Mail Order Marshal

Mail Order Marshal

A Brides of Beckham/Silverpines crossover

Copyright © 2018 & 2023 by George H. McVey All rights reserved. 

Cover design by Erin Dameron Hill/ EDH Graphics

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review. 

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

This book was written by a human author and not an A.I. (Artificial Intelligence)

This book cannot be used to train an A.I.(Artificial Intelligence) how to write like this author.

Introduction

Someone gunned down Betsy Pike's fiancé, Silverpines' Town Marshal, on the eve of their wedding, causing her world to come crashing down. To add insult to injury, his killer takes over every part of Ike’s life, the job of marshal, his house, and he even wants Betsy. What’s a girl to do? The men of the town won’t stand up to the outlaw and self-appointed marshal. When he gives her two months to grieve, Betsy comes up with a desperate plan: contact Elizabeth Tandy and order up a husband who has experience as a lawman. 

Alexzander Sewell feels like he’s in the wrong place in Beckham, Massachusetts. Born and raised on Ryder Mountain in Harlan, Kentucky, he longs for the mountains of his youth. When his mother moved the whole family to remarry, he became stuck in the town of Beckham. Now his friends, the Tandy’s, offer him a chance to go west, all the way to the Rocky Mountains. The only catch: he must marry a woman in desperate need of a husband and a lawman. Can he find a way to be what Betsy needs and spend time in the mountains? 

Will Betsy be able to move on from her love for Ike and start loving her mail-order husband? Can Alexzander compromise on his dream of disappearing into the mountains to be the man his wife needs? Can they bring the killer to justice or will a series of natural disasters not only spell the end of Silverpines but of their marriage, too? What’s a woman to do when she orders up a Mail Order Marshall? 

*This book is a Brides of Beckham book and the first book in a new Mail Order Husband series called Silverpines.

Dedication

For Kirsten Osbourne. Thanks for letting me play in your world and for the friendship and encouragement you’ve given me in my career. This one’s for you and all the readers.

One

Betsy Pike sat in her dressing room, looking at the dress. She touched the satin wedding dress her father had sent her all the way to New York to acquire, right after Ike Hardin had asked her to marry him. Tomorrow she’d be able to wear it as she walked down the aisle and the pastor pronounced her Mrs. Ike Hardin, Betsy Hardin the wife of Silverpines own Town Marshal. Probably the third most important man in town next to her father, Zeke Pike, and Mayor Jaxom Rhyan. 

Tomorrow he would be her husband, and she would move into the house the town gave him, while he kept their town safe from those that thought a mining and logging town was a lawless place of debauchery and sin. Instead, they’d find Marshal Hardin standing in the gap. Keeping them on the right side of the law, showing them the inside of the jail, or an escort out of town. 

Only the best for Betsy Pike. The best fiancé, the best groom, the best wedding dress, and everything precisely the way she and her mother had pictured it when she was young before influenza took her mother from her. She walked over and got ready for bed, braiding her hair after brushing it one hundred times, exactly like her mother had taught her. She smiled as she slipped into her plain cotton nightdress. Tomorrow she’d wear the silk one she’d gotten from France. The one that would be scandalous for a single young woman to wear but would please Ike as they entered their marriage bed for the first time. 

She had just covered up and drifted off to sleep when there came a pounding on the door. She heard her father curse and scamper down the stairs, hoping to keep the rude person pounding with such force so late on the night before her wedding from waking her. However, it was the sound of his cry of anger and frustration that sat her up in bed and caused her to quickly wrap her dressing gown around her and hurry downstairs. There stood several of the men who were part of the informal city council, including Mayor Rhyan. 

The mayor indicated her presence, and her father came to her with a stricken look on his face. “I’m sorry, my dear,” was all he could say before he wrapped her in his arms and wept.

“What is it? What has happened?” The men standing in her father’s foyer all looked at the hats they held in their hands; she could see they didn’t want to give her the news. "Gentlemen, my wedding is tomorrow; whatever needs to be said, please get on with it so I can go to bed.” 

Mayor Rhyan finally cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Miss Betsy, but that’s why we’re here. An hour ago, Ike got shot and killed at the saloon. A man named Charles Little shot him dead when Ike tried to remove him from a game of poker he was accused of cheating in.” 

Betsy just looked at the men. "I'm sorry. What are you saying to me?" 

Zeke cleared his throat. “Betsy girl, your Ike is kilt; there ain’t gonna be a wedding tomorrow. Yer a widow before you were a bride.” 

“This is a cruel joke, gentlemen." Betsy flew upstairs and changed back into her clothes and then came tearing down the stairs, yelling as she came. “I’m going to the jail and tell Ike what a cruel joke you have tried to play on me tonight. We’ll see how funny you think this is, then.” 

“Betsy! Stop! This is no joke. Ike's dead. That gambler shot him.” 

Betsy didn’t even slow down. With her father and the city councilmen following her, she stormed out of the house and up Ash Street, with them calling out to her to stop. She ignored them as she reached Fourth Avenue and turned in front of the warehouse for the train depot and onto Main Street, where she crossed the tracks, tore past the livery, and up the stairs onto the boardwalk in front of the jail. She yanked the door open and froze at the sight of the black-haired, black-eyed dandy sitting behind Ike’s desk with h’s desk with his feet up on it. He sat up and the look he gave her had her skin crawling. “Hello there, lovely lady; what can I do for you?” 

“Who are you, and where is Marshal Hardin?” 

The man stood and came around the desk, placing a finger under her chin and tipping her head back to look up at him. “Was that his name? I’m sorry to inform you, miss, that Marshal Hardin is no longer marshal here; I am. I’m Charles Little and who are you?” 

Betsy stepped back out of this snake's reach. “I’m Ike Hardin’s fiancée. We are to be married tomorrow and this little joke has gone on long enough. Now, I demand that you tell me where he is right this minute.” 

The black eyes got oily, just like those of the snake she’d mentally compared the man to, and then he licked his lips. “Right this minute, I reckon he’s in the back of a wagon heading to the undertaker's, seeing as how he died about an hour ago. However, if you're determined to marry the Marshal, I’d be happy to oblige ya. Well, at least with a wedding night. I ain’t much of one to stand in front of no Bible thumper.” 

Just then, the town council caught up to her and stood around her, shielding her from the man's gaze. “Ah, gentlemen, as your new Town Marshal, what can I do for you tonight?” 

Betsy was having none of it. “New marshal? Says who? How did the man who killed my Ike become the law in this town?” 

The council all hemmed and hawed and the killer Charles Little smiled an oily smile. “Well, my pretty, when your fiancé died, someone needed to see that they kept this town in check. I figured I was the best man for the job and hired myself to do it. Just like I’m the best man to take all the dead man's tasks, including you.”

"NOW SEE HERE!" Zeke Pike roared. “You will keep your hands, eyes, and mind off of my daughter. Or I’ll show you how I became the owner of the Silver Pike Mining consortium.“

The killer laughed. “I’ll give you two months to mourn the passing of your fiancé, sweet thing, and then I’ll expect you to come to me and fulfill your role as the marshal's woman. Don’t make me come looking for you, or I’ll have to show that old fool with you how your fiancé came to be at the undertaker's. Are we clear?” 

Betsy looked at the man. “Oh, we're clear on one thing, Charles. I’ll never come to you, and if you see me again, you’ll understand that I'm not some wilting flower. Try to come for me or anyone of mine, and you’ll be visiting that undertaker yourself.” 

Alexzander Sewell rode into Beckham, Massachusetts, after a week spent hunting in the woods. It wasn’t quite the same as being back in his beloved Appalachian Mountains, but it was a far sight better than being closed in by the cobblestone streets and brick buildings of the town he’d sworn to protect as part of the police department. 

He hated living in the city. His mother’s second husband told him often it could be worse; they could live in Boston, Philadelphia, or, heaven forbid, New York. While he guessed that was true, he missed the life he’d lived until his father died and his mother decided to return to her hometown of Beckham. Alexander missed the life he had before his father died and his mother decided to return to her hometown of Beckham. If he had known that his mother would remarry within a year of their return, he would have stayed in the mountains with Akecheta and his family, where he could learn more about the ways of the People of the Crow nation.. Instead, he’d tried to do what he thought his father would want and came north to watch over his mother and sisters. Now at twenty-six, he was stuck living in a world he didn’t want to understand; in a place he felt like he couldn’t breathe. 

He was a mountain man, born and bred. He needed space and trees and hills tall as a mountain with game that ran plentiful and unafraid. Where there were plants growing everywhere, not just in garden plots and city parks. Where you didn’t need a policeman walking the street because you had a rifle, pistol, knife, or hatchet to keep you safe from those who would try to do you wrong. Nevertheless, he’d heard that even his beloved mountains were becoming crowded with people. 

If a man wanted to be free, he needed to go West, where the mountains were taller; they said some were so high that they had snow on top of them all year round. Instead, he was stuck here in the house of a man who’d married his mother and wanted nothing more than to wipe the memory of his mountaineer of a father from all their lives. His oldest sister was already married to a member of the upper society of Beckham. His other sisters had just entered society and their stepfather was plotting to make them good matches as well. He gave up on Alexzander six years ago when, at twenty, he’d pulled him aside and informed him it was time to act like a man of means. “Trim that beard and have your mustache waxed. Cut that hair to an acceptable length, Alex. And for God's sake, get rid of those animal skins and dress like one of your station should.” 

Alexzander had looked at the man. “What’s wrong with my hair and beard? Or, for that matter, my clothes? They were good enough for my father; they are good enough for me.” 

“Your father is dead, and you live under my roof. It is time for you to step up and find a woman of the proper station to marry and help increase the family's standing.” 

“I find no woman here that interests me. I refuse to marry just to make you look better to your business associates.” 

The man's eyes narrowed. “As long as you live in my house, you will do as I say. I’m tired of you ignoring your duty to your mother and me to live out the memory of that hillbilly you called father.” 

That night, Alexzander had gone down to police headquarters and signed up as a policeman. They sent him to the academy, and he quickly got promoted to officer. He was a better shot than most of the men who were to instruct him and definitely a better fighter, hand-to-hand. Once he graduated, they gave him a service revolver, a uniform with a badge, and he got a flat with two other newly sworn-in police officers. He hadn’t set foot in his stepfather's home since.

However, the confines of Beckham and society still chaffed at him. When he had time saved, he would take off a week and pull on a set of buckskins and escape to the woods somewhere, so he could breathe air not filled with soot and sweat. 

He swore one day he would head back into the hills and mountains and put the crowds of the city behind him. His only saving grace was his flatmates and the society man he’d met the last time his mother summoned him to a party. A retired Pinkerton agent who became his friend and filled his head with stories of adventures out West in the wide-open spaces. That was until he came to work for one Elizabeth Miller, now his wife. 

Bernard Tandy had surprised him by admitting that his wife, while living in a fancy house and having all the trappings of a socialite, had grown up one of the dreaded demon horde of Miller children. She inherited her house and career from a woman who helped young women who wanted to go West find quality husbands. 

What impressed Alexzander was that Bernard swore Elizabeth had never had a match fail. All her brides were happily married. To Alexzander, that seemed incredible. He’d even thought a few times about asking her to find him a wife who would love the mountains as much as he did, but something kept him from doing it. Now six years later, he was ready to make a change, to leave Beckham and seek the wide-open spaces; if not back in the Appalachian Mountains, then maybe out West.

Two

Betsy stewed every day for the last two weeks. They’d buried Ike and, while she missed him, she didn’t miss him like she thought she should if she’d really loved him. Betsy felt more of a sense of anger and vengeance as she watched the man who killed Ike parade around town wearing Ike’s badge. 

Charles Little paid for nothing and whatever he said was the law, was the law. No one would stand up to him, not even her father, because no one knew what would bring out the mean killer who’d shot Ike for enforcing the law. Instead, the man ran the town. The only thing he wanted and hadn’t gotten was Betsy. However, every day he would come to the house and inform her she had just a few more weeks before he expected her to move into his bed. She burned with anger at the fact that no one in Silverpines was willing to stand up to him. 

Betsy went to bed every night and prayed that God would send a man, a good man, a strong man, a man not afraid of evil who would bring justice to Ike’s killer. Then just last night as she lay praying, she remembered the woman she’d met at the Modestas in New York. The woman’s name was Elizabeth Tandy, and she’d given Betsy a card. She ran a mail-order bride service and matrimonial newspaper, matching women from back East up with men out West looking for brides. She told Betsy that she had never had an unsuccessful match and had laughed that once she’d even found a match for a woman out West seeking a mail-order husband. A husband with strange qualifications like a willingness to change his last name and have a first name that started with the letter W. They laughed that she’d filled the order by sending her own brother, who’d wanted a fresh start with a new name. 

Betsy sat up in bed; Mrs. Tandy might be the answer to her prayers. All she needed to do was write the woman and tell her what she wanted, but first Betsy would make sure the men of Silverpines would agree to her request. She fell asleep peacefully for the first time since Ike had been shot. Yes, between Betsy’s dogged determination and Elizabeth's knack for finding the right match, maybe she’d see justice for Ike and her beloved town set free from the clutches of a killer. Plus, if Elizabeth was as good as she said she was, Betsy might even end up with a groom she could at least live with and respect, if not actually love. 

She fell asleep thinking of just what she would write in her letter to Elizabeth and to the man she was sending for. Then, if God was behind this idea, Elizabeth would find her a man to marry, a lawman. 

Betsy walked into her father's office just before lunch, and sure enough, caught the men who made up the town council talking to her father. She shut the door behind her and locked it. “Betsy, what brings you by?” 

“I have a proposition for you fine community leaders.” 

The Mayor looked at her, but not one other man inside the room would look her in the eye. “What kind of proposition?” 

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Nothing brought light and joy to her anymore; not while Charles Little ran around loose wearing Ike's badge. “You meet here every day, in secret, trying to figure out a way to get someone to take care of arresting Charles Little. Yet, after two weeks, have you found a solution?” 

They all looked elsewhere, including Mayor Rhyan. “No, we are no closer to a solution than we were the night Ike died.” 

“Well, what if I have a solution for you?” 

Her father looked at her. “What solution, Betsy? Last time, you wanted me to hire a gunslinger to come and kill the man. That isn’t a solution.” 

Betsy shook her head. “No, you're right; that could just make things worse. What we need is a lawman. Someone who is used to dealing with killers and outlaws.” 

“Yes, of course,” the Mayor said. “We’ve gone over this before; there is no way for us to send for one without Little finding out and killing us.” 

Betsy smiled again. “If I could get a man who had experience as a lawman to come here, would you make him the new Town Marshal?” 

The men all looked at each other, and her father nodded. “Betsy, if you have a way to get us a lawman that will take the job, of course, we’d make him Town Marshal and empower him to arrest Charles.” 

“Gentlemen, I need your word on this. I will send for a lawman and provide one. I don't want him to arrive without your backing and be left high and dry because of your fear of the killer wearing my Ike's badge.” 

“How are you going to get us a lawman without alerting Mr. Little, girl?” 

“Oh, that’s easy! I’m going to write my good friend Elizabeth Tandy to send me one.” 

Her father's eyes drew close in confusion. “Elizabeth Tandy? How do I know that name?” 

Betsy reached into her purse and pulled out a card. “I told you about her when I returned from New York, Papa.” 

The men looked at the card she’d handed her father. The card read, “Elizabeth Tandy, Mail-Order Bride Broker. Beckham, Massachusetts.” Betsy waited until they all looked up at her. “It’s quite simple; I’m going to send for a mail-order groom. One who has experience as a lawman and wants to be our Town Marshal. I was supposed to marry the Town Marshal and while Charles Little's proposal holds no appeal, I have no problem marrying a good man who will come west to take the job as my husband and as our marshal.” 

She took back the card and left the five men stunned as she went home to write her letters, one to Elizabeth and the other to her prospective groom. 

Later that afternoon, she looked over the letter to Elizabeth and the funds she had gathered, along with a letter for her prospective groom and a train ticket for three weeks in the future. She figured that gave the letter a week to get to Beckham and Elizabeth two weeks to find her a groom. Again, if this idea was from God, she’d be looking at her brand-new fiancé and the town's brand-new marshal in a month. The letter to Elizabeth was straight to the point, as was the one to her groom-to-be. Now it was all in God’s hands. Well, God's and Elizabeth Tandy’s, too.

Three

Elizabeth sat staring at the letter in her hand. She didn’t know how she was going to fill this request. While she’d had one similar before her marriage to Bernard, she’d filled it with her own family. This time that wouldn’t work, and she had no clue if she could help this person find their spouse. 

She felt the tears building in her eyes. Harriet had left her this legacy and challenge, and she wanted to match every young woman who came to her with the perfect spouse. So far, things had always worked out the way they were supposed to, even if not the way Elizabeth, Harriet before her, or the brides had thought. She’d not failed to fulfill a letter, and she didn’t want this young woman’s request to be the first she couldn’t meet. 

Her husband Bernard came into the room as if he knew she was upset. “What’s wrong, love? Was there bad news in today’s batch of letters?” 

Elizabeth smiled at the man, who knew her heart virtually better than she did. “Not bad news, just a difficult, practically impossible request. Sometimes I think these people think I’m a miracle worker. Listen to this one: 

Mrs. Tandy, 

I’m sure that you won’t remember me. I met you about six months ago in New York City. My name is Betsy Pike, and I was there shopping for a wedding dress. You were being fitted for some dresses as well, and we struck up a conversation where you told me about your mail-order bride service and the Grooms' Gazette paper you manage. 

I was to marry the Marshal of my hometown of Silverpines, Oregon. We laughed over the only request you’d ever gotten for a mail-order husband. You wished me a happy marriage, but also gave me your card and told me to contact you if I ever needed your help. Fate had other plans, and I find myself in need of your services, madam. 

On the eve of my wedding, my groom was shot and killed by a disreputable gambler who was caught cheating at cards in our town's saloon. If that weren’t horrible enough, the man who shot my intended assumed the role of Town Marshal and has held our town hostage for the last few weeks. He has taken over all parts of my dear Ike's life. Even to the point of insisting that I will move into his home and fill his bed after a short mourning period. I will admit that thought repulses me. Since I will never accept my fiancé’s killer as his replacement, this is where you come in. 

I have convinced the town council that if I can bring in a groom with experience in upholding the law to marry me, they will make him the new Town Marshal and authorize him to arrest Ike's killer. So that is what I’m asking of you, dear woman; find me a groom with experience as a lawman. One who has the mettle to stand up to an outlaw and ruthless killer. I don’t care what he looks like, but would appreciate it if he was close to my age. I am twenty and my Ike was twenty-seven, so that age range would be acceptable. There is a very limited time, as my mourning period is just about complete. So, you will find a letter enclosed for my potential groom with a ticket to Silverpines, Oregon, set to leave Beckham on January 30th. I’ve included your fee and what I hope is enough money to take care of the groom's needs along the way. 

Thank you in advance for your assistance. I pray God will direct you to the perfect man for me and my situation. 

Sincerely, 

Betsy Pike.”

 

“It feels like an impossible task, and I feel that if I let her down I’ve not only put her in the type of situation Harriet started this business to get young women out of. But I’ve also condemned a whole town to be controlled by an outlaw.” 

Bernard came around her desk and pulled her to her feet, wrapping his large strong arms around her. She clung to him, thankful again to Harriet, who seemed to know the perfect match for her long before Elizabeth had realized it herself. “You’ll do your best for her, just as you have for every bride and groom who has contacted you. Now calm yourself and let's look through the rest of these letters. Maybe there is a lawman in there looking for a bride? A lawman who wouldn’t mind a change of scenery.” 

Together they went through the letters and they could match several brides and grooms with each other to start the process of talking and being vetted by Bernard and his contacts. However, they didn’t find a groom for Betsy Pike. Elizabeth set that thought aside as dinner was announced. She’d spend time with her family and ask the Good Lord to show her how to help Betsy Pike. She thought if nothing else, she could send Bernard to bring the young woman to Beckham, giving them more time to find her a groom. 

Bernard Tandy was on his way downtown to pick up the mail and run a few errands, but his thoughts were elsewhere. He was concerned about Elizabeth. She had been so successful at matching couples, and he knew it was a gift and talent. He also knew that occasionally a letter, or bride, came into her life that held special meaning to her. This Betsy Pike, with her near-impossible request, was just such a person. He’d not slept well because Elizabeth didn't sleep well. She’d worried, even in her sleep, that she was letting not only Betsy but the entire town of Silverpines down. Bernard wondered if he should contact Allan Pinkerton or one of his U.S. Marshal contacts. He could ask them to head out to Silverpines and take care of this killer so that Elizabeth and, by association, Betsy could relax and breathe easier. 

Bernard was so deep in thought that he almost walked into his friend Officer Sewell, who was walking his beat through Beckham’s shopping district. 

“Mr. Tandy, you seem to be distracted. It might be safer for the citizens of our fair city if you paid a bit more attention to where you’re going, my friend,” the younger policeman said with a smile. 

Bernard looked at the young lawman, and suddenly, the solution to Elizabeth’s impossible letter was as obvious as the badge on the pressed uniform in front of him. “Officer Sewell, I apologize. I was thinking about a problem my wife had and not paying attention as I should.” 

Alexzander frowned. “Is Elizabeth okay, my friend?” 

“She has a letter that has been upsetting her, but I think I just came up with the solution. Tell me Alexzander, are you still wanting to escape Beckham and get closer to some real wide-open spaces with mountains all around?” 

Sewell’s face lit up for a moment before it fell. “That sounds like a dream come true, but I doubt it will ever happen. I just can’t afford to put up enough money to make a fresh start of it elsewhere. I’ll have to be content with the occasional trip to the woods, I reckon.” 

Bernard smiled. "Perhaps not. Maybe we can help each other out. What are you doing this evening after you get off work?” 

“Nothing at all. Why? What are you thinking?” 

Bernard's smile became a wide, tooth-showing grin. “I’m thinking, Alex, my friend, it’s time for you to come see Elizabeth officially.” 

“What?” 

“Trust me on this; come to dinner tonight at seven. I think you’ll find a solution to your problems.” 

“I tell you I want to get out of this city and your answer is to see your wife, the mail-order bride broker? I want freedom, Bernard, not another anchor holding me to Beckham.” 

Bernard laughed. “Trust me and come to dinner. I promise you won’t regret it. Besides, even if Elizabeth doesn’t have the answer for you, I can promise you’ll enjoy the dinner.” 

The young policeman nodded. “That’s true and if nothing else, I’ll finally get to see what your wife does that keeps you all in that big, fancy house.” 

“Yes, there is that, too.” 

The two men shook hands and Bernard continued on to the post office in a much better mood now. Yes, much better than before he ran into Alexzander. He thought Elizabeth would be pleased, too. After all, he may have just helped her fulfill an impossible request.

Four

Alexzander sat on the seat and kept himself still, like he was in the woods waiting on the game to come. That’s what he felt like himself after a week on the train. He couldn’t imagine how mail-order brides did this a few years ago when the trains were slower, and it took ten days to two weeks to cross the country. A week of even more enclosed spaces, unwashed bodies, and soot had just about driven him crazy. He had checked several times on his horse, Jumper, which besides three sets of buckskins, weapons, and one Sunday suit, was all he’d brought with him. His needs were simple, and he figured it was better to start the way he intended to continue. 

So, while Elizabeth had frowned when she and Bernard saw him off at the depot, he was going to meet Betsy Pike and the town of Silverpines in the buckskins he planned to wear the rest of his life. He looked more polished and less chaotic after allowing the barber to even out his hair and beard.. After all, he would step off the train and take the oath as the marshal of Silverpines.. He would have to take a bath and change clothes for his wedding. Then it was on to the business of arresting an outlaw and his fiancé’s first love’s killer. 

He kept his eyes peeled to the window of the Pullman car he was sitting in. While the train was stuffy and felt like it was getting smaller with every mile, the sight outside the windows excited him. The views were spectacular, and the wide-open spaces called to him like nothing had back East. They called even more than the Appalachians had. This was the place he’d always longed for but didn’t know existed. Big sky and tall trees. He’d spent part of the trip talking to a man who was a lumberjack, who told him Washington, Oregon, and part of California had trees as big around as some houses and as red as a robin's breast. 

He hoped to have time to see some of those because it was hard to imagine. Well, it had been until he saw the size and scale of space here in the West. No wonder so many of the old-timers had left the mountains back east and headed for those Rockies and Tetons he could see out west here. There was enough big timber to get lost in and never see another human. He knew that’s what several of the old-timers had wanted. Some of the old-timers had even gone up into Canada, where nobody would bother them.. 

While that was less human interaction than he wanted, some space sounded perfect. Of course, he was about to become the lawman of a booming mine and timber town; for all he knew, it would be as crowded as Beckham had been. He just hoped that he wasn’t too big a disappointment to this Betsy Pike he was supposed to marry. He sure had been to all the young women back in Massachusetts. Of course, all she wanted was a man who would stand up for justice and help keep her home safe from outlaws and ruffians. He’d have done that without the marriage proposal and the job because that was just who he was. A mountain man through and through, like Daniel Boone, Davy Crockett, or Nugget Nate Ryder. 

As he sat thinking about these things, the conductor came through. “Next stop is Silverpines, Oregon, folks. We’ll have a short layover here for ore and timber to be loaded, pulling out in half an hour for all points west. There’s a depot and several shops nearby if you need anything.” 

Alex took a deep breath. This was it. He was finally here. He pulled out his letter from his bride-to-be and looked at it one last time. 

To my Groom, 

If you are reading this letter, I assume you’ve agreed to come West and marry me. Know this: I will do my best to be a good wife, but my heart belonged to the man you will replace, both as my husband and as Town Marshal. This whole arrangement is strange, and I won’t be able to meet you at the station. If you would make your way from the depot in Silverpines to the church on the far side of town, they will direct you to my family’s home. 

I must take this precaution, as the outlaw who killed my love has declared that he will have me for his own. I fear what would happen if I were to meet you in public. While I’ve asked for a lawman, I don’t know what kind of lawman you are. However, I know what kind of ruthless outlaw Charles Little is. If he knew you were here to arrest him and marry me, he’d shoot you on sight. 

Of course, none of us know what you look like, either, so please bring this letter with you as proof of who you are. I’m twenty years old with long hair and blue eyes. People say I’m pretty, but I wouldn’t know. I guess I am, since people say I am. 

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