The 12 Brides of Summer Novella Collection 1

by Susan Page Davis

  Blue Moon Bride

  Susan Page Davis

  Copyright

  © 2015 by Susan Page Davis

  eBook Editions:

  Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1- 63409-572-3

  Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1- 63409-571-6

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

  All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.

  Published by Barbour Books, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683, www.barbourbooks.com

  Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.

  Chapter 1

  Ava Neal’s younger sister burst into her bed-chamber.

  “Ava!” Sarah hurried across the room as quickly as her long rose-colored taffeta dress and her fashionable shoes would allow. “Conrad has proposed. We’re getting married.”

  Ava pulled her into a fierce hug. “Oh, my dear! I’m so happy for you.”

  “Really?” Sarah drew away and eyed her critically. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be? Conrad is a fine young man, and he obviously adores you. He’ll make you a wonderful husband.”

  “Well, we always thought you’d be the first down the aisle.”

  “True, but we Neal sisters are unconventional, aren’t we? We’ve never set much store by what people think.”

  “You’re not crying, are you?” Sarah asked.

  “No! Well, perhaps.” Ava chuckled and swiped at a tear escaping down her cheek. “But these are happy tears, I assure you.”

  “They’re not”—Sarah studied her with an anxious frown—“not because of Will Sandford?”

  “Of course not! That was long ago.”

  “Yes.”

  Ava grasped her sister’s hand. “You’ve told Mama and Pa, of course.”

  “We did, and they seem quite pleased about it. They asked me to run up and get you. You’ll join us, won’t you?”

  “I certainly will.”

  Ava steered Sarah out to the landing and down the stairs to the parlor. The more people the merrier just now, and if anyone else alluded to her state of singleness at the age of twenty-two, or to her heart being broken when Will Sandford died, she would ignore them.

  At the parlor door, she allowed Sarah to draw her in and over to Conrad’s chair. He stood, blushing a little, as Ava laid her hand on his sleeve.

  “Conrad, Sarah has told me the good news. I am so pleased.”

  “Thank you.” He let her draw him down for a kiss on his cheek, which made him flush even deeper.

  “Sit down, girls,” her mother said. “I’ve made fresh tea.”

  Mama had also brought out the macaroons and ginger gems they had baked that afternoon. Mama always had some confection on hand when her daughters received gentleman callers.

  “Let me help you.” As usual, Ava served while her mother poured the tea. They had developed the routine years ago, without discussing it. She gave Conrad the first cup, then Sarah, and then her father. While Mama poured for Ava and herself, Ava passed the pressed-glass plate of cookies.

  At last, she settled on a chair near her father.

  “Have you discussed a date between you?” Mama asked Sarah.

  “A little.” Sarah glanced at Conrad. “We thought we’d like to have it in June if we can, though time is short.”

  “Of course, a June bride.” Mama’s smile belied any difficulty in organizing a wedding in less than six weeks.

  Ava sipped her tea and let the talk flow around her. Conrad must have approached her father sometime during the day, probably at Pa’s office in town. He had obviously received permission to offer Sarah his hand, as Pa now seemed perfectly contented with the way things were going.

  Ava tried not to imagine how different things would be now if she were the one being courted, or if she were now a married woman and could host a party for Sarah in her own home.

  She was only fifteen when Will went off to war, and sixteen when they’d heard he’d been killed. Some had supposed she was too young to truly know love, but her family understood how the news shattered her. Ava often thought that, because she was so young, those feelings had faded more slowly than they would have in an older woman.

  “And you’ll need a new gown, Ava,” her mother said, jerking her back into the present.

  “Wh— Oh, for the wedding?”

  “Of course, darling,” Sarah said. “You will stand up with me, won’t you?”

  “If you wish it.”

  “I wouldn’t have anyone else.” Sarah reached over to squeeze her hand. “I was thinking pale blue watered silk. Or would you prefer green?”

  “Whatever you decide on,” Ava said. No one would ever suggest she wear pink or burgundy, with her auburn hair. She could trust Sarah’s judgment there.

  “Perhaps you ladies should go to the shops tomorrow and see what they have laid in,” her father suggested.

  Ava looked at him in surprise. Pa was in a generous mood this evening. He must truly be happy with Sarah’s choice. Perhaps he was relieved that he would have one less eligible daughter to worry about.

  “What a splendid idea,” Mama said. “We’ll make a day of it and eat luncheon in town. Now, Conrad, do your parents know?”

  The corners of Conrad’s mouth quirked, and he glanced at Sarah. “Well, I did drop a hint to them before I left the house. They seemed quite agreeable. My mother told me to ask if Sarah may join us for dinner Sunday.”

  “Of course,” Mama said. “And we’ll want to have your whole family over soon. Maybe next week.”

  Ava realized her father was watching her, not the prospective bride. He gave her a gentle smile.

  “Ava, would you mind refreshing that tea? I think we need another pot.”

  “Of course, Pa.” Ava rose and took the nearly empty teapot off the serving table.

  A moment later, her father followed her into the kitchen.

  “All right, kitten?”

  “I’m fine, Pa.” She measured the dried tea leaves into the infuser and placed it in the teapot.

  “Right.” He stood there watching her work.

  “What?” Ava asked.

  “Memories waylay us at the most inconvenient times.”

  She grimaced. “I hoped it wasn’t obvious.”

  “Not too badly.”

  “I’m truly happy for Sarah and Conrad.”

  “I’m sure,” her father said. “That doesn’t make it easier, though.”

  Ava sighed and turned to the stove for the teakettle. “I thought maybe I’d do some traveling this summer, Pa. After the wedding, of course. I wouldn’t leave before then.”

  “Travel where?”

  “I’d just like to get away. Maybe have a little adventure of my own.” A thought came to her, and she glanced up at him. “I could go out and visit Polly Tierney.”

  Her father blinked, frowning a little. “Polly? Kitten, she lives clear out in the Wyoming Territory.”

  “Well, yes, but it’s civilized now, or nearly so. And travel is so much easier out there, now that they have railroads clear across. I could take
a train to Cheyenne. Polly and Jacob could fetch me there.”

  “I don’t know. . .”

  Ava poured the boiling water into the teapot. “Please, Pa? It would give me something to look forward to after the wedding.”

  “Maybe so. I’ll mention it to your mother tonight. Start her thinking about it a little.”

  Ava laughed. “I doubt you can get her to think about much besides wedding plans right now, but it wouldn’t hurt to plant the idea in her mind.”

  Joe Logan sat in the waiting room at Becker and Fixx, Attorneys at Law, and doodled on the edge of the newspaper he’d picked up. He hated waiting, and his fingers always reached for a pencil when he had to sit for a while.

  The front page of the paper had a story about the devastating effects of a recent hurricane on Labrador, and another on outlaw Jesse James’s latest escapades out west. Joe sketched a man on horseback, his face obscured by a knotted handkerchief, riding with a pistol in his outstretched hand. Not bad. Joe still thought he might be able to find a place as an illustrator, but he’d probably have to go to New York for that, and rumors said the price of food and lodging there was outrageous.

  A bell sounded briefly from the next room, and the secretary who sat at a desk across the room looked at him. “Mr. Becker will see you now.”

  Joe brushed a bit of dust from his jacket and fingered the tie knotted around his neck before entering the inner office. Mr. Becker was particular about his employees’ appearance.

  “There you are, Logan. I have a job for you if you want it. It’s a bit more involved than the jobs I’ve given you before.”

  Mr. Becker nodded toward an empty chair, and Joe sat down.

  “That’s fine, sir.” Joe would like having more regular income, but he hadn’t been able to secure a steady position since his old employer had died in November, leaving him at loose ends. The courier jobs and errands he performed for Hartford businessmen barely paid his living expenses.

  The attorney sat back and studied him for a moment. “I’ve a client who doesn’t trust the postal service, and he wants a packet hand-delivered.”

  Joe nodded, glad it wasn’t a summons to serve a court witness. He always found that task distasteful. “Is it documents, sir?”

  “Er, no. The gentleman was recently widowed, and he wants to send a few of his wife’s bits to their daughter. She’s married and living in San Francisco.”

  Joe tried not to let his excitement show in his face. He had never set foot west of the Appalachians. San Francisco, and all expenses paid. Those “bits” must be valuable.

  “You’ll need to get some signatures, too. I sent some papers in January, and the daughter claims she signed them and sent them back, but they never arrived here.” Becker shook his head. “You just can’t rely on the mail west of the Mississippi, I’m afraid. So you’ll take the papers out and have her sign them when you give her the jewelry, and then you’ll bring the documents back.”

  It sounded simple enough. “When do you want me to leave, sir?”

  “Soon. I’ll have Mr. Franklin see to your railroad ticket. Next week, I suppose. End of the month. You’ll have a berth on the train, but you’ll have to find a hotel once you arrive. I don’t expect it will take you more than a day or two to take care of your errand, and then you must head right back.”

  Joe nodded. Surely somewhere in there he could squeeze out a few hours to enjoy seeing San Francisco. It might as well be Paris—distant, exotic. He could hardly wait.

  “You will wire me when you have completed the delivery,” Mr. Becker went on.

  “Yes, sir.” That would, of course, be his first order of business when he got to San Francisco.

  “We will advance you money for your expenses and pay you fifty dollars upon your return. Is that acceptable?”

  To Joe, it was very acceptable. The trip would take him less than a month—perhaps much less, and he fully expected to enjoy himself.

  “Perfectly,” he said.

  “All right. See Mr. Franklin at the front desk. Come ’round to get your ticket the morning before your departure, and we’ll give you the client’s packet.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  “And Logan, if this goes well—that is, if you successfully deliver this parcel—why, we might have regular daily employment for you on your return. Are you interested?”

  “Oh, yes, sir. Thank you.” Joe left the office whistling and went back to his boardinghouse. Unfortunately, he would probably have to pay for his room in advance, or the landlady would let it out to someone else in his absence, but overall, he felt good about the prospect of this new venture.

  After dinner, he went down to the parlor to save burning his own lamp oil. He found a quiet corner where the other boarders would hardly notice him and opened his drawing tablet. He had splurged on it a couple of months ago, but it was full now, and he had to flip through it before he found a page with enough empty space for him to draw a locomotive spurting smoke. San Francisco! He would most definitely have to buy a new sketchbook before he embarked.

  Chapter 2

  Safely across Mississippi

  Ava reread her brief message. Mama would fuss about the unnecessary expense if she added much more. She would save her descriptions of the journey until she had a chance to write a full letter. Still, her parents would be waiting fretfully for news, especially Mama.

  So far, the railroad journey had been interesting, especially after they left New England and passed through vast tracts of forest and farmland. As yet there was no bridge across the river at St. Louis, though one apparently was planned, and Ava had joined her fellow passengers on a ferry ride over the roiling waters of the Mississippi. Seeing the mighty river, the barges of coal and wheat, and the steamboats plying up and down the channel had thrilled her. Thanks to the modern wonder of the submerged telegraph cable, her parents would receive her message before suppertime.

  While the porters transferred the baggage from the ferry to a wagon, the passengers drifted toward the eateries near the waterfront. They had an hour before their next train would board, and most of the travelers hoped to find a decent meal in the interval. Ava found a lunch counter that served soup and sandwiches. When she gave her order, she asked for a packet of extra sandwiches to take with her.

  She entered the railroad car before most of the other passengers and found a window seat two rows back from the vestibule. Last week, she and her father had engaged in quite a discussion on the merits of window seats versus aisle seats. Her mother, on the other hand, seemed only to be fretting about the impression a young woman traveling alone would give. As the others entered and claimed places, Ava tucked her handbag and sandwiches between herself and the wall and peered out the window at the flurry of activity on the platform.

  “Pardon me. Is this seat taken?”

  She looked up into the keen blue eyes of a young man, clean shaven and of respectable dress, who stood in the aisle, his derby hat in one hand and a small leather valise in the other.

  “Not at all.” Ava’s lips curved—not too encouraging, she hoped. Mama had been quite expansive about the encouragement young men might take from a winsome smile.

  She tried not to look at him as he settled in, but she noted that after placing his hat on the rack overhead, he slid his leather case beneath the seat and kept the heel of his shoe nestled against it when he sat down, as though he didn’t want to lose track of that case for a second.

  The car filled rapidly, and the conductor passed through. Two gentlemen arrived separately and claimed the seats opposite them, offering the perfunctory greetings of strangers. The train started with a lurch and then a steadily increasing rumble. Ava was getting used to the sounds and rhythms of the rails, and she felt like quite a seasoned traveler now. One of the men across from her opened a newspaper, and the other leaned back and closed his eyes. Ava studiously gazed at the shifting landscape outside.

  When the conductor came to check their tickets, the young man leaned
back and allowed her to present hers first.

  “We’ll reach Cheyenne late tomorrow morning, miss.” The conductor tore off a portion and handed her the stub.

  The young man gave him his ticket, and the conductor nodded. “And you’ve got quite a trip still ahead of you, sir. You should arrive Wednesday morning, 11:15. Independence Day.”

  “So it is,” the young man said. “I expect they’ll have some doings in San Francisco?”

  “I shouldn’t wonder.” The conductor gave him his ticket stub. “Let me know if you folks need anything.”

  When he had moved on, the young man turned to Ava. “I’m Joseph Logan, by the way.”

  “How do you do? Ava Neal.” She held out her gloved hand, and he grasped it briefly.

  “I admit I’m curious,” he said. “What draws you to Cheyenne?”

  “I’m going out to visit an old friend. She married a Westerner, you see. Polly’s father ran a stagecoach stop, and she wed one of their drivers.”

  “How romantic!”

  Ava smiled. “Yes, it was, really. I admit I was a bit jealous when she wrote me. I envy her life now. I haven’t seen her for four years, and she’s got a husband and two babies.”

  “It will be quite a reunion for you,” Mr. Logan said.

  “She’s my dearest childhood friend. I can’t wait to see her again.” Ava hoped she wasn’t chattering too much, or revealing too much about herself. Time to turn the conversation. “And what about you, Mr. Logan? I believe the conductor said you are going to San Francisco?”

  “That’s right. It’s business. I shan’t stay there more than a day or two, then it’s back to Hartford.”

  They talked quite freely through the afternoon and shared their pleasure at the scenery their window afforded, which was new to both of them. As they rolled across the state of Missouri and headed northward for St. Joseph and the Nebraska border, Ava was grateful for congenial company. Mr. Logan’s conversation was far from boring. He told her a bit about his sporadic work for a firm of lawyers in Hartford, and his hopes for steady employment if he succeeded in his mission to California. What that errand was, he did not divulge, but he certainly held her interest. The personable and handsome—yes, by now she admitted inwardly that he was very good looking—young man was an unexpected dividend for this trip.