Christine Johnson - Mail Order Sweetheart

“Then you need to show her what she’s missing.” Pearl jotted something on the paper and pushed it back toward him. “Fight fire with fire, I say. These tweaks should capture her attention.”

Sawyer read the opening line and shook his head. “Up and coming industrial magnate?” Little did Pearl know how close to the truth she’d come. Sawyer wanted nothing to do with that old life, where he was known as Paul Evanston, heir to the Belmont & Evanston Railway. In Singapore he earned an honest wage by the sweat of his brow. It felt good. He slept well at night, knowing he’d done his best to help others, not bleed them dry like Father did. He wanted no part of his father’s manipulation and unethical dealings. “All I do is work the saws in the mill.”

“You’re now mill manager,” Roland said, “which is one step closer to becoming a captain of industry.”

“A lot of steps away.”

“Who knows where this could lead?” Pearl said. “Mr. Stockton might think so highly of your skills that he asks you to oversee operations along this entire side of the state.”

“Far-fetched at best.” Stockton seldom visited, least of all promoted. “If anyone catches his attention, it’d be you, Roland.”

His friend grinned. “You never know. Mr. Stockton has an eye for men with potential.”

Sawyer squirmed. He didn’t want to gain the lumber baron’s attention. Stockton could well know Father and bring the man back into Sawyer’s life. “I intend to earn any promotion through hard work.”

“No one said you wouldn’t.” Pearl looked to her husband for confirmation. “I believe in you. We both believe in you.”

“Fiona doesn’t.” He tore up the sheet of paper. “This will only bring trouble. Or don’t you remember that the advertisement for your brother attracted too many women? This would do the same.”

“Not if it only goes in the local newspaper.” Pearl tapped a finger on the counter with each statement, as if she were instructing him the way she taught the schoolchildren. “The Singapore Sentinel circulates only in the immediate area. Few would see it. There aren’t many women of marriageable age here.”

“That’s not the point. I don’t want to marry. Not now, anyway. And when I am ready, I don’t need any help finding a wife.” Sawyer had to put a stop to this ridiculous matchmaking effort.

“You might change your mind if Fiona shows interest.” Pearl was already piecing the paper together. “Or would you be interested in Louise?”

Sawyer snatched a handful of scraps from Pearl. “You know I have no interest in Mrs. Smythe.” The petite widow was quiet and bookish, not at all his type. He preferred Fiona’s high spirits.

Pearl brushed aside the remaining scraps of paper and pulled out a clean sheet of paper. “You wouldn’t have to meet anyone since the advertisement instructs interested parties to write in care of the mercantile. Give it a try. What do you have to lose? You just might gain Fiona’s attention.” She began to write.

“And make her forget Blakeney,” Roland added.

“Enough!” Sawyer raised his hands. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but it’s not the right time.”

The mercantile’s doorbell jingled. Seconds later, Jimmy, the lad who helped out the Deckers, appeared at the counter.

“He’s gone.” Jimmy managed between gulps of air.

“Who’s gone?” Pearl asked.

“Him.” Jimmy waved in the air. “Mr. Blakeney.”

“Gone?” Sawyer stared at the boy. “You must be mistaken. He was going to take Fiona to the choir concert in Saugatuck. They probably left early.”

“No, sir.” Jimmy shook his head. “I was over to Saugatuck delivering that cloth Mrs. Wardman ordered and I seen him ridin’ out of town like his horse got spooked. So I went and asked the livery boy where he was off to, and he said Mr. Blakeney paid up his bill at the hotel and was headed upriver to Allegan.”

“Paid up his hotel bill?” Sawyer echoed. He looked at Roland and Pearl, who had equally astonished looks on their faces. “If he paid up, then that means just one thing.”

“He’s gone,” Pearl and Roland said at the same time.

“And he’s not coming back.”

“Someone has to tell Fiona,” Pearl said, her gaze fixed on Sawyer.

“Oh, no.” Sawyer backed away. “This sort of thing is better coming from a woman.”

“It’s better coming from someone who can console her and perhaps step into the missing man’s place,” Pearl pointed out.

More matchmaking. Nothing Sawyer had said made a bit of difference. He liked Fiona, but taking Blakeney’s place might suggest he was interested in more than friendship.

“The time’s not right.”

Pearl set a stack of papers on the counter. “Roland and I have to work tonight. She needs to hear this from a friend. You could ease her disappointment by taking her to the concert.”

Sawyer knew defeat when he saw it. He threw up his hands and headed for the boardinghouse.

* * *

In the privacy of her room, Fiona O’Keefe reread the stunning letter. She wanted to talk some sense into her next-youngest sister, Lillibeth, but there was no time to send a return letter. Singapore didn’t have a telegraph office, which left Fiona without any means to respond.

She shoved the letter in the envelope and rubbed her aching temples. What was she going to do? Lillibeth had done the unthinkable, and somehow Fiona would have to pick up the pieces.

“Not now,” she groaned.

Two months of effort were about to come to fruition. Mr. Carson Blakeney, who’d come to Singapore to find a good location for his new sawmill, was ready to propose. She could sense it. He just needed that last little push. Her niece couldn’t show up now, not until she broached the subject with Carson.

Time had run out. Little Mary Clare could arrive any day now. Lillibeth hadn’t been clear about that part, so Fiona had to be ready. Tonight she would secure a marriage proposal from Mr. Blakeney. If not...

Well, there were no other options. She tucked the missive into the bureau drawer and slammed it shut. The sound reverberated through the boardinghouse. That was that. The time for gentle persuasion was over. Tonight she would employ direct pressure and pray the man didn’t dart away like a frightened rabbit.

What was Lillibeth thinking? A child of seven should not travel across the country without the accompaniment of a known and trusted adult. The thought of that poor motherless child alone and frightened tugged on her heartstrings. When Mary Clare’s mother and Fiona’s older sister Maeve died, Fiona promised to care for Maeve’s only child. She was doing her best to marry respectably so she could do just that. It meant leaving Mary Clare in Lillibeth’s care temporarily, but Fiona sent every dollar she could back to New York. Granted, that hadn’t been much lately, but Lillibeth shouldn’t have run short unless she was spending that money elsewhere.

Fiona pulled the letter out of the drawer and unfolded it. Oh, yes. Lillibeth complained of hardship at home. Fiona’s purse was nearly empty. She hadn’t any extra to send until the concerts began again at the hotel. But she’d sent plenty over the last year. A little care could make that stretch over these lean months, but apparently once the flow of money had dwindled, Lillibeth—or more likely that worthless husband of hers—had decided to send poor Mary Clare to her.

There’s this group a orphans headin’ west, Lillibeth had written, an the matron said she’ll take real good care a Mary Clare.

Orphans! The poor girl must think she’d been abandoned. Why couldn’t Lillibeth wait? Though Fiona’s efforts to find a husband in New York had ended in scandal, she was doing her best here.