Mail Order Bride- Twenty-Two Brides Mega Boxed Set

by Emily Woods

  “Mama, Robbie won't follow the rules of the game,” Jacob complained about his younger brother. “Tell him that he has to do what I say because I'm older.”

  Emma stopped her preparations to give her son a serious look. “That's not a good enough reason for someone to obey another person, my son. We follow what others say because they are wise. Do you remember what that means?”

  The nine-year-old boy screwed up his face in concentration. “Something like knowing right from wrong?”

  “Yes, that's a big part of it. A wise person has the experience and knowledge to know what to do in any particular situation. People listen to a person like that.”

  He considered that. “So, is Captain Holt wise? Is that why we're following him?”

  Emma resumed her chopping on the wooden cutting board. “I certainly hope so, but I'm trying to follow what God wants for our lives. He’s the wisest of anyone.”

  “And God wants us to run away from Grandmother and Grandfather?”

  Her heart jumped at the question. Her little boy wasn't so little anymore. Her cheeks flushed a little, and she hesitated before answering.

  “I think of it as running toward something, dear. We're heading for a new life and leaving this one behind.” When he didn't reply right away, she asked, “Are you excited to go?”

  “Yes, but I wish we could have said good-bye to Josiah and Benjamin,” he replied, referring to his cousins.

  “How about if we write them a letter and post it somewhere along the way. Does that sound good to you?”

  Jacob's eyes widened in surprise. The thought of sending a letter made him forget his aggravation at his brother and his worry about leaving.

  “Can I start now? What should I say?”

  Emma laughed at his excitement and told him they would do it together tonight after dinner. That settled him down and he went off to play with his brother again, leaving Emma to her thoughts.

  2

  After returning from the bank, dinner was ready so Jeremiah headed over to where Emma was dishing out the stew to her boys. He wasn't sure what to say after taking the first bite. It wasn't horrible, but neither was it particularly good. The meat was very tough and the vegetables were soggy. He also felt that it could use a bit more salt, but didn't want to ask for it in case she took that for a complaint. Besides, her boys were eating it happily enough.

  “Is there any more bread?” he asked, hoping that he could satisfy his hunger with that instead. At least that had been tasty.

  “Oh, yes. Here you go. I got a large loaf at the bakery this morning.”

  He tried not to let his concern show. The one edible thing in the meal hadn't even been made by her hand. “Thanks. The stew is…good.”

  A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “No, it isn't, but I'm hoping I'll improve as the weeks go by. I’m not used to, uh, cooking out of doors. Maybe the other women will give me some advice.”

  Her honesty tickled him, and he chuckled. “Not too many women would say such a thing about their own cooking.”

  “Not too many women learn how to cook so late in life,” she replied. Her eyes clouded over as though she regretted admitting this.

  “You're just learning?” The idea took him by surprise. How was it that she hadn't learned to cook up until this point?

  Emma averted her eyes a little and didn't seem keen to reply.

  “Sorry if I'm prying. Just tell me to mind my own business.”

  With a little laugh, she shook her head. “I wouldn't presume to be so rude, but it's a somewhat private matter. I didn't think I'd have to explain my poor housekeeping skills to anyone, but then you offered me a deal...”

  “And answering questions isn't part of the deal,” he finished, understanding her meaning completely. “So I won't.”

  “You can revoke your offer,” she said quietly, but he could tell she didn't want him to. For some reason, her statement pleased him, even though he knew it likely had everything to do with saving money and nothing with having his presence at her mealtimes.

  “Nah, that's okay. It's still better than having to do my own cooking.”

  That was only a partial truth because he was in fact a decent cook, but he wouldn't admit that to her. As far as she knew, he was like most other men in regards to food—good at eating, not so good at preparing.

  “So, we'll really be leaving at four in the morning?” she asked as she cleaned up her boys’ dishes. “I don't know if I've ever done anything functional at that time of the day before.”

  “Not leaving,” he answered. “Just getting up. I'll fire a rifle at that time to wake everyone. We'll need to pack up all the bedding and supplies from the night, get breakfast going, and yoke the oxen to the wagons. Actual leaving time is around seven.”

  Emma's face registered surprise. “And that all takes three hours? I find that hard to believe.”

  Chuckling, Jeremiah shook his head. “Just wait and see. I've done that routine hundreds of times now.”

  “Yes, I suppose you would have.” She resumed gathering up her cooking utensils. “Aren't you tired of it by now?”

  This would have been a perfect opportunity for him to talk to her about his retirement and desire to settle in the West with a wife, but he felt it was a bit premature to say all that. Still, he wanted to plant a seed.

  “Yeah, I am. Last time I was out there, I told a land agent that I wanted a piece of land. He agreed to hold a section for me.”

  Since she'd finished cleaning up, Emma began unloading the tent she'd brought from the wagon. Jeremiah jumped up to lend her a hand.

  “Oh, thank you, but I suppose I should get used to doing this by myself.”

  Jeremiah shrugged a little. “I don't know why. It's not hard for me to help.”

  He could tell it was hard for her to accept his help. She was determined to be independent, but he was just as determined that she wouldn't have to be. Although she was mentally strong, he could see that her physical strength didn't match. The new blisters on her hands told him that she'd led a life of ease up until now, but he wouldn't ask her about it. She'd already made it clear that the details of her life were off-limits. That was fine with him, for now. He had months to get close to her, so he wouldn't push it.

  “So you'll have one hundred and sixty acres waiting for you when you get there?” she asked as they put up the tent for her family.

  “I hope so. Jared Miller told me about a section of land near the river that hadn't been claimed yet. I might have given him an incentive to hold it for me.”

  Emma raised an eyebrow. “You mean a bribe?”

  “Ah, now, that's a harsh word. It's not like it's the last piece of land that's out there.”

  “Well, I guess you deserve it, given how you've helped so many people reach their destination. Tell me, do you really have the highest success rate?”

  He knew for a fact that he did, and even though he shared his reason with the other wagon masters, most didn't credit his tactics.

  “It sounds ridiculous, but the two main reasons are boiled water and pickles.”

  Emma drew back and looked at him skeptically. “The water I understand, but pickles?”

  He nodded. “Yep. Something in those pickles that keeps a body strong. I don't rightly know why, but I'm mighty fond of them, and some ten years ago, I noticed that other folks who fancy them hold up better on the trail.”

  After making the discovery, Jeremiah had started encouraging people to pack and eat an outrageous number pickles on the trail. After that, there had been a significant increase in the number of survivors. Since then, he'd put a barrel of pickles on the list of items he told people to buy.

  “I hate pickles,” Emma declared. “So do my boys.”

  A trickle of concern entered his mind. “But you brought them, didn't you?”

  Emma shook her head. “I had no intention of eating them. I bought everything else, though.”

  Muttering, Jeremiah jumped up, dumped the r
emains of his coffee near the fire, and headed for his horse.

  “Where are you going?” she called after him.

  “To get you a barrel of pickles!”

  Before she could protest, he took off in the general direction of town, leaving her to wonder if the man was crazy.

  Jeremiah Holt was either the craziest or one of the wisest men Emma had ever met. She certainly thought his idea of eating pickles on the trail was horrendous, but if he thought it was so important that he would run out the night before the wagon train was set to leave, she would force herself to eat them.

  “Is it time for bed?” five-year-old Robbie asked, appearing at her elbow. She looked down into his face, grimy with dirt, and felt such an overwhelming love for the boy that she hugged him impulsively.

  “Yes, my love. We need to get a very early start, so we'll be going to bed soon.”

  “Goody! I can't wait to sleep in a tent!”

  Although both boys were thrilled at the prospect of sleeping out-of-doors, she wondered how long the feeling would last. They had four to six months of this, depending on the weather, and then who knew when they would get a house built on the land that the government promised to the settlers?

  Recently, there had been a provision to the Oregon Donation Land Act allowing widows to stake a claim. She praised God for this as it was the catalyst for her decision to leave. On the very same day she was wondering what to do about the future, she read about the amendment in the local newspaper. From there, she'd started researching wagon trains and had been recommended to Jeremiah Holt.

  “Where's your brother?” she asked, leading him over to a bucket of clean water and proceeding to wash his face.

  “He's still playing with them older boys the preacher's got.” His face scrunched up in displeasure. “He don't want to play with me when them boys is around.”

  Emma nearly shuddered at his poor grammar and repeated, “He likes to play with those older boys? And he doesn't include you in the games when they are around?”

  Robbie shook his head and frowned more, tears shining. He wiped them away angrily and stomped a foot. “I wish them boys wasn't coming.”

  “Ah, but if those boys weren't coming, that would mean their pa wouldn't be coming and then we wouldn't have a preacher on our wagon train. Remember what I told you about Preacher Riley?”

  Blinking like a small barn owl, Robbie stared up at her, clearly not remembering.

  “It's God's blessing for us. He'll likely read from the Bible and pray with us.”

  Robbie's face brightened. “And get them angels to protect us from the Injuns?”

  Emma allowed herself a small sigh. “It's up to God to send us angels, my boy, but from what I understand, the Indians are not actually our biggest worry.”

  “But there will be Injuns, won't there?”

  Trying to understand the mind of small boy was not an easy task, but Emma knew that they lived for adventure, or at least the idea of it.

  “I'm sure we'll see some friendly Indians along the way. I hope we can be kind to them, just like Jesus was to all the people he met.”

  Clearly, that was not the response Robbie was hoping for, but he didn't say any more on the matter.

  “Can you get Jacob to stop playing with the preacher's boys and play with me?” he pleaded. “I'm so bored.”

  Taking her son's hand and leading him to the preacher's wagon, she tried to tell him that his older brother wouldn’t always be so hard to get along with.

  “Good evening, Preacher,” Emma greeted the middle-aged man when they approached. “How are you and Missus Riley?”

  The man rose from his seat and bowed slightly. “We're mighty fine. It's Missus Pearson, correct?”

  Emma relished the intelligent intonation of his speech and smiled. “Yes, that's right. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I must tell you how glad I was to hear that you and your family would be a part of this train.”

  “It's a blessing that you know how to read the Bible and pray,” Robbie added solemnly, causing the preacher to burst out laughing and his mother to gasp.

  “Robbie! That's not what I said at all. Preacher, I can assure you...”

  He held up his hand. “I'm sure it wasn't. I've got a few boys of my own, my dear. I know how they can twist things around. In any case, I'm here for anything you need. Now, I presume that you've come to collect your son?”

  A face appeared from behind the wagon covering and smiled at them.

  “Hello there. I'm Grace Riley. How do you do?”

  Emma returned the smile. “Very well, thank you. I hope my Jacob hasn't been too much trouble.”

  “Oh no. He's a good boy and welcome to play with my sons anytime.”

  The couple was so gracious that Emma felt herself relax. Perhaps this journey wouldn't be so burdensome after all.

  3

  Jeremiah returned from town, the general store proprietor not far behind him, two barrels of pickles in his wagon. He'd purchased two barrels, one for the Pearson family and an extra one in case anyone else had disregarded his advice. He didn't have time to ask around, but figured that if one person hadn't bought the pickles, another might as well, and he didn't want his last run to be tarnished in any way that he could prevent.

  “I'm so sorry that you felt you had to do that,” Emma apologized when he loaded the barrel of pickles onto her wagon. “I just really felt like it was extra weight that I didn't need.”

  He grunted a little and took a look at her fully-loaded wagon.

  “But you felt you needed all those books?” he asked with a frown.

  Emma became indignant. “If I'm going to relocate my children to the wilderness where there is likely to be a dearth of educational supplies, then yes, I deem it highly necessary.”

  Jeremiah raised one eyebrow at her, his look stating that he didn't quite catch the entirety of what she'd said. She chastised herself a little and reiterated.

  “I was a schoolteacher before I married, and I believe that education is what keeps us civilized, so yes, books are of the utmost importance to me.”

  Her parents hadn't been thrilled when she declared that instead of marrying, she wanted to teach, but neither had they prevented her from fulfilling her dream. In fact, she suspected that they were proud to have a daughter who didn't follow the ordinary path of those in their society and marry the first eligible bachelor to pay her court.

  However, her dream had been short-lived, for when she met the charming and persuasive Norman Pearson, she'd relinquished her career to be his wife. At first, he had admired her determination to teach and complimented her on her mind. She'd been won over by his progressive attitude toward women, but it had all been a ruse. He'd known that she was the only heir of the Pearson fortune and had sought to win her over at any cost. When her parents died, all their funds automatically transferred into his hands and had subsequently been lost quite quickly through a series of bad investments.

  “Sorry,” Jeremiah said, interrupting her trip into the past. “That makes sense. Well, I have some room in my wagon, so I can put your books in there, or the pickles if you prefer.”

  Immediately, Emma felt contrite. She'd berated a man who only had her family's best interests in mind. “I would appreciate that. Since you believe they are an important part of our diet, we'll keep the pickles if you would kindly take our books.”

  Jeremiah and Tommy made quick work of transferring the four crates of books from her wagon to his, the latter not questioning his boss's actions, at least not in front of her. She knew that the younger man must be curious, but thankfully, he held his tongue.

  When her children asked her about their books later, she reassured them. “We'll still be able to read them. He's not taking them permanently, just helping us out because he wants us to have the pickles.”

  Both boys made a face.

  “Pickles are yucky,” Robbie declared, turning to Jacob for confirmation.

  “Yeah, but if Captain
Holt wants us to eat them, we better do what he says.”

  Emma was proud of her older son. “That shows wisdom, my son. I'm proud of you for seeing that.”

  “I'll eat them then,” Robbie said grudgingly. “But you can't make me like them!”

  She laughed and kissed his brow. “No, my dear, but we often have to do what we don't like.” She knew that all too well. “Thank you, boys, for understanding. Now, let's pray and get to sleep. Four o'clock in the morning is just a whisper away.”

  They all bowed their heads and thanked God for His blessings and asked for traveling grace.

  “And please, God, can we see some Injuns?” Robbie asked, sneaking a quick peek at his mother's face. “In Jesus's name, amen.”

  Emma pretended not to have heard. There was no way she was going to get into another debate about the natives of the land. God would have to deal with that.

  “Into bed now,” she urged them. “And no talking. You need to sleep as much as you can. We have a long day ahead of us.”

  “What about you, Ma?” Jacob asked. “You're going to have a long day too.”

  “Yes, my dear. I know. I just need to see to the fire and then I'll be along. Don't worry. I won't be far.”

  She kissed both their brows again and tucked them in. The night wasn't terribly cold, but she watched as the boys snuggled together anyway, their earlier quarrels forgotten. Her heart brimmed up with joy at the sight of them. How could she be angry with God for the way her life had turned out when He'd given her such beautiful boys?

  “So, was this part of the deal?” Tommy asked Jeremiah, keeping his eye averted. “That you would take on some of her cargo?”

  Not wanting to give himself away, Jeremiah just shrugged a little. “She can't carry all this and the pickles too. Had to get the pickles. I don't want my last run to be tainted with death.”