Beulah's Brains: A McClain Story (The Alphabet Mail-Order Brides Book 2) Read online

  Beulah’s Brains

  The Alphabet Mail-Order Brides Book 2

  Kirsten Osbourne

  Copyright © 2018 by Kirsten Osbourne

  All rights reserved.

  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 written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Kirsten Osbourne

  What’s Next for The Alphabet Mail-Order Brides

  Chapter One

  Beulah was in her room, poring over the newest anatomy text book she’d received by mail order just the day before. Her entire life, she’d dreamed of being a doctor, but being a woman, and an orphan, she lacked the funds to even think about going to a medical school, so instead, she spent her free time studying text books so she could learn all about the human body. Her friends tended to think she should be having more fun than she did, but to her, studying medical texts was fun.

  She glanced up when her roommate entered the room, a strange look on her face. “There’s something strange happening around here,” Catalina told her. “I’ve been talking with Emmeline and Dorthy in the garden. Will you join us?”

  Beulah looked at her friend—who was usually calm—and saw some slight panic in her eyes. “Of course. I’m on my way.” She carefully marked her spot in her book and stood up, smoothing her blue dress.

  The two friends walked together toward the garden at the back of the school. They lived in the dormitory of Madam Wigg Foundling Home and School. Together, the two friends had grown up in the orphanage, and they now taught there. They had been roommates for as long as either of them could remember and tended to do things together as much as possible. “Any idea what’s wrong?”

  “There’s a rumor Wiggie is sick, but no one can really substantiate it.” Catalina looked worried, and that was unlike her roommate at all, which made Beulah walk just a bit faster. There had been many rumors about Madame Wigg—or Wiggie as she was known to everyone—dying over the years, but Cataline hadn’t believed a single one. It seemed as if she believed this one.

  When they reached the garden, Beulah couldn’t help but smile at their friend Dorthy kneeling in the mud pulling weeds. Gardening was a favorite pastime for Dorthy, and she grew most of the vegetables eaten by the school. As Dorthy reached for another weed, Beulah had to stop her. “Be careful with that one. Will you make sure you keep the root intact, Dorthy? That one is Andropogon virginicus, and I think I can extract something from the leaves to make a tonic for the more rambunctious children. Do you mind?”

  Dorthy exchanged a grin with Emmeline, and Beulah pretended she didn’t see it. She knew her friends laughed about her behind her back, but she didn’t care. They’d all be pleased when she found a way to keep the children calmer and more attentive to their studies.

  Dorthy nodded. “I’m happy to. Are you going to try to grow it yourself?”

  “Yes, that’s why I want the root intact. Although if it’s like every other weed, I’m sure it will only grow where I don’t want it to grow,” Beulah said with a smile, determined to keep the conversation lighthearted.

  Just as Dorthy handed Beulah the plant, Wiggie herself walked over to them. She sat down on a large rock that was meant for decoration—but Beulah was certain the cost had been too high for removal, so it had just been left there—and arranged her skirts fussily. “I’m not sure how much you girls have heard about my health . . .”

  That got the attention of all four of the girls who were gathered in the garden to talk about Madam Wigg’s health. How could it not? “Not much,” Beulah replied softly. “But enough that we’re all concerned about you. How are you feeling?”

  Wiggie let out a dramatic sigh. “Well, the truth is, I’m not well at all. In fact, the doctor says that I’m dying.”

  Beulah quickly zeroed in on the word doctor. “What exactly did he say you’re dying of?”

  “I should have known you’d be the one to ask me that, Beulah. You were always the one most interested in medicine.” Wiggie shook her head. “I’m not going to bore any of you with the details, except to say that I’ve been scrambling to make arrangements for all of you. You all know the principles that I live by, how I feel schools should be run, and now I want you to all spread all over the Western half of this great country of ours. I want you to start schools there.”

  Beulah frowned. “But I intended to always teach here.”

  “I’m afraid with my impending demise, that just won’t be possible. I’ve set up grants for each of you to start your schools with. If you can find a school already started where you can implement my ideas, that’s even better. Now, let’s talk about where you’ll go . . .” Wiggie pulled a newspaper from somewhere.

  Beulah stared at the paper, wondering how it had been concealed. Had Wiggie kept it in the back of her skirt? In her bosom? The possibilities were endless, and she couldn’t keep her mind from racing from one thought to another. Where had the newspaper come from?

  “Beulah, are you listening to me, or are you woolgathering?” Wiggie asked.

  “I never woolgather, Wiggie. I simply get lost in strange thoughts and wonder things no one else does.”

  Wiggie raised an eyebrow at her oldest pupil, doing her best to set her in her place. It had worked once upon a time, but Beulah was no longer the little girl she’d been when she first came to the foundling home. “I said that I would like each of you to find a mail-order groom from this newspaper. There are men spread all over the west, and I believe that you will each find love through it.” She clapped her hands before her chest, grasping them together, allowing the newspaper to flutter to the dirt. “I want you all to find happiness.”

  “And start schools to help you live on forever through your legacy?” Catalina asked, looking a bit skeptical herself.

  “That’s right.” Wiggie picked the newspaper back up, holding it out to Beulah. “As the oldest, it should be Beulah’s first pick of which man she wants to correspond with. Who will it be?”

  Beulah didn’t even want to touch the paper, not wanting a husband. In her life, she’d never had a man show any kind of interest in her. They’d be attracted to her not unpretty face, but then when she opened her mouth and started talking and her brains showed for what they were, they were no longer interested in her. Beulah’s brain had always been her biggest handicap.

  “Do I have to?”

  Wiggie’s eyes met hers, and Beulah remembered everything the woman had done for her, all the love she’d given her, and she knew. She took the paper and closed her eyes, pointing to the photograph of a man with dark hair. She could tell little else from the black-and-white photo, and she didn’t care. She would marry the man if that’s what Wiggie needed from her, but she had no desire. She read his name. “I will correspond with Jack McClain.”

  “Good girl.” Wiggie took the newspaper back and moved onto Catalina, but Beulah heard nothing else. She knew enough. Wiggie told them she was dying—though Beulah remained unconvinced—and she was expected to marry a stranger so she could start a school. She’d do it, but she’d do it grudgingly.

  With Beulah�
��s near-perfect memory, she headed back to her dormitory so she could write a letter to Mr. McClain. Whether she wanted to do it or not, she’d agreed, and she would see it through. She never went back on her word. Never.

  She sat down at the small desk she shared with Catalina and began writing. “Dear Mr. McClain . . .”

  Jack McClain took the letter his mother was holding out. He was the youngest of seven sons, and he was set to inherit the ranch that he’d grown up on. As soon as he married, it would all be his. But he wasn’t quite certain he was ready to marry and inherit yet. He enjoyed being able to do whatever he wanted to do, and once a wife was involved, that would be much harder.

  “What is this?” he asked, looking at his mom and knowing she had the answer. The seventh son in his family always had a special power, and his was the ability to tell when someone was lying to him.

  His mother frowned at him but told the truth, because she knew there was no point not admitting what she’d done. “I sent away for a mail-order bride for you. This is the first letter you’ve received.”

  Jack closed his eyes and counted to ten—slowly. His mother took things upon herself more than he thought she should. “Why?”

  “Because it’s time for you to marry and start a family. The next generation of McClains is all up to you.”

  “I have sixteen nieces and nephews. Sixteen! Why do you think there need to be more?” He knew, but he didn’t want to know. The burden of the family being carried down through him had always weighed heavily on him.

  “You know as well as I do that the seventh son always has seven sons, and it’s that seventh son who inherits the ranch. It’s up to you to do your part to make sure it continues.” She shook her head. “Jack, just read the letter. If she appeals to you, send for her.”

  He handed the letter back. “She’s perfect. If you want me to marry her, send for her. I don’t care.” With those words, he strode from the house angrily. Why did everyone feel like he needed to do everything his ancestors had done? Being the seventh son would get him off the hook in most families, but not in his. He didn’t want seven sons. Maybe in ten years or so, but right now . . .

  He sighed. His mother was right. It was time for him whether he thought it was or not. It didn’t matter either way, though. He was sure his mother was writing a letter to his correspondent at that very moment.

  Beulah set the letter aside as she finished reading the chapter on the joys of childbirth. She knew the letter was from the man she’d written to in the hopes he would immediately reject her. That’s not what Wiggie wanted, of course, and as she watched, all the other young ladies who taught at the school were writing letters to the men they had found who wanted brides.

  Finally, she picked up the letter, turning it over in her hand several times. She noted a strong, feminine penmanship on the envelope, but that could be for any reason. Perhaps Mr. McClain couldn’t read. It wasn’t an uncommon affliction, and she wouldn’t mind being married to a man who was illiterate. Then perhaps he wouldn’t notice just how well-educated she was. Well, how well self-educated. She was as educated as a woman who could not afford to go to college could possibly be.

  She opened the letter, forcing herself to read the words written there. “Dear Miss Wigg, Please find the attached train ticket for you to come here to Bagley, Texas, where my son will pick you up from the train station. Thank you for your willingness to marry. Sincerely, Mrs. McClain.”

  Beulah shrugged. He hadn’t even pretended to write his own letter, but if he felt as she did about marrying, that would explain the situation. A spark of hope formed in her bosom. Perhaps he didn’t want to marry. He could be doing it to satisfy his mother, just as she was doing it to satisfy Wiggie.

  Perhaps, upon her arrival, a bargain could be made. She could continue her studies and teach at the local school, and he could pretend he wasn’t married. Yes, that would do nicely. Living under the same roof, but not exactly being married. It would be a marriage of convenience and in name only. That sounded perfect!

  When Catalina came into the room later, she whispered her plan to her, hoping it wouldn’t get back to Wiggie. “The man I’m marrying doesn’t seem to want me anymore than I want to be married. I am hoping we can just be roommates, like you and me. And then I can go about my life, and he can go about his, and we won’t have to really be married.”

  Catalina sighed. “But what about children? I know you say you don’t mind not having them, but I’ve seen you with your students. You love them with everything inside you. How much more would you feel for children of your own?”

  Beulah shrugged. “What do I need children of my own for? I’ll be teaching there, whether Jack McClain likes it or not. He’ll be nothing more than a roommate anyway.”

  “You need to be open to whatever happens when you arrive in Texas, Beulah. You can’t know that he’s going to agree to your plan.”

  “And you can’t know that he won’t. I’ll do what it takes, but I plan to be content with my students. End of story.”

  “I hope it works out for you. I really do.” Catalina didn’t look convinced, but Beulah didn’t really care. If she had to marry, she would do it her way. Who was going to stop her?

  On the day of her departure, Beulah found she was a great deal more nervous than she’d expected to be. She stood on the train platform with Catalina, Dorthy, and Emmeline. The three of them were showing their support, and Beulah tried to pretend their friendship didn’t matter, but all three of them knew better.

  “You’re going to have a grand adventure,” Catalina told her. “I hope it makes you as happy as I think it will!”

  Dorthy pressed some flowers into her hand. “From my own garden. “I hope they always remind you of home. Just dry them flat by putting them in the pages of one of your anatomy books, and you can always remember us.”

  Emmeline moved forward, her eyes unfocused as usual. She hugged Beulah close. “You’ve been a great friend to me. I shall miss you more than I can express.”

  Beulah kissed her friend on the cheek. “Keep in touch. I’ll try to find just the right remedy to help your eyes.” Emmeline had never come right out and admitted she was losing her eyesight, but it was obvious to Beulah, and she’d been experimenting with different concoctions, trying to help her friend.

  Emmeline nodded slightly, obviously hating to admit that she was losing her sight, even to Beulah.

  “I’ll miss all of you. Write to me!” Beulah answered the call of “All aboard!” and started toward the train. She couldn’t believe it was time to actually leave. Days and days on a train were not her idea of a good time, but she had her books for company.

  As she moved to her seat, her eyes sought out her last glimpse of the girls she’d known since childhood. She would miss them. Tears popped into her eyes, but she brushed them away with the back of her hand. She wouldn’t cry. She was going to be happy. There was absolutely nothing to stop her.

  Jack stood on the train platform, still annoyed with his mother for putting him in this situation. What had she been thinking? If he’d wanted a bride, he could have chosen from any number of boring young women at church. Didn’t that tell her something? He was certain this woman would be just as boring as the rest, thinking of nothing more important than the color of the dress they wore and how they should fix their hair. Empty-headed women were the bane of modern society, and the worst part was, no one really seemed to understand that but him.

  When the train pulled into the station, exactly on time as usual, he straightened his tie and looked down at the sign in his hand. His mother had insisted on making a sign for him with his future bride’s name on it. They weren’t to be married immediately. His mother said Saturday was soon enough, and Beatrice—or was it Beth?—would want to change her clothes and have a nice bath before she’d be ready to marry.

  She’d also said some other things about how his bride had a right to know him before taking his name, but he’d ignored that part of things. He was
tired of her—and everyone else—thinking they were allowed to run his life simply because he was the seventh son. Who cared if he didn’t have seven sons of his own? Did it really matter that much?

  When people started to get off the train, he stood waiting. There were exactly four people who disembarked the train at this stop. Two were an older couple he’d known his entire life, and he nodded to them, tipping his hat. The other two were both young women. One seemed to be looking for someone, but the other . . . well, she was carrying a huge book and seemed to be reading something as she walked. She almost stumbled into someone, and that’s when she marked her page and closed her book. She stood looking around her, and when her eyes landed on Jack, he felt as if he’d been punched in the gut.

  She nodded to him cordially and stepped toward him. “I’m Beulah Wigg. I presume you’re Jack McClain.”

  Jack opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Finally, he just nodded. This woman was not only beautiful, but judging by the anatomy book in her hands, she wasn’t empty headed either. His mother had chosen well for him, surprisingly enough. He’d thought she would want the type of woman from church, and this Beulah was nothing like that at all.

  “It’s good to meet you, Mr. McClain. Are we to marry immediately? Your mother didn’t tell me in her letter.”

  He shook his head, and that’s when Beulah really understood the situation. The man was mute. Why he hadn’t written his own letter, she didn’t know, but obviously he couldn’t speak. That was all well and good with her. If he couldn’t speak, he couldn’t object to her plans for her future. They would get along very well indeed.