MAIL ORDER EMMA
Widows, Brides, and Secret Babies Series
Book 26
Linda Baten Johnson
MAIL ORDER EMMA
(Widows, Brides, and Secret Babies Series Book 26)
Copyright 2020 by Linda Baten Johnson
Cover Art: Black Widow Books (V. McKevitt)
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced without the written permission of the copyright owner.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
A Word from the Author
About the Author
Chapter One
Missouri, 1882
“You Emma York?” A young girl about twelve held a screaming and squirming baby in her arms.
“I am.”
The child opened the screen door and entered without an invitation. “Amos needs changing and feeding.”
Emma could tell by the stench the baby needed changing. She glanced outside and didn’t see a buggy or wagon. The girl’s hair of different lengths looked as if she’d cut it herself, and she wore patched overalls instead of a dress.
“He gets real mad when he doesn’t eat regular.” Her morning visitor handed the vocal bundle to Emma.
“I’ll warm some water to wash him. What does Amos eat?” She started toward the kitchen, and the girl followed.
“Potatoes, mashed fruit, bread soaked in milk or broth. He’s not particular, but he lets you know when he’s ready to eat.”
Continued loud wails confirmed the statement.
Emma decided to feed the baby, change him, and then deal with the girl. “I have some oatmeal left from my breakfast. I’ll try that. You’re a bit young to be responsible for an infant.”
“Not responsible, I’m just passing Amos on.”
The girl eyed the oatmeal. “More there than the baby will eat.”
The crying stopped as Amos opened his mouth eagerly for the small bites Emma offered.
“You must be tired and hungry, too. Would you like some bread and butter?” Emma watched the girl scurry toward the counter. “What’s your name?”
“Mildred. But I punch anybody who calls me Mildred. Trouble is my nickname. I like it. Even Mama and Papa use it.” Trouble carved off three slices of bread, then helped herself to butter and jelly.
The oatmeal satisfied one of the baby’s needs. Now, Emma needed to deal with the smellier problem.
"Do you have diapers for this baby?" Emma didn't expect an affirmative answer, but Trouble unhooked one of the overall straps and removed a bag hanging from a rope around her neck. With the satchel out from under her clothes, the girl looked even smaller.
“Mind if I take some food for my brother?” Trouble continued slicing Emma’s bread.
Emma glanced at the girl. “Brother? Where is he? Does Amos belong to your brother?”
Trouble rolled her eyes. “No. My brother’s watering the horse. Amos belongs to you, says so in the letter.”
"You must be wrong. I'm a single woman." Emma didn't like to use the word spinster to describe herself. Although at twenty-six, that's how the world considered her.
Trouble stuffed the remainder of the loaf of bread into her pockets and moved toward the door.
Emma grabbed the girl’s shoulder. “Hold on, Trouble. We’re going to change the baby and talk.”
When Trouble sighed and rolled her eyes again, Emma smiled. This young child worked hard at appearing grown-up and knowledgeable. Emma dipped a cloth in the water on the stove and pointed Trouble toward the bedroom as the baby demonstrated the strength of his lungs, again.
“Please get a sheet from the top drawer and put it on the bed.”
“He’s sure loud, isn’t he?” Trouble said.
“He is, and he smells bad.” Emma wrinkled her nose. “I think a new diaper for Amos will make us all happier, don’t you?”
Trouble grinned for the first time since she’d entered the house. “Yeah. Mama gave him peaches yesterday. I don’t think you should give him peaches.”
“I appreciate the advice, but I don’t think I will be giving him anything. As I said, I’m an unmarried woman. This child is not mine.”
“He’s yours. Daddy found him by the side of the road. Amos was yelling his lungs out, of course. So Daddy looked around and didn’t see nobody. Then he noticed this letter tucked in the side of the basket. It’s addressed to you, says this baby goes to you.” Trouble waved an envelope.
Emma examined the baby as she washed him. “He seems to be healthy and strong.”
“He is. But Mama says we can’t feed another mouth, even if we did want him, which I don’t. Amos is an ornery one. He cries any time he wants something.”
"I think most babies do. Crying is how they talk until they learn words. Could you sit with him while I take this diaper outside? He's quiet and calm now." Emma made a mental note not to give a young baby peaches as she dropped the soiled diaper in the bucket on the back porch.
She'd allowed herself to daydream about having children of her own since Mr. Joseph Walker of Goodly, Texas proposed she come to Texas and marry him. Being a mail-order bride wasn't the dream she had as a child, but because of her crippled foot and above-average height, she considered herself fortunate to have had an offer at all.
“Miss Emma York,” Trouble said, “I’ve got to leave. Come get this baby.”
When Emma entered, Amos was gurgling happily as Trouble played peek-a-boo by holding her hands over her face.
“I do not intend to take a baby just on your word, Trouble. Let me see the letter. Then, the two of us will decide what to do with the baby.”
When Trouble handed her the letter, Emma sank onto the bed beside the baby. Her address was in her sister’s handwriting.
She read the words silently, then aloud, as though hearing them in the air might make them fly away like the wind.
Dear Emma,
I pray you receive this letter with our precious son, Amos. I implore you to shower him with all the love and affection you would bestow upon a child of your own.
Cholera invaded our little town. My beloved husband Andrew helped the doctor with tending the sick, digging the graves, and burning the bodies. More than twenty deaths occurred within two days. Andrew insisted I leave the town with our precious Amos. I plan to come to you after I'm confident I don't carry the sickness.
As a precaution, I’m putting this letter with the baby in case God calls me home.
With all my love,
Heather.
I heard a long, low moan and realized it came from me.
Trouble patted my back. “Papa read the letter to us. Sad, ain’t it? You said you were Emma York, and your address is on the envelope.”
“Where did you find Amos? When did you find him? Where do you live?”
Trouble shook her head. “Not saying nothing. We can’t have you getting tired of him and trying to give him back. Mama said to give you the baby and skedaddle.”
“I must search for my sister. Knowing where you found Amos might help me find her.” Emma saw that her request hadn’t changed the girl’s mind.
“She’s dead. Daddy buried her. Lady camped in a grove, away from folks. Must have snuck up at night and put the basket close to the road for someone
to find.”
“If your father buried my sister, I’d like to know where. I could at least put a marker on her grave.” Trouble’s bizarre story sounded plausible.
“Nope, not telling. When Daddy brought the baby home, Mama didn’t like it one bit. But when he said he was going to bury the lady, Mama threw a skillet at him. She said he should stay away himself, cause he’d read the letter about the coal uh ruh stuff.” Trouble tickled the infant’s stomach with open fingers, then looked up at Emma. “You don’t want to be around my mama when she’s mad.”
Emma studied the baby’s round face. Did he look like Heather? Andrew? What if Trouble’s parents were trying to get rid of one of their own children? The girl admitted their family had too many mouths to feed.
“Trouble, are you telling me the truth? I have a fiancé waiting for me in Goodly, Texas, and he won’t expect me to show up with a baby.”
Trouble jumped up at the whinny of a horse and broke for the front door. “Bye, Amos,” she called over her shoulder.
Emma scooped up the baby and chased the girl, but Emma’s efforts failed. She watched the two riders silhouetted on a single horse galloping away. She sank onto the porch swing and nudged it into action with her foot. The heaviness of the situation crushed her. She stroked the baby's back. Was Heather gone? Was this baby her nephew?
If she had a child to raise, should she go to the wild Texas frontier or stay here in civilized Missouri? Rocking and patting the baby, Emma made a plan. First, she'd telegraph Mr. Walker she would be delayed a month. If she got there sooner, fine. If she decided not to go...
Second, she'd pack her belongings, turn the keys over to the bank, and hire someone to drive her to her sister's home. If Heather and Andrew were alive and tending to their baby, she'd get on the next train to Texas. If they weren't, someone in town should know if Amos was her sister's child. If they were dead and Amos wasn’t their child, she’d contact an orphanage. But if they were dead and Amos was their child, that presented a different set of challenges.
Emma looked at the sleeping baby. “Oh, Amos, I’ve always wanted to be a wife and a mother. Will I have to choose?” How would Mr. Walker react if she arrived with a baby?
***
“Emma, whose baby is this?” Annie Martin came from behind the counter in the mercantile to examine Amos.
“I’m not sure, but I do have to feed and clothe the child until I find out.” Emma knew her best friend and employer would offer a candid opinion of the plans she’d made.
Annie offered Emma a job when she had no way to support herself, and they became close friends. Annie bustled about the store, selecting items, and placing them in a basket. "I'll get the necessary things while you tell me where this baby came from. Boy or girl? It doesn’t matter, you dress them the same until they're walking."
Emma recounted the morning’s perplexing events, ending with her plan to search for Heather and Andrew. “What should I do? Should I go to Texas? I depend on you for friendship as well as my wages.”
“Wet nurse is out of the question if you’re traveling.” Annie tapped her lips with a finger. “We have one glass bottle somewhere, looks like the curved bottom of a rocking chair, only smaller. Which shelf is it on?”
“I gave him oatmeal earlier,” Emma said.
“Here’s the bottle.” Annie held up her prize. “You have to boil it after every use. For food, just mash up what you eat. Oatmeal was a good choice. Babies let you know what they like. I should know. I have four of them. Keep their stomachs full and bottoms dry. You can make the dresses and the covering for the diaper. Let’s get you some flannel for…” Annie stopped mid-sentence. “Oh, Emma, what about your marriage?”
Tears filled Emma’s eyes.
“Dear me, I’m running my mouth when you need a cup of coffee and a dose of understanding.” Annie pointed Emma to the living quarters behind the store where the two often slipped after work to sit and gossip.
Emma gratefully slid into the caned chair, knowing she’d miss working here in the mercantile and the sisterly affection she shared with Annie.
Annie shooed the curious children away from the baby Emma held. “Outside, kids. Ed, you’re in charge. Go feed the chickens and gather the eggs, and don’t slam the door.”
The door slammed, and Emma laughed. “This morning, I was packing my trunks for Texas and daydreaming about my wedding day. The next thing I knew, I had a crying baby thrust into my arms.”
Annie Martin handed a cup to Emma. “You drink coffee, I’ll hold the baby. Know how old he is?”
"If he is my sister's child, he should be about three months," Emma said.
“Well, if you want my opinion, I think your plan is perfect. Check on your sister, then go to Texas. You deserve happiness. Your sister moved to Hidden Fork, didn’t she? Town’s about three days away. Ed’s old enough to handle the wagon. I’ll ask my husband if he can spare the boy for a week or two.”
"I wish you could go with me," Emma said.
Annie shifted the baby to the opposite side of her ample body and poured herself some coffee. “Now wouldn’t that be a treat? I could leave Ed here to help with the store and we could have a holiday. My little ones would love it.”
“But what if there was cholera?” Emma asked.
“Be plenty of signs around, and we’ll steer clear. If not, you can see your sister and then get on a train to Texas.”
“I can’t believe Heather is gone. I prefer to believe this baby might belong to Trouble’s family. They could have found the envelope and delivered one of their children to my doorstep.”
“Doesn’t seem likely, Emma. In the letter, Heather said she planned to make her way to you. Do you know the route she’d take?”
"The Gap Road is the quickest and easiest way from here to Hidden Fork where they lived," Emma said.
“We’ll follow the Gap Road and watch for a grove of trees on one side of the road and Trouble on the other.” Annie pointed to the coffee pot.
“No more for me. You know, I did like that young girl. She’s sassy, brash, and unafraid. I wish those things were part of my character.
Annie touched her shoulder. “You’re not sassy, but you are confident and unafraid. How many women would agree to go to Texas and marry a man they’d never met?”
“I want to go, but I worry about taking an infant to Texas. Mr. Walker kindly accepted me with my faults. How will he react if I arrive with a baby?”
“Emma, we all deal with the challenges God gives us. Your Mr. Walker sounds like a fine man.”
Emma held out her hands for Amos, who grabbed a tendril of her hair and tugged. “Easy, little one.”
In one short morning, Amos had stolen her heart and left her filled with fears and apprehension about the future. She’d move forward one step at a time, and the first step was to find the truth about her sister and this baby.
Chapter Two
Collin County, Texas 1882
Joseph Walker paced the length of the train platform. He'd bathed last night and put on his Sunday suit to meet his prospective bride. He ran his finger under the shirt collar which felt sizes too small. He hoped Miss Emma York would not be disappointed with him, the house, this town of Goodly, or the Blackland Prairie he'd learned to love. Heat shimmers rose from the track area, and he guessed it would hit a hundred degrees today. Rascal panted in the shade of the wagon. The mongrel had been a wonderful companion on the farm, but that dog couldn't make biscuits.
When Pastor Townsend and his wife Matilda urged him to write to their home church in central Missouri advertising for a bride, he’d balked. But his homestead wouldn't allow time off to find and court a woman, and there weren't any eligible women in the surrounding counties. After he agreed, Sam and Matilda helped him fashion a letter. The Townsends came from Mississippi and both had a gentle and persuasive way of speaking. When they suggested he say he was a "nice-looking man," he wrote he “was not an ugly man," and he'd had a photograph taken to accompany t
he letter. Then the waiting began.
In the past year, he’d received letters from five women, but only Miss York seemed earnest and forthright about herself and expressed a genuine inclination to come to Texas and marry a stranger. And Joseph liked the way she looked.
He pulled her latest letter from his coat pocket.
Dear Joseph,
I’m enclosing a photograph so you’ll recognize me when I get off the train. The picture doesn’t show I am a tall woman or that I have a turned-in left foot. I mentioned my physical imperfections in previous correspondence, but I feel obligated to remind you of my defects before we meet in person.
My spirit lacks the confidence of yours. You said you left Kentucky for an unknown land and created a home for yourself. Leaving beautiful Missouri with the rolling hills and trees, which show God’s glory in all seasons, is both challenging and exciting. I laughed at your comment about trees only growing where you planted them on the Texas prairie.
Goodly sounds like a friendly town, and I look forward to meeting your neighbors, especially Pastor Sam Townsend and his wife Matilda. Their long letter vouching for your character, which accompanied your request for a wife, circulated through our local churches. Their admiration and respect for you shone through their words, as did their sense of humor. I prefer a happy countenance over a serious one and find laughter as welcome as sunshine. Your letters tell me you have a merry heart.
Thank you for your letters with information about your homestead, your church, and your friends. Your photograph, which serves as a bookmark in my Bible, shows a kind and honest face, the type of man your letters led me to imagine.
I will leave for Texas from my sister’s home. She’s my only relative and the dearest friend anyone could desire. My heart aches knowing I might never see her again, but it soars when I consider our future, our new life. Surely God intended for us to be together.
My train will arrive in Goodly on June 12 at one.
Yours,
Emma
Mail Order Emma Page 1