The Cheyenne Mail Order Bride Becomes A Lady

by Iris Kelly

  The negative - to marrying another woman? The stab of pain came and jabbed repeatedly. She wouldn’t be Beatrice.

  That was it: political career or Beatrice.

  If he had to forego one or the other, which would leave him with the greatest lifelong regrets?

  Some hours later, there was a knock at the open door; it was Lewis.

  “Came to see how you were doing,” Lewis said warily. He had expected to find Avery in the foulest of moods. Instead, there was a look on his friend’s face more like stunned revelation.

  Avery shook his head. “For so long, I kept thinking about how to find the right lady to support and accommodate my career.”

  “And now?”

  “Now, I sit here wondering what sort of career I might have that will support and accommodate . . . her.”

  “Hmm. Sounds like you’re doing just fine figuring it out. Maybe you should run it past her. She’s . . . at our place right now with Virginia, by the way.”

  “Out. Out. I need to lock up,” Avery said impatiently.

  Avery locked the office hastily and raced down the street. Lewis had a big grin on his face as he followed Avery. He decided to just stay at the bottom of the stairs, because he suspected that Virginia and the baby would soon be coming out. They did, fewer than three minutes later.

  “Mr. Carlyle. We have been kicked out of our own home.”

  “For a good cause, Mrs. Carlyle. For a very good cause. Shall we get some tea?”

  Upstairs, Beatrice circled the sofa, trying to stay out of reach of Avery’s arms.

  “I will not let you sacrifice your career for me.”

  “What if I could have both?”

  “That’s not possible, is it?”

  “I have been fixated on the wealthy and very influential members of the Cheyenne Club - a group of two hundred men. If all the women in Cheyenne registered and voted, a state of affairs I know you support, then I could count on those men and their wives—four hundred votes. But . . . that’s really not a lot of people.”

  “No?”

  “I have been blindly pursuing the wrong constituency. How many maids and waitresses are there in this city, for example?”

  “Quite a few. Twenty just at the Montrose. Other hotels, restaurants, tea rooms.”

  “Exactly. How many ranch hands and miners and store clerks? There are over eight thousand people in this town, my dear. And the common people outnumber the Cheyenne Club more than a hundred to one. And their votes count just the same. Their votes are going to get me elected, and your hardworking past is something they will all be able to relate to.”

  “Tell everyone?”

  “Absolutely.”

  By then, Avery had caught up with Beatrice and wanted to wrap her in an embrace, but she held him off.

  “There’s something even common folks can look down on. So you might as well know the worst. My mother always called my father her husband. But after she died, I figured it out. They were never married. And that’s going to be a pretty big black mark against me.”

  “You are blameless,” Avery said gently.

  Beatrice scoffed. “I can think of another word starting with the letter B that I will be called.”

  Avery pulled her close to him. “Beautiful. Brave. Bold. Bewitching. Beloved. Beatrice.”

  He leaned in for a long warm kiss that was heavenly for them both. Then, holding her shoulders at arms’ length - “It is Beatrice, isn’t it?”

  Her squeals of outrage led to helpless laughter and a stream of never-ending kisses. The future, the career, was a tolerable uncertainty. The absolute necessity of joining themselves to one another for the rest of their lives was a delightful and incontrovertible fact.

  EPILOGUE

  The first order of business after the renewed engagement had been to wipe the smug smile off of Florence Bellamy’s face, and it truly was one of life’s more satisfying moments. Seeing Beatrice so cherished, with the promise of an upscale status and security, would undoubtedly aggravate Florence to the end of her days.

  It was the Coopers who recommended that the Martins spend their wedding journey in San Francisco, as they had gone there themselves and had a wonderful time. Avery was particularly enthusiastic about the idea, and Beatrice was quite willing to see a fresh, new place.

  It was only after they were strolling happily down a fashionable street that Beatrice learned the reason behind this choice of destination. She admired the dresses in the window of a lovely dress shop and Avery suggested that they enter. A very familiar face awaited them. Beatrice and Harriet were beside themselves to see one another so unexpectedly. Avery congratulated himself on a secret that was well worth the deceit.

  Tilly, who now wanted to be known as Matilda, was also quite happy to see the visitors. There were two other young women working there who were cheerfully introduced as Violet and Lucille.

  “You two can handle things while we go out to lunch, can’t you?” Harriet asked.

  “Of course,” Lucille said. “But if Mr. Kramer should stop by . . ?”

  Matilda and Violet laughed. Harriet shook a warning finger at Lucille - but wasn’t truly annoyed. Beatrice couldn’t help but think - what a contrast this was to the oppressive dungeon of a sewing factory she had experienced.

  The Cheyenne contingent left the shop in the capable hands of Harriet’s employees and went to have a joyful meal together.

  “I just made up a couple of the prettiest dresses I could think of and put them in the window,” Harriet said. “The orders came in slow the first two weeks. But then it seemed like every woman recommended three or four of her friends to come over. Just a week or two ago, we had to hire Lucille and Violet. They’re real good.”

  Harriet with her own shop. And employees! Strange how someone else’s success made Beatrice’s own happiness even more complete.

  “Who’s Mr. Kramer?” Beatrice asked.

  Harriet blushed. Matilda intervened.

  “He’s a lovely gentleman who owns a shoe store with his brother. He stops in three times a week, pretending to shop for his mother, when all he really wants to do is see Harriet. He asked her out to dinner and she said no! She said she was too busy, but that ain’t it.”

  “I am busy,” Harriet said unconvincingly.

  Everyone gave her a skeptical look and waited for the truth.

  “He thinks I’m special. He thinks I’m a lady and he treats me like a lady. I would . . . I would just hate for that to stop. Which it will. When he finds out the truth.”

  “Oh, Harriet,” Beatrice sighed. “I know it’s a big risk. I know you may lose him. But . . .”

  “I know. I know he has to know. I just don’t know how to tell him.”

  They wanted to comfort her and assure her that her dilemma would end happily. Avery and Beatrice wished the whole world could know their kind of happiness. But who could say with any certainty?

  Their return to the shop was fortuitously timed. Young, bashful Mr. Kramer was making small talk with Violet and Lucille and attempting to loiter long enough to run into Harriet.

  He was cordially introduced to Avery and Beatrice.

  “I’m very pleased I had the chance to meet your good friends, Miss Warner. But they have come far and your time together is limited, and I don’t wish to intrude. I wish you both a wonderful visit. Good afternoon, Miss Warner.”

  He headed for the exit, and made a left turn outside the door.

  “Let’s find out once and for all,” Avery said.

  “What?” Matilda asked.

  “Whether he is worthy of our Harriet.”

  Harriet gasped but Avery was already on his way out. Beatrice held Harriet’s hand to help steady her nerves and they all waited for what felt an interminable amount of time for Avery to return. When he did, Mr. Kramer was with him, and made a beeline for Harriet.

  “Miss Warner. I just wanted to say that I can only . . . admire the grit and courage of anyone who can triumph out of such very rou
gh beginnings. Your success is so well earned. I wonder . . . if you would do me the honor of taking supper with me tomorrow night.”

  The look of joy on Harriet’s face was something that Beatrice was more than familiar with. She felt it every day.

  *****

  Before the wedding, Avery had wasted no time in nonchalantly informing one and all about his wife’s background, and he let the chips fall where they may. The reaction was not wholly predictable. Eyebrows were raised, tongues wagged, and a lot of V.I.P. invitations were withheld. But the most savvy of Cheyenne’s moneyed crowd recognized that Avery was so determined and whip smart that there was some possibility he might rise to a position of power even without their support. He was gingerly accorded a modicum of respect, which, oddly enough, he seemed indifferent to.

  Few of the high society crowd received an invitation to the wedding. It was peopled by a small and select number of those nearest and dearest to Avery and Beatrice. She was touched to see that Mrs. Preston accepted her invitation and mingled liberally afterwards. The sight of Mrs. Preston with Miss Mabel discussing housing for wayward girls was the crowning proof that a new world was at hand.

  Afterwards, Mrs. Preston remained a loyal ally. She was ever fascinated by Beatrice’s life story. Many of the other fine ladies thought it wiser to keep their distance, but Mrs. Preston’s fondness for Beatrice did cause their paths to cross with hers on some occasions, where they were surprised to find Beatrice unapologetic and as outspoken as ever.

  After they returned from the wedding journey, in the midst of setting up their new home, and Avery’s obligations with his clients, they threw themselves wholeheartedly into connecting with the town. One by one, they wanted to convince the good people of Cheyenne that Avery Martin could help make Cheyenne an even greater town than it was, and that he had the best of partners by his side.

  “My wife was a maid in Boston,” Avery announced proudly to a large outdoor gathering in front of the city clerk’s office. “And look at her now. Elected to be co-chair of the Ladies’ Aid Association, a position that allows her to help shape the future of this town with their plans for a hospital, more schools, and a shelter for young women.

  My wife epitomizes the opportunity to rise in society that people hope they will find when they move out west. . .”

  From the crowd, Beatrice watched proudly, with Virginia and Lydia on either side of her.

  “Does it bother you that he keeps mentioning that you were a maid?” Virginia wondered.

  “Of course not. I wrote that speech!” Beatrice crowed. “Or at least, we wrote it together.”

  “I hear that there is likely to be an opening for Mayor the next year or two,” Lydia said.

  “That’s right. And possibly open seats in Sheridan and Laramie as well. We’d much rather stay in Cheyenne though.”

  “Of course. You have family here,” Virginia said, squeezing Beatrice’s hand.

  Lydia reached for her other hand, and Beatrice thought her heart would burst.

  “I have to go up there. Everyone wants to hear from the ‘maid’ now,” she said laughingly.

  Avery introduced his wife to big applause. And quite unpremeditated, he couldn’t resist kissing her hand as he helped her up to the podium. The crowd murmured approvingly.

  Beatrice turned to face the largely female crowd. There were Miss Mabel, and Mrs. Preston, and Evelyn and Grace from the hotel, all clapping delightedly, and a multitude of other faces—some familiar, most not.

  “I heard the most astonishing thing the other day,” Beatrice began, “and that’s that half of the women in Cheyenne have not registered to vote. Well, if you’ll let me, I’d like to share with you why I would dearly love for that to change, and if I do a good job of it, there may well be a stampede to the clerk’s office after I’m done.”

  The crowd laughed. The Martins were a very personable couple.

  “We live in an exciting time, in an exciting place. There are no luckier women on the continent than the women of Wyoming Territory . . .”

  And there is no luckier woman in the world than Beatrice Kirby Martin. My husband, my town, my friends. So this is what a dream come true feels like!

  ~THE END~

  There’s more love in Cheyenne to come!

  CHECK OUT THE ENTIRE SERIES

  The Cheyenne Mail Order Bride Series

  If you’d like a heads up on when the next stories are coming, then you can sign up on my mailing list and I’ll let you know (and there will be a brief 99 cent promotional offer, before they return to the regular 2.99 price.)

  New Releases from Iris Kelly

  Please consider leaving an Amazon review on the book you just read. It would be GREATLY appreciated!

  Love Historical Western Romances? Check out Pioneer Hearts Facebook Group.

  http://www.facebook.com/groups/PioneerHearts

  AUTHOR BIO

  Iris Kelly is a bit of a wanderer, and her homes have stretched from sea to shining sea - including equal amounts of time in Boston and New Mexico. She enjoys travel, movies, hiking, reading, the desert sky, and great love stories.

  Iris has had every job under the sun, including a memorable stretch as a teacher. But being a writer is her favorite vocation - by a mile. Her affinity for Westerns runs back to reading every book in the Laura Ingalls Wilder Little House series, and watching every episode of Dr. Quinn: Medicine Woman.

  She is fascinated by autobiographical accounts of women’s lives in the Old West; particularly the divide between popular myth and surprising realities.