Maggie’s Christmas Miracle
Westward Home and Hearts
Mail-Order Brides
Book 3
Elaine Manders
Copyright ©2019, Elaine Manders
All Rights Reserved
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, other than known historical figures, is purely coincidental. Situations, places, and dates may have been moved around to fit the story. Except for review quotes, this book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, without the written consent of the author.
Scripture references are taken from the King James Version (KJV) of the Bible.
Cover Design: Evelyn Labelle, Carpe Librum Book Design
Special thanks to Gabrielle Brown (G.S. Carr), P. Creeden, Marie Higgins, Sheila Mast (Marisa Masterson), Lisa Prysock, Linda Shenton Matchett, and Margaret Tanner for their encouragement and contribution to this series.
May every reader be blessed and the Lord be magnified.
Contents
Message to Readers
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Author’s Note
Books by this Author
About the Author
Message to Readers
Dear Reader
Thank you for buying my books, reading them, and supporting Christian fiction—even if you just like a clean romance. Your cards, letters, emails, and reviews lift my spirit and motivates me to write the next book.
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Chapter 1
Boston, 1889
Daniel Raleigh gazed into the cloud laden skies over Boston. These clouds could be so unpredictable in late fall. They might herald a snowstorm or, just as often, torrential downpours. Or they might drift off without so much as a sprinkle or a flake. The action he was about to take was just as unpredictable.
He tucked his portfolio under his arm and opened the wrought iron gate, gaining access to Mildred Crenshaw’s estate and headquarters of the Westward Home and Hearts Matrimonial Agency. The gate swung shut on well-oiled hinges, and Daniel squared his shoulders before trekking the brick-paved walk.
The stately Georgian mansion was one of the largest in Boston. Tall, evenly-spaced windows graced each side of a narrow, white, four-column portico, the only ornamentation to relieve the symmetrical red-brick front. Nothing broke the flat, plain roofline except a balustrade and twin chimneys. Smoke drifted from both and disappeared in the gray sky.
Only Milly and her servants lived here, and she traveled much of the year, although age was slowing her down. Her gout and arthritis had sent her to his private detective agency in the first place. She hadn’t been able to investigate her clients personally as she had for many years. After two unfortunate cases had almost ended in disaster because either the bride or the groom wasn’t honest, she’d begun vetting her clients.
Milly took pride in assuring her brides and grooms were well-suited and of the highest moral character.
She kept hinting she ought to move to smaller quarters but never had, and Daniel suspected it was because the memories of her late husband refused to let go. She certainly didn’t need the space to run her business.
He paused on the portico. Festive holly garland draped over the massive oak door reminding him Christmas wasn’t far away. And he had little time to set his plans in action.
Three sharp raps of the brass knocker brought the butler to the door. He ushered Daniel into Milly’s study and went to get her.
Gray and white striped wallpaper covered all four walls, and a comfortable seating arrangement of plum-colored velvet armchairs by the fireplace invited Daniel, but he turned from it to walk along the wall of photographs.
He’d always found a person’s home revealed the occupant’s soul better than anything. And this was Milly’s soul—photographs of young couples in wedding attire, some with photographs of children underneath.
These were Milly’s family.
“Daniel.” Milly’s voice pulled his attention to the doorway. “How are you doing?” She came at him with outstretched arms, and he met her halfway.
Coming out of her motherly embrace, he said, “I’m doing…all right. How about you?”
She gestured him to the chairs. “I’m doing well. I’ve been praying for you and little Isabelle. Has she accepted the loss of her mother yet?”
He waited for her to be seated, then sank into the cushions of the facing armchair. “She’s stopped asking me when Mama is coming back from Heaven.”
Milly reached out to pat his hand that gripped the chair’s arm, her eyes filmed with sympathy. She was the most empathic person he’d ever known, and her watery gaze tightened the emotion in his throat. But it always did when he spoke of Helen’s death—or his motherless child. He swallowed. “Izzy turned five last month…so, I suppose, she’s getting to the age she can understand better.”
He stared into his lap. The portfolio he’d placed there steered him back to the purpose of his visit. “Here’s the report on your brides.”
Milly clapped her hands like a little girl and took it from him. She opened the leather folder. “We can get the letters in the mail before Christmas.” She looked up suddenly. “You didn’t find any trouble, did you?”
“No—no trouble. Any man would be satisfied with these ladies.”
Milly smiled. “That’s what I like to hear, and we have some fine gentlemen anxiously waiting.” She began to shuffle through the papers.
“Actually, I’m interested in one of the brides.”
Silence fell as her hands stilled. “You’re thinking of remarrying? So soon?”
That’s another thing he liked about Milly. She never talked around what she really thought. “Izzy and I are still in mourning. No one knows that better than I.” And they’d be mourning long past the year decreed by society. He cleared his throat. “But Helen made me promise to find a new wife, another mother for Izzy, as soon as I could find one who would be good for me and Izzy, as she put it.”
“Which of these brides are you interested in?”
“Maggie Comings.”
Papers rattled again as she searched for Maggie’s report. “Ah, the schoolteacher from Nebraska. I remember now. She lost her fiancé in an influenza outbreak last winter. Such a sad story she had to tell.” Milly slowly shook her head. “I think I understand why you were drawn to her.”
She didn’t understand, but he wouldn’t correct her at the moment. “Then I have your blessings?”
“Of course, dear.
I’d be glad to include your name for Maggie to consider, and with your credentials—a successful businessman, a lovely home, and a sweet little daughter—I’m sure she’ll be impressed favorably. She said a widower with children was fine with her.”
She closed the portfolio. “You may write her immediately.” Her brows drew together. “Did you meet Maggie?”
“No, but I interviewed those who know her, and I saw her at the library once. I doubt she’ll even remember the incident.” Unless someone he’d spoken to in the small town mentioned him to Maggie, she wouldn’t even know his name. But he’d learned enough about her to make up his mind.
“You can remind her in your letter of that encounter. You have an advantage over the other prospective grooms, but we’ll let Maggie decide.” She shifted in the chair. “Jane, will you come out here, please?” she called to the open door of the small adjoining office where her secretary worked. “We have the reports on our brides.”
Miss Wadsworth came at a trot, a notebook in one hand, a pencil in the other. She nodded to Daniel. “Good-day, Mr. Raleigh.”
“And to you as well, Miss Wadsworth.”
“Wonderful news, Jane. Daniel has asked for a mail-order bride, specifically Maggie Comings. Bring him an application so we can send it with her letter.”
A look of surprise crossed the secretary’s face, but she took the portfolio without comment and disappeared back into her office.
Daniel coughed into his hand. “Milly, I’m afraid you misunderstand my intentions. I don’t want to compete for Maggie Coming’s hand. Nor to correspond with her. I want to spend the next few weeks in her town and court her—try to win her heart in the usual way.”
“What? You’re that sure of this? Have you considered the consequences? You might get…well…get disappointed. Or hurt. Are you taking Isabelle?”
Milly would know how vulnerable Izzy was. “Certainly, and yes, I’ve given it a great deal of thought.”
“Well, thank goodness for that. Christmas is coming, after all, and you and Isabelle need to be together.” She looked off into space thoughtfully. “Perhaps it will be good for both of you to get away for a while.”
“I want to get Isabelle away from the Wicker family permanently. I hope to get a position on Thomas Belter’s Dakota farm. You’re friends with the Belters, but you may not know Mr. Belter wants to establish a vegetable canning factory and is looking for a manager.”
Milly clutched a fisted hand to her chest. “You are going to sell your detective business? Leave Boston?” An answer wasn’t needed. She would know why he wished to get away from his late wife’s family, the Wickers, since they had tried to take Izzy away from him, and when they’d lost in the courts, had threatened to continue making trouble for him.
She nodded as if she, too, were considering all this. “Of course, Maggie Comings being from that part of the country would acclimate to the Dakota farm life well. It makes sense that you’d consider her a good match.”
Worry lines still creased her forehead, and he knew she remained unconvinced. He could have gone to Nebraska without telling her, but he wanted her blessing. Maybe he wanted her to pray for him—and Maggie.
“If you tell Maggie your intentions from the start, I’m sure she’ll understand.” Milly tried to smile and failed. “That you and she have so much in common and—”
“No, I can’t tell Maggie my intentions—not at first anyway, but I assure you, if she refuses my offer of marriage, I’ll tell her all.”
As he spoke, he reached in his inside coat pocket and withdrew a folded document. He smoothed out the crease and handed it to Milly. “This will explain my reasons.”
Milly gave him a curious look before taking the paper and brought it close to her eyes. Her near sight was growing weaker, and though she had spectacles, she seldom had them handy.
He heard her gasp, and she dropped the document to her lap, her gray eyes meeting his. “Oh, Daniel, I had no idea. Of course you must go. But this is a greater risk than I had thought.”
A heavy silence fell between them for several moments, then she called Miss Wadsworth.
“Is something wrong, Milly?” the efficient secretary asked as soon as she crossed the threshold.
“No, dear, a change is all. We won’t send the letters of introduction to Maggie Comings, nor to the prospective grooms. We’ll find another suitable bride for them.”
Miss Wadsworth’s brows rose as her eyes widened. “But, my dear Milly, we can’t do that. We have promised Miss Comings that we would send her prospective grooms before Christmas. Are we to tell her Mr. Raleigh will be coming?” Miss Wadsworth had been eavesdropping as usual.
“No, we’ll tell her our selections have been delayed until January. That’s all we’ll tell her. If Daniel fails in his…quest…we’ll contact her after the New Year.”
Miss Wadsworth’s relationship with Milly was more friends than employee and employer, and she didn’t hesitate to speak her mind. “But that’s hardly fair to Miss Comings, and might I add, totally against our rules. We promise our clients at least three prospective mates, and they decide whomever they choose.”
Milly’s smile softened and, keeping her gaze on Daniel, spoke firmly. “I know we have rules, and our rules are important. Unless they get in the way of God’s rules.”
Miss Wadsworth sputtered like she couldn’t believe what she heard. She let out an audible sigh. “Very well—if Mr. Raleigh has a good reason.”
Milly rose and, taking it as a dismissal, Daniel stood also.
“He has a good reason, Jane.”
Daniel followed Milly to the foyer. “Thank you for understanding.”
She squeezed his outstretched hand. “I’ll be praying that all goes well.”
He settled the derby on his head and stepped through the doorway, greeted by a blast of cold air. He’d need Milly’s prayers. It would take divine intervention to make this work.
Chapter 2
Westerfield, Nebraska
It happened every year at the beginning of December. Maggie Comings lost control of the schoolroom. The weather made it worst this year. These past two days, rain had pelted, leaving the yard a mud puddle. Then yesterday drizzle had turned to a mixture of sleet and snow. Which meant the children still couldn’t go out at recess or during the lunch hour to run off their energy.
But today was sunny and not too cold, and the closer to noon it got, the children kept glancing at the wall clock. She understood, remembering how she’d hated to be cooped up in this schoolroom. And Christmas was coming.
It was a shame you couldn’t hold onto that giddy anticipation into adulthood. As it was, she had nothing to look forward to this Christmas. Next month would mark one year since Clay had died of influenza. Her rock. Her fiancé.
Then in June, Pa had died just as suddenly of a heart attack. Ma and her sisters had left to move in with Aunt Bertha in Kentucky. Too far to even visit.
“All right, children, since it’s only five minutes until lunchtime and the day is fine, I’ll let you go outside.”
A loud cheer made her raise her hand, palm out. “When we return at one o’clock—sharp—we’ll work on the Christmas play.”
Another cheer, just as loud, erupted. “But, I’ll have your arithmetic on the chalkboard, and you’ll be expected to work all the problems before dismissal.”
Groans followed, then the slamming of books and feet shuffling as they marched out.
“Oh, Annie, while I’m writing the problems on the board, would you bring out the props for the play?”
Annie was the oldest girl and Maggie’s most studious pupil. “Yes, of course.”
“Thank you kindly.”
Maggie didn’t know what she’d do without Annie. Maybe she leaned too heavily on the blond girl. She was only fourteen, but already possessed the heart of a teacher and as capable as any adult. And she understood Maggie in a way few did.
While Annie scrounged through the closet in the back, Maggie w
rote today’s arithmetic on the chalkboard, one row for each grade level. She was grateful to the town council for installing this large board. It saved so much time.
When she’d been in school, she had to listen carefully to the teacher, writing the problems one by one, then solving them on her small slate chalkboard. Now the children wrote everything with pencil and paper. It saved her time and aggravation.
She was on the sixth level’s problems when a loud rap on the open door startled her, and she spun around. A man stood on the threshold, a little girl in his arms. He was a stranger to town, but there was something familiar about him, though she couldn’t place anything from his tall form to his dark chestnut hair, parting naturally on his forehead.
His finely tailored clothing—black coat, white shirt, tie—proclaimed him to be an affluent man, but it wasn’t unusual for affluent men to travel through on the Union-Pacific. Stopping was another matter.
“May I help you, sir?”
His smile transformed his clean-shaven face from merely good-looking to handsome. Not in a perfect-features way, but in a way that would make a woman take a second look. Or third. He stepped inside the room, and the girl stared at Maggie with large fawn-colored eyes.
She was a pretty child with delicate features and brown curls tied back with ribbons that matched her cranberry velvet dress. Her hair looked rather tangled, the bow askew, suggesting her father had arranged it.
“Yes, Miss Comings. My name is Daniel Raleigh. I’m in the area to investigate a business proposition. This is my daughter, Isabelle.” He slipped the little girl to the floor and held out his hand.
As Maggie shook Mr. Raleigh’s hand, she noticed Isabelle clinging to his coattails like she feared letting go. “Please to meet you, Mr. Raleigh, and you, Isabelle.”
Isabelle buried her face in her father’s coat. “I’m afraid Isabelle is shy,” he said, covering the top of her head with his hand. “I was hoping you might help me with my dilemma, Miss Comings.”
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