Mail-Order Melanie, page 1
MAIL-ORDER MELANIE
MARGERY SCOTT
Copyright © 2017 by Margery Scott
All rights reserved
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
BOOKS BY MARGERY SCOTT
About the Author
Chapter 1
“You can’t do this to me.” Melanie Rutherford’s voice rose to a squeaky tone the way it always did when she was frustrated, angry, or just plain upset. It irritated her that she had no control over it. After all, just because her life was falling apart around her, a lady of her breeding shouldn’t sound like a fishwife.
Horace McIntosh adjusted the spectacles perched on the edge of his nose and lowered his gaze to the papers spread on the table in front of him. “I’m sorry, Miss Rutherford, but the terms of the loan are quite clear. Since the account is in arrears, the bank has the right to take possession of the property and its contents at the end of this month unless the balance is paid in full by that date.”
“But it’s my home … and I’m sure there must be some money somewhere. My father wouldn’t leave me destitute—”
He looked up at her, giving her a glance that she was sure was meant to be sympathetic. Instead it came across as almost a sneer. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said, “but since no payments have been made for several months now, my hands are tied. As well, your brother’s debts which were granted based on your father’s excellent reputation are also outstanding.”
“Surely I can’t be held responsible for my brother’s … my half-brother’s debts …” Her voice trailed off, and her temper rose another few notches.
“No, of course you aren’t responsible,” Mr. McIntosh, said, folding his hands on top of the papers. “However, I must point out that because of your half-brother’s …” He paused as if he was searching for a term that wouldn’t offend a lady. “Actions—”
Melanie cut him off with a bitter laugh. “You’re too kind,” she said tersely. “You mean his desertion … his abandonment … his disappearance … Stop me when I have the correct term.” At first, she’d refused to believe Martin had actually emptied their father’s accounts and left town without a word, but as time went on, she’d had no choice but to accept the fact that he had no intention of coming back and returning any of the money.
“Any of the above will suffice,” he said quietly.
“Now what was it you wanted to say?” Melanie asked.
“You should know that because of his actions, and once your father’s assets have been seized to try to repay his outstanding debts, it’s unlikely that any financial institution in Beckham, and likely even as far as Boston, will be willing to extend credit to anyone in your family. Add the fact that …” He avoided her gaze, instead focusing on a piece of bric-a-brac behind her. “You are a woman—”
“I’m very well aware of that, Mr. McIntosh.”
Melanie wanted to scream at the unfairness of everything that had happened over the past few months. First, her father had died unexpectedly, then her half-brother had absconded along with every cent in the family’s accounts at the bank, and now she was going to be evicted from the only home she’d ever known.
She slowly let her gaze drift around the mansion’s opulent drawing room. Valuable ornaments graced the mantel above the marble fireplace and the side tables. Thick patterned rugs imported from the Orient covered the ebony floors, and gilt-framed paintings created by some of the world’s most renowned artists hung on the walls.
Gone. Another two weeks and it would all be gone, unless she could somehow come up with the entire amount to repay her father’s loan. Perhaps she could sell some of their possessions …
As if the banker could read her thoughts, he gave her a sympathetic look. “I’m afraid even if you sell everything you own, the proceeds won’t cover the loan.”
“But the paintings … and the—”
“Trust me, Miss Rutherford. Buyers can sense desperation. You’d be forced to sell them for a fraction of their true value.”
“If you could grant me a little more time—”
Mr. McIntosh stood up. He was barely Melanie’s height, and in the candlelight she couldn’t help noticing the shiny bald spot on the crown of his head. Well, she thought snidely, she might not have any money and she’d be living on the street, but she at least still had her hair.
He slid the papers into a leather case which he then tucked under his arm. “I’m sorry, Miss Rutherford, the bank has already been more than patient. I would suggest that you find other accommodations and make arrangements to vacate the premises by the end of this month. I have an inventory of the contents, so I would advise you not to try to hide any of them or take them with you. You may keep your personal possessions, but nothing else.”
“But that’s not even two weeks—”
He crossed to the front door, then plucked his hat from the stand beside it and set it on his head. “Twelve days to be exact, so I suggest you begin immediately. I’ll let myself out. Good day.”
Without another glance behind him, he opened the door and walked out.
Melanie watched the door click shut behind him, then sank into the brocade armchair beside the fireplace. The Louis XIV clock that stood in the corner of the room chimed.
The sound reminded her of a death knell. Which it was, she realized. Death of life as she knew it.
She let out a harsh laugh that soon evolved into a strangled sob.
Her mind spun. Anger, sorrow and fear whirled through her brain until she felt dizzy from it. She leaned back and closed her eyes. What was she going to do?
Tom Harper ran his hand gently down Dusty’s neck, doing his best to calm the skittish mare as another loud burst of thunder cracked outside. The horse whinnied, but Tom’s soft words seemed to settle her, at least temporarily.
He looked up as the barn door opened and his older brother, Earl, hurried inside. Earl paused, took off his hat and shook the rain off it while he stomped his feet to dislodge the mud clinging to his boots from wading through the puddles in the yard between the house and the barn.
“What are you doing out here?” Tom asked. “It’s my turn to milk tonight, and I’ll get to it as soon as the thunder stops and Dusty calms down.”
“I can milk,” Earl offered.
“Why? You don’t like milking.” That particular chore had been a sore spot between the two men for years.
Earl sat down on a stool nearby. “I know, but I wanted to get away from Ma until she goes to bed. She’s driving me loco.”
“What’s she doing now?”
Earl leaned forward and rested his forearms on his thighs, clasping his fingers in front of him. “She’s at it again, going on about me getting married and starting a family.”
“Well …” Tom gazed at his brother for a few seconds. “You are the oldest.”
“By less than a year,” Earl pointed out.
“That may be so, but in Ma’s mind, you’re the oldest so you should get married first. You know she has her heart set on having a houseful of grandbabies.”
“That’s no reason for me to get hitched. Not that I’m against getting married. I was planning to ask Jean Stanton eventually, but—”
“You didn’t move fast enough,” Tom finished. “You couldn’t expect her to wait forever. She was sweet on you but women want to get married and start having babies before they’re too old.”
“If Farley Jones hadn’t come around …”
“If you’d made your move at the church supper last spring, she wouldn’t have been interested in Farley. You would likely be married by now and everybody – including Ma – would be happy.”
Earl nodded. “Yeah, I waited too long, and now there isn’t one other woman in Cedar Valley who isn’t either Ma’s age or so prickly she’d make my life a misery.”
“You’re right,” Tom agreed, “but you know Ma’s not going to let up until you bring a bride home.”
“I know, and if I have to listen to it through another winter, I’ll … well, I’m not going to. I’m going to find me a wife.”
“Where?” Tom asked.
Earl scratched his ear and looked away. ”I was thinking about sending away for one of those mail-order brides I heard about.”
Tom studied his brother. Surely he hadn’t heard him right. “What?”
“I saw an ad in a newspaper I was looking at the other night at the saloon.”
“What newspaper?”
Earl shrugged. “Can’t remember. It might have been the Denver one, but the fella who was reading it said he’d gotten a wife through an ad like
Sure, there was a shortage of women in the west, and Tom had heard about matchmakers who arranged for marriages between women from back east and men all over the west. He’d never met anybody who’d done it, though.
It was a huge risk, he thought, to send away for a woman and be obligated to marry her when she arrived. What if she wasn’t as young as she advertised herself to be? What if she was too frail to handle farm chores? Or worse, what if she had no teeth? It seemed to Tom that any woman worth marrying wouldn’t have any trouble finding a husband where she lived without having to travel hundreds of miles to marry one she’d never even met.
Tom didn’t voice any of this, though. What Earl did about finding himself a wife was none of his business.
“Winter’s not far off,” Earl went on, “and it’ll take some time to find the right woman and to bring her out here before the snow flies.”
“Then you’d better get started,” Tom said.
The cow waiting to be milked gave Tom a plaintive glance and mooed.
Earl got up and crossed to the stall where Tom was comforting Dusty. “Since I can’t go back inside yet, I’ll take care of the horse while you milk.”
“Thanks,” Tom said, then picked up the milking stool and set it at the cow’s side.
“I kept the newspaper,” Earl said. “As soon as I can get into the house without Ma seeing me, I’m going to go and write a letter and send it off in the morning.”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do.” Melanie slumped against the back of the brocade chair two afternoons later and gazed at her best friend, Eleanor. “This whole situation is just … unbearable.”
Eleanor nodded, her ringlets bouncing with the movement. “You know you’d be more than welcome to stay with James and I, but we’ll be closing the house in a few weeks.”
“Oh, that’s right. I forgot,” Melanie said. “You’re spending the winter in Europe.”
Eleanor grinned. “The Riviera, actually. We so enjoyed it so much last year that we can’t wait to return.”
Melanie tried to be happy for her friend, but she recognized the envy seeping through her veins. She wanted to go to Europe, wanted to buy new gowns, wanted to do the things she’d taken for granted all her life. Things she’d never be able to do again.
Eleanor’s voice interrupted Melanie’s thoughts. “Surely, there must be some other family who could take you in.”
“Not that I know of,” Melanie replied. “Mother was an only child, and Father’s only brother passed three years ago. As far as I know, he had no family of his own.”
Eleanor took a sip of tea from the bone china cup, then set it back on the saucer. Her voice lowered to a whisper, and an expression crossed her face not unlike one would expect from eating a lemon. “You might have to get a …job.”
Melanie’s eyes widened. “Heavens, no. That’s just …. unacceptable.” Not that she had any skills that would qualify her to do anything, even if she couldn’t come up with another alternative.
“What other options do you have? It’s either that or … you know … I’m sure there are some rich men who’d be happy to have you as a mistress.”
Melanie felt her face flame. She couldn’t believe her friend would even suggest such a thing, but then Eleanor had changed since she’d married. She was much more risqué and open-minded about intimate subjects she never would have spoken about before. “Eleanor!”
Eleanor chuckled. “It is part of life, Mellie. At least you’d have a home, and you’d have the lifestyle you’re accustomed to.”
“That may be true,” Melanie protested, “but the price …” She couldn’t even bring herself to consider the cost of being a kept mistress.
For a few moments, the two ladies sat in silence sipping their tea. Melanie glanced out the leaded glass windows overlooking the vast green lawn. She watched as the gardener snipped dead blooms off the rosebushes.
“Mellie!”
Startled, Melanie’s hand shook, rattling the cup and saucer in her hand. “What?”
“Do you remember Rose Winchester?”
“Of course,” Melanie replied. “People didn’t stop talking about the scandal for months. Why?”
Eleanor nodded. “She found herself in a similar situation than the one you’re in.”
“Isn’t she working in a factory?”
“No,” Eleanor interrupted. “She did get a job in one of the garment factories—”
“You don’t expect me to—”
“No, not at all,” Eleanor said, shaking her head. “The factory she was working in burned down last autumn. I heard she became a mail-order bride to a wealthy rancher in Colorado somewhere.”
Melanie was stunned. She’d heard of men living in the west who were advertising for wives. It seemed barbaric at best, barely more civilized than a caveman dragging a woman by the hair back to his cave.
“Why are you telling me about her?”
“You could do that, too. You could become a mail-order bride.”
“What? Have you gone mad?”
Eleanor placed her cup and saucer back on the silver tray on the table and shifted, perching herself on the edge of the chair. She leaned over and took Melanie’s hand. “It’s the perfect solution, Mellie. You could travel west and marry a rich man and then your troubles would be over.”
“That’s the most ridiculous idea you’ve ever come up with,” Melanie sputtered. “What about a courtship? A proper engagement? Time to plan a wedding?”
“I think it would be rather exciting.” Eleanor’s voice took on a dreamy quality. “Imagine, the adventure—”
“I don’t want an adventure,” Melanie moaned. “I want a home and security.” And someone who loves me, she wanted to add. Eleanor was her best friend and she adored her, but sometimes, it was difficult to quell the envy that filled her at her friend’s good fortune. Eleanor had everything – money, position, a husband who worshiped her, a beautiful home, travel … She could go on, but it only depressed her even more now that she was penniless and almost homeless.
“It might be worth speaking to the woman who arranged the marriage for Rose Winchester. It doesn’t mean you have to go through with it but it’s an option and right now, you don’t have many other choices.”
Melanie sighed. Eleanor was right. She had no choices. There were few jobs for women, especially women like her whose only skills were with an embroidery needle and a pianoforte. She did have exquisite penmanship, too, but she doubted that would be enough to find a position that would support her. As for being a man’s mistress, her reputation would be in ruins, and that would be worse than … anything.
No, Eleanor was right. She might have to do something drastic like become a mail-order bride. It couldn’t hurt to get more information. “Do you know who arranged the marriage for Rose Winchester?”
“Her name is Elizabeth Miller. She lives on Rock Creek Road.”
“The whole idea is preposterous.”
As if Eleanor hadn’t heard her, she continued. “When the factory burned down last year, almost all of the women went to see her. From what my housekeeper tells me, many of the marriages have turned out quite well.”
“Have you heard how Rose’s marriage is?”
“Apparently she’s very happy.” Eleanor stood up and smoothed her skirt. “Now I really must run. James and I are meeting the Standishes for supper and I do have to go over next week’s menu with the housekeeper before we go out.”
“Thank you for stopping by, Eleanor,” Melanie said. “It’s been very lonely these past few days.”
Eleanor squeezed her hand. “I’m so sorry for your troubles, but try not to worry. We’ll think of something. In the meantime, go and speak to Miss Miller.”
“I—”
Eleanor held up a hand to stop Melanie. “Just in case you decide that it’s a possibility,” she said.
