Page 1 of Mail-Order Avis (A Mail-Order Mystery #3)

One

A vis Prescott settled into her seat on the train and adjusted her hat. This was it, the last leg of her journey west. The trip from Missouri had thankfully been uneventful, and she was finally excited to see her future groom.

Of course, becoming a mail-order bride hadn’t been her first choice. In fact, it had been her last. And certainly, the last thing she thought she’d be doing after her uncle died.

She recalled the way the café smelled the morning of the reading.

The scent of warm cinnamon rolls and scorched bacon filled the air when her uncle’s lawyer showed up.

Her apron was still damp from scrubbing the counter and a few tables.

Several customers had left not moments after Mr. Crawley arrived.

Avis wore her nicest dress, a blue day dress with tiny pearl buttons, and had pinned her hair the way her mother used to

She’d pulled off her apron and hung it on a hook in the kitchen before joining Mr. Crawley and her uncle’s new bride at the largest table in the café.

The cook, Mr. Arden, had winked at her and offered a sympathetic look as he sat at a nearby table.

The other waitress, Miss Fairchild, folded her hands primly in her lap and sat beside him.

Avis had already told them she’d keep both of them on and that they didn’t need to look for another job. Still, the pair seemed nervous, and that, in turn, made Avis fidget.

But why should she be worried? “Don’t fret,” Uncle Phil had told her just last spring. “You’ve earned this place, Avis. I just need to make it official.” It wasn’t long after that he met Henrietta, her new step-aunt.

Mr. Crawley stood at the head of the large table with a folder in hand and coughed a few times. Henrietta wore enough perfume to choke a horse. He cleared his throat. “To my wife, Henrietta, I leave full ownership of the café, and all assets contained.”

Miss Fairchild and Mr. Arden gasped. The former looked at Henrietta in horror while the latter’s shoulders slumped and he sank further into his chair. “Well, that’s that.”

“Nonsense,” Henrietta said. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Avis had sighed in relief…too soon. Henrietta turned to her. “I do hope you find something else soon, dear. I’ll be running things my own way now. And frankly, one of the three of you is going to have to go.”

Avis’ jaw dropped so fast she thought she got a kink in it. Mr. Crawley droned on, but she didn’t register a word of it. She didn’t have to. Uncle Phil had left everything to Henrietta.

The train rocked gently beneath her as it pulled out of the station.

Avis tried to push the memories away, but they clung to her like flour dust on an apron.

She’d poured six years of her life into that café.

Six long years of early mornings, burned fingers, and coffee brewed with more love than beans.

Uncle Phil had promised the place would be hers.

In fact, now that she thought about it, some of his last words to her had been more recent than she liked, considering what was in the will.

“You’re the one who made this place worth anything, Avis,” he’d said. “When the time comes, you’ll have the keys.” Unfortunately, when the time came, it was Henrietta who walked away with those keys and everything else.

Her step-aunt’s parting words had been, “I do hope you’ll land on your feet, dearest.” They’d been delivered in a sickly-sweet tone. No sooner had Mr. Crawley left than Henrietta began rifling through the café’s books.

Avis had walked out with nothing. When she left Beaver Flats, it was with her valise, what little savings she had, and a name scribbled on a crumpled piece of paper:Reed Barclay .

Her future groom. He resided in a little town called Fiddler’s Gap in Oregon, and even though Avis wasn’t looking for love—or even a little kindness—what she was looking for was a fresh start.

And by Heaven, she was going to build one. Brick by brick. Or, in her case, biscuit by biscuit. If there was one thing Avis was good at, it was cooking.

The train ride from Baker City to Fiddler’s Gap was surprisingly short.

Less than half an hour. The train wound its way around the outskirts of the tiny town and came to a stop at a small station at the south end, not far from a livery stable and corral.

There was some sort of house next to the station, but she couldn’t tell if it was a business or a residence.

What few passengers remained in the train car prepared to disembark, and she noticed that each one carried a musical instrument.

Two held violin cases, while another had what looked like a trombone case.

She didn’t know much about the town, though the name had caught her attention.

Mr. Barclay’s letter had mentioned something about an orchestra, but that he didn’t belong to it.

Well, maybe they could take in a concert if one was held anytime soon. Avis grabbed her valise and reticule and disembarked. The conductor, Mr. Nolan, was standing on the platform, checking his watch and glancing up and down the street. He was the only one left standing on the train platform.

“Excuse me, sir,” Avis said from behind him.

Mr. Nolan turned around and smiled. He was older, with white hair and bright blue eyes, and still scanning the road beyond the station. “Yes?”

Avis glanced down the street, then back at him. “Are you waiting for someone?”

Mr. Nolan chuckled. “I am. Mozart and Brahms. They usually come say hello and ask for scratches, but I don’t see them anywhere. Maybe Taylor took them fishing.”

Avis stared at him. “You…went fishing with Mozart and Brahms?”

He laughed again. “You misunderstand me. Mozart and Brahms are dogs.”

“Oh. I see.” She smiled. Maybe Mr. Barclay was late, or… “Tell me, is the train early?”

He checked his watch again. “No, dear. We’re right on time.”

Before she could respond, she heard barking coming from the other end of the street. Two huge Great Danes came bounding out of what looked like a general store and made a beeline for the platform. “Oh dear!”

“Best get behind me, miss. Brahms and Mozart can be a little excitable.” Mr. Nolan reached into his pocket and pulled out a napkin. “Especially when I’ve brought them treats.”

Avis quickly maneuvered behind the conductor as he bent forward, preparing to greet the dogs. They skidded to a stop on the platform, one of them sliding a foot past him. The dog righted itself, turned, and in one jump landed in front of him.

“Oh my goodness!” Avis cried.

“I told you they were exuberant,” he said. “Aren’t you, boys? Who’s a good boy? Now…Mozart, Brahms, sit.”

Both dogs immediately obeyed, their tails wagging furiously. The conductor tossed each a treat, and they caught them mid-air.

“There you go, you two ruffians. Now I can be about my business.” He turned to Avis. “Are you waiting for someone, ma’am?”

“Well, yes, actually…”

“Who might it be? Perhaps I could tell you where they are.”

She tried not to twist her reticule. “Um…my groom. I’m a mail-order bride, you see.”

He gave her a warm smile. “Well now, isn’t that nice. Did you know most of the men in this town married mail-order brides?”

She blinked. “No, I had no idea. He didn’t mention that in his letter.”

“Letter?” Mr. Nolan asked. “You mean your groom only sent one?”

She nodded. “Yes. And of course, the train fare.” She glanced at the dogs, who were eyeing her curiously. Avis unconsciously stepped a little farther behind Mr. Nolan again.

“Oh, don’t mind them, they’re nothing but a couple of oversized puppies,” he said, gesturing to the dogs.

“Of course, don’t tell the stage driver I said that.

They love to chase Otis out of town. He drives out here on Thursdays, sometimes Tuesdays.

Otherwise, the train comes Mondays, Wednesdays, and twice on Saturdays. ”

Avis slowly nodded, storing the information in case she needed it later. “Reed Barclay,” she murmured aloud.

“Excuse me?” the conductor asked.

“My groom. His name is Reed Barclay.”

“Oh! Yes, of course. I believe he’s a friend of Reverend Murray.” Mr. Nolan went down a few stairs to the street and pointed. “He may be at the church now. Just go up the street to the other end of town. You’ll find it.”

“Thank you, sir.” Avis gave the dogs a wide berth and headed that way.

The town was small compared to Beaver Flats.

She passed a few buildings that looked empty, then a hotel, a general store, and a large building with a colorful sign on the front: Fiddler’s Gap Auditorium .

Avis paused to admire it, then glanced across the street.

There was a bank and a few buildings beyond that, though she couldn’t tell what they were.

She also noticed a sheriff’s office, a livery stable, and the building next to the train station, which she still hadn’t managed to read the sign for.

Between the sheriff’s office and the livery stable was a side street lined with more buildings.

Turning back to the church, she drew in a deep breath and marched toward the gate of the churchyard.

It looked like someone had plunked the church down where a house ought to be.

The churchyard was surrounded by a white picket fence, with flowers climbing up some of the posts.

“How charming,” she murmured to herself as she slipped through the gate. Avis climbed the church steps and pushed open the door. Inside, more than half a dozen people were gathered near the pulpit, each with a stringed instrument. They looked like they were preparing to practice.

“Excuse me?” she called.

Everyone turned to look at her, including a white-haired gentleman in a clerical collar. “Can I help you, miss?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m Avis Prescott. I just arrived in town and, well…I’m looking for Reed Barclay.”

“Reed?” The reverend looked surprised. “Oh, he’s around here somewhere.” He turned to the musicians. “Have any of you seen Mr. Barclay?”

“Last I saw, he was still over at your place with Alicia and Aubrey,” someone volunteered. “They said they’d be here shortly.”

The reverend nodded. “Of course. We can’t start without Aubrey.” He gave Avis a kind smile. “We’re practicing for a recital.”

She returned the smile but said nothing.

“Why don’t you have a seat, Miss Prescott? Reed will be along in just a minute,” the reverend said.

“Thank you.” Avis chose the nearest pew and sat. The others gave her a few curious glances, their eyes drifting to her valise. Clearly, she was from out of town. She wondered how many of them already knew that Reed Barclay had sent for a mail-order bride.

A plump woman entered the church, sauntering up the aisle with a platter of cookies.

“Here you go. Don’t eat them all at once.” She set the platter on a table in front of a pew. “Reed is bringing the lemonade.”

The men and women set their instruments on chairs and hurried over to the cookies. A petite blonde smiled at Avis. “Would you like some cookies and lemonade, miss?”

Avis smiled politely. Not one of them seemed overly curious about her. Did they already know who she was?

“No, thank you,” she finally said. She glanced over her shoulder at the church doors, but still no sign of her groom.

Not that she’d recognize him. He hadn’t included a picture.

All she knew was that he was tall, had thick brown hair, and steel-gray eyes.

It sounded like an interesting combination.

How could she not recognize someone like that?

Eventually, someone did enter the church, and he fit the description perfectly. Not only was he tall and broad-shouldered, but he had thick brown hair and unmistakable steel-gray eyes. He also happened to be carrying a tray with a pitcher of lemonade and a stack of punch glasses.

“Huzzah!” he grinned. “Alicia, I told you I’d get everything here in one piece. And I didn’t spill a drop!”

“Congratulations,” the woman said dryly. “That still doesn’t make up for you breaking my best teapot.” She frowned, then giggled. “But seeing as you’ve already ordered me a new one, you’re forgiven.”

“Why thank you,” he said, flashing a charming smile.

Avis watched in fascination. This was her groom?

Reed Barclay did a double-take when he noticed her sitting quietly. “Well, someone new! Have you come to join our string ensemble? Don’t look at me like I’m a member. I’m the mascot.” The musicians chuckled as they helped themselves to cookies and lemonade.

“She said she’s looking for you, Reed,” the reverend called out.

Mr. Barclay smiled at him, then turned to Avis. “Do tell. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Avis’ eyes widened . Was he joking with her?She stood, smoothing her skirt. “Hello. I’m Avis Prescott.”

He crossed the distance between them with a jovial smile and offered a slight bow. “Lovely to meet you, Miss Prescott. I’m Reed Barclay, at your service. What can I help you with?”

She swallowed. “Um… how about with getting married?”

He laughed. “Getting married?” He glanced at the reverend. “I’m afraid Samuel can help you better than I can.”

She looked to the reverend, puzzled. “I’m assuming he’s the one who’ll be performing the ceremony?”

Reed froze. “Excuse me?”

“You are Reed Barclay, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but, what does that have to do with getting married?”

Avis’ heart plummeted. She quickly pulled out his letter. “You sent for a mail-order bride,” she said. “That’s me. I’m here to marry you.”