Dorothy Clark - Mail-Order Bride Switch

You’re mine now, Virginia. You have no choice. Your father has given his blessing to our marriage and will disown you if you defy him. I look forward to our union, my dear.

She shuddered, scrubbed at her mouth. Emory Gladen’s kiss had bruised her lips, made her sick. And the hurtful pressure of his hands gripping her, holding her tight against him...she stared out into the darkness. Was he searching for her? He’d warned her he’d never let her go.

Well, you don’t have to be concerned about the suitor any longer.

She closed her eyes, thought about Garret’s words. What he said was true. She was safe, even if Emory found her. She was married. Emory was out of her life forever. But Garret...

Her breath caught. So far, Garret had been polite and thoughtful, in an impersonal way. Except for his kiss. That was troubling. Why hadn’t he made an excuse to avoid it?

She shoved the disquieting thought aside and brushed her hair. What would happen tomorrow? When should she rise? She was accustomed to being awakened by Millie bringing her a cup of tea, then laying out a gown for her that would suit her activity for the day. An image of Garret carrying two cups of coffee into the sitting room flashed before her. Did he even have tea? Of course he did. This was a hotel.

Her hand paused midbrush. She’d forgotten that. Yet she needn’t concern herself about tomorrow morning. Garret’s hotel maid would start work early. She would order her breakfast then. They served lovely breakfasts at the Astor House, not that Garret’s hotel compared to the luxurious Astor House. Why, this room was—not part of the hotel. These were his private rooms. Well, no matter. She would manage in the morning and then explain her likes and dislikes to his hotel maid over breakfast.

She went to the dressing table, put her brush down and tied her hair back at her nape with a ribbon that matched her velvet dressing gown. Exhaustion from the stress of the day hit her. She rubbed her tired eyes, snatched up the clothes she’d tossed onto the bed, and looked around. She would need to wear her brown wool gown again tomorrow. The dresses in the valise would be too wrinkled. They needed the maid’s attention before she could wear them.

She carried her dress and petticoats to the wardrobe, opened the doors and hung them inside. Her valises she shoved against the wall. She pushed down on the bed, smiled at its softness, removed her dressing gown and pulled back the coverlet on the bed and stared. Where were the linens and blankets?

She frowned, grabbed her dressing gown and swirled it back around her shoulders. Where would she find a maid to make up her bed? Dare she go looking for one? She stared at the bare mattress, then glanced at the door. She had no choice.

She slid back the lock and opened the door a few inches to look out. Light from two of the sconces glowed on either side of the large, double-door cupboard. Garret’s words popped into her head.

I forgot to tell you the linens for your bed are in the cupboard in the hall.

Why—she caught her breath. Surely he didn’t mean for her to make her own bed! She couldn’t do that. She fastened the buttons on her dressing gown, listened to the silence a moment, then stepped out of her bedroom. The hem of her velvet gown whispered against the floor. She hurried to the end of the short hall and looked out. The sitting room was empty. She stared at the open door beside the fireplace, tiptoed over and looked into the adjoining room. It was dark on her left, but she made out the form of a table with chairs. A dining room?

She edged forward and peeked around the shelves on her right. Dim light from two oil lamps over a large, heavy table gleamed on pots and pans, dishes, a fireplace with metal doors in the stone, a huge cooking stove, and cupboards and furniture she could not identify. There was another door on the far wall.

She crept between the fireplace and the table, slipped by a large cupboard, opened the door and looked into the next room. It was too dark to see anything but what looked like a server on her right and tables and chairs. The hotel dining room? She frowned and retraced her steps. Garret and his staff must have retired for the evening.

She opened the cupboard in the hall, stared at the shelves piled with bed linens. A quilt with red stars caught her eye. She grabbed it and two pillowcases, carried them to her bedroom and dropped them onto the bed. Tears stung her eyes. She blinked them away, shook out the pillowcases and stuffed her pillows in them. She folded the large quilt in half, wrapped herself in it and lay down, wishing for Millie.

The wind sighed at the windows. She turned onto her side and dimmed the lamp. Tears welled, then seeped from beneath her lashes and ran down her cheeks. She was frightened and helpless and all alone. No one but Millie even knew where she was.

I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee.

Peace stole through her. The tension in her body eased. She slipped her hand out of her quilt cocoon, wiped the tears from her face and looked at the dull light reflected on the plaster ceiling overhead. Forgive me, Lord. I don’t mean to sound distrusting or ungrateful. I know You are always with me. It’s only that I’m afraid. Please grant me courage, and let tomorrow be a better day.

Chapter Three

Garret popped the last bite of his buttered bread in his mouth, shrugged into his work jacket and squinted through the dim light to make out the face of the pendulum clock in the corner. A little less than two hours until the first train. He frowned, pulled on his hat and gloves, grabbed the lantern off the shelf and hurried through the hotel lobby to the front door. It inched outward and stopped. The snow fell through the narrow crack into a small pile. He lowered his shoulder and shoved the door against the snow until he could slip through the opening, then grabbed the lantern and pushed his way out. He brushed the pile of snow back out onto the porch and closed the door.

Light from the oil lamps that had burned all night flickered. Gray puffs of hot breath formed small clouds in front of his face and hovered there. Not a breath of wind stirred. That was good. At least he wouldn’t have to deal with blowing and drifting snow. The cold nipped at his face and neck. He cast a thankful look at the copse of pines at the end of the building that had acted as a windbreak and kept the snow from billowing and piling in deep swells in front of the hotel. He tugged his collar up, grabbed the shovel he kept handy by the door and cleared a path across the porch to the steps. It was the work of a few minutes to shovel his way down them and clear his short walkway to the road.

“Morning, Garret!”

The hail carried sharp and clear on the still, cold air. He straightened, swiped his jacket sleeve across his forehead and looked over a high drift between his hotel and Latherop’s General Store. Blake Latherop stood beside a lantern, his legs splayed and his hands folded on the handle of a shovel standing upright in the deep snow.

“Morning, Blake. You figuring on shoveling a path to the depot?”

The store owner nodded, tugged at his gloves and lifted his shovel. “There’s no choice. I have to get the mail. And I’m expecting supplies for the store.”

“I’ll help. There may be some passengers who will want to stay over. That is if the trains are running.” He frowned, glanced toward the surrounding mountains. “I was wondering if they might get blocked by drifts in some of those high passes.”

“I guess we’ll find out.”

“Would you gentlemen like some help?”

He looked beyond Blake to the dark form trudging up the road from the parsonage, a lantern swinging from one hand, a shovel leaning like a weapon against one narrow shoulder.