by Rachel Bird
“Vanderhouten Brides!”
Charity made her face a blank as Mae handed over the letter with a chuckle. Abigail was touchy about the nickname the town had given her matchmaking business. She didn’t think Break Heart sounded very romantic. She probably had a point! But it was so much fun to tease her about it that none of her friends could resist.
Abigail drew in a breath and stared at the envelope. “Oh…” She tilted her head and blinked at its return address. “Oh dear Lord! Oh my goodness!”
Mae burst out laughing. Now Charity’s curiosity was truly piqued.
“Mary Margaret Tagget, you’ve kept this to your chest all morning?”
“Well… in its pigeonhole.”
Abigail slapped the envelope against her open palm. “Why didn’t you bring it to me immediately—or send Charity over with it?”
Mae was unmoved. “As you very well know, we were busy with the train shipment this morning. The poor girl hasn’t stopped running since she walked through the door.”
Charity blinked and had to look away. It was lovely to be the object of someone’s consideration, but she still wasn’t used to it.
Abigail tore the letter open, and as she read eagerly, one hand inched up to her throat. Her lips pinched together in a fierce pucker, and finally her chin began to tremble pitifully.
“It’s too late,” the matchmaker choked out, tears welling. She stared at the page, shaking her head in disbelief. “It’s so unfair! After all my care, and having found him the perfect young lady!”
“What young lady? Who him?” Charity’s curiosity burned. Had Mr. Overstreet’s bride reneged on the match?
“Why, Mr. Morgan, of course. He wants to marry your sister Belle.”
“Oh, is that all?” Charity huffed in relief. She slipped in casually, “I was afraid Miss Lavinia Cruikshank had changed her mind.”
“Oh, no, no.” Abigail waved off the notion. “That arrangement is moving along satis—” She looked up sharply, giving Charity the squinty eye. “Not that it’s anybody else’s business.”
“I couldn’t help noticing the letter to Mr. Overstreet.” No need to mention that Mae had been the one who noticed. “But I would think it’s Naomi’s business too.”
“Not until all is assured,” Abigail said. “Jonathan doesn’t want her to leave him in the lurch.”
“I’m sure Naomi wouldn’t leave anybody in the lurch,” Charlotte said. “She’s a very responsible young woman.”
“She is.” Charity nodded emphatically. “The most responsible person I know. I didn’t say anything to her because I didn’t know if it was true. But if Mr. Overstreet is going to replace her with a wife, she has a right to know.”
“And if for some reason Miss Cruikshank changes her mind, those children will be running wild through the town again.” Abigail frowned and tapped a fingernail against the counter. “How about this? I promise to inform you the moment I know she’s coming for sure if you’ll promise to wait until then to tell your sister.”
Charity nodded her assent. That was perfect, actually. She wanted to be sure too before she passed the word on to Naomi.
“But this is so very hard.” Abigail returned to the tragedy at hand. She read aloud:
“Dear Mrs. Vanderhouten,
I am in receipt of your most recent and, dare I say, most ardent letter to date extolling the virtues of your service. The particular young lady you describe, Mrs. Belle LeClair, appears to be all a fellow could desire in a wife.
The daughter of a church sexton, niece of a preacher, and widow of a US Marshal must be a virtuous woman indeed. I would be dishonest if I didn’t acknowledge that it is gratifying indeed to hear that she is also very pretty.”
“He used the word indeed twice,” Charity said absently. As a journal keeper and secret writer of adventure stories, she noticed these things.
Abigail huffed. “Oh, pooh! What does that signify!” She continued:
“After too long a time, of late I have become mindful of your arguments in favor of matrimony. All you say is true about my girl and boy requiring the loving and gentle care a woman can give. They are good children and deserving of a mother’s love. Though the Lord saw fit to take their wonderful mother, I must believe He has a care for their happiness.
I won’t go on about myself, as you seem to know everything already. Mind this is not a complaint. I admire your diligence in ensuring the character of your clients.
Suffice it to say, Mrs. Vanderhouten, you have secured me as one of those clients. Please advise as to how I should proceed to correspond with Mrs. LeClair.
Yours sincerely,
Preston Morgan, Morning Star Ranch
c/o Rosamund General Delivery, Colorado”
“Congratulations, Abigail,” Charlotte said. “This is exactly what you’ve longed for.”
“But it’s too late, don’t you see? Mrs. LeClair is no more. She’s now Mrs. Fontana, gone and married to our sheriff.” Abigail pulled a fancy linen and lace handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed her eyes. “Not that I begrudge Belle and Brady their love, not for a minute.”
Belle sure did make fast work of getting husbands. She’d become engaged to her first husband, Wade LeClair, the night they met. Sadly, it wasn’t mean to be. Mr. LeClair died before they’d been married a year. Then she fell in love with the sheriff of Break Heart. This time it had taken her a few weeks to realize she’d met the love of her life. Again.
Charity hid her smile behind her hand. “Can’t you just put Mr. Morgan in your bride book?”
“Never!” Abigail looked appalled. “Mr. Preston Morgan is the golden prize I’ve spent years trying to land. Once netted, I had intended to keep him aside for only the very best.”
“Belle.” Charity’s sister was exceptionally beautiful and very kind and a wonderful cook besides, but she was hardly the only woman in the world Mr. Morgan could possibly be expected to deign to marry.
“I suppose I’ll have to write and tell him I have no one suitable at this time.” Abigail looked like she would really cry. “It’s so—”
“Oh pish, Abigail!” Charlotte Gensch clucked her tongue. “Of course you have someone suitable.” She winked at Charity. “Someone very near.”
Charity swallowed a breath. Oh thunder, she can’t mean me! That was out of the question.
“I’ve said all along Naomi Steele is the one for Mr. Morgan,” Charlotte continued. “Much more suitable than Belle LeClair. I mean Fontana. No offense to your sister, Charity.”
“None taken, I’m sure.” Charity blew out the breath in relief. It was very disagreeable, trying to convince people that she really, truly—cross her heart and hope to die—had no desire to marry.
But Naomi, now… That was an idea. Charlotte Gensch had hit the mark.
“I think if I were Mr. Morgan, I would prefer Naomi,” Mae said. “He has the two children, after all, and we all know Naomi is very good with children.”
“And not to take anything away from Belle—who isn’t even a part of the equation—but Naomi is a better age for Mr. Morgan,” Charlotte said. “More mature. He’s an older man, isn’t he, Abigail?”
“Preston Morgan is thirty-five. Hardly in his dotage.”
“And Naomi is twenty-five,” Charlotte said. “She would seem quite young to him, in comparison.”
Ten years between them. Thirty-five sounded awfully old to Charity. On the other hand, Naomi had always been mature for her age—which only made sense, since she’d taken on so much responsibility all her life.
“She’s run a household too.” The more Charity thought about the idea, the more it appeared a stroke of genius. Maybe on a par with the preroasting of coffee beans.
She realized the Main Street Trio were all looking at her expectantly.
“What do you think, dear?” Mae said. “Would Naomi like to marry a cattle baron?”
That was a good question. Charity knew what she thought, but what would Naomi think of the idea?
>
As Mae had said, if Naomi was going to care for a man’s home and children, why shouldn’t it be her home too? Her stepchildren? Just because Mr. Overstreet and his little terrors (Naomi’s words!) wouldn’t do, it didn’t mean no family on earth would.
Mr. Morgan’s letter displayed a broadness of mind and level of refinement sorely lacking in Mr. Overstreet. Naomi was sure to find the rancher agreeable. And she was so wonderful, he and his children would love her immediately.
And one thing was undeniable: Mr. Morgan was powerful rich. After so many years of hard work and near poverty, didn’t Naomi deserve a little of the abundance the world could offer?
Did Charity think Naomi would like to marry a cattle baron?
“I do.” She tried to contain her growing excitement. “But you mustn’t say anything about this to her—or to anybody.”
She gave the Trio a meaningful look, each in her turn.
“Naomi is a very… proper person. If she thought people were talking about her love life behind her back, she—well, she’d turn down the scheme just on principle!”
“I agree,” Abigail said. “It’s my business to know people, and Charity is right about her sister. Of all you Steele girls, Naomi remains a mystery to me. She’s an extremely private person.”
Charity almost snorted. Mrs. V meant she hadn’t been able to get Naomi to reveal the story of her life down to the last detail.
The matchmaker grasped her friends’ forearms. “Mae, Charlotte, we’ll make a pact. Mum’s the word until the match is announced. We don’t want to frighten off our skittish kitten.”
The three nodded, then looked questioningly at Charity.
She meant what she’d said. If Naomi thought people were arranging a marriage for her behind her back, she’d refuse the man even if he were the future king of England. But sometimes Naomi was too self-sacrificing, too good for her own good.
For Naomi, Charity was going to get this one thing right. If she was diplomatic, like Abigail had been with Polk, she could present the notion in a way Naomi would find it completely agreeable.
Or Naomi would never speak to her again for being such a busybody.
“I’ll show her this tonight.” She pocketed Mr. Morgan’s letter.
Hopefully, Naomi would consider the prospect of marrying a cattle baron a very fine thing indeed.
Chapter 10
Charity and Hannah usually walked home together, but today Hannah wanted to stay late at the modiste. Jane Stedman had allowed her to do the lace trim on the hem of a new gown on order, and she was all aflutter to finish it before tomorrow’s fitting with the customer.
“Hello, Calico Manor!” Charity called out as she entered the house. Much to Luke’s dismay, the nickname had stuck to the dwelling at the southeast edge of town the instant Mae Tagget rented it to five sisters, their little brother notwithstanding.
It went against the grain to come home to an empty house. A house should be lived in, Mae had said when she rented them the place. “It shouldn’t be left empty all day either,” Charity muttered now.
The place was sure stuffy after being shut up all day in the June heat. What would it be like in August? She went through all the rooms on the lower floor, opening windows to let in fresh air, a little thing that lifted her spirits.
She got the fire going in the stove and put the kettle on for hot water. It was her turn to cook supper, and she’d stopped at the butcher on the way home and bought a chicken, already plucked and cut up into pieces ready for frying. In her old life that would have been an unjustifiable luxury, but after working a full day, there was no time to do it herself!
They’d all quickly come around to Belle’s view that it would be a fine thing to hire household help—a cook at the least, and wouldn’t a housemaid be swell, if only to do the laundry and keep the dust at bay?
Calico Manor was designed to accommodate servants. There were extra rooms in the attic as well as a very nice bedroom/sitting room combination off the kitchen in the back, suitable for a cook or even a housekeeper who’d like a little office where she could keep her journals and counsel underlings.
There was only one small problem with the scheme: no one seemed interested in the jobs.
While waiting for the water to boil, she went upstairs to return the mourning brooch to Naomi’s dressing table and change into her own clothes. She was right—it had been a comfort having the jewel with her. At odd times throughout the day, she’d felt it poking at her under her camisole and would think of Matthew and Mark and Ma too. It was nice, being reminded of them. Maybe they wouldn’t need to show up in her dreams again.
She hung Naomi’s dress in the wardrobe and headed toward her room, wearing only her unmentionables. The front door slammed shut and footsteps galumphed in the vestibule. Faith was home.
The letter!
Charity raced back to Naomi’s room and retrieved Mr. Morgan’s letter from the dress pocket. It wouldn’t do for her to see it until after Charity could explain everything.
In her own bedroom, she tucked it between two blank pages at the back of her journal, then put on her dress from yesterday. It was actually clean enough to wear to work, she supposed, but it had a blotch of ink that would never come out too high up on the bodice to hide under her work apron.
Downstairs Faith was rummaging around the kitchen, absently knocking plates together. They all rotated the chores, and tonight was her turn to set the table.
“Please don’t break Mae’s dishes,” Charity teased. Faith was knocking things about more forcefully than usual. “Was Sheriff Polk that bad today?”
“He’s horrible,” Faith said. “I think he’s going to take the tax collections away from me.”
“He wouldn’t!” Charity knew Faith was counting on the fees to pay for her horse.
“He said it wasn’t proper that a decent female enter the saloon, even on official business.”
“He has a point there.” Charity had mixed feelings about her sister being a deputy at all, let alone collecting taxes. It wasn’t a proper occupation for a female!
On the other hand, Faith was a unique person. She shattered the usual notions of femininity. She had always loved to ride and shoot and climb trees and all manner of physical activity. It made her happy.
On the other hand, being a deputy seemed awfully dangerous. Charity agreed with Belle—she didn’t want anybody she loved in that line of work.
On the other hand, over all her own objections, Belle had gone and married a lawman!
“Is Hannah going to come down and help?” Faith said. “I heard her running around up there again.”
“She’s not here.” Charity didn’t explain why she’d been running around up there. “Jane Stedman gave her a special assignment. Lace was involved.”
“Ooh, lace,” Faith said drily. “Who could resist?”
“I think she was trying to help Hannah feel better after the run-in with Big Mama. They’re going to have supper at the Lilac together, and Jane will walk Hannah home.”
“Speaking of yesterday,” Faith said, “did you notice how Polk cozied up to the ladies, acting like he was the one who saved the day?”
“He did arrive at a convenient time. How clever of him. But great thunder, I was terrified he was going to start a gunfight right there in the dress shop.”
“He’s going to run for sheriff if Brady turns in his badge. Mrs. Gensch, Mae Tagget, Mrs. V—they all own businesses in Break Heart.”
“They can’t vote.”
“No, but he knows they have influence.”
Charity didn’t think Mae would like the idea. “I think the town would rather have a local man.”
“No local man has made noises about wanting the job. It hasn’t yet been a week, but if Polk becomes sheriff—well, I couldn’t work for that man.”
Good, Charity thought. But she wasn’t fool enough to say so out loud.
Naomi and Luke got home so late she was afraid the chicken would be overly d
ry. They didn’t go up to their rooms but washed up in the kitchen. During supper, Naomi barely said a word and Luke was unusually quiet.
“So, what is it?” Faith finally said in exasperation. “Something must have happened at the Overstreets’ today.”
“Demon got lost,” Luke said.
“Don’t—” Naomi rubbed her temples. “I never should have called him that. But Luke’s correct. Sally and I were in the kitchen making bread, and Luke had taken a basket with Mr. Overstreet’s dinner to the orchards. When Luke returned, I realized that Damon was nowhere to be seen.”
“We found him sleeping under an apple tree,” Luke said. “He was chasing a jackrabbit and got distracted.”
Charity smiled. Luke had been accused of such distraction once or twice when he was five years old.
“I’m just tired,” Naomi said. “I’ll be all right.”
“I’ll wash up.” It was Naomi’s turn to do the dishes, but Charity wanted her in a good mood when she brought up the idea of Mr. Morgan. “Why don’t you go upstairs and lie down for an hour? It’ll help your headache.”
“Good idea,” Faith said. “I’ll help clean the kitchen.”
When the dishes were done and the kitchen floor swept, Charity put a pot of tea and some cookies on a tray to take up to Naomi.
Why was she so nervous? Marrying Mr. Morgan wouldn’t be as much of a gamble as some might think. Mrs. Vanderhouten certainly thought highly of him, and if his letter was any indication, he was considerate and had good manners.
It wasn’t as if Naomi was totally opposed to being a mail order bride either. Before going to work for Mr. Overstreet, she’d looked through Mrs. V’s book. She just hadn’t found anybody suitable. Accepting Mr. Morgan would be getting the best of the lot.
And yet Charity was still nervous. Naomi despised all gossip and would be furious to learn she’d been the subject of gossip herself.
She wasn’t lying down. She was sitting on the bench at her dressing table, and the dress Charity had worn to Tagget’s that day was spread over her lap. There was an obvious rip in the side seam near the hem. The ugly tear had frayed the fabric.