Mail Order Bride Mishap (Into the West #3)

Chapter 3

A/N: Wow, a week to the day! But this book is flowing from my head like The Pirate's Bride did, so I'm going to run with it as long as it's coming. Hope you enjoy this chapter; it's in a format I've never done before. Please read, vote, follow, and comment, as always.

Dear Mr. Townsend,

You sound like a man I would greatly like to get to know better. I, too, lost my parents a few years ago; I am all alone, except for a dear friend who does not approve of my current plan of finding a husband. But since I have no one, I find myself looking at a dreary future. The city of Boston is so very large it is difficult to meet proper suitors, especially when one is attempting to make ends meet as well.

I am envious of your family ties. A sister and brother-in-law? A niece? Right in your own town? How wonderful for you! How old is your niece? Do you see your family regularly?

I apologize if I ask too many questions. I am inquisitive by nature. Your town sounds lovely. I do not like heat either, or the terrible humidity of summer here in the city. I like rain, and green trees and grass. And rainbows after a brief shower. And wildflowers in the spring.

The buildings here in Boston are so tall they crowd the sky and block the sun. I would dearly love to see the countryside, but it takes too long and costs too much to take a carriage out of the city.

I guess you would like to hear more about me, though, and not Boston. As I wrote before, I am a twenty-three-year-old woman who likes to sew and read. I cook, and can maintain a house. I am of average height, slim, with green eyes and Titian hair. I am of a rather quiet nature, but that could be because I have no family around. I have had no real suitors, but have imagined the type of man I could live with in matrimony. It remains to be seen if I have found that man in you.

I do have to be perfectly honest and warn you that I am also writing to another man, located in San Francisco. I am serious in my search for a compatible mate, as I am sure you are as well. For a woman, that is.

I hope this letter finds you well. If you have already chosen a suitable candidate, I send you my sincerest felicitations.

Yours truly,

Miss Fiona O’Toole

“Wait, sir! Wait just a minute! I have only one, small letter to post!”

The mail clerk, mindful of his time and not the customer’s, glanced back under gray, scraggly eyebrows and glared at the red-haired young miss chasing him along the platform. He picked up his pace, dragging the daily mail bag and barking over his shoulder, “You’re late, miss! A lack of planning on your part does not constitute an emergency on mine. Post it on tomorrow’s train.”

Fiona jerked to a stop in shocked disbelief at the older man’s discourteous command. Immediately after, a rush of intense temper infused her face, turning her skin a blotchy pink as she felt the flames of violent, irrational anger nearly blow the top of her head off.

“Why you officious, old goat! The train’s not even ready to go yet! You could wait just one minute and let me stuff this envelope in that bag. It wouldn’t hurt you! You’re just being spiteful because you think I’m Irish!”

Heads turned along the platform, staring at the young woman with long, red tresses falling out from under her plumed hat as she stomped her foot and yelled in accented English after the postal official, who kept doing what he was paid to do: get the mail bag onto the train on time. Once he’d safely passed the bag to his co-worker aboard the mail car, the old clerk turned hard, narrow eyes on Fiona.