Mail Order Bride: JUMBO Mail Order Bride 20 Book Box Set

by Hope Sinclair

  “That’s how,” he said, tossing the envelope at Daisy. “That letter is from your friend Anabelle… It arrived two days after you disappeared from New York. Apparently, your friend wanted to let you know that she’d written to her cousin—a Calvin Anderson, who lived in Blue Basin, outside of Fort Alcatraz, California—in the hopes that he could help you out with your ‘predicament.’ From there, all I needed to find you was a train ticket out west and a few coins to bribe the locals into giving me Calvin’s address.”

  “But, why—” Daisy started before Marcus interrupted her again.

  “Why am I here?” he asked, rolling his eyes over her face and body in a way that made her feel objectified and dirty.

  “To fetch you and bring you back to New York with me, so that we can marry, of course!”

  “But, I’m already married,” Daisy exclaimed. “Calvin Anderson and I were wed four days ago.”

  Marcus looked at Daisy crossly through his thick glasses. “Pish-posh,” he seethed. “Your father will have the union annulled, since you were married without his permission.”

  “No, he won’t,” Daisy combatted. “My father will do no such thing. He said that, if I found a suitable man to marry, he’d allow me to marry him, not you—and Calvin is a suitable man. My father will surely—”

  “Ah, you poor, stupid thing,” Marcus interjected. “You really don’t know your father, do you? You’ve had your nose so deeply buried in those useless books of yours for so long, that you’ve failed to comprehend the real world around you.

  “Your father never had any intention of letting you marry anyone else but me. He gave you those three months to search for a husband just to humor you and silence your objections while I was off conducting business in Delaware.

  “No matter what man you found—be it the King of England, or the President of these United States—your father was never going to approve of him. He’d already promised you to me, and accepted the money I offered him to buy your hand in marriage.”

  Daisy felt lightheaded, and her heart felt heavy. Marcus was right—she really didn’t know her father. She’d known he was cruel and callous, but she’d never thought he was capable of this type of deception and manipulation.

  “All I want is what I already paid for,” Marcus huffed. “So, get up, get yourself together, and come with me. I’m taking you back to New York, where you belong, so that I can lay claim to both you and your father’s business.”

  “I won’t go with you,” Daisy yelled.

  “Fine,” Marcus said, reaching into his pocket again. “If you won’t come with me voluntarily, I’ll take you.” He pulled out a pistol and pointed it at Daisy. Instinctively, out of fear for her life, she rose to her feet, still clinging to her collector’s copy of Oliver Twist.

  Just then, the front door swung open, and Calvin walked in through the doorway. When he saw Marcus standing there with a pistol pointed at Daisy, he stopped dead in his tracks, gasped, and, then, shouted. “What’s going on here?” he demanded to know.

  Marcus turned his ugly face away from Daisy and looked at Calvin. “I’ve come to get Daisy and bring her back to New York with me,” Marcus stated with gusto. “I paid her father for her hand in marriage, and I’m not about to lose my investment.”

  “Whatever her you paid her father,” Calvin replied coolly, “I’ll pay you triple. Just be gone from my home.”

  “I didn’t just buy the girl,” Marcus chortled. “I bought the name, and the right to inherit the family business—and there’s no dollar sign you can put on that.”

  Marcus’s chortle turned into a roar of laughter, and, as he moved both hands closer to his round stomach to indulge his laughter, Daisy saw and opportunity… and seized it. She took firm hold of her Dickens novel and lunged forward with all the strength she could muster, and slammed the book—hard—against Marcus’s round head.

  A loud thud echoed throughout the living room, and both Marcus’s glasses and his pistol fell to the floor.

  The blow did not knock Marcus out, but it set his head spinning, and his upper body rocked and swayed as he tried to recover—and, as it did, Calvin ran over and grabbed the pistol from the floor.

  “Looks like these books of mine aren’t so useless after all,” Daisy sneered as Marcus stared down the barrel of the pistol, which Calvin had pointed at him.

  Calvin smiled and chuckled, then turned to more practical matters. “There’s some rope on the porch, underneath the bench,” he told his wife. “Go get it, please—so that I can hogtie this scoundrel and take him to the sheriff.”

  Daisy did as her husband had indicated, and, a few minutes later, the two of them had Marcus bound and ready for transport to the sheriff.

  “I’ll take him in and be back as soon as I can,” Calvin said as he pulled Marcus toward the door.

  “Wait!” Daisy shouted.

  Calvin turned and looked at her expectantly.

  “Did you complete your business in town?” she asked.

  Calvin looked at her curiously.

  “Did you?’ she inquired. “Did you sell your land yet?”

  “No,” Calvin replied, unsure as per why Daisy chose this particular moment to ask such a question. “I forgot my deed and came back here for it, since it was needed to complete the transaction.”

  “Well, don’t,” Daisy responded. “Don’t sell your land. Keep it. Forget New York, and forget my father! I don’t want you to give up everything you have here, so that we can go back to a place that offers us nothing.”

  Calvin smiled, nodded, and tugged on Marcus’s tethers, dragging him out of his house and out of his and Daisy’s life forever.

  Marcus Taylor was escorted back to New York by a constable two days later, and, upon his return, before he was jailed for attempted kidnapping, he told Mr. Robinson about what had happened in Blue Basin. Mr. Robinson was very upset to hear the news—particularly as it pertained to his business, not his daughter—and he resigned to leave Daisy alone from that point forward.

  Daisy and Calvin went on to live happy, successful lives, and, two years after they were married, gave birth to a sapphire-eyed baby boy, whom they named Oliver.

  The End

  6. The Pregnant Widows Salvation

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  EPILOGUE

  ONE

  A tear slipped down Linda’s face as her hand caressed her swollen abdomen. The silk fabric of her dress did nothing to calm the nerves rattling through her. The memory of her husband’s misdeeds haunted her.

  Her ma had told her something wasn’t quite right about his constant disappearing. The old matrons had whispered behind her back each time she stepped into church. Even the sheriff had questioned her about her husband’s whereabouts, not believing her statement that he worked late herding cattle. And still she had been fooled. Fooled by refusing to believe the man she loved would make such a mockery of their marriage. That he would bring such shame into their lives. But he had with each of his lies and crimes.

  She crumpled the milkweeds in her hands. She had come to lay them at his grave before she said her final goodbye, but every part of her wanted to spit on Max’s tombstone. How could he have done this? Become an outlaw? Terrorized his fellow human beings? His pa’s ranch wasn’t that important. She would have gladly let the bank take it and become a pauper’s wife.

  But her Max was too used to wealth. To success. So when his father had died and left him with a debt and a cattle ranch in trouble of being foreclosed on, he had chosen to step off the righteous path, and now here she was, alone and fleeing a town where everyone scorned her for crimes she didn’t commit. But to them she had. She had been notorious outlaw Max Oakley’s wife, and ther
efore just as guilty.

  Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she focused her gaze on the grave. Bluestem had started spreading over the cemetery almost hiding her late husband’s burial place under a red blanket. How appropriate that he lay under the same color of blood since see he had shed it. Only his small stone with his name, birth and death date carved onto it could be seen. She couldn’t bring herself to add anything else since she’d be either lying or forever inscribed in stone his guilt. The affection she had once felt for her husband was now warring with anger, guilt and shame.

  Turning at the sound of wheels, she dropped the purple/crumbling flowers on a dirt path lined with buffalo grass. She gripped her satchel and walked away from the only man she had loved towards the road where a stagecoach waited. Hopefully, the future that awaited her would bring her much happiness. She reached to her dress pocket, and patted the letter that lay inside. Dear Lord, please let Mr. Pickett be as true as his letters portray him. She just couldn’t deal with any more disappointment or heartache.

  In the distance, she spotted the famous Oakley three-story stone mansion. The home of a great line of cattle barons, who had ruled Whitecloud Township with an iron grip since the 1830s. No wonder the town folks had celebrated Max’s downfall. The Oakleys had been known for shady deals and robbing the area farmers of their homesteads. But Max had seemed different when he courted her, a mere doctor’s daughter, bringing her books of poetry and chocolates from New York, promising her that he had dreams to change his family’s reputation. She swallowed the bile that rose in her throat. He had certainly changed their reputation and not for the better.

  She walked to the where the coach driver waited. A driver who would take her to meet her groom at Baxter Springs. He took her small satchel that contained the few belongings the bank had let her keep - a day dress, black leather Bible and one comb. She raised her bare hand, noticing the lack of the gold ring with a small diamond in the center. They had let her keep it but she had sold it the first chance she got. She needed no remembrance of the life Max had left her.

  The coach driver averted his gaze, as he offered her his hand. He helped her slip in, and then walked to the front. As the stagecoach pulled away from town, she noticed a few of the town’s people lining the dirt path. Women in worn calico dresses clutched their children close to their bosoms as men stood near with hands firmly planted on their hips; guns in their holsters. They must have walked miles to see her off, making sure that she would actually disappear as she had promised. As her stagecoach drove nearer to the small crowd, a woman with deep stress lines between her brows scrunched up her lips. Linda’s eyes widened as the woman spat at the stagecoach. Soon others followed.

  She turned from the window and closed the curtain. Taking several deep breaths, she whispered prayers.

  How she wished, she could make up for the wrongs of her husband and his family but they’d soon hang her before listening to one word of apology. Linda’s hand snaked up to her neck and she softly rubbed. Images flashed through her mind. Images she wouldn’t dwell on. She let her hand drop. Soon she’d be away from this life, and the wife of another man. A man she hoped would provide her the life Max had ripped from her. A life of tranquility and peace. That was all she desired.

  She reached into her pocket and pulled out the letter. A small flutter danced over her heart.

  My Dear it started. After all the malice she had faced recently, those words touched her deeply.

  My mother has begun to set up a small nursery. The thought of a grandchild has given her a new purpose in life. She’s crocheting little booties. Booties that put images in my mind. Images of a son I can teach to herd cattle or a daughter to protect.

  A smile slipped on Linda’s face. She shouldn’t let worry overcome her. How could a man that longed to take care of another’s child be bad?

  No, kindness poured from his written words. He would be everything she hoped he’d be. She just had to keep him from learning about her husband’s past. And that shouldn’t be too hard. All she needed to do was not let one hint slip out that would give her away, and since she had always been good at keeping her thoughts hidden, she would have no trouble. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. No, a new life waited for her. A life that Max’s tainted memory wouldn’t be able to destroy.

  TWO

  Blake Pickett took a deep breath and closed his eyes, letting the air seethe through his teeth. Honor your father and mother, that it may go well with you and that you may live long in the land, he repeated to himself. He wondered how many times he would have to repeat this verse until he could accept it, because at the moment that was the last command he wanted to remember.

  “Blake, she is the perfect wife for you. And you need a wife. Someone to help you to lift off this gloom that covers you.”

  Gloom that covers you? His pa was right. His ma should have been a writer. Blake opened his eyes. His wisp of a mother stood before him, holding a stack of letters. Letters written to a woman by his mother pretending to be him. A woman who believed she was on her way to become his bride. “Ma, you should never have. I....”

  Ma Pickett smiled, her light blue eyes blending in with the silver streaking through her brown hair. The setting sun cast a glow around her making her look angelic as she stood in front of the front porch of the family ranch house. “Blake, you should began reading these letters.”

  “Ma.” A strain filled his voice, “I’m not marrying....”

  “You can’t be just focused on the ranch forever. Cows don’t provide a warm hearth for you to come home to. Besides, she with child.” His mother bent her head to the side, a smirk crossing her face. “You would never leave a pregnant widow stranded, would you?”

  A pregnant widow? She had convinced a pregnant widow to abandon the comfort of friends and family to become the bride of a man who didn’t know she existed?

  Blake studied the spark of intelligence in his mother’s eyes. Whoever said women couldn’t be cunning hadn’t met his mother. Because cunning she was. His mother knew, a pregnant widow, would be hard for him to turn away. But even as guilt washed over him, he knew he needed to do something about the way he was living his life.

  It had only been eight months since his wife had died. So what if pain seemed to be taking over his life making him bury himself into ensuring that his late father’s ranch succeeded. It provided him what he needed. The perfect reason to keep on living. Because if he, for just one moment, thought of Sarah every one of his breaths became a labored task and full darkness would finally enclose around his heart.

  He took a big sigh. Maybe old man Williams would want a wife. The old rancher lived a few miles from him and seemed all alone. Maybe he could foist this poor bride on him. He’d have to ride over there later in the day and speak with him.

  Happy with his temporary solution, he turned to his mother and asked, “When is this bride supposed to arrive?”

  The sudden sound of wheels brought brightness to his mother’s eyes. Suddenly he had the impression he did not want to know the answer to that question. A weight of dread filled every part of him. His mother spun, clapping her hands together. “I wonder who that could be.”

  She knew full well, who approached the front of the ranch house. The stagecoach rolled to a stop, and the driver stepped off, carrying a stool. He placed the stool down, opened the door and held out his hand.

  A woman stepped out, and the air flew from Blake’s lungs. His mother hadn’t told him, what a beauty she had found. The young woman had corn husk colored ringlets peeking from her bonnet and summer blue eyes. Fragileness clung to her as she glanced around, her gaze coming to rest on him and his mother. Her eyes slightly widened, and then what could only be hope drained from her face. Hope that crushed his insides and made him feel like a ruffian. A ruffian who wouldn’t be what this woman needed.

  ***

  Linda didn’t know quite where to let her gaze rest, so she let it fall to the dusty dirt road that made her thro
at dry. The man standing before her couldn’t be her dear Mr. Pickett. The red tinted face, and hands smashed onto his hips, displayed a man who was not pleased with her presence. Was he a ranch hand? Someone who the woman was dismissing from work and that is why Linda had seen them arguing as the stagecoach pulled up?

  “You must be, Mrs. Brooks,” the older woman said, rushing to her side, and taking her hand. “Thank you for coming.”

  The older woman glanced at the young man with dark hair that curled at the nape of his neck and matched his somewhat unkempt beard. “My son has been looking forward to your arrival.”

  Her son. Her arrival. Linda glanced at the man who swept off his Stetson, and slapped it against his dust covered wool pants. A softness mixed with regret filled his dark brown eyes.

  “Hello ma’am, my name is Blake Pickett.”

  Oh no. Hope drained from her as her legs wobbled. She clung onto the woman as the man rushed to her side, keeping her from falling. Please Lord, tell me something hasn’t arisen. Something that would send her back to Whitecloud Township.

  She took a deep breath and let it release, trying to slow her racing heart. Mr. Pickett’s strong hands spoke of strength, but as he gazed at her she saw no warmth, or gentle nature. She only saw a man who for some reason was disturbed at her presence. Had he learned of her husband? He couldn’t have. She had introduced herself with a fake name.

  “Sir.” Her voice sounded like a squeak. “It is a pleasure to become acquainted with you.”

  “We must get you inside,” Mrs. Pickett said, taking Linda’s arm, and leading her towards the two-story wood house with a wrap around porch. “Blake, dear, you finish up with the driver.”

  Mrs. Pickett led her into the home. She barely had a chance to catch a glimpse of the foyer with tables and a threaded rug. The older woman led her to the kitchen and pulled out a chair at a finely polished table with light blue dollies at each seat.