Denim and Lace: Four Historical Romance Novellas

By Doreen Milstead

Looking After Teresa - A high society woman escapes an abusive husband when he divorces her. She has a hard time surviving in London until she runs across a poster for a mail order bride and signs up, not knowing about any of the skills she’s sure she’ll need to survive on a remote ranch in California PLUS Dr. Westcott, The Dark Cowboy, is about a distraught doctor who can take no more of sickness and death in cholera-ridden New York City, and he answers an ad in the Mail Order Brides section of the newspaper, from a woman seeking help on her ranch and friendship; but not marriage PLUS The English Woman and The Cowboy - A governess from England arrives on American soil and finds out that she has been fired by the couple she works for PLUS Buried Deep Off the Coast of Old San Francisco - A woman living in the Klondike Territory decides to head down to San Francisco after getting an apparently legitimate treasure map from a local character.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jan 9, 2018
• ISBN: 9781387502790

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Denim and Lace: Four Historical Romance Novellas

Denim and Lace: Four Historical Romance Novellas

By

Doreen Milstead

Copyright 2018 Susan Hart

Looking After Teresa

Synopsis: Looking After Teresa - A high society woman escapes an abusive husband when he divorces her. She has a hard time surviving in London until she runs across a poster for a mail order bride and signs up, not knowing about any of the skills she’s sure she’ll need to survive on a remote ranch in California. She has to keep her secret about being divorced because she knows that with her lack of knowledge about basic household skills and also being ‘used’ goods, the rancher who might be her husband, would surely reject her. What follows is an internal struggle as she fights to survive in a new land, and with a new man.

Teresa shivered. The sun was going to set soon, and then it would get even colder. If she were still at home, she’d have a roaring fire going in the hearth, and dinner cooking on the stove.

However, no, she couldn’t think like that anymore. She wasn’t going to be at home from this day forward.

She rubbed her arms against the increasing chill, wishing that she’d at least had the foresight to grab a shawl or coat before fleeing from home.

As if Samuel would’ve allowed her to have one. One of his favorite things to tell her was that he owned everything in the house — every scrap of food, all of her possessions, even her.

Sure, Teresa didn’t have anyplace to go, now. She was walking without any purpose more than staying warm.

Nevertheless, she was lucky that she’d escaped; lucky that it hadn’t gone worse with Samuel.

Her marriage had started out just fine. Her parents and Samuel’s parents had become acquainted through some sort of social circumstances, and the marriage had been arranged.

Marry now and love will follow, Teresa’s mother had advised her, adjusting her daughter’s wedding veil. It wasn’t a novel concept. Teresa knew her mother and father had barely known each other when they first got married.

You can spend the rest of your lives together getting to know each other, her father had gruffly imparted, patting her arm as he walked her down the aisle.

Therefore, Teresa quickly learned Samuel’s likes and dislikes, what he expected of her, how to reasonably please him, and that he had a quick temper.

Lord, what a quick temper he had.

The first time she’d crossed him was when she’d disagreed with him over some trivial matter. Teresa couldn’t even remember anymore what it had been about, though she suspected it was over something as simple as the color towels they were going to get for their bathroom.

When she’d teasingly informed her husband that he was wrong and she was right, it was as if some lever had been reversed in him. She’d never been especially submissive toward him, but that exchange was the first time she’d joked around with him.

Samuel had been livid, raking her over the coals and digging his fingers so hard into her shoulder that it had left marks. Teresa hadn’t understood what she’d done wrong, but she chattered apology after apology that still did nothing to get his sharp fingers out of her tender flesh.

Everything had spiraled out of control from that single point.

Teresa had withdrawn into herself, trying to assess just what she had to do to keep her husband happy. She was cautious and jumpy, relieved when Samuel went out of town on business or to the country with his cousins to hunt.

However, as careful as she was, Teresa always seemed to irk Samuel in some way she couldn’t have anticipated.

In addition, the bruised shoulder was just the beginning of his expressions of displeasure with her.

When Teresa’s parents were killed in a freak carriage accident, she had been inconsolable. She was an only child of only children, and they were all she had in the world besides Samuel. Teresa took to her bed, too sad to do anything but lie down and grieve. She neglected instructing the servants and cook, figuring they’d be able to manage on their own.

However, when the head servant informed Samuel that the lady of the house had reneged on her duties, Samuel had been furious.

Teresa was thankful for one thing, even during that terrible time. The fear that her husband inspired in her was a welcome distraction from her sadness.

When her face was so mangled that she couldn’t keep social appointments no matter how much powder she caked on the marks, people began to talk. In addition, if there was one thing Samuel hated more than his wife talking back to him, it was people talking about him behind his back.

He’d divorced her swiftly, having his lawyer draw up papers that left her homeless, penniless, and without possessions. Even things like the small likeness of her parents she’d had framed after their deaths became his after the divorce. Samuel even threatened to have her cast out into the streets as naked as the day she was born, saying that her dress belonged to him because he’d paid for it, but the lawyer had finally taken pity on her and convinced him to at least spare her that shame.

Divorced, all of Teresa’s friends abandoned her. Divorce was societal exile, worse than death.

Moreover, being thrust into life without anything was worse than enduring Samuel’s abuse. She had been practically used to that. However, this was all new, terrible, and very, very hard.

It was funny, though, how a person could adapt to things. The streets became Teresa’s new normal. Her old normal — arranging dinners, making social calls, pleasing Samuel — faded away until it was strange to think about. The new normal became a gnawing hunger in her belly, an increasing willingness to ask strangers for help, an ability to sleep in places and situations she would’ve used to find downright ludicrous.

Teresa remembered passing homeless people in the streets and averting her eyes. She never thought she’d be one of them until people started looking away from her.

Things would be different if her parents were still alive, but she knew that was dreaming. The only way things would get better was through a miracle.

Burrowed beneath her coat and crammed in a doorway one night, shivering so hard that she couldn’t sleep, Teresa looked heavenward and prayed.

Dear God, help me, she intoned softly, not wanting to attract attention to herself. Help me regain control of my life again. I don’t want to live like this. I want a roof over my head and food in my stomach. Maybe — maybe if you could help Samuel realize that things aren’t so bad, he’d take me back in …

Teresa’s prayer faltered at that point and she understood that it was wrong to continue to hope for Samuel to come around, to rescind the divorce and welcome her back in the house as his wife. It was silly to think that anymore. Her marriage to Samuel had been terrible.

She needed to move on.

Teresa’s wanderings went near and far, taking her to sights around London she’d never seen even as a true member of society, not the fringes she existed in now. She took in shops and factories, eateries and boarding houses, slums and camps and apartments and all sorts of living arrangements.

If she wanted an apartment, she needed to pay the rent. If she wanted to pay the rent, she needed money. Getting money meant getting a job.

Many women had jobs, Teresa realized, watching the flow of human traffic in and out of the factories at the beginning and ending of each day. Who was to say she couldn’t get one?

However, her life in high society had put her at a disadvantage. Teresa had never lifted a finger in her life to cook, complete chores, or do any physical task.

I can learn, she promised yet another foreman who told her she was too cultured to work at a garment factory.

Can you sew, miss? he asked, looking at her fingers dubiously.

Well, no, Teresa was forced to admit, looking down at her increasingly ragged dress. She’d had a maid to do the mending for her. But I can learn.

We don’t have the time to teach you, he said. Be on your way, then.

In her desperation to have some kind of security — any kind of security — Teresa had tried to be hired as a servant at some of the finer houses.

She should’ve realized that she would’ve been laughed out of the place.

You can’t cook and you can’t clean, the head of the servants had scoffed. What good are you?

I would learn very quickly, Teresa promised. I really would. I could be a real asset.

What’s your story, anyways? the man asked, but Teresa only shook her head. That was too shameful.

Well, I know you’re high society, the man had said finally. And I know you probably have your reasons for wanting to slum it down here with us help. But go have your fun elsewhere.

Teresa received even more shocking pushback when she tried for a position behind the counter at a hat shop.

How are you with numbers? the shop owner asked. Can you handle money?

My husband used to do all the household accounting, Teresa said. But I can learn.

She was getting about as tired as that old refrain as she was sure her potential employers were of hearing it.

You a widow, then? the shop owner asked, peering at her. Awfully young. Didn’t he leave you money?

Not a widow, Teresa said tiredly. Divorced. She didn’t understand why she should keep it hidden anymore. It was what it was, and she was just looking to move forward.

Divorced? The shop owner raised his eyebrows. Divorced and you don’t have any skills at all?

That seems to be the case, she said, wondering if this was rock bottom.

That’s not true, the shop owner said.

Teresa was so surprised that she wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly at first.

Pardon? she asked politely.

I’m saying you do have skills that you maybe haven’t thought about, the man said, looking at her appraisingly.

Like what? Teresa asked eagerly. Maybe this man would help her after all. Maybe she’d get back on her feet, stop sleeping in doorways and alleyways. Maybe she’d stop having to take handouts and going to the kitchens for the homeless. Maybe everything would get better from here.

Well, the way I see it, a woman who used to be married knows how to treat a man, the shop owner said. Though maybe if you’re divorced, something there went wrong.

Go on, Teresa said, her mind racing. Yes, she did know how to treat Samuel — fat lot of good it did her, of course. Maybe there was some untapped market somewhere for caretakers, dinner planners, or event organizers.

But it’d be like riding a bicycle, wouldn’t it? the shop owner said, cackling. Something you’d never forget, pleasing a man. I could point you in the direction of a half dozen houses of comfort near here that would be pleased to take in a woman of your breeding.

Teresa had gaped at him for several long seconds before turning on her heel and leaving the shop. His laughter chased her out onto the street, and she walked indignantly until she realized she was in a part of the city she’d never ventured into.

She’d walked right into the district with the most houses of comfort.

Even as Teresa had struggled to survive on the streets, even when she’d sacrificed her pride in order to just keep going, she had never once considered working in the manner of the women who worked in such places.

Never.

She studied her feet as she tried to walk as quickly and calmly to another part of town, not making eye contact with anyone she passed, for fear they’d think she was one of those working girls.

Anything but that.

Has it come to this, Lord? she asked silently, a tear dropping down her cheek. Has it really come to this? Please remember your faithful servant. I want nothing more than to please you, Lord, but I’m afraid that I need some help to do so. If not, perhaps I can please you in heaven.

The winter was deepening, and Teresa wasn’t sure if she could survive the elements like she had been. She needed a warm stove or fireplace, and the streets didn’t offer that kind of comfort.

When Teresa finally glanced up again, she realized she’d made it out of the seedier district and into an area known for its international commerce. International. It was diverting to toy with the idea of leaving London even though she’d lived there her whole life. Teresa wasn’t stupid. She knew that if she simply left, it wasn’t as if things would get better. Her problems and lack of skills would pursue her everywhere she went.

However, it was still pretty to think about going to somewhere new and exotic and starting over.

Teresa even entertained the thought of never having married Samuel. Maybe she would’ve met a man who would return her attempts at love. He’d want to take her traveling, of course, and they’d visit Paris, Barcelona, and perhaps even America. They’d sail the world, together forever.

Miss, could I interest you in a trip abroad?

Shocked out of her fantasies, Teresa realized she’d been staring at a poster that featured an illustration of rolling hills, galloping horses, and sparkling rivers. The secretary, a finely dressed woman, had stepped outside, probably to shoo Teresa off.

I’m sorry, Teresa said, ducking her head respectfully. I didn’t mean to stare.

Not at all, the secretary said, waving her hand. Have you ever been to America?

No, Teresa laughed. Never.

Well, would you want to go? The secretary looked so serious about the notion that Teresa laughed again.

Of course I’d want to go, but only if you could pay my way and guarantee that my troubles would stay behind me here in London, she said.

Done.

Teresa shook her head. Very funny, she said. But I’ve learned when I’m being made fun of. Enjoy the rest of your day.

She tried to walk off, but the secretary snagged her elbow.

Wait, the woman said. You can read, can’t you?

Of course I can read.

Well, didn’t you read the poster?

Teresa didn’t want to confess what she’d been thinking of when she first saw the poster. It was embarrassing that she was a grown woman who could still get lost in a little daydreaming. She studied the poster, reading it aloud for both their benefits.

Become a mail order bride and discover your love in America, she recited. Now accepting applications from single women interested in marrying into adventure.

You’re single, aren’t you? the secretary asked, taking in Teresa’s appearance.

Yes, she said quickly, not wanting the woman to guess at the circumstances. Yes, I’m single.

Well?

I don’t have the money for a trip abroad, Teresa said. And I don’t have any clothes or possessions other than what I can carry.

That’s an easy fix, the secretary said. Once you apply and we have a match for you, we’ll just ask him to advance some funds to help pay your way and expenses.

And who will ‘he’ be? Teresa asked.

Why, your future husband, of course, the secretary said. Men from all over the world write to us to send them future wives, and we’re one of the best in the business. You’d be going to America, though, for sure. There’s a boom in the American West right now, and more men than women out there carving out their livelihoods from the earth. Why, I received ten letters just today from men out in California wanting wives. We’re honestly having trouble keeping up with it.

Was this what Teresa needed? Was this the escape she’d longed for? She’d prayed for God to help her in her time of need. Was this his way of answering her prayers?

Teresa had been trying so hard for so long that she finally realized she was tired. She couldn’t go forward any longer in the way she had been. She wouldn’t survive the winter without this.

All right, she said suddenly. All right, I’ll do it. I’ll apply to be a bride.

Excellent, the secretary said, smiling and clapping her hands together. This way to your future.

Teresa walked into the office, wondering what life had in store for her.

Life was good, and that was the truth of it, Jordan decided, drinking a cup of strong coffee as he surveyed his ranchlands, extending as far as his eye could see. A mist rose over the hill from the river, though the rising sun was cloaking it in gold. It was going to be very warm today, but Jordan didn’t mind that a bit. Life was good, the ranch was thriving, and the weather was good.

He couldn’t rightly ask for more than that. He’d come to California from the east coast, sharing a single wagon with three other young men he’d gone to school with. They’d made the trip via the Oregon Trail, ready to make lives for themselves away from their families while living off the land.

The journey had been hard — harder than any of them had imagined. Jordan had always considered himself strong, but the trail had almost broken him. He prayed with every exhausted step he took, prayed with every shot of his rifle he used to ward off bandits and tribes of marauding natives and bears.

Even when they finally reached California and went their separate ways to develop their own homesteads, Jordan hadn’t stopped praying. He prayed for the vegetables he needed to survive to grow in his small garden, for the cattle he purchased with the last of his money to survive and multiply, for the house and barn he’d built himself to protect their contents — him included — from the elements.

Therefore, it was with no small degree of surprise that Jordan awoke one day and realized that all his praying and hard work had paid off. His cattle herd flourished, and selling just a few of the beasts afforded him whatever he needed. He had more than enough money to see to repairs around the house and the ranch, and subside on a store-bought diet.

However, his garden had seen fit to flourish, as well — so much so that he had to employ his school friends’ wives to help him can it occasionally so he could eat on his harvest through the winter months.

You need a wife of your own to do this for you, they’d tease him, but Jordan was usually too busy working his land and his herd