by Jenna Brandt
Sick and tired of Mason Stillwell, Abigail marched into her matchmaker’s office and demanded he do something about it. “Mr. Redburn, I’ve come to inform you that I cannot be matched with Mr. Stillwell. He is ill-mannered, egotistical, and downright ornery. We are not a good match. You need to find me another suitor.”
The man looked up from his desk and let out a heavy sigh. “Miss Abigail, all the other men are taken. I can’t rightly take away one of the brides from them.”
There had to be a better option out there for her; Mr. Redburn just had to find it. “There has to be another single man in this town, one that is better fitted for a husband, because let me assure you, Mr. Stillwell is not.”
“My hands are tied since he’s the one that took the contract with my aunt. I owe him a bride.”
Thinking quickly on her feet, Abigail offered up one of the other girls who hadn’t much luck when it came to beaus. “What about Jasmine? You haven’t been able to find her a suitable match. Perhaps she would like the work of taming Mr. Stillwell.”
“Jasmine’s father is a reverend and she’s made it clear she can’t have anything to do with libations, which means there’s no way she could be matched with a bar owner.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that,” Abigail mumbled with discouragement. The more she thought about it, she realized she hardly knew anything about the other women. Naturally a solitary person, it had been amplified since she reached Bent due to being upset with the situation she was in. She hadn’t wanted to invest in any relationships for fear that if it didn’t work out, she would be heading back to Baltimore. Perhaps, if she had gotten to know some of the other brides, one would have confided in her that she was unhappy and Abigail would have another name to give Mr. Redburn to consider.
Then she remembered, she did know of one other bride who was just as unhappy with her situation as she was. “What about my sister? She won’t admit it, but I know she’s been having difficulties with her own beau. I’ve seen her crying several times and looking melancholy when she thinks no one is watching her. Perhaps she would want to switch with me. She’s always liked a strong fellow and plenty of attention. She would have both in spades with Mr. Stillwell and his bar.”
“Miss Abigail, that is not how this works. These men are not toys that you can simply trade if you get bored or frustrated with them. Besides, I heard that your sister has made progress with Mr. Farmer.”
Abigail felt her stomach tighten at the news. How did she not know that? They shared the same room, yet she had no idea her sister was ready to marry. Had they grown so far apart that her sister didn’t want to share her life with her anymore?
Pushing the troubling thoughts about her sister away, Abigail inquired, “So, what does that mean for me?”
She hoped by some miracle, Mr. Redburn would have a way out of this situation for her. She couldn’t imagine having to spend one more moment with Mr. Stillwell.
“It means you need to find a way to make it work with the man I matched you with,” Mr. Redburn explained. “He’s your only choice.”
Chapter Eight
The sturdy frame of Chance Redburn came into focus as he sidled up to the bar. He asked for a whiskey, which Mason poured and passed to him.
Chance took a long sip of the drink, then looked at Mason with a frown of disappointment plastered across his face. “We need to talk, Stillwell.”
Here it comes. Mason figured Chance had come to discuss the matter of Abigail. They had been avoiding each other ever since their last fight. He didn’t see it changing any time soon.
“I heard from the Widow Briggs what happened at your last meeting with your matched bride. I have to tell you, I’m more than frustrated with how it’s been going between the two of you. I thought you would have been one of the first couples to get married, but here we are weeks later. You haven’t even had a proper visit yet, let alone set a date for the wedding.”
“I realize you think we’re a good match, but I have to admit, I just don’t see it, Chance. She’s too stubborn and bristly for my liking.”
“You know what I see?” Chance inquired as he twisted his glass of whiskey back and forth in his hands.
Mason shrugged, not sure he wanted to hear what Chance had to say about his problems with Abigail. He was certain it wasn’t going to change his mind to let the match go.
“The two of you have the same problem,” Chance asserted in a frustrated tone. “Even though you both can be what the other needs, you just haven’t been willing to look past each other’s rough exteriors and see the potential below. I used to do that all the time with my cattle, resenting having to take care of the problematic ones. What I learned was that the calves that proved the most difficult to please, grew up to be the ones that produced the best price at auction. Stubbornness doesn’t have to be a liability. You just need to find a way to turn Miss Abigail’s in your favor.”
Mason thought about Chance’s point. Was he refusing to see the admirable qualities of Abigail simply because he was too focused on the ones he didn’t like? The more he thought about it, the more he realized it was possible, which meant the downfall of their match wasn’t all her fault like he wanted to pretend.
“I suppose it couldn’t hurt to make an effort to make her feel welcome,” Mason conceded.
“At the very least, I would suggest you take it further and make her feel wanted. A woman needs that from a man.”
Mason nodded. “I’ll have Andy take over and go over to your place right now.”
Chapter Nine
My Dear Abigail,
I hope this letter finds you well and adjusting to life out West. We miss you and your sister, and often think of you. I know you told me you overstayed your welcome with us after the fire, but that just wasn’t true. Your parents were our most beloved friends, and your time with us was anything but an imposition. I happened to run into Mrs. Walters the other day at the dress shop. She informed me that they’ve had to let go of their second governess. She lamented how you had left rather than taken the position in her household. She told me that if I should write to you, I should relay the offer once more. If your situation is not what you expected it to be in Colorado, please consider this as a valid option. I know you didn’t think you had any reason to stay here in Baltimore, but this will always be your home. You can always return to us. We would be waiting with open arms.
With the warmest regards,
Clara Willenhurst
“Who’s the letter from?” Alice inquired with curiosity, momentarily glancing up at Abigail. Her sister was sitting on her own bed, struggling to mend the corner of a little boy’s shirt. Alice had never been great at sewing—actually at most of the tasks it took to run a household—and Abigail was used to helping her sister with her chores.
Abigail quickly tucked the letter into her book, not wanting to share the contents with her sister. She didn’t want her opinion on the matter, and if Abigail were to return to Baltimore, she would make the decision on her own. Besides, it would only happen if Alice was able to make her situation with Mr. Farmer work. Once she knew her sister was safely secure in her marriage, Abigail would have the freedom to focus on what she wanted for her own life—which at this point certainly was not Mr. Stillwell.
“It’s just a letter from Mrs. Willenhurst. She was telling me about the happenings in Baltimore.” Abigail reached out to take the shirt from Alice. “Here let me help you with that.”
Alice pulled it away, shaking her head. “I need to do this myself. I can’t ask you to help every time I need to patch something. I need to prove I can handle the work required of me as a farmer’s wife.”
A mixture of relief and sadness filled Abigail’s heart as she realized her sister didn’t need her anymore. Perhaps Abigail might be closer to returning home than she thought.
“Why do you care about Baltimore anymore? I thought we left that place in the past,” Alice pointed out with disdain.
“I know it’s easier to p
ut our lives there out of your mind, but despite what everyone around here thinks, we aren’t the same. I miss Baltimore and my life there.”
“What life?” Alice snorted. “You spent all your time with your nose in a book or studying to be a librarian. I was the one who had friends, who had a beau, who gave it all up to come out here.”
“After you ruined it all to begin with,” Abigail accused.
“I told you, the fire wasn’t my fault.”
“I’m not talking about the fire, Alice. I’m talking about how you handled everything after the fire. You ruined our chances of staying there. It’s your fault we’re stuck out here in the middle of nowhere, a world away from civilized society, trying to make relationships work with men which we have nothing in common with.”
“Speak for yourself. I’m starting to figure out what it takes to be a mother and farmer’s wife.”
“So, you’re enjoying working your fingers to the bone for a man that barely pays attention to you?” Abigail probed, then gestured to the needle and thread in Alice’s hands to prove the point.
Alice’s eyes narrowed into angry slits. “Who told you that?”
“I overheard the widows talking about it. Widow English doesn’t like the way Mr. Farmer is treating you.” Abigail leaned forward and took her sister’s hands in her own. “If you’re unhappy, Alice, we can return to Baltimore. I’m sure the Willenhursts would take us back in, or I could find a job to support us. This mess of matches doesn’t have to be our future.”
Alice jerked her hands away. “You can do what you want, Abigail. Return to Baltimore if that’s what you want, but I’m staying here.” Glancing towards the door of their room, she added, “I have to go. I’m expected out at the farm.”
As Abigail watched her sister walk away in a huff, she wondered if she was making the right choice to stay here. If Alice didn’t want her here anymore, perhaps it would be best if she returned to Baltimore and took the job as the governess.
The grumbling of her stomach informed Abigail that she needed to eat something. She padded down the stairs and was headed to the kitchen when there was a knock at the front door of the house. She stopped in the entryway and looked around to see if someone was going to answer it. Apparently, the rest of the women must be out for the day. She wasn’t sure where Beans or Mr. Redburn were, but they didn’t seem to be coming either.
With a shake of her head, Abigail made her way over to the door and opened it. To her shock, Mason stood on the other side, holding a bouquet of daisies in his hands. He pushed them out to her as he gave her a lopsided grin.
“These are for me?” she asked with astonishment as she took the offering, letting her nose inhale the fragrant scent. “I had no idea you could be so romantic.”
“Just because I don’t seem to be romantic doesn’t mean I don’t know how to be. It’s just something I’ve avoided doing for a long time.”
“Thank you. I should put these in a vase.” Abigail turned around to head to the kitchen. Over her shoulder, she added, “I’m not sure where Mr. Redburn keeps them, but I’m betting there right where his aunt last left them.”
“I can help you look,” Mason offered, following after her.
They entered the kitchen and looked in the cabinets until Mason found one on the far side. He brought it over to her, letting her put water in it before she placed the flowers inside. She moved them around until they were in the most appealing formation. “There we go. Now they’ll last longer.”
“I was thinking, I haven’t had dinner yet. If you haven’t either, perhaps we could go over and grab a bite to eat at the café together?”
Abigail raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Are you asking me to join you?”
“Yes, if you’re amiable to it.”
“I was just getting ready to find something to eat,” Abigail confessed. “I’m famished.”
“Then it’s settled. Do you need to get anything before we go?”
Abigail realized that they shouldn’t be going alone. It wasn’t proper, and she didn’t want the town gossips to be talking about them. “Yes, do you mind walking over to the Widow Briggs’ home to ask her to join us while I grab my shawl and bag?”
“I can do that. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
After Mason left to retrieve the widow, Abigail went back to her room. She decided to quickly wash her face, freshen her hair by re-braiding it and twisting it up, and then added a brooch to her cream blouse. She found it odd wanting to make herself more eye-catching for Mason, but yet she found herself doing it. Along with her shawl and bag, she picked out her blue hat to compliment her outfit.
Abigail made her way back downstairs and into the kitchen to enjoy her flowers once again. She leaned forward and let the sweet scent tickle her nose. She plucked a petal from one of the daisies. How did he know they were her favorite flower? Lucky guess? She rubbed the petal between her thumb and fingers, loving the velvet feel of it.
The gesture behind the flowers had taken Abigail by surprise. Added with the invitation to go to dinner, she wondered if they had finally turned a corner. Was there a possibility for a civil marriage with Mr. Stillwell?
As she pondered her possible future with the handsome bar owner, Bert and Jasmine, two of the remaining brides, made their way into the kitchen.
“I’m so hungry, I could eat an entire bread pudding in one setting,” Bert bellyached. “I don’t have the energy to cook though. I’ve been helping Beans with a secret project.”
“It hardly seems fair that we have to cook three times as much since almost all the other brides are married,” Jasmine lamented.
Abigail looked up and smiled at the other women. “It’s good to see you both.”
“Please tell me you cooked something for all of us to eat,” Jasmine pleaded.
With a shake of her head, Abigail explained, “I won’t be here for dinner.”
“And why is that?” Bert inquired. Her eyes focused on the vase of daisies and she quickly followed up with a second question. “Does it have anything to do with those flowers?”
Abigail nodded. “Mr. Stillwell came over and gave them to me, then asked me to go to dinner with him.”
“How wonderful,” Jasmine said, reaching out and hugging Abigail. “It finally seems like your match is turning around.”
There was talking from down the hall, and a few minutes later, Violet entered the kitchen with Mr. Redburn by her side.
“Where did those flowers come from?” Violet inquired with curiosity.
“Mr. Stillwell brought them by when he invited me to go with him to dinner. He went to get Widow Briggs so she can chaperone us.”
Mr. Redburn’s mouth curved up in a pleased grin. “Good, that’s good.”
Violet nodded in agreement. “I’m so happy for you Abigail. It’s wonderful that Mr. Stillwell is finally making an effort to progress your courtship.” Violet gave a sideways glance towards Mr. Redburn. “Not all men are willing to bother with such endeavors.”
Violet’s comment and disappointed look at Mr. Redburn made Abigail wonder if the other woman was hoping for a marriage commitment from the matchmaker. She hadn’t seen Violet take any interest in any of the other eligible men that had been presented to the women, and Mr. Redburn was single. Could Violet be suffering from unrequited love?
Mr. Redburn looked directly at Violet as he elucidated. “Sometimes certain men take longer than others. It doesn’t mean it will never happen.”
Perhaps it wasn’t unrequited love after all. There was definitely something going on between Mr. Redburn and Violet, and it seemed more than just working together to find the other women successful matches. Abigail had an inkling that a romance was forming between them, though it seemed they hadn’t admitted it to each other yet.
There was a knock at the front door, drawing everyone’s attention.
“You should go get that, Abigail. Don’t keep Mr. Stillwell waiting,” Mr. Redburn ordered.
Abiga
il made her way through the house and exited to the front veranda where Mr. Stillwell was waiting with Widow Briggs.
“You ready to go?” he asked with his hands in his pocket.
The widow poked him in the side, pushing him forward. He jerked his head towards her as if he was making it clear he knew what she wanted him to do. Mason turned his attention back to Abigail. “I like what you did with your hair; that blue hat looks nice on you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Stillwell,” she replied, placing her hand in his which he had outstretched to her.
“I think since we are to be married, you can call me Mason.”
“Not just Stillwell like everyone else?” she teased.
“No, I don’t really want my wife using the silly nickname I got because of my last name being tied to the profession I picked.”
She let out a laugh. “I suppose that makes sense. It would be a bit odd for me to call you that the rest of our lives. You should call me Abigail then, too.”
It was an odd notion to think of spending the rest of her life with the man walking beside her, but slowly, her head was starting to amend to the idea. As they headed to the café, the first few moments passed in silence. Abigail decided it was the perfect opportunity to get to know Mason.
“So, how did you end up in Bent?”
“After I realized military life wasn’t for me, I spent two years working as a hired hand on a ranch. I never liked working for someone else, so I saved up my money, moved to Bent a year ago, and decided to open a bar.”
“Why not a saloon? They are far more common out in the West.”
“I didn’t want to have to deal with saloon girls or lodging. A lot of men work hard all day, and just need a drink afterward. I wanted to provide a place for men to come and relax without any dramatics.”