Boxed Set: Deep in the Heart of Texas: Hurricane, Mismatched in Texas, Christmas at the Crossroads

by Janice Thompson

  Clara Barton, the wonderful woman who founded the American Red Cross, came to Galveston after the Great Storm to help re-establish a place of safety for the Island’s children. She, of course, did not interact with the characters named in this book, but did the Island a great service with all of her work. It is in honor of her work that she is mentioned in these pages.

  Joseph Pulitzer, founder of The New York World, was also a vital player in the reconstruction of the Island, along with many reporters, both local and national. He had taken a lot of heat over his exaggerated headlines and for his ongoing battle with fellow-editor, William Randolph Hearst. According to his employees, he was a very tough man to work for. He was quick to praise, but just as quick to reprimand. However, when it came right down to it, Pulitzer’s contribution to the rebuilding process on Galveston Island was immeasurable.

  Bishop Nicholas Gallagher was the third Catholic bishop of Galveston. He served thirty-six-years as administrator and bishop of Galveston, bringing to the island many religious congregations and organizations, including the Sisters of Charity of the Incarnate Word of San Antonio, who played a vital role in the storm of 1900. They, along with others, were responsible for founding several churches, schools, and hospitals.

  Perhaps the greatest heroes of all in the real story of the Great Storm were the ten Roman Catholic Sisters of the Incarnate Word, who cared for the ninety-three children of St. Mary’s Orphanage, which stood on the beach just three miles west of the city. This facility was operated by tender-hearted angels of mercy who answered the call to care for the island’s orphaned children. In their greatest moment of crisis, these brave women fought with unparalleled bravery to save the lives of their charges. Unfortunately, only three of the children survived. All were boys. Knowing very little about these women, I could only speculate concerning either their emotions or their reactions to what happened. One of them, Sister Elizabeth Ryan, gave her life trying to make it to town to purchase food for the children. Her dedication to the children is without question. But how does one begin to do justice to these women who gave their lives so selflessly? As I sat down to write this story, that question seemed to haunt me. After great deliberation, I chose to give all of the remaining sisters (outside of Elizabeth Ryan) fictional names and situations, hoping to capture the “spirit” of the group as opposed to actual biographical information. Their story is told from the Point of View of Sister Henrietta Mullins, a completely fictional character. While she does not represent an actual person from history, it is my hope she personifies some of the caring, diligence and spunk of those women who fought so valiantly to save the children they loved during this awful night.

  In closing – Every year on September 8th, the Sisters of Charity still gather on the seawall of Galveston Island to sing “Queen of the Waves” in the site where St. Mary’s once stood. This ritual has been carried down from 1900 until today. As a fellow Texan, I cannot help but feel pride as their voices rise in song.

  My heart carried the emotion of that song as I penned the words of this story.

  Thank you for reading Hurricane. Now enjoy Mismatched in Texas.

  Mismatched in Texas

  Book One in the “Deep in the Heart of Texas” series

  by

  Janice Thompson

  Mismatched in Texas

  © 2015 by Janice Thompson

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher.

  All scripture is taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  The town depicted in this book is a real place, but all characters are fictional. Any resemblances to actual people or events are purely coincidental.

  Scripture

  “Arise, my darling, my beautiful one, and come with me.”

  Song of Solomon 2:10 niv

  Dedication

  To the real Adeline Rose. . .prettier than a picture and sweeter than a poem.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Poetry, Texas, 1904

  “Belinda, I don’t want to hurt your feelings. Truly. But what in the world has possessed you? A marriage broker? Do you really think you’re...you’re...”

  Belinda Bauer felt heat rising to her cheeks as she waited for her cousin to finish the question.

  “Qualified?” Greta said at last, looking more than a bit dubious.

  After drawing in a deep breath, Belinda dove into her rehearsed speech. “One does not have to be married in order to arrange marriages,” she explained. “These days, a good match is simply a matter of business. And science.”

  “Science?” Greta did not look convinced. “What is so scientific about falling in love and getting married?”

  Belinda gave a brusque nod and continued on undeterred. “In a town such as this—filled with railroad men and farmers—women are in short supply. Elsewhere, women bow their knees at night, clutch their hands together...”—here Belinda dramatically clasped her hands as if in prayer—“and plead with the Almighty for husbands.”

  Greta paled. “Yes, but what does that have to do with you?”

  “I will make it my job to reconcile the one with the other. With the Lord’s help, of course.” Belinda released her hands, triumphant. Surely Greta would see the good in this. And, in time, so would the others in the little town. After all, her goal to civilize the quaint town of Poetry, Texas, was a fine one. Once the women started arriving, the place would begin to blossom, possibly rivaling nearby Terrell. Or maybe—Belinda’s excitement grew as she thought about it—maybe even Dallas. Yes, once proper ladies started arriving, the area would become quite citified.

  “You make it sound so...simple.” Her cousin paused to tie an apron around her broad waist, just as she did every morning before Poetic Notions, the town’s mercantile, opened. “But if finding a mate is really as easy as you say, then why, with men surrounding us on every side, do you and I remain unattached?”

  Belinda swallowed hard and then chose her words with great care as she reached to straighten several jars on a nearby shelf. “I cannot speak for you, of course.” She turned to grasp her cousin’s hand and gave it a sympathetic squeeze. “To be quite honest, I do not understand why some handsome fellow hasn’t marched in here and swept you away to a life of marital bliss. You, of all people, would make the perfect wife and mother.”

  “Thank you.” Greta let out a little giggle, and her cheeks turned pink.

  Belinda released a sigh as she contemplated her own situation. “But I do believe, after much prayer on the matter, that I can answer the question about myself.” She stood straight and tall, taking full advantage of her height. “I have come to the conclusion that I was born for a greater purpose.”

  “Oh?” Greta’s brow wrinkled, and the color seemed to fade from her cheeks.

  “Yes. And, most likely, I will never marry. To do so would only interfere with my work, my calling.” Belinda let out an exaggerated sigh for effect.

  “N–never marry?” Greta looked stunned. “How can you say such a thing?” A dreamy-eyed expression took over as she continued. “Why, I can hardly wait to be a bride. I’ve been dreaming of my wedding day since childhood. All girls do.” She ran her fingertips along a bolt of delicate lace, eyeing it with a sigh, then looked up at Belinda. “Surely you have longings to marry, to have a family.”

  Belinda swallowed hard and hoped her glistening eyes wouldn’t give her away. “I am a strong, independent woman.” She reached for a broom and swept the area near the front door of the shop. “Like most in Texas. My hard work has stiffened my backbone.”

  “Yes, but...”

  “You’ve watched me, Greta. From my youth, I have labored in the cotton gin alongside Papa and my brothers. I am no stranger to work. I have managed to help Mama with the sewing, cooking, and cleaning, all the while assisting you and Aunt Hilde here at the store.”

  “Of course. You work harder than any other girl I kn
ow,” Greta agreed as she reached to wipe off the glass case housing the cash register. “No one would argue the point.” Still, she looked doubtful.

  “Then don’t you see?” Belinda gave her an imploring look. “I would do well with a business of my own. I would only need a small space to set up shop.”— She glanced around the crowded store, filled with its many shelves.

  “But do you really think the local men will actually pay for such a thing?” Greta’s cheeks flushed. “Purchasing brides from all over the country, like picking out pieces of farm equipment from a catalog? Is that...godly?”

  Belinda smiled. “Greta, there’s one thing I have discovered in my twenty-seven years. The good Lord most often moves in unique ways. I do not claim to know the vastness of His plans, but I do promise to pray over every client He entrusts to me. I know our heavenly Father will lead me to the perfect match for each one. Besides”—she tucked a loose blond curl behind her ear—“I’ve created a formula of sorts. As I said, it all comes down to science.”

  “Coupled with faith.”

  “Of course.”

  “And how do your parents feel about this?” Greta’s brow wrinkled again, this time in concern. “I can’t imagine that your father is happy with the idea.”

  Belinda took a long strand of hair and wound it around her finger as she contemplated her response. She pictured her father—tall and broad-shouldered, his thick mustache bobbing up and down as he scolded her in his rich German accent. How would he respond to this new plan? “He will come around in time,” she said at last.

  “Belinda...”

  “I will tell him. I promise. And Mama will be very supportive. I know her.” Once I work up the courage to tell her, that is.

  “Hmm.” Greta shook her head, as if she didn’t believe such a thing possible. “And your brothers? What do my cousins think of this bold venture of yours?”

  Belinda squared her shoulders as she responded. “James is of marrying age—and the twins will be in a few years—so no doubt they will find the idea ingenious. As soon as the women begin to arrive, that is.”

  “And just where are you going to find these women?” Greta asked, still not looking convinced.

  Belinda glanced out of the window, distracted by a passing wagon. “Oh, everywhere. They place advertisements in all the big papers, you know. New York, Philadelphia, Kansas City, you name it. Why, our town will be filled with women from all over the country!” She turned back to Greta and offered up a confident smile. “Living this close to the railroad will be a great asset. And women are coming to Texas in droves these days. Surely you’ve read about it.”

  “Yes, to places like Dallas or Houston. But, Poetry? What would draw them here—besides the promise of marriage, I mean. What do we have to offer besides chaw-chewin’ backwoodsmen and a handful of railroad ruffians over Terrell-way?”

  “Greta! How dare you speak so unkindly of our little town!” Belinda’s heart swelled with pride. “Why, Poetry is growing exponentially. Just look around you. We’ve a lovely hotel. And our restaurant boasts the finest food in the state. New shops are going in every day. Why, there’s even talk of a theater. Can you imagine going to see a play or an opera, right here in our hometown?” She clasped her hands together with dramatic flair, as if she were standing before an audience of hundreds. Belinda smiled. “There’s no finer cotton farming to be had in all of Texas—no debating that point. And have you seen Samuel Bromstead’s wheat fields? They’re prettier than a painting.”

  Greta stared out the window and shrugged. “I suppose.”

  Belinda opted to change the subject, turning her attentions to a spot near the front of the mercantile that would be perfect for her new office. She clapped her hands in glee and then pointed. “Come and help me move those shelves. I would eventually like to bring in a small desk from the back office to put in their place.”

  “And then what?”

  “Then I will make a sign.” She closed her eyes and tried to picture it: Belinda Bauer, Marriage Broker. “Likely every single male in town will pay me a visit, and before you know it the train station will be filled with women. Think of all the new sisters we will soon have!”

  Greta shrugged—and the look on her face wasn’t convincing—but she did agree to help Belinda move the shelf before the store opened for morning business. Together they removed cans of homemade jams and jellies then pushed the empty shelf to a spot against the far wall. Greta looked at it with a sigh before heading to the back room for a dust cloth. When she returned, they dusted the shelves and completely reloaded them. All the way, Belinda chattered about her new plan. She could hardly wait to begin.

  Greta continued to shake her head, looking at the now-empty corner of the store. “Mama’s going to have a fit when she sees this.”

  “No. Aunt Hilde will love the idea.” Belinda felt sure of it. After all, Aunt Hilde had run Poetic Notions for nearly a dozen years, since Uncle Max’s death. She certainly knew what it meant to be a strong, independent woman.

  Greta headed off to the back of the store to organize some lanterns and Belinda continued on with her work. Some time later, she noticed a passel of customers through the front window and realized that eight o’clock must have passed right by. So much for keeping her head on straight. With a skip in her step, Belinda made her way to the front of the store to unlock the door. Once there, she pronounced the mercantile open for business.

  Customers swarmed inside, as always, greeting her as they passed by. Belinda couldn’t help but smile as her gaze landed on George Kaufman, the town barber, as he sprinted from his barbershop across the street. His attentions appeared to be quite focused.

  So were hers.

  Belinda began to size him up as a potential client. Tall. Dark, wavy hair. Rich, brown eyes. Well-groomed. Late twenties. Churchgoer. Businessman. Single.

  Perfect.

  “Mornin’, Belinda.” He gave her a polite nod then shifted his gaze to the razor straps under the glass at the front counter.

  “Morning, George.” She drew close and watched as he made his selections. “May I help you?”

  “Yes, I’m in need of some supplies before I can open my shop this morning. Should’ve come by yesterday afternoon, but business was heavy. Not that I’m complaining.” He flashed a smile so bright that it warmed her heart. Yes, he would surely make a fine client.

  “A happy problem, indeed.” She moved to her position behind the counter to offer assistance. “Glad to hear the barbershop is doing well.”

  “Thank the Lord for a town filled with men,” he said with a nod.

  “Amen to that.” She fought to hide the giggle that attempted to rise.

  As the store filled with customers, a steady hum of voices hovered in the air. Greta remained busy in the back of the shop, helping a couple of the local men, but Belinda’s preoccupation with George continued. She observed him from head to toe, paying careful attention to his interactions with others.

  Sure, he was a little on the shy side, but a bit of nudging would change that. When he smiled, his dimples lit the room and his brown eyes sparkled with merriment. She just had to work on getting him to smile more often. Would a little girlish chitchat be inappropriate?

  “Hmm.” Another glance uncovered a different problem. George’s small-town wardrobe could certainly use some updating, particularly if his wife-to-be hailed from the big city. Perhaps he would take Belinda’s fashion suggestions to heart, if she dared to make them.

  “Belinda? Everything all right?”

  His words took her by surprise. She looked up from her inspection of his shirt, embarrassed. “Um, yes.”

  “Here in body only?” He ran a hand through his thick dark waves and gave her a quizzical look.

  “No, sorry.” Belinda’s heart quickened. Was this the right time to tell George about her new business? Had the Lord opened a door? If so, would she step through it?

  George paid for his supplies, and she reached over to give him his
change. Her hand lingered in his a bit longer than necessary, and he looked up, confused.

  “Something wrong?”

  “No.” After garnering up the courage, she leaned in close and whispered, “If I were to tell you that the Lord has laid it on my heart to find you a bride, what would you say?”

  “I—I...” His cheeks turned redder than the paint on Samuel Bromstead’s barn. “I would ask you to seek Him again for further explanation. I am quite happy in my current state.”

  She gave him a woeful pat on the arm, her lower lip curling down in sympathy. “You poor, dear man. You are blinded by loneliness.”

  “I am?” His face filled with confusion.

  “Indeed. And I am just the one to bring an end to your days of solitude.”

  “Days of solitude?” His roaring laughter rang out, causing other customers to turn in curiosity. “Belinda, have you lost your marbles? I’m a barber in a town filled with men. My shop is crowded from sunup till sundown with talkative cotton farmers. And I can’t keep enough shaving mugs for the railroad men who venture over from Terrell. Not to mention the fellas from the saloon. Why, I can’t get a minute to myself. Would you have me add insult to injury by factoring a wife into the mix?

  Belinda let go of George’s hand right away, her pride instantly wounded. She stared into his accusing brown eyes, unable to believe his reaction to her gesture of kindness. Could he not see the goodness of her heart? And had he really rejected her help...so quickly?

  With a lump rising to her throat, she wrapped the razor straps in plain brown paper and wound a string around the outside. Then, with a huff, she turned to wait on another customer, ready to put George Kaufman and his quick-fired comments out of her mind altogether.