Mail Order Brides, Indians & Babies (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 'Blind' Cowboy, The Blemish Bride & The Indian Baby

Viola Van Horn has lost her fiancé and fears she will never find another man who wants to marry her because of a blemish that covers her face. It seems her fate is to become a spinster…

Part 2: The Discarded Bride, The Indian & The Rescued Baby

Lucille Rollins is left all alone in the world without a penny to her name after a cruel prank leaves her fired from her job and torn apart from the family she had grown to love as her own. It seems she will be left alone and abandoned and living in a home for displaced young women…

Part 3: The Indian Bride, The Sheriff & The Lost Baby

Ama Stocking was ripped from her own mother's arms when she was just a baby. Born into an Indian tribe in Oklahoma, Ama has been raised by a rich family in New York. But Ama is desperate to return to her true home…

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: 9781393998822

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 ‘Blind’ Cowboy, The Blemish Bride & The Indian Baby

1

*   *   *

New York City,

1883

A man would have to be blind to want to marry you.

The words stung Viola like a nettle, even though she had heard them, or some nasty variation of them dozens of times before.

But the words stung all the more coming from her own mother.

Ashley Daniels wanted to marry me, Viola pointed out meekly, her head tipped towards the floor of their grand sitting room. Her mother sat, poking away at her needlework for which she'd been idling fiddling with for weeks that Viola had long ago assumed she would never finish.

Her mother scoffed. Blind or dead then... either way, it's all the same.

Viola sucked in a deep, violent breath to keep her tears from falling. Must you really say such cruel things, mama?

You call the truth cruel, my daughter? I call it kind. She looked up from her needlework and cast Viola a stern eye. It's better that you hear the truth now. She returned to her needlework. And if you've got any hope at all of catching a husband, however slim, I would suggest that you change out of your mourning clothes.

I would have thought these mourning clothes would be the only thing that would give me a chance, Viola said pointedly, before leaving the room.

It had been eight months since Ashley had passed away from a terrible case of scarlet fever. It was long time that Viola had retired her black clothes and black veil that covered her face. But the veil did more than just show the world that Viola was in mourning for her late fiancé. It kept a shield between her and the rest of the world. It kept her hidden. It kept her face hidden. For she was a woman that only a blind man could love. At least, that's what people said.

But Ashely Daniels had loved her. He had been a kind, decent man, a lawyer in his forties with a modest sized practice in the city and even though Viola's sister's had all married far richer and younger men, he was the best that she could hope for. And Viola had loved him... or at least, it was close to love. Perhaps she'd never been in love with him, not in the truest, romantic, fairy-tale sense. But it had been enough, all the same.

But she was never going to find someone to love her ever again. She was sure of that.

Viola! A voice screamed out.

Viola stepped away from the window she'd been peering out of and sighed. It was her younger sister, Betsie, wanting something more than likely. She never called for Viola for anything simple or pleasant like a chat or to share confidences over a cup of tea. To her younger sister Viola was more like a maid.

What is it Betsie? Viola asked as she exited her room to enter the darkened hallway.

Betsie barely even looked at her sister as she spat her reply. Can you play with the children for a while? She was referring to her own children, Annette, aged six, and Benji, aged five.

Where is Nanny? Viola asked, confused. Or Melanie? she added, referring to their Spanish-born maid who was Viola's only true friend in that grand, cold house.

They are asking for you, Betsie said softly. Please Viola.

It was so unusual for Betsie to speak this kindly to Viola that she was a little taken aback. Of course. I will join them in the parlor. We can play cards.

* * *

You're the old maid Viola! Annette kicked her legs back and laughed uncontrollably as the final card was dished out, but Viola failed to find any humor in the situation as the final card was laid down.

It's just a silly children's card game, she tried to tell herself. And they are just children. And Viola knew that children could be cruel. And that they would laugh at anything whether it was actually funny or not. But she couldn't help but feel that there was a sting in the laughter, a deliberateness to it that went beyond just the game.

Oh, don't worry about them, Betsie said as she scooped Annette up but Viola could see her sister trying to stifle a giggle of her own as she turned her face away.

Seeing Annette with her pretty little head buried into her mother's shoulder, Viola wondered if she would ever be blessed with children of her own. The idea seemed quite impossible at that moment. I know if I ever have children, I shall raise them to be far more empathetic towards other people's feelings. Even if those people are adults who ought to be immune from such cruelness.

Viola was startled as she noticed her own mother observing her from the doorway. She seemed to read Viola's thoughts and in a rare moment of softness placed a hand gently on Viola's shoulder. Perhaps that is still in your future my dear. One never knows what God has planned for us.

I'm afraid I've quite given up all hope mama.

I've arranged a party, her mother said with a dutiful sigh. "A chance for you to be introduced to the last few eligible men in this city who might take pity on you. One last roll of the dice for you Viola. After this you may as well get used to being an old maid. And not just in a game of cards.

* * *

How about I style your hair in this manner? Melanie asked, pulling a thick lock of Viola's dark hair over the right side of her face. That covers the mark up nicely... more or less, she said, staring at her mistress's face in the mirror. It is still a little visible of course... but I'm sure the men your mother has arranged for you will look past that. Why, Miss Viola! What is the matter?

Oh, it doesn't matter, Viola said, burying her face in her arms as she splayed forward across the dresser. It doesn't make an inch of a difference how my hair is parted or styled! And this party won't make the slightest difference either!

Be brave, Melanie said. I know that you are deep down, Miss Viola. Go downstairs, hold your head up high and let your true beauty shine through.

With Melanie's encouragement, Viola found the strength to make her way down the staircase. But she paused, paralyzed, when she saw the sparsely attended party; less than a dozen men, which seemed both too many, and at the same time, not nearly enough.

Her mama introduced her to a man that was at least forty years her senior, and Viola's stomach tightened as she extended her gloved hand. This is Mr. Jenkins. He has bene widowed twice over, her mama said bluntly before she left the two of them to talk.

It seemed Mr. Jenkins was no stranger to bluntness either.

You would be beautiful if it wasn't for that horrible blemish that covers half your face, he said with a sneer as he averted his eyes from Viola's face.

Such harsh words that stung right through Viola's skin into her soul. Still, Viola almost admired the man for having the guts to say such a thing to her face. It was much better than overhearing herself being spoken about behind her back in cruel whispers.

Like the other men were doing.

I'm afraid I'm not feeling too well Mr. Jenkins, Viola whispered, before putting down the drink of sherry she was holding, and dashing back up the staircase, not caring in the slightest about the scene she was making.

From her bedroom she listened as the sounds of the party slowly died down and the men left one by one, extending a thanks, but no thanks to her mama, who eventually joined Viola in her bedroom and sat beside her on the bed with a heavy thud.

I'm afraid it's no use, Viola. Her mother let out a long sigh of resignation that seemed to last forever. I've tried everything I can to get you married off—exhausted every possible avenue. Unless you can get rid of that mark of your face it's just never going to happen. You may as well get used to the idea of being an old maid. And a childless one at that.

Viola couldn't sleep that night. On nights such as this she often woke Melanie up and they would sit and talk in Melanie's small maid's quarters. If her sister and mama knew that Viola did such a thing they would be astonished, and probably forbid it. But Viola didn't care. She needed to tell Melanie how horrid the party had been. She had no one else to share her sorrow with.

Oh Miss Viola. I'm so sorry.

I wonder though, if I would be beautiful without the blemish, Viola confided. Sometimes I wonder if people just use that as an excuse. That even underneath that my face is ugly... perhaps the ugliness has even seeped into my soul, Viola whispered.

Shhhh, Melanie whispered as she turned Viola's face towards the mirror. Look. God doesn't create any ugly creatures.

He has created me. Viola turned her face away from the mirror. Sometimes I wish I didn't even recognize my own face. I wish I could forget it. No wonder men think the same way.

* * *

I have some news for you, her mother said two mornings later with a smug smile that seemed to keep a secret her mama was just dying to spill. I thought all hope was lost after last night's party, but one man has taken pity on you.

Taken pity on me? Viola said, taken aback.

Mr. Jenkins, her mama said. He says that he is willing to take you on as a wife. You may go and live with him in his modest home downtown. It won't be a glamorous life, but at least you will be out of my hair at long last.

But mama... Mr. Jenkins is almost seventy years old!

Her mother just stared at her, blank faced. Beggars cannot be choosers, my dear. Would you really turn down a perfectly respectable offer of marriage? Besides, I have already said yes for you.

Viola fled from the room, the tears streaming down her cheeks in a torrent. She ran to Melanie's quarters and told her the tale.

Probably because he is losing his eyesight, Viola said bitterly. At his age that would be no surprise. He probably has difficulty controlling all his senses. And functions. Viola wiped at her eyes with a handkerchief. No doubt I can say a firm goodbye to any dream of ever having children.

Melanie grabbed her hand. You cannot marry Mr. Jenkins, Miss Viola. And you shan't! Her eyes shone with the promise of a great secret. But Viola had heard enough of those for one evening and couldn't stomach another one.

What other choice do I have, Viola asked, pushing Melanie away. I'm rather tired Melanie. I must retire to bed.

Wait Miss Viola! I have something I've been waiting to tell you all day! Why, I've nearly burst with the energy that it has taken for me to keep it all in!

Melanie reached into her apron pocket and pulled out what looked like a newspaper advertisement. She placed it gently into Viola's hands and waited for her to read it.

Viola paused for a moment to blow her nose and wipe the remainder of her tears away.

Viola shook her head. It is a foolish idea.

But the men out west don't care about such things... Melanie took the advertisement from her. Look, it says that all women may apply to be a mail order bride... no matter what afflicts them!

Viola let out a bitter laugh. Are you saying they are so desperate that they will accept even an ugly woman?

No... I didn't mean that. I just believe that you ought to think about it. Melanie looked at her with pleading eyes. I could accompany you on the journey, if that would make things easier on you. Besides, I will no longer wish to work in this house if you are not here.

Viola looked at her, astonished. Are you really willing to do that for me, Melanie? Give up good employment, just so that I might have a chance of pursuing my own happiness?

Of course I would Miss Viola.

You'll be fine, Melanie reassured her.

Oh Melanie, I don't think I can do this.

It's just a photograph. So that he can see how beautiful you are. You may angle your face in any manner you choose.

Viola had told Melanie that she couldn't bear to be photographed because of the mark on her face. But deep down, Viola wasn't so sure that was the truth. Perhaps she was using her blemish as an excuse... the same way she feared that men always did.

What really terrified her was leaving everything she had ever known, even if all she had known was loneliness and heartache, to marry a man she had never met. It was far scarier than any photograph.

Come on, Melanie said, pushing her forward gently. He is waiting and our appointment can't be rescheduled.

* * *

Please! Viola gasped, holding her hand up towards the camera. Please allow me to... settle into the chair a little better. She quickly turned her face so that the left side was facing the camera, the right side confined to the shadows.

The man had a stern and no nonsense way about him that did nothing to settle Viola's nerves. I believe this photo is intended for a suitor? he asked like it was a question that he already had the answer to. It will be better if you allow him to see your whole face. Sit up straight and turn your face towards the box.

Sir, I am sitting up quite straight as it is, Viola replied, quite indignantly. She didn't appreciate being preached to by this man.

When she refused to turn her face the man had more preaching words for her. You don't want to deceive the man. Make him think that you are something that you are not. You'll do best to pose as I say.

Viola hated this way that men had about them... always thinking that women were out to trick them. The photographer had a haughty tone to his voice, self-righteous as though he was doing this Robert North, a man he had never met, some grand favor.

I am the one employing your services today, Viola said firmly. I shall pose in whatever way I see fit. Please do your job and respect my wishes.

* * *

Viola studied the photograph. Had she done the right thing? The words of the haughty photographer still rung in her head. You don't want to deceive the man.

Is that what she was doing, by concealing the truth? She'd only turned her head to the side just an inch. Yet that inch hid so much...

And if he rejects me when he sees me... well, that is just the risk I am going to have to take.

*   *   *

2

*   *   *

Mt. Boulder, Oklahoma,

1883

All Robert could see was a sea of black hats and furrow browed men that all looked the same. The thoroughfare of Mt. Boulder seemed to be flooded with them... nameless, faceless men. And women.

His stomach was churning as he squinted, looking for the red hat in the crowd. 

A man approached him, rapidly, and with a sense of purpose. Robert's heart skipped a beat for a moment. Was it Carson, or White?

Why, Robert, what you doing standing there gawking at me like that?

Carson, then.

Robert breathed a sigh of relief, though he was far from at ease.

I've told you, Robert muttered. If you change your hat I can't recognize you. I need to you keep your red hat on. What is that black thing doing on your head?

Carson shrugged. Sorry, he said in the easy-mannered way he talked. Didn't think it was such a big deal.

Well it is. Otherwise I'm gonna accidentally get into trouble one of these days... mix you up with White. Or someone even worse. Come on, we've got to get going before he sees us.

All right, all right, Carson chuckled good naturedly. Keep your own hat on there, man. You need to learn how to relax like the rest of us.

Easier said than done.  The two men began to race down the thoroughfare. Robert kept his head dipped, knowing that keeping an eye out for White would be a fruitless endeavor anyway. Better to just keep his head down and forge forward. Robert needed to get to the newspaper office, and quickly. He only had half an hour before it would be too late to announce his nomination. Laws and procedures in Mt. Boulder still ran by the discretion of the townsfolk themselves and the rules for nomination was simple: If it wasn't announced in the following day’s papers it didn't count. And the nomination had to be given by someone who wasn't a relative of the nominee.

And Robert knew that White would do anything to keep Carson from giving his nod to Robert.

Are we too late? Robert asked as he came face to face with the closed glass door of the newspaper office. The sign said 'closed' but Robert banged on it anyway.

Mr. Maple opened the door and nodded to Robert and Carson, who hurried in through the door. You've made it just in time, Mr. Maple said with a sigh, wiping his sweating brow with an ink stained hand, causing a mark to appear on his forehead. I'll announce that you are running for sheriff in tomorrow's paper.

Could you see that mark on his face? Carson whispered as they left the office.

Sort of... Robert murmured. Too bad he doesn't have it there all the time—then I'd always have a chance of recognizing him.

Maybe I ought to scar my face or see the barber about shaving all my hair off, Carson said. That might be a help to you.

It wouldn't hurt, Robert said with a wink. Me, at least. I think your wife might take issue with either of those things. You're ugly enough as it is, Robert teased.

Hey. How would you know?

* * *

The red hat was back on Carson's head the following evening when they met out the front of Harrison's Bar.

I figured I'd treat you to a drink as a congratulations, Carson said. You're a shoe in for sheriff now and everyone knows it. Including White, he said pointedly.

Robert sighed and nodded. Maybe just a cider for me though, he said as they stepped through the doors of the quiet bar that Robert preferred over the larger saloon of the town.

So you think you got a real shot? Carson asked before he threw back a shot of whiskey.

I don't see why not... Robert said softly. Then he turned to Carson, his face as dark and as serious as night. Carson, you're the only one who knows about... well, about the strange malady that troubles me.

Carson nodded and placed his shot glass down on the table.

"I take it I can trust you not to spread news of it around the settlement, especially before the