by Kit Morgan
The Thanksgiving
Mail-Order Bride
by
Kit Morgan
ANGEL CREEK PRESS
The Thanksgiving Mail-Order Bride (Holiday Mail-Order Brides, Book Eight)
by Kit Morgan
© 2014, 2015 Kit Morgan
Other titles by Kit Morgan:
The Christmas Mail-Order Bride (Holiday Mail-Order Brides, Book One)
The New Year’s Bride (Holiday Mail-Order Brides, Book Two)
His Forever Valentine (Holiday Mail-Order Brides, Book Three)
Her Irish Surrender (Holiday Mail-Order Brides, Book Four)
The Springtime Mail-Order Bride (Holiday Mail-Order Brides, Book Five)
Love in Independence (Holiday Mail-Order Brides, Book Six)
Love at Harvest Moon (Holiday Mail-Order Brides, Book Seven)
The Holiday Mail-Order Bride (Holiday Mail-Order Brides, Book Nine)
His Mail-Order Valentine (Holiday Mail-Order Brides, Book Ten)
The Easter Mail-Order Bride (Holiday Mail-Order Brides, Book Eleven – coming March 2015)
August (Prairie Grooms, Book One)
Ryder (Prairie Grooms, Book Two)
Seth (Prairie Grooms, Book Three)
Chase (Prairie Grooms, Book Four)
Levi (Prairie Grooms, Book Five)
Bran (Prairie Grooms, Book Six)
Amon (Prairie Grooms, Book Seven – coming 2015)
The Prairie Groom (with Geralyn Beauchamp – coming 2015)
His Prairie Princess (Prairie Brides, Book One)
Her Prairie Knight (Prairie Brides, Book Two)
His Prairie Duchess (Prairie Brides, Book Three)
Her Prairie Viking (Prairie Brides, Book Four)
His Prairie Sweetheart (Prairie Brides, Book Five)
Her Prairie Outlaw (Prairie Brides, Book Six)
Christmas in Clear Creek (Prairie Brides, Book Seven)
The Escape: A Mail-Order Bride Romance (Dalton Brides, Prologue – with Kirsten Osbourne, Cassie Hayes)
The Rancher’s Mail-Order Bride (Dalton Brides, Book One – with Kirsten Osbourne)
The Cowboy’s Mail-Order Bride (Dalton Brides, Book Two)
The Drifter’s Mail-Order Bride (Dalton Brides, Book Three – with Cassie Hayes)
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without permission in writing from the publisher.
All characters are fictional. Any resemblances to actual people are purely coincidental.
Cover design by Angel Creek Press, The Killion Group and Hotdamndesigns.com
License Notes
This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
For all those who never thought they could …
Table of Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
About the Author
Other Books by Kit Morgan
One
Independence, Oregon, October 1871
Mercy Vander, Martha Tindle and Maude Smythe were best of friends in the little town of Independence, Oregon. Every Thursday at two, Friday at three and the occasional Tuesday at four, they’d meet for tea at Mercy’s house. She was the wife of Mayor Horace Vander, a bear of a man with a deep booming voice, a penchant for proper enunciation, a second term in office – and apropos to Mercy’s habit for entertaining, the largest house in town.
On this particular Thursday, Mercy, Martha and Maude were joined by another – Mahulda Brock, who’d just returned from her daughter’s wedding in Oregon City. Against her desires.
“I, for one, think it’s grand that Eva married into the business,” Maude commented. Eva’s new groom and his parents were, like the Smythes, in the funeral business. “I’d say it’s a satisfactory achievement on her part.”
Mahulda raised a delicate lace handkerchief to her face and dabbed her eyes. “I was so hoping for a doctor or lawyer as a son-in-law.” She looked at Maude. “No offense.”
“None taken,” Maude said with a smile. “More tea?”
“I’m so glad you could join us today, Mahulda,” Mercy chirped. “We’ve always wanted to have a fourth.”
“I must say,” Martha, who with her husband owned the local mercantile, chimed in. “You’re taking this all very well. What are Mr. Mullaney’s parents like?”
Mahulda put the back of a hand against her forehead and moaned, “Oh, I can’t begin to tell you!”
“Oh, but you must!” Mercy said with a happy smile. “It’s why we have tea.”
Betsy, the Vanders’ maid, entered the parlor carrying a tray. “Would any of you ladies care for a biscuit?”
“No thank you, Betsy,” Mercy said. “I couldn’t eat another bite.”
“I’ll have one, if you don’t mind,” Mahulda said as she let her arm drop. “My nerves are shot!”
“Mm-hmm,” Betsy said, raising an accusatory brow. “I’ll just leave these here.” She slid them onto the tray already on the table, turned and left.
“Really, Mrs. Vander, why do you keep that woman on?” Mahulda asked in shock.
Mercy giggled. “I’m going to tell you the same thing I tell everyone who asks that. Betsy’s been with us for ages. I couldn’t possibly part with her. She’s like one of the family!”
“One should never allow a servant to become part of the family,” Mahulda admonished.
“Don’t worry,” Martha said. “Betsy will grow on you … that is, if you keep coming to tea.”
“Well, I must say, I am glad you invited me, but at the same time I was surprised.”
Mercy, Martha and Maude glanced at one another. “How else are we to find out what happened to Eva?” Mercy squeaked in her birdlike voice.
Mahulda shivered as if reacting to fingernails on a chalkboard. “Well, I’m happy to be here all the same, even if it is just for gossip.”
“What would life be without gossip?” Mercy asked with a sigh.
“Quite dull, I would think,” Martha said. “But then, I have no time for gossip.”
“You own the mercantile,” Maude pointed out. “All you do is gossip!”
“Well, what about you?” countered Martha. “I’m sure you get in a word or two!”
“I’m married to an undertaker,” Maude said in a low tone. “How much talking is there going to be with our customers?”
“A very good point, dear,” Mercy said. “Would anyone like a biscuit?”
“I suppose a little gossip is fine now and then,” Mahulda said. “I’m sure news of Eva’s marriage has been spread all over town. The family is nice enough, and her husband quite handsome. Arthur and I can’t ask for more for our Eva. But I’ll miss her terribly.”
“At least she’s not thousands of miles away like some mail-order brides,” Mercy said.
“Yes,” Maude agreed. “Pastor Luke’s wife, Winnie came all the way from N
ew Orleans.”
“How can we forget, dear?” Mercy asked. “We’re the ones who sent away for her.”
Mahulda gasped.
“Oh, everyone knows,” Mercy said in all innocence. “If we hadn’t, Eva might have married Pastor Luke, and I can’t imagine they would’ve suited in the long-run? Nothing worse than two miserable people in charge of our parish.”
“Congregation,” Martha corrected.
“Flock,” Maude said.
They looked at Mahulda to see what she would say. She took a sip of her tea, shrugged and said “Assembly?”
“Good heavens, what do we call it?” Mercy asked, her eyes wide.
“Never mind about that,” Martha said. “Now that we’ve discussed Eva and heard all the news, I have some news of my own!”
“Wonderful!” Mercy chirped with a little clap of her hands. “What is it?”
“I have a letter,” Martha said proudly, pulling it from her reticule.
“From?” Maude prompted.
Martha smiled at them. “From the Ridgley Mail-Order Bridal Service of New Orleans,” she said as she waved the envelope in front of her. “Would you like to hear it?”
“Why, Martha Tindle,” Mercy said. “Did you send away for a mail-order bride?”
Martha nodded, her eyes bright. “And she’s arriving any day now. Of course, so is my sister Eunice. I’m afraid it’s going to be terribly crowded at my place.”
“You mean, you’re just going to have Morgan marry her as soon as she gets off the stage?”
“I’m not sure yet,” Martha informed them as she tapped the envelope against her chin.
“Morgan’s intended can stay with Horace and me if she needs to,” offered Mercy. “We have plenty of room.”
“That’s a thought …” Martha opened the envelope. “… in case Miss Daisy Evers isn’t to Morgan’s liking.”
“What do you mean, ‘isn’t to his liking’?” Mahulda asked.
Mercy and Maude both gasped. “Martha Tindle!” Mercy cried. “Tell me you didn’t!”
Martha sat back proudly. “I most certainly did! What does Morgan know of these things? Why, he’s just back from college – he should marry now before he immerses himself in work and has no time to think about a wife. I’ll never have grandchildren if I leave this up to him!”
“Am I to understand,” Mahulda began, “that you sent away for a mail-order bride and you didn’t tell your son?”
“What does it matter?” Martha asked. “Eva became a mail-order bride and didn’t tell you.”
Mahulda looked stung. “My circumstances were entirely different,” she huffed.
“Ladies, please,” Mercy said. “Let’s not squabble. Martha, read the letter.”
Martha opened the letter, cleared her throat, and read:
Dear Mr. Tindle,
My name is Daisy Evers. After reading your letter, I think we would suit. Mrs. Ridgley has informed me that you’ve sent train and stage fare, and has arranged for me to leave New Orleans posthaste. I can cook, clean and sew, and I hope you find my skills satisfactory. I promise I will try to be a good wife and helpmate for you.
Respectfully yours,
Daisy Evers.
The matrons looked at each other and, one by one, began to smile. “She sounds nice,” Mercy said as she picked up her tea.
“She sounds nothing of the kind!” Maude pointed out. “She gave no details as to her character, only a few simple skills. Anyone can do those things!”
“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Martha said. “Perhaps it’s a good thing my sister Eunice is coming to visit. She excels at cooking, cleaning and sewing, and is always straightening my shelves at the mercantile – though it drives Octavius plumb crazy.”
“What if Morgan’s new wife doesn’t want your sister ordering her about?” Mahulda asked.
“Eunice wouldn’t do that …” Martha sobered. “… too much … I hope.”
“When will she arrive?” Maude asked.
“Tomorrow. She’ll be on the same stage as Eunice, if my guess is right.”
“How wonderful!” Mercy said. “They’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other before they arrive. Won’t that be fun when they find out they’re going to be family?”
“I’d be more worried about what Morgan thinks of her, especially since you didn’t tell him,” Maude pointed out. “Did you at least tell him his aunt is coming to visit?”
“He’ll love her, just as Pastor Luke loves Winnie. And yes, he knows Eunice is coming.” Martha folded the letter and put it back into the envelope. “Let’s get back to our tea. Does anyone else have news?”
“Jonathan’s gout is acting up again,” Maude announced.
“Why that’s terrible, dear,” Mercy said.
Meanwhile, en route from Portland to Independence …
“Do you always read so ferociously, Miss Evers?”
Daisy looked up from her book of poetry and fought the urge to roll her eyes … again. The middle-aged spinster, Eunice Brubauk, hadn’t let her have a moment’s peace since they’d left the stage stop in Portland. As far as Daisy was concerned, they couldn’t get to Independence fast enough. “I enjoy poetry,” Daisy told her with a smile – and gritted teeth, but Daisy was good at hiding that. She’d had plenty of practice.
“Really?” Miss Brubauk said as she looked down her nose at not only Daisy, but the elderly gentleman snoring beside her. “Perhaps when Mr. Kroger wakes up, you can regale him with a few verses.”
Daisy closed the book and set it in her lap. “I think that by the time Mr. Kroger wakes up, we’ll be at our destination.”
“And thank Heaven for that,” Miss Brubauk said as she pushed aside the leather flap to peek out the window. She pulled her cloak more tightly around her shoulders and shivered.
“Are you cold, ma’am?” Daisy asked. Even if the woman had been cross the entire journey, she didn’t want her to catch her death.
“What business is it of yours if I am?”
“They say if you catch a chill, you can get sick. It’s a lot colder here than in New Orleans. Where are you from?”
“Portland. Tell me, are you getting off in Independence?”
Daisy blinked a few times in confusion. “It is the end of line, isn’t it?”
“So it is,” said Miss Brubauk. “I’m visiting my sister. Who are your relatives there?”
“I don’t have any relatives in Independence. Not yet, at least.”
“At least? Whatever do you mean, child?”
Daisy lowered her eyes and blushed. It was all she could do not to reach up and start twisting a lock of her red hair, a nervous habit of hers. “I’m getting married.”
“Married?!” Miss Brubauk squawked.
Mr. Kroger jumped in his seat at the sound, turned his head toward the window and continued to snore. Daisy glanced at him and wondered if he was only pretending to sleep, then turned back to Miss Brubauk. “Yes, I’m …” Should she tell her? So far during her journey, she’d found that most people considered her becoming a mail-order bride to be quite an adventure, not to mention a bit romantic. Others thought it was the most ludicrous thing a young girl could do. Daisy was more the adventurous sort … but suspected Miss Brubauk wasn’t. Still, better the truth than a lie … “I’m a mail-order bride.”
“A what? Well, that explains a lot.”
Daisy gritted her teeth again. “Excuse me?”
“Never mind. I hope you’re able to get along.”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
At least, she hoped she’d be fine. She was about to marry a man she’d never met, nor knew anything about. She’d thought about it the entire trip, and wished Mrs. Ridgley had given her more details concerning her intended. But for some reason, the woman had been preoccupied. Her menservants, Solomon and Jethro, kept bringing her news concerning the whereabouts of a man named Slade. She even saw Mrs. Ridgley cry at one point, then quickly regain her composure and contin
ue with her interview. Daisy had no idea what any of it was about, only that the news had upset the poor woman. She hoped the man wasn’t a close relation or friend, because something bad had obviously happened to him.
“Independence!” shouted the driver from atop the stage. Daisy reached over and pulled back the leather flap to take a look. A cold wind blew through the window and gave her a chill. November in Oregon was indeed going to be much different than Louisiana. “Well, we’re here,” she said with a smile.
“So the driver announced, child,” Miss Brubauk replied dryly.
“Mr. Kroger,” Daisy said as she gave his shoulder a shake. “We’ve arrived.”
“Don’t touch him like that!” snapped Miss Brubauk.
“How else am I going to wake him up?” Daisy asked.
Mr. Kroger opened one eye. “We’re in Independence?”
“Finally,” Miss Brubauk huffed. “Now maybe I can enjoy the presence of some decent company.”
Daisy’s mouth dropped open in shock. Mr. Kroger grimaced. “She been flapping her gums the whole way?” he asked Daisy.
Miss Brubauk glared at him. “Why, I’ve never been so insulted!”
“I find that hard to believe,” Mr. Kroger said with a smile. He looked at Daisy. “So, you’re off to get hitched?”
“Yes, sir, I am.”
“Well, good luck to ya, missy. Takes a lot of guts to do what you’re doing.”
“So I’ve been told. But I must say, I’m looking forward to it.”
“Of all the silly, outlandish notions a girl can get into her head … a mail-order bride!” Miss Brubauk said as she straightened her hat.
“To each her own, I suppose,” Daisy commented. Really, she’d had just about all she could take from the withered old prune. Thank the Lord she hadn’t got on the train with her in New Orleans – one of them would never have made it to the end of the line. “I’m glad I made the choice.”