by Kit Morgan
“Here we go,” Harrison mumbled.
Duncan slapped him on the back. “Write me and let me know if you survive this, brother!”
Harrison gave him a lop-sided smile. “My wife’s ideas haven’t killed me yet.”
“Yet,” Colin chuckled.
A few more heartfelt embraces, tears, and shouted goodbyes followed before Duncan boarded the stage and left the tiny town of Clear Creek as the new Duke of Stantham. He went laughing at his brother’s predicament with Sadie’s latest scheme. Little did he know what a wonderful idea it would turn out to be.
One
Clear Creek, Oregon, one year later ...
Dear Colin and Harrison,
As you know from my last letter, I find myself in quite the predicament. Our dear departed uncles Leonard and John have left me with the task of finding suitable matches for their daughters, all six of them. As you know, I’ve been working on this for months, alas, to no avail. Do not misconstrue my meaning – our cousins are beautiful, witty, smart, and each with distinct qualities of their own. Unfortunately, the local gentlemen will not come near them. Thackeray Holmes did a grand job of scaring off any and all respectable suitors in his attempt at getting his hands on the title and estate. Now I am left with six women to support if I cannot find them husbands, and their mothers are, to say the least, less than cooperative. Enclosed you will find a separate letter to Sadie. I must admit, Harrison, it is at times like these when your wife shines. Let her at it ...
With all my love,
Duncan
*
Dear Sadie,
I’m sure by now Harrison has read to you the letter I sent to him and Colin. This one is for you. I am at my wit’s end. I need husbands for six of my cousins! What do you suggest I do?
All my love,
Duncan
*
Well, that was simple,” Harrison drawled as he read the letter in Sadie’s hand from over her shoulder. “The poor chap is in trouble.”
“No trouble at all,” Sadie commented. “I know just what to do!”
“What? What are you going to do?” Harrison asked, his voice laced with worry.
“Let me feed Honoria. Then drive me to town, will you?” she said as she handed him the letter.
As if on cue, little Honoria let out a hungry wail from the other room. Sadie left Harrison standing with Duncan’s letters in hand and went to fetch the baby. He followed her. “What is in that pretty head of yours now, wife?”
“Mail-order brides.”
“Again? It didn’t work the first time, remember? No one wants to come to Clear Creek. Besides, how is that supposed to help Duncan out?”
Sadie smiled. “Watch and see.” She picked up the baby, who’d been sitting in the middle of the parlor floor with a toy, and headed for the kitchen.
“Sadie, ‘watch and see’ is not an answer,” Harrison argued. “Give me specifics. What are you going to do?”
She turned to face him as she bounced Honoria in her arms. “I’m sending away for mail-order brides.”
Harrison slapped his forehead. “What brides? Who are you going to ...” His eyes widened to saucers as he realized what she was talking about. “No ... no, it will never work ...”
“Why not? We have plenty of men wanting to get married in this town. Seems logical to me.”
“But you don’t know my cousins.”
“Neither do you, from what I understand. You haven’t seen them since you and Colin were children.”
“Sadie, trust me, this will never work.”
“Why not?”
“Well for one ... eh ... well ...”
“Why? Because they’re English?”
“Yes!”
Sadie shook her head, turned on her heel, and went into the kitchen. “You’re English and you’re married.”
“It’s not the same thing. I was partly raised here. My cousins, on the other hand, have probably never set foot outside of Sussex ... except for the season, of course, but ...”
“I think it’s a fine idea. We have plenty of men wanting to get married, and you have plenty of female cousins who need husbands.”
Harrison groaned. “Oh, dear wife, if only you’d listen to me ...”
She quirked an eyebrow at him as she spooned applesauce out of a jar on the worktable into a small bowl with one hand and bounced the baby on her hip with the other. “I am listening to you, Harrison, and what I’m hearing is that Duncan has something this town needs, and we have something he needs ...”
“But darling,” Harrison said as he put a hand on her shoulder and turned her around to face him. “These are English ladies. Their idea of the country is Uncle John’s manor in Kent. They don’t know what real country living is like. Good Lord, I’m not even sure they’d survive the journey out here, let alone life in Clear Creek.”
Sadie stared at him a moment before she handed him their daughter. “Here, feed her. I’m going to write Duncan at once.”
“What?” Harrison asked, flabbergasted, as he took Honoria in his arms. “Didn’t you hear a word I said?”
“Of course I did,” she answered. “I agree with you if what you say is true, and leave it to Duncan’s good judgment. He’ll know whether or not they would do well here in the West. I will make my suggestion, send some letters along from the most eligible men in town, and we’ll see what happens. How does that sound?”
Harrison gave her a half smile as Honoria began to cry with hunger again. “Dandy. Just ... dandy.”
* * *
Clear Creek, June 1, 1861
“Here it comes!” a voice called down the street.
Sheriff Harlan Hughes looked up from the checkerboard. He sat across a small table from Wilfred Dunnigan, playing their usual lunchtime game outside the sheriff’s office. “What’s all the ruckus, Tom?”
The gangly youth ran up to the two men. “Stage’s a-comin’, Sheriff. The women ... the women Harrison and Colin Cooke sent for, they’re supposed to be on it!”
“You don’t say?” Wilfred drawled. “Well, now, that is news. That means Colin or Harrison ought to be around here somewhere. Why don’t you go on down to the mercantile and let them know?”
“Yes, sir!” the youth exclaimed and took off down the street.
Sheriff Hughes chuckled. “That Tom Turner is just as interested in them women as the men that done sent away for ‘em. Too bad he’s only, what – fifteen, sixteen?”
Wilfred laughed. “Yeah, but he’ll grow up and then what?”
“He’s an honest sort, maybe I’ll make him a deputy if he don’t take to farmin’ like his pa.”
“That’s a might fine idea,” Wilfred agreed as they listened to the stagecoach coming down the street.
Men started for the mercantile, knowing the stage would pull up in front of it. They watched as it rolled past, leaving behind a cloud of dust. Several coughed and sputtered before continuing on after it.
Sheriff Hughes shook his head in resignation. “I suppose I’d better mosey on over there in case there’s any trouble. Nothing like a bevy of females comin’ to town to set the men off.”
“Harrison told me there’s only three.”
“Yeah, and remember what happened when your niece Belle first came to town? The men were lined up outside your mercantile for days.”
Wilfred scratched his head and smiled. “I plumb forgot about that. You’re right, we’d best get on down there.”
They checked the position of their playing pieces, got up, and walked to where a crowd had gathered. Only one person in town would dare move a checker, and often did when the board was left unprotected. But Wilfred and Sheriff Hughes had learned long ago to let Mr. Mulligan have his fun. He often gave out a few free drinks at the saloon when he thought he’d gotten away with it.
The stagecoach passengers had yet to disembark when Wilfred and the sheriff reached it. “Where are Harrison and Colin?” Wilfred asked, glancing around.
“Dunno,” S
heriff Hughes said, also scanning the area. “But they best get here quick-like. Look at what’s comin’.”
Men. Lots of them.
Willie the stagecoach driver let out a yelp of surprise at the dozen or so hurrying from the saloon to join the rest of the crowd. Wilfred caught a glimpse of Mr. Mulligan skulking across the street to the checkerboard and chuckled, then turned his attention to the stagecoach door. Best to take things in hand until Colin and Harrison arrived. He opened it, and poked his head inside. Three pairs of eyes stared back. “Afternoon, ladies. May I help you out?”
One of them, a pretty redhead, swallowed hard before she held a lace handkerchief to her nose. “Are you the footman? If so, why aren’t you properly attired?”
Wilfred looked at her, his mouth hanging open. “There ain’t no ... what’d you call me?”
“Footman,” she said forcibly.
Wilfred removed his head from the coach and looked to his booted feet. “Footman?”
“Oh never mind,” she huffed. “You see, sisters, it’s the same everywhere! No one in this country is civilized!”
“There are no such things here, sister,” one of the other women whispered from inside the coach.
Wilfred stuck his head back inside. “You do know this is Clear Creek, don’tcha?”
The women looked at each other, wide-eyed. “You ... you mean this is it?” a brown-haired girl asked. “The end of our journey?”
“Yessiree,” Wilfred confirmed.
The third woman swayed to and fro as if she might swoon. “Eloise!” the redhead snapped. “Get a hold of yourself!”
The blonde snapped to attention, teetered a bit, then stilled. “Yes, Penelope,” she said docilely.
The redhead – Penelope – straightened in her seat. “We must leave the stage now, sisters. I’m afraid there’s no help for it.”
“Must we, Penelope?” The brown-haired girl lamented. “Perhaps the gentleman is mistaken.”
“I very much doubt it, Constance. I’m sure the gentleman knows where he lives. Now be brave. The Duke of Stantham would not have sent us halfway around the world for nothing. You do want to get married, don’t you?”
Penelope’s two younger sisters looked at one another with trepidation. “Yes,” they said in unison.
“Very well, then,” Penelope said, then gave her attention back to Wilfred. “You may proceed, sir.”
Wilfred continued to star at her, his mouth half-open again. “Pro ... proceed with what, ma’am?”
“Helping us disembark, of course.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Now, if you please?”
Wilfred jumped at her words. “Right away, ma’am,” he said and held his hand out to her.
Penelope gathered her skirts and stepped delicately from the stagecoach. A chorus of hoots and hollers erupted from the men encircling them, and she covered her ears against the racket. Wilfred helped Constance and Eloise out and quickly ushered them to the mercantile doors. “Get on with ya, now!” he yelled at the men. “These three ain’t being served up for supper!”
“I say!” Penelope huffed. “Is this country so devoid of ladies that your men feel compelled to salivate the moment they see one?”
Wilfred ignored the remark and, with the help of Sheriff Hughes, escorted the women inside and closed the door behind them. “Woo-whee, you’d think none of them fellas had seen a new woman in town for months!”
“Wilfred,” Sheriff Hughes said. “They haven’t.”
Wilfred came away from the door. “Oh, yeah. Forgot.” He crossed to the mercantile’s front counter and went behind it. “Any of you ladies care for a licorice whip while we wait for Harrison and Colin to get here?”
“Oh, I’d love one!” Constance said excited.
“Constance!” Penelope snapped. “A lady does not accept candy from strangers.”
“But Penelope, we haven’t eaten for hours!” her sister lamented.
“We’ll eat when we get to our cousin’s ... farm.” Her last word came out as if it pained her.
“Ranch,” Eloise corrected.
“Yes,” Penelope agreed. “One with ... cows.”
Before anyone could comment, the mercantile doors flew open. “Cousins?” Harrison asked.
“Harrison!” Constance blurted as she ran to him and threw her arms around his neck.
“Constance!” Penelope snapped. “Control yourself!”
“Oh my!” Eloise stood alongside their eldest sister and gasped at Constance’s ill-mannered behavior. Was it any wonder she was still unwed, even given their circumstances?
Harrison ignored them and hugged his cousin as Colin burst into the room. “Sorry we’re late – had a problem with the herd. Good Lord! Is that you, Penelope?” He stared open-mouthed at her, eyes wide, as he took in the sight of the them. “Eloise? Constance?”
Constance pulled away from Harrison to join her sisters. The three of them curtsied. Harrison and Colin glanced at each other, shrugged, and gave a slight bow.
“Ain’t they fun to watch?” Wilfred asked the sheriff.
“Yep. Though I’m surely glad I’m not the one that’s gonna have to live with them. Not after what I’ve seen so far,” he added under his breath.
“Oh, come on, they can’t be that uppity all the time. Well, maybe that Penelope is ...”
“Colin, Harrison,” Penelope said. “You’re late.”
The brothers glanced at one another again. “We do so apologize, dear cousin,” Colin said. “Forgive us for rescuing our stray calves from being stolen.”
Her eyes widened. “Stolen?”
“By outlaws?” Constance squeaked in excitement.
Penelope rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Constance ...”
“Sorry,” she said, her head low. Eloise took her hand and pulled her against her side.
“Willie is putting your things in the back of the wagon,” Harrison told them. “I’m afraid there’s only room for two on the wagon’s seat. One of you will have to ride in the back with your trunks.”
“I will!” Constance volunteered with eagerness.
Penelope rolled her eyes again. “I do so apologize for Constance. I dare not think of what living here will do to her. This wild country has turned her into someone I scarce recognize.”
“She’ll fit right in, cousin,” Colin said with a wink. “Now let’s get you back to the Triple-C where you can rest awhile.” With that he held out his arm, and Constance was quick to take it. Harrison followed suit, holding his arms out to both Penelope and Eloise. Together they left the mercantile.
A large group of men was still gathered. They hooted and whistled as the brothers escorted the women to the wagon and helped them up. Penelope, Constance and Eloise stared at them, and it was their guess that every man in town must be present. Unfortunately, the three men the women were most interested in seeing were not among them. Namely, their grooms.
* * *
August Bennett was a hard-working man. He was punctual, forthright, and could be counted upon to get a job done. One thing he was trying to get done, at the risk of missing the arrival of his future bride, was to put the finishing touches on the little house he’d been building ever since Sadie Cooke approached him about the idea of a mail-order bride almost two years ago. He’d put in for one, along with quite a few other men in town.
Colin’s wife Belle had connections in Boston, and made arrangements with a friend who worked on a major newspaper to publish the men’s ads. But none of the women in Boston wanted to come to a nothing of a town like Clear Creek. Belle’s friend explained they were looking for husbands in places like San Francisco, Sacramento, even Oregon City. With no takers, the disappointed men eventually gave up the idea. Some left for Oregon City at that point, hoping to send again for a mail-order bride once they got established in a larger community. But not August - he liked Clear Creek with all its quirky residents, and wasn’t about to leave. Not if he could help it, anyway.
He’d g
otten along fine as Mr. Van Cleet’s foreman while the Van Cleet Hotel was being built, but now that it was completed he hadn’t much to do. He didn’t like working inside the hotel – he’d had enough of being cooped up inside during the long winters growing up in western New York state – and thought he’d try his hand at farming. So he took what money he earned as foreman, bought a nice little piece of land outside of town, and went to work building a house, a barn, and a few outbuildings.
So here he was, his farm nearly complete. Now all he needed was the one thing he’d hankered after ever since he came to Clear Creek. A wife.
“You sure them women ain’t gonna be upset none of us was there to meet ‘em?” Ryder Jones asked.
August almost missed the nail he was pounding into the wall. The hammer hit it at an odd angle, bending it. “Dagnabbit,” he mumbled to himself. “I don’t think so, they’ll be too tuckered out to do anything, let alone be mad at us for not meeting them there. Besides, none of us knows which one we’re gonna get anyway.”
“I thought when you sent away for a mail-order bride, you got to write letters back and forth,” said Ryder. “How come we had to write up a bunch of letters and Sadie sent them all at once?”
“I was wondering that myself,” added Ryder’s older brother Seth. “How come we didn’t get to hear nothin’ from the women? Seems kinda odd, don’t it? And why’d it take so long for them to get here, anyways?”
“Yeah,” continued Ryder. “Don’t take more than two or three months. We sent those letters off over a year ago.”
“Sadie said it would take longer for these letters to get to where they’re going,” August said. “We’ve been over this a hundred times. It doesn’t matter the timing – they’re here now.” He tapped at the nail until it was straight, set the hammer down, and picked up a framed painting.
“That picture sure is purty,” Ryder commented. “Who are they?”
“My folks. They had this painted in Buffalo when I was a boy. My father had money then.”
The three men stared at the picture. A well-dressed man was standing behind an equally well-dressed woman sitting in a chair. A young boy stood next to her. “Is that you?” Seth asked.