With all her strength, she broke free from Kenneth, shoving him to the side. He had time to let out a small surprised sound, but little more as Laura ran forward for the gun. At the same exact moment, the bandit drew his weapon. It shouldn’t have happened as it did, but somehow Laura reached the rifle, sliding down to the floor to retrieve it as the bandit’s pistol went off. Kenneth dropped to the floor, too, his green eyes searching for Laura. She took aim a second later and fired without thinking, without even breathing. The shot hit the bandit and he cried out, cursing at her. She had caught his arm, the one holding the pistol, making him drop it. He yelled at her, but when she aimed the rifle again at him, he turned and ran for the back door.
“Laura, look out!”
It was Kenneth who called to her, and she jerked around towards the sound of his voice, but the movement was too late. She had forgotten the second bandit who now came down the stairs hurriedly, drawn by the sounds of gunshots filling the house. His pistol was aimed at her and she didn’t have even a moment to think what to do, before Kenneth had launched himself in front of her. The bullet hit, but she couldn’t tell if it hit him, and as anger and worry and fear flooded her system once again, she took aim. She shot at the other man and he cursed, not thinking that she would try for him. She shot again and he ducked, running as quickly as he could down the stairs. He took aim with his pistol again, but Kenneth was already moving. His arm wrapped around Laura and pulled her to the side, positioning the chair between them and the remaining bandit. The wood caught the bullet.
Laura fired again and the bandit must have decided that it was no longer worth the effort. He paused for half a second looking at Laura and Kenneth huddled behind the chair, rifle pointed in the bandit’s direction. Then he made a break for the door. Laura kept the gun trained on him, but didn’t fire again. They watched as he ran through the front door. Laura didn’t lower the rifle until they heard the neighing of horses and the heavy clopping of their hooves on dirt.
As Laura let the rifle slump to the floor, she realized that she was sobbing quietly, tears slipping down over her cheeks. Kenneth was quick to reach for her, letting his hands slip into her dark hair and pulled her close. He held her, her cheek pressed against his chest, and rocked her gently, whispering over and over again that they were gone, that she had been wonderful, that they were safe now.
Eventually, by the time the sun had come up, Laura stopped crying. She took a shuddering breath and pulled back slightly from Kenneth so that she might look up into his green eyes.
“Are you all right?” she asked, her voice a little hoarse from crying and still a little timid with residual fear.
He laughed a little at her question and stroked her long dark hair back from her face. “I should be asking you that,” he told her in a gentle, fond tone. His eyes were tender as he gazed down at her. “This whole ordeal… I’m so sorry for it. I never would have imagined—”
Laura pressed her fingers against his lips to stop him from talking and shook her head, shushing him. “Nonsense. You have absolutely nothing to apologize for. You didn’t ask for those men to come here.” She shivered a little at the memory of the bandits. “And you didn’t want me in the house for fear of my own safety. There is nothing at all that you should apologize for.”
He frowned a little at that and looked at her pensively. His hand reached up and traced softly across her cheek as he stared longingly at her. “I think there is, at the very least, one thing to apologize for,” he countered seriously, his voice strangely soft and quiet.
“What is that?”
“I told you in my letters that there was no chance for love,” he began, looking worried and a little uncertain about his next words. “I told you that this was strictly a marriage of convenience; that was all it could be.” He shook his head and let out a small sigh.
Laura swallowed. They had discussed the terms already and she understood them entirely. But things had begun to shift for Laura and she wasn’t sure now what to do with those things. She wasn’t sure how to tell him that maybe something had begun to grow in her heart… Something she recognized as love.
“I understand the terms,” she told him in a whisper, her eyes lowering so that she needn’t look at him as he reminded her of their agreement. “I understand that there is nothing more I should expect from you, and I accept that. It’s quite all right.”
His hand slipped beneath her chin and forced her gaze back up to his. He shook his head. “No, it’s not, because I have led you to believe that there is no love in my heart and that there can never be any for you. And I have learned over the last two weeks that this isn’t true. You have changed me, Laura, and I was too scared to acknowledge that change until right now. I love you and now I must worry that you have no intentions of loving me in return.”
Laura’s smile was slow to come, but when it did, it lit up her entire face. She couldn’t believe her ears, almost dared not to, but as she stared into his green eyes and leaned into the gentle hand that stroked her face, she realized that it was true. This man loved her.
“Oh, Kenneth,” she whispered, barely even sure what to say herself. Well, she wasn’t sure except for one thing. “I love you, too. Oh, I didn’t think I could, but I do, I do!”
They embraced once more and Laura felt her heart fill until it might burst. She hadn’t been expecting it. She hadn’t even thought it could be possible, but it was here right in her arms. Love. And she would never let it go again.
They were married exactly one week later in a small, but beautiful service, both of them agreeing that this was no longer simply a marriage of convenience.
****
Henley Farm, Wyoming, 1867
It took nearly two years before the women could manage it, but Laura was determined to visit with her only other friend who had moved to Wyoming. She had known her as Delia Hennessey, but she was called Delia Henley now. Excitement blossomed in Laura’s bosom and she almost couldn’t sit still for the coach ride there. It was Kenneth who had to constantly remind her that they would be there as soon as they could.
When they finally arrived at the Henley farm, Laura all but jumped from the wagon to meet her friend.
Delia stood on the porch of a modest, but lovely farm house as an elderly couple rocked gently in their wooden chairs. She looked nearly just the same as Laura remembered her with porcelain skin—though it was kissed more often by the sun now—and long, full blonde hair that curled all on its own. Her blue eyes were brighter than ever and her full lips were pulled into a smile so wide that she looked like she might burst for the happiness that welled inside of her.
“Oh, Laura!”
The two women ran to each other and embraced as sisters. Mr. Henley—the younger, not the elder—came forward. He was smiling and offered his hand in friendship to Mr. Hall.
“Baxter Henley,” he said in introduction. “I’m Delia’s husband.”
“Kenneth Hall, Laura’s husband.”
The two women seemed to hug for the better part of an hour and when they finally broke, it was only to speak rapid fire about everything that had changed in their lives in just two meager years.
“I can’t believe he’s nearly two already!” Delia said laughing as they approached the house. She was speaking of her first born, a beautiful boy with curling blonde hair and a delightful laugh that seemed to fill the room with excitement and joy. “One just isn’t enough. What if he’s lonely? I think I’d like to have three. Maybe four, but at least three! What about you? Haven’t you had your first yet? I would think you’d have brought him with you!”
Laura laughed at her friend and shook her head. “No, Delia, we haven’t had our first yet.” She blushed a little to discuss it, though they were both married women and they were hardly talking about anything inappropriate. These were children, after all. “We’ll be happy whenever the little bundle comes along, but the farm is quite a lot of work for two people and maybe it’s all a little easier for now.”
They spent the rest of the evening—and much of the visit itself—discussing children and their futures. Laura admitted that she would be satisfied with just one child, but would be happy with two as well. Delia gushed about how their children would have to know each other and how one day, they both would have to go out to meet the two other friends of theirs who had gone out west to find love and adventure.
Laura ended up with only one child, a boy with dramatically dark hair and bright green eyes. He was as sharp as a whip and found that he was a skilled cowboy. But his father taught him to shoot, too, and when he got to be older, Elias Hall became a lawman. He promised his mother that he would make the west safe so that she wouldn’t have to worry about bandits anymore.
To the end of his days, Kenneth Hall loved Laura. Every so often he would marvel at how circumstance had thrown them together and how love had blossomed despite their intentions. And he would tell her that he was so grateful that neither of them had been looking for love when she first answered his ad, otherwise he thought they might never have found each other at all.
THE END
Mail Order Bride Louisa
Story Description
Boston, Massachusetts – 1862
After the death of her sweetheart, Louisa feels that there is nothing left in life for her, and wonders what she could possibly do to fill the years that lie ahead. When her sister Eleanor suggests that she consider becoming a mail order bride for one of the men in the frontier, Louisa is appalled, but with the prospect of her sister and brother leaving on the wagon train with their cousins, Louisa knows that she must make the decision to either be left alone without any relatives and only her painful memories, or to enter marriage with a man she doesn't know.
When she finds an advertisement for a man who seems to have the same dry concept of such an arranged marriage, she thinks she might have made the right decision. A difficult wagon train journey with tragic consequences, however, leaves her wondering if all of the challenges that had been put in front of her were really to lead her to the man she was meant to be with all along, even if he enters her life in an unexpected way.
December, 1862
Dear Diary,
I have tried to start this entry so many times and have had to rip out each one and start again because my tears have soaked the paper and smeared the ink so much that the words are unreadable. I am trying again now, and though there are still hot trails streaming down my cheeks, I seem to have gotten in control of them enough that they are no longer splashing on my paper.
I might as well as get used to my tears. I think that I will cry them for the rest of my life. They will be a constant presence and a constant reminder.
Outside my window, I can hear children laughing as they play in the snow and talk about Christmas. It is just a few days away and they are all so excited about the trees that are in their parlors and the sweets their grandmothers are baking for them. They have dreams of the gifts they will find all wrapped in their pretty papers, and the fun they will have with their families.
I wish that they would stop. I wish that silence would fall over the entire world and I would be left with nothing to hear but my own thoughts. I do not want to think about Christmas. There is no laughter or joy in my heart, no excitement or sugary dreams. I do not think that I will ever have them again.
This was meant to be the Christmas when Gregory and I would formally announce our engagement. We have been talking about marrying for several months now and we thought that announcing it on Christmas would mean so much to both of our families. It was meant to be a surprise at our annual Christmas party.
Just three weeks ago, however, all of my dreams started to unravel right before eyes as Gregory fell ill. I was hoping with everything in me that it was just the damp, cold weather that was making him feel sick, but after several days I could tell that it was so much more than that. I have never seen my Gregory look so pale and drawn as he did lying there in his bed.
I sat by his side nearly every hour of the day and night, holding his hand, changing the cool towel on his forehead hoping to draw out the fever. Only when I could no longer hold myself up did I allow the doctor or his mother to take my place. I cannot remember sleeping during those breaks, though I suppose I must have. I only remember the hours of staring into his face, praying for his eyes to open or his lips to smile. Sometimes it was as if he heard my thoughts and would look up at me weakly and tell me he loved me.
Those moments became few and farther between rapidly and by the last week, he barely moved. Even sitting right at his side, I almost could not perceive the movement of his chest as he drew in air. Finally, I saw the pain leave his face and felt his hand release in mine. I knew that he was gone, but I could not let myself believe it. I could feel the rate of my heartbeat growing, and my breath coming faster. It was almost as though my body thought that if I just held on and did not say anything, I could transfer my heartbeat and my breath to him and bring him back to me.
That was three days ago, and I am still living in a daze. I have not spoken to anyone. You, Diary, are the only one that I can record my thoughts with, the only place where I can feel safe. I have not been able to sleep and it is beginning to wear my body down. I do not want to rest. I do not want to close my eyes. I spent too many of the last moments that I had with Gregory with my eyes closed and maybe if I keep them open for another second, another ten seconds, another hour, it will give me those moments back with him.
I feel like there is nothing left inside me. It is a hollow feeling unlike anything I have ever experienced. I remember clearly when my parents died. Even though I was young, I can still remember what it felt like when my uncle told me that they would not be coming home, that there had been an accident and that they both had gone to Heaven. I can still so distinctly feel the sudden ache within me that was like a little part of me was no longer there.
It is different with Gregory. This is not a small ache, a small part of me that has been taken away. When Gregory died, he took along with him everything that I was, but also everything that I would have been if he had lived. You can move past the pain and emptiness of a piece of you that has been taken after you have already lived it, but there is no way to soothe the hurt of a piece of that has been lost before it ever had a chance to come to be.
With my parents, each new step and each new day carried me beyond that moments that had been stolen by their deaths so that I healed just a little bit as I moved forward in life. With Gregory, each breath is a new one that I am breathing without him, and each day is a day that I should have lived by his side. For the rest of my life I will be living stolen moments and I will be broken all over again, never allowing me to heal.
What do I do from here, Diary? Who am I if I am not Gregory's wife and the mother of his children; the only two things that I have seen myself as in the years since I have known him? I am not a widow and yet I do not feel that I will ever be able to see anyone else as my husband.
Perhaps I can lay down and close my eyes and when I open them again, Christmas will be over and I will not have to suffer listening to the joy and delight of those around me any longer. Maybe if I sleep long enough, I will wake with Gregory again.
Louisa
****
"Louisa, please, you need to eat something."
Eleanor pushed the bowl back toward me and I shifted it toward her again. I knew that she was right. I should eat. I didn't feel hungry, though, and nothing, not even my favorite creamed potato soup, sounded good in that moment.
"I am not hungry," I insisted, feeling like I had said those words a thousand times in the last few weeks.
"Louisa," Eleanor implored, "You are wasting away. I haven't seen you eat more than a few mouthfuls since Gregory…"
She paused and I looked up into her wide brown eyes. There was a hint of color on her cheeks like
she was upset with herself for having said anything.
"Say it, Eleanor. Since Gregory died. He's dead."
"I'm sorry."
"I want to go back to sleep."
I stood up from the table and started out of the kitchen, but I felt my sister's hand take my wrist so that I couldn't get out of the room. I let out a long sigh and turned back to the table, lowering myself back into my chair and looking at Eleanor.
"You have been sleeping almost all day already. You need to start living again."
I glared at my sister, not able to fathom how she could say something like that to me. At five years older than me, Eleanor had been the one to step in as the mother figure in my life after our parents died. She had been so young herself, but she did everything she could to make sure that my little brother and I were able to get through the first difficult months of them being gone, and then continued caring for us through the years, giving us the most normal life that she could. I appreciated everything that she did for me, especially everything that she had given up so that she could concentrate on taking care of us, but there were moments when I resented her trying to control me as she did.
"I do not want to start living again, Eleanor. I want to go to sleep. I want to go back to when Gregory was still alive. I want to do anything but pretend like everything is fine and that I have life ahead of me."
"You do have life ahead of you, Louisa. You are so young. I know that you miss Gregory, but giving up is not going to bring him back. God gave you your life for a reason, and you should not just be so quick to throw it away."
"It has been less than a month, Eleanor. I have the right to grieve. You do not get to tell me what I should be feeling right now. You do not have any idea what I am going through."
Annie: A Bride For The Farmhand - A Clean Historical Western Romance (Stewart House Brides Book 3) Page 77
