Emily: Army Mail Order Bride

by Mercy Levy

  Posing against a pillar for the hotel was Glory, dressed in a bodice so tight it was a wonder she didn’t fall out of it. She fidgeted with one long sausage curl of hair draped over her shoulder and smiled coyly at Corbin before descending the steps slowly, acutely aware of the attention she drew from the men around her as she approached the farmer and his friends.

  “Why, Charlotte. I never thought I’d have to worry about you trying to steal my Corbin away from me with fancy gifts,” she drawled. Charlotte made a rude noise and spun on her heel, striding away with as much energy as she’d chased Corbin down. “Oh, honey. I’ve missed you so much,” she continued, standing as close to Corbin as she could without touching him. “Did you miss me?”

  Corbin scoffed. “Not in the slightest, Glory. I’m surprised I have to say that aloud to you.” Behind him, Portia peered around the building to see the woman she’d heard so much gossip about over the previous fortnight.

  “Please, Corbin. Don’t be a fool. You know the only reason you aren’t wed is because of me. Have you met anyone who compares to what I did for you?” She ran her palm down over Corbin’s chest, and he growled low in his throat before replying.

  “No, Glory. There’s not a woman on the planet who could do what you did.” Portia gasped and backpedaled from her vantage point, pivoting on one heel and hurrying back to Charlotte’s home, hitting the front porch at a near run in her hurry to escape what she’d just seen. Back by the saloon, Corbin stepped away from Glory with a snarl, his lip curling. “No woman has stolen from me, lied to me, and behaved like a whore while engaged to me, for which I am grateful. Leave me be, harlot. You have nothing to offer and no power over me.” Completely sober and fighting rage with every step, Corbin strode past Glory and tugged his mare loose from the hitching post.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, Matthew, bright and early, to take care of anything we’ve left undone,” he said cryptically, and swung himself up into the saddle. He tipped his hat to his companions and rode off without looking back at Glory, who balled up her hands into fists and hissed out a curse.

  “He’s not really getting married to some dirty Indian, is he?” she asked Matthew, who shook his head and turned away without a word. “Tell me the truth,” she demanded, and the deputy glanced at the sheriff’s retreating back.

  “She looks like she’s got something else in her, but I don’t’ know what,” the young man finally admitted. “She’s a real nice girl, though, Ms. Glory. Mr. Geoffs will be well cared for, if that’s your concern.”

  She batted her eyelashes and sidled up to him, smiling prettily. “Thank you so much, Deputy. I appreciate that at least someone here is kind to a lady in distress. After all, a woman scorned deserves some compassion, right?” The deputy swallowed hard and nodded.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he managed to choke out as Glory rubbed up against him in her sinfully revealing bodice. “Ms. Portia ain’t scorning nobody, though. She’s right pretty and real nice, I promise.” Glory’s smile faded to a smirk, and she turned away from the young lawman without a backward glance.

  Portia, is it? She thought to herself. Well, Ms. Portia. No one belongs to you, especially Corbin Geoffs. She snorted derisively and climbed the stairs of the hotel to her room. Inside was one small trunk and a carpet bag, which between them, held all Glory’s worldly belongings. She kicked the trunk and it slid across the floor, hitting the wall with a loud bang. Still fuming, Glory sat on the narrow bed and pulled the remains of her money out of her purse. Less than a quarter of what she’d left Kansas City with, and no way to get more form Wildwood if she couldn’t appeal to Corbin.

  “Who does this little tart think she is?” She snarled at no one as she paced the room like a wildcat in a city zoo. She paused in front of the mirror and looked at her makeup, her hair, and the blood red on her lips. “Oh no, Corbin would never fall for this. Never mind, I’ll try again tomorrow, dressed like a bloody Mormon. He’ll eat that up.” Satisfied that she had only lost the round, not the game, she decided to call for a bath and took down her hair. “He’ll never know what hit him,” she smirked at her reflection.

  A tiny niggling doubt ate at her confidence, and the practiced smile slid off her face. Maybe one other visit before I turn in, she thought to herself. Quickly, she pinned her hair up, and smudged her lipstick by kissing her hand. She dragged a couple of curls down and surveyed her image. If that doesn’t make my plain Jane usurper think twice about marrying my fiancé, I don’t know what will, she thought with a curl of her lip.

  Glory hurried down to the public house and asked them to have a steaming bath waiting for her when she returned, and strode confidently out to the street, pretending the stares of passersby didn’t sting. She’d been listening to the gossip, and when she saw the dark-haired stranger sitting on Charlotte’s little front porch, she knew that had to be the girl who Corbin had chosen. Exactly the opposite of her.

  “Well, you aren’t terribly unfortunate looking, are you?” she quipped as she sauntered up to the rail, gloating as the younger woman flinched and hugged herself without answering. “Don’t worry, I won’t bite, and I’m sure you aren’t anything like what I’ve been told, just like I’m nothing like the gossip you heard.”

  “You look like you are exactly as the gossip paints you,” Portia replied, the tremor in her voice belying her courageous words.

  “Well, maybe you are too, then.” Glory purred. “You do look like you’re another dirty Indian, preying on a white man to take care of her. I guess that’s why he picked you. He couldn’t stand to try to find a woman who was beautiful after me. I broke his heart, you know.” Portia stood and faced the woman, her hands clenched into fists so tight that her knuckles were white.

  “It’s a strange thing to boast about, hurting the one who loved you. If he chose me because I am noting like you, then I consider that a compliment. A good man knows that the value of a person lies under their skin, not on it.” She spun on her heel and walked into the house without letting Glory speak again, and leaned against the door once it was shut behind her.

  “We’ll see who he chooses when he has an option other than a mixed breed,” Glory called out before storming back to the hotel. She yelled at the maid who had brought her hot water, and slammed the door when the poor girl ran from the room. She undressed and soaked in the hot water as she schemed. Corbin would be alone for the night, and no one was going to come between them again.

  6.

  Portia tossed and turned in her bed all night, trying to dismiss the foreboding that had come over her. Glory had returned, and with her, all the doubts that Portia had lost over her stay in Wildwood. She never would’ve believed it was possible, if she hadn’t heard it directly from Corbin’s own mouth, but he still wanted the woman who had come to attack her, hair all mussed and lipstick smeared by her reunion with the man Portia had already begun to love.

  Sickened by the thought that she would be stranded, waiting on a husband who no longer needed her to fill his house or his bed, she arose before the sun and began to pack her things. Maggie was already here, they could go back to Lancaster together, and hopefully after this debacle, her guardian would never again speak of marriage. Portia had been almost happy enough, hiding away in her shop. As far as she was concerned, almost happy was far better than miserable and broken-hearted.

  When Charlotte woke up hours later, Portia was already gone. On the table was a note written in her meticulous, flowing cursive.

  I’ve gone to the train station to await the earliest eastbound passenger train. It has become apparent to me, that my place is in Lancaster, and I should have stayed there from the beginning. Thank you kindly for your hospitality and generosity and friendship. If you are ever in Lancaster, I would hope that you allow me to in some way repay your kindness. Please tell Mrs. Maggie Dunlop that I await her on the platform, and please, thank Mr. Geoffs for all his kindness, I will not forget him.

  I attempted to write a note to Mr. Geoffs to explain my feelin
gs, but words escape me, and I must go. But I wish him the best and only love and loyalty from his true love from this day forward.

  Fondest regards,

  Ms. Portia Billings.

  With a loud curse that startled her fat cat out of his chair, Charlotte rushed out the door and down the street to the residence of Corbin’s aunt and uncle, where Maggie was staying. She banged on the door until Bill came around from the barn out back, demanding an explanation for the commotion. She read him the note, and begged to see his wife, Liz, and Maggie before it was too late.

  “Well, hellfire and damnation, will we never be free of that accursed woman?” he bellowed as he rushed into the stable. Charlotte followed him inside, and handed him his horse’s tack as he saddled the mare. He swung into the saddle and called out to his boys, who had forgotten their chores and were standing around, watching their father intently. “You boys finish up. I’ll know what wasn’t done when I return, and someone will answer for it.”

  The boys nodded in unison, and he turned to Charlotte.

  “Go ahead,” she offered, stepping back from the horses prancing hooves. “You go get Corbin, and I’ll stop Portia from leaving… somehow.” Bill tipped his hat and raced out the open door and out of sight. “Do you boys have any idea where your mother went?” she asked, and little Bran giggled and took her hand.

  “They went to get extra pies for the wedding party, Ms. Charlotte,” he said, tugging her along. “She’s up at the hotel with Ms. Maggie.”

  “Bran, I have a very big job for you, can you do it for me?” Charlotte asked, and the boy nodded vigorously. “You must go to the hotel and get your mother, tell her and Maggie that I need them to hurry to the train station. Can you do that?” Bran nodded again, shaking his shaggy hair into his eyes. he ran off toward the center of town without another word, and Charlotte waved her thanks to the older boys, who stood agape with their pitchforks and grain buckets in hand.

  She nearly ran to the station, and slowed as she approached and saw a single, slender figure standing on the platform, her luggage at her feet.

  “You didn’t think you could leave without saying good-bye, did you?” Charlotte asked her, and Portia smiled sadly back at her.

  “I wouldn’t even want to,” she replied, and Charlotte hugged her tightly. “I wish I’d never come, but I am so glad that I met you and Liz and Mr. and Mrs. Schaeffer. Wildwood is the most amazing and beautiful place I’ve ever stayed in. I’ll miss it, and you, terribly.”

  “You don’t have to go, Portia,” Charlotte chided her, but the girl shook her head and sniffled.

  “But I do, Charlotte. I could never stay, always afraid that I’d see that horrible woman on Corbin’s arm, both of them hating me, or worse, laughing at me. I don’t hate myself enough to put me through that.” Charlotte gestured toward a long wooden bench and they both sat down.

  “I’ve seen the way he looks at you, Portia. He would never hate you, or laugh at you.”

  “I heard what he said. She had her hands on him, and he admitted I was nothing like what he wanted…” Portia covered her face with her hands. “Today was supposed to be the happiest of my life. Instead, this is the worst I’ve felt since I came out of our cellar to cruel soldiers who treated me like I was the enemy.” She sat taller and folded her hands in her lap. “They made me run behind the horses, because Indians had no trouble running long distances,” she confessed, and closed her eyes.

  “They were evil men who tortured a child because they needed an enemy to fight,” Charlotte declared and put her arm around Portia, who sat trembling from the memory.

  “I was so excited to be married to him, Charlotte,” Portia sobbed, then wept quietly into her handkerchief. “He is the best, most honorable man I have ever known. How could I have believed I was good enough for him?”

  “How could you not believe it?” came a reply from her side. She glanced up at Corbin, who was dressed in his work clothes and holding his hat in his hands.

  “You shouldn’t have come,” Portia sniffed. “You have more important things to worry about than me leaving.”

  “I can’t think of a single thing more important than keeping you here, Ms. Billings,” he replied, barely controlled anger leaking out in his voice. She shrank away from him, but Charlotte quietly slipped away and gave them room to speak alone. “Why on earth are you abandoning me on our wedding day?” Corbin was sure he knew the answer, but waited for her response.

  “Your fiancé came to me last night, tousled and bearing the marks of your passion. She told me I was no longer needed, and should leave to avoid embarrassment.” Corbin leaped to his feet and paced the floor boards in front of her, his jaw clenched, big hands mangling his hat.

  “You aren’t leaving me, Portia. I’ve chosen to marry you, and no one is going to stand in my way.”

  “I’m leaving so you can marry the woman you love,” Portia insisted, tears tracking down her cheeks in long, wet streams.

  “I can’t marry the woman I love unless you stay, Portia Dee Billings. I’m your husband-to-be, and I demand that you come home and get dressed for our wedding. Immediately,” he added when she sat there, gaping at him in confusion.

  “I don’t have to marry a man who has another woman in his bed,” she gasped, and he lunged at her, his hand going to the hair at the nape of her neck as he held her face close to his.

  “I haven’t had another woman in my bed. I’m nearly going crazy because the woman who’s supposed to be in my bed has postponed our wedding for so long that I thought it might never happen, and I’m not going another day without bringing her home—bringing you home.” He leaned in and nipped her lip, drawing a whimper from her before kissing her softly.

  “I don’t understand,” she whispered, and he kissed her repeatedly until she was too breathless to argue.

  “I love you, Portia Billings. I love your work ethic and your friendliness and your modesty. I want you by my side and in my bed and to bear my children,” he whispered, his breath tickling her ear and lighting a possessive, primal fire deep inside her. “You alone are beautiful enough, pure enough, and gentle enough to be my bride. If you leave, I will live and die alone.”

  “You would not, though I appreciate the sentiment, considering what you said to that woman yesterday evening.”

  “Never trust the things you hear while eavesdropping, my love. I daresay you would’ve appreciated the scene at my home later that night, when I sent the harlot packing with my best wishes and the threat of jail if she ever returned.”

  “You could do that?” Portia asked, and Corbin kissed her again, this time lifting her up so her curves pressed against the long, line of his body.

  “After the last time she came through, I had Matthew deputize me just so I could,” he laughed, then grew serious again. “You should’ve come to me, Portia. You’re my woman. In a few hours, you’ll be my wife. There is nothing you could ask that you should hide from me.

  “Then hold me and kiss me until my lips are bruised from the abuse, Mr. Geoffs,” she replied. “And from here on that is to be your response to every cross word I speak, or nightmare, or burnt supper. If you are strong enough to do that one thing, I promise you will be the happiest married man west of the Appalachians.”

  And Corbin kissed her again and thought of the miracle that he’d summoned with an advertisement in a newspaper. He wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled his face into the curve of her neck, relieved that his happiest days were now ahead of him and grateful to the town of people who cared enough about their own to make sure that his woman stayed safely in his arms, where she belonged.

  Later that day, when he held her again, this time as his wife, he leaned close to her and whispered in her ear, “I understand that you have your own feelings about God, my wife. However, I feel it necessary to tell you,” he continued as she pulled away enough to gaze into his emerald-colored eyes, “I prayed for you to come to me and save me from my loneliness. Holding you in my arms, I
know that there is a God who listens, because you, my love, are my miracle.”

  He kissed her then, and their friends all cheered, but Portia heard nothing but the beating of her heart and the sound of her husband’s voice. I know, she thought as she rested her cheek against the steady drum inside his chest. You’re my miracle too.

  THE END

  Ogla’s Inspirational Journey

  Chapter 1 – The Baker’s Bread

  “You must knot it tighter than that if you want it to bake properly.” The old man took the dough from Olga and began kneading it on the table. He handed the lump of dough back to her, then watched critically as she tried again.

  Olga Petrov dragged her flour-covered hand across her forehead, leaving a streak of white across her already pale skin. She was a beautiful girl, barely nineteen years old. Her long, thick hair was pulled back into a chocolate-brown ponytail, and her bright, blue eyes were focused on the dough in front of her.

  “I’ll get it this time, Mr. Baker, I promise.” She said with determination. However, she could tell Mr. Baker was far from pleased with the new braid she made from the dough. He shook his head and sighed, then turned to go.

  “That’s going to have to do, if we knead it any more, it’s going to be tough. Put it in the oven.” He spoke as he walked away, leaving Olga to manage the large, brick kiln on her own. Her small frame shook as she lifted the heavy paddle with the loaves on top, and she slid them onto the rack inside, as carefully as she could.

  Sighing, she closed the door and glanced at the clock. Mr. Baker was a difficult man to work for, taking as much pride in his name as he did in his occupation as the city’s baker.

  But, Olga had no choice.