Mail Order Promises

by Julianna Blake

  The unspeakable happened, and her family shunned her…

  When her world is turned upside down, Lilly Watkins escapes to Montana to become a mail order bride. She longs to find a peaceful, safe haven in the arms of the blacksmith Jake Morgan, and never again speak of the outrage committed against her.

  Jake has lived a bitter and lonely life for years, afraid to trust his broken heart to another woman. He's ready to give love one last try, and the only thing he wants is an honest woman he can trust—lovely, sweet Lilly seems to be the perfect fit. But someone is watching Lilly, and her secret isn't the only thing that could destroy them…

  [A sweet historical romance novel of 73,841 words. Although it contains NO sexual content whatsoever, this book is NOT Christian or Inspirational, and there may be allusions to mild sexual tension.]

  Mail Order Promises

  Montana Mail Order Brides * Book 2

  by Julianna Blake

  Copyright 2013 Julianna Blake

  Published by Timeless Hearts Press

  Mail Order Runaway, Book 3 in the Montana Mail Order Brides series, available now!

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  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

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  Parker Hill area, Boston, Massachusetts

  March, 1890

  Pain seared her skin as the picket tops raked her legs. She struggled to gather her ripped skirt and petticoat as she straddled the white picket fence, stretching her left foot to reach the ground on the other side. Her torn pantaloons offered little protection against the rough picket fence, leaving her calves unprotected. Even her wool stockings sagged to her ankles.

  At last she teetered over the fence, scraping her legs more as she fell. She held back a groan of pain. Her body ached in so many places—not only from the fall, but from the blows rained down upon her only minutes before.

  Has it only been minutes? It felt like hours as she ran for her life. Time had slowed for her, and her every sense had been alert for his footsteps behind, closing in. But she had outrun him at last…or he had given up.

  At least, she thought he had. She hoped he had.

  She looked up at the house, cringing as she waited to see if anyone in the house had heard. I should have just used the gate. What was I thinking?

  She wasn’t thinking. Not clearly, anyway. She’d worried that the unbearably loud squeak of the gate—which her mother constantly nagged her father to remedy—would alert her parents to her arrival, so she’d chosen to climb over instead. She hadn’t hopped the garden fence since she was a child, long before her days of wearing a corset, and apparently it wasn’t a skill that could go unpracticed.

  The noise she’d made as she fell to the soggy ground had seemed deafening in her own ears, but as she stilled—for the briefest of moments—and listened, she heard only the noise of a carriage on some street in the distance, and the infrequent yap of a neighbor’s dog a few houses down.

  As she clambered to her feet, she realized her skirt was tangled in the rose canes—the dead-looking, thorny stems that protruded from the thin layer of icy snow. She was at the edge of her mother’s beloved rose garden, and her hem was tangled on the thorns.

  Freeing it took endless seconds as she bloodied her hands trying to tear herself free—all the while expecting a rough hand to grasp her by the shoulder. But it didn’t come, and she finally managed to free herself.

  Picking up her skirts, she rushed across the lawn, her boots swishing across the new grass that poked through the melting slush. She avoided the flagstone path, and tip-toed up the steps to the back door. Fortunately her father maintained the house doors better than the gate, and she opened the door silently, slipping into the house.

  She heard her mother and father speaking quietly in the parlor. In her mind’s eye she could see her father sitting in his wing chair, reading in the lamplight, enjoying the crackling fire. Her mother would be sitting beside him, knitting. They would have no idea what had happened to their oldest daughter as they chatted amiably in the cozy parlor and waited.

  They were waiting for her, as they always did.

  She turned and carefully locked the back door behind her, the snick of the lock loud in the dark, silent kitchen. She heaved a sigh of relief that threatened to turn into a hysterical sob, until she managed to choke it back.

  The tears drying on her cheeks were joined by a fresh stream as her vision blurred. She blinked the tears back and prayed her brother and sister had already gone to their rooms for the night. Making her way through the kitchen to the back steps, she crept upstairs slowly, avoiding the places where she knew the wood might creak.

  She was home. She was safe.

  But she had no idea her ordeal was not yet over.

  Chapter 1

  Just west of Dickinson, North Dakota

  Saturday, June 14, 1890

  Lilly closed her book and laid it on her lap. It was no use pretending, she just couldn’t focus on the words. Her stomach was in knots, and all she could think about was what lay ahead for her.

  When she first boarded the train in Boston, she felt a wave of relief as the locomotive chugged out of the station. As the miles fell away, her relief grew, until at last she felt almost at peace. That had lasted for the first several days of the trip, and she’d been able to enjoy the scenery and the occasional conversations with passengers.

  Then somewhere past the mid-point of the journey, her fears returned as she fretted over what might be in store for her. What would her new husband be like? Would she meet his expectations? Would he be kind? Mrs. Gardner had assured her that Mrs. Porter always screened the husbands well, and that they went through the same interview process that Lilly had, and therefore Lilly shouldn’t need to worry on that front. But she did worry. She was marrying a stranger, and she knew only too well that even men you thought you knew weren’t always what they seemed.

  Having a husband who was kind and would care for her was the most important thing to Lilly, but she also worried about many other things—some were important, and some inconsequential. What did his home look like? Would he be ugly? Would he think she was ugly? And what about the wedding night?

  She shivered at the thought. She didn’t even have the benefit of knowing what to do, or what would be expected of her. There had been no opportunity for a mother-daughter talk about what a husband expected on his wedding night.

  Her mother didn’t even know where she’d gone. Not specifically. Lilly had only told her parents the night before she left, about her plans to travel to Montana and become a mail order bride. Her mother had cried, begging her to think about what she was doing. Her father had ranted, and finally told Lilly that she would stay and marry Theodore Bennett, as she was told. If one more word was said about leaving, she would never be welcome in his house again.

  She will be no daughter of mine! He had pounded the table for emphasis, shaking loose a strand o
f thin but well-oiled hair.

  Lilly had stood and left the dining room without a word.

  The next day she was on the train, headed west.

  Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them back, and turned to look out the train window.

  “First time?” a wavering voice said from across the aisle.

  It was the old woman who had boarded in Fargo. She smiled benignly at Lilly.

  “Excuse me?”

  “First time out West?” the woman chuckled. “Yes, yes, it’s written all over your face. You look terrified. Either it’s your first time out west, or your first time on a train. You look like you’re about to be led to the executioner’s rope.”

  Lilly gave her a tight smile. “Both. But I’ve been on the train for weeks now, so I’m used to it. Well—I am used to it, but I’m not so sure about my stomach. The never-ending motion really gets to me.”

  “Oh, me too, my dear.” She patted her own stomach, then smiled. “I’m Esme Abernathy.”

  Lilly returned Mrs. Abernathy’s smile. “Lillibeth Watkins.”

  “So you’re from back East? Coast or inland?”

  “The coast. Or near to it. Massachusetts.”

  “Oh my, that’s a long trip. I visited Boston once, as a young girl, when my family lived in Pennsylvania. Nice place, if you like cities. Myself, I don’t like ‘em. And I imagine it’s much more crowded now than it was in the 1830s.” She laughed, followed by a dry cough.

  “I suppose it is getting a bit crowded, but where I live there’s still a bit of farmland nearby. I like the city, though. Sometimes I wished we lived in the busier part of town, where there is more going on.”

  “Ahh, a born city girl? Then what brings you out to the wilds of North Dakota?”

  “Montana, actually. I’m…” she hesitated, wondering if she’d sound foolish. “I’m…getting married.”

  “Oh, how exciting!” Esme’s smile broadened. “And your fella moved out West to make a fresh start before you joined him?”

  “No, he’s lived there quite a while. He’s a blacksmith.”

  “How did you meet? Did he travel to Boston?”

  “No…we…uh…” Lilly could feel the blush creeping up her neck. “We met through a correspondence agency.”

  “You don’t say! A mail order bride?” The woman’s mouth dropped open. “My, my, I always wondered what would make a woman travel across the country to marry a fella she ain’t ever met before. I heard of a man, my neighbor’s brother, who ordered himself a bride once. Turned out she was an ugly duckling, and had sent a picture of her prettier, younger sister to her intended. The poor man was so angry, he put her right back on the next train.”

  Lilly’s stomach turned sour. “He did?” I’m going to be sick.

  The woman must have realized her error. “Oh now, don’t you worry about that dear.” She got up unsteadily and shuffled over to sit in the empty seat next to Lilly. “You’re a lovely girl. A man would have to have rocks in his head to send back an enchanting girl like you. He only sent her back because she lied—he said he might have kept her, despite her poor looks, but he couldn’t trust her. You won’t have to worry about that.” She patted Lilly’s hand.

  Won’t I? She bit her lip and looked out the window again. Guilt washed over her. She’d known she probably wasn’t worthy of the man she was engaged to marry, but she’d never thought that he might turn her away. She had planned to tell her husband-to-be of her dark secret right before they married…or at the very least, after they’d married and gotten used to each other. But what if he turned her out on the street?

  I can’t go back to Boston. I can’t!

  She knew then that she could never tell him.

  ***

  Helena, Montana

  Monday, June 16, 1890

  The bell jingled above Jake Morgan’s head as he entered the butcher shop. Inside, he saw Clay Porter finishing up with Bob Cramer, while Herman Kirschner, the former owner of the butcher shop who was like a second father to the Porters, helped a middle-aged woman at the other end of the counter.

  “Wow, Porter, you finally got that new sign you wanted!”

  The man with light brown hair, wearing a stained white apron, flashed a wide grin from behind the counter. “Yep, you bet. We’re getting all classy and modern in here. Cost me a mint, but it’s helping sales already. And it matches the wagon, too.”

  “She’s a beauty, that’s for sure.”

  Jake could see that the shop business had improved quite a bit since Porter took it over from Kirschner two years before. Mr. Kirschner had been too sick to keep up with it. He lived with the Porters still, above the shop, and since he now had Mrs. Porter looking after him, his health had improved and he still enjoyed helping out in the shop.

  “So, Morgan, what are you doing here? Tomorrow is the day! Shouldn’t you be pacing a hole in your floor, working off the nervous energy?” Porter laughed at his own joke. He enjoyed ribbing Jake about his growing tension.

  “Ha, ha. Don’t tempt me. I’m already making the horses skittish when I shoe them, I’m so fidgety. I just came in to pick up a nice piece of meat for when Miss Watkins gets here.”

  “I’ve got just the thing—a nice roast on sale—unless you wanted steaks.”

  “No, a roast sounds perfect. I’ve learned to be a fairly good cook in the last few years, and I’d like to show off for her and give her a day off before she starts in cooking every day for us…but let’s not risk things. Knowing me, I’ll be so flustered that I’ll burn the steaks. A slow-cooked roast simmering on the back of the stove seems like a safer option.”

  “I agree,” Clay laughed. “And don’t worry—a week from now, you’ll be settled down, and wonder what you were so worried about in the first place.”

  “Easy for you to say. By the time you married Mrs. Porter, you knew her well enough and knew that she loved you. I really have no idea what I’m getting into. Seeing a photograph and reading a couple of letters is no guarantee we’ll get along. And things didn’t go so well the first time around for me.” Jake pulled at the collar of his soot-streaked work shirt, having a hard time pulling in a breath as the anxiety hit him again.

  “Aw, no need to worry about that. Like Madeline told you, her friend back in Boston checks out all the girls just as well as she checked you out. And didn’t you sweat bullets through that interview, as I recall?”

  “True. I felt a bit like a bug under a magnifying glass. No offense, Mrs. Porter.” He nodded as the woman waddled into the room, big with child, and carrying her daughter, who was little more than an infant herself.

  Jake admired how hard Madeline Porter worked. While the farm wives didn’t have much choice but to work through their pregnancy, Mrs. Porter could easily do as many of the town women did when they expected their first child, and just settle in upstairs in their apartment home above the butcher shop, putting her feet up when she wasn’t tending to her little one or the necessary housework.

  But Mrs. Porter was in the store almost every day, in addition to running her marriage correspondence business and taking care of her family. Some women in town criticized her behind her back for what they called her “inappropriate ambitions.” He could only hope his own bride-to-be would be half as ambitious as she was. He suspected his first wife’s boredom and lack of ambition led to the ultimate fate of their marriage.

  Mrs. Porter smiled at him, brushing back a stray hair after she put her daughter into the wooden high chair behind the counter. “No offense taken, Mr. Morgan. It’s a tough interview on purpose, to make sure the ladies are protected. While I’m eager to make sure that the men are matched with a worthy, honest girl, it’s important to me that I know my girls are safe and treated well, at the very least, and that they truly know what they are getting into. Women are at a great disadvantage in a marriage if the man turns out to be a deceiver.”

  Her blue eyes flashed at him, not unfriendly, but with a fire that showed just how serious she
took her business. Those sapphire eyes were framed by the sleek, dark hair which was swept up and pinned back in an elegant twist. He knew Mrs. Porter had come from a well-to-do family back East, and he didn’t know how Clay Porter had gotten so lucky. One day Clay was a widower with no interest in marrying again, and the next, he rescues the captivating Miss Madeline Barstow from the terrible fate of being married to Samuel Croft, a scoundrel rancher of ill-repute. Jake didn’t know much about what happened, but he could only imagine that somehow on the sleigh ride up to Croft Ranch, where Porter was hired to bring Madeline when she arrived in Helena over two years before, he must have let her know of Croft’s reputation as a violent son-of-a-gun. Somehow along the way they must have fallen for each other.

  Please let me be half as lucky as Porter, this time around. He knew he shouldn’t worry so, but he just couldn’t help it. His face must have betrayed what he was thinking.

  “Don’t fret, Mr. Morgan,” Mrs. Porter said, lowering her voice and leaning over the counter. “I feel quite certain that Miss Watkins is getting a splendid man in you.” She smiled warmly, then cast a look at the other customer who was walking out with the package Mr. Kirschner had handed her. “Goodbye, Mrs. Grey. See you next week!”

  She turned back to Jake, keeping her voice low, although the last customer had just left after Mr. Kirschner had finished helping her. “I know you’re concerned about having a repeat situation with this marriage, but I really think things will work out fine. I can’t promise you that you’ll love her as much as you loved the first Mrs. Morgan, but I have good reason to believe that she’s very honest and loyal. I believe that, at the very least, you’ll have a good, lifelong companion.”

  Jake heaved a sigh. “I hope you’re right. I never planned on living my life alone. And I wish the old biddies would stop gossiping about me wanting to marry again. Someone from the post office must have let things slip, because it’s all over town that I’ve been looking for a mail order bride. And the older ladies in town have made it very clear that they disapprove.”