Clara’s Mail Order Joy: Home for Christmas, Book Five

by Dean, Natalie

  “I vow I will, ma’am,” he said. “I understand that for a lady who’s brought up in refinement, Colorado ways are rough. It’s like silver in a mine, you see. It’s buried down there, I know it is, but it has to be brought out of where it’s hiding.”

  “Yes,” she agreed after a pause. Perhaps that was the proper way to consider the matter. Clara, so determined and attentive to protocol, and Pete, who seemed to take the world as it was and not as he thought it ought to be, they were opposites. Hazel and Harley . . . it was too soon to tell yet. She knew her brother-in-law only in the most general of ways and could not attest to his character. He had been generous in lending furniture from the ranch, and a horse and wagon, to Pete for him and Clara to use, and Hazel had seemed comfortable in asking him for the loan of those items. But she would not, or could not, ask him to identify the parentage of the young girl, Oakley, who lived at the ranch as if it were her home, but was not a member of the family so far as Hazel knew, and was not a servant, despite showing habits of both.

  It troubled Minnie that her sister was not able to establish her own rights, as mistress of the ranch household, to ask questions of that nature. It especially bothered Minnie because, when she had first engaged in the matching of men and advertisements to her sister, she had thought that Harley Wyatt would be perfect for Hazel. Now it was looking as though Pete was the superior man, for all that he lacked compared to Harley’s land and riches.

  And her own choice, made on a prayer, was superior to all, for in Gavin she had a man whose wealth was in his willingness to work hard and whose heart was honorable and true.

  Chapter 4

  The dress was perfect. Clara had trimmed buttons and ruffles from other frocks to render this, her wedding dress, a sumptuous version of a garment which owed no debt to a particular fashion trend. It was designed entirely for Clara’s lush curves, her full bosom and narrow waist and long legs, and as it adorned her, it amplified her bearing. With her thick brunette hair simply styled, she was the equal of an empress at her coronation.

  “I recognize bits of dresses,” Hazel confessed. “You must have gone through the ones that Minnie and I left behind with a very discerning eye.”

  “I plundered at will,” Clara confessed. “It was rather lonely after both of you were gone. Father was somewhat downcast at times; he did not want to go through his belongings and I was obliged to insist. He would not get a second opportunity once the bank reclaimed the house. But I think that, after he had moved all of the items that mattered to him and to Mother, he found contentment.”

  “You are sure that he will manage well in the boarding house?”

  “Of course,” Clara said. “You surely do not think I would ignore Father’s needs.”

  “No, of course not,” Hazel said. She would not ignore their father, but she was entirely capable of riding roughshod over his own intentions because her own, she felt, were superior. Hazel decided that she would write to Father and Mother after the wedding so that they could share the experience through a letter, even though they could not be present at any of their daughter’s ceremonies. “But now, today is your day and it is on you that we must concentrate our thoughts.”

  Minnie, who had come over early in the morning to help Clara dress for her wedding, took the emerald necklace from its case. “Grandmama’s emeralds,” she said softly.

  “Mother always wanted us to wear Grandmama’s jewelry on our wedding day,” Clara said. She looked at her sisters. “I hope you did not forget?”

  “There was no time,” Minnie answered, recalling the hastily arranged wedding in the clerk’s office at the hotel where she had been staying after her arrival in Newton, as the sudden snowfall that had killed off Gavin’s flock had stranded her in the town. Gavin had appeared to tell her that he was penniless, and without his herd, and therefore, he could not marry her. Minnie had refused to let him withdraw from the marriage and she had, in what she knew was a most unladylike manner, called him a coward. Now they were married, and choosing to raise sheep rather than cattle, a change in occupation made possible by a woman Minnie had met while staying at the hotel. Mrs. Ellerbee and her husband made a practice of backing business ventures to support those who were not afraid of hard work and based on that, the Ellerbees had given Gavin the loan he needed to start his sheep ranch.

  “What about you, Hazel,” Clara demanded. “Surely you wore Grandmama’s diamonds on your wedding day?”

  “I meant to . . . but there wasn’t time.”

  “Hazel had rather a whirlwind wedding,” Minnie said quickly, retrieving Hazel from the need to explain why she had not even worn the dress she had planned to wear for her wedding. Minnie and Gavin had been at the train station to welcome Hazel and bring her home; Harley had been away on the cattle drive. The three of them were sitting down to eat when Harley suddenly arrived; the minister, he had informed Hazel, was on his way. Hazel and Harley were married without further ado, and they had left for the Wyatt ranch the same day.

  As she fastened the necklace around the slender column of Clara’s neck, Minnie reflected that perhaps the ordeal of the snowstorm and the loss of his livelihood had made both of them better suited to one another. They needed each other; she was in Colorado with no family or friends; Gavin’s misfortune had left him bereft of hope. It was an unexpected blessing, it seemed. She hoped that her family would find the same unexpected blessing in their own lives.

  So too, she hoped, would Mother and Father obtain strength and restoration, difficult thought it would seem now, from the loss of their possessions and their Boston mansion. She missed her parents so much; having to leave Boston without saying goodbye to either one of them had been wrenching for her, but she had steeled herself to do it, knowing that if she weakened, neither sister would go and they would all become destitute.

  “What are you thinking?” Hazel asked curiously, noticing the faint smile on her sister’s face.

  “Oh . . . I’m just happy to have my sisters with me.”

  Hazel held a mirror behind Clara so that she could see her reflection in the cheval glass to be sure that her hair met her requirements.

  “Yes,” Hazel said. “It’s much easier if we’re together.”

  Minnie shot a glance at Hazel; the comment sounded as if there were ordeals in Hazel’s life that required the nearness of her sisters for her to endure. But Hazel was ushering Clara out to the wagon; Harley had placed a blanket on the seat so that Clara’s cream-colored dress would not get dirty and he helped Clara, and then Hazel, into the wagon.

  Harley sat on the front bench with that coiled energy inside him that always seemed ready to erupt. He waited until Gavin had assisted Minnie into their wagon, then made a clicking sound with his tongue and the horse began to move.

  “You’re sure that Pete is ready?” Minnie asked Gavin as they followed the Wyatt wagon.

  “He’s bathed, shaved, dressed, his hair is combed . . . I don’t know what more you want.”

  “What about the camel?”

  “Tied in the back, just like you wanted. She’s going to see it eventually, you know.”

  “Yes, but not on her wedding day. Don’t laugh,” Minnie begged. “It isn’t funny, it really—” but then a giggle escaped. “It’s not funny at all, Gavin Clifford!” she said, a declaration mitigated by the way she struggled to get the words out between gasps of laughter. “If you knew how Clara is, you’d understand.”

  “I think I know how she is,” Gavin said, giving his wife’s hand a squeeze. “I think I got the best of the Ellis sisters.”

  It was sweet of him to say so, Minnie thought as she briefly rested her head against his shoulder, for all the world as if they were in the privacy of their bedroom and not out in public, on the road to town. Then she straightened and sat up. This was Clara’s wedding day, and as much as possible, a day to be observed with all due solemnity, even if they were in Colorado and not in Boston.

  But then she started laughing again. Imagine a cam
el on Beacon Hill!

  The sound of their laughter drifted forward on the pleasant spring air. Clara, hearing it, wondered what amused them. Minnie seemed very happy with her sheep rancher. He was a good-looking man, Clara noticed, although she still thought that he lacked the drive of a man who would one day be rich as Mr. Edwards was going to be rich.

  Mr. Wyatt was already rich, Clara knew. But he and Hazel weren’t laughing the way that Minnie and Mr. Clifford were laughing. They weren’t even talking; Hazel was tilting her head back to comment on the scenery to Clara, and Mr. Wyatt was looking straight ahead as if he had other things on his mind.

  He had three thousand head of cattle, or at least he’d had that many until the snowstorm that had killed off Minnie’s husband’s herd had taken a good many of his. It was better, she thought, to have one’s wealth in a mine. Snowstorms couldn’t kill a rich vein of silver. When the mine made them rich, Clara decided, she would waste no time in having Father and Mother come to Colorado. Even before she purchased a new wardrobe, Clara decided, she would send the money for the rail tickets.

  “I wish Mother and Father could be here,” Hazel said, seeming to read her sister’s thoughts.

  “Yes . . . I told Father that when Mother is better, they must come to Colorado to visit.”

  “Oh, yes, that would be so perfect,” Hazel said.

  “There’s plenty of room at the ranch for family,” Harley said.

  So he had been paying attention to the conversation after all, Clara thought. He sounded quite hospitable, actually; she wondered why she had thought him distant. Perhaps he was a very private, reserved man, she decided, one not easily given to displaying emotion. In some ways, Clara thought, he was not unlike the men of Boston. There was almost a patrician cast to the lean bone structure of his face; even though he spent much time in the sun, as evinced by the tiny lines at the corner of his eyes, he would have been able to hold his own, she guessed, with the lawyers and bankers and aristocrats of Boston. Even in his Western hat and his boots, he was imposing. Probably that was because he was already rich. It was the same, then, in Boston and in Colorado. Money gave a man the assurance that marked him as a success.

  Mr. Edwards did not yet bear that mark, Clara realized. But he would be easier to mold and shape that way, so that, by the time they were rich and were going to Boston so that she could show their children where their mother came from, he would be able to take his place among the city’s finest citizens. Mr. Edwards was somewhat of an enigma, Clara considered. Very handsome. She’d never had a beau with such a fascinating smile. He seemed to be quite smitten with her, Clara thought as she recalled his rapt expression the day before as he had gazed upon her. It was flattering to be so adored. Perhaps here in Colorado, where women were so scarce, a man bestowed upon a woman the respect that was due to her. Or, perhaps, there was simply more regard for women. In Boston, if a woman’s family lost its wealth and social standing, Clara knew, then a man would no longer regard her as worthy of his name. She knew this well; she and her sisters could have married any man in Boston when Father’s businesses were doing well. But since the financial losses, they had been forgotten.

  As if we were pariahs! Clara thought angrily. It was entirely unjust. The West, for all its rustic ways and lack of refinement, followed a better path with its women. There was a certain vengeance in that.

  “What is over that way?” Clara asked, her ruminations interrupted by the appearance of a cluster of people walking along the road.

  “The mining camp,” Harley said. “We’re not going that way. Pete’s house is up yonder a ways.”

  Mining camp? She supposed that miners whose situations might be more precarious must live in a more straitened way. How very unfortunate they were, and how fortunate she was that Mr. Edwards was a man of some means, to have his own home.

  “There’s your house, Clara,” Hazel said.

  Clara looked ahead. Built with the backdrop of a majestic mountain behind it, a mountain whose peaks were still white from winter snow, was a small house that, except for its size, looked as if it would have been entirely suitable upon the landscape of Massachusetts, so perfectly was its architecture matched to the structures she knew from her home. The wood was different, though, taken from timber that appeared to have the glow of the sun in its boards. She could see lovely curtains in the windows facing the pathway that led to the house. The roof had gables, something she did not recall seeing when driving from the train station to the Wyatt ranch. It was perfectly lovely, she thought. Very small, she realized, much too small for entertaining or performing the social duties of a wife who was married to a man who owned a silver mine. But it was quite attractive and they were, after all, just starting out together. When Mr. Edwards struck it rich, a mansion would go up in place of the little house that was there now.

  “There’s the mine,” Harley said, pointing across the way from the house.

  The mine. The Silver Belle Mine. From that opening in the ground—a shame that the mine was so close to their home—would come the riches that would restore the Ellises to their rightful place, as leaders in the unformed Colorado society, and to their heritage in Boston as well.

  Chapter 5

  It was not, Clara acknowledged to herself, the manner of ceremony which she would have expected had she married a Bostonian. Boston marriages on Beacon Hill were a joining of family names and fortunes, a stitching together of pedigrees so that the generation to come could maintain its upper-class credentials for posterity. Nor was the luncheon in keeping with the standards of the Ellis kitchen back in the times when the household employed a cook and servants who would have prepared the meal for the guests who would have gathered to celebrate the nuptials of Clara Allerton Ellis to whatever Beacon Hill aristocrat had won her hand. There would have been course after course of gourmet offerings, for a wedding was not merely the joining of two families, but also the opportunity to flaunt one’s own elegance as well as the skills of one’s cook.

  Nonetheless, this homey wedding had a bona fide quality to it that Clara did not recall observing at weddings back home, where bride and groom, knowing themselves to be on display, maintained the dignity of their class and did nothing which could have been accused of spontaneity. Mr. Edwards performed his duties as a bridegroom with sincerity. He was, Clara found herself pleased to note, entirely besotted with her and she could not help but warm to his almost-reverent attention. Hazel’s newly hired cook had prepared the luncheon and while it was rather deficient of the seafood which would have customarily been included in the menu, the beefsteak was tender and perfectly seasoned, with none of the common flavors which might have been expected in a region populated by cowboys. After the wedding ceremony had concluded, Mr. Edwards showed himself to be a gracious host to his guests.

  Raising his glass for a toast, Mr. Edwards spoke. “I wish to thank all of you who have gathered with us today to celebrate the most remarkable day of my life. Until now, it has been my main objective in life to strike it rich in the Silver Belle Mine. Make no mistake, that is still an objective,” he admitted, a confession which roused laughter from his guests. “But I would be a shallow sort of fellow if I failed to recognize the silver that surrounds me today. I have acquired two sisters, beautiful and charming, whose contributions to this day cannot be overlooked. I have gained two brothers who are now part of the family to which I belong, and to whom I pledge all my help when they seek it, my support should they require it, and whatever other needs that I can meet. Most of all,” his glass rose higher, “I toast my lovely, incomparable wife, Clara, truly a nonpareil. I hope that I may one day deserve her.”

  It was a stirring speech and Clara found herself slightly misty-eyed as Mr. Edwards—she must learn to think of him as Peter, now that he was her husband—lifted his glass toward her, then drank as if he were solemnizing a sacred covenant.

  The meal was a lighthearted communion of laughter and shared stories, for now that Clara was in Colorado, the cir
cle of sisters was complete. The women spoke of their journeys west; Gavin Clifford talked of the snowstorm that had kept him apart from his bride; Harley Wyatt mentioned his regret that he had not been at the train station to welcome his bride. Neither of the men referred to any hardships or matters which would place a cloud on the occasion and as neither Clara nor Peter was aware that anything had ever been amiss in the lives of their newly-expanded family, they did not notice the omission.

  Minnie thought, more than once, of her parents back in Boston, unable to be present for their daughters’ weddings. She intended to write to them, a long letter filled with the details that she knew Mother would want to know. Father would want to know about the men and what kind of husbands they were likely to be. But how could Minnie answer that? She knew that, for herself, Gavin was the man she would always love; he was kind-hearted and hard-working and he was willing to share his life with her, no matter what happened. He was learning, not easily, that Minnie did not want to be sheltered. She was at his side regardless of what came to them. It was not the customary perspective he had of marriage, but Minnie was too bright and too resourceful for him to insult her by closing her out of matters. He had not realized that love and respect, when combined, were a powerful union for a couple.

  Hazel, too, was missing Mother and Father. She had written to them already to let them know that she had arrived safely in Colorado. She had spent more time describing the train journey than she had in providing information on her husband, for in truth, he was still an enigma to her now, weeks after their wedding.

  He was generous; she had only to express a desire for something and he gave her money for it, or rode her into town to order it or purchase it. When she had explained that Peter Edwards was not yet equipped with the means to furnish his home, Harley had made no objection to having tables, chairs, a desk, and a wardrobe brought over to the house that Pete had built. He had lent them a horse and a wagon. The bed had come from Gavin’s cabin, along with linens that Minnie had brought with her from Boston.