The Thanksgiving Day Bride: Mail Order Bride Novels

by Sandee Keegan

  William then pointed through the crowd, as though he didn’t know right where Mr. McGregor was seated. Betty knew that William had pinpointed the man as soon as he had stepped foot into the audience, but he was good at putting on a show, and his misdirection nearly fooled her. At last, William settled on Mr. McGregor, and he appeared to be surprised.

  “Good to see you here, Sir! I feared you had not made it. Now, I wish to ask you, would you mind coming up here and examining this box for yourself? I know there are some questions you have about the authenticity of the piece, and I want to assure you and everyone else here that this is real.” He smiled, and with the triumphant grin, Mr. McGregor walked onto the stage.

  William had carefully hidden the trap door with Betty’s help, and through careful practice, they had figured out a way for the doors to fall downward, still enabling her to walk up through the bottom of the stage without anyone seeing her. Betty’s heart pounded as Mr. McGregor examined the box, and she silently prayed that he would not find the trigger.

  At last, Mr. McGregor took a step back and crossed his arms.

  “I am satisfied that this is nothing more than a box,” he said simply, and with a mischievous grin William pointed him back into the crowd. As soon as they were alone on the stage, William looked over at Betty. He raised the blanket, hiding them both from the crowd’s view, and he looked at her with an intensity that she had never seen before.

  “It’s now or never,” he said as Betty nodded. She took a deep breath, and William spread the sheet on the ground. Then, as he had done so many times before, he reached down and grabbed the blanket, sweeping it up and over her while he grabbed the ring on the stage.

  Betty sprang into action. She slipped right through the trap door to the ground beneath and ran as quickly as she could to the proper trap door beneath the box. She could hear the gasping of the crowd, and she hurried to get into position as William walked over to the box to reveal her inside.

  Betty grabbed the trap door and pulled with all her might, knowing she was running out of time. She hoisted herself into the box, yanking the door closed behind her. Scarcely had she latched it into place than William opened the top of the box, and reached his hand down to her inside.

  There was a hushed silence in the room as Betty stood, rising into view. Mr. McGregor looked at her in dumbfounded amazement, and there was a hush in the room. After a few seconds of silence, he shook his head.

  “Impossible!” He exclaimed. William looked at him with a triumphant look in his eye and walked over to the box.

  “Isn’t it?” he said coyly.

  Betty climbed out of the box with the help of William, and the crowd erupted in deafening applause. William turned her to face the crowd, and they both took a bow. Then, as he usually did, William put his arm around her shoulder and waived with one hand. While Betty blew kisses to the crowd with the other. Mr. McGregor continued to shake his head, then he turned to walk off the stage.

  “Sir, does this mean that we shall continue to work together?” William asked with a rather condescending tone to his voice. Mr. McGregor shot him a look, then stalked off the stage. William laughed and the crowd continued to cheer. As flowers rained down around them, Betty felt happier than she ever thought possible.

  “Love? I’ve been meaning to ask you,” William said as he looked down at her. Betty was surprised at the term he used, and for a moment, she forgot about the cheering crowd. She looked up into his eyes inquisitively.

  “Will you marry me?” he whispered, and Betty felt her knees become weak. She nodded furiously, her voice too choked up to answer. She feared she was going to fall, but he caught her with his arm around her back and leaned forward, pressing his lips against hers.

  The crowd erupted, and Betty felt a thrill rush through her like she had never felt before. She had found true love, and she loved what she was doing. Nothing could touch her happiness.

  The End

  The Lawyer’s Mail Order Bride

  Craig

  Craig Ferguson cut an imposing figure as he trudged down the boardwalk past the barber shop and the dry goods store, kicking up dust from the dirty wooden planks with each step. He tipped his hat to Mrs. Eva Mayweather, the middle aged lady who ran the Abilene Hotel with her husband, Karl, which earned him a nod and a coquettish “Hello”. He shook his head and grinned at her flirtation. She was harmless, and loved her husband with the heat of a thousand suns. But she made them money from getting men to drink, and she was good at it.

  She reminded him to come on by after he was done his rounds, and he happily agreed. The truth was, he needed to talk to Karl anyway. The occasional fights that usually occurred when the cattle drivers came through had become far too frequent, and with the railroad builders coming in droves, the violence was bound to start escalating. He looked up and down the main street of his domain. Abilene was a cow town, and the railroaders were threatening the cattle drivers’ way livelihood. The railroad brought in a lot of new money, but was burning bridges with the cattlemen all the way across the state.

  He waved a wagon past before he stepped down to the dirt road and crossed the street to the jail. Thankfully, it was a quiet day. Inside, his jail cells were empty, but for a couple of regulars sleeping off their whiskey. He set his hat on his desk and slid his firearm into a drawer. Annie would be coming by soon with food for his “prisoners” and he wasn’t about to give one of those old drunken fools a go at his piece when he fed them.

  Right on time, Annie and her granddaughter, Isobel, walked in with a tray of food.

  “Afternoon Sheriff.” The grandmotherly woman greeted Craig. “I heard you got two digits in here today, is that right?” Craig laughed and gave her an “Ayuh” to the affirmative, and she set two metal plates loaded with thick bangers and mash on his otherwise tidy desk. She motioned to Isobel, who added a fourth, covered plate to the collection.

  “That one is yours.” She ordered the sheriff. “Mind you eat it this time. Gran says you’re getting too thin.” Isobel glanced at her grandmother, who nodded her approval.

  “The child’s right.” The older lady chided. “When you gonna get you a wife?” she demanded. “You’re not getting any younger, and even a law man needs a woman to tend to him.” Ferguson merely nodded. He was used to the tirade from the maternal owner of the café across the street. His only act of rebellion was to doggedly ignore the attempts she made at introducing him to women. She’d be pleased as punch when she finally found out he’d sent away to Boston area for a young woman he’d written to and found to his liking. The most recent letter lay unopened in his pocket, waiting for his overeager matchmaker to depart.

  “Well, I thank you ladies kindly for feeding these fine guests of my establishment, though they don’t deserve cooking of this caliber.” Craig praised Annie and her young protégé, who beamed from the compliment.

  “I helped grandma make the mashed potatoes!” Isobel announced, proudly drawing her eight-year-old frame to his fullest height.

  “I’ll be sure to let you know how good they were after I eat them.” Craig replied with a smile. Annie patted her youngest granddaughter’s curly blonde head and winked at the sheriff. She ushered Isobel out the door to the jail, picking up a pile of used tin plates on their way out.

  Craig smiled at their retreating backs. He picked up the food laden plates and walked back to the jail cells, where the Quincy twins sat in separate cells. Bud Quincy the older of the twins, whittled away at a piece of wood with his tiny pocket knife, while, Daniel (Junior to his friends), snored away on his cot.

  “Wake up, Junior!” Craig called out to Daniel as he banged on the bars loudly. “Soup’s on. Don’t make me tell Annie you slept through her meatloaf pie!” He barked as the drunk jumped at the noise and nearly fell off the cot. He collected his plate and a mug and sat down on the floor of the cell to eat, muttering that the meal needed whiskey, not water, to wash it down.

  Bud Quincy was already standing, waiting patient
ly for his meal. He gave Craig a big grin for waking up his younger brother that way, and sat silently to eat. Craig loped back to his wooden desk and uncovered his food. Next to the generous helpings of meat and potatoes was a second, smaller plate, almost completely covered by a huge slice of rhubarb pie. Craig called out to the men in his cells, boasting about the delicious pie, while he used his hat to waft the aroma toward them.

  “You boys should keep your drunk fights out on your ranch.” He chided around a mouthful of warm pie. “Just think. If you two had kept the rest of us out of your pissing contest, you’d be sitting in Annie’s café eating this pie with fresh milk to wash it down, not sitting in there trying to turn water into whiskey!” He drawled. Bud chuckled in response, and Junior stopped his whining.

  Craig looked at the time. He figured he’d keep them until night fell, then send them straight home, with no stop at the bar. The brothers were good men, but they liked nothing more than pulling out their fists over any topic imaginable. Last night, the fight had erupted over one too many shots of rot gut and a game of blackjack gone sour.

  Still, it had been a blessing in disguise. The fight distracted the cattle men who were working up a sweat over some railroad surveyors who were passing through as they plotted the route the rail would take across Kansas. Abilene was going to be a major stop for the railroad, and the locals were divided in loyalty, between the business owners who supported the railroad, and the cattle drivers who despised the rail workers for taking away their livelihood.

  Craig finished his meal and rinsed the dishes in the tub of wash water and started a new pile by the door for Annie or one of her many grandchildren to pick up later. He sat with his feet on the desk, stuck a toothpick in his teeth and finally pulled out the letter. He heard loud squeaking from the cots in the cells.

  “Hey Boss,” Junior called out to him. “That another letter from your lady-friend?” he inquired. Craig snorted. The brothers had been in jail so much lately, they’d taken to asking about his correspondence with his pen pal, Miss. Candace Shepherd. They’d started writing weeks ago, and then the letters had stopped coming. Craig had been disappointed, then concerned, as the days rolled by, but this letter had some thickness to it, and he hoped that meant it was full of explanations. He sucked on his chewing stick and deftly sliced the envelope open. As the twins waited quietly for him to finish and relay the news, he began to read.

  “My Dearest Mr. Ferguson,

  I apologize most humbly for the time it has taken for me to return your last correspondence. I must admit that this has been a trying time, indeed, for my brothers and myself, as we have faced the loss of my employment at the factory and have had to move into the meanest of apartments that you could ever imagine. I can only hope that this missive finds you well, and that you haven’t forgotten me in my absence. I have been able to find temporary employ in a dress shop, and my brothers have taken on the work of men much older than they, unloading goods on the docks. They are so young I fear for their safety, but with Father gone, they have stepped up to fill his shoes admirably…”

  Craig sat upright in his seat and read the entire letter twice. Candace repeatedly pled for his patience with her and assured him that despite their lack of means, they were all well and healthy. He scanned through the parts of the epistle that only concerned the two young brothers, Sill a 14-year-old, and Darren, who was 16. His concern grew when he reached the end of the letter and started paying closer attention again as she offered him a way out of the suggested arrangement of marriage.

  “Please understand, I truly have the greatest respect and admiration for you, and long to be of assistance to you on your ranch. I had planned on the three of us being a boon to you and making your life simpler with our arrival, instead of more difficult. However, it pains me to admit that we do not have the funds to travel or even to stay where we are, and will have to find an alternative that may take us beyond your desire to continue our acquaintance. If this is the case, please know that I understand and bear you no ill will.

  Respectfully and Fondly Yours,

  Miss Candace Shepherd, Boston Mass.”

  Craig reread the letter again more carefully, looking for additional clues to the predicament Candace was in, or how she’d got there. Finding nothing and dissatisfied, he picked up his hat and headed over to the Abilene hotel to talk to Karl. He and Candace had been writing for a couple of months now. If she was in trouble, it was time to send for her and her brothers. Craig didn’t figure it would be too hard to care for the boys, they were almost grown themselves. But Candace was young, and as well-spoken and obviously hardworking as she was, it stuck in his craw a little that he was bringing a city-bred innocent out to the sometimes uncivilized west.

  He stepped out of the jail to the fading light of dusk and immediately stiffened. The hairs on his neck stood at attention and his right hand slid toward his gun. He looked around him, and two men stepped out of the shadows of the nearby stable.

  “Howdy, Sheriff.” A tall, thin man greeted him. Craig looked him over, from his boots, to the poncho he wore slung over his shoulder, freeing up his six-shooter. The thin man’s companion was his physical opposite, stumpy and thick. His shotgun was perched against his shoulder, and when he spit, tobacco juice clung to his stringy red beard.

  The men were strangers to Craig, and from their clothes and demeanor, the sheriff guessed they were railroad men. Workers, not surveyors, the rail man had been stuck in Abilene for days without work, as they waited for instructions to proceed. Left with too much time on their hands, some of the men had gotten unruly, and the already angry cattle drivers had been more than happy to escalate the name calling to the throwing of punches.

  “How can I help you two gentlemen?” Craig inquired, his hand still resting on the butt of his Colt Dragoon. The tall thin man rubbed the dark stubble on his chin and glanced at his stocky friend.

  “Well, see here.” The shorter, red-faced man spoke up. “You’ve got two prisoners in there who are friends of ours.” He gestured to his mate, who nodded sagely. “We was just wonderin’ how long they was gonna be locked up like that. It would be mighty nice to finish that drink we started last night.” He wheedled.

  Craig recognized the men from the hotel, but seriously doubted they were friends of the two cattlemen he had locked up in his jail. He looked down the street. His deputy, Mark Rainfeld, had noticed something was up and was heading toward them on the boardwalk.

  “Evening Sheriff,” Craig heard the voice of Karl Mayweather behind him. “Eva told me you’d be heading over to see me, I thought I’d just meet you halfway.” The tall thin man looked uneasy now that the numbers no longer favored him. The stocky redhead dropped the barrel of the shotgun so it pointed at the ground.

  “Meeting you halfway.” The taller man repeated Karl’s words, nodding. “That’s exactly what my mate and I was doing for our friends.” He paused and scratched his head. “Looks like they might not be available for that drink tonight though, right Sheriff?” He asked.

  “Looks like they won’t be.” Craig agreed coolly. The two railroad workers tipped their hats to the townies and walked away down the road, back toward their camp. Deputy Rainfeld scratched the back of his neck and adjusted his hat.

  “I’m thinking we should keep the twins for another night, just to be on the safe side, Craig.” He suggested. The sheriff nodded his agreement and kept watching the men head out of town on foot, giving the taller of the two a wave when he looked back over his shoulder.

  “Karl, Mark, I’m of the opinion that things are going to get more sore, before they get better.” Craig drawled. “How many guns you think you got in the bar any given night?” He asked Karl. Karl shook his head.

  “Too many not to have trouble, Sheriff.” He replied. “But me and the Mrs. We hold our own.” The savvy hotel owner had hired Pinkertons to help keep the peace. Craig didn’t always agree with hiring more guns to stop guns, but they had stepped in on more than one occasion befo
re things got out of hand, so as long as they stayed out of his way, he stayed out of theirs.

  “Why don’t you go get a drink in you, Sheriff, and I’ll watch the twins for a bit.” Mark offered. “The missus is away visiting her mother right now, so I’ve got nothing else pressing.” Craig slapped Mark on the back and nodded his thanks, and he and Karl walked back to the Abilene, discussing the more private matter Craig had wanted to speak with him about.

  After he gave Karl the over view of the letter, Karl thought for a long while. He stepped behind the bar and poured the sheriff a stiff drink, then gestured him into the back kitchen, where Eva and a young assistant washed and dried glasses for the bar. When they saw the men, the ladies took a break and let them have the kitchen to themselves.

  “She hates it when I come in here.” Karl admitted. “But, I just never felt comfortable in that fancy office she put together.” He smiled and raised his glass. “To friends around kitchen tables.” He mock-toasted, and Craig lifted his glass in agreement. Karl tossed back his drink and poured a second, while Craig still nursed his first.

  “I’ll admit it,” Craig began after a swallow. “I’m worried about the girl.” He rolled the tumbler back and forth between his hands. “She’s smart, and I reckon I did miss the letters when she stopped sending them.” He sighed and looked at Karl. “Can you help out at the Sheriff’s office while I go collect my bride-to-be?” He ventured. “You’re already deputized and I know Eva won’t suffer for it, so I thought maybe you’d be okay being a law man for a few days.”

  “Course I will!” Karl responded enthusiastically. “What do you think it will take to get you there and back? You going by coach or rail?” He queried.