The Maid_The Eighth Day

by Rachel Wesson

  The Maid

  Rachel Wesson

  The Twelve Days of Christmas Mail-Order Brides

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  The Ninth Day

  Note from the author

  Also by Rachel Wesson

  Acknowledgments

  Copyright

  The Maid

  The Eighth Day

  An accused murderer, a young maid on the run...and five days left to save the town.

  Twelve Days of Christmas

  Mail-Order Brides

  Twelve men. Twelve brides. Twelve days to save a town.

  Copyright © 2017 by Rachel Wesson

  Cover design by Erin Dameron-Hill.

  All rights reserved.

  * No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Chapter 1

  Christmas Eve

  December 24, 1876

  Cara stamped her feet, trying to get warm. Compared to some of the other brides, she was lucky. At least her clothes were of good quality. Luckily for the rest, Birdie, a dressmaker, had brought a treasure trove of fabrics with her and had outfitted some of the less fortunate brides in more suitable clothing for the weather.

  Cara was particularly thankful for her father insisting on buying her a fur hat, woolen coat, and sturdy sensible boots. Her lips curved up in a smile as she remembered their argument. She had wanted to purchase some calf leather fashion items but Papa had won that round. Thank goodness he had or she wouldn’t be able to feel her toes anymore. She watched out the window as the scenery changed as the train rocked over the tracks. With every mile, she was one step closer to safety.

  She closed her eyes, missing her papa. She adored him. Cara had been worried he would tell Mama when he found out she’d been working as a maid in the orphanage, but he hadn’t said a word. He simply pretended not to know even though he had given her the money for some black dresses and aprons more suited to her new line of work.

  Mama had found out anyway and flew into a rage, shouting about contagious diseases and lice, although she had whispered that last word. Her Papa hadn’t stood up for Cara, but he had quietly taken her shopping and given her some money to get away.

  Papa had warned her to go somewhere she couldn't be found. If she stayed in Boston, her mother would have her married before she knew what hit her. It had been the first time she remembered her papa rebelling against her mother, although she doubted he had admitted to his part in her running away. He'd never have heard the last of it from Mama. Mrs. Cecilia O’Donnell was determined to be the first woman of Boston. She had eight daughters to marry off, and, one by one, had arranged the most suitable of matches for them. Senator Kavanagh, the one chosen for Cara, was exceedingly rich and on his way to becoming Governor. Her mama hadn’t even consulted Cara when she announced the marriage, Cara’s opinion of her future husband not being any of her concern.

  Cara opened her eyes, shuddering. She’d dreamed Senator Kavanagh was on the train. She couldn’t stop herself from looking out the window. He couldn’t have followed her, changing her name had made sure of that. Being married to horrible Senator Kavanagh, an old and repulsive man, was not an option. Cara wanted to be a nurse but her mama wouldn’t hear of it. She had only agreed to let her daughter volunteer at the Convent orphanage because it looked good to her society friends. Cara was glad she had fought so hard to work with the children—through them she had met Sister Maura. It was Sister Maura who insisted she gain the necessary skills to become a maid and a good one at that. Having listened in horror to Cara’s outline of her mama and Senator Kavanagh’s plans, Sister Maura advised her to head to Denver and seek sanctuary at the Lost Lambs. But she hadn’t banked on Senator Kavanagh tracking her down and threatening her.

  Cara blinked hard. There was no point in thinking about him now or what would have happened had Mrs. Walters not intervened. She was on her way to meet her groom and, once married, she would be safe from the Senator’s clutches. She prayed to God that her groom would be kind, generous and forgiving. She had written to say she was a mature lady so he would be expecting someone older. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. The visit from Kavanagh had scared her so much she would have written anything in the letter to ensure the doctor would accept her as a bride.

  The view of the mountain peaks had disappeared behind dark clouds and heavy snowfall. Although it was taking her some time to get used to the higher altitude, she much preferred the bracing mountain air. While cold, it was much fresher than the polluted air in Denver. There were fewer people in the mountains too, making some of the other brides feel lonely.

  She wondered again what her groom would look like. Would he be attracted to her? She wasn’t a beauty. As her mother constantly told her, Cara had been behind the door when God gave out good looks. But despite the unfortunate copper color of her hair and green eyes, she had some good qualities. People complimented her on her high cheekbones, delicate nose and one boy had told her she had full lips. She smiled to herself, not completely understanding what he had meant, but the way he'd said it, it had sounded like a compliment. As she looked around at their sparse surroundings, a faint smile flickered on those lips. She would be safe here, she could tell.

  Kezia glanced over at her, smiling. Cara smiled back, a part of her wishing she could introduce the woman and baby Jemimah to her Mama. Kezia wore more jewelry than Cara had ever seen on one person, but it suited her. She jingled as she moved. Her love for her baby was obvious to everyone as was her kind spirit, yet all Mama would see would be the vivid purple cloak embroidered with gold thread and the jet-black braid wound around Kezia’s head like a crown. Her mother would get a fit of the vapors if she spotted the equally colorful dress beneath the cloak. But Mama wasn’t there and Cara was determined to be as good a friend to the other brides as she hoped they would be to her.

  Friends? Well, some of them had the potential to become good friends. In addition to Kezia, she was very fond of Agatha – the older bride had kept them laughing with her outrageous stories. Luckily all the would be brides were charming in their own way apart from Maybelle. She was exactly the type of person Mama would adore. She wore beautiful clothes and always looked and acted so ladylike. But she was stuck up, bad tempered and spiteful. Cara kept out of her way was much as it was possible given their confined traveling space. Cara hated sitting in the enclosed, foul-smelling car, the air growing fouler as the coal smoke accumulated with each passage through a tunnel. She was thrilled when the train stopped, the guard advising they couldn’t go any further, the track ended about eight miles outside the town. Traveling the rest of the way to Noelle on wagons with runners would be an adventure.

  Chapter 2

  “There you a
re, Doc. I went looking for you at the clinic but it was closed.” Percy adjusted his pince-nez, but Colin didn’t know why he bothered. The thing was always falling down. He eyed the man, wondering what his latest problem was. Percy was a walking mess of medical complaints, most of them imagined.

  “Must have been a surprise, given it’s Christmas Eve and a Sunday to boot,” Colin Deane drawled. He’d wondered if they had found a nice Christmas tree for the saloon and had decorated it. He doubted the brides would be too pleased with a forlorn-looking tree lacking decorations.

  He pushed back his half-eaten plate, reluctantly lifting his hat off the other seat so Percival Penworthy could sit down. “What can I do for you, Penworthy?”

  “I had to come see you. I can’t stop scratching. I think I caught something.” Percy looked around him in case other diners at Nacho’s had overheard.

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. You’re the doc. I have to keep scratching…you know where.” Percy looked downwards while Colin struggled to keep a straight face.

  “You been visiting La Maison des Chats again?” Colin asked.

  Percy paled, then flushed. “Again! You know I never go there.”

  “I am only teasing you, Penworthy. Come into the clinic tomorrow and I’ll have a look.” Colin turned back to his newspaper, hoping the man would pick up on his cue. Every night he followed the same routine. He came into Nacho’s and picked a small table at the back, a table Nacho referred to as the lover's table. Most people preferred to share the larger table up front. They could eat and talk at the same time. But Colin valued his privacy and had found if he shared the table, the conversation soon turned to the latest medical issues affecting those eating. By sitting at the smaller table, he attempted to get time to eat his meal in peace. Sometimes the tactic worked, but not always. Percy was frequent, and unwanted, company.

  “Can't you look now?”

  “Here?” As Percy flushed bright red, Colin decided he’d teased the man enough. “Sorry, Penworthy, but I have plans for tonight.”

  Percy looked confused, probably because the doc never stopped working, but then realization dawned. “Oh, yeah, your bride is arriving today. I forgot. You must be pretty excited.”

  “Nope,” Colin drawled, hoping Percy would take the hint and leave. He didn’t want to talk about getting married with anyone, least of all Percy, who was at least partially responsible for the mess the town was in.

  It wasn’t all Percy’s fault, Colin had volunteered to be one of the twelve grooms to get married by January 6th, but Colin wasn’t in the mood to be fair.

  Percy had gotten behind the preacher’s idea to prove to the Denver & Pacific railroad company that Noelle was growing. And what better way to do that, than to send off for brides? But Percy, being Percy, had tried to take charge and made a mess of things. Now they had a ridiculous deadline to meet only twelve days away, and he’d dragged the mayor into it and sparked a fight between Charles Hardt and his best friend, Reverend Hammond. Somehow Percy had stayed above the fray and had avoided being included in the pool of grooms. Maybe he wasn’t so inept, after all.

  “You could take my bride, if you’d like. I’m sure she won't mind,” Colin said, only partly teasing.

  “Thank you, but I already have a lady in mind. She’s from a very well connected family, and would be an asset to a town like this one. Of course, she’d expect to be the first lady.”

  “Then you ought to introduce her to Mayor Hardt,” Colin drawled, irritated by Percy’s holier-than-thou attitude.

  Percy shoved his pince-nez up again and frowned. “He won’t always be mayor.”

  “He will be for the foreseeable future. Unless you’re planning to stage a coup and take his place.” Colin raised an eyebrow.

  Percy flushed again, and then reached down under the table and tried to scratch discreetly. “You know that’s not what I meant. I was just pointing out that I have a bride in mind, so you don’t have to give up yours—although I know you wouldn’t do anything like that. You’re too honorable.”

  “Stop scratching, you’ll only make it worse,” Colin snapped, eager to get rid of the man.

  “I’ll come by your office tomorrow.” Percy scuttled away, leaving Colin to stare at the now cold, congealed mess on his plate.

  An honorable man? Percy couldn’t be further from the truth. Colin pushed his chair away from the table and reluctantly left to join the group of men waiting for the brides to arrive. Someone said they were now coming by mule for the last part of the journey, due to the weather. Colin hoped the women were suitably dressed for the cold. If they got sick, he’d be oath-bound to treat them. And he didn’t want to be the reason any of the weddings were delayed because his patients were confined to their beds. The future of the town depended on these ladies, whether he liked it or not.

  Colin looked at the women. He wished he’d asked his bride to wear a red ribbon or something, but he immediately admonished himself. She wasn’t a prize cow at the county fair.

  He hung back, letting the other men go first. According to the letters she’d sent him, Miss Cara Donnelly was an older, more mature woman, suited to their surroundings. Goodness knew Noelle wasn’t the place a sophisticated matron would live, let alone a young society girl. He hoped she knew what she was in for.

  If Colleen had seen Noelle, she would have run away, he thought. Then immediately wondered why was he thinking about her this evening. She’d been the closest thing to marriage he had known, and her little sister’s name was Cara. She’d been a wild young’un, he could picture her now with her red braids flying out behind her as she ran past. Colleen had grumbled their mama said the child was a hoyden but Colin thought she had shown spirit. She was kind too. Every time he met her, she had an injured bird or animal of some description she wanted him to fix up.

  Frowning, he pushed his hat back on his head. It wasn’t the time to think of the past. His future was on one of those wagons. He scratched the stubble on his chin. He should have shaved. Would have if Percy hadn't interrupted his dinner, making him late. He caught a glimpse of a young, Mexican-looking girl and a Chinese lady. Where was his bride?

  She waited with the other ladies while Mrs. Walters fussed about them like an old mother hen. Cara didn’t like the expression on Mrs. Walters’ face. She had looked like that when Senator Kavanagh had turned up at her door demanding Cara return to Boston with him.

  She wondered what was wrong. Had the grooms not turned up? But there seemed to be more than twelve men waiting. She itched to stand on her tippy toes to see if she could spot her intended. He was a doctor. He would be clean shaven, tall and good-looking with beautiful hands and well-kept nails. She just knew it.

  “Cara O’Donnell. What in God’s name are you doing here?”

  She knew the voice but didn’t recognize the man in front of her. He didn’t look like the Colin Cowan she remembered. His hair was the same color only longer, black like his mood. Stubble now covered his once clean-shaven face, and he had a scar at the corner of one eye. But it was the look in his eyes that made him so different. Once they had danced with laughter and good humor, but now they were soulless. Then again, murdering someone would change a man, wouldn’t it?

  Chapter 3

  “Colin? COLIN? Don’t tell me you’re supposed to be my groom! You lying, cheating son of a—”

  He cut her off with a kiss, right smack on her lips. His breath, flavored with hot spices, made her…sneeze. Twice.

  “Cara, darling, at last my mail order bride is here. You look cold. Let me look after you. Come with me to the clinic. We’ll join the others in a few minutes.”

  She stared at his once-white shirt, his sleeves rolled up as if he were about to operate rather than stand around in the cold air. He couldn’t be the man she had exchanged letters with. The man in front of her was her sister’s ex-fiancé, the man her brother had once valued as his best friend, the same man he’d accused of cowardice and murder.

&n
bsp; She glared at him, waiting for an explanation as to how he had turned his back on his best friend—her brother—never mind run out on her sister. Why wasn’t he using his real name? Most of all, why did he need a mail order bride? He was handsome enough to have the girls flocking to his feet. What else was wrong with him?

  But he offered no explanations. She opened her mouth to protest.

  “No, I—” another kiss cut off her sentence and then she was whisked into his arms and marched off down the street. It was snowing heavily by then, meaning there were few people out on the streets. Those who were brave enough to venture outside were in a hurry, and had their hats pulled down for protection. Nobody seemed to care that a man was carrying a woman down the street. She tried kicking and hitting his back but to no avail.

  He kicked the door of the doctor’s office open with his foot, stepped inside and slammed the door closed again behind him. He set her on her feet, warning her not to move or scream as he lit the lamp.

  “Cara, what on earth are you doing in Noelle? You can’t be a mail-order bride.”

  “Why not? I’m old enough to get married. I’m not a child anymore.”

  His gaze swept over her, lingering at her bosom before moving to her toes and back again.