Mail Order Celeste

appear to be the man who was to meet me. But I'll be honest, too. I did, literally, write the letters, because I have, as you might recall if you actually read any of them, beautiful penmanship. My sister is the family intellect, but her handwriting is pure chicken scratch, so she had me rewrite her letters in my copperplate to send to, apparently, your brother. Were they at least your sentiments, or did he write the whole thing?”
Charles Patrick “Chip” Hardwick hung his head.
“I just turned the whole thing over to him,” he admitted. “But why was your sister writing?”
“Well, she's actually the one who consented to correspond with you when our solicitor, Frederick Flanagan, approached her, explaining a friend of his had a brother seeking a likely bride. For a number of reasons personal to herself, she agreed to receive your letters. I must add that our father has taken a new wife, a shrewish woman who wants both of us out of the house.” She said the last with a moue of distaste.
Chip tipped his hat back and stared up at Celeste.
“That sounds like the making of a fine story, Mrs. Clark,” he drawled, “but thanks to this cayuse, I was delayed picking you up and now we’re on the verge of being late for our wedding. Why don’t we put you in the buggy and head on over to the church and we can talk on the way over.”
“But I’m not your intended bride!”
He looked her up and down, then grinned.
“You’ll do!”

Polecat
Climbing onto the platform he hefted the trunk up and strode back over to the buggy, placing it in the back and strapping it down. The shifting weight caused the horse to start bucking again, pulling on the reins wrapped onto the hitching post. Chip raced around to his head and hauled down, settling him again.
Celeste had grabbed her bag and the baby buggy and brought them to the edge of the platform, but stopped short when the horse began to act up again, and stared at the equipage.
“You know,” she called out thoughtfully, “I think I know why your gelding is giving you such a hard time. His harness is twisted and is pinching him.”
Chip hung his head. “I thought it was just ‘cuz he's a saddle horse and never been to harness before.”
“Well, that's as may be, but no one likes having his hair pulled and look at the way his mane is caught. Come over here and take care of the baby while I go check him out.”
Her manner of delivery compelled him to do just as she had requested and before he knew it he had the handle of the carriage in his hand and was gently rocking it as he had been shown.
She gave him a smile and it was as if he had frozen in place. Had there ever been any more beautiful smile? He blinked hard. Was this woman bewitching him?
He watched as she went down the stairs and strolled back over to the carriage.
“What’s his name?” she asked as she approached the horse with her hand flat for him to sniff.
“Polecat,” came the laconic reply, “on account of that white blaze on his back.”
Celeste could feel her eyebrows raising, but didn’t turn around.
“So, Polecat, how did you manage to get yourself into this mess?” she crooned softly as she stroked his neck, sliding along until she had reached the harness strap that was entangled with the mane. She gently eased the hair free and re-buckled the strap properly. She couldn't figure out how he had managed to drive the horse at all with the harness tricked out that way. Glancing back quickly over at the cowboy—no, he wasn’t a cowboy, although he looked exactly as she imagined a cowboy should—Celeste mentally shook her head. What had she gotten herself into?
~~~
Celeste’s husband had been killed when he stepped into the street in front of a coach and four. Eyewitness accounts were conflicted, some saying he had been pushed, others that he had jumped in front of the carriage deliberately. Learning about his financial status, Celeste rather feared the latter, “death before dishonor,” but in any event she found herself alone with an infant, and destitute, and had been forced to move back in with her father and sister.
Her older sister, Miranda, had spent the last few years caring for their ailing mother who had recently died. She’d continued keeping house for their father but, feeling her spinsterhood looming strongly, had gotten desperate enough to respond to a request for a mail-order bride. Miranda had corresponded for some time before the gentleman had invited her to come west, enclosing a ticket in his last letter.
Her father had pretty much cut off her pin money when she married and had not restored it when she returned home a widow. When he remarried so shockingly, Celeste had been as desperate as her sister to get away. But when she had seen her new stepmother threaten her child, Celeste had feared for both their safety. She had left a letter for her sister explaining why she had grabbed the ticket, knowing her sister had put aside some funds and would be able to follow.
But Celeste had just wanted to get away, not steal her sister's fiancé. And now it turned out the fiancé wasn't even the man to whom her sister had been writing. What a joke!
~~~
Returning to the platform, Celeste relieved Chip of the buggy handle.


Samantha
Samantha opened her eyes. Someone had been rocking her buggy but now it had stopped moving and the change had wakened her. Her mama was standing above her, talking with a man. That was one of the words she knew. Papa was a man. Gampa was a man. Men hugged her and played with her. She