ROMANCE: His Reluctant Heart (Historical Western Victorian Romance) (Historical Mail Order Bride Romance Fantasy Short Stories)

by Jane Prescott

  When he was finished, she felt curious. He stood full before her, so she sat on the bed, leaned down, and took him her mouth as well. His grateful gasps told her she was exciting him, and she felt her own excitement rise.

  She stopped before he could become too excited. After kissing his chest and running her hands along the length of his body, she tired of the slow exploration, wanting him in her. She guided him in and he moved slowly, teasing and allowing her to adjust to him inside. When he was in as deep within her as they could meet, the slow, rising friction brought them to greater joy. She felt some discomfort throughout it, but when she did she let him know and he slowed or stopped enough for her to adjust and become comfortable. By the time they’d reached the end, she felt comfortable enough to touch herself as he moved within her and they both came to nearly the same release.

  They lay together after, entwined and exhausted. “Is this real?” She asked, unbelieving. “Are we finally together and happy?”

  “I’m happy.” He assured her. “And I’ll be with you for the rest of my days.”

  ###

  Old Mártainn finished his final drink and blinked to try to wake himself up. He’d told his story as best he could, though his old wound to the head was said to have made him go a bit senile earlier than most. No one was entirely sure how old the man was, though, and given his great age some degree of forgetfulness was certain.

  Though he hadn’t shared Fingall’s marriage night with his audience- they were certainly not details he was privvy to- he was able to tell them the broad strokes of Fingall and Jocelyn MacAllarran’s lives to the best of his ability. It wasn’t as though he was without some help.

  “Now, I told you they married, but did I tell you they had children?” He asked. The audience laughed, and the middle-aged man to his left patted him on the back. The old man joined in, chuckling.

  “Well, I suppose that part Dhugall MacAllarran can tell you his own self, could he not?”

  “That I could, good sir.” Dhugall agreed. “For instance, I can say I’m pleased to have been named for my uncle and I’m do my best to give honor to both my names. But you’ve done so well in your storytelling, it’d be a shame to stop you now!”

  “I’ll do my best.” He agreed. He steadied himself in his seat and sighed. “Sad to be the last of us from that time. Your mother, there was a wonderful woman. Gone these five years now. Your father passed only a year before.”

  “They lived good long lives, sir, as have you.” Dhugall assured him.

  “I have tried. And they have seen their five children all grow to adulthood and make them proud. Your two sisters, Jocelyn and Murron, have left the village and married well. Dhugall , Kieth, and Uilleam have each grown their stock to become the wealthiest men of the village. All of you have children of your own, most of whom your parents were able to know. Aye, I envy you your happy life ahead as the years before me grow dimmer.”

  Dhugall cleared his throat. “Yet you fought at Red Harlaw, as did many of our town. If you are the last of those men, it is you I envy. I envy your bravery and your chance at honor.”

  The last of the drinks were passed around and Dhugall stood. “To our ancestors and those who came before us. Let their memories never fade.”

  THE END

  The Reluctant Groom

  Henry and Sven Olander were halfway through clearing brush in the new field when Henry stopped, leaned on his pitchfork, and wiped his brow. His elder brother could see there was more to this gesture than just exhaustion, so he stopped as well. The third man in their trio, Tom Woodson, paused just because he thought it was time for a break. He looked to the two brothers nervously, looking for signs of sibling discord that might flare up between them.

  “Something on your mind, Hank?”

  The young man stared at the ground he’d been working, quietly stewing over something. As the silence grew, Sven thought he’d better nudge him again. “Now you know I’m only going to annoy you until you tell me what it is you stew over, brother. You may as well speak up now. Laziness does not become any of us, not at this time of year!”

  Henry reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a carefully folded paper. The young man stuck his pitch fork deep into the soil and strolled over to Sven. “Here. May as well read it yourself.”

  “That I will.” Sven assured him.

  “What? What’s it say?” Tom asked. He was the youngers of the three young men, only 19 years old. Too young to have fought in the terrible war that had nearly torn the nation asunder, he was merely the brother-in-law of Sven and, consequently, not often included in the deeper discussions between the brothers.

  So it would be this time. “Tom, get back to work. In fact, take up the shovel and see about clearing some of the rocks, if you’d be so obliging. Give me a moment’s peace.” Tom and Sven returned to their work.

  Sven opened the letter with his callused hands and read silently.

  ---

  Dear Henry,

  I trust all is well with you. Your mother and I miss you and your brother and pray you are keeping hale and productive, by God’s grace.

  All is well here. The corn is coming in only as we could best hope here. There is more than enough help from your cousins and your sister’s family and all are in good health.

  Today I put pen to paper to implore you to think on what we discussed the last time we your mother and I looked upon your face. While I know that you find yourself much at fault for what happened to Bjorn, it is not becoming you should maintain this penance. You are a young man. Though we grieve that you are not in this county, I am proud that you and Sven have moved north to make the Lord’s country beautiful and fruitful.

  But progress in this country is not limited to turning the forested wastes into rolling fields. You must be fruitful and multiply as well! The temptations of flesh may become too strong to bear and you, as a young man, may find yourself weak without a good wife in your home. Many a good man of respectable birth have found their ruin in drink and other sins in towns. I have seen it myself!

  Do not mourn your brother forever. I insist you honor my wishes on this matter.

  I look to see you, Sven and his family, and YOUR new wife during the Christmas holiday.

  With love,

  Your Father

  ---

  Sven shook his head with a little laugh and folded the letter. “So Pa has laid down the law on you, it seems. It would serve you best to do as he says.”

  He looked over Henry - called Hank only by Sven and his former comrades-in-arms - to see how he was taking the suggestion. A slight-framed, though muscular man, they were at times at odds with one another, but they were as quick to forgive. Having served together under in the First Minnesota in nightmare battles such as First Bull Run, Antietam, Gettysburg, and in the Bristoe and Mine Run Campaigns, they’d survived much together. Once it had been the three of them; bulky, black-bearded Sven, gaunt, bookish and blond Henry, and their ever laughing middle brother Bjorn, the peacemaker and trickster of the family. The trio had been each other’s strength until Cemetery Ridge, when a Confederate had cut down Bjorn right between his two brothers.

  Henry didn’t favor a beard, preferring to keep his chin clean. Instead, he played with the ends of his mustache and appeared to be considering the ultimatum. Though they were two hundred miles to the east in east near the border with Wisconsin, the Olander brother’s parents held strong influence over the lives of their grown sons living on the border near the Dakota Territory. There were Olanders settling this land as well, along with a few younger Magnussons, Stenbergs, and Engmans who could report back favorably or unfavorably back home. A good report would keep them in good standing in the community; a bad one would mean shame.

  When it came down to it, Henry had two choices; give up on Minnesota entirely and move even further west, or do as his father bid.

  Henry scowled and spit on the ground. “I didn’t ask for this, you know. Don’t want a damn wife. Don’t
need a damn wife.”

  Sven tried to keep a civil tone to his voice. “I didn’t think I needed Rose, either. But you see what a good wife can do for a man. She does more than keep house. My Rose is everything to me.”

  “And I envy your love. I just wouldn’t wish to be so tied down now. It’s not right. I’m not deserving.”

  There it was. Sven took out a rag to wipe his face and looked out across the field. This should have been the work for four of them, not just three. Bjorn should be getting his start here as well. “You think I don’t miss him either? Life goes on. You’re not to blame.”

  “I am. He’d not have-”

  “Brother, you know that next year it will be your turn to raise a house, clear the field, and settle the land we’ve purchased on the other side of the road. I want you to stay under my roof. You understand?

  Henry looked to the sky as if he were looking for a reprieve from that source. Instead, he muttered, “I’ll do as I’m instructed.”

  “Excellent. Then we’ll talk no more of it until tonight. Rose has several copies of “The Ladies’ Reader Monthly” you may look through and they have columns. You’ll see! You’ll find your match there, I have little doubt.”

  “Can’t wait.” Henry grumbled before joining Tom in rock clearing.

  ###

  The train rumbled along on its track with each car rocking and swaying as it roared west. Far back and mercifully distant from the soot of the engine sat a woman whose eyes were glued to the scenery outside her ornate carriage. The fields of southern Minnesota checkered the landscape that had recently been mostly prairie and woodlands. The train would take her only as far as Mankato; after that, she’d have to take a coach to her destination, a small farming community with the hard-to-pronounce name of Jonkoping. She’d practiced the name many times over the past few months, hoping it would please her fiancé.

  A woman sat down beside her on the train after a brief stop in Rochester. The large-chested blonde was a bit older than Miss Margaret Bell, late of Sweetwater, Virginia and she seemed quite comfortable striking up a conversation despite having limited English skills.

  “You are … how do you say … you are new to here?” The woman asked, drawing Margaret’s mind away from the emerging prairie scenery. “This is first time to Minnesota?”

  “My first time anyway, truth be told. How about yourself, ma’am?”

  “I am from Norway and have lived here for some years now!” The perky woman declared, pleased to have a fresh arrival to impart her wisdom upon. “You are from, I think, you are from South America?”

  “The South, ma’am.”

  “Oh yes! This is what I mean. I am Ingeborg. Please call me Inga!”

  “Margaret Bell. I am partial to Maggie.”

  The blonde held out a hand to the extremely thin young woman. “Such pleasure! You have far to go to your, um, new house?”

  “I’m off at Mankato before I take a coach to Jonkoping.” The other woman’s face clouded at the mention. “Oh dear. Did I say something wrong?”

  “No. Is Swedish town. They are… well, it is old uh… dislike. Sweden and Norway are not good friends. But who can say! It is America here and that is so good. Except I think you are from a place that wanted to leave America.”

  She gave a slow nod. “I’ve seen happier days in Virginia. But I can not deny that my sympathies have always been with those who were kept in shackles. I will admit my family were not very popular where I lived.” She trailed off sadly.

  “And why is this, Maggie?” Inga queried.

  Margaret wrung her hands and sniffed. There were tears welling at the corners of her eyes. “My family farm… we were part of the Underground Railroad.” The other woman wore a blank look, so she followed by adding, “We helped escaped slaves find their way to the North and to freedom. We were raised to see slavery as a great evil in our midst, though few others in our community would ever see it that way.

  “Our neighbors didn’t know we did this. During the war, my brother made his way north and signed up for the Union Army. He died, I am sad to say. My mother, father, and I suffered great hunger during the war as things got worse for the South. We thought to go north as well, but father would not hear of it; she did not wish to give up the family farm. It had been ours for ages. But after the war, we stayed weak and father and mother were taken by disease. I went to be a burden to my aunt.”

  “A sad story.” Inga said, wiping a tear of her own. “But you are hungry still! Such bones and skin. I have sandwiches if you like. You will eat one?”

  “I couldn’t-”

  “It is not a problem for me!” The woman insisted, pulling out a basket. “It gives me company for eating. Much nicer, you see?”

  “Very nice. Thank you so much.” The sandwich consisted of a generous slab of ham between two pieces of good bread. “Delicious.”

  “Thank you. I am going to visit my family in Mankato. Why do you go to this Swedish village?”

  She glanced about nervously and blushed. “I have a fiancé there, you see. We have been writing since spring and I am anxious to meet him.”

  “Oh! What is he like?”

  “Kind. Smart. Well-read. We have shared in many of the same books, I find.”

  “Young and handsome as well, I am hoping for you.” Inga winked. Maggie returned the grin.

  “Yes, of course that would be nice. It is just so different from what I imagined. I’ve read stories of these Western lands and they are so wide and open. I am used to a different kind of life. More people, little towns and such. On weekends, my family and I used to visit Richmond before the war. I do not imagine there will be time or money for such things, living on a farm as I will.”

  “You will get by. There is much work, but you are young! Have many children. They will help you. It is best, you see?” Inga offered between bites of a fishy-smelling sandwich.

  “I suppose.” Maggie didn’t object to the idea of children on principle, but it was hard to think of such things with so many unknowns before her. She didn’t even know what Henry looked like yet, other than the basic description he had offered; 24, blond, thin, with a mustache and “no scars to speak of.” It wasn’t a glowing self-assessment, but he had taken an interest in her letters and she felt she knew his mind, to some degree. It was better to marry a man she could at least hold some intelligent conversation with and who seemed of a charitable disposition than a golden Greek God of attractiveness with a sour disposition. She counted herself lucky to have made the connection.

  “I confess I am nervous about what he might look like.” She admitted.

  The older woman nodded. “If he is a good man, this may help. Also, it is not final yet until you go to Pastor and vow, yes?”

  “That’s true.”

  “Then be cheerful! You go to new life? New friends, town? I will visit you when my trip with family is over, if you like, to check on you. If problems- come with me home, stay a bit until you find good man.” She beamed.

  Maggie was stunned. “You are too kind to a stranger! I am overcome by this. I couldn’t impose so.”

  Inga waved her concerns off. “We are rich, my husband and I. It is pleasure for me to offer this.”

  Maggie took her hand and gave it a quick squeeze of gratitude before the two women finished their sandwiches. Mankato was approaching and with it, the last leg of Maggie’s journey. She felt more at ease and hopeful.

  ###

  Jonkoping, she quickly found, was no more than a small handful of buildings on a main street; a tavern, a Lutheran church, the stage service, a grocer and dry goods store, a blacksmith, and a few other small businesses. When her coach pulled in, she was disappointed to see that her intended was no more than a boy.

  The skinny young man scratched his head and helped her down. He was standing near a flatbed cart of his own pulled by a single horse. “You Margaret?” The boy asked, scratching his armpit as he sauntered over. He appeared to be very interested in her, judging
from his gaze, but he seemed more curious than loving. She felt her heart fall.

  “I am she. You are Henry, I take it?”

  “Nah. I’m Tom. Henry is in the store and I’m just waiting out here for you.” He pointed to the dry goods store across the dusty road.

  She let out a quiet sigh of relief, hoping he didn’t catch on. She didn’t want offend the first person she’d met in her new home. “Oh! I’ll just go over now then.”

  “I’ll start loading up your trunk and such.” Tom offered.

  She thanked him and set off across the empty road.

  Inside the store, her shoes clunked along the wood-slatted floor. There were a few women waiting patiently for their turn in line, while a pair of children were staring longingly at penny candies. No one was manning the counter.

  Maggie was about to ask where the shopkeep was when she heard raised voices near the back of the store. She moved past the kegs and boxes of supplies only to see two men arguing over a dress.