The Reluctant Father's Mail Order Bride Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Copyright © 2016 Cecilia Walker

  All Rights Reserved

  Published by Blackbird Hill Press

  http://misspinkertons.tumblr.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and places are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons, either living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All trademarks and registered trademarks are the property of their respective owners.

  Cover design by Carrie Pack

  Cover illustration by SelfPubBookCovers.com/MMCovers

  One

  Josephine Danforth stared at the sign in the window that read Miss Sally Pinkerton’s Ladies Boarding House and Matchmaking Service. Shifting her carpet bag to her right hand, she squinted to see through the dusty windows and sighed.

  “It ain’t gonna bite you, sweetheart,” a throaty voice behind her proclaimed. A woman with graying hair and a faded calico dress pushed past her and opened the door. She stopped and looked back. “Well, are you comin’ or ain’t ya?”

  Josephine’s back ached from the long train ride from Toronto, and the idea of standing in the street any longer did not appeal to her in the slightest. She climbed the steps and followed the old woman through the front door.

  When they were inside, the woman stopped to remove her hat and held out her hand. “Name’s Margaret O’Leary, but folks ‘round these parts just calls me Maggie.”

  “Pleased to meet you Miss O’Leary.” Instead of shaking her hand, Josephine curtsied like she’d been taught and smiled warmly. “I’m Miss Josephine Danforth and I’ve come to see Miss Pinkerton about finding a placement with a family out west.”

  Maggie sniffed. “You youngins is always off to somewheres new. Don’t know why you can’t stay in the city. I grew up on the plains, and it ain’t no church picnic.”

  “If you please, ma’am, Miss Pinkerton is expecting me.”

  “Well ain’t you all prim and proper?” She eyed Josephine up and down. “Set yourself down in the parlor. I’ll tell her you’re here.” Maggie pointed to a plush sitting room to their right and shuffled off toward the back of the house, her heavy steps echoing down the hallway.

  Josephine perched lightly on baby pink settee, her ankles crossed appropriately and her hands folded in her lap. Her back still ached something awful, but she knew better than to slouch. As governess to the Hampton children, she’d had to instruct them in proper etiquette as well as history, astronomy and Latin. The boys were nearly unmanageable for all their fidgeting and fighting, but the girls had been sweet and demure and quick to learn. She hoped her new family would have little girls. Josephine, lost in daydreams of tying rag curls and sewing dolly dresses, didn’t hear Miss Pinkerton approach.

  “Ahem.”

  Josephine startled and blushed heavily. She rose quickly and curtsied. “Good afternoon, Miss Pinkerton.”

  Miss Sally Pinkerton cut an imposing figure. She stood tall and ramrod straight, her steel grey hair piled high on her head in a severe bun that wasn’t really in fashion but suited her features all the same. Her cheekbones and nose were sharp, but she gave off an air of demure elegance and she definitely commanded authority.

  “Please sit, Miss…?” She looked down her nose at Josephine.

  “Danforth. Josephine Danforth. I wrote to you a few months ago about helping me find a position out west.” She perched on the settee again, resuming her perfect posture and ladylike temperament.

  “Oh yes, I remember,” Miss Pinkerton said. “The governess.”

  “Yes, I’m afraid my train was delayed, and I didn’t have the money to send a wire or I would have alerted you. Still I’m prepared to pay for the missed night’s boarding.”

  Miss Pinkerton held up a slender, wrinkled hand. “That won’t be necessary Miss Danforth. I have more than enough boarders at present.”

  Nervous, Josephine bit the inside of her lip, unsure what to say next.

  “I’m sure you know I normally don’t act as an employment agency, but Mrs. Hampton is an old friend, and I assured her I would find you lodgings wherever you choose to go. Finding you employment could be much trickier.”

  “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

  “Miss Danforth, governesses aren’t in high demand out west. Have you considered a teaching position? There are many frontier schools in need of educated ladies such as yourself.”

  “Oh, please,” Josephine said. “I’d much rather focus my attentions on just a few children. School houses can be such chaotic places.”

  “Well, that may be more difficult, dear. Our frontier families are tough stock. The ladies of the household spend their time farming and tending to the home. They have no need of in-home education. If their children receive education at all, they almost always opt for the seasonal schooling, rather than year-round instruction. The children are needed on the farms.”

  Josephine’s heart sunk. “I understand, Miss Pinkerton.”

  “Have you considered marriage?”

  Josephine eyed her curiously. “I am not engaged at present. Did I not make that clear in my letter?”

  “You misunderstand me, dear.” Miss Pinkerton’s face softened as she smiled. “I run a matchmaking service. I provide our rugged frontiersmen with brides—for a nominal fee, of course. Many of my girls have gone on to fine marriages and have raised wonderful families out west. During the Gold Rush, I think I sent six girls a week.”

  “I’m not sure that’s really for me.” Josephine had prided herself on her independence. She’d been doted on by her father and given the best in everything a butcher could provide his only child, and that included education. When she reached marrying age, her father had not pressured her to find a husband. Instead he encouraged her to find a suitable trade so she would not be dependent on a man for her livelihood.

  “Miss Danforth, if you want to go west, you will need to be engaged, either as someone’s employee or someone’s bride.”

  Josephine wanted nothing more than to live on the frontier. She had read so many wonderful stories in her ladies’ magazines. It seemed so wonderfully romantic and adventurous to make your way in a new place. The threat of Indians and stagecoach bandits made it that much more intriguing.

  “I suppose I could consider it,” she said.

  Miss Danforth rose and walked to a small writing desk in the corner of the room. She rolled the top back and pulled out a stack of papers tied together with twine.

  “I do have one gentleman, Mr. Ebenezer Higginbotham. He just became guardian to his nephew and wrote to me asking for a wife who has experience looking after young boys.”

  She handed Josephine a letter written in tight, even scrawl. In it, the man explained his current situation. He was the sole guardian to his four-year-old nephew, Clem. Of course, he didn’t have time to tend to his livestock and a child. So he needed someone to look after the boy and keep house on his Montana ranch.

  Montana. The name sounded exotic and romantic, like something out of one of her stories. She pictured sweeping fields of wheat and wild horses roaming the plains. Her heart began to pitter patter at the thought.

  She returned her attentions to the letter where Mr. Higginbotham had requested that all prospects write him a letter outlining their qualifications and upbringing. He said he wanted a no-nonsense girl with an unders
tanding of farming. Josephine was hardly that, but she could learn anything if she put her mind to it. The challenge made Mr. Higginbotham’s proposal all the more intriguing. She continued reading and found that he wanted to be married before the winter. She supposed it would be difficult to travel after the snow started to fall. He seemed a sensible man with good character. If one could tell such things from a letter.

  Thankfully that wasn’t the only evidence she had to go on. The prospective bridegroom had also enclosed a tintype of himself. The portrait revealed a stern-looking man with kind eyes. His suit looked a bit ragged, and his beard needed trimming, but otherwise, Josephine thought he looked quite handsome indeed.

  She looked up to find Miss Pinkerton studying her expectantly.

  “Well?”

  “I think I’d like to write to this Mr. Higginbotham,” Josephine said. “I’m not sold on this idea of marriage yet, mind you, but I said I would consider it, and consider it I shall.”

  Miss Pinkerton nodded, a knowing smile creeping across her face. “You may use my writing desk.” She gestured in its direction. “There is plenty of paper and ink, but try not to be wasteful, my dear. Dinner is at six sharp, and you’ll need to carry your own bags up. Maggie is in declining health, I’m afraid. You’ll be in room two, with Miss Ida Hanby. She leaves on Tuesday for California, so you won’t be sharing for too long. Oh, and just leave the letter on the desk. I’ll take it to the post office in the morning.”

  As Miss Danforth turned to leave, Josephine set about rereading Mr. Higginbotham’s letter. The more she studied it, the more she found she liked the way he crossed his T’s, bold and sure. The slanted fury of his script reaffirmed his appreciation of efficiency, cutting a jagged line across the page as he had drafted his letter.

  Leaving her gloves on the settee, Josephine made her way to the desk, studying the man’s portrait again.

  “You don’t look like an Ebenezer,” she said to his serious countenance.

  The only Ebenezer with which Josephine was familiar was the one in Charles Dickens’ Christmas tale of ghosts and regret. That man had started off stern and cruel and over the course of the story, transformed himself into a kind-hearted gentleman. She hoped Mr. Higginbotham would be more of the latter.

  She sat down and drafted a brief letter, which she addressed to “My Dear Mr. Higginbotham.” In it she explained her schooling and her experience as a governess. In the absence of a portrait, she opted for describing her appearance. Raised to be modest, it was difficult to talk up her looks, so she settled on a more clinical approach. She read her description aloud.

  “I am twenty years old and of slight build. I have chestnut brown hair and hazel eyes with delicate features. I have been told I am comely, but I know you will want to judge that for yourself.” She pursed her lips. It wasn’t very flowery. “Well, he did say he wanted a no-nonsense girl.”

  “You should tell him you have good birthing hips,” said a girlish voice from behind her. “They love that sort of thing.”

  Josephine looked over her shoulder to find a petite, round-faced girl with blonde hair and pale blue eyes standing in the doorway to the parlor.

  “Hello,” Josephine said.

  “You must be Josephine,” the girl replied with an awkward curtsy. “Ida Hanby. Pleased to meet you.”

  She didn’t look to be much older than sixteen, but she had a friendly smile and a spritely energy about her.

  “Oh, are those your gloves?” she gushed. “They’re so delicate.” She picked up the lacy gloves and turned them over in her hands. “Mama would never let me have such things. Said I’d spoil ‘em.”

  “Miss Hanby, diction.”

  Ida’s smile withered into wide-eyed terror at the sight of the lady of the house.

  “So sorry, Miss Pinkerton. I shall try my best to be more ladylike.” Her words came out stilted and precise and her posture looked awkward as she tried to stand as straight as Miss Pinkerton.

  “Miss Danforth, I hope while you’re here your manners might provide a good example for our dear Ida. She’s a sweet girl, but is unfortunately a bit uneducated in the ways of proper society.”

  Josephine had to suppress a giggle when Ida stuck her tongue out at Miss Pinkerton’s back.

  “I’m sure we’ll get along splendidly. I’ve always wanted a little sister,” Josephine said.

  Ida’s face lit up, and Miss Pinkerton gave a terse nod. She left the girls alone again, her shoes tapping out a military cadence on the oak flooring.

  “If you’re finished with your letter, I can show you our room,” Ida said when Miss Pinkerton had gone.

  “Oh yes, please.” Josephine wanted desperately to wash her face. She felt positively dirty from her long journey. Before following Ida upstairs, she added one last line to her letter that read, “I would very much like to know more about you, Mr. Higginbotham. If you think I might make a suitable wife and mother for you and Clem, please send a reply. Yours, very kindly, Miss Josephine Danforth.” She folded the paper and addressed it to Mr. Ebenezer Higginbotham, hoping Miss Pinkerton could handle the rest.

  At the last second, she snatched the tintype from the desk and placed it in her shirtwaist pocket. While she waited on another letter from her prospect, she could at least get to know his countenance.

  Two

  It was another two weeks before Josephine got a reply to her letter. It was a simple missive, only a few short lines, but Mr. Higginbotham indicated he was interested in Josephine, and had enclosed a train ticket. If she agreed to marry him, she would be leaving for Montana in two weeks.

  Still unsure if she wanted to be married at all, let alone to a complete stranger, Josephine studied her suitor’s portrait for what felt like the millionth time. His features had become familiar in the way a favorite hat or parasol did, but she felt no emotion. She traced the outline of his beard with her fingertip and wondered if it would be coarse like her papa’s whiskers or a softer, more delicate sort.

  Once Ida had left to marry her Mr. Bailey in California, Josephine had a lot of time on her hands to consider the prospect of living on a Montana ranch as Mrs. Ebenezer Higginbotham. So far she was no closer to making a decision than she had been that day at the train station when she watched her only friend board a Pullman car with tears in her eyes. Ida had been terrified, both of the journey and being married to a stranger. Even as Josephine had consoled her, she wondered if Ida would be happy in her new life.

  “He’ll be expecting a reply, you know.”

  Lost in her thoughts, Josephine hadn’t even noticed that Miss Pinkerton had entered the room.

  “I’m still trying to think of what to say.”

  “Would you like me to write on your behalf?” Miss Pinkerton smiled sympathetically.

  In the two short weeks that Josephine had been a resident of her boarding house, Miss Pinkerton had become something of a second mother to her. Her rigidity had proven to be a poor first impression because the woman was, in fact, quite warm and motherly. She cared deeply for all her girls and gave each a new pair of sturdy boots and a warm shawl when they left to meet their future husbands. She kept in contact with quite a few of them, and had recently received a letter that one of her girls had named her newborn daughter Sally in Miss Pinkerton’s honor. She was beloved, and Josephine knew she would be one of the ones to write after she left St. Louis.

  “Miss Pinkerton, do you think I should marry this Mr. Higginbotham?”

  “Well, my dear,” Miss Pinkerton began, “only you know the answer to that, but if it’s my perspective you’re asking after, I would say he seems like a good man. He owns quite a bit of land in the Montana Territory, so he could provide a good life for you.”

  “And love?”

  Miss Pinkerton sighed. “Josephine, my dear, that’s entirely up to you. Do you think you could love this man?” She gestured to the tintype resting in Josephine’s lap.

  Looking down at it, Josephine grew thoughtful. She knew very little
of this man, but what she did know was appealing.

  “If he is as kind and sensible as his letters, then I think, yes, I could.” She paused, caressing the metal edge of the portrait. “And he has kind eyes… like my papa.”

  “And you really want to live out west?”

  “Oh yes, most definitely,” Josephine said with girlish excitement.

  Reaching out a hand to caress Josephine’s cheek, Miss Pinkerton said, “I’ll be sorry to see you go, but I’m happy that you’ve decided. Now, what color shawl would you like?”

  Smiling, Josephine wrapped Miss Pinkerton in a decidedly unladylike hug, but she didn’t care. She was going West!

  “Pink,” she said. “Definitely pink.”

  Miss Pinkerton raised her brows, but did not chastise her for the impractical choice. She simply said. “I’ll talk to the cobbler tomorrow about your boots.”

  When she was alone again, Josephine lifted the tintype from her lap and smiled at her future husband. “I’ll be seeing you soon, my love,” she said and kissed his tiny face before slipping it back in her pocket. She had so much to do before leaving for Montana.

  Those two weeks flew by, and soon it was time for Josephine to pack her carpet bag and board the train going west to her new home. Miss Pinkerton dabbed at the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief as she stood staunchly on the platform to see Josephine off.

  Feeling a fondness for the woman, Josephine waved and called out, “I’ll write, Miss Pinkerton. I promise.”

  The grand dame smiled fondly at her former boarder as she waved. It was not nearly as spirited as Josephine’s display, but the affection was there all the same.

  Soon the city of St. Louis was just a speck on the horizon and the land stretched out on either side of the train as far as the eye could see. The gentle sway of the car began to lull her into a relaxing rest and soon her eyes were growing heavy as the sun sank lower on the horizon.

  She awoke with a start when the train stopped to pick up passengers in a small, lakeside town. She couldn’t make out the sign, so she had no indication where she might be, but soon the train was off again and rocked her back to sleep.