Mail-Order Bride Ink: Dear Mr. Turner

“
F
antine
!” a voice called from another room. The accent was odd – Deep South overlaid with French. “When you’re done dusting, do prepare a pot of tea!”

Fantine Le Blanc, assistant to the eccentric matchmaker Adelia Pettigrew, sighed. “
Oui, Madame!
”
she called back in her native French accent.

Fantine had been in Mrs. Pettigrew’s employ not three weeks and had already become the brunt of many a joke around town. She knew her mistress could be, shall we say, a little odd, but there was no need for name-calling. Unfortunately, every time she went to the nearby mercantile or butcher shop or when she picked up the laundry, she heard whispers behind her back as she passed. At least they weren’t telling them to her face.

Okay, a few had … but she really didn’t know what the problem was. Besides, if the folks in town doing the name-calling would take the time to get to know Mrs. Pettigrew better, they’d see she wasn’t so bad. Fantine didn’t think she was. The woman was just … different.

So she smoked cigars – what of it? So she dressed somewhat … flamboyantly? When one had as much money as Mrs. Pettigrew, one could dress any way one pleased, Fantine supposed. And having tea with her dog,
Monsieur
Pickles, along with a few neighborhood pooches shouldn’t be counted as unconventional. Mrs. Pettigrew saw it as a charity, feeding the poor things seven days per week at precisely four in the afternoon. She couldn’t let the pups starve. Not that they were – most belonged to some neighbor or another.

But no one else saw things the way Fantine had come to during her time at the Pettigrew mansion on the hill. Granted, the first week was a bit rough …

“Fantine!”

Fantine jumped and almost fell off the chair she’d been standing on. “
Oui
,
Madame.
”

“Tea, I said! Tea! The doggies are waiting!” Mrs. Pettigrew entered her home office.

“But I thought I was to finish the dusting first?”

“Oh. I did tell you that, didn’t I?”

Fantine turned on her perch and stared at her employer, wide-eyed. Mrs. Pettigrew had changed out of her day dress and now wore a gown of the brightest pink she’d ever seen. “Are you going to a party?”

“Of course not, only tea. Now if you would be so kind as to prepare it?”

“Right away,
Madame
.” She turned back to the framed letters she’d been dusting on the wall, and one in particular caught her eye. “
Madame
Pettigrew?”

“Yes,
ma cherie
?”

“Do you remember the story you told me of
Monsieur
Weaver and his bride Ebba? It was the first day I was here.”

“Yes, what about them?”

Fantine tucked the feather duster under one arm then carefully removed the framed letter from the wall. “You were going to tell me the story of this one, but never did.”

“Oh?” Mrs. Pettigrew took a few steps closer. “Which one are you referring to?”

Fantine smiled as she climbed off the chair. “This one.”

Mrs. Pettigrew took the letter from her and began to read. “Ohhhh yes, Mr. Turner! I’d quite forgotten. I am so sorry,
ma belle
.”

“When it is convenient for you,
Madame
Pettigrew, I would very much like to hear it.”

“Then fix our pot of tea and join us. I shall then regale you and our guests with the whole story!”

Fantine tentatively smiled as she pictured sitting at the low table where Mrs. Pettigrew served the dogs tea. It was obviously made for children, and Fantine often wondered if Mrs. Pettigrew had purchased it for the child she never had, her husband having died before they were blessed with any. “I will hurry to prepare the pot,
Madame
.”

Mrs. Pettigrew smiled. “See that you do.”

Fantine curtsied and hurried to comply.

When the tea was done, she put everything she needed on a tray, brought it into the sitting room – one of several – and set it on the low table. Several dogs were running around, barking and playing. Mrs. Pettigrew gave a loud whistle, and Fantine watched in fascination as the hounds gathered around the table, tails wagging. They knew what was coming.

“Don’t dawdle, Fantine,” Mrs. Pettigrew scolded. “Serve the tea!”

Fantine poured Mrs. Pettigrew a cup, then handed her the pot. The woman deftly placed saucers in front of each dog and poured a small amount of tea into them. Fantine tried not to laugh as the animals sniffed at the tea and tried to lap it up, but it was still too hot. She’d seen this many times by now and each time it was just as hysterical. Several of the dogs didn’t bother at this point, knowing that if they waited, the tea would be cooler. The rest were more interested in the treat that would come next. Some, being dogs, didn’t care for tea at all.

Mrs. Pettigrew motioned to Fantine to serve the cookies. She went around the table and placed one next to each dog’s saucer. Mrs. Pettigrew had her put them in the tea cups a few times, but too much china got broken when the dogs pushed them off the table trying to get to their treat. This new method worked much better.

Fantine finished her task, poured herself a cup and sat on a cushion on the floor as Mrs. Pettigrew was doing. The dogs went silent except for their tails thumping on the carpet as they looked intently at Mrs. Pettigrew. She smiled, gave a low whistle and they attacked their treats with gusto.

“Now,
ma petit
, you wish to hear the story of
Monsieur
Turner?”

Fantine fought the urge to cringe as dogs licked the table to get every last crumb. “Yes,
Madame
, I would.”

“Well then, we must begin at the beginning!”

Fantine pulled her gaze from the dogs and looked at her. “Of course,
Madame
.”

“If you recall,
Monsieur
Turner lived in a town called Clear Creek in Oregon. Sheriff Hughes from my last story was also from there.”

“Yes, I remember. He married Mary Weaver, and the young deputy Tom was to replace him as sheriff in Clear Creek.”

“Right you are, my dear. And so he did.”

“Is this story about Tom Turner? I thought he was already married.”

“Indeed he is. No, this is about his younger brother. Eli.”

“Oh,” Fantine said with a nod. “And who was his bride?”

Mrs. Pettigrew smiled as two of the dogs started lapping up tea. “Pleasant Comfort.”

Fantine’s entire face screwed up. “Pleasant … who?”

“Comfort. That was her name.”

Fantine’s mouth fell open. “Who names a child such a thing?”

“A clever woman, that’s who!”

Fantine sighed. Naturally Mrs. Pettigrew would think it clever.

“But it gets better. Some of Pleasant’s brothers – she had six brothers, you know – also had clever names. The oldest was Major Quincy Comfort –”

Fantine’s eyes grew wide. “Are you serious?”

“
Oui.
That is his name to this day.”

Fantine fought the urge to roll her eyes. If she’d been given such a name, she never would have kept it? “He never changed it to something else?”

“Of course not, why would he?” Mrs. Pettigrew asked in shock. “Her other brothers’ names were not so special,” she continued with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Let’s see … Benedict, Darcy, Zachary … I think one was called Michael – what’s so spectacular about that? But then my favorite – Peaceful!”

Fantine closed her eyes and cringed. “Peaceful?!”

“
Oui
! Is it not astounding?”

Fantine opened her eyes to Mrs. Pettigrew’s wide smile. “The poor man …”

“Nonsense, he came from a very rich family. Or at least they were at one time. But the war, you know …”

Fantine shook her head, a hand to her temple. “I am confused.”

“You won’t be once I tell you the story.”

“But what do the girl’s six brothers have to do with anything?”

“Everything!”

Fantine nodded weakly. “Of course.”

Mrs. Pettigrew smiled and readjusted herself on the cushion. “This happened not long after Tom Turner returned to Clear Creek to take over as sheriff.”

“And it begins here in Denver?”

“Not at all. It begins in Savannah, Georgia!”

Fantine nodded again. “Naturally.”

Mrs. Pettigrew smiled. “And this,
ma cherie
, is what happened …”

B
uford Ulysses Comfort
paced his study, his heavy jowls trembling every time he turned on his heel and stomped to the other side of the room. After several moments of this he went behind his desk and spun toward his eldest son. “I don’t care how long it takes you!” he bellowed in a heavy Southern accent. “Take your brothers and scour the countryside! Find her, Major, confound it, or we’ll be ruined!”

Major sighed in resignation. “Perhaps if you’d found another way to get us out of our current financial difficulty, Father,” he said in his own deep, smooth drawl, “my sister would not have deemed it necessary to run away.”

“Ungrateful, that’s what she is!” his father barked. “Haven’t I given her everything she’s ever wanted, bent to her every whim? And
this
is how she repays me? Now that her family needs her, she abandons us!”

“Rupert Jerney is, in my opinion, a bit of a cad – and I would say that even if he weren’t a Yankee carpetbagger. I believe if I were Pleasant, I’d have run too.”

“Well, you’re not your sister, are you? And I don’t care what you think of Mr. Jerney. He’s our only way out of this mess and I fully plan to take him up on his offer. Now go find your sister, no matter what it takes, and bring her back! She’s going to marry Rupert Jerney whether she likes it or not!”

Major put his hands behind his back and sighed again. “You do realize, of course, that you’re sacrificing her happiness for your bank accounts?”

His father’s lips formed into a fine line as his eyes bulged. “You’re one to talk!” he exploded. “This plantation has been in our family for generations! And if you’d like to inherit it lock, stock and barrel, then I suggest you find your sister. Her sacrifice is going to save us all!

“Except her,” Major pointed out.

“Get going!” His father shouted. “I will not lose Comfort Fields!”

Major took one last look at his father’s flustered face, shook his head, turned and headed for the door. “Then may my brothers and I be forgiven for what we’re about to do,” he muttered. He let the door slam on his way out, ignoring the furious shouts of his father from the other side.

On the one hand, he couldn’t blame him for being so upset. Comfort Fields
was started by his great-grandfather and had grown into one of the biggest plantations around Savannah. But the War Between the States took its toll, not to mention the carpetbaggers and everything else that came after it to suck the life out of the once proud South. Twelve years later, though, one would think his family would have recovered by now.

But no. The Comfort family, Major had recently come to find out, was deep in debt. Buford wasn’t the best at managing the plantation’s money – that had been their mother’s area of expertise. Even as eccentric as Olympia Comfort had been, she still mastered the plantation’s books like a fine artist, not to mention being a superb hostess and incredibly kindhearted. Her gifts helped balance some of her eccentricities, such as her penchant for bestowing upon some of her children her ideas of distinguished names.

Major shuddered at the thought and continued to the drawing room where his brothers waited.

He had been the first to suffer her creative mind by being dubbed Major Quincy Comfort. Only his father called him Major, his siblings mercifully referred to him as Quince. There was nothing wrong with the name Major – it had been rather fashionable at the time – but when coupled with his surname … needless to say, he’d learned how to use his fists at a tender age. She’d given more normal names to others of his siblings. Michael John was the second son, followed by Darcy Jefferson (okay, so she was reading Jane Austen novels while she carried him) and Zachary Nathaniel and Benedict Andrew.

And then, disaster. Mother died giving birth to the youngest siblings, the twins. Before she passed, she’d chosen their names, and their heartbroken father hadn’t been able to refuse her last wish. She’d told him to raise them to be pleasant and peaceful children. Thus they became Pleasant Anne and Peaceful Mathias Comfort. Pleasant was just called Pleasant, as her brothers thought Anne too boorish. Peaceful, on the other hand, was simply Matt, which in turn kept the house … well, peaceful.

But once he informed his brothers of what Pleasant had done, things might not stay that way.

Major stepped into the drawing room where his brothers–and an unexpected guest, waited. “Mr. Jerney,” he said as he entered, suppressing a wince. “What a … pleasant surprise!”

Rupert Jerney, a tall, thin, conceited man, looked down his nose at him. “I see nothing pleasant about it,” he said in his flat, nasal New England accent. He sniffed a few times, one of his many annoying habits. “Which is why I’m heah to begin with. Where’s yaw sister? I wish to speak with her.”

Major glanced at his brothers. “Our sister is otherwise engaged at the moment,” he advised in his most sophisticated manner. He knew Rupert prided himself on proper decorum at all times – at least in public. “Perhaps if you’d sent word that you wished to call on her?”

“No mattah – she’ll see me soon enough. Where is your fathah, then? I have business with him as well.”

Major clasped his hands behind his back and raised his chin ever so slightly, a silent signal to his brothers. Darcy and Zachary’s eyes began to dart between him and their guest. “He’s in his study.”

“Fine.” Rupert headed for the drawing room’s double doors. Benedict and Michael, the only two brothers sitting, stood as if to escort him. “I know the way,” Rupert informed them haughtily and marched from the room.

As soon as he was gone, Michael asked, “What is it? What’s happened?”

“This has to do with Pleasant, doesn’t it?” Darcy added.

“Indeed it does,” Major said. “For one, she’s missing. Probably left sometime in the night.”

“What?” several of them said in surprise.

“Quince,” Benedict inquired. “Are you saying she ran away?”

“Wouldn’t you if you had to marry …
that
?” he said with a toss of his head toward the doors.

“Rupert?!” The brothers said at once.

“Unfortunately for poor Pleasant, yes.”

Michael stepped forward. “She can’t marry Rupert!”

“Our father thinks differently and has assigned us the task of rounding her up to do so.”

“Why Rupert?” Zachary asked, suspicious. “We all know she can’t stand the sight of him. None of us can!”

“Nor should we,” Michael added. “I’ve met a few honest and forthright Yankees, I admit, and several more who weren’t so bad.” Unconsciously, he rubbed the stumps on his right hand, where he’d lost two fingers to a Minie ball at Milledgeville. It had been a Union doctor who’d patched him up. “But Rupert Jerney would be a blackguard even if he were born and raised in Virginia. So why him?”

“Because he’s rich, that’s why,” Major said in disgust. “His sawmills in Maine and New Hampshire didn’t suffer as our plantations did. He’s only grown richer in the war’s aftermath, and offered to bail Father out of debt. Problem is, he wants Pleasant as collateral.”

His brothers stared at him in shock. “So it’s true,” Benedict finally said. “Father has run Comfort Fields into the ground.”

“I’m afraid he has,” Major said.

“But wasn’t Father grooming you to take over?” Darcy asked.

“He said he would, years ago, but he never really did,” Major said. “I think perhaps he was hiding our situation in hopes of pulling us out of it before showing me how to operate things.”

“Pride cometh before destruction,” Zachary quoted.

“Indeed,” Major agreed. “Apparently Rupert will pay off most of his debts, so long as he can have Pleasant as his wife.”

“That’s diabolical!” Benedict said in shock.

“I don’t think it sounds so bad,” Matt put in.

His brothers looked at him, aghast. “And if it were
you
that had to marry Rupert, how happy would you be about it?” Michael asked.

“Well … yes, I see your point.” Matt glanced at the double doors of the drawing room, then back at his brothers. “Maybe he’s nicer at home.”

“From what I’ve heard, quite the opposite,” Benedict said. “But then, what else can we do? We’ll lose everything.”

“Right you are,” Major agreed. He eyed them, his face an expressionless mask. “So do we sacrifice our sister’s happiness to continue in the life we’ve grown accustomed to, or do we stand by her side and refuse Rupert’s – as Benedict put it – ‘diabolical’ offer?”

His brothers stared at him as they thought on their answer. It didn’t take them long to decide.

* * *

D
enver
, Colorado, later that same month …

“
B
ut Aunt Phidelia
,” Pleasant begged, “why can’t you listen to reason?”

“Because there
is
no reason to this madness! Your father has clearly gone ‘round the bend, my dear, and lost all his mental faculties. I haven’t the faintest idea why he would write such an outlandish letter and demand I send word to him the moment I see you. Of course I haven’t. I won’t stand by and see you marry that sniveling Yankee weasel Rupert Travel!”

“Jerney,” Pleasant corrected with a grimace.

“Even worse!”

“Yes, I know,” she agreed. It was bad enough her Christian name was Pleasant Comfort – to become Pleasant Jerney would be too much to bear. It was one of the reasons she’d run away in the first place. The only place to go was Denver to see Aunt Phidelia. Her mother’s sister was a kindly soul who would be willing to help Pleasant escape her current circumstances.

“You realize, of course, he’ll send
them
after you.”

“Them?”

“Your brothers, you silly girl, who else?”

Pleasant paced to the other side of the parlor and back. “Oh yes.
Them
.” She turned to her aunt. “Major, most likely. I can’t see the others coming with him.”

“With what’s left of your family’s fortune draining away? Trust me, my dear, they most certainly will. And they’ll drag you back and use you to keep Comfort Fields going.”

Pleasant cocked her head to the side, the action sending a dark, loose curl across her face. “How do you know all of this?”

“Because your father wrote it in his letter!” Aunt Phidelia said, waving the missive in the air. “Your only hope is to keep going. You can’t stay here.”

Pleasant’s eyes misted with tears. “But Auntie, where will I go? We haven’t any relatives west of here!”

“True, we don’t,” she said solemnly. “Which means we’ll have to resort to drastic measures.”

Pleasant paled. “What sort of drastic measures?”

Her aunt narrowed her eyes. “You’ll have to learn how to work!”

Pleasant fell into the nearest chair. “No!”

“Yes!”

Pleasant gripped the chair’s arms. She’d never worked a day in her life in any conventional sense. She was just a little girl when the War Between the States broke out, and an admittedly spoiled one at that. But after she’d witnessed the cruel suffering of others, the “comforts” of bearing the Comfort name didn’t mean much anymore. People had died all around her, and her father, God bless him, had done all he could to shelter her from that horrible storm.

But this was something else entirely. He might as well march her out in front of a Grand Army firing squad and give the command to shoot her himself! Rupert Jerney, indeed.

“There is another solution,” her aunt continued. “You’ll still have to work, but at least it would be in the domestic realm.”

Pleasant stared, her mouth half-open in shock. She was still getting over her aunt’s earlier revelation. “What?”

“Pay a visit to Adelia Pettigrew.”

Pleasant straightened in her chair, a puzzled look on her face. “Who is Adelia Pettigrew?”

“She runs a mail-order bride agency in town. I wouldn’t suggest her at all, seeing as how she’s a … well, a crackpot. But desperate times call for desperate measures. I do hear all her brides are blissfully married.”

“Blissfully?” Pleasant said, a hint of hope in her voice.

“Indeed. We’ll pay her a visit first thing in the morning. If we’re lucky, she’ll have a nice Southern groom wanting a wife someplace like California – that’s about as far from here as you can get!”

“But Auntie … marry a complete stranger?”

“It’s a complete stranger or Rupert Jerney. Which would you prefer?”

Pleasant looked at her hands. They were creamy and smooth, the skin soft to the touch. If she married Rupert, she’d not want for any material thing, but she’d be stuck in a loveless marriage with a man she didn’t like to begin with. Set aside that he was a Yankee – there were good Yankees, she knew. But Rupert wasn’t one of them. He liked to boast, was a complete boor, thought himself better than everyone else and reportedly had more than a passing interest in the bawdy houses. So what if he was rich? Money did not make the man.

She glanced at her hands again. Better to marry a stranger and pray he was kind than risk a life with Rupert. True, she might have rough, dry hands with a stranger, but if he was kind and of good moral character, how much did that matter?