A Mail Order Bride for Thanksgiving: Betty & John (Love by Mail 5)

by Christina Ward

  A Mail Order

  Bride

  for

  Thanksgiving

  Love by Mail

  Copyright ©2015 Christina Ward

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 2015 by Christina Ward

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the copyright owner, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All product names, trademarks, registered trademarks, service marks or registered service marks, mentioned throughout any part of the book belong to their respective owners. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Cover art by BookCoverMasterClass.com Copyright © 2015

  Disclaimer: Any person depicted on the cover is a model and is being used for illustrative purposes only.

  A Mail Order Bride

  for Thanksgiving

  Betty, an amazing cook, struggles to find a man to marry despite her mother always saying the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. But with plenty pale and waif-like young ladies, no one in her home town seems to be interested in the curvy and hard-working Betty. Desperate, she becomes a mail order bride hoping to find a man that will love her for who she is. But when she meets John, her Christian, part-Lakota husband-to-be, it turns out she might not be as open minded as she had thought.

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  Table of Contents

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  A Mail Order Bride for the Undertaker

  Thank You!

  Contact

  Further Reading

  Chapter 1

  Sunny Springs, Alabama, October 1872

  The chicken nuggets Betty made were gone as soon as she had set the plate down on the table. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that Betty Williams was the best cook in Sunny Springs. Usually Betty was proud of that fact, but that day it upset her. Does no one think of me as anything but a cook?

  She leaned back in her chair tapping her foot to the rhythm of the cheerful music. Despite it being her cousin’s wedding, she sat alone, next to the two widowed aunts at the single ladies end of the table. She crossed her arms. Both younger and older girls dance just a few feet away.

  Betty sighed. Every mother in town had praised her cooking to the skies, but none of their sons had asked her to dance. To think that she’d cooked Stephen Collins his favorite, raccoon fricassee, only for him to give it to Rosanna Haley.

  “Why don’t you dance, Betty?” A plump, older woman nudged her.

  “I would, Ma, if someone asked me to,” Betty muttered.

  Her mother sighed. She took a bite of cornbread and turned to her seatmate. “My Betty makes the sweetest cornbread in all of Sunny Springs, don’t you think, Kelly?”

  “Ain’t no one who can do it better than your Betty, and you know it, Jean,” Kelly McRyte, a woman with graying hair replied.

  “She’d make a fine wife, my daughter.”

  They kept talking as if Betty wasn’t sitting within earshot.

  Kelly nodded. “Ain’t she seeing anyone?”

  “Sadly, no. I keep telling her to lose weight!”

  Betty rolled her eyes and pressed the glass of water to her lips in case they actually tried to involve her in the conversation. She’d heard it all before, but it still hurt, and knowing that the eligible young men in town didn’t seem to notice her hurt even more. She saw many a time their eyes stray to the women with lithe frames.

  The song changed and while some women retired for a break, others, all around Betty, were asked for a dance. One man, a stranger likely on the groom’s side, almost stopped by her, but instead he just gave her a look that made her blush as he walked two tables down to pick up some local beauty. Betty cleared her throat, and turned to her mother, “Ma, I’m gonna see the Reverend-”

  “But what about the dance, dear?” her Ma asked. “Maybe if you wait a little while longer, Hector Ark might swing by.”

  Unlikely. That young man built like a blacksmith had his arms full of the mayor’s daughter.

  “I’ll be back before you know it.” Before her mother’s scalding look could change her mind, Betty got up and made her way to the Reverend’s table.

  She looked on at the dance. Her cousin Stella stepped around her husband with poise that only someone of her small frame could accomplish. Betty looked away. All she could do was cook, and where did that get her? She had cooked a lot of the dishes for her cousin’s wedding, but no one seemed to care.

  Betty caught a distorted reflection of her image in an empty silver platter left on the table. There was nothing wrong with her figure, yet people kept insisting that she should change just to snag a man.

  “Betty? Aren’t you gonna dance tonight?”

  She looked to her right to see the Reverend, Mark Larsen, piling chicken and cornbread onto his plate.

  “Not tonight,” Betty said. “Couldn’t find anyone willing to take this gal for a spin.”

  The pastor tilted his head, a sadness filled his eyes but still he gave her a reassuring smile. “Now, don’t be too harsh on yourself dear.”

  Betty chuckled. “I’m not. Other’s do it for me.”

  The pastor lifted the chicken to his lips, looked at Betty, then he put the food back down. He placed his plate back on the table. Oh, no. Here it comes. He stood ramrod straight, tilting his head towards her – something he did when giving advice to arguing couples.

  “Betty, what’s the problem?”

  She glanced away from the dancing couples. “Reverend, do you think there’s a man out there who’ll accept me?” She gestured at her chubby cheeks and round curves.

  “Of course, child!”

  She thinned her lips at him. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

  The pastor laughed and patted his silver hair. “I am not. In fact, I think I know something that can help you.”

  Betty raised a brow. “Divine intervention?”

  The pastor took his plate and motioned to an empty bench.

  “Let’s go sit over there.” When they did, he said, “I’ve presided over many a marriage, you know, and for a few years now, I’ve wedded people who had met each other through the papers.”

  “The papers?”

  “The matrimonial ads. A man needs a wife? He puts up an ad in the papers. A woman’s looking for a husband? She answers an ad…”

  Betty gasped, eyes wide. “Really, is it that simple?”

  “Yes,” he nodded.

  “That sounds as easy as chicken pie!”

  “I actually find baking a chicken pie very difficult...”

  Betty burst into laughter and hugged the old man. “Oh, Reverend, you’re a godsend!”

&nb
sp; “I try to be.” He took a bite of the chicken and sent her a delighted smile, then he added, “Now, there’s this agency from Montana, called Love in the West...”

  Betty leaned forward, and spent the next few minutes listening to his tales of happily married couples who have found their soulmates through the ads.

  * * *

  Oregon, October 1872

  John hefted the axe and split the wood in two. Before grabbing the next block he straightened up and wiped the sweat from his brow. It’s been a long day. He scratched the back of his neck, which had been growing hotter and itchier since the noonday sun hit his back.

  He positioned the next piece of lumber in the center of the huge stump and lifted the ax with a grunt. But before he could swing it, a voice called from the house behind him, “That’s enough to last us a year, John.”

  He turned to his cousin’s husband out on the porch.

  “Didn’t think you’d be home this early, Ben.”

  “Well, it’s your first day with us, and the man of the house has to be around when a guest arrives.” Benjamin extended a thin hand to grasp John’s sinewy one. “C’mon, Faith’s already cooking. Best not keep the missus waiting.”

  They trudged inside the house resembling a hunting cabin. John liked visiting his cousin. Benjamin always said he wanted his and Faith’s home to exhibit both their Christian faith and his wife’s Indian heritage. As always John found himself admiring the trinkets, symbols of both religions, placed on shelves and hanging on the walls.

  “Sit here, Uncle John!” A little girl grabbed his hand and led him to the table, patting the chair beside her. “Sit with me!”

  “No, sit with me, Uncle John!” A small boy, just a head shorter than his older sister, whined and pulled at John’s pants.

  He chuckled and ruffled his hair.

  “There’s no need to fight,” John said, “I’ll be here for a few more days. How ‘bout I sit with Jen tonight, then I’ll sit with you tomorrow. How’s that, Benny?”

  The boy pouted, but released his pants and his sister quickly dragged John to sit beside her.

  “They really missed you,” Faith said, putting down the roast beef. He noted she wore her hair in a braided bun instead of the two loose braids she once favored. She’d gained weight, too…

  John looked into her bright eyes and couldn’t help but notice the rosy cheeks and a healthy glow. “Wait, are you… Are you expecting?”

  The blush on his cousin’s face was enough answer. She sat beside her husband and they held hands.

  “It’s been two months since we found out,” Faith said, with a wink. “Our family’s growing.”

  “I want a baby brother,” Benny said, shoveling bean sprouts in his mouth. “Do you have kids, Uncle John?”

  “Uncle John can’t have kids. He doesn’t have a wife.” Jen grinned knowingly at her brother, then turned to John. “Isn’t that right, Uncle John?”

  John locked eyes with Faith, who raised a brow and gave him a teasing smile. She looked at her son. “Your Uncle John doesn’t have a wife yet, Benny.”

  “Can’t you find one, Uncle John?” Jen asked, eyes wide. “I’ll help you!”

  Benjamin chuckled and passed around a bowl of greens. “But really, John, when are you planning to have a family of your own?”

  Suddenly, the roast beef seemed more interesting than the dinner conversation. He rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged. “Well, you know… It’s kinda hard to find someone…”

  “But you’re a young, hardworking, and handsome man,” Benjamin said, winking at him. “You’ve probably got plenty pretty ladies waiting for you back in Fernville.”

  John shook his head. “It’s not that easy.”

  Benjamin sliced off slabs of meat for his kids, and looked at Faith. She patted his hand and said, “Not everyone’s as accepting as you, Ben. John being part Indian – it’s difficult.”

  “But what if it’s not from Fernville?” Ben muttered.

  “It’ll still be difficult to find someone,” John said, between bites. He reached for a cup of water. He sighed. “She’ll run the first time she sees me and my brown skin.”

  “What if she gets to know you first,” Ben said, throwing a significant look at Faith, “before she gets to see you?”

  “What?” This time it was John who raised a brow.

  Faith looked at Ben, then at John, and then she smiled. “Oh, of course! We have the perfect plan for you.”

  John wasn’t sure if he liked where this was going. “I don’t want to pretend to be someone I’m not…”

  “You’re not going to pretend,” Faith said, placing a hand on her stomach. “In fact, you’re going to show who you really are – and you will find a woman who will love you for your kindness and gentle soul.”

  “How?” He frowned at them.

  Faith leaned back in her chair. “Have you ever heard of mail order brides?”

  Chapter 2

  The dust blew through the carriage window, and Betty pressed a handkerchief against her nose.

  “Are we there yet?” The little girl sat opposite Betty scrunched her nose and looked up to her mother.

  “Yes we are,” the woman said, bending down to wipe her daughter’s face with a piece of cloth. “We’re home now.”

  “All right, everyone,” the coach driver hollered, “This is Angel Creek. Step down nice and slow.”

  The other passengers got off, taking their luggage and children. All of them were returning to home. Betty had been the only stranger among them. She prepared to step down after the mother and daughter left when the coach suddenly started rocking.

  “I’m still here! Please wait, sir,” Betty called grasping the door in panic. She got one leg out, when the coach bucked, this time, rocking from side to side. “What’s going on?!”

  “Wait – hold it!” The driver tried to rein in the horse, but it neighed and kicked its front legs in the air. It bucked again, and Betty found herself swaying back. Was her first day in Angel Creek going to be her last?

  “Whoa, there!” A woman rushed to the horse, quick and confident in her stride.

  Oh my heavens, she’s gonna get trampled! Betty closed her eyes and held on tight as the horse kept bucking. Suddenly, the coach flew upwards and the jolt pushed Betty out. She shrieked expecting a mouthful of dirt and a world of pain when her face meets the dry ground.

  But instead strong arms wrapped around her. She looked up into the brown eyes of her savior. She gaped at his face marked by the sun as the man helped her stand up.

  “You all right?”

  He let go of her as she straightened up. “Y-yes, thanks a bunch.”

  “Good thing he was there to catch you.” A dark blonde woman with curly hair patted the horse on the nose. She smiled at Betty. “You okay?”

  Betty nodded, in awe. So the woman didn’t get trampled. In fact she calmed the horse right down. She spoke to the driver in a low voice, before approaching Betty and the stranger still standing beside her.

  “Mary Ann Turner.” The woman introduced herself. “You new in town?”

  “Yeah,” Betty said, dusting her dress, “I’m here to meet my fiancé, John River.”

  “Did you say John River?”

  Betty turned around. The man who caught her stepped forward.

  “Are you Miss Betty Williams?”

  She straightened her back and held her head high. “I am. Do you know John River?”

  “I do,” the man said with a grin. “I am John River.”

  Betty’s mouth opened again.

  Mary Ann chuckled.

  “Looks like you found your fiancé. Good to meet you Betty.” They shook hands. “Welcome to Angel Creek. I gotta go take care of my own horses. See you around.”

  When she left, Betty turned to John with a strained smile. Was she dreaming? Having a nightmare? Did someone play a cruel prank on her? She couldn’t even stand straight. John motioned behind him, and two women stepped forward. />
  But before Betty could blink or say anything the two ladies reached out to her. Between the smiles, hellos, and tight hugs she couldn’t squeeze a word out. Finally Mercy Beckett, the one with long dark curls, let go of her.

  “So… You’re the founder of Love in the West?” Betty was still a bit overwhelmed by the welcome.

  “Yes, and this here,” Mercy turned to the taller woman with brown hair, “is Claire Shepard, your hostess.”

  Claire smiled. “We’re both so glad that you decided to come.”

  “John said you were a cook,” Mercy said, walking between John and Betty. Claire dragged behind, greeting the townspeople who gave Betty curious looks.

  “I – I am.” Her eyes darted to John’s brown hands and his silky black hair. Oh, why didn’t she ask for a picture?

  “Are you all right, Betty?” John asked.

  “Oh, no - yes, I’m fine.” She blushed and wished she could hide behind the smaller woman walking beside her.

  John’s smile wavered. “You probably weren’t expecting someone like me, were you?”

  Her face reddened. When Mercy and Claire looked at her with wide eyes, she wanted to bury herself in some shallow grave. Yeah, she wasn’t expecting John River to be… to be…

  “My father was half-Indian,” John said. “I guess I should’ve sent you a picture.”

  “No!” she found herself saying, much to the shock of the two women with them. She tucked a strand of curly hair under her bonnet. “I didn’t send a picture either. Y-you’re more handsome than I imagined.”

  “Anyway, you mentioned,” Betty continued eager to stop being the center of attention, “that we’d have two weeks to get to know each other before our wedding? I’ve heard other couples get married right away?”

  “It’s tradition,” Claire said catching up with her. “In some places, a man can marry his mail order bride straight off the wagon, but not in Angel Creek!”

  “Don’t worry,” Mercy said, patting Betty’s hand, “time’ll fly by and you’ll be married before you know it.”