Mail Order Beatrice

  Mail-Order Beatrice

  Widows, Brides and Secret Babies Series

  Book 10

  By

  Caroline Clemmons

  Cover by Black Widow Designs

  (V. McKevitt)

  Copyright © 2020 by Caroline Clemmons

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

  Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Widows, Brides, and Secret Babies Series

  About Caroline Clemmons

  Chapter One

  Farm near Mud Flat, Georgia, 1875

  “Attie? Attie, he’s coming. Pa’s drunk and he’s carrying his gun.”

  Beatrice Kendall grabbed her carpetbag and set it outside the window then crawled out after it. “Hand me the baby.”

  Her brother Wade limped into the room and picked up her baby of the same name. “Goodbye, little nephew. Don’t forget Uncle Wade.”

  He kissed the boy on the forehead then handed the tiny bundle through the window. Next he passed her folded bills. “This is all I have but you’ll need this and more. I’ll stall Pa as long as I can. Attie, I swear I’ll see the man who did this to you pays.”

  Alarm stole her breath. “No, please leave it alone, I’m begging you. Wade, he’d as soon kill you as not. Except for missing you I’m better off away from here anyway. I’ll let you know as soon as I’m settled. I left a note telling Pa I took what was in the tin box in the kitchen so he won’t think it was you. No matter what Pa says, I’m the one who slaved for years and saved it.”

  Her brother leaned out the window. “I know that and you deserve every dime and a lot more. Be careful, sister. Write to me care of Les Covington when you can.”

  She gathered her baby to her and picked up the valise. So little to show for all the years of her hard life. All she and her baby owned fit inside one large carpetbag. She’d need all the luck in the world to get away from her father. He wouldn’t take kindly to losing his housekeeper, cook, and gardener.

  When she had walked for miles across the fields and then through the trees parallel to a lane, she reached a stage stop. The wind carried the scent of rain but so far the weather was dry. Seed pods stuck to her skirt from her time crossing the fields. Far as she could tell she’d made it here without being seen by anyone who knew her. She didn’t dare go inside the station until she saw the stage for fear her father would come looking for her. Behind some bushes she made a place on the ground and nursed her baby.

  Although he was the product of a vicious assault, she refused to equate her innocent baby with that awful experience. He was a precious treasure, the best thing that she’d ever known. Her father wanted her to give up the child for adoption, but she refused.

  She’d suffered to get this baby and she intended to raise him herself. Pa said he’d kill the baby if she didn’t agree to give him up. Pa claimed he didn’t want a baby around crying and taking up her time when she should be doing chores.

  When little Wade was fed and content, she counted her money. While she was nursing her boy, she had to eat nutritious meals. She couldn’t afford to starve herself or her son would suffer. He was already so tiny and thin. With careful management, she had enough for the stage to Atlanta and two months’ rent and food.

  Then what? She’d have to think of something in a hurry. Maybe she could get a job as a cook or housekeeper where she could bring baby Wade with her. Before she’d left, Attie had taken her mother’s wedding ring and wore it now. To anyone who asked, she was the widow Bishop.

  As she’d feared, her father came galloping up with his horse in a lather. He stormed inside the stage stop as if searching for her and was back out in a flash. He mounted his horse and rode down the road southeast. With any luck Pa would think she’d headed for Savannah. To be safe, she stayed where she was.

  When she heard the stage, she slipped in and bought a ticket to Atlanta. She was terrified until she and Wade were safely on the stage and underway. She pulled down the side curtain so she didn’t show from the outside. As the distance from Mud Flat increased, the safer she felt.

  In Atlanta, the city was so big she couldn’t imagine finding her way around the streets. She got off the stage and asked the stage agent for directions to a boardinghouse within walking distance. The first one didn’t allow children but the kindly owner directed her to the Bide-a-While Boardinghouse on Oak Street.

  “Mrs. Murphy will take you if she has a vacancy. Don’t expect a smile but I understand the food is satisfactory and the rooms are clean.” He offered clear instructions to reach the other boardinghouse.

  She thanked him and followed his directions. The Bide-a-While didn’t look bad. The large building could use a coat of paint but the yard was neat with flowers blooming in the borders. After a deep breath, Attie went inside.

  “My name is Mrs. Bishop. I’d like a room.” She’d chosen to use Ma’s maiden name.

  Mrs. Murphy looked her over as if she’d just come from prison. Well, she had, hadn’t she? A different kind than one with bars.

  “That’ll be a week in advance.” Mrs. Murphy crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m warning you, if the child is fractious and disturbs other residents, you won’t be allowed to stay.”

  Attie paid what she thought was twice what the rate should have been. “He’s been very good so far.”

  “Harumph, I’ve heard that before. Well, follow me.” The owner’s permanent scowl lines proved what the man had predicted. Attie wondered if the woman ever smiled. Still, she imagined owning a boardinghouse was a tiresome job and gave the woman credit for hard work.

  Mrs. Murphy led the way to the second floor. “Breakfast is at seven and supper is at six. You have to furnish your own lunch or you can pay fifteen cents a day extra and have a cold but filling lunch provided in your room. The sheets are changed each Monday and fresh towels are furnished Monday and Thursday. If you need more, there’s a fifteen cent charge.”

  “I’ll take the lunch. I’m nursing the baby and need to keep up my strength.”

  The room wasn’t bad. Although not very large, it appeared clean and smelled of furniture polish. When she was alone, Attie laid Wade on the bed. Her arm and shoulder ached from carrying him so long. She loved her boy, though, and would protect him with her life if that’s what was required.

  She removed a drawer from the washstand and lined it with a blanket she found in the wardrobe. The arrangement made an adequate bassinet and the blanket assured thick padding for her son. When she’d changed Wade and tucked him into his new makeshift bed, she stretched out on the adult-sized one.

  She’d been exhausted plenty of times in her life—including every day for the last ten years. Now she had a decent bed in a safe place. The knowledge let her relax peacefully for the luxury of a nap.

  The sound of a gong woke her. When she checked on Wade he was sound asleep
. Being toted around probably tired him as much as the toting had her. Smoothing her hair with her fingers she slipped downstairs for supper.

  The dining room was set up as two long tables with servers going behind those seated. Attie was so hungry her head was woozy and her stomach cramped. The potatoes, corn, green beans, and fried chicken smelled delicious.

  Apparently there was no blessing so she said her own thanks for delivering her safely. When she joined others in eating she was delighted to find the food well-prepared. As hungry as she was, she wouldn’t have turned down an old shoe if it came with gravy.

  There were two other women her age. A blonde looked as if a smile would crack her face. A brunette smiled and laughed throughout the meal.

  The happy brunette introduced herself as Hannah Jensen. “And, this is Meredith Dill. I’m in Atlanta to find a husband. I gave up on my own and met with the matchmaker a friend recommended. How about you?”

  Attie wouldn’t forget Meredith’s last name because the woman looked like she’d been sucking on a dill pickle. “My name is Beatrice Bishop but I go by Attie. I’m a widow and new to Atlanta. I didn’t know there was a matchmaker nearby.”

  “She’s well known for happy results. A woman from our church consulted her a year ago and is now happily married with a baby on the way.”

  Prune-face Meredith sniffed. “You’d have to be shamefully desperate to consult a matchmaker. I’d rather die an old maid.”

  Hannah winked at Attie. “You may do that very thing, Meredith. I don’t understand why you think there’s something wrong with using a matchmaker. There’s no better decent way to meet a man who wants a wife and I’m not at all ashamed I consulted her.”

  Attie was intrigued. “How can you be sure the man really wants a wife and isn’t sending for a woman for illegal purposes?”

  Meredith sniffed again. “Exactly my thoughts.” She dabbed daintily at her mouth with her napkin.

  Hannah shook her head at Meredith then looked at Attie. “She requests that a letter from either the minister or the sheriff accompany the request.”

  Attie digested this fact. “So, he’s sort of been checked out beforehand?”

  “Yes. And, if you get there and don’t like what you find, then you can come right back to Atlanta. The matchmaker, Mrs. Mercedes McCormick, will wire the money.”

  “She must be good if she’s willing to guarantee her matches. I wonder if she has prospective grooms who accept a woman with a baby.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know you have a baby. Some men do accept a woman with a child. If you’re interested, I’ll give you her address.”

  “I believe I am. Although that hadn’t occurred to me until now, a matchmaker seems like what I need. I’ve been worried about how I’d survive. My husband died and left me with no money. I have a bit from my Pa and my brother gave me all he had but it won’t last long. I’m not sure I can find a job. No one will want me to bring a baby with me to work and I have no one to look after him if I don’t.”

  “What about your husband’s family?”

  She shook her head. “Neither family can help other than the small amount from my father and brother. I’m on my own.”

  “What room are you in?”

  Attie ate the last bite of her dinner. She had never been so full and the sensation was wonderful. “Number three. Which are you in?”

  Hannah laid her fork on her plate. “Number five, next door to you.”

  Meredith glared at Attie. “I’m in number one so I hope you keep your baby quiet. I have to get my rest in order to teach school.”

  The woman’s attitude about everything irritated Attie. She wanted to return Meredith’s glare with a sharp comment. But, she’d resolved not to be mean to anyone.

  Before she could stop herself, though, she smiled and spoke in a syrupy-sweet voice, “Why, Meredith, I am so glad you told me. I’ll remember not to pinch my baby to make him cry while you’re in your room.” Oh, dear, why had she said such a ridiculous thing?

  Hannah laughed so hard she almost fell from her chair.

  Chapter Two

  Rocking M Ranch near Bandera, Texas

  Tate Merritt looked up over his newspaper. “Grandpa, I don’t want a mail-order wife. One of these days I’ll go to Austin or San Antonio long enough to meet a gal I like.”

  Grandpa sat in the chair near his facing the fireplace. “When is this ‘one of these days’ gonna happen? Son, neither of us is getting younger. I’d like to see you settled with children before I die.”

  Tate sent his grandfather a fond glance. The old manipulator pulled the before-I-die routine whenever he wanted something. In truth, the man was as healthy as could be.

  “You’re not aiming to kick the bucket right away, are you? I figured you’d hold out another week or two.”

  Grandpa stabbed a forefinger at him. “Don’t get smart-mouthed with me. Reckon I can still lick you if I was of a mind to.”

  Not a chance but he’d let Grandpa think that if it made him feel better. “Which only goes to prove my point, Grandpa. You’re fit as a man my age so stop sounding like you’re on your deathbed.” He folded his newspaper and laid it aside. Didn’t look like he’d have a chance to read it in peace.

  “Listen, I want to see you settled with a good woman and raising a family of children. I want to know this ranch is going to be passed down in our family. You’re my only heir, son, and I want to know you’re building a dynasty.”

  He held up a hand. “I’m only twenty-five. I promise I’ll marry a good woman and have a passel of kids for you to spoil.”

  “Well, I’m not twenty-five so get on with it.”

  Tate might regret the decision later but he’d give in to the man who’d raised him. Since he planned to marry someday he might as well start the process. If she was nice, a wife would be welcome.

  “All right. I’ll order me a catalogue woman if it makes you happy. That’ll give one more person in the house for you to devil to death giving orders. Maybe I’ll catch less criticism from you with a wife here. I’ll check into one of those matchmakers when I can.”

  His grandfather acted as pleased as if he’d won a cash prize. “Happens I have the name ‘of one of those matchmakers’ right here.” He fished out a slip of paper from his shirt pocket. “Here she is, a lady in Atlanta.”

  Tate exhaled in frustration. “What a surprise to find you just happen to have a matchmaker’s name ready. You are something else, Grandpa. How long have you been carrying around this piece of paper?”

  “Last week in town I happened to run into Darrel Runnels. You remember him? His folks live between us and Medina and he was here for a visit. Anyway, he’s married now to a woman he met through a matchmaker. He sure is pleased with his wife and gave me the matchmaker’s name, a Mrs. Mercedes McCormick in Atlanta.”

  “I see.” Dang. He figured that meant Grandpa had been talking about marrying him off to anyone who would listen. At least writing this matchmaker would keep his grandfather from sharing Tate’s private life with everyone Grandpa met.

  Tate accepted the slip of paper. “I’ll write later this evening. Right now, I have to get the bookkeeping caught up. This ranch won’t run itself.”

  “If you were to write the letter first, then you wouldn’t have to worry about it later. I could get it all ready to take into town in the morning.”

  “Grandpa… oh, why not if it makes you happy.” Tate strode into his office and sat at the desk. He took out a sheet of paper and the inkwell and pen.

  Grandpa followed him. “Let her know how well-situated you are and that you’re a fine looking man. Wait, I’ll get that little photo we had made.” Grandpa hurried toward the back of the house.

  Tate didn’t know what to write. He put down what he figured a woman would want to know if she was considering marrying him.

  Dear Prospective Bride,

  I live on the family ranch in a rural area of Central Texas. We raise cattle and horses. My grandfather and
I live in the house and we have a housekeeper who does the cooking. Our three ranch hands live in the bunkhouse but eat their meals with us. We go into town once a week for supplies. If we can get away we attend the community church on Sunday.

  Town is just over half an hour away in a buggy or half that on a horse. You might think being so far from town means nothing much happens but people get together pretty often for dinners and barn dances and socials. If a woman wants to socialize with others, there are plenty of opportunities. We have a buggy for trips to church and such and we use the wagon if we’re loading up on supplies.

  If a woman doesn’t want to go into town, there is nothing says she has to. I’m including a photo of me in which I look real solemn but I smile a lot. I don’t drink much and don’t get drunk when I do. I don’t gamble other than ranching, which is a pretty big gamble if you think about it. Grandpa and I have money in the bank to tide us over if we have a bad year. That’s not to say we’re rich, because we’re not.

  Our house is sturdy and just one story so there’re no stairs to climb. There are four bedrooms plus the one for the housekeeper. We have a water pump in the kitchen so we don’t have to carry water from outside.

  This is a real pretty part of Texas. In the spring the wildflowers are everywhere. We don’t get too cold in the winter but once every few years we have a light snow. If you want to look us up on a map, we are on the Medina River between the towns of Bandera and Medina.

  I am enclosing the fare for the train and stage to Bandera. You can ride the train to San Antonio. Then, you’ll have to take the stage the next fifty miles. If I know when you’re stage is due, I’ll meet you in Bandera. Grandpa will likely be there too and see us get married.

  Sincerely,

  Tate Merritt

  Rocking M Ranch

  Bandera, Texas

  When he was finished, he addressed an envelope.

  Grandpa returned with the little photo he’d had made a couple of months ago. Tate had wanted a photo of his grandfather and the only way to get the ornery man to agree was to have his own made at the same outing.