Emily: Army Mail Order Bride

by Mercy Levy

  “Show them the box,” she said, and he looked at her with confusion in his eyes.

  “What?” he asked, and she pointed to the box they used for the performance.

  “Call Mr. McGregor onto the stage, and let him examine the box,” he continued to look at her with a confused look in his eyes, so Betty leaned forward and whispered the plan she had thought of into his ear. She saw a slow smile spread across William’s face, and as he stood up he looked down at her with more admiration than she had ever seen. His look alone made her want to blush, but his words caught her off guard, and truly did flush her cheeks a crimson red.

  “I think I love you,” he said.

  Chapter 10

  The Show Must Go On

  “Ladies and gentlemen! Many of you were here last night when my dear Mr. McGregor wished for me to do better. To be better. To amaze you all with what we can do. And tonight, we have risen to the occasion!” The crowd cheered, and Betty stepped out onto the stage, ready to put on the biggest performance of her life.

  She had William had spent the entire day working through their new version of the trick, and though William continued to do many of the same kinds of tricks as he had the previous night, Betty was sure that the new trick was going to amaze the crowd more than anything that they had done in the past.

  She was careful to step on the proper wires and in the proper places, though she feared that her nerves were giving away the illusion of the trick. Though William continued to perform with the same ease that he always had, Betty worried that her uncertain and hesitant movements would give them away. She kept glancing over to the crowd, but William appeared to be perfectly at ease.

  At last, he grabbed the box they had used from the night before, pulling it into the center of the stage.

  “Ladies and gentleman! I am about to show you a trick that will stun you! It will amaze you! It will reveal to you the wonders of magic! You may have been present last night when Mr. McGregor here challenged us with this trick. He insisted that it was not real, and that we are nothing remarkable. However, I wish to challenge his thinking, and prove to him that we are, in fact, magicians!” He made an elaborate show of waiving his cape in the air and throwing up his arms as he spoke.

  William then pointed through the crowd, as though he didn’t know right where Mr. McGregor was seated. Betty knew that William had pinpointed the man as soon as he had stepped foot into the audience, but he was good at putting on a show, and his misdirection nearly fooled her. At last, William settled on Mr. McGregor, and he appeared to be surprised.

  “Good to see you here, Sir! I feared you had not made it. Now, I wish to ask you, would you mind coming up here and examining this box for yourself? I know there are some questions you have about the authenticity of the piece, and I want to assure you and everyone else here that this is real.” He smiled, and with the triumphant grin, Mr. McGregor walked onto the stage.

  William had carefully hidden the trap door with Betty’s help, and through careful practice, they had figured out a way for the doors to fall downward, still enabling her to walk up through the bottom of the stage without anyone seeing her. Betty’s heart pounded as Mr. McGregor examined the box, and she silently prayed that he would not find the trigger.

  At last, Mr. McGregor took a step back and crossed his arms.

  “I am satisfied that this is nothing more than a box,” he said simply, and with a mischievous grin William pointed him back into the crowd. As soon as they were alone on the stage, William looked over at Betty. He raised the blanket, hiding them both from the crowd’s view, and he looked at her with an intensity that she had never seen before.

  “It’s now or never,” he said as Betty nodded. She took a deep breath, and William spread the sheet on the ground. Then, as he had done so many times before, he reached down and grabbed the blanket, sweeping it up and over her while he grabbed the ring on the stage.

  Betty sprang into action. She slipped right through the trap door to the ground beneath and ran as quickly as she could to the proper trap door beneath the box. She could hear the gasping of the crowd, and she hurried to get into position as William walked over to the box to reveal her inside.

  Betty grabbed the trap door and pulled with all her might, knowing she was running out of time. She hoisted herself into the box, yanking the door closed behind her. Scarcely had she latched it into place than William opened the top of the box, and reached his hand down to her inside.

  There was a hushed silence in the room as Betty stood, rising into view. Mr. McGregor looked at her in dumbfounded amazement, and there was a hush in the room. After a few seconds of silence, he shook his head.

  “Impossible!” He exclaimed. William looked at him with a triumphant look in his eye and walked over to the box.

  “Isn’t it?” he said coyly.

  Betty climbed out of the box with the help of William, and the crowd erupted in deafening applause. William turned her to face the crowd, and they both took a bow. Then, as he usually did, William put his arm around her shoulder and waived with one hand. While Betty blew kisses to the crowd with the other. Mr. McGregor continued to shake his head, then he turned to walk off the stage.

  “Sir, does this mean that we shall continue to work together?” William asked with a rather condescending tone to his voice. Mr. McGregor shot him a look, then stalked off the stage. William laughed and the crowd continued to cheer. As flowers rained down around them, Betty felt happier than she ever thought possible.

  “Love? I’ve been meaning to ask you,” William said as he looked down at her. Betty was surprised at the term he used, and for a moment, she forgot about the cheering crowd. She looked up into his eyes inquisitively.

  “Will you marry me?” he whispered, and Betty felt her knees become weak. She nodded furiously, her voice too choked up to answer. She feared she was going to fall, but he caught her with his arm around her back and leaned forward, pressing his lips against hers.

  The crowd erupted, and Betty felt a thrill rush through her like she had never felt before. She had found true love, and she loved what she was doing. Nothing could touch her happiness.

  The End

  Eva’s Inspirational Journey to Love

  Chapter 1

  Artist in the West

  The shadows on the boulders were like glimmering black gold in my eyes. The surrounding dry land seemed to be an ocean of blissful rest whispering across a hot and exhausted dream. The darkening sky above my head, filled with fiery pink and bruised purples and blues, slowly began to fade away into a blanket of bright stars designed by an amazing and loving God. “How wonderful,” I smiled. A gentle breeze began playing in my long black hair and then pulled at the soft pink dress I was wearing.

  “It’s getting late,” my papa told me in his thick Italian accent. Papa was sitting in his brown horse buggy rubbing his white mustache, staring at me with curious eyes. “Eva, why stop in such a place?”

  “Oh, Papa,” I said allowing my accent to roam free, “how could I not?” I pointed at the boulders. “See how wonderful?” I asked.

  “I see rocks,” Papa replied in a patient voice and then sighed. “Your momma, yes, you got her spirit and heart, child. Your momma could find beauty in a piece of dirt.”

  “Momma was a very special woman,” I told Papa allowing my eyes to rest on the large boulders. “She would be with us today if she had not died saving the drowning child.”

  Papa nodded his head. “Your momma was a very brave woman,” he said with a broken heart. “At her age, she jumps into a flooded river to save a drowning child. Who has ever heard such a thing? The child lives, my wife, eh, she is with the angels.”

  I glanced over at Papa. He was sad. His face was droopy and his eyes sleepy with wine. “Come,” I told Papa and walked over to the horse buggy, “I will drive us home.”

  “Home?” Papa asked in a sad tone, “home is Italy,” he said and helped me up onto the buggy. “Home is not this dry, awful, land. I c
annot even grow a simple grape from this miserable dirt.”

  “Oh, Papa,” I said and patted his right leg, “we have traveled so far. This is the land your brother left you. He said there was gold on the land. Someday we will find the gold. But while we are here, shouldn’t we enjoy the beauty God has given us?”

  Papa glanced up at the darkening sky. “We should be getting back to the house,” he said and pulled a brown blanket over the black trousers he was wearing. “I will make us some stew, and then we will sing songs. Yes, that will be nice.”

  “Yes, Papa, that will be nice,” I agreed and asked Bella, the sweet brown horse Papa and I owned, to begin pulling the horse buggy. “Easy, girl. Slow walk under a beautiful sky,” I whispered.

  Bella carefully began walking down a dry path filled with rocks and twigs. Papa settled back and closed his eyes. A few minutes later, he began to snore. I smiled and let my eyes wander around the darkening landscape. Night, like day, was filled with beauty. Although night always made me feel very sad and lonely inside, I always searched for beauty dripping down from the stars, eager to locate each star drop and explore its imagination and heart. “Each star drop,” my momma would always whisper in my ear at bedtime, “is a dream from an angel.” Of course, as I grew older, I knew my momma was only telling me delightful stories that weren’t true, but still, I always dreamed of finding the star drops and painting them into my heart. “Someday,” I whispered. “Someday.”

  The sound of an approaching horse caused me to turn my head. I saw a shadowy rider approaching from the south end of the trail. My heart began to race. Strangers terrified me. Who would be out on the trail at such a late hour? The trail ended on the land my uncle had given to Papa. Who would have business on the area of the trail leading to our house? I gently nudged Papa with my shoulder. “Papa, wake up,” I said, attempting to remain calm.

  Papa stirred, opened his eyes, and looked at me. “Yes, what’s wrong?” he asked in a groggy voice.

  “A rider is approaching.”

  Papa turned in his seat, looked back at the trail, and then looked forward. “The American again,” he said in an irritated tone.

  “Joshua?” I asked. “How can you be sure?”

  “I’m sure,” Papa mumbled and closed his eyes. “Now I will have to make extra stew.”

  I slowed down the buggy and waited for the rider to catch up. And, just as Papa had said, Joshua McClure rode up to buggy wearing his finest gray shirt and brown pants. “Evening, Mr. Fontana…Ms. Fontana.”

  Papa eased his right eye open, peeked over at Joshua and shook his head. “Where do you get such hats?” he asked.

  Joshua lifted his right hand and touched the brown hat he was wearing. The hat was new. “Oh…uh, Mr. Connor in town sold me this hat,” he said and blushed a little. Joshua was a kind man with a gentle soul. He was also hardworking, honest and loyal. His family owned a medium sized ranch that skirted the land Papa and I lived on. Joshua’s Papa and Momma were good people who always brought food, milk, butter, and other gifts over to the house at least once a week. But, I sighed, because Joshua wasn’t Italian, Papa didn’t think he was good for me.

  “I like the hat,” I told Joshua and looked up into his handsome face. Joshua always brought a sense of peace and happiness to my sad heart. Even though he carried a gun on his hip, he wasn’t a gunfighter. Even though he could use his fist to whip anyone in town, he never raised his fist to harm a soul. The land forced Joshua to be tough—but his heart was that of sweet gold. Joshua thought the same about me. At times I could be fiery, stubborn, and even aggressive—my Italian temper always seemed to win over my heart—but I could never express my feelings toward a person who was not deserving. My momma taught me to chase tigers but be gentle to a lion.

  “Why are you so dressed up?” Papa asked. “Is it not a workday tomorrow? Is today not the fourth day of the week?”

  “Oh, yes, sir,” Joshua replied walking a beautiful Pinto horse next to the buggy. “My folks are having a birthday party for my sister Maureen. They wanted me to come over and invite you to the party. Mrs. Jones bakes a cake…there’s food…dancing…all sorts of good things.”

  “Oh, Papa, can we?” I pleaded in an excited voice. “Maureen has been so kind. It would be rude not to wish her a happy birthday.”

  “Eva, we have just made a long drive into town and back,” Papa complained. He opened his eyes and looked into my face. Just one look was all he needed. “Yes, fine,” he smiled and patted my knee. “How could I say not to such a face.” Papa looked up at Joshua. “You mind your manners,” he warned him, “or I’ll beat you senseless with a rock.”

  “Oh, yes, sir,” Joshua promised.

  “Oh, Papa,” I fussed, “what has Joshua done to be spoken to in such a way? Did he not defend me in town against Mark Hayfield?”

  “I…suppose,” Papa admitted.

  “You suppose,” I huffed and shook my head at Papa. “You saw Joshua fight Mark Hayfield in the street with your own bare eyes. And what a fight it was. People are still talking about how Joshua whipped that awful rodent.”

  “Mark Hayfield hits pretty hard,” Joshua said and rubbed his chin. “That guy may be lower than a snake’s belly, but he can fight. I didn’t think I was going to be able to whip him there for a while.”

  “But you did,” I told Joshua in a proud voice. “And where is that awful man now?”

  “Sitting in prison for robbing a bank,” Joshua said in a happy voice. “Good riddance to him too.”

  Papa removed the blanket from his lap and neatly folded it up. “Young man,” he told Joshua, “I admit that you are not horrible, but you are not Italian,” Papa said in a strained voice. “My Eva must marry her kind. You are Irish. Irish and Italian blood is like…vinegar and honey. Please understand that I am very grateful that you defended my Eva and for the gifts your family brings to the house, but…there will never be a chance that I will allow you to marry my Eva.”

  “Marry?” Joshua asked and stopped his horse. I brought the buggy to a halt. “Wait a minute…I don’t…I mean, I sure do like Eva and thinks she’s as pretty as the heavens, but I’m not ready to get married, Mr. Fontana. Before I can get married, I have to build my own house, start my own ranch, build a barn, corrals, all kinds of chores.”

  “Even so,” Papa said in a stubborn voice, “when the time arrives for you to marry and you have completed your chores, my Eva will not be the woman to be your wife. We will attend the birthday party but merely as neighbors and friends. Yes?”

  “Oh, Papa,” I complained, “why must you be like this? Jesus loves all His children. It is not the bloodline that matters, it is the heart.”

  “You must—and will—marry an Italian man,” Papa demanded. “This is the way of our people.”

  “Uh…” Joshua said and nervously scratched the back of his neck, “maybe I should ride off and leave you two alone. I’ll tell Ma to be expecting you, okay?”

  “Yes, fine,” Papa said in an irritable tone.

  Joshua looked down at me, smiled, and rode off. “Oh, Papa,” I said and folded my arms together. “You were very rude.”

  Papa reached out and tried to hold my hand. I yanked it away. “Eva, you mustn’t be that way. I know what is best for you. We came to this land to find the gold my brother claims is here, and then we will return back to Italy, reclaim our home, and begin traveling the world.”

  “Our home?” I asked Papa. “Our home was stolen from us, Papa, by criminals. How many families in our village had their homes stolen from them? By now our village has been burned down. You insist I marry an Italian man, but the man you arranged for me to marry was the same man who betrayed us. Yes, there are many good Italian men, but there are good Irish men and Joshua is one of those men.”

  Papa sighed. “Yes, we were betrayed by our kind—”

  “All of God’s people are our kind,” I interrupted Papa. “Jesus did not die only for the Italians, Papa. Jesus died for every person ever
born.”

  Papa stared at me. “Eva—”

  “No, Papa,” I said in a stubborn voice, “you have embarrassed me in front of a man who is kind and decent. You treated him as if he were a diseased breed of horse that isn’t worthy to be in the same barn as me. Why Papa? Because Joshua is Irish? Because his family deals with cattle and horses? Because his Papa can barely read?”

  “Eva—”

  “We’re going home,” I told Papa and asked Bella to start walking again.

  “The birthday party?”

  “How can I look Joshua in the face tonight? You insulted his honor, Papa. How would you feel is someone insulted your honor?” I asked. “Yesterday Mrs. McClure brought us fresh milk and eggs and a flour. You were napping.” I looked up at the night sky and spotted the first star. “Mrs. McClure and I sat on the front porch and talked for a very long time. She is such a lovely woman…she has so much of Momma in her heart. And Mr. McClure, he may not be able to read very well, but he has built a very healthy ranch with his own two hands and that takes hard work, Papa. So who are you to judge them because they are not Italian?”

  Papa sat very quiet. When he spoke, his voice was low and calm: “The old ways are the best ways. I am your papa. I know.”

  I didn’t reply to Papa. What could I say? Papa was from the old country and believed in the old ways. I raised my eyes to the night sky again and spotted two more stars poke their heads out from the heavens and say hello. “No star drops tonight,” I whispered and traveled on to a small wooden house.

  <<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>

  The following morning, while I was outside feeding my chickens, I spotted Mrs. McClure ride up on her brown horse. Oh, she looked so pretty in the green riding dress she was wearing. I loved how her long red hair flowed free and untamed and how her sharp blue eyes glittered in the sun. “Hello, Eva,” Mrs. McClure called out to me as she crawled down from her horse.