Mail-Order Bride Switch

Thirty days to marry or turn his hotel and all its furnishings over to Ferndale. The memory of the posting of a cowboy for a mail-order bride in the New York Sun had saved him from that financial trap. He’d sent out his own postings to the New York City, Philadelphia and Albany newspapers to find a woman who would be interested in a business arrangement instead of a marriage. In two weeks he’d found his answer—Millie Rourk. She had seemed perfect. The maid had agreed to his in-name-only conditions for the marriage, and to cook and clean for his guests for a fair wage. It was perfect! And what had the maid done? Betrayed him. Just as his mother had. Just as Robert’s wife had betrayed him.

Well, Virginia Winterman would not have that chance. She’d not find any opportunity to go sneaking off and leave him behind to try to find a way to save all he’d worked for. He’d see to that. He had worked and scraped and apprenticed himself to businessmen to get ahead since he was abandoned at ten years old. And he wouldn’t lose all he had gained because of a woman!

He added the coal, adjusted the draft on the heating stove and strode the short distance to the public dressing room. The last train had gone through an hour ago. There would be no guests tonight. But it was too cold to shut down the water heater and the stove. He heaped coal into the fireboxes, adjusted the drafts and went back to the lobby. Now he was married to a dishonest impostor! A woman who didn’t even know how to tend a fire!

I have added wood to the hearth...on occasion.

He let out a snort and sat on his heels on the hearth to bank the fire. Not only was his bride ignorant of tending a fire, she was so slight she could never carry the buckets of ashes that would have to be taken outside every day when the hotel had guests. He could blow her over with one good strong puff from his lungs. He would have to hire a Chinese laborer from the railroad work crews to handle the heavy work. If they weren’t all off searching for gold.

He stilled, staring at the burning embers he’d gathered into a pile. Virginia was a plucky one, though. She’d gone out into the storm without complaint. And she was pretty, in a pale, scared, taut-faced sort of way. Did she know how her bright blue eyes reflected her emotions? They flashed with anger, darkened with fear, sparkled with interest and warmed with friendliness. And her long curls, so soft and silky even when they were covered with snow... His fingers twitched on the fire rake handle. Keep your mind on your business, Stevenson!

He frowned and hung the rake on its hook, lifted down the shovel and scooped ashes over the embers. He was a man. How was he supposed to forget the feel of her hair, or her lips? He should have made some sort of excuse to avoid that kiss. It would take some doing to forget how her soft lips had trembled beneath his. Five years...he had to stay married and live with her in Whisper Creek for five years before his hotel was safe. He never should have signed that contract!

The wind moaned outside. He rose, closed the damper to a narrow slit for the night and walked to the front windows. Splotches of light from the oil lamps on the porch roof glowed on the snow swirling at the caprice of the wind. But the storm was easing. Perhaps some of the passengers on tomorrow’s trains would decide to stay over. That is, if the trains could get through the snow in the mountains.

He stared at the outer edge of the porch, watched the snowflakes falling through the sweeps of golden light. There must be close to twenty inches of snow by now, and the fall had to have been heavier at the higher elevations. And there was that big curve through the narrow gap in the mountains just before the trains entered the valley. If that filled in—no. The trains would plow through the snow with those big blades on the front of the engine he’d heard called “cow catchers.”

He raked his fingers through his hair and went to snuff the wicks on the oil lamps of the chandelier over the lobby desk. Guests or not, tomorrow would be a busy day. He had a lot of shoveling to do to clear the porch and steps and walkway. Shoveling...

He looked back out the windows toward the railroad station. Who would clear the road so supplies or brave passengers still riding the trains could reach the stores and businesses? His lips curved in a wry smile. Given the limited population of Whisper Creek, he was fairly sure he knew the answer to that question. At least Virginia could prepare the rooms and tend to any guests while he was working outside. Maybe.

Could the woman cook? He’d gotten by with the few guests he’d had thus far by fixing ham, eggs and coffee for breakfast, and beef stew for dinner and supper. The fresh-baked bread he bought from Ivy Karl was the saving grace of his meals.

He started for his office to make out an order for more supplies.

* * *

Virginia clasped her toilette items in her hand and pressed her ear to the door. All was silent. She lifted the latch, eased the door open and ran the few steps from the dressing room to her bedroom door, her heart pounding. The lock clicking into place calmed her. She hurried to the dressing table, set her things down and sank onto the matching bench. Garret had said the dressing room had every comfort, and he was right. Oh how she wished to have a long, hot soak in that big tub. But she didn’t dare chance it.

Coward. She turned from her image in the mirror, reached up and pulled out the combs at the crown of her head. Her long curls tumbled to their full length halfway down her back. She ran her fingers into her hair at the roots, shook it loose and picked up her brush. The howling of the wind had stopped. She crossed to the window by the head of the bed, leaned over the nightstand and cupped her hands against one of the small glass panes. It was too dark to see if the snow had stopped. Not that it mattered. She had run from Emory Gladen and his veiled threats, had run as far as she could go.

You’re mine now, Virginia. You have no choice. Your father has given his blessing to our marriage and will disown you if you defy him. I look forward to our union, my dear.

She shuddered, scrubbed at her mouth. Emory Gladen’s kiss had bruised her lips, made her sick. And the hurtful pressure of his hands gripping her, holding her tight against him...she stared out into the darkness. Was he searching for her? He’d warned her he’d never let her go.

Well, you don’t have to be concerned about the suitor any longer.

She closed her eyes, thought about Garret’s words. What he said was true. She was safe, even if Emory found her. She was married. Emory was out of her life forever. But Garret...

Her breath caught. So far, Garret had been polite and thoughtful, in an impersonal way. Except for his kiss. That was troubling. Why hadn’t he made an excuse to avoid it?

She shoved the disquieting thought aside and brushed her hair. What would happen tomorrow? When should she rise? She was accustomed to being awakened by Millie bringing her a cup of tea, then laying out a gown for her that would suit her activity for the day. An image of Garret carrying two cups of coffee into the sitting room flashed before her. Did he even have tea? Of course he did. This was a hotel.

Her hand paused midbrush. She’d forgotten that. Yet she needn’t concern herself about tomorrow morning. Garret’s hotel maid would start work early. She would order her breakfast then. They served lovely breakfasts at the Astor House, not that Garret’s hotel compared to the luxurious Astor House. Why, this room was—not part of the hotel. These were his private rooms. Well, no matter. She would manage in the morning and then explain her likes and dislikes to his hotel maid over breakfast.

She went to the dressing table, put her brush down and tied her hair back at her nape with a ribbon that matched her velvet dressing gown. Exhaustion from the stress of the day hit her. She rubbed her tired eyes, snatched up the clothes she’d tossed onto the bed, and looked around. She would need to wear her brown wool gown again tomorrow. The dresses in the valise would be too wrinkled. They needed the maid’s attention before she could wear them.

She carried her dress and petticoats to the wardrobe, opened the doors and hung them inside. Her valises she shoved against the wall. She pushed down on the bed, smiled at its softness, removed her dressing gown and pulled back the coverlet on the bed and stared. Where were the linens and blankets?

She frowned, grabbed her dressing gown and swirled it back around her shoulders. Where would she find a maid to make up her bed? Dare she go looking for one? She stared at the bare mattress, then glanced at the door. She had no choice.

She slid back the lock and opened the door a few inches to look out. Light from two of the sconces glowed on either side of the large, double-door cupboard. Garret’s words popped into her head.

I forgot to tell you the linens for your bed are in the cupboard in the hall.

Why—she caught her breath. Surely he didn’t mean for her to make her own bed! She couldn’t do that. She fastened the buttons on her dressing gown, listened to the silence a moment, then stepped out of her bedroom. The hem of her velvet gown whispered against the floor. She hurried to the end of the short hall and looked out. The sitting room was empty. She stared at the open door beside the fireplace, tiptoed over and looked into the adjoining room. It was dark on her left, but she made out the form of a table with chairs. A dining room?

She edged forward and peeked around the shelves on her right. Dim light from two oil lamps over a large, heavy table gleamed on pots and pans, dishes, a fireplace with metal doors in the stone, a huge cooking stove, and cupboards and furniture she could not identify. There was another door on the far wall.

She crept between the fireplace and the table, slipped by a large cupboard, opened the door and looked into the next room. It was too dark to see anything but what looked like a server on her right and tables and chairs. The hotel dining room? She frowned and retraced her steps. Garret and his staff must have retired for the evening.

She opened the cupboard in the hall, stared at the shelves piled with bed linens. A quilt with red stars caught her eye. She grabbed it and two pillowcases, carried them to her bedroom and dropped them onto the bed. Tears stung her eyes. She blinked them away, shook out the pillowcases and stuffed her pillows in them. She folded the large quilt in half, wrapped herself in it and lay down, wishing for Millie.

The wind sighed at the windows. She turned onto her side and dimmed the lamp. Tears welled, then seeped from beneath her lashes and ran down her cheeks. She was frightened and helpless and all alone. No one but Millie even knew where she was.

I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee.

Peace stole through her. The tension in her body eased. She slipped her hand out of her quilt cocoon, wiped the tears from her face and looked at the dull light reflected on the plaster ceiling overhead. Forgive me, Lord. I don’t mean to sound distrusting or ungrateful. I know You are always with me. It’s only that I’m afraid. Please grant me courage, and let tomorrow be a better day.

Chapter Three (#ucb528068-b455-5a02-8f0e-f55c811532dc)

Garret popped the last bite of his buttered bread in his mouth, shrugged into his work jacket and squinted through the dim light to make out the face of the pendulum clock in the corner. A little less than two hours until the first train. He frowned, pulled on his hat and gloves, grabbed the lantern off the shelf and hurried through the hotel lobby to the front door. It inched outward and stopped. The snow fell through the narrow crack into a small pile. He lowered his shoulder and shoved the door against the snow until he could slip through the opening, then grabbed the lantern and pushed his way out. He brushed the pile of snow back out onto the porch and closed the door.

Light from the oil lamps that had burned all night flickered. Gray puffs of hot breath formed small clouds in front of his face and hovered there. Not a breath of wind stirred. That was good. At least he wouldn’t have to deal with blowing and drifting snow. The cold nipped at his face and neck. He cast a thankful look at the copse of pines at the end of the building that had acted as a windbreak and kept the snow from billowing and piling in deep swells in front of the hotel. He tugged his collar up, grabbed the shovel he kept handy by the door and cleared a path across the porch to the steps. It was the work of a few minutes to shovel his way down them and clear his short walkway to the road.

“Morning, Garret!”

The hail carried sharp and clear on the still, cold air. He straightened, swiped his jacket sleeve across his forehead and looked over a high drift between his hotel and Latherop’s General Store. Blake Latherop stood beside a lantern, his legs splayed and his hands folded on the handle of a shovel standing upright in the deep snow.

“Morning, Blake. You figuring on shoveling a path to the depot?”

The store owner nodded, tugged at his gloves and lifted his shovel. “There’s no choice. I have to get the mail. And I’m expecting supplies for the store.”

“I’ll help. There may be some passengers who will want to stay over. That is if the trains are running.” He frowned, glanced toward the surrounding mountains. “I was wondering if they might get blocked by drifts in some of those high passes.”

“I guess we’ll find out.”

“Would you gentlemen like some help?”

He looked beyond Blake to the dark form trudging up the road from the parsonage, a lantern swinging from one hand, a shovel leaning like a weapon against one narrow shoulder.

“Good morning, Pastor. Blake and I were about to start clearing a path to the station.” He tugged his hat closer over his ears, then grabbed his shovel. “How about if I go first and scoop off the top ten or so inches, then you scoop off another shovelful, Blake, and you can clean and even the path, Pastor. That sound all right?”

“Lead on.” Blake grabbed his lantern and shovel and trudged through the snow to join him. “Let me know when you get tired, Garret, and we’ll switch places. We ought to make it all the way to the station in good time doing that.”

“Fair enough.” He whacked the snow off to the side ahead of him with the flat of his shovel and set the lantern on the firm surface, then scooped up a shovelful of snow and tossed it aside. Blake did the same. They fell into a rhythm, their heavy breathing and the swish of the shovels against the snow the only sound.

“If we’re going to...have snow like this...” Blake’s huffs and puffs came floating over his shoulder in small gray billows “...I’m going to...have Mitch make me a...snowplow. One I can hitch behind my horse to...clear the road.”