The Holiday Mail Order Bride (Holiday Mail Order Brides Book 9)

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The Holiday Mail Order Bride (Holiday Mail Order Brides Book 9) Page 9

by Kit Morgan


  “You're not getting out of here that easy!” roared Mr. Vander. “My son can escort her back to the boarding house. You and I are going to settle this. Or no wedding!”

  “Who says there's going to be a wedding?” asked Garrett.

  Ammy closed her eyes a brief moment as her hands balled into fists beneath the table. This fiasco was her fault. If Reginald hadn't been so obsessed with her, none of this would be happening now. In fact, from the sounds of it, she was right back where she started. “Garrett doesn't have to escort me. I can see myself back.”

  “Nonsense,” said Garrett. “I'll take you.”

  “Oh for Heaven’s sake!” huffed Mercy. “I'm going to go help Betsy serve the pie!”

  She stood, as did Ammy. Garret quickly got to his feet as well.

  “Where is everybody going?” yelled Mr. Vander as he pounded his fist on the table. “I want an explanation!”

  “Now see, Horace, there you go again,” said Mercy. “I just told you I'm going to help Betsy serve the pie, Miss Winters announced she’s going back to the boarding house, and Garrett said he was going to escort her.”

  Mr. Vander stared at her in shock a moment before his eyes darted around the room. He then put a finger in his ear and shook it a few times. “Great Scott! Maybe I am losing my hearing!”

  Mercy patted him on the shoulder. “It's perfectly alright dear, it happens to the best of us.”

  “How can you be so calm about such a thing?” he barked.

  “Because for years you've only heard what you wanted to hear,” she told him with a bemused look. “Now calm yourself while I go get you a slice of pie. Or maybe not,” she said as Betsy entered the room.

  She set a tray laden with pie and plates on the table and began to serve. “Mr. Garrett, aren't you staying?”

  “No, Betsy. Miss Winters isn't feeling well so I'm taking her back to the boarding house.”

  “Here then,” she said as she put two slices on a plate. “Take this with you. You can enjoy it together.”

  Garrett stared at the dessert as his mouth watered then turned to Ammy. Her cheeks had flushed pink, whether with anger or embarrassment, he didn't know, and didn't care. He was too struck by the fullness of her lips, and the sudden urge to kiss her. His mouth watered even more.

  “Don't just stand there,” said his father. “Take the pie and go.”

  Garrett shook himself and stepped away from the table. Ammy picked up a napkin. “Should we cover it?” she asked him softly.

  “Yes, I suppose so.” He held the plate out to her and she placed the linen over it.

  “Maybe you’d like to take that to the café and get some coffee to go with it,” suggested Betsy. “Clara won't mind if you bring your own pie so long as you buy some coffee.”

  It was all Garrett could do to take his eyes off of Ammy to look at her. “That's a good idea, Betsy. Perhaps we'll do that.” He offered Ammy his arm. “Shall we go?”

  She looked at her father one last time, then wrapped her arm in Garrett’s. “You lead, I’ll follow.” she whispered.

  Garrett gazed into her eyes. “Don't worry, Miss Winters. I will.”

  * * *

  Ammy was right. Whatever business deal their fathers made was their own doing, and should have no bearing on what he and Ammy decided as far as marriage. They were adults, after all, and could make up their own minds. He glanced at her as they strolled down the street to the main part of town. She stared straight ahead, as if afraid to look at him, afraid to speak. His father had probably frightened her. He was good at it with that booming voice of his, and though Garrett knew his roaring was more bark than bite, Miss Winters didn't.

  “He's very good at public speaking,” Garrett said.

  “What? Who?”

  “My father,” continued Garrett as they strolled along. “It's one of the reasons he's the mayor. He's a fantastic orator, and can hold a crowd mesmerized with one of his speeches.”

  “He gave quite a speech today, I must say.”

  “He's only looking out for my best interest.”

  “As my father is looking out for mine,” she said.

  Garrett stopped and looked down at her. “Miss Winters… er, Ammy… this is between you and me. From now on I’d like to keep it that way.”

  “Does that mean you don't want the dowry my father offered yours?”

  “The idea of a dowry is old-fashioned.”

  “Really? It's still practiced extensively back east.”

  “We’re not in the east. Here in the west, a man and woman marries and builds their own empire together. Though a dowry's nice, I think I can live without one.”

  She stared up at him, her eyes moist, and he wondered if she was trying not to cry. “What does it matter, Mr. Vander? You don't want to marry me anyway. I don't think you ever did. A man just doesn't make up his mind to marry a woman he's never met.”

  Garrett stopped, turned to face her, and put a finger under her chin. “If I want a wife, which I do, I'll go about getting her my own way.”

  She looked away. “I understand, Mr. Vander. I'm sorry this has been such a bother to you.”

  He noticed her jaw trembled, and his teeth clenched. He tapped the finger against her chin and brought her head around to face him. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Ammy, you've come a long way, I understand that. If you don't want to marry me at this point, I can understand that too, especially after my father's recent display. But…”

  “But what?” she asked, her eyes misting again. It almost did him in.

  “It's not that I or my friends haven't thought about getting a mail-order bride. It's just that for me, I'd rather get to know a woman first and see if we’d suit.”

  “So is that what you want to do now, Mr. Vander? Spend time together to see if we’d suit?”

  Her eyes had gone from misty to dark, and he could tell she was trying her best to keep her composure. He certainly wasn't helping. “I like you. But the simple fact is, I don't know you. Are you willing to allow us the time it takes to do so?”

  “Do you mean court?”

  “Yes, that's exactly what I mean.” He squared his shoulders and stood to his full height. “Miss Winters, would you do me the honor of allowing me to court you?”

  Her lip trembled as her eyes misted once again. The look on her face made him want to take her in his arms and comfort her, protect her, tell her everything was going to be all right. “Mr. Vander, I don't know…”

  “Please,” he said as he put a finger to her lips. “Call me Garrett.”

  She reached up and removed his hand. “Garrett, I've traveled a very long way to get here, and for reasons I do not wish to explain, do not want to return. Possibly, ever. Coming here was a chance to start a new life, with or without you.”

  “Are you refusing me?”

  “I'm confused, that's all. This morning you wanted to marry me, at lunch you suddenly say you won't. Now you're saying you want court me? For all I know, by the time we eat this pie, you'll have changed your mind again.”

  She had a point. He was bouncing back and fourth like a ball in a tennis match. “Forgive me, you're right of course. He took both her hands in his and gazed into her eyes. “I want to court you Ammy. Get to know you.”

  “And then?”

  “Marry you.”

  “So long as we suit,” she stated glumly.

  “I…”

  “Save it, Garrett. I need time to think about this.” She pulled her hands from his and started walking.

  His hands clenched into fists. He was destroying what little he had with her. But all he wanted to do was get to know her before they married. Didn't she realize that? Garrett stood and watched her walk away. Hadn’t he made that clear? Good grief! Was he any better at communication than his father? “Miss Winters, wait!”

  * * *

  “Sit up straight, child,” Miss Brubauk drawled. “One would think you’d never eaten in public before.”

&n
bsp; Bernice Caulder sat straighter in her chair and bowed her head at the scold. “I'm sorry, Miss Brubauk, but I just can't seem to help myself. I'm always slumping nowadays.”

  “I understand you’re being heart broken over the loss of Morgan Tindle to that Daisy tramp. But trust me, you'll get over it.” She took a sip of her coffee and nodded for Bernice to do the same. Whereas Eunice Brubauk sipped, Bernice Caulder slurped. “Really girl! Do mind your manners! No wonder you're still unwed.”

  Bernice let go a sorrowful sigh. “Who cares if I slurp? I'll never be married.”

  “Of course you will. What kind of talk is that? Just because one man slipped through your fingers, through no fault of your own, I might add, doesn't mean another will. You just have to be more strategic about things.”

  “Strategic?”

  “Of course. Once you set your sights on a man, you do whatever it takes to keep him.”

  “But what if somebody already has him?”

  “Not a problem.”

  Bernice fought the urge to slump in her chair again. Miss Brubauk was right. She was heartbroken that Morgan Tindle, the handsome son of the mercantile owners, had married a mail-order bride. What made it worse was that he didn't even want the girl in the first place! Mainly because he never sent for her! His mother did, a growing occurrence of late. That made two men she'd never have a chance at. The first was Pastor Adams, the happy recipient of yet another mail-order bride, ordered not by the groom, but the town's meddling matchmakers. Mercy Vander, Martha Tindle, and Maude Smythe. Maybe Bernice should talk to them about finding a husband instead of Miss Burbank.

  Bernice stared at her newfound benefactor of romance. The woman wore a pinched expression most of the time, and though she was the epitome of propriety and seemed genuinely interested in Bernice’s unmarried state (not to mention how to remedy it) she sometimes gave Bernice a chill.

  “Don't pout Bernice. It's very unladylike,” said Miss Brubauk with a disapproving stare.

  “Who cares at this point? I know you say otherwise, but there aren't any men in this town to marry.”

  “There are several from what I’ve seen.”

  “Are you talking about Garrett Vander and Julian Smythe? They aren't interested in me.”

  “Of course not, because you haven't given them a reason to be.”

  “Huh?”

  Miss Brubauk rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Look at you, child. Why don't you do something with your hair? And that ghastly dress you've got on… it should be burned.”

  Bernice fingered a straight tendril of her mouse brown hair. She knew she was no great beauty, so why bother? She was thin, her hair thin and straight, and her brown eyes sullen. At least they looked that way in her mirror at home. She'd been head over heels in love with Morgan Tindle for as long as she could remember, and now he was gone, married to some girl named after an insignificant flower. If she couldn't have Morgan, she didn't want anyone. She studied Miss Brubauk across the table and wondered if she'd turn out like her. The thought begged her to ask the question, “Miss Brubauk, how come you never married?”

  Miss Brubauk froze, her coffee cup halfway to the saucer, and stared at Bernice. “That, young lady, is none of your business,” she told her in a stern tone.

  Bernice sank a couple inches in her chair when the bell over the door rang. Miss Brubauk’s eyes lit up. Enough to make Bernice take notice, sit up and turn to see who entered. “That girl with Mr. Vander, who is she?”

  “I haven't the slightest idea, and don't care. “

  Miss Brubauk leaned across the table. “Now that’s the gentleman you should strive for. He is the mayor's son after all, and probably the richest boy in town.”

  “Being mayor doesn't make you rich. It just makes you… loud. At least it does Mayor Vander.”

  “Stop with your silly talk and listen. That's the man you should marry.”

  “Why?” Bernie squeaked. “Why Garrett Vander?”

  “Because he's the most eligible bachelor in town, you silly child,” Miss Brubauk hissed.

  Bernice watched as he pulled a chair out for the woman he was with. She had dark hair and ivory skin, and her coat and dress put Bernice’s to shame. Maybe she should start caring about her appearance again. “I wonder who that is.”

  Clara appeared with their lunch orders and set them on the table. “Can I get you ladies anything else?”

  “Clara,” Bernice whispered and signaled for her to bend down. “Who's that woman with Garrett Vander?”

  Clara glanced between Garrett's table and their own. “You mean you haven't heard?”

  “Heard what?” snapped Miss Brubauk.

  “That’s Garrett Vander's mail-order bride.”

  “What?!” Bernice squawked then quickly covered her mouth at Miss Brubauk’s warning glare.

  “A mail-order bride…” mused Miss Brubauk. “How very interesting. Tell me, did he know she was coming?”

  Clara shrugged. “I'm not sure, I didn't hear that part. I only heard that he got a mail-order bride. He was in the mercantile with her this morning purchasing things for the wedding. She's obviously not going anywhere.”

  “Do tell?” drawled Miss Brubauk.

  Clara glanced around again before she spoke. “Not only that, but she brought her father with her. Some rich businessman from back east.”

  A single eyebrow rose in curiosity at the remark. Miss Brubauk smiled. “Really? Did she bring her mother too?”

  “No, ma'am. I hear tell he's a widower.”

  “A rich widower in town,” said Miss Brubauk as she drummed her fingers together in front of her. “How very interesting. Thank you Clara, that will be all.”

  “I love her dress,” said Bernice as Clara left the table. “I wonder where she got it.”

  “Never mind about her dress you silly twit!” Miss Burbank snapped. “You need to start planning on how you're going to win young Mr. Vander.”

  “Win him? Why would I want to do that?”

  Miss Brubauk pressed the back of her hand against her forehead and sighed. “So that you can marry him,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “But he already has a bride, and she’s sitting right there.”

  “For now. But mark my words, young lady, by the time I’m through, you'll be the one at the altar with Garrett Vander, not her.”

  One side of Bernice’s mouth curved up in confusion. “How are you going to do that?”

  Miss Brubauk went back to drumming her fingers together. “You’ll see, child. You'll see.”

  Ten

  “What can I get you, Mr. Vander?” Clara asked.

  “Two coffees, if you please, and two forks.”

  Clara stared at the linen covered plate Garrett had set on the table and sighed. “Is that what I think it is?”

  Garrett gave her a wide grin. “I'm afraid so. Miss. Winters and I were taking this back to the boarding house but decided to have it here with some of your wonderful coffee.”

  “Complementing my coffee isn't going to get you off the hook. Maybe I ought to be your maid and Betsy can run this place.”

  “Except that you don't run this place, Clara. You only work here.”

  “I might as well run it, I do all the work.”

  Garrett laughed. “Two coffees and two forks Clara, if you please.”

  “All right, but if you keep bringing Betsy's sweets in here, you're going to put us out of business.”

  Garrett laughed again and shook his head. “Betsy has a reputation in town,” he explained to Ammy. “She's probably the finest cook in these parts. Folks are plumb jealous of her being in our employ.”

  “At least she knows that if she ever left your employ, she would have a job here at the café.”

  “Sure, if Clara would let her work here. But she's too jealous for that.”

  “Maybe that's the only reason Betsy's still with you.”

  “What?” Garrett said as his brow furrowed. “Betsy's with us because she lo
ves us. It's not about her position or money. She's part of the family.”

  “You keep saying that.”

  “Because it's true,” he said as he uncovered the plate to reveal two luscious pieces of apple pie.

  “I've never looked on a servant as a family member.”

  Garrett grinned. “Why Ammy, have you been holding out on me?”

  “Not at all.”

  “You just said that you've never looked at a servant that way. That tells me you've had them. Have you?”

  Ammy stared at the pie. “So what if I have?”

  “Think nothing of it,” he told her. “It wouldn't surprise me in the least considering your father was in the shipping business. It's quite lucrative I hear.”

  She looked up at him. “Yes, it was.”

  He studied her forlorn expression and knew in that moment, that her father had to have lost everything. “So it's true,” he said in a soft voice. “You really are here to start a new life.”

  She swallowed. “Yes, I am, and so is my father.”

  He didn't say anything and instead continued to take her in. There was an odd mix of hope and despair in her eyes, and he realized he was the one that could tip the scales one way or the other. If he refused to marry her she could be plunged into despair. If he went through with it he would give her hope. The question was, hope for what?

  “There you are!”

  Garrett and Ammy both jumped. “Mother! Don't just come up behind someone and spout off like that!”

  “I wasn’t spouting off, dear, I was merely exclaiming the fact that I found you.”

  Garrett glanced at Ammy who was patting her chest. His mother must've startled her more than him. “Well, now that you found us, what do you need?”

  “You, actually. Both of you.”

  “For what?”

  Mercy grinned. “The Christmas pageant of course! I need more volunteers and you two would be perfect!”

  “Christmas pageant!” exclaimed Garrett. “Oh no, not that!”

  “Ignore him dear,” she told Ammy. “And if he tells you any stories about last year's pageant, don't believe a one of them.”

  “Believe everything!” Garrett told her. “It was a nightmare.”

 

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