“I know it’s not easy to move past that type of pain. I lost my first wife and it took me years before I was ready to love again, but I did. Love again, that is.” A toothy smile took over the features of his worn face. “And it’s been the best, second-love a man could ask for.”
Robert let out a sigh. “But it feels like betrayal.”
“Son, just because you loved your first wife doesn’t mean your love stopped when she breathed her last. It just means that you have felt the love of a good woman. Why couldn’t God let you feel that twice in one lifetime?”
Robert dared to hope that this was true. When he dug past the hurt over Mary that he continued to dredge up, the truth remained. He wanted to get to know Alice better. To accept the feelings he had for her and uncover what more there could be.
“Take it from me,” Leo finally said, standing, “love is a living thing. It may be cut off, but it can grow again.”
Robert watched the man as he walked to the next campfire, checking in with the other hands. Could Leo be right? Could his marriage to Alice contain love like his marriage to Marry had?
Chapter 6
Alice scrubbed the floor, the water in the bucket turning to a dirty brown. Her ankle felt strong and she had finished reorganizing the pantry while the bread was rising near the warmth of the sun coming through the window. When Jack went down for his nap she had decided it was time to clean the floors, though her knees had already started to protest the awkward position.
The front door opened and she jerked her head in the direction, surprised to see Robert standing there. His hat was in his hand and dark black hair framed his face in a wild and windblown look. His green eyes blazed with some emotion she couldn’t place, but he didn’t look unhappy. In fact, he looked…alive.
“You’re back.”
“I am.”
She stood, placing the soaking brush in the bucket and went to the counter. “I’m almost done with the floor but I can make you something to eat if—” The plate she’d just picked up slipped from her hand and crashed to the floor, shattering into tiny pieces. Her heart dropped and frustration and embarrassment overtook her. “Oh no!”
Before she knew what was happening, Robert stood at her side and stilled her hands, covering them with his own. “Are you all right?”
She was shaking, but this time it had nothing to do with her clumsiness and everything to do with the man standing close to her, the smell wind and horses emanating from him.
“I-I’m sorry.”
He smiled down at her, not releasing her fingers. “It was an accident. No need to apologize.”
She felt her flush deepen and looked down. Why was he so close? Why was he holding her hands? Had something changed?
“Alice, when you came into the barn last week…”
She looked up at him, surprised at his change in subject.
“You said you’d wait for me.”
He didn’t add anything and she felt the need to reply. “Yes…”
“It was unfair of me to withhold so much from you.” His shoulders drooped and he shook his head. “To be honest, I married you because my sister recommended it and I needed someone to watch after Jack.”
The truth, though it was one she had guessed, still stung to hear it. “I see—”
“But,” he said, before she could say more, “I’ve realized that’s not fair.”
“Oh?”
“No. I was deeply in love with my wife Mary. We had known each other for many years before we married and it took us a long time to get pregnant with Jack. When he was born, it was the happiest time of our lives. Then Mary took sick,” his voice cracked and she saw the emotion reflected in his eyes. “I was devastated by her death and, quite frankly, didn’t think I could love again.”
She searched his eyes, looking for the truth. What did he think now?
“I was wrong to believe that you can only love once.” He shook his head, his mouth quirking into a half smile. “I just wanted to tell you that…I want to be invested in our marriage. I want to try to love again.”
Her heart soared at his words. “Really?”
“Yes.” He pulled her hand up and kissed the knuckles. “I see such amazing qualities in you and have realized over the time that you’ve been here that I want to open up to you. My connection to the past has been holding me back. Forgive me?”
“Of course.”
He looked into her eyes, searching them as he leaned closer. Her heart began to beat more rapidly with the realization that he was going to kiss her. She had hoped for this moment, unsure that it would ever happen.
“And Alice,” he whispered, his lips nearly on hers, “You will always be safe with me.”
Robert's words were almost too good to be true, as was his kiss when their lips finally touched. But it was proof that God’s plans were always for the best.
God had delivered Alice from the debilitating fear she had lived in. He had provided her with a new home and a new life. And now, for the first time, she not only felt safe, but she was safe.
THE END.
A Pregnant Bride
Mail Order Bride
By: Christian Michael
Chapter One
Lillian’s head was swimming in the hot, soupy summer heat. She, her two sisters and her mother were all crammed into the tiny church reception room. Her nose filled with her mother’s warm perfume but it made her feel sick, so sick she could hardly bear to keep her eyes open
‘What do you mean Benson isn’t there?’ she said, her voice barely audible. Lillian’s head remained firmly down, her veil providing a tiny shelter from the outside world making everything look softer. She and her sister’s hair were filled with peach blossoms and tiny petals littered the floor, becoming creased and browning with little pink bursts at their edges.
‘No-one’s seen him since yesterday, my dear Lillian, I’m so sorry’ Margaret’s voice was gentle, lilting. Margaret was the youngest, barely fourteen. Her hair was wild and strawberry blonde, worked into careful braids for the occasion which looped round at the back of her head. She was wearing her best summer dress of pink linen which she had almost outgrown. Mother was terrified that she would end up as tall as her own sister Elizabeth. ‘Finding her a husband made your grandmother ill with nerves,’ she used to say. Margaret was optimistic and gentle almost to a fault. Clara, the middle daughter, was studious and had petite, elegant features. She was the opposite of Margaret though only a year older. Shy and thoughtful, she struggled with making conversation. She was happiest alone, rummaging through their father’s library or (to their Mother’s dismay) sitting in fields sketching flowers. Lillian worried for her, her quiet steadfastness and her searing intellect would surely make it difficult for her to survive married life. But here Lillian was, with no married life to speak of. Suddenly she was the failure, no longer the perfect eldest daughter but the embarrassment of the family.
No-one spoke for a while. Each woman hovering in place, straining against the harsh lines of their corsets. The three sisters could barely meet each other’s eyes, none of them able to face the shame and fear that Lillian was feeling.
‘I suppose we should tell the guests’ Clara said, gesturing as if she wanted to conjure something more comforting out of the air.
‘Have we sent your father to look for him? Have we any means of contacting him?’ Mother replied. Her voice had the distinct curtness of someone trying to hide panic.
‘Father has been looking for him all morning. The groomsmen have no idea where he could be.’
‘Then it’s done’ Lillian said ‘Please, Clara, apologize and send everyone home’. Lillian’s mother looked shocked at the coolness with which her daughter spoke. Lillian herself was somewhat shocked. Her nimble, slender fingers seemed to move without her as she unpinned her white lace veil that had belonged to her mother and before that her grandmother. The lace was damaged in parts, the intricate flowers frayed and unwinding. Her face without the veil suddenly
seemed stark and blank. Her blue eyes were wet and red rimmed, but she didn’t look hysteric. It was important for a young lady not to let her sentiment overtake her, her governess’ voice echoed in her head from years ago. Lillian’s blonde hair was off her face in tight, shiny ringlets. She pulled away the remaining blossoms as though they were pieces of lint. Even her dress, which had been months in the making, seemed tarnished and worn looking. The satin ribbon seemed gaudy. She longed for her comfortable blue dress at home. She wanted to be cloaked in it, hide herself from the world. A bitterness in her head would have preferred if he was dead. Then she could mourn him and be a figure of a respectful sort of pity, which would be some sort of improvement.
It took what felt like an age for the small chapel to empty out. Full of coloured light from the stained glass windows and scented of incense and flowers, it still felt familiar and comforting when Lillian stepped out into it. She took a deep breath, running her hand over the smooth lacquered wood of the pews. Even the minister was gone. Lillian was certain he would have stayed to give her some words of counsel or even scorn. Any words at all would do. A knock sounded out from the large wooden doors and Lillian was almost certain she felt the echo of it clack against the vaulted ceilings and then back against her skin. It was her father, looking as if he was containing a rage too big for his body. He kept his mouth in a straight line, as if to seal it away from her. Lillian knew this was only temporary. That rage would come towards her slowly and then all at once, like a thunderstorm.
The carriage was waiting outside, the two horses kicking their hooves against the dusty ground. It was painted black and glinted in the sunlight, its heavy velvet curtains keeping the inside cool. The carriage was her father’s pride and joy. Lillian knew that even now as he helped her inside it on this terrible day, he still felt a faint burst of excitement at the intricately carved door handles. Lilian sat with her head down and her hands folded carefully in her lap. The three sisters were somewhat squashed together facing their parents, but no-one spoke or tried to move. They reached their house after about an hour, its large looming figure rising out from the hills.
It struck Lillian that she had no idea how her family had money or how her wedding was paid for. It had all happened so far above her and she was overcome with a sense of helplessness and naiveté that made her feel nauseous and angry at herself. How could she have been so foolish? Why hadn’t she tried harder to hold Benson’s interest? Lillian was beautiful but she failed at most of the indicators of talent in a young woman her age. She was terrible at the harpsichord, her handwriting had been described by even gentle Margaret as chicken scratch and she was told she made too much eye contact. Lillian, beneath her blonde hair and doll like eyes, was astute, logical and often came off as arrogant with men. Defiant, she had hoped and prayed with all her heart that Benson was different. That Benson genuinely loved her for her, not for her family or any silly set of societal standards of what made a good wife. She had laid in bed, dreaming of the deep conversations they would have and Benson’s unwavering love for her. She knotted her fingers together as she thought of this, turning her knuckles white. As the carriage drew to a halt she tried to brace herself for the outside again. The sweet smell of the humid air washed over her as she felt her shoes crunch on the gravel underfoot. Everyone was still silent. They moved towards the house as if none were aware of each other, as if they were just pieces of dust floating in the same shaft of light.
Chapter Two
The days after the wedding Lillian barely left her room. Her wedding dress was carefully folded in a large box and wrapped in crepe paper as she couldn’t bear the idea of hanging it anywhere she would have to look at it. Lillian’s room was a soft pink colour with warm wooden floors. The huge window gave her a view of undulating hills and in the past she could have spent hours reading on the deep sill. Lying in bed with her covers up over her head she felt as if that girl was a lifetime away. Her sisters regularly came in to check on her but each time she sent them away, partially because she didn’t know what to say to them but also because half of her feared she might somehow infect them with what had sent Benson away. She tried to keep the thought buried at the very pit of her skull, but it reared up each time. She had been handed the letter very quietly by her favourite maid, Abbie. Written on thick, cream paper that felt coarse and heavy in her hands, Benson had sent her a short letter. Barely filling up the entire page, it explained that he simply didn’t feel ready for marriage and that he was heading elsewhere to find his fortune. This adventurous, modern spirit that had so attracted Lillian to him in the beginning now just made her tongue feel like lead in her mouth. Was she not enough of an adventure for him? Would she have hampered his travels? Did he see her as just another girl who would do anything for a husband, one he could replace with any number of other girls? The nonchalance of his cruelty hung over her like bad dream. She lay there ensconced in soft cotton sheets trying to sleep, find her way back to the dream and rewrite it.
Benson’s heartless behaviour stung all the more for a reason that he wasn’t even aware of. Beneath all the sheets and her nightdress, there was a swell in her stomach that was gradually becoming impossible to ignore. Even before the wedding, she had been terrified the dress wouldn’t fit. She had done her best to tie her corsets as tight as possible, praying it wouldn’t harm the baby but too frightened of her family’s reaction not to try cover it up. She had hoped that once they were married, everyone would be too caught up in the joy of a new married couple with a new baby to do the sums. Instead, here she was. Barely 19 years old, abandoned by a man she thought was her true love and almost 5 and a half months pregnant. The only person who knew was Abbie, who in the early months had cared for her when she was sick but asked no questions. She longed to wrap herself up in that solid silence that demanded nothing of her and made no judgements. Instead felt raw and exposed.
Later that evening she called Abbie aside, feigning a sudden burst of energy and asked her if she would like to walk the grounds for a spell. As they drew far enough away from the house, she paused.
‘Abbie, I have a favour to ask of you and you know that it is of the utmost importance that you do not utter a single word to another soul’
Abbie nodded gravely. Abbie was some years older than Lillian, with a kind, round face and glowing skin. She often wondered if Abbie didn’t want to find her own husband and family, but she was always afraid to ask for fear of offending.
‘I need you to go to town and send a telegram to the Bodie Post in California. What I want sent is on this card. It’s urgent, take the carriage and if anyone asks say I sent you for something from the chemist.’
Lillian’s eyes were wild with fear. This was an insane idea, but frankly it was the only one she had. Lillian’s home town in Georgia was tiny, with far more women than men. She didn’t have a hope of finding anyone else nearby before the baby came. She pressed the telegraph fee into Abbie’s hands and sent her on her way. Abbie said little, but was quick to begin walking back towards the carriage. Lillian stood beneath the huge peach tree she had played in as a child and felt slightly stunned. The sun beat down on her and the earth felt like it was rumbling under her feet. In reality it was Lillian herself, her whole body shaking imperceptibly with fear. Soon the letters would begin to arrive and she would have to go on the greatest journey of her entire life, all on her own.
Chapter Three
There had been three main contenders for Lillian, but she knew that there was little time to be picky. She settled on a man who ran a small ranch farming cattle. He had originally come to California during the Gold Rush, but then that had tapered out and he had settled into farming. He described himself as a serious, hardworking man of 40 years of age and considerable means. That was important to Lillian. Once she got all the way to California, she needed someone who could support her. His picture showed a handsome man with a strong jaw, but it was hard to tell much more. His letters indicated a man with a good turn of phrase and
a thoughtful manner and this further solidified her decision that he was her best option. Come this time next week, she would be his bride.
When she had explained her plan to her mother and father, they were initially horrified. Her mother had wept and her father ranted about how dangerous California was, how it was completely improper for a young girl such as herself to travel by rail to marry a man none of them had ever met before. Their initial reluctance was quickly assuaged when Lillian confessed about her pregnancy. Her father could barely stand to look at her. Sitting beside her cases in the station, watching the dust roll past, she wondered if she would ever be able to forget the disgust in his eyes. His fears for her safety and well-being melted away and were replaced with a growing fear of shame. In her heart of hearts, Lillian knew he was probably only thinking of his other two daughters, who would struggle even more to find suitable husbands if it emerged that their sister had fallen pregnant outside of wedlock and then been abandoned. In practice however, his callousness only compounded the betrayal she had felt by Benson. Her heart felt hardened and disillusioned. She clasped her fingers in her lap, her white gloves pristine and kept her eyes firmly on their lace edges. Her ticket was safely stowed in her smallest case. Lillian was terrified of the number of transfers she would have to make. It hadn’t dawned on her when she first came up with her plan that there wasn’t a direct route from where she lived to California and in fact she would have to take seven or eight different trains. It would be almost a full week before she arrived, hopefully intact, at her destination. Watching the shadow of the curly wrought iron decorations around the roof of the station, she repeated the names of stations in her head over and over like a prayer.
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