“Yes, thank you, Your Majesty.” Geoff bowed, and once the royal had left went over to take Meri’s hands in his. “Well, love, it’s been fabulous to know you, but I have to get back to London and somehow write up a report about all this. You’ll want to return home to America, I imagine.”
“You know, World Times has a UK branch,” she told him, slipping her arms around his waist. “Are MI-6 field operatives allowed to date photo journalists? Or do you have a wife and kid tucked away somewhere, too?”
“Yes, if they’re properly vetted, and no, I’m single.” He tucked a pale lock of hair behind her ear. “I have about a thousand pounds in the bank, I live in a dreadfully neglected apartment on the Thames, and my people are Cornish cattlemen. You’d really come to London after knowing me only a day?”
“I’d come to London after knowing you for an hour.” She hugged him and sighed as he wrapped his arms around her. “You’re my prince.”
THE END
Elise, Bridget & Stina
A Mail Order Bride Western
The Prequel
(Can be read as a standalone book)
By: D.D. Boone
Elise, Bridget & Stina
Elise
She was born on the Atlantic Ocean, neither on American soil nor Swedish, but of Swedish parents. Five weeks early, she struggled for survival. Not until they reached America, several days after Elise’s birth, at the Castle Garden Immigration Station did Klaus Andersson and Amanda Abrahamsdotter know the condition of their tiny daughter. The doctor who examined her said that her breathing problem was normal for premature babies and that, given the nature of her birth, Elise would be just fine.
Klaus and Amanda had planned to go to Minnesota Territory, where they had friends, but because of Elise’s early arrival, decided to stay in New York City, where they found a small community of other Swedes. Once settled, they assimilated with the Americans, changing Andersson to Anderson. Amanda took Anderson as her last name, and instead of Elise being named Klaussdotter, as was Swedish tradition, her last name became Anderson.
Thus, Elise Anderson began her journey through life. Because her parents wanted her to get along well in America, Klaus deliberately found an American friend at work to teach Elise English. At six, Elise started classes at an American school, even though there was a Swedish school closer to where they lived. By seven, she could interpret for her parents, who had trouble with English.
Now that she was eight, she had seen her mother’s anguish over the loss of three children, two through miscarriage and one stillbirth. She never got very close to her mother, mainly because her mother always seemed to be grieving a child. After the last one, Amanda had taken to bed for several months, leaving Elise to fend for herself.
Her father was there, though, helping her through the bad times and celebrating good times with her. She adored her father, but barely knew her mother. Then came the devastating news from the doctor—Amanda was sick with consumption.
“Daddy?” Elise asked. “What’s consumption?”
Her father explained in Swedish that it was a terrible disease that caused her mother to cough a lot. He told her that Amanda would need care and asked Elise to help keep her mother comfortable.
“I will, Daddy.” Elise spoke in Swedish so her father could understand everything she said. “I’ll take care of her, and I’ll love her, too. She’s been sad for so many years. I want to make her happy while she’s sick.”
“That’s very admirable,” Klaus told her in Swedish. He pulled her to him and hugged her without restraint. “You are a better daughter than I could have asked for. I love you more than life itself, and I want the best for you. So you must go to school and learn as much as you can. I never want you to need anything. I want you to be able to take care of yourself, if it’s ever necessary.”
Not really sure what he meant, Elise hugged her father in return. “I’ll do whatever you want me to.”
She didn’t know why her father was crying. Her mother had a cough. What was so sad about that? But she couldn’t ask Klaus the most important question in her mind: Why did this cough make him so sad when none of the coughs she’d had did?
Her heart ached for him, but she didn’t want to hurt him more by questioning him. So she would make him happy by doing everything he asked without complaint.
Days passed, and soon Amanda got out of bed to tend to Elise. She doted on her daughter, which made Elise curious as to why when she never had before. Suddenly, Amanda wanted to be with her as much as possible. It was almost as though she was trying to make up for not being there for Elise as much as a mother should be.
As the years wore on, Elise took on more responsibilities for her mother—cooking, washing clothes, cleaning house. Going to school was her father’s first priority, so it was Elise’s, as well. She really didn’t mind, though, because she loved learning.
By the time she was nearly eleven, Amanda was bedridden, so weak that she could barely rise to go to the outhouse. Klaus put a porcelain pot in the bedroom for Amanda, and either he or Elise would help her when she needed it.
Over the years, Amanda’s cough worsened, her body became skeleton-like as she deteriorated. Elise knew exactly what consumption was now and realized that her mother didn’t have much time left on Earth. She sat with her mother and read her father’s Swedish Bible aloud; she translated Charles Dickens’ Great Expectations and Nicholas Nickleby into Swedish as she read them to her mother. Elise liked Dickens, and her mother seemed to appreciate hearing her voice.
At eleven years old, Elise was a mother to her mother. She didn’t regret it, though, not for a moment. Despite her illness, Amanda had tried to be her mother for a while, and Elise was grateful for that. They’d grown closer over those years, although still not as close as she and her father were.
Then one day, Amanda asked Elise to sit beside her while Elise was cleaning the room.
Elise sat on the chair beside the bed. “What is it, Mama?”
“I want to give you something,” Amanda said in Swedish and between coughs. “Hold out your hand.”
Extending her open hand toward her mother, Elise marveled at how weak Amanda’s grasp was when she took Elise’s wrist. With her other fist, she laid something in Elise’s palm. When Amanda pulled her hand back, Elise stared at the gold locket on a chain.
“Håll detta och jag kommer alltid vara med dig,” Amanda said quietly.
Elise translated it in her mind. Hold this, and I will always be with you.
Before Elise could reply, Amanda spoke in English, “I love you, Elise.” Then she reverted to the more comfortable language for her. “Förlåt mig för att vara en dålig mamma när du var yngre.”
“Of course, I forgive you, Mama,” Elise replied in Swedish, wanting her mother to understand every word. “I know you were sad because you lost your children.”
“That was no excuse. I should have been there for you when you were growing up. Now I cannot. I missed my opportunity to be a good mother. Never do that, baby. Never miss an opportunity for anything because you don’t know how long life will last.”
The next morning when Elise awoke, her mother was dead. She had passed away in her sleep. No more of her coughing would fill the house. No more would Elise sit by the bed and talk to her or read to her. No more would Elise have her mother. Amanda would never be there again.
Remembering the last gift her mother had given her, she raced to her room and got the locket from her nightstand. Holding it close, she sat at her mother’s bedside and cried until the mortician came to collect Amanda for burial preparations.
Four years later, almost to the day, Klaus and Elise were eating dinner when he suddenly dropped his fork and slumped off his chair.
“Dad!” she cried out, racing to his side. “Dad, what’s wrong?”
His mouth moved, but nothing came out. What happened? she wondered. Who did she notify to get him help?
“What should I do, Dad?”
&nbs
p; He struggled with the word. “Doc-tor.”
“But I would have to leave you here. I don’t want to do that.”
“Go,” he said a moment before his eyes closed.
Not wanting to go far, Elise ran next door and asked the man who answered the door to fetch a doctor. She briefly explained what the emergency was. The man shouted into the house and closed the door behind him. Elise raced back home as the man descended his steps in search of the doctor.
Later, Elise sat beside her father’s bed while the doctor examined Klaus. Upon finishing his work, the doctor escorted Elise from Klaus’ bedroom by the upper arm and had her sit in the parlor.
“Your father’s very ill with hemiplegia palsy,” he explained as he sat on the settee with her. “His entire right side is paralyzed. He’s going to need a lot of help in the time he has left with us.”
“How long will that be?” Elise asked sadly.
The doctor shook his head. “I can’t say. It could be a year. It could be a day. I suspect it won’t be much more than a week.”
“I’ll see to it that it’s a year or more,” Elise said with determination.
But after three and a half weeks of nurturing her father, he succumbed to his illness. Elise was devastated. Again she had lost a loved one. At fifteen years old, she was alone. Their neighbors and friends had abandoned them when her mother contracted consumption. Now she had no one to whom to turn.
Again she went to her neighbor, who went to get a mortician to remove Klaus Anderson’s body from the house and prepare it for burial.
Elise walked numbly through life for the next few days. After the funeral, a woman of about thirty approached her.
“Elise,” she said, “my name is Alice James, and I’m a volunteer for the Catholic Church. I would like to help you. Do you have somebody I can contact to stay with you? A family member maybe?”
“I have no family here. Everybody is in Sweden.”
“I’ll see if I can get somebody to care for you.”
“Thank you, but I don’t need anybody. Dad taught me how to take care of myself.”
“Still, this is a bad time for you. I’ll send someone by.”
“If you must,” she replied.
Elise took her time to get home. When alone, she collapsed against door and wept. She’d been stoic during the time she’d cared for her father and throughout the burial, but now she just wanted to be alone and cry.
Before her tears stopped, though, there was another knock on the door. Elise scrambled to her feet. When she opened the door, Alice James stood before her.
“I know that your mother passed way a few years ago,” Alice James said, “so I would like you to come with me. I’ll take you to a place where you’ll be cared for.”
“I’m fine here. I can fend for myself.”
“How old are you, dear?” the woman asked.
“Fifteen.”
“Then you need to come with me.” The woman pushed past Elise and into the house. “Let’s go pack your clothes.”
Unable to protest because of her grief, Elise followed the woman in a daze. Where were they going? To her horror, the woman took her to a private institution for orphans, where Elise later learned the owners were paid by the state of New York.
For three years, she helped with the children and learned to sew in a large sewing room. She loved taking care of the children, but she hated sewing. If she ever got out of there, she would never take a job as a seamstress.
Then, on her eighteenth birthday, the owner handed her a large carpetbag with all of her belongings in it and told her that she had to leave. She lived on the streets for three days before her mind could grasp her situation. Her father hadn’t taught her to feel sorry for herself; he had taught her to fend for herself, and she would do just that.
With an idea, she made her way to the Castle Garden Immigration Station on the tip of Manhattan, New York. She approached the white brick building, awed by its grandeur. From afar, it appeared to be one round building, but as she moved toward the front door, she noticed that two smaller buildings stood guard over the massive building ahead of her. Its doors stood open as she navigated a sea of immigrants waiting to officially enter the United States of America.
She stood back and watched them for several minutes. So this was where she had entered her homeland as an infant. She’d never known Sweden and didn’t consider herself Swedish. She was an American through and through. But she had a skill that might be useful in this building.
As she entered the structure amid people speaking many different languages, she gazed up at the grand auditorium with its three-story pillars set in a ring to hold up the domed ceiling. Two-story pillars ringed those to connect the second tier of the building.
Determined to work in this magnificent construction, she asked person after person if he or she knew where she might talk to somebody about a job as a translator. Finally, someone sent her to the correct place, and she successfully landed employment as an interpreter for the many Swedish immigrants coming into America.
For a full year, she spent day after day interpreting and directing non-Swedish immigrants, mostly Irish, but some Germans since she discovered the language was similar to Swedish. She also directed English, Scottish, Welsh, Norwegians, and Danes. These were all people whose language could understand or could connect a few words to get by assisting them.
She lived nearby in one room of a boarding house, but she was rarely there, because she needed to work all the time just to pay for her room and board. In the past year, she’d had no new clothes, no new shoes to replace the ones with holes. There was simply no money for luxuries like that.
From a life of ease, she’d gone to an orphanage where she’d worked for her food, lodging and clothes—but at least she’d had them. Then she went to having barely enough money to pay her bills. This was certainly not how she’d envisioned her life. She’d always thought she’d be comfortable forever.
Then one day she met a family who took her out of poverty. As she was helping immigrants, she came upon a family of redheads from Ireland who would change her life.
Bridget
Mary and Patrick O’Riley entered the building with their three children, older sons Michael and Timothy and their youngest child Bridget.
At seventeen, Bridget was thrilled about coming to the new country. Her life so far had been privileged, and she just knew it wouldn’t change in America. Her father was determined that his children would succeed here, that his sons would go to a university and become doctors or lawyers—or even bankers like himself.
“Excuse me,” a young woman with blue eyes and dirty blonde hair said to Patrick.
“Yes, miss?” he replied in a thick Irish brogue.
She held her left arm out in direction. “If you would come this way, I’ll take you to someone who can take your information.”
“Thank you.”
While the family wandered along with the young woman, Bridget chatted with her. “Were you born in American?”
“Not really,” the woman replied. “I was born at sea when my parents came from Sweden.”
“That’s really interesting. My name is Bridget. What’s yours?”
The woman smiled. “Elise.”
“Do you know anything about Sweden?”
“I’ve never been there, but my parents told me some things before they died.”
Bridget was shocked. “Your parents are both dead? How sad. Where do you live if not with your parents?”
Looking a bit confused by Bridget’s questions, Elise replied as she led them toward a long table. “I live in a boarding house.”
“How sad.” Bridget turned toward her mother. “Did you hear that, Mum?”
“I did hear that,” Mary said. “I’m sorry that you’ve lost your parents, dear.”
Smiling, Elise nodded in gratitude. “Thank you, but they’ve been gone for many years now.”
“Surely, she has brothers or sisters,” Mary tol
d Bridget.
“Do you?” Bridget asked.
“No,” Elise admitted, “I was never blessed with siblings. They all died before their births.”
“What a sad life you’ve lived here in America. Do you ever wish you’d been born in Sweden instead?”
“Not one day. I’ve always been happy to be an American.” They stopped at the table, and Elise motioned to the man sitting behind it with a paper, pen and inkwell in front of him. “This gentleman will take your information. I wish you well here in your new country.”
“Mum, we can’t let her be alone,” Bridget said as Elise walked away.
“To begin with, Bridget, we don’t know that she is alone. She might have other family.”
“But she’s living in a boarding house. She’s not living with family. She must be alone.”
Mary gazed over in the direction Elise had gone, as did Bridget. The young woman was talking to another family as she led them to a different table. “It does seem that way, doesn’t it, dear? But we just arrived here. We are staying with our own relatives for now.”
“But we have to ask her to live with us. We can’t let her be alone.”
“Bridget, we can’t take in every person we find who has no parents. Elise is old enough to be on her own. Maybe that’s how she wants it. And we certainly can’t impose on your uncle by inviting her to stay with us at his house.”
“Da,” Bridget said to her father, who had just finished talking to the man taking his information, “can we at least ask Uncle Ian if it’s okay?”
Mary turned to the man at the table while Patrick spoke to Bridget. “Ask him about what, Bridget?”
“If that girl can stay with us. Where would Mum be if your uncle Falkner hadn’t taken her in?”
“Bridget, I don’t understand why you’re acting like this. You’re not a child, and she’s not a puppy you found on the street. You’re a young woman now. You need to act like one. And this is no behavior for a seventeen-year-old.”
MILITARY ROMANCE: The War Within Himself (Alpha Bad Boy Marine Army Seal) (Contemporary Military Suspense & Thriller Romance) Page 156
