Mail Order Brides Collection Boxed Set: Felicity, Frank, Verity and Jessica, Books 3-6 (Montana Mail Order Brides Series)

by Rose Jenster

“It’s heroic that he rescued you.”

  “Yes, it is. Luke is a very kind and protective husband. Maybe he wanted to see if I'd make a frontier wife or not. So I went along though it was against my judgment to walk out at night in the wilderness so.”

  “You see, you mustn’t expect too much of them when you first arrive,” Leah said. “My Henry was standoffish at first. I wondered I had ever come out here at all with him so stiff and unsure about me. You mustn’t give up hope either.”

  “I knew when I arrived that I loved Luke. I think it took him longer to come round to the idea no matter what he says now. He had a hard time reconciling the girl he liked in letters with the one in person who sometimes disagrees with him or isn’t all that interested in hearing about the sheep every single day.” Tess giggled and shook her head.

  “So it isn’t only me? I mean, I came out here thinking it would be so easy to slip into this life as Frank’s bride and be his partner in the newspaper business. He doesn’t want part, from what I can tell,” Charlotte said despairingly.

  “He isn’t sure what he wants. He was probably more comfortable with you on paper,” Leah said briskly, taking up her needle. “A real person is more likely to challenge him and he is used to his own way. He is unconventional, but remember, he's pretty much ran the newspaper himself and is used to his own ways.”

  “You’re right I’m sure,” Charlotte said, fumbling to thread her needle until Tess took it from her and did it neatly.

  Tess gave Charlotte a few bits of fabric to patch. It was a simple nine-patch block and she managed it capably, if not with the fine tiny stitches. In contrast, Tess worked magically and was able almost effortlessly. She was able to talk without concentrating too hard on the work at hand. It was nice being among friends and Chalote liked Tess instantly. Leah was warm and wise and funny and treated her just as if they had always known each other so well. They encouraged her and she felt better for being with them.

  Back at the boarding house, Charlotte helped Mrs. Hostelman cut up a chicken and soak it in buttermilk for frying. When they had finished, she washed up and asked if she might not take a couple of pieces of chicken to Mr. Barton at the newspaper office. Mrs. Hostelman winked at her conspiratorially and wrapped three pieces in a bit of flour sack for her to take.

  “Best take a bottle of that cold buttermilk to wash it down,” the voluble Mrs. Hostelman advised.

  Charlotte hastened over to the office and saw the lamplight from the street. He was still hard at work on the latest edition. She knocked on the door but knew from the noise of the rattling press that he would not hear her. Charlotte unlocked the door and let herself in just in time to hear the clank of a wrench and a loud curse.

  Her time in the dockyards and outside the breweries had desensitized her to coarse language to a degree, but she was still a gently bred girl and found swearing to be distasteful. Grimacing, she proceeded with the chicken held in front of her akin to an offering to an angry beast from mythology.

  “Frank? Frank!” she called.

  He looked up from where he was crouched beside the machine. It made a grinding sound that could not be an ordinary part of its operation, surely.

  “Oh, Charlotte. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to hear—”

  “You should not have said it, in fact, but I have heard as bad from dockworkers.”

  “I want to be better than the dockworkers who cursed before you. I apologize. What brings you here?” Framk was ashamed of himself.

  “Chicken,” she said simply and offered him the bundle.

  “Thank you. If you’ll set it down on the desk someplace…wherever you can find a spot, I’ll eat it when I get a chance. Randall, the man I rely on for news out of Helena, cannot make his deadline. He has to bury his father, poor man, and all I have are the notes he brought me. I’ll have to cobble something together from those to fill the space.”

  “I could—that is, do you mind letting me look them over? I might be able to make something of them.” She was eager to help and prove herself to Frank.

  “I don’t know, Charlotte. It’s about the mill closing up yonder and there’s some pretty rough opinions on the owners and the like.”

  “I see.” Charlotte just managed to contain herself. As it was, she was barely able to keep from telling him that she had reported on strikes and factory accidents and even interviewed workers about the beating death of a union sympathizer in her tenure at the Albany paper. Frank evidently thought her sensibilities were quite delicate.

  “Here, have them then. If you can’t make an article of it, I will fill in with a piece on the repair of the church roof that Luke just completed.”

  “Very well,” she said, trying to contain her excitement. Charlotte knew she could write a good article and was happy for this opportunity.

  She left him with the chicken, gathered up the scraps of paper on which Randall had evidently scrawled his notes about the mill closure, and returned to Mrs. Hostelman’s where she began to decipher the information. Charlotte sat up late into the night, burning through candle after candle as there was no lamp in her room. At last she had a good, solid article on the Helena mill. She rewrote it so it was neat and free of errors. Reading it over with great satisfaction, she took her paper and her candle in its holder and hurried through the chilly midnight darkness to the newspaper office. Charlotte knew it was a risk to go out at this hour, but she so wanted to show her abilities to Frank.

  She opened the door and found Frank slumped over his desk, snoring. She smiled to herself, set her candle on the counter and laid a hand on his shoulder.

  “Frank. Frank—I’ve written you the piece on the mill. Here it is.”

  He stirred and woke, startled to find her there, and especially in the middle of the night.

  “Charlotte, you mustn’t walk out alone at night like that,” he said. “I thank you for the article but what if something had happened to you?”

  “What if I had been beset by bandits you mean?”

  “That is not a joke worth telling. When Mrs. Rogers was first here…”

  “I know all about the bandits and her adventure, Frank. Do you think I was in danger, walking down a main street in Billings with my candle and my article?”

  “I wouldn’t risk it again. I will walk you back. I hardly expected you to sit up writing tonight and return to the office so late!”

  “I wanted to. I knew you needed the article and I like to think you needed me as well,” she said.

  Frank pushed away from the desk and stood, sweeping her into his arms.

  “You are impossible,” he said, his voice warm with affection. “How could I keep you in a quilting circle and sitting at a pianoforte when you would rather scribble away and run down dark streets with your article clutched in your hand?” He laughed, a warm wholesome laugh, and kissed the top of her head.

  “I plan to be impossible for years to come,” she warned.

  “Time enough then for me to grow accustomed to it. To your determination. You’re not like anyone else, are you?”

  “Would you wish me to be?” Charlotte was relieved that he understood her passion for writing and investigation.

  “No,” he said. “Would you let me give you a little kiss at midnight in a newspaper office?”

  “With ink all over your hands?” She stepped back in mock horror. “The answer is yes, of course!”

  Frank cupped her cheek in his hand. His fingertips tipped her face up to his and he kissed her very gently. For several moments there was, above the rhythmic thud of the printing press, the soaring beat of her heart pounding in her ears. Breathless, she stepped back, pressing her hands to her flaming cheeks, blushing from such a kiss.

  “Here, now, I’ve left fingerprints on you,” Frank said.

  He took out his handkerchief and wiped her cheek and the side of her throat where his fingertips had left smudges of ink on her pale skin. She bit down on her bottom lip as he rubbed the fine linen softly against her
jaw.

  “There, all tidy,” he pronounced.

  She felt a distinct hush fall upon her, a quietness. Charlotte neither had words for what she was feeling, nor the desire to stir the air with a single syllable. The space between them was full of emotion. Charlotte reached out and laid her hand on his shirtfront, so his heart beat against her palm. Meeting his eyes shyly, she nodded.

  “I will see you back to the boarding house. I think it is best I take you home,” Frank said softly.

  He took her hand, not tucking her fingers decorously into his elbow as if to promenade to church. But, he held her hand in his, clasping it. No one, it occurred to her, had held her hand so, not since she was small. She remembered that her mother grasped her hand to stop her running into the street under horses’ hooves and carriage wheels. This gesture was akin to that one in her past, she knew, because it communicated a desire to keep her near and to keep her safe. So she held his hand and walked silently by his side to Mrs. Hostelman’s.

  Charlotte slept hardly a wink that night, her pulse still racing with the excitement of her midnight excursion to the newspaper. He thanked her for the article and counted upon her to do that work and to do it well. Frank depended on her, kissed her and walked her home. In that small space of time was everything, every single thing she had hoped for.

  In the morning, Leah came to fetch her to take her to the mercantile. She knew Mrs. Wilford from the quilting circle at Mrs. Gibson’s house, but it helped to have Leah guide her in selecting items for her new home.

  “He will only have a frying pan,” Leah predicted. “You will need a good stew pot, a roasting pan and a pie plate or two. Also, it' will be good to have a rolling pin as well as spoons to stir and for measurement.”

  Together they made their way through the mercantile, making a list. Charlotte selected a pair of pretty pillowcases that Leah said had been embroidered by Tess Cameron. Toweling and sheeting and a paper of pins and one of buttons were added. A willow bark basket for carrying the shopping was important too and noted. Charlotte shook her head, astounded by the sheer quantity of items one needed to set up housekeeping. She had assumed that Frank, as an independent bachelor, had everything they would need. According to Leah it was far from likely.

  Mrs. Gibson assured her it was by no means an extravagant or unusual list of household supplies. She selected a few dried seasoning packets from a rack by the counter and added a pound of maple sugar plus two pounds of flour to the order. Leah left her at the shop entrance to go fetch her daughter from Tess. She made Charlotte promise faithfully to join her for tea in two days.

  Back at the boarding house, Charlotte helped Mrs. Hostelman get supper started, dropping a bay leaf from her packet into the stew and preventing the good woman from kneading the bread dough into the toughness of shoe leather. She made a few slices from the wedge of good strong cheese and wrote a letter to her mother. Frank came by for dinner, just as Charlotte was toasting bread to top the stew along with bits of cheese to melt on the surface of the hearty soup. She doffed her apron and went to meet him.

  “Supper smells notably more appetizing than usual,” he whispered as he leaned in to kiss her cheek.

  “Thank you. I helped with the meal in between writing my mother. I’d promised to write as soon as I arrived , but I had no chance until now. I fear since it shall be weeks before she receives the letter she’ll worry herself sick in the meantime.”

  “If I may be so bold, I could send her a brief telegram letting her know you’ve arrived safely and a letter is to follow. Is there any special message you wish to include?”

  “Oh, yes! Thank you! I hadn’t thought of a telegram. I never sent one before. They’re rather costly, I believe.”

  “Never mind that. You must be able to communicate to your mother that you are safe and whole and if I may flatter myself, not entirely disappointed in the object of your journey.”

  “I’ll just write a line to her. I’ll make haste.”

  “The telegraph office is yet open; I will take it over presently and dispatch it.”

  “Thank you, Frank. It truly sets my mind at ease to know mother will have word of me so soon,” she said fervently.

  He inclined his head and waited as she penned a short message for her mother. When he returned, they sat down side by side at the dining table and joined hands with the other boarders while Mrs. Hostelman said grace. They exchanged small smiles during the meal but could not carry on a conversation over the general cacophony of the noisy diners. Everyone complimented the flavor of the stew and the delicious addition of a cheesy toast atop each bowl. Charlotte modestly credited Mrs. Hostelman with the fine meal. Frank took leave of her at the door and assured her he would bring any reply from her mother should one arrive at the telegraph office.

  “Oh, I doubt she would respond. I’m sure Roger though would pay for a telegram if one were really necessary…” she demurred.

  “Nonetheless, I’ll check in the morning and see if she sent any word.”

  The following day, as Charlotte laboriously hemmed pillowcases from the new sheeting, Frank came to the boarding house with a message from her mother. Thankful you arrived safely STOP Write soon STOP Love to you from mother STOP

  Charlotte clutched the telegram and smiled through her tears. It was such a luxury to hear from her mother with swiftness, almost instantly receiving words directly from her. Soon she found herself enclosed in Frank Barton’s arms as she sobbed into his shirt.

  “If you miss her so terribly we shall send her a train ticket and bid her come visit at the spring thaw,” he said.

  “Oh, could we? I just—I wasn't sure I had seen her for the last time when I came out here. It broke my heart.”

  “There’s no reason why, with a good rail system, you mightn’t see her periodically. I should say she might come for a good long visit next spring and you could go visit Albany in autumn as well. You could get some dresses and things there and spend a bit of time with her. So long as you promised to come back despite the conveniences of the East I'll be happy,” he said.

  “I would not wish to be parted from you for long, so you needn’t worry I’d have my head turned by Albany society and leave you behind,” she said, thinking sardonically of the cotillion she’d attended.

  “Shall we fix a day, the day after tomorrow perhaps?”

  “I think we shall. If I can get these sheets hemmed, crooked though they be, I can’t think of any reason for delay. I’m to go to the inn tomorrow for tea with Leah. I’d like to have her stand up for me.”

  “Indeed. And I shall ask Luke to be my witness,” he said, his sharp dark eyes looking positively merry at the prospect of their wedding.

  “Yes. It sounds so perfect Frank.”

  “I wanted to tell you that article you wrote, it’s well nigh the best thing this newspaper has ever run. I confess I wanted all your attention for myself but you’ve such an observant nature, such a way with words that I find the people of Billings need your news reporting. I want to do another section, with not just recipes, but things that would interest the readers who happen to be ladies.”

  “Ladies are interested in news, you know, Frank,” she said.

  “Yes, but something more—perhaps a column on the life of an eastern woman recently relocated to the west, like a diary of how you adapt to the differences and your impressions of the place.”

  “I’d like that. Of course I won’t write anything too personal nor anything unflattering to you,” she teased.

  “Of course not. It would be so hard to find anything that was not flattering! I would not want you to tax your mind on that.”

  Chapter 10

  Charlotte arrived at Leah’s in her best bonnet and with a little basket of cookies to contribute to the tea party. Tess was there already along with Mrs. Gibson the rector’s wife and Mrs. Wilford from the mercantile. There was a girl Charlotte had never seen before.

  “Charlotte, this is Felicity Walsh. She’s the doctor’s
wife from over at Fort Benton and also from Albany. He’s in town this fortnight covering for Dr. Octavius who was thrown by his horse. So we have the pleasure of her company at your bridal party.”

  “Bridal party? For me?”

  “We’ve made cakes and dainties and brought you presents!” Leah said. “Surprise!”

  Charlotte laughed with sheer happiness and embraced her friends. Over tea and a delicate sponge with a lemon glaze, she opened gifts from her new friends. Tess gave her a pretty white tablecloth embroidered delicately with blue flowers along the border. Felicity, for her part, had made up a little kit of medicinal herbs to use for teas and marked which ones treated which ailments. Mrs. Gibson had made her a white tatted lace doily under Leah’s instruction . Mrs. Wilford got Charlotte a silver-backed hairbrush.

  Leah herself promised the completion of the wedding quilt in shades of soft blue in the next few weeks. In the meantime she gave the new couple a few books to read over the winter including works by Dickens , Twain and Thoreau that she and Henry had enjoyed reading together. Charlotte thanked them all and could not imagine how she was so fortunate to be cared for and loved by them.

  Felicity told the story her the story of how her Alec said she was alien as the moon and she took offense at being called alien.

  “Their definition of romance…you would think in a country so sparse with women that the men would have to hone their courting skills rather fiercely. But it is almost the opposite, as if they gave up hope early of ever getting a wife with all the competition so they hardly try at all.” Felicity giggled as she thought about her adventure. “I suppose that isn’t entirely fair. Alec does try but it’s so different from what I imagined back in New York. You’ll love it here, Charlotte. I have never regretted it for even a single day.”

  “I regretted it the day I met the bobcat,” Tess mused and Leah elbowed her.

  “You’re meant to be giving her words of wifely encouragement. Don't scare her Tess!”

  “Don’t go hiking after dark and if you do, make sure you have a gun or you are with your husband who has one, “ Tess advised.