Santa Fe Mail Order Brides Box Set Page 3

  “Course, I suspect Walter will be wantin’ you boys to stay the night with him and the missus instead of driving back in the dark,” Eli added.

  Matt stared at his Pa for a few moments, his brows wrinkled in confusion.

  “Why we goin’ to town?” he finally asked when Eli didn’t add anything more. “We out of somethin’?”

  Eli chuckled and tossed another forkful of dried grass onto the wagon bed.

  “That gal must really be somethin’,” Eli mused and turned a smile on Matt. “You forget what day of the week it is?” he teased. “The stage is due in around four, if you leave now, you’ll have time to help Mr. Croft with the mail.”

  Matt’s heart skipped a beat when clarity struck. He couldn’t believe he’d been so preoccupied with thinking about Grace that he almost missed the chance to check for her next letter. Grinning from ear to ear, he turned and grabbed Mark by the ear, dragging him to the front of the wagon.

  “Thanks, Pa,” Matt called, as he leaned forward for the team’s reins, his hands blindly searching for them in his excitement. With one gripped firmly in each hand, he lightly snapped them against the mules’ rears and clucked his tongue for them to move out.

  “Slow down there, big brother,” Mark teased with a large grin. “We wouldn’t want to break a wheel before we get home. How would we get to town then?”

  Matt returned his brother’s grin with one of his own.

  “I guess you’ll have to carry me then,” Matt quipped. “You always could run faster than me.”

  Chapter Two

  July 2, 1899

  “M other, look!” Grace burst through the kitchen door from the side alleyway, her gray skirts whipping around her ankles in her haste. She thrust a large white box between her mother’s face and the black, cast iron stove. “It finally came in, I can’t wait to try it on,” she announced.

  “Grace Margaret Williams,” Mary Williams scolded. “Are you trying to burn the hotel down? Get that away from the stove,” she admonished and swept both the box and her daughter aside with one arc of her thin arm. She was rather powerful for a forty-one-year-old woman of all five feet inches tall. Grace knew her mother attributed both her strength and fortitude to her Irish heritage, but there was also the matter of Mary’s temper – which the petite woman would deny having.

  Grace knew better than to interrupt her mother while she was at work, but she couldn’t help coming by to show off her beautiful new dress. Of course her excitement could be contributed to their upcoming trip as well, but she would lavish plenty over the dress. She’d had it special ordered from Jeanne Hallée, a famous French dressmaker from Paris, through Coulter and Sons Dressmakers in San Francisco.

  Pulling up one corner of the box’s lid, she peeked inside at the rich, emerald green folds of satin. No, it wasn’t proper wear for the environment to which they were headed, but the color would bring out the golden flecks in her eyes. She couldn’t wait to try it on and get a real good idea of how it looked on her.

  “Do you want bacon fat all over it?” Mary demanded and slammed the lid shut with an open palm. “Good grief girl, it cost a fortune, take it home and I’ll look at it later,” she said, and turned back to the stove to stir some bubbling liquid.

  “It’s not exactly stew weather outside, Mother,” Grace observed and moved over to peer down into the boiling pot. “What’s the occasion?” She took the wooden spoon from her mother and dipped it into the thick liquid. Giving it a couple good stirs, she brought it back out with a dab of steamy stock cradled in the center. Bringing it to her mouth, she gently blew across it before tasting it.

  Closing her eyes, she moaned when the savory soup hit her tongue. Her mother’s beef stew was the best she’d ever tasted, but it wasn’t a dish she often made for the hotel guests. It was a special meal Mary usually prepared for herself and Grace at home.

  Handing the spoon back to Mary, Grace glanced down at her from the corner of her eye.

  “Care to enlighten me?” she asked and smiled when Mary blushed and turned back to stirring the stew, burying her head in the plume of steam rising from the stove.

  “I told them about our trip,” Mary mumbled and continued to stir as if Blackbeard’s treasure chest was buried in the depths of meat and vegetables.

  Grace knew by “them” her mother referred to the hotel owners, Mr. and Mrs. Collins. They were roughly her mother’s age and she’d grown close with Mrs. Collins in the time she’d worked for them.

  “And?” Grace prompted, sensing a deeper element to the explanation. “They requested the stew because you’ll be gone for a few months? I know they’ll miss you, but that doesn’t warrant a celebratory dish.”

  Mary huffed and dropped the spoon on the counter beside the stove. She whirled to stare up at her five-foot-seven-inch tall daughter and hastily wiped her hands on her stained apron.

  “And, I may have told them that I don’t plan on comin’ back,” Mary announced with a firm nod of her head. She then raised her head, tilting it in that stubborn way of hers and waiting for Grace’s reaction. Grace recognized the gleam in Mary’s eyes, it meant she’d made up her mind and nothing short of God’s command would change it.

  Surprised, but pleasantly so, Grace smiled and pulled her mother into her arms for a warm embrace. Since her father had died last year, it had just been the two of them and they’d grown even closer in his absence. They were much more than mother and daughter, they were the best of friends.

  It meant a lot to her that Mary was willing to stay by her side during the upcoming adventure. Of course, the original plan had been for Mary to stay long enough to see how things would fare and then she’d make her way back home.

  “There’s no guarantee that I’ll be stayin’,” Grace murmured softly. “You shouldn’t quit your job until we see how things go.”

  Mary laughed and pulled back to peer up at her daughter, her sea green eyes twinkling mischievously.

  “As if any man with half a brain would refuse to marry you,” she admonished tartly. “And if he did, I’d have his head examined by one of those fancy brain doctors.”

  Grace laughed and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Mary’s forehead. She knew she shouldn’t argue; she’d quit her own job a few hours before. No matter how things worked out, she wouldn’t be returning to Charleston. If her adventure didn’t work out as she hoped, she’d rather travel and see the world than be stuck in one place with nothing but an occupation to look forward to each day.

  She loved her job at the newspaper, but being a woman, there was only so much she was allowed to do. She wrote articles for their church and designed ads for the hotel, but she craved much more than just mundane news, something more than reporting new births, writing obituaries for people she’d known for years, and this week’s hotel menu.

  She needed something new, something exciting, and this town just couldn’t provide either for her.

  She’d tossed and turned over her alternate plan. She knew Mary would never travel like she wanted to and Grace couldn’t imagine spending a day without her mother at her side. She’d made up her mind, but kept her decision open just in case she had to improvise.

  She’d never meant for Mary to quit doing the one thing that had managed to ease her through her husband’s unexpected death. So the stew wasn’t exactly a special request from Mr. and Mrs. Collins as much as it was an apology dish from Mary to the patrons she’d be saying goodbye to.

  “I love you,” Grace said.

  “Oh, you,” Mary brushed a stray tear and whipped her hand towel at Grace. “Out with you,” she commanded. “Take that fancy dress home and hang it up. I’ll be on shortly.” She turned back to the stove and Grace smiled when she heard a light sniffle.

  She swept the box off the table and headed back out into the alleyway. Turning right onto Main Street, she walked the short distance to the small house they shared. Stopping in the street just in front of the wrought iron gate, Grace studied the small, wooden struc
ture. Mary had to sell their larger house last year and they moved into this modest, drab little cottage sitting just beside the General Store.

  It wasn’t as grand as the brick estate they’d left behind, but the one bedroom, small kitchen, and even smaller gathering room was enough for the mother-daughter duo. Mary had also sold all their furniture and chosen to buy only the essentials for their new home, but she’d taken some care when it came to fixing the little house up. Box planters nestled beneath the two front windows, a plethora of colorful flowers fighting for growing room. Small shrubs lined each side of the little stone walkway and a few went in opposite directions to skirt the little stoop covering the steps.

  Grace stood still and studied every small detail about the little home she and Mary had made their own. She let it all burn into her memory. In a little more than a week’s time, she and Mary would be on a train heading south. She’d travel for a week or so – heck, she’d travel for years – to meet the man she’d fallen in love with through a series of letters.

  He’d yet to mention the possibility of them meeting in person and she’d grown tired of waiting. She’d decided to embrace the coming new century by adopting a bold sense of control. If Matthew Wells wasn’t ready to meet her, he’d darn well better get ready because she was going to track him down.

  Chapter Three

  July 7, 1899

  “S he’s on her way here!” Matthew exclaimed as he perused Grace’s letter to the very end. As usual, he’d quickly scanned the multitude of loops and scrawls, and then calmed himself before going back and reading it letter for letter. He’d take his time on subsequent readings, and savor every little word.

  Mark dropped the large mail bag outside the little building that served as both post and telegraph offices and sauntered over to peer down at the stationery in Matt’s shaking hands.

  “Well, I’ll be,” Mark drawled and clapped his brother firmly on the back. “We’d better get you bathed and shaved or she’ll take one look at you and run for home.” He chuckled and then sobered when Matt turned to glare at him. “Hey, I’m just teasin’ you Matthew, don’t get upset.”

  Matthew shook his head and looked back down at the letter. Here he’d been working up the gumption to send for her and she was already on her way to him. Why did the idea of seeing her for the first time scare him? They’d been writing for almost three months, it was like they already knew each other very well.

  “What if she doesn’t like me?” he murmured, not meaning to say it out loud.

  “Hey, whoa there,” Mark demanded, and reached forward to push the hand holding the letter down. “How long have you two been writin’ one another?”

  “Almost three months,” Matt answered softly.

  “I understand why you didn’t send for her right away,” Mark consoled his brother. “You are the shiest man I’ve ever met and you want to make sure she’s the one before she travels all that way, right?” Mark asked and Matt nodded, a bit shamed that his brother knew him so well. “Back to my point, has she once, in the past three months, let on that she wasn’t interested in you anymore?” Mark asked.

  “No,” Matt replied. “But that was before, you know, when we were just markings on a piece of paper. It was easier when we had the future before us. There was no pressure. We were free to express ourselves and be who we are without worry of being ridiculed or weighed,” he explained, and then lifted his eyes to meet Mark’s. “I’m afraid I won’t know what to say or how to act when I stand before her. What if I freeze up and she thinks I’m dimwitted or somethin’?”

  “What does Pa say to do in times like this?” Mark demanded, suddenly taking the role of the elder brother. “What would he say?”

  Matt inhaled deeply and exhaled gently, his frown blooming into a small smile. Mark was right. If God intended for them to be together, they would be. However, it was up to them to take that first step. God only led a person so far and then He handed them the reins to continue the journey. He never abandoned His flock, but He did want them to forge their own paths.

  “He would tell me to pray,” Matt replied, the pressure in his chest deflating. “He would tell me to give it to God and be true to my faith.” He refolded the letter, stuffing it back into the envelope, and then tucked it gently in the breast pocket of his shirt. Bending down, he lifted the last mail bag and tossed it over his shoulder. He gave his brother a wink and then carried it into the post office for Mr. Croft.

  The fifty-year-old man stood behind the telegraph counter, sorting the first bag Mark had hauled in. He wore a white shirt with a black vest and matching visor on his head. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and he kept them in place with a strap of black material tied around each forearm.

  Mr. Croft had been a dentist in Chicago before moving to New Mexico. He claimed he needed the warmer climate because of his creaky joints. He was another of the town’s bachelors, and Matthew couldn’t believe Mr. Croft had never managed to marry. He seemed perfectly content to remain single and run his office with a competent efficiency most women would marvel at.

  “Thank you, boys,” Mr. Croft beamed when they marched in with the last bag. “I appreciate the help, I just ain’t as strong as I used to be,” he mumbled and turned his attention back to the multitude of letters scattered before him.

  Mark threw Matthew an amused glance and then jerked his head in the direction of Walter Mather’s house.

  “I’m gonna mosey on over to Mr. Mathers and see what’s for supper,” he called and headed toward the door.

  “Go on ahead,” Matt called in response. “I’ll head over to Mrs. Cece’s and make sure she has room for Grace.”

  Mr. Croft’s head snapped up and the corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled.

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  Matt offered the man a friendly smile and tapped the letter sticking out of his shirt pocket.

  “The young lady I’ve been correspondin’ with is comin’ for a visit,” he explained and blushed again at the thought of her. “I just got her letter – she’s set to arrive on next week’s train and I need to make sure Mrs. Cece has a room for her or else I’ll have to find her someplace else to stay.”

  Mr. Croft waved his hand dismissively.

  “I’m sure Cece has plenty of room, she’s done a right fine job on that old saloon,” Mr. Croft said. “Go on now, git,” he shooed, with his face glowing in amusement.

  Matthew tipped his dusty brown hat and turned to head out. He pulled the door closed behind him and slowly made his way down the street to Cece’s. He marveled at how much their neighborhood had grown the past seven years.

  Each year that passed saw a new business opening up nearby: first Mr. Mather’s newspaper had gone statewide by way of the stagecoach, then Mrs. Cece bought the saloon and upgraded it and then Mr. Croft had opened the post office. A couple years later a few Chinese fellows came to town after the railroad’s completion and started a laundry business. After that, the little town continued to grow in leaps and bounds.

  His pa’s church had grown too. They’d had to add a bigger room to accommodate the new citizens. Surprisingly, most all the newcomers were men, and Santa Fe still lacked the proper female population. So the Santa Fe Stagecoach Mail Order Bride services continued to flourish as well.

  Matt liked that Elijah had found something to concentrate on. He hated watching his pa mourn over the loss of his mother. Being church minister seemed to help some, but when Mrs. Cece had arrived and they decided to start placing ads for mail order brides, Elijah had come alive.

  He loved his flock and his family and wanted everyone to find the type of love he’d had with Matthew’s mother, Janet. Matt knew this because he’d had many late night talks with his pa while sitting in front of the fireplace. Eli would be planning the upcoming church sermon and Matt hated seeing him sitting there all alone, so he would sit with him and whittle on something just to keep him company.

  After a while they’d begin talking a
nd it would go on for hours. Matt loved hearing about his parents and their life together. He still remembered his ma and her beautiful smile. But mostly he remembered the way his pa’s face would light up when she came in the room.

  He’d always wanted a love like that. He wanted a wife he could share everything with. He thought he felt that kind of connection with Grace and hoped she was the one.

  “Well, I suppose I’ll know soon enough,” he muttered to himself.

  He opened the boarding house’s front door for the Sandler twins and their dates and then turned to watch them descend the stone steps. He couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy as he watched two of his good friends escort equally beautiful girls on an excursion. From the way both boys smiled down at the girl on his arm, Matt figured there would be a double wedding coming soon.

  One of the twins, David, he believed it was, turned and shot Matt a devilish grin over his shoulder. Matt shook his head but returned the smile.

  “You gonna stand out here all night?” a female voice asked from the double wooden doors. Matt turned and smiled at Cece. She stood holding one the doors open, the oil lamp casting a golden glow on her face.

  “No ma’am,” Matt responded and followed as she turned and headed back inside. He pushed the door closed and entered the big parlor to the right. Mrs. Cece had renovated the saloon with a set of hand-drawn plans. She was the kind of woman who knew what she wanted and refused to take ‘no’ for an answer. She’d designed the floor plan to accommodate plenty of comfortable guest suites, a dining room large enough to house a table that could seat twenty and a formal reception room so her guests could receive visitors without having to leave.

  She moved over to a fancy couch and lowered herself to sit with a slight groan.