Mail Order Bride Leah: A Sweet Western Historical Romance (Montana Mail Order Brides Series Book 1)

by Rose Jenster

  By some chance, Henry was paid a few coins to fetch her luggage when it arrived by wagon. Upon delivery, he caught a glimpse of Melody—only the smallest glance of a pink silk dress, her milk-and-roses complexion, her fair hair as she passed through the front hall of her parents’ new home in Billings. Her gaze had fallen on him and he took his hat in his hands, gaping at her in worshipful awe.

  “You there, boy. Are those my trunks?” she had demanded imperiously, and he nodded. He would have assented to anything she asked. “Bring them to my room at once,” she ordered.

  With that he was led up a flight of stairs to a delicate bedchamber furnished with a rose-figured carpet and a four-poster bed. She directed his placement of her boxes, and when she was satisfied with their delivery, she dismissed him, never once asking his name. Her rudeness didn’t matter. Her figure and manner were so graceful, her airy step and gentle laugh belying her imperious nature

  . For six months after that, Henry was the delivery man who brought her every order from the trading post. He knew when she had correspondence from her friends at the school she had finished, or when her new dancing slippers arrived. He was young and impressionable, and she was beautiful and far above him, the star he wanted to reach.

  One day, he brought a handful of wildflowers to her along with her parcels from the shop. She laughed and called him a foolish boy but she obviously liked them—and him. For weeks after, she teased him, flirted with him. Finally, she agreed to meet him in secret, after dark. She left her parents’ home for a clandestine meeting like the ones she’d read about in sensational novels. But instead of a few stolen kisses with the forbidden stable boy, she got a chaste declaration of undying love and a marriage proposal from a young man who swept floors in a shop and had no obvious prospects. She laughed in his face and left.

  When he wrote her letters trying to explain the depth of his devotion, his plans to build an inn that would cater to rail travelers, how he would make a life worthy of her in time, Melody scorned him, returning only a packet with his letters enclosed and a brief request that he never insult her with further contact of such a familiar nature.

  Henry sat in the gathering dark and remembered the desolation of those months that followed, the way he’d burnt the letters to hide his humiliation and the rejection and feelings that he'd never trust another woman, assuming they were all leading him on . Even Leah, dear devoted Leah, could not have all of his heart even now. Simple and sweet, she had no idea that his trust had been destroyed years before.

  * * *

  When she left Billings to marry a wealthy colleague of her father’s, Melody took what was left of Henry’s shattered heart with her. She knew because she found the bundle of wildflowers he had left on her doorstep on her wedding day. She had laughed at the gesture and added them to her bridal bouquet for a joke. Now her annoying husband had had the good grace to die of apoplexy on their holiday in Italy and she’d inherited his funds. Before she settled on a course of action—probably a return to the exciting and fashionable European capitals—she was paying a visit of duty to her parents. Getting that recalcitrant shop boy back in her thrall would be a fine amusement for her rustic holiday.

  Melody dressed in her most daring black silk gown. It had an extravagant bustle and a low silk neckline cut off the shoulder—however, it nodded to propriety by having sheer black lace sleeves as well as lace up to the neck, which concealed nothing, but counted as fabric, she supposed. Dousing herself with rosewater scent, she rouged her cheeks for the party.

  * * *

  Leah pleaded with Henry to attend the mayor’s dinner without her. She was not seriously ill. It was only a headache and a runny nose—clearly a case of the winter sniffles—and he should not miss out on the opportunity to catch up with old friends. Reluctantly, he agreed and left her for the evening with strict instructions to send the stable hand after him if her condition worsened at all. Leah sipped her tea and was secretly relieved not to be at dinner with so many fancy strangers.

  When he returned home after several hours, it was to find Leah’s headache much better. He kissed her forehead fondly and sat up to finish his new book.

  The next day, Mrs. Gibson visited Leah to check on her health. Finding her completely well, the reverend’s wife made free to gossip a bit about the evening her friend had missed.

  “The china was magnificent. All white but with a gold edge on every single plate. They served pumpkin soup and a roast duck with asparagus. There was even dancing after the meal. Some lady played the pianoforte and four couples stood up. The guest of honor, that’s Mrs. Melody Carver, in all her tawdry lace, stood there in widow’s weeds and tried to persuade your husband to be her partner in the reel.”

  “Oh. My. Well, they were friends once, I believe.”

  “Friends? Hardly. Well, he refused her, quietly at first but then with more firmness, until she had to leave off her silly coaxing. If one of my daughters had behaved that way in public, setting her cap for a married man and flirting outrageously, why, I’d have boxed her ears. As it was, I would have liked to box Melody Carver’s ears!”

  It grieved Leah that the woman had made advances toward her husband. She longed to speak to him about it, so he could unburden his heart. She knew it would have been upsetting to him, reserved as he was, to have such attention drawn to him and in such a forward manner. Still, his formal manner had returned, and the distance between them was such that she felt uncomfortable approaching him about the incident.

  Leah hated the gap she felt. She yearned for him to tell her his history with this abominable flirt but she would not press him for a confidence. As it was, she thanked Mrs. Gibson for her concern and assured her that all was well. Deep inside her heart she wanted to reach into Henry's heart, but didn't know how.

  Chapter 8

  BILLINGS, MONTANA, 1885

  Two weeks later, Leah woke in the night with abdominal pains and sent Henry to fetch good Mrs. Hostleman to deliver the baby. Within a few hours, she was safely delivered of a healthy baby girl. But while she labored under the ministrations of Mrs. Hostleman and Mrs. Gibson, Henry took a walk through Billings, trying to keep his mind off what Leah was no doubt suffering. He stopped in at the church to pray for his wife and child, and as he emerged he encountered Melody Carver.

  The widow was clad in deep purple with lace three inches wide at the hem, already in half-mourning for her recently deceased husband. She greeted Henry coquettishly and asked him how his day went.

  “Actually, Mrs. Carver, I’m awaiting the delivery of my firstborn child,” he remarked.

  “How strange that sounds, the idea of your having a child with someone,” she said with a pout.

  “Not with someone, with my wife,” Henry snapped and strode away from her without taking leave. He was struck as if by a physical blow with the realization that he loved Leah, truly loved her, and that she was even now bearing his child.

  He broke into a run and did not slow down until he was in the sitting room of his home. Mrs. Gibson turned as he entered, and in her arms she held a tiny, squalling infant. Smiling, she nodded to him and he went to Leah’s side. She lay in their bed, pale and exhausted but happy. Reaching out, she took his hand. Henry bent and kissed her hand reverently and knelt beside the bed.

  “I love you, Leah,” he said suddenly. Tears filled her eyes at the declaration.

  “Oh, Henry. I cannot stand any more happiness,” she said. “First our beautiful daughter and now your words—I want to call her Helen Kathleen after our mothers, darling,” she said through happy tears.

  “Anything you want, Leah. But first, let me give you this.” He reached in his pocket and withdrew a box very like the one her engagement ring had come in.

  Opening the lid, he revealed another ring, a slim silver circlet with three pearls set in the band.

  “One for you, one for myself, and one for our daughter. I wanted a ring to represent our family, Leah. I can’t wait to add more pearls for another baby
, or two,” he said, fighting back tears of his own. “I cannot believe what a lucky man I am, Leah, to have you for my bride, to have this family, this life.”

  Henry went to the door and took their baby from Mrs. Gibson, holding his daughter in his arms for the first time. “God bless you, Helen Kathleen. May you be as beautiful as your mother and not as stubborn as your father.” He smiled.

  * * *

  The following day, when Leah was up and about again, he took the baby from her arms and laid the child in her cradle.

  “I’m needing to speak with you now,” Henry said.

  “Is something the matter?”

  “No, in fact everything is exactly right. I think everything has been right for some time but I was too bullheaded to know it. That woman, the mayor’s daughter, came back to town looking for me specifically. She and I had been—I had been in love with her years ago and she spurned me, thinking I was a joke.” Henry raked a hand through his hair.

  Leah looked at his hands, work-roughened and manly, more at home holding the reins of a horse than the cup of water he offered her thoughtfully. Nothing he could say could spoil the perfect happiness. She was so glad that he had finally decided to confide in her the truth about that wretched Melody. She knew it wasn't easy for him to express his past pain and show this side of himself.

  “At the dinner I went to, she tried to flirt with me and press me into dancing with her. I refused, of course. Yesterday, I went up to the church to say a prayer while you were in your confinement. She came upon me there and tried to gain my attention. I told her then how it was between us, that you, you and baby Helen, are all the world to me. She is nothing in my life; she was never anything but a foolish boy’s fancy. I should have told you weeks ago but I was too embarrassed. Forgive me, Leah?”

  “There’s nothing to forgive, darling. It only puts me in mind of a letter I should write. It’s time I was reconciled to Walter and we forgive one another.

  My brother ought to know he has a niece. He ought to bring Jane and little Walter out here for a visit in the spring. There’s a fine inn I know he could stay at, and there’s to be a restaurant there by spring as well,” Leah said proudly, taking up her writing box.

  The veil and distance between them was pierced and they were truly a couple. Holding Henry's hand, Leah was in a state of deep peace with strong gratitude for being so blessed.

  THE END

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  Excerpt of Mail Order Bride Tess - Book 2 in the Series is below – NOTE that Tess is Leah's friend from Albany, New York who she knew from Bible study classes. She is a seamstress and was also living in difficult circumstances.

  Also on Amazon is Mail Order Bride Felicity which is Book 3 in the series. Felicity works in a millinery shop and was jilted by the man she was suppose to marry.

  Mail Order Bride Tess

  Montana Mail Order Bride Series

  Book 2 (Available NOW on Amazon)

  Tess Sullivan pressed a hand to her aching lower back and tried to straighten up from her crouching position. Mrs. Calloway harrumphed and glared down at her.

  “Will you kindly stop lounging and finish up?” Mrs. Calloway said.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Tess replied obediently, bending back over her work.

  She basted the hem to the appropriate length and sat back on her heels to survey the results. She checked the cuffs and pinned up another quarter of an inch on each one.

  “Now I want the hem to break right at the instep of my new boots, you understand,” Mrs. Calloway reminded her, displaying the delicate kid leather of her footwear.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Tess answered.

  Tess made swift notations in her book and stepped back, nodding with satisfaction. The burgundy walking costume would be the toast of that cross woman’s circle of friends. Tess had meticulously covered each tiny button with the fabric so the fastenings would blend in and not spoil the line of the fitted bodice and godet skirt. She would add black braid at the collar and cuffs after completing the alterations and it would be exquisite. She hesitated before stepping across the shop from notions to accessories and withdrawing a black lace parasol to show her customer.

  “This would provide shade for your complexion and be just the right accent for your new gown,” Tess said softly.

  “I should say not! Why, if I turned up with a black lace parasol Mr. Calloway would think all manner of frivolous things about me. I have this stout umbrella that does for me winter and summer alike,” she huffed.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Tess sighed, propping the parasol against a shelf dejectedly.

  “Well, are you finished?”

  “Yes. It will be ready on Thursday."

  “Why so long? I had expected to find it done tomorrow morning,” Mrs. Calloway sniffed.

  “I apologize for any delay, but there are other customers whose alterations were scheduled first. If I am able to finish it early, I shall send word to you,” Tess said.

  Mrs. Calloway withdrew to the changing area and emerged dressed in her own garments. She had left the new walking dress crumpled in a heap on the floor. Tess hastened to pick it up and smooth the mistreated fabric, checking her chalk marks for smudging. She’d have the dress finished, sponged and pressed in plenty of time, she assured herself, the woman just liked to throw her weight around because her husband had recently been appointed editor of the Albany Gazette. Still, she winced as she heard Mrs. Winthrop, her employer, bid Mrs. Calloway a respectful farewell and ask if she was pleased with the progress on her gown. Tess knew what the answer would be and prepared herself to be admonished about working too slowly. She hung the dress on a wooden frame so the wrinkles would drop out before she set to work on finishing the hem and cuffs, then, her eyes darting left and right, she slipped out the back door to the alley.

  Tess took long breaths of sour city air, her back against the clammy brick wall. Her shuddering sigh startled a rangy cat that hissed at her and backed away from the garbage piled in the alley. She craned her neck upward, trying to catch a glimpse of the gray sky, a cloud scudding by, anything to remind her she was outdoors and closer to nature, not cooped up inside that stale shop. She knew she was lucky to have a decent job but she hated going to work just as the first rays of sun pushed up over the horizon and walking home in the dark. She missed every moment of sunlight and freshness, pricking her fingers with the needle by the light of an oil lamp, stuck indoors. She made her way to the opening out onto the street and took another breath, finding the air just as rancid as it smelt in the confines of the alley between buildings. Shutting her eyes, she thought of the exhibit coming to the museum, the pictures she’d read about, and promised herself a trip to see them. If she couldn’t make her way to the open air of the mountains, she could see paintings of that landscape and imagine herself there.

  Tess crept back into the workroom and tidied her things. She replaced the parasol wistfully on the display shelf. For an instant, she imagined herself an intrepid traveler, strolling along the foothills beneath a majestic mountain range, with that glamorous lace parasol shading her from the pitiless Western sun as she explored—the picture of a clever, brave adventurer. Sighing aloud, she focused on repairing the rent in Miss Deam’s new ball gown, bending low over the work to make a tiny, invisible seam where the young lady’s slipper heel had torn her train during a waltz. Again, Tess’s thoughts wandered, this time to a fantasy in which she wore this silken gown of pale apricot and a pair of cunning heeled shoes to dance in a glittering ballroom, the gloved hand of a handsome gentleman resting lightly on her waist as they twirled. Hers was not that life, but a
life of service and modesty. She was bashful by nature and modesty suited her well, but sometimes she longed for excitement, for adventure…even, she blushed to think the word—romance!

  Tess completed the repair and laid a protective sheet over it so as not to singe the delicate fabric while she pressed it to practiced perfection. Next she attached fragile, costly cream-colored lace to the neckline of a day dress in a shell-like shade of robin’s egg blue. She imagined piling her long brown hair atop her head in artful twists, securing it with pearl-tipped hairpins and donning this gown to receive visitors in an elegant morning parlor…just the way the new Mrs. Goldman planned to do when she returned from her wedding trip to find her first society hostess dresses finished and waiting. Tess pushed stray tendrils out of her eyes, tucking them back into her serviceable bun, and tried to banish her imagination for the remainder of the day.

  She stayed a little late, missing the last of the sunset as the colors melted into a dismal gray twilight, but she got Mrs. Calloway’s hem and cuffs finished and secured the braided trim with tiny, flawless stitches. She could hear her sister, near hysterics in the front room, as she mounted the front steps at home. Her mother’s voice was soothing, coddling Rebecca out of a bridal tantrum. Tess took a bracing deep breath and swung open the door, straightening her tired shoulders and forcing a cheerful smile onto her weary face.

  “You’re late!” Rebecca whimpered from where she sat on the sofa, delicate features drooping in a pout.

  “I’m sorry. I had to finish a dress."

  “What about MY dress?” Rebecca said, her voice childish and accusing.

  Though she was already twenty years old, she was used to being the baby of the family. Tess sat down beside her and took her hand reassuringly.