Carrie didn’t mind his teasing, for, to her, there was little that her brothers could say or do that was wrong. “Whatever our appearance”—she generously included herself with the “Uglies”—“the girls and I are involved in a very important project.”
“I’m sure of it.” Jamie’s tone was patronizing, but adoring at the same time. “As important as saving the frogs from the giggers? Or making poor Mr. Coffin give his geese free running space?”
“Those projects were in the past. Now we’re involved in—” She broke off as the dog sneezed twice in succession. “You don’t think he’s catching cold, do you?”
“More likely he’s reacting to all this silk. This place looks like a harem.”
“What’s that?”
“Something I’m not going to tell you about.”
Carrie’s lower lip protruded a bit. “If you ever want to give me a really spectacular gift, you could tell me, in detail, all that you’ve done on a voyage.”
At the thought of what such a revelation would entail, Jamie looked a bit pale, and it took a moment before his color returned. Smiling, he said, “That’s one gift you’re not likely to receive from any of us. Now tell me what you and the Uglies have been doing.”
“We’re marrying people,” Carrie said proudly then was pleased to see her brother’s jaw drop in astonishment.
“You got someone to marry those ugly girlfriends of yours?”
She gave him a look of exasperation. “They aren’t so ugly and you know it. And every one of them is as nice as can be. It’s just that you think all women should be utterly and totally beautiful.”
“Like my dear little sister,” he said, and there was honesty in his voice as well as love in his eyes.
Blushing with pleasure, Carrie said, “You’ll turn my head.”
At that impossibility, Jamie whooped with laughter, causing the dog to start barking, then sneezing. “Turn your head,” he said. “As if you didn’t already know that you’re the most beautiful thing in five states.”
Carrie gave a mock look of deep, deep hurt. “Ranleigh said six states.”
Jamie laughed again. “Then I’ll say seven.”
“Much better,” Carrie said, laughing. “I’d hate to lose a state. The seventh isn’t Rhode Island, is it?”
“Texas,” Jamie answered, and they smiled at each other.
As Carrie leaned forward, holding the little dog, Jamie thought that she and the animal already looked as though they belonged together, just as he knew they would when he’d purchased the puppy he could hold curled in one palm.
“Jamie, we really are marrying people to each other,” she said earnestly, her face serious. “Since the War Between the States, there have been so many women who have lost their husbands, and in the West there are a great many men who need wives. We match them with each other. It’s been very interesting work.”
Blinking at her for a moment, trying to understand what she was telling him, Jamie sat there staring at her. Sometimes it seemed to him that of all the family, sweet, adorable Carrie was the most stubborn. When she decided to do something, she had tunnel vision: Nothing on earth could stop her. Thank heaven that, so far, all her causes had been worthy ones. “How do you find these people?”
“The women we have already, quite a few of them from here in Warbrooke, although we’ve had to let people in the rest of Maine know that we’re providing this service, but the men have been found through newspaper advertisements.”
“Mail-order brides,” he said softly, his voice rising with each word. “You’re doing mail-order brides, like in China. You’ve stuck your nose into other people’s personal lives.”
“I don’t think it’s nosiness exactly, more that we’re providing a service.”
“Matchmaking, that’s what you’re doing. Does Dad know you’re doing this?”
“Of course.”
“And he doesn’t object?” Before Carrie could answer, Jamie spoke again. “Of course he has no objection. He’s always allowed you to do whatever you wanted to do since the day you were born.”
Stroking the tiny dog, Carrie smiled sweetly at her brother and fluttered her lashes a bit. “You aren’t going to make any complaints, are you? Ranleigh didn’t.”
“He spoils you,” Jamie said, looking stern, but Carrie was still smiling at him, and he couldn’t retain the look of severity on his face. “All right,” he said with a sigh, knowing he’d lost his attempt at being strict, “so tell me more about this non-nosy matchmaking.”
Carrie’s delicate face brightened with eagerness. “Oh, Jamie, it’s just lovely. We’ve had such a good time. I mean, we do enjoy ourselves while we perform this much-needed service, that is. We put advertisements in papers out West and say that if the men will send us a photograph of themselves—we won’t send anyone out unless we’ve seen the man, since a photograph tells so very much about a person—and a letter explaining what they want in a wife, then we will try to match them up with a lady.”