Betsy just watched, not knowing what to make of this. It was beyond odd, but somehow she managed to wait before asking him about it.
“Why are you here?” she asked finally, when he seemed to be done.
He hopped down from the coach just as she asked the question, though, and before she knew it he was standing in front of her, removing his hat and tipping it toward Betsy.
“My name’s Avery Whitcomb, ma’am,” he said, flashing an engaging smile. “And I was sent here by the mayor, who I believe you know. Mr. Owen Standard?”
Betsy smiled. “I do,” she replied, and she curtsied slightly. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, then, Mr. Whitcomb.”
He started to say more, but at that moment Stewart burst from the door of the house. He charged down the walkway, and Betsy smiled when she saw how determined he looked.
“Betsy!” he exclaimed, and then he stared at the coach, then back at the driver. “What in tarnation is going on?”
“Oh!” Betsy brought her hand to her mouth without thinking about it. “Stewart!”
Then she extended her hand toward the stagecoach driver. “Why, this is . . . what did you say your name was?”
“Avery Whitcomb,” the driver said, smiling as he offered his hand to Stewart. This was a good thing, because Stewart looked angry enough to hit the driver, and the handshake prevented him from taking a swing at the poor fellow.
“You must be Stewart James,” Avery said. “It’s a pleasure to meetcha.”
“Why . . . it’s my pleasure,” Stewart said, shaking Avery’s hand and obviously totally taken aback by the suddenness of the greeting. “What the . . . what brings you here?”
Avery smiled, and for a moment it looked to Betsy like he was enjoying her husband’s confusion. She gave Stewart a confiding glance, and that seemed to calm him a bit.
“I’ve been dispatched by the mayor,” the driver replied. “Owen Standard.”
Betsy nodded, and she was about to ask why when he spoke again. “I’ve been dispatched to spirit the two of you away,” Avery said, and then he rolled his eyes. “The mayor’s exact words.”
“Spirit us away?” Betsy repeated. “What on earth are you talking about?”
Avery chuckled, realizing how mysterious his words sounded. “I think the mayor meant that he’s taking you to lunch . . . so to speak.”
“To lunch,” Stewart said.
“Yup.” Avery nodded back toward the coach, obviously happy to have defused Stewart’s anger a bit. “And all you have to do is climb on in.”
“Into the coach?” Betsy asked.
He nodded. “That’s why I’m here.”
Stewart blinked, still not totally reassured about the venture. “Both of us?”
Avery laughed slightly. “Of course!” he exclaimed. “It’s not as if I’d be here to take one of you to a romantic lunch.”
Betsy felt her heart skip a beat. “Romantic?” she asked, her voice slightly breathless.
“Yes,” Avery said. “The mayor had a specific spot in mind.”
“Oh!” Betsy shifted her hand over her heart without realizing it, and then she turned to look at Stewart. “Well, I guess we’ll have to oblige him, then.”
Stewart nodded, dumbfounded, and Betsy realized he’d been rendered speechless by the whole thing. Clearly, it was going to be up to her to take the lead.
“I think we should do this,” she said to her husband softly. “I have a good feeling about it.”
He blinked. “All right,” Stewart replied, and then she understood that those were the only words he was going to be able to manage at the moment.
“Very well, then,” she said to Avery, nodding at the stagecoach. “Take us off to this romantic lunch the mayor has put together.”
It actually turned out to be a picnic of sorts. The location was an idyllic spot by a brook, near the McCourty property.
It was a spot where more than one proposal had been offered to a mail order bride, although Betsy and Stewart didn’t know that when they arrived.
They also didn’t know that Avery had a picnic lunch packed in the back of the stage, which he unpacked and carried for them to the spot by the brook where the mayor had instructed him to stop.
A tent had been set up to shield them from the weather and the wind; the mayor had seemingly thought of everything.
The lunch was perfect. It was roast chicken with fresh bread and cheese, washed down by some homemade berry wine made by the mayor’s wife, Dotty.
They ate in silence, awestruck by the food. Finally, when they were nearly done, Betsy spoke.
“I think perhaps they’re trying to tell us something,” she said, smiling mirthfully at Stewart.
He frowned slightly. “What do you mean?” he asked, tearing at a last hunk of bread.
“All of this,” Betsy said, nodding at the beauty of the brook and the landscape beyond.
He blinked. “Yeah,” Stewart replied. “It sure is pretty.”
She laughed at him, lightly, and Stewart looked at her, wondering if Betsy was making fun of him.
“I think we haven’t been spending enough time with one another,” she said softly, and he pondered her words. For a moment he considered protesting, but then Stewart realized she was likely right.
“I hadn’t thought about it that way,” he said softly. “What with work and all. But you could be right.”
Betsy took a deep breath of fresh air. “And you must admit it’s a nice way to get the message across.”
He smiled, suddenly reminded of how attractive his wife was. Stewart’s heart stirred, and it dawned on him that an opportunity was at hand.
“Perhaps we should spend the rest of the day,” he proposed. “Catching up with each other . . . if you know what I mean.”
Betsy blushed, and then she grinned. “I agree,” she said. “I wonder if we can get this gentleman to give us a ride back into town.”
They both looked around, but Avery Whitcomb seemed to have vanished for the moment. The stage was still present, so he had to be somewhere close by, but they realized he’d gone off to give them some private time together.
“We seem to have lost our driver,” Betsy said, and she giggled.
“Yeah,” Stewart said. “But I’m sure he’s around somewhere.”
She nodded. “Mmhm.” Her blush hadn’t faded just yet, she realized, and Betsy realized she was still embarrassed.
“Maybe we should go look for him,” Stewart suggested, standing and offering her his hand.
Then, just outside the tent, Betsy saw something. It was green and circular, and for a moment she had trouble recognizing what it was.
But Stewart recognized it right away. It was a wreath, and he remembered the Christmas preparations were beginning. He smiled as he saw the card Owen had left attached to the wreath, using a homemade clip made of wire.
Happy Holidays! the card read. Good luck with your efforts to start a family!
Betsy laughed. “I think it’s a hint of sorts,” she said. “What do you think?
Stewart shrugged. “I think we should take the man at his word, and do what he says,” he said, looking around. “Let’s go for a nice walk together, and then we can talk a little more about putting more attention into starting a family together. “
Betsy smiled. “That sounds like a fine idea,” she said, taking his hand. “And I think it’s absolutely the perfect way to spend the day!”
3
The Qullt
As the stagecoach pulled onto her street, Bonnie Henderson noticed how close to dark it had gotten. It seemed too early for the sunset to be gone, but it nearly was. The sky was streaked with purple, and Bonnie thought about how much she loved winter sunsets, especially right before Christmas.
So immediate, and so stark, Bonnie thought. But at least the holiday is nearly here.
Without warning, her thoughts turned darker, literally. There was no time to worry about Christmas just yet; Bonnie had other co
ncerns.
I’m so late, she thought. And I’ve had no time to prepare supper for Casey. He’ll be furious with me!
Then she thought about her day. Bonnie had spent most of it in the back of the stagecoach, making stop after stop and organizing different projects for the annual Holiday Fair, which was barely a week away.
There were two things that made the fair unique—the fact that it was held so close to Christmas, and the location, which was Town Hall.
This was one of Owen Standard’s more unique ideas. He thought it was important to have a holiday fair, and as a result he opened up the main facility in town for a fair of sorts.
It wasn’t the largest fair, obviously, but Bonnie was told it was surprisingly festive. Many folks in Last Chance were stuck inside when the winter conditions grew harsh, and this fair solved that problem in spades.
Bonnie’s big project had been the quilting bee. Mayor Standard had asked her to make the rounds in Last Chance, and to confirm all the entrants in the event.
“It’s one of the most important parts of the fair we have,” Owen had told her when he’d given her the assignment.
“The quilts are so colorful! And when we’re done, they get turned into an exhibit that will be seen from here to Denver next spring, and in several other parts of the West as well.”
Bonnie had nodded, his words impressing upon her the gravity and importance of the assignment. Needless to say, she’d had little experience with country fairs living in Baltimore, so all of this was quite new to her.
Still, she was eager to take on the task, and Bonnie had butterflies in her stomach as she began visiting each house on the list.
Most of the women she needed to visit had attended the quilting bee before, including several whose work was considered the “star” of the event.
There was Rose Turner, whose quilts showing the Colorado night sky were among the most popular, according to what Bonnie had been told. And Katie Bennett, whose quilts complemented Rose’s with their picturesque depiction of the Rockies off in the distance.
The prospect of meeting with these women had felt more than a little intimidating at first. But they were all so warm and friendly!
They were also all extremely capable. Most were homemakers, running impeccable households that were near spotless, and Bonnie wondered how they ever found time for quilting.
“It’s easy, dear,” Katie Bennett had told her when Bonnie stopped off at her house. “I simply make the quilting part of my daily prayers, and I offer my work up to God.”
Bonnie nodded as Katie proceeded to show her the quilts of which she was justifiably proud. She had an entire room of their house devoted to them, and Katie had three small children as well.
How in the world does she ever do it? Bonnie had said to herself as she marveled at them. I can barely find time to keep the house clean and cook for Casey. And he even helps out with some of the chores!
“What’s the matter, dear?” Katie had asked after preparing a cup of surprisingly strong coffee for her. “You seem a bit overwhelmed.”
“I am,” Bonnie had replied, nodding a second time as she did. “I have no idea how you manage to keep all of this together. A husband, three children, the quilting, your devotion to God . . . I feel fortunate if I can simply make it to the end of the day, mostly.”
Katie had laughed wryly, and she shook her head. “Oh, believe you me,” she replied, “I have plenty of days like that. When it all seems about to come apart at the seams. So to speak.”
She’d laughed at her own joke, and Bonnie had joined her. Then Katie’s expression turned more earnest, and she asked a question.
“How long have you been out here, dear?” Katie had asked. “In Last Chance, I mean.”
Bonnie blinked. “Oh! Well, let’s see, it’s been . . . several months, I believe.”
Suddenly, Katie had burst into laughter. For a moment Bonnie thought she was mocking her, but the expression of kindness and sympathy on her face after the burst of laughter was unmistakable.
“Well, that explains it then,” she’d said.
“What do you mean?” Bonnie had asked.
“It takes time to adjust to prairie life,” Katie explained. “It’s wonderful when you do, or at least I think so. But I felt completely overwhelmed for most of my first year out here.”
Bonnie blinked again. “You did?”
Katie nodded. “Very much so. My husband and I could barely find time for one another—there was just so much to do!”
“That’s how I feel” Bonnie had agreed. “We want to have children . . . but there’s just so little time!”
“Well, it gets better,” Katie assured her. “You just have to go one day at a time, one foot in front of the other. That’s the only way to get through it.”
Bonnie had finished her coffee, knowing she had to get on to her next stop. “That’s so good to know,” she said. “And your quilts are so wonderful! I’m so looking forward to seeing them at the fair.”
With that, Katie had thanked her, and Bonnie moved on to her next stop.
Amazingly enough, the experience had been quite similar. Each of the women she met was completely unique, but they were all completely welcoming. It was so unlike Baltimore, where everyone seemed constantly suspicious of one another.
Perhaps it’s the clean air and wide open spaces, she thought. Maybe there really is something to all that they say about the pioneer life.
Now that she was approaching her house, however, Bonnie didn’t feel nearly as sanguine about it.
She’d thought Casey would be home by now, for it was virtually dark, and she expected to see candles lit in the living room.
And Bonnie had been wondering for miles if he’d be cross with her for not getting home early enough to prepare supper.
As the stage pulled up, though, Bonnie knew there was little chance of that. The house was completely dark, which meant that Casey either wasn’t home yet, or he’d arrived home and gone straight to bed for some strange reason.
She considered both possibilities, knowing the former was far more likely than the latter. And once that realization hit her, Bonnie began to worry.
Had something happened to her beloved husband? If it had, and whatever happened had anything to do with her late arrival, Bonnie knew she could never forgive herself.
Meanwhile, in the town offices of Last Chance, Owen Standard was burning the midnight oil as usual. It wasn’t quite the midnight oil yet, but it was getting past the time for supper, and the mayor knew he had a decision to make.
I wonder if I should head home, he thought, thinking about his wife, Dottie. She’ll have dinner ready, one of her lovely mutton stews, most likely, and she’ll probably be waiting eagerly for me.
With that, Owen looked at the papers scattered about on his desk. On certain nights, there were matters that simply demanded his attention, mutton stew or no mutton stew.
But this wasn’t one of them.
He sighed, and then Owen began to organize his paperwork. This was something he didn’t do often enough, but once he threw himself into it Owen began to make good progress.
Mutton stew can be a wonderful motivator, he thought, imagining the scent of it as he arrived home.
His mood went from one of slight depression to imminent satisfaction as he gathered up the last pile.
A good day’s work well done, he thought. Few things are more satisfying, especially when the work is offered up to God.
The mayor gathered up his things to leave, fumbling for the key to his office as he did.
Then Owen realized how foolish that was; the town hall in Last Chance would already be locked up for the evening, and Last Chance was such an honest place that it was unlikely anyone would even intrude on his office, even if someone decided to work late or arrive early.
He shut the door gently, wondering if he could do even that. Owen turned to leave, but as he did he saw a faint light coming from down the hall.
; Who in the blazes could that be, the mayor thought? Could Casey possibly still be here?
He walked down the hall slowly, realizing that the light must be coming from a single, lit candle.
The boy could ruin his eyes that way, Owen said to himself, having had that experience himself every now and again. I should definitely intervene.
Owen walked slowly and softly down the hall, and when he reached Casey’s office he stopped and rapped softly on the door.
“Casey?” he said, keeping his voice soft because he knew how easily the boy tended to startle.
In spite of his best efforts, though, the boy nearly jumped out of his chair.
“Oh!” Casey exclaimed as he nearly fell to the floor. “Mister Mayor!”
Owen smiled in spite of himself, and he extended his hand in a placating gesture.
“It’s fine, Casey,” he said softly. “I just stopped by for a bit before I left.”
Casey nodded and took a deep breath. For the life of him, Owen couldn’t understand why the boy was so jumpy around him. No one else was.
“Well, I appreciate that, Mister Mayor,” Casey said shyly.
Owen shook his head and smiled gently. “Casey, I told you to simply call me Owen,” the mayor said, trying not to sound as if he was chiding the boy. “No one calls me Mister Mayor.”
“All right.” Casey looked down, blushing as he did. “Guess I’m just having a little trouble getting used to that is all.”
“I understand,” Owen said, nodding. Then he frowned. “So what are you still doing here?”
“Oh!” the boy said again. “I was just working on some of these plans for the Holiday Fair. Last minute things.”
The mayor’s frown deepened. “You gave me your report on that yesterday,” he said. “Did you not?”
“Yes,” Casey replied in a rush, his voice agitated. “Was everything all right with it?”
Owen smiled, and once again he extended his hand to calm the boy.
“It was fine, Casey,” he said. “That’s why I brought it up.”
The Mail Order Brides of Last Chance Page 8