[2016] Alone and Pregnant

by Christian Michael

  “What would you have me do?” she whispered. “Papa is not here to make me strong.”

  “Your father did not make you strong,” Simon yelled. “He was not there all the time when we were children. You were strong then, simply because you were.” He closed his eyes, breathed out through his nose. “Cora, Nurse Cora, he saw in you what you already had. Strength. Kindness. Intelligence. The strength to use your kindness and intelligence to help others. That is why he taught you. His teaching did not make you strong. “

  “No,” she breathed.

  “And this, this travesty of which you were--this marrying for security female. Well, I simply don’t recognize you.”

  “How dare you?”

  “How dare I not? After all we’ve known of each other. And Matthew is my brother. How dare I not?”

  “You think your brother does not wed well?”

  “I think my brother knows nothing of you. And you of him.” He turned away. “But I think my brother weds very well. He could not do better,” he finished.

  Cora’s cheeks warmed and she covered them with her gloved hands. “Then why?”

  “I believe you, Cora, can do better.” He walked away then before she could say another word.

  She dropped into a chair, exhausted. Was sparring with Simon always so exhausting? Or had the stakes never been so high before? What did it all mean? This churning in her gut? This bleeding of her heart? Simon awakened the emotions that she’d had to shut down during the war. Had to shut down after Papa had died. What was she to do?

  Was he right? Had she been strong before Papa had leant her his hand, his ear, his confidence? Had he chosen her to train because he saw that strength Simon spoke of?

  And Simon, blessed, damnable Simon. What was she to do about him? She knew him right. Knew that marrying his brother was as soulfully wrong as she could possibly be. She did not know him. Did not love him. And more than anything else, she wanted to marry for love.

  She caught a glimpse of Simon crossing the street, his limp pronounced. But she could never marry for love when she was quite certain she loved Simon with all the heart she had to give. But did she have the courage to tell Simon the truth? She bowed her head to ask God for strength when she remembered Simon’s words. “You’ve always been strong.”

  She had been, hadn’t she? Maybe it was time to prove it, but first, she needed to talk with Elizabeth.

  Chapter 10

  After talking with Elizabeth, Cora hurried to the post office. She had an important telegram to send.

  She had just finished when she met Simon at the door. She drew back in surprise, not expecting to face him so soon. But she remembered her strength and squared her shoulders. “Simon, could I talk with you?” Her voice didn’t sound strong. It sounded insecure and scared.

  Simon glanced toward the line inside the Post Office, then back at her. “Yes, I suppose.”

  Still angry with her. She sighed as they sat down on one of the benches out front.

  He leaned back and folded his arms across his chest, his expression unreadable.

  “I can’t marry Matthew.”

  Simon sat up then, his eyes sharp on her face. “Why not?”

  “It wouldn’t be fair to him. I don’t love him, and I don’t believe I ever can. Because…” She closed her eyes and lowered her head. Strength.

  She took a deep breath and opened her eyes. Simon stood up before she could say another word. “There’s no line now. I need to go,” he said. “Stay right here. I’ll be right back.”

  He walked away. Disappointment pressed into Cora’s chest. Had he known what she was going to say? Had he known and been repulsed? Of course he had; she had been so obvious. He couldn’t get away fast enough. Her heart breaking, she hurried back to the hotel.

  Chapter 11

  In her room, she gasped air into her lungs. What had she done? Sent a telegram to Matthew refusing his proposal. Then to Simon, revealed her undying love. She was so foolish!

  How could she ever face him again? Now she was truly alone. In St. Louis, far from home, like the unfortunate Mary. She had enough money to see her home, but what then? Return to her brother. No! She could never do that.

  But did she want to leave St. Louis? She could perhaps ask for a job at the hospital. Her time spent nursing at her father’s side during the war might count as sufficient experience.

  Someone knocked on her door. Cora jumped. Elizabeth?

  She pulled open the door. Once again, Simon stood on the other side, this time breathing heavy, his forehead creased in irritation.

  “Whatever is the matter? Did you run the entire way?” she asked.

  “Yes, yes I did. I ran the entire way because you were supposed to wait for me.” He shook his head. “Why didn’t you wait, Nurse Cora?”

  Cora dropped her gaze to his shoes, to the carpeted floor, to the hem of her dress, to anything, anything but his inquisitive blue eyes. Then his fingers were touching her chin—gently—pulling it up so that her eyes met his again.

  “Why, Cora?”

  She wanted to sink into the floor, her embarrassment was so great. She pulled away from his hand and turned her back on him. “Because you don’t love me. Because I confessed my feelings and you don’t return them.” She whipped back around. “You knew what I was trying to say, but you rushed away as quickly as you could to mail a letter.”

  “I never said that. I wasn’t mailing a letter.” He waved the piece of paper. “I was checking for a telegram.” He moved closer until very little space separated them.

  “A telegram?”

  “Yes, a telegram. I’ve been waiting for it since our arrival in St. Louis. I sent one to my brother last week during one of our train stops.”

  She shook her head. What did a telegram have to do with anything? Hannah? She clutched at his arms. “Hannah? Mama O’Leary, they’re okay?”

  He smiled. “Oh they are well. Very well and very happy I’m guessing.” He held out the telegram. When she didn’t take it, he nodded encouragingly. “Read it.”

  She opened the paper: Cora STOP was STOP always STOP meant STOP for STOP you STOP

  She frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  Simon smiled and took her hands, leading her to the sofa where they sat down. “I followed you hear because I couldn’t let you marry my brother unless I was certain you loved him more than you could love me. At her gasp, he smiled. “But the longer I spent with you, the more I knew even if you did love him, I was determined to have you for myself. I sent Matthew a telegram asking him to relinquish you.” He waved the telegram. “This was his reply. Apparently, Mama set this up, hoping we would find our way to each other.”

  “I cannot possibly live without you. I must fight and laugh with you all the days of my life. You must put me out of my misery and marry me.”

  Cora began to cry.

  “No, no, Cora, you may not cry. Not my strong and splendid Nurse Cora.” He swiped the wetness from her face, kissed one cheek and then the other.

  “Tell me yes now,” he whispered fiercely,” So I can kiss your beautiful mouth.”

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  And then she had to wait as shock and happiness battled across his face. He breathed a sigh just before his warm mouth touched hers.

  Epilogue

  Cora and Simon settled into the stage coach that would carry them most of the way to the Colorado territory. A piece of land awaited them, one adjoining Matthew’s ranch. The next year would be a busy one as Simon divided his time between building their home and editing the local newspaper.

  As they left St. Louis, Simon grasped Cora’s hands and smiled down at her. “You asked me once why I didn’t report on the war. Remember, it was that first night on the train?”

  She nodded, trying to concentrate on his words instead of his hands holding hers.

  “I had planned on reporting it,” he admitted quietly. “But I came downstairs one evening before supper and heard you talking with H
annah.”

  “Always an eavesdropper,” she teased.

  He smiled. ‘You said to her, ‘It’s the responsibility of every human being to fight for the rights of the wronged Negro.’ Right then and there, I knew I could not merely report on the war.”

  “Simon! I never meant you. Reporting would have been fighting, too. The power of the pen is every bit as strong as the gun.” She frowned and shook her head at him.” You foolish, foolish man.”

  Simon ducked his head. “Well I couldn’t let my favorite girl best me, could I? You were headed into the battlefields alongside your father. I felt driven to do my part.”

  At the mention of her father, Cora’s eyes watered. “I would have followed him anywhere,” she whispered.

  Simon squeezed her hands. His eyes were sad. “I never told you how sorry I was that Dr. Hammond died. He was a good man.”

  She nodded, her throat too thick with tears to speak. Her father would be happy with her decisions of late. She smiled. “I’ll follow you anywhere, too, Mr. O’Leary.”

  “You have some catching up to do, since I’ve already proven I’ll definitely follow you anywhere, Mrs. O’Leary.”

  THE END.

  Runaway Love

  Mail Order Bride

  CHRISTIAN MICHAEL

  Chapter 1

  New York

  “What a bore,” the girl said, fanning herself and searching the room for yet another young gentleman to flirt with over the top of her fan.

  “Isabel, he’s a nice man,” Lucy Castle said, pushing a dark brown curl back into place and allowing her gaze to rest on the couples dancing in front of her. Some days, like this one, she dreamed of a different life. A life where she wasn’t required to attend balls and where she didn’t have to listen to friends defame one of the only, truly nice men in the room.

  “You must be joking,” Isabel said, her laugh brash for such a delicate frame.

  “Not at all. I find his conversation fascinating.”

  “Maybe because you think more of politics and the topics of horses than you do truly interesting things.”

  Lucy sighed. “I may not enjoy common gossip like you do, but that doesn’t mean my interest are boring.”

  Isabel rolled her eyes and pushed away from the settee she had been leaning against. “I see Lord Grandle eyeing me from across the room. I think I prefer his company to yours right now.”

  Lucy watched as Isabel left, feeling no regret at her leaving. Her eyes trailed the room and came to rest on a new face. One she didn't recognize immediately. He looked familiar but she couldn’t place him immediately. Then she remembered. Her father had introduced him as the son of one of his wealthy counter parts from the Chicago area. Charles…something.

  She couldn’t remember and pulled her gaze from him, looking to the other side of the room. It was warm, as it always was during heavily packed balls, and she wished she could be upstairs reading or out in the woods on her father’s country estate. What she wouldn’t give to be riding a horse right—

  “Excuse me, but aren’t you Miss Castle?”

  She turned to the voice, startled to see the man she’d been observing. “Yes. Um, Mr.—?”

  “Benning. Charles Benning. My father is Langston Benning. I'm sure you’ve heard of him.”

  The touch of arrogance in his voice irked her immediately. “Yes. I suppose I have,” she replied, going for an air of indifference. Maybe he would take the hint and leave.

  “I dare say you should have. He nearly owns half of Chicago.” Charles laughed, the sound like nails grating on a chalkboard to Lucy.

  She tried to keep herself from rolling her eyes. Money. That was all anyone ever talked about during these balls.

  “Well, how nice for him.”

  Charles narrowed his eyes. “You don’t seem thrilled to meet me.”

  She almost laughed. How was she supposed to respond to that?

  He saved her the trouble. “I mean, I thought you would be, seeing as how we’re practically engaged.”

  Lucy had the misfortune to be in the middle of a sip of punch when he delivered this information and, before she could stop herself, she’d spewed half the liquid out.

  “What?”

  Charles stepped back, appalled at her lack of decorum. “There’s an arrangement between our fathers. I was just made privy to it a few weeks ago. Your father must not have told you yet.”

  She wanted to refute him, to tell him he was mistaken, but she couldn’t. The sad truth was that her father would do something exactly like this. He only saw her—and everyone else in his life—as a pawn to be used in whatever way benefited him best.

  Marriage to Charles had to be his next, strategic move. It made her furious. She may not be a man, or in a position to refute her father, but she wasn’t about to sit by and let him marry her off to whomever he wanted.

  It was time for a plan she had long thought to implement. One that took daring and no small amount of courage. If she wanted to live the life of adventure she longed for she would have to accept the risks and hope they would reap far greater rewards.

  She was going to become a mail order bride.

  ***

  Montana

  Ben Epps folded his hands over his flat stomach, gazing down the length of the empty table. It was nights like these that he felt the extent of his loneliness. Perhaps his mother was right. In her last letter to him she had espoused the benefits of marriage, not so subtly hinting that it was in his best interest to take a wife and settle down.

  He laughed into the growing darkness of the dining room. In his best interests, or hers? She had wanted grandchildren for years, assurance their line would continue, but she was stuck with a son who valued hard work and the life of a rancher over the finer things like high society and dinner parties.

  Not that he minded that lifestyle. In fact, over the past few months he’d missed the business of coming home after working in an office and getting ready to go to a party. He missed the social life that Boston had offered.

  “Mr. Ben,” a man said, stepping into the dining room, “Did you want dessert now?”

  Ben smiled. “How many times do I have to tell you that you can call me Ben if you want to, Carl?”

  “Nah,” the older man said, nodding his head. “Can’t do that, Mr. Ben.”

  Ben sighed, giving in to the older man whom he’d hired mainly to give him a job more than out of necessity. The man was an excellent cook and had been given a raw deal at the local hotel. At least here on the ranch Carl was treated well and had a place to sleep.

  “Bring on the dessert then, Mr. Carl.”

  Carl laughed at that and disappeared, coming back with a plate holding a large slice of apple pie. “Your favorite, Mr. Ben.”

  He accepted the plate and motioned for Carl to sit down. “Join me. It’s too quite in here.”

  Carl did and watched as Ben took his first bite. It was heavenly.

  “Mmm,” he said, licking the fork, “This is the best pie I’ve ever had.”

  “Glad to hear it. Was my wife’s recipe.”

  Ben blinked. “Your wife?”

  “Yes, sir,” he said, nodding slowly. His eyes glazed over in memory. “She was the prettiest little thing there ever was. Like a ray of sunshine came down to earth and became a woman. I would have married her on sight, but I was only ten years old.” Carl let out a rough laugh, slapping the table.

  “Oh my,” Ben said, enjoying the man’s enthusiasm.

  “I waited until we were seventeen the up and married her.” He sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

  Ben hated to ask, but he hated to know. “What happened to her?”

  “The fever,” Carl said, looking down at his weathered hands clasped in front of him on the table. “She took sick at age twenty and died in late fall.”

  Ben felt the loss as if he’d known the woman. “I'm so sorry to hear that.”

  “The Good Lord blessed us with many happy years. I can’t complai
n.” He shook his head then met Ben’s eyes. “What about you, Mr. Ben? Got any plans to marry?”

  Ben smiled, surprised where the conversation had taken them. Was this God’s prompting?

  “I'm not sure, but maybe,” he admitted.

  Carl nodded, and leaned in conspiratorially. “Sir, I’d recommend the Matrimonial Journal. You won’t find suitable young women in this town—believe me—but there’s some fine young women back East. Though you probably already know that.”

  Ben considered the man’s words, savoring the last bite of his pie. He’d heard many men in town tell of their efforts to find a wife through advertisements and mail order brides. Some had even had great success.

  Surely his mother would approve of a woman from a larger city and good standing.

  Ben nodded, his thoughts turning as sweet as the pie he’d just had. Maybe it was time he settled down.

  “You may just have something there, Carl,” he said.

  Tomorrow he’d put plans in motion to place and advertisement in the better-known and more expensive matrimonial journals in New York and Boston. If the Lord saw fit, maybe he’d find himself a wife that even his mother couldn’t find fault with.

  Chapter 2

  Lucy clutched Ben’s last letter in her hand like it was a lifeline to her future, and in some ways it was. She had told her father she was going out to a party that night but it was only a ruse to get out of the house. Telling the driver to wait, she rushed to the side of the house where her maid, one of the most loyal girls Lucy knew, had hidden her bags and all of the things she’d be taking West with her.

  Then, instructing the driver to take her to the train station, she tried in vain to calm her frayed nerves. This was the right thing to do, she knew it, but it was also the most difficult. Her mother would be devastated when she found the note inscribed personally to her. Her father, on the other hand, would be livid.