Mismatched and Unwanted Mail Order Brides (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 The Mismatched Widowed Bride & The Baby

Broken, alone and pregnant, twenty-one year old former dancer, Lola has lost everything.

Now widowed… Lola believes that no man would ever want to marry her. That is… until she hears about the Perfect Match program.

Lola receives a promise: That the agency will send her out west, to the man of her dreams…

Part 2: The Mismatched Bride & Her Young Siblings

Orphaned and poverty stricken, Ramona Rosi is desperate for a solution to her situation as she desperately needs to provide for her siblings.  She will do anything to give them a home…

Ramona hears about the Perfect Match program. The program promises to match Mail Order Brides but with four young children under her care, Ramona doesn't believe any man could ever want to take on such a responsibility.

Let alone, the perfect man….

Part 3: The Mismatched Flawed Bride & Her Lost Dream

Clare Patterson has been left scarred, penniless and alone. Her dreams in ruins and with nowhere to turn, she signs up with a mail order bride agency who makes her a promise… to send her to her perfect match; a hotel worker named Mason.

But there is a terrible mix-up! Clare is sent instead to Silver Downs, a remote town in the middle of nowhere. And it isn't Mason waiting for her…

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: 9781393905912

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

The Mismatched Widowed Bride & The Baby

1

*   *   *

New York 1890.

Three months had passed since the incident. Since the day Lola Linder had come home to find her entire life destroyed. The body lay limp on the floor...

Lola shook her head. There's no time to focus on that now.

She needed to find a doctor, and fast.

Finally. Lola took a few heavy breaths before she heaved her body up the steep steps that would lead her to Doctor Mason's practice, a mountain before her in her present state.

At the summit Lola forced her eyes open and focused on the sign, blurring in front of her as though clouded by a fog. But it wasn't the smog of the New York evening air that was causing the sign to blur. It was a thumping in Lola's chest that seemed to pump blood straight to her head, causing pressure behind her eyes and ears.

Closed. The sign said the doctor wouldn't be in until ten o'clock the next morning. By then it might be too late.

Noooo... the sound escaped from her lips, causing onlookers to cast Lola sideways looks, tutting at her as they hurried past, eager to get away from the desperate looking woman.

Lola looked down at the coins in her hand. She had enough to buy food for that night. If she was careful.

But what will I do when there are two to care for?

Lola knew, even then, that she would rather let herself starve before she would let the life growing inside her to go hungry, even for a moment.

But she needed to see Doctor Mason. He was the only one in the city who had agreed to treat her free of charge. A woman, left all alone without a husband to provide for her, had very few options in 1890.

Dusk had already fallen, dusting the city with gray and purple hues. The cool air brought a little freshness to Lola's lungs, but still, she limped along, hoping—praying—for a miracle to occur.

That's when she saw the sign, taped up on the notice board of the city church.

Mail Order Brides Wanted.

After a moment of staring at it, Lola averted her eyes. I'm not that desperate. She shuddered, thinking about all the women who had been sent out west, how desperate they would have to be.

I can't leave everything behind to marry a man I've never met! Why, that would be crazy...  Then, the crushing realization that brought her back to earth... Though what do I have to leave behind that is so valuable? No laugh came out audibly, but inside Lola swallowed a bitter gnarling scoff.

As if on cue, her ankle shot a barb right up her leg and spine that settled in the middle of her forehead. Pressing a finger to the aching spot, Lola hobbled, leaning unfairly on her one good leg. It wouldn't be good for much longer if it kept having to bear the brunt of all the weight that Lola was carrying.

She glanced down at her swollen belly.

If the injury hadn't destroyed my chances of dancing, the baby would have. She lowered herself onto the cool concrete and tried to take a deep breath.

Not that she didn't love the baby already. The bond was already strong and unconditional. Lola remembered her own mother, when Lola was ten, telling her that by the time Lola had come around she didn't have any more love to give freely, and Lola had had to earn any love she was given, and prove herself, being taught that love couldn't been given as a matter of course once you'd had so many babies, as she wasn’t an only child. And as Lola's childhood dragged on she'd felt as though she'd never earned that love. But how could she blame her mama? Lola was the last of ten. Lola rubbed her puffed out belly. Perhaps mama loved her first babies unconditionally.

Perhaps there was just something wrong with me.

* * *

Hey there. A gentle arm nudged Lola awake. A concerned face, curtained with dark brown hair, stared down at Lola, upside down, so that it looked like the woman's face started at the chin at her forehead and ended at the bottom with her hair a long beard.

What's happened, where am I? Lola tried to stand up, but too many obstacles stood in her path. First her ankle gave out, then the bulging weight of her belly threatened to topple her to the ground.

The woman with the dark hair, her face now the right way up, gasped. You mustn't try to stand! Are you injured?

Lola squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. Well yes. But not a fresh injury. What she wouldn't have given for the right to earn fresh injuries. To feel the satisfying pain of a freshly sprained ankle after a long day's dancing. No, this injury had been with her for some time now. She opened her eyes and saw that the woman's face still wore the same mask of concern.

I must fetch a doctor for you. You can barely walk! Now that Lola was awakened from her unfortunately timed nap on the concrete steps, she could hear an accent in the woman's voice. Something European. Italian perhaps. The kind of girl my mama would never have let me play with.

Lola smiled. Honestly, I'm fine. It's kind of you to worry. Lola allowed the woman to help her to her feet. I just fell asleep for a moment.

The woman nodded. I'm Ramona. She pointed at the building behind her before she snuck a quick glance at Lola's belly and looked away. I know this won't be any interest to you, as you've obviously already got a husband, but if you want to come in and rest inside while the rest of us attend our meeting, you're welcome to listen. Ramona's lips suddenly pressed into a thin line. A woman from an agency will be here soon. She's to explain to us about becoming a mail order bride.

Lola pulled her arm away. I don't have a husband.

Lola turned away to save Ramona the trouble of hiding her embarrassment.

But she could still feel the heat coming from the young Italian woman.

Oh.

Lola adjusted her white lace gloves. Her fingers, swollen just like the rest of her, were threatening to burst through the lacey gloves.

Isn't this woman embarrassed of herself? To be attending such a meeting? And now she wants to drag me along too?

Really I must be going. Lola took a step down off of the concrete and felt her head whirl before her legs, just as light and floating, her leg gave away again.

Ramona grabbed her. Come inside. We've got biscuits. They will give you your strength back.

* * *

Lola nibbled her shortbread from the back of the room, casting furtive glances at the women who trickled through the doors in nervous groups of two and three.

They look normal enough. The shortbread was too crumbly and dry. Lola wished she had a glass of water to wash it down with but she didn't dare ask. She only knew Romana and she was up in the front of the room, eagerly waiting in the center seat.

The woman they were all waiting for, a woman called Rachel Moor, strode in through the door with a grace that Lola envied. Was she a dancer once too?

Lola put her shortbread down. In the back of her mind she could hear her mother chastise away. Don't eat that. Do you think a man will ever want to marry a woman who stuffs her self with sweets all day?

Rachel Moor smiled and her face changed from stern and unapproachable to warm and welcoming.

I'm just here until I get my strength up. Then I will leave. I'm not like the rest of the women here.

Lola snuck a glance at them. None of the other women were expecting. At least, not visibly. Of course they're not. No man would want to marry an expecting woman. Not even a desperate man, living out west, without female company for thousands of miles around would want someone like me.

Rachel tried to put all her nervous thoughts to rest. She explained to the woman, who listened with pricked ears and pinched noses, that all of the men in the program were carefully chosen and vetted. That the agency made sure that all the men had good careers, that they were all of good solid character, and that they would provide everything for their brides. They will give you money for any fares you need, and any travel expenses required. Rachel's smile grew deeper as she saw some of the woman visibly relax.

At least that would be something. Lola picked up her biscuit again.

Stop it Lola. Don't get your hopes up. Stand up and walk out of here. Who do you think you're fooling? There's no place for you in the program.

Lola had one foot outstretched, about to make her escape.

We have men to suit each and every last one of you. Rachel took a deep breath and a look of pride suddenly entered her eyes. She seemed about to burst with excitement over the next thing she had to tell her captive audience.

In fact—we don't just have men to suit each and every one of you. For each woman sitting in this room, our agency can make one very special promise. We can garnet to find you your perfect match.

A titter went around the room. Women stopped to whisper and gesture to their girlfriends, nodding as their eyes glistened with interest. With excitement.

Lola remained glued to her seat.

It's a new and exciting service that we are honored to be the first in America to provide, Rachel went on, casting her eyes over the crowd hungrily, pleased her news had gotten the reaction she'd been hoping for.

Lola could hear a couple of the women in the row in front of her whispering to each other. Well, they have to provide something different don't they? Less and less woman want to become Mail Order Brides these days... it's too much of a risk! I have to say, I'm still not convinced by the whole scheme! They could send you to anyone, no matter the promises they make! The woman was blonde and had a pointed nose and furrowed brow that pinched in the middle of her face. Lola leaned back when she realized who it was that the woman reminded her of. Her mama.

Still, Lola had to wonder if the unsettlingly familiar woman was right. Was this 'perfect match' scheme safe? How could the agency really promise that women would be sent to their ideal husband? They could simply take the money and then hand us over to whoever they want.

Lola suddenly felt a kick, tight against the inside of her stomach. It made her eyes bulge out of her head. It won't be long now. She sucked in a deep breath.

The blonde woman with the pointed nose turned quickly and scowled. When she saw Lola's bulging stomach she covered up her mouth and tittered before she leaned towards her friend again. As if any man would be desperate enough to take her on!

Lola sat back, her cheeks burning like two small angry furnaces. She does sound just like my ma.

* * *

Rachel Moor flounced into the meeting room, her hair tied high in a tight bun, dressed in a small white shirt with puffy sleeves and a long beige skirt that befitted a woman in her profession. Businesslike, but still pretty. Lola still envied Rachel's figure as she slipped into the seat in front of her.

I hope you're feeling better today Lola, Rachel asked, genuine concern in her voice.

I was just a little light headed the other evening, Lola explained, not wanting to give too much personal information to Rachel. I think the biscuit took care of things.

I'm glad to hear it. Rachel reached behind her and pulled out a stack of important looking documents. She riffed through them before dipping her quill in ink, poising it over a blank sheet of paper. A dollop of blank ink dropped onto the paper. Lola stared at it nervously as it seeped into the paper, losing its neat circular shape as the ink edged unevenly away from the center.

Lola held her breath, waiting for Rachel to ask her more questions. Just please don't ask about Lloyd. Lola pulled at a loose hem in her dress. Just please don't ask me what happened to him.

So what are you interests, Lola? Rachel beamed at Lola from across the small desk of the agency's office. Lola looked around nervously at the way the room seemed to have been emptied of all its furnishings.

Interests? Lola was confused. She leaned back and nodded down towards her belly. I'm going to be a mama soon. Well, I already am, she said, the warmth spreading down towards the darling baby growing inside of her.

Rachel titled her head and let out a chirpy little laugh. You are still allowed to have interests, Lola! She smiled and straightened her face when Lola looked down at the table. What did you dream about when you were younger?

Lola glanced down at the place near her ankle where the bone, never having healed right, stuck out awkwardly.

I used to dance. Lola almost swallowed the words as she said them. As though it was dangerous to let them escape. Then there was the unspoken sentence. I'd do anything to be able to dance again.

Rachel's eyebrows shot up quickly as if grabbed by invisible hooks. Why, Lola, I have just the man for you! She shuffled through her papers with her brow knotted, squinting through the spectacles that made her young face look a decade older.

Here! Rachel proclaimed as she produced the document she'd been looking for. She waved it around in a show of victory. A man called Mason. He lives in Austin, Texas, which I'm sure you know is very popular now amongst the theatre loving crowd.

Lola nodded. She dared a glance upwards. Dared to raise an eyebrow as a show of interest. Austin. She could almost imagine living there.

Rachel continued her enthusiastic spiel. Mason is a great financial supporter of the local theater and arts scene.... She paused to glance down at the paper. Why, it says here he even acted a little in his youth, before he quit to become a teacher. But he has many contacts in the burgeoning community down there. Rachel pursed her lips as she read over Mason's address. And he lives not far from a dance hall!  Rachel beamed at Lola. Doesn't that sound wonderful?

Lola looked down at her belly. It didn't matter how wonderful it sounded. There was still one very big problem in the way.

Rachel, Lola whispered. It's very kind of you to try with me. And I appreciate your time. But surely this Mason man doesn't want to be lumbered with someone... she lowered her voice even further. Someone like me.

Rachel's eyes, a gray-blue, suddenly took on hue of dismay. Lola, she said gently. She placed the paper down and looked at Lola with kindness emanating from the center of her soul. When we say we promise our brides the perfect match, we mean that in every way.

Lola's eyes shot up.

Rachel peered at the paper though her cat-eyed spectacles. This tells me that Mason is more than willing to take on a woman with a baby. So you've nothing to worry about.

The breath of relief that Lola exhaled was heavy, almost violent with its intensity. You're kidding me, aren't you Miss Moor? Can this really be possible?

Rachel's eyes shone. She shook her head. I'm not Lola. I'm very serious. And I hope that look on your face means that you are too. So tell me, Lola—will you allow us to send you to your perfect match?

Lola sat there, a myriad of emotions rolling over her. A man with connections to a dance hall? A man who didn't mind that she was expecting a baby?

Lola needed to say yes. Before Rachel prodded anymore, or asked for any further details about the situation Lola had found herself in. She spat the answer out before Rachel had a chance to sit back and ask what had happened to her husband.

Yes, Lola said, gripping her purse with knuckles so white they looked as though blood had never flowed through the fingers. Yes. You may send me to my perfect match Rachel.

And before Rachel could say another word, Lola was gone.

*   *   *

2

*   *   *

Austin, Texas, 1890

Clarke Conwell looked at the decaying dance hall in disgust. The ornate exterior offended him, caused him to screw his nose up like he'd smelled something rotten.  He kicked a rock out of the way, causing it to spin over the construction site as a spoof of dust flew up in its path. Clarke's boots were so covered in the gray remnants of concrete that the extra layer didn't make any difference. He'd been working since dawn and would still be out there when the sun would say goodnight. 

When are we finally tearing this eye sore down?

Mitchell McNutt fiddled nervously with his spectacles. We can't, he said, swallowing the words.

What's that? Clarke spun around like an animal provoked. Did you say something man?

Now it was Mitchell's bowtie that got the attention of his nervous fingers. He adjusted the red and white bow from side to side, pulling it away from his neck. We don't have permission, Mr. Conwell.

Are you telling me... Clarke took a step forward, imposing himself over the much smaller, mouse-like Mitchell, who twitched nervously. ...that this useless old building—home to nothing more than good for nothing so-called 'entertainers'—is going to get in the way of my plans?

The clipboard in Mitchell's hands trembled.

Clarke inched closer. On the attack now. Why didn't you tell me this sooner? You're supposed to be my developer. You told me you would take care of this little problem. Though the dance hall was proving to be much more than just a little problem. I thought you were supposed to be the best, McNutt? If you can't do your job, I'm going to have to find someone who can.

Mitchell steadied himself. I can assure you sir, that I did everything in my power to try and secure the rights to the land. But—Mr. Conwell—what you have to understand is that Austin values its artistic community. People are up in arms about you tearing down the dance hall...

What I need to understand, Clarke growled, is how you have managed to fail so spectacularly at your task.

Mitchell retreated. Give me some time. See if I can't get the permits.

You have until the end of the week to get me those permits. Or you're fired.

* * *

The day had been excruciatingly long. As Clarke fixed his wagon to the back of his horse in the decaying light of the day he wondered if he ought to go find Mitchell and apologize for his hotheadedness. It was not the first time Clarke had blown up at the mouse-like man that week. The first time had been over a similar incident—Mitchell McNutt had informed Clarke that construction on the building project might be tied up over the next few months due to a flood that was delaying vital materials being delivered. When Clarke had told Mitchell to sort it out, Mitchell had tried to explain that he couldn't control the weather. Couldn't control an act of God. But Clarke had growled at Mitchell to do whatever it took. The project had been going on for seven years already and there might be another two ahead of them.

Clarke