Mock Wedding (Grass Valley Mail Order Brides Book 1) Read online

  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

  Mock Wedding

  By Georgia Grace

  Visit me on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/georgiagraceauthor

  Chapter 1

  The train rolled into another station, and Mary stared blankly at the passengers. At first, she had looked hopefully, wishing that William would change his mind and come to fetch her, but now, so far from New York, she had no hope at all. She had left the big city for good now, and with it any hope of reconciling with the man who had caused her too much pain.

  She was riding to a new life, she reminded herself, full of adventure and possibilities. Leaving her past and the pain of abandonment behind her. William was gone, gone away leaving her standing in a wedding dress. She flinched at the memory of that priest, coming towards her with his long, doom-ridden face to tell her that her fiancé had left and this was not her wedding day. She had been left standing on the steps of the church, abandoned by her fiancé.

  Abandoned, the word ran around her mind with the sound of the train running along the tracks. Abandoned woman, that was her; abandoning man, that was William and his behavior towards her. He had been so full of love, she thought, and then turned so cold in an instant. She rested her head against the seat back and closed her eyes.

  She remembered every moment of their relationship, from that first time when she was young and innocent, and he had convinced her to leave her family, and her faith. She remembered how he had wooed her with money and gifts, persuaded her to be Catholic and paid the priest to baptize her into his own faith. She had thought that it would be sufficient to ensure his love. She remembered too, his last meeting with her, when she had walked all the way to his house in her wedding dress. He had stood at the door, not even allowing her into his rooms. Instead, out in the street, he had called her a flirt and a tease, and said that he would never marry her. Then he had shut the door in her face, with the eyes of all the world on her. She had turned and walked slowly down that street, letting the wedding dress get a sheen of mud at the hem, throwing the veil aside and seeing it tangle in the tree beside his house.

  That had not been the final straw which had caused her to flee on this train. In fact, she had resolved to wait in New York, to be there as a reminder of his abandonment, haunting him from dance floor to society dinner. She had stared him down across the table, thrusting her knife into the dish he had been about to choose. Every time he had turned up with another woman on his arm, she had been there, dancing by herself, or standing at the edge of the ballroom. Then the stories started: she had been found in a wardrobe at a men’s dormitory; she had been seen kissing the Queen Street dairyman. They were farcical, clearly improbable, but they had been taken up by every woman in society and were soon being discussed freely. One story had even been relayed directly to her, the speaker not realizing who she was.

  After that, Mary knew that she had to leave. Her reputation was certainly ruined, and her chances of marrying well with it. She had to go somewhere, preferably as far away as possible. She knew that William had wanted to move further down the East, perhaps even as far as Texas, so she wanted to go even further away, right out to the West of the country, to the furthest point she could travel alone.

  That is how she was sitting on the train, riding towards California. Even after the train arrived, she would still need to ride by mail coach to the frontier town she had chosen as her future home. It seemed far enough away, somewhere to start anew. She wanted to begin her life without the taint of William on her mind. She had also wanted to leave the sad-faced priest. She had left her rosary behind, another abandonment. Everything she had been with William, she wanted to change for a new personality, to completely reform herself.

  It was Elizabeth who had come up with the idea of changing her name. Her friends, seated in front of their quilt-work, had listened to Mary’s tale, nodding their heads repeatedly as their hands moved the needle in and out of the cloth. She had been glad to talk, to discuss a new future without being scorned. Then Elizabeth had looked at the wedding ring, now worn on another finger, and said: “Why not go as a married woman?”

  There had been murmuring among the women, but Elizabeth, with her bright, eager talk, had pointed out how much safer it would be to travel as a married woman. Marriage also allowed her a change of name which would not really be questioned. “There are so many women there already, poor things, who have lost their husband through the War, or through the Indians.”

  Lydia, putting aside her sewing, had quietly agreed with Elizabeth, saying that it was the most practical way of traveling, and with that ring she would not need to explain her sudden presence in the West. “Husbands take their wives to California all the time,” she said, “and no-one thinks anything of it.”

  Mary sat silent for a while, turning the ring around on her right hand. “I’m not sure deception is the right way to go about starting a new life,” she said at last.

  Elizabeth waved her needle in the air like a sword. “You don’t have to tell people you are married. Just let them think it themselves. No one is saying that you have to present a little card with your pretend name on it to everyone you meet. Just put the ring on your wedding finger, let them see all your luggage. They’ll all say to themselves ‘A young bride with a trousseau’. Wear a black dress and they will say ‘Another young widow’. And once you are in town, you could start finding a man, real husband material. You could advertise in the matrimonial pages. Find someone who doesn’t care about your past.”

  “Elizabeth is right,” Daisy said, but didn’t pause in her sewing. “You’ll need a new name though, Deboc is too rare a name. Smith is a good name.”

  “Deboc is too little known,” Elizabeth agreed. “But you need a commonish name, not a over-familiar one. Why not take my name?”

  “Why not a color?” Lydia said. “Brown, Black, Green, Gray, White. All of them good names, simple to remember too.”

  Mary smiled suddenly. “Well, you know. I like that idea. It sounds like something I could fit into. And as I think I’ve been pretty green so far, I’ll be Mary Green.”

  The train ground slowly to a half, and Mary opened her eyes. She was nearly there now, surely. With a new name and a new home, she could perhaps start to find the perfect husband. She looked down at the paper in her hand, turned to her own advertisement. Seeking a good, honest man, she had written, but the ad looked plain beside the others.

  There had been several replies from men in Grass Valley, so she had chosen to settle there. The answers had been full of kindness and sweetness, and she hoped to be able to find one who would love her for herself. She didn’t want to fall in love again, it seemed to be a good way to break her own heart. Instead, she would pick her husband for practical, sensible reasons. A good, solid man who needed someone to help around the house and his business would be best for her. What else could she really want?

  As she folded the matrimonial paper in half and rose, she started to form an idea of the kind of man that she would like to have. Someone who wasn’t afraid to stick to his principles, she thought, a man who would see things through to the end. Someone as unlike William as possible, but closer to what she had thought he was: a man of honor and honesty who could make sure that she was loved and useful. There was no point throwing her
heart away on the first man who asked her to stay with him. Instead, she would have to take the time to study a man, and ensure that he was able to fulfill her needs both financial and emotional.

  Chapter 2

  The wind was carrying heavy rain into her face by the time the mail coach arrived in Grass Valley. The wind, and the turns along the road, had hidden most of the town from her sight before the coach was in it. She stepped out and looked with disappointment at the buildings. Her foot hit the solid wood which paved the road. The roadway had been new about five years ago, but many of the planks were now cracked and crumbling. She hesitated, but the mail driver coughed, pointedly, and she had barely time to snatch her bags from the coach before it moved on. She stood on the wooden boards for some time, watching the coach move away from her.

  The main high street had a collection of shops, including a milliners, but Mary was only interested in the grocers. She had not eaten for some time, and realized that she might not get another opportunity to eat until the morning. She scanned the street until she saw a sign, reading “Jeffries and Bros Groceries”. The shop itself was as dust-covered as the other parts of the town, but there was no other option on the street. As she put her foot onto the first step, there was a loud bang, and some of the dust fell from the roof onto her shoe. She jumped back in surprise, and stood staring about her. A small plume of grey-green smoke rose from the hill behind her, and she could see the dirt swirling around the buildings before the rain flattened it back against the roofs. Then everything was silent again.

  She took another step into the building, and this time managed to get to the door. She swung open the door to find that it was a saloon. Embarrassed, she ran to the next store, and opened it wide. For a second she was rooted to the spot, stood staring at the tiny woman who had placed herself just next to the doorway, with her hands already full of foodstuffs. Mary tried to speak at her, but the woman was peering in front of her at a line of tins, and seemed not to hear her.

  The man behind the counter was pushing one of the tins towards the woman, saying that it would be the best for her pie, but she was shaking her head and instead pointing to a completely different type of tin. He sighed and seemed about to start up the ladder towards the top shelves.

  Mary coughed politely, and the shopkeeper looked up. She held out her hand, giving him her sweetest smile, but getting no response.

  “I’m Mary Green,” she said. “I hope to be staying in town for some time.”

  The man gave a short grunt, but did not take her hand. “There’s not much call for women around here,” he said. “I don’t know what you hope to find.” Then he turned his back and started up the steps.

  Mary dropped her hand and took a step back. “Actually, I’ve come here to be married.” She realized that she was stammering, and straightened up, giving him a firm look. “I’m answering several matrimonial letters from gentlemen in this town.”

  The shopkeeper burst into laughter, and the little woman turned to look at her. “Matrimonial ads? From whom?” she asked, her dark little eyes flashing with enthusiasm, her purchases discarded on the shop’s counter.

  “I’ve corresponded with several men. I hope to meet them later.” She didn’t pause for breath now, and just carried on over the shopkeeper’s laughter. “I have been advertising in the matrimonial papers and these gentlemen wrote to me.”

  “Mr. Jeffries, please stop laughing,” the little woman said, and he muttered an apology. “I’m Mrs. Stamp. My name’s Louisa but even my husband calls me Mrs. Stamp.” She took Mary’s sleeve, rubbing the cloth between her fingers. “You’ve a nicely cut dress, miss. Is this the latest fashion in New York? I see you’re from that Gotham, because no one else would ever come here in the hope of finding a suitable man for marriage. Have you been in the big fashion stores there? Do you know the next fashionable cut?”

  Mary shook her head, and the older lady sighed with disappointment. “I know a little bit about the fashions, though, if you would like me to show you.” Mrs. Stamp’s face lit up, and she nodded eagerly, and then held up her hand.

  “Oh, but Mrs. Scott will kill me if I take patterns without her being there.” She went past Mary to the door, standing in the frame and hollering for her friend. There was a pause, a few quick footsteps, and then a taller woman came into the store.

  “A lady from New York,” Mrs. Stamp said, talking very quickly. “She knows some of the fashions from the East.”

  Mrs. Scott clapped her hands together, and the two older women pulled Mary from the store, promising her food at their homes, and talking quickly all the way.

  ***

  It was late at night before the two women allowed Mary to leave the house. She was tired, but the two women were keen gossips, and that allowed her to find out some things about the men in the town. In particular, the women knew one of the men who had written to her, a Jack Bice. When she read out his letter, they pouted, shook their heads, and said that he was not the sort of man that a nice woman should have as a husband. “He only knows what he has heard from Madame Mustache,” Mrs. Stamp said, and they both started laughing and wouldn’t explain to her why. Mrs. Scott put the letter back into the envelope, and then threw it quickly onto the fire. There was another letter which made the two women exchange looks.

  They also took her letters, and sorted them into a neat pile, except for one which they held up to the light for a long while, exchanging longer looks and one or two mouthed words which Mary could not understand. Finally, they handed her back the letter.

  “That is David Hellyar,” Mrs. Scott said, her face grim. “I don’t know what he was thinking, but I wouldn’t have anything to do with him. He’s a married man.” She stopped at Mary’s expression of surprise, but took the letter back from her. “I would burn this letter if you are wise, and pretend you’ve never seen it. His wife’s in a delicate condition.” With a flick of her hand, she threw the letter into the fire. “If you get another of these, just burn it as I have done.” Conversation had died down after that, and Mary was pleased to leave them, her mind full of confusion.

  As she walked down Main Street, she could see lights in many of the buildings, and people coming and going from the locations. She stayed as much as possible in the light, so that everyone could see her coming. From time to time, she passed a couple standing close together in the frame of a door, trying to conceal themselves or staring openly at her as she passed. Some of the women were heavily painted, and from their clothes she guessed that they had been entertainment at the saloons, now closed. She turned a corner and then saw a brightly painted house, the colors shown up clearly by bright torches hanging from stands all the way around the front of the building. Mary stopped for a second, her interest caught by those colors and lights. A man opened the door, and Mary moved backwards slightly, stepping into the shadows almost by accident. As the man turned to shut the door, a woman ran forward and kissed him on the lips. “Don’t think you can leave this house without a kiss from me, Jack Bice,” she shouted, “Don’t think you can leave here like any other man.”

  “Leave me alone, Agnes,” he said, his voice thick with alcohol. “I don’t want any more of you than any other man. I’ve been here all night and Dolly’s been all the company I need.”

  The woman raised her hand as if to slap him, but he caught her hand and thrust her back into the house, slamming the door shut behind her. He turned away from the house and marched off down the street.

  Mary put her hand to her beating heart. This was the man who had written her all those sweet letters, full of kindness and amiability? She unfolded one of them, holding up to the light to see his writing. The lines had not changed; she had been deceived again. Folding up the pile of letters again, Mary went back toward the town center. She was beginning to doubt that she would ever find a reasonable man. Certainly not in this town, which seemed full of men who wanted more women than one.

  Chapter 3

  Morning came, and Mary was still confuse
d by what she had learned. She had come here expecting to be able to choose between the men who had written to her, like selecting buttons for a new dress. Bice’s letters had gone on the fire, and her little stash of correspondence had dwindled now to only a few correspondents. She didn’t dare consider these remaining writers, in fact she didn’t want to know anything more about any of them. It was clear that the men in Grass Valley were time-wasters and cynics. The sound of the shopkeeper’s laughter was still ringing in her ears as she left the boarding house and started for the post office. She didn’t know when the next mailing coach would be passing through, but she wanted to be on the next one, and the post office would know. If there was one coming soon, she was ready to step onto it and go, straight away. She would have just enough money to get back to Sacramento and start her life in a big city, rather than a tiny town where everyone knew everyone’s business and didn’t mind interfering. Hopefully, there would be some coach coming either today or tomorrow. Wherever it was going, she didn’t mind, as long as it took her away from this disaster. Standing in the line outside the store, she continued to shake her head and sigh. What had she been thinking, when she had agreed to some out here on the chance that someone might marry her? She had let herself be talked into making this mistake, and now she would really have to pay for it. Just like she had trusted William, she had trusted these men, who she had never met and never really known. Another error of judgment when it came to men, and another reason to avoid marriage and live by herself for the rest of her life. She brushed tears from her eyes.

  There was a slight cough behind her, and she turned to see a man standing, arms crossed, and head tilted over his right eye, which was shining like a dark star, the corners of the eyelid wrinkled . “Are you alright, miss?”

  She rounded on him in a fury, so that heads turned in the line. “Why shouldn’t I be alright? I’m stuck in a no-horse town smaller than a village, with dust falling on me every second that it isn’t raining, and I’ve made a horrible, horrible mistake.”