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

by Rose Jenster

  I’m not saying you should come out here and pick the Lane you like best like you’d go into a store and pick out fabric for a new dress, but I can promise you that if you believe in me enough to come meet me with a view to marriage and for any reason you don’t want to marry me, I would make sure you weren’t stuck out in the West alone and unprotected. One of us would give you the protection of the Lane name and a respectable home. You would not have to go back to your people. I don’t mean to talk bad about your family since I know nothing about them, but a woman who is happy with her family back East isn’t likely to send urgent telegrams to strangers.

  If I am wrong about that, forgive me. I just guessed that there must be something you’re running from out in New York that you’d like to get clear of by coming to Montana Territory. If you make the long journey, I will help you any way I can.

  Timothy Lane

  * * *

  Dear Miss Donnelly,

  Since I don’t know you and we have never spoken plus I have never seen your face or read a letter from your hand, I have the strangest feeling I’m writing these letters to myself or to some idea I made up in my own mind. So it’s not reasonable to say that I like you from the impression of a few dozen words in a telegram. I want to know you better and I have started checking the post every day after work in search of your letters which are probably not even written yet, much less had time to make their way across this great vast country of ours. But I am looking out for them and I cannot answer how I will feel when I finally hold in my two hands a letter addressed to me, from yourself.

  It awes me that somewhere far across this land, over the mountains and across rivers and plains and yet over more mountains, there is a woman writing letters to me, sight unseen. There is someone brave enough, bold enough to do that. It takes a good deal of courage to marry anybody, as far as I’m concerned. For it to be a total stranger, someone you never even laid eyes on, well that’s a special kind of courage.

  It seems a crazy idea, but I know some men out here it’s worked out for real well. The innkeeper and the blacksmith, besides Frank at the newspaper have all found their wives—good Christian women, too—with that matrimonial advertisement paper. It’s spread like measles out here, Frank said.

  Ever since Henry the innkeeper wrote an ad and his wife came, curiosity got the better of us. Henry's wife made friends with the preacher’s wife right away and joined the sewing circle and fit right in to Billings like she was made for it. I think we all saw that as a miracle, and it’s made us want our own miracle. My thought is if it can work for someone like Frank, who isn’t real easy to get on with for most people, then maybe it makes sense to write letters and to know the person’s mind before you see their face and decide in an instant whether they are what you like or not.

  I may as well tell you how I look because if I have my way, you’ll find out first hand by coming out to Montana on the train. I’m very tall, probably the tallest man in Billings, and it makes being a lawman easier because everybody’s got to look up to talk to me. I have brown hair but I mostly wear a hat so a lot of people don’t even see my hair outside of church. My eyes are brown and I have some squint lines around them from being out in the sun all my life and squinting against the bright light. I don’t wear a beard and I keep myself clean.

  I’m not lazy and I don’t have a lot of bad habits unless you count the animals against me. I make good cornbread and I have my own cow so you’ll have fresh milk. That sounded like a good thing to write ,but now I read it over it sounds stupid. As if you should come to Montana because the only thing I have to recommend me is my own cow. That’s pretty humbling, I can tell you.

  I read some at night. I borrow books from Henry, the innkeeper. Sometimes he loans me these thrilling detective stories by a Mr. Doyle of England. I like stories about crime—and as a lawman I like to read about solving crimes even if it is probably too indelicate for me to mention this to a young lady. But, since you telegraphed me for three letters I reckon you’re brave enough and you won’t faint at the word ‘crime’. They are good ones and you should read them. Do you like detective stories? His wife likes a lot of poetry, so I bet she has books you’d enjoy and you’d get on with her if you like that kind of thing.

  I need to go and feed my animals now, but after that I’ll post these letters and I’ll imagine you waiting to hear from me as I wait to hear from you.

  Timothy

  True to his word, he fed his animals first. Then he plucked a few red petals off a geranium plant his mother had once given him. He sprinkled the petals into the envelope and sealed it, thinking it would give Jessica a glimpse of spring in the mountains.

  It was a number of weeks before he received her letters, and that itself was quite soon considering the speed of the mail. He had dropped by the post office so often that the postmaster had begun to tease him about waiting for love letters.

  Of course, the gentleman could have no way of knowing that he awaited news from a potential bride. He only knew that a man who had infrequent letters from family in Helena had taken suddenly to stopping in at the postal desk once or twice a day. All three arrived at once and he had stopped in at noontime, having heard the mail coach go through town early. When the postmaster handed over the three envelopes, Lane almost couldn’t believe it. They felt like magic, like something he had never hoped to be given—although he had hoped, in fact, and waited as well. It seemed a bit overwhelming to have them at last.

  Lane walked back to the jailhouse and told his deputy he had some business to take care of and he would be an hour or so.

  “Don’t arrest anybody unless there’s bloodshed,” he said wryly as he took his leave of Dewey.

  Lane didn’t want to read his letters at his desk, with the prying eyes of his always-curious deputy on him and the risk of interruptions as well. He settled down on a chair by his kitchen window and unfolded the letters, determining which was first, second and third. He laid them out in order from left to right so he would not have to pause to unfold a letter once he began reading. He read the first letter over carefully twice before he let himself go on. Lane finished the letters quickly, folded them and tucked them back into their envelopes. He put them on the mantle beside the ormolu clock and rested his hand on them for a moment before returning to work.

  He had fifteen minutes left of the hour he’d intended to be gone. Even if he only had five remaining, he would have stopped to telegraph her.

  Read your letters STOP Read mine then get a train ticket and come west STOP I am done waiting and I want you here so we can be married STOP Timothy Lane STOP

  There, he thought, that ought to leave her with no question of his intentions. He grinned to himself as he went back to work, feeling lighter and more hopeful than he had in years.

  Chapter 5

  Jessica had her telegram just as she was coming downstairs to supper. Rather than answer questions about what was keeping her from the table, she took the yellow slip of paper from the housemaid and slipped it into her pocket to read later. Her cheeks were pink with the excitement of it. While it could be from one of the other men she had sent a telegram to, she felt sure it was from Timothy Lane.

  Only he had responded to her initial overture and she had written him and expected his own letters to arrive for her any day. If anyone had wired her, surely it must be him. She felt elated and giddy. Jessica kept smoothing her skirt self-consciously, hoping the soft blue silk didn’t reveal the outline of the missive in her pocket. It was too fine a dress for anything to show through from the pocket, and the tiny pleats at the waist made the skirt stand out a bit anyway.

  There was no risk of her secret being disclosed by a visible telegram. Only her bright eyes, heightened color and the pulse at her throat could give it away. She could feel the tap of her pulse against the pearl choker she wore, given to her by her mother on her sixteenth birthday. Jessica loved to wear her pearls with blue, because it was how her mother always styled her own outfits. Her
mother was and had always been the loveliest of women with the finest taste.

  Jessica wanted to be like her mother in so many ways…but not enough to go to England and marry a fortune hunter to please the woman. Now she felt she had a ticket to freedom and happiness, and that wings beat all over her body, a wild, fluttery feeling that made it difficult to sit still.

  She took a few spoons full of soup and nodded along as her father talked about how well things were going at the mills. Eloise preened over her new lace collar, a gift from Miss Overling, her future sister-in-law, and Jessica told her it was beautiful.

  “It’s such fine lace. Clearly a mark of the Overlings’ great regard for you, Ellie,” Jessica managed sweetly and was rewarded by her mother’s approving smile.

  “Indeed it is. Now, Mother, have you heard back from Cousin Agnes about Jessica’s trip?” Eloise pressed with curiosity and some spite.

  “Let us try that conversational transition again, dear.” Her mother disapproved of Eloise’s rudeness. With a rather unladylike sigh, Eloise nodded.

  “Very well. Thank you for the compliment, sister dear. Have you and Mother had any news from England lately?” Eloise redirected with a slight waspish edge to her voice.

  “No, but I expect to hear from dear Cousin Agnes any day now and we shall proceed with booking passage on the ship. I do have a delivery for Miss Jessica though,” her mother said with a twinkle in her eye. “I had ordered a few things for her from the dressmaker, for her trip. With her trim figure, won’t our Jessica look divine in a traveling dress with a little peplum jacket? I had one made up in a rich green, a light serviceable cashmere. I can’t wait for you to see it!”

  Jessica felt her color deepen. Her mother was trying to spoil her with new pretty things—a trousseau of sorts, to start a new life in England. She struggled around the lump in her throat to murmur thanks.

  “I had one of the latest fashion books from Europe and Madame Roualt and I just looked over it to choose the most cunning designs. We can’t have them thinking you a country cousin from America, now can we?” Her mother elaborated, “The ball gown, of course, will be your own choice. It would be ridiculous to deprive you of the fun. A girl likes to select her own silks and laces—no insult meant to the Overlings for your gift, of course, Ellie.“

  “I took the liberty of ordering you a traveling dress, a day dress for at-home mornings and another for walking out to visit. They’re all wrapped in paper and waiting in the sitting room. In fact, if my dear husband will excuse us as soon as dinner is over, we’ll leave him to his port and his newspaper and I can see my daughter try on the dresses for fit—and for fun!” The proud mom was practically clapping her hands with excitement.

  Jessica nodded, horrendously guilty over her own deception. She was, after all, seeking a husband on her own, behind her mother’s back. All the while, her mother was doing nice things for her and trying to make the trip to England less odious.

  Just moments ago, Jessica had been too excited to eat, in anticipation about the contents of her telegram. Now her stomach plummeted with shame. She would have to express gratitude and delight over the presents, when she wanted to bury her face in her mother’s skirts, weep and confess the entire tale.

  Jessica ate practically nothing. Eloise and her mother filled the silence with their chatter. Eloise was angling for a new traveling gown for herself with justification that she had a proper honeymoon approaching.

  “Of course we shall see you properly turned out, Ellie, but you’re only taking the train to the seaside for a few days. Jessica is going on a great ship all the way to England. You’d hardly need cashmere for the passenger car. You’d only slosh tea all over it,” her mother said.

  “Mother, I sloshed tea when I was thirteen! You needn’t remind me of it,” Ellie sulked.

  “And let it be a lesson to you. I wore my snuff brown silk on the train that day and six years on it has never been the same after you spilled tea on the skirt. Mustn’t dress too dear for the trains, girls. Simply be neat and respectable, and wear sturdy boots. Never waste your most stylish day dress or finest hat on the trains. They are filthy machines,” her mother sniffed.

  “You thought our first train ride was delightful,” her father said and his wife smiled at him.

  “That’s been long ago, John. I was young and impetuous then and didn’t mind being seared by the occasional cinder for the sake of adventure. Now I prefer my tea without railroad dust and the prying eyes of others,” she said.

  “It’s good then that we can have a private compartment these days, should we choose to travel,” he winked at her and his wife shook her head indulgently.

  After dinner, Jessica was obliged to try on each new dress in her room. Eloise tightened her stays for her, with an almost malicious jerk of the laces that jabbed Jessica in the ribs and made her gasp as the air emptied from her constricted lungs. The green traveling dress was most becoming with the pretty row of diamond-shaped jet buttons down the front of the jacket. The attractive embroidery at the cuffs and hem was a slightly paler shade of moss green and a nice contrast.

  .The day dress was cornflower blue. “I have always loved to dress you in blue since you were an infant,” her mother said, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. It almost finished Jessica off right then. She was nearly reduced to tears herself, but she bit the inside of her cheek hard to keep her mind off her roiling emotions. The day dress had a pleated, full skirt and puffed sleeves.

  The third dress was of a cream lace with a flounce at the hem and lovely rose pink ribbon woven through the bodice. It was in a flattering square shape as if to delineate a sailor’s collar, when in fact it had a respectable high neckline as a lady’s dress should. A pink sash set off the narrow waistline and she could trim her straw hat with matching ribbon to make quite the cunning fashion plate about town. Jessica pressed her palm to her chest to stop a sob that kept threatening to rise.

  “It’s too beautiful, Mother. Thank you,” she gasped.

  “Stays too tight?” Eloise asked grimly and without concern. Jessica was glad she said it because that was a convenient explanation for her breathless voice.

  After they left her room, Jessica sank to her bed, still clad in the lovely lace gown. She reached for her discarded supper dress and fished the telegram from her pocket, thankful it hadn’t fallen out and exposed her deception. She blinked back tears, the words swimming before her eyes. Wiping her tears on the back of her hand, hasty and unladylike, she read the message. She jumped to her feet with a joyous little cry. It was nearly a whoop, though a grown woman, of course, never whooped.

  It was clear she must go to Montana Territory as soon as possible. Jessica hoped to receive his letters in a day or two. She must be packing, laying her clothes as swiftly and inconspicuously as possible. Jessica shared a ladies’ maid with her mother and sister, so fortunately Harriet was not so fascinated with keeping track of Jessica’s linen and ribbons as a full-time maid would be.

  Jessica would sneak a few items into her hope chest tomorrow after supper, and would make a list in the morning of items she must be sure to pack—her favorite books, her rose salve for her hands which were quite sensitive, her set of silver hair combs that were so becoming with a chignon.

  Frantic, she removed the cream lace dress and laid it out on its paper reverently. She wasn’t sure whether to take the new dresses. Eloise was taller than she and could not wear them, even if the hems were let out all the way. They were made to measure for specifically for her and could not be returned for a refund. But it seemed so—well—shabby to take the gifts her mother purchased to soften the blow of having to move to England and instead run off to Montana with them. As if taking the dresses, rather than deceiving her own parents were the real sin. She shook her head, feeling quite foolish indeed.

  Jessica was sure she’d never sleep that night—so divided she felt between excitement and guilt. She tossed and turned. She lit the lamp and read her Bible seeking comfort,
but found only more shame for the way she was treating her devoted parents. At last near dawn she slept, and lay abed until nearly luncheon.

  When she rose, head pounding, she dressed gingerly and had toast and tea as if she were ill. Her mother breezed past her on the way to pay a visit with Eloise to the Overlings and suggested that Jessica take a walk to put roses in her cheeks. Jessica obliged and looked in at the post office where the three letters awaited her. She felt great relief just holding them in her hands. She needed to read them right away, to know that she was choosing the right course, that she was traveling toward happiness and not more heartache.

  Jessica wept when she read them. For a man who was, for all intents and purposes, a complete stranger to be so candid with her, to share so much of his past, his opinions and interests, was precious to her. She felt that she knew him already, that he had been fair and measured in what he revealed, not merely trying to show himself in the best possible light.

  She liked him a great deal on the strength of those three letters. Jessica felt sorrow over the loss of his wife, both for that young bride who lost her life so suddenly and for the besotted groom she’d left behind abruptly. How lonesome he must be, and how sad and unjust that he blamed himself. She was glad he was a gentle, caring Christian as his compassion for wounded animals proved. She couldn’t wait to meet his ‘patients’…those animals both wild and domestic that he tried to help.

  He was a reader as she was, and she felt reassured that they would have that in common. His interest in looking at the mountains, in reading detective stories told her that he could, like herself, be still and appreciate the silence, the beauty of nature and the life of the mind and most importantly the contemplation of God’s great creations.