Christmas Mail Order Bride - A Historical Mail Order Bride Novel (Western Mail Order Brides: Book 1) Read Online Free Page A

don’t want him to think for himself, when that’s precisely what you’re payin’ him to do.”
    “No, I ain’t,” Anders growled. “I’m payin’ him to work, not to think. Once he starts thinkin’, he’s dangerous.”
    “You can buy a man’s back, but you can’t buy his mind or his heart,” George quoted. “You want men who’ll work for you, not against you, and you want them to be loyal to you and to treat your stock the same way they would treat their own. You can only get that by treatin’ a man like a man. Take Caleb. He’s nineteen. He’s more than enough of a man for you to treat him like one, and he does a man’s job. You can’t go around beatin’ him up and shovin’ his nose in the dirt. That just won’t do.”
    “I’ll do as I please,” Anders spat viciously. “ and no one’s gonna stop me.” He splashed more of the amber liquid into his glass and threw it down his throat. Then he refilled the glass again.
    George didn’t reply and the crackling of the fire took the place of conversation. Matilda fidgeted uncomfortably until she directed her attention to Penelope. “You must be exhausted after your journey, my dear. Let me show you to your room.” She rose from her couch.
    “Thank you,” Penelope replied. “I would most appreciate that.”
    She collected the items of jewelry piled up on the table nearest her and followed Matilda out of the room. The older woman conducted her up a flight of stairs to an upper landing in the house, down a wood-paneled corridor, to the door of one of many rooms communicating off of it. The characteristics of the room arrested Penelope’s movements just inside the door. It didn’t resemble a guest room, and it appeared as though someone with rather cluttered habits lived in it. “Is this…?” she bit her tongue.
    “This is Anders’ room,” Matilda informed her.
    “Oh,” she exclaimed, hoping her disappointment didn’t show too plainly.
    “Is anything the matter, dear?” Matilda examined her.
    “No, nothing at all,” Penelope hastened to assure her.
    “We’ll have your trunk sent up here, just as soon as it arrives,” Matilda declared, retreating toward the door. “I’m sure Caleb will be going down to town to pick it up very shortly.”
    “Thank you,” Penelope intoned. “I’ll be fine without it until he comes back.”
    “Very well, dear,” Matilda shot back over her shoulder as she headed out into the corridor. “Janet will call you for dinner.” She vanished behind the door, shutting it with a click of the latch.
    Penelope let her disillusionment rise in her heart with her second glimpse around the room. An ashtray on the table held the evidence of several burned-out cigars, and the ashes scattered on the floor nearby indicated to her they had been smoked that same day. Two empty tumblers with halos of amber in their bottoms sat next to each other on the windowsill. Drawing nearer to the bed, she saw tiny burn holes in the coverlet and although the bed had been made up that morning, the linens appeared somewhat less than fresh. She made a mental note to speak to the maid about it, but just as that thought crossed her mind, she realized that this was his room, and that if he wanted his bed linens changed, he would speak to the maid about it himself. Therefore, he must not have spoken to the maid about it, or worse, he had spoken to her, ordering her most emphatically not to change his bed linens. She turned her back on the bed, unable to induce herself to sit down on it. She approached the cold fireplace. The ash grate stood empty, therefore, someone cleaned it out this morning. She could only conclude that the maid, or whoever it was, had cleaned the room this morning, at least to Anders’ instructions. The logical conclusion remained that some person removed the ashes, cigar butts, and empty glasses from the room each day, only for Anders to replace them every morning, afternoon, and evening. The realization forced