Emily: Army Mail Order Bride

by Mercy Levy

  “Do I remember correctly that there’s a cup of fresh coffee awaiting me here, Sheriff?”

  The sheriff handed Corbin a steaming hot mug of fragrant coffee, and he inhaled deeply. The two stood in the doorway for a few minutes in companionable silence, and Corbin almost forgot the reason he had ended up in town that morning, instead of planting as he should have been.

  “I believe you know you’re better off without that devil of a woman in your life, Corbin. So why risk an evening in my jail cell over her?” Matthew looked at his friend in honest confusion.

  “I don’t rightly know, Matt. I just know that when she comes here, she causes pain and misery for someone, and I guess… I guess I just feel so darned responsible for bringing her here in the first place. Wildwood is a pretty, calm, law-abiding town full of kind, generous people. Then Glory blows in like a winter storm and ruins someone’s life, or takes their hard-earned savings, and leaves town without any consequences.” He sighed and sipped thoughtfully from his coffee while his friend nodded in agreement.

  “You really don’t feel any love for her at all, do you?”

  “Oh, I did at first. But the blinders were pulled from my eyes, and I couldn’t lie to myself. Glory is a terrible person, and she likely always will be. She stopped being beautiful the moment I realized how ugly she was on the inside.”

  “Well, hopefully in that package you so carefully slid into your back pocket so I wouldn’t see it is the answer to your problems.” Corbin opened his mouth to argue, and Matt held up a hand to stop him. “Oh please. Like you’re the first man to get himself a bride from far away when the closer women aren’t working out.”

  “There are plenty of nice girls here, Matt. I know that. But I want a woman who hasn’t seen all the tragedy brought on this town by Glory. I only wish I could silence the gossips too. But since I can’t, I’ll just have to pick one and marry her quickly, before she can be poisoned by the honest retelling of my stupidity.”

  “Yeah, you were pretty stupid. Less stupid than young Mr. Smith, however. He knew what she was, and still he fell for her big, sad eyes and the swish when she walked.” He pointed at Corbin with his mug. “Now open that letter. I know you want to, and I figure you’re stuck in town for a minute. Might as well tend to business while you’re here.” He stepped inside the door. “You can use my desk. Jail’s empty today.”

  Corbin followed the sheriff inside and took a seat in front of the desk. He untied the package and dumped several letters on the desk, picking up the first one. He scanned it and set it aside with a grimace, and Matt shoved a trash bin closer to him with his foot. Soon there were six letters in the bin and only two left on the desk. With a sigh Corbin picked up the second to last one, noting with detached curiosity, that the penmanship was lovely and flowing.

  It was the cursive of a woman who had some education, probably from a city, rather than the cursory education most farmer’s daughters received. He tipped it toward the bin without opening it, and then Matt stopped him.

  “You’re getting to the end of it there, Son. What’s wrong with that one? She write the address too messy?”

  “More like she wrote it far too neatly to have a real desire to live out in the middle of nowhere on a farm.” He held up the letter. “Does that look like the writing of a woman who can milk a cow?” He snorted and opened it as he rolled his eyes.

  He read over the short note quickly and laughed to himself.

  … I am more than capable of keeping an organized and welcoming home for a hardworking farmer, having spent the first part of my life on a homestead in Kansas. I await further correspondence.

  “Well, it seems I am mistaken. The woman in question, who gives almost no details about herself, states she’s from Kansas and well-prepared to take on a farming household. He again reached for the trash, but he withdrew his hand and set the letter on the desk.

  “Will you ask her for more information?” the sheriff inquired, curious.

  “Her reply was near the exact length of my advertisement,” Corbin chuckled. “I think I shall have to give more information to get more, but educated and desirous of the life of a farmer’s wife are not two traits I’m going to find in excess.”

  He opened the last letter, which made promises of love and happiness he truly did not wish, nor did he believe they were possible for him. The letter went in the garbage, and Corbin finished his coffee before folding the letter from one Ms. Portia Billings and sliding it into his front pocket.

  Glory was gone again, but for how long, no one could say. Every time she came around was one more visit he dreaded might prove him too weak to turn away from the temptation of her magnetic blue eyes and creamy skin. He’d spent too many nights worshipping that flesh to feel confident that he could continue to turn her away, despite his revulsion at her vicious, lying ways.

  He needed a wife to take care of his home and oversee the aging Mrs. Verna Brown, who was hardworking but becoming forgetful in her advanced years. He needed the promises exchanged at wedlock to help him shore up the wall he’d built between him and the temptress who had once held his whole heart.

  He had vowed not to make that mistake again. He patted the envelope in his pocket. It had been only one short year since she had run away the first time, with a cowboy hired to help with the cattle drive. The sting was still fresh in more ways than Corbin cared to admit. With the grace of God, he wouldn’t need to worry much longer, and his wife would be the mainstay he needed to restore his reputation in town and prevent him from ever again setting foot on the lonely road that Glory had set him on.

  3.

  Portia clasped the last letter Corbin had sent her to her breast. On the page was her detailed journey to Wildwood, Missouri. Her heart was in her mouth as she waited for the train with Maggie by her side.

  “I can’t believe I’m actually doing this, Maggie,” she gasped again, and her guardian smiled. “How can I leave you when there’s so much work to be done?” Maggie patted her slim charge on the shoulder.

  “Bess is coming along nicely, thanks to your tutelage. I’ve already hired a shop girl to clean and greet customers. I survived before you came along, you know.” Portia flinched and her head bowed. Maggie put her arms around the girl and hugged her tight. “Now then. You know that’s not what I meant. You should be happy to be getting out and into the world! And your own home! You’ll be ordering servants around and enjoying the life of a wife before you know it.”

  Portia sighed and tried to smile. She could hardly remember her childhood, having put her memories away after the day the war party attacked her family. But what she did remember, sounded very little like the life she’d known as a child. The land had been unforgiving and every blade of grass had to be coaxed from the dry dirt, and the livestock had been thin and emaciated half the year, from lack of good grazing.

  She knew her days of luxury were behind her. All that lay ahead was toiling under a hot sun with little reward for a lifetime of sacrifice and backbreaking work. Maggie looked so pleased to see her off to a life as a respectable wife of a landowner, that Portia didn’t have the heart to tell her any differently. She hugged the older woman one more time and handed her bags to the porter who helped her board. She had four long days of travel ahead of her, and they might just be the easiest days that were left to her.

  Portia watched Maggie through the dusty window and waved to her as the train slowly pulled away from the station. She watched until Maggie, the train station, and finally the town shrank from view. The passengers nearest her were a pair of aging sisters on their way to Utah, and they happily shared stories of the changes that had taken place, as the railroad had connected cities and states more easily than ever before.

  Even her birthplace outside Beaumont had sprung up. The Indians who killed her parents had been among the last of their kind to live in those parts, and when the army had hunted them down and killed them, there weren’t many Indians seen outside the small territories granted them, ap
art from those children sent to be educated at white man’s schools.

  Knowing she was safe from the same horror that befell her parents was different from feeling safe. However, the spinsters reassured her with their happy gossip about the growth of the area around Wildwood, and by the second day, Portia found that she was curious about the farm she’d be living on, if not entirely excited about the man whose home she’d be sharing.

  The ladies didn’t recognize the farmer, Corbin Geoffs, by his name; but they described the farms they’d seen when they were visiting family in the St. Louis area, and Portia became so engaged with their stories and descriptions, that she opened up to them as well, telling them of her move to Lancaster and becoming an accomplished seamstress under her employer’s care.

  Even with the easy friendship of the Wells sisters, the train ride dragged on, and Portia found herself living from one stop to the next, eager to stretch her legs and find the water pump at each station to freshen up, before re-boarding. She was so used to being a traveler, that when she transferred to the train that would be stopping at Wildwood, her destination, her fatigue disappeared. The days, which had seemed to drag until that moment, suddenly felt as though they had been ripped from her grasp, leaving her poorly prepared to meet her husband-to-be.

  It was still late afternoon when the town of Wildwood rose from the horizon, in the same slow ponderous manner that Lancaster had faded from view. The train slowed as it got closer to town, and Portia was beside herself wondering if her husband-to-be would be there to meet her, if he would approve of her, or the scandal if he sent her back.

  She pulled a twig from a birch tree from her handbag and used the soft inner fibers to scrub the coating of grime from her teeth, before attempting to straighten her hair and travel-wrinkled clothing. She glanced at herself in a small mirror, dismayed that the person meeting her future husband was the face looking back her. Portia reminded herself that Mr. Geoffs had specifically desired a woman without physical beauty, but it was hard to imagine that a man would be happier seeing a plain face than a beautiful one.

  The elder sister Wells smiled and patted her knee. “You’re lovely, my dear. I’m certain that he’ll be smitten the moment he sets eyes on you.” Portia blushed.

  “Oh, he doesn’t want me to be lovely, Ms. Wells,” Portia assured the lady smiling back at her. “In fact, he specifically requested someone plain, like me. But I’m worried that a man would make such a request. What does it mean?”

  “Oh dearie. It likely means he is plain himself, and doesn’t want a woman whose eye might wander,” The younger Wells sister pronounced sagely.

  “Yes, indeed,” her sister agreed. “Or, he’s afraid a pretty woman won’t be of any use to him in the kitchen or the fields,” the elder Wells added, as her sister nodded.

  “Or, he’s simply a serious-minded fellow who believes a pretty face means a flighty mind, and he wishes for a partner, not a child,” Portia sighed. “That’s what Maggie, my guardian told me.”

  “Very wise,” the younger Wells sister declared. “You were fortunate after your loss to be discovered by such a woman.”

  “She needed a shop girl. I was basically sold to her,” Portia admitted. “The first night, I had such a nightmare. They were nightly, back then,” she confessed. “Maggie had seemed so stern during the day, but she was so kind when I was afraid. She cursed the people who gave me to her for not telling her, and from then on, she was more my mother, and less my employer.”

  “Oh, she must be missing you terribly, then.” The elder Wells sister dabbed her eyes. “I love a story with a happy ending, and her you are. Wildwood should be appearing for you any moment.” Portia pressed her cheek against the window, straining to see what lie directly ahead of the train. Not more than a minute later, the silhouettes of buildings began to grow on the horizon. Soon, she didn’t have to strain to see them, and as the train began to slow, the building gained texture and separated from one another until the city of Wildwood stood before them, and the brakes began to squeal.

  “I don’t think I can do this,” panted the nervous girl, and the sisters took turns patting her knee and smiling at her.

  “We’re only going to be one town over. If there’s an emergency, you telegraph us.” The elder sister Wells pressed coins into Portia’s palm. “But I think everything is going to work out better than you could’ve imagined.

  Portia hugged the ladies in turn and the conductor helped her collect her bags. He set them on the platform and a young porter rushed to her side before she could even scan the people around her, looking for a farmer.

  None of the people milling about looked like the man she was expecting to see. She looked for faded clothes the likes of her father’s old work clothes, a dirty hat, big hands with grime embedded in them. She smiled at a man, much older, even dirtier than she was expecting, but two strapping young men joined him, beaming and pumping his hands in enthusiastic handshakes, and she turned away.

  Soon, all that was left on the platform was herself, and a handsome, green-eyed man who was watching her with a frown. He started toward her and she backed up a step without thinking, right over her own luggage.

  She fell back with a cry, and the stranger caught her before she could tumble head over heels onto the dusty wooden planking. Portia clung to the man until he righted her, then she jumped back as though he’d tried to strike her instead of saving her.

  “Thank you, sir. I will not keep you from your business,” she said primly, brushing off her dress and leaning to see past him. He didn’t move, but gazed at her intently, until she was hugging herself and staring at her feet in discomfort. “My apologies, but can you please step back, I’m waiting for someone, and don’t want to miss their arrival.”

  “If someone was coming, they would’ve been here by now,” the man said, not unkindly. “Perhaps you have the wrong time? I can take your things into town for you, and help you find lodging, if you would like.”

  Portia felt tears coming, and shook her head, refusing to meet the handsome stranger’s eyes. She knew something terrible would happen if she left Lancaster and Maggie. She took a deep breath to control her growing panic and fear.

  “Thank you, sir. You are very kind. Please give me a moment to find out when I must be back for a return trip to Pennsylvania, and I will be grateful for your assistance.”

  She turned away, wondering why her words had deepened the man’s frown. His face became ruddy and his eyes flashed with anger when she spoke. “Well, there’s nothing to do. Go to the hotel, check in, and you will never see him again.”

  Fortunately, she and Maggie had taken a trip to visit family in Baton Rouge the summer before, and she had learned how to travel and use lodgings then. Small blessings, she thought to herself as she jotted down the train schedule on the little notepad she kept in her handbag for sketches. She turned back to the handsome stranger with the broad shoulders and cleared her throat nervously.

  “Thank you again for assisting me. I must be the worst kind of fool to have come here thinking I was…” Her voice broke as embarrassed tears stung her eyelids. “My apologies. I’m ready to go.”

  “May I ask your name, miss?” The stranger’s frown had faded somewhere between her gratitude and her obvious embarrassment.

  “Billings, sir. Portia Billings.” The man’s frown returned and deepened.

  “I thought you said you were plain,” he growled.

  “Oh, um… Why yes, sir, I am both in manners and well, as you can see, my person is not grand either,” she stammered in reply. “Mr. Geoffs?” she squeaked. “Oh, I… I have no words. I apologize. I don’t know what I was expecting. I suppose my own family was poor, even for farmers. My father never owned… I’m sorry.” Portia’s blush heated her to the boiling point and she couldn’t speak.

  Corbin looked over the lovely little bird that refused to meet his gaze, and his traitorous body tightened and warmed to the thought of touching her. She wasn’t supposed to be so
damnably sweet and delectable, he thought to himself.

  “I wasn’t expecting a girl who looked like you,” he snapped, his voice gravelly and deep.

  “I was afraid of that. I knew I wasn’t beautiful, and I had hoped your advertisement was sincere. Nevertheless, I will return home as planned on the earliest train available, if you would please honor your offer to escort me to the hotel.”

  Corbin started at her sharp tone. Silently, he cursed himself. He’d hurt her, and somehow, this gypsy thought she was unbeautiful. Stupid city folk and their obsession with pale skin, he thought, and made up his mind to give the girl a chance.

  “Of course I’m taking you to the hotel, Ms. Billings. My housekeeper, Verna, is visiting her sister tonight and it would be completely inappropriate for you to stay alone out on the farm with myself and my farm hands.” Corbin picked up her carpet bag and handed it to her, then hefted her trunk up onto his shoulder.

  “Oh dear. I feel sorry for packing so much in there now,” Portia fretted as he carried the heavy trunk to the waiting buggy. “I had so much trouble decided which of my fabrics I should leave behind, I fear I brought too many.”

  “This trunk is full of fabric?” Corbin asked, incredulous.

  “And notions, of course. I was raised on a farm from my childhood as I stated, but when my parents died, I was given to a seamstress as a shop girl. I’ve lived above the shop ever since.”

  Corbin glanced at her, measuring her in some way, and Portia found herself blushing again. She fell silent again and waited for Corbin to take the carpet bag from her, before reaching up to climb in the back with her luggage, as she had when she was a child.

  The farmer hid his smile and jumped down before she could get a foothold on the sideboard. He offered her his hand, and when she took it, he led her to the front, and helped her to the seat without a word. She sat with her hands in her lap and her eyes on the pair of Paints that swished their tails as they trotted down the road toward the hotel, which was only a few buildings from the train station.