Page 2 of Leftover Mail-Order Bride (Frontier Brides #2)

H e was a bit rough around the edges, like his clothing, but there seemed to be something honest and true about Jack Willets. Then again, she’d been fooled before.

Mrs. Dalrymple gathered her knitting and rose as they approached the parsonage. Victoria had seen the bundle of yarn and needles in the woman’s hands several times over the last few days, but the scarf never seemed to grow. The minister’s wife smiled at both of them now. “Well, it was very nice to see you again, Mr. Willets. I expect you’ll be at services on Sunday.”

Mr. Willets tipped his hat at her. “Yes, ma’am.” He looked to Victoria. “Perhaps I could sit with you, Miss Milford.”

He was still interested! Her heart fluttered, and she scolded herself. Hadn’t she learned to take things slower this time? “That would be lovely, Mr. Willets. Until then.”

He inclined his head and strode off across the fields toward where the land was being prepared for the new church.

Mrs. Dalrymple tsked. “Not a promising start.”

“Why do you say that?” Victoria asked as she followed her hostess back into the house.

“Well, he is a rancher ,” Mrs. Dalrymple pointed out. “Living on a ranch , with cows .”

Victoria held back her smile. “I do understand the two go together.”

The minister’s wife deposited her project in her work bag, then patted Victoria’s arm. “You aren’t used to ranching, dear. I have in mind a nice city boy for you.”

She hadn’t seen a city, nice or otherwise, since the train she’d ridden had passed the Rockies. “Oh?” she asked as they headed for the kitchen at the back of the house.

“Mr. Oscar Goodenough,” she confided in a whisper, even though they were the only two occupants of the house at the moment. “A fine upstanding gentleman recently moved to the area. He keeps the books for the sawmill in Puget City.” She nodded as if that were a very impressive accomplishment indeed. “He hasn’t tithed yet, but I expect him to start shortly. He wears a stylish suit to services and is very respectful to Mr. Dalrymple and me.”

Respectfulness Victoria would be happy to add to the list of criteria, but she wasn’t about to start judging men on whether their clothing was particularly stylish. Surely what was inside the suit mattered more.

Mr. Goodenough notwithstanding, she paid particular attention when the Dalrymples drove her down to Puget City the next day. Mrs. Dalrymple had confided that the town had been platted when everyone thought the Northern Pacific Railroad would make Olympia its western terminus. When that honor had gone to Tacoma to the north, some citizens had left.

Now houses and other buildings crowded along a narrow valley between the towering forest at the edge of the plateau and the pebbled beach along Puget Sound. She spotted two mercantiles, a saloon, and a restaurant on the main street, which ran down to a dock sticking out into the blue-gray waters. The call of the gulls overhead was nearly drowned out by the whir of machinery at the sawmill near the dock.

“Where is the schoolhouse?” she asked as the minister drew the carriage to a stop in front of the Egbert mercantile. The white-washed box of a store had a wide, covered front porch that shaded the windows overlooking the street. Customers, mostly men in dusty clothes like Jack Willets had worn, moved in and out of the door to the tinkle of the shop bell.

“Puget City doesn’t have a school,” Mrs. Dalrymple confessed as her husband handed the reins to the boy who had come running at the sight of them. “Not enough children as yet, which is why more brides are so important.”

Mr. Dalrymple chuckled as he climbed down from the buggy. He was as sensible as his wife was whimsical. With his square jaw and squared shoulders, he looked as solid as the Word he preached. He seemed concerned about fashion, however, for he wore a double-breasted coat, and he’d slicked back his brown hair with pomade, which left it shining.

“I’m not sure I’ll be a bride,” Victoria demurred.

“Nonsense,” he told her with a smile. “Any number of our young men would do well to marry. You might say you’re a civilizing influence on the wilderness, Miss Milford.”

From what she’d seen, the wilderness and its denizens had done quite well without any contribution from her, but she smiled back as he came around and helped first her and then his wife down.

“If there’s no school and the doctor has no intention to hire a nurse, where else might I find employment?” she asked Mrs. Dalrymple as they followed her husband into the busy mercantile. Every manner of supply—from fishing hooks to flannel, tinned goods to tea—were piled along the worn plank floor, with more hanging from the rafters or on display behind the long counter at the back of the store. The air was so redolent with the scent of spices and liniment that Victoria nearly sneezed.

Mr. Dalrymple went straight to the counter to speak to the man on duty behind it. Mrs. Dalrymple wandered through the piles of offerings, which sometimes reached higher than Victoria’s head.

“Oh, I wouldn’t advise finding employment, dear,” she said, picking up a tin of condensed milk and putting it down with a wrinkle of her nose. “There really isn’t anything suitable here for a lady.”

Most of the women Victoria had grown up with had had a similar attitude. Ladies managed their household, but much of the real work was done by hired staff—cooks, maids, laundresses. Ladies did good works, like visiting the sick and raising money to help the poor. A lady who found herself in the unfortunate position of having to support herself might do so as a governess, teacher, companion, or perhaps family nurse, but she would never scrub floors or clean clothes.

“I no longer have the luxury of being a lady,” Victoria pointed out as they rounded a corner of kerosene cans. “I never learned to cook, but I could wash clothes. It seems to be a need here.” She eyed another frontiersman in a gingham shirt and trousers caked in mud. He hurriedly tipped his broad-brimmed hat to her and grinned.

Mrs. Dalrymple tugged her in a different direction. “Now, you mustn’t lose heart. I’m sure we’ll find you the perfect match before you need to chafe your hands.”

Better chafed hands than an empty belly. She wasn’t about to turn down honest work.

Yet it sounded as if she’d have few opportunities in Puget City. As the territorial capital, Olympia likely held more. The legislature was due to meet later this year, she’d heard, swelling the population. But Charles’s family had been keen to get his leftover mail-order bride out of town. Even if she ventured back, she’d have no place to stay. It would be the same in Tacoma and Seattle to the north. Having spent all her funds to reach Washington Territory, she had nothing left to start over.

So, what was a lady new to the frontier to do?

***

The bell chimed as Jack pushed through the door of the Egbert mercantile. His younger brothers would have stopped to peruse the new collection of fish hooks guaranteed to catch salmon, and his littlest sister would have been wheedling for a stick of candy from the jars lining one side of the counter. But he had a far more important mission. He needed to convince Bill Egbert to donate the nails, hinges, and door knobs to build the new church.

So, he marched past the casks of flour and sugar and detoured around the bolts of bright gingham, determination lengthening his stride.

One look at the lady waiting beside Mrs. Dalrymple at the counter and every other thought vanished.

Victoria Milford’s face was in profile to him, but that only made her cheekbones and delicate chin more obvious. Her coat hid much of her dress, but the plaid skirts were once more festooned with ruffles and lace. She held herself still, poised. Surrounded by tins of chewing tobacco and tubs of lard, she was a jewel in a brass setting.

“Be right with you, Jack,” Bill Egbert, the proprietor, called over the ladies’ heads.

Miss Milford turned with a welcoming smile that made him stand straighter. “Mr. Willets. How nice to see you again.”

The minister’s wife glanced between the two of them, then focused on her charge. “Will you wait for my order, dear? I need a word with Mr. Willets.”

Miss Milford’s smile dimmed, but she dutifully turned to the storekeeper again.

Mrs. Dalrymple motioned to Jack before mincing off behind a stack of furs someone must have brought in to trade. Mystified, he followed.

“Is this about the church building, ma’am?” he asked as they came to a stop and she put her hands on her hips.

“No, it’s about your bride,” she chided.

He couldn’t stop himself from leaning back to look at the counter, where Miss Milford had her hand extended to accept the change Bill was counting into it. Jack had heard those hands bring forth beauty, joy.

“Ahem.”

He returned his gaze to the minister’s wife, whose foot now was tapping, if the movement of her navy skirts was any indication.

“You asked me to help you find a nice young lady to court,” she reminded him. “Someone suitable to be a rancher’s wife. Miss Milford, I fear, does not meet your requirements.”

His heart howled in protest, and he widened his stance as if some part of him thought he’d have to fight for the right to stand at her side. He forced himself to relax. “I’d like to confirm that for myself.”

She tsked. “I’m only trying to spare you both heartache. That poor girl has been through enough.”

Victoria had faced heartache? When? From whom? How could he help?

Before he could ask, Mrs. Dalrymple’s face brightened in a smile. “Ah, there you are, dear. Everything settled?”

“Mr. Egbert is having your purchases loaded into the buggy,” Miss Milford said before turning to Jack. “I’m sorry if we delayed your shopping, Mr. Willets. When you walked up, you seemed to have an urgent purpose.”

He did. He had a church to build, a ranch to run, and a bride to locate and court. But right then, nothing seemed more important than becoming better acquainted with Victoria Milford.

***

Mr. Willets was watching her with that mixture of awe and admiration again, as if she were a rare and precious rose he’d found budding among his turnips.

“Jack,” Mr. Dalrymple greeted, joining them. “How is your family?”

“Well, sir,” he said with a nod of his head.

Mr. Dalrymple waited a moment, but when nothing more was forthcoming, he smiled. “And how is the church coming along?”

“Well,” Jack said. Then he seemed to realize he should embroider that word a little, for he stood taller, bringing his head even farther above the minister’s. “I’m here to ask Bill about donating some supplies.”

“An excellent suggestion.” The minister winked at him. “We’ll just go smooth the path for you.” He took his wife’s arm and led her back toward the counter. She frowned over her shoulder at Victoria.

“We came to purchase some supplies for the parsonage,” Victoria explained. “What an interesting store! I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many different items crammed into such a small space.”

“I can’t imagine this store can hold much of interest to you,” he told her.

Did he think her such a snob? “Oh, I don’t know,” Victoria said. “I might end up needing fish hooks or a blade for a plow one day.” She leaned closer. “But I will confess to being more tempted by the peppermint sticks.”

His mouth turned up in a slow smile that set her pulse to fluttering. “Never said no to one of those myself.”

Mrs. Dalrymple hurried back to her side. “I think you will find Mr. Egbert receptive to your suggestions, Mr. Willets. I hope you’ll be receptive of mine.”

He tipped his hat to them both. “I appreciate your concern, ma’am. Miss Milford.”

Mrs. Dalrymple chivvied her out of the store, and Mr. Dalrymple handed them both back into the buggy before offering the boy who’d been holding the horses a coin.

“Good man, Jack Willets,” he said as he gathered the reins to turn the buggy on the wide street. “I’m glad you could make his acquaintance, Miss Milford.”

“And she’d be even gladder when she meets Mr. Goodenough tomorrow,” his wife said with a smile to Victoria.

It seemed she was going to be on display at services. Given the way her quest to find a position was going, she should probably dress with care.

She’d had an extensive wardrobe when she’d moved in with her cousin, but Phyllis had insisted that it was unseemly for Victoria to wear anything except the black of mourning until more time had passed after the deaths of her parents. Her cousin had seen fit to donate many of Victoria’s dresses, substituting items from her own wardrobe, which had been far too big for Victoria. She’d been down to four dresses with color in them that fit and her riding habit, which was mercifully black, when she’d come West.

Sunday morning, she chose the rose-colored gown with the wider skirts and the red velvet jacket that fit over the bodice. With a lace-edged bonnet tied with a bow under her chin, she would likely win approval from Mrs. Dalrymple, at least.

While the Reverend Mr. Dalrymple’s parishioners waited for their first church to be built, they took turns meeting in each other’s homes. Mrs. Dalrymple had explained with a sniff that her parlor was entirely too small to accommodate so many. The parlor of the Hartley family, whose turn it was to host the meeting, didn’t seem much bigger when Victoria followed the minister and his wife up the porch steps and into the long, white, single-story house.

“They call it the Lakeside Ranch,” Mrs. Dalrymple had confided as they’d driven along the country road in the buggy, cool, moist air brushing their cheeks. “I haven’t seen so much as a peek at a lake, but there are little ponds in every hollow along this prairie, it seems. That is, where there aren’t trees.” She’d wrinkled her nose at the cluster of firs they had been passing under a heavy sky.

“Good of you to host us, George,” Mr. Dalrymple said now, shaking the hand of a strapping fellow with graying blond hair and a bushy beard to match.

“Pleasure,” the fellow said, though his gaze went past the minister to Victoria.

“Miss Milford,” Mr. Dalrymple said smoothly, “this is Mr. Hartley. He and his wife, Elma, are our hosts for today.”

“ Miss Milford?” Mr. Hartley’s smile broadened, showing a gap between his two front teeth. “Well, I’ll have to introduce you to my boy, Brett. He’s looking for a wife.”

“Aren’t all the bachelors in the area?” Mrs. Dalrymple trilled. She pulled Victoria into the white-washed parlor, where ladder-backed chairs had been crowded in rows that were already mostly filled.

“Brett Hartley isn’t suitable,” the minister’s wife murmured, steering her over to where several men were gathered by the stone hearth. “Far too young and untried.” She raised her voice. “Ah, gentlemen, so good to see you today. Have you met my dear Victoria?”

They all stood taller and adjusted ties or collars as they murmured greetings.

Mrs. Dalrymple focused on the well-rounded one with the checkered coat and thick brown side whiskers. “Victoria, dear, I particularly wanted you to meet Mr. Goodenough. I’m sure you two have much in common.”

“Certainly a love of the Lord and all His works,” Mr. Goodenough said in a booming voice guaranteed to draw attention. His blue eyes crinkled at the corners. “A pleasure to meet a lady of quality, Miss Milford.”

She offered him her hand, and he clasped it in both of his and held on as Mrs. Dalrymple herded the other bachelors into chairs.

Victoria would be expected to make some kind of conversation, but she didn’t have to leave him in possession of her hand. “I understand you are recently arrived in Puget City, sir,” she said, tugging back her fingers.

“I have a few months on you,” he said with a bold wink. “But I wouldn’t call myself a local.” He laughed as if no one would ever want to make that claim.

“A shame,” Victoria said, keeping her smile pleasant. “I wouldn’t mind being considered a local, for I like the area quite well. Excuse me.”

She purposely turned away, and there was Jack Willets, watching her again. Her heart started thumping an allegro tempo. His plain blue suit sat well on his broad shoulders, and she would have been proud to walk into any establishment in Albany on that arm.

They met each other at the back of the room.

“I see you’re meeting other folks,” he said with a nod toward Mr. Goodenough, who appeared to be considering them with a frown.

Victoria put her back to the fellow. “Mrs. Dalrymple was introducing me. Is your family here?”

For some reason, that made him drop his gaze, but he tipped his head toward the right side of the parlor. He’d said he had ten siblings, but she hadn’t expected them all to have varying shades of red hair. With his mother and father, and another woman with coal black hair, they now took up one entire side of the parlor.

“Excuse me!” Mrs. Dalrymple called from the top of the room. “Would you all take your places, please?” She caught Victoria’s eye and nodded her toward a seat on the other side of the parlor, where Mr. Goodenough had already positioned himself. He glanced Victoria’s way and patted the top of the chair beside him.

“I believe there’s room here,” Victoria said with a smile to Jack.

He led her to a spot on the last row and sat beside her just as Mr. Dalrymple stepped up to start the service.