Mail Order Bride: Blossoming Brides: A Pair Of Historical Romances: Redeemed Mail Order Brides Western Victorian Romance Pair, #7

By Kenneth Markson

**A Pair Of Clean Historical Mail Order Bride Western Victorian Romances (Redeemed Mail Order Brides Western Victorian Romance Pair)** 

Mail Order Bride: The Battered Bride 
An abusive stepfather forces pretty young Val to leave Shreveport. She decides upon a fresh start to become a mail order bride to a rancher in a small Texas town. But all is not what it seems. Mack, a handsome bounty hunter, passes through by chance. Can the town's evil be stopped? Will love triumph in Texas? 

Mail Order Bride: The Spring Bride 
A lascivious crime boss forces pretty young Amy to leave Omaha and travel to Cheyenne, Wyoming. Evan, a lonely, handsome rancher yearns for a wife of his own. With nowhere to turn, Amy decides to become a mail order bride. But, that is only the beginning. Will evil pursuers get their way, or will true love prevail? 

If you enjoyed these stories, you may also enjoy the other books in Kenneth's mail order brides Redeemed series, or Kenneth's mail order brides Rescued series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kenneth Markson
• Release date: Aug 19, 2016
• ISBN: 9781536512250

Kenneth Markson

While an English major at college, I wrote a column which was published weekly. I have been writing ever since. The old West and Los Angeles in the forties are eras which lend themselves to tales of romance, courage, and fast paced adventure. I particularly enjoy writing stories about the mail order brides who fearlessly took a chance and traveled West, hoping to find love and a better future. Many of the locales that I write about are places that I have either traveled through or actually lived in. I try to make my works richly accurate. My desire is to provide you with an entertaining and fun read. When I'm not writing, I enjoy spending time with my wife and two children.

Book preview

MAIL ORDER BRIDE:

THE BATTERED BRIDE

BY

KENNETH MARKSON

Chapter 1

Business was good for some in downtown Shreveport.  The area was home to new commercial buildings, opera houses, fine restaurants, and large Victorian mansions.  Cotton was back, and thousands of bales of it were being loaded, along with other goods, onto huge steam powered packet ships bound for Texas and other states.  The owners of those packet ships were doing quite well indeed.

Though the downtown area was filled with new storefront warehouses, few of the workers who toiled on the busy wharf could afford to live there.  Most of them resided in the adjacent lowlands; a poor, mosquito infested section of town known as St. Paul's Bottoms.  It was a rundown, crowded area crammed with single story wooden shacks piled together.

That was where Val Fleury was heading when she walked up Commerce Street past the busy wharf.  She had been living in the Bottoms for the past two years, with her mother and stepfather.  Val was a pretty young woman of eighteen, with long dark hair, and sparkling blue eyes. 

Val was hoping that her stepfather would stay away from their small rented space for a few hours.  She and Luke Fleury had never gotten along well, but since her mother's recent death, things had become considerably worse.  When he wasn't drunk, Fleury had an occasional job as a dockworker on the wharf.

His occasional stint at work was becoming less frequent, as were his moments of sobriety.  No such luck, Val thought to herself, when she opened the door to their small rented shack.  There he was, sitting spread out in a chair, drinking whiskey.

Many people become jovial when they drink heavily; not Fleury.  Luke Fleury was a large man with a bad temper, and liquor made him meaner.  He scowled angrily at Val as she walked into the room.

Where you been! he growled.

I was out getting some fresh air, Val replied pleasantly.  I thought I would see you working on the wharf.

Fleury looked at her angrily.

Don't give me any of your sass! he barked.  Fetch me my dinner!

Val stood her ground.

Don't talk to me like that, she said.  I'm not your servant!

Fleury rose from his chair, with his large fists clenched. 

Now that your mother's dead, he snarled, I'm not going to carry you anymore!  You can take yourself, and get the hell out!

Val looked at him derisively.

You carry me? she laughed bitterly.  That's a joke.  My mother carried you.

Fleury was fully up on his feet now, glaring at her menacingly.

Your mother was a whore! the big man retorted.  I made a decent woman out of her!

Val's blue eyes blazed with anger.

Don't talk about my mother, that way! Val yelled.  She was a saint to put up with the likes of you!  You disgusting drunk!

Enraged, Fleury began moving towards her. 

I'm going to teach you a lesson, for talking that way to me! he snapped.

The sight of Val gripping a candlestick with her right hand, and holding it to defend herself, froze him in his tracks.

Stay back! she warned.

You be out of here by tomorrow morning! Fleury demanded.

That suits me just fine, Val replied, still clutching the candlestick in her hand.

The matter had come to a head, Val reflected, as she entered her small room.  Living with her stepfather had become unbearable.  She waited until Fleury was out cold, snoring heavily in a drunken stupor.  I'm not staying here a moment longer, Val thought to herself.  There's no telling what her stepfather would do next in one of his rages.

She pulled away a loose wooden plank underneath her bed, revealing a little space where she had hidden some money which she had saved doing odd jobs, as well as some savings which her mother had secretly managed to squirrel away for her.  Val put a portion of the bills in her small purse.

She hid the rest in a hem in her dress, which she restitched.  It didn't take long for her to fill an old travel bag with her belongings.  She tossed in some clothing, along with her one good dress, a picture of her mother, and some mementoes. 

I'll go to New Orleans, she reflected.  I've got a better chance of finding a job there.  She glanced at Fleury snoring heavily, as she slipped whatever food she could, into her bag.

For a moment, she was tempted to give the drunk his just desserts, for the way that he had treated her and her mother, but that thought quickly passed.  God will give him his just due, she thought to herself, as she glanced one last time at the cramped quarters where she had lived.  Then,