by Kit Morgan
The Easter
Mail-Order Bride
by
Kit Morgan
ANGEL CREEK PRESS
The Easter Mail-Order Bride
(Holiday Mail-Order Brides, Book Eleven)
by Kit Morgan
© 2015 Kit Morgan
Other titles by Kit Morgan:
The Holiday Mail-Order Bride Series:
The Christmas Mail-Order Bride (Holiday Mail-Order Brides, Book One)
The New Year’s Bride (Holiday Mail-Order Brides, Book Two)
His Forever Valentine (Holiday Mail-Order Brides, Book Three)
Her Irish Surrender (Holiday Mail-Order Brides, Book Four)
The Springtime Mail-Order Bride (Holiday Mail-Order Brides, Book Five)
Love in Independence (Holiday Mail-Order Brides, Book Six)
Love at Harvest Moon (Holiday Mail-Order Brides, Book Seven)
The Holiday Mail-Order Bride (Holiday Mail-Order Brides, Book Nine)
The Thanksgiving Mail-Order Bride (Holiday Mail-Order Brides, Book Eight)
His Mail-Order Valentine (Holiday Mail-Order Brides, Book Ten)
Prairie Grooms:
August (Prairie Grooms, Book One)
Ryder (Prairie Grooms, Book Two)
Seth (Prairie Grooms, Book Three)
Chase (Prairie Grooms, Book Four)
Levi (Prairie Grooms, Book Five)
Bran (Prairie Grooms, Book Six)
Amon (Prairie Grooms, Book Seven – coming 2015)
The Prairie Groom (with Geralyn Beauchamp – coming 2015)
The Prairie Bride Series:
His Prairie Princess (Prairie Brides, Book One)
Her Prairie Knight (Prairie Brides, Book Two)
His Prairie Duchess (Prairie Brides, Book Three)
Her Prairie Viking (Prairie Brides, Book Four)
His Prairie Sweetheart (Prairie Brides, Book Five)
Her Prairie Outlaw (Prairie Brides, Book Six)
Christmas in Clear Creek (Prairie Brides, Book Seven)
The Escape: A Mail-Order Bride Romance (Dalton Brides, Prologue – with Kirsten Osbourne, Cassie Hayes)
The Rancher’s Mail-Order Bride (Dalton Brides, Book One – with Kirsten Osbourne)
The Cowboy’s Mail-Order Bride (Dalton Brides, Book Two)
The Drifter’s Mail-Order Bride (Dalton Brides, Book Three – with Cassie Hayes)
Percy’s Unexpected Bride
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without permission in writing from the publisher.
All characters are fictional. Any resemblances to actual people are purely coincidental.
Cover design by Angel Creek Press, The Killion Group and Hotdamndesigns.com
License Notes
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Table of Contents
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Epilogue
To my beautiful daughter Hana, who adds such adventure to my life! Thank you!
Prologue
Independence, Oregon, February 1872, in the dark of the night …
A lone figure slipped down the alley behind the buildings on one side of Main Street, stopped and listened.
Nothing, not a sound … well, nothing human anyway. Just the occasional hoot from an owl that liked to perch atop Tindle’s Mercantile. The figure hurried to the back of the post office, glanced this way and that to make sure the coast was clear, and, knowing the back door of the building would be unlocked (for who in Independence would ever think of stealing the mail?) quietly opened the door and went inside.
“Whew … so far, so good.” The cloaked figure was nothing more than a shadow in the dark, and had to feel around to find what was needed. “Ah, here they are!” A stamp was licked and pressed onto an envelope.
The sound of a cat meowing outside the back door caught the intruder’s attention. The cloak whirled as the figure spun at the sound, then realized what it was and, breathing a sigh of relief, got back to work. After searching for the second item needed – the mailbag for the morning stage – the envelope was stuffed into it and the figure turned to leave.
“Oh, almost forgot!” Turning back, the figure pulled money for the stamp out of a pocket and placed it on the counter.
Little did the town of Independence know that another mail-order bride was about to arrive in their midst …
One
Independence, Oregon, Easter Sunday, 1872
Jess Templeton coughed and sneezed. A succession of “bless yous” surrounded him, and he gave a quick nod of thanks to those nearby.
Unfortunately, his coughing didn't stop. He covered his mouth with his hand, hoping to suppress it, but it was no use. He was about to go into a full-blown fit.
“For Heaven's sake, Jess,” his mother hissed next to him, “take that cough of yours and go outside. When it calms down, come back.” She studied him, his face red from the effort it took not to let it erupt again. “Or if you're feeling that poorly, son, why don’t you go on home?”
Silently he nodded his agreement, got up and left the pew. Just as well for those attending that morning. Easter Sunday meant the church was bursting at the seams with people. Those who didn't attend services on a regular basis for whatever reason were all there to celebrate the day of the risen Lord. He wished he could stay, but obviously couldn't.
As soon as he was in the aisle, a woman standing near the back of the church slipped forward and into the pew to take his seat. At least she was able to sit down. From what he could see she'd been the only woman standing – the rest were men. It made him feel less guilty for having to leave.
Once outside, he pulled a small handkerchief from his pocket, unfolded it, took one of the peppermint candies he’d kept there and popped it into his mouth. He sucked hard and rolled it around with his tongue so the peppermint would have a chance to calm his burning throat. He hated being sick, and it was rotten luck that it was on today of all days.
With a shiver he pulled his coat more tightly around him and began to walk toward town. His family’s farm was on the other side of Independence, and he knew it might be a few hours before his mother and father returned home after services, since they were having Easter supper with the Rudshaws. If he didn’t get a lot better all of a sudden, he was going to miss that too.
He got to Main Street just as the stage rolled in. It came twice on weekdays, once on Saturdays and Sundays, and didn’t take holidays, not even Easter. He watched it pull up in front of the mercantile
“Jess Templeton!” a voice snapped.
Jess jumped and turned. Mahulda Brock was staring at him disapprovingly. “Mrs. Brock,” he croaked. “Why aren’t you in church?”
“I might ask the same of you! But if you must know, I was tending to Mrs. Tindle. She's got a nasty cough and couldn't attend services this morning, poor thing.”
Jess c
oughed and cast a nervous glance toward the stage. “I know just how she feels. I had to leave the service to keep from disrupting it. I'm headed home now.”
Mrs. Brock’s face softened. “I see. Well, don't let me stop you. And for Heaven’s sake, once you’re home stay there until you get well! None of the rest of us need to catch what you’ve got! It's bad enough poor Martha has it. Thank heavens she has Morgan and Daisy to run the mercantile until she recovers.”
“Yes … cough … isn't it? Good day.” He turned and looked just as a passenger disembarked. “Who's that?” He turned to Mrs. Brock as if she knew. “Is someone in town expecting company?”
“So what if they are?” she snapped.
“But who has company arrive on Easter Sunday?” Jess pointed out.
Mrs. Brock’s face scrunched up as she peered down the street at the newcomer. “Either someone with very bad planning or … oh no, it couldn't be! Not again!”
“What? What’s wrong?” Jess asked in alarm.
Mrs. Brock looked at him in shock. “It's a girl!”
Now Jess squinted to get a good look. “So what does that have to do with any …” His eyes suddenly went wide. “Oh!”
“Exactly! I bet the mad matchmaker has struck again! Why else would a young woman be arriving on Easter? It's time we got to the bottom of this!” With that, she lifted her skirts and hurried down the street toward the stage.
The young woman was looking around as if confused, and Jess figured she must be looking for whoever was to meet her. Of course, there was no one but him and Mrs. Brock on the street, unless you counted Mrs. Tindle upstairs in the mercantile. The rest of the town was in church.
“Young woman!” Mrs. Brock called. “I say, you there!”
The girl turned, as did the stagecoach driver – who wouldn't, with the way Mrs. Brock was racing down the street like a charging bull? The driver, recognizing who she was, quickly handed the young woman her satchel and scrambled back up onto the wagon seat. “Good morning, Mrs. Brock, and happy Easter,” he called with a quick tip of his hat.
She ignored him and went straight to the girl who now stood wide-eyed, her satchel in hand. “Young lady,” she began as she gasped for breath. “Might I inquire as to what you are doing here?”
The girl studied her, then caught sight of Jess making his way toward them, with much less force than Mrs. Brock had. “Well …” the girl replied in a shaky voice, “I'm waiting for my … er, friend to meet me.”
“Your friend wasn't very considerate, having you come to town on Easter Sunday during church services, were they?” Mrs. Brock huffed.
The driver of the stagecoach cast the young woman a worried glance before slapping the horses with the reins to get them moving. The stage lurched forward and started down the street. The girl stared after it as if she'd just been abandoned.
“Might we be of help?” Jess rasped. He continued to suck hard on his peppermint and prayed he didn't start coughing again. He didn't think it would be very nice to make a spectacle of himself, nor expose the woman and Mrs. Brock to his cold. Besides, the girl was very pretty. She was wearing a purple bonnet, white shawl and lilac-colored dress. And by golly if her eyes didn't match her outfit – they were violet! He'd never seen such eyes before. He swallowed hard and tried not to start sputtering and hacking again.
“Miss?” Mrs. Brock urged. “Didn't you hear what the young man said? Can we be of help?”
The girl looked this way and that. “Well, to tell you the truth, I'm … I'm not here to meet just a friend.”
Mrs. Brock looked right at Jess and gave him a slow nod. “Just as I thought.” She gave her attention back to the young woman. “And whom may we ask are you here to meet?”
“My … betrothed.”
“I knew it!” Mrs. Brock cried, causing the girl to jump. “We've got another one!”
“Now wait a minute, Mrs. Brock,” Jess said and held up a hand to quiet her. “Don't go jumping to conclusions. Did it ever occur to you that maybe someone other than the mad matchmaker sent for her?”
The girl's eyes widened. “Mad matchmaker?”
“Yes! This town keeps getting brides that no one sent for!” Mrs. Brock barked. “It's indecent, I tell you, indecent!”
“Sounds more like inconvenient to me,” the girl said as she paled.
“Quite right,” Jess agreed. “Especially for the bride.”
“Not to mention the rest of the town!” Mrs. Brock added. “Tell us who you are and who’s your intended?”
The girl swallowed hard. “My name is Sarah Grace. And my intended's name is Jess Templeton.”
* * *
“What?!” the man and woman exclaimed.
Sarah's eyes got wider. Her heart went to her throat and her stomach felt like it had just dropped into her knees. Why were they acting so strangely? And why did the stage leave in such a hurry? What kind of place was this?
She knew she shouldn’t have left New Orleans, but what choice did she have? There was nothing left for her in the war-torn city. There weren't any decent men left in Louisiana for her to marry – they'd all been killed in the war or had headed west to go tame the wild frontier. And their places had been taken by plenty of indecent men. After her father's recent passing, she’d been left with very little money. Becoming a mail-order bride was her best chance at survival.
“Are you sure?” asked the woman.
Sarah stared at her. The two had stopped gaping at her in open-mouthed shock and were now looking her up and down. “Is there a problem?” She had a horrible thought: oh, please don't let them say that he's died! She was told of such tragedies by several other mail-order brides she’d met along the way to Oregon.
“I'd say there might be,” the man said, before coughing several times. “Excuse me,” he finally sputtered, “but who did you say?”
The woman smacked him on the arm. “You heard her well enough the first time! And judging from the look on your face, I'm right!”
“Right about what?” Sarah asked.
The man coughed a few more times. “She's talking about … cough … the mad matchmaker.”
“I don't understand,” Sarah said. “Mad matchmaker? Are you telling me someone sent for me that wasn't my intended?”
“That's exactly what he's saying! It's time to bring the sheriff into this!” the woman huffed.
“It's time to bring my parents into this,” the man croaked. “Maybe they got it into their heads to send for you.”
Sarah shook her own head in confusion. “I'm sorry, but I'm not following you at all. I just want to find Jess Templeton, my intended.”
The man coughed again and tried to smile at her. “You don't have to look very far, ma'am. He's right here.”
Sarah glanced around. “What?”
“You heard him!” The woman snapped. “He's right here!”
“Where?” Sarah asked, totally confused at this point. Unless … She turned and stared at the man. “Oh no …”
“Oh yes,” they said in unison.
Now it was Sarah's turn to gawk, and not just out of shock. The man was strikingly handsome, true … but if they were saying what she thought they were, he had no idea she was coming today, or at all. “Oh dear me,” she said with a sigh. “This won't do, this won't do at all …”
“I'm afraid I am Jess Templeton,” he said, then doubled over in a horrible coughing fit.
“Oh dear, are you all right?” Sarah asked, wondering if it would be impolite to step away from him. Far away.
He nodded, turned and coughed again.
“He was heading home to bed,” the woman stated as she took a few steps back. “And he'd best get away from the both of us or we’ll get sick too, no doubt!”
Mr. Templeton held up his hand again and nodded as he tried to still his coughing. “It's … true … cough … I am on my way home …”
“What a mess!” Mrs. Brock lamented. “Now what are we going to do? She can’t very well go home wit
h you!”
Mr. Templeton shook his head and looked helplessly at Sarah. “I'm so sorry, Miss … Miss …”
“Grace,” Sarah offered. The poor man was so sick he couldn’t even remember her name. “I'm sorry too.”
She glanced around. What was she to do? Where was she to go? She didn’t have the money to stay here on her own, or the money to go back either, if that had been her inclination. The other mail-order brides on the train had told her horror story after horror story of women left stranded and alone in some strange city because their intended decided they didn't want them after all. The tales of destitution and despair hit her all at once and she willed herself not to cry. She’d never been the adventurous sort, and she now felt especially helpless and alone.
“You get on home, young man!” Mrs. Brock ordered as she grabbed Sarah by the arm. “The last thing this poor child needs is to get whatever you’ve got! Pretty soon we’ll have an epidemic!”
“But what about her?” Mr. Templeton asked, holding his arm in front of his face in case of another fit.
“I’ll see to her. And you’d better hope and pray we can straighten out this mess! Just wait until your folks find out!”
“Mrs. Brock,” he said as he pulled his arm away and swallowed hard. “How do you know they didn't send for her in the first place?”
“Well, if they did, why aren’t they here to meet her?” she pointed out.
“Oh yes, quite right.” His face contorted with the effort of not hacking again. “I'm sorry, Miss Grace, really, I am … but I must be going. I'm sure Mrs. Brock will take good care of you.”
Sarah could only nod. She felt numb as she stared across the street at nothing in particular.
