Mail Order Runaway

by Julianna Blake

  Elinor laughed, taking Emmett’s hand and letting him help her down. “Can you imagine the look on Gideon’s face if I came home in a wide skirt, astride a new cross saddle?” She giggled, and upon reaching the ground, smoothed her dress, and thanked Emmett.

  As they headed up the steps to the post office, Elinor was so absorbed in chatting with Constance that she almost missed Clay Porter coming out.

  “Hello there, Mrs. Cartwright. Haven’t seen you in a while.”

  “I know! I do wish you and Madeline attended our church. When we only come into town on Sundays, we don’t get to see you. Speaking of which, this is Constance Pruett, she’s my neighbor, and also attends our church.”

  Clay tipped his hat. “It’s a pleasure, Mrs. Pruett. I believe I’ve seen you around town before.”

  “I know I’ve seen you around—you took over the butcher shop, didn’t you?”

  “Sure did.”

  “That new wagon looks mighty fine, I’ve seen you in town with it. We’d have been in, but we butcher our own beef.”

  “I’ll forgive you.” He smiled. “But we do carry pork, lamb, and other things as well.”

  “Oh my, don’t tempt me,” she laughed.

  “Well, it was a pleasure seeing you ladies, but I should get home to my wife. I hate leaving her alone to run the shop, and Herman won’t be back for another hour.” He tipped his hat again, and the women bid him goodbye and continued into the post office.

  Five minutes later, they each had their bundle of mail, and were heading back to the horses. Elinor was thrilled—there was a letter from Addie in the bunch. She hoped to get a moment alone before they reached home, so she could read it in private. Addie had put her own name in the return address—Elinor hadn’t thought ahead about that—and she’d need to dispose of the envelope before Gideon could see it. Thank goodness I picked up the mail, and not Gideon or Emmett!

  The women got back to their horses and tucked their bundles of mail into their saddlebags—except Addie’s letter, which Elinor slipped into pocket in the lining of her sacque.

  Emmett helped them mount again, and untied their horses. Once he was astride his own horse, they wheeled them around and headed north on Main Street, toward home.

  “Elinor, do you have time to spare once we get back?” asked Constance. “I was thinking that since this rascal can’t be trusted to come visit his old friend, I might have to induce him to visit me by offering you both some of the cinnamon apple muffins I baked yesterday.”

  Emmett’s newly-clean-shaven face appeared even more boyish, as his eyes lit up and he glanced toward Elinor with a hopeful expression.

  She thought of the letter, waiting inside her inner sacque pocket. Gideon will be working outside most of the day, and supper is already made. “I suppose a little more socializing couldn’t hurt…for the sake of Emmett’s hollow leg, of course.” She grinned.

  Emmett burst out in a loud whoop. “Apple cinnamon muffins! Don’t just plod along ladies—we got us some muffins to devour.” He pulled ahead as he nudged his horse into a trot.

  “I hope you made a lot of muffins,” Elinor chuckled.

  “Enough to feed an entire regiment. I was planning to bring some over for him, anyway.”

  “A regiment, hm? That might be enough.”

  They both laughed as they tried to catch up with him.

  This is turning out to be a wonderful day. For once, there was no need to rush home. She could have a short visit at Constance’s, and still have plenty of time to read Addie’s letter and dispose of the incriminating envelope in the woodstove before Gideon was done working for the day.

  ***

  The Cartwright Farm

  Gideon closed the door behind him, the fatigue of the morning’s work weighing heavily on him. The burden of farm work was much lighter with Emmett at his side to help. That was easy to forget…until he wasn’t there anymore. It was early afternoon, and Gideon had assumed they’d be back already. I suppose the ladies lost track of time with all their sewing circle chatter. Poor Emmett.

  He laughed, imagining his brother sitting, bored as can be, outside the Yates home. At least, he hoped Emmett would be there…rather than whiling away the time at a saloon. He hung up his hat and coat with a sigh. Adelaide said to trust him. I know she’s right, but after so many years of worry, it’s hard to stop.

  He turned to face the empty house, so strangely silent. With both Adelaide and Emmett living there, the past few months had filled his farmhouse with lively discussions, laughter…and love.

  He missed her. The house seemed colder without her there, and not just because the woodstove fire had burned down. It felt…abandoned. He’d forgotten just how lonely the house had been when Nina had left to marry. That was when he’d first considered the idea of a mail order bride. The silence had only accentuated the emptiness that he’d long felt inside. He’d decided then that he didn’t want to waste precious months—even years—looking for a bride. He’d spent so long taking care of his family that he just wanted a warm, kind companion by his side.

  And what a companion Mrs. Porter had brought to him! He’d hoped for a friend, a helpmeet, and yes, a lover…but he’d never truly believed he could find such deep, abiding love in a stranger brought to him on a train. How wrong he’d been.

  Then isn’t it time you told the girl how much you love her?

  It was. He knew it, but something made him hold back. She’d worked so hard to earn his forgiveness, to improve her skills, and to make him proud. Didn’t she deserve to hear how much she meant to him? He’d told her, he thought, in a hundred little ways…but he’d never spoken the words aloud. The words every woman was eager to hear.

  He fed a thin log into the firebox of the cookstove, then took the poker and prodded the glowing coals, watching as the burned ashes dropped into the ash box. Then he shut the firebox door and hung the poker back in its place.

  It was Emmett’s presence, he supposed. Telling her is a big step—it’s an important moment, and not one that should be interrupted by the noise of my brother rifling through the pantry looking for a late night snack. That’s what he told himself, anyway.

  Or are you just afraid she doesn’t feel the same way, yet? She hasn’t said those words to you, yet, either. Could she still be holding resentment toward him, for the fight they had a month prior?

  He lifted the lid of the large iron pot and stirred the stew, inhaling the delicious aroma of the steaming contents. Adelaide had come a long way in a short time. He was proud of her, and so grateful that she’d worked so hard just to make him happy.

  It doesn’t matter if she doesn’t feel the same yet. Tell her anyway.

  Serving himself up a bowl and grabbing a roll from the pan on the sideboard, he took a seat wearily, relishing the chance to get off his feet. He’d worked extra hard all morning, even working past the time his stomach had started to grumble for dinner, just so that he could spend an afternoon with Adelaide. With the house feeling so desolate, he ached for her to return home right away. All at once, it finally hit him—how abandoned the house must feel for Adelaide every day while he was out working the farm. The long, lonely days she must have spent, with no one to talk to, no one to share her frustrations with as she struggled to cope with housework she was never trained to do.

  And she never complained.

  That’s it, he thought. I could wait until Emmett is gone, or has a cabin of his own, but Adelaide has waited long enough. Tonight is the night.

  Tonight, Gideon would tell his wife that he loved her.

  Digging into the stew, he scooped out a bite of beef and potatoes, a smile on his face as he thought about taking her in his arms and finally pouring his heart out to her. Before he could raise the spoon to his lips, the sounds of a wagon approaching caught his attention.

  Who could that be? His mind raced through several worrisome scenarios, all ending with Adelaide or Emmett sick or injured or worse.

  He put the spoon in the b
owl and walked quickly to the door, his fatigue forgotten. When he threw it open, he saw Clay Porter’s green butcher shop wagon wending its way up the drive, with the whole Porter family aboard.

  They’re not in a hurry, so it can’t be all that bad. The wagon pulled up to a stop in front of his home, and Clay set the brake and hopped down, coming around to take his little girl. He set her on the ground, where she toddled unsteadily.

  “Grace, stay.” Clay said firmly, and the little girl obeyed, looking up at him with large blue eyes, and gripping his trouser leg for support. The wind picked up, flapping the hem of Mrs. Porter’s dress and making the task of helping her down safely even more difficult. Gideon was about to offer his help, but Clay snatched up the edge of the skirt and managed to get her safely to the ground. Then he bent to pick up the girl, and guided his wife up the steps by her elbow.

  Gideon waited impatiently during all of this, still worried there could be something wrong—he couldn’t imagine what would provoke Clay Porter to bring his expectant wife across the valley in the wagon. The man was the worst type of “mother hen” during his wife’s confinement.

  “What brings you folks all the way out here?”

  The couple stood before him with grim expressions.

  “I apologize for intruding,” Madeline began. “We’d have telephoned, but I know you don’t have telephone lines this far out.”

  Concern gripped Gideon again. “Is something wrong? Has something happened? Is Adelaide alright?”

  Chapter 27

  Mr. and Mrs. Porter exchanged a glance, and Gideon’s stomach flipped.

  “Your wife is fine, as far as I know,” Clay replied, not meeting his eyes. “I saw her this morning at the post office, and she seemed right as rain.” Clay turned to his wife. “I think I’m going to take Gracie into the barn to look at the chickens, so you two can talk. That alright, Gideon?”

  Gideon was confused, and didn’t see why the man would need to leave his wife alone with him…to talk about what? “Clay, there’s no need for any of us to stand outside. Come on in.” He opened the door and stepped aside to let them pass, then closed the door against the wind. “Please, sit down.”

  They both sat in the settee, while Gideon took his mother’s old rocking chair.

  “Thanks,” Clay said. “I appreciate it. Madeline really shouldn’t be on her feet—in fact she shouldn’t be here at all. I tried to convince her to let me come—”

  “Oh, Clay, not that again.”

  “The ride out here was rough.”

  “It was, and I’d rather have stayed home, but I just didn’t feel like this could wait.”

  “Well, let’s be out with it, then Madeline—it’s looking like it may rain, and I don’t want us to get caught in it.”

  Gideon looked toward the window. He hadn’t noticed the sky—he was bone-tired, and had his mind on food. Food, and Adelaide. “I hope it doesn’t rain. Adelaide is running late, and I’d hate for her to get caught in it. You didn’t see her on the road out here? She’s riding with my brother and our neighbor, Mrs. Pruett.”

  Clay shook his head. “I’m sure if it starts to rain, they’ll wait it out in town before heading home. The clouds didn’t start gathering until we were halfway here, but if they left Helena very long after we did, they’ll probably wait it out in town.”

  Gideon nodded. “Emmett knows the weather as well as I do. He’ll watch out for her.”

  There was an awkward silence while he waited for Mrs. Porter to tell him what brought them. The clock on the bookshelf ticked in the silence of the room, while Grace looked at him with wide eyes, and her lips split in a big grin.

  “Mr. Cartwright,” Mrs. Porter began, her brows knit in concern. “You know how much I take pride in my business, and in protecting my clients—both the young ladies and the bachelors. That’s why I do such an in-depth interview of the bachelors, and my partner, Mrs. Gardner, does the same with the potential brides.”

  “I do. It’s the reason why I finally gave in to the notion of taking a mail order bride—I knew you had a reputation of matching up some very happy couples.” His head was awash with confusion—what did her business have to do with why they had come all the way to his farm?

  “Indeed,” she nodded. “Of course, sometimes things can happen…without any way of me knowing. And I hate telling you this…”

  Gideon’s heart raced. Obviously this was some type of bad news, and he didn’t understand what it could be.

  “Just tell him, Madeline,” her husband broke in. “You don’t need to apologize. You did everything you promised. You were deceived as much as he was.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Gideon demanded, irritated with the hemming and hawing. “Deceived by who?” But he knew. With dawning horror he realized that they were talking about his wife.

  …you were deceived as much as he was.

  Did they know about Adelaide lying about her skills? Is that why Mrs. Porter was apologizing? Or was there more? There couldn’t be more…she promised she told me everything, that there were no more secrets…

  That was when it hit him—no, she hadn’t! He’d asked her, four weeks earlier, when they’d had that conversation about her lies, if there was anything else she was hiding. But before she could answer, something interrupted them. Emmett. Emmett’s arrival interrupted them, and in his happiness over his brother’s return, he hadn’t realized that she had never answered the question. His gut roiled, and he clutched the arms of the rocking chair until his knuckles turned white.

  Mrs. Porter cleared her throat, clasping her hands tighter in her lap, over her burgeoning belly. “Mr. Cartwright, I received a letter today. A very disturbing letter from Mrs. Gardner.” She drew a folded envelope from her reticule, pulling out two sheets of folded paper from it, and handed them to Gideon.

  He released the arm of the chair and took it with a trembling hand. “What is this? What’s this all about?”

  “Just read it,” said Clay.

  The clock ticked on as he read, while the Porter child babbled and pointed at various items in his home, sticking out her chubby hand in an effort to reach the closest one. Minutes passed by like hours, and he couldn’t believe the words on the paper.

  “This…this can’t be right.” He looked up at both of them. “It can’t be right. She’s Adelaide. She’s my wife. I married her. I married Adelaide McGilvray.”

  “I’m so sorry. The girl who stepped off the train was not Adelaide McGilvray. It was her best friend, Elinor Travers.”

  “That’s not possible. She wouldn’t do that to me.” She lied to you once, didn’t she? He swallowed against the bitter taste of bile. “I—I wrote her letters. She wrote me letters. She sent me her photograph. I still have it. I’ll show you!” He dropped the letter into the rocking chair where he’d been sitting and walked over to the bookshelf, opening up the wooden box where he’d kept his wife’s letters.

  “Really, Mr. Cartwright, you—”

  “I’m telling you, the letter is wrong, Mrs. Gardner is mistaken! If they switched places at the last minute, then that means that it was the real Adelaide who wrote the letters, and the real Adelaide who sent her miniature—here!” He held it aloft triumphantly. “This is it.” He examined the photograph—the one he hadn’t looked at since Adelaide had arrived. The girl had the same color of hair—it seemed so, anyway, though it seemed a bit darker than his wife’s was, in person. But the face was much the same. He raised it triumphantly. “It’s her—here, look.”

  Mrs. Porter took the photograph and glanced at her husband. They peered at it together. “It appears to be the same girl.”

  “It does.”

  “But…” Mrs. Porter squinted, looking closer. “I remember thinking when she arrived that she seemed taller than in her photograph.”

  Clay peered over her shoulder. “You’re right, this girl does look shorter. More delicate. And her hair is a darker shade.”

  “And not quite as…mature
. And…look there…are those freckles on her face?”

  “I can’t tell. It’s a miniature of a full body pose—taken from too far away. Her face isn’t clear enough.”

  “I think she has freckles.” Mrs. Porter looked up at Gideon.

  His breath went out in a whoosh, and he couldn’t pull in another. Freckles. He remembered thinking the same thing—that the girl in the miniature looked like she had freckles. But it had been so hard to tell, and…

  …and Adelaide—his Adelaide—had none.

  “No…no! This can’t be. She’s my wife. My wife! How is it possible that a stranger can just walk off the train, looking exactly like the girl I was expecting?”

  “They could be sisters,” Madeline mused, “they are that similar. Extremely close in appearance. Looking at this photograph, they’d almost appear to be twins…but I suspect if they were side by side, one would only assume them to be normal sisters, not twins.”

  “Are they?” asked Clay, blocking Grace’s hands from snatching the photograph. “Could they be sisters? Or cousins, since Elinor’s last name is different?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so. Mrs. Gardner only said that the girls were best friends. She spoke directly to the real Adelaide, and that’s what she called Elinor—her best friend.”

  Gideon snatched up the letter from the rocking chair and sunk into it, feeling defeated. “How could she do such a thing? Just walk off the train and pretend to be someone else? Trick me into marrying a total stranger? Didn’t she think I had the right to decide? Did she think she could spend the rest of her life pretending to be someone else? Why? Why would anyone do something like that? A person would have to be touched in the head!”

  “I wish Mrs. Gardner had thought to ask more questions before she wrote to me, so we’d have more information. I can write back and ask, but of course, you’ll get an answer much faster by asking your wife.”

  “My wife?” he scoffed. “My wife? Is she even really my wife?” He stood and paced, staring blankly at the letter in his hand. “Is our marriage even valid? Or legal? My goodness, am I even married at all? Have I been tricked into living in sin with a stranger?” He ran a hand through his hair. “This is unbelievable.”