Mail-Order Christmas Brides Boxed Set

by Jillian Hart

  “I can’t wait, either.” His hand engulfing hers squeezed gently, letting her know he meant every word. His gaze fastened on hers, full of promise of a future made new. She saw the years roll by, laced with their children’s laughter, with love and togetherness. There would be more babies, happy memories to be made and above all, the devotion and tenderness of a man who loved her with all the depths of his heart.

  Just the way she loved him.

  “You kids go on inside,” Cole said with a wink. “I want to say a few things to your ma before we go in. There won’t be a chance, what with all those people Amelia invited to our wedding.”

  “And they’re all waiting for you, Pa,” Amelia reminded him as she tossed off the robe. “C’mon, George. This will be mushy, anyway. We don’t want to hear it. Besides, there are some boys your age in the church, I’m sure. I’ll introduce you. They like to sled, too.”

  “Okay!” George said, bouncing into the snow with her. “I’m hopin’ Santa brings me my own sled.”

  “I have a good feeling he will,” Amelia answered, heading off in the snow at his side.

  “We’ll have to see about that,” Cole said, rolling his eyes, although he knew Mercy had already chosen a sled from the store for George. It seemed he was going to have to learn to live with the sledding.

  But as he gazed upon his remarkable wife-to-be, he didn’t mind. All he could ever want was right here. He folded back the robe and helped her down from the seat. The children ran ahead, leaving them behind in the darkness and snow. It drifted down like grace, like hope, and he could feel the change in his heart, the awareness of the grace he’d been too broken to feel. It was everywhere around him, sweet and saving and renewing. He was thankful it had renewed his heart. So very thankful.

  Mercy had done that, too. He turned toward her, the calm places in his soul filling. She looked beautiful tonight, as a bride should, in a fancy green hat, bundled up warmly in her new gray coat and matching scarf and mittens. She took his breath away. She was his heart.

  “What did you need to say to me?” she asked as he shook out Frosty’s blanket and covered him with it. Not one to be idle, she tethered the gelding to the hitching post, granting him several nose pats in the process.

  “Oh, the usual thing a man says to the woman he’s about to marry.” He shrugged, bending to secure the buckle beneath Frosty’s belly. “This is a big step we’re about to take.”

  “Yes, I’ve been certain about you from your first letter. I saw how much you loved your daughter, how glad you were I had a son.” She looked vulnerable with the snow tumbling all around her, airy and sweet, like little pieces of heaven. “But I never dreamed it would be as good as this.”

  “Me, either.” Done with his task, he patted Frosty’s shoulder and turned toward his bride. Emotions—hope, faith, joy—filled him, but one outshone all the others for it was the most important of all. He drew her close, brushed snowflakes out of the wisps of gold framing her dear face. That emotion rushed through him without end, without limits. “I love you, Mercy.”

  “I love you.” She gazed up at him, affection deepening her blue eyes, unmistakable and true. “I will always love you.”

  “Not more than I will always love you.” He offered her his arm. “Let me escort you to the church. If you’re ready to marry me, that is.”

  “I’d run if the walkway wasn’t so icy.” She looped her arm in his and they took off together, marching toward the light and merriment, to friends gathered to celebrate their marriage. Their real marriage. Not one of convenience. Not one of duty.

  But of love. That was the best gift of all. Bliss filled her as she climbed up the steps and into the shelter of the church’s foyer, with Cole at her side. How wonderful he was, holding the door for her, helping her with her coat, hanging it up for her, gazing at her as if she was his greatest blessing.

  No, bliss was too small of a word for what she felt, and for what waited her as his wife.

  “What’s that?” Cole asked, gesturing toward the sprig of mistletoe pinned to her dress collar, tied with a thin red ribbon. “It looks like mistletoe.”

  “Yes, it is.” She thought of the train conductor, Mr. Blake, and his kind wishes. Wherever he was, she wished him well. And as for the dear friend she’d made on the journey to Montana Territory, she prayed Maeve had found the same kind of unexpected happiness, that God was writing a happy ending for her and her daughter, too.

  “Well, if that’s mistletoe, you know what we have to do next.” Mischief flashed in Cole’s blue eyes as he gathered her in his arms. Just the two of them, alone in the vestibule, haloed by lamplight and serenaded by the happy sound of festive conversations ringing in from the sanctuary. He leaned in, his gaze sliding to her mouth. “We have to kiss. It’s a rule.”

  “Not more of your rules,” she laughed, already going up on tiptoe.

  “From now on,” he said, gazing down at her with love. “I have only one rule. I intend to make you the happiest woman ever.”

  “Too late. I already am.” She rested her hand on his chest, felt the thud of his heartbeat, slow and sure. “Merry Christmas, Cole.”

  “Merry Christmas, my love.” He cradled her face in his large, strong hands and kissed her.

  Her pulse went still as their lips met. His kiss was pure sweetness, the kind of fairy-tale kiss that promised happily-ever-afters and love everlasting. When it ended, she had tears in her eyes and forever in her heart.

  * * * * *

  Dear Reader,

  Welcome back to my third novella with fellow author and good friend, Janet Tronstad. We had such a great time writing our previous mail-order-bride stories, how could we not do it one more time? We met in Missoula, Montana, on a sunny September day to discuss, brainstorm and create the ideas for our stories. What a fun time we had! Once again, our heroines meet on the westbound train and become friends while riding the rails, wondering how their lives will turn out as mail-order brides. My heroine, Mercy, has decided to accept a convenient marriage, one without the chance of love because of her young son, George. He wants a father so badly and Cole Matheson, her husband-to-be, is very much looking forward to having a son. The problem? Cole has no heart to give her, for his has been shattered by grief. Can happily-ever-after prevail? I hope you enjoy this Christmas tale where God’s love heals.

  Thank you for choosing Christmas Hearts.

  Wishing you peace, joy and love this holiday season,

  Questions for Discussion

  What was your first impression of Cole? How would you describe him? What do you like most about his character?

  How would you describe Mercy and Cole’s first meeting? What did you learn about her character? What makes you care for Cole?

  What do you feel for Amelia? What do you like most about her? What do you feel for George? What do you like most about him?

  When did you know for sure that God meant for Mercy to be Amelia’s mother? That she and Cole are meant to be together?

  What is the story’s predominant imagery? How does it contribute to the meaning of the story? Of the romance?

  Do you see God at work in this story? What meanings do you find there?

  How would you describe Mercy’s faith? Cole’s faith?

  What do you think Mercy and Cole have each learned about love?

  Mistletoe Kiss in Dry Creek

  Janet Tronstad

  I am grateful for the many who prayed for my sister, Margaret, when she was ill with cancer. She is now dancing in heaven with Jesus, but your prayers made her feel so loved here on earth. Thank you.

  Be not forgetful to entertain strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.

  —Hebrews 13:2

  Chapter One

  Montana Territory

  December 20, 1886

  With her wool shawl wrapped tight around her shoulders, Maeve Flanagan stepped off the passenger car onto the railroad platform in Miles City and stopped suddenly. She and her four
-year-old daughter, Violet, had watched the swirling snow as the train rolled west last night before finally entering the desolate prairie of the Montana Territory. Watching the storm this morning hadn’t prepared her for the icy wind that hit her face when she climbed down to the platform, though. It was worse than any gale off the bay in Boston. She lifted the shawl to warm her cheeks. Maybe she had been a fool, trying to escape her past by traveling so far from home to marry a stranger.

  Putting her hand over her stomach in an unconscious effort to shield the life that grew within her, she reminded herself that she’d had no other choice. She’d feel better when she met Noah Miller and stood in front of a preacher with him.

  Of course, he might refuse to marry her when he found out about the baby.

  She hadn’t known for sure that she was increasing until the week she received the train tickets. It seemed indelicate to inform Noah of her condition by telegram, especially when she might be wrong. Besides, she wanted him to have time to be charmed by Violet before she said anything. If he liked one child, he’d probably be agreeable to another. She did not know what she’d do if he didn’t want them. Infant or no infant, she had nothing left in Boston.

  Maeve put a hand up to keep her hat on her head before doing her best to look around. She’d tell Noah of the baby as soon as she could and certainly before they said their vows. He knew she was a recent widow; the baby brought no shame to her. Searching the area, she saw that two rows of painted wood buildings lined the main street of this frontier town. Directly across from her, the Broadwater, Bubble and Company Mercantile had an imposing sign that was visible even in this storm.

  Snow had partially turned to hail and caused the few people standing on the store walkways to move inside. Those on the railroad platform huddled together in small groups. The sounds of the horses and wagons that were being driven on the street in front of them gave a faint rhythm to the steady howl of the wind. Maeve didn’t see any man standing by himself so Noah must not be here to meet them.

  Maeve shivered before turning to the opening behind her and used both hands to reach for her daughter. The train had been early, she assured herself. Noah would be here soon. She would not allow herself to think of any other possibility.

  “Cover your head, sweetie.” She took the shawl off her shoulders and wrapped it around Violet. The child’s thin coat wouldn’t keep her warm in the wind. Maeve then swung the girl off the train and moved them both to the side so the next person could exit.

  Ash and cinders from the train’s smokestack fell with the hail. Maeve kept her arm around her daughter as she looked around the platform more intently. Violet was snug under the shawl, but Maeve’s gray wool dress, while her best and the only one made for this kind of weather, did not do much to stop the cold. She couldn’t stand out here in the wind for long.

  She searched the area again, trying not to worry. When Noah had sent for her, she had wept in relief. She had left her rented room in Boston the day her money had run out and boarded the train to arrive here. God was giving her a second chance. She had begun to wonder if He had abandoned her forever.

  Now, she carried a copy of Noah’s ad in her Bible. The ad read: Passable cook wanted as wife to Montana Territory rancher. Marriage in name only. Must be able to serve up three meals a day for ten to twenty cowboys. Mature widow preferred. Rail fare provided. Separate quarters.

  Maeve wouldn’t recognize Noah if he was standing in front of her. He had told her he lived near Dry Creek, a growing ranch area some distance from Miles City. But hadn’t said anything about his appearance in the one letter he’d written after she answered his ad. Every man she knew bragged about himself, and Noah’s silence in the matter had given her pause. He was probably short and portly. She had wondered about him offering separate quarters until she realized he might be hideously disfigured and wanted his privacy.

  No matter, Maeve had told herself firmly at the time. For all that she was only twenty-five-years old, she was long past girlish dreams. She didn’t need her pulse to quicken with romance at the sight of her husband. She needed a home for her family. As long as Noah was a good man, they would get along.

  Suddenly, Maeve noticed that the wind wasn’t blowing. She turned and saw a man standing behind her with a blanket spread high in his extended arms to stop the onslaught of hail. She was tall at nearly six feet, but this man stood at least three inches higher. He was fit, too. His legs were firmly braced on the wooden platform as he stood against the wind with the blanket flapping behind him.

  “Flanagan?” the man demanded to know. Snow and pebbles of ice covered the brim of his Stetson hat, but she could tell from his beard that his hair was dark. His eyes were moss-green and seemed steady. Not friendly exactly, but not stern, either.

  Maeve nodded as her heart raced. He was neither old nor short. From what she could see of it, his face was strong and probably appealing under his whiskers. Her friend Mercy Jacobs, with whom she’d traveled on the train, had warned her that men in the West were not as refined as those back East, but the man standing in front of her was close to perfect. He might have a beard, but it was trimmed. He didn’t need to place an ad asking for a wife. Surely women around here would line up to be courted by this man.

  Before she could say anything, the man brought the blanket down over her shoulders and Maeve realized how very cold she had been, standing there shivering. She needed to take better care of herself now that she knew about the baby.

  Just then another strong gust of wind hit her, threatening once again to dislodge the old black wool hat she’d securely pinned over her copper hair. She didn’t have a chance to put her hand up before the man took the blanket from her shoulders and draped it over her head, hat and all.

  “There,” he said as though he’d accomplished something. “We better get going before this storm gets any worse. I need to get back to the ranch and we have to stop by the mercantile and then the church.”

  He took her arm and looked ready to walk away.

  “But—” Maeve burst out and stepped back. The blanket kept her face in shadows and she couldn’t see well. “Violet.”

  The cover shifted as she turned and, through the opening around her face, she saw his bewildered expression. Maeve had answered a half dozen other ads and none of the men wanted a woman with a daughter. A healthy son could be of some help, they had all said, but not a daughter. She hadn’t known she was pregnant when she answered those ads so she hadn’t mentioned a baby, but when it came time to answer Noah’s ad she had simply said she had one child.

  He had not asked whether it was a boy or girl or how old the child was; he had just sent two train tickets. At the time, she had thought the man was tolerant and willing to accept any child.

  “My daughter,” Maeve added as she bent over to tuck her shawl more firmly around Violet. Now that she was here it felt unseemly to mention the babe growing inside her until she and Noah had looked each other in the eyes and smiled in acknowledgment of the bond they were contemplating.

  “Oh,” Noah said as though he’d forgotten she even had family.

  “She won’t be any trouble,” Maeve said quietly as she drew the girl closer to her and stepped even with Noah. She was beginning to realize that he had not been kind earlier but, instead, indifferent. She felt a chill go through her that had nothing to do with the storm. She adjusted the blanket, but kept it wrapped around her head. She wished he looked less handsome and more welcoming.

  Violet pulled away slightly and Maeve thought it was because the girl sensed her own growing dismay over the man. But then her daughter turned and pointed at something behind them.

  Maeve followed Violet’s finger. Mercy and her son were knocking on the train window to get their attention. They were on their way farther west to Angel Falls, where Mercy’s future husband waited for them.

  “My friend,” Maeve said by way of explanation to Noah as she lifted her arm in a wave. She and Mercy had said their farewells on the train a
nd Maeve hadn’t expected a chance to do so again. They’d promised to write, but she was glad to see her friend’s face.

  “We don’t have time,” Noah said impatiently.

  “Go-odbye,” Violet stuttered as she whispered and waved shyly.

  Maeve stood up straighter. Her daughter’s trouble with speaking, like the nightmares, had started after seeing her father stabbed to death. Her late husband had taken Violet to some waterfront bar, telling her to stay in the corner, and then he’d sat down and proceeded to be inappropriate with a young lady whose irate father had found them and confronted him. The two men had fought, a full brawl breaking out that had involved the other patrons, and it had all ended badly for her husband. Maeve grieved that he had died, but a larger part of her blamed him for making her a widow.

  The train had started rolling again, and Maeve gave another wave and smile to Mercy. When her friend was out of sight, she turned back to Noah.

  “Ready?” he asked. He didn’t wait for a response, but started moving toward the steps that led down from the railroad platform.

  Maeve gathered Violet closer and hurried to follow him.

  Just then a young woman ran past them and into the arms of a man standing on the far side of the platform. His whoop of joy made it clear he’d been expecting her. He even took the woman in his arms and kissed her.

  Violet stopped and stared at them. “Is she a bride, too?”

  “I don’t know,” Maeve said, her lips pressed together, wondering how she was going to explain to her daughter that not all marriages were filled with happiness.