by Caroline Lee
Abigail’s Adventure
The Alphabet Mail-Order Brides Book 1
Caroline Lee
Contents
Introduction
The Alphabet Mail-Order Brides
Everland Ever After:
Untitled
About the Series
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
What’s Next in The Alphabet Mail-Order Brides
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Caroline Lee
Introduction
Widow Abigail Hembree’s entire world has been the Wigg School and Foundling Home. She and her precious children have found a home there, safe from the evils of men, as she taught and nurtured the orphans who shared their lives. But Madam Wigg has made her an offer she can’t refuse, and it comes with a terrifying stipulation: become a mail-order bride—put her future in a man’s hands once more—and she’ll be able to have her own school.
A year ago, Matthias Blake lay bleeding to death in the dirt outside of Black Aces, Montana, and came to a realization: more than anything, he wanted a wife and children. Now that he’s recovered and built his business into a success, a mail-order bride could take care of both of those dreams. But he didn’t plan on a wife who has a good reason to be afraid of men, or a son who wants nothing to do with Matthias’s beloved business.
When matters conspire—in the form of the mysterious Mr. King, who owns most of the town—to keep Abigail from opening her school, she is dangerously close to having to give up her dream. And while Matthias knows he’s willing to change his own dream to save hers, it all relies on Abigail. Can she learn to trust her new husband, or will the ghosts of her past overcome whatever chance she and Matthias have at a happily ever after?
The Alphabet Mail-Order Brides
Join twenty-five authors in a fun new series! The Alphabet Mail-Order Brides are ready for you.
Everland Ever After:
Sign up for Caroline’s Newsletter to receive exclusive content and freebies, as well as first dibs on her books! Or if newsletters aren’t your thing, follow her on
Bookbub for a quick, concise new release alert every time she publishes a book!
Untitled
For anyone who ever took a chance...and was delighted by the resulting adventure!
About the Series
For decades, The Wigg School and Foundling Home of New York City has been the home and education of many of the city's orphans. In fact, the current teachers are Madam Wigg's first "crop" of students, all grown into accomplished young ladies. But she is bothered by the idea of them spending the rest of their lives tied to the Home, without ever finding love. Madam Wigg knows each one of them dreams of being in charge of her own school, so she makes them all an offer...
Chapter One
It was her favorite time of the day, the planning session, and she was in her favorite place. Abigail sighed happily as her pencil scratched out lessons in her workbook, the high ceilings of the teachers’ “office” echoing the sounds just slightly. This room had originally been intended as the music room back when Madam Wigg had built the school, and the acoustics were remarkable. But ever since the new auditorium opened four years ago, Emmeline coached the children’s violin, piano and choir lessons there, leaving this room—with its beautiful polished wood paneling—available for lesson planning.
The scratching of her pencil blended with the same noise from a few of the other, younger teachers, as they bent industriously over their papers. It was a happy little background noise which had always soothed Abigail’s nerves, and was why she cherished this hour of the day.
Currently, she was planning out lessons for her upper-level history students, comparing old plans from years past with some of the latest publications. This year, she was working with Imogene, who taught some of the upper-level English classes, to introduce the students to Latin word-bases in their history studies.
One of the fun things about working in a school where all the teachers and students lived together—which is how things worked at The Wigg School and Foundling Home—was that the classes could all interconnect. Not only were her fellow teachers scattered around the room—those who weren’t outside in the blustery New York wind with the children for their lunch break—but they also lived together on the same dormitory wing, and that encouraged all sorts of collaboration.
Why, the same scales Emmeline taught in music were being studied as mathematical intervals with Beulah, and Rebecca was teaching the younger girls to sew patterns based on the flowers Dorthy had them studying in botany. Cantankerous Uma and serene Jessamine used Abigail’s history lessons as they taught the students French and Spanish, while Sally tied everything together in geography. Nellie’s upper-level lessons in mathematics were applied particularly towards accounting, when it came to the weekly shopping, and ensuring the students’ self-sufficiency. And Harriet and Vera Mae’s extracurricular lessons—on the arts of painting and cookery, respectively—were always able to be tied into whatever the other teachers were focusing on that week.
Joshua reported that the children—at least the older children, since he was in classes with students older than his ten years—appreciated the connections. He said it made the learning more fun, and that’s why Abigail encouraged the younger teachers to continue.
In fact, if this term’s lessons went well, Abigail was planning on collaborating with Tillie on Ancient Greek Theater. As her pencil moved across the notebook, she smiled to herself. Imagine how much deeper the children’s understanding of ancient history would be if they could study it, and then perform it. Zara, although young, had been the one to propose the idea to Abigail, thanks to her love of Greek mythology. It had taken both of them to convince Tillie to lend her stage talents to the proposal, because the young woman didn’t want to perform herself, but with Zara’s enthusiasm egging them on, the lessons would surely be a success.
Of course, there might be a problem finding a play Wiggie would approve of…
As if thinking about her had conjured the older woman, Abigail heard the Wiggie’s voice out in the hall.
“Oh, do quit hovering, my girl. I’m fine!”
“Wiggie, it’s concerning when we find you asleep in the middle of the day!” came Mia’s timid voice, just before they came into view.
As Wiggie’s entourage stepped through the open door of the room, Wiggie waved away Mia’s worry. “Young lady, I wasn’t sleeping, I was simply resting my eyes!”
On the other side of Wiggie, regal Phebe met Abigail’s eyes. The look in her expression made Abigail put down her pencil and straighten, because everyone knew Phebe was practical and not given to overreacting. Whatever had happened must’ve been worrying enough for both Mia and Phebe to show concern
“But—” Mia began.
Abigail knew from the way Wiggie was rolling her eyes, Mia’s protests weren’t going to help matters. If the old woman really was tired, then she would just get pricklier from Mia’s hovering. Mia taught the youngest children at the orphanage, so she tended to look out for those she felt needed the most looking after. Unfortunately, Wiggie didn’t like being put in that category.
“Madam!” Abigail called as she stood up, effectively cutting off whatever hesitant debate Mia was about to launch. “Could I ask your opinion about next week’s lesson plans?”
Wiggie seemed to deflate slightly in appreciation, then she waved her hand imperiously at the two teachers beside her. “See, ladies? Abigail doesn’t think I’m a doddering old fool.”
“We never said that,” reproached Phebe.
“Oh, do go away.” The elderly widow made little shooing motions to Mia with the hand which wasn’t currently clutching a bundle of papers. “Take Phebe outside and let her worry about someone else. You too!”
When she pointed to the other occupied table in the room, Abigail twisted around to see who Wiggie was scolding. Glory and Harriet were looking at each other in confusion, while Wendi and Vera Mae stared open-mouthed at Wiggie. The latter two were some of the youngest teachers at the school, and probably were still in awe of the matron, having known her much longer as their teacher, than as their boss.
Wiggie snapped imperiously as she continued her stately entrance into the room. “Up, up! Out with you. Abigail and I have much to discuss, and there are children outside to be corralled. You may work on your lesson plans later.” She fixed Glory and Harriet with a scorching scowl. “Don’t think I don’t realize you two are only in here so you don’t have to be around the others. Out!”
Glory was particularly shy, and Harriet? Well, Harriet’s disability made her cautious when it came to spending time with others. The teachers in the school, with the exception of Abigail, had grown up together, and loved one another as sisters. Because of this, they knew and understood Glory and Harriet’s—and so many others!—little quirks. But still, the two young women, who were good friends, held hands as they hurried past as fast as Harriet’s leg would allow.
Wendi and Vera Mae, on the other hand, saw no problem with tossing down their pencils and scurrying after the other ladies. They were not only young, but they were close friends as well, and were whispering to one another as they shuffled out of the room.
Their giggles echoed down the now-empty corridor as Wiggie slammed the door with a particular vengeance.
But then…she seemed to deflate. She sighed heavily and turned back to Abigail, as if allowing herself to show her true feelings now that they were alone.
“She’s right, you know.” The elderly widow shuffled towards the table where Abigail’s papers were spread, her bearing no longer stately and proper. “I was sleeping in the lounge.”
Abigail hurried around the table to hold a chair out for the older woman, who gratefully sunk into it. Madam Linda Wigg had to be at least seventy-five years old and was one of the wealthiest women in New York City. Many years ago, after the death of her husband, she invested much of his money into a unique orphanage and school, one which welcomed all children, regardless of whatever superficial attributes other orphanages divided by. She believed firmly that all children deserved the same access to education, and had hired only teachers who agreed with her curriculum.
But that had been over twenty years ago. Now, the children who’d been with her the longest were grown, gallivanting off into the world and making her proud. But the ones she was proudest of were the girls who stayed at the school. The girls like Glory and Harriet, Phebe and Mia, Wendi and Vera Mae, and the two dozen other young women who’d begun their lives as orphans at The Wigg School and Foundling Home, and who’d grown up to become teachers. These women not only believed as she did that all children deserved the same access to education, but they’d lived it, and now devoted their lives to sharing that message with children from all over the city.
Abigail had been flattered to have been offered a job here almost ten years ago. She’d been a new mother then and had been pleased to learn she could bring Joshua, and later Maggie, to work with her. She’d become close to Madam Wigg in the years since the older woman had made Abigail second-in-command, and her students—who’d gone on to become her current co-workers—had been friends. And when she and the children had been forced to move into the dormitory four years ago after the—well, after—they’d been welcomed with open arms and given a private room to grieve, to recover, together.
Joshua and Maggie even viewed Wiggie as a sort of grandmother. In fact, the woman’s nickname had come from Joshua. He’d learned to speak young, but his version of “Madam Wigg” had been garbled and come out as “Wiggie.” She’d laughed, chucked him on his chin, and declared that her new favorite name. So for the last ten years, she’d insisted everyone call her Wiggie.
But now? Now the woman, who’d always been so vibrant, appeared worn-out and tired. She met Abigail’s eyes across the table, and the younger woman saw new wrinkles, new worry in the other’s expression.
“Wiggie?” Abigail asked softly.
She wasn’t asking about the nap, or the argument with Mia, and Wiggie understood.
“I’m dying, Abigail,” she said simply, and all the air seemed to be sucked from the room.
Abigail held herself very still, and tried to remember to breathe.
Dying?
Wiggie couldn’t die. Wiggie was the heart and soul of the orphanage, the one who kept them all together. She was elderly, yes, but she’d had many scares throughout the years. Not to mention she saw no problem using her “ill health” in several good-natured manipulations over the years.
But right now, staring across the table at the somewhat-shrunken old lady, with hair still an amazing, sparkling color of silver, it suddenly seemed believable. The beautiful gowns, the fancy jewelry…none of it could disguise Wiggie’s weariness.
Abigail swallowed heavily. “Dying?”
“It’s my heart.” Wiggie sighed. “The doctors say I’m just too loving, and it’s giving out.” She gestured expansively with a small smile, a spark of her usual theatrical nature showing itself, before she deflated once more. “They don’t know how much longer I have, but I’m determined to set things right.”
“Set things right?” Why did Abigail’s throat feel as if she’d swallowed sand?
“With you, my dear.”
The old woman leaned forward to open the folder she’d carried in, and placed it on the table between them. Abigail could see the list of the courses she’d taught over the last ten years—mainly history, but English and French, grammar and elocution, and a few others as well. On the opposite side was a biography of sorts, detailing her personal background and—as far as Abigail could tell in her attempt to read upside down—interspersed with Wiggie’s notes about her.
Good mother. Afraid of men.
That one was underlined twice, and Abigail tried not to wince. When she looked up and met Wiggie’s eyes, Abigail knew the other woman had seen her peeking, and tried to cover her faux pas.
“I-I don’t think you need to do anything more for me—”
“Nonsense.” Wiggie flipped the page, displaying more notes and a photograph of Abigail and her children. “You, my dear, need looking after more than anyone else.”
And God forgive her, but Abigail’s mind was already racing towards the future. Had it just been her, she might be able to hold Wiggie’s hand, to discuss options, to reminisce about shared memories, to laugh about the past. But it wasn’t just her. Abigail had her two babies to consider, and she didn’t want to do anything to disrupt their beautiful lives.
Dear Joshua was far too serious, too old for his ten years. Even before the accident, he’d done his best to take care of her, and she was his mother! But he was so much like her—not just in appearance, but temperament and interests too—that Abigail knew his first thought would be for her. She didn’t want him to have to worry like that; it was up to her to worry about his future, not the other way around.
And sweet Maggie—she was the wild child. There’d been another baby in between the two, a little girl who’d died in Abigail’s womb. It was as if Maggie had taken all the energy for both children—and Joshua too—and let it out in the most chaotic of ways. Emmeline had banished Maggie from music classes when she’d caught the girl swinging a violin like a bat at another student’s head, and Fae despaired of getting her to sit still long enough to
learn even the most basic of stitches. Dorthy and Yetta were the only ones who didn’t get fed up with Maggie, and that was because they all loved being outdoors. Yetta in particular had a special connection with the little girl, mostly because they both loved all sorts of animals.
Abigail forced herself to breathe deeply. Maggie would be fine, no matter what changes were coming. Joshua was resilient, just like his mother. They would all be fine, even if she had to leave the orphanage to find work elsewhere. But if Wiggie died, what would happen to the rest of the children and teachers?
Wiggie seemed to be watching her, waiting for her to reach some conclusion. When she met the older woman’s eyes, Wiggie nodded, as if pleased.
“You see? I’m right. You need looking after.”
“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” Abigail said soothingly. She didn’t want Wiggie to exert herself.
But Wiggie waved away the platitude. “I’m not dead yet. The doctors say it could be any day now…or it could be years. But I’ve decided to make sure you are taken care of, my dear.” She leaned across the table and patted Abigail’s hand. “I think of you as a daughter, you know.”
A daughter?
Abigail swallowed the thickness in her throat. She was almost thirty and barely remembered her mother, who’d died before the war. But Wiggie was exactly the woman she’d wanted to imagine her mother.