Mail Order Bride- Twenty-Two Brides Mega Boxed Set

by Emily Woods

  “Are you feeling poorly?” Emma asked, concern coloring her voice. She must have noticed Beth’s pallor because she offered her some peppermint tea to settle her stomach.

  “Oh, no. I'm fine, thank you. I just, uh, had a bit of a headache and thought I'd keep to myself.”

  They murmured their sympathy and then left her to herself. They didn't want to bother her if talking was exacerbating the problem.

  As soon as they left to tend to their own fires, Beth felt the loss. She'd been without friends for so long that having the three of them had been a blessing for which she expressed thanks to God. Now she'd driven them away and felt her loneliness multiply.

  Cooking dinner for George and herself was a boring task. The squirrel that he'd managed to shoot hadn't gone too far in making a meal, but she cooked it and mixed it with rice, adding some seasoning to make a palatable dinner of it.

  For the past few days, she had been keeping company with Grace and her family, listening to the preacher read from the Bible, but today, she didn't have the heart. Not only did Michael know she was a liar, but she'd put her future in jeopardy. Thoughts warred with each other in her mind. One part of her wanted to find Michael, explain the situation and beg him not to tell, but the other told her to just leave everything alone and hope for the best.

  As it turned out, she didn't get to choose. Michael turned up shortly after dinner and presented her with a rabbit.

  “We shot more than we needed,” he informed the two of them. “And we wanted to make a present of one for the pies you gave us yesterday.”

  Without waiting for an invitation, Michael squatted down next to their fire and gave it a poke with a long stick.

  “Well, thank you for that,” she said, bringing the rabbit over to the wagon so that she could dress it. “I'll roast it now since we still have the fire and we can eat it in the morning.”

  George nodded in thanks but didn't add anything. She wondered if he didn’t trust himself to talk around Michael.

  “Sure. Well, I'll see you later. Have a good night.”

  Inwardly, she sighed with relief. For a moment, she'd been worried that he was going to confront the two of them, and she didn't know what she'd say. It wasn't in her nature to be deceptive, so it would be hard to come up with some kind of excuse or lie if he asked them a direct question.

  “You didn't go to the Rileys’,” George observed.

  “No, I thought it better that I stay here tonight. I don't really feel like it.”

  His face fell a little at her comment. “Beth, I'm sorry about this. I—I been thinking about things, and I guess I shouldn't have put you in this situation, and if you don't want to go through with it when we reach Willamette Valley, I understand. I have no right to...”

  “Shush, now,” she commanded gently, hating to see him distressed. “I went along with this willingly enough. I guess I just didn't think about other people. Anyway, I'll do what you asked before and keep to myself from now on. It won't be hard. We're more than halfway there now.”

  George continued to look downcast, and she continued to try to convince him that she was fine with everything the way it was, but there was a problem.

  Because of Michael Morris, she didn't believe it herself.

  After spending most of the day trying to come up with some sort of plan that would enable him to engage at least Beth in conversation that evening, Michael was pleased to find that their wagons ended up being side by side when they circled up for the night.

  “Nice to rest, isn't it?” he commented to them as they hauled out their cooking supplies. “It was so hot today.”

  “Yep,” George replied with a tight smile. It seemed that he wasn't as pleased as Michael was with the arrangements.

  “Are you on duty tonight?” he asked casually, knowing full well that he was.

  “Uh, yeah, third shift.”

  Michael gave a little nod. “Well, it'll be a nice night for it at least. No rain.”

  The clear sky indicated that there would likely be no precipitation that evening, but George didn't seem to hear him. He just continued on with his business, probably hoping that Michael would stop pestering him if he didn't reply.

  “I noticed you like to whittle,” Michael commented once the cooking was underway. It was Gabriel's turn to cook tonight, and they had leftover meat from the previous day, so both Henry and he were at their leisure.

  “Some,” came the abrupt answer. He must have realized how rude he sounded, because after a short pause, he added, “But nothing special.”

  “I do a little myself, but I'm not too good at the finer details. Do you think you could give me some pointers?”

  The other man's face became tense, and Michael was sure he was going to make some kind of excuse, but then he nodded once. “I can do that. Let me see what you're working on.”

  Now he was caught. He had been known to whittle once in a while, but mostly just for fun.

  “Uh, I don't have anything on the go right now. I was hoping we could start from scratch together. Seems like the beginning is important in getting the right shape.”

  George gave him a sidelong glance but nodded slowly. “Guess that's right. Well, get yourself a nice piece of pine and come on over later.”

  His heart jumped at the invitation, but Michael made sure to keep his face bland. He didn’t have a pleasant task ahead of him, so there was no reason to be happy. However, his heart wouldn’t listen to reason. All it knew was that he was going to be in the company of Beth Lewis in the evening.

  “Thanks. I'll go look for some now.”

  Thankfully, he knew what pine looked like, and he managed to find a fairly hefty branch that didn't seem to be rotten. He hoped it would do.

  Gabriel wasn't the worst of cooks—that title fell to Michael—so their dinner was palatable, but it was likely nothing compared to food being consumed next to him, if the aroma was anything to judge by. He cleared away their dishes since it was his turn, giving them a halfhearted scrub in the water he collected from the river, and then stacked them back in the wagon, still somewhat damp.

  “Going over to the Lewises' for a bit,” he told his brothers. “He's going to show me how to whittle better.”

  Henry gave a snort. “Better? Do you mean at all? Can't say I've seen you do more than make a stick out of another stick.”

  Michael nodded affably. “True, but I want to learn. It's something to do, right?”

  He didn't want to make it sound too appealing in case they decided to join him, so Michael quickly left and joined Beth and George. He wasn’t going to ask any personal questions tonight. He wanted to gain their trust and maybe even their friendship. He strongly felt they were good people who were just on a wrong path.

  “George told me you'd be joining us,” Beth commented when he brought over his chair and piece of wood. There wasn't much pleasure in her voice, but Michael pretended not to notice. He expected her to be on her guard. She probably realized what she’d told him after the fact.

  “He's kind enough to give me some pointers about whittling,” he replied, probably unnecessarily, but he wanted to keep up some interaction.

  “Mmm,” was her answer. “Well, I guess you can have some molasses cake if you like. We've got some left over.” The offer was reluctant, almost ungracious, but again he didn't care. Cake was cake.

  “Are you sure?”

  She nodded and handed him a piece. After the first bite, he groaned with pleasure. “That's delicious. I surely hope I can repay your kindness, both of you.”

  A tremulous smile played around her lips and some of the hardness fell away, Michael noted happily.

  He wouldn't give any indication that he'd heard her...for now. Working his way into their favor was his top priority.

  “There's no need,” George mumbled. “That's the way we do things on the trail, right? Help one another out?”

  “Yeah, for sure. That's Biblical too, I think.” He looked to Beth for confirmation. She
nodded.

  “Carry each other's burdens, and in this way, you will fulfill the law of Christ,” she quoted softly. “That's from Galatians.”

  For the next hour, George showed Michael how to start by shaping the wood and envisioning the end product. He was a patient teacher, and they never talked of anything except whittling and their experiences on the trail thus far.

  When he announced that it was time for him to turn in, before he felt that they might be tired of his company, they both looked surprised and even slightly dismayed. He bit back a grin. It seemed they had enjoyed talking to him. For the first little while, they'd both been wary, but when it became clear that he had no intention of speaking on personal matters, they'd relaxed.

  “Thanks again for the lesson and the cake,” he said as he left. “I don't know when I've had a better time. Not recently anyway.”

  They murmured similar words and bade him good night.

  He arrived back at his wagon with a smile on his face. It had been a good night.

  6

  Beth had been terribly nervous about Michael's visit the night before, sure that he was going to confront them about their sham, but the whole evening passed pleasantly with light conversation. By the time he left, both she and George were sorry to see him go.

  “He's a nice fellow,” George said decidedly before they'd turned in. “Real nice, but he's terrible at whittling. Don't think he'll be able to turn out anything that looks like anything.”

  She laughed a little at that. It was true. Michael claimed to be making an owl out of his piece of wood, but it ended up looking more like a fish, if it looked like anything at all.

  “Well, he seemed to enjoy it.”

  That night, there hadn't been any talk of their situation, and Beth had gone to bed happy, but the feeling didn't last. Once there was no chatter to distract her, she found her mind wandering to the future. What would their lives be like in Oregon? She loved her brother, but would they be content to live together indefinitely, possibly forever? Because no matter what he said, once they claimed the land as husband and wife, they would be legally bound to each other in that manner. There would never even be the chance falling in love or raising a family for them.

  The thought of this reality made her heart ache, even though she'd long believed she wouldn't even have the capacity to love a man enough to marry. The hardship that she'd faced at the mining camp nearly thirteen years ago still haunted her, both day and night.

  In her dreams, she often felt she was being suffocated by a giant hand, and in truth, that had nearly happened to her. The smell of dirt mixed with certain minerals sometimes caused her stomach to roil, but thankfully, that particular odor had become increasingly rare, especially now that they were on the open plains. Although she’d tried to bury all memories of the attack, she was assaulted by them every now and then.

  She tried to pray, but she felt a barrier between her and God recently, likely because of the lie.

  Turning carefully, so as not to wake George, Beth faced the outside flap of the tent. Soon, George would be woken by the preacher to stand guard. She hoped to be asleep by then, but a certain face kept appearing before her eyes, that of Michael Morris.

  How had he gone from being a distraction, to a threat, to a friend in the span of a couple days? Her heart must be fickle, she decided. While he was nice enough to look at, the idea that he could know the truth about her and George worried her to no end, and now, after spending a pleasant evening together, she felt her heart softening towards him even more.

  Was it her imagination, or did he cast a soft look in her direction every so often? His eyes were kind and warm, and whenever they connected with hers, a warm feeling enveloped her. She didn't recognize the feeling, but thought that it must be attraction. But what kind of man would be attracted to a supposedly married woman? That wasn’t a man to be admired…unless he believed that she wasn’t married.

  Blowing out a soft breath, she screwed her face up tight and tried to force herself to think on something else. What scripture could she call to mind that would help her sleep? Silently, she mouthed the words to Psalm twenty-three over and over again until she finally fell asleep.

  The morning was strangely cool, but the party welcomed the change. However, Captain Holt didn't look too pleased.

  “Bad weather's coming,” he muttered within Michael's earshot. “Gonna be a storm sometime today.”

  Michael didn't mind the idea of a storm in general, but he didn't like the look on the captain's face.

  “What should we do to prepare?” he asked practically.

  The captain gathered everyone around and gave them instructions.

  “We're going to travel toward the north this morning, heading to the shelter of that mountain in the distance. Wind's coming from the northeast, so that'll be the best place to get protection. It's a ways from the river, so you all will need to fill up every canteen and container you can. We likely won't have access to water for at least a day, maybe longer.”

  There was some grumbling, but most people moved to do the captain's bidding.

  “We're changing directions?” Michael asked, his eyebrows pulling together. “Is this going to take us off the path much?”

  The mountain range to the north looked a long ways off, but that didn't seem to bother Holt.

  “Best that we arrive late than not at all,” he returned, his words clipped.

  After everyone had returned from gathering water, he called their attention. “I’m sorry about the change, but I think it’s necessary. It'll only take us two or three days off our course at most.”

  A short, wiry man in the back called out, “But there's no clouds in the sky. How can you be sure a storm is coming?”

  Holt gave the man a level look. “I know. Now, as I said when you all first joined up, I'm going to make decisions that don't always make sense, and it's possible that the storm will go around us, but I'm not taking any chances.”

  The man could be heard grumbling to the others beside him, and a general air of discontent rose.

  “Listen, men,” Holt called above the noise. “It's always your choice to leave the train, but if you do so, you're on your own after that. I won't be taking anyone back who thinks they know better.”

  “But you said it'll probably go around,” exclaimed the same man, whom Michael now identified as Eugene Howard. “Why should we delay our trip, stretch out our supplies even further, for something that's not likely to happen?”

  Again the man looked up at the mostly clear sky, but Holt pointed to the clouds gathering in the east.

  “See those?” he asked. “As the day goes on, they're gonna pile up and turn dark. By the time that happens, we'll be too far away from the mountain to get to safety. And I didn't say it would probably go around. I said possibly.”

  “But what's a little rain?” Eugene continued to press. “Our wagons are strong, and so are we.”

  A couple of men nodded in agreement, but the others were now staring at the seemingly innocent clouds.

  “It's not just the rain,” Holt insisted, his voice becoming louder. “There'll be lightning too. Listen, men, you can follow us or not, but I'm taking this train north right now.”

  Without another word, he turned his horse and didn't look back. Michael knew this was a sign of a good leader. He expected obedience.

  Most of the people followed the captain's lead, but Eugene and two other men kept their wagons going in a straight line. Their grim determination puzzled Michael, but he thought that perhaps they were low on food and couldn't afford the delay. He turned his horse back and headed toward them.

  “If you're going your own way because of supplies, I'm pretty sure we can spare some,” he offered, but he could see his words would not persuade Eugene. However, another man, Martin Ross, seemed keen.

  “You have enough for six more mouths?” he asked, looking at his four children and wife. “I can't believe how much these young'uns eat.”

&nbs
p; His wife looked ashamed. “I let 'em eat too much the first three months, thinking that it'd lighten the wagon some. I was right worried about them mules pulling so much.”

  He understood her logic, but it was faulty of course.

  “We'll find food for you all,” he promised, hoping for some kind of a miracle. “Come along.”

  The man gave Eugene an apologetic look and turned his wagon towards the others. “Sorry 'bout that, but I gotta do what's right for my family.”

  Eugene didn't reply, but kept his eyes on the trail. The other man shook his head in disgust. “See you in Oregon, Martin. You can believe we'll be taking the best land first.”

  They parted, and Captain Holt's group made a direct line for the mountain range. It seemed a long way off, more than a day's worth, but the captain had gotten them this far with no injuries worse than a sprained ankle and some bug bites. He’d earned their trust.

  “This is taking you farther away from your destination,” Beth stated when he neared her and George. “It’s bad enough for those of us who are headed east, but it must add a lot more travel time for you guys going south.”

  “Yeah, and Henry won't be happy about that, but we all agreed to follow Holt no matter what. Those other men are fools. What makes them think they know better?”

  She looked up at him with sorrowful eyes. “In his heart, almost every man believes that he knows better than those in authority. They just follow the crowd because they don't want to be outcasts. I believe those men felt they had no choice.”

  Shrugging, he gave his head a little shake. “Maybe, but I offered them a choice. Still, their pride wouldn't let them take it. Thankfully, Mister Howard came.”

  Beth looked over at the man in question and his four children. She smiled. “Another man humbled by his circumstances. If only we could all be like that.”

  Her meaning went over his head, and he didn't think it was the right time for a long discussion, so he let the matter go.