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

by Christina Ward

  “No!” Betty wrenched herself from his embrace and rushed to the door, but he grabbed her.

  “Betty, they might hurt you!”

  “They need to know that enough is enough.”

  She was relentless, and John almost let her go, almost let himself be carried by her strength. But he held her tight, not wanting a repeat of last night.

  And while he held her, and she struggled in his embrace, a part of him regretted having dragged Betty into his life.

  Chapter 9

  Two days later

  Betty swept the ground, lost in the sound of the twigs and leaves skittering across the hard earth. She almost didn’t hear Sylvia Sternham calling her name until the woman appeared in front of her.

  “You and your husband should leave,” Sylvia all but spat out.

  “What?” Betty said, blinking, staring at the woman.

  “You brought nothing but bad luck to Fernville.” Sylvia folded her arms, skirting her way around the leaves Betty was sweeping away. “You’ll do everyone a favor if you just went away.”

  Betty sighed, even though John was set on moving, she would not admit this to Sylvia of all people. “What did we ever do to you, Sylvia? Why do you hate us so much? John’s never wronged anyone in this town.”

  Sylvia furrowed her brows, then sputtered, “It’s the mere fact that he’s – he’s not like us!”

  “What, he’s not judgmental or mean?” Betty asked dryly.

  “Well I get why you married him,” Sylvia said with a sniff.

  Betty raised a brow. “You do?”

  The other woman sneered. “Well, who else was gonna take your fat hide?”

  Betty would have said something she’d regret if it weren’t for the sound of hooves making the earth quake. Sylvia gasped, then ran, screaming her head off about a raid. But all Betty saw was John’s Lakotan family, his aunt and uncle on horseback, and his cousins dragging a cart, with the pastor in tow.

  “U-uncle,” she stammered as the man approached her with a smile on his face. “Wh-what’re you doing here?”

  “John asked for our help with rebuilding the chapel. We though you might need some extra hands to go along with the building materials.”

  “And we heard some people have been giving him trouble,” John’s aunt said.

  “We’re extremely grateful for their help,” the pastor said, patting the cart that contained wood and tools.

  Betty heaved a sigh. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

  Kimimela, John’s spritely cousin, grinned. “Of course, you are part of our family, after all. And we, your tiyospaye.”

  * * *

  Betty marvelled at the progress they had made in just one day. At first, John’s Lakotan family were the only ones hammering away at the site, but when the pastor pitched in, followed by old Eddie, Clyde Wyatt, and Chris Donovan, everyone else who passed by decided to help too.

  And when John arrived, his jaw dropped, as well as the pack of wheat he was carrying.

  “What’s going on here? I thought you would be packing at home?”

  Betty chuckled and patted him on the arm. “Your aunt, uncle and cousins came to help.”

  He nodded, eyes roving the site where their neighbors worked side by side with his Indian relatives. He blinked a few times. Betty held her laugh. “What took you so long anyway?”

  “I had to make some alterations to the chair I delivered. And then, when I got home, I had to grab some stuff from the store for our move.”

  Betty pressed her lips together and leaned her head on her husband’s shoulder. “Let’s not think about that now. Don’t you think we should help finish the chapel?”

  He blushed.

  “I’ll just run back to the house to get my tools.”

  Betty nodded as John left.

  “Looks like you might not be leaving, after all,” Susan said, nudging Betty with her elbow.

  Betty rubbed her arms. “I hope so.”

  “Looks like they started without us!” A familiar voice rung behind her,

  Betty turned around to find Mercy Beckett running towards her. Betty opened her mouth, but before she could say anything she was enveloped in a powerful hug by her friend.

  “Mercy! What’re you doing here?”

  “We heard about the fire, and… about the rebuild.”

  “We wanted to help, and so did they.” Cole nodded at something behind him.

  Betty rose to her toes to look over his shoulder. More people from Angel Creek busied themselves at the building site – they chatted with the locals, took out their tools and offered their help in any way possible.

  Although Betty didn’t know some of them, Mercy called them out: Henry Briggs, Hank Welton, his wife Sarah, Duncan Stone, and his wife, Bridgett, who seemed especially friendly towards Kimimela.

  After a while, John arrived and joined the men. In the meantime Betty led the women to prepare snacks for the builders. And then once those were ready, they worked on a proper meal for their men.

  “You Indian folks seem fine,” Marty Silo, a middle-aged man with whiskers said, munching on a cookie.

  Betty looked up, tensed, as Marty nudged John’s uncle, Mankato. When his frown turned upside down Betty let out a breath.

  “You seem fine as well,” the once-frowning Lakotan said.

  “You all right?” John whispered into her ear.

  Betty nodded. “I can’t believe they came to help us.” She turned to her husband and clapped her hands. “We don’t need to move anymore.”

  The sparkle in his eyes dimmed, and Betty’s mouth went dry. But John smiled and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I don’t know... we’ll see.”

  “Hey!” someone shouted.

  Everyone looked up as Henry Briggs rushed into the nearly completed chapel. People stared in silence, a few scratched their heads. Betty started to wander if someone should go after Henry, but a moment later he emerged back outside. He came over to their table, clutching something in his hand.

  “What happened, Henry?” the pastor asked.

  Henry placed a matchbox on the table. “Someone was inside the chapel.”

  A few of the women gasped. Betty was mortified. Why would someone want to burn the building?

  “Who was it?” Cole asked.

  Henry shrugged. “I didn’t get a good look, but someone shorter than me, and he dropped this.” He rolled the matchbox on his palm. “Looked like a thin, young man, but I can’t be sure.”

  “Well, that pretty much means that neither John nor his relatives have anything to do with it,” the pastor said, nodding to John’s aunt and uncle.

  The other builders around them looked at the black matchbox and whispered among themselves.

  “What’re you, waiting for?” Eddie barked. “Go and tell those other lazy bums to help in the build. John’s family had nothin’ to do with the fire so they can stop avoiding him like he’s a leper.”

  Someone scurried to do as Eddie said. After a few minutes, a handful of young and old men hurried over to help, and a few of them approached John with an apology.

  Betty held her tongue when she recognized a few who had thrown rocks at their house, but then they apologized to John, to her, and to their Lakotan family. She wasn’t going to forget the incident any time soon, but a part of her didn’t feel so bitter about it no more. She did notice, though, that Stephen was still glaring at them.

  Could he have been the one to set the fire? But he’d been throwing them heated glares since they’d arrived, walking around in the open. Plus, he was as tall as Henry.

  Betty shook her head. What was important was that nearly everyone was there to help rebuild the church.

  Chapter 10

  Betty and the other women worked hard to arrange all the long tables for a makeshift Thanksgiving dinner.

  “Are you sure it’s all right?”

  Betty looked up at the pastor who gave her a concerned look, his brows furrowed.

  “Of
course, Reverend,” Mercy Beckett clapped her hands together. “It’s still a week before Thanksgiving, but given that the chapel’s almost finished, Betty thought it’d be a great idea to celebrate and give thanks tonight. Like a practice dinner, before the actual Thanksgiving.”

  “Oh, I was just – it was Susan, too and –” Betty stammered, pointing at the women who helped her.

  “Well, we can’t thank you all enough.” The pastor smiled at the women.

  “It’s our pleasure,” Sarah said, laying down some plates.

  “But certainly not ours.” An older woman approached their table.

  “Mrs. Sternham?” someone whispered behind Betty,

  “I thought I’d visit my brother-in-law and his family for Thanksgiving, avoid all the violence and savages roaming near my home town.” The older woman turned her nose up at everyone. “But here I am and there’s another one of them in town.” She shot John a glare, then jerked her head at his Indian family. “And he’d even invited more of his kind.”

  “His kind?” Bridgett Stone said, raising a brow. She folded her arms. “They’re not much different from the rest of us, Mrs. Sternham. Plus, if you haven’t noticed, they’ve been helping in town. The same can’t be said of your kin.”

  Her niece, Sylvia, tried to piece together a comeback, but was only able to sputter incoherently. Mrs. Sternham’s face reddened, and she flipped open her fan.

  Henry sniffed the air and looked around. When he spotted Stephen Sternham, his eyes narrowed. “Anyone got a smoke?”

  Hank Welton raised a brow. “I-I don’t th-think we b-b-brought one,” he said with his stammer flaring up.

  Henry turned to Stephen. “You got a smoke and a match there?”

  Stephen shook his head and took a step back. “Left them at home.”

  “Are you sure? ‘Cause I smell smoke,” Henry said.

  Betty raised her brows. Mrs. Sternham gasped, brows furrowed.

  Stephen smirked. “I doubt I’m the only one hiding a cigarette in their pocket.”

  Henry shook his head. “I’ve hunted and trapped animals for a living.” He took out the matchbox he’d found. “I think this belongs to you.”

  The pastor took a deep breath, as if to take in what Henry had just said.

  “That’s from the fire starter,” Betty said.

  But Stephen smirked. “Right. Now you want to claim I was the one who started the fire?” He looked around at the other people who’d gathered at the table. “I wasn’t near the chapel the night of the fire, both times around, and this morning, I wasn’t inside the chapel. You all saw that.”

  John gripped the table, narrowing his eyes at Stephen. Betty frowned too. No, he wasn’t at the chapel at the night of the fire. He was outside their house, harassing them.

  “That’s true,” Henry said, turning to Mrs. Sternham. “It wasn’t him.”

  Stephen sneered at all of them reveling in the fact no one could pin the blame on him. Though it looked more and more likely that given the chance he could be the firestarter.

  “It was her.” Henry tossed the matchbox to Sylvia who caught it, eyes wide open.

  “What? Of course not!”

  “Well, your perfume smells awfully like cigarettes,” Henry said. “My wife’s into different scents, but she’s never talked about one that smells like sulfur.”

  “No wonder she smelled strange,” Kimimela said over John’s shoulder.

  Red tinted Sylvia’s face as she struggled to defend herself but words failed her. Mrs. Sternham rounded on her niece. “Your mother will hear about this!”

  “But I only did what Stephen sked me to,” she finally blurted.

  Heads swiveled to the young man, who stepped back. He glared at his sister. “Well, you were the clumsy one!”

  “That’s enough!” The pastor exclaimed, eyes narrowed.

  Everyone stilled.

  “I can’t believe you did something so blasphemous just to shame poor John River.” He folded his arms. “You’re both in in deep trouble. We might not have a sheriff yet, but-”

  “What will happen to them?” John stepped in.

  “The law will decide, and in the mean time we will have to detain them,” the pastor said.

  Sylvia gasped.

  John pressed his lips and turned to Betty, who raised her brows. “They deserve to be punished for all the things they’ve done,” she muttered.

  “Yes, but…” He looked at Sylvia, who had tears in her eyes, and Stephen who looked at him, unblinking. “‘For if you forgive others their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you’.”

  “John,” Cole said, jerking his head at the brother and sister. “They’ve set fire to the chapel and tried to drive you away. Betty said some of them even threw rocks and eggs at your house.”

  Betty turned to look at the culprits, who tried to hide behind other people, heads down.

  “What they did was wrong,” John said, “but I hold no grudge.”

  Betty wet her lips, her throat feeling hot.

  Her husband approached Stephen and Sylvia. “I know what it feels like to be humiliated and hated. I don’t want you to experience that, too.”

  John’s aunt approached them and said, “We don’t hold grudges against you, too.”

  Sylvia raised her brows. “Y-you don’t?”

  “Just like you,” the older woman continued, “not all Indians are the same. We are much like you, and we believe in forgiving others.”

  The pastor clasped his hands together. “Alright, looks like you two have been forgiven, but there are still damages to pay and work to be done. And I’ll still be talking to your parents. You two should be thankful that these people –” he nodded at John and his family “– have got their hearts in the right place.”

  Mrs. Sternham hid behind her fan, eyes darting around.

  Sylvia gulped and approached Betty, almost tiptoeing towards her. “I-I’m sorry, Betty.”

  Betty sighed, looking at her husband’s smiling face, then at Sylvia’s tear-stricken one. “I forgive you, Sylvia.”

  The younger woman smiled a bit, then nudged her brother with her elbow.

  Stephen mumbled an apology, unable to meet John’s eyes.

  “We’ll go talk to your family later,” the pastor said. “In the meantime…” He raised his voice and looked at everyone. “Let us celebrate today as a day of gratitude – for this chapel, for the townspeople who helped, for our visitors,” he looked at the ones from Angel Creek, “and to our allies,” he smiled at the Lakotan guests, “and to our Father Almighty.”

  He took a plate and handed it to John’s uncle, Wapasha. “Welcome to our early Thanksgiving.”

  They shook hands and, as if a gate had been opened, everyone passed around the plates and food, mingling and talking with the people from Angel Creek, and their Indian friends.

  Betty went up to her husband and said, with a grin, “You are amazing.”

  John almost choked on his chicken. “Wh-what?”

  Betty leaned her head into his chest. “That was a very brave thing you did back there. I’m not sure I’d have done the same thing if they had harassed me all those years.”

  John wiped his mouth and gave her forehead a peck. “I just didn’t want anyone to go through what I went through.”

  “And now we’re not going to leave?” she asked with hope tightening her throat.

  “No, we’re not.” John smiled. “You were right. This is our home.”

  “And our town.”

  John looked down at her. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

  “Happy thanksgiving.”

  Their lips met as he stole a quick kiss from her.

  Betty giggled and they turned back to the table, where people laughed and talked with each other, Christian and Lakotan, local and visitors all getting along.

  ~ The End ~

  A Mail Order Bride for the Undertaker

  Edgeport, Missouri, November 1870

  “Miss Mercy,
Elliot took my paper!”

  It took all her willpower not to sigh at the little freckled red-head boy grinning at her from his desk near the door. Mrs. Teresa Grayson, Mercy’s superior, was known for her powerful glares, but Mercy was not a strict sixty-year-old matron. Far from it. She was just an eighteen-year-old orphan trying to keep her home from being closed down. She knew substituting for Mrs. Grayson would be a challenge, but at least this was something Mercy was good at.

  “Elliot, please give Ruth back her paper.”

  “But I don’t have it.”

  Whoever is patient has great understanding, but one who is quick-tempered displays folly. It was a good thing the Scriptures kept her sane. Mercy smiled at Elliot and crouched down in front of him.

  “Ruth really needs her paper back so she can do her homework.” Mercy opened her palm. “And it’s not good to take things from someone without their permission, remember?”

  Elliot’s face crumpled, but he didn’t cry. Thank God for small blessings. He handed back Ruth’s paper. “I was just playin’.”

  Mercy ruffled his hair. “We can play other games. Games where everyone’s happy.”

  Elliot pouted and stared down at his feet. “Are you mad, Miss?”

  “Of course not.” She kissed his forehead and handed the paper back to Ruth.

  “All right, everyone.” Mercy clapped her hands. “That’s the end of today’s lesson. God be with you.”

  The children rushed out of the room, but Mercy could still hear the stampede rolling through the hallway. Distracted by the noise she almost missed the two curly-haired girls, one blond and one brunette that stayed behind. They were sisters, if Mercy remembered correctly.

  “Yes, Carla, Caroline?”

  They looked up at Mercy and smiled at her. Carla produced a small red apple from behind her back. Caroline giggled and hid behind her sister.

  “Is this for me, girls?” Mercy leaned down to their level.

  They nodded. Oh, bless their little hearts. But Mercy knew she couldn’t take it. Food was scarce at the orphanage. She wondered how they managed to squirrel the apple away in the first place.