Chapter 10
"Mr. Bolton?" I said hopefully as I approached the handsome young man smiling at me.
"No, Miss, I'm James Turner. Mr. Bolton requested I meet you. He has been delayed preparing the home for your arrival."
The momentary flicker of disappointment I had felt when I heard he was not my Mr. Bolton disappeared and was replaced by a thrill at the thought of him working so hard to get his home—what would soon be our home—ready for me. I allowed Mr. Turner to pick up my trunks and followed him through the station toward a waiting carriage.
"Do you know Mr. Bolton well?" I asked, hoping to glean some information from him that may prepare me more for meeting my future husband.
Mr. Turner shook his head as he helped the carriage driver secure my trunk to the cargo shelf on the back of the carriage and tucked my bag inside where it would sit at my feet.
"I'm afraid not, Miss. I am fairly new to these parts."
"Then how did he ask you to meet me?" I asked, confused.
"I'm the sheriff. Everybody knows where to find me. He sent one of his farmhands to the jailhouse to ask that I see you safely off of the train while I was on my rounds. He showed me your picture so that I would know how to recognize you."
He gave me a soft smile and I felt a touch of heat burn across my cheeks as I glanced away, suddenly shy.
"So you will not be riding with me?" I asked.
"No. I have to complete my rounds. The driver has been given clear instructions to bring you right to Mr. Bolton's sister Eloise's house." Mr. Turner formed an expression on his face as if he had suddenly remembered something important and reached into his vest pocket. Withdrawing a folded piece of paper, he handed it to me, "The farmhand gave me this to pass along to you."
He helped me into the carriage and stepped back, tipping his hat.
"It was nice to meet you, Miss Adams. Welcome to Oregon."
"Thank you," I said as the carriage lurched and we pulled away from the station.
Chapter 11
Dear Miss Adams,
I am so sorry I was unable to meet you at the station today. There were a few things I needed to take care of before I could welcome you home. I am having the carriage driver bring you to my sister's house and I will meet you there later. We have much to discuss.
Affectionately,
Ezra Bolton
I had read the note many times, my mind entertaining me with thoughts of finally meeting Mr. Bolton and hearing the question I knew was coming, when I heard the thunder of hooves pounding into the ground. The carriage jolted to a stop and the horses whinnied loudly. I grabbed onto the side of the carriage to hold myself in place, the letter falling from my hand onto the floor.
"What's happening?" the man sitting on the seat across from me demanded.
I pushed aside the curtain and looked out the window. A cold shock of fear stabbed through my heart as I saw four horses surrounding the carriage. The riders wore cloths over their faces, but even at a distance I could see fire in their eyes.
"Driver, get down and get the passengers out of the carriage," one of the men shouted.
The driver hesitated and I saw the glint of gun in the man's hand as he raised it to threaten the driver. I felt the carriage tremble and saw the driver jump down. He came around to the side of the carriage and pulled the door open.
"Everyone out," he demanded in a shaky voice.
I climbed out first, feeling the other three push past me as they scrambled to comply with the bandits who glared down at us. My stomach shook and I felt tears threatening my eyes.
Two of the men climbed down off of their horses and started pulling luggage off of the carriage, allowing the trunks to break open so that they could rummage through what was inside. I watched out of the corner of my eye as they filled bags with items and then returned to their horses to tie the bags to the animals' necks.
The man who had been yelling at the driver climbed slowly down from his horse and approached the carriage. I saw him reach for my trunk.
"No!" I screamed before I could stop the word from falling from my lips.
Chapter 12
Dear Jane,
I hope that this letter finds you well and happy with your gentleman. I am writing to you from my honeymoon. It has been such a whirlwind since I arrived. My dear Ezra and I married the evening we arrived in Oregon and I have been blissful since. I only pray that you have found even half as much happiness as I have.
All my love,
Rebecca
I continued to fight the tears in my eyes as I finished the letter and handed it to the man in front of me. I thought of Father and the strength and courage he showed on the battlefield. He would not have cried as he faced down the enemy, so I would not cry as I faced down the villainous man who now smirked as he read the lines I had written. Only the shakiness of my handwriting would show my emotion.
"Your words are just as sweet as your letters to me," Ezra taunted, "I feel less special."
He gave a short, spiteful laugh and folded the letter, walking out of the tent where I sat. My mind was reeling. Everything had happened so quickly and I was still trying to process it. One moment I was standing beside the carriage, asking the men to let me go, explaining that I was on my way to get married. The next moment, one of the men had scooped me off of my feet and put me back in the carriage, joining me as another jumped onto the driver's seat and forced the horses forward.
That had been three days before and I had still not spoken a word. I felt like he had stolen them all from me. This was Ezra, the man who I had opened up to and been so willing to give my heart. It had all been a lie, a creative ruse crafted by a vicious bandit set on using me so he could integrate himself into the wagon trains without detection. Posing as a happily married man would allow him to gain the trust of the others on the trains, putting him in the perfect position to rob them.
It was painful staying there with him. Not physically painful, for he had done nothing to hurt my body, but my heart ached. I was mourning the loss of the man I thought I had found, of the future I thought I had in front of me, and the trust I thought I could give to him. I wanted to run, but I didn’t know where I was. I wanted to escape, but I didn't have anything to return to.
Chapter 13
"I will not marry you," I said through gritted teeth.
They were the first words I had spoken to him and I vowed that they would be the last if that was what it came to. He reached for me and I stepped backwards, tensing as I avoided his hands. I knew I would not be able to fight him off. He was far larger and stronger than me, and if he was to get his hands on me, I would have no chance at protecting myself.
My eyes flickered over his shoulder to the flap of the tent and I braced myself. Ezra stepped toward me again and I bent out of the way, dipping beneath his extended arm to run past him and out of the tent. I could hear him shouting to the other men, but I didn't stop. He had removed my shoes the first day after taking me from the carriage and the ground bit into my bare feet.
Gathering my skirt in my hands, I pushed myself forward, not letting the fear building in my chest force me to look back to see if they were chasing me. Suddenly, I heard a shot cut through the air, shattering my concentration. I closed my eyes and waited for the impact, but what I felt was my body slam into something warm and hard.
I stumbled back, still squeezing my eyes closed against the terror that might await me if I opened them, and felt strong hands wrap around my upper arms to stabilize me before I could fall. I screamed and lifted my hands to fight, but whoever held me stayed strong and continued to hold me in place until I calmed.
"Miss Adams!"
A vaguely familiar voice cut through the panic filling my mind. For a moment, I thought it was my father, his voice speaking to me through the unimaginable distance that separated us to give me strength and soothe me. I heard it again, however, and heard the difference. Where my father's voice had been rough and smoky, this voice was smooth an
d warm, flowing over me like water.
I opened my eyes and saw James Turner staring back at me.
"Mr. Turner," I said, and suddenly felt my knees buckle under me.
The sheriff swept an arm under me to support me, drawing me close to him to keep me from falling again.
"You're safe," he said to me, keeping his voice low and quiet as if forcing me to concentrate on the sound so that I would not be able to focus on my fear, or on the sounds of men's screams and whinnying horses behind me.
Chapter 14
August, 1866
Dear Diary,
I will never cease to wonder on how quickly life can change. It seems like only a moment and everything is different. What you thought would happen will never be, and what has happened can never be again.
I am recognizing this now more than ever. It seems I was so excited to leave Boston and start anew in Oregon, that I did not give myself the time to truly see what was happening. I ignored everything that should have told me that Ezra Bolton was not who he presented himself to be. He did not want a happy, supportive partnership. He wanted a foil to grant him access to even more riches to plunder from people whose trust he stole.
Even my resentment toward him, however, has not made me completely bitter. I have found that some men are exactly as they seem to be; gentle, caring, strong, and protective. Namely, James Turner.
After he took me away from Mr. Bolton's camp, James, for that is what I call him now, told me that he had been suspicious of Mr. Bolton from the moment he saw the farmhand who came to request for the sheriff to meet me at the station. He strongly resembled the sketch of a man wanted in a nearby town for robbing carriages and wagon trains. He stayed close by while we loaded the carriage and then followed us, witnessing the entire robbery.
He says that he did not intervene because he saw no one injured and wanted to wait until he could organize his men to take down the entire band at once. For five days, he followed us, watching them carefully to ensure that I was safe. He told me he promised me in his heart that if he feared for a moment of the men were mistreating me, he would have taken them all himself.
Something has come over me, Diary, but I am afraid to put my voice to it. It has been more than a month since he rescued me from Bolton and the other men, and I have been living in the hotel, going through the money I brought with me while I try to decide what to do. Part of me thinks that I should go home, but a much stronger part says that something is keeping me right here.
I hope that the right part wins out.
--Rebecca
I had just closed my diary when I heard a soft rapping at the door to my hotel room. It was too early in the evening for supper and I was expecting no visitors, so I was nervous as I approached the door.
"Rebecca?"
My heart soared as I heard James's voice coming through the door to me. I opened the door and smiled at him. He would not enter. It wouldn’t have been proper for him to come into my room unaccompanied. Instead, I followed him downstairs onto the large front porch of the hotel and sat beside him on a bench.
Together we stared out at the dusty town. This was so far from what I had imagined Oregon would be like, and I found myself wondering if Jane was having the same experiences as me. I hadn't heard from her and I hoped that she was doing well wherever she had gone.
"The weather will be getting cold soon," James said.
I nodded. There was already a soft chill in the air at night and I knew that the days would soon grow shorter and darker.
"It will."
"I suppose you will want to be returning to Boston before too long. You can't stay in the hotel forever, and Oregon winters can be challenging."
Tears stung in my eyes, but yet again, I fought them.
"I don’t know if I that is what I want," I told him.
"I know that you didn't get what you wanted when you came here."
I felt my heart constrict.
"I was silly and overzealous. I am glad I didn't marry Ezra Bolton."
James handed me the newspaper he had been holding since he came to my door.
"I thought you might like to see the paper," he said, "Just in case you would like to try again."
"Oh, James, thank you," I started, ready to tell him that I didn't want to look at another advertisement, when one in particular caught my eye.
I held the page slightly closer to make sure that I was reading it properly.
Lonely Sheriff Seeks Wife. I rescued you once, now will you rescue me?
I lifted my eyes from the paper and saw James smiling at me. My tears finally slipped free, but they were not of pain, sadness, or anger; these were tears of pure, unfettered joy.
My hand touched James's cheek and he pressed a tender kiss to my palm.
I had finally found my new beginning.
THE END
Mail Order Bride: Rose’s Story
Sisters Of Boston
Charity Phillips
Mail Order Bride: Rose's Story
Boston, 1865
Rose knows that her three sisters are eager to get out of Boston; Rose, however, is not convinced by their plan.
She does not like the idea of responding to the advertisements and feels that if she had the opportunity, she could make it on her own in the city. She was always more interested in the salons and businesses than courtships and marriage, anyway.
When her sisters make it clear that they won’t stand for her not joining them in Oregon, however, Rose has to decide how she can stay true to herself but not let down the only family she has left?
Chapter 1
December, 1865
Dear Diary,
Christmas is never going to be the same again. There. I finally said it. I have been trying to deny it for many months now, but now that I am sitting here watching the snow fall outside of the window and I can hear the faint sound of jingle bells in the distance from where someone is taking an afternoon sleigh ride, I feel like I do not have any other option but to finally come to terms with it.
I do not know how any of us are going to get through another year without Father, especially now that we are all having to really deal with the fact that we will never have him home for Christmas again. In the past, when we thought that he was just fighting at least we could spend our lonely Christmases thinking about him and dreaming of a future year when the War would be over and he would be home with us again where he belonged. This year, though, we do not have the luxury of thinking that.
All of the Christmas decorations I see everywhere seem like they are tormenting me. I know that sounds ridiculous and that the world is not really trying to make things more difficult for us, but sometimes I feel like everywhere I look I am reminded of Father, and of Adam, and of all of the young men who went off to fight and never came home to celebrate Christmas with their families again. Every time I see the snow I think about how the men must suffer while they are on the snowy battlefields with nothing to protect them from the snow. Every time I see bells I am reminded of the metal of their guns. And every time I see the red ribbons I used to think so gay and beautiful, all I can think of is blood.
I wish that I could be back when I was a little child and would spend the winter evenings sitting on Father's knee reading books beside the fireplace. My sisters always wanted to play with their dolls or work on their samplers when the weather got cold and the days grew shorter, but not me. As soon as the day's work was over, I was with Father listening to him read, or tell me about his day, or talk to me about things that the other young ladies in society would never discuss, such as business and politics.
Father always understood me. Oftentimes I felt like he was the only one in the world who really did. Do not get me wrong, Diary, I adore my sisters and would never want to spend a single day of my life without one of them, but I have always been so different from the three of them. While they concerned themselves with gowns and balls and finding a beau to court, I was eager to attend the salons with Father a
nd engage in the conversations. Even when I was too young to be a part of them myself, I would try to sneak into the room whenever Father had friends over just so I could listen.
It is not that I never want to get married. In truth, I just never really think about it. I always assumed that there would be a time when I would meet a gentleman at one of the salons or that somehow my dream of going to college one day would actually become a reality and I would find a man there who could keep my mind interested. I always thought it would just happen and I could worry about it when it did.
Then Father died and the whole world changed in the instant that it took to read the letter. Suddenly nothing was about my future anymore. I had to change my entire perspective of my life and step as much as I could into Father's role for my sisters. Of course, I was not able to step into his role in his business, and that put a tremendous amount of stress on me. I wanted to be able to bring in an income for my sisters, but that would not be an option for me.
What I can do for them is to be strong. I do not let them see my emotions or show that I am still so deep in my grieving. Instead, I stay calm and quiet, and give them the support they need as they express themselves. Sometimes I feel as though it is the most difficult challenge I have ever faced. There are times when all I want to do is lie on my bed and cry. I wish more than anything I could sit on my father's knee again and listen to him talk.
Brides of Grasshopper Creek Page 41
