Dorothy Clark - Mail-Order Bride Switch

“Good morning, Pastor. Blake and I were about to start clearing a path to the station.” He tugged his hat closer over his ears, then grabbed his shovel. “How about if I go first and scoop off the top ten or so inches, then you scoop off another shovelful, Blake, and you can clean and even the path, Pastor. That sound all right?”

“Lead on.” Blake grabbed his lantern and shovel and trudged through the snow to join him. “Let me know when you get tired, Garret, and we’ll switch places. We ought to make it all the way to the station in good time doing that.”

“Fair enough.” He whacked the snow off to the side ahead of him with the flat of his shovel and set the lantern on the firm surface, then scooped up a shovelful of snow and tossed it aside. Blake did the same. They fell into a rhythm, their heavy breathing and the swish of the shovels against the snow the only sound.

“If we’re going to...have snow like this...” Blake’s huffs and puffs came floating over his shoulder in small gray billows “...I’m going to...have Mitch make me a...snowplow. One I can hitch behind my horse to...clear the road.”

He glanced over his shoulder and grinned at his neighbor. “Smart man.” He scooped up more snow and cast it aside. “You’ll be using your horse, Blake...so I’ll pay for the snowplow. You plowing the road will...benefit the hotel, as well. That suit you?”

“Sounds...fair enough.”

“And a whole...lot easier!”

“Well spoken, Pastor!” Garret chuckled, drove his shovel into the snow and straightened to catch his breath. Blake followed suit.

“I have...my moments.”

Like last night, when you performed my wedding? He watched Konrad Karl smooth out the path they’d shoveled, then turned and looked ahead. It was still too dark to see the depot, and there was no sign of a road to guide him, only flat white snow in every direction. He took a deep breath, pushed his shovel into the white powder and hoped he was on the right path.

* * *

Virginia bolted upright, startled by a whistle that sliced through the stillness and quivered on the morning air. “Oh!” She scrambled out of bed and grabbed for her dressing gown, her heart pounding. The train. No. She had reached her destination last night and—she was married!

Her knees trembled. She sank down onto the edge of the bed and looked around the strange room, casting back to yesterday and trying to order her thoughts. There was a snowstorm...

An image of Garret Stevenson standing strong and solid in swirling, blowing snow flashed into her head, followed by one of him kneeling in front of her and removing her boots. She shivered, fastened her dressing gown and looked at the small heating stove. The sleepy fuzziness in her head began to clear. He had taught her how to tend a fire. Yes.

She glanced at the stovepipe. She wasn’t to touch that handle. She bent to open the small door on the front of the stove, remembered the smoke that had puffed out into the room and took a step back. No smoke. She glanced at the pulsing red coals, scooped coal from the box and piled it on top of the hot embers. Now she had to adjust the draft to burn hotter for the day...no more than halfway...she had done it! Her lips curved into a smile.

She stepped into her slippers and gathered her toilette items. If she remembered correctly, the dressing room was a short distance down the hall. She opened the door and peeked out. The way was clear. She ran on tiptoe, eased the dressing room door closed and slid the bolt, then hurried to perform her morning ablutions so she could get back to her bedroom before anyone came. She didn’t want to miss Garret’s maid.

There! Virginia turned before the long mirror fastened to one of the doors on the wardrobe. Her dress looked quite acceptable. She tugged the hem of the bodice into place at her narrow waist, shook out the long skirt, then checked to be sure the back of the high collar was in place. Memory stirred and her hands stilled.

Garret had slid his hands beneath her long curls and shook them. His spread hands had kept the snow from melting on her neck and sliding down her back. Her husband was a thoughtful man. So far.

Her face tightened. He was no stranger to ladies, for certain. Not given the practiced way he had removed her boots. The memory came bearing the sound of his laughter. It was infectious. She’d have laughed with him if she hadn’t been so frightened. And she’d been even more so a few moments later when she’d mentioned Millie. He’d been so angry. Had accused Millie of betrayal. And not only Millie.

Had Garret suffered the unfaithfulness of a woman? Would he be cruel? She shivered and rubbed her upper arms, where Emory Gladen had squeezed so hard she’d had to bite her lip to keep from crying out. Her face paled. Her eyes darkened with fear. He always had a charming reason for his “excesses;” as he called them—he loved her so much he forgot himself, he didn’t know his own strength...

She whirled from the mirror, rushed to the bedroom door and hurried into the hall. She would breakfast early today. Garret’s maid would be in the kitchen. Maids began their work early.

The sitting room was still dark, but for the flickering light from the fire. Outside the windows on the back wall, the sky was beginning to turn gray. She started across the sitting room, stopped when a log collapsed, sending sparks rising up the chimney. The fire needed wood. She moved to the wood cradle, lifted a small log, placed it on the fire, added another and poked them into place. The embers shot out tongues of flame and licked at the new fuel. The muted sound of stomping feet came from the front of the building. She turned toward the door.

“Good morning.” Garret came into the room, tossed his hat and leather gloves onto the shelf and shrugged out of his jacket.

“You’ve been outside already?”

He nodded, rubbed his hands together briskly, then sat in the chair. “For a couple of hours.”

“Whatever for?”

He tugged at one of his boots. “I had to shovel a path to the station in case the passengers want to come to town.”

“You! Where is your help?”

He tossed his boot onto the small rag rug, rubbed his foot and looked up at her. “Blake Latherop—he owns the general store next door—and Pastor Karl helped me.”

She stared. Last night he’d looked like a businessman who might be welcome in her father’s club. Today, in a coarse-woven blue cotton shirt with a narrow band for a collar and a placket with buttons—one missing—he looked like a laborer. If a handsome one. “I meant your hired help.”

He pulled off his other boot and stood. His brown twill pants were damp from midcalf to his knees. “Whisper Creek is a town in the making, Virginia. There is the general store, my hotel, an apothecary shop and soon-to-be doctor’s office, the church and a sawmill so far.” He came to join her on the hearth, held his hands out to the fire. “I suppose you can add in the railroad station and the laundry a Chinese family has out in the woods, though they’re not rightly part of the town. The point is, the owners run their businesses. There’s no one in town to hire. Mitch Todd—the sawmill owner and town builder—lures his construction workers from the railroad crews passing through.” He grinned, obviously amused at Mr. Todd’s ingenuity.

Uneasiness spread through her, made her stomach flop. There’s no one to hire.

“Fire feels good. Is there coffee?”

“I don’t—” The unease turned to full-blown apprehension as understanding dawned. She took a breath and shook her head. “I thought you had a maid.”

Anger swept over his face like a cloud and settled in his dark blue eyes. “Millie Rourk was to cook and clean for a wage, in addition to a good home and living.” He blew out a breath, shoved his fingers through his hair and fixed his gaze on her. “It’s getting late and I haven’t shown you around the hotel yet. I’ll make coffee when we come back. Have you breakfasted?”