A Mail-Order Christmas Bride

by Livia J. Washburn

  Ronnie’s knees tensed under the table. What? He’d done well in the schoolroom, and one must possess certain smarts to perfect outlawing, but many of this woman’s words went high over his head. What might she sound like in person? His flesh rustled, and he made up his mind.

  “No, Tremmie. I can’t go into a marriage with such a deep, dark secret. And no decent woman would dare wed an outlaw. Whether he’s turned good or not. Nobody knows what the future holds.”

  “What? You mean you intend—”

  “Not me,” Ronnie spat. “I know I won’t. But she doesn’t. And what? Some debutante’s gonna hunker down in my cabin? Debutantes are the daughters of rich men. Rich men own mansions.” Ronnie knew for sure. He’d seen such dominions on his raids. Tremmie, now, had barely left East Slope.

  “That’s why she’s perfect. Her most favorite author is Mr. Thoreau. She greatly admires him. Him trying to live simply. You’ve read Mr. Thoreau, haven’t you?”

  “I am not a dunce.” Ronnie snorted. “But I’m still not seeing it. How some social butterfly would coop herself up in my cabin.”

  “I’ve done the ciphering. It’s bigger than Mr. Thoreau’s.” Tremmie fingered the letters again. “You two discuss his Walden experiment in the letters from August eighth and twenty second.”

  “I can’t. And I won’t.”

  “You can and you will. I say, she’s already in love with you. You’ll see that by October sixteenth.” Complete triumph at achieving such a goal shone on Tremmie’s face, which Ronnie wanted to slug again. “Your proposal written on Thanksgiving Day is quite masterful, by the way.”

  “Your proposal, you mean.” Ronnie grabbed the flask and poured it down his throat, coughed and sputtered, eyes watering. Even in his wild days, he wasn’t much of a drinking man. “I’m done with dishonesty, brother. Duping folks to trust me. Fibbing, sneaking around. Secrets. I thought you understood that.”

  “You have redeemed your soul, Ronnie. You deserve a good life, a fine wife. And here’s one, wrapped in mistletoe. She won’t need to know.” Tremmie held the photograph close to Ronnie’s watery gaze. “She doesn’t need to know everything. And all you need to know is this. You got a woman in love with you. Keenly wanting to wed you. Today.”

  Ah, she was a beauty. Smart, too. And while Ronnie had perfect the art of lying, in his past life, he’d left all that behind. Maybe Tremaine was right.

  He gulped. No.

  Tremmie pulled something from another pocket. “Y’all know I used Ma’s wedding ring for my Judy. But Pa had squirreled this one away. His own ma’s. Some granny we didn’t get to know.” Into Ronnie’s palm, he set a ring. A fine sapphire set in gold with two little diamonds on each side. “From the letter of September fourth, you will learn she has blue eyes. Can’t tell that from the photograph. Better yet, sapphire is her birthstone. Meaning, this ring is the perfect fit. You see, Ronnie. All of this is meant to be.”

  Fear almost as cold and terrible as the judge’s decree of seven years clamped Ronnie tight. “I can’t, Tremmie. You say you know me well. That we’re one and the same. But you didn’t know I headed to outlawing that day. All I said was I was going to town, and you believed me. I can’t do this thing. No matter I got a cabin bigger than Mr. Thoreau’s.”

  Tremaine grappled a shoulder just like Pa might have when he’d been hale. “We are just about one and the same, Ronnie. No, I didn’t know you went outlawing, but I do know a man needs a woman to love. To make him a better man. So I know this is the right thing. You just needed a nudge. I love Judy. Hez loves Ellie. Your family wants the same for you.”

  “No.” Ronnie took a step back.

  “Yes. Miss Phoebe loves you true and through. And tonight, she’ll be Mrs. Ronald Heisler, wife of a respectable rancher.”

  Hmmm. Mrs. Ronald Heisler. A bride all his own. This very night. Ronnie’s heart throbbed, and something else, too. “Um, I only got a skinny cot. Fits one.”

  Tremaine grinned like he’d won a battle. “You think I didn’t think of that? I been a bridegroom, too. I’ll get you a new mattress set up soon as I get my chores done. Your Christmas surprise.”

  Ronnie breathed deep. Maybe he ought to give marriage a try. Since he hadn’t had to do a thing before now. He had a bride in love with him. That sure was something.

  Chapter Three

  “East Slope. Ten minutes,” the conductor roared over the clanking wheels.

  As the announcement, Phoebe’s shoulder blades stabbed the back of the upholstered bench. She pinched her cheeks, bit her lips to add pink, and settled her fancy hat on her head. Her fingers shook as she touched Ronnie’s letters one last time. All twenty of them lay across her lap like flower petals.

  With a peek at her locket watch, she trembled for the thousandth time. Only nine minutes now. She was almost there. Oh, would Ronnie take her in his arms first thing? Or…she heated. Would she grab him first? His girth, his height…Her breath hitched. For she’d fallen head-over-heels somewhere in the Sand Hills. Phoebe herself, that is. Margot had done so in the missive of October sixteenth.

  Oh, and Ronnie had fallen in love at the first sight of her portrait on August seventeenth. Her breath hitched. Then, later in early September, he’d explained his tidy ranch and proud herd and how hard he planned to work to provide her a comfortable life. She sighed again. On September twenty-second, he’d poured out his heart and soul in syllables so pure and tender Phoebe wondered why Margot hadn’t left Lester, instead.

  Ah, her man sure had a way with words.

  Ah, Margot, well-meaning sister, who’d vowed to fetch Frankie to Colorado in one week’s time. And with Ronnie’s promises in the letter of October twenty-sixth—pledges of enduring love throughout all of life’s foibles, Phoebe knew in her heart he’d accept her dear little boy in no time at all.

  She blew her sister a silent kiss across the miles.

  With gentle fingers, Phoebe placed the letters inside her reticule. Indeed, she had slept with them under her pillow last night in her Pullman berth. Ronnie had funded both upper and lower berths to provide her with comfort and privacy. Swamped with love, she kissed the tintype one last time and giggled. In the letter of August seventh, sweet Ronnie had tried to describe his personal attributes and not come close at all.

  Her giggle trilled as she climbed into her wine-colored velvet burnoose. Right next to the sacred letters was the dime novel she’d planned to read across the many miles. Her favorite outlaw, Black Ankles. But the letters, she tingled and sighed, had taken all her time.

  Her heart kicked up rhythm as the locomotive slowed. The train pulled into a town of attractive brick buildings with towering mountains behind. She could hardly control her delicious shivers. Tonight, she’d marry the man of her dreams. Even if it had all started out Margot’s dreams.

  A new and terrible thought struck her as the train ground to a halt. What if Ronnie didn’t show? What if he wasn’t real?

  What if it had all been a hoax? A humbug?

  But August first. His first letter. Miss Pierce, I am an honorable man…

  Of course he was. She was out of breath, though, when the porter bowed and lent her a hand.

  “Miz Pierce, I have staffed this route for many years.” He must have read the questions in her eyes. “Know the folks of this burg well. You’re marrying a righteous man, that Ronnie. Watched him grow up. ’Course…” The dark forehead wrinkled. “He did take off for a bit. Money was short at hand after his pa got hurt at the sawmill. But he’s back. And you’re one lucky gal.”

  “Thank you, Jasper.” Phoebe preened. The exit door opened to the Rockies rising from the ground like the silver spires of a magic castle. She wanted to gasp but only had eyes for…

  “Phoebe? Phoebe, it’s me. Ronald Heisler. Ronnie.” An aura from bright sun on snow haloed him until her eyes adjusted to the glare. There. There he stood on the platform in the glow of the snow-covered mountain behind him. Far taller than even her imagination. Good dark overcoa
t hugging wide shoulders. Wind rustling hair that sparked with gold in the sun. Tanned face framed by a white shirt. And a brown Stetson in his hand. Strong, masculine voice, with both gravel and tenderness.

  Struck by his beauty, she stumbled upon the icy platform. He had no choice but to grasp her arms, and bold with opportunity, she held him close. He smelled like pine, somehow, and even the air itself. And his warmth—goodness, she’d never be cold again in the gaze of those rain-cloud eyes.

  “Oh, Ronnie. My Ronnie. I…I am so happy.” The words slid out so easy and true.

  She took a step back, hating to leave his embrace, but desperate to behold his glorious visage in person. His gaze never left hers, his hands knit through her mittens.

  He dipped his head, slow and polite. Of course. Even the dime novels explained the American cowboy as a true gentleman. “I’m honored you…made such a trip for me. Made such a promise to me.” He swallowed hard. “You look beautiful. How was the journey?”

  Heaven sent. Sparkles rained down on her like falling stars. Her breath all but froze on the air, but she found her voice. “Good. Surprisingly quick.” She didn’t mention the trembles of her heart the last four hundred miles. “I’ve not traveled this far before. You?”

  He cleared his throat, then tugged her arm through his elbow. “Uh, yes. I’ve traveled some. Denver. Arizona, mostly.” The last two words trembled a little. “I’d sure like to show you East Slope.”

  “My luggage…”

  Ronnie chuckled. “The porter is a pal. He’ll load your plunder in my runabout. Bye the bye, it’s a historic buggy. Used in courting back three generations.”

  “I’d love to see your buggy. You mentioned it in your letter of December first. After um…I accepted your proposal.” Well, after Margot had, that is. She hung tight to him as they headed down the platform stairs. “And I’d love to explore this charming town. Do we have time?” She had no idea what vespers actually meant on a clock. “Before the wedding, I mean? Uh, what time—what time will it occur?”

  “Tonight at dusk is vespers. All the candles get lit about six.”

  At candlelight, she’d be Ronnie’s wife. It was time. It was now. Her heart thudded.

  A horse-drawn sleigh with a blade at the front cleared away snow. Children danced everywhere, tossing snowballs. Oh, Frankie would have new friends. Most of all, a massive pine tree getting hauled upright on a dais right in the center of the main street.

  “Why, it’s like Dickens come to life!” She tightened her fingers around his. He wasn’t wearing gloves and she wished she wasn’t.

  “The town kids will be trimming that tree in a bit.”

  His mention of kids emboldened her once more. “I know you grew up here. It seems like a fine place for…children.”

  “In truth, it does.” He grinned at her, but his carved cheekbones turned the color of a good claret wine. “It was important to me—you wanting a large family.”

  She knew that from the letter of August twenty-second. Thought for a sad flash of childless Margot, who’d authored it.

  “Well, yes, I do.” She cleared her throat back at him. “I have but one sister. Ten years older. It seems I spent most of my childhood alone.”

  Snow crunched under their feet. His forehead crinkled. “Oh. You never mentioned her.”

  What? Margot hadn’t mentioned herself? Just what had she written in Phoebe’s stead? She gulped. Margot’s tricks with carbon paper hadn’t included copies of her missives. “You know, I don’t know much about your family, either. An elderly father. In your letter of September second, you mentioned a little about our former Omaha neighbor. Elspeth Maroney, herself a mail-order bride. How you bought some land from her husband…”

  He nodded, golden hair waving at his neck. “Hezekiah Steller’s a good man. Helped us out a great deal when Pa got sick and Ma died. My brother is foreman of his Ladyface Ranch. Finest spread this side of Johnny’s Mountain.” His massive shoulders blocked out the setting sun.

  But…“A brother?” And he hadn’t thought to mention a sibling either?

  “Yep.” Ronnie smiled at her. “Tremaine. I…guess I forgot to mention that, in turn. Mention him. He’s uh…wed to Ellie’s sister. Must’ve been so stuck by your beauty I couldn’t think straight.”

  “Oh, yes, Judith. I vaguely recall her. Well, I look forward to meeting Tremaine. And, of course, seeing Elspeth and Judith again.” Phoebe didn’t mean it. Much younger, she mostly recalled the sisters and Margot tormenting her. More important was the look of love glistening in Ronnie’s eyes, and his declaration of her beauty.

  It galled to admit, but Margot was right. Phoebe had found the man of her deepest dreams. And, on behalf of a sister mired in misery, Phoebe swallowed a childish sigh.

  “And you shall meet him soon.” Ronnie leaned close for a flash to land a kiss of air atop her hat. “My brother will stand up for me at the wedding. Then, there’ll be a fandango at the Ladyface celebrating Christmas…and us.”

  “A fandango? Is that what you call parties in the West?”

  Ronnie’s words turned white on the air. His smile warmed her through. “Reckon so. But no presents until tomorrow.” His footsteps slowed down over the words, and his eyes brightened. “I must admit, I got my best gift right next to me here. You’re prettier than your picture by a long shot.”

  Pleasure at his words, the gentle warmth in his eyes turned to heat, but confusion roiled, too. His written words were far more poetic. Then, she relaxed when he placed his Stetson back on his head. This man was a true cowboy in his every day. His letters had been courtship, pure and simple. Formal and proper courting of a proper lady.

  “Now, I’m guessing you require a meal. The boardinghouse has a fine dining room that tends to serve a good supper.”

  Butterflies swept around her stomach. She’d never be able to eat a thing. “Oh, I had a respectable high tea in the dining car.”

  His eyes crimped at the corners. “Hmmm. Must be delicious in its way. The nice train only comes through once a week. Mostly, it’s freight on a spur line. Glad it was today. All right, now. How about watching the kids trim up the Christmas tree? A fine blue spruce. Me…” he grinned down at her, “I cut us a small one for our cabin. For you. Judy…” he gruffed, “Judy sent along some ribbons, but I got no baubles. It’ll be pretty bare.”

  A Christmas tree. Just for her. Phoebe’s heartbeat trilled. “How about us picking up some decorations at the mercantile? For our very first tree.” She pointed down the street at a general store.

  Warmth spread through her bones even in the chill mountain wind. Frankie would be helping next year. Frankie…her speeding heart crashed to a stop. How long should she wait? She shelved the true dilemma for later. ”I imagine the shopkeeper has stocked something suitable.”

  “Let’s go examine.” With sprite, Ronnie strode across street, holding her hand tight, matching his paces to her shorter ones. Love pounded in her veins when he half-lifted her over a pile of dirty slush.

  They stopped at the mercantile door to stomp snow off their boots. “I might…” she started. But no. A veil was out of the question. The elaborate hunter-green hat Margot had provided along with the hand-tailored traveling ensemble would suffice with its pheasant feathers. Of course, Phoebe’s heart panged at thoughts of the lovely hunted creature.

  As if reading her mind, Ronnie leaned toward her ear, tilting the Stetson to avoid collision, and whispered, soft. “I was thinking. Maybe a bridal gift? A lace…well, a lace anything? Heard the gals discussing Elspeth had some sort of lace shawl.”

  Warmth swept through her, across her, down her spine. She could hardly breathe. “Oh, Ronnie, your thoughtfulness touches my soul. But we best keep our sights on practical measures.”

  He frowned, and she regretted off-putting a gift from her beloved. “Well, I do have your ring. Belonged to my granny.”

  “And I, I brought you my papa’s pocket watch. I couldn’t decide it a bridal gift, or our firs
t Christmas.”

  “It’ll be both.” His grin relaxed her. No, he wasn’t too upset at her shirking his gift. And his grandmother’s ring? Papa’s watch wouldn’t compare. Her father had presented it first to Lester, ten years ago. In truth, Margot admitted he’d not wanted to part with it—until she let loose at the ladies aid society some scuttlebutt about his new mistress.

  It was likely the only thing Phoebe would ever get from her father. She swallowed a lump, for he’d loved her once.

  “My pa’s got quite a tale to tell about his own pocket watch,” Ronnie said as they entered the stuffy confines of the shop. A Pennsylvania fireplace belched heat from a corner. He divested her of her burnoose and hung it on a rack by the door. Over their last-minute purchases, a gaggle of gossips stared like she and her bridegroom had three heads.

  With an eye roll, Ronnie conceded to their curiosity, touched his brim politely. “My bride, ladies. Miss Phoebe Pierce. From Omaha.”

  A half-dozen mouths dipped into flabby chins. Phoebe peeked at Ronnie’s dazzling smile. They hadn’t known about the wedding?

  As if in dismissal, Ronnie turned around, laid his hand at her lower back. She gave what she hoped was a friendly wave to these new neighbors.

  “So, Ronnie, you finally quit beatin’ the devil around a stump and found some woman to take you on.”

  Phoebe swiveled toward the tart voice behind the counter. She didn’t know quite how to translate the conversation, but doubted it was a warm welcome. A woman, not old but older than Phoebe, stared back at her.

  Her feelings ruffled. Drat if she’d buy anything in this store. But the Christmas trinkets shone in the lantern light. Then she showered the clerk with the brightest smile she could. Likely she’d be buying goods under this roof for many years to come.