His Mail-Order Bride

by Tatiana March

  * * *

  Charlotte craned up on tiptoe on a rickety desk, holding a blanket to the schoolhouse ceiling. The first lot of children would arrive on the Thursday train, which meant she only had two days to prepare her accommodation. Ten feet away from her, across the small cabin, Gus Junior was holding up the other end of the blanket and banging nails into the rafters.

  He pulled another nail from his mouth and spoke around the ones that remained clamped between his teeth. “It’s a good thing you got this job, Miss Jackson, now that Mr. Greenwood has sent for another mail-order bride. He would not want to keep paying your bills at the Imperial Hotel.”

  The world around her went gray. Thick, suffocating gray, as the blanket slipped from her fingers and fell on top of her head.

  “Miss Jackson, are you all right?” She heard the anxious question and the sound of scrambling feet. An instant later, the blanket lifted and Gus Junior’s homely face stared at her.

  Charlotte sneezed. A shudder rippled down her body. The desk rocked beneath her feet. She climbed down to the safety of the solid timber floor.

  “What did you say?” she muttered.

  “I said, it’s a good thing—”

  “Never mind.” She silenced him with a flap of her hand. She didn’t want to hear those words repeated. But she couldn’t stop them from buzzing in her ears.

  Sent for another mail-order bride.

  What had she thought? That Thomas would court her in her true identity as Miss Charlotte Fairfax from Boston, not Miss Maude Jackson from New York City. That, instead of taking a bride in a bag, he would see her. Choose her.

  Of course he wouldn’t want her. She was incompetent. Too fragile. Everyone said so. She didn’t even come with the free extra of a baby on the way. She was not a practical farm wife. She made friends with chickens and danced over the rows of cabbages and beets, singing sea shanties. She would never have agreed to put Harrison in the pot for Thanksgiving dinner, and Thomas knew it.

  He’d already sent for another bride.

  The thought drenched over her like a winter downpour, icy and unwelcome. Charlotte straightened her spine in the haughty way her governesses had taught her to do. She would show him. She would show them all. Fragile, hah! Hamish Fairfax’s daughter was made of sterner stuff than that. She would stun them all with her success as a schoolteacher. She would show Thomas what he’d let slip through his fingers. When his new bride arrived, he’d realize he’d traded down, not traded up.

  “Are you all right, Miss Jackson?”

  “Huh?” Charlotte blinked, the wild thoughts scattering.

  “You were staring at the wall and muttering. Your fists were clenched. I thought you were going to sock me one. It’s not my fault you dropped the blanket. I wasn’t pulling on it. It was just too heavy for you to hold up.”

  Charlotte silenced Gus Junior with a sharp look and climbed back up on the desk. “It’s not too heavy. I’m not fragile. Let’s get on with it.”

  * * *

  Her first night in her new home. Charlotte moved the little jar with wildflowers from one desk to another and surveyed her domain. Home, workplace and sanctuary, all in one. A fire glowed in the potbellied stove. The blanket hung from the ceiling. Coffee brewed on the stove in a pot she’d borrowed from Miss Hayes, who might not be such a dragon after all.

  It was a sweet little cabin.

  There was only one thing wrong with it.

  She was lonely. It’s just homesickness, Charlotte told herself.

  She closed her eyes and tried to imagine the crash of the ocean against the rocks at Merlin’s Leap and the steady blinking of the lighthouse on Merlin’s Point. But instead, her imagination came up with the clucking of chickens and the clunking of the irrigation pump.

  It hit her then. She didn’t miss Merlin’s Leap. She didn’t miss the ocean. Not one bit. She didn’t care if she never saw either again. The ocean had stopped being a friend after it had taken her parents. Merlin’s Leap had stopped being a home after Cousin Gareth had turned it into a prison.

  All she missed was her sisters.

  And Thomas.

  Oh, how she missed him.

  What was that? A sound outside. The tinkle of metal. A pebble rolling on gravel. Charlotte snuffed out the lamp on the teacher’s desk and crept to the window. The night was overcast, with no moonlight. A shadow passed mere yards behind the building. Then it vanished. Gravel rolled again. Something big and heavy was moving in the night.

  She was not fragile. Not afraid.

  Her mouth dry, her heart hammering, Charlotte eased the door open and slipped out through the gap. Keeping her footsteps light, she felt her way round the corner of building in the darkness. Lamplight spilled out through the windows of the Imperial Hotel and the saloon, but it was too far to reach out to the schoolhouse.

  “Ouch!” She tripped over something big that lay on the ground, and toppled over it in a flurry of petticoats and flailing arms and legs. Strong hands closed around her waist and broke her fall.

  “Easy now.”

  Thomas.

  She tried to fling her arms around his neck in the darkness but missed and ended up bashing him in the face with her elbow. She could hear his grunt of pain.

  “It’s me, Thomas,” he whispered. “Don’t hit.”

  He thought she was fighting him.

  Charlotte stilled her motion and whispered back, “What are you doing here?” Her eyes were adjusting to the lack of light. She could see the pale circle of his face. The big looming shape she’d seen was Shadow, standing a few yards away.

  “I’m doing chaperone duty,” Thomas replied.

  “You’re...what?”

  Thomas plunked her down on her rear end beside him. He scooted up to a sitting position, his bulk looming beside her in the darkness. She heard the rasp of a match, saw the flare of light. There was a clink of glass against metal. Then a steady flame burned inside the storm lantern he was holding up.

  “Have you seen this?” he asked, and passed her a handbill.

  The single page resembled a wanted poster. It said Gold Crossing Informer in big letters on the top. The headline beneath read: The Female Population of Gold Crossing Skyrockets.

  In the light of the storm lantern, Charlotte read the article that followed. It mentioned the new schoolteacher, Miss Maude Jackson, and referred to an unspecified number of unattached females arriving on the Thursday train.

  She looked up at Thomas. “Who did this?”

  “Gus Junior. It seems he wants to make a career out of spreading gossip. He wrote out twenty of these by hand and has been riding around selling them for two bits each. Every prospector in the hills is heading into town. Some have come down a day early and are drinking and gambling. There’s a carnival atmosphere in the saloon.”

  Warmth flooded through her.

  Thomas had come out to safeguard her.

  To protect her from the invasion of woman-hungry males.

  “Oh, Thomas.” She sighed, her dreamy smile hidden by the night.

  “That’s right,” he told her. “It’s there, black and white in the newspaper, that our marriage has been annulled. We’d better make it right. I’ve spoken to Reverend Eldridge. He’ll see us first thing tomorrow morning.”

  Charlotte opened her mouth in protest, then closed it again without a sound. He’d not come to protect her. He’d come to absolve himself from responsibility over her.

  “Go back inside,” Thomas said. “I’ll sleep out here. I’ll see you in the morning.” Sitting like a big rock on the ground, he curled one hand over her elbow to help her up and used his other hand to hold the lantern high, illuminating her path back to the schoolhouse.

  * * *

  Charlotte lay awake all night, trying to understand the melancholy
that had taken hold of her. She knew her marriage must be annulled. It was not legal. She had been impersonating someone else. Thomas was doing her a favor by not hauling her in front of a judge and jury to stand trial for fraud.

  An annulment was the perfect solution.

  So why did she feel such a sense of loss?

  In the morning she was ready and waiting when Thomas came banging on the schoolhouse door. Daylight had barely dawned. Despite sleeping the night on the ground, he didn’t look rumpled. That...steadiness...was part of his appeal, it occurred to Charlotte. Instead of letting the storms of life buffet him about, he stood firm and forced the storm waves to crash about him.

  He had offered her his strength, but from today she would have to stand on her own.

  During the walk to the tiny white church neither of them spoke. Thomas was taking long strides and Charlotte had to break into a run to keep up with him. He seemed in a great hurry to complete the business of annulling their union.

  They found Reverend Eldridge sweeping the floor, reaching between the pews. He straightened and peered at them through the thick lenses of his spectacles.

  Thomas held out a folded piece of paper. “We’ve come about the annulment.”

  Charlotte craned her neck to inspect what he was offering to the reverend. Of course. The certificate of their marriage. How careless of her to let him keep it. She should at least have insisted on a copy for herself.

  The preacher scratched his ear. “Did I marry you?”

  “Four weeks ago tomorrow,” Thomas confirmed.

  “Let me see.” Reverend Eldridge shuffled to the small altar. He pulled out a ledger from beneath the embroidered altar cloth and studied the pages. With a population of eight in town, and the residents of the surrounding farms and ranches and mining camps mostly bachelors, Charlotte didn’t expect there would be many records of marriage or baptism, only the occasional funeral.

  The reverend looked at them with a frown lining his forehead. “I don’t have any entries here in the last three months.”

  Thomas scowled at him. “I paid you two dollars and you did marry us.”

  “Here, in my church?”

  “No,” Charlotte cut in. “On the porch of the Imperial Hotel.”

  One age-mottled hand rose and scratched the sparse white hair by his temple. “I must have forgotten to write it up in the register. Let me see your document.” The preacher held out his hand. Thomas passed the marriage certificate to him.

  The reverend glanced at it and nodded. “My signature.” He peered up at them again. “Must have clean slipped my mind by the time I got back to the church.” He tore the piece of paper in two and handed out a half to each of them. “Here. It’s done.” He gave a chuckle. “If you change your mind, you can stick the marriage certificate back together and I’ll record it in the ledger.”

  Charlotte studied her half. It said: “...ude Jackson.”

  She looked up at the preacher. “Just like that?”

  He smiled, a vague, absent smile. “What?”

  “The annulment. Just like that?”

  He sent her a puzzled frown. “What annulment?”

  Thomas gripped her arm, said thank you to the reverend and hauled her out of the church. When they got to the schoolhouse, he came inside after her, without waiting for an invitation, or even asking for permission.

  She’d never seen him like that. His powerful body was rigid, his face as hard as granite. He looked just like she imagined a soldier might look when charging into a battle where he expected to meet his death.

  He bent down to the potbellied stove, opened the hatch and used the poker to stir the ashes, his half of their marriage certificate crumpled in his fingers. Then he put down the poker, uncurled his fist and tossed the piece of paper into the belly of the stove.

  Charlotte watched the marriage certificate catch flame and curl up and vanish. Without a word, Thomas held out his hand. Sometime ago she had speculated that the will of Thomas Greenwood might be more potent than hers, and she’d been right.

  As if against her will, her arm moved. Her fingers released their grip on the piece of paper she was holding. She blinked back a tear when Thomas threw her half of the marriage certificate into the flames, and she witnessed the formal proof of their union dissolve away.

  Thomas still hadn’t spoken.

  He stared at the cooling ashes for a long moment, until the last of the orange glimmer had died. Then he whirled on one boot heel and strode out without sparing her even the briefest of glances. Just like that? She’d asked the preacher about ending their marriage. Thomas, with his abrupt parting, had given her the answer.

  Just...like...that.

  * * *

  It was done. Finished. Over with. Thomas pointed Shadow down the desert trail, planning to use the hard riding to heal his broken heart.

  It’s better this way, he told himself. If he felt such terrible emptiness after less than a month of marriage, how awful might he have felt if their union had gone on for longer before it came to an end?

  His thoughts leaped ahead to the evening. The orphans and widows would arrive on the afternoon train. The town was in an uproar. He’d have to take care of the animals on the farm and come back for the night, to make sure Charlotte was safe, all alone in the schoolhouse.

  He was just about to kick Shadow into a canter when he heard the thunder of hooves from the direction of the town. Thomas brought Shadow to a halt and craned around in the saddle. He adjusted his hat brim and squinted at the cloud of dust that billowed between him and the buildings in the distance.

  A rider hunched low in the saddle was catching up. Thomas recognized Gus Junior. The boy had the best horse in town, a black mustang he used in his business of delivering messages to the surrounding ranches and mining camps.

  Gus Junior reined in alongside Thomas. The boy was panting for breath. His homely features crumpled with worry and his sallow skin seemed unusually pale.

  “Mr. Greenwood, Sam Renner is coming into town.”

  Thomas snapped to attention. “How do you know?”

  “I rode out to Desperation Hill yesterday.” Gus Junior’s voice cracked, and it was more than the usual adolescent croak. The boy was close to tears.

  “It’s my fault,” Gus Junior went on. He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “I’ve been selling these.”

  Thomas took the sheet, unfolded it. It was a copy of the one-page newspaper he’d already seen. Gold Crossing Informer.

  “Sam Renner got hold of a copy and read it.” Gus Junior’s voice cracked again. “He knows there’s women coming into town. He’s already set off down the hill.” His eyes pleaded at Thomas. “It’s my fault. If I hadn’t started the newspaper...” He gave a forlorn shake of his shaggy head. “It’s my fault.”

  “It’s all right, Gus,” Thomas said gently, and handed back the copy of the Informer. “You did nothing wrong.”

  “I wrote the newspaper...”

  “Sam would have heard about the women anyway. Now we can figure out when to expect him, and we can be prepared.”

  Gus reined in to control a nervous sidestep by his mustang. “Your wife...I mean Miss Jackson...she is small and dark, with curly hair, just like that Frenchwoman who took Sam Renner’s gold...”

  Thomas spoke calmly. “It will take Sam about a week to walk into town. I’ll be there. I’ll see that Char—Miss Jackson is safe.”

  Gus Junior’s expression brightened. “I’ll help you protect her.”

  Thomas racked his brain to find a way to keep the boy out of harm’s way without insulting his masculinity. “No,” he said. “I need you to stand aside for now. That way, if something happens to me, you can step in and protect her.”

  “Right.” Gus nodded. “If Sam Renner
kills you, I’ll step in.”

  Thomas said nothing. What a world they lived in, if a boy of fourteen talked so casually about death. No wonder Charlotte didn’t want to stay around any longer than she had to.

  Gus Junior cleared his throat, then spoke awkwardly. “Mr. Greenwood, do you think I should stop publishing the newspaper? I mean, am I stirring up trouble?”

  Stirring up trouble? Thomas suppressed a groan. More like whipping it up with the force of a hurricane. However, it was clear the boy needed something to occupy him. The newspaper was ideal, for it provided an outlet for Gus Junior’s curious mind and allowed him to reach out to other people. The citizens of Gold Crossing would just have to learn to cope with his meddling.

  “No, Gus,” Thomas replied with a mixture of encouragement and resignation. “You go on and keep right at it. This town needs a newspaper, and you are just the man to provide it.”

  They said their goodbyes. Gus Junior wheeled his mustang around and headed back into town. Thomas set off down the trail at an easy lope, no longer needing the challenge of breakneck speed to distract his mind.

  Sam Renner was coming into town.

  Seven years ago, at the height of the boom in Gold Crossing. Sam Renner had owned a struggling mine. One day, while working down in the mine shaft in the flickering light of a storm lantern, he hit his pickaxe into a solid rock of gold.

  According to Sam, it would have been one of the biggest nuggets ever found in the history of mining, around eight pounds, the weight of a newborn baby, but the blow from his pickaxe had shattered it into fragments.

  Sam collected the fragments into a jute sack and rode into town. Art Langley urged him to deposit his fortune in the hotel safe, but Sam clung to it, showing off his treasure and paying for his purchases in gold.

  He took up with one of the saloon girls, a small Frenchwoman from New Orleans, paying for her to be his exclusive consort. When they went to live at the mine, the Frenchwoman saw there was no cabin, no well, no stove, no bed, nothing.

  On their first night under the stars, she waited until Sam had fallen asleep by the campfire, and then she took out the pearl-handled revolver she had insisted he buy her for protection and put a bullet in his back.