by Debra Samms
MAIL ORDER BRIDE: Brides of Sawyerville –Boxed Set of Books 4 + Bonus – Volume 2
Book 4: Maeve and the Shivaree
Book 5: Delilah and the Whitewater Wedding
Book 6: Clara and the Silent Groom
Book 7: Bridge to my Heart
Bonus: Matters of Trust (Miss Helen’s School for Western Mail Order Brides)
By
Debra Samms
Table of Contents
Contents
Maeve And The Shivaree
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
Delilah And The Whitewater Wedding
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
Clara And The Silent Groom
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
BRIDGE TO MY HEART
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
Bonus Book: Matters of Trust
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Bonus Chapter: My Heart And Yours
CHAPTER ONE
A Word From The Author
Other Books by Debra Samms
Author Profile: Debra Samms
Copyright © 2016 by Debra Samms
Published by Acme Gold Publishing
Cover Design by www.coversbykaren.com
This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, locations, events, incidents, and businesses are fictitious or imaginations by the author. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is coincidental.
All rights are reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means except in the case of brief quotations used in critical reviews.
Maeve And The Shivaree
A Sawyerville Brides Story
CHAPTER ONE
Sawyerville, Oregon
August, 1878
Artie yanked the burlap bag off of Maeve's head, and then drew back in surprise. "Even by moonlight, that's the ugliest bride I ever saw," he said, sounding baffled. "Even with a gag across her mouth. This can't be the right one!"
"It's the right one, all right," said Hank. "Tall, pale, ugly, and mean. You bet she's gagged and tied. She's the one who let go with two blasts of a shotgun right next to my head on the day they got here. I still can't hardly hear outta my one ear."
Maeve tried to get up, but she found she was sitting against a large tree. The men must have carried her out of the town. There was nothing around except darkness and forest.
"My friend Red deserves better than to marry somebody like her," Hank went on. "And if she's out of the way, maybe he can get it."
Just then, Mike the Muleskinner walked up out of the night leading a small work mule by the halter on its head. "Okay, I brought him," he said, slapping the mule on the neck. "You said twenty bucks if I'd let you use a mule, right?"
"Right."
"Then let's go. I've got to get him back before anybody misses him. Come on."
The burlap bag went back on over Maeve's head. Then the three of them picked her up and threw her over the mule's slick back, with one of the men placing a firm hand on her shoulders to keep her from sliding off.
The mule started walking. Maeve could only wonder where they were going, and how long it would take to get there.
***
As told in Journey to Sawyerville:
Sawyerville, Oregon
June, 1878
After making the very long trip from Manchester, New Hampshire to the logging town of Sawyerville by way of Cape Horn, Maeve Harrison and the four women who had come with her were greatly relieved to ride the last few miles in a covered wagon into town.
They were here to meet and marry one of the several hundred men working in the encampment, though they knew the odds were against them. All five of these women were well aware that they were not what most men would call pretty. But they'd come out to the west anyway, hoping that maybe these men would appreciate other qualities in a wife.
The homes and buildings of Sawyerville sat up on a ridge, looking down on the endless haphazard tents pitched on the side of the hill leading down from it. The tents formed a huge encampment between the town on the ridge and the wide Umpqua River far below.
After fending off the rough men who rushed their wagon, Maeve and her four friends – Ruby, Hattie, Jemima, and Eulalie – rode into town and found that forty other prospective brides had already been here for a few months now. But things weren't going well between them and the loggers.
That same afternoon, the sheriff's wife, Molly Strong, was holding a genteel street party with dancing. But neither the women nor the men wanted any part of it. The women were scared to death of the crude loggers, while the men were put off by the standoffish ways of the eastern girls.
It only took Maeve and her friends a few minutes to persuade both sides to start behaving and start dancing. And she found herself doing a slightly awkward waltz with a man who was probably the tallest one in the camp. He looked whip-thin but immensely strong, with pale skin, red hair, and sharp hazel eyes . . . and he said his name was Red Lyon.
Maeve couldn't help smiling up at the very tall Red as she held one of his hands and place the other on his shoulder. He did not seem to be put off by her height, which nearly matched his own, or by her crooked smile and crooked teeth. Or by her long thin face and pale hair and eyes.
She was just becoming accustomed to the sure feel of his hand at her thin waist when the music stopped and she quickly stepped back. The handful of dancers in the street applauded for the three musicians who sat on benches in front of the Frost Mercantile, as did the large crowd of loggers on one side of the street and the smaller group of women on the other.
The music started up again. A few more of the loggers – under the watchful eye of Sheriff Strong and his pistols – found the courage to ask a few more of the young women to dance, but Red turned away from the sight of them and began walking down the road towards the east, where it led away from the town.
Maeve watched him go, assuming he'd had enough of her company. Well, one dance was more than she'd expected. She turned around to go back and join the other girls.
"Maeve."
She turned around to see Red standing there in the road. "You coming?" he asked, standing there with his arms at his sides and his head cocked.
Maeve regarded him f
or a moment, briefly wondering if she should go back and get her shotgun. Then she shrugged. "I suppose I might," she said, and joined him as he walked along the road.
CHAPTER TWO
Maeve and Red got perhaps a hundred yards past the end of the town, though they were still looking down the side of the hill at the masses of tents and rough buildings which made up the huge logging camp. And just beyond the camp was the wide and rushing river, which Maeve could see was jammed with logs.
Red sat down on a boulder at the edge of the road, picked up a pebble, and threw it all the way over the tents until it bounced off of one of the logs in the river. "So. Tell me about yourself."
She took a deep breath, folded her hands, and walked a couple of steps closer. "I'm Maeve Harrison," she began. "I'm twenty-eight years old. I grew up on our family's little farm just outside of Manchester, New Hampshire. I was practically born with a gun in one hand and an axe in the other. I can pull my own weight, and then some."
"Huh. Maybe so." He picked up another pebble and threw it again, hitting the same spot once more.
"That's pretty impressive, Mr. Lyon."
"Call me Red."
"Red. So, Red – why don't you tell me a little about yourself?"
He grinned. "Well, as you can see, folks tell me I'm a nice friendly sort. Some might say I killed a man – or possibly two, or maybe even three – but there's no proof to be had."
Maeve glanced at him. "No proof."
"None. I'm not in prison, am I?"
She looked down at the encampment. "I just got here today. I can see where folks might confuse the two."
Red laughed. "I ain't in prison. I'm here by choice. I'm a faller."
"A – what?"
"A faller. The man who swings the ax and brings the trees down."
Maeve couldn't help but glance at the very large muscles of his arms, but quickly looked away. "Hard work out here," she said.
"Oh, it's not so bad. Fresh air. Plenty of decent food. I love the forest. I think I'd die quick if I had to be closed up in the city."
She nodded. "I can understand. Folks who think life is too hard out here never worked on a loading dock in Boston. Or a factory in New York. Or in a mill in New Hampshire."
The two of them sat in peaceful silence for a short time, listening to the rushing of the river and watching the wind blow in the tall fir trees out beyond the camp.
Maeve stood up. "I should be getting back. I haven't even unpacked yet."
Together they walked back into town, and Red left her on the sidewalk of the Frost Mercantile where the musicians still played for the remaining dancers out in the street.
"Maybe I'll dance with you another time, Maeve Harrison."
"I might consider it, Red Lyon."
***
Nearly a week went by, while the five new women moved into the Sawyerville Ladies' House. This was a large hotel-type structure on the high road overlooking the town, and had been built as a home for the prospective brides before they made their matches.
For Maeve and the four women who'd come with her and made a harrowing voyage in the filthy hold of an old whaling ship, such a house was pure heaven. There was a real bathtub which they could all take a turn at, and clean sheets and quilts on the beds. They all rotated through cooking duties in the fine woodstove kitchen and the place was always stocked with plenty of good fresh food, along with beef and game.
There was even a dairy farm just a mile down the road to the west that kept them supplied with fresh milk and butter and occasionally good cheese.
"I don't think I've ever been so content in my life," said Maeve, on one fine afternoon in early June. She sat across from Red on a fallen log out in a clearing in the forest, where he and a dozen other men were taking a few moments to eat their dinner.
"Me, neither," said Red, taking huge bites of buttered cornbread and sliced roasted venison. "Nice having a woman bring me my dinner pail."
Maeve nodded. "You're welcome. Nice to get out and walk on dry land with trees all around."
He glanced back at the other men sitting around on fallen logs. "Any of them say anything to you walking out here?"
Maeve looked at a couple of the men who sat on another log across the clearing. "Just those two over there."
Red followed her gaze. "Yeah, that's Artie and Hank. You just about shot Hank's ears off when you got here."
"Well, then, those men shouldn't have rushed our wagon the way they did. He doesn't look any worse for the wear. And maybe next time he'll think twice."
"I would."
She gave him a small grin. "Besides – " Maeve turned a little to show him her shotgun slung across her shoulder and the large hunting knife at her belt. "I thank you for the knife. It's handy."
"It is. For a lot of things." He took a few more bites of venison, this time with mashed potatoes and gravy. "Tell me what you did back east."
Maeve shrugged. "We had a farm. Not a farm where we could sell crops. We were barely scratching out a living for ourselves – for Daddy and Mama and my four brothers and sisters.
"I did all I could to help, from morning to night. Shooting small game. Feeding the cow and the goats and the chicken. Baking pies. Cutting firewood. Anything.
"Then Daddy got older. And sicker. I began to take over the running of the place. Pretty soon I ran it myself. Did all right, even if I'm the one who says so."
"I thought you said you worked at a fabric mill."
She nodded slowly, thinking back. "My parents died, a couple of years apart. The young ones went to live with other family. Nobody left to work the farm. I got on at the mill. The wages from that let me care for myself and help the others."
"Then why not stay? Why risk it all on a dangerous voyage to come to a place like this?"
She got up and walked along the rocky river bank. "It's mostly women working there. The pretty ones get harassed all the time by the bosses. If they're lucky, they marry somebody and get out of there. The ugly ones, like me and the girls that came with me – well, they end up deaf from the noise, or minus fingers from the machines, or worse. It's a life spent in darkness and screaming noise, with no end in sight."
Maeve stopped and turned around. She managed to give Red a crooked grin. "After all that, a few rough men ain't nothin' to me. At least, out here I've got my freedom – and a even a chance for a family of my own someday." She quickly looked away, feeling her face blushing a little.
"Yes. You do." Then Red abruptly got up and walked off. "Got to get back to work." Then he was gone, leaving Maeve to gather up the dinner pail and carry it back to town. But she kept smiling all the way back, and all she could think about was a very tall red-headed man swinging that huge axe out in the forest.
CHAPTER THREE
Some three weeks went by, and Maeve kept company with Red Lyon at least once every two or three days. She might bring him his dinner pail to whatever section of forest they were clearing that day, or meet him at the mercantile later on when he went to buy tobacco or a little rum or even the rock candy that he liked.
On this particular day, Red asked Maeve to walk up the hill with him to the high road – the street above the business road where the houses for the camp bosses and business owners were built, and where the Sawyerville Ladies' House sat tall and proud among the trees.
"I thought the loggers weren't allowed to go up on the house road."
"They're not. But a man who owns a cabin up there can sure go up to it."
Maeve blinked. "You own a cabin?"
"I do. I've worked hard for a long time and saved my dollars. I don't drink it all away like some of them do. I'm going up to take a look at it now. Soon as the woodstove arrives, I'll be moving in."
He couldn't help grinning at her, and the pride was evident on his slightly freckled face. "Come up and take a look."
Maeve raised her head, and looked sideways at him. "I might come up, Mr. Lyon," she said, "but I won't be coming in."
"Name's Red
."
"I won't be coming in, Red."
"That's fine. Come on up and see the outside, then."
They walked together to the far end of the main street, and then turned and started walking up the switchback to the high road that ran above the main one. "It's nice up here, where the houses are," Maeve said. "Peaceful. Secure. It's nice to have a quiet place to live."
"So, you'd rather stay in the Ladies' House?"
"Can't complain. Got my own room. At worst I'd only have to share it with one other woman, if more come out here."
"Thought you came here to get married."
"I suppose I did, but I'd be glad enough to stay in the Ladies' House and work wherever I'm needed. It's a far sight better than working at that mill and being buried in that city."
Soon they reached the high road and began walking past the cabins and small homes. "This one," Red said, stopping near the edge of the road. "Right back there."
There were larger buildings and houses in a neat line along the road, including the very large Sawyerville Ladies' House. But behind the houses, on any spot of level ground that could be found on the ridgetop, were many scattered log cabins and small lumber homes.
Red walked between the larger houses to a small cabin, so new that the logs still had fresh bark clinging to them. She peered in through one of the windows and saw a large single room with what looked like a smaller second room in the back. "That's a kitchen back there," he said. "It's going to have all the best furnishings. And the roof's good all the way around."
Maeve nodded. "Pretty cabin. Nice front porch, too."
"Well, go on and try it out, then. Even got a bench waiting."
She gave him a sidelong look, but then walked cautiously onto the wooden planks of the front porch and sat down on the long bench.
Red stood against the single rail enclosing the porch. "So, tell me, Maeve. What kind of husband do you want?"
She glanced at him, and quickly looked away again.
"Oh, come on. Don't play coy with me. You must have thought about it."