A Bride for Sam

by Linda Ellen

  A Bride for Sam

  The Proxy Brides Book 11

  Linda Ellen

  A Bride for Sam

  The Proxy Brides Series, Book 11

  Written by Linda Ellen

  Copyright © 2019 by Linda Ellen

  Trade Paperback Release: February 2019

  Electronic Release: February 2019

  http://lindaellenbooks.weebly.com/

  All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. All characters and storylines are the property of the author and your support and respect is appreciated.

  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Although this book is a work of fiction, real locales, streets, and places were used. Brands are used respectfully. Details regarding the cities of Louisville, Kentucky and Brownville, Nebraska, in 1875 were taken from websites, information learned in person, photographs, and other information found online, such as Facebook groups.

  The following story contains themes of real life, but is suitable for all ages, as it contains no illicit sex or profanity.

  Cover design by Virginia McKevitt

  http://www.virginiamckevitt.com

  Editing by Venessa Vargas

  Proofreading by Kathryn Lockwood

  Formatting by Christine Sterling

  A Bride for Sam

  Rugged lumberjack and sawmill owner, Sam Maynard, enjoys a happy-go-lucky life in the 1870’s small town of Brownville, Nebraska. Seeking out a wife of his own is the farthest thing from his mind until he sees his brother, Finn, so blissfully happy with his new proxy bride, and it sparks a desire within his own soul to find a mate. The girl he might have been able to love, sadly, is already promised to someone else, so he turns down the same avenue his brother had taken—the matrimonial advertisements.

  After multiple replies fail to generate any interest, however, he is about to chuck the whole idea...

  Tired of living in an apartment all alone, Beth Ann Gilmore looks forward to having her own hearth, home, husband, and children, but when she finds herself unexpectedly jilted by Stanley, her longtime beau, all her dreams go up in smoke. Refusing to rest on her laurels, she ponders the fact that her best friend, Charise, found happiness through mail-order-bride notices—so why couldn’t she? For good measure, she visits a local marriage broker as well. Soon, however, circumstances take a drastic turn and in fear for her life, she wires her friends in Nebraska for help.

  The return telegram contains a shocking idea. Can she go through with it? Should she? Could a man she only met once be her salvation...in more ways than one?

  Beth knows it’s a gamble, but faced with no other choice, it’s a chance she can’t afford to pass up.

  This is a clean, inspirational romance. The story contains themes of real life, but is suitable for all ages, as it contains no illicit sex or profanity.

  Reviews for A Bride for Sam

  Adventure abounds from the moment you turn the page! Linda Ellen submerges us into the bustling city of 1870’s Louisville, through the eyes of Beth Ann. Penny-farthings, streets jostling with trolleys, and a frantic dash to the train station, are all richly written to tantalize your imagination.

  But with a seedy marriage broker on her heels, and a hasty proxy marriage to kind-hearted lumberjack, Sam, the rustic town of Brownville welcomes us back. I absolutely loved revisiting the town and its sundry characters. Not to mention following our couple through their whirlwind courtship as they discover their deeply defining love for one another, and the near unstoppable force bent on tearing them apart. From its charming sawmill nestled by the surging Minnow Creek, to the breathtaking expanse of Lover’s Vista, and back to Finn’s barbershop carved out of the former Lone Tree Saloon, Linda Ellen has written a world you won’t want leave in A Bride for Sam.

  ~Venessa Vargas, Editor and Author

  This story is full of suspense that kept me on the edge of my seat! All the characters are well written and the storyline flows seamlessly. Love the relationship between Sam and Beth Ann but also the updates on the characters from the previous story. Good, clean romance with drama and humor as well.

  ~Judy Glenn, Beta Reader

  A Bride for Sam is a standout in the Proxy Brides series. Melding a unique concept with creative plots and wonderful characters, Linda Ellen has outdone herself with her latest book. Shucking the generic formula for a refreshingly new approach to storytelling within the genre, Linda weaves a tale filled with gallantry and romance, featuring a hunky lumberjack, a daring escape, devoted friends, and a happily ever after all wrapped into one delightful package.

  ~Liz Austin, Beta Reader, Poet, Blogger

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue

  Author Notes

  Acknowledgements

  Upcoming Proxy Bride Books (2018 Series)

  Proxy Bride Books (2019 Series)

  About the Author

  Other works by Linda Ellen

  Chapter 1

  September 1875

  Louisville, Kentucky

  L ovely Beth Ann Gilmore’s bright green eyes widened in shock, her lips parting as she stared at the man sitting across the table. Blinking, she whispered, “Excuse me...what did you just say?”

  The man—her long-time beau, Stanley Clabor—fidgeted in his chair, fumbling with his tie as he cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable. With one finger, he pushed his wire-rimmed glasses back up to the bridge of his nose again—one of his many subconscious habits—and glanced around at the tables close by before sheepishly meeting Beth Ann’s surprised stare again.

  “I said...I regret to inform you that I wish to break things off between us.”

  Closing her mouth with a snap, Beth Ann swallowed hard and then croaked, “That’s...that’s what I thought you said.” Part of her brain hazily registered that he had delivered his announcement with all of the warmth of a train conductor announcing the next stop, while the other part wanted to reach across the table, grasp the front of his shirt, and screech, “You’re really doing this? You’re jilting me? Here? Now? Like this?” By sheer force of will, she stopped herself just short of creating an embarrassing scene.

  Giving her head a shake to dispel the terribly tempting images, Beth Ann narrowed her gaze and looked at her companion—really looked at him.

  This man had strung her along for three years with vague hints that they would have a future together. This man thought a romantic Christmas gift was a box of plain white stationary—three years in a row. Nevertheless, this was the man she had convinced herself to marry. No, she didn’t necessarily love him, nor did she feel any attraction for him beyond friendly affection, but she had settled because she was sure he would be steadfast and true, a hard worker and a good provider—something apparently her own father wasn’t.

  Unbidden, the memory of the day she had been taken to the Masonic Widows and Orphans Home swam into her mind, and what the neighbor had told the director as he had left her there—on her tenth birthday! In short, that Beth Ann’s grandmother had died and there was no one to take her in. More memories flooded in then, such as the many times her old grandma had sworn at her, “Your pa was no good, he ran
off when your mother she told him she was expecting. Then once you came along, your ma ran off too! Lord knows I’ve tried all these years, but you’re a handful and I’m too old to be saddled with the likes of you.”

  Her real father hadn’t given her his name, and she didn’t know much about her mother, as her crotchety, old grandmother had never wanted to talk about either of them. Gilmore was the family name, and they had lived in a shack way out in the country. But when the director of the orphan’s home had tried to track the family down, they couldn’t find anyone. In a way, Beth Ann had been relieved, as she hadn’t had a happy childhood up to that point. She’d not been allowed to attend school or make friends until the orphanage. If her father had just married her mother and stuck around!

  A wave of frustration swept through. Were all men not to be trusted? Were all men no good? Were all men liars?

  Forcing her mind back to the present, she stared at Stanley, admitting to herself that she didn’t really know him. He wasn’t one bit handsome or debonair—with his long, narrow face, straight mousy brown hair, drab grayish brown eyes that always reminded her of the color of oily mud, eyes that were perpetually veiled behind the dusty lenses of his spectacles, while his voice always sounded as if he was coming down with the sniffles, and he was forever taking out his handkerchief and blowing his nose. Hay fever, he had explained—although she knew he stayed as far away from hay and horses as a body could. Stanley was a man who walked everywhere because he was afraid of horses—even if the horse was harnessed securely to a wagon, surrey, or even a trolley... A man who always forgot to hold doors open for her, help her up from chairs, or help her on with her wrap—things she had thought all gentleman just did naturally, but somehow he had never developed the habit. She had resigned herself to stop hoping for those gestures, thinking that Stanley was the best she could do, after all, she wasn’t what you would call a lady from a good family...

  She shook her head again, thoroughly amazed at this turn of events. When he had invited her to dine with him this evening at the Hotel Victoria and indicated he wished to impart something of monumental importance, even though she had to endure the ten block walk, she’d been overjoyed. Cringing, she pictured the care she had taken with her toilette. To think I wore my best outfit, anticipating that he was finally going to propose—and instead, I’m being spurned?

  “I feel you are entitled to an explanation,” he continued as her eyes refocused on his. “I’ve met someone else and...well...we’re going to be married.”

  Beth Ann closed her eyes as varied emotions swept through her body. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  Odd, at that moment, she felt like doing both—simultaneously.

  Two mornings later, the shock had finally worn off.

  She had walked around in a daze, performing her duties at work through force of habit. Now, Beth Ann sat at the drop leaf table in her lonely apartment, waiting for the water to boil for her tea, and tapping the end of a steel pen against her chin as she reread the words she had just written to her best friend Charise Maynard in faraway Brownville, Nebraska.

  My dearest Char,

  I can’t believe I’m about to write these words to tell you what has happened, but here goes—Stanley has thrown me over for someone else. Yes, you read that right. Clamp your mouth shut before you catch flies. Would you believe he took me to that nice restaurant in the Hotel Victoria in order to deliver his declaration? I guess he thought a nice dinner would soften the blow.

  Three years I waited for that weasel. Three years! And what do I have to show for it? Nothing. Not one dad blame thing. That is, except for a drawer full of unused white stationary. I’m so angry right now I could chew nails. But, you’ll be proud of me, dear friend—I comported myself like a lady and resisted the urge to leap across the table and tear his hair out in a fit of jilted rage.

  But now my dear, best friend, I’m back to square one. I’ve been thinking, though...since you did so well on your foray into the world of mail-order-brides, perhaps I will give that a shot. Lord knows Louisville seems to be short on eligible men since the war ended. What have I got to lose? If I don’t get any letters from men that sound as wonderful as your Finn, well, perhaps I can find a well-to-do family and become a spinster nanny. I’m sure there are worse ways to spend one’s life. Right?

  “Pffft, right,” Beth Ann grumbled to herself. “Not when what I want is a home, a husband, and children of my own.”

  Determinedly pushing back feelings of envy toward her friend’s newfound happiness, she dipped her pen into the inkwell and positioned the tip to begin the next paragraph.

  Nevertheless, I think the Lord might have been preparing me for this, as just the other day there was a woman at my counter at Fessenden and Stewart who struck up a conversation with me about that very thing...mail-order-brides, not spinster nannies. She said she had registered with a marital agency that had opened here in Louisville last month. Although she said she hadn’t yet received any letters to consider, the prospects looked promising.

  Life is funny, isn’t it? When that woman was telling me the details, I was standing there—believing my future rock solid—feeling sorry for her that she had felt the need to go to such extremes to find a husband, and now I find myself needing the same...

  Hearing her kettle begin to put forth steam, Beth Ann carefully placed her writing utensil aside and pushed herself up from the table, moving the scant two steps to the stove to retrieve it, and poured some of the water over the tea leaves that she had already placed into her teapot. While her tea steeped, she stood staring at the fading flower patterned wallpaper above the stove while she ran the conversation with the woman over in her mind.

  Now, what was the name of the agency? Felsinger’s...Farmington’s...no, Fetterman’s! Fetterman’s Marriage Brokers! That’s it. The woman said they are located at Floyd and Liberty. Hmm. Hope that location is prophetic. I could use some liberty from this town. But...what if they charge money for their service? Darn it, I didn’t think to ask. Well...I could also be writing to prospective husbands from the newspaper, like Charise did...

  Suddenly making up her mind, she pursed her lips together and gave a decisive nod. All desire for a cup of tea gone, she marched over to the door, swung it open and crossed the hall, giving a quick three knocks on the portal opposite her own.

  Shuffling sounded on the other side, and after several moments, elderly Zebulon Hinkle opened it, his face immediately curving into his jolly, wrinkly grin when he saw it was Beth Ann at his door. She returned the smile, absently noticing he was wearing the vest of the shabby brown suit he habitually donned, and she knew the matching coat was likely flung over the chair near the door. His salt and pepper hair, what there was left of it, seemed amiss, as if he had run his hand through it just before he had pulled open the door, his customary pipe held in one hand, and an ever-present newspaper was tucked under his arm. Focusing past his shoulder, Beth Ann spied a pot of soup simmering on the one-burner stove against the far wall.

  “Well, hello there young lady.” He paused and let out a fond chuckle. “What do you need this time—a bit of cream for your coffee? A few eggs? A piece or two of bread? Or did you just cross the hall to give this old man the prettiest sight he’s had since the last time you paid me a visit?” He waggled his bushy eyebrows at her like a shriveled Romeo and Beth Ann giggled at the old man’s shenanigans.

  “Oh Mr. Hinkle, I’m not that bad, am I?” she responded, and then blushed prettily as he leveled his gaze at her. “I guess I am. But tonight, I’m only here to borrow a few of your newspapers. If you don’t mind,” she added, giving him her best innocent smile and batted her eyelashes for good measure.

  He cackled softly, thoroughly enjoying their game, as Beth Ann knew he did—he had told both her and Charise more than once that he considered them to be the granddaughters he never had and that if ever they had a need and he could fulfill it, he would. They need only ask. Backing up a step, he ushered her i
nside the one room apartment, which was an exact mirror image of her own.

  “Mr. Hinkle...why do you subscribe to so many different newspapers? I’ve always wondered...”

  He placed his pipe in the ashtray by his large, comfy chair and gave her a sad sort of smile. “Oh, I guess because it makes me feel connected to what’s going on in the world. I’d always wanted to travel and visit places of interest...so I saved my money as I spent my life toiling over the presses down at the Courier. The years just seemed to go by without my noticing. Then when I retired, I found I didn’t enjoy traveling alone, so I took out subscriptions to the newspapers of cities I’d like to have visited. When I read in them about what is happening there, I feel like I’m a part of things—at least for a few moments.” He paused and met her eyes, she thought with a bit of embarrassment behind them. “I guess that probably sounds silly...”

  Beth Ann smiled warmly, putting him at ease. “Not in the least. Matter of fact, I think that makes perfect sense.”

  He sent her a nod of thanks and turned toward his small dining table.

  “Now, let’s see. I have here the Cincinnati Enquirer, the Chicago Tribune, and the Boston Globe. Do you want the New York Times, Newport Daily News and the Philadelphia Inquirer too, Miss Beth?” he asked as he began to gather together the mentioned editions.

  “As many as you can spare—but actually, I only need one page of each,” she added, and he stopped in mid motion and turned his head back in her direction, regarding her over the top of the half lenses of his reading spectacles.

  After a moment, he resumed his gathering and asked, “Does this mean what I think it does, young lady? Are you gettin’ tired of waiting for that beau of yours to pop the question and maybe...wantin’ to shake him up a bit?” he chortled.

  Beth Ann pressed her lips together for a minute, determined not to give Stanley Claude Clabor the honor of shedding any more tears over him. Taking in a deep breath through her nose, she tilted her head back in resolve. “Nope. As of two evenings ago, Mr. Stanley Clabor is no longer my beau. And before you ask...it was his idea, not mine.”