Unsuccessfully stifling their chuckles, each took a sip of their coffee, mirror images of each other. Seeing his brother was like stepping back in time. Ewan had been back in his parents’ house for a total of two days, and upon hearing of his return, Samuel had left his mine to visit him in the city over breakfast. Sitting in this kitchen still felt strange to Ewan—he hadn’t done so since he left after Marilee’s rejection. The house’s turret, stained-glass windows, fancy gables and dentil molding were a far cry from his humble abode back in Deadwood, but the memories of romping around with his brother refreshed him.
Things had gone astray in recent years. Hopefully this short time together would help them right everything. God had a way of working things for the good.
“You know,” Ewan said, letting the coffee warm his fingers, “when Marilee ended things and I moved to the Black Hills, I felt like an utter failure.”
His brother’s features turned serious as he set down his own cup. “What Marilee did to you was wrong. It wasn’t your fault.”
“I realize that now, but for a long time I thought I would fail at anything I tried. Especially when compared to you, the perfect brother.”
He shot a wry grin, and Samuel scoffed. “Perfect. Right. I have my share of struggles, too, you know.” A pained shadow crossed the man’s face, and Ewan worried for a moment that he’d said too much. After losing his wife nearly nine years ago, Samuel hadn’t been the same.
“Well, our father regards you highly. You’ve got the nice house, the booming business and a daughter to carry on your legacy... I have none of those things.”
“On the contrary—” Samuel held up a finger “—you have a promising business with a solid backer.” He shrugged. “Although I wish you’d move back and work with me. It’s unfortunate to only see each other every few years.”
The thought wrapped around Ewan as he drummed his fingers lightly on the tabletop. “Maybe you should take a chance on a fresh start and come live with me.” He winked. “The stagecoach goes both ways, you know.”
Samuel’s eyes softened. “Touché. So, when are you supposed to hear back from your lady friend?”
Ewan drew small circles over the newspaper lying beside his coffee cup. “I don’t know, and really, if I hear anything at all will depend on if she accepts my offer.” Wilbur Dawson had promised nothing more than to show her the advertisement. Exhaling, Ewan ran a hand over his hair. He had dressed casually today, the first time in years he’d allowed himself the time to read the morning paper and sip coffee in a leisurely manner. “Everything is in God’s hands now.”
“Yes.” Samuel downed the last of his drink, then stood. “I’d better be off. I have a meeting with the mining crew in about an hour, which gives me just enough time to stop by the house and kiss my daughter on the way there. She’s with her governess.” He pointed a finger at Ewan, a grin climbing one corner of his mouth. “I’ll see you again before you head home, correct?”
Ewan stood, too. “You can count on it.” Arms folded, he followed his brother to the front door. “Greet that little girl for me, will you?”
“Sure thing.” Samuel opened the door and paused. Outside, November air skirted snow around the tree trunks and leafless bushes beyond the columns and wraparound porch. “And hey, Ewan? I really am glad you visited. Not just because of your lady friend, but because of us. As brothers. It’s about time we figured out how to be a family again.”
Ewan nodded, returning the smile. “Most definitely.”
Lingering in the entry while Samuel shut the door on his way out, Ewan mulled over his brother’s words. Most assuredly, he had been gone too long, had allowed the bitter seeds of jealousy to poison his brotherly affection. Success came from things less tangible than a job. For Ewan’s sake, for his family’s sake, it had been time to make amends in Denver. And seeing his brother happy, and becoming content with all that he himself had worked hard for, had done wonders for his spirit.
He pivoted away and started for the parlor when a knock at the door stopped him. Raising one brow, he spun back and turned the doorknob. “Really, Sam, you thought your closing sentiment wasn’t soft enough, so you came back to feed me more?”
Ewan lifted his eyes and froze.
Samuel didn’t stand on the porch. Winifred did. She stared at him, cheeks red from the wind, her brown hair concealed beneath a straw bonnet laced with blue forget-me-nots and tied with a yellow sash, the same one she wore when she first appeared at the mine. Her striking blue-gray gaze glowed with anticipation above gleaming pink lips.
“Good morning, Ewan.” Her voice sounded breathless, maybe stolen by the winter gale. She jutted a thumb over her shoulder. “I thought I met you on the front walk, but I quickly realized he was your brother.” A little laugh escaped her. “How embarrassing that could have been, am I right?”
He wanted to answer—but he couldn’t find his voice. Winifred Sattler really stood on his veranda?
“So, I don’t know how to say any of this... I’m just going to say it.” Breathing in, she stepped closer. “For the first time in my adult life, I know what I want, and I know what I need. When I lived in Deadwood at the Golden Star Mine, I fell in love with the people there. Granna Cass, Delia, the miners and their wives. I admired their strength, their resolve. Their purpose. I need more of that in my life.”
A lump began to form in his throat, but he swallowed against it.
“But most importantly,” she continued, “I fell in love with the man who stands behind them all. The man whose dream gave each of those people jobs, gave them a reason to keep moving forward even when life grew impossibly hard.” She spoke so fast her voice trembled, as did her gesturing hands. “I fell in love with the man who has become my friend. The man who understands me more than anyone else on this earth, even if he didn’t think he would ever figure me out.” She laughed softly, wiping her fingers against the corners of her eyes. “Somehow, you must have found out about the mail-order surprise, because I saw your advertisement in the newspaper. I am answering it because I want Mr. Businessman in person. I’m no longer content with a dream behind the handwriting—”
His kiss broke off her words.
The impact stunned him senseless. He kissed her with the same drive he had put into everything else in his life. And she returned it with gusto, wrapping her arms around his neck, tugging him nearer. The sense of her so close righted everything in his world. This was how life should be. This was what God intended. Oh, to live in this moment forever.
“Marry me,” he whispered in a haggard voice. Foreheads together, he searched her eyes. “Please forgive me for not realizing my love for you earlier.”
Winifred’s eyes widened. “You love me?”
A soft chuckle left his lips. He placed a light kiss on her nose and rubbed her bonnet sash between his fingers. “This is a strange getup for winter, don’t you think?”
She laughed a little, too. “I wore this bonnet because I’ve worn it every time I answered an ad. Admittedly, it hasn’t brought me success yet, but I thought maybe this time it would.”
Oh, it had. Mostly assuredly. What a sweet, wonderful woman. He snuggled her into his arms, into the place she’d been intended to fill, as gratefulness bloomed within him. “I don’t know how it happened, but it did. I had only planned to help you earn coach fare, but I fell in love with you instead.”
She searched his gaze, her expression sobering. “What happened to your mine after the Sphinx stole the gold?”
Ewan shook his head, waving off her concern. “Everything is taken care of. We’re picking up the pieces and becoming a business again. Or a family, I should say. You’d be proud of how the miners have risen to the occasion.” He visually traced the outline of her face. “I can’t wait to bring you back with me. Everyone misses you.”
A mist glinted in her eyes. He ran his hands up the back of her scratch
y wool coat, guiding her inside and out of the wind. He needed to say a few things more.
“I may be infuriatingly obtuse sometimes, but don’t doubt my love for a second. I want the woman whose heart I got to know both in person and on the page. The one whose joy for life overflows and gives wings to those around her.” He tucked a loose strand of hair back into her bonnet, delighted by the blush deepening the color of her cheeks. “I want you, Win. More than any mine, more than success in the eyes of others. More than anything else I have ever wanted on earth. This is a real mail-order offer. I want you as my wife. And I don’t care how thoroughly disgruntled you are.”
She laughed, and the sound of it was pure sunshine. The woman he had fallen for through the mail stood before him in tangible glory. Beautiful, vivacious, passionate Win. She was far too precious for him to lose again, and he prayed he never would.
“Six times ordered but never once a bride,” she murmured, shaking her head. Her eyes glittered like the snow swirling outside. “Does this mean my streak is over?”
“I suppose it does.” Oh, how he loved this woman. “Seven is a good number, right?”
“Right.”
He kissed her again. His soon-to-be wife. That was music to his ears. And she loved him, too. Ewan almost couldn’t believe it. He might have closed a chapter in his life, but this new one with Winifred would be a grand adventure worth exploring. With God before him, and Win beside him, Ewan Burke would be untouchable.
Listen to him wax poetic. She was rubbing off on him already.
* * * * *
If you enjoyed this mail-order romance,
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Dear Reader,
The idea of a heroine “six times ordered but never a bride” intrigued me, so when I finally got my chance to write her story, I had so much fun! It was a joy visiting the Lead-Deadwood gold mines last summer for research, even if I was experiencing morning sickness while pregnant with my twin boys. My mind came alive as I traveled the damp, dark drifts, imagining Ewan fighting to save the Golden Star...and dealing with Winifred as she jumbled his well-laid life with her unorthodox ways and unending optimism. Two real Deadwood staples are mentioned in the story—Sol Star truly was the postmaster, and the notorious and deplorable Gem Theater really employed women tricked into working there. I always wanted someone like Ewan to give down-on-their-luck people a second chance. I’m thankful to know that with Jesus, we all can have that chance at redemption.
Love,
Janette Foreman
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His Substitute Mail-Order Bride
by Sherri Shackelford
Chapter One
On the road to Cowboy Creek, May 1869
“Something don’t feel right,” the wagon driver declared, casting an uneasy glance over one shoulder. “I travel this road every Tuesday and Friday delivering eggs to the restaurants in Cowboy Creek. But something don’t feel right today.”
“How can you tell?” Anna Linford anchored her bonnet with one gloved hand and squinted against the sun. A narrow creek snaked beside the road with scrub brush lining the steep banks. “We haven’t seen another soul for miles.”
Everything in Kansas was exaggerated and larger than life. The sky was painfully blue, the clouds a preposterous shade of white and the horizon seemingly endless. Even the fluttering prairie grasses were an overblown hue of emerald.
“That’s why I’m worried,” said the driver, Mr. Ward. “There should be more folks traveling this time of day.”
Mr. Ward’s skeletal hands trembled on the reins. Anna’s reluctant companion was somewhere past seventy and as gnarled and bent as the old oak tree outside the window of her childhood home. Layers of wrinkles corrugated his face, rendering his expressions indecipherable. Though he’d politely refrained from smoking in her presence, the sooty odor lingered on his coat, and her stomach churned.
As they rounded the corner, the railroad tracks and what looked to be the site of a previous accident came into view. Anna sucked in a breath. Two railcars lay overturned in the ditch, their metal axels twisted. Fresh weeds growing through the blackened prairie grasses and long, muddy gashes in the hillside indicated the accident had occurred sometime in the past month. The loamy scent of freshly turned earth competed with the stench of machine oil and scorched wood.
A sudden breeze whipped her bonnet ribbons over her shoulder. “What happened here?”
“Some fool engineer took the curve too fast a month or so past.” The driver grunted. “Those last two cars have to be separated afore they can drag ’em out of the ditch. Good thing you didn’t arrive with the last bride train, or you’d have been in the ditch too. Timing is everything in life. Take this morning. Bad timing.” He chuckled at his joke. “Too bad the train left without you.”
After founding Cowboy Creek, the council realized the area needed families to flourish and grow. Since women were scarce, they sent back east for brides. Some of the women corresponded with local men before traveling west on a bride train. Others accepted a ticket paid for by the town, rather than a prospective groom, and hoped for the best. Anna’s unique circumstances had left her somewhere in the middle—there’d been a correspondence, and she was hoping for the best.
Missing the train in Morgan’s Creek had been another stumbling block in a long list of disasters for Anna. Thankfully the distance between towns wasn’t far, and the driver from the poultry farm had taken pity on her. She’d learned through the older man’s reluctant conversation that Cowboy Creek had grown too quickly for the local suppliers to keep up with demand, encouraging cottage industries in the neighboring communities.
A crack of gunfire sounded, and a bullet struck the ground before the wagon. A plume of dust and a spray of dirt pellets exploded into the air. Anna’s heart jerked in her chest. The mule brayed and reared. The cart lurched, and she clutched the seat.
His gun dr
awn, a man in a long, shapeless duster coat with a hat set back on his head appeared from behind one of the overturned railcars. A second man wearing a similar coat followed close behind. One wore a blue bandanna tied over the lower half of his face, the other wore red.
A chill shivered down Anna’s spine.
Beside her, the driver guffawed. “Get along, you two. I’m hauling eggs. We got nothing of value.”
“We’ll just see about that,” the man in the red bandanna said gruffly.
He gestured with his tarnished pistol and approached the wagon. Judging by the way he spoke, Anna marked him as the leader of the pair. He braced his scuffed boot on the wagon wheel, and the bench seat dipped. With careless brutality, he tossed the elderly driver from his seat. The older man yelped.
“Don’t hurt him!” Anna gasped. “He’s no threat to you.”
“You ought to worry about yourself,” the outlaw declared ominously. “Tie him up!”
Anna fumed as Mr. Ward was dragged into the ditch and quickly bound and gagged. To her immense relief, the elderly driver put up little fight and appeared no worse for wear considering his rough treatment.
The lead outlaw leaned closer. He flipped back her bonnet with the barrel of his gun, and her pulse jerked.
“You’re one of them brides traveling to Cowboy Creek, ain’t ya?” he asked. “I heard all about you women at the last train depot.” He gestured toward his companion. “The men of Cowboy Creek are hauling in brides by the trainload. It’s no wonder the town is growing like stinkweed in a wet spring.”
Anna swallowed. “I’m traveling to Cowboy Creek, yes.”
She didn’t bother correcting the outlaw about being a prospective bride. No man wanted a woman who couldn’t bear children. Her late husband had made that fact abundantly clear.
“Must be really desperate to send for a skinny gal like you,” the outlaw said, his mocking laughter muffled through his bandanna.
The insult barely registered. The past two years had rendered her immune to even the most vicious slurs. “I suppose.”
Last Chance Wife Page 23