Mail-Order Bride Ink: Dear Mr. White

by Kit Morgan

  “AAAGH!”

  “Land sakes, man!” Mrs. Dunnigan shouted. “Get a hold of yourself! All I did was tap you on the arm!”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Oscar sighed as he turned to look at her. He was tall, well over six feet, and towered over her, though not as much as some of Clear Creek’s more famous residents of years past.

  He smiled at that thought. He looked forward to regaling his bride with stories about Clear Creek on the stage ride home. He hadn’t brought the wagon, since he didn’t need many supplies - what few things he’d bought he could bring back on the stage, rather than subject his bride to a long wagon ride at this time of year. Oregon was known for its unexpected spring downpours.

  Irene’s husband Wilfred stepped out from behind the curtain separating the front and back of the mercantile. “Howdy, Oscar,” he said happily. “So today’s the big day?”

  Oscar nodded to him, then glanced over his shoulder at the front of the store.

  Wilfred laughed. “Woo-ee, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this jumpy!”

  “That makes two of us,” Oscar said. He was a man of few words; he said what needed to be said and that was that. But how would a bride take to that? Sure, he’d been lonelier than a polecat these last few years – that’s what prompted him to send for a bride in the first place. Not that he hadn’t tried before, he did. Not long after the war, in fact. But that was long ago, and he’d abandoned the idea when he didn’t get any takers. Maybe it wasn’t meant to be.

  But now that it was really happening, that his bride was almost there, he’d broken out in a sweat. Not only that, his hands were cold, and Heaven’s sake, was he getting light-headed?

  “Willie ought to be pulling into town any minute now,” Wilfred commented as he looked at his pocket watch. “Then I’m guessing you’ll be off to see Preacher Jo?”

  Oscar nodded, fighting the urge to turn around and look out the mercantile’s front windows again.

  “Well, I must say, Oscar,” Mrs. Dunnigan stated, without her usual rancor. “I’m glad you’re getting married. I’m sure an extra woman around your place will be a big help to your ma.”

  “Ma thinks so too.” He noticed Mrs. Dunnigan still stood next to him, three peppermint sticks in her hand. “Those for me?”

  “Who else would they be for?” she snapped. “Here, suck on one. Peppermint’s supposed to calm the nerves.”

  “At least it calms Irene’s,” Wilfred added with a grin. “As much as anything does.”

  She narrowed her eyes at Wilfred before joining him back by the counter.

  Then they heard the distinct sound of the stage as it rolled up in front of the mercantile and stopped. Oscar wiped his hands on his trousers again and began to crunch on his candy, sticking the other two in his trouser pocket.

  “Here we go!” Wilfred said, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

  Oscar smiled weakly and faced the door. Everyone in Clear Creek knew Wilfred was a hopeless romantic and a bit of a gossip, and liked nothing better than to poke his nose into other folks’ romances. But Oscar didn’t mind. Besides, he’d need witnesses for his wedding – maybe he ought to ask Wilfred now if he’d oblige …

  “Tarnation, will ya look at that?” Wilfred exclaimed. “Oscar, is that her?”

  Oscar’s thoughts of asking Wilfred anything vanished as he set eyes on the woman getting off the stage. She was younger than him, which he already knew – thirty-seven, and twelve years a war widow, according to her one letter. But her light brown hair had no gray, only a hint of russet. She wasn’t as tall as he’d like. Hmmm … and not as hearty-looking as he’d hoped either. If anything, she seemed rather fragile …

  “Well, ain’t you gonna go out there and introduce yourself?” Wilfred asked.

  Oscar swallowed hard, glanced at Wilfred and Irene, then took a deep breath.

  Irene came over and gave him a shove toward the door. “Land sakes, Oscar, get it over with!”

  Oscar didn’t say a word. He’d needed Irene’s push just to get his feet moving. He went to the door, opened it, mustered his courage and stepped outside.

  “Howdy, Oscar!” Willie the stage driver called as he climbed on top of the stage to retrieve the mailbag. “Brought sumpin’ for ya!”

  Oscar stared at the woman standing next to the stagecoach. She stared back, her eyes big and round like a fawn’s. She did look delicate, and he hoped he hadn’t made a mistake. He descended the mercantile porch steps to the street. “Hello,” he said softly, not wanting to scare her. He knew he could look pretty frightening if he wasn’t careful.

  “Hello.” Her voice didn’t sound as weak as he’d expected, and she had a strong Southern accent – not country, but cultivated. “You must be Mr. White.”

  “And ya must be Lily Fair.” He didn’t tack on her last name. He knew she was a widow – the name Olson had probably belonged to her dead husband. He’d give her a new name today, washing the other away completely. “Lily Fair,” he repeated, liking the way it sounded when he spoke it. “Yer real purty.”

  She blushed. “Thank you.” She glanced at the stagecoach and back, holding up the satchel in her hand. “I have no other luggage. We can go now if you like.”

  Oscar nodded as he studied her. Thirty-seven … eight years younger than him, but she looked younger still. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have pegged her at thirty. He reached for her satchel. “May I?”

  “Oh, please.” She handed it to him, her eyes flicking here and there before settling on something behind him.

  Oscar turned to see Wilfred and Irene watching them from the mercantile porch, then turned back to his bride. “That’s the Dunnigans – they own that place. We get supplies there when we come to town. Clear Creek’s closer to us than Oregon City.”

  She nodded as she saw Wilfred’s happy smile, glanced at the large colorful sign that read ‘DUNNIGAN’S’ on the front of the building, then took a shaky breath.

  Now Oscar noticed the dark smudges under her eyes. “Ya tired?”

  She nodded. “I must admit I am. It was a long journey – I’m glad I’m finally here.”

  He smiled. “Ya have a nice voice, if ya don’t mind my sayin’ so.” A gasp sounded behind him, and he turned to see Irene counting on her fingers. She looked at him, flashed ten fingers, then two, and grinned. He rolled his eyes – yeah, I just used a whole twelve words, try not to faint – and turned back to his bride. “Would ya like somethin’ to eat? Or head to the church first?”

  “Church?” she said in alarm. “Oh, um … I suppose I could do with a bite.”

  “I got us a room at the hotel for tonight. We’ll leave tomorrow on the stage, unless ya need to rest a spell …”

  She put one hand on her belly and the other on her chest, as if checking to make sure she was all there. “I am very tired. I hope that’s not an inconvenience.”

  Oscar studied her again. She had a calm demeanor; he liked that too. “Not at all. I’ll take you to the hotel. We can eat and …” He glanced at Irene, still paying far too much attention to his affairs. “… figger out what we’ll do after ya rest.”

  His future bride giggled – a good sign. “Get married, I would imagine.” She looked away as she brushed at her skirt.

  He smiled. She was scared, tired, hungry, but was doing her best to appear calm and collected. She was a real lady – he could tell by how she stood so straight, almost regally. But if that was so, why were her clothes so ragged? Something didn’t add up.

  “Where’s the hotel?” she blurted, as if she’d caught him assessing her.

  He pointed down the street. “Thisaway.” He glanced again at the Dunnigans, and saw Wilfred waving, then taking Irene’s arm. What in tarnation … oh, right. He was supposed to offer Lily Fair his arm. He did, and she took it without a blink. He nodded thanks to Wilfred and headed down the street.

  Willie joined Irene and Wilfred on the mercantile porch and handed Wilfred the mail pouch. “That Oscar sure got
hisself a purty bride.”

  “That he did,” Wilfred agreed.

  “Maybe so,” said Irene, “but if he doesn’t start saying more than three words to the woman, how happy is she gonna be?”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t worry ‘bout that, Mrs. Dunnigan,” Willie assured. “I’ve heard Oscar flap his gums plenty.”

  “You have? Oh, I suppose you have, as often as you stay at the Whites’ stage stop.”

  “Yep. Oscar can talk well into the night if’n ya get him on a topic he likes. So can Anson, for that matter.”

  “What about Henry?” Wilfred asked, referring to the middle brother.

  “He does his fair share, but ya gotta ‘member he’s kinda slow.”

  “Yeah, I remember,” Wilfred remarked. “Haven’t seen him or Anson in a while. Oscar’s the only one coming to town for supplies lately.”

  “Y’all see ‘em soon enough,” Willie said. “I hear tell next time they come, Anson’ll be comin’ too. Their ma don’t like to leave the place much, y’know.”

  “If they didn’t live so far away, we could go see them,” Irene said. “But that’s too far to travel for just a visit.”

  Wilfred sighed. “Sure is. Well, we’d best get gussied up.”

  “What for?” she snapped.

  “They’re gonna need two witnesses for the wedding. And what if Annie’s busy and can’t be one of them?”

  “Wilfred, I don’t recall Oscar asking you!”

  “I’m volunteering and saving him the trouble. Now put on your Sunday best, woman.”

  “I can’t – who’ll mind the store?”

  “I’ll do it for ya,” Willie offered.

  “What? You?”

  “Now Irene, it ain’t like Willie hain’t done it before. Besides, how long has Oscar waited to get hitched?”

  Irene sighed. “Oh, all right. For Oscar.”

  Willie’s eyes widened in surprise. Irene wasn’t the type to just up and leave her store in anyone else’s hands. Oscar must have a special spot in Irene Dunnigan’s heart – maybe because they were both excellent cooks. To this day, she was still trying to pry his famous dinner roll recipe from him. Without much luck.

  Lily did her best to remain calm. The man next to her was huge, intimidating, but his voice was gentle and reassuring. She hoped it stayed that way. She didn’t want to be married to a harsh man, especially not one his size.

  They reached the hotel in short order – Clear Creek wasn’t big. But it had one of the nicest-looking hotels she’d ever seen. “My goodness.”

  “Yeah, Cyrus Van Cleet spared no expense when he built his hotel. Kinda fancy for the likes of Clear Creek, but he does all right.”

  She glanced up at him. “All right?”

  Mr. White smiled. “When he first built it, there weren’t no guests. Now he gets them, though – they stop off here on the way to Oregon City or Portland or even Seattle, spend the night and head out in the morning. Some like it so much they stay on a spell and catch a later stage.”

  “I see. Well, it looks very fine. How many rooms does it have?”

  “Thirty-six.”

  “Quite a few for a town like this.”

  “I don’t think he’s ever had it full. We only got six rooms at the stage stop.”

  “Do they fill up often?”

  He shrugged. “Depends on the stage and its passengers. Couples take one room, but if ya have six singles, then we’re packed. Any more, passengers have to double up and share.”

  “Do you ever have more than one stagecoach stop for the night?”

  “Oh yeah – two’s average.”

  She nodded, calculating the work that would go into housing, feeding and cleaning up after a dozen passengers coming through almost every day. Being Mrs. Oscar White would be a lot of work, but it beat starvation. Her only hope was that Oscar was a good man – she’d worry about the rest later. But as she was marrying him, she could only put off the inevitable so long.

  Lily shoved the thought from her mind as Mr. White escorted her into the hotel. She relaxed a moment as she saw the inside. The hotel was indeed, beautiful. It seemed horribly out of place in the tiny town – you could drop it into the middle of Charleston or Columbia and it would fit right in.

  A dark-haired man with smoked spectacles sat on a stool behind the front counter. At first glance it looked like he was reading, which he was, but … “Braille,” she said under her breath. “He’s reading Braille.”

  Oscar looked at her, smiled, but said nothing, just waited.

  The man raised his head, cocked it to one side and sniffed the air. “Hullo, Oscar,” he said with an Irish brogue.

  Oscar laughed, making Lily jump. “Howdy, Lorcan!”

  “And who is that with ye? Could this be yer bride?”

  “Well, we ain’t hitched yet.”

  “Still yer bride,” the man pointed out, making Lily smile.

  Mr. White frowned. “Ain’t it supposed to be ‘betrothed’ before ya get married?”

  “Oh, don’t be so picky aboot it, Oscar. And isn’t yer wedding day today?”

  Mr. White scratched his head. “Might be. Is our room ready? My betrothed could use a hot bath and a rest.”

  “Aye, yer bride’s room is ready. In fact, Sally’s already heating the water.” To Lily’s surprise, Lorcan turned to face her as if he could see her. Uncanny! “Ye’ll be wanting something to eat, and Sally needs time to heat a few more kettles. Would ye like to step into the dining room?”

  She glanced between the men. “Y … yes, thank you.”

  Lorcan smiled, then turned to Mr. White, waiting.

  Mr. White eyed him a moment, then suddenly straightened. “Sorry, Lorcan. May I present Lily Fair?”

  Lorcan straightened and cocked his head again. “Lily Fair,” he repeated in admiration. “Could ye come closer, lass?”

  Chapter 3

  Lily Fair gave Mr. White a sidelong glance as the Irishman hopped off his perch, came around the counter and leaned against it.

  Mr. White unwrapped her arm from his, put his hand in the small of her back and gave her a gentle nudge. “This is Lorcan’s way of tellin’ who’s who.”

  “What?” she said in confusion.

  “Don’t worry, he won’t bite,” Mr. White reassured as Lorcan held out his hands.

  Lily exhaled and took them in hers, taking a moment to study him. He was tall, though not as tall as Mr. White, and conventionally handsome. Her eyes darted between the two, and a part of her wished Mr. White was just as good looking. He wasn’t, but that was okay – looks weren’t everything. And it wasn’t as if her future husband was hideous – just average.

  The thought left as Lorcan – what an odd name – abruptly sniffed the air, twice, three times. Behind the smoked glasses, his eyes were closed as if in concentration. When he opened them he was looking right at her. “Yer name suits ye, lass. I’m Lorcan Brody. Me wife Ada and I manage the hotel for Mr. Van Cleet.”

  She stared at him in shock. “You manage this place? By yourself?”

  He smirked, as if he’d heard that question a hundred times before. “Nay, lass – I’ve my wife to aid me. And of course Sally, the hotel cook, and a few others we employ.”

  She leaned slightly to one side to peek at the Braille book on the counter. “I see.”

  “Ye smell like flowers. Where’re ye from, lass?”

  “Denver, most recently. But I was born and raised in Charleston, South Carolina.” Recently she’d learned to add the state to the location. In the South, everyone assumed which “Charleston” you meant, but Yankees had that other Charleston in West Virginia …

  “Ah, that would explain yer accent. Lily suits ye. Ye remind me of one.”

  “The … flower?”

  “Aye. So now when I smell lilies on the air, I’ll know it’s ye.”

  She gaped at him a moment, then looked at Mr. White.

  “Yer lucky,” he said. “He says I smell like a tree.”

  S
he laughed, unable to help it, and smiled at Mr. Brody. “Everyone has a specific scent?”

  “Aye. What I lack in sight, I gained in smell.” He tapped his right ear with his finger. “And hearing.”

  Her smile was replaced with a look of awe. “That’s amazing.”

  He shrugged and turned to Mr. White, something else she found amazing. One would swear he had his sight, the way he moved. “I’ll get yer key.”

  Lily watched as he went behind the counter without laying a hand on it as a guide, and stood before a series of cubbyholes. Some had what looked like mail in then, while others had a key. Mr. Brody ran his hand along the bottom row, stopped midway, then moved his hand up three slots. He reached in, pulled out a key and turned to face them. “Here ye are, Oscar. Ye can eat first then take yer wee bride up to yer room. Let me know if by chance ye don’t wed today, and we’ll fix up a second room for ye.”

  “‘Course,” he agreed, taking the key and turning to Lily. “Let’s eat.”

  She followed him across the hotel lobby, through a set of double doors and into a beautiful dining parlor. “Oh my.”

  “Purty, ain’t it?”

  “It most certainly is.”

  A plump woman, her blonde hair streaked with gray, emerged through a swinging door at the far end of the room. She turned to them, a wide smile on her face. “Oscar!” she called, holding her arms out wide. “Come here, big man!” She strode over and gave Mr. White a big hug.

  Lily’s betrothed blushed head to toe. “Howdy, Sally,” he mumbled in return and gave her a perfunctory pat on the back.

  She released him and looked at Lily, smile still in place and her blue eyes twinkling. “And you must be the bride! Oh, just look at you!” She looked a little closer and the smile dimmed slightly. “Well, nothing a hot meal and a bath can’t fix. You’ve had a long, hard journey, I take it?”

  Lily nodded. “Yes. Very.” If the woman had expected her to dress better for the occasion, well, she would be sadly disappointed. Her traveling clothes were the best she owned.