The Mercantile Owner's Bride Page 2

  After all the lights had gone out in the building, she crept quickly away from the Burlesque Theatre. A place she wished she’d never set eyes on.

  Phoebe wandered the streets in the dark, until she came to a small laneway.

  The main road was terrifying to her – men looked her up and down, as she still wore her flimsy dance outfit.

  One seedy looking character lurched toward her. She screamed then ran in the opposite direction, until she came across the place she now stood.

  It was not well lit, but the one lantern gave out enough light that she could see almost to the end. She didn’t know what was down that laneway but had no choice but to take the chance. At least she would be off the main streets and out of sight should Mr Grayson decide to come searching for her.

  Clutching tightly to her carpetbag, she made her way further down the street until she came across a two-storey building.

  There was a brass plate on the pillar, but she couldn’t make it out in the dark. A narrow stairway led to a room at the top.

  She gingerly climbed the steps, anxious there might be someone up there who might attack her. She was completely alone, and very vulnerable.

  Once up there, she could see all the way to both ends of the street. She would see someone approaching and would most certainly see Mr Grayson.

  She crouched down in the corner of the little balcony she found at the top of the rickety steps.

  Clutching her carpetbag, she slid to the ground, and squatted. What she would do next, she had no idea.

  She forced her eyes to stay open – she could not defend herself if she fell asleep.

  * * *

  Phoebe lay huddled in the corner of the small balcony. She sensed someone was there before she’d even opened her eyes.

  She slowly opened them keeping her head low, hoping to have an advantage over them when she ran for her life.

  It was daylight, but she had no idea what time it was.

  She smelled the light perfume and noticed the long skirt before even lifting her head. As she slowly scanned higher, she saw the woman was well dressed, her hair pulled back in a tidy bun.

  “And who might you be?” The voice was soft but authoritive.

  She reached down, her hand wavering in mid-air. Reluctantly, Phoebe lifted her hand. Not only was it freezing cold, it was shaking. A testament of the terror she’d faced the previous night.

  After all, who was to say this woman hadn’t been sent by Mr Grayson?

  “You first,” she said, suspicion obvious in her voice.

  The woman nodded. “Alright, that’s fair. I am Miss Bethany Wilde. I own this agency.”

  Phoebe’s head shot up. “Agency? What agency?”

  Miss Bethany Wilde let out a sigh. “I own the Mail Order Bride Agency,” she said. “This is my office.” She pointed toward the locked door, then pulled a key out of her reticule and placed it in the lock.

  “You’re shivering my dear, and no wonder! Look at that skimpy outfit you’re wearing.”

  Thank goodness for the flimsy jacket she had shoved into her carpetbag. She’d be frozen to death if not for that.

  Miss Bethany waved Phoebe into the sparse room. There was little more than a desk with a chair either side, and some files sitting on the ornately carved desk.

  “Sit down, my dear,” she said, busying herself with the woodfire in the corner. “What did you say your name was?”

  Phoebe knew full well she hadn’t disclosed her name to this total stranger. According to Mrs Mac, Mr Grayson had invested a lot in training her, so she would put nothing past him to get her back.

  She glared at the other woman and sat silently.

  Once the fire was lit, warmth soon engulfed the room. Miss Bethany took her place behind the desk, and Phoebe moved closer to the fire, still clutching tightly to her bag. All her worldly goods were in that bag. Not that they amounted to much.

  She extended her hands toward the heat and could feel the other woman’s eyes burn a hole in her back.

  “My dear girl, I am not going to harm you.”

  Phoebe looked back over her shoulder. She seemed harmless enough but continued to stare.

  “You’ve obviously endured a severe trauma. And your clothing,” she waved towards the skimpy outfit Phoebe wore. “Where have you come from, the dance hall?”

  “The Burlesque Show,” she blurted out before she realized what she was saying. She stared for a moment before continuing. Miss Bethany looked appropriately shocked, so perhaps it was safe after all. “I, I had to escape, before it was too late,” she said quietly.

  “Escape? My dear girl, what on earth happened?”

  Phoebe retold the entire story, right down to the fact she was to be shipped off to the Gentleman’s Club under false pretenses.

  Miss Bethany sat there solemnly, her eyes wide with shock.

  “Tell me, Phoebe,” she said, finally prizing her name out of the intrude., “What are you going to do now?” She fiddled about with the files on her desk, putting a small pile of handwritten letters in front of her.

  Phoebe straightened her shoulders and sat straighter in the chair. “I have no idea. I’ve got no money, and don’t know what to do.” Tears began to roll down her face. Until now, she hadn’t thought about the future. But she knew one thing, she had to leave Westlake as quickly as possible.

  “I have an idea.” Miss Bethany pushed several of the handwritten letters in front of her. “These gentlemen are all looking for a mail order bride. I have six letters here, all from young men looking for a wife.”

  “A wife?” Phoebe blurted out. “I don’t want to get married!”

  The shock on the other woman’s face was almost comical. “What? Never?” She continued to push the letters toward Phoebe. “I have vetted these letters, and they all seem quite genuine and sound like lovely gents.”

  Phoebe nodded and took the proffered letters. Understanding finally dawned. It would be a way to get out of town and away from Mr Grayson’s clutches.

  She had no family here, and no reason to stay. She looked down at the letters in her hands. The first one was from a butcher from a small town just a few hours away. That might not be as safe as it seemed. Further away would be better.

  The next one was a little further west, but perhaps still not far enough.

  She continued reading until she read the Mercantile owner’s letter. He lived in a small town in another state. Dayton Falls Montana. She’d never heard of it, which meant perhaps Mr Grayson also hadn’t heard of it.

  She pictured high class ladies visiting the Mercantile for all their necessities.

  It could be fun. And she would be far away from the Burlesque. As far away as she could imagine getting.

  Did she want to get married? Because that would be part of the deal.

  “What does he look like, this Mercantile owner?”

  Miss Bethany smiled. “He does sound nice, but he didn’t send a photograph. Most of them don’t.” She shuffled through her files again. “But he did send a railway ticket and some money to assist his bride to get to him.”

  Phoebe’s eyes lit up. That would certainly solve her problem of no money.

  “I do hope you have another outfit. You can’t travel on the railway looking like that.” Her disgust at the skimpy outfit, as she had called it earlier, was obvious.

  Opening her carpetbag, she pulled out the only other piece of clothing she had. “I have this. It’s a bit tattered, but it’s all I have.”

  “Then it will have to do.”

  Chapter Three

  Edward Horvard stood stiffly behind the counter and glanced around.

  There was only one customer left in the store. “I have to close shortly,” he said. “For about an hour. If you could bring your purchases up to the counter?”

  “But I’m not finished yet,” Mrs Green said indignantly. She waved her long shopping list in the air.

  He walked over to her. “I’ll finish up for you, and I’ll de
liver it later,” he said quietly. “No charge.”

  She stared at him.

  “Just this once. I have to collect someone from the train station.” He pulled his apron up over his head and rolled his sleeves down, then began to put on his jacket which had been placed on the back of a chair. He carefully hung that jacket up each morning, but rarely wore it. Only if it was extra cold.

  Or something special was happening. Like today. Something markedly special was about to happen.

  His new bride was arriving shortly.

  He hadn’t expected her so soon. In fact, he hadn’t expected to hear anything back for quite some time, but the telegram announced her arrival.

  He checked his pocket-watch, then hurried Mrs Green out the door. “I do apologize, Mrs Green,” he said. “But I cannot be late to the station.”

  She nodded but he was aware she reluctantly left the store.

  He turned over the sign on the door, indicating he would be back in one hour. Just enough time to pick up his new bride and take her to the church to get married.

  Edward rubbed his hands together. Despite being disinclined to begin with, perhaps even now, he had been looking forward to this day since he wrote to the Mail Order Bride Agency.

  Today was to be the beginning of his new life.

  He wondered what his bride would look like.

  “Good morning, Edward.” Charlie Samuel stood outside his barber’s shop, waiting for customers to arrive.

  “Good morning, Charlie.” He pulled on his scarf and gloves as he rushed toward the train station. Any other day he would stay and chat. But not today.

  He couldn’t be late picking up his bride. What would she think of him if he left her standing there alone?

  It was a bit of a walk, but he didn’t think she would mind. He usually took the wagon to the train station, but generally when he went, he was collecting supplies.

  Not today. Today was different.

  He held the rumpled telegram in his hand.

  11.15 – his bride would arrive in five minutes. He’d better hurry; he didn’t want to be late.

  The train pulled in as he arrived on the platform.

  The Station Master held his flag out to keep visitors at bay. “Stand back everyone. I don’t want any injuries today.”

  A mother grabbed her toddler as it ventured too close to the train. Edward smiled, amused at the stern look on the Station Master’s face. “Madam,” he said. “Please control that child.”

  Once the train came to a complete standstill, Edward moved closer. He had no idea how he would recognize his bride. He had no photograph of her, nor she of him.

  It could be a farcical escapade for sure.

  People poured out of the carriages, mostly women accompanied by their husbands. In some cases, there were young children too. He could discount those women.

  He stood waiting for more than fifteen minutes and was certain she’d missed the train. It was a long trip from Wyoming, a very long trip. Perhaps she’d alighted at the incorrect station.

  He certainly hoped not. It would be almost impossible to find her if that were the case.

  Finally, a young woman alighted the train. She looked disheveled and disoriented and was clutching a carpetbag that had seen better days.

  He moved toward her cautiously. “Miss Jackson?” he asked quietly. When she nodded slightly, he continued. “I am Edward Horvard. Your betrothed.”

  She looked him up and down, her mouth hanging slightly open. He felt disappointment – she wasn’t expecting someone like him. That was apparent.

  Her flaming red hair had been tied up in a chignon at some point but was now falling out at several places. It was all he could do not to reach out and push it back and make her more presentable.

  Edward felt sorry for her. She’d spend over a week on the train. He’d sent her a ticket for her travel, and some money to ensure she was well fed on the trip, but she looked all skin and bone.

  The dress she wore had seen better days. He had no idea such a trip would be detrimental to her health or her appearance.

  “Miss Jackson?” he asked again, since she still hadn’t acknowledged verbally whether she was indeed his intended.

  She suddenly reached up and brushed her hair behind her ears. “Dearie me,” she said in a rush. “I must look a fright.” With a slight of hand, she released her long flowing hair from its restraints and ran her fingers through it.

  Just as quickly, she had it pulled back into a semblance of order.

  He stood back and stared. With her hair off her face, he could see her better. Really see her. She was a pretty little thing. In fact, he was certain she was beautiful under all that soot.

  He put his hand to the small of her back and faced her in the right direction. “Let’s go home,” he said. “You can have a warm bath and start to feel presentable.”

  * * *

  Phoebe slid down into the inviting bath. It was a very long time since she’d had the luxury of a bath. The dancers were not allowed that indulgence, and soon after her parents had died, she’d been shipped off to the orphanage.

  They certainly didn’t allow them there. A lick and a promise with a bowl of water was the closest they got to a bath.

  She closed her eyes and slid lower. The warm water was like music to her aching body. Riding the railway was not the fun thing it was made out to be. Especially after so many agonizing days.

  She savored the heat and the bubbles and appreciated the effort it had taken for her soon-to-be-husband to organize it for her.

  She washed her hair and rinsed it carefully. She hated to think how much of that horrible soot had been caught up in her locks.

  As he walked her to the bathroom, she had spotted the bedroom. His bedroom – she hoped there was another room for her.

  They were complete strangers, so she hoped he didn’t expect…

  She shook herself mentally.

  Mr Horvard seemed nice enough, and he’d been a perfect gentleman. He’d given her some towels and told her to take her time.

  When she’d first arrived, he’d taken her into the store and told her to choose a pretty dress and some undergarments. Did he know she was destitute? She was appalled at the situation she now found herself in.

  But then again, perhaps he wanted to ensure his soon-to-be-bride looked presentable. A male pride kind of thing.

  She put her hands to her heart when she realized it would only be a matter of hours. perhaps less, and she would no longer be Miss Phoebe Jackson.

  Instead she would be Mrs Edward Horvard.

  She hadn’t expected it to be so quickly, but Mr Horvard, Edward, told her they were to be married later that day.

  The more she thought about it, the better it seemed. She couldn’t afford to tarnish her reputation by staying with an unmarried man, alone in his house – she would be branded a hussy.

  And she was far from that. It was the exact reason she’d fled the Burlesque.

  She heard a tap on the door. “Miss Jackson? Phoebe?” he called through the door. “As soon as you’re ready, we’ll head to the church.”

  His footsteps on the wooden floorboards alerted her that he’d already returned to the store where he said he would be waiting.

  She knew he was the Mercantile owner, that much was in his letter, but she hadn’t expected the store to be so big. Nor did she expect to see the wide array of items that he carried.

  His letter hadn’t said much. Hardworking, Christian storeowner seeks wife. Required to tend to house and help in store occasionally.

  That was the full extent of his introduction.

  To be fair, he didn’t have time to get to know her, nor she him. But he seemed nice enough.

  She was here now, and about to be wedded. She would find out soon enough exactly what was expected of her. She’d come so far to marry this stranger, and she wasn’t about to turn back now.

  Besides, where would she go? She had broken her contract and was now a wanted woma
n.

  Chapter Four

  It was a short walk to the Dayton Falls church.

  “Up the road and around the corner,” Edward had said, and that’s exactly where it was.

  She could feel strange eyes on her as he walked her down the main street before they turned the corner to the church. She was certain the town’s people were wondering who this strange woman was, hanging off the Mercantile owner’s arm.

  She straightened her shoulders and clung to him a little tighter.

  When they arrived at the small church, Edward introduced her to the preacher. He looked her up and down, and for a preacher, he didn’t seem too friendly toward her.

  He went to the back of the church to prepare, and Edward explained he was not very amenable toward mail order bride marriages.

  Phoebe glanced down at her dress. It was pretty, but was it pretty enough to be a wedding dress? She had always dreamed of being a beautiful bride dressed all in white, with a long train trailing behind her.

  As though he could read her thoughts, Edward leaned close to her and whispered. “You look beautiful.” He reached over and brushed her hair back behind her ears. When she was dancing, her hair was always up, and he wouldn’t have been able to do that.

  Smiling, she nodded, then stared at the preacher as he prepared for their marriage.

  At that moment she vowed to be a good wife. To prove to the preacher that all things were possible, that because love wasn’t involved, it didn’t mean they couldn’t make a good marriage.

  Because she was certain they could; would make sure they did.

  The preacher nodded. Edward looked down at her again and smiled. He squeezed her hand, then led her toward the altar, where they would say their vows.

  With his bible held open in his hands, the preacher began the ceremony.

  It seemed like forever later when he finished. “I now pronounce you man and wife. May love abound.” He stared at them both. Phoebe was certain it was a message for them both. To affirm that mail order marriages wouldn’t last.

  “You may kiss the bride,” he finally told Edward, and slammed the bible closed, as though by doing so he was making a statement about his opinion of this particular marriage.