A Mail Order Bride’s Unexpected Savior (Preview)

Chapter One

1880 – Turner Ridge, Dakota Territory

Nausea rose up in Myrtle Hanover’s throat, as a sudden fear at the prospect of marrying someone she didn’t know gripped her. Gone were the images of a nice ranch house and a handsome man. Instead, she pictured an ugly, mean old man in a shack.

She’d been in a rush to answer the advertisement for a mail-order bride when she learned that the orphanage she’d been living and teaching at was closing down. There were no respectable jobs available and she’d been desperate not to end up on the streets.

When she saw the advertisement from a man named Claude Hugo, who said he was an upstanding citizen and a wealthy, successful, business owner looking for a wife, she had thought it was the answer to her prayers.

Now, she wasn’t so sure.

It’s too late to turn back now, she thought as the stagecoach passed a wooden sign welcoming travelers to the town of Turner Ridge.

Her heart pounded as she stepped off the coach and looked around. The afternoon sun was starting its downward trek into the west. Dust swirled around in the streets as horses and wagons made their way through town.

She didn’t see anyone who resembled a handsome, wealthy business owner waiting, so she tapped the porter on the shoulder.

“Excuse me. I was wondering where I might find Mr. Claude Hugo.”

The man gave her a hard, searching look and didn’t answer right away. “Uhm… Why do you want to see him, ma’am?”

Myrtle’s face flamed bright red, and she could feel the burning heat in her cheeks. “I’ve come here to marry him.”

His eyes widened with shock and his jaw dropped. Finally, he said, “I didn’t know Claude was looking for a wife. You’ll find him at the Wild Horse Gambling Hall. The building is a block down the street.” He pointed.

“Why would a businessman be at the gambling hall this time of day—or at all?”

“Pardon me, ma’am?”

“The ad says that he’s a wealthy businessman.” Myrtle pulled out the ad for a mail-order bride and showed it to him.

The porter began to laugh but stopped abruptly when he saw the expression on her face.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. This don’t quite describe the Claude Hugo I know. But it’s not my business, I ‘spose.”

Myrtle’s breath caught in her throat. This couldn’t be true.

She stared at the man for a few moments and then whispered, “Thank you.”

He nodded. She felt his eyes boring holes in her back as she picked up her bag.

Myrtle walked purposely down the sidewalk, hoping to exude more confidence than she felt. Her heart was pounding fast, her lungs screamed for air. A couple of people who’d overheard the conversation followed her.

Soon, she stopped in front of a weather-worn building. Two men, leaning on either side of the doors, looked at her curiously.

“Can I help you, ma’am? You look a might lost,” one of them said.

“I’m looking for Claude Hugo.” Although the porter at the stagecoach station told her that Claude owned the gambling hall, she was sure he’d been mistaken, or that there was another man who went by the same name. The ad she answered definitely said he was a wealthy, successful business owner.

The other man’s eyes opened wide and he stared at her for a moment. “You’re looking for Claude Hugo? What in the world would a lady like you want with him?”

She sucked in her breath and stood as tall as she could, trying to maintain her dignity. “That business is between Mr. Hugo and me.”

“Ooh, you’re one of those women who put on airs.”

Myrtle’s hands tightened on her bag until her nails dug into her palms. She bit her lip to stop herself from trembling. She could hear people whispering around her, but couldn’t make out the words. All she could do was focus on breathing.

Maybe the porter just doesn’t like Mr. Hugo?

Soon, a tall, big-bellied man sauntered through the wooden, double-swinging doors. He had disheveled sandy blond hair. His red, blotchy face and rheumy, light blue eyes testified to his love for the bottle. The man’s white shirt was stained, his tan pants looked as though they hadn’t been washed in a month of Sundays.

“This is the lady who was looking for you,” the loafer standing against the wall said, a wry grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.

Myrtle put her hand on her stomach, certain she was about to be sick.

She’d imagined her fiancé would be a tall, fit, handsome man; wearing a nice shirt and trousers, maybe black button boots. He would run a general store or feed store.

Not this odious man who stood in front of her…

Word had got around quickly, and a small crowd gathered around them, staring at Myrtle and Claude. She heard bits and pieces of their conversation, but was too anxious to make sense of the words. The idea that the porter had been telling the truth, and that Claude wasn’t the wealthy businessman he claimed to be—likely wasn’t even a respected citizen—made her knees weak. She focused on standing straight.

“You’re Myrtle, I reckon,” Claude said, studying her with eyes full of arrogance. He smiled, and ice-cold fingers went up and down her spine. There was no kindness on his face. “You’ll do. I’ll get the preacher.”

“Wait, no,” Myrtle said quickly. “You wrote in the ad that you’re a wealthy businessman…with a big house.”

Claude chuckled. Several men around him laughed loudly. “Well, I might have exaggerated a little on that. I own this gambling hall. I reckon it’s successful enough. We’re going to live upstairs—you’ll get used to the noise.”

Myrtle’s heart dropped and she looked around. The crowd pressed closer, trying to catch every word. Her face burned with humiliation.

This is not what I signed up for!

“You lied, Mr. Hugo. I-I can’t marry you. This…this just isn’t proper. I can’t set foot into a place like this. No self-respecting woman would.”

Everyone fell silent and she could feel people’s eyes burning holes into her. Myrtle felt as though a hot, wet, woolen blanket had been tightly wrapped around her, suffocating her. She opened her mouth slightly, trying to breathe.

Claude’s face turned red and he snarled at her, showing yellowed teeth like a rabid dog. The vein in the side of his neck throbbed, and she feared that he would pounce as he took a step closer.

“You’ve come all this way. You can’t back out now, Myrtle.”

She wrinkled her nose. The stench of his hot breath could have soured milk. It smelled like a combination of whiskey and meat left out in the sun. An odor that was something like a rotting trash heap emanated from his body and circled around her, making her stomach roll.

Myrtle tried not to gag. She wanted more than anything to take a step back away from him. Yet she was nearly broke…had spent most of her money on the travel and a couple of meagre meals.

She cleared her throat. “I came all this way on the promise of a respectable home with a respectable man.” She clutched the advertisement in her hands and showed it to him, trembling as she gestured at the gambling hall.

A man stumbled out of the doors and nearly fell onto the wooden sidewalk behind Claude. Another man followed behind him and kicked the drunk man in the hind end.

“Don’t you ever show yer cheatin’ face around here again, Floyd, or I’ll shoot it off!”

Loud laughter erupted from inside and Myrtle shivered a bit.

“I’m not stepping foot in that place. I won’t marry a man who spends his days in a place like this! No respectable woman would.”

“What respectable woman answers an ad in the paper and uses a man’s money to travel here and marry someone she’s never met?”

A sharp knife twisted in Myrtle’s gut. “I made a mistake, Mr. Hugo. Maybe I should have corresponded with you more. But I’m sure you know there are many respectable women who answer these ads because they want to start new lives.”

She cringed as another drunk teetered out of the gambling hall and belched loudly. The smell of cheap whiskey hung in the air. A wave of nausea nearly doubled her over. “I’m sorry… I can’t be a part of this.”

Claude moved closer, almost touching her. It took every ounce of Myrtle’s willpower to not step back.

“What choice do you have?” he demanded. “You got nowhere to go and I’m not paying your way back to Pennsylvania.”

“I’ll figure something out,” she said with more confidence than she felt.

He bared his yellowing teeth at her, and the hot putrid breath wafted over her again, making her stomach churn with disgust. “You will marry me as you promised, Myrtle!”

Claude grabbed her arm and squeezed hard, making her wince. She could feel his fingers digging into her flesh.

Before either of them could say anything else, a man stepped up to them. “Claude, that’s enough.” He spoke in a quiet, calm voice. “Let her go.”

Myrtle looked in surprise, and saw a tall man with broad shoulders standing there. He wore a dusty cowboy hat, jeans, and a short-sleeved shirt. His dark blond hair was tousled and his green eyes were filled with irritation.

Her breath was stolen away for the second time, but for a completely different reason.

Keep your head together, Myrtle, she chastised herself.

“This woman made her choice,” the handsome man said firmly. “You aren’t going to bully her into marrying you.”

A look of fright crossed Claude’s face, but then he looked around, confident that his friends would back him up. He dropped his hand from her arm, but didn’t back away.

Myrtle resisted the urge to rub her arm. She could only imagine what life would be like if she did marry him. He was ready to hurt her now, in front of everyone else.

“Frank, you need to back off. This ain’t any of your concern.”

“It’s my concern because I don’t like seeing men bully women,” Frank said. “You’ll not threaten her. If she says she’s not going to marry you, then you aren’t going to force her to do so. You aren’t going to harass her.”

“You always just think your something, don’t ya?” Claude snarled.

Frank simply stood there with his arms crossed over his chest.

Claude’s eyes narrowed and he glared at Mrytle. He grunted and leaned toward her. “You’ll regret this.” He turned and stormed back into the building.

Myrtle barely registered his words. Her heart thundered in her chest and she was close to hyperventilating.

“Are you alright?” Frank asked.

She nodded, trying to regain her composure. “I… Thank you.”

Myrtle felt a rush of gratitude wash over her, then felt a little self-conscious.

Her gratitude and brief relief were replaced by humiliation and panic. She’d come all this way to marry a wealthy businessman but had been fooled by a man who ran a run-down gambling hall. Now, she had no place to go and not much money—definitely not enough to get back to Pennsylvania.

Chapter Two

Frank studied the woman as she stood in the sunlight, looking every bit like a stray puppy.

“The show is over, everyone. Go on about your business,” he said to the crowd around them.

He ignored their grumbling and focused his attention on the woman. “I’m Frank and this is my friend, Sally,” he said, gesturing to the girl beside him. “What’s your name, ma’am?”

“Myrtle Hanover.”  The color was returning to her face and she’d stopped shaking. “I’m sorry. I-I wasn’t expecting any of this,” she said softly.

“Weren’t you a little naive to answer an advertisement for a wife and travel all this way without fully knowing the situation?” he asked.

She bristled at the question, throwing her shoulders back and narrowing her eyes. “He lied in the ad. You don’t understand. There aren’t a lot of options for women, and I trusted him. It’s not like I could come out here, find out the truth and then decide whether to marry him.”

Sympathy coursed through Frank as he looked at the woman. He was sorry that he’d criticized her, adding to the stress that she was already dealing with. The poor woman seemed completely lost.

Sally put a hand on Myrtle’s shoulder. “He said you didn’t have a place to stay?”

“Yes, I just got here. I took the train from Pennsylvania and the stagecoach the rest of the way.” She sighed and pressed her hand to the side of her face. “I don’t have a whole lot of money left. Can you recommend a boarding house or a woman’s hotel I could stay at? Until I can figure out how to get back home or maybe find a job.”

“I’m afraid that the only boarding house here won’t take single women, and we don’t have a hotel. However, I have an extra room. I own the bakery and my apartment is over my shop. You can stay with me for the night.”

Frank groaned in the back of his throat. Sally was very generous and it was going to get her in trouble someday. She saw only the good in people until it was pointed out, sometimes painfully so, that some people have a dark soul.

“I don’t want to be an inconvenience,” Myrtle said, in spite of the look of hope in her eyes.

Sally smiled reassuringly. “You won’t be any trouble at all. Tell me, do you know how to bake bread?”

Myrtle’s lips curved into a weak smile. “I know how to bake all types of bread, pies, cookies, and cakes. I’m also a very good cook. I’m not afraid of hard work.”

“Excellent. You can help me out until you can figure out what’s next for you.”

Frank shook his head. Sally was known to take in any stray animals that came around, feeding them and protecting them until she could find them a home.

Of course she’d pick up a stray woman and do the same.

Sally put her arm around the woman’s shoulders. Frank picked up Myrtle’s canvas bag and followed them to the bakery.

Sally spoke softly and reassuringly to Myrtle the entire way. Frank couldn’t hear what she was saying, but apparently it was comforting. Myrtle seemed to grow taller and she held her head high.

They stepped inside the bakery and the woman looked around. “This is very charming. It smells delicious in here.”

Sally walked back toward the door. “Frank was helping me carry in my supplies from my last order. We left them here when we heard Claude carrying on.” She gestured to the stack of boxes piled near the door. “We need to get them inside. I’ll unpack them a little later.” Myrtle helped bring in the boxes of supplies and set them on the counter.

“Have a seat, Miss Hanover. I’ll get us some coffee,” Sally offered.

She disappeared into the back for a minute. An awkward silence hung between Myrtle and Frank like a heavy cloud. He wanted to ask about her situation but wasn’t sure how to broach the subject.

He studied her quietly. She had long dark brown hair that trailed all the way down her back in a single braid. Her large, chocolate eyes were full of emotion. Even though he saw the fear in them when she’d faced Claude, he also saw the lightning that flashed and snapped, showing a fire in her soul. She was thin and looked fragile, although he was pretty sure that she was a lot stronger than she looked.

A warmth surged through him as her hand accidentally brushed his. He jerked away as though he’d touched fire. Frank was surprised—he’d never had this reaction to a simple touch before.

Myrtle squirmed, as though she was uncomfortable under his gaze, stared out the large glass window, watching the people walking on the wooden sidewalk and dusty streets.

Occasionally, someone would stop and stare inside. Frank wasn’t sure whether they were trying to decide on coming in for a treat or if they were gawking at the newcomer.

Turner Ridge had its share of action; from bandits and other outlaws, to the rowdy men that stumbled out of the local saloon and gambling hall. But this was a unique situation and the news would have traveled fast. No one needed a newspaper in Turner Ridge—news around town spread faster than any paper could tell it.

As far as Frank knew. Myrtle was the first woman who’d ever come to town after answering an advertisement for a wife.

Sally bustled back to the table and set three cups of coffee in front of them. She disappeared for a minute and returned with blueberry bread covered in melted butter.

“I thought you might be hungry,” Sally said. “I can’t imagine you had a lot of food options…and all that fuss saps a body’s strength.”

“Thank you. I’m very grateful,” Myrtle replied. She bit into the bread and her eyes widened. “This is absolutely delicious. It’s the best I’ve ever had.”

“It’s my own recipe. I’m so glad you like it.”

“Sally is a terrific baker. I’m not surprised that people are coming from all over Dakota Territory for her food,” Frank said.

Myrtle still felt stiff and awkward.

Sally gently put a hand on her arm. “I’m sorry that you’ve had a hard time, Miss Hanover. It’s not a very nice welcome to town. Please don’t judge all of us by Claude Hugo; he’s not one of our better citizens. And the town’s folk were just being nosy.”

Myrtle looked at Frank. “Thank you for helping me. I was just going to tell him to go jump in a lake and then walk away, but wasn’t sure where I would walk to. Normally, I’m a little quicker on my feet, but I was taken by complete surprise when I discovered he isn’t who he said he was.”

“Someone in the crowd said that you answered an ad for a mail-order bride,” Sally said gently. “How did they find out so quickly?”

Sighing heavily, Myrtle closed her eyes. Her shoulders slumped and chin dropped to her chest. Frank’s heart filled with sympathy, knowing that she was likely embarrassed and full of regret.

He wanted to reach out and pat her arm to comfort her. The feeling surprised him. He had never been demonstrative, even with his sister or mother.

Myrtle pulled a small piece of paper out of her bag and handed it to Sally. “I expected him to greet me at the stagecoach station when I arrived. I asked the porter where to find him and showed him the ad—other people around us must have overheard the conversation.”

Sally read it and made a choking, cough-like sound. She handed the paper to Frank.

He read the advertisement and raised his eyebrows. A flash of heated anger filled his veins as he shook his head. “That lying son of a gun!”

Frank rubbed his face and pushed down the desire to smash Claude Hugo in the chin. “That scoundrel blatantly lied to you with this ad, Miss Hanover. I don’t think he even has a house, outside of the gambling hall. He lives in one of the upstairs rooms. He certainly isn’t an ‘upstanding citizen’; and I’m not sure anyone would consider his ramshackle gambling hall a ‘successful business’.”

Sally nodded and wrinkled her nose. “No. I wouldn’t call him wealthy. He makes enough selling booze, entry fees into card games, and taking a portion of winnings to stay up and running, but he’s not prosperous—not by any stretch of the imagination.”

Myrtle took a sip of her coffee, nodded and sat up straighter. “I can’t marry him.”

Frank, who’d known Claude for a very long time before he’d turned up in Turner Ridge, couldn’t agree more with her decision.

“Can you go back home?” Sally asked sympathetically.

Myrtle hesitated. Frank guessed that she was trying to decide how much about her past to tell them.

Sally rubbed Myrtle’s back, making Frank smile. She had an almost mystical way of making folks feel comfortable. Her kindness was like a balm on a sore arm. Just being around her on a rough day could make a person feel all was right with the world. That was one of the many reasons Nick—Frank’s best friend and the ranch foreman—loved her.

Slowly, Myrtle shook her head. “I have no home, no job…no family there.”

Frank was sure that there was more to the story, but neither he nor Sally were going to pry. He was fairly certain that Sally would get the full story out of her later.

Myrtle sighed and rubbed her forehead for a moment. “I was looking forward to living out west. I imagined helping out in the business…taking orders, keeping accounts, or whatever else needed doing. I’m not afraid of hard work and what I don’t know how to do, I learn.”

Frank had no doubt that she would. She struck him as the kind of person who could do anything she put her mind to. And he admired her bravery. It couldn’t have been easy to travel fifteen hundred miles away from everything she’d ever known. Myrtle was holding up well for someone whose dream of a better life had been shattered by lies. He recognized that she wasn’t one of those dainty women who fainted at the slightest challenge life put in front of them.

“I know we’ve just met, but I like you, Miss Hanover,” Sally said. “I was just telling Frank that I needed to hire someone to help me out here. I can’t keep up with all the business. I can’t pay a whole lot right now, but I can offer you eight dollars a month, plus room and board.”

Myrtle looked at her in disbelief. “Really? You’d do that for me? I’m a complete stranger.”

“Not anymore. We’ve been introduced and I know a little bit more about you. Soon you’ll find out all there is to know about me. I’m certain we’re going to be good friends.” Sally smiled. “I have a sense about people, and I’m usually pretty good at knowing who are good folks and who aren’t.”

Frank’s eyes opened wide and he coughed to stifle a guffaw in his throat.

Sally shot him a sharp look and kicked him under the table. He smirked back.

Frank felt bad for Myrtle. She seemed like a nice person, but they knew nothing about her. Sally might think that she was a good judge of character, but she thought everyone had a heart of gold until they proved otherwise. Though Frank greatly doubted Myrtle would slay Sally in her sleep, they couldn’t be too careful.

Sally caught his eye and nodded. She apparently read his thoughts and was letting him know that she knew what she was doing.

He sighed heavily. Sally was more stubborn than his mule, and once she made up her mind there was absolutely no point in arguing with her.

“I know you’ve had a rough day. Let’s get you upstairs so I can show you to your room,” Sally suggested to her new friend. “You can wash up if you like; I know train and stagecoach rides are a dusty affair. Then, we can talk about your new job. How’s that sound?”

Myrtle nodded in reply. “Thank you.”

Frank stood. “I need to get those nails and flour that I came into town for, and head back to the ranch before Nick and Franny have my head. I’ll leave you ladies to get settled in.”

“Thank you again,” Myrtle said to him.

He nodded and left.

As he stepped onto the boardwalk, Frank shook his head, still not sure if Sally had made a generous offer, or made a mistake by getting into a battle between Myrtle Hanover and Claude Hugo.

 

Chapter 3: Myrtle

Sally locked the door behind Frank and smiled at her guest. “Let me show you to your room.”

“I really can’t thank you enough. Not too many people would take in a total stranger and be so welcoming. I honestly didn’t know what I was going to do.”

The tall blonde woman smiled at her, kindness shining in her big blue eyes. “You’re quite welcome. I would hope that someone would help me if I ever found myself in need.”

She pushed open the bedroom door and Myrtle took it all in at a glance. It was small, but larger than the one she’d shared with three other girls at the orphanage. A bed was pushed up against one wall and a chest of drawers was next to a wardrobe. An enamel chamber pot filled with fresh straw was discreetly placed behind a partition. At the foot of the bed, in the corner, stood a wooden stand with a wash basin and pitcher. A small mirror hung above it.

She set her bag on the floor and looked around in awe as Sally bustled out with the empty pitcher, returning with fresh water.

“I’m lucky that I have a hand pump and a sink downstairs. It makes washing dishes and getting water so much easier. The outhouse is out back. I’m sure you saw the commode, which you can dump in the mornings if you don’t feel like going outside at night. I keep fresh straw in the shed behind the bakery.”

Myrtle felt tears stinging the back of her eyes. She’d already said Thank you a million times but it didn’t feel like enough.

“Just come downstairs when you’re ready, Miss Hanover,” Sally said.

“Please—call me Myrtle.”

“Myrtle it is then.” Sally grinned, closing the door behind her.

Myrtle sank down on the bed and covered her face with her hands. This was the first time she felt like she could even breathe since arriving in Turner Ridge. She sent up a little prayer, thanking God for bringing Sally and Frank to her rescue.

The events from the afternoon replayed in her mind, and heat flooded her face as she felt humiliation overwhelm her once again. Everyone in town knew why she’d come to Turner Ridge.

Even though they were aware that she’d been lied to and had turned Claude down, that didn’t mean they would not stare and whisper. The fact that she’d answered an advertisement for a bride would be a blemish on her reputation. That blemish was even darker since the man she’d come here for had been Claude Hugo.

“How could I have been so stupid?” she groaned quietly.

She knew the answer—she’d been desperate.

There were no job prospects and no place to go back in Pennsylvania, besides the county poor house. Like many people who were surviving on the streets, she would rather die than go to the poor house. The conditions were wretched at best; violent and dirty. Unspeakable things happened to single young women there. Myrtle shuddered in revulsion.

She quickly got undressed and walked over to the wash basin, using the washcloth and soap to clean almost two weeks of traveling off of her body. She pulled her hair out of the braid and washed it as well. Finally feeling human, she put on clean clothes, brushed her hair, and re-braided it.

All the while, thoughts raced through her mind. She replayed the events in her mind from when Mrs. Spencer, the woman who ran the orphanage, told her that the city was shutting the place down; her desperate hope that she could find a decent life out here; the train ride.

Myrtle replayed the scene with Claude and shuddered. She could still feel the judging eyes of the townspeople burning holes through her, even if everyone got to know her over time and she worked a respectable job.

Maybe I can just stay in the back and never meet anybody from town? I don’t see any reason why I would have to leave the bakery very often.

An image of Frank flashed into her mind. He was tall and handsome, just like the men she and the other girls had whispered about at night when they planned their future and fantasized about their knight in shining armor, the Prince Charming who would sweep them off their feet.

She knew that he didn’t quite trust her because she was a stranger in town, and who showed up to marry someone she’d never even met. Myrtle had no idea why it was important to her, but she hoped eventually Frank would know that she was a good person.

She went downstairs to find Sally waiting for her. “I’ve got some stew on the stove and, of course, fresh biscuits to go with it. I can’t imagine that you had a lot of good food during your journey.”

Myrtle’s stomach rumbled. The truth was she hadn’t eaten much at all, because she didn’t want to spend what little money she had left on food.

“What can I do to help?” Myrtle asked, following Sally into the kitchen.

Sally pointed to a cupboard. “The plates are in there. Glasses are in the cabinet next to it. Spoons are in the top drawer. We’ll eat at this table here.”

Myrtle quickly set the small wooden table in the corner of the kitchen.