Mail Order Devastation (Montana Mail Order Brides, Book 4) (3 page)

Chapter 4

Wednesday April 3, 1890

Mollie shivered against the bitter wind as she stood tucked into a recessed doorway across the street from the stately Newberry Street home. She’d been forced to move on and walk around the block two times already, when well-dressed neighbors had passed by casting a curious—and disdainful—glance her way.  She didn’t want to be rousted by the police for loitering.

This was her last chance.  Nell
had
to be inside the home across the street.  Mollie had already been to the Stirling residence three days before, and had been fortunate it was a Sunday—she’d caught the couple coming out as they alighted into a carriage, on their way to Mass.  She had tried to stroll by casually, but she didn’t need to get very close to see the baby hadn’t been Nell—the Stirlings had adopted a chubby little boy, older than Nell and dressed in a fine blue suit with white piping.  Her heart had sunk at the sight of his pudgy arm emerging from the confines of his cashmere swaddling blanket.

It had taken longer to locate the Demings
—they weren’t quite as wealthy as the Stirlings, and were therefore less well known.  Apparently they were renting their fashionable Newberry Street home, and had only been in Boston a few years.  Mollie had spent her last few coins bribing old service acquaintances—who were only averse to speaking to a ruined woman such as herself until the money was brought out—and eventually she found out where the Demings lived.

It was early afternoon before Mollie finally spied someone coming out of the house
—a servant coming up the recessed stairs that led down to the servant’s entrance hidden underneath the home’s main stairs.  The blonde woman was several years older than Mollie—a kitchen maid, she guessed, based on the style of uniform dress peeking out from under the woman’s coat. 

Mollie hurried across the street to catch the woman just as she reached street level and turned to her left, heading down the sidewalk.

“Excuse me!” she called, halting the woman.  “Is this the Deming residence?”

The woman frowned. 
“Yes it is.  Who is asking?”

Mollie swallowed hard. 
“I…uh…I’m just wondering if I have the right place.  I’m looking for a couple, a Mr. and Mrs. Alexander Deming, who adopted a baby girl just last week.”

The woman pursed her lips and eyed Mollie with suspicion. 
“And again, who is asking?”

“
I’m sorry.  My name is Mollie Quinn.  I…” she realized now she should have prepared a story in advance, but it was too late.  Besides, the woman surely suspected already.  “I’m the baby’s mother.”

The woman
’s expression softened, but remained wary.  “Mrs.
Deming
is the baby’s mother.  Surely you realized that when you signed your child over.”

“
Then I have the right place?  She adopted my Nell?”

“
Her name isn’t Nell.  If it was, it’s not anymore.  I’ve no idea if the girl was yours or not.  It’s none of my business—and not yours either.  Not anymore.” The woman turned and walked away.

“
Please…wait!”  Mollie hurried to catch up, striding alongside her.  “You don’t understand.  I’ve been waiting all day in the cold to catch a glimpse of my little girl.  I’ve been searching for her for days.”

“
Again, not my business.  If you’re having second thoughts—“

“
I never had first thoughts!” Mollie snapped.  “I
never
gave up my baby.  I never signed a thing!  My mother took her while I was out looking for a job.  She lied to the nuns so they’d take her—she told them I was dead.  I never gave her away.  She was stolen.”

The woman stopped short. 
“Are you accusing Mr. and Mrs. Deming of stealing your baby?”

“
No!  No, of course not.  They had no idea. Neither did the nuns.  They’re victims, the same as I.  It was all my mother’s doing.”

The woman sighed, glancing around to make sure no one was looking. 
“My sister gave up her baby,” she whispered.  “Hardest thing she ever did, or probably ever will do.  Poor girl cried for months.  Still cries, sometimes.  I can’t imagine how much worse it would have been if the baby had been
taken
from her, against her will.” 

“
Then you’ll help me?”

“
Help you?  Help you with what?  I’m only a kitchen maid.  I’ve no sway with the family!  I rarely even saw them face to face.”

“
I know how it is…I’m a kitchen maid, too.  Or
was
, before…before Nell came along.  Lost my job when they found out I was with child.”

“
I’m sorry for that.  What house did you work for?”

“
The Farnsworths.”

“
Oh my!  Aren’t you the lucky one?”

“
I was, yes.”

Both women looked away, glancing around at passing carriages.  They both knew how word got around
…Mollie would never work in a great house again.

The woman cleared her throat. 
“Well, if you were a kitchen maid, you know there’s nothing I can do for you.”

“
You can tell me if the baby is my Nell, for sure.”

“
I never saw her.  And I’m not likely to, either.  Mr. Deming is closing the house up, for the time being.  Most of the staff will need to find temporary work elsewhere, until they return.”

“
Return?” Mollie’s heart seized.  “Return from where?”

“
Oh dear…” the woman paled.  “I’m sorry to tell you, but they’ve gone.  Mr. Deming got a wire, just the day after they brought the baby home.  His mother took ill, and wanted to see him.  The elder Mrs. Deming lives in Montana.”

“
Montana!  Are you telling me that they’ve taken my baby out west?”  Panic surged through her, and she fought to maintain control as tears pricked her eyes. 
My baby, out in the Wild West?
  Images filled her mind…of the Indian attacks and train robberies and every imaginable melodramatic tragedy that Chloe prattled on about, from the
Beadle’s Dime Novels
that she kept hidden under her pillow.

“
I’m so sorry, but yes, they left on a train just yesterday.  And…I’m not sure they’ll return.  You see, they’ve only let out this house, not bought it—or so the lady’s maid has told us.  And old lady Deming has a grand house in Helena, Montana.  Mr. Deming’s father made a mint out there—went out to Montana to strike it rich, and that he did.  His little claim became a great mining operation.  Clementine Deming always helped handle the business end of the mine, so when her husband died, though he left the mine to his son, it’s been Clementine Deming who ran it, while Mr. Deming—my employer—lived here on the east coast.  He prefers the culture and refinement of Boston.”

“
Then why would he stay out west?”

“
The word is, if his mother dies, Mr. Deming will need stay out there to run the operation.  You see, he’s the sole heir, so who else would stay on in the grand house and manage the mine?  We all expect we’re out of a job, should his mother pass on.”

“
Do you know where?” Mollie whispered.  Her mouth had gone dry, and her stomach sour.  It was all she could do to remain standing.  “Where in Montana did they go?”

“
Oh dear.  I’m not sure.”  The woman’s brow furrowed.  “Something with an ‘h’, maybe?  St. Helens?  Or…Helena?  Something like that.”

“
And you’ve no idea of when they’ll be back, then?”

She shook her head. 
“Only that the elder Mrs. Deming is gravely ill.  The impression the butler had was that they would be gone indefinitely.  He said even if she recovered quickly, the trip was such a long one that surely they’d stay on at least a month, probably more.  Especially since Mrs. Vera Deming—the wife of my employer—wasn’t too keen on taking the wee one on such a long train journey.  That’s all I know.”

“
Thank you.”  The world tilted, and Mollie gritted her teeth, trying to keep herself upright. 
My baby is gone.  They’ve taken her so far.  How will I ever see her again
?
 
“Can you tell me what Mr. and Mrs. Deming look like?”

The woman bit her lip. 
“You aren’t aiming to start trouble, are ya?  If they come back, I’d like to keep my job.  They’re good people to work for, and the staff is amiable.  Positions like this aren’t easy to come by.”

“
Don’t I know it.”  Mollie managed a tight smile.  “You can rest assured, I mean the Demings no harm, and I’ll keep your name out of it.  I only want to find them and appeal to them, in a cordial manner.  Surely once they know the baby was stolen, they’ll have compassion for me, and for my daughter.”

The kitchen maid laid her hand on Mollie
’s arm.  “Try to remember…they’ve wanted a baby for years, from what I hear.  They dote on that little girl.  I know you miss her terribly.  But it will cost you a fortune to get out there, and if you did, they might already be on their way back.  They seem to be good people, but I don’t see anyone handing over a baby they love without a fight.  Might’n’t it be best if you left things as they are?”

Mollie jerked her arm away from the woman. 
“You’re right.  No one would hand over a baby they love without a fight.  I certainly didn’t hand
my
baby over.  She was stolen.  I have every right to get her back, and that’s what I’m going to do!”  She nodded curtly.  “Thank you for your help.  I’ll keep my word—your name will never be mentioned, nor that I spoke to any staff here.”

Turning on her heel, Mollie stalked away, anger driving her on.  But as city blocks melted past her, the anger faded, replaced with a gnawing anguish. 
She’s right.  How can I ever find Nell again?  Even if Nell is in that city—Helens or Helena, or whatever it is—I’ve no way to get to her!
 

Chapter 5

Wednesday April 3, 1890

Helena, Montana

The bell above the door tinkled as a customer entered the watch shop.  Noah Jamison turned in his seat at his cleaning bench behind the counter to see Mrs. Naughton and her daughter enter.  The daughter
’s cheeks were flushed, and the mother smiled broadly. 

“
Why, look there, Noah,” his mother exclaimed, turning toward him, her eyes wide with false surprise, “it’s Mrs. Naughton and her lovely daughter, Kate.”

“
Yes, I can see, mother.”  He shot her a look.  His mother was up to her old tricks again, despite his warnings. 

Kate
—a petite blonde who he wasn’t even sure had graduated from school yet—batted her eyes in what the girl probably intended as a coquettish manner.  But it appeared more like a young girl doing a poor job at practicing her flirting in the mirror at home.

“
Well Kate, don’t you look lovely today?  Doesn’t she look lovely, Noah?”  His mother cast a backward glance at him, with an arched eyebrow and a smug smile.

“
As always, Mother.”  He tried to shift the conversation to business, to avoid the inevitable.  “How can we help you today, Mrs. Naughton?”

“
Oh, I just came in to look your pocket watches.  I was thinking about getting one for my husband—his birthday is next month.  Actually…I’d like your
mother’s
opinion.”

“
Of course, of course!” his mother cut in, leading the woman toward the pocket watch display before Noah could protest.

She
’d done it again.  How did she always manage to ensnare him, every time?  He turned back to see Kate staring at him.  She waited expectantly, her hands clasping the handle of her market basket, twirling it back and forth in her hands as she looked up at him..

“
And how can I help
you
today, Miss Naughton?”

“
Oh, I’m fine.  I don’t need anything, myself.
” 
The smile spread into a grin.

“
Very well.  I’ll leave you to look around, then.”  He walked behind the counter and returned to his place at the cleaning bench.  He wished he’d been in the back working on a repair at his workbench, rather than just doing a quick cleaning for a customer who was due back soon—but he’d take whatever distraction he could get.

“
Noah!” his mother hissed.  “That watch cleaning can wait.  Help Miss Naughton.”

“
She doesn’t need anything, Mother.  She said so herself.”  He glanced back to see Kate blushing, cringing under his mother’s glare of consternation.

“
Kate, dear,” Mrs. Naughton interrupted, “didn’t you say you wanted to look for a present for your father, too?”

“
Uh…yes.  Yes, you’re right.  I did.”  The girl blushed, tripping on her words.  “I guess I forgot.”

Noah held back a sigh.  Trapped again. 
“Of course.”  He wiped off his hands and stood.  “What did you have in mind?”

Ten interminable minutes later, after avoiding several obvious remarks from his mother and Mrs. Naughton, and a few clumsy attempts at flirtation from Kate, Noah sighed with relief as the two left his shop.  They had made no purchases, he noted.  As soon as the door shut behind them, his mother let him have it.

“Noah, how can you be so rude?”

He shrugged, walking behind the counter. 
“I don’t know what you mean.  I was perfectly polite.”

“
Perfectly polite, and cold as ice!  Would it have killed you to be a little friendlier?”

“
Why, Mother?”  He turned, crossing his arms over his chest.  “Why would I need to be any friendlier than usual?  Unless, that is, you were trying to make another one of your little ‘arrangements’.  And I know you couldn’t possibly be doing that, because you promised me that you wouldn’t do that again.”  He raised an eyebrow in silent accusation.

“
Well, I…” her fingers found the waistband of her apron, and smoothed it nervously.  “I…” she frowned, having been caught in her own words.  “I only promised to stay out of it if you took care of things yourself.  But you haven’t! When was the last time you called on a girl, yourself?”

“
That’s not the issue.”

“
Of course it is!  You told me you could find a bride on your own.  Well, find one then.  You spend five days running this shop, and an extra days on doing repairs, then you spend every spare moment reading.  You don’t get involved in the community, or go to church—”

“
You don’t attend church either.”

“
I’m not a young man looking for a wife!  How else are you supposed to meet a girl, if I don’t bring them in here?”

“
It’s not your place to help me meet a girl, and besides, I told you I don’t want a
girl
.  Kate Naughton is—what?  Sixteen?  I want a
woman
—someone who is mature enough to handle the responsibilities of a house.  Someone who I can count on to keep house, cook a good meal, and be waiting for me when I come home!”

“
Kate will be seventeen next month.  And she can cook.”

Noah groaned. 
“I’ve had her mother’s colcannon at the charity supper you dragged me to last month—if her mother is the one who taught her to cook, I doubt very much Kate can cook well.  Who ruins colcannon? 
I
could probably make that—I’ve seen you do it enough times.”

His mother laughed. 
“You can’t boil water, my boy.  Who are you to talk?”

He sat at his bench, throwing her an annoyed glance
.  “
I’m
a man—I don’t need to.  A woman needs to learn how to cook.  And I doubt that young girl can.”

“
I’d forgotten how terrible that colcannon was,” she admitted.  “But still, I could teach her a few things.”

Noah shook her head. 
“I want a woman who has those skills already, not a ‘work in progress’.  And I want someone who can keep me interested…entertained.  Someone I can really fall in love with.  I’ve known Kate since she was a young girl.  It would be strange to court a girl who used to tie my shoelaces together under the church pew.”

“
She was quite an imp as a girl, wasn’t she?”

“
Yes, and she’d be likely to raise her children the same way.  Mrs. Naughton didn’t have many boundaries.  The girl was a menace every Sunday.  She was half the reason that I was glad when you stopped insisting we go to church.”

“
Noah, you can’t be so picky.  If you won’t take a young girl, you’ll never get a girl at all—they’re all spoken for well before they reach the age of eighteen.  There’s too much competition in these parts, Noah, and you need to stand up for yourself and claim what’s rightfully yours.  You’re a successful shop owner.  You’re smart, fine-looking, and a catch in the eyes of most mothers around here.  But you’re also getting older.  If you don’t find a wife soon, you’ll start losing out to shopkeepers younger than you…or the sons of shopkeepers.  By the time you realize it, it will be too late.”

Noah chuckled. 
“I’m twenty-six.  I think I have a few years yet before I have to worry about that.”

She sighed with irritation. 
“If you don’t want a young girl now, you won’t want one five years from now.  You want to sit back and wait for the perfect woman to fall in your lap, and I’m afraid that may never happen.  In the meantime, how will I get grandchildren?  I’m tired of waiting.  You’re my only son.  Your father is gone, and you’re all I have.  What if something happened to you?  I’d be all alone, without even the comfort of a daughter-in-law or grandchildren!  The least you could do is consider my feelings.  What do you think, you can just sit around in here and wait for some older girl to just step off a train, ready to marry you and bear your children?”

A voice interrupted them. 
“Actually, that’s not impossible.”

They both turned, startled.  Clay Porter stood just inside the door.  He hadn
’t heard the bell over his mother’s diatribe. 

This is humiliating!  How much did he hear?
Bad enough to be caught getting scolded like a schoolboy, but did it have to be by another shop owner
? 
“Hey there, Porter.  What brings you in here today?”  He hoped to change the subject and avoid any more embarrassment.

“
Sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.  I just came in to get a new watch chain for Herman.  He has a bent link on his, and he’s going to lose his watch if he’s not careful.”

“
I noticed that myself last week, but he brushed me off when I suggested I could fix it.”

“
He won’t spend the money, and I’ll never get him to let me bring it in.  I figure this way, he’s stuck.  I’ll be
deeply
offended if he doesn’t accept my gift.”  He laughed, then pointed in the display case.  “That one looks close to what he’s already got.”

“
I think we have one of those left.”  Noah busied himself, taking care of Porter and ringing up his purchase.  He was glad that his mother was keeping quiet, busying herself by wiping the fingerprints from the glass display case.

Noah chatted about the weather and avoided Porter
’s gaze as he brought out the box and put it inside a bag printed with
Jamison and Son Watches and Repair
.  Porter said nothing of what he’d overheard, and Noah thought he’d gotten off easy, when Porter stopped and turned on his way out.

“
You know, I don’t mean to pry, but I did catch the tail end of your conversation, and I thought I’d mention that if you’re frustrated with the dearth of eligible young ladies out here, my wife does run a marriage agency now.  You might want to discuss it with her, if you were interested.”

“
A mail order bride?” his mother gasped, no longer willing to stay silent.  “Surely you’re joking, Clay Porter!  And isn’t your wife busy enough at home?  What’s she doing running her own business?”

A look of annoyance flickered across Porter
’s face.  “She’s got her hands full with Grace, that’s true.  But she had a bad experience of her own when she came out here as a mail order bride—the arrangement was…unsatisfactory, let’s say.  And although it benefitted us both in the end, I can tell you that it could have been very different.  She just wants to help other young girls avoid the fate she almost fell prey to.  So she helps the girls, and she helps some of the local fellas, as she gets a little pin money for her trouble.  I’d rather she just stay at home, but it’s more important that my wife is happy.  She feels like she’s making a difference in people’s lives, and if that makes her happy, then I’m not going to criticize her for it.
” 
His cast a stern glance at Noah’s mother, as if daring her to say something to the contrary.

Noah had forgotten that Clay
’s wife had originally come to Montana as a mail order bride for Sam Croft—a rancher no man would wish upon any woman. 

“
I remember now that I’d heard Mrs. Porter started up a mail order bride agency,” he said to Clay, rubbing his chin.  “But…I don’t know.  The whole thing just appears…unseemly.  Ordering a bride like she’s an item in the Montgomery Ward catalog.”  He shook his head.

“
I can tell you, there’s nothing unseemly about anything Madeline does.  She’s from a prominent Boston family—propriety was bred into her.”

Noah
’s mother clasped her hands tightly in front of her, irritated with the subject, but she kept her thoughts to herself.

Noah cut her a glance, then shifted his gaze back to Porter. 
“I don’t know.  What kind of fella orders himself a bride instead of courting a local girl?”

“
The picky kind, who wants a broader selection of fish than his local fishing hole provides, that’s who.”  Porter winked.  “Hey, I’m not trying to convince anybody.  I don’t think you should do it if it don’t feel right to you.  It’s a serious business, and you don’t want to disappoint a girl after you’ve corresponded for six months to a year, and led her to believe you were interested.  You shouldn’t do it unless you’re serious.  But I know two business owners here in town—I can’t tell you who, because Madeline would kill me—who are corresponding with their brides right now.  And she’s already placed several girls, and so far, everyone is happy with their arrangements.  It might not be for you, but I figured I’d let you know what your options are.  You could also place an ad in Matrimonial News, but you wouldn’t have the benefit of having Madeline’s partner in Boston, who interviews all the prospective brides, in person, the same as Madeline interviews prospective bridegrooms.”

The idea of having a broader selection of women did seem appealing, especially if they were real women, and not just half-grown children. 
“Maybe I’ll stop in and talk to that bride of yours sometime, then.”