Mail-Order Bride Ink: Dear Mr. Turner Read Free Page B

surprised even Pleasant. In the year Mrs. Pettigrew had been in business, she’d sent out dozens of brides, all of which, according to Mrs. Pettigrew herself, were now happily married.
    If that weren’t enough, the writing to prove it was on the wall. Literally – Mrs. Pettigrew had taken to displaying the letters she’d received from her happy customers on the wall behind her desk. A perusal of them had convinced Pleasant and her aunt they’d made the right choice in coming. But was Mrs. Pettigrew as impressed with them as they were with her? The way she was looking at Pleasant made her feel as though she was about to be dismissed without a second thought.
    “Well,” Mrs. Pettigrew finally said. “I believe I have a gentleman that will be able to handle you.”
    Pleasant’s eyes bulged. “What? Handle me?!”
    Mrs. Pettigrew didn’t bat an eye. Instead she pulled out a drawer of her desk and extracted a few sheets of paper. “You’ll want to write him while you’re here and let him know you’ve accepted his proposal.”
    “Proposal? You haven’t so much as shown me a letter!”
    “Oh, ça va .” Mrs. Pettigrew smiled, removed one sheet and shoved it across the desk. “Here is Monsieur Turner’s proposal.”
    Aunt Phidelia cleared her throat. “Er, isn’t it customary they write to one another first, to see if they suit?”
    “Considering your situation, I wouldn’t think there was time. This particular gentleman seeks a wife now. He isn’t looking for lengthy letter-writing.”
    Aunt Phidelia gasped. “We’ve not said a word about our situation. How would you know …?”
    “By the way you’re fidgeting about in your chair, Madame .” She looked at Pleasant. “And this one – she stands rigid, with no hope of love in her eyes.”
    Pleasant exchanged a quick glance with her aunt. Good grief, did they really look that desperate?
    “I suggest that if you’re in a hurry, you read Monsieur Turner’s proposal,” Mrs. Pettigrew said, drawing her attention.
    Pleasant’s mouth dropped open. “How did you … I mean …” She straightened. “How dare you insinuate that I may be guilty of …”
    “I insinuate nothing. I know only that you are acting in haste, and therefore must have reason. I am not worried about why – that is entirely your affair. My affair is to help speed you on your way.” She gave the letter another shove. “Read, s’il vous plaît .”
    Pleasant looked at Aunt Phidelia, who shrugged. If Mrs. Pettigrew wasn’t concerned with the whys and wherefores, so much the better. She swallowed hard, steeled her nerves and picked up the letter.

Chapter 2
    T o my future bride :

    M y name is Eli Turner . I am writing to tell you how much I look forward to meeting you. I am a stable man with a stable job. I have a small cabin outside of town that I am sure you will find most comfortable. Clear Creek is a wonderful place with plenty of fresh air and perpetual beauty. I do not know you yet, but I will. On the recommendation of one of my closest friends, Sheriff Harlan Hughes, not to mention one of my relations, I am putting my full trust in Mrs. Pettigrew to find you for me.
    I am tall with brown hair and hazel eyes. You will find me an amiable man capable of decent conversation. I require a wife who can cook, clean and sew, but that goes without saying.
    In closing, will you be my bride? If so, I have enclosed train and stage fare and look forward to meeting you in person when you arrive.

    S incerely yours ,
    Eli Turner

    P leasant looked up from the letter nervously. “What does decent conversation mean, exactly?”
    “What do you mean? What did he say?” Aunt Phidelia asked as she stood. She went to her, peered over her shoulder at the letter and quickly read it. “That is a rather odd phrase. What sort of man is this?”
    “One that can deal with Mademoiselle Comfort here,” Mrs. Pettigrew said dryly. “You can either accept or reject his proposal.”
    Pleasant’s face