A Real Man for Ruth: a mail order bride romance

by Susan Thomas

  A Real Man for Ruth

  a mail order bride romance

  by

  Susan Thomas

  All rights reserved

  Copyright © August 2016 by Susan Thomas

  Published by LSF Publications

  http://www.lsfpublications.com/

  Cover design by Nathaniel Scott.

  Further information about Susan Thomas's ebooks can be found at:

  http://www.susanthomasstories.com/

  This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. It includes adult spanking and some sexual scenes. Any resemblance to actual persons, places or events are purely coincidental.

  This is the story of a woman who embarks on a new life with a man she grows to love. The year is 1890, and following the death of her parents, Ruth has a decision to make concerning her future. She needs a husband. The suitors in her home town in England are unsuitable and unappealing; what she wants is a real man, such as the ones in the American West she has read about in dime novels... so she emigrates to the United States to find one.

  Shortly after arriving in New York, she goes to a matrimonial agency, and after an exchange of letters, agrees to marry a man in Colorado by the name of Amos Masters. He is a handsome, masterful yet kind man, and Ruth is most impressed with the big cowboy. They marry and she happily settles down into his household. But it isn't long before she discovers Amos believes in firm discipline. Not only does he spank his sister Elizabeth, he also proposes to spank his new wife if she is disrespectful or disobedient. One of the things Ruth is not permitted to do is touch his gun collection ... but being the daughter of a gunsmith, she does exactly that. Ruth fails to inform her husband that she is a trained gunsmith, and when he discovers her capabilities during a conflict, Amos has much to be thankful for...

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Also from LSF Publications...

  Chapter 1

  I didn't cry at the funeral of my parents although I know that's what is expected. Folk wanted me to be the frail, grief-stricken daughter who couldn't cope, but I wasn't going to put on a show for them. My grief was deep and hurt in ways I never thought possible, but it was my grief and not for public display. I cannot recall anything at all about the service; I know it happened, but what the Rev. Cornflower actually said must have passed me by. Afterwards I accepted the condolences of the many mourners, but who or what they said is also gone.

  Mrs Bancroft, our kindly neighbour, had organised refreshments but I tasted nothing. I was aware of the expectations: a young woman was expected to faint or at least to require support; I did not. The malicious, of which every town has a few, whispered unpleasant comments, but I cared nothing. I was locked in my own private grief and coming to terms with the simple fact that I was all alone in the world.

  Two days later I went to see our solicitor, Mr Jarndyne. He patronisingly assumed I would be selling the gunsmiths business. In fact, I was perfectly capable of taking on the business. There was no gun in the shop I couldn't handle or repair, and that was without the help of Old Phil, the sole employee. However, although the business was profitable, father's debts had piled up. Paying the interest on his various debts was crippling and made it imperative to sell up now while a good price might be had and before the debts escalated. If I sold both the business and our small house, I could clear the debts and have a sum of money that would help me make a new start. If only father had allowed me to run the business side, then all might have been well. Guns were his passion, but he was no better a businessman than he had been a farmer. His stubborn pride had prevented him seeking any help with either.

  Much to his surprise, I refused Mr Jarndyne's help in selling the business, but I knew he wouldn't drive a hard bargain. Mr Flathers, the rather dour Yorkshireman I sold it to, expressed surprise at just how hard a bargain I did drive.

  "Lass," he said bluntly, "thou's put me through mangle... tis a pretty mangle with silk lined rollers, but a mangle nonetheless."

  With the proceeds of the sale (and the sale of the house) the debts were paid. When all was done I had a good nest egg to help me re-start my life. I took a room with Mrs Bancroft and considered my options. They were not good. To earn a respectable living is hard for a woman. I could become a teacher in a National school or one of the new Board schools but it wasn't an attractive prospect. I doubted anyone would employ me as a gunsmith; no man could take me seriously, except Old Phil, and my father of course. Realistically, unless I was to end in poverty I needed to marry.

  I did have suitors. There was Josiah Browning; he is a fat pompous man but held in high regard at the local Wesleyan Chapel, though for the life of me I can't see why. The thought of doing my duty by him in the marriage bed and bearing half a dozen fat, pompous copies of their father was just too much. Not Josiah Browning then. Peter Ashcroft was another; a nervous, shy man with a stutter but a good worker and kind. The problem with him was his mother who dominated him and was a deeply unpleasant woman. Marrying Peter would mean, in effect, marrying his mother and I knew we would be at loggerheads from the first day.

  Of course I knew where the real men were. I had been reading about them for some while. They were out in the west of the United States - pioneers, miners, Indian fighters... real strong men not pompous fat men. My father had admired many American guns and imported some. When the first case arrived, packed in among them were cheap books, many of which were tales of the West and the heroes that were taming it. My father wrote asking what their purpose was and got a kind letter back explaining they were called 'dime novels'; these were cheaply made books and discarded, or unsold ones were being used as packing in the cases. We were fascinated and I started reading them, especially the stories of the heroes of the American west, and they were indeed real men. A girl would feel it worth marrying to be married to a man like that and bear his children.

  I told Mrs Bancroft that I had decided to emigrate and where I was going to go. She is such a nice lady but was horrified, and she, and the Rev Cornflower, tried hard to dissuade me. They pointed out that I was only twenty and a young woman should not travel unescorted to the United States much less to such a dangerous place. I listened attentively and decided they were right and so advertised for a female companion anxious to emigrate. I got a reply from one Charity Granger, a Suffolk orphan, anxious to join her married sister in Ohio. I was more than satisfied with her letters and we arranged to meet in Liverpool. I bade Mrs Bancroft a fond and grateful farewell, promising I would write often.

  Charity was a sweet girl, we got on well and she agreed with the arrangements I had provisionally made. So it was we sailed on 3rd April on the White Star Line's SS Majestic; it was her maiden voyage which somehow made it more exciting. We travelled second class as neither of us could face the steerage and felt we would be more vulnerable. I was amazed that we could travel so far in just a week - but it was true... it took just one week to sail to New York. As we were second class we didn't have to go on shore to be given a medical examination and be questioned. There was the most perfunctory examination on board the ship and then we were in New York. Charity's brother in law was there to meet her and he kindly offered to help me find somewhere to stay; he was a good man and rejected several places before
helping me to get settled at a boarding house on West 31st Street. Then it was time for Charity to leave for Ohio. We both cried as we hugged goodbye and then I was truly on my own.

  I can't honestly say I liked New York, but then I don't like big cities, and as far as I could see it was much the same as Manchester or Liverpool, just bigger. I soon realised that the men of New York were no better than the ones I had left behind and then the true scale of the task I had set myself became apparent. I realised I had been very foolish and impulsive in having such a vague plan. I was rescued by an Irishwoman who put aside her dislike of the English and took pity on a young girl alone in the world.

  "Tis a real man you'll be wantin' now. Well now, all men have their failin's, real or not, and I know cos I've had t'ree of 'em but you can't just go chasin' off out West. Tis too dangerous for a lass. There always was a shortage of wimmenfolk out that way especially after their war and men began advertising. It may be the 1890s but tis still true but you don't answer dose advert-ise-ments. I know a lady wot does that sort o' t'ing for ye. She's wot dey call a matrialmonal agency. She makes sure the men are wot dey say and the wimmen too cos our own sex is no better den the men and many o' 'em tell lies demselves."

  Sinead escorted me to the bureau of one Mrs Rebecca Solomons where my photograph was taken and a description written, and Mrs Solomons promised she would soon have some men anxious to marry me. She promised they would be real men of the tough, hardy, pioneer sort, and that I was the ideal wife. She said I was pretty, intelligent and having the background I came from made me perfect. I never saw what she wrote, which looking back was probably a mistake.

  ---oOo---

  I'd gone to town to get supplies when Mr Andersen waved me over because there was a letter for me. I saw without opening that it was from Mrs Solomons and tried not to get my hopes up; I have had so many unsuitable women suggested for me.

  I waited until I got back and had some moments of leisure before opening it. Mrs Solomons had included a photograph on stiff cardboard... something new for her, and indeed this was a very pretty young woman. I began to read: the subject was one Ruth Warton, aged twenty years and an orphan. She was from Lancashire in England. That did not make me happy; I know Lancashire is where they make all those cotton goods and the last thing I wanted was some mill girl with her rough manners and knowing nothing of farm life. I read on and realised I had been too quick to judge; she was a farm girl in origin though her father had sold up and ran some sort of business before he and his wife were killed when their gig overturned in bad weather. Mrs Solomons didn't say what the business was so I assumed it was not relevant. She was educated, a good Christian woman, as I specified, and able to cook and sew. A letter from her was included. I was impressed with the letter. It was well written and in a fair hand, making it clear she was not afraid of hard work. I wrote back immediately.

  In my letter I told her that I was not expecting her to live in some rough cabin in the wilderness. We are now quite advanced here in Colorado and I am not a poor man, although I like to live simply, so no dowry was required. I described the property, leaving out my current problems with the mine owners, and also explained about Elizabeth, but that once she was nineteen she would be marrying and leaving our home. It took only one exchange of letters for her to agree to become my wife. I was overjoyed; although it is not as bad as in the early days of this state, there is still a shortage of eligible women in these parts. Although I have Elizabeth, and many people working for me, I am lonely and in need of a wife. Apart from anything else I want children, and Miss Warton made it clear she understood that expectation and welcomed it.

  I arranged that she be able to draw money for her journey from a bank in New York and explained that I was unable to spare the time to travel to that city to escort her but that perhaps she might employ a woman to accompany her. I also sent her detailed guidance on how to make the journey and promised I would meet her in Denver. I directed that she travel to Chicago by train where she could stay overnight or perhaps two or three nights to refresh herself. Then she could take trains to Denver. I advised her to ask in Chicago whether she would need to change anywhere on the route. Once in Denver I instructed her to check in to the Albany Hotel on the corner of 17th and Stout Streets and I would meet her there. I calculated the fastest journey time and wrote to the hotel, booking a double room for her from that date so there would be no problem when she arrived. I then wrote to the minister of the Trinity Methodist and Episcopal Church in Denver, informing him of our forthcoming marriage and enclosing a letter of recommendation from our own Pastor Brown. A deep feeling of happiness came over me once those letters were dispatched.... my days of loneliness were coming to an end.

  Finally, I set off for Denver and my bride to be. My foreman, Peter, was more than capable of managing, and I left Martha in charge of Elizabeth and little Annie. I know the women are all anxious about how Ruth will be. A new wife can sow a great deal of dissension in a house and that is something I would have to manage.

  When I arrived in Denver I took a room at another hotel until our marriage had been celebrated and I could at last be with Ruth. I then sent a message to the Albany and made my way to the lobby where I waited. I was extremely nervous. Would she be like her photograph? Was she a shrill, contentious woman? Why had she come all this way to be married? And, most of concern to me, how would she take to the marriage bed? She had not actually said she was a virgin, but I had assumed it, and I had never been with an inexperienced woman before.

  Then I saw the receptionist point in my direction for I had told him I was waiting for Miss Warton. A young woman began walking in my direction; she walked straight up to me. I could tell she was nervous but composed all the same.

  "Mr Masters?"

  She was looking directly at me, her chin was up, and I could see she was being very brave. She was indeed an exceptionally pretty young woman but not a weak one. Then her eyes met mine... such eyes; deep large pools of sheer beauty ... and the colour! There is no other way to describe her eyes other than violet. I did not know such a colour existed in an eye, and maybe there is some trick of light that turns blue eyes violet, but that is how they appear to me.

  Chapter 2

  The journey to Colorado was long and tedious. Sinead, my Irish friend, didn't think I needed anyone to escort me, and indeed she was right. Everyone was civil and courteous the whole journey long. Chicago was a fine city as cities go but I only stayed the one night. When I finally reached Denver I was stunned... it was the first city I had ever been to that was truly quite attractive: spacious, with wide boulevards and many fine buildings. I was conveyed to the Albany and entered through a corner entrance under a striped awning. I was most impressed with the hotel and the room Mr Masters had booked for me. I went hot when I realised it was a double room and he intended this to be for our wedding night.

  The thought of my wedding night brought out a host of worries. One of the principal ones was how did a man actually consummate a marriage? Having been brought up in a farming area I wasn't ignorant. I'd seen a bull servicing cows and a stallion the mares. I knew that men had very similar equipment, although I'd never seen one ... but how did they do it? Did I have to get on all fours like an animal? The thought of all that made me go first hot and then cold. I also had another worry... undressing in front of him.

  My father had a friend who'd been a Navy doctor but was now a successful writer. Many of his books were for ordinary households on how to live a healthy life. He had a strong influence on my father; girls should have lots of exercise... so I was encouraged to climb trees, ride horses and walk long distances. Influenced by his friend, my father also refused to allow me to wear corsets, much to my mother's great annoyance. As a consequence, I had never worn corsets and had none now. My father's friend had been adamant that they did terrible things to a girl's insides ... but would Mr Masters expect his wife to wear them? Should I rush out to one of the many fine shops in Denver and buy some? In the end
I decided to do so would be to pretend I was someone I really wasn't. Then a message arrived to say that Mr Masters, my future husband, was awaiting me in the lobby.

  I controlled my panic, and, with my heart beating rapidly, made my way down and asked at reception for him. I followed the pointing finger and walked toward him, though how I did so I have no idea for a huge wave of nervousness washed over me. Then I saw him for the first time. Somehow he made the lobby seem small. He was the very largest man I have ever met. He was well over six feet in height with very broad shoulders and I felt he could quite pick me up with one hand and hold me there without giving it much thought. His brown hair was really quite short and inclined to be wavy. To my surprise he had neither beard nor moustache, but a firm straight nose with blue eyes that looked quite kindly. The strength of his jaw told me he was not a man to be trifled with.

  Mr Masters, or Amos, as he immediately insisted I call him, was really thoughtful. He had arranged for us to spend a day together before our marriage, as well as a few days afterwards, and explained that he had left his sister at home so that I would have a few days to adjust before being thrust headlong into his household. He wondered if I needed to buy a wedding dress, but I explained I had made mine before leaving England, and so we spent a delightful day exploring Denver.

  I was most impressed with him; Masters by name and masterful by nature. Everyone seemed to quite naturally do as he wanted, quickly and eagerly, and yet there was nothing threatening about him. He just had this tremendous air of authority. He was also immensely strong. Two men in the hotel lobby were moving a safe on a dolly when somehow they tipped it over and the safe slid off and on to its side. They couldn't lift it back up but Amos walked across, bent his legs, grasped the safe with both arms and lifted it straight back on to the dolly without any apparent effort. Everyone in the lobby gasped in astonishment and I received many envious glances from women. I felt my long journey to be justified; here was a real man indeed.