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

by Hope Sinclair

  “Yes Aunt Eliza, as you wish. Now if you could please excuse me,” Violet replied, standing up.

  Her aunt nodded and waved an impatient hand. Violet fled to her room before the tears in her eyes could break free. She threw herself on the bed and buried her face in the feather pillow. Why was all this happening to her? The scriptures said that the Lord was always with her, but she felt alone in this world.

  The familiar grip of anger swept through her and she lifted her head and punched the pillow. Only after thumping her fists on it several times, did Violet feel the anger start to ebb away. With trembling hands, she reached for her bible. As she searched for a passage to sooth her nerves, one though persisted in her mind. What is wrong with me?

  TWO

  The Agency

  Joanna Hunter looked at the strikingly pretty girl sitting opposite her and felt a wave of pity. She couldn’t imagine not having any memory of her past. To top it all off she was shackled to Mrs. Eliza Fielding. A bony woman with grand ideas of her own importance. Worse still, was the streak of nastiness she had observed when the older woman glared at her niece. Joanna shuddered. No, she did not like Mrs. Eliza Fielding at all.

  “Violet,” Joanna said softly. “I don’t know if you can cope with the life out in the West. It’s so much removed from what you’re used to my dear.”

  “Oh she knows that and she’s ready for it,” her aunt interjected, speaking quickly.

  Joanna swallowed back her irritation and turned back to Violet. She sat serenely in her chair, as though they were discussing someone else. Her eyes lowered to Violet’s hands and she stifled a sigh. She seemed to be sighing a lot since Violet and her aunt entered her office, Joanna thought to herself. Violet’s hands were unlined and soft looking, which confirmed to Joanna that the young woman had never worked a day in her life.

  The silence between the three of them lingered. From the corner of her eye, Joanna observed Mrs. Fielding staring at her missing arm. Joanna swiftly turned and looked at her sternly, daring her to ask any questions. The older woman had the grace to look embarrassed and looked down at her well-manicured nails instead. Joanna looked at the young woman again. She would probably be better off in the West away from her controlling aunt.

  “Women do everything for themselves there. There are no servants and the conditions can be a little rough. The toilets are in most cases in the outdoors as well as the washroom.” The young woman’s eyes widened, the first reaction Joanna had seen from her.

  “Does that frighten you Violet?” Joanna probed.

  “A little,” she admitted.

  Joanna smiled at her, liking her total honesty.

  She had been very hesitant to agree to the appointment with the Fieldings. Simply because she had her own marriage arrangement to prepare out West. She was packing up her business. Mrs. Fielding had sounded so insistent on the phone that Joanna had let herself be persuaded to at least meet Violet.

  “I just want you to know what you’re getting yourself into. There’s no going back once you commit yourself.”

  “All right. You are happy to commit aren’t you Violet,” Eliza Fielding said, looking at her niece. Violet just nodded in agreement.

  “OK then,” Joanna said.

  “How soon can she go?” the Eliza Fielding demanded.

  “It may take a while to find a suitable groom, especially for someone like Violet who has been through so much with the loss of her memory,” Joanna started explaining. She would have to re-read all the correspondence that had been sent to her the last year and get back into contact with one or two of the men and assess their interest.

  “We only have a fortnight Ms. Hunter,” Eliza Fielding interjected. “There’s a matter of an inheritance that Violet is due to receive. However, it is only valid for a short period and after that she loses it. It stipulates that she must be married before she can get it.”

  Joanna’s mouth formed an ‘O’. She had stopped being surprised by the things people told her. She took this piece of news in her stride. There were dozens of gentlemen in the West wanting to marry, while the brides were few and far between. However, for her to pull off getting it done in such a short space of time, it would have to be someone who had already spelled out they were happy with any woman. That never sat well with Joanna. Neither did the haste of it all. In the last year, there had been too many hasty couplings, which could have ended in disaster. Unbidden her mind wandered to Ada and Pastor Philip. Thank God that match had worked. The Pastor and Joanna had only found out Ada was a dwarf after the arrangements had already been made.

  Her thoughts wandered to her former Assistant Ada, who was now happily married to a wonderful man in Nebraska. Violet reminded her a little of her. They had the same small frame and calm manner. She turned her attention back to the two women. She was not sure that Violet was truly committed to this venture. Contemplating her applicant again, her heart ached for her. Maybe the agency’s luck would hold one last time.

  She got up and walked towards her desk and picked up the small pile of letters she had yet to respond to. This morning she had been prepared to let all the suitors there would be no bride for them and that the agency was closing. She seemed to have a vague recollection of a letter from an eligible man who was in undue haste. Just when she thought she might have been mistaken, she found the letter. Relieved she turned to Violet with a wide smile on her face.

  “I believe I have just the right man for you. The gentleman’s name is Maxwell Grant. He is a widower who lost his wife a year ago. He has a little boy aged four years. He’s desperate for a wife. Most girls who come to the agency aren’t really looking to take on a man with a child. Since there are so few girls available, we have been unable to match him with anyone. That said, from his letters, he sounds like a kind man and really—”

  “He’ll do,” Eliza Fielding interrupted leaning forward in her seat. Joanna starred at her sternly.

  Squirming uncomfortably in her chair, Mrs. Fielding said, “What I mean is; Violet would be happy to join this, what did you say his name was?” Without waiting for an answer she continued, “How soon can Violet leave?”

  It sounded as though the woman wanted to get rid of her niece as soon as possible, despite the inheritance. Joanna tried to catch Violet’s eye, but her attention was somewhere beyond the confinement of the office. She was a dreamy sort of girl. From what Joanna had observed of her. She seemed to inhabit an orbit of her very own, no one else could penetrate.

  She hoped Maxwell Grant was a patient man. She knew most people were impatient about that sort of thing. Or maybe Violet was different when her aunt was not with her. The ideal bride would be a charming young lady, talkative and warm. Joanna rarely got such a bride. Most of them were usually running away from one thing or another, but underneath, they usually turned out to be gems.

  Joanna just hoped that there was more to Violet than bewitching dark eyes and a face that looked as though it had been carved by a master sculptor. One the outside, everything about her was perfect, like a sea shell, but the inside was what counted. Out in the West, men valued hard work more than physical beauty. But this was her last assignment. Hopefully it would be as successful as those before. It would definitively leave a sour taste in her mouth if her last arrangement was the one the failed. Shaking her head, she decided, she had faith. This match would work.

  “All right then. I will write to him and tell him about you Violet and if he’s agreeable he’ll let us know,” Joanna said.

  “Wonderful. We best be on our way now. Thank you Ms. Hunter. It was a pleasure.”

  Joanna mumbled a response and watched as they left, the aunt marching out ahead. She almost called them back to cancel the arrangement when Violet gave her one last, forlorn look, before her hand was gripped and pulled along. Usually, she felt victorious after meeting a potential bride and finding her a suitable gentleman. This hasty arrangement left no such feeling of triumph.

  Only after the door slammed shut, d
id Joanna realize she had not even seen them off. Oh well, at least the aunt had gotten what she wanted. She hoped the inheritance would ease Violet’s life in the future and that it would be worth travelling to the new frontier as a mail order bride.

  Resolutely, before she could change her mind, Joanna gathered her writing pad and paper and drafted a telegram which she would send to Maxwell Grant.

  THREE

  The Groom

  Maxwell Grant, widower, ranch owner and bachelor father, clutched the telegram and took a deep breath. Could this be it? Taking his courage into his hands, he read the telegram aloud:

  BRIDE FOUND BY THE NAME VIOLET FIELDING. HEALTHY. PLEASING FIGURE. QUIET. SEND INSTRUCTIONS FOR TRAVEL ARRANGEMENTS.

  He wanted to throw his cowboy hat in the air and whoop with joy. He didn’t. After all they were in the middle of the town. He glanced at his four-year-old son. “Did you hear that James. The Lord has answered our prayers. Soon, you shall have a new mama. What do you think of that?”

  James grinned, his father’s joy infectious. “Good papa.”

  The two sat out on the porch bench, overlooking the mountain ranges of Utah. It was a beautiful stretch of land and from where they sat; Maxwell could make out the rugged mountains in the South, gleaming with snow. Cliffs covered in limestone dotted the landscape, jutting out from the ground and all around butterflies flew about in their dozens.

  It was an isolated existence, especially with Rose gone to be with the Lord. He looked at his son, running about in the grass, shrieks of laughter coming from him as he chased butterflies. The boy had grown so much in the last year. The loss of his mother had forced him to mature faster than other children.

  He was a stoic, cheerful child and took to everything with a maturity that astounded and saddened Maxwell. Like this morning, they had left the house at dawn to take the cows out to pasture. James had not uttered a complaint about the biting cold, which Maxwell knew he could feel, even though he was covered in layers of clothes. At the reminder of the cows, he stood up and regretfully called to James.

  James was not an early eater, which meant at some point in the morning, Maxwell had to bring him back home to have his breakfast. Having a wife would ease a lot of his time. He urgently needed to put up new fencing. His progress was slow and had now come to a standstill. As they walked hand in hand, Maxwell thought of the mail order bride that Ms. Hunter had found for him.

  He hoped she would take to their way of life. It had taken Rose two years to get used to the silence after moving from the city. He missed her sorely everyday but tried his best to keep his mind away from the loss of his wife. It was too painful and he had a child to look after. It was difficult enough to survive in the rugged terrain where your nearest neighbor was miles away. He had a lot to thank the Lord for, in spite of everything.

  His herd was thriving and every season, he managed to have a substantial number of beef cattle for the market. The biggest problem they had was with cattle rustlers. Maxwell fingered his colt revolver tucked into his leather belt. He felt safer with it, knowing that cattle rustlers could strike at any moment. He hated having to go out herding with the boy, it gnawed at him that each time, that he was forced to expose him to danger.

  But it was either that or leave him at home, which was worse. The sheriff had gone round to all the ranches and farms, advising people to put up fences as a means of curbing cattle rustlers. Maxwell had only put up a small bit.

  There simply wasn’t enough time in a day to do all that he needed to do. He woke up before dawn, lit the stove and then went out to milk the two dairy cows and to collect eggs. The good thing was he had stored a lot of food for winter and they would never lack. However, keeping the household running as well as minding the cattle occupied most of his time. The kitchen garden, which Rose had so lovingly tended to, was now neglected, overgrown with weeds.

  They reached the east side of the farm, where the cows contentedly munched on the grass. The winter was not very harsh in their part of the state, which meant every day, the cows had to be let out to graze.

  “What’s that bird papa?” James asked, pointing a finger towards a tree.

  Maxwell looked at the red breasted small bird and again wondered at the beauty of nature.

  “It’s called a robin and it can sing the nicest songs,” Maxwell replied.

  “Can you tell it to sing now?” James asked.

  Maxwell laughed, the sound of his laughter booming, so that the insect which had been quietly resting buzzed. His laughter was infectious.

  “If I could son, I would have it sing for us each morning and evening before bed.”

  Maxwell’s eyes strayed to the short horn cattle, mentally checking that they were all there. As soon as his new bride settled down, he planned to continue with the fencing and then brand the cows. That would deter rustlers. So far, he had lost five cows to rustlers and the loss had devastated him. Now he kept a watchful eye on his herd, and never failed to have his gun with him.

  Violet Fielding. The name conjured up the image of a homely and kind lady. Maxwell knew the risk involved in getting a bride through an arrangement. She could turn out to be a sour woman who would make life for himself and James miserable. He had prayed about it for months and he felt in his heart the Lord would answer his prayers.

  “Papa, come and see,” James’s voice broke through his thoughts.

  He looked up startled, thinking the boy had seen rustlers. He was relieved to find James standing over an injured bird, his face sad, tears dancing in his eyes. Maxwell squatted to examine the bird. It had injured its wing, probably by a branch or even a predator bird.

  “It’s the wing that’s injured son.”

  “Can you mend it papa?”

  Maxwell gave the matter some serious thought. “We’ll carry it home and take care of it while it gets better. Here let me wrap it up in a handkerchief.”

  “Thank you papa,” his boy said with feeling and Maxwell patted his brown hair.

  “Come now,” Max said, handing the wrapped up bird with its short beak peeking out, to James. “We need to move the herd to the stream and then head back home,” Maxwell said. Later then we can take a short ride to town and I’ll get you some candy.”

  “Yes papa,” James said, his face lighting up.

  The herd knew the way to the creek. Maxwell only had to urge the bull, who was the leader and the rest would follow. He was lucky the creek which drained into River raft ran through his land, making the job of giving water to the cows far easier than it would otherwise have been. James skipped along, with Maxwell ensuring that he walked ahead of his son, obstructing the view of anybody who could be watching them.

  He could not wait for Violet to get here. His worries over James would dissolve in an instant and he could give more attention to the farm. He refused to think further than that The kind of relationship he and Violet would have, was in the Lord’s hands.

  FOUR

  The Meeting

  The uniformed chauffeur had left as soon as he deposited Violet in the train depot. Her Aunt Eliza had seen her off from the front steps of the house and for the first time, Violet saw what seemed to be genuine sympathy as they said goodbye. Sitting in the carriage, overcrowded with families and other lone travelers, she felt a sense of loneliness and a longing for something she could not describe.

  The last six months had been filled with uncertainty, but she nevertheless felt torn about leaving New York, the place she had called home for as long as she could remember. A part of her felt as though she was leaving an important part of her history behind. As though in leaving, she would never recollect her lost memory ever again.

  The train lurched forward and the sudden movement caused her to almost fall off the bench. A boy seated opposite her stifled a giggle. Then erupted into a delightful squeal until he was doubled over with laughter.

  “Stop that Thomas. It’s not good manners,” his mother scolded.

  “It’s all right, if I wer
en’t so startled, I would have laughed too,” Violet said with a smile.

  The boy’s laughter reminded her that she had not laughed in a long time. There had been no reason for her to laugh; besides her aunt disliked excessive displays of emotion. She turned back to the window and observed without interest the passing landscape. How she wished she could remember how she had lived. Her parents...

  It was odd and disconcerting to have a huge blank where your memory should have been. Perhaps babies from their mothers’ wombs came into the world that way-with a blank slate. Except for Violet, she had lived for twenty years and should have had a wealth of memories stored in her brain. The wind gushed outside, blowing the fumes from the steam engine into the carriage. The smell made Violet gag and she covered her mouth to prevent the sudden rise of vomit from escaping out of her mouth. She closed her eyes and willed the nausea away.

  “Are you all right?” the mother of the little boy asked Violet.

  Violet nodded and dropped her hands. “It must be the smell of smoke. It made me sick for a moment.”

  The woman winked at her. “Perhaps you’re with child?”

  Violet laughed mirthlessly. “No, I’m afraid not,” she said.

  “It’ll pass. Your tummy is the sensitive type then. The journey will prove a long one for you. How far are you travelling?”

  “Pleasant Valley in Utah,” Violet said and then turned away to discourage further conversation.

  The last 6 months had altered her completely. Violet knew somehow, that prior to her memory loss, she had probably been a cheerful and talkative person. The number of messages that had been left for her to recover swiftly was proof of that. Now, she avoided conversations with strangers, knowing they would eventually ask questions she could not answer. She allowed herself to doze off to escape the feeling of confinement she felt.

  The journey took three days and as the woman had predicted, it was torturous for Violet. She vomited about six times and could not keep any of the food she had packed down. By the time the train pulled into Pleasant Valley, Violet felt like jumping out of the windows to escape the stifling air of the train, caused by sweating people.