Mail Order Celeste

by Elissa Strati

  “Perhaps I should read these letters,” said Chip thoughtfully.

  “Well that would probably more be more prudent than racing off to the preacher with a total stranger with whom you have not been corresponding.”

  “Ah, but I have! You said so yourself.”

  “You are just trying to twist things to your own advantage.” huffed Celeste. “But really, it is ridiculous. I just need to find a job to take care of myself and my daughter. I don't need to marry again. From what your brother told my sister, this is a thriving town, so there should be work for a woman willing to do it.”

  “I have a job for you,” Chip smiled. “First, I need a housekeeper. I can put my bed together in the morning and cook beans, but since my brother moved to town I have been unable to find anyone willing to clean up after me. And second, I really can use some help with the bookkeeping at the mill. I don't know how your ciphering is, but at least I'd be able to read the books if you were writing the numbers. And then, finally, there's me. I need someone to take care of me. I want a family and here you are bringing me one.”

  Call Me Chip

  “Mr. Hardwick!” Celeste snapped out in an exasperated tone.

  “Oh, do call me Chip.”

  “Chip? I thought your name was Charles Patrick. Is that how you got your nickname, from the first letters?”

  “Well,” he drawled, “some folks say it's because I'm a chip off the old block, since I'm following in my father's footsteps at the sawmill, and others say it's because of the wood chips I used to run around with in my hair as a child trying to help with cleanup. But I rather like your explanation better. And what's your name? I don't know whether your sister ever mentioned you in her letters.”

  “Did you even read them?”

  “Well, one or two of them but they were kind of boring so generally I didn't bother.”

  “So you basically know nothing whatsoever about my sister!”

  “We weren't talking about me we were talking about you. What is your name, please?”

  “Mrs. Clark!”

  “It will be Mrs. Hardwick once we are married, but I will hardly want to call you Mrs. Hardwick for the rest of our lives.”

  “Some people do,” she replied tersely, “but we will not be among them as we will not be married.”

  “Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”

  “I thought you said you weren't educated?”

  “Well everyone knows that line,” he declared. Then he glanced sideways at her.

  “Oh, okay. I admit it. I like to read. And Will Shakespeare has written some mighty funny plays!”

  CHAPTER 2 – Miranda

  Where Is Everyone?

  The house was quiet when Miranda returned to home. With all the tension there of late, it had not been hard for her cousin to persuade her to stay an extra two days. She was returning refreshed in body and spirit, although just walking into the silent house had her stiffening. It was . . . too quiet. She shrugged her shoulders. Celeste must have taken Samantha to the park for some fresh air.

  But that didn’t explain why none of the staff was about. She’d had to carry in her valise by herself, and had been embarrassed to have to ask the cab driver to bring her around to the kitchen when no one had responded to her ring at the front door. Fortunately she’d had enough in her reticule to pay the man! Henry normally handled that for her. And where was Mrs. Flowers? This wasn’t her normal day off.

  She was gratified to find her bedroom door locked, as she had left it. She wouldn’t put it past her stepmother to break in and rifle through her belongings. Uncharitable as the thought might be, it was also quite true.

  As soon as she walked into her bedroom, Miranda saw the note pinned to her pillow with a hat pin, addressed in her sister's distinctive hand. She shook her head, wondering what Celeste was up to now, and unfolded the missive. Within it was an opened envelope from her fiancé. With one letter in each hand she glanced back and forth, trying to decide which to read first. She finally chose her sister’s, since it was already open.

  My dearest Miranda,

  I hope you had a nice visit with Cousin Amy. I am sorry I am not there to greet you, but once you left the house things got really rough. In fact, I had stepped out to deliver the enclosed letter to your room and came back to find our stepmother striking my sweet Samantha for some alleged wrongdoing. The child is not even two and has never needed more than a mild scolding when she has misbehaved.

  Her face was red and blotched where Harriet had struck her. I swear, the look of rage on her face made me feel fear for both of our lives! She was absolutely out of control, raging and screeching, and when she saw me come in, her face was utterly frightening.

  I know that woman has been unhappy having us living in our own childhood home, but it is she who is the interloper!

  After all you have given up to care for Mama until she died, and then looking after Papa, for him to turn around and marry such a woman is an insult to our dear mother's memory. And then the way she has treated you, instead of being grateful to you for taking care of the man she purports to love, has been beyond cruel. But now this creature has had the nerve to attack an infant who had not strayed from her own room.

  I know she wasn't crying because I would have heard that. In fact she wasn't even crying when I walked in--she was stunned silent. And clearly terrified, backing away as quickly as she could once she was released!

  All of this is to explain to you why I felt I must leave immediately before she did further harm to Samantha. Oh, Miranda, how I wish you had been there to offer advice! As it was, I removed the train ticket and voucher from your envelope, enclosed herewith, and packed our things.

  Henry assisted me in getting the trunk to the station and promised to help me leave without being seen. I am sorry not to be able to wish Papa farewell, but do not wish to chance running into his new wife again. Frankly, she terrifies me.

  I strongly suggest you manage to get out of there as quickly as possible. I know you have some money saved up on your own, and I will replace what I have taken as soon as I can get a job, but please try to be on the next train out as I truly fear you are in danger in that house. I only hope Papa is not, once we have left. She does seem genuinely to dote on him. Perhaps it is just that you look so much like our dear Mother that it makes me feel the comparison more strongly.

  Your loving sister,

  Celeste

  P.S. I did liberate my own few dollars that shrew stole from me, less $5 to cover any possible costs for the food she begrudged me. I’ve certainly been working my keep while here, but Mama would expect me to tip the staff. (Forgive me, Mama! I do know better.) I am sorry to leave you in the lurch. Please come as quickly as you can!

  ~~~

  A brief snort of laughter escaped at her sister’s jibe at their stepmother. Well deserved, but she, too, knew better, and cast a silent plea heavenward for forgiveness and the forbearance with which to cope with the woman until she, too, left.

  Gently massaging her forehead trying to stave off the incipient headache she felt forming there, Miranda pulled open the next letter.

  “My dear Miranda,” read the neatly penned missive,

  I very much look forward to meeting in person the charming woman I have gotten to know through our letters. I enclose a train ticket and some pocket money for your meals and expenses. Please wire to let me know on which train you will arrive, and I will meet you at the station. I am on the tall side and clean-shaven, and will wear a red shirt to make me easy to find.

  ~~~

  Miranda had begun the correspondence with Mr. Charles Patrick Hardwick several months earlier. He was desirous of a housekeeper above all, but looked forward to a family and a companion with whom he could share his thoughts. Miranda rather liked his wit and had enjoyed their correspondence. She only hoped a sawmill provided adequate mental stimulation for what she perceived to be a fine mind.

  For that matter, she was praying there were options
for her own mind beyond housekeeping and childrearing. She had put her own education on hold when her mother became ill, and had used all the medical knowledge she had acquired, caring for her.

  Although still nursing her infant daughter, Celeste had spent hours helping, too, and the baby had proved a godsend in keeping their mother’s spirits up as her health slipped away.

  Safety

  Both Celeste and her sister Miranda had gotten in the habit of carrying a small derringer in their reticules years earlier. With so many brothers and cousins, their friend Bridget had learned how to shoot at a young age. When they found out, both sisters became insistent that they, too, be taught.

  Bridget thought it was a great lark, as did her brothers, who proceeded to teach the young ladies, with great attention to detail, how to fire and care for a pistol. When they had succeeded in learning to shoot accurately and demonstrated the same proficiency as any of the other Flanagan siblings, the Belden girls were each presented with their very own derringers and warned of the need for absolute safety in all procedures relating to the guns.

  Henry, when he learned of their new prowess with weaponry, took it upon himself to back up their skills with close up personal defense.

  “For one doesn’t always have an opportunity to reach for a weapon when a person of low morals chooses to misbehave,” he’d admonished.

  One of the first things he’d taught them was how to scream. For that lesson they had gone riding out of town to a secluded area.

  “It is funny how frequently one doesn’t think of screaming as a weapon, but it can be very effective. If someone is offering harm, he or she has no wish to be discovered. Yelling loudly, ‘Thief,’ or even simply, ‘Help!’ can send an attacker running. But if you can learn to make a large volume of noise and then direct it into the ear of your assailant, you may even stun him long enough to escape.”

  By the end of the lesson both girls had sore throats, although he had taught them some techniques to relax their vocal chords to produce even larger sounds with less stress, but they’d had a wonderful time. Henry had enjoyed himself, too, despite the massive headache he now suffered.

  He’d also explained the areas of physical vulnerability of all humans, but especially of men. For these lessons he sensibly used a straw dummy. Periodically the girls would disappear into the stable to practice their skills, with Henry’s full approval.

  Secrets

  Without ever enquiring into their father’s business affairs, they had become aware over the years that what he did was secret, probably dangerous, and, after the war, frequently on behalf of the President. They couldn’t recall a conversation or event; they had just absorbed the knowledge as they made themselves invisible when guests came by at all hours.

  The girls had long known that Henry worked with her father in more than a butler's capacity. Their mother had made them aware of the importance of their maintaining the appearance of a normal household. Enjoying visits and teas and the social season was an important key to their father’s continued success in whatever he was doing.

  “If attending a ball with Ralph helps Father, then we are both winners,” quipped Celeste. “I know father thinks I could do better, but he doesn’t know Ralph as I do. He is thoughtful and generous and caring and loving; he works hard and is already rising in his firm. People think of him as honest and trustworthy because that is exactly what he is. And he truly loves me as I am.” Her face took on a dreamy expression. “When we dance I feel enchanted and when he takes my hand it steals my breath away.”

  When Ralph had approached their father for Celeste’s hand in marriage, Miranda had overheard her parents discussing the match. Apologizing that she’d overheard them, she shared her earlier conversation with her sister, saying, “I think she truly loves him as much as he does her.” Father had nodded and dropped his objections.

  ~~~

  Despite his frequent travels, when his wife fell ill and his daughter Celeste began making frequent trips across the city on her own, William took her aside and offered to give her lessons in protection.

  “Oh Father, how wonderful of you to offer. It would be really useful to be able to practice some of the moves we learned from Henry when we were children. And I'm sure you know other means of protection. Miranda and I would both very much like to work with you!”

  William laughed.

  “Of course Henry taught you! I had quite forgotten although we discussed it when he first discovered you’d learned to shoot. Have you kept up that practice as well?”

  “I fear it has been awhile since we enjoyed a farm outing with the Flanagans, where we could shoot without fear of the militia descending upon us. But we both keep our pistols handy and on our persons when we are abroad.”

  While their mother slept, the girls enjoyed time with their father, improving their skills to the point that many of the moves became second nature. If someone tried to grab you here, you stepped to the side, ideally stomping hard on his toes as you crossed over and evaded his grasp. And if someone were rushing toward you, his own momentum could cause him to fall when helped by a kick on the ankle and a push from behind.

  ~~~

  It had been a while since Celeste and Miranda had had an opportunity to be this close with their father, who was so seldom home and so often looked gray with worry and exhaustion. And he spent as much time as he could with his dying wife, begging leave to be excused from his duties to the country to attend to his family’s need.

  Tragically, there was nothing they could do to restore their mother to health. But they kept her as comfortable as possible and were all with her when she slipped away, peacefully, a mere shadow of herself physically but still beautiful to each of them.

  Ralph had been there as often as he could, supporting his wife and helping with their daughter. He, too, had been in attendance, a sleeping Samantha in his arms. As they said their final goodbyes he gathered his weeping wife into a family embrace and wept his own honest tears. He’d come to love his mother-in-law as much as his own late mother, and now both were gone from his life.

  The Stepmother

  They were still in deep mourning when their father had appeared with a new bride. Miranda and Celeste had been enjoying afternoon tea when he’d entered with a severe-looking woman, rather overdressed, and with a few too many bows and furbelows for good taste.

  “This is your new step-mama, Harriet,” he announced. “My daughters Miranda and Celeste,” introducing them with a nod of his head.

  In shock, the ladies stood and curtsied, receiving the barest of head nods in return.

  Mr. Belden strode over to the table and rang the bell, then turned toward the door in expectation as the sounds of feet came down the hall toward them. The housekeeper entered the room with a teapot, looking at the girls.

  “Are you ready for more hot water and . . .?” she stopped abruptly when she saw the others in the room.

  Scrambling to set down the pot, she dropped a curtsey.

  “Mr. Belden, sir, you startled me! I never heard you come in! Madam,” she added as she nodded her head toward the stranger. “How may I be of service?”

  “Mrs. Flowers, this is your new mistress. Mrs. Belden will need to discuss with you arrangements for her room. But,” he surveyed the shocked features of his housekeeper and managed a smile, “perhaps first we might partake of the fine tea you have provided my daughters.”

  Flustered, Mrs. Flowers bobbed down and up again and swiftly departed for the kitchen to get more china and cutlery and assemble additional dishes to serve. The ladies had been happy with a lighter fare than Mr. Belden would expect. And was that really a new Mrs. Belden, and her mistress not yet cold in her grave? She glanced over to the carriage in the corner of the kitchen. Fortunately, young Miss Samantha remained asleep and peaceful. Mrs. Flowers crossed herself, remembering the cold look in her new mistress’ eyes.

  Making Plans

  Miranda dropped into her chair to think. She would probably have
slumped but her stays kept her erect—the thought distracted her and made her laugh. Still looking from one letter to the other she could feel her thoughts marshalling into columns, pushing for action. She stood with a deep sigh, carefully folding both letters and tucking them into the journal she had carried in her valise. Cousin Amy’s dresser had seen to it she was traveling home with clean clothes, so she was actually nearly packed for her trip. The trunk in the corner had been packed with all her out-of-season gowns, leaving only a few items remaining to be stowed away. Even her books had been placed in boxes in anticipation of this letter.

  It had been so silent in the house that she was startled when she heard a tap at her bedroom door.

  “Who is that?” she queried.

  “It is Henry, Miss Miranda.”

  She hastened to the door and opened it, stepping back when she saw he had a tray with tea and some sandwiches on it for her.

  “Oh, how thoughtful of you,” she cried. “I am famished and no one was here when I arrived.”

  “I am so sorry I missed you at the train station,” Henry replied, setting the tray on her dressing table, “but if you sent word, there was no one here to receive it. Your father and Madame left yesterday to visit her brother, and I regret to say that Madame has dismissed all the staff.”

  Miranda gasped, her hand going to her throat. Henry grimaced and continued.

  “I am unaware of what her plans are but we were given no notice. Your sister's departure several days ago occasioned a great deal of uproar, I'm afraid. Fortunately Mr. Belden was very generous when he settled with each of us, and he asked me to remain alert to your return. He handed me this letter to give to you,” which Henry proceeded to do.

  “Forgive me, but your sister did share her plans with me, and yours, and I am more than happy to assist you in any way possible. And may I offer my sincere congratulations on your upcoming nuptials?”