A Mail-Order Christmas Bride

by Livia J. Washburn

  But Margot was right. Phoebe had no money of her own.

  Margot’s hand and voice had softened. “Aunt Augusta needs medical care, Phoebe. Plain and simple. I’ve found a more advanced physician than here in Seward. She’s coming to live with Lester and me.” She looked again with approval, around the little farmhouse. “This place has already been sold to the town’s new vicar. He’ll move in on New Year’s. And a nearby farmer has leased late Uncle Oscar’s land. Lester’s arranged everything.”

  Grief assailed Phoebe now. Aunt Augusta might have been a duplicitous hornswoggler, but she had always meant well. And taken Phoebe in when no one else dared. Surely, it was Margot leading her astray.

  “But Auntie?” Her own problems forgotten…“Will she be all right? Is it fatal?”

  “Of course not.” Margot flapped an impatient hand. “Merely old age taking its course. She’s weary after a long life of hard work and grief. She deserves rest and spoiling now, don’t you think?”

  “Well, of course. And I should be the one to do it. I owe her.” Phoebe strangled her sister’s arm. “She took care of me…after Henry. When no one else would. Not even you. I’m the one.”

  Margot smiled, thin. “Lester wouldn’t allow it and no. She knew you’d say that. But Franklin is too energetic for her. And she wants you to be happy. Happy like she was with Great Uncle Oscar. I vow to bring Franklin to you, to you and his new father, as soon as…things work out. Between the two of you, I mean. I promise.”

  Some of Phoebe’s sympathy for her conniving aunt fled. Nobody had sought her opinion in any of this. “Say what you will. But I’m not doing this thing.”

  The tintype glimmered behind her eyelids, and she slapped her cheeks to rid her mind.

  “I fear your cowboy’s vision is indelible.” Margot chuckled and strode to an occasional table and picked up an envelope. “Here. Read it again. His last letter to you.”

  “You mean, his last letter to you. Written to you as were all the others. When you pretended to be me! And answered them as if you were me!” Phoebe clenched her fist, and her nails half-circled into her palm. “I don’t even know what you said about me. He’ll see through me from the start.”

  “He won’t. I wrote from the heart. Just as you would. And I know you well, little sister.” Margot clasped her hands against her bosom. “I know what kind of man you want. And deserve. A man bound to the land, to his home and kin. Not filled with wanderlust sailing the seas and…likely drowning himself. And your picture, I sent the finest photograph of you I could find. You’re still as lithe and lovely as your debutante season.” Her pale gaze swept Phoebe’s form. “Any baby girth is so finely disguised by your corset.”

  Phoebe snorted. “Goodness gracious, Margot. Frankie is four years old. I recovered long ago.”

  “What I meant was, Ronnie will not be disappointed when he beholds you in the flesh.”

  “You’re babbling so I don’t yell. And Ronnie. For goodness sakes.” Phoebe’s back tensed like she’d lifted a ton. “You think I’ll wed a man who sounds like a naughty tad from the school yard?”

  Margot, eyes rolling. Hands on hips. “Mrs. Ronald Heisler for the rest of your life sounds far better than Spinster Phoebe Pierce.”

  Phoebe sucked her thumbnail. It certainly did appeal more than the imaginary scarlet A she’d worn for almost five years. But still.

  Margot cleared her throat and started to unfold the one letter she’d held back.

  “No.” Phoebe grabbed it. “I don’t want to know.”

  “Yes. It’s brilliant.” Margot snatched it back. “It sounds better coming from me.”

  “Of course it does. Since all the correspondence has been yours!”

  Margot clucked her tongue. “This is his letter from last week. You’ll adore it.

  “Dear Miss Pierce, I treasure your kind letters and the beauty of your photograph. It is with my whole heart I asked for your hand in marriage, and my heart blooms with love at your acceptance. I am humbled you love me in return. My lowly home will be brighter with you in it, as well as the children who will one day bless us. The mountains of Colorado are the big shoulders protecting Nebraska’s heartland, but I know we will make a good life together.

  “Enclosed please find the price of your passage. I look forward to meeting your train on Christmas Eve afternoon and speaking our vows during candlelight vespers, with all the townsfolk in attendance. Our chapel in East Slope is a poetic setting for such wonder and love. With honor and respect, and my deepest heart, Ronald Heisler.” Margot nodded at her. “As you see, I’ve done as he wished and purchased your ticket. But the greatest of all this is his love.”

  Heat and chills both roiled inside her head. Phoebe couldn’t see straight. Her sister blurred like a mottled mirror “Love? Love? He and I already love each other? What on earth did you write, Margot?”

  “You’ll adore the letter from August seventeenth. When he first declares his love.” She fanned her face and cleared her throat.

  “Balderdash.” Phoebe struck out at the air around her. “And lowly? Lowly? What does that mean? Does he live in a cave? A burrow dug in a hillside? A…a…a soddy?” She’d seen one of the dark, dismal little huts abandoned on the farm next to Uncle Oscar’s…She shivered for a hundred reasons.

  “Now, now. It’s a cabin. Made of logs. Described on September sixth. Now, you’ve accustomed yourself quite nicely to Auntie’s little farm house. And remember how much you admire Mr. Thoreau’s experiment at Walden Pond. Simplify, simplify.”

  Phoebe breathed deep, in and out. “Well, yes. But he was a bachelor. And as for speaking vows already, I will not.”

  Margot turned stern. “He’s already mentioned love. And children. It won’t take any time at all. Franklin, I mean. You’ll soon have what every woman wants.”

  “No, Margot. This is wrong. I won’t do it. I don’t love him.” Her heart wrenched at the lies, the unfairness. “I don’t even know him. You pretended to be me. You have duped a fine man into loving me. I mean, a figment of me. It’s wrong. It’s not honest. None of this has been honest.”

  “You’ve been keeping secrets for nearly five years, Phoebe. What’s another?” Margot’s eyes darkened into hard marbles. “I tell you this, little sister. All your life’s problems have been solved. You’re welcome. We are having an early Christmas with Franklin tonight. And you are catching that train in the morning.”

  The air around Phoebe reddened with rage. She so hated being told what to do. First Papa, then Henry. Always Margot, and sometimes even Aunt Augusta. “And if I won’t?”

  “You will.” Triumph dripped from her sister’s words. “You’ve no money and no place else to go. Besides, the cowboy’s in love with you.” Margot’s face crumpled. “That’s something.”

  Chapter Two

  Morning wind rushed down the eastern slope of Johnny’s Mountain, and a dash of sunlight split the gray clouds. Like a spike of heaven. Reminded him of his mother. Ronnie leaned against his mucking rake and looked up. Ma.

  Grief and guilt and shame, all three, goosed his skin. Leastways, she’d passed on before finding out those dime novels she loved to read had a new outlaw running rampage.

  Him.

  Or, who he’d been once upon a time. Actually, not that long ago. Shame boiled through his veins even with the cold. Now, he had two hundred acres of Colorado all his own. A fine herd. And a tiny, trim cabin in his eyeshot. He turned his head to take it all in.

  True, at night, alone in the dark, thick blankets squeezed against his bones like the tight cell in Yuma. But out here, outdoors, the wide sky, the open spaces filled his world.

  He breathed deep of morning and manure. Full dawn turned his snowy pasture to fire. With a whicker, the handsome Appaloosa hung his head over the corral fence and nudged Ronnie. Rubbing Silver Spirit’s white mane, Ronnie almost believed life was sweet. Then hoofbeats…

  His heart pounded. He’d been on the front end of capture too many times to fee
l relaxation at the sound of a horse rushing behind him.

  He whirled around, tossing the load of dung on the ground.

  “Halloo, brother!” Tremaine called out from the south trail, up from his own place. He wore a smile.

  Ronnie gulped with relief. Likely the smile meant their old pa hadn’t died in the night. About the only bad news Ronnie expected these days. Since his sins were forgiven and he was a legal land owner. “You’re out and about early. Don’t you got chores of your own?”

  “I’ll be quick.” Tremaine dismounted, ground-tethered his horse rather than tying him to the fence. “Just needed to get you your Christmas present.” He pulled a sheaf of envelopes from inside his thick jacket.

  “What? Christmas won’t happen ’til tomorrow.” Ronnie didn’t reach for the packet quite yet. He’d had his fill of thick batches of paper—judge’s orders, warrants, yellowed newspapers and wanted posters. Confusion caught in his thick wool muffler. Tremmie didn’t seem scared or nervous, though.

  “You need your present now. Because you need to get to town this afternoon.”

  “Why? Got all my gifts. Wrapped ’em in brown paper and got ribbons tied, too.” Ronnie’d already whittled whirligigs for the kids, bought a bolt of silk for the gals. Smuggled a bottle of Pa’s favorite rotgut from the saloon. The doc had forbidden the brew, but it was Christmas, after all. “I know it’s decoratin’ time for the big tree in the middle of town, but I can miss that…”

  Tremmie looked away, the tips of his boots stabbed a pile of dirty snow. “You gotta meet the train.”

  Ronnie’s heart tinkered, fingers made fists, even though he wasn’t expecting any Pinkerton or U.S. Marshals. Just habit. “Start making sense. We got no other kin anywhere else but East Slope.”

  “Maybe.” Tremmie peeked up Johnny’s Mountain like he’d never seen it before. “You got a bride coming.”

  Pain sliced hard into Ronnie’s soul. Worse than the judge condemning him to seven years. His brother had made a fine match, fathered a boy, but Ronnie hadn’t yet met a woman who wanted an outlaw. “You make a poor joke, brother.”

  Tremmie tugged Ronnie’s face close with both hands. “You’re not an outlaw. No more. You got commuted free and clear. But it’s true. You got a woman waiting on you. In love with you. Getting ready to wed you this very night.”

  “A what? A woman? In love with me? Why, you…you flannel-mouth liar!” Without meaning to, Ronnie slugged his brother’s face, launching him back against the fence post. Hated how much his fist ached after.

  But Tremaine only laughed, straightened himself up. Rubbed his jaw. “Merry Christmas to you, too, twin. But not joking with you. It’s no prank.”

  “Then, tell me. Tell me true.” Ronnie combed fingers that ached through Silver Spirit’s mane.

  “Hez’s idea. All of it.”

  Ah, Hezekiah Steller. Owner of the proud Ladyface Ranch where Tremmie was foreman. But far too smart to fall for Tremaine’s trick. “I don’t believe you. Hez’s not one to poke his nose where it don’t belong.”

  “Himself happily wed to a mail-order bride. He contacted Miss Mamie’s Hearts and Hands Club. On your behalf.”

  “You mean…the same whereas Hez found Elspeth?” Ronnie paused to think things through. Heated up though the weather was cold. The couple was happily wed.

  “The very same.” Tremmie smiled with triumph, and Ronnie snorted, jealous. Through Ellie, his brother had found love with her sister, Judith.

  Suspicion prickled anyway. Ronnie had learned chess enough in the cell to consider himself a pawn. “Don’t like this, Tremmie. How long this been going on?”

  “About four months.”

  Ronnie rubbed his chin, did some ciphering. “Ah, I see now. Precisely four months since Hezekiah gave me a dirt-cheap price for two hundred of his acres. And o’course. Setting all his hands free to build me this cabin.” Then hurt feelings swamped him. “Thought he was just celebrating my release.”

  “It started out that way, honest.” Tremmie leaned against the fence post like settling in for a long gab. “You remember Hezekiah has cared about us both since we were tads. Helped us out when Pa didn’t get better. Reckoned you being pardoned, with a ranch and home all your own, you might snag a woman. But you won’t try courting on your own. Always whining cuz no woman ever wanted an outlaw. No disrespect to Mrs. Jesse James. We did what we had to do.”

  Ronnie held his tongue, still disliking the planning that had gone on around him, rested the rake against the fence post. “I intend to get inside for coffee and warm myself up. And you best have your flask along to drip in some whiskey.” He stalked to the cabin, Tremmie following like a dog. “Just so you know. I won’t do this thing.”

  “You will. It’s a good chance for you.”

  They entered the cabin, and Ronnie slammed the door hard. “You’re wrong. How could she love me when I never wrote her a word? And don’t even know her name.” A flame flickered in his brain, then exploded. “Oh, I get it. You. My very own twin pretended to be me.”

  Tremmie’s cheeks, already red from cold, turned purple. “I confess we are identical in many ways. Disregarding you becoming an outlaw and me a rancher. But I know your words. Your heart. It was easy to be you. And…” He took a quick slurp from his flask, then sat himself down at the kitchen table made from an old door. “Truth is, Ellie and Judy helped pen the letters. I consulted with them, but their words are finer. The signatures are all me. Well, me pretending to be you.”

  Ronnie shouted on a cuss.

  “Hold on. And it worked. Here’s all the letters Miss Phoebe Pierce wrote me in reply. I mean, wrote you. You have time to read them and see how you felt, I mean feel, about her before you meet the train.”

  Knees unhitching, Ronnie sank into a hard chair next to Tremmie. Gulped a slug himself. “No matter what these letters say or tell me, I won’t wed some woman I just met.”

  “You got to. Y’all signed a contract.”

  “You mean, you signed a contract.” Anger first, then weariness clamped him. “Truth is, brother, I have left my life of crime behind. You are the felon now. Forgery is not a good thing. I will not be a party to fraud. Dagnab it, I just got out of the calaboose.”

  Underneath his moustache, Tremmie’s mouth tightened like Ma’s had when she was on the nag. “It’s your chance to have a normal life, Ronnie. Be levelheaded.” And despite him being of the masculine persuasion, Tremmie’s voice in truth held Ma’s disciplinary tone. “Your Phoebe’s a beauty. Besides being educated and smart. Grew up outside Omaha. A true blue debutante but left society behind these past five years to tend an ailing auntie. Has a heart of gold. She holds your heart, Ronnie.”

  “That’s enough, Tremmie.” Ronnie turned away and pounded the table.

  “Hold on.” Untying the pile, Tremmie pulled forth a lovely brown-toned photograph framed in grey felt and stamped Obermuller Studios, Omaha, Nebraska. “Just take a look before you get all high and mighty.”

  Ronnie touched the expensive artifact with reverence. His— career—had taught him to respect the finer things in life. She stared up at him, his possible bride. Dark curls framing a face beautiful beyond words. His heart thudded, his manliness stiffened.

  But logic wrapped tight around his head. “I don’t deny she’s a beauty. Which reminds me to ask. What on earth would she want with me? Debutantes do not wed crooks.”

  “You’re not an outlaw anymore. You got commuted. You restituted all those you stole from, thanks to Hez. You’re a free man. With your own legitimate ranch.” Tremmie sounded like Ma again.

  Shame blistered Ronnie. “Can’t erase what all I did. I was pretty famous. And now, all those blasted dime novels—”

  Tremmie persisted. “She doesn’t know, and neither does anybody else. Nobody ever saw but a bag over your head with eyeholes cut funny. Nobody saw your real face. Else, they’d have hog-tied and hanged me all those years. You got recognized for those fool black bandannas tied around
your ankles. Never the true face of Ronald Heisler.”

  Ronnie sucked a thumbnail, considered his brother’s logic. It was true. He had tried to make good. Hezekiah and Pa had hired a Pinkerton to track down folks whose horses Black Ankles and his gang had stolen, paid them back with interest. Yet, while some of Black Ankle’s compatriots had succumbed to lives of worse crimes, the fact remained. Black Ankles/Ronald Heisler was not innocent.

  “Wanted posters, newspapers,” he sputtered.

  “All with your mask on. Ronnie, you confessed to one judge in Arizona. He’s all what saw your true face. You didn’t even need a public trial. Nobody knows you’re nothing but who you are. Not even folks here in East Slope you grew up with. I mean, Jesse James was always Jesse James. His real face. His real name. You were always none but Black Ankles.”

  Ronnie swallowed. Yep, it might have been a fool idea to turn outlaw when Pa needed money for his hurts. After Ma’s death had stolen Ronnie’s soul. At least he’d had the sense to perform his misdeeds in disguise. But still…

  “I won’t. No matter I remain unwed my whole life. This is wrong. Plain wrong. And I’m done playing wrong.”

  Tremaine fumbled with something in the bundle. “Here. The letter from December ten. She proves your worth to her.”

  “Dear Mr. Heisler, the silver tones of your words bring the music of love into my heart. Your visage from the tintype only stirs my longing. And my love. I must confess I fell instantly in love upon beholding your countenance. I tremble…”

  Tintype? He hadn’t sat for a photographer since his youth. Ronnie growled, pounded a fist longer this time. “You sent her a picture of yourself!”

  Tremaine didn’t blush or act guilty at all. “That’s right I did. There are some advantages to being a lookalike.” He turned back to the paper. Pale pink, but words done with a typewriting machine. “I tremble upon consideration of our wedding day. Christmas Eve. The day the Lord’s love came down in full. I can barely bear my eagerness to behold you in person. I hope you await my arrival in East Slope as keenly as does your loving bride. With utmost affection and respect, Phoebe Adelaide Pierce.”