by Vivi Holt
Praise for Vivi Holt
You'll keep the pages turning as you cheer these two along in that hopes that they find each other before it's too late.
Amazon reviewer
Mercy, what a heart wrenching story with twists to really bring tears to my heart.
Amazon reviewer
I can't wait to read more orphan brides!
Amazon reviewer
Mail Order Bride: Holly
Orphan Brides Go West
Vivi Holt
Black Lab Press
Contents
FREE Book
About Mail Order Bride: Holly
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Excerpt from Of Peaks and Prairies
Also by Vivi Holt
About the Author
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The Lift, a short love story.
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About Mail Order Bride: Holly
Orphaned as a girl, and now a widow with five children to feed, Holly leans on her sister and brother-in-law for support. But when her sister’s husband turns them out, she’s overcome by despair. With nowhere to turn and no one to help them, she discovers an advertisement for a Mail Order Bride in the local newspaper.
After suffering an injury while working on his ranch, Kurt Sawyer decides to advertise for a Mail Order Bride. Unsure of what to expect, when Kurt meets her on the train platform, he's overwhelmed by the responsibility he now faces.
Can Holly overcome the pain of her past to give love a chance? Or will Kurt send her home before she even has a chance to open her heart?
1
August 1877
Kansas
Kurt Sawyer clicked his tongue and watched the sturdy horses pull the plow, his brow furrowed. The lines weren’t straight. Perhaps they needed a little more speed. “Hiyyup! Get on there, Sam! Giddyup, Sal!”
The animals leaned hard into the leather straps across the front of their chests, heaving the plow forward. Its sharp blades cut through the soil, leaving freshly dug earth behind them. Kurt smiled and adjusted his grip on the reins as he walked behind the plow. In the distance, he saw a swirl of gray and black clouds gathering on the horizon. They soon filled the sky, hurrying toward him. He’d have to move fast if he was to finish this field before returning the plow to the Drake farm.
Monday would mark his first full year on his ranch, and he was glad to see the end of it. It had been a tough year, one of the hardest he’d ever experienced. But looking back, he couldn’t help feeling proud. He’d managed a summer crop and now he’d be planting wheat to harvest next spring. And with the horse-drawn plow to help him, it might be a decent crop.
He’d written his folks back in New York state a couple of weeks earlier to let them know how he was doing. His mother had been concerned about him going west, certain something terrible would happen to him. But nothing had, and he was beginning to believe this ranch was his chance to make something of himself.
His brother Angus, ten years his senior, had moved to Wichita first. He and his wife Beatrice set out with their nest egg, intending to make a name for themselves. He’d started a flour mill in the growing town a few years ago and had done well. Now they had two children, were planning on opening an adjoining mercantile and had written Kurt, telling him he should come join them. It hadn’t taken him long to make the decision – he wanted adventure and a chance to make his mark. And this was it.
He smiled wider as the neat furrows formed behind him. It would’ve taken him days to do this by hand. His neighbor William Drake had bought the plow in the spring and offered to let him borrow it. He’d jumped at the opportunity and couldn’t have been happier with his decision. He’d have to do something nice for Mr. Drake to make up for the man’s generosity. It was one of the things he loved about Kansas – even in these hard postwar times, every farmer shared and supported others as best they could. There was even talk of banding together to buy a harvester next spring.
When he reached the end of the field, the plow bounced off something hard, jolting the reins from his hands. He stumbled forward and grabbed the straps of leather as they wriggled free through the grass. “Whoa there, boys.” He pulled the horses to a halt and hurried forward to examine the plow, kneeling in front of it to study the blades. With care he ran his fingers over the sharp steel edges, his chest pressed to the ground. Aha – there was a nick near the front of one where it had likely hit a rock.
Kurt frowned and began to back out from under the plow when a crack of thunder made him start. The horses leaped forward and stumbled back again, spinning around in their traces. “Whoa!” he called – just as Sam’s enormous hooves landed on his back. The horse stepped forward, then back again, and he screamed in agony as the Clydesdale’s hooves crushed him into the ground.
The assault lasted only moments, but it seemed like an eternity. As quickly as they were spooked, the horses calmed and stood silently between the traces, ready to get back to work.
Kurt rolled onto his back with a groan, his face covered in muck, his head throbbing and his vision blurred. He had to get up and out of the way before it happened again, but his left arm lay limp at his side and he feared he might never be able to lift it again. With his right hand, he pulled himself forward and away from the plow, then scrambled onto his knees and slowly crawled one-handed.
Once he was a few feet away, he slumped to the ground again, moaned and ran his right hand over his head. It felt wet and warm to the touch – blood? He shut his eyes tight as a wave of nausea swept over him. He needed help, but there was no one around for miles – Mr. Drake was the nearest neighbor, but his house was a mile away.
Kurt rolled to his hands and knees again and a fresh wave of pain crashed over him, bringing out a band of sweat across his forehead. He groaned and took a quick breath as blackness descended. He collapsed on the soft earth as fat drops of rain pelted his head and back.
The sound of crickets pierced Kurt’s consciousness and his eyes flickered open. It was getting dark and he could see the horses out of the corner of his eye. They stood patiently, their ears flicking in an attempt to dislodge the gnats and mosquitoes that appeared when day turned to night. The ground around him was wet, and he could see the storm clouds moving off in the distance.
With a loud moan, he set his right hand beneath him and pushed up, struggling slowly to his feet. His entire body ached and a sharp stabbing pain in his shoulder made him grimace. He didn’t know how badly he’d been injured, but he knew he needed to get to town to see the doctor as quickly as he could. Whether he could manage the journey was another matter entirely.
He hobbled over to Sam’s side and began the arduous process of unclipping traces and unbuckling leather straps one-handed. Soon Sam was free of Sal and the plow. Kurt took him by the bit and led him to the small cabin he’d built on the ranch as his temporary home.
He needed water, so he went inside, grabbed the water jug from the kitchen table with a trembling hand and gulped down great mouthfuls. With a loud sigh, he wiped some over his eyes and face, startled to see how much blood dripped from his hand. Cradling his left arm, he stumbled back out to where Sam stood, his head hanging low over the water trough, his whiskered snout bathed with droplets. “Let’s go to town, Sam,” he whispered, his head swimming.
With his right hand, he pulled himself up onto Sam’s back with a grunt, his legs closing over the
animal’s round, damp sides. He kicked his heels into Sam’s ribs until the horse stepped slowly forward. He tugged on the reins, turned Sam toward town and kicked harder, sending the creature into a slow canter. Blood ran in a steady stream down the side of his face and dripped from his chin onto his hand. He watched the rivulets trickle down the outside of his white-knuckled fist as his body swayed with the horse beneath him.
All the way to town, he lurched left and right, back and forth as Sam steadily followed the road to Wichita. By the time they reached its outskirts, stars twinkled overhead. The blanket of gray clouds was gone and the moonless night was full of the sound of crickets and other creatures as they scurried to and fro over the drenched earth.
Soon he was at Dr. White’s house. Hemlock White and his wife had moved to Wichita six months earlier from Virginia. Kurt remembered the welcome party that had been held by the grateful congregation of the First Presbyterian Church on the Sunday after their arrival. He tugged gently on the reins, guiding Sam toward the small whitewashed cottage, a lantern burning within.
He lifted a leg over the horse’s back, to drop to the ground, but lost his footing, his head still spinning and fell onto his rear with a cry. He lay still on the ground, trying desperately to get his eyes to focus on the dark branches of a tree overhead. Finally he managed to scramble to his feet and lurched toward the front door. Next to the door hung a brass bell with a string hung beside it. He stumbled, his left shoulder hitting the wall with a thud, but managed to stay upright, and rang the bell.
The door opened. Kurt saw Dr. White’s bearded face. Then his eyes rolled back in his head and he fell in a heap at the doctor’s feet.
September 1877
New York City
Holly Bristol poked the darning needle through the sock, then paused to study her progress. Darning was a way to pass the time, and these days it saved her a pretty penny as well. Raising five children alone wasn’t something she’d ever thought she’d have to face. Every sock saved and handed down was another one she didn’t have to buy.
She sighed, let the sock fall into her lap and stared out the window. Life hadn’t always been this way. When Charles was alive, they’d had money to spare, at least in recent years. The first few years of their marriage, after the Civil War, they’d had to scrimp and save, but she didn’t care, being so much in love and accustomed to a life of poverty. After his death, she discovered he hadn’t saved a penny over their years together. But while he was with them, they’d lived the life she’d always dreamed of.
After growing up in the poor coal-mining town of Morgantown, Virginia, Holly Sweetman had longed to attend lavish parties, wear pretty dresses and have her hair done in the latest style. When she and her sister moved to New York after the war, she’d attended a church picnic, hoping to catch the eye of one of the eligible bachelors in the city, in an attempt to change their fortunes and put the past behind them.
And she’d succeeded. Charles Bristol was handsome, enigmatic and soon had eyes only for the pretty, vivacious Holly. He’d returned from the war with a new outlook on life, and though his parents didn’t approve of the match he refused to heed their warnings. He and Holly were married on a Friday down at the courthouse – a great scandal at the time, but she sighed with pleasure at the memory. In her mind his rebellion had been spurred by love, and she could think of nothing more romantic.
After his folks finally recovered from the shock of their eldest son marrying an Appalachian orphan girl at the local courthouse, they told him he’d have to make do on his own – since he’d refused to listen to them, he wouldn’t inherit a penny. But he didn’t budge, just tipped his hat, smiled and walked away with Holly’s hand on his arm. And the two of them never looked back.
She sighed as she returned to her darning. A fire crackled in the hearth, its warmth filling the parlor. She heard the cook in the kitchen banging pots and pans and humming a Gaelic tune. Her mind wandered while she worked. Dreaming of the past had become a way for her to escape the present, and she indulged more than she should.
She and Charles had it all. With the income from his job as a bank manager, he bought them a house in one of the most prominent neighborhoods in town. She had everything she wanted: a ladies’ maid, fashionable clothing, a barouche to carry her to parties and events, even a cook to prepare their meals.
When Tripp arrived, a chubby baby boy whose hearty cries could wake the entire neighborhood, Holly felt her heart might burst with pride and love. He was a handsome little fellow and she had difficulty disciplining him – especially since he always knew his own mind, something Holly had rarely experienced. As a result, he usually got his way and was hardly ever reprimanded. His parents were grateful that he was generally cheerful and kind, and their home was a warm and happy one.
When Tripp was two, another bundle arrived. Sarah came into the world with a serious look on her heart-shaped face, and Holly and Charles often joked that she seemed to have been born a schoolmistress. Her goal in life was to make certain everyone did as they ought and that all were treated rightly and fairly. She was soon followed by Heather, the opposite of her sister – messy, unruly and forever covered in mud or jam or both. She seemed determined to never wear a pair of matching stockings or be found with shoes on both feet.
Two more years passed and their happy family of five became six when Edward joined their brood, and seven when Eleanor arrived. By this time, the house that seemed so large and spacious when Charles bought it years earlier suddenly felt cramped and crowded. The noise the children generated often left Holly with a headache by day’s end, and though Charles hired a nanny to help her, many nights she fell into bed exhausted before he even returned home from the bank.
Charles worked long hours to provide for his family, though he never complained about it. When he was home, he smiled wide and roughhoused with the kids, chasing them around the house until, laughing, Holly had to remind him they needed to settle before bedtime. Those were happy times, and remembering them made her throat ache. The scarlet fever that took him from them last winter came so suddenly, there was no way to prepare.
Only after his death did she find that the ongoing financial panic had wiped out their savings. With no income, they’d lost their house soon afterward. She was grateful for her sister and brother-in-law, who’d taken her and the children in when they had nowhere else to turn. Her sister Eve visited the day before their eviction and offered a place in her and her husband Rodney’s home until she could get back on her feet.
Holly ran her hand along a window frame in the three-story brick house and bit her lower lip. When would she be back on her feet, and how? She couldn’t work, not with five children to care for. And even if she could, there was no way she could earn enough to house, feed and clothe them all. She ran a hand over her neatly combed blonde chignon with a sigh. There was only one thing she could do, and she knew her sister was counting on her to do it. Remarry. But who would marry a woman with so many children?
Through the window she saw Edward, now five, digging in the garden. His favorite thing in the world was to dig. And since he didn’t have a spade of his own, he used anything he could get his hands on: sticks, rocks, even the gardener’s tools (much to the gardener’s dismay). She’d chastised him so many times, she couldn’t bring herself to do it again now. Watching him so happy, mouthing the words to a song while he worked, she hated to interrupt.
When she’d been mistress of her own home, she’d let him dig in the pumpkin patch as much as he wished. He’d been as happy as a lark there, his small shovel clutched between chubby fingers and a mud-smudged grin on his round face. But now they were visitors in someone else’s home and she couldn’t make the rules any longer, couldn’t give her children the freedom they longed for.
She stood with another sigh and set her darning on the small side table next to the horsehair settee where she loved to spend afternoons watching the children play in the garden. She’d better have a word with Eddie before
he uprooted his uncle’s prize rose bushes. She hurried through the parlor, past the roaring fireplace to the mudroom, tugged on her coat and scarf and stepped outside, rubbing her hands together in front of her mouth to warm them with her breath.
Just as she reached the staircase that led down to the garden, she saw Rodney, her brother-in-law and master of the house, marching through the gate. She gasped, realizing it was too late. She could tell by the black look on his rotund face, his reddening cheeks and the way his thick dark eyebrows were drawn low over his small piggish eyes. He’d spotted Edward’s digging.
Rodney reached the boy in a few long strides and picked him up by his collar. “I caught you, you little beast!” he bellowed, his eyes looking as though they might pop from their sockets in his rage.
Edward cried out, a shriek of fear and pain that tore through Holly’s heart. She lifted her skirts and ran down the garden path toward them. She reached them and raised her hands toward where Edward hung, his feet kicking the empty air. “Eddie, I’ve told you not to dig around Uncle Rodney’s rose bushes. I’m so sorry, it won’t happen again, Rodney, I can promise you that …”
Rodney’s furious gaze landed on her. “You have no control over this child!” he huffed loudly. “I’ve seen your idea of punishment. There’s no discipline! He needs a firm hand and you fail to employ it. Well, no more – this time, I’ll set the punishment. He must stand in the corner of the parlor for the entire evening and go without his supper.”
