Mail Order Bride - Cecily Finds a Husband: Westward Bound Brides, #1

By Kate Whitsby

Cecily is hoping that the Montana rancher who spoke up to marry her when she staggered through the door of a mail-order bride agency will be a good man. She’s also hoping to make a life far from her past in New York City, but that past will not rest easy and it doesn’t take her long to understand that if she is to have a good marriage, she must put her faith into the truth—and tell Thom about her life before she met him. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gold Crown Publishing
• Release date: Nov 9, 2016
• ISBN: 9781540108982

Book preview

Mail Order Bride

Cecily Finds a Husband

Westward Bound Brides: Book 1

Kate Whitsby

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Epilogue

Other books by Kate

Mailing List

Copyright

Chapter One

The mountains rose to the west, tall granite peaks silhouetted against the rising sun. To the east lay grassy plains, the verdant seas of green a stark contrast to the harsh thrust and lift of the mountains.

Cecily Waters adjusted the hat on her head, using the reflection in the window to do so, and then gave herself a quick once-over.

Her hair, a rich dark-brown, was neatly pulled up and twisted into a demure coil at the back of her neck. Her face was highlighted by a straight little nose, a full mouth, and wideset brown eyes whose lashes were both thick and very straight.

Her traveling clothes, a plain dove-gray shirtwaist, a darker gray skirt, and a perfectly cut green coat that made the grays of her garments seem a little less plain, were liberally coated with dust despite her constant shaking and brushing of them.

She wet her lips nervously and let her eyes wander over the car. It had emptied out slowly but surely. The first night, coming out of New York City, the train had been jam-packed. People had talked or snored, they’d been surly or cheerful, but they had been there.

Now there was nobody in the car but herself and a few young men headed to the western side of Montana to make their fortunes.

The conductor checked on her often and she knew he was being courteous, but she was often startled by his presence near her. She’d packed a lot of food, everything she’d had left in the little two-room apartment, and she had been slightly embarrassed a few times when he showed up in time to catch her with a bite of food in her mouth just as he asked if she was doing alright.

Her eyes went to her basket. She was hungry, but there was precious little left. She’d had two small loaves in there at the start. She’d eaten that along with cheese and the bruised fruit she’d bought cheaply. There were two boiled eggs left, tucked into the jar of vinegar that kept them from spoiling but made them very sour, and a small heel of bread. There was also a tiny slice of apple pie that she’d been saving for just this moment, and while she was sure it was hard and stiff, she intended to have it for breakfast.

According to the sun, she had about half an hour before the train pulled into the station and the next leg of her journey would begin.

Taking out the eggs, she ate them slowly. Many people ate the hot meals on the train, and she would be lying if she didn’t admit that the occasional whiff of rich meat and gravy coming through the doors tempted her and made her wish heartily for a good hot meal.

The bread had dried out and the pie, while rich and sweet, was indeed stiff, the crust shattering.

She quickly went to the water pail and drank a long mouthful of water. She dipped her handkerchief into the little well below and then went back to her seat, dabbing at her hands and mouth to make sure there were no stray crumbs. She had managed to clean her teeth earlier and now she tucked the last of her tiny mints into her mouth to freshen her breath.

Her nerves were nearly shattered by the sound of the wheels skidding to a stop on the slick steel rails. Her stomach dropped into her knees and her heart stood dead still for a long second.

It was happening.

Her breath caught as she stared out at the rocky peaks. The young men in the car gathered themselves up and she gripped her valise so tightly her knuckles turned white.

She only had the valise and the basket she had kept her food in. There had been nothing else she wanted to bring with her.

In the valise were the other three skirts and shirtwaists she owned, as well as a few pairs of stockings and her undergarments and a thin packet of letters from Thom Presley, the man who’d arranged to marry her through the mail-order bride agency. There was a small china doll in a long white dress, lace doilies, and