MAIL ORDER MOUNTIES

Bride for Marshall

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CHAPTER 1

 

“Miss Hennessy, how many times must I remind you the cleaning staff is meant to be neither seen nor heard by our guests?”

 

Mr. Albury scowled at Colleen from under his comically bushy eyebrows and down his snooty big nose. He towered over her, which he used to full advantage to intimidate his subordinates. Of course, since he was the manager, every employee at the Ottawa Grand Hotel was his subordinate.

 

“I’m sorry, sir,” Colleen started, dipping her head as if she was ashamed by her friendly nature. “I was only trying to help.”

 

“I daresay the Prime Minister and his family don’t require the assistance of a chamber maid, unless their linens are soiled. Is that what happened, Miss Hennessy?”

 

He knew very well it wasn’t, but he obviously wanted her to admit her fault. So be it, she thought with a sigh.

 

“No, sir. I overhead his wife wondering where the nearest restaurant was, so I gave her directions. That’s all it was, Mr. Albury, I swear.”

 

Mr. Albury sniffed in distaste. “Need I inform you we frown upon eavesdropping here at the Grand?”

 

Frustrated, she blurted out, “What was I supposed to do? Just let her wander around aimlessly?”

 

The manager’s already thin lips pressed together so tightly they practically disappeared. Pink spots rode high on his ruddy cheeks and his bulbous red nose grew even redder.

 

“What you should have done was report what you heard to a porter so he could assist them.”

 

“And collect a tip for his efforts,” Colleen muttered under her breath as she glanced toward the door of Mr. Albury’s office. 

 

“Enough!” The man’s deep baritone rumbled through the room, demanding respect. “You will abide by our rules, whether you agree with them or not, or you will find yourself unemployed. Do I make myself clear?”

 

Colleen kept her eyes on the toes of her shoes as she replied meekly. “Yes, sir.”

 

“Good,” he said, swinging open the heavy, dark door. “To ensure there is no repeat performance, your services will not be required tomorrow.”

 

“I-I get a day off?” she asked, thoroughly confused.

 

“Without pay.”

 

Colleen’s heart sank to the bottom of her stomach. Her pay barely kept her independent as it was. If she lost her position at the hotel, she’d have to move back in with her family, and that wasn’t an option.

 

“Yes, sir,” she whispered, turning for the door. And because it was expected, “Thank you, sir.”

 

“One more misstep…” He let the threat of being fired hang there, like a dead goose dangling in the butcher’s window.

 

“I understand, sir.”

 

Tears built up in Colleen’s green eyes as she pulled the pins holding her mopcap to her head. As soon as she reached the tiny room she shared with another maid, she pulled the rest of the pins and set free her mane of red curls. They didn’t like being restrained and constantly threatened to pop out if she didn’t tame them with a thousand hair pins.

 

Flopping onto her thin, hard mattress, she allowed herself a few minutes of self-pity. Normally, she was always bright and chipper, constantly seeing the sunnier side of things — which drove her roommate crazy. But she couldn’t change who she was, even if she wanted to. 

 

Which she didn’t.

 

Wiping away the tears, she took a deep breath and decided to spend the night with her family. It was Tuesday so Mam would no doubt be making her famous corned beef, Colleen’s favorite. If her family couldn’t cheer her up, nothing could.

 

As it turned out, her visit turned into a nightmare. Her father harangued her for not following the hotel’s silly rules, and her mother once again suggested Colleen join the same convent her sister Molly had fled. It had been foolish to assume the night would have turned out any other way. 

 

Only once she was snuggled up to her sister in the narrow bed they’d shared since childhood did Colleen let out her frustration. 

 

“I honestly don’t know what to do, Caitlyn. Mr. Albury doesn’t want me talking to anyone.”

 

Caitlyn snorted. “He obviously doesn’t know you. You can’t not talk!”

 

Colleen pinched her sister lightly and they giggled, just like old times. They’d been bedmates since Caitlyn had outgrown her crib. Colleen had taken it as her solemn duty to protect her little sister, much as their older sister Molly had protected Colleen. Little did they know twelve more Hennessys would join the family over the years. As much as the three eldest siblings loved the younger ones, they remained particularly close. 

 

“Did I tell you Molly wrote last week?” Caitlyn asked after the giggles had subsided.

 

“No! How’s life in Cougar Springs?”

 

“Blissful, as usual. The baby won’t come for a few more months, but she’s busy getting their little cabin ready. She insists she’s having a girl.”

 

Colleen sighed wistfully. “I wonder if I’ll ever get married and have babies. Maybe Mam’s right. Maybe nobody will take an old maid like me.”

 

It was Caitlyn’s turn to pinch her. “Don’t be daft. You’re beautiful and funny and full of life. Any man would be crazy not to want you.”

 

“Then why haven’t they been busting down the door to sweep me off my feet?”

 

“Probably because they’re intimidated by you.”

 

Colleen turned to face her sister, even though she could barely make out her features in the dark. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“It means you’re a formidable woman. You’re strong, independent, and have the energy of a thoroughbred colt. Seems to me, most men want exactly what Mr. Albury wants you to be — meek, quiet, docile. That’s just not you.”

 

“That’s it!” Colleen threw her arms in the air with her typical flair for drama. “I’ll never find a husband!”

 

“Quiet in there,” their father shouted from the next bedroom. “Some of us are trying to sleep!”

 

* * *

 

Colleen had lain awake all night, thinking about her future. If no man who met her could possibly ever want her, she had few options. Moving home and living as a spinster was out of the question. She was far too independent for such a life. Becoming a nun, while a worthy aspiration, was not her calling. And if she couldn’t so much as help a guest at her job, what was the point of even working there?

 

Sometime around dawn, as Caitlyn lay snoring lightly beside her, Colleen made a decision. Climbing out of bed as quietly as she could, she dressed quickly and hurried downstairs before her mother woke to start breakfast. Her destination wasn’t far, but she’d never dared walk there before. Not because it was in a bad neighborhood — far from it — but because going there signaled defeat in her mind. 

 

The sun sparked bright in her eyes as she turned the last corner, and for a moment, she wondered if God was sending her a sign. The sun could only mean good things. Now if it had been a lightning bolt and thunder, she would have scurried back to the hotel and continued on as before, but a shaft of sunlight guiding her way? That had to be a good omen.

 

Fortified in her resolve, Colleen tromped up the stairs and rapped on the door, lifting her chin and straightening her back. She wasn’t here out of desperation. She was here because she no longer wanted to wait around for her ‘real’ life to begin.

 

The sound of shuffling footsteps eventually came from the other side, then the door swung open. Miss Hazel Hughes stood in the doorway in her nightgown for the whole world to see. Her grey hair flowed over her shoulders in slightly frizzy wavelets as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. 

 

“May I help you, dear?” she asked, her voice gravelly with slumber.

 

“Yes, ma’am. I’m Colleen Hennessy. I’m sorry for calling so early, but I want you to find me a Mountie husband, just as you did for my sister, Molly.”

 

Miss Hazel gasped and her eyes flew open. “Oh! Molly wrote you might be calling. Come in, come in.”

 

Miss Hazel had earned quite a reputation in Ottawa for matching women with members of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police. Her son was a Mountie and after facilitating his marriage, apparently she’d developed a taste for matchmaking. But only for the brave Mounties who were dispatched far and wide to protect their country.

 

Colleen followed the old woman through a beautifully appointed — if slightly outdated — study and into the kitchen. Miss Hazel reached for a can of Arbuckle’s coffee that sat on a shelf, then turned to her. 

 

“For waking me up before I had my full eight hours of beauty sleep, I think you should make me some coffee, don’t you?”

 

Colleen smiled brightly. “Of course! And I do apologize for interrupting your sleep — although I daresay you don’t need as much beauty sleep as you claim.”

 

Hazel blushed and flapped a hand at her. “Flattery will get you everywhere, my dear.”

 

As Colleen bustled around the kitchen, innately guessing where everything she needed would be, she explained her situation. By the time the coffee was bubbling away in the percolator, she wrapped up her story.

 

“So, can you help me find a husband?”

 

Miss Hazel’s fingers buried deep into her mop of wild hair as she wrangled it into a makeshift braid. Her frown made Colleen’s stomach sink like a stone.

 

“Yes,” the woman said, but Colleen heard a ‘but’ coming. “But…”

 

“Miss Hazel, please. I know I talk a lot, and some people have told me I may intimidate men with my… exuberance. But I promise I will make an excellent wife. I’m the best cook in my family — no matter what Molly tells you — and my time as a maid has made me the world’s fastest bed-maker.”

 

“Oh, Colleen, it’s not that—“

 

“I swear I’ll be faithful and good-natured and follow the Good Book’s teachings on being a proper wife.”

 

“No, dear, it’s just—“

 

“And I’ll give him as many children as he wants. I would love a big family, like the one I grew up in. He’d hardly have to lift a finger!”

 

“Colleen Hennessy, may I get a word in edgewise, please?”

 

Colleen chomped down on her lips so she wouldn’t be tempted to interrupt again, then nodded mutely. Miss Hazel waited to get her point across before speaking.

 

“It’s not that I don’t think you’ll make a wonderful bride, Colleen. I do. It’s just that I have a number of young ladies on my waiting list to find husbands of their own.”

 

“Oh.” Colleen felt positively deflated. She’d been so sure…

 

“Follow me,” Miss Hazel commanded, as she breezed back into the study and went to her desk. “Please, sit.”

 

Colleen sat quietly — which was more difficult than imaginable — and waited as Hazel scanned some papers. Then a smile lifted the corners of her mouth.

 

“Well, I’ll be…”

 

“What?” Colleen asked, no longer able to contain herself.

 

Miss Hazel grinned. “I do believe this is your lucky day.”

 

* * *

 

Marshall Bowman shifted from one foot to the other as he and his three comrades waited for the train to arrive. It felt so strange knowing his future wife would be arriving any minute now, and yet they’d never met. The other men seemed much more relaxed than he felt inside, but then again, he probably appeared just as calm to them. 

 

Marshall had never been comfortable showing emotion in front of others, especially men. Remaining stoic and unflappable kept him safe. From what he wasn’t entirely sure, it just felt right. Like the way a man should behave. 

 

The others thought he didn’t care one way or the other about his upcoming nuptials — because that’s exactly what he wanted them to think — so they would have been surprised to learn his guts churned and burned inside him. Uncertainty gnawed at him, demanding to know if he had the slightest idea of how to be a good husband. 

 

Of course he didn’t! How could he? So what were the odds Miss Colleen Hennessy would end up being happy with a husband like him?

 

“Commander Murray!” 

 

A woman’s irate screech interrupted his dismal thoughts and for once Marshall was happy to see Mrs. Obregon. At first glance, a stranger might have mistaken her for a heavy, middle-aged man. Her salt-and-pepper hair was cropped short against her skull and she wore men’s clothes on a daily basis. Only a second look at her shape gave hints that she was actually a woman. Her voice was really the dead giveaway. 

 

Mrs. Obregon stomped right up to their commander, Peter Murray, and shoved her fists onto her hips, a frown doubling almost every crease on her weathered face. 

 

“Hello, Mrs. Obregon,” Peter said with a distracted sigh. “I don’t suppose this can wait. You see, we’re meeting our—“

 

“No, it can’t wait! Helen’s missing. I’m afraid she’s been murdered!”

 

Andrew Clarke, standing slightly behind the woman, rolled his eyes. Gilbert Keeler, standing next to Peter, clamped his mouth shut because Mrs. Obregon hated being laughed at. Marshall maintained his already stony expression — he was used to it.

 

“And which one is Helen again?” Peter asked, resigned to dealing with White Fox’s resident eccentric.

 

“The Dark Brahma! She’s the sweetest one of all my hens, and she’s gone.”

 

“Any sign of someone breaking in? Human or animal?”

 

“No! Just like the other day, I went out to the coop, and not a thing was out of place — except for Helen. You don’t need a fancy red coat to know that means an animal didn’t break in. Someone is targeting my beautiful girls, Commander, and I want to know what the lot of you are going to do about it.”

 

A train whistle blew in the not-so-distant distance. To his credit though, Peter didn’t so much as glance over his shoulder. The rest of them couldn’t help looking for the telltale column of steam, which was just visible above the tree line.

 

“I’m so sorry for your loss, Mrs. Obregon,” Peter said in his most placating tone. “Tell you what, first thing tomorrow morning, Constable Bowman will drop by to look for evidence and take your statement.”

 

Marshall glared at his commanding officer while Bert and Andrew grinned at Marshall. 

 

Mrs. Obregon looked between Peter and Marshall. “Why not now?”

 

Marshall’s nerves finally got the better of him and he blurted, “Because we’re all getting married today and our brides are coming in on that train!”

 

Mrs. Obregon followed his pointing finger down the tracks and blinked. “Oh. I see. Well, good luck with that, Constable, and I’ll see you first thing in the morning.” She spun on one worn boot heel and stomped back the way she’d come. 

 

“Thanks a lot, Peter,” Marshall said, rubbing the back of his neck to ease some of the tension gathering there.

 

“Hey, it’s your turn.”

 

They had an unwritten rule at the station to take turns dealing with Mrs. Obregon. Marshall nodded in defeat.

 

“Not sure if you’ll be able to solve it though, Marshall,” Andrew said, doing his level best not to laugh and failing miserably. “After all, there were no signs of—“ he paused for effect “—fowl play.”

 

Marshall rolled his eyes while the others cackled merrily. 

 

“Besides,” Peter added, when the laughter had finally died away, “you don’t really care about this whole marriage thing anyway, right?”

 

As his so-called friends watched his discomfort with glee, Marshall sniffed and scratched at his nose. The whistle hooted again, so loudly this time they all jumped. His pulse ratcheted up a notch at the sound, but at least it drew everyone’s attention away from him.

 

They lined up along the slim makeshift platform and straightened their coats and hats. Each man wanted to look as tidy as possible for his bride. Marshall turned away and huffed into his hand, making sure his breath was fresh too. He wasn’t sure if kissing a woman he’d never met at their wedding was expected, or even appropriate, but he didn’t want to take any chances. If Marshall Bowman prided himself on anything, it was being prepared for every possible outcome in any situation.

 

The train screeched to a stop in front of the tiny shelter that served as White Fox’s station. As a handful of bags were unloaded, the Mounties watched movement inside one of the passenger cars. It had to be the women, it just had to be.

 

Finally, a stout older woman poked her head out from the car’s doorway and looked in the wrong direction. She turned toward them so quickly the large feather sticking out of her hat waggled back and forth merrily. 

 

“There you are!” she cried, as if they were standing in the wrong spot. 

 

She easily disembarked from the train, waving away the hand of the conductor who’d reached out to help her. Glancing over her shoulder, she shouted, “This way, ladies!”

 

Three lovely young women followed her. First a brunette, who Miss Hazel introduced as Madelyn, Bert’s girl. Then followed Ida, a pretty Indian woman with a daughter, who was promised to Andrew. Calliope, a pretty blonde, would be Peter’s bride. 

 

Which left Marshall. Alone.

 

He tried to keep his emotions in check, but very little in this world would be more humiliating than to be the only one whose bride didn’t show up. Or worse — she took one look at him and stayed on the train.

 

Grinning from ear to ear, Miss Hazel stepped in front of him and glanced over her shoulder briefly. She did a double-take, then spun in a circle, obviously searching for his missing bride.

 

“Where the…” she muttered, then cupped her hands around her mouth to amplify her already loud voice. “Colleen Hennessy! Where did you get to, young lady?”

 

A startled “Oh!” came from inside the car, then a blur of blue darted down the steps and ran up to them. Marshall barely had time to focus before getting drawn into the sparkling depths of her green eyes. Her wide, guileless smile lit them up like lanterns, and also brought the softest tinge of pink high on her cheeks. Chestnut curls framed her face and draped across the fetch blue shawl wrapped around her narrow shoulders.

 

“I’m so sorry,” laughed the most beautiful woman Marshall had ever seen. “I stopped to say goodbye to someone on the train and, well, we just got caught up! I’m Colleen Hennessy. You must be Marshall Bowman.”

 

Marshall had read about people being ‘struck dumb’ before, but he’d always assumed it was just a literary device of mediocre writers. He wasn’t much for chit-chat, but never in his life had he found himself at a loss for words. 

 

Until he met his wife.

 

The strangest sensation overcame him, almost as if he was being sucked out of his own body, while at the same time his vision tightened until barely a pinprick of light and color and warmth shown through. At its center was the face he’d never tire of staring at. 

 

“I think you’ve taken his breath away, my dear,” said a voice he recognized as Miss Hazel’s, but it sounded as if it was coming from very far away. 

 

There was laughter too, but it barely registered. He only came to his senses fully when he found himself wrapped in the tight embrace of his bride-to-be. And he’d never felt more at home.