Annie: A Bride For The Farmhand - A Clean Historical Western Romance (Stewart House Brides Book 3)

by Charity Phillips

  Sincerely,

  John

  And so we continued that way for several more weeks. When we saw each other face to face we spoke mostly of Lillie and of preparing for the coming harvest season, but we learned each other through our letters. Every day letters from him would appear in my mailbox and I would respond to each of them. Often our words would overlap as they had with our first letters; both of us carefully replying to each thing that the other said.

  Gradually the last names fell off until it was natural for me to write "John", even though I still hadn't actually said it to him. Occasionally there would be other mail in the box. I received a letter from Rebecca that contained just a few shaky lines about traveling for her honeymoon that she must have written while on a wagon, and finally heard from Lucy, who was engaged on planning her passage for the early fall. The first thing I always read, however, was my letter from John.

  ****

  September, 1866

  Dear Diary,

  I have never thought so much about the changing seasons as I have this year. Though there are fewer trees here so I cannot enjoy the beautiful colors of the season like I would in Boston, I can feel the crispness in the night air that tells me that fall is coming. The world around me is quieting down and the harvest will be here in just a few days. Beneath my feet, however, the grass is still growing strong and I can hear the insects in the evening reminding me of summer.

  I wonder now if that is what life is. There is no past or future; only seasons. You may be so focused on the lingering reminders of the last season that you do not even realize when the next one is coming until you can feel it all around you. Then one morning, you wake up and it is the next season.

  Those reminders, those glimmers of the seasons behind you are still there. They always will be in a way, because you cannot have one season without the others. The chill and darkness of winter gives to the hope of spring which builds to the vibrancy of summer that nurtures the softness and comfort of fall.

  Is that how it has always been, Diary? Or am I just noticing it now?

  --Jane

  "It's my birthday, Jane!"

  I smiled at Lillie's sweet voice and the way her golden hair shimmered in the sunlight.

  "I know," I said back to her, taking her hand and leading her toward the house, "and that means we have a cake to bake."

  The day was the happiest that I could remember in years. I had never seen a child as delighted as Lillie was, eating the cake I had baked with her and clutching the doll John had made for her to her chest.

  "I want to put her in my dollhouse," she said sleepily hours after the sun had set and her tiny body was giving out from so much celebrating.

  I smiled and nodded, watching her shuffle across the dirt toward my house. As I walked behind her past my mailbox, I realized that I had not checked it that day. I went inside to get a shawl to protect me from the chill that had set in and found Lillie lying across my bed, still clutching her doll as she slept. I moved as quietly as I could back out of the house and crossed to my mailbox.

  I drew the letter out and held it gently in my palms. We had had to replace the envelope a few times and it was beginning to look worn again. Thankful for the bright light of the full moon above me, I took the letter from the envelope and opened it.

  Dear Jane,

  I asked Lillie what she wished for when she blew out her candles tonight and she told me that it was for you to always be here with her. She asked if I thought that was a silly wish, and I told her that it was the best wish I had ever heard, because I have the same one.

  When I saw the picture you sent to me, I thought you were lovely. When I saw you standing on the train platform, I thought you were beautiful. Now when I see you, I think that I cannot live another moment without you.

  I asked you to come here so that Lillie and I could get to know you, but it was through our letters that I fell in love with you. I think it only fitting that it is through a letter that I ask you to be mine.

  Will you marry me, Jane?

  With all of my love,

  John

  I looked up from the letter with tears in my eyes and saw John standing a few feet away. He was directly between the two houses, carefully bordering both lives. I nodded and he started running toward me, opening his arms to sweep me into an embrace that took me off my feet. When he lowered me to the ground, I looked into his eyes and saw that the smile was back.

  And just like that, it was fall.

  THE END

  Mail Order Bride: Rebecca's Story

  Story Description

  Boston, 1865

  The last year has been incredibly painful for sisters Jane, Rebecca, Lucy, and Rose, to say the least. Their father had been killed in the Civil War, leaving the four young women devastated and orphaned. Now, the Adams sisters struggle to cope with the ravages of the War and are attempting to piece their lives back together eight months after the relentless fighting came to an end.

  They agree that it is time they leave Boston and find a new life somewhere without the pain and the memories of the home their father left behind. Rebecca thinks that she’s come up with the perfect solution to ease their woes: she shows her sisters newspaper advertisements from men in the Frontier looking for wives.

  She spends days sifting through advertisements until, finally, she finds one from a man living in the Oregon Territory that sounds just perfect. Mr. Ezra Bolton seems sweet, romantic, and ready to start an enchanting new life with her. When she packs up her life and heads to Oregon, however, Rebecca learns a terrible secret about Mr. Bolton and her chances at the new beginning she longs for are threatened.

  Will Rebecca manage to find solace in this man, or will all hopes of starting anew be whisked away, leaving her in a more precarious position than she had been in before ever meeting Mr. Bolton?

  December, 1865

  Dear Diary,

  I cannot believe that it is already almost Christmas. It just isn't the same without Father. After two years without him for the holiday, I truly thought that this would be the year that he would be back home for Christmas. The War took him from us, though, and now that the fighting has been over since spring, I feel more hopeless than I ever have before. At least when the War was still going on it almost seemed like I could feel his spirit around me.

  I lived for the letters that we received from him. They were so far between, but each time one arrived, I would hold it for as long as my sisters would allow me to. I could feel him in the paper and in the ink of the words. He was always so careful not to tell us how difficult a time he was having, though we knew he must be suffering so in the battlefields. Sometimes the letters sounded so cheerful it almost seemed like he was just away visiting.

  The house doesn’t even seem like a home anymore now that we know that he will never be back in it. It is just an assortment of rooms and corridors where we drift in and out of days and nights, pondering what will come next when we are still struggling with what has already occurred.

  In recent days, however, I have been less concerned about my future. I have made a decision that I hope will bring new light and a new life for me and for my sisters. We have been talking for several weeks about leaving Boston. There really is nothing keeping us here any longer. Our father is gone and so is Jane's fiancé.

  It is time that we move forward with our lives, and I have found the perfect option that will give us the future that our father would have wanted for us.

  All I need now is the courage to tell them what I discovered in the newspaper I have hidden beneath my pillow. I will never have the joy of my father giving me away at my wedding. Maybe this way will make it easier for me. For all of us.

  When I started writing, the sun had barely touched the horizon. Now the morning light has softened and I can hear my sisters waking in their rooms around me. It is a brand new day and I hope that it is just a hint at the new beginning waiting for all of us. I am anxious to speak to them, but excited about what
the future holds.

  --Rebecca

  ****

  I heard Lucy and Rose's voices in the kitchen downstairs and I dressed as quickly as I could so that I could get down to speak with them before Jane woke. She has been sitting up late into the night for weeks, not leaving the parlor until well after all of us have gone to bed and then taking her place there again early the next morning.

  This last year seems to have been the hardest on her. Of course, she did not just lose her father as we did. She also lost the man who was to be her husband and who she loved with an intensity I cannot even imagine.

  Just before I stepped out of my room to go downstairs, I reached beneath my pillow and took the newspaper into my hand. I held it against my chest as I rushed down the stairs and into the kitchen. The smell of fresh coffee and bacon filled the air and I felt some of the chill of the early morning disappear.

  Lucy smiled at me as I came into the kitchen. She has been the bright spot of our family since she was born, though I barely remember a time without her. I was just three when she was born and my mother died. It pains me sometimes to realize that I remember more about her as an infant than I do about my own mother. Jane tells me that Lucy's eyes are like our mother's, and some days when I glance at her, I have a flash of my mother gazing softly at me.

  I accepted the cup of coffee Rose offered me and took a deep breath of the thick, bitter smell that filled my lungs and invigorated me almost as much as drinking it would. The aroma would always remind me of Father, especially during the winter months. Father hated the cold, except for during Christmas, and drank coffee all day to keep himself warm.

  It was this habit that often left me worrying about Father while he was fighting. I knew he was somewhere in the battlefields, having no more protection from the chill, the wind, and the snow than canvas and a bedroll. While we curled comfortable and warm in the home he had worked so hard to provide for us, he suffered in the brutal winter weather with only the occasional comfort of a tin mug of coffee to soothe him.

  Lucy must have seen the wistful look in my eyes as I stared at the coffee in my hands because she came up behind me and gently rubbed my back.

  "What's that?" she asked, looking down at the newspaper in my lap.

  "It is something that I wanted to talk with you about," I told her, placing my coffee on the table in front of me and picking up the newspaper.

  "Should we wait for Jane?" Rose asked and I shook my head.

  "I hoped I could talk with the two of you first before Jane. She has had such a difficult time recently. I think it would be easier if we discussed it and then shared it with her after we came to a decision."

  My voice had lowered and I gripped the paper firmly. Rose and Lucy exchanged glances before both sat down and looked at me with their full attention. The nervousness fluttered in my belly, but I knew I had come too far to not tell them now. I placed the paper on the table and slowly withdrew my hand.

  "We have been talking so much about leaving Boston," I said, "I think that this may be the perfect way for us to do it."

  Both of my sisters sat quietly, their eyes locked on the advertisement on the page I had folded the newspaper to display. Rose finally lifted her eyes to me and I saw a strange blend of emotion sweep across them.

  "Going to the Frontier as mail order brides?" she asked.

  Lucy crinkled her tiny nose and I almost laughed in spite of the seriousness of the moment. So young and pretty, Lucy was the pet of the family and I felt that this idea may be best suited to her. She could have won the heart of any of the eligible young men of Boston, but she would be a truly treasured wife for a lonely man in the Frontier.

  "I hate that term," Lucy said and Rose sighed.

  "That is what it is, Lucy. These men are advertising for wives like they would a farmhand."

  "No," Lucy said, pulling the newspaper closer to her, "They want to exchange letters with ladies and hope to find one to marry and join them to share their lives."

  The romantic thought made me even more excited about the idea of leaving Boston behind for the wild wonder of Oregon.

  "I do admit that the thought of going to the Frontier is exciting. It would be the chance to see and experience completely new things," Rose said.

  Lucy's eyes sparkled and I could see the thoughts of romance and love glittering there. I was already looking forward to the possibility of finding a reliable way to start a new life, but her whimsy gave me even more of a feeling of anticipation. I only hoped that she would find someone who could even begin to fulfill her ideals.

  "We would all go to the same place, of course," Rose said.

  "Of course," I told her, "We will agree to only respond to advertisements from the same area so that we can visit each other as frequently as possible. I would never want to do anything that would take me away from my sisters."

  Lucy took my hand and squeezed it comfortingly.

  "We are never going to be apart," she told me, and then looked back down at the newspaper.

  "I think this is a wonderful idea," she said, though I could sense a bit of nervousness in her voice.

  "When do you think we should tell Jane?" Rose asked.

  I could hear Jane coming slowly down the stairs and I knew that she wouldn't come into the kitchen with us. She would go straight to her seat by the window in the parlor and stare at the snow. I wished I knew what she saw in those snowflakes and I hoped that somehow, they gave her comfort.

  ****

  December, 1865

  Dear Diary,

  I am so startled I do not even know what to think. I suppose startled is not the appropriate word. Surprised might be better. It is not that I am unhappy, just that I was not prepared for what happened this afternoon. I should explain myself.

  Rose, Lucy, and I discussed the prospect of becoming brides for men in Oregon for a few days to make sure that we all agreed that it’s the right choice for us. As I expected, Rose took a very dry and logical approach to the concept. She is thinking far more about the possibility of adventure and the chance to forge her own way in life than she is about marriage.

  Lucy, also as I expected, is feeling extremely romantic about the entire experience. She is longing for a man to sweep her off her feet like in the fairy tales we read to her when she was little. I fear she is more intrigued by the idea of the courtship than she is about the actual prospect of leaving Boston and joining a relative stranger in the wilds of Oregon, but for now, I am leaving her to her dreaming.

  It is Jane that truly surprised me. We approached her about the idea just yesterday. She seemed upset and I know that her thoughts immediately went to Adam. How could they not? You do not pledge your heart and life to a man and then simply forget about him. She argued with us, but by the end of the conversation, she seemed resigned to the idea. That is not the part that surprised me, however.

  My shock came this afternoon when Lucy told me that Jane had not only found an advertisement in the newspaper that interested her, but that she has already sent her first letter to the man. She refuses to tell us anything about the advertisement or her letter, and I am so curious I feel that I might burst. I am the one who came up with this idea, and even I have not chosen a man to correspond with yet. I cannot even imagine how terrible it would be if I was the only one who did not find a suitable match.

  I hope that we will learn more about Jane's potential suitor soon. We do not want to push her too hard considering how delicate she has been recently, but I know that Rose and Lucy are just as intrigued as I am and want to know everything. We pray that this is the beginning of greater happiness for our eldest sister. She has been through so much pain. She deserves some comfort and relief.

  --Rebecca

  I was so excited about the next issue of the newspaper, it was almost like I was waiting for a caller to come for a date. I suppose in a way I was. I just didn't know my caller and would only meet him through his words. Despite trying to look casual as I purchased the newspaper, I
know that by the time I got back home, I was fairly running through the snow to get inside so I could read the new advertisements.

  I didn't want to tell my sisters how excited I was about the idea of getting out of Boston. It felt almost disrespectful to Father to be so eager to simply leave the home and everyone and everything we had ever known behind to start a completely different life. Deep in my heart, however, I simply couldn't wait.

  The War had not been kind to Boston and I had watched many friends, people I had known my entire life, either join the fighting or say goodbye to fathers, brothers, husbands, and sweethearts. Many of them would never set foot back in the city, and those that did were so changed it was though they were new people. They seemed worn, broken, and unsure of themselves. Very few came back looking happy, and those that did seemed like they were trying to prove to others as much as themselves that the fighting had not impacted them.

  I didn't want to face that any longer. Many months had passed since the end of the War, yet there were still women who stood at their doorways and on their balconies throughout the day waiting for their men to come home. They carried the same longing look as Jane, and I knew for most of them, they would have the same emptiness inside of them for the rest of their lives. Their men, like Father and Adam, were lying many miles away in the field where they fell, and the women they left behind would never know for sure where.

  I knew that going to Oregon meant facing challenges that none of us could even begin to imagine sitting here in our pleasant house with all of the creature comforts of living so easily accessible. Facing those challenges, however, seemed far easier than continuing to look at those drawn, empty faces and walking each day through the constant cloud of waiting and waning hope that had settled over Boston.