The two women were laughing at Charlotte’s tales of her husband and family, especially her rowdy cousins the Weavers, when there was another knock at the door. Billie opened it to find Mrs. Ferguson. “Yes?”

The hotelier handed her a folded note. “Mr. Miller left this for you earlier.”

“Oh?” She did her best to remain calm. He sent her a note? Is this how he would end it?

Mrs. Ferguson flicked a hand across her skirt. “He wants you to meet him at Hank’s for lunch.”

Charlotte left the chair she’d been using and joined Billie at the door. “Why didn’t you have me bring that up when I brought the coffee?”

“Mr. Miller told me to deliver it at nine,” she said, patting her hair.

“And why tell her what’s in the note before she’s had a chance to read it?” Charlotte added, crossing her arms.

“Can I help it if it unfolded?” Mrs. Ferguson huffed. She turned to leave and stopped. “Is your mother working at Hank’s today?”

“Yes, of course.” Charlotte let her arms fall to her sides.

Billie noticed Charlotte had a suspicious gleam in her eye. Did she not trust Mrs. Ferguson either? Billie didn’t, not after she’d read a note intended for a patron. Blimey, she still hadn’t read it herself.

“I’ll be downstairs if anyone needs me,” Mrs. Ferguson said, feigning innocence. Chin up, she turned and strode down the hall to the stairs.

“I declare,” Charlotte said. “The sooner you marry Lucien, the better.”

Billie thought of a comment about gossips, remembered Mrs. Davis was Charlotte’s mother, and suppressed it. What she couldn’t recall was whether or not Charlotte was a gossip as well.

“Were you going to say something?” Charlotte asked.

Billie shook her head.

“Maybe you ought to read that note and see if Mrs. Ferguson remembered it right. Gossips aren’t known for their accuracy.”

Billie did. “No, she recalled this one correctly – word for word.” She handed it to Charlotte.

“There was a time I could read a letter in seconds and remember all the good stuff.” Charlotte shook her head and handed it back. “I’m glad those days are behind me.”

Billie wasn’t surprised. Aside from her own assessment, Mr. Miller had spoken of Charlotte last night, more complimentarily than of her mother. Was that conversation considered gossip, or just recollection? “Really?”

“Oh, let me tell you, I could slander with the best of them – the best, of course, being my mother. I’m sure she served your dinner last night.”

“Yes, I had the pleasure of meeting her,” Billie said carefully. She didn’t want to offend Charlotte, nor tell her of her mother’s behavior earlier in the evening. “But she gave me a fairly warm welcome.”

Charlotte’s expression changed to panic. “Heaven help us, what did she do?”

“She gave me a hug.”

Charlotte’s jaw dropped. “My mother gave you a hug?” She walked to the other side of the room and back. “Are we talking about the same woman?”

“I believe so. From your reaction and that of the patrons in the restaurant last night, I take it that isn’t normal behavior?”

“I should say not,” Charlotte said, hands on hips. “Will wonders never cease? I’m surprised … no, downright elated to hear she did such a thing.” She went to Billie and took her by the hand. “Was Hank’s crowded last night?”

“No, just Mr. Miller and myself and a few gentlemen at other tables.”

“Good. At least a few people saw her do the right thing. Heaven knows if her time at Hank’s has done much good.”

Billie went to the dresser and picked up her half of the muffin. “Mr. Miller told me what happened last year. I hope you don’t mind his informing me.” She sat in a nearby chair, broke off a piece and put it in her mouth.

Charlotte joined her and sat on the settee. “Not at all. It’s not as if the whole town doesn’t know. Besides, her sentence is almost up.”

Billie swallowed and studied Charlotte for a moment. She was pretty and kind-looking and seemingly wouldn’t hurt a fly. It was hard to believe she’d been such a harpy years ago. “Is your mother really that bad?”

“My father says that if Mother had fought in the War Between the States, the Confederacy would’ve won. She would’ve harangued the Union to defeat.”

Billie covered her mouth to stifle a chuckle.

“I imagine you think I’m joking, but where do you think I learned? I suspect the only thing that saved me from turning out like her, was that I hadn’t been doing those things as long as she has. She’s got quite a few years on me.”

“She knows how I got this.” Billie pointed at her face.

“She does?” Charlotte said in shock. “Tarnation, I hope you don’t mind that being spread all over town.”

“She got the truth, so if that’s what she spreads, I can cope with it.”

Charlotte stared at her and shook her head. “You are much braver than I. But then, I know my mother better than you - and I understand how she thinks better than anyone except maybe Father.”

“I haven’t offended you, have I?” Billie didn’t know why she asked, other than not wanting to spoil the rest of their visit.

“Of course not. But enough about my mother. Have you and Lucien set a date? Matthew and I would love to attend your wedding.”

Billie smiled. “I’d … I’d like that, but …”

“There are no buts. I want us to be friends, and I think attending your wedding is a good start, don’t you?” She got up, went to the basket, took out the rest of the muffins and set them on the table. “I’m afraid I do have to get back to the mercantile. You’ll let me know when the big day is?”

Billie felt the hot sting of tears. “Of course.” Thank Heaven her voice didn’t crack.

“Wonderful! My sister Abigail is in town and I know she’ll want to meet you.” Charlotte smiled. “This might sound odd, but I just love your eyepatch.”

“What?” Billie said in surprise. “You… like my eyepatch?”

“It matches your traveling outfit perfectly. I mean, if you have to wear one, why not be fashionable about it?”

Billie couldn’t help but grin – it was almost word-for-word what Mrs. Pettigrew had said. “When the dressmaker made them, I thought they were silly.”

“Them? You mean you have more?”

“Yes, several.”

“I can’t wait to see them. But not until you meet my sister Abigail – Abbey for short. She loves to sew.” She peered at the eyepatch. “I must say, that was a good idea. It says you’re not ashamed to have people look at you. Like I said, you’re much braver than I.” She turned and headed for the door. “Come visit me at the mercantile when you get a chance – we have some lovely things. I’m sure I’ll see you soon.” She opened the door and stepped into the hall.

Billie smiled and nodded as she went to the door and closed it. Again, she had nothing to say. Okay, she had quite a few things, all of which would bring her nothing but disappointment if voiced. Like, “yes, I know we can be friends” and “I would love to come to your store and see what you carry. I’m sure everything’s lovely, just as you are” and maybe “thank you for asking to attend my wedding.” But she still didn’t think she would be in Nowhere long enough.

Poor Charlotte. The woman seemed genuinely interested in her and sincere about wanting to be friends. Maybe she needed a friend to fill the void caused by not having children. Yes, that was probably it.

She straightened her room, ate another muffin and finished her coffee. She debated whether or not to take the cup and saucer downstairs to Mrs. Ferguson’s kitchen, but decided she’d wait until it was time to meet Lucien.

She gasped. “Oh, for Heaven’s sake,” she said aloud, “don’t start calling him by his first name!” What was the point?

Billie opened her trunk and pulled out a book she’d picked up in New York City, deciding to read for a bit. She had several hours to herself and needed to fill them. Maybe she could go to the mercantile to visit Charlotte, see what wares they carried. She’d need a few things before she left town – best get them now while she had the money. But first things first – she settled into a chair, opened Two Years Before the Mast and began to read.

She soon dozed off, and when she awoke it was to a headache and stiff neck. No matter, she was used to those. She got them often after her injury. Thankfully they were less frequent recently – a good sign, or so a doctor had told her.

She fixed her hair, took up her reticule and the cup and saucer and left, planning to return the dishes and go to the mercantile. What did she have to lose by spending a little more time with Charlotte? Besides, she wanted to meet her husband Matthew – he sounded like someone Father would have liked.

“Rather early for lunch, isn’t it?” Mrs. Ferguson said from behind the front desk.

Billie didn’t like her accusatory tone. “Charlotte invited me to visit her family’s mercantile.”

“Oh yes, Quinn’s has a nice selection of goods.”

Billie set the cup and saucer on the counter. “I brought these down for you. Would you like me to put them in the kitchen?” She glanced behind the woman – where was the kitchen in this place?

“No, I’ll take them back myself.” Mrs. Ferguson scooted them to her side of the counter. “So you’re to marry Mr. Miller.”

Billie’s good eyebrow went up in curiosity. Of course she was there to marry Mr. Miller – by now the whole town probably knew. “Yes …”

“Well, if you don’t mind my saying, I … no. No, I can’t.” Mrs. Ferguson reached for a stack of papers and tapped them against the counter to straighten them.

Billie knew she shouldn’t, but did anyway. “You can’t what?”

“Isn’t my business. I told my Howard I wouldn’t poke my nose into anyone else’s business ever again.”

“Howard?”

“My husband. Dead these five years now, God rest his soul. That man was my life.”

A pang of guilt hit Billie. “I’m sorry for your loss. I know what it’s like to lose someone you love.”

Mrs. Ferguson’s eyebrows rose with interest. “Do tell?”

“My father. Just a few months ago.”

“Oh, you poor dear. Is that why you became a mail-order bride?”

Billie couldn’t tell if she was serious or simply digging for information. But she’d already told Mrs. Davis most of her story. “It was my father’s dying wish that I marry.” There, now the woman had information no one else did. If it got spread all over town, she’d know the source.

“His dying wish!” Mrs. Ferguson said in surprise. “So you’re telling me the only reason you’re marrying our Lucien is because it was your father’s last request?”

Billie saw where this was going. “Not exactly what I said.”

“Oh yes, it was,” Mrs. Ferguson said with a gleam in her eye.

Oh, for Heaven’s sake, Billie thought. “I have other reasons for becoming a mail-order bride as well. That’s just one of them.” There, that should fix it.

The older woman frowned in indecision. “Well, I should hope so. We’re very fond of Lucien around here and don’t want to see him hornswoggled.”

“Horn … swoggled?”

“Oh, I keep forgetting you’re not from this country. Is that part of why you’re getting married, because you can’t afford to go back to England?”

Billie had had enough. She was tempted to remove her eyepatch and give Mrs. Ferguson the shock of her life. But she resisted. “No, no. If I wanted to go back to England, I’d have done so.”

Mrs. Ferguson looked her up and down. “Well, I can certainly see why you’d want to stay.”

Billie shook her head, deciding she didn’t want to know what that meant. “Have a good day, Mrs. Ferguson.” She left the hotel without looking back. Let the woman think what she wanted. Why should she care, when she was leaving soon anyway?

She walked down the street to the mercantile and went inside. “Oh my,” she whispered as she saw the array of goods. She hadn’t expected so much stock in a small-town frontier shoppe. There were barrels of candy lined up opposite long tables to create multiple aisles, ready-made clothes on racks and tables on the far side of the room, sugar and flour and coffee and other staple foodstuffs, an entire bookshelf full of volumes and pamphlets, and equipment for farming, ranching, mining and many other occupations.

But what she noticed most was the homey feel of the place, something she’d never encountered in any general store in England or America. It made her want to curl up in a comfortable chair (and there were a couple, in a corner by the bookshelf) and live there for a while.

“Billie!” Charlotte called from behind the counter. “You came!”

“Of course I did. You made it sound so nice.” She went to the counter and smiled at the older woman standing next to Charlotte. “Hello.”

“Billie, this is my mother-in-law Betsy Quinn.”

Mrs. Quinn rushed around the counter and took Billie by the hands. “Land sakes, just look at you! How marvelous!”

Billie’s eye went wide. What was so marvelous about being the size of a tugboat, with a scarred face and an eyepatch?

“Now, Charlotte, ivory or what?” Mrs. Quinn said as she tapped her chin with a finger.

“Oh no, not now,” Charlotte said. “That’s not why she’s here.”

Mrs. Quinn’s brow furrowed. “She’s not? But it’s the perfect time.” She leaned toward the counter. “For once I can dress a bride myself, without Leona horning in …”

Charlotte put a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh. “Yes, I understand that,” she said into the hand, then lowered it. “But Billie came to see the mercantile… not have you help with anything.”

Mrs. Quinn turned to Billie with an acute look of disappointment. “Aw shucks, I was so looking forward to helping you with your wedding. And with your lovely brown hair and blue eyes … well, eye. I think you’d look stunning in white …”

“Mother Quinn,” Charlotte said, rolling her eyes. “Please?”

Billie glanced between the two. She knew there wasn’t going to be any wedding, but they didn’t. What to do? She took a step back for safety’s sake. “Who is Leona?”

“Oh, she’s my dearest friend,” Mrs. Quinn said with a clap of her hands. “We’ve been dressing brides together for years! But we don’t always agree.”

Billie saw the manic look in her eyes. Oh dear. “Is that so?”

“Oh yes!” Mrs. Quinn said with a wide grin. “There’s not a bride that can slip by us!”

“I believe that,” Billie muttered.

Mrs. Quinn smiled proudly and returned to her place behind the counter. “What would you like to see, dear? White lace, perhaps?”

“Mother Quinn,” Charlotte warned. “Will you stop?”

“I know I need to,” she whined, slapping the counter. “But I just can’t help myself.”

Charlotte glared at her. “Try.” She went around the counter to Billie. “This way, we have some lovely new perfume in. You might find some you like. And if you can’t buy anything yourself, I know Lucien will buy it for you.”

Billie giggled, unable to help it as Charlotte took her arm and led her to the other side of the store. Charlotte and her mother-in-law’s antics were making it harder and harder for her to come to grips with leaving. She liked these people and wanted to get to know them better. But as she let Charlotte tug her along to the perfumes and tried them, she realized that for the first time since her father’s death, she was having fun. And that was better than nothing.