An Indian Mail Order Bride (#4, Brides of Montana Western Romance) (A Historical Romance Book): Brides of Montana Western Romance, #4

By Leah Laurens

Fitting in is never easy... especially when you're an Indian mail order bride.

Bíawacheeitchish—Bia to her friends—has just left the only home she's ever known.

Her brothers want her to marry Askook, an Indian man from an enemy tribe whom she does not love.

Bia is supposed to be the prize that will bring peace to their tribes.

She knows Askook is dangerous but her brothers won't listen.

Her only way out is to become a mail order bride.

Tom is the brother of her closest friends.

But he's not Indian. He's a farmer.

A white man who knows nothing of her ways.

And… she doesn't know if she can live with him but she doesn't think she can live without him either.

When Askook comes looking for her, Tom must fight to keep her safe.

Bia's not sure that Tom loves her enough to face the danger.

Will Tom protect her when his own life is on the line, or would he rather save himself?

Will Bia ever be safe, or should she just accept her fate?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Leah Laurens
• Release date: Feb 16, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393534303

Leah Laurens

Leah Laurens is a multi-voiced writer who always been a lover of historical romance novels since young, especially that of Western Romance. A romance set in the American West, Leah’s novels involve characters that are strong in character, each with a strong personality and with different pursuits in life. The Hero has his own adventures in life that he wants to pursue, the Heroine learning to survive and conquer the harsh challenges sometimes. Despite the many differences, there is somehow a destiny the hero and heroine must fulfil by meeting each other and to fall in love.  Through Leah’s writings, she hopes to inspire many who are waiting, questioning about love in a sometimes cynical world. That there will always be that silver linings in the clouds which one sees in their life. Some of Leah’s inspirations came from authors like Linda Lael Miller, Harper Sloan.

Book preview

prologue

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Bethel Forest, Montana, 1881

The air was cold even though the day had been warm. It was a bad sign. Bíawacheeitchish sat at the bedside of her uncle, Chief Iiniwa, and tried not to cry. She turned her eyes away from her uncle's pale face and tried not to listen to the raspiness of his breath. Her tears would only prove to her brothers that they were right. She was weak. She was not a true warrior as her name implied.

The real Bíawacheeitchish had been a warrior and leader of the Crow Indians many years ago. She had been an honored member of the Council of Chiefs, and it was said she could fight off multiple attackers with nothing but a stick. The current Bíawacheeitchish, otherwise known as Bia—the nickname her white friends had given her—suspected this was an exaggeration, though it did nothing to diminish the warrior's honor in her eyes.

Bíawacheeitchish had been ambushed and killed by another tribe. Bia's parents had once met the great Crow leader and had named their only daughter after her. They had been ambushed and killed themselves not long after giving Bia her name. She and her brothers had been raised by her uncle, and Bia had spent the last twenty-five years trying to live up to her namesake. She had failed on all counts.

Chief Iiniwa opened his eyes and looked at Bia. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again.

Uncle? Bia had hoped he might speak to her. Tell her once more that he loved her. Perhaps find the strength to forbid her brothers from carrying out their plan. It was a bad plan, she had told them when they had first mentioned it to her. She would not go through with it. She refused. But they would not listen to her. They had not been seeking her permission, only informing her of their decision.

B-B... came her uncle's whisper. She had to lean close to hear him. His breath blew hot and acrid on her ear. He did not have much longer. The white man's medicine she had brought him from Helena had not worked. It had been days now and there had been no improvement. The doctor had told her that if they were to work, she would know within a week. The week was almost up.

She had failed him. She was no warrior. She was no leader. She was only Bia. A pawn. A trophy. A tool to be sold off, according to her brothers. Their own doctors and shamans had failed her uncle as well, she reminded herself but it brought her no comfort.

Her uncle's eyes fell closed again. His mouth closed with them. Whatever he had wished to say would remain his secret. She kissed his cheek and held his hand in hers. Akhila, one of the female elders, came by and asked if she needed anything. Bia told her no. The woman hesitated before moving on.

Bodhi says the Blackfoot are coming, Akhila said.

Bia nodded. She had no wish to speak of the Blackfoot right now. Nor ever.

Akhila tilted her head back and looked at the stars, which were beginning to shine. I have asked the Spirits of our grandfathers to watch over you.

Ask them to watch over my uncle, said Bia bitterly. For me, there is no hope.

Akhila looked at Bia. There is always hope. You have the strength of your name within you, even if you do not see it.

Bia looked at her, wanting to dismiss the notion but there was fire in Akhila's eyes. Bia nodded, thanking her. Akhila stood a moment longer then went on with her work.

Chief Iiniwa had had no children of his own despite marrying in his youth. The spirits of their grandfathers had chosen not to bless her uncle in this way, and growing up he had told Bia that he believed it was because the spirits knew Bia and her brothers were to come to him and they would be all he could handle, especially after his wife died.

If Chief Iiniwa were in his right mind now and not weakened by sickness, he would never allow the union that her brothers had planned for her. She knew that. They knew that. That is why they had waited.

Bia's three brothers stood away from them so that they might talk outside of her hearing. She knew what they were saying, though, especially by the way Kachada would not look at her. She had always been closest with her middle brother, and she knew that he was not fond of Bodhi's plan, though he had not dared speak against it.

Bodhi, her eldest brother, was in charge now, acting as chief of their tribe. Though not the biological son of Chief Iiniwa, all three of her brothers, and herself, were considered his children. She had asked Bodhi this evening to reconsider his plan in honor of their uncle. To acknowledge what his wishes would be and act accordingly.

Bodhi and Mochni spoke rapidly in their native tongue as Bia watched them. Kachada remained silent. Mochni's voice rose and Bia caught something. A name. The name she was coming to fear. It carried through the air to her ears, a whisper on the wind. A warning. Askook.

Askook was the son of a Blackfoot chief. Bia was the daughter of a Crow chief. The two tribes had been at war for many years. They were acknowledged enemies, and Bia's brothers had decided that she was to be a peace offering.

In a way, she could not blame them. If she believed it might really bring peace to her tribe, she might do it. But the Blackfoot were liars. Enemies without honor. She did not trust the union. Bodhi looked at her and waved her over to their circle.

Bia stood. She walked to her brothers, waiting with her breath held to hear what they would say. She did not know why she continued to hope Bodhi's mind might be changed. It would not. She could see it in his eyes as she approached.

Mochni, her youngest brother, watched her with suspicion. Your request is nonsense, he spat. Bodhi will not even consider it.

Bodhi shot Mochni a dangerous look. I am the eldest, in case you have forgotten, he said sternly. I speak first. You must listen.

Mochni's face turned pink. She could tell he wanted to say something more but he bit his tongue back.

We have discussed your union to Askook, as you requested, Bodhi began, and you are to marry him as planned.

Kachada let out a heavy sigh.

Bodhi shot him a look. Do you wish to speak as well? he snapped.

Kachada shook his head.

Bia's own head felt light. Dizzy. And if I do not go forward as planned? she asked, knowing that even to ask such a question was dangerous.

As a young woman, she was in no position to question her eldest brother. She had never acted according to what was expected of her though. Had she not taken on white friends when others had warned her against such a thing? Carrie Ackerman was a good friend to her, even better than her Indian friends, of which she had few. Carrie's sisters, Harriet and Sarah, had become good friends as well. As had Alice Tucker, another unexpected friendship she had begun to form with a white saloon girl. She did not care that they were white women. They were good people, even Alice, and that was all that mattered to Bia.

Mochni lifted his chin and spoke with anger. You have no right to question us. You do as we say. We are your brothers.

I have every right to question you, Bia said, holding her head high. I am the daughter of a Crow chief. I am not a slave to be sold at will. She did not know where she found such courage at times. Inside, she was shaking.

You do as we command, Mochni yelled back, stepping toward her. I say you must marry Askook.

I am the eldest, Bodhi said, talking over Mochni and placing a firm hand on his shoulder. Mochni glared at him but backed down. "You will do as I say. Bodhi paused, drawing in a breath. You will marry Askook when he arrives tomorrow."

Askook will not make a good husband, Bia said, trying to reason with him. He is ugly. Not just in his face but in his heart. He drinks too much. He spits on the ground. He boasts and tells lies. Would you have your only sister sold off to such a man? If Uncle were well, he would never permit such a thing.

"Dho!" Enough. Bodhi looked at Bia crossly. I am in charge. He offered no further discussion on the subject. It was a simple statement, and it was all she would get.

Kachada's eyes finally met hers. Perhaps there is more to be said.

Bia's heart soared. She smiled gratefully at her brother for finding the courage to speak. She knew it was not easy for him. Kachada was a quiet man. He preferred to be led, not to lead. It had suited him well to be the middle brother.

It is not just our sister's wishes we must consider, Kachada continued, attempting to appeal to Bodhi's sense of honor and duty, it is our uncle's as well. She speaks the truth when she says he would not wish this union.

Mochni's eyes blazed. He was the youngest and, as such, his temper flared often and without warning. How dare you question your elder? Chief Iiniwa would wish us to do as we are told, not to question those in charge.

But he raised us to be fair-minded. He taught us to see others without prejudice. To speak with open minds. We cannot ignore the pleas of our sister. Why should we trust this will satisfy the Blackfoot anyway? When have they ever kept their word to us?

It is not for you to question, Mochni cried. 

This time, Bodhi yanked Mochni back hard. Mochni fell to the ground, angered but knowing he deserved it.

The Blackfoot arrive tomorrow, Bodhi said. The marriage to Askook will go forth, he looked directly at Bia, or this will no longer be your home.

Bia's heart sank. She saw the look of surprise on Kachada's face and knew that he was as shocked as she was. The threat of banishment was not taken lightly by her people.

Bia gulped but her throat was dry. She had nothing more to say. She nodded and slowly turned away from her brothers. She walked several paces then stopped and turned back, wanting one last look at the only family she'd ever known. Her brothers were talking amongst themselves again. Only Kachada saw her look their way. He stared back at her, his brow scrunched tightly together. She sighed and turned away, entering her teepee.

The letters she had exchanged with Tom Ackerman were hidden beneath her bed. She pulled them out now and reread them, still unable to believe that she had responded to his ad for a mail order bride. Had he not been the brother of her friends, she might not have had the courage to reply but Carrie, Harriet, and Sarah were good women. Their brother was bound to be a good man. Her friends had often spoken of him with love and adoration. She took comfort in that fact. She would rather marry a white man that she knew to be good than a Native she knew to be bad.

She had not told her friends of her plan to marry their brother but only because he had asked her not to. He wished to tell them himself after the wedding had taken place. She was just glad that she had been able to get his letters from the post office so easily. Her trips into Helena to visit her white friends were the perfect excuse for retrieving them without anyone knowing.

I shall see you soon, she whispered and packed the letters into her small bag along with a single change of clothes. She would need no more.

The train ticket Tom had sent was for tomorrow morning out of the station in Helena. She was not far. She would wait until her brothers were asleep and then go, and she would not come back. Her only regret would be that she could not write to tell them she was safe—not even Kachada. If they knew where she was, they might come seeking her. She would make her way to Indiana in secret and pray to the spirits of her grandfathers that she never saw her brothers again. She had no family now but she would soon have a husband. It would have to be enough. She would have to be strong, and she would pray that Tom was everything she needed him to be.

*   *   *

chapter 1

*   *   *

Valley Glen,

Indiana, 1881

Tom Ackerman stood looking at his reflection. The scar on his leg was hidden beneath his pants. He only wished he could hide his limp as easily. He walked backward then walked forward, keeping his eyes on the mirror. He sighed. The limp only became more apparent the more he tried to hide it.

He knew that he should be grateful that he had his leg at all, given how deep the plow had cut him but every day he could not help but curse his rotten luck. His sisters had told him often that God had spared his life, pointing out that he could just as easily have died in that farming accident. Though he had nodded his agreement, he had not really cared. God had played many jokes on him over the years, and he had lost his sense of humor long ago.

The jokes had begun when God first took the life of his parents in a fire when he was sixteen. The fire had burned their home to the ground but spared their land. Another joke. They had farmland with no farmhouse. Then the neighbors had helped him and his brother and sisters to rebuild but the home had been so small that they could barely fit inside it. Another joke. His sister Harriet had married well, had a child, and seemed happy, then God had taken her husband from her. A joke on poor Harriet. Another joke on him when Harriet and her child, Issie, had been forced to move back in with him and his family into their tiny house. Another mouth for him to feed. Another joke. Then the farming accident, which had made him unable to farm the land he and his siblings owned. The final joke.

Tom was all joked out. Henry, his younger brother, often accused him of being bitter. Tom acknowledged that bitterness and felt no qualms about it. It was the bitterness that had gotten him through sleepless nights and the loneliness that made his heart almost break in two, especially after his three sisters had all left. They'd become mail order brides to raise the money to save their farm because Tom had been unable to raise it himself. He still felt ill over that. At least they had all married well and seemed happy now.

He shook his head, trying to clear it of these thoughts so that he could focus on the task at hand. He straightened his tie and took a deep breath. He hoped that Bia was as pretty as he'd pictured. She'd described herself as having long dark hair and dark eyes. He knew that she was friends with his sisters and that spoke well of her. It was the reason he'd selected her from the many responses he'd received to his ad. He still had a hard time believing that he had placed one. An ad for a mail order bride sounded like a joke to him, yet it had worked out well for his sisters. He'd read Harriet's article in the women's periodical on what it was like to be a mail order bride, and it had inspired him. His sisters were happy. He wanted to be happy, too.

Henry came in just as Tom was heading for the door. He brushed the dirt on his hands off on his pants. Tom watched as it formed a cloud around his brother. Henry breathed it in and coughed. Tom made a face but said nothing; he had seen this before. It was a daily routine. When the coughing passed, Henry took his dirty boots off and sat down. He still hadn't looked up.

The field's giving me one heck of a hard time, he breathed, closing his eyes. Henry's blond hair was so dirty that it looked brown.

I'll get out there earlier tomorrow, Tom said. I can help longer if I get out sooner. It's only later in the day when my leg begins to ache. Something changes in the afternoon air and—

You don't have to, Henry said. I can handle it.

Tom tightened his lips. Henry was lying. He wanted to spare his feelings. Tom was practically useless on the farm since his accident. Henry had been holding things together alone, doing the best that he could. It wasn't his fault that his best just wasn't quite good enough. The farm hadn't turned a profit in some time. Even before his accident, things hadn't been right financially, though they'd been starting to look up.

I don't know how Harriet does it, Henry said, referring to his twin sister. Tom often wondered if Henry knew how much love sounded in his voice when he spoke of her.

What's that? Tom asked.

Write. She has two kids to raise, one of her own on the way, and a husband to care for. Yet she still manages to write articles and novels. Good ones, too. How many has she written now? I'm still trying to finish my first article on farming accidents.

You'll finish it, Tom said. And you'll sell it.

Feels like all I've done is research. But I really think the information could help a lot of people. Not just on how to prevent farming accidents but what to do if they happen.

Tom smiled. He couldn't help himself. He knew this article of Henry's was special to him because of Tom's own accident. It was Henry's way of making sure that that sort of thing didn't happen to others. For as long as Tom could remember, Henry had wanted to be a writer. Harriet's success had spurred him on at first but lately Tom thought it was taking a toll. Henry had yet to sell one article, let alone a book. Harriet had sold several.

I tell you, I'm so tired when I get inside I can barely take pen to paper. I wish had some of Harriet's energy. Henry opened his eyes and looked at Tom. His eyes widened and he broke out into a grin.

Don't you look fancy, Henry laughed. Shoot, the last time I saw you in a tie was... His eyes rolled up and to the left, thinking. Never, he finally said and laughed louder.

Tom smiled. He'd been hoping to avoid this until he got back with Bia. Maybe he was a coward that way. He knew that Henry wouldn't like what he was doing but he also knew Henry wasn't likely to yell in front of a woman.

I was just leaving, Tom said and reached for the door.

Where to? Henry asked. "Are