“Oh, this and that,” he replied. “Your eyes, your smile, your hair. The way you laugh. You’re stubborn—”
She chuckled. “I like it when you’re thinking about me, but not if it’s going to get you killed. I’m glad you didn’t die.”
“Me too.” Again, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. “I have one more surprise.”
“Another?” She took the paper from his hand and read it.
“If you agree, I’d like to build a ranch on the piece of land my father left me,” he began. “I’ll build us a house, and make sure you have a place with plenty of light where you can draw and paint, too. I’ve been saving for quite a while now, and this is a promissory note from the bank for the rest of the money to buy my first herd.”
“The land near your brother and his family?”
He nodded. “I know it’s not right near your family, but we could visit often. I’ll build the house with plenty of rooms for company so they can come and visit us, too.”
Hannah reached up and kissed him. She couldn’t believe how much her life had changed, how much it was about to change. If she hadn’t gone out to the waterfall that day …
He gazed down at her. “How do you feel about being a rancher’s wife?”
She grinned. “I’d love to be a rancher’s wife.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” he said. “You won’t change your mind?”
She shook her head. “It might have taken me a while to change my mind about falling in love with a lawman, but I’ll never change my mind about one thing.”
“What’s that?” he asked.
She reached up and kissed him. “I will never stop loving you.”
Kirby was her life, her future, and whether he was a lawman or a rancher, she knew she would love him forever, no matter what.
About the Author
Although she grew up as far away from the old west as possible, Margery has always admired the men and women who settled the untamed land west of the Mississippi. Glued to TV westerns like Maverick, Rawhide and Gunsmoke, and reading stories of Annie Oakley, Roy Rogers and Rin Tin Tin, it was only natural that when she started writing, she wrote what she loved to watch and read. She lives on a lake in Canada with her husband, and when she’s not writing or travelling in search of the perfect setting for her next novel, you can usually find her wielding a pair of knitting needles or a pool cue.
Website: www.margeryscott.com
Blog: www.margeryscott.com/blog
Facebook: www.facebook.com/AuthorMargeryScott
Twitter: www.twitter.com/margeryscott
Also by Margery Scott
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Mail Order Memories
Kirsten Osbourne
Copyright © 2017 by Kirsten Osbourne
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Introduction
Mary Brown is forced to start over in Beckham, Massachusetts, when the love of her life is killed out West. She has no desire to be in the town where they grew up together and memories of him will flood through her at every turn. After five years as a cook, her employer suggests she become a mail order bride to a man who has no desire to find love…only a life partner. Unsure if she’s making a mistake, she sends a letter in reply to the ad, unsure if she’ll be able to handle marriage to a stranger after expecting a life of love.
William Jones has always known he’d marry his love, but when her father insists he goes West to make his fortune before they can marry, he reluctantly agrees. After all, he wants his love to get everything she ever wants in life. When he finds out Mary has died after a tragic illness, he gets his farm ready, but he can’t go through his entire life without love. He sends for a mail order bride, getting the biggest shock of his life. Will he ever be able to trust his bride? Or will he spend the rest of his life regretting his decision to marry?
Chapter 1
Massachusetts, 1891
When she was only sixteen, Marylin “Mary” Brown already knew who she’d marry. She knew the name of the boy she would love for the rest of her life, and she knew she would spend it right there in Barley, Massachusetts.
When she had first started school at the one-room schoolhouse there in Barley, she’d noticed a boy who was two years older than her by the name of William Jones. At first, she’d hated him. She remembered running home from her first day of school, begging her mother not to make her go back.
“Please, Mama! There’s a horrid boy there! His name is William, and he chases me at recess trying to put toads in the back of my dress.”
Mama had been firm, as she always was. “No matter how many toads he puts in the back of your dress, you need to go to school. You want to be able to read the Bible and read recipes so you can cook for your family, don’t you? And then you can read special books to your children!”
Mary didn’t exactly come from a wealthy family, but her father ran the only mercantile in town, and she always had what she needed. Her parents were careful not to spoil her, but as an only child, they had high hopes for her. “Then can you ask Papa to tell him to leave me alone? Please?”
Mama shook her head. “You’re going to have to learn to deal with people who don’t treat you as they should, Mary. It’s part of growing up.”
Mary sighed. “I don’t want to have to talk to him.”
“If you ask him to stop, maybe he will. It’s always worth trying.” Mama was ill. Mary didn’t know it at the time, but that’s why she spent all her time sitting in the rocking chair beside the window, watching what would happen outside.
Mary climbed onto her mama’s lap and rested her head against her shoulder. “I wish we could go for a walk and pick flowers like we used to.”
Mama smiled, stroking a tendril of hair that had escaped from Mary’s braid. “I wish we could too. Maybe someday. Right now, I’m too tired to make that kind of walk.”
Mary nodded solemnly. “Then I will go and pick flowers for you and bring them back so you can see them.”
Mama smiled. “That’s a good idea. Make sure not to pick too many though. We want everyone else to be able to admire their beauty as well.”
Mary rushed out to pick flowers for her mama, being extra careful to get a full array of colors, but to leave a great deal more than she picked. Her mama would have pretty flowers, but the rest of the flowers would still be there to color the world and make it special for anyone who walked along her path.
As she finished, she started to run toward home but stopped short. There he was—William. The boy who had been mean to her at school.
She took a deep breath and marched straight up to him, stopping inches from his face and cranking her head back to look up and see him. “I want you to stop chasing me at recess. And keep those ugly old toads to yourself.”
“I thought all girls liked to kiss toads to see if they turned into princes.”
She wrinkled her nose at him. Her mama had read her the story of the princess kissing the frog, and she knew better. “Girls kiss frogs, not toads. So keep the toads and you kiss them!”
“Maybe I’ll kiss you instead,” William said, grabbing her arms.
Mary kicked William as hard as she could and turned and ran for home, her bouquet of flowers for her mama clutched clos
e to her chest. She was panting when she shut the door behind her, so she waited a moment, not wanting to worry her mama. She’d learned in the past few months that Mama had to be handled carefully, and with much love.
After catching her breath, she hurried into the room where her mama was and handed her the flowers, smiling widely. “I picked just enough to make a pretty bouquet for the supper table, but not so many you can tell they’re gone from the side of the road.”
Mama took the flowers and brought them to her nose. “They’re perfect, Mary. Put them on the table now, and then come back to me.”
Mary did as she was told, going into the kitchen where their helper was making supper. “Mrs. Johnson, will you get me a vase, please? I picked some pretty flowers for Mama.”
Mrs. Johnson smiled and reached up to a high shelf to get down a vase, filling it with water. “There you go. Your mama is lucky to have a girl who loves her as much as you do.”
Mary shook her head solemnly. “No, I’m the lucky one to have her as a mama. I’m the only person in the world who can call her mama.”
“Go put that on the table now.”
“Yes’m.” Mary hurried to put the vase on the table and went back to her mama in the parlor, still in her rocking chair beside the window. Papa carried her there each morning, and she was still there when Mary got home from school in the evenings.
She hurried to Mama’s side. “Do you want me to bring you a glass of water?”
Mama shook her head. “No, thank you. Why don’t you come up here, and we can talk for a moment before Papa comes home?”
Mary quickly climbed onto her mama’s lap. “What do you want to talk about, Mama?”
“You know that I’ve been moving slower lately, and Papa’s been carrying me around instead of me walking…”
“Yes, but you’re going to get stronger and better, and when it’s spring again, you’ll be able to pick flowers with me again. Papa told me.”
Mama shook her head. “Papa’s trying to make you think I’ll get better so you won’t be too sad.” She took a deep breath. “I saw the doctor today, and he said I don’t have much more time to be with you. We’ll never be able to pick flowers together again, but we can still spend time together. I want to read you my favorite book before…it happens.”
“Before what happens, Mama? Are you going somewhere?”
Mama closed her eyes in a way that Mary would later understand meant she was in a great deal of pain. “I’m going to heaven to be with God. I’m dying, baby.”
Mary blinked a few times before shaking her head. “You can’t die. You’re not done helping me to be a grown woman yet. You have to stick around for a lot longer.”
Mama smiled, stroking Mary’s cheek. “I wish I could, sweetheart. I’m very sick though. So we’re going to read a book. A favorite of mine.” She picked up a book from the table beside her bed and opened it to the first chapter. “Heidi, chapter one.”
Mary rested her head on Mama’s shoulder as she listened to her read the story of a young girl living with her grandfather.
That’s how Papa found them less than an hour later, both of his beautiful ladies engrossed in a book about an orphan girl. “How are my girls today?”
Mama smiled. “We’re good. We’re reading my favorite story.”
Papa smiled as he looked down at them, so alike in their looks. Both had blond hair and bright blue eyes, and the same delicate features. “Let’s go in to supper. Mrs. Johnson is putting it on the table now.”
Mary hurriedly slid off her mother’s lap. “We’ll read some more tomorrow. Promise?”
“I promise. Now hurry to the table before your food gets cold.”
Mary ran to the table, always obedient. She couldn’t let her parents down. At supper, she talked about her first day of school and the boy with the toads.
It was a day Mary would never forget—her first day of school, the day she found out her mother was dying, and the day she first heard her favorite book. And the day she met the man she’d marry. William Jones.
Sixteen-year-old Mary looked out the window to see if her father was coming. She was supposed to be setting the table, but she was so nervous. William would be by to ask her father for permission to marry her that very night. They wanted to be married right away, and spend the rest of their lives raising vegetables and babies. William would be a farmer like his father, and his father before him.
She couldn’t help but remember how they’d realized they were meant to be together.
She’d been fourteen, and one of the boys in school had been teasing her. Many of the boys teased her in a nice way, but not Bob. Bob teased her in a mean way, and he always had. Bob had cornered her against the school house and the tree that was right beside it. “Let me go!” Mary kicked at him, but he moved his legs away, so he wouldn’t be hurt.
The next thing she knew, William had spun the boy around by his shoulder and punched him right in the face. Mary swiped away a tear that came too late. Who cried after they were rescued? It was just strange.
After Bob ran away, she stood facing her nemesis, the boy who had bothered her since her first day of school. “Thank you,” she said awkwardly.
William put a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t cry. It hurts my heart when you do that.”
Mary sniffled. “It does?”
He nodded. “I’ve only seen you cry three times, and I’ll never forget any of them.”
Mary pulled her handkerchief from her sleeve and wiped away her tears. “When have you seen me cry?” She couldn’t recall ever crying in front of him.
“When teacher came to tell you that your mama died, not long after you started school, again at her funeral, and just now. I don’t like it when you cry.”
Mary nodded, closed her eyes, and drew on the strength she knew her mama would want her to show. “Thank you again for your help, William.”
She’d walked back into the classroom, and there on her desk was another bouquet of flowers. She knew that Albert was leaving the flowers for her. Everyone knew it. She was considering letting him court her as soon as she turned fifteen. That’s when her papa said she would be old enough to court. She didn’t like him much, but she didn’t want to be an old maid either. She took the flowers and smiled at Albert, nodding to thank him. Albert had grinned at her, as if to say he knew she was his. Albert did kind things, and that made him worth considering as a potential beau.
Just as teacher walked to the front of the class, Mary saw William stand up. “The flowers aren’t from Albert. They never have been. They’re from me.”
She blinked at William, and suddenly it all made sense. He was the one leaving all the gifts for her. “Were the apples from you?”
He nodded. “And the peppermint sticks in your desk as well.”
“Would you be so kind as to walk me home from school today?” she’d asked softly, trying not to draw too much attention.
Everyone heard of course, and there were snickers, but from that day forward, their names were linked as if it was impossible to say one without the other.
As they walked home from school, he’d talked to her about that awful first day, where she’d been so angry. “I didn’t know how to tell you that you were the prettiest girl I’d ever seen, so I was stupid, and I chased you around with that toad. I wanted you to notice me.”
“Oh, I noticed you all right. I thought you were mean and cruel. I went home and told my mama how mean you were.”
He sighed. “I’m very sorry for upsetting you.” He reached out and took her hand in his. “I want you to be my girl.”
She smiled at him shyly. “I think I’m already your girl.”
“You are? Really?”
“Yes, but don’t tell anyone. My papa says I’m not allowed to court until I’m fifteen and that’s six whole months away!”
“Then I won’t kiss you until then,” he said, winking at her and making her blush again.
“You can’t kiss me! Not until we�
�re engaged. It wouldn’t be right.”
“Are you asking me to marry you, Mary? ’Cuz I’ll say yes, and then you’re stuck forever.”
She giggled. “Maybe we should start courting in six months, and you can ask me to marry you when I’m sixteen. Mama got married at sixteen, so I’m sure Papa thinks that’s just the right age.”
When they got to her door, he leaned down and kissed her cheek. “That doesn’t count, ’cuz it’s not on your lips. I sure do want a real kiss though.”
She shook her head. “No. Not until we’re engaged. But…I want a real kiss too!” As she said the last words, she’d hurried into the house and shut the door. When she’d peeked out the window a minute later, he was still standing there with a goofy grin on his face. How could she not have known that he had feelings for her?
Mary heard the door open, and pulled herself back to the present. “Hi, Papa. How was your day?” She hurried to him and took his coat and hat as her mama had when she was small, before returning to finish setting the table.
“It was good.” He studied her for a moment. “What did you learn in school today?”
“We had to write essays today, and I wrote about how much I want to be like my mama.” She’d written about how she had made her mama promise every day that she would read the next chapter of Heidi, so she’d live longer. In the end, there had been two chapters left when her mama had died. For a long time, she’d been angry that Mama had broken her promise and not finished it, but she’d learned that it was she who was wrong, asking Mama to make the promise.
Papa’s face softened. “You are like your mama. Just like her.”
Mary finished setting the table and walked over to hug Papa. “Thank you. I can’t think of a better compliment you could give me.”
Gunsmoke and Gingham Page 37
