The Teacher's Bride: Mail Order Bride (Boulder Brides Book 1)

by Natalie Dean

  “No! The settlement is the best thing to ever happen to the mining camp. I won’t endanger it by taking refuge with its people. I need a place where I can hide. You don’t understand this mob. The only reason they aren’t here now, causing trouble, is because they are sleeping it off from the night before. Once the memories come back, they won’t be ashamed of what they’ve done. They will want to finish the job.”

  Greta called Joseph over to discuss the dilemma. “Mr. Marston, we cannot allow a mob to murder a child.”

  “What would you suggest, Miss Samuelson?”

  “We take them to Boulder. Hannah will give them shelter.”

  “Hannah is a dancehall girl.”

  “Oh, I don’t mind, truly,” said Mrs. Nelson. “Boulder would be good. We would only need to be there until the wagon train comes.”

  “You wish to go out on the wagon train?”

  “Yes, it would be a chance to start over.”

  “Well, then,” said Joseph. “Miss Samuelson, would you like to take a ride out to Boulder?”

  “I think that would be agreeable, Mr. Marston,” she answered, linking her arm through his. “Did you bring a cart, Mrs. Nelson?”

  “We have a horse. He has everything we need.”

  Chapter 7

  It was the largest wagon train they had seen in years. It rumbled in slowly, the participants already heaving from exhaustion, their faces gaunt and lined, the prairie dust rolling in with them. From miles away, people crowded in to listen to the news, to ask questions about family members, and to see who would be dropping out of the train and who would be joining it.

  They arrived as clouds began to gather, thick and gray, and winter frost had choked away the last of the greenery, leaving only the brushy, long needle pine and an occasional fir. The kitchen scents of stew meat and freshly caught fish had been replaced by spicy ciders, pumpkin pies, and venison. Some of the homes had trimmed their doors with holly and decorated a tree with berries and gingerbread men, setting their display close to a window for everyone to see.

  Greta had been busy with her yarn, making mittens for the children and thick, wool socks for Joseph. She refused to let her mind dwell on the possibility that the train would begin its journey up the mountain range before Christmas. She wanted this time together with the community. Most of all, she wanted to spend it with the man who had become everything to her except her husband.

  Something had changed that week when they rescued the Nelson’s. It was more than his willingness to take her into town each day to check up on how the mother and son were doing. It was more than his growing tolerance of Hannah, who was outspoken and direct but kept a kind place in her heart for those who suffered. He was attentive, even anxious. When they bade each other good night, he lingered longer, his closeness stirring her in ways she had never thought possible. Each night had become more breathless, their parting more crushing, until she laid awake for hours, trying to still the rapid heartbeat and rushing thoughts.

  The Nelsons weren’t the only ones from the settlement who decided to join the wagon train. Lizbeth would be joining as well. Twice, her father had tried to forcibly make her come home and Lizbeth was afraid that the third time would bring violence to the headmaster’s doorstep.

  “They’ve been good to me,” she told Greta. “They made me feel safe. They made me believe in myself. I know that I can find my own way now, and so can you. You are coming along, aren’t you? It will be so exciting if you do. Imagine us choosing our own lives. And oh! We may find some young, handsome suitor along the way. We may get married or not. What would it matter? A new life is out there and I want it.”

  Greta squeezed Lizbeth’s hands fondly. “I still don’t know what I’m going to do. I like it here. I love working with the children. I didn’t get to have much of a childhood, and teaching them lets me be a child again, one who has the luxury of playing make-believe. I could make this my calling, but…”

  “You don’t want to be an old maid,” said Lizbeth astutely. “Half the mining camp would snap you up if given a chance, but I know you’re not that kind. You’ve got manners and you’re educated. It’s important. I look at the way the Haldeman’s are and the way my daddy is, and I know it’s a better life. Come with us. The people on this train are like you.”

  She didn’t answer yes or no, and she hadn’t packed yet. The train would be staying for several more days while folk rested up, bathed, and bought additional supplies. Between the excitement and the approaching holiday, there wasn’t even any point of holding classes. Visits back and forth from Boulder were so frequent, they made the road look like a bustling street in the city.

  It was possible, after all, to just become her own woman, reasoned Greta to herself. She had begun to learn more about Hannah, who had been so quiet on their journey and now so vocal in her opinions. Hannah had a business head. She didn’t want to marry for money. She wanted to make money on her own by establishing a shop that specialized in women’s clothing and accessories. “Think about it, Greta,” she had said. “Boulder is growing rapidly. Prosperous wives aren’t going to wish to sew their own clothing. They will want the latest in fashion design.”

  Hannah was frugal. She had two jobs, one as a waitress at the Palace during the day and the other as a chorus girl at the dancehall at night. She rented a large, one room flat and filled it slowly with nice things that would retain their value for years. Most of her paycheck she saved for her big investment.

  Hannah had not let her job detour her from compassion. When Greta and Joseph explained the situation, Hannah immediately accepted the Nelsons, comforting them, and assuring them they would be safe until the wagon train came, as long as they stayed off the streets.

  Lizbeth was striking out on her own. The parish had donated a wagon to the Nelsons, and the school had collected supplies from the neighbors. It was generally understood that Lizbeth and possibly Greta would also be going, so the donations were a little more generous than they would have been otherwise. Even among the most understanding, there was some suspicion that Dodger Jim had received his just dessert, and that Noel wasn’t far behind him. Lizbeth, though, was loved. The story that her father tried to sell her for five hundred dollars still scandalized their tongues, and they sympathized with the soft-faced, gentle girl.

  Greta stood in her room and looked at the trunk that had been completely emptied out over the weeks. She didn’t want to leave. It felt almost like a betrayal. Her kin people were on the train. Their familiar faces carried her customs, her culture. But in the tall Colorado Mountains, she had forged a friendship with a new people. Among her kin people, she was still a child. In the wilderness, she was a guide for children.

  Without warning, she felt a sudden surge of anger and kicked at the trunk. I’ll have it out with him, she decided. Before I leave on that wagon train, I’ll have it out with him.

  She stormed down the stairs, out into the yard, and stalked straight to the shed where Joseph was sharpening and preparing his tools for winter. “Mr. Marston, I need to ask you something. When I first came here, it was with the intention of marrying you. You felt I was too young and tender for this sort of life, but now I ask you, have I failed you in any way?”

  “No, you have not,” he said, but she continued without paying attention.

  “Have I given you any reason to doubt I would make a good companion? Have I done one thing to offend you?”

  “No, you have not,” he said more loudly. “And I’ve been meaning to ask you something. Are you still willing to be my wife?”

  “I’ve cooked for you, I’ve cleaned for you. I take care of the animal pens. I’ve applied myself to your goals. I… What did you just ask me?”

  “Are you still willing to be my wife?”

  She crossed her arms. “Why do you ask me now? To keep me here because it’s convenient? I warn you, I have come to expect much more than just a letter of agreement.”

  “You’ve been listening too much to Hannah
.”

  “And she is quite right. We are strong women. We’ve worked beside men, doing the same chores that men do. We’ve worked without men, holding our society together. Not all of us chase a rich man or a handsome man, but we all want to be loved.”

  “And you are loved. The whole community loves you.”

  “And you, Mr. Marston? Do you love me?!”

  Instead of answering, he took her into his arms and held her tightly, before breathlessly, yet gently kissing her on the lips. All the long nights of yearning leaped to the surface in that kiss. Just as he was about to release her, she locked her fingers behind his neck and drew him down, crushing his mouth against her own. His lips clung to hers thirstily, while he caressed her face and smoothed away her hair, his breath matching her own rapid breathing. She felt like thunder was roaring through her veins and throbbing a steady beat into her ears. She would have been willing to linger in his embrace for minutes instead of seconds, for hours into eternity, if not for a strange, yipping sound that interrupted their moment. “Oh,” he said, breaking away. “I got you a dog. The Silverman’s hound had puppies.”

  It was a bit of a hound; rather sad-eyed and floppy eared, but with a somewhat fluffy coat. “I think it’s more than one kind of hound,” he said awkwardly as Greta picked him up and examined him.

  The puppy stretched its neck to lick at her nose and she grinned. “He’s adorable!”

  “The Silverman’s say he comes from a line of very smart dogs. They make good watchdogs. They flush out varmints. They have even been known to protect babies. But they don’t like to travel much. They are stay at home dogs.”

  “He wouldn’t be very suitable to take on a wagon train.”

  “Not at all.”

  “Yet he is my dog.”

  “He is your dog, Miss Samuelson. Call it an early Christmas present.”

  “Well then, Mr. Marston. I believe you are going to have to draw up the buggy because we’re going to town. And our first stop is with the wagon train.”

  She picked up the puppy and hugged it close to her while Joseph hitched the buggy to Snake Bite. She ran one hand down the pony’s nose and he pulled back his lips for a treat. “Aw, you are terribly spoiled,” she said, offering him a few frost touched vegetables from the garden. She pulled back as he reached for more and said privately to the puppy, “You see, he’s a poor example of gratitude. Don’t pay attention to him.”

  When she was helped to her seat, she brought the puppy with her and set him between her and Joseph. “I think our home loving dog could learn to travel short distances,” she said.

  “Will that be all you’ll be traveling, Miss Samuelson? Short distances?”

  “That all depends. You still haven’t said the right words yet, Mr. Marston.”

  He leaned over and whispered in her ear. “Hmm,” she said, “Was that so hard?”

  “Not as hard as I thought it would be.”

  When they arrived in Boulder, Greta sought out the Nelson’s wagon. They were all set to travel, and only waiting for the signal to forge ahead. Lizbeth hugged her excitedly. “Are you ready? Are you coming?”

  Greta smothered the dear girl’s head with kisses, then drew back and looked into her eyes. “No, Lizbeth, I’m not going. I’ve thought about it and … Well, we’re getting married!”

  Lizbeth squealed with delight. “He did it! He asked you! How can I leave now? I have to go to a wedding!”

  Chapter 8

  Sometimes, wishes do come true. The heavy, gray clouds squeezed and pushed themselves together throughout the night and into the next morning. During the late afternoon of the next day, snow began to fall. In the mountains high above them, a blizzard was forming, and the wagon train would have to wait until after Christmas before continuing on its way to Oregon.

  Nobody was particularly disappointed. The holiday season was hitting a high note in Boulder, with the wealthier people lighting an extravagant number of candles and decorating a large tree in the middle of the town square. The shops were overflowing with business, and the streets overflowing with well-wishers, both the inebriated and the sober.

  Greta unfolded the wedding dress that had been carefully packed away for the occasion. In accordance with the frugality of her upbringing, it had been made of muslin instead of silk, but her mother had spent long hours embroidering tiny flowers, and tailoring the pleats and seams to make an intricate, puffed sleeves design, with a long, gathered skirt and lace train.

  “Well, put it on,” encouraged Lizbeth. “Let’s see how it looks.”

  “We were going to add pearl buttons,” explained Greta, slipping into the dress. “But they were expensive, and we ran out of funds.”

  “I can help you with that.” Lizbeth looked critically at the way the dress fell. “You’ll want the hem a little higher, or you’ll soil it with your boots.” She marked a spot with a pin. “Imagine! A Christmas wedding! Mrs. Haldeman put wreaths on all the pews. What a pity though, there won’t be any flowers.”

  “We shall make some out of paper, and we’ll place ice lanterns along the path to the church. And there will be peppermints and chocolates. How much more could we want?”

  Lizbeth finished marking the hem, then stood up to hug Greta. “I’m so glad you introduced me to Hannah. I’m not going to leave with the wagon train, after all. I’m going to stay with Hannah after the Nelson’s leave. She’s going to make the dress designs, and I’m going to be the seamstress.”

  Greta gave her a look that was both a mix of surprise and amusement, then began to chuckle.

  “Greta, don’t laugh. I feel confident I can do this.”

  “No, I’m not laughing at you! I think it’s wonderful. You’re an excellent seamstress. I’m just excited I’ll have my two best friends just ten miles away. We’ll visit often, and when you marry, I’ll be your maid of honor.”

  “Now don’t hold your breath on this. Who says I’m the marrying kind?”

  “I saw the way you were flirting with one of the young men from the wagon train. In fact, I hear this very same young man plans to settle here. He’s been asking around about jobs.”

  “There are plenty to be had so you can’t really call that surprising.”

  “And I noticed a new fur muff when you came in. He gave that to you as a Christmas present, didn’t he?”

  She giggled suddenly. “And he kissed me under the mistletoe.”

  Greta pretended to be scandalized. “He didn’t!”

  “Oh, but he did, and it was quite a thrill.”

  “I must remember to throw my bouquet directly at you in order to keep you an honest woman.”

  “Then you are having flowers!”

  A smile of delight broke over Greta’s face. “Mrs. Haldeman ordered them.”

  Following the wagon train, the wedding between Greta and Joseph was the most talked about event of the year. It was the largest wedding the settlement had seen, with guests coming from Boulder, including nearly the entire educational administration, the wagon train itself, the mining camp and the parish.

  They celebrated it the day before Christmas, with the snow piling high against lamp posts decked out cheerily with red ribbons. The church had overdone itself to provide holiday cheer with festive decorations and an enormous feast that even included plum pudding.

  Greta remembered all of it in a blur, except four primary moments. The first was watching little Jonah walk up the aisle with the ring, his grin of happiness nearly splitting his face. How much he had changed in the few weeks she had known him. He was now on the same level with other children his age and joined in their games, although he still became confused at times.

  The second time was when Joseph had said “I do,” and lifted back her veil to kiss her. With that kiss, everything she had been through slipped away and became a permanent part of the past. This truly was a new beginning; a fresh start. She wrapped her arms around his neck with joy, feeling his warm breath against her lips. “I love you. I truly love
you,” he whispered into her ear. “I loved you from the first day I first met you.”

  Greta pressed against him, feeling his heart beat rapidly against her own. It felt like the whole world was watching, along with the sun and the moon, and the birds that fluttered by, twittering. She felt his strong arms support her back, then slowly release her, all the while gazing into her eyes. “I love you too, Joseph Marston. From the first day I heard your name, I knew that I would love you.”

  The third moment came as they walked down the aisle. Somebody gave a cheer and little Jonah said quite clearly, “It’s about time!” The ceremony, which had seemed so somber and dignified, broke into peals of laughter. After cutting the cake and starting the formal dance, Greta and Joseph dashed to their buggy, decked out with autumn leaves and paper flowers. The guests broke into their own groups of celebrators, with the sober, church-going community waiting after the feast for the candlelight service, while the miners and their women clustered together and headed for the nearest tavern.

  The fourth moment was the clearest one of all. It was the moment Joseph gathered her in his arms and carried her over the steps into their home. Their home. It had been Joseph’s home. Now it was theirs. Now she would fill it with her woman crafts, tend to the garden, grow flowers and apple trees as well as vegetables. Maybe they would have children of their own. She hoped so. “I want four boys,” she said, cradling his face in her hands. “And I want them all to look like you.”

  “I want four girls,” answered Joseph. “And I want them all to look like you.”

  He picked her up again, sweeping her around and hugging her tight. He kissed her repeatedly on her neck, on her face, and in her hair as his hand burrowed in close to her scalp. He carried her into his room; the only room in the house she had never been in before, and closed the door.

  In the darkness, lit only by the snow collecting around the window, he untied the ribbons of her blouse and let it fall away from her shoulders, while his lips nuzzled her neck. She drew her head back, allowing his mouth free roam, her skin prickling with the new experience. In one sweeping movement, he gathered her up and laid her on the bed. The soft, down mattress folded in around her and she reached up, taking all of him with her until she tumbled down, down into a dizzying tunnel of delights, visions, and dreams.