MAIL ORDER ANGELS
All eleven stories in one volume
By
Darlene Franklin
Cynthia Hickey
Susan Page Davis
Brandi Boddie
Jennifer ALlee
Teresa Ives Lilly
Tanya Stowe
Patty Smith Hall
Anne Greene
Martha Rogers
Lynette Sowell
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
Jacob’s Christmas Dream – Darlene Franklin
Christmas Gold – Cynthia Hickey
The Reliable Cowboy – Susan Page Davis
A Christmas Rose – Brandi Boddie
Christmas Fire – Jennifer ALlee
Cooking Up Christmas – Teresa Ives Lilly
The Evergreen Wreath – Tanya Stowe
A Home for Christmas – Patty Smith Hall
A Christmas Belle – Anne Greene
Christmas Blessing – Martha Rogers
Mistletoe Mistake – Lynette Sowell
JACOB’S CHRISTMAS DREAM
By
Darlene Franklin
Copyright © 2015 by Darlene Franklin. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the permission of the author or Forget Me Not Romances, a division of WingedPublications.
Scripture taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®. niv®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved.
All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.
Printed in the U.S.A.All rights reserved.
PROLOGUE
Angel Vale, Crook County, Wyoming Territory, June 1877
Get Your Personal Christmas Angel. Sign up with Matthew Thomas, Marriage Broker.
Jake Underwood looked at Matt across the packing crate he was unloading onto a shelf at his store in the small mining town. “What's this all about?”
Matt’s grin widened. “Why, I’ve figured how to make me some money, seeing as how my claim on the river didn’t make me enough money to earn a plug nickel. I thought I’d ask you to give it a look-see and tell me what you think.”
Jake frowned as he read the words again, wondering if he was misreading Matt’s sloppy handwriting. “Christmas Angels? Marriage broker? Are you setting up in the mail order bride business?” Matt had experimented with a lot of money-making schemes through the years, but this was his most outrageous idea yet.
“Yup.” Matt snapped his suspenders against his chest. “There’s plenty of men in Angel Vale ready to settle down. There’s the ranchers who were already here settling in before they found gold last year. Then there’s the miners who struck gold, the ones that didn’t spend it all away on gambling and fancy duds and such. And there’s not a bride to be had in all of Crook County, at least not one any god-fearing man would pick.” Matt winked. “There’s you, for instance. Why a fine man like yourself, with a good head for business and in good standing with the Lord, isn’t married yet is beyond me.”
Jake huffed. “You’ve got twenty years on me, and you’re not married.”
“Maybe I wasn’t ready until now.” Matt’s smile turned serious. “It’s time I stop drifting across the plains like tumbleweed. Gold or not, I want to stay put here in Angel Vale. Got to stay here, to keep you in line, don’t I?”
Jake simply smiled. “Do you really think men will pay money for this service?” He scratched his forehead. “I’ve seen some of those advertisements they put in the paper. Don’t cost that much. Why would they pay you to do it for them?”
“I’m aiming to bring a whole bevy of women, find a good match for everyone who’s interested. I’d like to see a bride for everyone who wants one, including you and me, if you want. I’ll find someone back east to help me out, choose the finest women while I weed through the men who are interested.” He picked up a lemon drop, placed a penny in the change jar by the register, and stuck the candy in his mouth. “You watch. The men’ll come out of the woodwork for the service I aim to provide.”
A wife. Matt didn’t know how often Jake’s mind had turned toward matrimony in recent days. He had always thought to marry when he reached thirty, but he had passed that milestone almost a year ago. No matrimonial prospects existed in the town of Angel Vale. It would take a host of Christmas angels to provide for the needs of the town’s single men.
“See what I have here,” Matt said. “I’ve found several circulars advertising for brides. I figure we can write letters to send to all of ‘em, and see what kind of response we get.”
“I have a better idea.” Jake pulled out his Bible. “When I was a young boy.” Before things turned sour with his father. “Pa made me promise on the Bible.” He lifted in the air. “That if I ever got ready to marry, he wanted me to find a bride from the town where he grew up, Merville, Maine. It’s right on the coast, the prettiest little place on God’s green earth to hear him tell it. It’s where he met my mother, before he dragged her to the California goldfields. After Ma died, Pa never did make it back home.” A sad smile played around Jake’s mouth.
“That’s a sad story, son, I know,” Matt said. “But sure, as long we’re looking for a passel of women willing to come west to marry, why not start with Merville?”
Jake talked through the idea. “I even know the name of the church. We can write to the church, explain the situation, and ask if any of the women might be interested.”
Matt snapped his fingers, like all was decided. “Let’s get going.” He held one of the circulars close to his heart. “What do the men need to say about themselves?”
“Things like our occupations, ages, how we expect to provide for a wife, whether or not we’re a believer, and maybe a little bit about our personality.” Jake took a pencil and sharpened it while he gave it some thought. “I could say, Jacob Underwood, thirty, Christian, merchant with good business, seeks a wife.” Narrowing his eyes, Jake thought about what qualities he wanted in a wife. “She must love the Lord, be kind and considerate, and have a sense of adventure.” Satisfied, he cleared his throat. “What do you want to say about yourself?”
Matt stomped his foot with glee. “I’ll figure it out. So, are you in?”
Excitement burbled inside Jake. Lord willing, Angel Vale would have a bevy of mail order angels by Christmas.
CHAPTER ONE
Merville was a town dressed for the dead. Becky Patterson walked around the War Memorial in the Town Square. The men listed had certainly given of their strength. A similar monument sat across the square that honored men who had died at sea. Her father, Reverend Patterson, once said that God planned for more baby boys to be born than girls, because men take on dangers most women don’t face. Like many across the nation, the ladies of Merville had fewer choices for marriage—Becky included. The men who hadn’t died on some battlefield in the south had faced with storms at sea.
After she invited Sophia Webster, Merville’s newest resident, for supper, Becky returned to the parsonage. She grew t
ired of fulfilling the role of her church’s welcoming committee and one-person hospitality team since her mother’s death. If only she could escape—by marriage or moving, she didn’t care.
“I wasn’t aware that you knew anyone in Wyoming?”
She peeked outside and saw the postmaster speaking to Papa as they met at the gate. When her father came inside, she peeked over his shoulder. “I heard the postmaster mention a letter from Wyoming. Who sent it?”
Papa slipped glasses on his straight nose before he picked up the envelope, standard white, legal sized, sold at mercantiles across the nation. “It’s addressed to the president of the Ladies’ Aid Society at Seaside Community Church.” He lifted his eyebrows. “If it is a plea for aid, I must approve anything before it passes to the society’s hands.”
He took a letter opener from a drawer behind him, sliced through the top of the envelope, and lifted out several thin sheets of paper. Becky was eager to read the letter from such an unexpected location. “Let me see, Papa. If there is anything out of order, I’ll bring it to you.”
“I will give it to you as soon as I verify everything is in order.” As he read, turning from one page to the next, his eyebrows rose higher until they would have disappeared on a man with a full head of hair. His hands trembled, ready to drop the pages.
“What has you so distressed?” Becky hovered beside him.
“Two men—to call them gentlemen would be too generous an assessment—have written to our Ladies Society, inquiring if there are any unmarried women attached to the parish who might wish to consider a brokered marriage with a suitable groom in Wyoming. They offer themselves as the first two prospects, adding they are hoping to arrange for as many as ten or more by Christmas.” He tucked the pages back into the envelope. “Such nonsense. No woman of good breeding would want to marry an uncouth gold miner.”
Becky knew of at least one woman who might be interested. Herself. As long as the man loved the Lord. . . Perhaps this opportunity was what God had intended for her all along.
“There is no need to trouble the Ladies’ Aid Society with this request.” Papa dropped the letter on top of the wood stacked inside the oven, and the flames curled around the edges. “Let me go clean up. I will return shortly.”
As soon as his back cleared the door, Becky grabbed a pair of tongs. She reached into the fire and retrieved the envelope. Would other ladies of Merville be interested? Probably. She could think of several women who would find such a proposal intriguing. In spite of Papa’s disapproval, Becky would pray about bringing the proposal to tomorrow’s Ladies’ Aid Society meeting.
By the next afternoon, Becky had decided to bring the proposal to the group. The letter was addressed to them, after all. At the beginning of their meeting, Phoebe Ross, the secretary, read a letter that had arrived from missionaries they supported in the Congo.
After they discussed the news and prayed for the ministry, the time had come for new business. Becky called on every ounce of the training she had received as the pastor’s daughter and pushed aside her worries of her father’s disapproval. God, strike me dumb if I’m doing the wrong thing. The thought brought a smile to her face. She removed the pages of the letter from Wyoming which she had tucked into her reticule without the envelope, as she didn’t wish to explain the charred edges.
“The president of the ladies’ society received a letter yesterday. My father took the liberty of opening the missive and passed the contents on to me.” In a manner of speaking.
“Is it an appeal for funds?” Henrietta Myrick asked.
“So far we are exceeding our agreed upon support for the Congo mission, but I am not certain if we can take on another project.” Phoebe doubled as treasurer as well as secretary for the society.
“This is no appeal for funds. It is a very different kind of request. It comes from Matthew Thomas from Angel Vale in Wyoming Territory.”
Interest rippled through the group as each woman mouthed the word Wyoming. The territory still created a stir for granting the voting franchise to women in 1869.
“What is the nature of Mr. Thomas’s appeal?” Henrietta brought the discussion under control quickly.
Heat singed Becky’s cheeks, but she kept her voice calm as she stood. “It’s from Matthew Thomas of Angel Vale in Wyoming Territory. He describes himself as a man slightly past the prime of life, in good health, who loves the Lord and is a hard worker. He also introduces a Mr. Jacob Underwood, and says he hopes to interest as many as twelve men in the venture. He says he’s advertising for a bride for every one of the twelve days of Christmas.” She folded the letter and set it aside. “I personally know of at least one such proposal that has ended happily, a good friend of mine from Portland. We would need safeguards, of course, but I believe this is a sensible arrangement for women in places were eligible men are few in number and men in places where the same is true of women.”
She looked around the circle, seeing a light in Virginia Pepper’s eyes and a few heads nodding. It was time for her biggest risk. “Who will join me in the adventure of our lives that may lead to the marriage to the man of God’s choice?”
Some of the women she thought might appreciate the opportunity did jump in: Phoebe Ross, who had recently lost both her home and job and needed a change. Amanda Geoffrey, a transplanted Southern belle who had never really settled into Merville. Nelle Pugh, who was tired of catering to her father’s every whim. A couple of widows, Sophia Webster and Isabella Johnston, surprised her by expressing interest.
By the end of the month, four more women joined their number. The men of Angel Vale would receive the answer they had dreamed of: a bevy of mail order angels in time for Christmas.
Which man would be God’s choice for Becky?
* * *
After two weeks passed, as many of the hopeful grooms who could gathered at the Mercantile on Tuesday mornings, prepared to wait all day for the mail carrier. Jake sold a lot of snacks and drinks, and emptied his coffee urn. The men wandered the store, wondering what doodads might attract the women of Merville. Occasionally they walked the street, standing at the edge of the short downtown and staring down the road where the postal carrier would arrive.
The Fourth of July had come and gone before the letter arrived. He dug out a lilac-colored envelope, much bent in its travels. “I’ve got an envelope from Maine!”
He dangled it overhead until Jake grabbed it. “Thanks.” He refused to open the envelope and give the postman gossip to carry to the next town. The rider looked from one man to the next, waited a moment for someone to spill the beans, and then finally left.
Silence descended over the room as Jake opened the envelope with his pocketknife and pulled out several sheets of writing paper filled with perfect handwriting. It looked like a personal response. Good.
“Read it aloud and end the suspense.” Matt was tugging on his beard so fiercely, he risked yanking it out.
Jake lifted a finger, signaling them to wait, but realized that wasn’t fair. He would read it aloud.
The letter began with an introduction—how surprised they were to hear from Angel Vale, this was the first they had heard of the gold in Wyoming, and how nice to learn that a family friend had recommended Seaside Community Church in Merville. He was about to read the next words—we were intrigued by your inquiry for brides-by-mail—as he scanned ahead. Unexpected words caused him to grunt.
“Is something wrong?” Matt demanded.
“The pastor disapproves of the idea.” When the men protested, Jake said, “We knew that was a possibility. Which was part of the reason why we wrote to the Ladies’ Aid Society, but apparently the pastor read it first. Almost burned it.” He had to grin. “The pastor’s daughter rescued it, in fact. She must have a mind of her own to stand up to her father like that. The kind of woman who could make the transition to life on the frontier. “She says there is definitely interest among the ladies of the community—ten, possibly more.”
As he read the r
emainder of the letter, detailing their plan to assemble a group of several qualified women while they awaited further news from Mr. Thomas about his plans, he noticed the careful detail and precise mind of the writer. Becky Patterson—the name written with a flourish—caught Jake’s interest.
Matt, who had taken on the role of the secretary, asked, “So who wants to write the first letter?”
Jake sat back and watched the other men, seeing if anyone expressed interested in the letter writer herself.
“I’ll do it.” Isaac Baker, a former Buffalo soldier who had taken up residence in Angel Vale, reached for a sharpened pencil. He and Jake had shared their concerns about whether anyone would suit his needs. “Did they tell us anything about `the ladies who are interested?”
Are any of them like me? He heard the worry in Isaac’s voice.
Jake turned to the page behind the one with Becky’s signature. It was similar to the one the men had sent to Merville. His eyes skipped down the list, given in alphabetical order, to Becky’s paragraph. Rebecca Patterson, 26, single, keeps house for her pastor-father, interested in new adventures and a state where women are given equal rights. Looking for a man who wants an equal partner in mind and faith. His eyebrows rose. Becky Patterson sounded unlike anyone he had ever met.
“What’s got you upset?” Matt said. “What do they have to say about themselves?”
Jake cleared his throat in an effort to clear his head at the same time. “They’re all different, as we are. Let me read them to you.”
Ten women from as far east as a person could get in the United States were willing to come west to Wyoming. Their descriptions of themselves varied, from older widows to the youngest at eighteen.
As he read the descriptions, Jake saw different men nodding at the descriptions of each woman. He read the paragraphs without thought, imagining Becky Patterson in person. Was God sending a pastor’s daughter out to convince Jake he should become a pastor, since he preached whenever the regular preacher wasn’t there? Not much chance of that. God wouldn’t use a miner’s son as a minister, would he?
Christmas Mail Order Angels: The complete 11 Volume Set Page 1
