by Leah Atwood
The Most Wonderful Bride of the Year
A Christmas Romance
Leah Atwood
Copyright © 2014 by Leah Atwood
Cover Design © Covers by Ramona
Cover Image © The Killion Group
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Epilogue
Note from the Author
Other Titles from Leah Atwood
Excerpt from Fire and Ice- Brides of Weatherton Two
From Best-Selling Author Susette Williams
Chapter One
September 1888
Dakota Territory
“Here goes nothing,” Eli Farley muttered under his breath as he folded the letter and placed it inside an envelope.
He walked to the door, took down his open sign and made his way to the post office. Perspiration beaded along his brows and he swiped it away with his free hand. When he’d last glanced at the thermometer hanging outside the mercantile, the mercury had read fifty-five degrees and he doubted the temperature had increased much since then. Which was a sure sign the moisture forming on his face was due to the outrageous nature of his pending inquiry.
Ridiculous and pitiful was his situation, so said the women of the town when they thought he was out of hearing range. They’d gather in one corner, shaking their heads in pity for him. Amazing, how well sound traveled inside his store. Such a shame, they would whisper. There must be some eligible woman for him, they’d cluck. Whenever the comments floated back to his range of hearing, he tried to take them in stride, knowing the ladies only wished to see him happy.
However, many times, he’d voiced those same thoughts, but only when he was alone and no one but God could hear. This was his last effort at finding a wife. If nothing came from this, then he would give up and take it as a sign he was meant to be a single man for all eternity. There was only so much a man could take before he lost all dignity.
The post office was a mere ten feet away. A few more steps and he’d mail off the letter he hoped would change his life. Lifting a booted foot, he took a step from the dusty dirt road up onto the boardwalk. At the same moment his foot connected with the boards, a loud scream caught his attention. Gut instinct made him turn around just in time to see Widow Anderson in mid-air, her feet several inches off the ground and her rear side headed straight for hard, packed dirt. He sprinted to her, catching her just before she hit the earth. Her portly figure made him stumble backward a step, but he maintained his hold on her, and once they were steadied, lifted her upright to her feet.
“Are you okay, Mrs. Anderson?”
The elderly lady’s face flushed with embarrassment and gratitude. “Silly me, wasn’t watching where I was going. Thank you, Eli, for coming to my rescue. You’re a true gentleman.”
“Only did what any man would.” He realized his hands were empty. In his haste to help Widow Anderson, he’d unconsciously released the letter.
“I’m still grateful. Let me buy you dinner at Tatum’s to show my appreciation.”
Eli scanned the ground for the missing envelope while still being attentive to the conversation with Widow Anderson. “That’s really not necessary, though I appreciate the offer.”
“Nonsense. If nothing else, share a meal with a lonely old widow. There’s something I’ve wanted to discuss with you anyway.”
Her words stopped him. He would accept her offer—not because he believed he was owed anything for rescuing her, but because he sensed the loneliness in her voice and empathized. “I’d be honored to share a meal with you but on one condition.”
“Which would be what?” Her azure eyes brightened.
“You allow me to treat you.”
“Absolutely not. I’m in your debt,” she protested.
“Those are my conditions,” he stated firmly but allowed his mouth to curl into a smile.
“You drive a hard bargain, young man, but I’ll accept. I have a few stops to make first. Can you meet me in an hour?”
“That will be fine. I have a few errands to take care of as well.” He glanced around again in search of the letter. “Oh no,” he muttered under his breath, dejection filling his chest. In spite of the dry spell the town had seen for almost three weeks, there was a puddle in the street. And of all places the letter could have landed, it managed to find its way to the water.
That’s it. He just wasn’t meant to find a bride. Ever. This entire year had been proof of that. As if to confirm that fact, a horse walked by and its hoof stepped on the stationery, thus fully submerging Eli’s hopes and dreams into the mud.
With a blank stare, Eli rubbed his jaw, resigning himself to his fate. For a few seconds, he’d forgotten all about Widow Anderson until her wrinkled hand touched his arm.
“Are you okay, Eli?” Her voice held all the concern a town’s matriarch would have.
He shook his head, bringing his mind back to the current situation, and forced a smile. “I’m fine, just got distracted for a moment. I’ll see you at Tatum’s in an hour.”
Widow Anderson’s features relaxed, apparently mollified by his answer. “Don’t be late.” She shook a finger, her eyes twinkling all the while.
An hour later, Eli met Widow Anderson outside the restaurant. They went inside and he pulled out a chair for the older woman. She sat down, her slow movements giving away her advanced years.
“Your mama taught you well,” the widow told him.
“She was a wonderful woman.” Memories of Mama and Pa surfaced. They’d been exceptional parents, but had met an early death when they were caught in a sudden blizzard five years ago. It was because they’d been so happy together that Eli was so determined to find his own helpmate.
“How are your sister and her adorable baby doing?”
He couldn’t hold back the wide smile. “Merilee is great and so is little Matthew. I went out to the farm last week to see them. Matty is trying to walk now.” His nephew was his pride and joy.
“Such a sweet little boy.” She took a sip of coffee that Holly Tatum had just placed on the table. “I was worried when I hadn’t seen them in church the last two Sundays.”
Heat rose in his neck. He knew the reason Merilee had missed church, but it wasn’t proper to mention. “She’s been a little under the weather,” he said.
“But you just said she is great. Which is it, boy?” Widow Anderson tapped her fingers against the table. He was still trying to think of a polite way to explain when understanding lit her face. “Ah, am I to guess that you will get another niece or nephew in the near future?”
He nodded his head. “Yes, ma’am.”
The widow beamed and clapped her hands. “That’s wonderful news. I must go visit her soon.”
“Let me know when and I’ll send some peppermint sticks with you. Merilee says they help her when she feels ill.”
Holly Tatum returned, staying at the table just long enough to take their order
s. When she left, Widow Anderson leaned forward, crossing her arms on the table. Her eyes narrowed, and she looked at him intently. So much so, that he had the sudden urge to squirm in his seat.
“I have a proposition for you.” She spoke the words low, for only his ears to hear.
Taken by surprise, he coughed before answering. “Pardon me?” Had he heard her correctly?
“Are you still searching for a wife?”
He cleared his throat again. “I… I’ve given up on that.” A slice of remorse wedged itself between his heart and lungs.
“Nonsense. Don’t lie to me, Eli Farley. I’ve known you from the day you entered this earth so don’t be telling me falsehoods.” Her voice rose, attracting the attention of a young couple sitting at a neighboring table. Discreetly as possible, he inclined his head toward the young couple now observing them. Widow Anderson clamped a hand over her mouth, realizing how loud she’d become.
“It’s true,” Eli told her, shaking his head, his heart heavy.
“But why? After all you’ve been through, why now give up on the desires of your heart?”
A long sigh preceded his words. “Earlier, I was on my way to send a letter to a newspaper in the east, hoping to find one of those ‘mail-order’ brides. The letter fell from my hands and landed in the lone puddle in town. I took that as my final sign marriage is not to be a part of my life.”
Widow Anderson burst into laughter, once again drawing attention from neighboring tables. “I’m sorry,” she apologized when she calmed herself.
Affronted that she would find amusement in his situation, Eli busied himself spinning his cup between his fingers before he said something he’d regret. There was nothing funny about what he’d been through in the past year, nor in the dissolution of his dream.
“You lost your letter when you helped me, did you not?” Widow Anderson asked.
“Yes.” He nodded, glummer than ever.
She reached over and placed her age-spotted hand on his. “Providence, my dear child, has been at work today. As I said, there is something I wish to discuss with you.”
Chapter Two
Pinching her lips shut, Cora Barnett suppressed a shout. Whether one of relief or annoyance, she’d yet to decide. She folded the letter and slipped it into the pocket of her tattered dress. On her tiptoes, she walked to the rear bedroom, careful not to make any unnecessary noise.
There wasn’t even a door for the room, only a threadbare linen nailed above the opening. Her hands shook as she pulled the sheet back and peeked inside the room.
Revulsion coiled in her stomach. The stench of stale alcohol assaulted her senses making her body heave in disgust. There Pa was all right, draped over the bed and passed out in a drunken stupor. His chest rose slightly, and convinced that he was still alive, Cora hurried away from the room.
Oh, how she wanted to hate him, but for better or worse, Jed Barnett was her Pa and the only family she had left in this world other than Aunt Patricia.
When he wasn’t drunk, Pa was a good man. Kind of. Sure, he was self-centered and lazy, but he loved her, called her Princess. Well, usually it was in the form of a demand such as, ‘bring me some vittles, Princess,’ or ‘sew up this hole in my shirt, Princess’. But when he was sober, he didn’t throw objectionable words her way.
Who was she trying to fool? In her heart of hearts, she knew Pa had very few redeeming qualities, but the verse she’d learned in church long ago, while her Ma was still alive, clung to her. The Bible said to honor one’s parents, and she was trying her best to keep that commandment.
But to what extent?
Several years ago, she’d been fortunate to spend an entire month with Aunt Patricia. During that time, her aunt confessed that Pa was how he was, in part, because he’d been so spoiled. His mother, Cora’s grandmother, had been well past what was thought to be child-bearing years when he came along, surprising everyone. He was doted upon, allowed anything he wanted, and never held accountable. By the time anyone realized what their leniency with him had created, it was too late. Jed Barnett had become a man of self-indulgence, doing whatever he wanted without regard to consequence.
Marriage seemed to be her only option for escape from Pa but to whom? No man in town would have her because no one wanted to take on the town drunk as a father-in-law. The paltry sum she made at the mercantile barely kept enough food in her stomach, let alone allowed enough to pay for a room at the boardinghouse or elsewhere.
The letter in her pocket seemed to suddenly heat, warming her skin through the dress’s fabric. Was this the answer to a long-awaited prayer? A small annoyance flared. Even though Aunt Patricia had good intentions, she still should have consulted her before instigating such a plan.
At the same time, if this would actually work, then she could finally escape from her drab existence. She went outside and walked through the woods until she came to her favorite spot. Taking a seat on the log, she inhaled deeply, letting the smell of pine soothe her.
She took the letter out and reread the words. Everything read the same on the second time around—they weren’t a figment of her imagination. Someone wanted to marry her, sight unseen. There was a gentleman in her aunt’s town who had been searching for a bride. He was nearing thirty but, for various undisclosed reasons, had never been married. Her aunt had the grand idea that this man should write to Cora and inquire if a marriage between them might be desirable.
Eli Farley—that was the man’s name. He owned the mercantile in Tarling, the town in which her aunt resided. How convenient and divine, since she worked at the mercantile in her town. Is that why Aunt Patricia had thought they’d be a good fit? Wait, her aunt didn’t know about her job. She’d have to ask one day.
In the letter, Eli described himself as average looking, just below six feet in height, with dark blonde hair that had a tendency to curl out when he went too long without a haircut, and green eyes.
Cora didn’t think he sounded so bad. Truth be told, even if he looked like an ogre but treated her well and shared her faith she would consider marriage. Aunt Patricia’s endorsement of Eli’s character and faith was enough for Cora to know that he was a good man. She’d sent her own letter, which arrived the same time as Eli’s, singing his praises and asking forgiveness for her presumptuous behavior.
An unladylike snort escaped. Her aunt was no more sorry for meddling than Pa was for always drinking, with the exception being Aunt Patricia had good motives behind her actions. Lifting her eyes heavenward, she said a quick prayer for guidance. No sooner had she told her prayer, than she knew what her answer would be. Assurance filled her, and she found herself eager to make this come to fruition.
Standing up, she brushed the dirt off the back side of her dress and rushed back to the shanty of a cabin. She’d have to work quickly. Pa would be out for another few hours at least, but going to town and back would consume most of that time. The secretiveness didn’t sit well with her, but this was not an opportunity she could afford to miss. Back at the house, she pulled out a sheet of paper and the nub of a pencil. It was all she had left and could ill-afford more.
With haste, she composed two reply letters, one to Eli and one to her aunt. She folded them both before slipping them into their respective envelopes. Next she went to her bedroom, which was really a corner of the living area partitioned off by two old quilts worn so thin they would have provided little warmth. Reaching under the roughly constructed platform of her bed, she felt for the small metal cup. Her fingers made contact with it and she pulled it out. A frown marred her face when she looked inside. This was the last of her secret fund, the money about which Pa knew nothing. Hiding it was her only recourse against him using it for more whiskey.
However, she had a dilemma. Only a pitiful amount remained—enough to pay postage for only one letter. Reluctantly, she opened both envelopes, transferred Aunt Patricia’s letter to the envelope addressed to Eli and resealed them both in a single holder. Somehow, she felt able to trust Eli
would deliver the response to her aunt without reading the letter, something she didn’t believe Aunt Patricia, bless her heart, would be capable of in reversed roles. She took a final peek at Pa, relieved for once to see he was still passed out.
Grabbing her cloak on her way out the door, she breathed a sigh of relief and hope. For the first time in years, she felt light and almost giddy. Maybe, just maybe, her luck in life was turning around. She only hoped someone as nice sounding as Eli wouldn’t be disappointed with someone like her.
Chapter Three
Humming the melody to the popular Christmas tune “Jingle Bells,” Eli hung a pine bough above the mercantile door. Today marked the final week leading up to Christmas, his favorite holiday. This year, he hoped, would end on a much brighter note than it had begun. Very soon, he’d be a married man. After all his prayers and false starts of the last twelve months, his dream was coming true.
Widow Anderson’s niece, Cora Barnett, had agreed to marry him, although they’d never met and had only exchanged a few letters. He still couldn’t believe how everything had worked out. Back in September, he’d thought all hope was lost when his letter to the mail-order bride agency fell in a puddle, but then Widow Anderson had swept in with a proposal of her own.
As it turned out, her niece was in dire straits. Cora’s Pa wasn’t good for much except drinking and scaring off any suitors. Widow Anderson wouldn’t go into much detail about Cora’s life but said enough that Eli knew he could offer the woman a vastly improved life. Better yet, it sounded like Cora Barnett needed him, so the risk of her not following through with the marriage was slim.
He scrunched his nose, hating that his thoughts had gone in that direction. However, when a man had been jilted twice in a year, he couldn’t help wondering if the next trip to the altar would end the same way. Twice this year, he’d been engaged. Twice, relationships had come to a screeching halt. Stepping off the footstool, his memory traveled back to the previous winter.