The Mercantile Owner's Bride Read online

  The Mercantile

  Owner’s Bride

  Mail Order Brides of Dayton Falls

  (Book Three)

  Cheryl Wright

  The Mercantile Owner’s Bride

  (Book 3 – Mail Order Brides of Dayton Falls)

  Copyright ©2019

  by Cheryl Wright

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book

  Thanks

  Thanks to my very dear friends (and authors), Margaret Tanner and Susan Horsnell for their enduring encouragement and friendship.

  Thanks also to Alan, my husband of over 45 years, who has been a relentless supporter of my writing for many years.

  And last, but by no means least, thank you to all my wonderful readers who encourage me to continue writing these stories. It is such a joy to me knowing so many of you enjoy reading my stories. I love writing them as much as you love reading them.

  Chapter One

  Westlake, Wyoming – 1880

  Phoebe Jackson stared at her reflection in the mirror.

  Her face was caked in make up. She wore heavy make up, and her cheeks were powered with rouge. Her lips a dark red.

  Her hair had been carefully styled to match that of all the other young women in the burlesque show.

  Phoebe fingered the skimpy outfit she was wearing. With the distance they were from the stage, the audience couldn’t see how worn and ragged the costumes were. They couldn’t see the missing sequins, or the tiny tears.

  The chunky shoes weren’t much better, with their jagged edges and frayed ribbon.

  But Phoebe didn’t care.

  She held her hands to her heart as it beat wildly. This would be her first professional performance – she’d worked long and hard to get to this point.

  Her dear parents would be so proud of her. They would have attended the performance, indulged her ego, shared in her joy.

  Instead, it was just her. She would pretend they were here, in the audience. She was certain they’d be smiling down on her, so proud of all she’d achieved in her short life despite all the adversity she’d faced.

  At just twenty, she’d been chosen to perform – out of the 85 girls who auditioned, she was one of the chosen few. Only twelve girls made the final cut.

  Her heart skipped a beat.

  “It’s show time!” A teenage boy shouted at them through the door. Since all the girls were in various stages of undress, he was forbidden to enter the dressing room, but they all knew he peeked when he thought he could get away with it.

  Screams of delight riddled the air. Excitement practically bounced off the walls.

  It was time to prove she deserved the place she’d been granted in this most prestigious of burlesque shows.

  * * *

  “Come on girls, keep moving.” Mrs Mac, the choreographer, clapped her hands and scowled as they all ran toward the stage.

  “Opening night.” She took a deep breath. “It must be perfect – all the critics will be here. They will make or break us.”

  Phoebe chewed at her bottom lip. She didn’t want to be the cause of their demise.

  “Smile Phoebe,” Mrs Mac said as the girl got closer. “You will be brilliant.” She leaned closer and whispered in Phoebe’s ear so the others couldn’t hear. “You are one of our best dancers. You have nothing to worry about.”

  Phoebe’s eyes sparkled, and a big smile lit up her face.

  As they took their places on the stage, her heart beat rapidly, and she felt faint. You’ll be alright, she told herself over and over.

  Some of the girls stood still in their places offstage while others stretched and warmed up.

  They all watched the stage manager at the side of the stage, as he counted down on his fingers. One. Two. Three.

  Phoebe took a calming breath as the curtain rose for the first time.

  * * *

  The crowd applauded as the troupe took their final bow. It felt surreal to Phoebe; did she really dance an entire routine without stumbling?

  She looked down into the audience. They were smiling, and many stood. A standing ovation; she never would have believed it.

  Reporters stood to the side, scribbling down notes. What would they say? Would the critics be good to them, or would it be the end?

  Her every step was perfect, she was certain. She’d soon know; she’d be hauled out back if she’d messed up. She was dreading the next few minutes.

  As she glanced to her left, the stage manager stared at her, then nodded his head, a huge smile on his face. She let out the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

  Once they finished bowing to the audience, the dancers all linked arms and danced their way back off the stage.

  The applause continued and they danced back onto the stage the way they’d practiced. Once the applause began to subside, they danced off again.

  Phoebe breathed a huge sigh of relief as they all dispersed.

  Mrs Mac pulled her aside as they made her way back to the shared dressing room. “Perfect,” she said as she clapped her hands together. “That was amazing!”

  Phoebe stared into her eyes and noticed the unshed tears but didn’t dare mention it.

  The older woman swiped at her eyes. “You see how good you are, little one? You made me cry.” She gave a little sniff. “No other dancer has ever made me cry before.”

  She put her arm around Phoebe’s shoulder. “I have big plans for you, my dear. If you continue to work hard,” She suddenly stopped and slapped her hands to her mouth.

  Curious, Phoebe stepped forward and spoke. “If I continue to work hard?”

  She wanted to know. She hadn’t thought beyond the Burlesque Show.

  Mrs Mac lowered her hands and shook her head. “I shouldn’t have said anything,” she said. “I don’t want to give you false hope.”

  “Please,” Phoebe begged. “Please tell me.”

  Mrs Mac took a deep breath. “You mustn’t tell anyone,” she whispered. “Perhaps one day, if you work hard that is…”

  Phoebe waited with bated breath, desperate to know what might be in store for her.

  At that moment, the manager, Mr Grayson, came along and Mrs Mac gave her a little shove. “Off you go Phoebe. Take off your make-up and get ready for bed. That’s a good girl.”

  Phoebe tossed and turned that night, wondering what they had in store for her.

  * * *

  The dancers worked hard.

  They practiced at least two hours a day, until Mrs Mac was happy. Then they danced at night. They did three sessions a night and were all exhausted by the time the curtain came down for the final time.

  “You’re doing fabulously,” Mrs Mac told her one night a few months later. “As I predicted, you are our best dancer. You listen to instructions and do whatever I ask. Mr Grayson was very pleased when I told him.”

  Phoebe grinned.

  She got little in way of payment, but all the girls got room and board for free. Plus there was a cook who looked after them.

  They really wanted for nothing.

  Mrs Mac stepped into her and held her shoulders.

  The beloved choreographer licked her lips before continuing. “Do you know what this means, Phoebe?”

  She shook her head. She really had no idea.

  “Maybe, just maybe, you will get to dance in the Gentleman’s Club.”

  Her eyes sparkled, and she had a huge smile on her face.

&
nbsp; Phoebe did a little dance. “Really?” She almost sang the words, she was so excited.

  The Gentleman’s Club was in the better part of town. The façade was far more prestigious than the regular Burlesque Show where Phoebe danced, and people went there in droves.

  At least that’s what she’d been told.

  As the name suggested, it was for gentlemen only. They paid a much higher price for entry and were treated like royalty.

  So Mrs Mac said, anyway.

  She couldn’t stop grinning. In fact, her face hurt from smiling so much. She clasped her hands together in front of her chest as her heart beat so fast she began to feel faint. “Oh, Mrs Mac! Really?” she asked. “Are you serious? I mean…”

  She didn’t get to finish as the older woman intervened. “Shhhh. Remember what I said. You mustn’t tell a soul.”

  “Enough now,” Mrs Mac said. “Run along and get changed. We’ll talk again another time.” She put her fingers to her lips reinforcing that not a word was to be said.

  Phoebe nodded, then practically skipped toward the dressing room. Her life just took a turn for the better.

  Mama and Papa would have been so proud of her.

  Chapter Two

  Outside of performance times, there was little to keep the girls occupied.

  They had two hours of rehearsals a day, and two hours of performing. Because they weren’t allowed to go out unaccompanied, for their own safety of course, they usually sat around talking. Besides they were generally too tired to do much else.

  The other girls in the troupe were in the same position as Phoebe. Their parents were also deceased.

  As an only child, she was an orphan, alone in the world. She often felt totally alone despite being surrounded by eleven other young women.

  “Shall we venture into town?” What she wouldn’t give do to browse the dressmaker’s shop and see the wonderful array of gowns they had on display there?

  “That would be wonderful!” All the young ladies were quite excited at the prospect, but Phoebe was aware it could never come to fruition.

  They would never be given permission without a chaperone, and that would take all the fun out of going.

  She sat back in her seat and thought about all the possibilities – if she hadn’t joined the Burlesque Show.

  After all, she had a contract, and if she didn’t fulfil it, she would have to pay a fortune to secure her release. Mrs Mac had told her this time and again. It was a legal document and there were severe penalties, even jail, if she broke the contract.

  * * *

  Several of the women in Dayton Falls had suggested it, noticing how overwhelmed he’d become at the Mercantile on a daily basis. And now Edward Horvard decided it was time. He needed a wife.

  The problem was, Dayton Falls had a distinct shortage of eligible unmarried women. Both the sheriff and the barber had acquired their wives via a mail order bride agency in Westlake Wyoming, but Edward did not want to stoop to that level.

  With the small influx of mail order brides, the town had grown. Not only with women, but also the babies they were producing.

  In turn, they needed more supplies. He was struggling to keep up.

  There were supplies to order, stocktakes to undertake, not to mention storing and shelving all the supplies and serving in the store.

  He’d always prided himself on being independent, and not needing any help. But lately it had become way too much for him to handle.

  He’d always believed if the Good Lord wanted him to have a wife, he would have brought a suitable wife to him. But it had become abundantly clear that was not about to happen.

  If he wanted a wife, he’d have to make it happen.

  * * *

  Every day the girls rehearsed. At least two hours a day. It was tiring.

  “The routine must be perfect,” Mrs Mac would tell them. Anyone who messed up was slapped across the legs with a cane stored slightly off-stage for that very reason.

  Phoebe was determined never to feel the sting of that cane or endure the wrath of Mrs Mac.

  There was no favoritism, so despite what Mrs Mac had said to her, Phoebe always did her best.

  She’d managed to stay clear of the wicked cane so far, touch wood.

  Whether that was good luck or skill on the stage, she wasn’t sure, but she had no intention of being on the wrong end of the punishment that had been dished out to more than half the troupe so far.

  As they entered the dressing room after their performance, that night, Phoebe noticed the other girls whispering. Everyone knew the secret apparently, except her.

  “What’s going on?” She hadn’t made any close friends since arriving, so wasn’t sure she’d find out.

  “There’s a rumor going around,” Gemma whispered. “Apparently they’re moving you to the Gentleman’s Club. Very soon.”

  Phoebe squealed with delight.

  “Shhh,” the dancer told her. “No one is supposed to know. Especially you.”

  Phoebe slapped her hands to her mouth.

  “It won’t be much different,” she continued. “More money though, or so I’ve heard.”

  Not that having money of her own had done much good. The girls in the troupe were virtual prisoners. To protect their reputations, they were told.

  Her hands were sweaty. She could barely contain her excitement as she endeavored to remove her make up; she wondered if it were really true. After all, she’d only been part of the show for a mere six months. Surely there were others who were far more qualified.

  Clara leaned toward Phoebe and whispered so only she could hear. “It’s a trap. Get out. Run.”

  Phoebe was confused. “Get out? What do you mean…?”

  “The Gentleman’s Club is a place where men, uh,” Her eyes looked about the room. Everywhere except at Phoebe.

  She watched expectantly. “Where men what?” she asked innocently.

  “I’ll just come out and say it,” Clara said. “Where men pay for women’s services.” She stared directly into Phoebe’s face. “You’ll become a prostitute if you go there. Better to run.”

  Suddenly the door opened and Mr Grayson, the troupe manager, stormed in without care for the state of undress the dancers were in.

  “Phoebe!” he shouted across the room.

  She sat planted to her seat, terror shuddering through her body. He stomped up to where she sat and wrenched her by the arm. “Grab your things from your room, Phoebe.” “You’re leaving for the Gentlemen’s Club. I’ll wait outside.”

  She was in shock and couldn’t move.

  * * *

  Clara leaned forward and hugged Phoebe tightly. “Get out,” she said quietly. “Climb out the window and run. Don’t look back.”

  “I’ll miss you,” Clara said loudly. “Take care.” She pulled the still shocked Phoebe to her feet and pushed her in the direction of Mr Grayson.

  “Hurry up,” the older man shouted. “I don’t have all day.”

  Phoebe ran past him toward her room. “I won’t be long, Mr Grayson,” she said, trying to hide her terror. “I’ll just grab my things.”

  He mumbled under his breath, and Phoebe thought it sounded like “Not that you’ll need clothes.” When she looked back, he had a leering smirk on his face.

  Her heart thudded. Clara must be right. They were going to use her like a piece of meat to satisfy the needs of upper-class gentlemen.

  She’d been told more than once she was pretty, even beautiful. That’s probably all that was needed to qualify. That and being female.

  Her heart began to pound. She continued to run. The quicker she got to her room, the more time she had to leave. If she didn’t get away before Mr Grayson arrived...

  She didn’t want to think about it.

  She ran to her room and locked the door. She didn’t have a lot of possessions and grabbed the meagre items she did own, shoving them into her tattered carpetbag.

  As quietly as she could manage, she slid open the bedroo
m window. Many a night she’d opened that window to let in the fresh air. With six of them sharing room, it was stuffy at night, and she could barely breath sometimes.

  “Phoebe, hurry up!” Mr Grayson rattled the door as he yelled to her.

  “I won’t be long, Mr Grayson,” she called back. “I’m just changing my clothes,” she said, as she dangled one foot onto the small bush that stood back from the window. All she had to do now was manage not to fall.

  If that happened, she would be doomed to the Gentlemen’s Club, and there would be no saving her.

  She put one foot to the top of the bush and clung to the window ledge as she balanced herself. Mr Grayson continued to rattle the door handle, but now he was also pounding on the door.

  She was terrified he was going to break the door down and burst into the room at any moment. She had to be on the ground before that happened or she would be doomed.

  Her carpetbag was holding her back. She couldn’t climb down the bush while juggling the bag, so threw it to the ground.

  She cringed at the loud thud it made as it hit the ground.

  “What the hell are you doing, Phoebe?” Mr Grayson snarled. She could hear him banging against the door, trying to break it down. “Where’s the damned key?” he demanded, still pounding away, trying to gain entrance.

  She knew the moment he’d got inside the room. He let out a string of expletives when he discovered the room empty.

  Cringing within the bush, pulling her bag in with her, within seconds of hearing Mr Grayson’s voice closer than was comfortable, she began shaking and crying at the same time. She slapped a hand across her mouth, trying to stifle any sound she might make.

  “Damn girl is gone,” he shouted, storming out of the room above her.

  Phoebe stayed where she was until she thought it was safe to leave. She couldn’t risk being seen in the daylight.

  It was pitch black by the time she left her hiding place.

  But what would she do now?

  She’d grown up not far from Westlake but had never been out alone in the darkness. Or the daylight for that matter.