by E. E. Burke
Santa’s Mail-Order Bride
Sequel to Victoria, Bride of Kansas
E.E. Burke
Santa’s Mail-Order Bride is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Copyright © 2015 E.E. Burke.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book in whole or in part in any form.
Cover Design by Erin Dameron-Hill
Train photography by Matthew Malkeiwicz
Digital formatting by Author E.M.S.
Amazon Edition
Published by E.E. Burke
ISBN eBook 978-0-9969822-0-7
Dedication
This book is dedicated to my dear friend in Fort Scott, “Miss Pat” Lyons. Thank you for sharing your beautiful Twin Mansions and your love for the past.
Chapter 1
December 7, 1892, Fort Scott, Kansas
“Every child deserves a Christmas present.” Maggie O’Brien paced the length of her brother’s general store with her fifteen-month-old nephew propped on her hip. The gleeful toddler tugged at loose strands of hair no longer in an artful arrangement. She tickled him to distract him. “Isn’t that right, Paddy?”
The cherub laughed and said something that sounded like Mama.
“Yes, your Mama is busy now. Look at all these people buying presents. Wouldn’t it be nice if some of these gifts could be sent to the orphans? Don’t you agree, Victoria?”
Her sister-in-law finished wrapping a purchase in brown paper, smiling as she handed it to a customer, while Maggie’s brother David waited on a gentleman purchasing a hobbyhorse.
“I do agree,” Victoria answered, after the customer walked away. “Every child deserves to be shown love.”
Hugging Patrick to her, Maggie sidestepped a distracted couple accompanied by three children. The youngest, a boy, stopped to examine a sack of marbles, while two older girls wandered over to a display featuring paper dolls with crepe paper clothing, a gift that would appeal to her niece Fannie. Customers were packed into O’Brien’s today, taking advantage of the unexpected sunshine to do some Christmas shopping.
Not every child had someone who loved them purchasing hobbyhorses, marbles and dolls, and Maggie’s heart ached for those orphaned children. Worse, homeless children in Kansas were put to work on poor farms or languished at dingy facilities crowded with impoverished adults.
This year, Maggie had come home on a mission: to collect gifts for orphaned children in the area and distribute them by Christmas Eve. How she’d accomplish this, she wasn’t sure. She had a list of fifty names. Collecting that many gifts in roughly three weeks boggled the mind, but she was determined to show these children they were not forgotten.
David looked over the next customer’s shoulder. “It’s not us you need to convince, Maggie.”
“I know. You’re being very generous.”
Not surprisingly, her brother had agreed to aid her. They both had a soft spot for orphans, having lost their parents at an early age. They’d been fortunate to be taken in, but David had been forced to drop out of school at age twelve to go to work so he could support them.
Homeless children also needed schooling as well as to have their basic needs met. Sadly, she didn’t have the wealth or the influence to make that happen anytime soon. She could, however, provide Christmas presents—if she could find enough backers.
Maggie walked over to the large glass window overlooking the street. Wagons and buggies lined the hitching post in front of O’Brien’s. Mr. Sumner’s Five Cent Store also appeared busy, as usual. The two stores, directly across from each other, engaged in heated competition. David had nearly been forced to close his doors two years ago, until he’d made changes to the store. The progressive merchant across the street had few scruples when it came to competition. He would undoubtedly come up with some new way to harass her brother.
She continued walking with Patrick to keep him entertained, pausing at a table with a display of mechanical toys. When Patrick reached for a wind-up train, she did a quick twirl on her heel and headed for safe territory. How his parents kept him from turning the store upside down was beyond her. She didn’t dare put him on his feet. Forget bull in a china shop, he was a frolicking calf.
“Is this Patrick, or do my eyes deceive me?” One of the customers, Mrs. Robinson, waylaid them. The stately matron had more lines in her face than last year, and her steps seemed slower. There was nothing slow about her mind. Her eyes snapped with intelligence and curiosity. “Miss O’Brien, it’s good to see you again. You’re home for good, or just for Christmas?”
“Only through Christmas, and then it’s back to the schoolroom.”
“How do you like Kansas City? I hear that cow town will soon be more populous than Fort Scott, though I can hardly believe it.”
“Oh, that’s a fact, what with all the railroads and the stockyards.” Maggie loved the bustle and excitement of the growing city, but she missed home far more than she’d thought she would. She’d been gone two years, off teaching, which was what she’d always wanted to do. She would be forever grateful to her older brother, who had scrimped and saved to send her to a teacher’s college. He’d sacrificed so much for her. She would never let him down.
Mrs. Robinson patted Patrick’s back as he bounced on Maggie’s hip. “You’re getting to be a big boy.”
“Yes, indeed.” Maggie lifted her nephew’s compact weight higher and smiled at him. “How big is Paddy?”
With a huge grin, he lifted his arms in the air and stretched them out as far as he could.
“Sooo big,” Maggie dragged out the first word, to the delight of her nephew.
Patrick giggled and patted her cheek. She’d earned an A with the correct response. So big had become his favorite game, next to pulling the cat’s tail.
“What a sweet-tempered child,” Mrs. Richardson cooed. “And he looks just like his father.”
“That he does.” Maggie had rather hoped her brother’s child would have his mother’s striking aqua eyes and golden hair. Not surprisingly, Paddy had inherited the black O’Brien eyes and hair, as had his father and his aunt and his half-sister Fannie. But, oh, he was a beautiful boy, healthy and happy, just as every child should be.
Mrs. Robinson gave Patrick another fond pat. The wealthy matron served on the board of St. Andrew’s Episcopal, the oldest church in town, and had her finger in every pie when it came to local charities. She would be a perfect person to ask for help.
“Have you ever seen a poor farm?”
The widow appeared puzzled by Maggie’s question. “No, can’t say that I have.”
“It’s a sad place, I can tell you.” Maggie couldn’t get the images out of her mind. Poor farm was an appropriate moniker for those awful places. “They work the children like slaves, and still there’s barely enough to feed and clothe them. I have a list of fifty orphans just from this area alone that won’t have a Christmas if we don’t do something about it. I’m collecting gifts for them. David and Victoria have been very generous, but their contributions won’t be enough. Could you suggest others who might help? Churches, perhaps?
The elderly lady’s face folded into a sad smile. “That’s very kind of you, my dear, but I wouldn’t count on the churches for more than what they’ve already committed to doing. They all have collections this time of year to help needy families. You’ll have to look elsewhere, I’m afraid.”
Maggie’s spirits dipped. She thought it would be easier to gain support, especially around Christmastime, but this was the message she’d he
ard from several other people.
“You say your brother is donating goods?” the older woman asked.
“Yes, clothes and toys.”
“What about asking that nice gentleman across the street for donations? Mr. Sumner ought to be willing to match his competitor.” Mrs. Robinson’s eyes twinkled. “If you make a personal request.”
Soliciting donations from the owner of the second largest store in Fort Scott would be a good suggestion, if it didn’t require talking to him. Not to mention, Gordon Sumner would be unlikely to help the sister of his chief competitor, even if she made her plea personally.
Maggie shifted Patrick to her other hip, and lowered her voice so others in the store couldn’t hear her. “I doubt Mr. Sumner would be open to any request I’d make. He and David don’t get along.”
“My dear, if you’re determined to have those gifts, you may have to mend a few fences.” Mrs. Richardson kissed Paddy’s cheek and then took her leave.
“She’s right, you know,” came a soft voice from behind.
Maggie turned to meet her sister-in-law’s knowing gaze. Victoria didn’t have a mean bone in her body, not even one reserved for her husband’s archrival. “Not you, too.”
“Contrary to what you and David seem to think, Mr. Sumner doesn’t have fangs and claws. He’s very civil, and I suspect he would be happy to help you.”
“You’re the soul of kindness, Victoria. The man could be a wolf in disguise and you’d invite him to dinner.”
Maggie would never admit she’d taken notice of the handsome Mr. Sumner. What woman wouldn’t? But the eligible Easterner flirted with every young lady in town. He wouldn’t be interested in her in particular even if she wanted him to be, which she didn’t, not even if he did have lovely auburn hair and the bluest eyes she’d ever seen.
Victoria glanced over at her husband, who’d started frowning the moment Sumner’s name was mentioned. “We needn’t extend a dinner invitation. All you’re asking for is a donation.” She reached out for Patrick. “Here, I’ll take him. It’s time for his lunch and a nap.”
Patrick began to fuss the moment he heard the word nap.
Victoria rubbed his back soothingly. “Thank you for watching him, Maggie.”
“I loved every minute,” Maggie pressed a kiss on the toddler’s head. He smelled warm and sweet, just like a baby should smell. She adored her nephew and her eight-year-old niece and missed being around them.
She had lived with her brother and looked after Fannie for a troubled two years after David’s first wife had abandoned them. He’d been miserable until Victoria came along.
Maggie took no small amount of pride in her matchmaking efforts. Thanks to her, David had found his true love. She longed to discover that same rare connection. Growing up, she had always dreamed of finding her soul’s mate, but at the advanced age of twenty-four, she had yet to meet a man who made her heart race.
“I’ll walk over to the school and meet Fannie,” she told Victoria. “There’s a Christmas tree exhibit at Convention Hall I’d like to show her.”
“She’d love that, I’m sure.” Victoria stroked her son’s silky hair as he laid his head on her shoulder. “And do consider Mrs. Robinson’s suggestion. You’ll need all the help you can muster if you’re determined to collect fifty gifts by Christmas.”
Maggie sighed with resignation. She had avoided charming Mr. Sumner because her loyalty would always be to her family, and heaven forbid she might actually like the man. But her sister-in-law was right. Nothing should get in the way of collecting those gifts, not even her reluctance to do business with a dapper carnivore.
She straightened her shoulders. “I’ll pay Mr. Sumner a visit this afternoon after the stores have closed for business.”
Chapter 2
Gordon Sumner slammed the account book shut. Another round of calculations wouldn’t improve the numbers. He glared at a stack of letters on the desk next to the lamp, then jerked open a drawer, crammed the unopened envelopes inside and shut it. Why bother reading them? He knew Sikes had passed the point of impatience six months ago. Sales had better be stellar this Christmas, or he was in big trouble.
He grasped the gold fob and drew his watch from a vest pocket. Six o’clock. Time to lock up. For the month of December, he’d kept the store open an hour later than usual, in hopes of snagging his competitor’s customers. O’Brien’s always closed at five sharp. Had the other store folded last year as anticipated, his problems would have been solved. Somehow, the stubborn Irishman hung on. He’d even expanded and improved the interior, and his efforts had paid off. By all signs, O’Brien’s was doing well.
Sum swore. He would win this battle. This time he wouldn’t fail.
Standing, he pocketed the watch and left his office. He’d go downstairs, collect the day’s proceeds from the till and tell the clerk she could go home, if she hadn’t left already.
When he first opened his Five Cent Store, he anticipated needing only a single clerk to manage the cash register. Unlike the old fashioned shebang, his goods were displayed in clear view and marked with prices, eliminating the necessity of clerks’ collecting items on a customer’s list. He hired Anna Smith and then discovered having pretty women around helped his business, so he hired a few more like her, mostly as window dressing.
Even with an improvement in sales, he couldn’t afford window dressing. Over the past year, he’d let go of all but one clerk. After the Christmas rush, he would, regrettably, have to do without Miss Smith. He hated to dismiss the hardworking young woman, knowing the girl was her family’s only source of income since her father had been killed in a mining accident and her mother had fallen ill. After his debts were cleared, he would rehire Miss Smith.
The overhead lights burned brightly, but the store appeared to be empty, except for a woman standing in front the Christmas display. That wasn’t his clerk. However, he would recognize her anywhere, even from the back—the Irishman’s sister.
Sum’s mood improved. He’d wanted to get to know the black-haired beauty ever since meeting her on his first day in town, but she’d avoided him like he carried a plague. Then she had moved away. She must’ve come home for Christmas. That didn’t explain what had brought her into his store. Why speculate when he could ask?
“Miss O’Brien. May I help you?”
She turned, her brown cloak swirling around a green plaid skirt. The woodsy colors complemented her dark hair and gypsy eyes. “Ah, Mr. Sumner, good evening. I thought the store might be closed, but your lights were on.”
“We’ve extended our hours this season. Did Miss Smith let you in?”
“Your clerk said to tell you she had to leave to pick up some medicine for her mother. She…she said it was all right if I looked around while I waited.”
His lovely visitor flushed a becoming shade of pink and clutched a small handbag to her chest. Had the Irish lass ever shown a smidgeon of interest, he might’ve interpreted her reaction as a virginal woman’s response to a man who fired her blood. He didn’t presume that to be the case with Miss O’Brien. Still, he couldn’t help being pleased she’d sought him out for some purpose.
“You’re welcome in my store anytime.” He reached up to straighten his tie before remembering he’d pulled the bow loose and unbuttoned his collar, deciding he might as well be comfortable as he reviewed the books—a process that made every item he wore feel as if it pinched. Not only that, he’d left his coat upstairs. Greeting a lady wearing a wrinkled shirt and waistcoat wasn’t how one made a good impression.
Impressing Miss O’Brien shouldn’t be high on his list of priorities. She was his adversary’s sister, therefore, not to be trusted. If he had the sense of a clam, he’d close his shell.
Clams weren’t known for their intelligence.
She made a brief assessment of the store before regarding him quizzically. “You’ve invested a great deal into furnishings. Where did you find the etched globes and maple display cases?”
&nb
sp; A laugh bubbled up his throat. “You came in here to talk about my furnishings?”
“No…” She fussed with the drawstrings on her bag, twisting them around her fingers, looking everywhere but at him. “I came over here to ask you for money.”
His ego took a hard fall. “Money?”
“Or goods, either would do.” The tip of her tongue sneaked out and moistened her lips.
He had the most insane thought that if she offered a kiss in exchange, he would grant her wishes. However, he couldn’t imagine why she’d ask him for money, unless her brother was in financial straits.
Sum arranged his face in a look of concern to hide a very uncharitable emotion. “May I take your cloak? We could sit down and have a cup of coffee while we discuss your, um, needs.”
Her blush deepened to crimson. “That’s not necessary. It’s not my needs I’m concerned with at the moment, or yours. The gifts are for the orphans.”
“The orphans?” Not what he’d expected her to say, nor was it a fascinating topic. Given the choice, he’d rather talk about her. “You could spare a few minutes, surely? After all, you’ve made a rather curious request, and should I grant it, I’d like to know more.”
Unease flickered across her face. She had no desire to linger, and if his guess was right, she loathed the very idea of seeking him out.
His self-confidence was taking a beating.
“Very well. I’ll stay for a short visit.” She turned, allowing him to take her wrap.
As he drew the cloak off her shoulders, an intriguing scent teased his nose. Peppermint. How delightful…she smelled of candy. His mouth watered.
With no small effort, he dragged his mind away from inappropriate longings. Sweet or not, she didn’t belong to him. Therefore, he had no business kissing the back of her neck, no matter how good she smelled.