The Peashooter Society's Plan Page 2

  Then the train left for somewhere down the track where the robbers planned to abandon it to get away.

  “Come on, let’s walk back to Junction City,” Barton motioned for Tobin to stand up and move.

  He didn’t say a word until he was back to the creek bridge where the car door had blown off.

  “Now, look below us,” Barton waved his arm for them to notice the debris scattered, left over from the explosion.

  “There’s mail scattered everywhere!” Peter observed as he leaned over to pick up a letter. “Or parts of letters anyway.”

  “Fan out and pick up the mail. Maybe there’d be a reward for returning letters,” Barton ordered.

  “Or maybe there’s currency blowing in the air,” Gordon grinned as he waved a paper bill.

  “How much is it?” Squires rushed up to see the note.

  “Twenty dollars? Twenty dollars?”

  “Don’t yell!” Barton warned his little brother. “You want everyone to turn back to see what we’re doing?

  “No, sir,” Squires answered as he scrambled to pick up letters and stuff them inside his vest.

  “Thank the Lord for a fairly calm day for a change,” Gordon remarked, as he grabbed letters too.

  The group spent the next several minutes picking up letters down the track and down the slope of a creek.

  Squires slid down the embankment. “There are a few letters down in the water,” Being almost six and a half feet though, he could reach most of the letters in the narrow stream without getting his boots wet.

  “We have what we could find. Let’s sit under the bridge and sort them,” Barton suggested.

  “If there’s not enough of a letter to salvage, should we toss it in the water?” Tobin asked as he started pulling letters out of his shirt.

  “I think the post office would be more inclined to give us a reward if we give them everything,” Barton suggested.

  They worked quietly, sitting on the ground and sorting piles of letters between their legs. One pile of letters with no damage, one of the torn letters, and one of the pieces.

  One letter, almost ripped in half, was addressed to the Kansas City Star. Out of curiosity, and wondering if there was any money inside, Barton carefully opened the envelope, but the letter was torn in half. He pieced the paper together and read it. Barton tossed it into the piece pile, but then stopped when a thought occurred to him.

  “Guys, listen as I read this,” Barton said then cleared his throat.

  “To the classified advertising department. Please place this notice in your newspaper one time. It should read:

  “Opportunity for six single men, under age thirty, to make their permanent home in Clear Creek, Kansas. If chosen, each man would receive employment, housing, and a wife. Please send a letter about your employment skills and background, plus two letters of recommendation, one being from your clergy. Send your correspondence to Mrs. Kaitlyn Reagan in care of the Clear Creek, Kansas post office. If your letter is chosen after review, you will be notified to visit.”

  Barton looked around at his brothers and friends. Tobin had a blank look on his face, where Peter had his head cocked thinking.

  “Where’s Clear Creek, Kansas?” Peter asked.

  “I think it’s in the center of the state. Old Sarge Ramos talked about the towns, Ellsworth and Clear Creek, around Fort Harker when he served there back after the War between the States. Drovers used to drive Texas Longhorns up there to board the railcars going east,” Gordon informed the group.

  “Let’s think about this. The town needs six men for six jobs, six houses, and six wives,” Barton said.

  “Are you suggesting we apply?” Wesley asked.

  “We talked about settling somewhere together. Why not think about this opportunity?” Barton suggested.

  “I never thought I’d be brave enough to court a woman. I kind of like the idea of a wife already picked out for me,” Tobin muttered under his breath, but everyone heard him.

  “We don’t know what types of jobs are available. The housing could be shacks and the women old and ugly,” Wesley brought up.

  “Between working on our adoptive parents' farms and jobs on Fort Riley, I think we could do about anything. And a free house, even if it’s not much, is a roof over our heads…which we don’t have at the moment,” Peter argued.

  “And I’d really like a wife, no matter what she looked like…since I’m not a catch myself,” Tobin muttered again.

  Barton shook his head, thinking this was against his better judgment, but it would solve all their problems. They could live in the same town and be set up with the basics to build their future.

  “How much scattered money did we collect? We need money for decent clothes and train tickets to Clear Creek,” Barton retook charge as he held out his hand, took the money handed over, and counted it.

  “We got lucky. Eighty-six dollars. It doesn’t cover what all we personally lost in the robbery, but it sure helps.”

  “What about the letters of recommendations?” Wesley asked.

  “We could go back to Chaplin Oreck at the fort. He’d write letters for us,” Peter said.

  “Should we use someone else at the fort for our second letter or someone from back home? I think a group letter, listing each of us, may give us a better chance of sticking together than single letters,” Barton suggested.

  “Since we’re on our way home to visit our folks, could we ask Pastor Clemmons from our home church for a letter? He’s retired, but he knew us as boys,” Peter suggested.

  “I don’t know if he’d give me a recommendation, considering it was my annual mission to tip over his outhouse every Halloween,” Wesley confessed.

  “That was you?” Tobin exclaimed. “Why didn’t I know that?”

  “Because you were too busy eating popcorn balls and bobbing for apples at the community party,” Wesley threw back.

  Barton rolled his eyes as he stood up. “Let’s walk back to town and discuss this some more. We need a solid plan if we’re going to do this.”

  “Do we mail letters to Mrs. Reagan, or just arrive in town?” Squires finally asked a question about their conversation.

  “There’s less chance we’d be turned away if we just show up as a group,” Tobin surmised, but then Tobin rarely did something by himself, so Barton wasn’t surprised by his answer.

  “This Mrs. Reagan will wonder why she doesn’t get more inquiries from her advertisement though,” Wesley dampened the group’s optimism.

  “Well, if we have to, it would be best to be truthful and say we found the letter. Lying about it will give us problems sooner than later,” Peter suggested.

  Barton shook his head. This idea was crazy, but then so was the advertisement. He couldn’t help thinking fate delivered them this letter, and they should follow up on it.

  Chapter 3

  Seven days later

  Barton stepped off the railcar steps, taking in the view from the depot platform. At first glance, Clear Creek, Kansas looked like a clean frontier town. The clear, bright sky helped set the scene too.

  He moved aside waiting for the other five to descend the steps and join him. All wore new clothes, boots, and hats, well except Tobin, who still wore his army hat. Tobin said it made him look taller.

  Each carried a carpet bag with their entire belongings, which wasn’t much because they’d lived in the army barracks for years.

  “Not too big of a town by the way it looked as we pulled into the depot,” Tobin observed.

  “How can you say that, when you aren’t tall enough to see over the window sill, Toad?” Peter teased him.

  “Cut that out! We’re supposed to use our given names now. Do I have to keep reminding you to call me Tobin, instead of Toad?”

  “Sorry, Tobin,” Peter muttered.

  Barton shook his head, wondering—again—if they were doing the right thing by showing up in Clear Creek unannounced.

  “Let’s straighten our shoulders, put on our
best behavior, and find Mrs. Reagan,” Barton said with determination. “Our destiny awaits.”

  “I bet the depot agent unloading the baggage would know where the woman lives,” Gordon pointed to their left.

  “Let’s ask and get this over with,” Barton said, as he took in another deep breath and walked over to the agent.

  “Sir, we’re looking for a Mrs. Kaitlyn Reagan. Would you be so kind as to tell us where to find her?”

  The man drew upright, looking Barton, then the others over, one at a time.

  “Who’s asking?” the man asked with a hard stare.

  “I’m Barton Miller, and these are my brothers, Gordon and Squires. With us are Peter Gehring, Tobin Billings, and Wesley Preston.”

  The man faced them, widened his stance and folded his arms over his chest.

  “Why are you in town?”

  Barton looked at Gordon, wondering why the man was grilling him, but Gordon just shrugged his shoulders.

  “We’re here to see Mrs. Reagan about the advertisement she placed in the Kansas City Star newspaper.”

  “Huh? What did the ad say?”

  Barton bit his lip wondering if he should say or wait to talk directly to Mrs. Reagan.

  “She placed an advertisement saying she needed six young men who would each receive employment, housing, and a wife,” Wesley went ahead and announced to the man.

  The agent wiped a hand down his face and muttered. “Oh, Deuteronomy! What is my mother and the Peashooter Society up to now?”

  “Oh, excuse me? Did you say your mother?” Barton asked for confirmation.

  “What’s the Peashooter Society?” Tobin asked.

  “I’m Angus Reagan, her oldest son.” The man waved his finger in a circle as if he was trying to find the words to describe…the group.

  “The older ladies in the church women’s club is a…affectionally called the Peashooter Society for their stunts.”

  “Stunts?” Tobin asked since he was the curious one of their group.

  “There…have been occasions where they’ve stopped…kidnappings and crime…with their pistols in their reticules.” Mr. Reagan’s face was turned red as he tried to explain the women’s group.

  “Like pull out their guns and shoot people?” Tobin squawked.

  “More like put their hand in the reticule and pull the trigger. My ma’s bag has several mended bullet holes in it,” Mr. Reagan said as he shook his head.

  “We went to the expense of traveling here for the entertainment of a bunch of old ladies?” Wesley growled, starting to lose his patience.

  “Oh, no. I’m sure they’ve cooked up a plan, but I bet the six women they want to marry off have no clue about this.”

  “Do you think there are jobs and housing available then?” Barton quizzed the man.

  “I know of two, no, three businesses in town that need someone to run them.”

  “What are they?” Wesley asked with suspicion.

  “The barber shop, blacksmith, and the livery. But apparently, my mother knows of three more jobs available than I do.”

  “What about the wives she mentioned. Are they pretty?” Tobin asked eagerly.

  Mr. Reagan’s stare made Tobin take a step back.

  “I don’t know who the Peashooter Society is trying to marry off, but I can take a gander and say all are decent women. But I’ll make sure my mother and her cohorts check your references and background before they mention the candidates’ names to you.”

  “We brought letters from references, from both our army chaplain and an officer from Fort Riley,” Barton assured Mr. Reagan.

  “Good, because my pa is Pastor Patrick Reagan. You can bet he’ll check with his connections to be sure your letters aren’t forged.”

  “We’d appreciate it if he could verify them, actually,” Barton said with relief. Maybe that would settle the matter without Mrs. Reagan waiting for more responses to her advertisement—which she wouldn’t get since the torn letter was in his carpet bag.

  “Where can we find your mother then?”

  “Walk west down the boardwalk. You’ll see the parsonage just past the school and church. But please don’t mention why you’re here to anyone else. The feathers are going to fly when the young women find out what the Peashooter Society has planned for them.”

  “Would it be better if we get back on the train and leave then?” Peter asked because he voted against this idea to begin with.

  “No, I’m sure it’s a legitimate offer. Clear Creek is a good town to live in, and if you’re decent men by your recommendations, you’re welcome. Just remember…those ladies’ peashooters are loaded…”

  ~*~*~*~

  What happens next?

  Here are the individual stories in the Mismatched Mail-Order Brides Series.

  Amelia changes her Fellow (Amelia and Barton)

  Avalee exchanges her Fiancé (Avalee and Gordon)

  Maggie shifts her Gent (Maggie and Peter)

  Maisie swaps her Groom (Maisie and Squires)

  Molly switches her Man (Molly and Tobin)

  Nadine trades her Partner (Nadine and Wesley)

  Here’s the start of

  Amelia changes her Fellow

  for you to enjoy!

  Amelia changes her Fellow

  Chapter 1

  Fall 1892

  Clear Creek, Kansas

  Barton Miller marched purposefully down the downtown boardwalk toward their destination, the parsonage, where their fate rested in the hands of Mrs. Kaitlyn Reagan, the minister’s wife.

  He glanced at his brother Gordon, matching his own steps, and then back at his youngest brother, Squires. All three of them matched each other with their deep-tanned skin, brown hair, brown eyes, and six-foot height. Only their personalities set them apart.

  Their three childhood friends followed them. Wesley Preston, with light blonde hair, Peter Gehring, with coal black hair, and Toad Billings, with flaming red hair.

  Tobin! Not Toad. Barton chided himself for the umpteenth time. Everyone used Tobin’s nickname for ten years, and it was hard to remember to use his real name on this critical mission.

  Barton promised the others they would always stick together when they left New York on the orphan train. Even though Barton was only ten years old at the time, it helped his brothers, and the other three boys in their section, to face the uncertainty of their lives.

  Through his insistence, they managed to all end up in the same farming community in Shawnee County, Kansas, even if they lived in different households. Attending the same school and church kept them connected through their youth.

  When Squires and Peter turned eighteen, they signed up together for a five-year commitment at the nearby Fort Riley to learn new skills.

  And now, even as adults, the six voted to stay together, thus the reason they were in Clear Creek, Kansas.

  “I sure hope this Mrs. Reagan is nice. I didn’t care for her son,” Toad, no, Tobin, pipped up from the back of the line. Tobin had always been short and pudgy—hence his nickname—and talkative. Half the time Barton tuned out Tobin’s conversation, but he couldn’t this time.

  “Tobin, please keep your voice down and your opinions to yourself. All our livelihoods are on the line with our first impression,” Barton quietly reminded him as he walked backward a second.

  Which was a stupid comment, because he was the one who stumbled into a young woman as she stepped out of a storefront.

  “I’m so sorry, Miss,” Barton exclaimed as he caught her by the elbows, so she didn’t fall backward. His eyes were drawn to her carrot-colored hair before he looked into her shocked light blue eyes.

  “Are you all right?” Gordon asked when Barton couldn’t use his vocal cords to speak. What was wrong with him?

  “Yes, thank you. I wasn’t watching where I was going, either,” the woman added a subtle jab at Barton’s misstep.

  She had on a scratched, thin leather work apron much like a shoe repairman might wear. Barton
wondered what she did for a living, then realized she probably helped at her husband’s business.

  “My apologies, Ma’am,” Barton said, with a touch to the brim of his hat with his right hand as he picked up his carpet bag he’d dropped to catch the woman. All his worldly possessions fit in the simple bag, and he couldn’t lose it.

  She nodded with a smile, then continued across the boardwalk, looking both ways before crossing the street.

  “I wonder if she’s one of our brides,” Tobin sighed as all six of them stood still, watching her until she ducked into the door of the dress shop.

  “Come on, keep walking,” Barton commanded, but he glanced at the shop again that she’d disappeared into. Barton wouldn’t mind if she was one of the available women. He’d like to see her again.

  At the end of the block, they angled across the street to arrive at the wooden house between the school and the church. All three buildings were painted white and in good shape, as was the part of town they’d seen so far.

  When they arrived at the parsonage, Barton stepped up on the porch and knocked on the front door. He looked back to see the other five were standing in a straight line as if they were waiting for a general’s inspection, which might not be that far from the truth.

  “Yes, may I help you?” a woman with faded red hair asked as she opened the door. She was in her fifties and looked congenial.

  Barton took a second to fill his lungs with air and confidence.

  “Are you Mrs. Kaitlyn Reagan, Ma’am?” Barton asked, as he took his hat off and slightly bowed to her.

  He noticed her eyes looked at him first, then the men behind him.

  “Yes, and you are?” the woman waited for an introduction.

  “I’m Barton Miller, and these are my brothers, Gordon and Squires.” Barton waited as each took a turn stepping up and back. “And these are our friends, Peter Gehring, Wesley Preston, and Tobin Billings.”

  “Did you come to visit with my husband, Pastor Reagan?”