Free Shameful Celia (The Mail Order Brides of Boot Creek Book 3) by Carré White Page B

anyhow?”
    “No, they don’t.” His anger grew, because a tic appeared in his cheek. “Walter Holter married late in life. He married his cousin, no less. She was on her way to California when her husband died of cholera. She’d already had one child. In her desperation, she married old Walter, who then begot three more kids on her, before the last killed her.”
    He threw up his hands.
    “He couldn’t have cared less if that woman needed rest, working her to the bone. I remember seeing her after she had Anna, and she was wan and weak. If you want to know what killed that poor woman, I’ll tell you. It was Walter Holter. That’s who.” He glared at Mrs. Hershey. “That’s the type of man you want her to marry?”
    “You objected to Harvey Wood and now Walter Holter?” Mrs. Hershey fought a smile. “Who, pray tell, do you think would be worthy enough to marry Celia?”
    “How would I know? Just not Walter Holter, unless you want her to end up six feet under well before her time.”
    “I’ll still have lunch with him. I don't think lunch and conversation will kill me.” Getting to my feet, I faced Nicolas, who stared at me with his mouth slightly open. I smiled prettily. “I hope you eat your breakfast before it gets cold. I have to get myself ready. I’ve my hair to redo completely.”
    “That brings me to mind,” said Mrs. Hershey. “I’ve some clothing Teresa Butterfield gave me. You can borrow the dresses, until you don't need them any longer. They’ll fit you far better than the calicos.”
    “I haven’t had a new dress in ages.”
    “Well, they’re not exactly new, but they’re gently worn.”
    “Thank you, Mrs. Hershey. I sure do appreciate your kindness.”
    “I’ve left them by your door.”
    My grin could not be contained. “I can’t wait to try them on.” It would be a treat to wear something different. “I’ll see you this evening, Nick. You have a good day now.”
    He scowled. “You as well.”
    Rushing to my room, a fit of giggles took over, the feeling jubilant. I had never had a greater abundance of food in my life or such good company. Two hours later, I had readied myself, tying the sash of the bonnet beneath my chin. Having braided and twisted my hair, I secured it with pins at the nape of my neck. The artful bun jutted out from beneath the bottom of the hat, my creation on display for the world to see. Glancing at myself in the mirror, a happy, exuberant woman stared back at me.
    “Wish me luck.” I uttered a silent prayer, hopeful that I might find Mr. Holter appealing, and hurried for the door.
    I arrived at the hotel a few minutes past twelve, not wanting to appear too eager for the meeting. Not knowing what the man looked like, I waited in the lobby, as businessmen and ladies passed by. Spying myself in a mirror, a woman in a draped skirt and bodice met my gaze. The garment came in two pieces, but it was large enough to accommodate my belly, because the bodice flared over my hips, somewhat diminishing my condition.
    “I suppose it’s you,” said a voice behind me.
    I turned to find an older, graying man in a hat. “Yes?”
    “Mrs. Wellington?” He sounded slightly nasal.
    “Yes.”
    A hand came my way. “Walter Holter.”
    “It’s Celia. How do you do?” I shook his hand.
    “I’m well.” His eyes traveled over me. “You’re prettier than I expected.”
    “Why, thank you.” I struggled to find something polite to say. “You’re … you’re more distinguished. Well, for a farmer. Most farmers I know are rather rough.”
    He ignored that, saying, “Mrs. Hershey says you’re from Texas.”
    “Amarillo originally, and then Alvin.”
    “I’m not sure where that is.”
    “Near Houston.”
    “I have family in Texas.”
    “How nice.” I smiled politely.
    “Let’s go in, shall we?” He held out his arm.
    “Certainly.” I rested my hand near his wrist, as he led me to the entrance of the restaurant, which brimmed with people chatting and