“I’m an intelligent woman,” Rose protested. “I can learn. And as for the other chores, how hard can it be? I’m sure I can manage. So it’s settled.”
Bounding out of the chair, she hurried into her room to get her engraved stationery set, a pen and bottle of ink.
At the table, she began to write:
Dear Mr. Halstead,
In response to your advertisement in The Groom’s Gazette, I am writing to you in hopes that you will find me suitable to become your bride.
My name is Rose Winchester. I am 22 years old, 5’3” tall and weigh 105 pounds. I live in Lawrence, Massachusetts, and until a few months ago, I worked at the Brown Textile Mill. Unfortunately, the factory burned down and since then, I have been unable to find permanent employment.
I grew up on a farm near Princeton and have been around horses my entire life. I’m confident I can be a helpmate to you in running your ranch. I can assure you I will be a good wife and a devoted mother to any children we might be blessed with in the future.
I am a hard worker, and anxious to start a new life. If you think I might be the bride you’re looking for, please reply.
Yours sincerely,
Rose Winchester
“Done.” Rose set the pen aside, closed the bottle of ink and patted the letter with the blotting paper. “All I can do now is wait and see if he responds.”
“Let me read it,” Emma said, plucking the paper up from the table.
Rose watched Emma’s face while Emma scanned the writing.
“You really do have remarkable penmanship,” Emma commented.
“That’s why Mr. Brown allowed me to do the clerical work rather than run the sewing machines,” she said.
“Are you really sure you want to do this?” Emma asked as she put the letter back on the table. Concern tinged her voice.
“Positive,” Emma replied. “Willow and Gillian have both found good husbands.”
“Perhaps they were merely lucky. There’s no guarantee—”
“I discovered the hard way that life itself offers no guarantees. I really believed I’d continue to spend my life in Princeton, marrying well and raising a family in the same circumstances my parents did.”
“I know—”
“And look what happened. I was shunned through no fault of my own. Now, I’m willing to gamble that Charles will accept me as his wife and will be a good husband to me.” She held out the newspaper to Emma. “You should do the same. You must agree, it can’t be worse than here.”
“That’s true.”
A few minutes later, Rose tucked the sealed envelope addressed to Mr. Charles Halstead into her reticule and got up. Slipping into her coat and winding the woolen scarf around her neck, she opened the door. “I’m off to mail the letter.”
“You should think about it a little more—”
Rose was already near the end of the passage to the stairs. “The sooner I mail it, the sooner I’ll get a response,” she called back over her shoulder to Emma, standing at the apartment door. “I have no time to waste.”
* * *
As she had every day for the past three weeks, Rose entered the post office and quickly crossed to the wicket.
“Morning, Miss Winchester,” the bushy-haired gentleman behind the counter greeted her. “How are you this fine morning?”
Rose smiled. “I’m just fine, thank you, Mr. Brooks. It does appear that spring is finally on its way.” The air was still a little cool, but the sun was shining and buds were beginning to appear on the trees. “Do you have any mail for me?” She’d almost given up hope of hearing from Mr. Halstead, and she’d decided that if she hadn’t heard from him within the next few days, she’d stop making the daily trip.
Then … A chill washed over her at the thought of joining the women in one of the bawdy houses that seemed to have sprung up in every neighborhood in the city.
“I do,” the clerk replied. Turning, he plucked a letter out from a slot behind him and slid it through the barred wicket. “Is this the letter you’ve been waiting for?”
Rose’s heartbeat tripled. “Yes,” she told him, picking up the envelope and tucking it into her reticule. “Thank you so much.”
Quickly, she hurried back to the apartment, eager to share the letter with Emma.
The apartment was empty when Rose stepped inside. Although she wanted to read the letter with her cousin, she wasn’t willing to wait until she returned before she opened it.
She hung her cloak on the hook behind the door and sat down at the table. Her fingers trembled when she pulled the letter out of her reticule.
The handwriting was strong, her name and address scrawled across the white envelope.
Suddenly, a strange hesitation overcame her. She’d been so anxious for a reply, yet now she was almost afraid to open it.
For several long minutes, she stared at the envelope.
What if he didn’t want her?
He could have had several responses to his advertisement. There was no way to know if he’d choose her. Perhaps he’d already found a wife.
The envelope did seem a little thick to hold a letter of rejection, though. Taking a deep breath to calm the nerves that seemed to be overwhelming her, she tore the envelope open.
Inside, she found a train ticket to Denver, several bills, and a short note in the same strong handwriting.
Dear Miss Winchester,
Thank you for your letter. You seem to be exactly the kind of bride I’m looking for.
I’m enclosing a train ticket to Denver as well as enough money to purchase whatever you need for the trip and for your fare on the stage to Cedar Valley. I look forward to meeting you.
Sincerely,
Charles Halstead.
Her hand splayed across her chest, relief and excitement making her heart race. He wanted her. She wouldn’t be forced to sell her body to survive. A slow smile tugged at her lips. And perhaps one day Mr. Halstead would even love her, at least a little.
Folding the letter, she placed it back in the envelope along with the money and picked up the ticket. Her heartbeat stuttered when she saw the date stamped on it.
Heavens! She would be leaving in two days.
Chapter 2
Trepidation filled Rose as she stepped down out of the stagecoach in Cedar Valley and paused on the boardwalk to study her surroundings. She was a long way from Massachusetts. Not a carriage in sight, only wagons, buckboards and men on horseback. No cobblestoned streets, only churned up dirt and mud. No brick buildings, only weathered wood shops and businesses lining the street.
Mercy! She’d assumed Colorado would be a little behind the times compared to the city, but this! How would she ever survive in a place so … primitive. The town appeared to be frozen in time.
Yet, the way progress seemed to have bypassed it, gave it a charm most towns and cities in the east had lost. No smoke belching from factory chimneys, no crowds, no children begging for money on street corners. She felt a smile lifting her lips. Yes, she thought, I do believe I’ll like it here.
Two women hurried by, giving her a curious glance as they passed. Rose knew she looked a fright. Not only had she spent almost two weeks on the train between Boston and Denver, she’d been rattling over the countryside on a stagecoach for the past four days. Every bone in her body ached, and she hadn’t bathed since she’d left.
The noonday sun shone down, and the air was crisp and cool. Even as she huddled under her cloak, she noticed there was no smoke or fumes in the air.
Several men stared at her from outside a saloon a few buildings away, and Rose’s discomfort grew. She looked around, searching for someone who resembled the man Charles had described himself to be — average height, average weight, average to look at.
One of the men outside the saloon straightened and adjusted the gun belt slung on his hips. He said something to the other men, then strode down the boardwalk toward her, a wide smile revealing even white teeth
This couldn’t
be Charles! He was wearing a frock coat the color of strong coffee and a snowy white shirt that emphasized his tanned skin, and a string tie. A hat dipped low over his forehead, but she could see his hair was dark, almost black. A few curls escaped from beneath his hat onto his collar. His eyes were dark and piercing, his jaw strong and square. A small scar on his chin gave him a rakish look. Broad shoulders tapered to a narrow waist and lean hips, and she couldn’t help her gaze lowering to the holster strapped to his thigh. She blushed when she realized where she was looking.
“Welcome to Cedar Valley, ma’am. I’m guessing you’re Rose?”
Rose couldn’t speak past the dryness in her throat. She nodded.
“I’m Charlie Halstead,” he said.
“You’re Charles?” Shock colored her voice.
Although he was extraordinarily good-looking, at first he’d appeared rather sinister, but now, as a smile creased his lips … the transformation was amazing. His eyes sparkled and a tiny dimple appeared just beside his mouth.
His gaze slid over her, the smile never leaving his face. “It’s nice to meet you.”
She was surprised. She’d half expected him to take one look at her appearance and send her back east. Her hair hadn’t been brushed since that morning, and her dress looked as if she’d slept in it for days.
He either didn’t notice, or he was too polite to say anything. “Most folks call me Charlie,” he told her. “Charles is too formal for around here, but LouAnne at the matrimonial agency said I needed to use my proper name in the ad and the letter.”
Rose held out her gloved hand. “It’s very nice to meet you, Charlie.”
His callused fingers closed around hers, and even through the fabric, she could feel his warmth. A strange tingling sensation rushed through her.
“I got you a room at the hotel,” he added. “I thought you might want to … well, do whatever ladies do … if you still want to get married, that is.”
Heat flushed her cheeks, embarrassed at his reference to what she might have to do to prepare for her wedding. “I do.”
Some of her fears about marrying a stranger faded. He was pleasant to look at … heavens, he was much more than merely pleasant … and something about him attracted her, unlike any of the men she’d known back east. She didn’t understand why he’d described himself as average. Surely he must be aware of how handsome he is, she mused. She couldn’t be the only woman in the area who thought so. He must have his reasons, though, and perhaps one day when they knew each other better she’d ask him.
She wasn’t sure exactly what ‘marital relations’ were other than what little her mother had told her, but she had heard enough from the other ladies at the factory to know that physical attraction made what happened in the marriage bed much easier to suffer through. She prayed the ladies were right.
“Thank you,” she said with a smile. “That’s very thoughtful of you.”
“The hotel’s right over there,” he said, indicating a whitewashed building across the street. “There’s a bath waiting for you if you want it.”
She grinned. “It’s as if you read my mind,” she said. “A bath would be heavenly.” And she could change into the dark blue brocade satin gown she’d brought especially to wear for her wedding.
Her wedding! She was about to be married to this man, and as much as it was her decision, and it would provide security for the rest of her life, butterflies danced in her stomach.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
“Not really,” she replied. “To be honest, my stomach is a little …”
“Queasy?”
“Yes.” She let out a small chuckle. “I suppose that’s what it is.”
“I understand.” He leaned closer as if to whisper to her.
A scent of leather and soap drifted to her nose, a pleasant combination compared to the heavy musk scent so popular with men in the east these days.
“Me too,” he said softly.
He cupped her elbow and gently ushered her across the street to the hotel. The freshly painted white building with blue trim was the largest in town. A balcony surrounded the second floor, and rocking chairs and small tables dotted the main floor porch.
Sunlight streamed into the lobby through long windows as he led her up the stairs to a room at the end of a long corridor. He unlocked the heavy oak door and handed her the key. “I’ll be downstairs. The preacher is waiting at the church whenever you’re ready.”
“The church?”
“We really didn’t have time to write back and forth so I could find out what you wanted, and I wasn’t sure if getting married in the preacher’s house would make it feel real to you, so I asked him if we could get married in the church just to be sure.”
“I’m not sure how I would have felt getting married elsewhere, so this is perfect. Thank you. Will your family be there, too?”
His smile faded, and Rose wondered what she’d said to cause the muscle in his jaw tighten.
“No,” he said. “I didn’t know you wanted a big wedding. I thought it might be easier if you weren’t overwhelmed with people at first.”
An unreadable expression crossed his face, and Rose couldn’t help thinking there must be a reason why his family hadn’t been invited. He didn’t seem to be willing to share, but she was sure eventually she’d find out.
“That’s fine,” she replied, her voice rushed. “I’m quite content with whatever you’ve arranged.”
“Good. Then I’ll leave you now.” With a tip of his hat, he closed the door behind him. She heard his footsteps fade away, and as she undressed and slipped into the steaming water, the enormity of what she was about to do hit her.
This was her wedding day. She’d dreamed of this day her whole life, but in the dream, she was being married in the same church her parents had married in, the church she’d been baptized in, the church she’d attended every Sunday for as long as she could remember. In the dream, the church was filled with flowers, her friends and family surrounding her, and she was walking down the aisle on her father’s arm towards the man she loved.
Instead, she was among strangers, about to be married to a man she’d met only minutes before.
Tears she hadn’t allowed for months filled her eyes and spilled over, dripping off her chin into the soapy water. For a few minutes, she allowed herself the luxury of grieving her lost dreams. Then she sniffled back her tears and began scrubbing herself clean.
This was a new beginning, and even though her dreams of her wedding day weren’t possible now, if she was lucky, new dreams would take their place here. With Charlie.
* * *
Charlie slid a glance at Rose, the woman who was about to become his wife. She’d arrived in the nick of time. One more day and he’d either have to ask Eugenie to marry him that day – which he was sure she’d agree to - or be cut out of his father’s will.
Charlie wasn’t an overly religious man, but tonight, he’d be sending up a prayer of thanks that even though he didn’t know Rose well yet, she was more than he’d ever hoped for.
Having four sisters, he knew how important a wedding was to a woman. He’d spent weeks listening to his sisters planning every last detail of theirs, and he suspected Rose would be no different, but she’d given that up to marry him in a quiet wedding with no friends and family, nobody but the preacher and his wife.
He wished he could have given Rose the wedding of her dreams, but he’d run out of time. He only hoped she wasn’t too disappointed.
The sun beaming through the stained glass window inside the small church cast a glow on Rose that made her even more beautiful than she already was. The dark blue gown contrasted against her creamy skin and the light glimmered on the fiery highlights in her hair. He couldn’t wait to remove the pins and bury his fingers in it. He couldn’t wait to kiss her, too, to feel her lips against his, to see desire in her greenish-gold eyes. And he couldn’t wait to feel her body against his, to make her his in every way.
; Not only was she beautiful, she was elegant, too, something he hadn’t expected. Her voice was soft and refined, and even the way she walked, her head held high, told him she’d come from a well-to-do family. So why did a woman like her – so pretty, so well-bred, decide to become a mail-order bride? To travel hundreds of miles to marry a stranger? Surely she’d had countless offers of marriage from men back in Massachusetts.
He was tempted to ask, but maybe it was better not to know. At least not now, not before they tied the knot.
“Are we ready?” The preacher’s voice interrupted his thoughts.
Charlie sent a questioning glance to Rose, who nodded slightly, her teeth worrying her bottom lip.
“Are you sure?” he asked. He held his breath, hoping she wouldn’t run for the hills.
For a few moments, she lowered her gaze to the small bouquet of wildflowers Charlie had given her when she arrived at the church. It was a small gesture, and one of the few he could manage to make her wedding day special.
Then she lifted her head, a smile playing on her lips. “I’m very sure.”
“Good,” the preacher said. “Then let’s get you two married.”
The ceremony was short, and a few minutes later, the preacher pronounced them husband and wife. “You can kiss your bride now, Charlie.”
Rose wasn’t quite sure what she expected when Charlie, with her hands still in his, drew her closer and lowered his head. She’d been kissed twice before, both times leaving her feeling less than eager to do it again.
Yet when Charlie’s lips brushed against hers, she was shocked at the sensation that shot through her. His kiss was brief, and almost as soon as his lips touched hers, it was over. But even that brief touch of his lips had awakened something inside her she couldn’t explain. All she knew was that when he drew away, she was a little … disappointed.
Rose: Bride of Colorado (American Mail-Order Bride 38) Page 2