by Natalie Dean
That’s what she told herself the entire time the ocean tossed her back and forth. She’d scrounged up anything she could find about the great state of Colorado and used it to distract herself from the sea sickness. The only things she’d managed to find were small publications and pamphlets about the gold rush, but it gave her hope. Maybe the men out West were just as wealthy as the men in New York.
When the ship finally landed, she was surprised to be in Boston. She wanted to explore the city, but there was no time. She and her trunk were tossed onto a train where she sat squeezed between two exhausted-looking women and their crying babies. She’d gotten a glimpse of the bustling streets through the window before the train took off, but that was as close as she got to the city.
The train took her West, making a brief stop in Chicago. It was a city she’d never heard of, but it seemed to be rather large. She stepped off the train to get a better look, but when a fight broke out in the center of town, she started to rethink her adventurous desires. Then, one of the men was shot in the chest and left dead on the streets. She was a gutsy girl, but she wasn’t stupid. She got back on the train and waited for it to keep moving.
When they finally arrived in Colorado, she stumbled off the train, holding her hat as the spring wind picked up, threatening to lift her skirts, and take her brand-new hat. People filed off the train and went into the train depot.
She expected to see a man waiting for her, but the few people who were in the depot were either exiting or getting on the train. A man was sitting at a table near the door, his glasses settled at the tip of his nose as he thumbed through a newspaper. Bridget walked over to the table, dragging the heavy trunk behind her.
“Excuse me, Sir.”
The man glanced up, looking annoyed that she’d dare interrupt him. “Yes?”
She tossed him her best charming smile. “I was hoping you could help me?”
“With what?” he didn’t so much as glance up at her.
“I came here from England. A gentleman sent for me, and I don’t even have his name.”
“Ah. You came with the new batch of brides?”
Her face screwed in confusion, but she nodded. “Yes.”
“Name?”
“Bridget Collins.”
He picked up his pencil and ran it down a clipboard, finally tapping a spot on the clipboard. “Ah. You ain’t Bridget Collins anymore. You’re Bridget McCree, and you live south of town.”
“McCree?”
“Yeah. Your husband is Jack McCree. Good luck,” he snorted, going back to his newspaper.
She set her mouth in a thin line and put a hand on the table, leaning against it heavily. “And which way is south of town?”
“South.”
“Does it look like I have a compass?” she snapped, more than annoyed with the wiry old man in front of her.
“Leave the depot and go left. Walk down the road about four miles, and it’ll be the only house on your left.”
“Walk?!”
“I’m sorry ma’am, should I order a carriage for you?”
Bridget was taken aback by the man’s sheer audacity, but she was in a new place, and it was evident that her charm wasn’t going to get her far with this man. She grabbed her trunk and dragged it outside, pulling it along the long dirt road. Mountains rose high in the distance, reaching up into the clouds. They were beautiful, but she was too annoyed to appreciate them at the moment.
She struggled with the trunk, pulling it through the damp earth as people looked on. A few asked her if she needed help, but she had too much pride to accept any assistance. She struggled down the road for a long while, murmuring to herself all along.
“-Can’t believe the attitude he had! I’m a guest here. When my husband finds out what that man put me through, he is going to have some strong words indeed!”
She gave the trunk a forceful yank, and it turned over, spilling its contents into the mud. She gasped and spun around, wide-eyed as she stared at the mess. Her brand-new dresses were dragging through the dirt, stained and wrinkled. She cursed and grabbed the fabric, shoving it into the trunk without much care. They were ruined now. Who cared if they got wrinkled?
“Are you alright?” a soft voice called to her from the doorstep of a nearby house.
“I’m fine!” Bridget snapped back, sounding more annoyed than she meant to.
The woman came down the steps, holding up the stained hem of her yellow dress. She wore no corset, and her dress was simple with long sleeves and hand embroidery along the neckline. A bonnet protected her golden hair and rosy cheeks. She offered a smile and helped pick up the last of what had spilled from the trunk.
Bridget stood and took a breath, trying to calm herself. “Thank you.”
“It’s no trouble. Are you new here? I’ve never seen you before.”
“Yes. My name is Bridget.”
The woman beamed and offered her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Bridget. I’m Mariana.”
They shook hands briefly before Mariana put her hands on her hips. “I don’t mean to be rude, but can I ask where you’re going?”
“I’m trying to find my husband’s house. The grumpy old man at the depot told me to go this way.”
“Ah. Sounds like you met Theo already.”
“Theo?”
“He handles all the incoming brides.”
“All of them? Are there a lot?”
“Two or three a week,” Mari said, wiping some sweat from her perfect brow. “Anyway, you must have made him angry, because he sent you the wrong way.”
“What?!”
“There’s nothing in town past our house. That road just turns into wilderness.”
Bridget’s stomach was rolling with anger. Her blood felt hot, and her hands were starting to shake. She was at least three miles outside of town, and now she would have to turn around, go back those three miles and then who knows how much farther!
“I’m going to bury that man!” she shouted, slamming her fist on the trunk.
She grabbed the fine leather handle of her trunk and started to pull it down the road again, but Mariana stopped her, smiling softly.
“There’s no need for you to drag that all the way back. Let me get my husband.”
Bridget watched the beautiful woman disappear back into the house, silently thankful that she found at least one decent person in America.
Chapter Four
When Mariana came back, her husband hoisted the trunk onto a little cart and hooked it up to a horse. Now they were sitting in the cart beside the trunk, jostling around every time the cartwheel hit another bump or rock.
“Don’t worry about Theo. He’s not very friendly to anyone in town,” Mariana said, pulling the skirt of her dress up just enough to let the fresh air flow around her lower legs.
“That’s not much of a comfort,” Bridget huffed. “Someone ought to put him in his place if he’s going to be acting like that. If someone like him came into me bar, I’d knock him over the head.”
Mariana laughed. “Maybe you should. Most of the women here in town only dream of standing up to the men.”
“Well, I’m not afraid of standing up to any man.”
“I certainly see that. You’ll be a breath of fresh air.”
They road past the small town, scooting by the dressmaker’s and the doctor’s places until they reached the outskirts of town. Farms dotted the land, though Bridget kept her eye out for a large mansion. When they pulled up to a small farm house instead, her heart sank into her stomach.
“Is this the right place?”
“You said his name was Jack McCree, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then this is his house,” Mariana said, putting her hands on her hips.
Bridget pulled the trunk off the wagon, and it hit the ground with a hefty thump. Mariana cocked a brow and smiled. “Would you like help?”
“I got it from here, love. But thank you for getting me this far. That walk would have
been a nightmare.”
Mari hopped back on the wagon but paused, looking at Bridget for a moment. “Bridget?”
“Yes?”
“Be patient with him.”
With that, the wagon took off, and Mari waved, leaving Bridget to wonder what she was talking about. She shrugged it off and looked up at the modest cabin. It sat on a large patch of farmland that seemed rather fertile. There was plenty of crop growing, and little pens were scattered around, housing cows, chickens, and goats. It reminded her of the farms in the north of England where she’d grown up. The only real difference was the mountains in the background.
She walked up to the door and sighed softly, knocking and waiting. Maybe this was just one of many properties the man owned. After all, how could a farmer afford to pay for her passage across the ocean? Finally, a tall, hulking man opened the door, looking down at her.
He had the broad shoulders she’d always imagined and an intense look that took her aback. His eyes were the color of a rainstorm and his hair as black as midnight. It was obvious he’d spent most of his life working out in the sun. His skin was tough and tanned and his beard thick. It had been a while since this man had last seen the barber. He brushed his long hair out of his face, looking down at Bridget.
“Who are you? I’m not interested in whatever you’re selling.”
“I’m not selling a thing! I’m your wife!”
He eyed her critically and then grunted. “Bridget? They told me you wouldn’t arrive for several more weeks.”
“Well, I’m here now, though I can still catch the train if you don’t want me here,” she murmured, crossing her arms over her chest. She was almost hoping he would tell her to go.
“I have far too much money invested in getting you here. You’re going to stay.” He opened the door wider, and Bridget sighed, pulling her trunk into the house.
Inside, the cabin was what she’d expected. A small communal area made up the living room and eating area, and a loft sat above it. There was one separate room in the house, which she assumed was the bedroom.
“Go put your things away.”
“Giving orders already, huh?”
“You’re my wife. It’s my job to give you orders.”
Bridget set her mouth in a thin line but took the trunk to the bedroom. She closed the door behind her, her heart beating just a little too fast. She set the trunk off to the side and sank into the bed that was barely big enough for two people. She dropped her head into her hands, taking a deep breath. She’d been here barely two hours, and she already wanted to go home. It was hot here, and the air was dry. Her husband seemed to be a cruel, callous man and she was going to be expected to work the land! This wasn’t what she had in mind at all.
She managed to pull herself together before Jack came poking his head in the room. “Come out here. You aren’t here to rest! I want you to meet someone.”
Chapter Five
Bridget followed him out of the room and was surprised to see a small girl no older than five standing before them. She had long dark hair that came down to the small of her back, and her eyes were as blue as the endless sky. Fair skin and long lashes made her look more like a doll than a child.
“This is Roan. My daughter.”
The little girl looked up at Bridget, chewing on her fist and cocking her head to the side. “Are you my new mommy?”
Jack visibly stiffened and took a breath. “Yes, baby girl. This is your new mommy.” The sadness in his voice was thick, and it made Bridget keep her mouth shut. It was easy to see this man was hurting.
Bridget didn’t have much experience with children, but smiled anyway and leaned down so that she and Roan were eye to eye. “Hello, Roan. I’m Bridget. It’s nice to meet you.” They shook hands, and the little girl ran to the ladder that led to the loft, climbing up it and disappearing into a pile of blankets.
Jack turned his gaze back to Bridget and nodded towards the door. “Let me show you around. Your duties start tomorrow.”
“Duties? Excuse me?”
They walked outside, and Jack raised a brow. “You don’t think you’re just going to sit around, do you?”
“I have some questions first.”
He sighed and crossed his arms but nodded. “Fine. Ask.”
“How did you afford to bring me here?”
“My finances aren’t really your business.”
“I’m your wife!”
“And wives don’t meddle in their husband’s finances,” he said simply. “Now it’d best to move on to your next question.”
She clenched her fists at her side, practically vibrating with anger. “I’m not going to be your slave, Jack!”
“Correct. You’ll be my wife, but that comes with certain duties. You will cook, you will clean, you will do some of the lighter farm work, and you will take care of Roan.”
“I will do none of those things!”
He turned slowly and stared at her for a long moment. “You act like you have a choice in the matter. I am not asking you, Bridget. I am telling you what is going to happen. Now, I paid a good sum of money to bring you here, and you aren’t getting out of this without paying me back.”
“What?”
“If you want to leave then you owe me $1,000 and not a penny less. That is how much it cost for you to come here.”
“I don’t have that kind of money!”
“Then it looks like you’ll just have to work until it’s paid off.”
She stared at him, her heart dropping into her stomach. She was never the type of girl to let herself get down, but this was bad. She’d never expected to find herself in this situation. She’d spent her entire life owing people money, but $1,000 was more than she’d ever be able to pay back. How was he even going to keep track of the money she owed him?
“You can’t keep me here.”
“I can, though. You signed a contract, Bridget, and if you break that contract, I can have you sent to jail. I don’t think you want that.”
“This isn’t what I wanted!”
“I was very clear in my letter. You told me you could cook, clean and raise children. That is what I’m asking you to do!”
She suddenly recalled the strange questions the woman at the Mail Order Bride company had asked her. She had indeed said she could do all those things. She was trapped, and it was her own fault. Finally, Bridget nodded.
“Fine. I’ll do it.”
“That’s a good girl.”
The hair on the back of her neck stood up at that, and she wanted to smack him, but she remained cool and collected by the grace of God. This was not going to be an easy relationship. She knew that already.
“Follow me.”
He showed her around the farm, showing her where she’d collect the eggs and what animals she was supposed to feed. Massive crop fields stretched on behind the house, but a smaller garden was what she would have to take care of. She looked around her, feeling anger bubble up in her chest. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t be a farmer’s wife and here she was.
“Do you think you can handle it?” Jack asked, glancing over his shoulder as they came to the back porch of the house.
She rubbed her arm, glancing at the seemingly infinite fields behind her. “I don’t really have a choice, do I?”
Jack leaned in close and looked her up and down. “I’m not looking for a fight, Bridget. I called you here because I can’t do this on my own. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Which way would you rather do it?”
“I just hope you don’t expect me to roll over and do your bidding without question. That’s not who I am, Jack.”
With those stern words, she turned and went back into the house, leaving Jack stunned, and maybe just a little impressed.
Chapter Six
Bridget wiped her brow as she stirred a large pot of stew that she’d been trying to perfect over the last couple of hours. She was quickly learning that she was not wife material and her cooking was where it sh
owed up the most. She dumped roughly chopped carrots into the water and sighed, watching the water start to roll and boil.
She leaned back and fell onto her ample bottom, putting her arms around her knees and drawing them to her chest. The floor creaked underneath the soft, pitter patter of feet. Roan clambered down from her loft and moved to sit beside Bridget in silence.
Roan was a well-behaved child, and Bridget was thankful for it. She’d been shocked to find that she was suddenly thrown into the role of a mother. It was something she hadn’t prepared for. She never saw herself as the mother type. She’d never been good with children and lacked the maternal instinct needed to raise them.
“What are you making?” the little girl asked.
“Stew.”
“It smells funny.”
Bridget turned to look at Roan and offered her a sharp look. “You shouldn’t be so rude, child.”
Roan dropped her head and toyed with her fingers, nodding. “I’m sorry, mommy.”
Bridget stiffened at the word and rubbed her temple, letting out a long sigh. She wasn’t used to being called ‘mommy,’ and she didn’t think she ever would be. It wasn’t a role she saw herself filling, yet here she was. At least Roan seemed to be a good girl.
“What happened to your mum?”
“My mum?” Roan wrinkled her nose, brows drawn together.
Bridget sighed “Your mom.” She took extra care to say the word like an American would.
Roan chewed her lip nervously and scooted closer to Bridget. “Daddy told me she went away.”
“Huh…”
“I don’t know where.”
“Right.” She didn’t ask any more questions, and she didn’t push Roan away. After all, it wasn’t the little girl’s fault that she found herself in this predicament.
They sat in silence for a long time before Roan finally stood on her twiggy legs and went back up the ladder to play with some handmade wooden toys. They left each other alone for the rest of the day and Bridget didn’t say much of anything until dinner was ready.
