The WESTWARD Christmas BRIDES COLLECTION: 9 Historical Romances Answer the Call of the American West

by Wanda E. Brunstetter, Susan Page Davis, Melanie Dobson, Cathy Liggett, Vickie McDonough, Olivia Newport, Janet Spaeth, Jennifer Rogers Spinola

  “But he’s several years younger than you, Mama, and he’s not a very nice man.”

  “I’ll admit, he does have some irritating ways, but he’s smart and rich, and …”

  “Did you make this decision for your sake or mine?” Cynthia asked.

  “Both. I knew you didn’t love Walter, but we still need his financial support, so I figured it would be better if I married him, leaving you free to marry the man of your choice. Besides, I think Walter and I will get along quite well together. We both know what it takes to run a business, although my boarding home was small by comparison. Still, Walter and I have a lot of other things in common that involve the finer things in life.”

  Cynthia couldn’t argue with that. Ever since she was a girl, she’d known that her mother fit better with high society ladies than some of the more down-to-earth, common women who’d attended their church in New York. “Are you absolutely sure that marrying Walter is the right thing to do?” she questioned.

  “Yes,” Mama replied.

  Cynthia gave her mother a hug. “If that’s what you want, then I wish you and Walter well. But I want you to know that when we get to California I plan to look for a job. There is no way I will let Walter provide for me as his stepdaughter.”

  Mama patted Cynthia’s arm. “Let’s not talk about that right now. I think we should get back inside where it’s warm and finish that good meal we took all morning to prepare.” She giggled. “The way Abe was eating, there may not be much left.”

  “You go ahead,” Cynthia said. “I want to stay out here awhile longer.”

  “But it’s cold, and looks like it might start snowing again,” Mama argued.

  “I’ll be fine. If I get chilled, I will come back inside. Right now I don’t feel like eating.”

  Mama hesitated, but then she turned and headed back to the cabin.

  Cynthia released a deep sigh. If Mama was determined to marry Walter, there wasn’t much she could do about it. She needed to pray about her own situation and give it time to sink in.

  Cole waited until everyone was finished eating; then he mentioned that they needed more firewood and would head outside to get it.

  “I’ll get it!” Jack jumped up, put on his jacket, and hurried out the door before Cole could say another word.

  So much for getting a chance to speak with Cynthia alone, Cole thought. She’d acted strangely during dinner, and he wanted to find out if something was wrong. If he worked up the nerve, he might have a talk with her about Walter—see if he could persuade Cynthia to break her engagement to Mr. Fancy Pants and agree to marry him. Of course that was probably a dumb idea, because a refined lady like her probably wouldn’t want to be married to a blacksmith who was going on a quest for gold. But if he didn’t ask, he’d never know whether he had even the slightest chance with Cynthia, the first woman to capture his heart.

  Cole gulped down the cup of coffee his sister offered him. Then, using the excuse that someone should help Jack get more firewood, he put on his jacket and went out the door.

  When Cole stepped into the snow-covered yard, he was surprised to see Jack standing beside his wagon next to Cynthia. What surprised Cole even more was seeing them embracing. “That’s just great,” he mumbled, kicking a hunk of ice under his boot. Shoulda known if she was gonna pick anyone it would have to be Jack. Guess he’s better suited to her than me, and I know she really likes his kids. May as well take it like a man and give ’em my best wishes.

  As Cole approached Jack’s wagon, the couple broke their embrace and whirled around to look at Cole with surprised expressions.

  “Oh, Cole, you startled me,” Cynthia said.

  Jack nodded. “Same here. Didn’t hear ya come out, I guess.”

  “No, don’t suppose you did.” Cole’s irritation mounted. “Looked to me like you two were pretty busy when I came outside.” He looked Jack in the eyes. “Thought ya said you had no romantic interest in Cynthia, and that you believed I oughta keep my feelings for her quiet ’cause she was promised to Walter.”

  “Never said that exactly,” Jack replied. “Just said—”

  “I’m not going to marry Walter,” Cynthia spoke up.

  “Y–you’re not?” Cole stammered. If he weren’t so upset with seeing Jack and Cynthia together, he’d have leapt for joy.

  She shook her head. “Walter thinks I’m too immature for him, and he’s decided to marry my mother instead.”

  Cole bit his lip to keep from laughing out loud. He couldn’t imagine Mr. Fancy Pants married to Mable Cooper any more than he could her daughter. “Your mother agreed to this?” he asked, looking at Cynthia with raised brows.

  She nodded. “And for your information, Jack was only hugging me because I gave him some advice.”

  Cole’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of advice?”

  “She was advising me to admit to your sister that I’ve come to care for her,” Jack said.

  Cole blinked a couple of times. “You’re in love with Ginny?”

  “That’s right. I just haven’t worked up the nerve to tell her yet.” Jack raked his fingers through the ends of his thick hair. “I’m afraid she might not return my feelings.”

  Cole thumped Jack’s back. “If I know Ginny like I think I do, I’ve got a hunch she’s smitten with you, too.”

  “Do ya think so?” A wide smiled stretched across Jack’s face. “Think I’ll go inside and see if Virginia would like to take a walk with me.”

  Cole grinned. “That’s the best idea you’ve had all day.”

  As Jack headed for the cabin, Cole drew in a deep breath then cleared his throat. If he was going to talk to Cynthia, it had to be now, because with them all being cooped up in the cabin like they were, he may not have another chance to tell her the way he felt. “Umm … Cynthia, there’s somethin’ I’d like to say.”

  “What’s that?” she asked, smiling up at him.

  “It’s not snowing right now,” he said, feeling suddenly tongue-tied.

  She gave a slow nod, looking across the land. “I’ve noticed.”

  Cole jammed his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels.

  “Is something troubling you?” Cynthia inquired.

  “Yes. No. Well, you see … The thing is … I’m in love with you, Cynthia, but I’ve kept my feelings hidden ’cause I knew you were promised to Walter, and I didn’t know if you felt anything for me.”

  Cynthia tilted her head back and gazed at Cole in such a way that it made his toes curl inside his cold boots. “I do care for you, Cole. Very much, in fact. But until a few hours ago, when Walter revealed his plans to marry Mama, I wasn’t free to even dream of a relationship with another man, let alone express the way I feel.”

  As the snow began to fall, Cole lifted Cynthia’s chin and kissed her gently on the lips. “I don’t have much to offer, and there’s no guarantee that I’ll make it rich searching for gold, but when we get to California, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  She nodded slowly, tears welling in her pretty eyes. “I’d like that very much.” Cynthia sighed and leaned her head against his chest. “What a wonderful day this has been. My Christmas prayer was answered in more ways than one.”

  Epilogue

  One year later

  Dear Diary,

  Cole and I found out that we’re expecting a baby. What a joyous way to celebrate Christmas, knowing that next year at this time we’ll have the laughter of a child filling our humble home here in Northern California.

  Cole’s plan of getting rich in the gold fields didn’t pan out as he’d planned, but he made enough money to open a blacksmith’s shop and build us a small home. The spirit of adventure we both felt when we first came here is still with us, only our focus is not on making money, but enjoying one another, helping others, and worshiping God, who has blessed us immeasurably.

  I saw Mama the other day, and she seems happy being married to Walter. It didn’t take him long to get a general
store going, and more recently he’s opened a hotel with a restaurant. Mama stays busy helping Walter at the hotel and hosting various social events.

  Last week I received a letter from Virginia. Jack is busy helping his brother with the cattle ranch, and Virginia’s time is taken up caring for Amelia and Alan. She said Alan can’t wait until he’s bigger and can go on cattle drives with his dad and uncle Dan. Virginia’s also teaching at the one-room schoolhouse not far from their home. She sounds happy and has settled into her life as a cattle rancher’s wife.

  The mountain man Abe, whose cabin we stayed in last year, came to see us this fall. We invited him to stay, but he said his place is with his wife’s Shoshone tribe, and that he won’t be going back to his cabin to live again. He will check it from time to time and leave the place stocked with supplies that might be helpful to any other pioneers who may need a shelter during a storm.

  Cynthia stopped writing and placed her hand against her stomach. She felt such peace. It was hard to believe that just a year ago things were so uncertain.

  Thank You, Lord, for answering my prayers—not just at Christmas, but every day of the year.

  Another Christmas Story

  by Susan Page Davis

  Chapter 1

  Nebraska Territory in what is now Wyoming

  1856

  Dust hovered in the air as the wagons lumbered along, and Beryl Jenner coughed. Her shoulders ached from holding the reins all day. Usually her father drove the team of six mules, but he’d ridden off that morning with four other men to hunt. Fresh meat would be welcome, but her father’s presence would be even better.

  “Sam, do you see them yet?” she called over her shoulder.

  Her little brother had been playing in the back of the wagon and keeping her posted whenever he saw anything interesting outside the canvas cover.

  “Not yet,” came his muffled voice, still babyish though he was four years old, going on five.

  Beryl heard him scrambling over the crates and sacks in the wagon bed.

  “Can I get down for a while?” Sam asked, squeezing out between her arm and the front curved wagon bow.

  Beryl wished she could climb down from the wagon seat and stretch her legs, too. Normally, she and Sam walked most of the day and chatted with the other women and children on the train, but their father’s absence kept them both cooped up today.

  “Not unless you find someone you can walk with. Do you see Mrs. Markham?”

  “No.” Sam steadied himself with a hand on her shoulder and stood on the seat beside her, squinting as he studied the scene around them. Straight ahead of their mule team, another wagon rolled along the rutted trail. Leaning to the side, Beryl could see trees and bluffs ahead, which probably meant they would be crossing the river again. Pa would find them at the encampment if the men came in late from the hunt. But she had no confidence in her own ability to get the wagon across the river without his expertise.

  Sam sighed and crouched down. “All I see is Danny Bowden and his brother.”

  “Well, those boys aren’t big enough to watch you.”

  Sam climbed over the seat back, into the wagon bed. Beryl could hear him working his way to the rear. She arched her back in an effort to ease the strain on her muscles. She hoped they would make camp soon—on this side of the river. Then she could leave this hard, unyielding board seat. Of course, she would have to unhitch the team if Pa hadn’t returned, and care for them before making a fire and getting supper.

  “There they are,” Sam yelled.

  Beryl tried to see around the wagon cover, but it was hopeless. She turned back to her driving, though the mules plodded along with little guidance so long as the wagon ahead kept on at a steady pace.

  To her right, two horses loped past. One rider had a gutted antelope slung behind his saddle. Beryl smiled. Her father was on his way. Several people called out to the men, but they didn’t stop. Instead, they rode on toward the head of the column. Beryl felt a twinge of unease. One of the hunters was Mr. Arnold, and she knew his wagon was two behind the Jenners’.

  She turned her head and called, “Sam! Do you see Pa yet?”

  “Nope.”

  Beryl pushed the brim of her bonnet back and wiped her brow with a grimy handkerchief. She hoped they would stop long enough to do laundry soon.

  A few minutes later, the wagon master, Mr. Etherton, rode back along the train, calling out to the drivers, “We’ll make camp a half mile on, near the water.”

  It wasn’t until she had driven her team into position in the wagon circle and begun to unhitch the mules that Mr. Etherton approached her, accompanied by Mr. Arnold.

  “Miss Jenner?”

  “Yes?” She turned toward them with a tight smile, still fumbling with the straps on one of the leaders’ bridles.

  “I’m afraid I have some bad news,” Mr. Etherton said.

  Beryl’s heart seemed to melt. “My father?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  She glanced about for Sam and remembered she had sent him with Mr. Bowden and Danny to fetch water.

  “Tell me.”

  “Perhaps you should sit down,” Mr. Etherton said, taking her arm.

  At the side of the wagon, she let down the shelf they called the “lazy board” and sat on it. She looked up at the wagon master. The hunter hung back, as if reluctant to take part in the conversation.

  “Now tell me,” she said. “Is he dead?”

  “No, but gravely injured. There was an accident.”

  “A hunting accident?” So many things could happen on an emigrant train. In the last two months, she had seen men thrown from their horses, a boy gored by an ox, a woman who drowned, and a man who fell from a cliff.

  “Yes.”

  She hauled in a deep breath. “What happened?”

  “A horse spooked when your father fired at a pronghorn. The rider fell, and apparently in doing so, he discharged his rifle. The bullet hit your father from the side, just above the waist. I’m sorry, Miss Jenner. They say it looks bad.”

  Beryl jumped up. “Where is he?”

  “They’re bringing him in slowly.”

  Beryl rose and walked to the gap between her wagon and the one behind and stared out at their back trail. The wagon master went with her. The dust was still thick in the air.

  “What shall I do?” Beryl asked.

  Mr. Etherton pushed his hat back, frowning. “I’ll ask Mrs. Bond to be ready to help you with him.”

  Beryl took small comfort from that. Mrs. Bond was the closest they had to a doctor among the thirty-seven wagons. She was good at birthing and tending the sick, but a critical wound?

  “We’re only ten miles from Chiswell Rock. There may be someone there with more skill. We’ll reach the trading post by noon tomorrow.”

  “Will you send a rider ahead tonight?” Beryl asked. “If they have a doctor …”

  “There’s no settlement,” Mr. Etherton said. “But there might be other trains that have stopped there. You never know. I’ll send the scout now.” He strode away. Mr. Arnold had already faded into the dusk, no doubt to help his wife unhitch and tell her what had happened.

  Sam! Beryl hurried out between the wagons. She lifted her skirt and ran toward the river path, where her brother and the Bowdens had gone. She had to tell Sam before he heard it from someone else.

  James Lassen watched his mother climb into an emigrant wagon. He pitied the family inside. The train’s scout had ridden in the previous evening, his horse in a lather, desperate for a doctor. James’s father, Wolf Lassen, had the unpleasant task of telling him no medical help was available.

  This morning the train had crawled into sight and circled for nooning in the field set aside for the purpose across the trail. The injured man’s wagon had driven right up to the door of the trading post.

  His mother poked her head out the back and called to him.

  “James, come and take the boy.”

  Curious, James hurried across the yard
. Inside the covered wagon, his mother was holding the hand of a youngster of about four. Tears and dirt streaked the child’s face as he tugged against her grip.

  “I wanna stay with Pa.”

  “I’m sorry, Samuel,” James’s mother said gently. “It’s best if you let me and your sister tend to him for a while. My boy James will take you inside and give you a peppermint stick.” She looked down at James. “Just lift him down, please. His name is Samuel Jenner. His father’s in a bad way.”

  James raised his arms to the little boy, who eyed him distrustfully.

  From farther back in the wagon, a hushed, musical voice said, “It’s all right, Sam. You can go with Mr. Lassen. He’ll mind you well for a little while, and then I’ll come and get you.”

  Sam looked back at her and whimpered. “Beryl …”

  James arched his eyebrows at his mother. “Barrel?”

  “His sister’s name is Beryl,” she whispered. “It’s a gem.”

  “Oh.” James tucked that away to think about later. “So, Sam, let’s go, pard. I’ll get you that candy, and you can help me and my pa in the store.”

  The little boy leaned toward him, and James lifted him over the wagon’s tailboard and set him on the ground. Sam swiped at his dirty face with a sleeve.

  James pulled out his folded bandana, shook it, and held it out to Sam. “Here you go.”

  Sam looked at it for a moment then took it and wiped his eyes and the rest of his face. The tear streaks were gone now, but his cheeks were smeared with dirt, and his eyelids remained puffy.

  By this time, other people from the wagon train were making their way on foot from the encampment to the trading post.

  “Come on,” James said. They always had an hour or two of confusion and bustle when a train first arrived and the people wanted to replenish their supplies.

  His father and the scout were chatting near the counter when James took the boy inside. The room was dim compared to the searing sunlight outside. He let Sam stand still for a moment to blink and let his eyes adjust.