Christmas Rose: Christmas Brides Bouquet Series, #1

By Cheyanne West

When the Civil War ended, Rose Buchanan listened to her mother's urging to leave their now desolate town for a new start. All she can do is trust God with her decision to join a man she didn't know in holy matrimony starting a new life out west far removed from the ravages of war. Mr. O'Malley wasn't much to look at, and his social skills seemed a bit lacking, but she'd seen glimpses of kindness and that was something she could work with. The trek to Nebraska was hard yet rewarding, but Rose could not foresee the coming turn of events that would shape her life forever. Rose is helpless and knows only God can see her through, but will she be able to endure?

If people out west knew Royce's true heritage and family name they'd likely turn against him and consider him an enemy or worse, a traitor. A lonely job for a purposely lonely man, he thought the Deputy Marshal job would be perfect for him. But providence leads him to the right place at the right time, and for the first time Royce questions his resolve. Bound by duty not to fail, Royce is willing to risk all, but will it be enough or is he too late?

For Rose, help comes unexpectedly out of nowhere, and her reaction to her rescuer and his nearness sends tremors throughout her body. Two lives on separate paths take a drastic turn uniting them unexpectedly. Will they recognize the missing piece standing before them, can they overcome, will they survive?

Read all the books in the Christmas Brides Bouquet series:

Book 1 - Christmas Rose

Book 2 - Christmas Lily

Book 3 - Christmas Violet

Read other novels by Cheyanne West

These are all clean and wholesome Mail Order Bride stories in this series that will touch your heart. These are tales demonstrating qualities of fortitude, strength, and valor through biblical themes.

Monterey Brides Series:

Book 1 - An Admiral for Her Voyage

Book 2 - Troubled Past Meets Bright Future

Book 3 - Patient Hope to Heal His Soul

Book 4 - Battle for Adriana

San Diego Brides Series:

Stories you'll find in this series are:

Book 1 – A Home for Elizabeth

Book 2 – A Sturdy Hand for Sharron

Book 3 – Welsh Beauty for a Fierce Fighter

Book 4 – Irish Lass for a Wounded Warrior

Book 5 – An English Bride for a Lonely Captain

Book 6 - A Highlander Bride for the Dark Rider

• Language: English
• Publisher: Big Sage Press
• Release date: Nov 3, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393048862

Book preview

1

Outcast

Glory to God in highest heaven, and peace to those with whom God is pleased. Luke 2:14

South Carolina 1861

At twenty five years of age, with dark hair, bright blue eyes, and tasteful clothing, Royce Calhoun was the embodiment of everything his expensive education and well-to- do upbringing amounted to.

He was also the son of John Caldwell Calhoun, and American statesman from the democratic part of South Carolina. That on its own was enough to instill a deep sense of pressure, placing it squarely on Royce’s shoulders and making him feel indebted to a life he’d never asked for and certainly didn’t want.

Not only was his father a politician, but Royce knew quite well what they called him; a nickname that was passed around many circles. His father was known as the ‘cast-iron man,’ a well-deserved label if ever there was one.

John Calhoun was a firm believer in the Cause for Secession believing the northern states were unfairly promoting factories in southern states, and quite successfully, yet southern agrarian slave owners could not conduct business in non-slave territories. In a world that was rapidly evolving and demanding that its people move right along with it, John staunchly refused, boasting as loudly as he could to anyone who would hear about the benefits of secession. He had no small following among southern gentlemen who also ignored the call for change.

But his father had no idea, or if he did, he buried his head in the sand, refusing to acknowledge the winds of change, preferring to act as if it had no bearing on him, or his business.

In fact, he continued to groom Royce, fully expecting him to carry on in his stead, a shining example of upheld tradition. His son, on the other hand, had other ideas, ones that starkly opposed his father’s.

As things stood, they were at great odds with one another, their beliefs clashing over and over until Royce felt he could hardly stand it anymore. He was no fool, and was well aware that many expected him to follow in his father’s southern-leaning footsteps and were prepared for the inevitability of that outcome.

None had an inkling of the true feelings bubbling beneath the surface; his abhorrence for a system that would enslave people of color. It sickened him, and for the past few months he’d been working to actively undermine his father’s efforts by serving the abolitionist cause.

Naturally, his father would never support such an endeavor and would likely have Royce thrown out on the street if he ever knew, which was why Royce worked in secret, using what little influence his name provided him to offer help, proud to be of use to a cause nobler than himself.

Royce ran his hands over his face and walked on the tips of his toes, careful not to wake anyone else up lest they give him away. Suddenly, the hallway flickered with light, and his father’s voice boomed, the walls shaking.

What is the meaning of this?

Royce stepped into the room, his eyes falling to a paper on his father’s desk, bearing an all-too-familiar seal. He straightened his back, and his mouth pressed into a thin line.

Yar in for a good beatin’ boy, John growled, spinning around to face his son, pinning him with a murderous look, one that chilled the blood in Royce’s veins. You’ve been going behind my back to help them free the black folk?

Yes, Royce had known it was only a matter of time before his father found out he’d joined the abolitionist movement, but he’d hoped for a little more leeway, a chance to feed them information from the inside for as long as he could before he skedaddled, valuing his neck should the truth ever come to light.

Yes, Royce responded evenly. I reckon it isn’t right to own other people, Father, and I ain’t gonna be part of it no more.

Is that so? John asked, voice deadly quiet. Yar a foolish and selfish boy. For crying out loud, what do ya think they will do with ya once they have their freedom? Eh? They’ll be fixing to get rid of ya! All the riches will be gone, boy. You’ll have nothing to your name.

I’d rather be poor, Royce answered calmly, sincerity ringing his tone. While it was true that he was not ungrateful for his comfortable life, and the luxuries it provided, he could no longer turn a blind eye to the injustice inflicted in order to maintain that life.

John’s eyes narrowed into slits, and he stepped forward, his form tall and imposing, years of military training still ingrained; his eyes, an image of his son’s, were full of venom and disbelief.

After everything I’ve done for ya? ’Tis how you repay your old man? By working with them?

Times are changing, Father, Royce pointed out, uncrossing his arms. Dagnabbit. Please, ya must stop these foolish ideas. They are people too, even if they are different.

John’s mouth pressed into a thin and angry line. By honor bright, if you do not desist, ya will be cut off, Royce. By God, you will.

Silence fell between them, long and deadly.

Royce studied his father’s expression, sure that he meant every word. It appeared that John Calhoun would go to the grave before he gave up his beliefs, and he didn’t care if it meant exiling his own son.

So be it, Royce commented, tilting his chin up and making direct eye contact with his father.

What? Ya wish to be a saucebox? Nothing but a lowlife?

Better that than this, Royce pointed out, turning his back on his father.

Go on! Git out of my house. Yar not to receive a cent of yar inheritance, do ya hear me? Yar as good as dead to me; gone, finished. I have no son anymore.

Though his words pierced Royce’s heart and filled him with an ache, deep and unfathomable, he continued straight ahead, reaching for a small bundle of his belongings kept by the door for such an occasion.

Royce didn’t allow himself to look back at the life or people he left behind.

He just couldn’t.

2

Battle Scars

Fredericksburg, Virginia 1865

His fingers were cold, frozen stiff, and he could hardly feel them, his breath coming out in short puffs, materializing in front of him before it disappeared, and the world around him was eerily quiet.

He didn’t like the silence, not one bit.

Especially because he knew it didn’t bode well for their side. Usually, he tried to stay positive, but the war had changed him, hardening him into a man he barely recognized, capable of taking and sparing life in equal measure.

No, he wasn’t bloodthirsty, but he knew that during times such as these—cruel, unforgiving, and ruthless times—sacrifices had to be made, and at the end of the day, it was for the greater