Mail Order Bride 22 Book Boxed set: 22 Brides Ride West :CLEAN Western Historical Romance Series Bundle
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Isabella nodded, but she knew she wasn't entirely to thank. Now that Thomas had been officially elected head of the town, he was putting all sort of policies and new ideas into place, and there were now several rainwater tanks around town that collected and purified water for the residents to drink. "Thomas did his part as well."
"Only on your suggestion, and with your guidance," Susan pointed out. "I swear to it, Isabella, there's no one in this world who is harder to give a compliment to. Can you just accept that we need you here in White Elk, and that you've done good here?"
Isabella reached over and gave her friend a squeeze and a hug. "I can accept it just this once then. But I know that my work here will never be done."
* * *
"Wow," Isabella said, as she stepped inside her newly refurbished practise. She spun around and took in the smell of fresh paint, admiring the pale blue shade that Kit had painted the walls with and the new, comfortable furniture for the patients.
"Worth shutting down for a few days for, then?" Kit asked. "You needed the rest anyway, and time to spend with your new god child."
"More than worth it," Isabella said, reaching over to pick up an apple from the basket near the door. "And apples, as well? Kit, you really have surprised me."
"Well, I know you think those things are healthy."
"They are," she said, taking a big bite of the juicy fruit. "Thank you for listening to me."
He put his paintbrush down and walked over to her, taking the apple out of her hand and placing it on the table. "Hey, I was enjoying that."
"You can enjoy it in a moment," Kit said, taking Isabella's hand in his. "Isabella, I have one more big surprise for you."
"What is it?"
He led her into the adjoining room, Isabella's office, which had previously been almost bare, except for a bed for patients, and a small desk for Isabella. "What's this?" she asked, looking at the new pine bookshelf that stood seven foot tall against the wall. She walked towards and saw that it was full of books, journals, and writings about medicine and science, by writers and physicians that Isabella admired.
“Kit, where did you find all these?" she gasped, flicking through one of the books.
"Susan helped me. She knows all about these things."
"I'll be able to learn so much," she said, still flicking through the pages. "Improve my work, learn new techniques." Then she looked up. "But these are expensive books, Kit. Along with all these renovations... this must mean that you are truly happy for me to continue my work here, as a doctor. Do you mean it, Kit?"
"I support you, Isabella, and I want you to become as skilled as you can, become as great as you are capable of being. If I ever held you back, or made you feel unsupported, I'm sorry. I'm trying to make it up to you now."
She placed the book on the shelf and walked back towards her husband. "You may have given me some grief at times, Kit, but I've never felt like you wanted to hold me back. I know that it has taken a lot for you to over come your own prejudices and superstitions. For a man who is very set in his ways, Kit, you've certainly shown yourself to have an open mind." She wrapped her arms around her husband and squeezed him tight.
"There's one last thing," Kit said, glancing at the bookshelf behind Isabella. "I hope you'll let me use this office a bit myself, so I can have a read of some of those books. There's a lot I need to learn myself." He brushed the hair on top of her head. "I never want to be the cause of you getting sick, ever again, for one thing."
She pulled back a little, looking up at him in surprise. "Hey, that wasn't your fault, remember?"
"But it could have been," he pointed out. "And when you were sick I barely knew what to do. Now I've got you, I have a family to take care of, and we've got a god child now as well," he said, thinking about Mollie and Thomas's newborn baby. "They've trusted us to guide the child, to take care of him if anything happens to them. I want to learn as much as I can, so that all the people I love can be safe. I do love every last one of you, Isabella. Especially you, my dear."
"Me too," she whispered.
He hugged Isabella, and she squeezed him back, so grateful to hear those words, to know that she was supported and loved. Needed. By Mollie, and Thomas, and the baby, and Susan. By the people of White Elk. And by her husband, this strange, brave man who was always surprising her.
Kit pulled his arm back and brushed Isabella on the cheek. "Now, it's time for you to get back to work, Doctor."
* * *
ASHAMED, BEATEN & SAVED BY HER BURNED HERO
THREE BRIDES FOR THREE WAR COMRADES
BOOK 2
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b o o k 2
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At twenty-four years of age, Susan has already experienced so much . . .
She feels REJECTED, ALONE, UNLOVABLE - that no one would ever want to marry a woman like her - even with her great beauty.
So she packs everything in, and heads for the wild land of White Elk, to marry the mysterious, handsome, Jedediah, a man with a scarred past of his own.
What will happen when Susan discovers that her new husband has brutal burned scars over his body, from fighting in the war?
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1
Susan
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“ Please God, let me find a way out of
this mess I have created for myself.”
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"You look so beautiful, Susan," Annabelle said, tying Susan's bonnet around her head. "I'm awful jealous."
Susan smiled wanly, thinking, "There's not much to be jealous of." She stopped and gazed at her reflection in the mirror, noticing her eyes looked far older than her 24 years. "If Annabelle knew the truth about me, what skeletons I've buried, she wouldn't be so envious."
Yet the first impression Susan gave to other women was one of a woman so beautiful, so well presented and fine, they often couldn't help but find themselves jealous. Other women envied her long, pale blonde hair, so smooth and easy to style, and her pale, flawless skin and bright sky-blue eyes, doll-like, with dark thick lashes that framed them. She was slim with an enviable figure and always dressed in the latest, most fashionable styles. Add that to the fact that Susan was bright, with a brain to match her outward beauty, and you had all the makings of a woman that drove other women into fits of envy.
But, as is often the case in life, things were not exactly as they seemed. There lay a lot beneath the surface, scars that were too deep to be seen, and a past that was far from enviable. In fact, Susan's past was not the sort that a single women alive in 1871 would envy. Most would likely cast themselves out in shame, if they'd been through what she had.
Yet Susan tried to hold her head high. Tried to keep going through life. But it was tough. Once people found out about her the longing looks and the approving stares disappeared, replaced by looks of disapproval. Pity. Rejection.
"Oh, I'm not so special," Susan said, stepping out from under the bonnet and ducking her head, shaking it to show that it wasn't for her. "Too frilly," she commented, pointing towards a bonnet that was far more understated.
Annabelle frowned. "Are you sure you want to try that one? It's new, just got it in last week. It's...very modern, I'm afraid. Can't get any of the women interested in it. I believe I will be returning the style back to the supplier."
"I like it," Susan said. "And if no one else is wearing that style, even better." She grinned and nodded towards the hat again, and Annabelle skipped over to fetch the pale green bonnet before placing it gently on Susan's head.
"There," Susan said, catching a glimpse of herself in the looking glass. She admired the way the green of the bonnet made her blue eyes stand out even more. "That's the one."
She made her way downtown, new bonnet bobbing on the top of her hea
d, catching approving glances from admirers as she walked. She nodded, bowing her head coyly, as the men of the town dipped their hats at her and offered her warm greetings.
But she was simply going through the motions, being polite, accepting the praises and stares as a matter of course. She was no stranger to male attention, but she knew that very few of these men - perhaps none at all - would want to marry her if they found out about her past. At just 24 years of age, Susan felt like an old maid, a spinster before her time. On the outside she may have looked young and gorgeous, but on the inside she felt ugly and unwanted.
Finally reaching her destination, she glanced up at the shop front. The Westwood Times. The one place she felt at home. She pushed the door open with a mighty shove and stepped inside.
"Good morning, Susan. Lovely hat," Jonathan Peacock, the editor of the paper, commented.
Susan took her gloves off and held them gingerly in one hand, so that they were dangling delicately in the air. "Thank you. Just new today." She'd splurged a little on the hat, so she was hoping for good news from Jonathan. News that they would be publishing one of her stories that week, and that she would be able to come away with a purse full of coins.
Susan held his gaze for a few moments, trying to read the look on his face. She had a sinking feeling in her stomach as his gaze dropped away, and he turned his body away from hers, back towards the printing press. "It's not good news, is it, Jonathan?" She bowed her head a little and tried to keep her face looking straight and reserved. No point in showing emotion to the man; that would hardly get him to change her mind. If he didn't want to publish her work, that was just the way it was. "Can I ask what the problem was, with the piece?" She clenched her jaw a little.
Jonathan continued to fuss a little with the press, before sighing and turning back to face her. "It's just that money is awful tight right now, and we can only publish the best..."
"I would appreciate the truth, please, Jonathan." Susan peered at him from under her bonnet, sending him a look that said, I can handle it.
Jonathan cleared his throat, clearly reluctant to have to be so blunt with the young women. "To be completely frank with you Susan, it was a little...frivolous."
"Frivolous?" Susan repeated, shocked to hear him come out with that assessment of her work. Yes, her story had been a tale about a young girl attending a party, but Susan thought it had contained deep emotion and characterisation. Jonathan nodded, adding that the work was 'frothy' and lacked meaning, as Susan composed herself. "So what you're saying, when you say this word 'frivolous', or you say that it is frothy, what you mean is, it's about female things. Which can't possibly be as serious, or have as much meaning as subjects concerning men."
"Now hang on Susan, I'm not saying that." Jonathan held up a hand at her, the offense showing on his face. "Less of this romantic stuff. The women's stories you come up with might be better suited for a different sort of publication. Like I said, we need stories with a bit more gravitas."
"You mean you need more male writers. Less female ones." Susan picked her purse up and began to put her gloves back on. "I shall take my stories to a paper that appreciates them then, if that is the case. Good day, Jonathan," she said, pulling the door back roughly as she went, leaving the bell overhead to ring and clatter, rather than jingle gently.
Susan stomped off down the road, already regretting her actions, as she got few yards down the street. She stopped and glanced back at the newspaper office. "Oh darn," she thought, wondering if she should go back and apologise. Now Jonathan would never print her stories, even if they were deeper, or darker, or whatever it was he was looking for. But she couldn't bring herself to turn around and walk back into that office, to grovel or apologize.
Yes, she regretted blowing up at him like that, but not the words she'd actually said. In her heart she knew she was right, that Jonathan thought her 'women's stories' were not worth as much as a man's.
Still, the rejection hurt, and as she glanced at her hat in the glass of the store window next to her, she wondered how she was going to find a way to pay back her credit at Annabelle's store. She sighed. "Another great decision," she thought, picking herself up and walking again. "One in a very long line of them."
* * *
The next morning Susan returned to Annabelle's shop, her green bonnet in her hand. Looking up with faked confidence, she stated, "I wish to return this bonnet, please. As you were saying, it really is far too modern. Maybe it’s best you return them to the suppliers after all. I tried to make it work, but I'm just not happy with it."
Annabelle frowned. She took the bonnet from Susan and turned it over. "Susan, I'm afraid I can't take this back. It's already dirty, too worn." She handed the item back to Susan and shrugged at her apologetically.
Susan swallowed, before tightening her lips. "Very well," she said, sighing. "To be honest with you, Annabelle, I am having some difficulty paying my account."
Annabelle pulled her arms across her chest. "Susan, it is already very overdue. I've been quite generous with the amount of credit I've leant you, but I am going to have to ask for payment very soon."
Susan nodded, understanding that Annabella had been patient and fair, and was only asking for what she was owed. But Susan had been relying on the money from the paper, and with similar debts all over town, she wasn't sure what she was going to do. Go back and grovel to Jonathan? Find work at another paper, or magazine?
It was at times like these that Susan returned to her darker thoughts. Her sadder thoughts. "If I only had a husband to support me." She hated herself for thinking like this. She admired her own independence - it was one of her best qualities, as it offset her impulsiveness and other flaws. But she couldn't help but think how much easier it would be if she had a husband to support her.
Of course, she did have one. Once. But that had been the biggest mistake of her life.
And she didn't want to repeat the mistake twice.
"I'll come up with some solution," Susan promised. "I will have your money to you shortly, Annabelle."
"You'd better, Susan. Until then, I can't allow you any further credit in my store."
Susan understood. She understood only too well. She'd already been denied credit at half the stores in town, and her luck was running out. She needed to find a way to get some money, and fast, or she wasn't going to able to afford food, or a roof over her head for much longer.
As she left the dress shop, she prayed for help. "Please God, let me find a way out of this mess I have created for myself."
But she knew she'd made a mess of many things in her life, and wondered if, just like with the store owners, her luck with God was running out. Maybe he would also stop supplying her with credit.
But God was listening, and He had a plan for young Susan. Only, she might not like it.
* * *
2
Jedediah
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“ Please God, let me find a way out of
this mess I have created for myself.”
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White Elk
The collar grazed across the scar, only visible when Jedediah tugged on it or left his top button undone. He winced, then straightened his face before Thomas could notice.
"You okay?" Thomas asked, leading his horse behind him by the reins. Jedediah nodded, gritting his teeth.
"Can't complain."
Thomas glanced over his shoulder. "Maybe we should have left even earlier." His voice was quiet, but still managed to echo in the eerie still of the morning.
"It's already the break of dawn, man," Jedediah said, squinting ahead at the sun just breaking through the tops of the pine trees that lined the forest up ahead. "How much earlier do you want me to start?"
Thomas reached down to pick a blade of grass before placing it between his teeth, chewing lazily. "Maybe when it's still dark, next time."
Jedediah sighed. "There ain't gonna be a next time, I told ya that."
"You'll change your mind Jedediah, you always do." Thomas yanked on the reins, causing the horse to skip forward, startling the mare so that she made a little whining noise. "Shh," Thomas said, spinning around, glancing to make sure the town was dead asleep.
Jedediah dragged his feet behind. He wouldn't have cared if the entire town woke. Might put a stop to the whole sorry business. He dug his toes into the dirt as he walked, kicking and scuffing as they passed the house of their friend Kit, making as much noise as he could.
"Hey," Thomas scolded him. "What are you trying to do there?" He kept his voice lowered down to a hiss. "Last thing we need is Kit findin' out what you been up to."
"What we've been up to," Jedediah corrected him. He glanced at the old cottage to their left, hoping the old man would rise at the sound of their arguing.
Thomas pulled Jedediah forward, out of the way. "I don't know what you're getting all brave for, but if this whole operation comes crashing down, you're the one with the most to lose."
Jedediah stood upright, keeping his eyes firm and steady on the pine trees behind Thomas, despite the fact that the younger man had his face pressed almost right against his. After a few seconds, Thomas shook his head and backed off, apologizing.
"Sorry Jed..." Thomas said, and Jedediah shoved his hands in his pockets and kept pushing forward, lighter on his heels this time, not wanting to wake Kit after all. Perhaps Thomas had a point.
"Come on Jed, I said I'm sorry." Thomas skidded, with his horse still tugging behind him, clamouring to catch up with Jedediah again. "I'm just thinking of you, you know that."
Jedediah scowled and looked round. "You're just thinking of yourself. Needing to be in charge of everything in this town...you're just a kid, Thomas, and I don't know what right you got to boss me around, make me do your dirty work for you."