by Tia Siren
Joshua spoke low and softly, the fire flickering in the distance, glittering in his blue eyes. Cora stretched in her spot from leaning into the large armchair, and was taken aback by his tone.
“Nervous?” she asked.
“When I was waiting the other morning...I was actually nervous. I know I said that it was all purely business, and that I was doing it for the inheritance--” he pursed his lips. “But that morning, I was actually nervous. I was so scared that I was going to be a disappointment. I was afraid that this woman--whoever it was--was going to absolutely hate me.”
Cora leaned her cheek into the palm of her hand and laughed.
“I don’t hate you,” she smiled. “Not absolutely.”
Joshua chuckled.
“My grandfather always thought I spent too much time being serious. He always said I didn’t know the important things in life. I guess...this was his way to make sure I didn’t stay that way. From the grave.”
The two of them sat on in silence.
Cora cleared her throat.
“I never knew any of my family,” she said. “You’re really blessed to have had that. The idea of having my own family...of one day being able to call another person mine. That was my only dream growing up.”
Joshua could hear the longing in her voice. “What happened?”
“I grew up,” Cora sighed. “I learned that fairytales are meant for books. And families are meant for other lucky girls.”
Joshua watched as Cora leaned her face toward the window, the moonlight and fire, both swirling in her big brown eyes, mixing together in a wonderful medley.
Perhaps it’s just the fever, he thought, but in that moment, the two seemed to have finally been knit, and as he gazed at her, her tousled dress, her sad eyes, and the untamed hairs that strayed from her braid, she looked the most beautiful thing he had seen in a lifetime.
The days after seemed to move like the clouds across the midwest: quick and dissipating into the blue sky. Adjusting to each other’s presence was a chore for both Joshua and Cora, as headstrong as both were. Teaching Cora to be a lady was not as difficult as Joshua had intended.
“I read a lot of books,” she reasoned. “I can put on any face you like.”
So in a little over a month’s time, when Joshua finally introduced Cora to his family at a night gathering at the Stanton, everyone seemed utterly delighted to have met her.
“She’s marvelous,” his mother cooed across the table, the glasses sparkling underneath the light. “Why ever had we not been able to meet her until now?”
The other guests around the table laughed.
Joshua shifted in his seat, and Cora smiled, though sending a darting glance with her eyes. “We’re very private people,” he answered. “We thought it was best to keep our courtship...out of the public view.”
“New York City, eh?” A voice bellowed across the table toward Cora, an older male relative of Joshua’s. “What a grand city!”
“Yes’sir,” Cora smiled. “The grandest.”
The dinner continued joyously, with close family and friends present. Joshua and Cora appeared, to everyone, a wonderful match.
“Ahem,” a glass tinkered in the room, and it hushed as Walter Howell stood up.
“To my dear nephew,” he raised a glass, in toast.
Cora leaned toward Joshua. “And why did he have to be hear?”
Joshua sighed under his breath.
“He’s family, Cora. Can’t change that,” he said. “Not even if I wanted to.”
Walter continued in his accolade.
“Congratulations on the start of a new chapter in life. With all of this merriment, we still have yet to hear the story of how the two of you came to know on another…”
Joshua and Cora exchanged a wary glance.
“Oh, it’s not really exciting,” Joshua cleared his throat.
“But Joshy, we’re all dying to know,” Walter’s eyes glinted, the crows feet around them crinkling with glee. “Or perhaps your lovely bride can share with us.”
Joshua’s mother clapped her hands together happily.
“Please, Cora, you must tell. I bet it’s a fabulous story…”
“Like Joshua said,” Cora smiled, her heart beating. Where was Walter going with this? “It’s not terribly interesting…”
Walter’s laugh bellowed. “Dear Cora, please enlighten us. How could it not be interesting. Tell me just this one thing--what went through your mind when you first saw an ad in the local paper for a mail-order bride?”
Confused murmurs hushed through the room. Cora’s eyes grew wide and Joshua stood up.
“Mail-order what? Joshua, what is Walter talking about?”
“Enough of this,” Joshua said firmly.
Walter’s brow furrowed as he peered at Cora.
“It must have been quite the opportunity for a poor, orphan hosiery girl,”
“Stop this at once!” Joshua’s fist pounded at the table, and gasps of surprise rippled throughout the room.
Cora’s eyes began swelling, and her chest tightened up, as if she were unable to breath.
I didn’t want any of this, Cora thought.
She looked up at Joshua who was shouting at Walter to get out, to leave her alone, to leave his family alone.
Cora didn’t want to cause so much trouble.
“The board of trustees will hear about this,” Walter said on his way out. “Say goodbye to your precious orchard, Joshua. A mill is what’s going to bring business. A mill to get rid of all that darned wasted-space and pointless cherry trees of yours. Your father was a sap, and so was your grandfather. But I--”
Joshua walked toward Walter, and a few other guests stepped in front to hold Joshua back as Walter slunk out.
His heart was pounding. His mother, confused, kept demanding questions from him, and all he could think to do was protect Cora. It was over. All of it. He lost everything.
Joshua turned around toward his table, only to stop in his tracks. He looked amongst the room, which was now in chaos of people muttering, not knowing what to make of the scene.
“Cora?” he called. She was gone.
The Lil’ Miss was making her way back east, and stopping once again for Cora. This time, though, she seemed less a fantastical vision of adventure and freedom, and more like the old hunk of metal that she was.
“Just one ticket,” Cora received the stub through the window at the station.
Mr. Stanfield’s brow furrowed upon seeing the face at the booth, his gray eyes glinting underneath his spectacles.
“Miss Cora…”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Stanfield,” Cora’s eyes glistened, but she held back tears. “It didn’t work out…”
Mr. Stanfield sighed.
“I’m awfully sad to hear that, Miss Cora. I thought for sure that you were the one.”
“The one?” Cora perked up curiously.
“Oh, yes’m,” Mr. Stanfield said. “I’ve known Joshua Dansby for a long time, since he was a wiry young boy. Knew his grandfather very well, God rest his soul.”
He sighed and came out from the door of the station house to meet face to face with Cora.
“Joshua was always driven. Probably the sense of responsibility he took when his father passed, and he was left to tend to everything. But you know, as good lookin’ as he was, there was never a gal that could love him.”
Cora laughed amidst the emotions swelling.
“He’s really difficult.”
Mr. Stanfield let out a chuckle.
“He is. But I think it’s more than that. Part of it is, I think, he never knew how to love himself. He always had a higher expectation for himself that he never placed on anyone else...and it drove him to loneliness.”
He sighed and looked at his feet.
“I saw how he looked at you that first day, when he realized you were the one he was supposed to meet…”
�
�With disappointment?” Cora pursed her lips.
“With hope.”
“I just made things more complicated,” she looked away.
The train’s engine began to whir.
Mr. Stanfield tipped his hat.
“It’s time.”
Cora nodded, and gestured to the side of the platform.
“Make sure that Kan gets back to Joshua. And--and tell him--” She pursed her lips. “Tell him I said goodbye.”
Mr. Stanfield nodded and turned toward the train, shouting “All aboard the Lil’ Miss, leaving the station in five minutes!”
Cora let out a deep breath as she turned around, once again facing the great, steam locomotive. The black body glinted in the sun, though an Autumn chill rippled through. Sounds of people boarding and clicking their feet, pulling their luggage across the wooden boardwalk rang in her ears.
“Isn’t this where I began?” Cora said to herself.
“But it doesn’t have to end like this.”
Cora turned at the voice. “Joshua!”
He breathed heavily, and removed his hat, his dark hair tousled, some strands lifting in the breeze. His blue eyes were deep and hallowed, and Cora’s chest swelled with emotion.
She didn’t need this. Not at her getaway.
“You’ve lost everything,” she said. “Walter Howell’s exposed our secret, your family knows I’m a penniless orphan girl, and you have absolutely nothing left.”
Joshua brought his hand to Cora’s cheek, and she closed her eyes, her heart feeling as if it needed to burst, feeling the warmth of him near her.
“I still have one thing left…” he brought his forehead to rest on hers.
“Please, don’t…” Cora muttered through tears. “You’re making it more difficult than it has to be.”
“I’ve had plenty of practice with a difficult woman,” he laughed.
Joshua brought his hand to the chin of the brown-eyed woman in front of him, leaning her face to look at his. He nearly missed her. He was out of breathe. He was out of words. And yet, in this moment, all he could think about was how much he wanted her.
“You are impossible, stubborn, obnoxious, and in fact one of the most annoying women I have ever met,” Joshua laughed. “But,” he wiped his thumb across her cheek, swiping away a tear. “You’re imaginative, and resourceful, you’re smarter than you think you are, and braver than anyone I know. And my goodness,” he cupped her face with both of his strong hands. “You are the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.”
He brought her into an embrace, enveloping himself around her small frame, breathing in the sweet smell of her hair, feeling her heartbeat against his.
“I don’t care about the land, or the inheritance. I don’t care what people think, Cora.” He squeezed her tight. “I want you. I want you and all of you--even the annoying, impossible parts. I love you, Cora Sutton. I love you.”
Cora’s heart swelled with emotion. She felt weak, as if she could just fall to the ground right then and there, but around her, Joshua Dansby held on. And he held on tight, his strong arms wrapped around her, as if she could forever be safe. And it wasn’t a fairytale. It was her life.
“I love you, too” she spoke into his broad chest. “But,” she pushed away and looked up at him, his blue eyes glistening. “I’m not Cora Sutton,” she said. “I’m Cora Dansby.”
He smiled, and leading her chin close to his, their lips met, and in a moment, both were suspended in time, as if nothing moved around them. When it ended, for a brief moment, his heart danced at the way the loose strands of her hair flitted in the breeze. He brushed his hand against her cheek once more, and smiled.
“Mrs. Cora Dansby,” he said. “Be my wife.”
And she was.
****
THE END
A Bride’s Heart – A Clean Western Romance
Chapter One
Margaret didn’t know how to feel as she watched the landscape pass quickly by. The train’s window had a small handprint on the inside near to her. She wanted to clean it off but had nothing to use. Her mother had pressed it upon her that she needed to be a clean and tidy young lady and that no husband would ever respect her as a woman if she was a slob. She hadn’t spent a day in her life looking unkempt. Her mother would never have allowed it.
Margaret pulled her feet up under the bench and locked them at the ankles. Her hands were folded neatly over her satchel, which she held in her lap. She was gripping the handle as if the bag wanted to jump off her lap and run away on invisible legs. When she realized she had such a tight grip, she relaxed her hands and splayed her fingers a few times to stretch them.
While doing so, she met eyes with a young man across the way from her. He nodded at her, tipping his hat. She nodded back and lowered her eyes. She didn’t know him and she was on her way to meet her new husband. It would look very bad for her to be seen speaking with a young man she didn’t even know.
She brought her eyes back up and looked through the window again. She would have sworn it was just raining out there. Now it looked like they were passing through a dry desert. Seconds later, the scene was completely blocked as they went through a tunnel that had been dug right through the middle of a mountain.
Margaret felt a bit of apprehension but shook it off. Her family was centered on people with strong back bones. Her father had begun teaching her at the age of seven to be one of the best horse breeders and trainers there was in all of England…or at least their little Meadowbrook Village area. When he had immigrated with his family to America, he had brought his business and his love for horses with him. These were traits he never had to try hard to instill in his only daughter.
Margaret had never wanted for anything and had always known if there was anyone she could count on in life, it would be her father. She was proud and had a high level of self-esteem. Her strong countenance and narrow stare had been known to shut the dirty mouth of the sailor and quiet the screaming child, one the same as the other. She also had a strong faith in God and often called upon Him to help her through the trials and tribulations of life.
This would have made it rather odd that she would be responding to an ad in the paper for a bride to come to the West and join a stranger in matrimony. And it was true that she had initially been against it. But the more her father talked about it, the more she had become convinced it was the right thing to do. She was advancing in age and she needed to make sure she had a family to carry on the family business. Her two brothers would not be able to take over when their father passed on. One had died in the war and the other was not interested in horses in the least. The only use Margaret had for him was that he was swiftly able to convince their father just to let a woman take over – or at least marry her off to someone who would do it.
Margaret would have preferred to take over the business on her own. But there was little to no women running any businesses anywhere in America, and if they were running the business, they had a man’s name (usually their husband’s) out in front for everyone to see.
Margaret would be 29 in a few months and her advancing age had been one of the valid points her father had mentioned in order to get her to do this. She needed a family more than she wanted one - but she did want one. She let him know that she had been thinking of a family of her own for some time.
Finally, she had given in and boarded the train after communicating with a man in Nevada named Mark Brooks, who was living in a tiny established property called Las Vegas. There were only a few hundred people there, maybe a bit more. Margaret’s village in England had room for about 1000 before it began to break into sections.
The ad had requested a woman of average height and weight with a strong back and a love for horses. She definitely met those qualifications. The groom, Mark, said he was looking for a bride who would share his interests.
If Mark’s interest was in horses, Margaret was definitely answering the ad.
Th
rough their letters, Margaret had explained that her father had brought her from England when she was young. Mark had told her that he had once already had a family – a wife and two children, one of each – but that they had been killed in a raid by hostile Indians. It had been nearly ten years and he was tired of being alone. The women he knew, within his circle of friends, were few and far between and so far, none had shared his love for horses.
Margaret was also interested to read that he attended church regularly. Most people did, she noticed, but few mentioned it in passing, as part of an introduction to themselves. Mark had not only made mention of it but told her politely that she would be required as his wife to attend with him.
She thought it was a bit strange that he should say such things but shrugged it off, wanting to know more about him as a person before making any judgments. Of course she would go; she would be happy too, as a matter of fact. It was also a practice she and her father shared. They had rarely missed a day, even after her mother and brother passed away and her second brother stopped attending.
Her attention was drawn from her thoughts when the young man sitting in front of her pulled out a gold pocket watch with a fast moving train emblazoned and embossed on the front. He pressed the button and it flipped open, revealing the time. He looked up and saw that she was looking at the watch.
He turned it so that she could see the face was trimmed with gold and had tiny gold hands inside it. There were even a few small diamonds encrusted inside at the very middle where the hands met.
“This was my father’s,” He said, leaning forward to whisper loudly, as if what he was saying was top secret. Margaret instinctively leaned forward, as well, scanning the watch a little closer. “He gave it to me before I left New York. I’ve taken this watch almost all over the country now. All I have to do is reach the ocean on the West coast and I will have traveled every single mile with this watch telling me the time.”
Margaret lifted her eyebrows, not sure how to respond to that. It seemed like a senseless trip if it was only to bring a watch from one side of the country to the other.
He noticed the look on her face and smiled. Suddenly, he seemed more attractive to her and she smiled back.