An Angel in the Mail Read online

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  AN ANGEL IN THE MAIL

  CALLIE HUTTON

  SOUL MATE PUBLISHING

  New York

  AN ANGEL IN THE MAIL

  Copyright©2012

  CALLIE HUTTON

  Cover Design by Rae Monet, Inc.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the priority written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Published in the United States of America by

  Soul Mate Publishing

  P.O. Box 24

  Macedon, New York, 14502

  ISBN-13: 978-1-61935-105-9

  www.SoulMatePublishing.com

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  To my two angels, Scott and Anna,

  who made my dream come true.

  Acknowledgements

  Shortly after I became associated with Soul Mate Publishing, one of our wonderful authors suggested we form a sort of ‘support’ group, to help each other with the launch of our books. These women have become my soul sisters. We help, guide, support, and encourage each other in a way that amazes me. We buy each other’s books, hold each other’s hands, and guest on each other’s blogs.

  To all the terrific authors in the Soul Mate Publishing Authors’ group, I salute you. You’ve made this journey so rewarding.

  Chapter 1

  New York City, New York

  1861

  Angel Hardwick checked her image in the elaborate gilded mirror hanging over her dresser, and smoothed a few stray hairs out of place. She glanced down and frowned at her black bombazine dress. It was slightly wrinkled, but she had no time to deal with it. A swift tug at the cuffs of her sleeves, and she was ready to meet her stepmother. As ready as she could be with a nervous stomach causing jolts of pain.

  Sylvia Hardwick had sent a summons for Angel to meet her in the library. The two women had a cordial, if not close relationship, but in the few months since Gerald Hardwick’s death, things had become strained. Sylvia walked around with a pinched look on her face, oftentimes taking to her bed in the afternoon, having her maid bring a cool cloth sprinkled with lavender for her headache. When Angel inquired after her health, Sylvia merely sighed and turned away.

  Apparently Sylvia was finally ready to share her troubles. Something was up, and Angel didn’t think it would be good news. As she descended the stairs, various catastrophes ran through her mind. She shrugged. Since Papa was already dead, surely there couldn’t be anything worse.

  Perhaps Sylvia wanted to talk about Angel’s latest milliner bills. She’d noticed the lack of favorite foods at the dinner table, and Sylvia’s sighs when the morning post arrived, laden with bills. There had been numerous meetings with Papa’s attorneys behind closed doors, but Angel couldn’t imagine money being the problem. Papa had been wealthy.

  As she approached the open library door, she took a deep breath.

  “Come in, Angelina.” Sylvia waved her scented handkerchief under her nose. “Don’t linger in doorways, it’s not ladylike.”

  Still an attractive woman at forty-two, Sylvia’s blonde hair, pulled straight back from her face in a tight bun, gave her a somewhat Oriental look, although her light blue eyes belied any association with an Asian culture. She had high cheekbones, a rounded jaw, and perfectly straight white teeth.

  Her black dress clung to her well-defined curves. While Angel appeared drawn and tired in black, mourning clothes looked striking on Sylvia. Posture perfect, her spine never touching the back of a chair, her stepmother was the picture of ladylike decorum.

  Sylvia’s delicate hands fiddled with the handkerchief in her lap, twisting the scrap of linen and lace. She attempted a smile, but never quite made it. Angel’s sense of unease increased. Sylvia was very nervous.

  “You wished to see me?” Angel settled on the stiff, high-back chair across from the fireplace.

  This room had been Papa’s favorite place. Many times in her years growing up, she and Papa would sit by the fireplace in the evening and read. When she was younger, he’d read to her, and as her skills improved, she’d read to him. They shared a love of the same authors, so it was not a problem to select a book for them to enjoy together. The room never seemed the same with him gone.

  “Yes, Angelina.” Sylvia waved the twisted handkerchief around again. “There are matters we must discuss. They relate to your father’s estate.”

  Legal matters beyond her, Angel waited patiently as her stepmother composed herself.

  “While your father was ill, he left the operation of the bank to his assistant, Mr. Reynolds.” She closed her eyes briefly. “Had I been aware of this, I would have taken steps. However, your father never confided in me about his business.” Her words dripped with derision, but she left unsaid what steps she would have taken.

  “What I’m trying to tell you, is this.” Sylvia paused to take a dainty sip of the cooling cup of tea on the table next to her. “When your father died, questions about illegal transactions arose and ultimately, missing deposits were discovered. Large deposits, from wealthy customers. Consequently, the bank was no longer solvent. Now the attorneys tell me your father’s personal assets must cover these discrepancies.” She finished the last part in a breathless rush.

  Angel didn’t grasp what she meant, yet the pain in her stomach had grown. “I’m afraid I don’t understand what this all means. If Mr. Reynolds was in charge, why would Papa be in trouble?”

  “Because Mr. Reynolds brought papers to your father to sign, which he did because he trusted the man. The police tell me Mr. Reynolds has apparently vanished.”

  Sylvia closed her eyes briefly. “What I’m doing such a bad job of telling you, Angelina . . .” She sighed, touched her handkerchief to her nose. “We are penniless.”

  Angel stared at her stepmother. Obviously, from her strained expression, this was a serious situation. “What exactly does that mean?”

  “It means we have no money
. Nothing. No money, no income.” Sylvia rose and paced in front of the fireplace. “I don’t know how else to put it.” She turned and faced Angel. “The clothes you have on your back and in your closet are the only things you own.”

  This didn’t sound good. Now Angel would have to return the two hats she bought from the milliner just yesterday. And that was a shame, because one of them matched her new walking coat so well. “So, what will we do?”

  “Well, as much as I would love to continue to provide for you, I can no longer do that.” Even in her distraught state, Sylvia remained the lady. She turned, back straight, head held high, slender fingers clutching her handkerchief. “I have received an invitation from my sister Louise in Virginia. She has offered me a place in her home.”

  Angel’s head shot up. “I don’t want to live in Virginia. All my friends are here in New York. Surely something that drastic is not necessary.”

  Sylvia stopped pacing, took a deep breath, and rubbed her forehead. “You misunderstand, dear. I’m going to Virginia. There is no room for you. My sister’s home is small, with a limited staff.”

  Dry mouthed, Angel struggled to process this information. “You mean to go to Virginia and leave me alone here? I would be un-chaperoned. My reputation would suffer immensely.” She furrowed her brow. “I don’t think the staff would qualify as chaperones.”

  Sylvia continued her pacing. “No, Angelina. This house is being sold, and after all outstanding debts are settled, there will be just enough money to get me settled in Virginia. I will only be able to bring one lady’s maid with me, which I find most inconvenient.”

  If Sylvia would be traveling with only one lady’s maid, the situation was more dire than Angel realized. Her mind was in a whirl.

  Despite years of training, Angel slumped against the back of her chair. All her life, money was never an issue or concern. Things were provided before she even asked for them. She was accustomed to shopping at the finest stores, never checked prices; put everything on Papa’s account. This can’t be happening. Surely there’s money somewhere. Where will I live?

  She swallowed, posed the question. “I assume I will have to move to another house?”

  Once again Sylvia sat on her chair, and avoided Angel’s eyes. With shaky hands she took another sip of tea. “No, dear. There is no money for any sort of house.” She opened and closed her mouth to speak several times, and finally drew in a deep breath. “I have arranged for you to be married.”

  “Married?” Angel sat back up. Some of the fear seeped out. That would not be so bad. She had many suitors to choose from. Hopefully, Sylvia had picked one she could at least tolerate. “Then there is enough money for a wedding, and possibly a small dowry?”

  The woman glanced at her, then looked away. “No.” The cup rattled as she set it on the saucer.

  Her stepmother’s face grew even paler. She fussed with the timepiece pinned to her shirtwaist, her gaze darting around the room. It was obvious she had more to say that Angel would not like.

  Her fear returned with a vengeance. “Sylvia, you’re scaring me. This is all so puzzling. I’m trying to understand, but something doesn’t seem right. How will there be a wedding if there is no money for it? And who am I to marry?”

  Sylvia took a deep breath, and picked up a piece of paper lying alongside her teacup. “You are to travel to Oregon City to be a mail order bride.”

  The silence in the room had a roar of its own. Wide-eyed, Angel gaped at her stepmother. A loud buzzing echoed in her ears and black dots swam in front of her eyes. With a soft sigh, she slid to the floor.

  In her semi-conscious state, Angel fought her return to reality. She flinched when the smelling salts were waved under her nose. Her eyes fluttered, opened, and she coughed at the pungent odor. The concerned eyes of Walker, the family butler, met hers.

  “Is she all right?” Her stepmother’s voice grated as Sylvia leaned over the butler’s shoulder.

  Angel moaned. It all came back in a rush. This was no nightmare to awaken from. Sylvia had arranged for her to be sent off into the wilds to marry a complete stranger.

  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

  “Papa, Julia-Rose stinks.” Luke held his nose for emphasis as he danced around his father.

  “See if Matt can change her diaper. I’m trying to get supper together.” Nathan Hale grabbed the pan smoking with a charred steak. Forgetting to snag a towel first, he dropped it, and yelled as he burned his hand. “Dammit, anyhow.”

  “Dammit, anyhow,” Luke’s twin, John echoed.

  “John, make yourself useful.” He spoke over his shoulder as he washed the steak off under the water. “Call your brothers to supper.”

  “Supper!” John cupped his hands and shouted from where he stood.

  “Don’t stand there and scream, for heaven’s sake. Go get them and bring them back.”