Imogene’s Ingenuity
The Alphabet Mail-Order Brides
Reina Torres
Copyright © 2019 by Reina Torres
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Thanks to all of the wonderful authors that took part in “The Alphabet Mail-Order Brides” Series!
It has truly been a pleasure to work with all of you!
Kudos to Erin Dameron-Hill for creating such an amazing cover!
Contents
Imogene’s Favorite Quote
Prologue
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
Epilogue
About the Author
Imogene’s Favorite Quote
To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.
Ecclesiastes 3:1 (King James Version)
Prologue
If there was one thing that had proven itself to Imogene through her time on this Earth, it was the duality of all things. She had lost one mother when she was left on the doorstep of a community church, and she had gained a mother when Madam Wigg had taken her in and gave her a home and love and an education.
She had seen lonely nights where she felt so alone that her heart might break, and she had known comfort when her sisters had become her friends, offering her a shoulder to cry on, or arms to hold and comfort her.
And just as she had clung to those moments and those people, Imogene had known that someday she would have to leave this home that had been her whole world.
From the moment that Madam Wigg, or ‘Wiggie’ as they affectionately called her, had gathered them together and explained her plans, Imogene had felt the unavoidable sense of loss building up inside of her.
Fae and Glory, and Imogene and her roommate, Harriet, had gathered to speak with their mother and mentor, listening carefully and in some disbelief as their future was forever altered.
Leave.
The four of them would leave and find their futures.
Here was the loss that came with the gift of Wiggie’s love and legacy.
Fae, the most adventurous and optimistic of the four had left first, traveling to Dakota Territory with plans to marry a mercantile owner. Glory, their shy morning glory, had gone off to teach and marry a man who would hopefully show her kindness and tend to her gentle feelings and fears.
Harriet, her own roommate and late-night confessor, had been the latest one to leave. Her sweet friend had a way to use her hands to create beauty, but somehow the people outside of their school couldn’t see past her limp to see the true treasure… the talented woman she was even without her incredible talent. Imogene didn’t mind admitting that she’d cried pitiably once the train had disappeared from sight and had remained up late at night praying that when she settled down that the people around her would open their hearts to her dear friend.
And now she stood, looking at the two pristine beds, the walls and furniture bare of any personal touches. All of their homey decorations had been taken and packed away, readied for transport.
Her own side of the room had housed rows upon rows of books on every available surface, pages touched by her hands hundreds of times, some bent and bruised when they’d fallen from her hands to the floor when she’d fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion.
It pained her to think of the many volumes she was leaving behind, handing them down to her other sisters. She tried to find volumes suited to their interests. To Phebe, she’d gifted a book about mining methods and safety. To Sally, a monograph on temperance. To Vera Mae, a tidy leather-bound volume on female deportment. Vera herself needed no teaching on the subject, for she was all that was kind and good, but it might help her to have a printed text to help others learn. It was entirely lost on Imogene who spoke up too much and too often and seemed, to some, too outspoken to be a true lady. All the way to Zara, the last addition to their home, who had a love for Greek Mythology, had been given a book on Roman Myths… just for comparison.
That left her with one small trunk of clothes and another much larger trunk of books, just a fraction of her collection over the years.
And a heart full of memories.
A soft smile tickled the corners of her lips. Many would laugh at the sentimental thought, for Imogene was not one mired in much sentiment, even at the best of times, but leaving the home that had been hers for as long as she could remember had given rise to more sentiment than Imogene could comprehend.
And some of those sentiments had led to the tears still drying on her cheeks.
These feelings. This loss.
Exhausting things.
She took hold of her reticule and made her way down the stairs to the main floor, leaving the door to her room open behind her. It just wasn’t in her heart to close that door.
Not when her future wasn’t fixed.
Imogene pushed aside her troubled thoughts when she saw who awaited her at the front door.
Rising from a chair in the foyer, Madam Wigg gave Imogene the soft smile that spoke of their many years together. When Imogene had come home regularly with ink staining her fingers, Madam’s shock had turned to loving indulgence with the stipulation that Imogene would do everything she could to scrub the ink off, outside the school, and keep her hands from anything white or too precious until the ink wore off.
“What shall I do,” Madam murmured to her, “when I need to find the best receipt for boiled salmon, or the latest fashions for fall rendered in fine full-colored ink?”
Imogene bit into her lower lip as her cheeks pinked. “I left a few volumes for you in your office. I used slips of cast-off paper from the printing office as bookmarks with the names of your favorite receipts written on the tabs.”
Madam shook her head. “Don’t you want to take them with you?”
Again, Imogene’s cheeks colored the slightest bit. “There’s no room in my trunk. I hope to find new volumes in Colorado. Books I’ve never heard of on topics I’ve never considered.”
“And your husband?”
The color in her cheeks fled and a chill remained behind. Imogene hoped that the indirect sunlight coming through the open front door would give her enough color on her skin to hide the sudden change. “He favors the printed word as well.”
A strange look passed over Madam’s countenance, but she didn’t question the short answer or the hesitant look that was likely stamped on her face. For that, Imogene was grateful. She didn’t want to disappoint the woman she thought of as her mother.
The clock in the hall chimed and Imogene knew it was time to go. The train headed west would be arriving soon and she wanted to make sure her trunks were loaded before she found a seat. If she waited any longer-
Imogene dropped her bag to the floor at her feet with a thump and wrapped her arms around Madam Wigg’s familiar form. Turning her head, Imogene placed the softest of kisses on the older woman’s cheek before she leaned back to gaze one last time on her face. “Thank you for taking me in and giving me the care and education that I’m sure my birth mother would have wanted for me.” Imogene drew in a breath and let it out sl
owly, because each second was a memory she would hold dear. “And thank you,” Imogene struggled to keep a smile on her lips, “for every moment of your time. And each word of encouragement. The last thing I would ever want to do is disappoint you.”
Madam Wigg took her by the shoulders and placed a sound kiss to her forehead. “You’ve learned everything I wanted you to, Imogene. Some skills grudgingly so, but you learned. I send you out into the world knowing that you have a good head on your shoulders and a heart that given a chance, will take root and blossom when you find yourself exactly where you’re meant to be.” Madam’s eyes moved over her face, lingering on Imogene’s furrowed brow. “Whatever has you worried so… let it go, dear. I’m sure wherever you go, you’ll land with both feet firmly under you and with a plan that’s sure to succeed.”
Imogene held still for a long moment, wondering if Madam Wigg had seen through her ruse, but there wasn’t time to worry about it. Outside the front door Roy pulled up the cart and brought the taciturn mule to an easy halt. He set his cap back on his head and leaned back against the seat to wait.
“I’ll write when I’m settled.” Imogene nodded, reassuring herself, and stepped back to gather her bag handles in her shaking hand. “Fare thee well,… mother.”
She took the steps at a fast clip and strode straight to the wagon, not waiting for Roy to give her a hand up.
Moments later she was on her way to the train station, grateful that Roy had his hands on the reins, for she could no longer see through her tears.
Chapter 1
Stepping off the train in Bower, Colorado, Imogene staggered a little bit and held up her hand to block out some of the sunlight streaming down upon her. It had been a long trip to Colorado and while Imogene had started her journey eager for new experiences, she quickly found that repetitive clack of the wheels over the tracks and endless sway of the train cars did not agree with her stomach.
In her own defense, she had never spent any time on a train and now that she was finally here, Imogene closed her eyes as much to steady her nerves as it was to offer up a prayer of thanks that she had arrived safely and in the next breath made a vow to never set foot on a train ever again.
“Excuse me, Miss?”
Imogene took a steadying breath and opened her eyes. When her stomach didn’t rebel she turned toward the voice with what she hoped was a friendly smile. “Yes?”
A tall gentleman that had her craning her neck up to see his face was the first person she saw. “Goodness!”
His smile, barely visible beneath his mustache and beard, was easy enough, but it was the soft spate of laughter further to her right that turned her head again.
“Hello there,” the woman standing beside the giant of a man was as tall for a woman as he was tall for a man, “you’re new.”
“I’m sure it’s plainly written on my face.” Imogene touched the side of her face and then winced when she realized she still had her gloves on. “I’ve been traveling for days and I’m sure I’m wearing most of the journey on my clothes.”
The statuesque woman reached out a hand and gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder. “There’s no need to be concerned about how you look. A pretty young woman new in town? You will have any number of men eager to make your acquaintance.”
The man beside her wrapped an arm around her and pulled her up against his side. “Manners, Birdie.”
“I’m sorry, I’m just as excited to meet a new potential friend. Bower has many beauties, but beyond the majestic landscapes and our thriving town, there really aren’t as many women as anyone would like. Still, my husband is right. I’ve forgotten my manners.” She looked up at him with an adoring gaze before turning back. “We’re the Quinns. Livingstone and Brigid Quinn.”
“Brigid?”
The other woman’s expression grew wistful. “He calls me Birdie.”
Imogene heard such a soft regard in the other woman’s tone that it somehow reached deep into her chest and gave her own heart a gentle squeeze of longing.
“I came here to meet a potential husband that I’d corresponded with from a mail service, but Appleton… He and I did not suit, but I met Mister Quinn and I’ve never been happier.”
The giant leaned down and placed a kiss on the top of his wife’s bonnet. It would have made it difficult for him to reach anything else without crouching down. “I’m sure, she’d like directions or some other comfort.”
“Oh,” Brigid’s face blanched, “pardon my manners again. May we see you to your destination, Miss…”
Swallowing, Imogene managed to find her voice. “Imogene Wigg, ma’am.”
“Imogene,” Brigid nodded at the sound, “what a lovely name.”
“It’s an alphabetical name,” Imogene confided, “I was a foundling left on the church steps and Mrs. Wigg took me in like all of my sisters.”
Mr. Quinn’s laughter was deep. “What letter did your youngest sister’s name begin with?”
Imogene couldn’t help the smile that made her heart warm within her chest. “Our youngest? Is Zara.”
The Quinns gave her matching looks of shock.
“We’re more than a handful and we all lived at Madam Wigg’s school.”
Mr. Quinn crouched down just a little and set a hand on his wife’s middle. It was only then that Imogene saw the curve of her pregnant stomach under her coat. “What do you say, Birdie? I think we could at least make our way to E or F before we have to build onto the house.”
Her eyes widened and she shook her head, dislodging a strand of blonde hair from her coiffure. “Let’s see where we are after this baby, dear. I’m not as young as Miss Wigg. We did have a late start.”
“Then we shall see, Birdie. However, many children we are granted, we will love… as well and truly as we can.” He gathered his wife closer and she leaned her head on his chest with a sigh. The motion tipped her hat to the side and would likely need to be affix anew on her head, but Mrs. Quinn didn’t seem to be upset in the least. She was blissfully happy in her husband’s broad embrace.
Imogene felt her cheeks color and she lowered her gaze to the side to allow the couple a moment to themselves.
Seeing such joy in a simple embrace, she wondered if such a man existed who could see in her the same treasure that Mr. Quinn had found in his wife.
“Goodness, Mr. Quinn. Look at us. Miss Wigg, please forgive us. How may we help you?”
* * *
If she thought anything unusual in the friendly greeting she’d received from the Quinns, she was shocked to find the same experience repeated over and over again.
From the quiet reassurance of the Depot Manager, Mr. Laughlin, as he assured her that her larger trunk would be kept safely in their storage until she was ready to settle in, to the open armed greeting of Mrs. Carolina Hampton at the boarding house, until her husband Miles’ good natured reminder that one or both of them would need a decent breath to live, Imogene felt oddly at home in this town.
Settled into a bedroom in the main house, just a floor above her hosts, Imogene sat on her bed long past her bedtime and stared at the wall opposite.
Thoughts jumbled and twisted in her head until she could calm her breathing and find some order to the words. It took some time for she had gone over and over her interactions with the townspeople of Bower with enough detail that she thought she could do them all justice.
Picking up her journal, Imogene wiggled back until she had her back against the wall and folded her legs to give herself somewhere to set her book while she wrote.
And yet, even after she took up her pencil, the pages opened up in her lap remained empty.
It was just too quiet in her room. There was a single bed.
A single table.
Everything with just the one.
Leaning her head back, she felt the flat surface of the wall behind her and let out a sigh just to hear the sound.
“Harriet,” she cringed at the silence that followed. “What am I going to do?”
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br /> As the darkness of the mood stared back at her, Imogene was struck with a sudden and forceful desire to leave.
Yes!
No.
All she had to do, her mind argued, was sit and wait until morning.
Her larger trunk was still at the station. Mr. Laughlin would surely have no issue with bringing it back out and putting it on the next train back home.
In her head, she calculated the number of days it would take. The number of stops in between. It was easy since she had just done it. How simple would it be to go right back.
She would tell Madam the truth. She had no husband to speak of, not even the prospect of one.
She would beg Madam to allow her to stay. She would work for free! She would nurse the dear woman that she missed so much.
Surely Madam wouldn’t turn her away.
Not when she was so desperately unhappy.
“Wouldn’t she?”
Dropping her journal to the bed beside her, Imogene struggled to slide down off of the bed and get to her feet. She stumbled on one of her shoes that she hadn’t placed under her bed and winced as she stubbed her little toe on the hard-wooden floor.
With a tug and a twist, she’d managed to right her blouse and then her skirt, deciding to tuck the blouse in later. It was easier to pack when you didn’t have to worry about looking just so.
Grabbing up her journal she hastily tossed it into her bag and then reached for her pencil. Her hand came up empty. Narrowing her gaze at the rumpled bedclothes, Imogene used both hands to dig around and shift the blanket and coverlet first one way and then the other.
Imogene’s Ingenuity: The Alphabet Mail-Order Brides Page 1