Chevonne: Bride of Oklahoma (American Mail-Order Bride 46) Read online

  Was the man Phinneas Gulch?

  She’d never met Phinneas, but she would never forget the name her grandmother had spoken with such anger. Trepidation tickled Chevonne’s spine. Was it a coincidence that the man who had stolen Gram’s idea was now here in the very same town?

  Had he followed her here?

  But how would he have known she was coming here? She glanced up at Trey again. His eyes were still on the man. Was he trying to catch the man’s attention? Clearly, Trey knew him.

  Had Trey brought her to Oklahoma on purpose knowing about her secret project?

  Was he working with Phinneas Gulch? Had the two of them planned this together? There was no way Phinneas would have known she would need to become a mail-order bride though, unless he had something to do with the fire in the factory, and got the mail-order bride agent to approach the seamstresses, and somehow... no, it just wasn’t possible. So what was going on?

  Just as she was about to ask Trey how he knew Phinneas, he came out of his trance and tugged her arm. “It’s getting late, we better get home.”

  Chevonne trotted along beside him. Obviously, Trey was trying to keep her away from Phinneas. Did he not want her to know that he knew him? Why? Was she right to be suspicious?

  The feelings of camaraderie and friendship, and maybe even something deeper, that Chevonne had been developing for Trey disappeared in that instant.

  Was it possible he was working with Phinneas Gulch to steal her grandmother’s secrets?

  No, that couldn’t be. She was being silly. There was no way Trey could have been sure that she would pick his advertisement for a mail-order bride. Was there? His letter was different from the others, somehow, and it had drawn her to him.

  Chevonne wracked her brain trying to remember just how she had chosen to write to Trey. After the fire, her manager, Roberta, had given them all a copy of the Grooms’ Gazette which listed men looking for mail-order brides. Chevonne had waited longer than most of them to pick a man to write to. She had a little bit of money saved, and was reluctant to leave the only home she’d ever known. But finally she had realized she had to move on and she needed a secure place to work until she was ready to launch her Gram’s designs.

  Suddenly she wondered if coming to Oklahoma had been such a great idea after all. She couldn’t change that now, and Gram would say the best thing to do was to move forward with the plan. But one thing was for sure, she was going to keep a close eye on her new husband, with one eye out for Phinneas Gulch.

  And she was going to take her grandmother’s oft-spoken words to heart: trust no one but yourself.

  * * *

  Trey noticed a marked change in Chevonne as soon as she set eyes on Phinneas Gulch. Did she know him? It sure seemed that way. Why, the mere sight of him seemed to have her so rattled that she was now practically running away from him.

  But how could she possibly know the man?

  He knew Phinneas was the kind of man that would sell his own mother for a nickel. Gulch was the kind of man that would rather steal someone else’s hard work than do any of his own. He knew this for a fact because Phinneas Gulch had already done just that. He’d stolen his cousin’s formula for an herbal treatment for rheumatism and bottled it himself.

  Trey had even heard rumors that Phinneas had tried to steal ideas for a few inventions from a man in Nebraska by applying for a patent before the inventor himself could apply.

  Was Phinneas in town because he’d gotten wind of Trey’s work on his new invention?

  He frowned down at his new wife. Her face was all hard lines as she steamed toward the buggy with grim determination. Suddenly the warm feelings toward Chevonne that had started to blossom dissolved into dust.

  It had been so easy to act like a happy couple at dinner. Heck, he’d felt like a happy couple. And he had to admit he’d had feelings about her that he’d never felt when his mother had foisted Sarah on him. Chevonne was different. She was smart, funny and disturbingly beautiful.

  He couldn’t let that sidetrack him when he had an important business idea to follow through on.

  The coincidence of Phinneas Gulch showing up in town just a day after Chevonne had arrived bothered him. And the way she was acting was suspicious.

  Was it possible Phinneas had sent Chevonne here on purpose to spy on him?

  He thought back to when he’d received Chevonne’s letter in answer to his advertisement for a mail-order bride. He hadn’t really cared who answered the ad and she had appeared sufficient. Actually, if he was being honest, she’d seemed miles better than the other women who’d answered his advertisement. The two of them had exchanged several entertaining letters but he’d done nothing to check into her. He hadn’t seen the need. It had just felt right.

  Was it possible everything she’d written about herself was a lie, and Phinneas had somehow arranged the marriage from the start? No, that was just silly. But she sure was a good actress.

  It was probably just his suspicious nature running away with him. One thing was certain, though, he would not be confiding in her about what was going on in his study. If there was one thing Trey Garner had learned in life, it was to trust no one but himself.

  Chapter 7

  The next morning, Chevonne came downstairs to find Trey in the hall that led to his study. “Good morning,” she said.

  He nodded. “Mornin’. I trust you slept well.”

  Chevonne’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. Why did it seem like he was blocking the hallway? It was as if he thought she’d want to go that way. Or was he standing there like that because he was just set to go upstairs to spy on her and she’d surprised him by coming down? “I did sleep well. And you?”

  “Very good.”

  A few seconds passed. It was like a Mexican standoff. They stood there eying each other.

  Finally Chevonne said, “I was going to bake the breakfast rolls I have rising. Are you hungry?”

  “Oh. You were on your way to the kitchen?” He smiled. “Yes, I’m hungry.”

  “Good.” Chevonne led the way to the kitchen. She was half afraid he would take the opportunity to run upstairs and rummage through her room while she was cooking, but to her relief, he followed her. Even if he had headed to her room, he would have been disappointed. It was locked up tight and she had the key nestled snugly in her corset.

  Chevonne saw Trey sniff approvingly as they entered the kitchen. The scent of the molasses fruit cakes cooking in the oven filled the room. She’d mixed up the batter and set them to cook when she’d come down earlier that morning. Now she carefully removed them from the oven and then from their pans, and set them to cool on wire racks by the open window. To protect them from flies yet release the steam, she set wire mesh protective domes over them.

  They had a big breakfast that included the butter-rich breakfast rolls that she’d prepared and set in the ice box the evening before, after returning from town. The bread kneading, as always, had soothed her nerves, which were raw after seeing Phinneas Gulch, and especially after seeing the change in Trey’s character the thief produced.

  Early that morning, she’d come downstairs in her wrap when the ranch hands and Trey had started their day, to set the rolls to rise, and to mix up the cake batter and put the cakes in the oven to bake. Then she’d returned upstairs to finish her toilette, and to do a bit of work on her project.

  She noticed the camaraderie of the previous morning’s breakfast when they had shared the eggs was missing. This morning Trey was much less talkative.

  Did that have something to do with Phinneas Gulch?

  Whatever was eating at him, it didn’t seem to affect Trey’s appetite. He ate up everything she cooked and even tucked the last rolls into a muslin sack to take with him, which pleased her.

  “Good breakfast. Thank you.” Trey went out the back door, his usual way of coming and going.

  Maybe he was a strong silent westerner like old Luke, and had just been making an effort at conversation up to then. Chevo
nne wondered about that as she cleaned up the kitchen. Then she prepared bread dough, kneading it probably more than was necessary, to release some pent up frustration, at what she wasn’t quite sure. She set the dough for the first rising, and greased bread tins so they were ready for the loaves she’d make after the second kneading.

  Chevonne ran up to her room to get ready for her trip into town with Celia. She sorted through her clothes hanging in the closet, pulling out a dress in a brown floral print with modest lace edging. She didn’t want to dress too fancy. Judging by what Celia had worn to dinner the night before, this dress would help Chevonne fit in better with her sister-in-law.

  Stripping down, she pulled open a bureau drawer and eyed a pair of her knickers. She hated the blasted things. The legs were so long and the scratchy linen material was uncomfortable.

  Why did women have to suffer these things?

  She didn’t have much choice. It was either the knickers and a separate camisole under the corset, or the new style one-piece underclothes that included the camisole. She didn’t like either. Despite the lace on the edges and the one small bow at the top of the camisole, they were not very feminine.

  She shimmied into the knickers. The darn things were so bulky they made her look like a moose. Women deserved better under their dresses. It was bad enough with the layers of material one was forced to wear.

  Why couldn’t we have something sleek, form-fitting and pretty underneath?

  A smile tugged at Chevonne’s lips as she eyed her Gram’s bag that held the new designs. Gram had shared her ideas on undergarments and the two of them had set out to change the world. A pang of sadness stole her smile when she felt a hint of the grief that had nearly killed her.

  It acted to renew her conviction to do it all by herself. That’s why it was so important that no one find out and ruin her plans. And it reminded her yet again that until she had the perfect designs, she couldn’t trust anyone.

  By the time Celia arrived, Chevonne was dressed and waiting on the porch, her undergarments scratching her skin and her corset stays poking into her uncomfortably. But the bread loaves were rising on the kitchen stove over the embers of the breakfast fire. Sturdy kitchen towels covered them to keep the flies off. Luke had brought over fresh eggs, meat cutlets, a roast and a bucket of fresh milk, along with a block of ice for the icebox. She’d sent him off with several slices of the molasses fruit cake, earning her a gruff “mighty grateful” as he went out the screen door.

  She’d re-filled the egg tree, put the cutlets to marinate in herbs and vinegar so they’d be tender for breakfast, sliced eggplants and set the slices to soak in saltwater to remove their bitterness for fried eggplant to go with supper, and had the roast marinating in herbs and spices for supper.

  Then she’d boiled the milk and set it to cool. When she got home from shopping she’d ladle the risen cream into the cream pot, and refill the milk jug. By the end of the week, she’d have enough cream to churn some fresh butter to restock the butter pot. The loaves would be ready for baking on her return from town.

  Chevonne was very proud that she was managing to keep house and do her project work. Maybe she could make a good wife to some man some day and not let her Gram down. That had been her Gram’s wish for her too, to be happily married to a good, supportive man.

  It was why six years earlier the old woman had purchased for her granddaughter Marion Harland’s Cookery for Beginners: A Series of Familiar Lessons for Young Housekeepers, and she’d made Chevonne study it front to back. Then three years ago she’d purchased Mrs. Gillette’s White House Cook Book: A Comprehensive Cyclopedia for the Home, and she’d had Chevonne learn it from front to back and back to front. The two books, Chevonne’s household bibles, now held pride of place on a shelf in Trey’s ranch kitchen.

  Celia drove the buggy like she’d been born to it. Back in Lawrence most women didn’t drive buggies, but out here women were more self-sufficient, making them perfect customers for her Gram’s designs. Chevonne was sure she couldn’t be in a better place right now.

  The mercantile in Oklahoma City was a large building that sold everything from sugar to canvas. Even though it couldn’t have been more than a year or so old, it was dusty from the dirt of the road that wafted inside the windows and doors, and that was tracked in by customers. Chevonne smelled dry wood and spices as Celia led her down an aisle to the new fabric section in the back.

  Sun streamed in from the large windows at the back and splashed light on the colorful fabrics. Celia practically squealed with delight as she rummaged through the piles of bolts of fabric.

  “This new selection is divine,” she said. “I’ve had to make do with old scraps of clothing for my quilts. These will add some needed contrast and color, not to mention make beautiful new dresses.” Celia picked her way through the piles of cotton fabrics.

  Chevonne went for the soft and silky materials. “Look at this one,” she said, fingering a silky piece in a particularly beautiful shade of blue.

  “That’s just so pretty. Too bad silks don’t work well on quilts. But that color is lovely.” Celia glanced slyly at Chevonne out of the corner of her eye. “That’s Trey’s favorite shade of blue.”

  The thought of buying a fabric in her husband’s favorite color brought a blush to Chevonne’s cheeks, especially since she intended to make undergarments out of it. The thought of Trey seeing her in silky undergarments in his favorite color brought a surge of warm and tingly feelings she had a hard time deciphering. Straightening her back, she reminded herself that their arrangement was merely one of convenience, Trey would never see her in her undergarments.

  “That’s right, he does like blue.” Sarah Perkins appeared around a pile of fabric bolts at the end of the aisle, her beady eyes surveying Chevonne. “My, that’s a fancy outfit. Didn’t anyone tell you that we pioneer women don’t wear such frilly things? We need to be practical. Trey needs your help on the ranch, and that,” she waved her hand up and down at Chevonne, “is simply too fanciful.”

  Chevonne’s blood boiled. She took note of Sarah’s plain-Jane brown dress.

  Before Chevonne could reply to the taunt, Celia came to her aid, “Really, Sarah, I like Chevonne’s style. In fact, I think more women around here should dress like her. Why shouldn’t we pamper ourselves and look good? The town has grown up. We don’t have to sacrifice anymore. Look, we’re even getting fancy fabrics and adornments like in big city stores.” Celia held up a strip of lace as evidence.

  Sarah sniffed. “Well, I know Trey likes more practical women. A city girl in Oklahoma, what was he thinking?” She looked Chevonne up and down again, then spun on her heel and stormed off.

  Chevonne stared after her, still clutching the blue silky material in her hand. “I don’t think she likes me.”

  Celia whispered, “She really did have her sights set on Trey, but he was never interested in her. Mama tried to push them together, don’t ask me why. Once you get to know Mama, you’ll come to love her.”

  “I’m sure I will,” Chevonne said diplomatically, then testing the waters added, “I was thinking of adding just a touch of lace to the reticule of hers that I’m repairing. You know, just a little to fancy it up. But after what Sarah just said, maybe I shouldn’t. It seems women around here don’t like these fancy fixings.”

  “I wouldn’t say that. It’s just that we’ve only had the bare necessities up until recently. Believe me, Mama likes the finer things as much as anyone else and adding some to her reticule will be a way to get in her good graces. I think you should do it.”

  “Then I will.” Chevonne didn’t care so much about getting in Trey’s mothers good graces as she did in getting another person on board who might be appreciative of her grandmother’s fancy undergarment designs.

  “You know, I really do like your dress.” Celia’s gaze took in the length of Chevonne’s dress, then she looked down at her own plain, navy blue cotton dress. “I wonder if I bought some of these adornments here and s
ewed them on the cuffs and the collar, they would spruce up my dress?”

  Chevonne’s eyes sparkled at another potential customer. “Certainly.” Chevonne pointed to her own cuffs. “This is just a plain dress with some lace on the cuffs and bodice.”

  Celia smiled. “Just because we aren’t in a big city, doesn’t mean we have to look dowdy. I’m going to buy some.” Celia stacked the card of lace on top of her pile of utilitarian fabric.

  They made their purchases, including several yards of the silky blue fabric, which Chevonne assured herself was because of the extraordinary color and not because it was Trey’s favorite. She paid for her purchases with her own money, rather than charging it to Trey’s account. It seemed only right since she’d be using them for her project.

  As they headed out of town in the buggy, Chevonne spotted Phinneas Gulch on a street corner hawking his wares. Celia spotted him, too, making her grimace.

  “Do you know that man?” Chevonne asked. A sudden wave of doubt crashed over her. Here she was, tempted to trust Celia with her secret, but it seemed she knew Phinneas just like Trey did.

  Celia shook her head. “I don’t know him, but his reputation precedes him. You don’t want to have anything to do with that man. He’s bad news.”

  “Really? Why do you say that? Did he do something to you?” That might explain Trey’s odd behavior last night.

  “Not to me. To my cousin. That man, Phinneas Gulch, is a cheat and a liar. He stole my cousin’s formula for an herbal treatment and claimed it as his own. And I heard that he also tried to steal someone else’s invention by filing a patent before the inventor.” Celia scowled at Phinneas, then flicked the reins to make the buggy horse speed up.

  “That’s terrible. What can the inventor do about it?” Chevonne asked.

  Celia shrugged. “Not much, I suspect. The first one to file a patent on an invention with the government Patent Office gets money from anyone who uses the invention.”