Mail Order Husband

by Mills, DiAnn

  Copyright

  ISBN 1-58660-618-2

  © 2002 by DiAnn Mills. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the permission of Heartsong Presents, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., PO Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683.

  All Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.

  prologue

  Central Nebraska, 1880

  Lena Walker stiffened and glared into the face of the man before her. “I will not marry you, Dagget Shafer. Not now, not tomorrow, not ever.”

  His small, dark eyes narrowed, and despite the thick black beard covering most of his face, skin as bright red as a cardinal’s feathers shone through. “You will change your mind, Miz High and Mighty. You can’t run this farm by yourself and rear those two younguns. You’ll either starve or get sick and die.”

  “I can work this land and raise my children just fine by myself,” she said with a lift of her chin. Perspiration beaded her forehead and trickled down her back as she fought her rising temper.

  “I dare say you’ll live to regret your decision not to marry me. A woman needs a man to take care of her and tell her what to do,” he shot back. “And if you had the sense to look around, you’d see there ain’t many eligible men in these parts.” He turned to face the entrance of the sod dugout, used as a barn, then whirled back around. “Of course, now I see you’d make a bad wife. I need a woman who knows the meanin’ of doin’ what her husband says and where her place is, not some sassy, purdy face. Miz Walker, you ain’t got what I need. You ain’t fit for any man.”

  Swallowing another sharp retort, Lena glanced at the bucket of water in her hands and, without thinking, tossed the contents into Dagget Shafer’s face. Probably the closest thing he’d seen to a bath in a year. “Get off my land.” Venom riddled her voice. “We don’t need the likes of you.”

  For a minute she thought Dagget might strike her. She dropped the bucket, grabbed the pitchfork leaning against the dugout wall, and silently dared him to step closer.

  Dagget must have sensed she meant business because he plodded toward his mule, muttering something she couldn’t make out.

  Lena started to challenge his view of her fitness to be a wife but held her tongue. She’d run him off, and that’s what she’d intended. How could he think she’d be interested in a man who never bathed, had the manners of a pig, and refused to step inside a church? Her heart ached for his six children who no longer had a mother, but her sympathy didn’t extend to marrying their unbearable father.

  “Mama, you all right?” eleven-year-old Caleb asked, peering around the corner of a horse stall.

  She took a deep breath to settle her pounding heart as Dagget rode away, his legs flapping against the sides of the mule. “Yes, Son. I’ll be fine.”

  He picked up the empty bucket. “I’ll go fetch some more water.”

  Lena nodded and laid her hand on her son’s shoulder. “Thanks, Caleb.”

  He glanced up through serious, sky-blue eyes. “I’m glad you’re not marryin’ him, Mama. We do just fine by ourselves.”

  Suddenly the whole incident seemed funny. The thought of Dagget standing there with water dripping from his greasy beard to his dirty overalls, nary saying a word, was priceless. Caleb took to laughing too, and their mirth echoed from the sod barn’s walls.

  “We do need help,” Lena finally admitted. “But it will be by God’s hand, not by Dagget Shafer or any of the others who seem to think I’m begging for a husband.”

  “We work good together, Mama,” Caleb insisted.

  She smiled into the face of the boy who looked so much like his departed father, with the same dark brown hair and tall, lanky frame. “Right now, you, Simon, and I are doing all right, but tomorrow may bring something else. God will provide; I’m sure of it. But I need to talk to Him about the matter.”

  That night, after the embers from the cow chips no longer produced a flicker of orange-red, and the only sounds around her were her sons’ even breathing, Lena prayed for guidance.

  Oh, Lord, what do You want me to do? This place needs a man to run it, and the boys are too young. I know the men who have come asking me to marry them could run this farm proper, but Lord, none of them were fit. She shook her head in the darkness, dispelling the visions of the other two farmers who had indicated a desire to marry her. One of them was old enough to be her father, and the other reminded her of a billy goat—with a disposition to match.

  Lord, Dagget made me awful angry today, and I’m sorry to have lost my temper. I’ll apologize the next time I see him; I promise. It’s my pride, I know. I’m sorry, and I’ll do better.

  Life simply didn’t seem fair. Men could come looking for a wife, even place a notice in one of those big newspapers back East. They took advantage of women who had no one to help them when circumstances took a bad turn.

  Suddenly an idea occurred to her. If a man could find himself a bride by placing an advertisement, why couldn’t she find a husband?

  one

  Wanted: Christian husband for widow with two young boys. Must be of high moral character, refrain from drinking spirits, be even-tempered, and be able to run a farm in central Nebraska. Interested gentlemen apply by mail. Please allow two to three months for reply.

  Gabriel Hunters smoothed out the wrinkled Philadelphia Public Ledger advertisement. He’d read it several times during the past three days and had committed the words to memory. Tonight he’d crumpled it, certain the foolish notion would pass once the paper crackled in the fireplace.

  But Gabriel couldn’t rid himself of the hope bubbling between the lines of the print. He snatched the newspaper clipping from the sputtering flames, as though the words were more valuable than silver or gold.

  Something foreign had occurred to him, something contrary to his hermetic way of life. He actually wanted to respond positively to this widow. A big part of him believed a home and family might fill the emptiness in his heart. Shaking his head, Gabriel suspected God had plans for his perfunctory existence, and the thought brought a surge of unusual emotions. He felt a strange and exhilarating strength in considering a home beyond Philadelphia. Many times he’d wondered what lay outside his world of private bookkeeping, a place where gossip and malicious speech didn’t prevail.

  Glancing about the sparsely furnished room, he concluded nothing really held him in Philadelphia. Mother had passed away two years prior, and his best friends—his books—could be taken with him. God could be providing a way to obliterate the past and start anew. Certainly a pleasurable thought.

  Allowing himself to dream a trifle, Gabriel closed his eyes and imagined the tantalizing aroma of beef stew and baking bread, the sound of children’s laughter, and the sweet smile of a woman who loved him.

  He studied the newspaper clipping again. What did he know about being a husband and rearing children? He’d never courted a woman or known his own father. After much thought, he realized men had been husbands and fathers for thousands of years. Certainly it came natural.

  Another thought occurred to him. Jesus was not much younger than Gabriel when He embarked upon His ministry. Perhaps this stood as a sign from God to answer affirmatively to the widow’s notice. He could do this; the Bible would be his guide.

  The dilemma lay in farming. He rubbed his hands together. Soft. No calluses. Mother had insisted upon a small garden behind her establishment, but all he’d done was pick a few
tomatoes and green beans. The girls had managed the rest. All the work he’d ever accomplished amounted to dipping his quill into an inkwell. Gabriel grinned. The Farmers Almanac provided all the knowledge he might ever need to till the land. How difficult could it be to milk a cow or plant seeds and harvest crops? After all, men had tilled the earth since Adam and Eve. He’d spent most of his life submerged in books and had learned volumes of vital information, and he felt confident in his savvy. This new venture merely challenged his intellectual appetite.

  Gabriel stood and stepped away from his oaken desk. He surmised Lena Walker must not be endowed with qualities of beauty or she wouldn’t have had to resort to advertising for a husband. It didn’t matter, for he certainly had not been given eye-pleasing traits either.

  A husband and father. Something he’d secretly dreamed of becoming but had never thought he’d share in the blessing.

  ❧

  Monday, October 14, 1880

  Lena pulled her frayed, woolen shawl around her shoulders as a north wind whipped around the train station. She shivered, not relishing an early winter, but at least she’d have a husband to keep the fires burning and a helpmate to share in the work. How pleasant to think of conversation with someone other than two young sons—not that she didn’t appreciate their willingness to talk—but sometimes she felt hauntingly alone.

  “Mama, I hear it,” Caleb said, glancing up from where he’d bent his ear to the train track.

  “I do too,” six-year-old Simon chimed in.

  Lena felt her heart pound harder than the rhythmic sound of the Union Pacific making its way toward Archerville, a small town north of Lincoln and not far from the Platte River. Fear gripped her. What had she done? Ever since she’d accepted Gabriel Hunters’s aspirations to marry her and be a father to her sons, she’d begun to have serious doubts. Up until she’d posted her reply, the idea had sounded like a fantasy, a perfect solution to all of her woes. Of course she’d prayed for direction and felt God had led her to Mr. Hunters, but could she have misunderstood God?

  Her stomach twisted and turned. This man could be a vagrant or, worse yet, an outlaw intending on doing harm to her and her precious sons. Advertising for a husband now sounded foolish. Accepting a man’s proposal sight unseen sounded even worse. She’d be the laughingstock of the community, and that didn’t help her prideful nature.

  What had happened to her faith? Hadn’t she heard clear direction from God about the matter? She’d received more than twenty replies from interested men, but none had piqued her interest like the man she expected on board the train. With a name like Gabriel Hunters, he must be the strong, burly type. In fact, his name lent itself to that of a lumberjack. Yes, a rugged wilderness man who lived by his cunning and wits.

  Swallowing hard, she forced a smile in the direction of her lively sons. Oh, Lord, make Mr. Hunters a likeable man who’ll love my boys. They can be a handful, but oh, what joy. Both looked identical to their father, but Caleb leaned more to a compassionate nature, and Simon always ran with the wind and whatever notion that entered his mind.

  “It’s getting closer,” Simon said nearly squealing. “I wonder what Mr. Hunters looks like.”

  “I’m wondering if he’ll be friendly,” Caleb said in a chiding tone. “That’s more important.”

  “He’ll be whatever the good Lord desires for us,” Lena said. “And the Lord only wants the best for His children.”

  She felt her mouth grow dry as the train chugged down the tracks, slowly coming to a halt and carrying the in-evitable. Naturally if the man proved to be less than she expected, she’d refuse to wed him. They weren’t to be married until three days hence, which gave both of them time to consider what the future held in store. She wanted to pray with him and talk about everything. No surprises for Lena. Mr. Hunters might be taking on a ready-made family, but he was also getting a farm.

  Remembering his letter tucked inside her pocket, she fingered it lightly. His penned words echoed across her mind.

  Dear Mrs. Walker,

  This correspondence is in regards to your advertisement for a husband and father for your sons. I am thirty-six years old and have never been married, but I believe God will show me through His Word how to be a proper husband and father. I abstain from strong drink or tobacco, and I welcome the opportunity to share in your family’s life and teach your sons what little I know.

  I’ve studied agricultural methods and am prepared to be of assistance in this endeavor. I’m a modest man and not easily persuaded, but God has put our union in my heart.

  Sincerely,

  Gabriel Hunters

  Lena assumed Mr. Hunters had an excellent education from his choice of words. How magnificent for her sons. She felt truly blessed and exhilarated—until the train’s whistle sounded, the steam billowed with a spwish, and the train screeched to a halt.

  Lena well knew her ability to act hastily. Oh, Lord. I’m afraid I’ve made a terrible mistake. Please give me a sign.

  A man stepped down from the train, a tall, stout fellow who hadn’t been able to fasten his jacket. A gust of wind caused him to suck in his breath. Wiry, yellow hair, resembling straw, stuck out haphazardly from beneath a tattered hat as though he might take flight. A patch of the same barbed-wire hair sprang up from his eyebrows, ample jaws, and chin.

  Lena covered her mouth to keep from laughing, but then she saw no other man exiting the train. Oh, my, what had she done?

  The man set his bag beside him and removed his hat, clutching it close to his heart. His hair lay matted like wet chicken feathers. “Mrs. Walker,” he said, approaching her with a concerned frown. “Are you Mrs. Lena Walker?”

  “Yes, I am,” she replied and extended her hand. He grasped it lightly. It felt cold and clammy. Lena dare not look at Caleb and Simon for fear she’d burst into laughter—or tears.

  “I’m Gabriel Hunters,” he said with a gulp, his words jumping out like a squeak.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hunters.” She released her hand and gestured toward her sons. “This is Caleb; he’s eleven. And this is Simon; he’s six.”

  Oh, Lord, help them to remember their manners. Help me to remember mine!

  Mr. Hunters bent his portly frame and offered his hand first to Caleb, then to Simon. “It’s an honor to meet you, Caleb and Simon Walker. I’m looking forward to an auspicious relationship.”

  His voice trembled slightly, and Lena felt compassion tug at her heart. She hadn’t considered he might have reservations about their meeting.

  Simon’s gaze shot up at his mother. “Are we in trouble, Mama?”

  Lena gathered her shawl closer to her; the wind had taken a colder twist. “I don’t think so, Son.” She took a deep breath, hoping her ignorance didn’t show through. “Mr. Hunters, Simon isn’t sure of the meaning of auspicious.”

  Still bending at the knee, he nodded and turned his attention to the small boy. “It means successful or promising.”

  Simon’s blue eyes appeared to radiate with understanding. “Mama says a word like that when she thinks Caleb and I are doing something we shouldn’t.”

  “Suspicious?” Mr. Hunters asked.

  “Yes, Sir. That’s it. Do you like chores, Mr. Hunters? Me and Caleb get real tired of ’em, and we’re sure glad you’re here to help.” He reached out to shake Mr. Hunters’s hand again. “I see you like to eat a lot, Sir, and your clothes appear a bit tight, but never you mind. Our mama cooks real good, and she can fix your clothes when they tear.”

  “Simon,” Lena gasped, horrified. Hadn’t they talked about proper introductions all the way to Archerville?

  Mr. Hunters stood and tugged at his gaping jacket. “I apologize if my corpulent body is offensive.”

  “No, Sir. Not in the least,” Lena replied before one of the boys could embarrass her further. She assumed the meaning of corpulent had something to do with his size. “Kindly excuse my son’s bad manners. Caleb, would you like to carry Mr. Hunters’s bag to the wago
n? We can all get to know each other on the way home, and I’ll cook supper while you boys show Mr. Hunters around the farm.”

  Mr. Hunters stared anxiously at the train. “I have another bag, but it’s extremely cumbersome. Several of my books are packed inside.”

  As if hearing the man’s words, the conductor scooted out a fairly large trunk. “Right heavy this is,” he said, massaging the small of his back.

  Mr. Hunters reached for his belongings and stumbled with the weight. Lena dashed forward with Caleb and Simon, but the man fell flat on his back with his bag quivering atop his chest and rounded stomach.

  Instantly, the conductor stood by his side and removed the trunk, then helped the dazed man to his feet. Simon began to chuckle, followed by Caleb. Despite Lena’s stern looks, the two boys laughed even harder. She found it difficult to contain herself, wanting to give in to the mirth tickling through her body. Oh, Lord, surely I misunderstood!

  “Oh dear, are you all right?” she asked, trying desperately to gain control of her wavering emotions.

  Mr. Hunters shrugged his shoulders and dusted off his clothes. “Ma’am, this is definitely not the proper image I wanted to present you. I sincerely apologize for my blunder.”

  “No need to fret about it,” she said, and for the first time she caught a glimpse of his eyes—coppery brown, much like the color of autumn leaves, unusual for a person with blond hair. A second look reminded her of a frightened animal, cornered with no place to run.

  Poor Mr. Hunters, and we’re laughing at him. Immediately, she sobered. “I hope you don’t mind, but I scheduled the wedding for three days hence. I thought we could use the time to get accustomed to each other.”

  His face turned ghastly white. “Ma’am—”

  Lena gathered what had shocked him. “Sir, I intended to have you sleep in the barn until our wedding.” Her face grew hotter than a Nebraska sun in mid-July.

  He released a pent-up breath. “Those arrangements sound perfectly fine to me.”

  They moved awkwardly toward Lena’s wagon. Caleb and Simon struggled with one bag, and Mr. Hunters heaved with the trunk. Moments before, Simon had embarrassed her with his endless prattle. Now no one uttered a word.