The WESTWARD Christmas BRIDES COLLECTION: 9 Historical Romances Answer the Call of the American West
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A Christmas Prayer © 2014 by Wanda E. Brunstetter
Another Christmas Story © 2014 by Susan Page Davis
The Reluctant Runaway © 2014 by Melanie Dobson
A Stagecoach Christmas © 2014 by Cathy Liggett
Forging a Family © 2014 by Vickie McDonough
Snow Song © 2014 by Olivia Newport
Christmas, Maybe © 2014 by Janet Spaeth
The Christmas Bread © 2014 by Jennifer Rogers Spinola
Christmas Bounty © 2014 by MaryLu Tyndall
Print ISBN 978-1-62836-812-3
eBook Editions:
Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-63058-574-7
Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-63058-575-4
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted for commercial purposes, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher.
All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
Published by Barbour Books, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683, www.barbourbooks.com
Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.
Printed in Canada.
CONTENTS
A Christmas Prayer
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
Another Christmas Story
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
The Reluctant Runaway
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
Epilogue
A Stagecoach Christmas
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Forging a Family
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Snow Song
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Christmas Maybe
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
The Christmas Bread
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Christmas Bounty
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
About the Authors
A Christmas Prayer
by Wanda E. Brunstetter
Continue in prayer, and watch in the same with thanksgiving.
COLOSSIANS 4:2
Prologue
Independence, Missouri
April 15, 1850
Dear Diary,
Tomorrow Mama and I begin our journey by covered wagon to California—the land of opportunity. We are traveling with Walter Prentice, the man I’ve agreed to marry. There’s gold in California, and Walter plans to open several businesses when we get there. Walter wanted us to be married before we left New York, but I said I would rather wait until we get settled in California. After all, the dirty, dusty trail is hardly a place for a honeymoon.
When we arrived in Independence four days ago, Walter spent over $1000 for our supplies, plus the covered wagon and three oxen we will need for our nearly 2,000-mile journey west. Our prairie schooner is filled with 200 pounds of flour, 150 pounds of bacon, 10 pounds of coffee, 20 pounds of sugar, and 10 pounds of salt. We also have our basic kitchenware, which consists of a cooking kettle, frying pan, coffeepot, tin plates, cups, knives, and forks. That’s in addition to our trunks of clothes and personal items, a few small pieces of furniture, and our bedrolls, tools, and several other things we’ll need to survive on this trip. I’m glad Walter did a little research before traveling. He said it’s advised that our supplies should be kept below 2,000 pounds of total weight for the wagon so as not to tire the draft animals.
It will take us anywhere from five to six months to reach our destination, and we’ll be traveling with two other wagons, as the larger wagon train we were supposed to join left a week ago, due to the fact that we were all late getting here. Walter says it’s nothing to worry about. We’ll follow the other wagon train’s trail and should be able to catch up with them if nothing goes wrong. I shall pray every day for traveling mercies and look forward to spending this Christmas in a new land.
I’m looking forward to getting to know the people in the two wagons we’ll be with. I haven’t met any of them yet, but Walter has. He said a widowed man with two small children owns one of the wagons, and the other wagon is owned by a young single man and his sister. The men will get together in the morning to decide whose wagon will lead and which of them will be in charge of our small group and act as the scout.
Cynthia Cooper stopped writing and sighed. Knowing Walter, he’d probably insist that he be in charge. But then, what did he really know about wilderness travel? While Walter owned two stores in New York City and had a good head when it came to business ventures, as far as Cynthia was aware, he knew nothing about leading a wagon train, even a small one such as theirs.
As she pushed a wayward curl under her nightcap, a vision of Walter came to mind. At thirty-five, Walter had small ears compared to most men, and his nose was thin and kind of birdlike. Many men his age sported a beard, or at least a moustache, but he chose to be clean shaven. His light brown hair had already begun to recede, although his sideburns were thick. Walter’s most outstanding feature was his closely set brown eyes. Sometimes when he looked at Cynthia in a certain way, she felt as if he could see right into her soul and know what she was thinking. When Walter studied Cynthia in that manner,
she shivered, and not in a good way.
Cynthia didn’t think Walter was ugly. He just wasn’t the handsome man she’d dreamed of marrying; not to mention that he was fifteen years older than her. Walter seemed more like an uncle or big brother, if she had one, that is. Unfortunately, Cynthia was an only child.
Cynthia hadn’t agreed to become Walter’s wife because she loved him. She would become Mrs. Walter Prentice so she and Mama would be taken care of financially. Truthfully, she was doing it mostly for Mama’s sake. When Papa died from an unexpected illness six months ago, they’d been left almost penniless. Unbeknownst to Cynthia and her mother, Papa had taken part in a business venture that went sour, and he’d used up all their savings. In hindsight, they realized the stress from all that may have been what killed him, but it was one of those things they’d never know for sure.
Since Papa’s death, poor Mama had been forced to take in boarders in order to put food on their table. Struggling for six months might not seem very long, but it was difficult for a woman who’d been used to the finer things in life. Walter, whom they’d met at a social function before Papa’s untimely death, had saved the day when he’d asked Cynthia to marry him.
Pulling her gaze back to the journal, Cynthia finished her entry:
I’m looking forward to our trip to California for the adventure of going someplace I haven’t been before. It will be exciting to see new things along the way, and good to start over. It was always Papa’s dream to see the West, so I’m sure he would be happy to know Mama and I have the opportunity to make this trek. My only regret is that Papa isn’t going with us.
Cynthia set her pen and paper aside and placed one hand against her chest. Oh, Papa, I miss you so much. No matter where I go, you’ll always be here in my heart.
Chapter 1
Three days out of Independence
Papa, I’m tired.”
Jack Simpson glanced at his four-year-old son, Alan, slumped on the wagon seat beside his sister. Amelia, who was six, stared straight ahead, seemingly unmindful of her brother. Of course, Jack’s daughter had been unresponsive to most things since she’d witnessed her mother’s tragic death six months ago. Jack’s precious wife, Mary, had been crossing the street in their hometown of Cedar Rapids, Iowa, and was struck down by a team of runaway horses pulling a supply wagon. Clem Jones, owner of the wagon, hadn’t tied the horses securely enough. Poor little Amelia, waiting across the street with her grandma, had watched in horror as her mother was knocked to the ground and trampled to death. Since that time, the child had not uttered a word.
Jack, struggling with his own grief plus trying to keep some sense of normalcy in his children’s life, could only hope this trip west might be the turning point for Amelia. There was no doubt that Alan was excited about the trip and a new place to live. The boy had been bursting at the seams waiting to head west ever since Jack first mentioned the trip to his children. Truth was, Jack needed the change, too, and looked forward to joining his brother, Dan, already in California, where he’d established a cattle ranch.
Being a hog farmer, Jack knew a thing or two about pigs, but not much concerning the business of raising cattle. He was eager to learn, though, and would do his best to help Dan make a go of things. Jack just needed to get his little family and all their belongings safely to their destination.
“Papa, I’m tired,” Alan repeated, bumping Jack’s arm as he guided their team of oxen down the trail. “Can’t them ox move faster?”
“Why don’t ya crawl in the back and lie down?” Jack suggested. “Amelia, you can go, too, if you’re tired. It shouldn’t be much longer before we stop to make camp.”
Alan scrambled over the seat and into the back of their wagon, but Amelia, her long auburn locks moving slightly as she shook her head, remained seated.
Will my little girl ever speak to me again? Jack wondered as he held on to the reins, bringing up the rear of their three-wagon train. He drew in a deep breath, trying to focus on the wagon ahead, driven by a stuffy city slicker from New York who thought he knew a lot about everything but probably knew very little about roughing it. The man’s name was Walter Prentice, and his traveling companions were a woman named Mable and her daughter, Cynthia, who was Walter’s fiancée. Jack had only spoken to Cynthia briefly, but she seemed nice enough. She was pretty, too, and from the way she talked, Jack figured she didn’t know much about roughing it either. It would be a miracle if this refined group ahead of him made it to California at all. Thank goodness, back in Independence when the men drew names to see who would lead out, the man in the first wagon got the luck of the draw. Jack was pretty sure Cole Edwards knew a lot more about driving a team of oxen than Walter Prentice did.
Cole had never been one to take the easy way out, and he knew heading to California in search of gold wasn’t going to be easy. But he was tired of the long hours he put in at his blacksmith’s shop in Kutztown, Pennsylvania, and the money he hoped to make in the gold mines near Sutter’s Mill would make the trip worth every mile and inconvenience. If he didn’t make his fortune in gold, he could always fall back on his blacksmith’s trade. He just hoped his sister was up for this trip.
Sitting astride his sturdy quarter horse, Blaze, Cole glanced back at Virginia, whom he’d nicknamed Ginny when they were children. She sat on the seat of their covered wagon, looking this way and that, as though trying to take in everything on all sides of the trail. Skillfully, she guided their oxen as if she’d been doing it all her life. While Cole’s twenty-six-year-old sister wasn’t as adventuresome as him, she’d been willing to make this trip, despite negative protests from their parents. Virginia had been teaching school for the past six years and hoped to teach when they got to California. Having been jilted by Clay Summers, the man she’d planned to marry, Virginia told Cole she was ready for a change. In fact, she desperately needed it.
At the age of twenty-four, Cole had courted a few young women but none who’d held his interest or captured his heart. Most women he knew wanted to settle in to a nice little house with a white picket fence. They weren’t seeking adventure the way Cole was, and he wasn’t ready to settle in and accept the mediocre comforts in life. He wanted more and aimed to get it.
“You doin’ okay, Ginny?” he called. “Do ya need me to take over awhile? I can tie my horse to the back of the wagon.”
Smiling, she shook her head. “Thanks, Cole, but I’m fine.”
Cole smiled in response. His sister had a determined spirit. She would do fine out West. He wasn’t so sure about the two refined ladies in the wagon behind him though. Three days out and they looked exhausted. They obviously weren’t used to sitting on a hard bench or walking long hours every day. The fancy fellow accompanying them didn’t look much better, although he was trying to put on a brave front and acted like quite the know-it-all. Cole wondered if the high-and-mighty Mr. Prentice would be so confident after they had several weeks of traveling under their belts. It was a good thing Walter wasn’t trying to lead the way. He’d probably have them lost already.
Glancing upward, Cole noticed dark clouds. No doubt a storm was coming, and he wanted to be sure they were safely camped before it hit. “Ginny, I’m goin’ out ahead and find a good spot for the night,” he called. Then Cole turned his horse around and went back to tell those in the other wagons.
“Are you okay, Mama?” Cynthia asked, concerned when she noticed lines of fatigue on her mother’s face. “You look awfully tired.”
“Mable is fine, and so am I.” Walter spoke up before Cynthia’s mother had a chance to respond. “We have a long journey ahead of us, and we need to toughen up. Otherwise, we won’t make it to California. We haven’t been on the trail a week yet and have hundreds of miles ahead of us.”
“That may be true, but I believe my mother can speak for herself.” Cynthia patted her mother’s hand affectionately.
“I’m fine, dear,” Mama replied, reaching up to touch the bun at the back of her head. “No need to worry abo
ut me. It takes some time getting used to sitting on this hard bench, and walking is just as uncomfortable. But I’ll make it—we all will.”
Cynthia smiled. Her mother might be slender and petite, but she had a determined spirit. Mama’s brown hair and eyes were accentuated by her oval face, thick dark eyebrows, and thin lips. Except for their slender build, Cynthia and Mama looked nothing alike. Cynthia had inherited her father’s curly auburn hair and green eyes. Even the two dimples in her right cheek came from Papa.
Looking back at Mama, Cynthia noted that even at the age of forty-five, her mother was still an attractive woman. It was unlikely she would ever marry again. Mama had been deeply in love with Papa and said that no one could take his place. That’s what Cynthia had always wished for, too, but it seemed she’d never know the kind of love her mother and father had.
It doesn’t matter whether Mama remarries or not, Cynthia thought. Once Walter and I are married, Mama won’t have to worry about anything, for she’ll be well taken care of.
Cynthia glanced at Walter wiping some dust from his eyes with his clean, crisp, monogrammed handkerchief. His expression was one of determination. She knew with a certainty that his desperation to get to California was about the money he planned to make. She guessed she couldn’t blame him for that. After all, everyone needed money these days—some just wanted it more than others. Walter was one of those who measured people by their wealth and social standing.
Cole Edwards, the man who was leading their little group, was also after money; only his would be earned by the sweat of his brow as he searched for gold. That wasn’t to say Walter was lazy; he just didn’t work as hard physically as some men she knew. Walter had a good head for business though.
Just then, Cole pulled his horse alongside their flat-bedded wagon made of hardwood and covered with canvas like the others. “Just wanted to let you folks know that I’m ridin’ up ahead to find a good place to take shelter for the night. It’ll be dark soon, and there’s a storm brewin’.”
“It doesn’t look as if a storm is coming,” Walter said.
“Take a closer look. See those clouds?” Cole looked at Walter with piercing blue eyes, as if daring him to question his decision. “If we get caught out here in the pouring rain, the trail will be muddy, and it’ll bog us down. It doesn’t take much for these wagon wheels to get stuck in the mud. Best to stop for the night and hope the rain lets up.”