Mail Order Brides Collection Boxed Set: Felicity, Frank, Verity and Jessica, Books 3-6 (Montana Mail Order Brides Series)

by Rose Jenster

  Looking around his house, the home he’d inherited after his father finally drank himself to an early grave, he saw nothing but the shadows, the places where dust and sadness gathered in the corners of an evening. It was a bigger house than he needed, for one man alone. It had never been built to house only one person. In fact, his parents had built it when they moved out West, when he and his sister were small. It was a house for a family of children, a house to echo with laughter and music and a dog barking.

  Like the house, Adam Rexing felt he wasn’t designed for a solitary life. Plenty of people lived alone, especially out in Montana Territory where women were scarce, particularly decent women. But he never resigned himself to living life as a bachelor.

  He’d planned to marry Alice and raise a family right here in the house, to clear away the sadness of the past and replace it with happy memories of a young family on the frontier. Adam had hoped to be celebrating birthdays and Christmases together.

  Laura urged him with the most fervent language in her recent letter to come visit her family in Helena so she might introduce him to a young widow of her acquaintance. The invitation to spend a few days with her family came with a view toward matchmaking. This was an idea he initially resisted. However, the more that he considered it, the more practical it seemed.

  Adam wanted a wife and he trusted Laura’s judgment. There were so few eligible ladies in the West that the spinsters and the widows were courted almost as soon as their boots touched the Montana soil. If his sister could introduce him to his future wife, he owed it to himself to swallow his pride and meet her.

  All day, as he rode toward Helena, he reminded himself to be patient and to be susceptible to meeting someone new. It was hard to think about it at all without feeling apprehensive.

  Adam had known what Alice would look like at his family table, heaping plates with Sunday dinner. In the past she had sat there, spooned up the indifferent stew he could cook himself and tried to make conversation with his father. He knew the pale part in her hair, so precise. He visualized the way her hands were always still, her cuffs neat and her ankles crossed properly. Adam could shut his eyes and list every detail about her, down to the perfect slant of her penmanship in the letter she’d written to jilt him.

  Our visions for a future match up so well, as if he and I were preordained for one another. I regret disappointing you, but ours was only an attachment and I feel sure that I am most likely relieving you of an unwanted obligation to me as I free you from our foolish early engagement. It has been two years since I have been to Billings. I confess I found you altered, so somber and hardworking. You were not at all the lively boy I was sweet on back in our school days. It is well enough then that my parents moved away when they did, that I might find myself in Idaho and in the path of Dr. Freebourn who is the partner of my fate. We are to be wed and while I am certain you will wish us joy, my conscience pricked me until I wrote you to break things off. I hope you will find happiness as well with another…

  Adam thought he would remember every word until the day he died. How carelessly, how merrily she threw him away. He had worked for years to make his business prosperous in order to secure their future. The truth was that he had wanted to offer her not only marriage, but a gold ring. It sat, the foolish thing, in a drawer now. He had ordered the ring from a catalog by mail seven months ago and now the very sight of it reproached him.

  Adam was ashamed of the vanity that had led him to wait to send for her until he could give her free rein to order wallpaper, new carpet and whatever linens women were always talking about brides requiring for creating a new home. How wrong he had been to wait! If he were so blessed as to find another such woman, or yet a better one and more faithful, he would brook no delay.

  He reached Laura’s house after a reflective journey. Her husband was still at his shop, but her little son played at the Noah’s ark figures Adam had crafted for the lad’s birthday. He knelt on the floor beside the boy and watched his play for a few minutes as he silently he set the creatures in a row. The little ark figures appeared to be ready to file onto the gangplank and board that wooden ark. The child had lined up, two by two, the wooden animals his uncle had carved, a pair of lions, elephants, horses, cows, but only one wolf.

  “Now, Josiah, where did the she-wolf get to? You’re to have them two by two on the ark so Noah can save those animals,” he teased the boy.

  The child looked at him with serious dark eyes. “I reckon she runned off, Uncle Adam.” Adam suppressed a laugh at that. “I don’t know where she got to.”

  “Then I don’t know what’s to become of that wolf all alone,” Adam said.

  “Think you could make him a new one?” Josiah asked.

  “I could do that for you, boy. But what if you find the old one? What would happen then? There would be three of them.” Adam was curious about Josiah's logical process.

  “Noah can only take two wolves on the boat. Ma said so,” He shook his head. “There ain’t room for three.” The child looked doubtfully at the toy boat as he assessed the situation. “I don’t much like them elephants. Their big noses are taking up too much room on the ark. Reckon we could leave them off and the wolf could take both ladies with him?”

  “No, I don’t think so, lad. Wolf or man, he only needs one wife,” Adam chuckled, “And you’ll need those elephants, so don’t go leaving them behind.”

  “Then that wolf has to pick which lady he likes better, if I find the old one sometime,” Josiah said with confidence.

  “I’ll set to carving you another one after supper Josiah. I think it’s near on time you were picking up your playthings so you can wash up and set the table,”

  “Yes, sir,” Josiah said, loading his animals into the ark.

  Adam and Josiah stood up and prepared for dinner. Adam scrubbed his own hands and watched that the boy cleaned his nails and washed the backs of his hands, not only the fingers. The child would be five years old come fall. Adam remembered when the boy had been so small that his round bald head fit in Adam’s big palm.

  Every time he visited his nephew, it made his longing for a son of his own all the more powerful. Josiah had grown into a serious boy, small for his age, clever and obedient. Adam would be proud to have a son like him, though it was unlikely any child of his own would ever be termed small for his age. Adam stood over six feet high in his stockings.

  At the supper table, Laura served a handsome roast on her beautiful china dishes. Laura’s husband spoke of the brisk custom at his shop and the new bolts of gabardine and muslin that had arrived for the season. Adam answered the occasional question but mostly kept silent as was his tendency. At last, when Laura brought a pie from the kitchen for dessert, she mentioned the lass she’d written him about.

  “I’ve asked Mrs. Gibbons to call tomorrow. She has a locket her late husband gave her and the clasp needs fixing. I told her you were a blacksmith and knew about metal work. I let her know you might be able to mend it for her,” Laura suggested, her voice sweet with hope for her brother.

  “I can fix it,” he conceded. Adam was comfortable mending things and thought this could be a nice introduction.

  “You’ll like her, Adam. She’s a widow with no children of her own—Mr. Gibbons had a daughter but she lives with her mother’s relations back East,”

  “I don’t mind children. Right fond of them, in fact, if they’re all like your Josiah,” Adam ventured.

  “Of course, I was only saying that she hadn’t any children yet. She’s a pretty creature, very quiet and retiring, likes to keep at home except for going to church. She’s the quiet kind like you,” Laura said, trying to be encouraging.

  “We’ll see, sister. I thank you for your good intentions.” Adam didn't want to have his heart crushed again, but Laura's description of her sounded promising.

  “She’ll have you wed as soon as you’ll give her the nod,” Laura’s husband said about his wife with amusement.

  “I don’t wish to se
em too eager, but I would have my only brother enjoy the same family happiness we have, my dear,” she said to her husband.

  “I wonder if the Widow Gibbons is cheerful enough for any sort of happiness. She seems dour enough to me,” Adam's brother-in-law said frankly.

  “Not all women can be the lively, laughing sort Laura has always been,” Adam said fondly.

  Even now, his sister hummed an Irish air as she cleared the dishes from the table and wiped her son’s mouth with his napkin. She was as musical, as vibrant and warm as their mother had been. Fortunately, she had married a steadier man, one who didn’t take to the bottle. Adam had all faith that she was destined for an easier life than their mother had suffered. He was glad of it, for her sake and for young Josiah’s as well.

  The following day, he met the Widow Gibbons. She was small, doll-like with fair hair and quiet ways. He mended the clasp for her and she murmured not a word of thanks. She addressed her remark to his sister when she said, “There, I can put it in the mission barrel now. No doubt they can sell it and put the money to use!”

  “Surely the missionaries have no need of a keepsake from your late husband, Mrs. Gibbons,” Adam ventured. “I thought when my sister asked me to mend it that you treasured the it.”

  “Not at all. Worldly goods are a trap of the devil, Mr. Rexing. I would have expected more sense from a man of your years,” she said.

  “I—I’m sorry,” he nearly stammered. Pretty as she was, the woman was harsh as well.

  “Mrs. Gibbons comes from Missouri originally, from a family of many sisters, I understand,” Laura put in trying to make conversation.

  “Yes. There were six of us and I’m sorry to say the others followed the lure of the world. You wouldn’t see one of them part with a bauble like this one.” Mrs. Gibbons clucked her tongue, “It's one reason why I never write to them when they try to correspond. They would wish to corrupt me.”

  Adam glanced at his sister, who seemed as startled as he was. They sat in awkward silence until Mrs. Gibbons took her leave.

  Laura turned to him apologetically “I’ve hardly heard her say five words together before today. I never thought she meant to part with the necklace or to say you hadn’t any sense! I’m sorry, Adam. I’ve brought you here to meet her and she’s not who I would choose for you at all. She’s very pious and quiet in church and I’m sure she’s a good person, but I fear that you may bring out the worst in her,” Laura burst out laughing and Adam laughed with her.

  “Think what Mother would have said to her,” Adam said.

  “She’d have told her that it wasn’t Christian to judge others so unkindly and that she could get her uppity boots out from under our roof!” Laura said.

  “That’s exactly what she’d have done,” Adam said appreciatively.

  Adam hugged his sister and rode back to Billings the following day, cutting his visit short. It didn’t do to keep the forge closed too long when people might have a horse needing to be shod or a gate to repair. When he returned the horse to the posting house, Henry was in the stables.

  “Did you like the look of her then?” Henry asked.

  “The horse did fine,” Adam answered.

  “Not the horse,, the widow in Helena! News travels in Billings, you know, and an innkeeper hears it all,” Henry said, hoping to pry some words from Adam. He wasn't the type to enjoy gossip, but thought Adam should have a mate.

  “She wasn’t my sort,” Adam snorted.

  “You might have saved yourself the ride and placed an advertisement in the Matrimonial Times. I do know a few men it’s helped, myself included,” Henry said merrily.

  “Now I write an ad for smithing in Frank’s paper from time to time but I’d never thought to place an advertisement of myself to sale or let!”

  Henry laughed with him. “I do urge you to try it,” he said in earnest.“You might find a lady who’d be glad for a move out to the mountains and start a new life.”

  “Don’t take it as an insult but I reckon that advertising idea doesn’t appeal to me much.” Adam was discouraged and just wanted to be on his way.

  “None taken, Adam, but if you think on it, you might change your opinion,” Henry said.

  Adam went to the forge for the remaining hours of daylight, starting the fire and pumping the billows to make a proper blaze. Rolling up his sleeves against the surge of heat, he felt more at home than he had in days. Soon enough, word got around that he was back and he had a horse to shoe and a bent plow to straighten. Setting hammer to anvil, his thoughts of a wife drifted away for a while as he was consumed by his work.

  Several days later he sat down to eat the cabbage he’d boiled. He realized he’d forgotten to add the bacon grease for flavor. Adam remembered again that he wasn't truly content. He was lonesome and his house was too quiet. The cabbage only tasted of cabbage, bland and smelling faintly of unwashed feet. He might as well write an advertisement if he didn’t want to remain this solitary forever.

  Chapter 3

  Verity Kemp hated to waste a single sheet of her writing paper, because it was the vellum sort that cost dearly. But, she couldn’t send that letter to Charlotte. In it, she dissembled, failing to mention her demotion at work and her increasing discontent with her situation. She had written of the weather and of the handsome velvet hat she’d seen in the window of the milliner’s shop on her last trip to town.

  Verity knew in all honesty that she wrote nothing of substance and it wasn’t worth the price of postage to send it. Disgusted with herself for being so prim as to withhold the truth, Verity threw the sheet of paper in the wastebasket and began again. She found herself unable to write what she needed to say.

  Verity put on her hat and walked to town trying to get a new perspective. She had planned to walk in to post her letter, but instead she went to the stationer’s shop. It was not to purchase more correspondence material, but for a paper of hairpins and the advertisements in Matrimonial Times.

  She hadn’t quite talked herself into answering an ad for a bride, but she had recently read a volume on the history of Montana territory from the academy’s library and found it intriguing. There was a certain appeal about reinventing herself in a new place, much as she had done when she first came to Vaughn.

  Never had she mentioned her childhood of privation or how she worked so hard to save for the school fees and only indulged her weakness for pretty things when she knew she could afford the extravagance. This she kept to herself. She had simply said she went to public secondary school and passed her teaching examination with top marks, both of which were true. Verity left out the fact that she wore white cotton gloves not because she was so fancy, but to hide the way her skin was marred from years of scrubbing laundry with her bare hands in lye soap.

  Now she could go to Montana Territory with the shine of a private East Coast academy for her reference. This would carry the glamor of that pedigree with her. Everyone might think she was sophisticated. Perhaps people might see her as a paragon of elegance with the lace at her throat and the gloves to conceal her rougher past.

  In truth she had read much poetry and prose and enjoyed hearing Viennese music played whenever she had the chance. Performance were quite costly so she went rarely. So it would be somewhat close to the truth. But, Verity never wanted to forget the kindness and patience she learned from her parents. That was something she found missing in some who had been given everything at an early age. She did not like pride or self-importance in people and found the Bible to be a remember what was of value.

  Verity ordinarily preferred to do her reading in the academy’s library. She felt it set a good example for the students to find her reading classical texts in her spare moments. She also liked to show her refined tastes a bit in that way, by reading publicly. Both pupils and faculty, might spy the title and think well of her for her selection of reading materials.

  The Matrimonial Times however, she secreted away in her quarters to read in private. No one would have the chance
to pass her in the library and spy her combing through matrimonial advertisements in search of a more eligible situation than a teacher of orthography in Vaughn Academy—a situation as wife and mother.

  Verity examined the advertisements, keeping careful notes of how many were farmers or ranchers and how many had shops or inns or some other trade that would place them in a town. She much preferred to be in a town with access to shops and a lending library if possible. Verity felt she could be particular about location at this stage of her life.

  If she proceeded and was unable to—it almost didn’t bear thinking of!—win the regard of a town resident, she might have to consider men who lived more rurally. Verity didn’t like to think of becoming that desperate but she had to be practical and at least admit the possibility.

  She further divided the lists into with children and without. She didn’t object to children, but liked to keep everything in neat categories for her consideration. This way if she was going to farmers she could decide whether to write first to bachelor farmers and then in extremity to widowed farmers with children.

  Obviously a bachelor shopkeeper was her first choice, followed by widowed townsperson of some other occupation. She was enamored of poetry, music and lace and would want to continue her Bible studies. She didn't think she'd be a match as a minister’s wife, despite her strong religious beliefs.

  Sighing, she wondered if she was at all likely to find the sort of man she’d prefer in such a way. She had seldom indulged in daydreams but if she tried to imagine her perfect man, it would likely be Shakespeare’s doomed Romeo, whom she imagined to be fair and slender, romantic and possibly consumptive—pale and urgent in his protestations of love. It seemed terribly unlikely to find such a poetic creature, wan and elegant, on the rugged frontier where he would have to ride a horse and plow a field and hunt for game. It would hardly be practical for a handsome and refined gentleman of indifferent or even delicate health to live in such an environment.