The Springtime Mail Order Bride (2 page)

He stopped fussing with hi
s shirtfront and looked at her. “You’ll do no such thing, girl. You’re going to stay and fix this.” For emphasis, he shoved the napkin he’d been using in her face. “Clean me.”

Samantha swallowed hard, and complied. She took the napkin, poured some hot water onto it, and began to scrub at the w
ine stains on his shirt. “This isn’t going to be enough to get it out,” she said.

He rested his hands on his hips and stared down at her. “No? We’ll see about that,” he said in an amused tone. “After we’re married, perhaps I’ll have you wash all my shirts this way.”

She froze as a sick feeling sunk into the pit of her stomach. “What?” barely escaped her lips.

“You heard me. As soon as you turn eighteen, you’re going to marry me.”

She stumbled away from him, her face locked in shock. “I can’t marry
you
!”

“Why not? Besides,
who else would you marry? After all, you’re dirty most of the time, skinny, have no manners, and haven’t a brain in your head. The
only
hope of marriage you have is with me. I’m doing you a huge favor!”

Samanth
a backed into a chair and fell onto it. “No …”

He took a few steps toward her. “Oh, yes …
” he said as he reached out, took a lock of her long brown hair, and rubbed it between two fingers. “And once we’re married,” he added as he bent his face to hers. “I’ll own you, and
everything else
.”

Samantha
shook her head, her eyes shut tight against his words. How could this be happening? She’d dreamt of being out of her uncle’s house for years, and now this?  The thought of a life of servitude, and Heaven only knew what else at the hands of this brute, was too much.  Samantha opened her eyes and stared him in the face. “No, you won’t. Because I will
never
marry you!”

He stood straight and smiled
down at her. “Won’t you? Well, we’ll see about that.”  He grabbed her by the hair and started to drag her from the room. She fought against him but it was no use.  He dragged her up the stairs to the second floor, then up another set of stairs to the attic.  He opened the door and flung her into the sparse room. “Spend the night with the spiders, my dear, and in the morning, you may wash my shirt.”

Samantha
stood stock-still as the attic door slammed behind her. She hated the dark, but she hated what crawled through out the attic more.  She’d learned to stay away from corners, rafters and anywhere else the eight-legged beasts made their home.  And so, as on so many other nights her uncle doled out the same punishment, Samantha sat huddled in the middle of the room until morning. 

* * *

The sound of a key in the lock startled Samantha out of her doze. She’d slumped to the floor and lay curled in a ball for the last hour while waiting for Uncle Burr to let her out. He didn’t, and her guess was he’d slept later than usual.

“Get up, and get to work,” he said as he opened the door.

She got to her feet and brushed the dust from her dress. He glared at her as she finished, and came to the door. “Uncle,” was all she offered in return.

“I trust you’ve learned your lesson and will hold your tongue on this marriage matter. It’s for the best, and I guarantee you’ll not regret it once things are settled.”

She eyed him. What was he talking about? Once a marriage to him was settled, she’d be worse off then ever.

“I’ve decided I don’t want you washing my shirt or anything else. You’ll ruin them, I’m sure, and they have to last until next month. Take them to Mrs. Daggert. Now.”

“
But Uncle Burr, can’t I have some breakfast first? I had no dinner and …”

“Do as you’re told! You can eat something when you get back.”

She sighed, and bit her lip to keep from saying anything that might win her another night in the attic.  “It will take me longer to get these to her. She’s staying at her sisters this week, and doing her work there.”

“Fine, just hurry back. I’ve an appointment this afternoon and want to have my lunch before I leave.”

“Yes, Uncle.” She brushed past him and descended the stairs to the second story, noting the drab walls and worn-out furniture. The rest of the house was much the same: dark, dreary, cold.  What she wouldn’t give to be someplace else, to get as far away as possible from her uncle, New Orleans and …

The woman she met the day before popped into her head.
I’m going to Oregon City …

That sounds far away.

It is …

“West,” she mumbled under her breath. She paused and glanced over her shoulder as Uncle Burr came down the attic stairs, then turned back and hurried to the first floor of the house. She grabbed her shawl, took the coins left on a table in the foyer for laundry, and rushed out the front door. She’d go straight to The Ridgley Mail Order Bride Service, and see if they could help her.  She’d rather go west and marry a stranger than marry Uncle Burr. Anything had to be better than staying in New Orleans and face such a fate!

The thought pushed her through the streets and
she noted how the buildings became more run-down the closer she got to her destination.  Uncle Burr’s home wasn’t in the best area of the city, but it wasn’t the worst either. Maybe she could find a way to afford becoming a mail order bride. She did have a small amount stashed away in her room, but had no idea if it was enough. She’d find out she supposed, as she at last stood outside the building. She had an odd feeling of being watched, and glanced around to make sure Uncle Burr wasn’t about to jump out, grab her, and drag her home. She saw no one she recognized, and so went inside.

  She studied her surroundings and noted several doors to her left, two in front of her, and a staircase to her right. A huge Negro man was coming down the stairs, and Samantha shrank back at his approach. He was gigantic and fierce looking, but his eyes were warm. She relaxed as he reached the bottom. “Excuse me, but do you know where I might find The Ridgley Mail Order Bride Service?”

“Yes ma’am. It’s right at da top of da stairs here. Do you have an appointment?”

“No, I … didn’t know I needed one … I’m in a bit of a hurry, and wanted information.”

He looked her over, and she suddenly felt self-conscious.  Her hair and face were clean, but her dress and shoes were another story. “Go on up. Tell Mrs. Ridgley Solomon sent you.”

She smiled her thanks, and went up the stairs.  When she reached the landing she found a small waiti
ng area and noted a sign depicting the first door on the right as Mrs. Ridgley’s office. This was it.  Once she walked through that door, her life could be forever changed. 

As Samantha stepped over the threshold, she hoped and prayed it would, or she’d face a fate she couldn’t begin to imagine.

Two

  
Arlan Weaver wiped the sweat from his brow with a shirtsleeve before he turned and took in the sight of his tiny cabin. He’d built it with his own two hands, spent months doing the extra work and care needed to make it look like a home. It had one room that served as kitchen/dining/and parlor, with a separate room that would be used for the bedroom.  He smiled at the thought, and went back to putting the finishing touches on the fireplace mantle. 

He’d heard women liked such things, and enjoyed placing little bobbles on mantles, plate rails, windowsills, and tucking pretties here and there through out a room. It was part of what made a house a home, according to his mother, and he wasn’t going to argue with her.  After all, being a woman herself, she would know such things. He and his brothers on the other hand, hadn’t spent much time in the presence of female company, and weren’t as up on the creatures as they ought to be. He sure hoped he knew enough to make his marriage work, considering he had yet to meet his bride.  But first things first, she was at least on her way, and that’s all that mattered. 

When he’d asked Sheriff Spencer Riley to help him obtain a mail order bride, the man wrote a letter up the very next morning. He then gave it to Arlan, who sent it off with most of his savings, trusting Sheriff Riley when he said Mrs. Ridgley would send a suitable bride along as soon as possible. Thank the Lord, he got a response right away, one that said the woman she chose was already en route.  He did think it rather odd there was no correspondence involved, but neither had the Riley brothers had a chance to correspond with their own brides. But their marriages turned out fine, and the brothers couldn’t be happier. Besides, he didn’t read or write as well as he’d like, and didn’t want to have to deal with things such as penning letters. He knew he needed to take the time to improve in both areas, but was always too busy working.

Speaking of which,
he needed to get the plowing started, and hoped his future bride was no stranger to hard work. There was a lot of it on the farm, and for a while, Arlan knew he’d not only have his work, but would have to guide his brothers until they could run their mother’s farm on their own.  At their age one would think the three would have settled down by now, the twins anyway. But they were like three, young wild horses that didn’t enjoy the thought of being corralled by a woman. 
Any
woman. However, once they saw the happiness a woman could bring, they might change their minds and join the rest of the civilized world.

Arlan stepped back to inspect his handiwork, and smiled. “Not bad,” he said to himself. “I hope you like it … Mrs. Weaver.” A chill went up his spine at the words, and he closed his eyes.

What would it be like to hold a woman in his arms? To whisper
I love you
into her ear then kiss her tenderly? To get up with her every morning, and go to bed with her every night?  Aralan opened his eyes. “Heaven …” he sighed.

He turned
from the fireplace and did one last walk through the cabin to make sure everything was ready.  His mother made an arrangement of dried flowers for the table, and he ran a finger over the white lace tablecloth.  It was the same tablecloth given to his parents when they first married, and Arlan was proud to use it. 

He stuck a hand in
his thick, brown hair, took a last look around the cabin, and satisfied all was ready, went to prepare for the long drive to town. By this time tomorrow, he’d be a married man.

* * *

Samantha pulled her shawl tightly about her. It had been a long, cold trip ever since the stage coach portion of the journey began.  The train had been much more comfortable, once she’d stopped looking over her shoulder that is, and she chastised herself more than once for thinking Uncle Burr would set out to track her down.  But no one followed, as far as she could tell, nor was anyone waiting for her at any of the train or stage stops.

At long last, she felt safe.  And
free.

Mrs. Ridgley had just received a new request for a mail order bride the morning Samantha showed up.  Solomon her assistant, had handed it to her before he went downstairs, met Samantha, then sent her to the office.  The good Lord had been watching over her, and Samantha cried with relief all the way home.  It was all she could do to get through the next day knowing she’d soon be on a train heading west.  Of course, convincing Mrs. Ridgley she would be of age by the time she arrived at her destination did take some doing. But when she learned of her predicament, and heard the name “Slade” amidst their conversation, she had Samantha sign the marriage contract right away. Why the mention of Mr. Slade got Mrs. Ridgley hackles up, Samantha had no idea.  What she did know was he had once again been in the shadows, watching the building from across the street. His presence gave her pause, and she wondered if he recognized her. Would Uncle Burr find out what she planned through Mr. Slade? After all, he came by the house to collect money from her uncle at least every other week, sometimes more.  No doubt he was there to collect gambling debts, but what did she know? Uncle Burr never told her anything about his business. He never told her anything about …
anything.

What would it
be like to be free?  To know what was going on in the world around her, to read a newspaper, a book? Most of the time she didn’t know what happened outside her own door. There were even times she didn’t know what day it was.  Uncle Burr liked to keep her in the dark as much as he liked to keep her in the attic.  If she knew all these years what she learned in the small amount of time spent with Mrs. Ridgley, she would have escaped the confines of her uncle’s house a long time ago. By keeping her ignorant, he was able to keep her prisoner.  But she was a prisoner now more.

The stage roun
ded a corner and slowed, and the passengers began to straighten in their seats in anticipation. She pulled back the leather flap covering the window and peeked outside. Sure enough, the stage had arrived at the next stage stop. The little town of Nowhere, in the Washington territory.  It wasn’t Oregon, but it was definitely out west!

* * *

Samantha was the last
to disembark, and before she did anything else, she grasped her shawl tightly around her.  The air was cold, the wind colder, and she had no idea the weather would have such a chill this far west. There were a lot of things she realized she didn’t know as she made the long journey. She hadn’t had any schooling since her uncle took her into his house, and as she traveled, she decided she would learn as much about the world around her as possible. That meant first and foremost, learning all she could about Arlan Weaver, her future husband.  Speaking of which, where was he?

Samantha scanned the immediate
area and didn’t see anyone that looked like they’d been waiting for her.  She then glanced at her worn-out dress and dirty shoes. She’d left New Orleans with nothing but the clothes on her back, and supposed she didn’t look much like a mail order bride.

She swallowed hard.  What if he changed his mind?  What if he saw her get off the stage and suddenly decided he didn’t want such a scrawny thing for a wife? Her back stiffened at the thought, and she had to fight against tears. It was then she saw him.

He sat high upon a wagon seat and was looking right at her, his eyes riveted in fact. He
pulled the team of horses to a stop, set the brake, and without taking his eyes from her, climbed down.

Once on the ground, he slowly approached, as i
f she might disappear, which gave her time to study him.

  He was huge, the biggest man she’d ever seen, and broad through the chest. His hair, what she could see of it, was a dark chestnut brown, his eyes a bright blue. She had to suck in a breath to stay on her feet as he came closer. He was the handsomest man she had ever seen, and she marveled at the sheer strength that seemed to encompass the very air around him.

He drew near, and when he looked down at her small frame, he frowned.  “Are
you
… Miss Carter?”

His voice was deep, edgy … scary. Oh dear …  She managed to take a breath before answering. “Yes,” she said, and looked up into his eyes. They were mesmerizing.
He looked her over carefully, as if inspecting a horse, then walked around her, his eyes taking in every inch. Yet, she did not feel insulted by his scrutiny. Instead she felt,
warm
.

Through with his inspection, he began to glance around. “Where are your things?” he asked, suspicious.

Her eyes widened before she closed them in resignation. “I
… I don’t have any.”

She felt him come closer, and her e
yes opened the instant his hands touched her arms and fingered her flimsy shawl. “You’ll freeze in this. Come with me.”  He took her by the hand and pulled her toward the wagon. She expected him to stop and help her climb up, but he didn’t. Instead they kept going, and went straight to the mercantile.  He pulled her up the stairs to the doors, she having to scramble to keep up with him, and once at the top, he ushered her inside.

She was welcomed by a warm blast of air,
and she sighed in pleasure. He looked at her, with the same annoyed look as before, and marched her straight to the counter. “Aunt Betsy?” he bellowed.

Footsteps could be heard coming up a back hall, and a handsome young man with spectacles went beh
ind the counter. “Arlan? This is a surprise. What are you doing here?”

“I came to town to get married. My bride seems to have forgotten her coat. Give me one, will you cousin?”

The man looked her up and down, then gawked at Arlan Weaver, her future husband. “Married?
You
?”

“Yes, me. I’ll need a few other things too.” He let go her hand,
and studied her. “What size do you think she is?”

The man behind the counter pushed his spectacles up his nose and looked Mr. Weaver in the eye. “Why don’t you ask her? I’m sure she knows.”

He turned to her. “What size dress do you wear?”

Samantha shivered.
How could she say she didn’t know? She was to get a new dress on her birthday, which, come to think of it, was today. She gasped with the thought.

“What’s wrong? Don’t you know?” he asked.

She looked at him, her eyes filling with tears.  She was eighteen today, and free … oh so free. So what if she didn’t know what size dress she wore? She’d learn. She’d learn a lot of things. She looked up into the eyes of her future husband. “I don’t. But I’m sure I can guess.”

He sized her up. “So can I,” he said and turned to the counter. “Small.”

“How astute,” the man behind the counter commented dryly. “What else do you need?”

Mr. Weaver took her hand again and pulled her a few feet away from the counter. “This is all you have, huh?”

She stood straight. “Yes.”

He put his hands on his hips, sighed, and looked at the man behind the counter again. “Where’s your wife, cousin?”

“In the kitchen. Why?”

“Fetch her, I’d like to speak with her a moment.”

“What for?”

Mr. Weaver faced him. “Just do it, I’m losing daylight.”

  “Very well, be right back.” He left them and disappeared down the hallway.

“That’s my cousin Matthew. He just got married last month. His wife Charlotte will know what you’ll need out at the farm. What happened
to your things? Were you robbed?”

She looked to the wood floor. “No,” she said and fingered
the frayed ends of her shawl. “This … this is all I have. It’s what I left New Orleans with.”

His mouth dropped open
in shock. “What? You mean you left with nothing but the clothes on your back? What kind of woman leaves … you aren’t in trouble with the law, are you?”

“No! Oh dear Heavens, how could you
even think …” she stopped as she realized how easy it was to think such a thing. “I’m not a criminal, I’m just … poor.”

He c
losed the distance between them, and looked into her eyes. “Not anymore,” he said, his voice gentle.

“Mr. Weaver, how nice to see you again,” came a woman’s voice from behind
them. “Matthew tells me you’re getting married today.”

He turned to her, and motioned toward Samantha. “Yes, but she’ll need a dress, and whatever else you think she’ll be wanting to have out at the farm. You know we don’t come to town much.”

The woman looked her over carefully, and again Samantha felt self-conscious. “I see, well then, where to begin…” She walked a circle around her, as Mr. Weaver had done. “Matthew, I never thought I’d say this, but fetch me your mother.”

Matthew groaned. “You
do realize what you’re about to subject this poor girl to?”

“I do.”

“Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He looked at Samantha. “Brace yourself.”

“What are you two t
alking about?” Mr. Weaver asked as the woman went back down the hall.