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Walker, who’d been with the family since before Angel’s birth, put his arm around her back and slowly eased her into a sitting position.

Angel glared at her stepmother.

Sylvia stood in front of the fireplace, wringing her hands. The butler helped Angel to her feet and deposited her back on the chair. He bowed to both of them and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Silence ensued while Angel gathered her thoughts, then she addressed her stepmother. “Sylvia, whatever possessed you to arrange for me to be a mail order bride?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

“There was no choice,” the woman snapped, flicking her skirt behind her as she continued to pace. “No respectable match could be made with our circumstances. Remember, even though he was on his deathbed when the deposits went missing, your father is being blamed for the debacle at the bank. We are all disgraced.”

Angel stood and paced along with Sylvia. “Why can’t I be a shop girl, or a maid, or whatever else young ladies do to make a living?” Angel waved her hand in the air. “I could take a tiny room somewhere and stay in New York.”

Sylvia sank in her chair and sighed. “Think, Angelina. Would you want to serve your friends in the fine shops you frequent? Would you care to be the upstairs maid in another friend’s house? Or how about if a young man in one of those houses, who at one time begged you for a dance, takes advantage of your vulnerable position under his roof? Demands for unwanted attentions happen all the time, you know. You could end up ruined, with no future.”

“And you call traveling across country to marry a stranger a future? Of course I’m ruined.” Angel closed her eyes. I wish I could get Sylvia to share that lavender sprinkled handkerchief.

The headache she’d awoken with on the floor had become a monster.

Unable to deal with anything else, Angel headed for the door, then stopped abruptly, and turned. “Who is this man you’ve sold me to?”

“Angelina, I have not sold you.” Sylvia frowned. “He seems like a nice gentleman. I contacted an agency that does these placements, and they assured me every applicant is thoroughly investigated. They even examine the background of potential wives as well.”

“And have I been deemed worthy?”

Sylvia glared as she unfolded the letter. “Sit, Angelina. It hurts my neck to look up at you.” She scanned the paper briefly. “His name is Nathan Hale. He lives in Oregon City. He’s a gunsmith.”

“A gunsmith.” Angel whispered and dropped her head in her hands. Should I laugh or cry?

At the Harman’s ball last week, she’d danced and flirted with a university professor, an attorney, an industrialist, and a young, handsome Duke from England. “Go on.” She gulped to keep a hysterical giggle from escaping.

“Well, he has a lovely little house, so that’s promising, and he has children.” The last part came out a whisper.

Angel’s head snapped up. “Children?”

Sylvia drew herself up. “Yes, you’ve always wanted to be a mother, so this should please you.”

Angel slowly stood, walked to Sylvia and took the letter out of her hands. Her eyes flicked back and forth as she read, and then widened. She crushed the paper to her chest.

“Five!” She croaked. “He has five children!”

“Oh, dear, is that what it says?” Sylvia’s hand fumbled with the collar of her dress.

“Yes, madam, five children. Four boys and a baby girl.” She groaned and collapsed into the chair, as the cursed paper fell to the floor. “You must write to Mr. Hale and explain there’s been a mistake, and there will be no mail order bride from New York City.”

“I can’t,” Sylvia murmured.

Angel’s eyes narrow

ed. “Why not?”

“Because Mr. Hale has already sent the tickets for your trip, and I signed the contract with the agency yesterday. If you don’t go, we have to pay the fee Mr. Hale gave the agency. That’s five hundred dollars, and we don’t have five hundred dollars to spare.”

“You could always leave your lady’s maid here to save money.” Angel raised her eyebrows.

“Angelina, sarcasm doesn’t become you.” Sylvia stiffened. “And furthermore, it’s all been arranged. The house is no longer ours, I leave in the morning for Virginia, and your train leaves tomorrow, early afternoon.”

Sylvia sniffed and walked to the door. “I suggest you go to your room and pack. I have a terrible headache, and it will take Daisy and me all evening to pack my clothes. I will see you in the morning before I leave.” Without a backward glance, her shaky hand grabbed the doorknob and she left the room.

Oregon City, Oregon


Tags: Callie Hutton Oregon Trail Historical