The Reluctant Father's Mail Order Bride Read online

  The journey west took nearly a week, and by the time they pulled into the depot in Battenberg, Montana, Josephine was certainly regretting her decision to leave the simple comforts of Miss Pinkerton’s. Her second-class car had been crowded, and unlike the plush Pullman car that Ida had taken to California, there were no beds. Josephine had to sleep sitting up and had developed a cursed crick in her neck that made her shoulders ache with fatigue. The food had been mediocre at best and after a couple of days the car had begun to smell like something rotting. She suspected that the stench came from one of the cattle cars hitched behind them, but it may have been the soiled linens from the two babies on board. Josephine couldn’t wait to get settled and take herself a long, hot bath.

  When the train finally came to a stop, she rushed to disembark and get away from the people she’d spent so many days with. Only one other gentleman was getting off at the Battenberg station and he looked just as relieved as she was, hurrying across the tracks and out of sight before Josephine could even ask him where the ladies lounge was.

  Craning her neck to see the full length of the platform, Josephine stood on the tips of her toes looking for her Mr. Higginbotham. Of course, he had no way of knowing what she looked like, but Josephine hoped he’d come to meet her just the same.

  When she spotted him, leaned against a hitching post, a cigarette pinched between his teeth, her heart sank. He’d traded the suit from the photograph for a dusty ensemble and his beard looked even more unruly than before.

  Even so, Josephine threw back her head and squared her shoulders. She would meet this challenge head on and make the best of the situation.

  “Mr. Higginbotham,” she greeted with a delicate curtsy. “I’m Miss Josephine Danforth.”

  The man lifted his head and studied her carefully before spitting at her feet.

  “That all yer luggage?” he asked, motioning to the simple carpet bag in her hands.

  Caught off guard by his gruff demeanor, Josephine simply nodded. Once he had taken the bag from her hands, she had managed to gather her wits and explained, “My former employer promised to send my trunk once I got settled.”

  Mr. Higginbotham grunted and climbed up in the driver’s seat of the wagon. He did not offer to help her up like a gentleman should. Stunned, Josephine managed to get herself aboard and settled in beside him.

  They jolted forward so suddenly, Josephine lost her balance and almost fell to the dusty ground.

  Mr. Higginbotham chuckled. “Easy there.”

  Josephine got the distinct impression he was addressing her like he would a horse, which she didn’t like one bit. Somehow she managed to keep her head high and grasped the side of the wagon to steady her balance.

  They headed away from town, toward the setting sun. Josephine put her hand up to shield her eyes and looked out over the golden plain spread out before them.

  “It’s just like I pictured it,” she said.

  Mr. Higginbotham grunted again, but thankfully this time, he didn’t spit.

  “How far to your ranch, Mr. Higginbotham?”

  “‘Bout twenty minutes er so. Not far.”

  He didn’t elaborate, and Josephine was too tired to make polite conversation. Instead she watched the scenery and let the rocking of the wagon absorb the bumpiness of the trail.

  Soon she could see a small clapboard house in the distance, surrounded by a rickety looking fence.

  “That’s her over yonder.” Mr. Higginbotham nodded in the direction of the house.

  “It looks quite homey,” Josephine said optimistically. “I can’t wait to get settled.”

  As the wagon approached the homestead, Josephine could see it looked far more ragged up close. A window was broken, and several slats were missing from one of the shutters. A small tow-headed boy played in the dirt at the foot of the porch steps. An older woman rocked slowly on the front porch shelling peas. When she heard the horse clomping up the trail, she stood and smiled at Josephine and her future husband.

  “Hey there!” the woman called.

  “That’s my aunt Nellie,” Mr. Higginbotham said. “She’s been helpin' me with Clem since my sister died.”

  “I’m sorry about your sister, Mr. Higginbotham. I didn’t get a chance to tell you that before.”

  He nodded and pulled the reins to make the horse stop. The little boy jumped up and rushed to greet his uncle.

  “Unca Beezer!” he shouted as he flung himself at Mr. Higginbotham’s legs.

  “Hey there.” Mr. Higginbotham said, tousling the boy’s hair. “I have someone I want you to meet. Clem Porter, meet your new Auntie Josephine.”

  Stepping forward with a friendly smile on her lips, Josephine bent over and held out her hand to the boy. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Porter.”

  Clem giggled and hid behind his uncle’s legs.

  “He’s a tad shy, Miss Josephine, but he’ll come ‘round.” Aunt Nellie came down off the porch and pulled Josephine into a tight hug. “Oh, yer a tiny thing ain’t ya? Well, don’t worry about that. We’ll fatten ‘er up right good, won’t we, Eb?”

  Josephine found she liked the nickname, far more personal and friendly like than Ebenezer. She decided she’d use it once she and Mr. Higginbotham were married.

  “Now, let’s get you settled,” Aunt Nellie said, wrapping her arm around Josephine’s waist and leading her into the house. “Eb, get her bag.”

  The inside of the house was far neater than the exterior had been. There was a small kitchen with a scuffed table and one small bedroom and a sitting room with a large fireplace. Another rocking chair sat beside the hearth, a twin to the one on the porch; it had someone’s knitting draped across the arm. She assumed it was Aunt Nellie’s.

  She noted there was only one bed in the house, Clem’s bedroll sat in the corner by the fireplace. Josephine wondered where she would sleep because engaged or not, she would not be sleeping in the same bed with a man who wasn’t her husband.

  As if he read her mind, Mr. Higginbotham came up behind her and said, “I’ll be sleepin’ in the barn tonight. The preacher cain’t come ’til tomorrow to wed us.”

  Josephine felt a tug at her skirts and looked down to find Clem’s grime-covered face looking up at her. “You gonna live with us, Aun Josie?”

  “If it’s all right with you, Clem.”

  The boy looked thoughtful for a moment and then looked to his uncle for reassurance. Finally, he said, “I s’pose.”

  “Well, there now, everyone’s all friendly like,” Aunt Nellie proclaimed. “I’d better grab my things and set off fer home. Herbert’ll be expectin’ his dinner.”

  When Nellie had gone, Josephine took in her surroundings more closely. The place was small but well-kept. She suspected Aunt Nellie had been doing more than simply looking after Clem. It did not look like a place a single man and a little boy inhabited. It was far too clean for that.

  “Well, I’ll leave you ’n Clem to get settled. There’s some leftover biscuits and ham in the larder if yer hungry.”

  “I don wanna stay with Josie, Unca Beezer. I wanna stay in the barn with you and Monty.”

  “Who’s Monty?” Josephine asked brightly.

  Mr. Higginbotham let a smile poke through his thick whiskers. “My horse,” he said with a laugh.

  Embarrassed, Josephine busied herself with finding something to eat, while Mr. Higginbotham reassured Clem.

  “I’ll be jus outside,” he said. “And yer Aunt Josephine won’t bite ya.” Mr. Higginbotham pinched the boy’s side.

  Clem’s high-pitched giggle echoed through the small cabin, making Josephine smile. She’d always enjoyed the wild, carefree laughter of little ones. They didn’t try to hide their feelings like grownups so often did.

  By the time she had a plate of cold, greasy ham and a rock hard biscuit, Mr. Higginbotham was nowhere to be found and Clem was sitting on the bare floor with a finger firmly up his nose.

  “Such a glamorous life,” Josephine said to
herself. She was only slightly put out that Mr. Higginbotham hadn’t bothered to bid her good evening, but she chalked it up to poor manners rather than a lack of regard for her. She wasn’t blind to a man’s affections, and it was abundantly clear that he’d been sneaking glances at her since he first saw her at the depot. She decided that her husband-to-be was just as nervous as she was, and merely didn’t know how to act around her yet.

  The sun was hanging low in the sky by the time she had managed to choke down her simple supper. There was no clock in the house that she could see, so she could only guess the hour. She laughed at herself for how reliant she’d become on the mantle clock at Miss Pinkerton’s and then the train porter with his handy pocket watch. As a girl her father had taught her to tell time by the sun, when her life had been simpler and her schedule wasn’t set to the minute. She suspected her life would probably be even less scheduled here with her new family. Clem had begun rubbing his eyes and yawning, so Josephine set about getting him ready for bed.

  “Let’s get you washed up,” she said, hoisting the sturdy little boy on her hip. She didn’t expect the kicking and flailing that came next.

  “Don wanna get washed,” he cried, trying to wrench himself free from her arms.

  “You can’t go to bed with a dirty face,” Josephine implored. “God won’t recognize you when you say your prayers.”

  The boy didn’t seem to care or agree with her reasoning, landing a particularly firm kick right to one of Josephine’s ribs. She almost dropped him on his face, but caught his hand at the last minute.

  “Oh, no you don’t,” she said, using the tone she’d reserved for only the unruliest of Hampton boys. “Now you listen to me, young man, you are going to get washed whether you like it or not, and then you’re going to bed. And if you don’t cooperate, I’ll take you over my knee. Do you understand me?”

  Clem suddenly stopped his caterwauling and looked up at Josephine with big, wet eyes. It was obvious the boy hadn’t been disciplined in quite some time. He nodded slowly and sniffed once, indicating there would be no more tears tonight. Satisfied she’d done her job, Josephine grabbed the only cloth she could find—a grey kitchen towel—and scrubbed Clem’s face and hands as best she could. She unrolled his hay-filled mattress near the crackling fire and found a tiny rag doll stuffed within.

  “Well now, who’s this?” she asked.

  “Mr. Wabbit.” Clem had his thumb in his mouth, and his words were distorted by its presence.

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Rabbit.” Josephine mimed shaking the tiny doll’s tattered paw.

  Clem rushed over and pulled the doll from her hands hugging it tightly to his chest. “My mama made ‘im.”

  “Oh, then he must be very special indeed.” She patted the bed roll. “Come on now, darling. Time for bed.”

  Reluctantly, Clem crawled on top of the pile of blankets and burrowed himself inside. Poking his head out, his sandy blond hair, a tousled mop of curls, obscured his blue eyes as he said, “G’night Aun Josie.”

  “Good night, Clem. Sleep tight.” She pressed a kiss to his forehead, and went to her own room to get settled.

  When she had closed the door and started to unpack the few things she’d brought from Toronto to St. Louis and now the tiny town of Battenberg, Wyoming, Josephine felt fat tears begin to fall to her cheeks.

  “Now, stop that crying this instant, Josephine Danforth. You were raised better than that.”

  But it was no use. So far from home and everyone she’d ever known, Josephine began to cry… and cry and cry. In fact, she cried so hard she eventually fell asleep and awoke in the morning with a stiff crick in her neck and still wearing her traveling dress.

  Three

  The next morning, Josephine took great care piling her hair atop her head, styling it just so. She put on her best dress, a delicate blue frock that needed more ironing than she had time for, but still suited her quite well.

  The preacher arrived just before lunch time, and Josephine and Ebenezer stood on the front porch of their home to say their vows, with Aunt Nellie and Uncle Herbert standing as witnesses. Tiny Clem, unable to stand still for more than a few minutes, ran freely through the yard and into the barn and up to the house as Josephine tried not to flub her “I do.”

  It was over more quickly than she imagined, and soon Josephine was tearfully shaking hands with Uncle Herbert and receiving a kiss on the cheek from Aunt Nellie as they said their goodbyes and gave their best wishes. Ebenezer’s kiss had been even more perfunctory than that, and then he’d gone to tend the cattle, leaving Josephine sitting in the rocking chair near the fireplace trying not to cry.

  Clem came barreling through the door and flung himself at Josephine’s skirts, coating them in a thick layer of mud.

  “Aun Josie! Aun Josie! Unca Beezer says he gonna stay in the house with us tonight!”

  Suddenly, Josephine’s blood ran cold. She’d have to share a bed with her husband. In all the chaos surrounding her journey west and the abruptness of her wedding, she’d almost forgotten about the expectations for a bride on her wedding night.

  Only vaguely aware of Clem still clinging to her skirts, Josephine leaned back in the chair and tried to calm herself. Miss Pinkerton had explained to her what would be expected, and she wasn’t entirely uneducated on the relations between a man and a woman——she knew where babies came from, after all——but still, she wasn’t sure she could do what was expected when the time came. She barely knew the man she had married, and she hoped he’d be gentle, but only time would tell.

  “Aun Josie, I’m hungry,” Clem wailed, pulling her from her thoughts.

  “All right, child, I’ll make your lunch. Go wash up.”

  Clem pouted at her before begrudgingly finding his way to the rain barrel to rinse off.

  “I’ll make a gentleman of you, Clem Porter, if it’s the last thing I do,” she said to the empty room.

  The sun had set by the time Ebenezer came back into the house, his boots tracking thick cakes of earth across the kitchen floor. Josephine bit her lip to keep from chastising his carelessness, and instead set a plate of stew down in front of him.

  “I’m still working on my cooking skills, Mr. Hig—I mean, Ebenezer. I wanted to make you fried chicken, but I confess I’ve never killed a chicken before, and I wasn’t sure where to start.”

  “Stew’s fine,” Ebenezer said with a glance at her face. “You look flushed.”

  “Do I?” Josephine asked, pressing a hand to her cheek. “I’ve been cooking and cleaning all day. Maybe I overdid it a bit.”

  She sat down across from him at the table and picked at her food. Her appetite had vanished the moment her husband had walked through the door. Not that she found him repulsive, but the thought of what she would be expected to do later in the evening had roused her nerves and her stomach was doing somersaults.

  “Where’s Clem?” he asked.

  “Aunt Nellie came back around four and offered to take him so we could enjoy our wedding night.” Josephine blushed, feeling her face flame even hotter.

  Ebenezer raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment, instead shoving another bite of stew into his mouth. Josephine watched his mustache twitch as he chewed. She longed to see him without the thick whiskers covering his face. When they had gotten to know one another a bit better, she’d ask him to shave.

  “I heard Aunt Nellie call you Eb,” she said. “Do you mind if I call you that?”

  “Makes no matter to me. Folks been callin’ me Eb since I was a boy.”

  Josephine had been hoping for a more enthusiastic response than that, but she decided it was better than him saying no. She’d have to take what she could get.

  After dinner, she took her time washing the dishes, drying each plate individually and scrubbing the pan extra hard. When her hands were good and wrinkly from the water, she knew she couldn’t delay much longer. Her husband would be expecting her to perform her wifely duties.

  Eb cleared his throat, an
d Josephine turned to see him holding a delicate swath of fabric in his thick, roughened hands. She saw an edge of lace peeking out from his fingers and a blue ribbon laying across his right wrist.

  “I thought you might like a new nightgown,” he said. He wasn’t making eye contact, and Josephine realized finally that he was just as nervous as she was.

  She almost laughed at the thought, but bit her bottom lip to stop the sound from escaping.

  “Well, that’s very kind of you, Eb,” she said with a smile. She stepped over to him and took the soft cotton garment from his hands.

  “I’m glad you stopped calling me Mr. Higginbotham. I was startin’ to think you’d changed yer mind about me.” He scrubbed the back of his neck with a hand and looked down at his boots. “Sorry ‘bout trackin’ the mud in earlier. I ain’t used to havin’ a lady around. I’ll be more careful tomorrow.”

  She waved him off. “Don’t think anything of it. The floors needed to be cleaned again anyway. Clem tracked enough dirt in this afternoon to wear out the broom.”

  Eb made a sound that sounded suspiciously like a laugh, causing Josephine to breathe a little easier. Now that she was standing closer to him, she noticed his green eyes had flecks of gold and brown in them and his beard was starting to grey in the tiniest patch on his left cheek. On impulse, she reached up to touch it.

  Startled, Eb jerked his chin away, and Josephine pulled back her hand. She stroked the lace edge of one of the nightgown’s sleeves.

  “I suppose I could get changed,” she said.

  Eb’s eyes darted nervously to her hands and then his own. “I’m gonna get washed up,” he said. “I cain’t get into bed with— I mean, you don’t want no dirt on your new…” He pointed to the nightgown and cleared his throat. “I’ll jus’ be a minute.” And he stepped around her and slipped out the front door.