think it might.” He took his time and drew out the next words. “Very soon we’ll be done here, and the bakery will open.”
“Ooooh, a bakery!”
“Wonderful.”
“Finally.”
Several of the women all spoke at once - it warmed his heart to think the store wasn’t even open yet, but there was sufficient interest to almost guarantee his business would be successful.
He held his hand up again. The gabble was beginning to get to him.
Mrs Jensen stepped closer. “May we know when you are opening?”
“In two weeks,” he said, and watched as her eyes took in the mess that was his new bakery. “It looks like a mess now, but trust me, it will be ready in time.”
He hoped and prayed that was true. The next train into Dayton Falls was bringing his ovens and the crew to install them, plus the rest of his equipment.
“Oh, and ladies,” he said, a huge grin on his face. “It will also be a café – a place for you wonderful ladies to sit and have a coffee and a chat.”
The women began to chat between themselves, then Mrs Jensen stepped forward and spoke again. “What of your wife,” she asked. “When is she arriving?”
He stared at the woman. Why did everyone automatically assume he had a wife? “I, I’m not married,” he finally answered. A wife was the last thing he wanted. Or needed.
They collectively stopped and stared at him. “Perhaps it’s something you should seriously consider,” Mrs Jensen told him sternly. “She could be an enormous help with running your business.” The others followed when she spun around and stormed off, leaving him to stare after them and wonder if Mrs Jensen could be right.
Chapter Two
Abigail stared out the window of the monstrosity she was forced to endure.
The soot and dirt covered her face, and no matter how many times she cleaned it off, it was almost instantaneously back again.
She flicked at the soot on her gown – she was nearly at her destination and she would arrive a mess. Not that she wasn’t used to mess, she was regularly covered in flour, but that was different. It was at least for a purpose.
The soot – it was horrid stuff.
“Next stop, Dayton Falls.” The conductor walked along the narrow aisles informing the passengers of the next destination.
Her heart rate hitched. She couldn’t believe she’d snatched a letter out of Miss Bethany’s hands and decided that would be her destiny.
She knew nothing of this man – this… She pulled the note out of her pocket and stared at it. Ethan Harper.
Abigail wondered what he would be like. She didn’t even know how old he was. Then she remember the envelope she’d been given as she left the mail order bride agency.
Suddenly curious, she opened it. Her eyes scanned the beautiful copperplate handwriting.
Ethan Harper – her betrothed – was a baker. She groaned out loud. That was the last thing she needed. Going from one bakery to another.
She understood now why Miss Bethany wanted her to read the letter before deciding.
Well, it was too late now. At least he didn’t know anything about her, and that’s the way it would stay.
“Dayton Falls. Dayton Falls.” The conductor shouted as he strolled along the aisles. Abigail would not leave her seat until the contraption stopped. She recalled a trip as a young child where she stood too early, and found herself sprawled out on the floor from the sudden jerking as the train came to a halt.
The moment it stopped completely she stood and reached for her carpetbag. Not that it contained much. She owned little, but she had to get away as quickly as possible, and didn’t dare pack her bag while Father was awake.
Had she been caught, she would be little more than a prisoner. He was determined to marry her off to the obnoxious Peter Jones, and that just wouldn’t do.
The conductor stood at the bottom of the steps and reached out for her hand, helping her down. As she reached the ground, she looked around.
For a tiny town such as Dayton Falls, it had a rather large train station. She stared at the group of people waiting about on the platform. She had no idea if they were waiting for passengers to arrive or to alight the train themselves.
No one presented themselves to her as Ethan Harper, so she assumed he wasn’t here. The best thing to do was find the bakery, and she set off toward the station’s exit.
Noticing a wooden bench, Abigail sat herself down and tried to make herself more presentable. Baker or not, this man would be her salvation, and she needed to look at least a little appealing to him.
She pulled off her bonnet and was about to reluctantly fix her hair with her fingers, when she spotted a sign to the privy. She sighed with relief.
Snatching up her carpetbag, she headed in that direction. She hoped there would be a mirror to see what sort of state she was in.
She might be unhappy about marrying a baker, but she still needed to draw his attention. Otherwise he might send her back.
Abigail stared into the tarnished mirror. Her face was covered with black blotches from the soot. That would never do!
She poured some water into the bowl provided and slapped it on her face. It was icy cold, but she had no other option.
Satisfied she’d done all she could with her face, she began to work on her hair. She pulled out the clips that had once held her hair perfectly in place, and rummaged through the carpetbag for her brush.
This was far better than fixing her hair with her fingers.
After a good brushing, she pulled her hair up into a chiffon, then replaced her bonnet on her head.
She already felt much better.
Once she had relieved herself, Abigail was ready to face her groom. But first she had to find the bakery.
She’d been told Dayton Falls was rather small, so it couldn’t be that difficult a task, surely?
Giving her gown a last brushing down, she headed back to the platform.
She watched mesmerized as sack after sack of flour was loaded onto a trolley. It was stacked high, and it reminded her of the deliveries they took at her father’s bakery.
The young man who was doing most of the hard work looked to be a little under six feet tall. He had chestnut hair, and was very handsome.
She watched as the muscles rippled on his back as he carried each sack ov
er to the trolley. Surely this was not her betrothed? He looked far too young. She guessed around twenty-six.
She gingerly stepped closer. “Mr Harper?” His head swung toward her. “Mr Ethan Harper?” She held her breath waiting for his response.
He turned to stare at her. “No, Miss. I’m his younger brother, Patrick. That’s Ethan over there.” He pointed toward a small office. Ethan had his back to her, and she couldn’t see his face.
If he was anywhere near as handsome as his brother, she’d be more than happy.
“Thank you, Mr Harper,” she said, and began to walk away.
He called after her. “You’re welcome, Miss.”
Her heart thundering in her chest, Abigail braced herself for the meeting. What would he be like, this Ethan Harper? Would he be as handsome as his brother? The most important thing, in Abigail’s mind, was that he was a good person.
He turned as she approached and they collided. She squealed.
As she fell backwards from the impact, Abigail closed her eyes, waiting to hit the hard ground. Instead, two strong hands held her by the arms, and pulled her back up.
Her eyes fluttered open and she found herself looking into his flour-covered face.
“I apologize, Miss,” he said firmly. “It was totally my fault.”
“Yes, it was,” she said equally as firmly. “But since you are to be my husband, I shall forgive you.”
His eyes opened wide in shock. Was he not aware of her arrival? Or their promise of marriage?
She stepped back, clutching her carpetbag tightly. “You…you are Ethan Harper?” she asked quietly, a quiver in her voice.
He straightened his stance and crossed his arms across his chest. “I am, but I did not promise to marry any woman.”
Close to tears, she still had the thought to pull the letter out of her pocket. She handed him the crumpled envelope.
He reached for it with shaking hands, then opened it. His eyes scanned it for only moments. “Ah,” he said. “Why didn’t you say Miss Bethany had sent you?”
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