Mail Order Brides – Love Blossoms in Redstone (A Western Romance Book)

By Faye Sonja

Three inspirational stories of women who risked everything for love and traveled thousands of miles to the western frontier.

Part 1: Desperate Bride Mistaken Her Undertaker William

Clara is alone and living in poverty. She makes one vow to her tiny child: she will never become a Mail Order Bride again.

Not after what happened last time… But alone with her baby, Clara is left homeless and penniless. She has NO choice but to do the one thing she vowed NOT to do: to become a Mail Order Bride, now for a second time…

Part 2: Reserved Bride Mistaken Her Pariah Edward

ALONE in the world, with all her family dead . . . Heather is desperate to escape her fate. So she sends a letter to the town of Redstone, addressed to Edward Owens - a man who has proposed to another woman, pretending to be the other woman.

But this is Heather's second chance - and she's going to take it and make it work, no matter what…

Part 3: Curious Bride Mistaken Her Debt Collector Timothy

Post office manager, Kitty Lane is worried she is destined for a life of spinsterhood.

Everything changes one day when a woman dies in the post office in the middle of delivering a letter - and Kitty reads the letter. Now… she's going to leave everything behind - the job she loves, her friends, her colleagues, and her town, to meet the man the letter was addressed to.

A man looking for a mail order bride. This could be Kitty's chance for her to marry and to find love.

3 parts of heartwarming mail order brides tales of love, romance, and triumph over adversity in one book.

Love on the western frontier was a rare treasure. Follow these inspirational women who risked everything to travel to the untamed West in the hopes of finding love and starting a new family.

If you're a fan of clean western romance, you will love this book.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Faye Sonja
• Release date: Feb 20, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393008736

Faye Sonja

Faye Sonja is a multi-voiced writer who aspires to use different voices in telling her stories, seeing characters coming alive through the multi-faceted writing styles give her great satisfaction. As a young girl, Faye Sonja has been fascinated with stories of the Old West, especially the theme of Mail Order Bride where a woman will find the courage to leave her homeland, take the plunge to seek out the love of her life out there in the unknown land. Such an act requires bravery, such an act requires faith. It takes a woman with strong Christian faith to step out on such a pursuit for her love. It is Faye's desire that readers will once again have the courage to believe in love again from reading her books, to be inspired through the characters in her story who through perseverance, in the face of obstacles, overcame the hurdles using that simple faith and belief of theirs. 

Book preview

PART 1

Desperate Bride Mistaken Her Undertaker William

1

*   *   *

Winter 1903

Clara needed to see the gravestone for herself.

She whispered to the infant in her arms, and told him it was going to be all right. Not much further now, and then we can go home, sweetie. As if you could call the place they lived in a home.

Clara held John close to her and wrapped the blanket around his tiny, trembling body. The cold seemed to have dulled his cries, and Clara leaned down and brushed the snowflakes from his face, pulling the blanket up higher around him so that it became a barrier between the baby's face and the bitter cold.

She shivered as she looked down at the gravestone.

"Garfield Daniels

1856 - 1903

Beloved Husband of Clara Daniels

Loving father to John Daniels."

Clara had to laugh, even as the icy wind blew in her face, almost choking her. Beloved husband was a lie, but Loving father? Why, nothing could have been further from the truth. She looked down at the little one cradled in her arms and almost began to weep as she thought about how close she'd come to losing him that night... But she knew that the words on the gravestone had to conceal the bitter and brutal truth.

It was real. He was gone. And they were safe now.

John began to whimper, so Clara bounced him up and down a little. Don't cry little one. We're going to be all right now, you and me. Her eyes were drawn back to the headstone, like a magnet. Her voice came out in a whisper. It will always just be you and I now. Never will I allow myself to become a mail order bride again. Or anyone's bride, for that matter.

* * *

Clara looked over the stack of firewood. Barely enough to get through the night. She picked John up and wrapped him in a second blanket. He felt warm enough to her, but she still knew she would not sleep for the worry. She was already dreading the morning when she would have to go up to the Blackwood's house and beg for more firewood. She placed John back down in his crib and stared at him. Surely they would take pity on a young widow with a newborn baby? Especially at Christmas, she thought.

John slowly shut his eyes and within a few minutes he was asleep. But Clara didn't want to take her eyes off him on the coldest night of the year. She pulled up the only chair they had in the tiny house and sat beside the crib, watching his chest as he took each breath, in and out. He was such a good baby—had barely given her any trouble in the three months since he'd been born. She was grateful for that at least. Now if they could just get through the night. Clara leaned over his crib and bowed her head to pray.

A knock on the door disturbed her prayer. Clara looked down at John to see if he'd woken. He moved in his sleep at the sound, but kept his eyes closed. Such a good little boy, Clara thought, wondering at how such a perfect angel could be the result of such a terrible thing. Clara pulled her shawl around her shoulders tightly and walked over to the window, shivering as she moved further away from the fire. She looked out and saw Harris Blackwood, the master of the manor house, and their landlord, standing there.

Perhaps my prayers have already been answered, Clara thought. Perhaps he's brought the firewood early, without me needing to beg for it. She would be so grateful if that was the case. But as she squinted through the dirty glass, she couldn't see any sign of firewood. All she could see was Mr. Blackwood standing there with a grim look on his face. Clearly, whatever he wanted to discuss with her, it wasn't going to be good.

Clara took a step backwards and hid behind the curtains for a moment, wondering if she could pretend they weren't home. But the fire would have given them away, and Mr. Blackwood was sure to have seen them walking down the lane past the house earlier. Besides, she didn't like to lie after everything that the Blackwood’s had done for her and John. She took a deep breath and opened the door.

Clara, Mr. Blackwood said, taking his hat off and holding it up against his chest. I do hope I haven't disturbed you or the baby.

Clara glanced over her shoulder at John's crib. He's still sleeping, thankfully. It's been a big day for both of us.

Mr. Blackwood looked at the crib sitting in the back of the cottage, with the fire roaring behind it. His expression was filled with remorse. Clara, don't think I'm unsympathetic to your situation, but me and my family have allowed you to stay here free of charge for months now, and... He seemed stuck for words. Unable to say the words that would mean a young widow and her baby would be cast out on the street. But we can no longer afford to put you up here. Times have been hard for all of us, and we need the cottage for paying tenants.

Clara was in shock as she heard these words. She'd known that the Blackwood’s were doing her a huge favor, and she knew that it might have strained them at times, but she'd never dreamed they would actually kick her out. Not with a baby, and no husband, and nowhere else to go.

John started wailing in his crib, almost as if he could understand the conversation they were having. The high pitched squeals were so unusual for him that Clara raced over to check if he was okay. She picked him up and tried to comfort him. There, there, she said softly, rubbing his back as she bobbed up and down. It's all going to be okay. But she could hear the tremble in her voice as she said it, and she knew she wasn't even convincing herself, yet alone the infant in her arms.

Clara, I'm sorry to have to bring this up, especially this time of year, Harris said, looking down at the ground.

Clara cradled the baby close to her. I don't have the rent, Mr. Blackwood, you know that. John kept wailing as she tried desperately to calm him. And I've no way of getting it. I've got no family to turn to, and Garfield... you know what happened to him. She hated to even bring up his name, hated the way it felt on her tongue, but she needed Harris to see that she was truly alone. Remind him that her husband, as bad a man as he was, had left her all alone. Please, Mr. Blackwood, Clara said, her voice desperate now. If you can just give us till after Christmas, after the holidays to sort something out.

Harris looked down at the hat he was holding in his hands, twirling it around a little. I'm sorry Clara, but this is the way it has to be. I can give you two weeks, but no longer. He looked up at her with remorseful eyes. It pains me to tell you this as much as it pains you to hear it...

I doubt that very much. Clara's tone had changed from one of sorrow to one of anger. As she looked at the man standing before her in his fine suit and tie, she couldn't believe he could be so cruel. Couldn't he see the infant in her arms? Hear his wails. You have a large house to live in, and a family, and plenty of money and firewood this Christmas. Yet you would cast me out into the cold.

Clara I think we've been more than fair. You and John have lived here for months now, free of charge.

Clara hung her head and closed her eyes as the tears began to well up. The problem was that Mr. Blackwood was right, and her righteous anger was replaced by sadness and guilt. She was terrified that she would not be able to provide a roof for her and her baby boy.

You've got two weeks, Clara. I think that's more than generous. Mr. Blackwood didn't wait for her to even open her eyes before he retreated, pulling the door shut behind him, before he made his way back up the lane to his large house, with a warm fire and a family to go home to.

* * *

Clara entered the post office and nodded towards the assistant, a girl named Mary, who was Clara's only friend in town. Mary caught her eye and gave Clara a look, before nodding towards the back of the store. Meet me out there, she mouthed and Clara frowned and followed her, clutching John to her chest as she went.

I have something for you that might help you out of your situation, Mary said, pushing a piece of paper towards Clara. I believe it was meant for the newspaper, but was sent to the post office by mistake. Anyway, I saved it for you. I wanted you to read it before I pass it on, or return to sender.

Clara frowned as she read over the ad in front of her. Mail Order Bride Wanted...

Oh no, Mary, I could never consider it. Clara pushed the paper away decisively.

Clara it may be your only option. Mary pushed the paper back towards her as Clara looked at it in disbelief. I didn't think anyone still placed ads for Mail Order Brides. I thought Garfield was the last of a dying breed. She shook her head as she read over the notice.

The thing that struck her was the simplicity of the ad. Very different to the one that Garfield had placed all those years ago. He had made a strict list of all the qualities that his wife must have: beautiful, though not vain, intelligent but submissive, well mannered, never to have been previously wed, childless, and young. A good cook and a perfect housekeeper. And the list just went on. But the advertisement she was looking at now was far less restrictive.

Wife wanted for simple man in a small country town. Must be kind, a good Christian woman to make a life with. Comfortable home provided, will be well taken care of.

See Clara? Mary said. He seems like a good man.

Clara read over the notice again. He doesn't say much about himself. Perhaps he is hiding something.

Mary sighed. All that matters is that you have someone to take care of you and John.

Clara looked over at the sleeping child in his carriage. I promised John that I would never let us fall for a stranger again...

Mary pulled Clara's face back to her and addressed her seriously. And I would bet that you also promised him you would keep him safe. To provide him with shelter, and warmth, and clothes for his growing body.

Tears welled in Clara's eyes as she nodded. Of course. Oh Mary, what am I going to do? I swore I would never go back, never be a mail order bride again. How can I do it all over again? She shook her head. Even though all her rational thoughts were telling her to take the chance that was sitting before her, her heart was in anguish at the thought of going through it all over again.

Last time I was sent to a cruel, brutish man. Clara fetched her handkerchief out of her purse and dabbed at her eyes. A man that beat me when he found out I was pregnant. She put the handkerchief in front of her mouth as if to try to shield the words from coming out. She hated to even think about it, let alone speak the words. If death hadn't found him first, I'm not sure that John and I would ever still be here... She looked over at the carriage and shut her eyes, thanking God for keeping John safe. Praying that He would continue to do so. Was the notice that was sitting on the table before them His way of doing so? Her heart ached at the thought.

Mary reached over and shook Clara's arm gently, getting Clara to open her eyes again. Clara, William doesn't seem like that type of man to me. I don't think you'll have anything to worry about this time.

How can you tell from such a simple letter?

It's the simplicity that tells me everything. Look at it. There's no long list of attributes, like the last time.

I could never live up to all the things Garfield wanted me to be, Clara whispered bitterly. And I paid for it.

Mary was quiet for a moment. I know you did, she said softly. But this man just wants a good wife. He doesn't mind if you're widowed, or you have a child, or that you're poor. He just wants to marry you and take care of you. He is probably a perfect gentleman. Please Clara, you need to take this chance.

Mary's boss stuck his head in to the back room and glared at Mary, asking what she was doing, sure that she was neglecting her duties. Mary stood up quickly and apologized, pushing Clara out the door. Please. Think about it Clara.

Clara hurried out the door without even picking up the parcel she had come in for. Her thoughts were so muddy and confused that she could hardly get her mind straight as she stumbled back out into the street. From the front of the post office she could see down the road to where the large Blackwood house loomed, over shadowing every other house in town. The lights were all still on, and she could see the family in one of the top windows, smiling and laughing, as they decorated a pine tree with lavish Christmas decorations.

Clara stood there shivering, watching the family, wondering what it would be like to be inside that house. But there she was on the street, all alone, with nothing in the world but her baby son, two weeks before Christmas.

*   *   *

2

*   *   *

Redstone,

Winter 1903

Death was never a pleasant thing, but at Christmas time it was particularly bitter.

And for William Gordon it was bitterness mixed with a slight touch of sweetness. For death was his business.

William received the big news by telegram. That the mother of Agnus and Brent Casterline, and the matriarch of the entire Casterline family, had passed away. The news would send shockwaves through the small community, as the Casterlines were well known and revered, and the funeral of Angus would be a big and elaborate event.

Kitty Lane, the manager of the post office, delivered the telegram in person to William's cottage. Delivering telegrams was usually the task of a junior staff member, but Kitty knew news like this required her personal touch.

She approached William's cottage with caution. Just relax Kitty, she told herself, trying to calm her nerves. He won't have any dead bodies actually inside the house. She paused and looked at the small cottage with its grey bricks. Would he? She wondered where else they might be stored. Come on, he will keep them at the funeral office, of course, not in the home where he eats and sleeps. Still, she was thoroughly unnerved as she hurried down his front path and knocked on the door, wishing now that she'd sent her assistant instead.

William pulled the door back after only a few seconds and Kitty automatically looked over his shoulder to see if she could spot anything morbid. The cottage was so dark that she couldn't make out anything, and she squinted, trying to make out the shapes of the skeletons and bodies her imagination told her must be lying there just beyond.

Can I help you Kitty? William asked, interrupting her morbid thoughts. It must be something important if you've travelled all the way here from town.

Sorry, Kitty replied, snapping back to reality. It is important actually. Here, I'll let you read the news for yourself. She handed over the telegram and William read it quickly. His reaction was mixed as he took in the news on the piece of paper. There was sadness, of course, over the sudden death of Agnus, but William also felt honored to be chosen as the undertaker for such a prestigious family. Brent Casterline had requested that William take care of everything, from the embalming of the body, to the funeral arrangements. William was grateful as he needed the money, now that he was expecting a wife to join him. A wife with a newborn baby, no less.

William glanced back up at Kitty, who was still furtively trying to get a glimpse over his shoulders. Are you alright there, Kitty? William asked, pretending to be stern but really quite bemused by her curiosity. He knew what people in the town of Redstone thought of his strange little cottage. They all thought it was full of cobwebs and skeletons, full of bottles of embalming fluid containing bodily organs. It was nothing of the sort, of course. His cottage was small, but comfy, with the same modern conveniences that everyone else had. But he didn't mind the superstition surrounding him at times. It allowed him to live privately and in peace, without too many people disturbing him.

On the other hand, it could sometimes lead to a lonely life.

He felt sad for a moment as he pondered this, and as he saw Kitty's look of fear when he invited her inside for a cup of tea. You've travelled a long way, Kitty. At least stay for a short rest to get your strength back.

She shook her head quickly, still looking over his shoulder nervously. No, no, I couldn't. I need to get back. When she saw the look on William's face she felt like she may have offended him, so she quickly added. It's a busy time at the post office, what with the news of Angus and all. Lots of post and telegrams to see to.

Of course. William nodded at her and waved her on her way, watching to make sure she got down the path safely. Kitty Lane was a pretty young woman, of course she didn't want to come inside the home of an undertaker. William sighed sadly. But his spirits were soon raised when he thought of the bride who was to join him. Clara Daniels her name was, and she wasn't much older than Kitty, about twenty-five years of age. With any luck she'd be arriving a few weeks after Christmas. With the Casterline funeral to arrange now, he was confident he would be able to save up enough money before she arrived to give her a proper wedding ceremony.

And perhaps that would make up for the fact that he was an undertaker.

As William watched Kitty hurry away from the place like she was being chased, he hoped and prayed that Clara wouldn't do the same.

* * *

It took over a week of preparations to get everything just right for