by Carré White
Trinity
Bride of West Virginia
Carré White
Copyright © 2015 Carré White
All Rights Reserved
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Cover photograph by Erin Dameron Hill
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All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this book is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author.
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Description
After a fire at the Brown Textile Mill in Lawrence, Massachusetts, twenty-two-year old Trinity Kroger agrees to become a mail order bride, traveling to West Virginia. Her intended, Mr. John Witherspoon, is nearly fifty-eight-years old. Shocked by the age difference, it is far too late to change her mind, the ceremony taking place immediately.
Nathanial Witherspoon tries to stop his father from making a grave mistake, arriving at City Hall too late. The shabbily dressed young woman in his father's company cannot be his new stepmother. It would be impossible, because, although poor and uneducated, she's the loveliest thing he has ever seen.
Trinity is drawn to Nathanial, who showers her with gifts and clothing, writing heartfelt letters. She came to West Virginia to find a place of belonging. Never could she have imagined falling in love so deeply--so passionately, yet not with her husband. Nathanial has stolen her heart, but they can never be together.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Preview of Madeline: The Outlaw's Redemption (Brides of the Rockies)
Preview of Crystabelle: A Mail Order Bride on the Oregon Train (Brides of the Rockies)
Chapter One
Lawrence, Massachusetts
September 1890
The dream is always the same … the smoke … my eyes burning, struggling to breathe, the lights suddenly flickering to blackness. A female scream shattering the darkness, followed by another and another. I feel my way around, my fingers encountering a table, which holds a sewing machine. Hundreds of these machines stand on row after row of tables, filling the cavernous space, with brick walls to one side and windows on the other. Someone grabs me, shouting, “Get out, Trinity! Get out, or we’re all going to die!”
I woke with a start, gasping for breath. I wasn’t in the Brown Textile Mill any longer, the horror having been in a dream. I lay on a small bed in a boarding house in Lawrence, Massachusetts, where I had been living for a few years, ever since I had outgrown the orphanage.
Now I faced the prospect of having to move again, never really finding a place to settle. I thought of Massachusetts as my home, my parents, having emigrated from Hamburg, Germany when I was an infant. From what I had been told, they came to America in search of a better life, but, instead, they found only menial jobs and discrimination, both succumbing to illness, consumption slowly killing them, leaving me an orphan at the tender age of three.
Friends of my parents, Mr. and Mrs. Metzner, took me in for a few years, until the man died, and the woman could no longer afford to support me. Having grown close to the family and their three children, being separated from those I considered my brothers and sisters pained me greatly. I hardly remembered my parents, but I adored the Metzners, feeling as if Trudy were my sister. I found myself in an orphanage shortly after, learning to survive in a new, unfriendly world. Just like the factory fire, I survived that existence … now fate required me to do so again.
It had only been a week since the fire, the memories far too fresh, returning in my nightmares. It was a miracle we had all survived, having fought our way out of the burning building. My closest friends, Lilly, Tabitha, Hope, and Isabella had all suffered, losing their source of income. The factory manager, Roberta McDaniel, called a meeting today at a park near the Merrimack River. She felt responsible, having championed us for better working conditions and improved wages for the last three years. We trusted Roberta, but we knew the task before her to be formidable. How could one woman provide a secure future for more than a hundred young ladies?
Washing with a cloth and a bowl of tepid water, I glanced at my reflection. My skin appeared far too pale from working long, exhaustive hours indoors, with faint smudges beneath the eyes. Not having slept well for days, fatigue left me weary, feeling as if I might be slightly ill. The smell of smoke lingered in my lungs still, an ever-present reminder of the fire.
I dressed slowly, puttering around the tiny room, searching for a fresh pair of drawers. A threadbare chemise went over my head, then a light grey shirtwaist, with a woolen skirt and matching jacket. I hadn’t time, or the inclination to curl my hair, gathering it in the back rather severely, securing it with pins. Wanting to spare what I had left of my meager savings, I would not eat breakfast. Glancing at a small silver clock, I realized I had best hurry, or I might miss the meeting altogether.
The park wasn’t far from the boarding house, the area flooded by immigrants, having come to work at one of the many textile mills. It wasn’t uncommon to hear languages other than English spoken, and, having German parents myself, I knew a little, but I was far from fluent. Making my way towards Newton Street, past a carpenter shop and a blacksmith, I hurried towards the river. Nearing the park, I spied a grouping of women, chastising myself for arriving so late.
Hope Middleton saw me first, waving. I hurried over. “Sorry, I'm late.”
“It’s just started,” said Isabelle.
Roberta McDaniel spoke to the group, her voice ringing out. “All of us have been left jobless by the fire in the factory. Mr. Brown has no intention of rebuilding. I, like you, had no idea what to do next, but my sister recently went to Kansas as a mail order bride.”
I glanced at Hope. “Is that what the plan is? Are people actually thinking about becoming mail order brides?”
“It seems that way,” said Hope. “I’m considering it.”
Isabelle squinted into the distance. “Me too.”
The idea of marrying a stranger hardly appealed to me. As Roberta continued to speak, holding up copies of the Grooms’ Gazette, I stared at my friends in disbelief, stunned they would even consider such a thing, but my prospects as well were indeed bleak at the moment.
“So how does this work? Do we write to each person?” Lilly asked, looking at
me.
“I think you’d pick out a few who might interest you and start with them. Where would you want to live? Is there a man’s profession you’d feel comfortable with?” I could hardly believe I was even considering this. I glanced at Hope. “What do you think?
“I’m about to have a great adventure, I suppose.”
We whispered amongst ourselves, while Roberta continued to speak, saying, “You won’t hear anything for a month, ladies. If someone needs a place to stay, let’s look to each other … ”
The thought of being separated from my friends bothered me greatly. Tabitha seemed unsure, her expression worried. “What are your plans?”
“I don’t know if I could do this. I’d be scared to death I’d end up with a mean man.”
I nodded. “That is a cause for concern.” Having been given the newspaper, I glanced at several ads, seeing one that might be interesting. “Oh, this sounds promising. Mr. John Witherspoon of Clarksburg, West Virginia is in need of a wife. He’s a widower. He’s looking for a young lady who’s matrimonially inclined.” I grinned. “That could be me, I suppose. I hadn’t considered trying to find a husband. All I’ve done my entire life is work. I haven’t attended too many socials.”
“Men need wives for so many reasons,” Roberta said, over the din of the crowd. “I want to make sure every one of you finds a way to survive after the fire.”
I eyed the paper. “Oh, here’s another one. Ship captain, gone most of the year. Widower, with eight children, needing woman to cook, clean and take care of family.” I pondered this. “Gracious, that sounds like a lot of work. It might make sewing seem easy.” Everyone had a chuckle about that. “I can’t believe I’d ever consider something like this. What will you do, Lilly?
“Sign up to be someone’s wife, not knowing who this person is? I don’t know what to think of the idea.” She frowned at the thought.
“I wish us all luck in these endeavors,” I murmured. “We’ll need it.”
Roberta continued to talk, trying desperately to reassure the ladies that their future was secure, but only if she was willing to marry a stranger, saying, “I went to see the matchmaker yesterday to find out if she had any other prospective grooms out there. I told her about our predicament. She gave me fifty copies, which I’m sharing with you today.”
Feeling strangely dejected and apprehensive about what I was hearing today, I eyed my friends, who continued to peruse the paper. “I need to think about all of this. Why can’t we look for new jobs?”
“I’m not sure if I have any other choice,” said Hope.
“Gosh, is it really that hopeless?” I chewed my lip, fretting now in earnest.
Other factories existed in Lawrence, flourishing along the river, where they manufactured everything from footwear to foodstuffs. There had to be positions open elsewhere. My belly rumbled distractingly, reminding me of how little I had eaten today. Roberta finished speaking, threading her way through the crowd of women; most seemed excited about the mail order bride scheme, while some looked distressed.
“I suppose I should go.”
“Do think about it, Trinity,” said Lilly. “This might be the solution we’re looking for.”
“I suppose.”
Hope and I embraced. “I’ll come to see you soon,” she said.
“Please do.” I glanced at the women. “Let’s meet for lunch this week.”
“Excellent idea,” said Isabella. “We can speak more on the issue then.”
“If we do this, we’ll all go our separate ways,” I said. “I can’t imagine living in a strange place without a single friend.” That idea bothered me the most. How could I possibly marry a stranger and place all my trust in him? What if he was a violent, angry person? I had seen far too much of that growing up. From the looks on their faces, my friends worried about this as well. “I’m off. I’ll see you ladies soon.”
Although the meeting’s purpose had been to instill us with confidence, I felt anything but, worrying even more now about my future. Roberta had gone through the trouble of obtaining copies of the Grooms’ Gazette, which Elizabeth Miller, a trust-worthy matchmaker, had given her. These particular grooms had Ms. Miller’s blessing.
Even if I wrote Mr. Witherspoon a letter, it would take another month before we met and wed. What would I do with myself during this time? The money would run out long before, unless I found somewhere cheaper to live or employment.
They’re always looking for washerwomen …
Perhaps I could put in for a factory job to tide me over until I married. Crossing the street, I nearly stepped in manure, my booted feet finding a small puddle instead, which splashed the hem of the skirt with muck. I wrapped my arms around myself, holding the jacket together, feeling unwanted and discarded, an emotion that continued to resonate in my life. To compound matters, I would soon to be separated from the only friends I had ever known.
Who was John Witherspoon? What was West Virginia like? Would the air smell sweet there? Most of the factories in Lawrence belched filth from their chimneys night and day, the odor of tar and burning coal common. Would the skies be blue in Clarksburg, rather than this perpetual solemn grey? Would it be a place I could come to love? What about my future husband? I knew absolutely nothing about him. If I decided to send a letter, I would be placing all my faith in God. He had let me down too often already.
Could I dare to trust again?
Chapter Two
Clarksburg, West Virginia
October 1890
Waiting at the railway station with my bags, I eyed an approaching carriage; the “growler” was sleek and black, sporting a liveried driver. A twinge of apprehension drifted through me, but not for the first time since I had left Massachusetts. Having corresponded with Mr. John Witherspoon briefly, I knew him to be older, although he declined to reveal his exact age. Having retired from the Virginia state legislature after two terms, he moved to Clarksburg to oversee a partnership in several coal mines.
I was about to marry a wealthy man. All of my dreams were about to come true … but why did I feel something akin to fear, the sensation skittering down my back, cold and foreboding. If, by some chance, this union went horribly wrong, I knew I could count on my friends, Isabelle, Tabitha, Lilly, and Hope to help me. They sought similar marriages, having traveled to other places to meet and marry strangers.
The coach stopped before me, the driver alighting. “Miss Kroger, I presume?”
“Y-yes.”
“I’m Roger French. I’m to take you to the courthouse.” He eyed the bags, the leather having worn off around the edges. They had belonged to my mother. “Are these your things?”
“Yes, sir.”
He grasped the first one. “Very well.”
Remaining where I was, I eyed the surroundings, the mountains looming on all sides. People passed me, some leaving on foot, while others took carriages to wherever their destinations might be. Several families waited on the platform for the next train, standing with their luggage.
“All right.” Mr. French smiled pleasantly. He held the door. “Here you are, Miss Kroger.”
“Thank you.”
I stepped into the carriage, the aroma of leather lingering. It smelled faintly of brass polish as well, the metal gleaming on the knobs and hardware. I settled into the seat, feeling slightly faint from not having eaten since yesterday. I changed trains several times, spending the night in Philadelphia. The driver directed the horses into the street, the thoroughfare dusty. From where I sat, the town did not look especially large, the surrounding forest threatening to close in at any moment.
Opening the window a crack, I found the air refreshing, and it did smell clean and sweet, a welcome change from the noxious odors of Lawrence. We turned onto a larger street, shops and houses lining either side, the buildings several stories tall, constructed of brick. People strolled by, while all manner of conveyance passed.
I longed to ask the driver about Mr. Witherspoon. What was he l
ike? What did he look like? Was he a kind man? But I kept these questions to myself, staring out the window at the town, which was far smaller than I imagined it would be. The carriage stopped a moment later, not having driven far at all.
“Are we here already?”
“Yes, ma’am. Mr. Witherspoon is waiting inside.”
Why hadn’t he come to the train station? “All right.” I reached for the door, intending to open it myself, but Mr. French preceded me.
He let down the steps, offering his arm. “He’s waiting for you.”
I eyed the driver, noting his youth, although his manner made him seem older. “Thank you.” My booted feet firmly on the ground, I stared at the skirt I wore, noting a faint stain near the hem. I changed my clothing in Philadelphia, wearing a yellow shirtwaist with a dark grey jacket and deep blue skirt. This was one of my better outfits.
Taking to the steps, I eyed the three-story building, the brick newly made. A woman stood at the top, wearing a bell-shaped skirt and fawn-colored jacket. Smiling, she held a bouquet of flowers. “You must be Trinity Kroger. I’m Mrs. Lilith Dexter. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She held out a hand.
I stared into her ruddy face, seeing kindness in her eyes. “Hello. Yes, it’s me.”
“I’m the housekeeper. I was sent to get you. Mr. Witherspoon is waiting, my dear.”
The driver remained at the base of the steps. I assumed he would deliver us home after the ceremony. “The flowers are lovely.”
“Here you are.” She handed them to me. “They’re yours.” Someone opened the door behind her. “Let’s go in, shall we? He’s been expecting you for an hour.” A man and a woman exited the building, beaming.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know the train was delayed.”
“You’re fine, my dear. He’s … well, he’s eager to proceed.”
“I see.” Again, a tiny prickle of anxiety raced through me. I was about to meet my intended for the first time, minutes before I married him. I hesitated, my feet halting at the threshold.
