Pearl of Promise (A Sweet Mail Order Bride Western) (The Brides of Carville)

by Raina King

  Pearl of Promise

  An Inspirational Mail Order Bride Historical Western

  Avid reader Nora Finney has yearned her whole life for action and adventure. What could be more exotic than becoming the mail order bride of a rugged mountain man? At last, a thrilling life is within her grasp!

  Silver miner Arlen Hunt has already lost one wife to betrayal, then death, and it takes five lonely years to open his heart again. Only Nora, with her pioneer spirit, seems brave enough to endure the Colorado wilderness.

  But when Nora’s dream of an amazing frontier life evaporates in the face of isolation and boredom, she fears she has made a mistake. Can she find purpose and joy in the path God has chosen, or will her ambitions endanger the life of someone she loves?

  [A sweet inspirational western historical novella.]

  Pearl of Promise

  A Sweet Christian Western Romance

  by Raina King

  Copyright 2014 Raina King

  Published by Lily of the Valley Press

  Chapter 1

  May, 1875

  Carville, Colorado

  A thrill ran down her spine as Nora stepped off the train, suitcase in hand. After weeks of travel, she had finally arrived.

  She was a frontier woman!

  The air smelled fresh and clean—if you ignored the coal smoke wafting from the locomotive’s steam engine—and was a refreshing change from the polluted skies of Harrisburg.

  The mountains were gorgeous. The books she had read about the west, and about Colorado, had not done the landscape justice. She could imagine all kinds of adventures taking place throughout the vista before her. What kind of people live here? Have there been train robberies? Indian attacks? Wild mountain men rabble-rousing in the local saloons?

  “Miss Finney?”

  She turned to look up at a stocky man with thick brown hair. His eyes were as deep and dark as the silver mine he toiled in every day—an occupation which showed in his physique. The man was broad-shouldered and muscular, every bit the dime novel adventure hero she had hoped he would be. She sighed—he was her very own rough, tough miner, who braved the wilds of Colorado to eke out an existence against the impervious Mother Nature.

  Now life will begin in earnest!

  “Miss Finney?” the man repeated. “I apologize, maybe I have the wrong person—”

  “Oh! No, not at all. I’m Nora Finney. You must be Arlen Hunt.” My brave and exciting mountain man!

  “Yes I am. I’m happy you made it. I about wrung my hat to pieces, worrying that you might have changed your mind, and hopped off the train somewhere along the line.”

  Nora giggled. “No need to worry on that regard. This is the most thrilling thing I’ve ever done in my whole life! Life back in Harrisburg was so boring. Every day was the same. I wouldn’t miss a moment of this experience.”

  He smiled, putting his hat—which was wrinkled and crushed a bit on one side—back on his head. “Well, then, let’s collect your baggage so we can visit the preacher and make this official, and begin the first day of the rest of our lives together.” He took Nora’s suitcase from her hand.

  She smiled up at him. “Let’s. I’m eager to see what the next chapter of my life has in store for me.”

  **

  It was late afternoon as they arrived in the remote area where Arlen’s mining claim was located.

  “There it is, up ahead.”

  Nora could just make out the log cabin in the distance. It was nestled in a gulch between two small mountains, and already the sun was behind the mountain, casting a chill over the little valley.

  “I should have pulled out my shawl,” Nora said as they bumped along in the buckboard.

  The spring runoff had worn winding ruts deep into the dirt road, creating the most uncomfortable wagon ride she had ever experienced.

  “I’m sorry, I should have warned you.” Arlen peered up at the mountain casting a shadow over them. “Sun goes down early in the mountains. And we’re higher up here than they are in town—and they’re at eighty-five-hundred feet down in Carville. Summers are probably a lot cooler here than in Pennsylvania.”

  “They are. Harrisburg was already getting quite warm when I left weeks ago.”

  “Will you mind the cooler weather? And the snow?”

  She shook her head. “I enjoy winter, and we got plenty of snow in Pennsylvania. And the air seems much drier here, which probably means the snow isn’t as heavy and wet, either.”

  “I hope you enjoy the winters as much as I do. I love the quiet and the solitude. It’s beautiful out here, with the blankets of snow, and snow-covered tree branches. It’s white, with patches of grey and dark green, for as far as the eye can see.”

  “It sounds lovely. You must have all manner of exciting things happen in the winter time out here. Have you ever had a starving Indian hole up in your barn, looking for food and a warm place to sleep?”

  Arlen looked at her a long moment, then burst into laughter. “Can’t say as I have. I’d be more likely to go looking to the natives for food and shelter—they’ve lived here for thousands of years before we came, and they do a sight better at providing for themselves than the greenhorn miners do.”

  Nora frowned. Is he making fun at my expense? “How am I supposed to know? Those stories must come from somewhere.”

  “What stories?”

  “The stories in my books. I read one where an Indian hid out in the family’s barn, then waited until nightfall, and—”

  He scowled in her direction. “Those books came from somewhere, alright. From the author’s imagination.”

  “But they’re based on real-life events, they say, and—”

  “I have no doubt they do say that,” he said, “but if you ask me, they’re lying or exaggerating, to get higher book sales. Stories like that are few and far between, and the newspapers and dime store novels always make it sound like it happens every day. Maybe if they didn’t exaggerate so much, they wouldn’t be suckering people into giving up all they have and coming west in search of gold, only to find ruin.”

  She noticed his hard expression. “What do you mean, ruin?”

  He clenched his jaw and looked out over the road ahead. “Many a miner has come out here after hearing stories of riches and gold, only to find out they aren’t true.”

  “They’re not?”

  He shook his head. “The gold was played out a few years after it was first found. Now it’s all about the silver. But I’ve been here ten years, and haven’t found more than a few ounces in all that time.”

  “That’s why you went to work for the big mine?”

  “Yeah. Didn’t have much choice. I still work my claim, but my job at the mine is what puts food on my table. The ore I find barely pays for the claim fees and my equipment expenses.”

  “Oh.” She was at a loss for what to say. “I’m sorry to hear that. Why haven’t you moved back east?”

  He cast her a strange look—whether it was annoyance or something else, Nora couldn’t say.

  “A trip like that takes money. It took all we had. We sold almost everything. I don’t think Sylvie ever forgave me for that.”

  The mention of Arlen’s late wife made Nora’s heart skip a beat. “Why did you come out, then, if she never wanted to?”

  “Foolishness. Like I said, those books make you believe almost anything is possible out here. You’d think the streets are paved with gold, the way it’s depicted. It’s a beautiful land out here, Nora. It grows on you, and makes you never want to leave. But never forg
et, Colorado is a harsh mistress—you forget how dangerous she can be, and she’ll see you dead.”

  A shiver rippled through Nora—trepidation mixed with delight. “So hair-raising things do happen out here?”

  “Hair-raising? Yes, I guess so. There’s always a few greenhorns that freeze to death each winter. Or some drunken fools battling it out over a card game down at the saloon. And then there’s the mining accidents.”

  “Mining accidents?” The thrill Nora had felt was dashed, as if she’d been doused with a pail of icy water. “What kind of accidents?”

  “Mining isn’t exactly a safe occupation,” Arlen said, casting her a sideways glance. “Even if you’re working your own claim with pans, sluices, pick-axes, etc., you can still have an accident. But down in the commercial mines? There are cave-ins, lack of fresh air, head injuries…” he trailed off as he saw the look on Nora’s face. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to worry you. I’ve never had an accident myself. I’m careful.”

  “Have other ‘careful’ men had accidents?”

  Arlen pressed his lips together. “Let’s talk about something more pleasant.”

  They rode on in silence. Nora was sick to her stomach. She’d been married less than an hour, and was already facing an unknown truth about her new life—her husband would be taking his life into his hands every time he went off to work in the mine.

  When they arrived at the point where the cabin was situated, Nora was disappointed. She had expected a quaint little cabin with gorgeous mountain views. Instead, it was a tiny, run-down cabin tucked in among the trees. She’d have to walk a hundred feet or more, down to the stream, for any kind of view at all. Arlen had said he’d been in Colorado for ten years, but the cabin looked to be twenty years old, at least.

  Nora was afraid it might fall in on her during the night.

  “It’s not much to look at,” Arlen apologized, “but it’s clean inside, and warm. And really, you don’t need much room for two.”

  I hope you’re right, she thought, because it looks to be barely big enough for two. Where will a baby sleep, when that time comes?

  He helped her down from the wagon, then lifted her suitcase out and led the way into the cabin.

  Inside, the cabin was blanketed with a fine layer of dust. She was grateful to see that Arlen kept it neat and fairly clean, but it was clear that deep cleaning wasn’t high on his list of priorities. She imagined he must be bone-tired when he came home from the mines, and knew he often spent his days off and his summer evenings working his own claim.

  The cabin was only one room, with a long board along the left-hand wall. Sunk into a hole cut in the board was a washtub. Above that was a cupboard, lined with plates, cups and pans. The woodstove sat against the far wall, with a tiny table and two chairs in the middle of the room. To the right, a blanket was hung, used as a curtain, behind which she could just see the foot of the bed.

  “It’s…cozy,” she said, coming up with the only word that wouldn’t be insulting.

  “It’s cramped and old, I know,” Arlen said, looking embarrassed as he set her suitcase down. “It came with the claim, and I always promised Sylvie I’d build her something better, but then she was gone, and I didn’t see the point.” He glanced at Nora. “I’m sorry, I keep mentioning her.”

  “She was a part of your life for years. It would be hard for you to talk about your past without her being a part of the story.”

  “I don’t want to offend you.”

  She put a hand on his arm. “It’s an awkward topic for both of us, but it will be more awkward if you’re always trying to skirt around mentioning her.”

  “That’s probably true.”

  “You never did say what she died from.”

  “Diphtheria.”

  “Is…is she buried here on the land?” The idea somehow spooked her—as if Sylvie Hunt’s ghost would be looking over the shoulder of her “replacement”.

  Arlen shook his head. “She was buried by her family, back in Missouri. She…uh…died back there.”

  Nora was surprised. “She did? Were you both visiting her family?”

  “I wasn’t there. She…I’m sorry, I should have told you this before…but she left me.”

  She gasped in shock. “I thought you said you were a widower!”

  “I am! I’m not divorced. It’s just that…Sylvie never took to life out here. She found it hard—that’s why I warned you in my letters about the rough conditions here, and how small Carville is. I wanted to make sure you knew what you were getting into. Sylvie was never able to have a baby, and that, plus the hard life of the West, finally got to her. I came home one day to find a note. She…she was just gone. I should have gone after her, but I didn’t. She must have taken the stagecoach into Denver, then caught a train home. A few weeks later I got a telegram from her parents. She came off the train sick, and didn’t last a week. The buried her in the family plot. I never even got to say goodbye.”

  “Oh, how awful!” she breathed. “I can’t imagine why she wouldn’t even say goodbye before she left.”

  “She didn’t like confrontation. She tried to tell me she was unhappy, and that she wanted to go back home, but…but every time I either talked her out of it, or just told her we couldn’t leave. Maybe if I’d—”

  “No, don’t do that to yourself. Sylvie made her choice—you shouldn’t blame yourself for it. You did the best you could, I’m sure.”

  “You’re disappointed in the cabin, aren’t you?” he sighed. “I tried to describe the situation here as best I could. I wanted to make sure you wouldn’t be unhappy, too.”

  “I’m sure I won’t. You described the land very well. And the cabin…well…it just needs a woman’s touch, again, that’s all.”

  “Sylvie kept it looking nice for the five years we were here together, but…I guess I’ve let it go since then.”

  “It must have been lonely up here. Why did you wait so long to find a bride.”

  “Well, they don’t exactly grow on trees here,” he chuckled. “But when they finally got that new train line through Carville, I started thinking about it. A fella in town got himself a mail order bride that came out on the train, so I figured I’d try it.”

  “I’m glad you did. Don’t worry about me being unhappy—I’ve waited my whole life long for an adventure like this. I’ve always wanted to live out West, and now I can! I’m sure I’ll be very happy here.”

  He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her. “As long as you’re happy, I’ll be happy.”

  Chapter 2

  Nora leaned over, stoking the wood coals in the woodstove, then carefully placing a fresh piece of wood in, and closing the stove door. She stood upright with a groan, rubbing her back. She was eight months along now, and the weight of the baby in her belly made every task twice the chore it once was.

  Nine months had passed since she’d arrived in Carville, and other than the baby she was expecting, not much had changed. Every day was the same as the last—cooking, washing dishes, cleaning, scrubbing the laundry over the washtub—the chores never ended. There was never any sense of accomplishment, because no sooner did she complete something—a stack of dishes, a pile of laundry—then it needed to be done all over again. The clothes Arlen wore in the mines were impossible to get clean, and he tracked dirt all over the house every time he came home, no matter how careful he tried to be.

  The worst part was the isolation. The closest thing to socializing that Nora had taken part in was walking two miles to the nearest neighbor, Louise, to have a chat. But even that small joy was taken from her when the heavy snows set in, and her growing belly prevented her from walking far, anyway.

  But at least she had her books. Or, she used to have them. It had been months since she’d been able to go in town and exchange books with any of the ladies at church. She’d been re-reading the last few books she had, and was bored to tears with them already. As a fast reader, she could finish a book in a few days, despite the limi
ted time she had available for reading.

  “Will dinner be long?” Arlen asked from the corner. It was Sunday, and he was reading the Bible in lieu of going to church.

  That had been yet another disappointment. When the weather was at all bad, Arlen insisted on “churching at home”, rather than risk the baby. He said most of the mountain folk stayed at home on snowy days during the worst of the winter. Nora wouldn’t know if that was true or not—she hadn’t been to church in two months, to be able to ask anyone.

  “Not long,” she replied, lifting the pot and checking on the stew. She was tired of cooking meals in a pot. She longed to do more baking, but they didn’t own a cookstove, only a regular box stove, so stovetop cooking was all she could do. Sometimes she’d use a Dutch oven inside the stove, on top of the coals, or stick potatoes into the cooling coals, but mostly she had to cook on the stovetop.

  Even their home was a disappointment—Arlen had promised to build a new home, but instead all he’d done was add a small room bedroom onto the cabin. It gave a little more elbow room in the main room of the cabin, and allowed for a cradle in the corner, near the woodstove, for when the baby came…but that was all.

  It wasn’t Arlen’s fault—finances were tight. He was a good, kind man, and she knew if he could, he’d have built her a palace, just to make her happy. She always put on a brave face for him, and smiled brightly, so that he wouldn’t know just how disappointed she was with their life.

  The adventures she’d hoped for in the West hadn’t materialized. Nothing exciting had happened—no forest fires, no Indians, no raids, no kidnappings, no stagecoach robberies, nothing! Worse yet, there were no libraries nearby, and it was hard finding a woman in town to trade books with who had adventure novels instead of romances, so she couldn’t even read about adventures, anymore. Carville was every bit as dull as Harrisburg, but with nothing fun to do, and no libraries.