Mail Order Marshal

  Copyright © 2018 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.

  Introduction

  Betsy Pike’s world comes crashing down when her fiancé, Silverpines' Town Marshal, is gunned down on the eve of their wedding. 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?

  Can Betsy let go of her love for Ike and learn to love 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.

  Table of Contents

  Introduction

  Dedication

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Other Books by George H. McVey

  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 be pleasing to Ike as they entered their marriage bed the first time.

  She had just covered up and started to drift off to sleep when there came a pounding upon 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 began to weep.

  “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 it is that 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. Ike was shot and killed an hour ago at the saloon. A man named Charles Little shot him dead when Ike tried to remove him from a game of poker the man 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 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. She stormed out of the house and up Ash street with her father and the city councilmen following in her wake calling at 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 board walk 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 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 back 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 this town was kept 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 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 undertakers. 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 cobble stone 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 had decided to return to her home town of Beckham. Alexzander had been sixteen and if he had known that his mother would be remarried exactly one year after she returned to Beckham, he’d have stayed in the mountains with his blood brother, Akecheta, and his family, learning 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 beginning to become 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. He’d been sent to the academy where he had quickly been promoted to officer. He was a better shot than most of the men who were to instruct him and definitely a better fighter in hand-to-hand. Once he graduated, he was handed a service revolver,a uniform with a badge and had gotten 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 flat mates 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 that 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 Modesta's 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?”