Hearts Joined In the Light: Four Historical Romance Novellas

By Doreen Milstead

One Female Sharpshooter From Georgia - A woman travels to California to become the mail order bride of an older man and unfortunately, when she arrives she finds out that he’s dead PLUS Searching For The Black Sheep - To escape an evil man after her father dies, an English woman journeys to America after corresponding with and then agreeing to marry a cowboy from Texas PLUS The Detective's Mail Order Bride - A mail order bride travels to Wichita, Kansas, to become wife of a detective. Immediately thrown into a murder mystery, they form a strong partnership, but it’s tested as they begin to gather clues about the case PLUS The Female Warrior - Many years after the fall of civilization, well, sort of... a young noble woman from Michigonia is sent for to wed the son of a reigning leader of his people. They need heirs.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jan 13, 2018
• ISBN: 9781387513130

Book preview

Hearts Joined In the Light: Four Historical Romance Novellas

Hearts Joined In the Light: Four Historical Romance Novellas

By

Doreen Milstead

Copyright 2018 Susan Hart

Cover photo copyright: robeo / 123RF Stock Photo

One Female Sharpshooter From Georgia

Synopsis: One Female Sharpshooter From Georgia -  A woman travels to California to become the mail order bride of an older man and unfortunately, when she arrives she finds out that he’s dead.  A preacher tells her that the dying wish of the old rancher was to bring God back in to the life of his three sons, so she decides to honor the old man’s memory and try it. Two of the sons are uncouth and louts, but the third is reasonable so she starts with him.  Along the way there are many obstacles as well as some buried treasure, but she despairs of breaking through the barrier of one of the sons, Carl.

It was raining in Savannah when Missy arrived on the train from Macon.

She could not abide the smell of rain in the city of Savannah. It reeked of dead fish and sewage. Brad's promise to take her from this place and work the carnival circuit had helped convince her to marry him. Yet here she was, back again with three years gone, and worse off than when she'd left.

Missy did not even have a proper traveling bag. She held her King James Bible, some corn bread in wax paper, and all her undergarments in a small linen sack. She had also been obliged to wear the only dress she now owned for nearly a week. The constable in Macon had confiscated everything else, including both of her prized nickel-plated revolvers, a wedding present from Brad.

During the bumpy ride from midtown Savannah in a one-horse buggy with an inadequate awning, the constant drizzle had saturated the bottom of her dress, adding a hint of dirty laundry to the cesspool stench of rain in Savannah.

The rhythmic squeaking of the buggy and the steady clip-clop of the horse abruptly came to a halt. She looked out from under the buggy's awning to see that they had stopped in front of a massive house.

This is the address? she asked the driver.

Four Fifty-four Drayton Street, he answered, Yes, ma'am.

Missy sat and stared in bewilderment at Bonnie's house. The driver asked, Is there a problem, ma'am?

No, Missy said. She stepped down from the buggy, turned and paid the driver her last quarter. Reluctantly, she added her last nickel for a tip. He nodded, shook the reigns and rode away, leaving her standing there on the cobblestone street.

After the buggy departed, Missy stood in the sprinkling rain, admiring the large house. Painted white, with black trim and shutters, there was a roofed-in wrap-around porch with ivy growing up both sides of it and a doublewide staircase in front.

Unlike Missy, Bonnie had done quite well for herself since leaving the convent's orphanage. Missy hoped she had received her telegram, or, despite being more like sisters than friends, this would be an awkward reunion.

Ascending the stairs onto the spacious porch, she approached the front door with a brass knocker hanging on it, and clapped the striker three times. Missy waited, saying a silent prayer to God, thanking Him for a friend to turn to like Bonnie Grayson.

The door opened and a freckle-faced woman appeared, her red hair wrapped high in a bun. Her face lit up and she shrieked, Missy!

Bonnie pounced on Missy, laughing, hugging her, and bouncing up and down. Oh, my Lord in heaven! Missy Barker! Missy Barker! My Missy Barker is here!

Enjoying Bonnie's exultant welcome, Missy laughed, and did her best to return her hugs without falling over.

Bonnie's jubilation ceased. She pulled away and held Missy out at arm's length by her shoulders. Bonnie looked deep into her eyes, and said, Oh, my Lord, Missy. I am so sorry. We got your telegram three days ago. It's horrible, just horrible what happened. How did you ever endure it? Are you okay?

Missy's smile dissipated. She tried to respond that God had seen her through, but the words were caught in her throat. With Bonnie's eyes looking deep into her soul like that, all the hurt and anger she had held in check for a week welled up and threatened to explode. She desperately fought to hold it back, but, unable to contain so much emotion, Missy burst into tears.

Oh, Missy! Bonnie said, pulling her into an embrace. She started crying, as well, burying her face in Missy's shoulder.

Both women cried, and tightly clung to each other. Missy had not seen Bonnie since she left Savannah three years ago, and the warm familiar embrace of her sister-orphan was the nicest thing she had felt in a long time.

After only a few moments, their crying subsided and they relaxed their embrace. Missy retrieved a handkerchief from the pocket in her dress, and, wiping the tears away, she swallowed hard and pulled herself together.

When she finished with it she handed her friend the hanky. Bonnie snatched it up, and put it to good use.

Sniffling, Missy said, I apologize, Bonnie. I did not mean to come all the way here and cry. Bonnie blew her nose loudly into the hanky, and Missy chuckled at her unladylike lack of decorum. Bonnie had not changed a bit. I mean it's downright embarrassing falling apart like that.

Still quite upset, Bonnie grimaced and wailed, Your husband was killed, Missy!

Yes, he was, Missy said. Feeling better after her breakdown, she tried to console Bonnie. And that was a tragedy. Even though he was a charlatan and a con man, Brad did not deserve that, but he's in heaven now. It's almost like... like Jesus took him to spare him any more pain in this world. Brad was too good to be a con man, but too much of a con-man to ever be good. Does that make any sense?

Bonnie, smiled sadly, nodding in agreement.

I'm all alone now, Missy said. I think that's why I cried. It was a selfish cry. Brad is just fine where he is. I was crying because I'm all alone and I lost everything. I'm just sorry I had to turn to you and your husband for help. It will only be for a short time, only until I figure out what God has planned for me.

Don't be silly! Bonnie stuffed the hanky back into Missy's hand. You are not all alone, Missy. You have us and you can stay here as long as you like. Do you understand me? As long as you like. You are not a guest in this house. This is your home. Now come on in here, and let's get you fed and into some dry clothes. I want you to meet my husband.

Bonnie yanked Missy into the house by a shoulder. She yelled, Andrew! Andrew, Missy's home! Come and meet my sister!

Missy walked for over an hour, enjoying a sunny Tuesday morning in midtown Savannah. She halted in front of her destination, a telegraph office on Broad Street with a big sign over it that read, 'Telegraphs and Messaging'.

A much smaller sign in the window of the door, however, read, 'Western Weddings - Mail Order Bride Service'. She took a deep breath and opened the door.

Hearing the jingle of the bell above the door, a clerk's bald head shot up from behind a wood and glass partition. His beady eyes peered at her through thick glasses, and he quickly forced a big fake smile onto his gnomish face. Missy almost turned and walked out again.

Good morning, my lady! he said, in a pleasant enough tone.

Missy decided to stay, but if God really wanted her to do this, she wished He had provided a clerk who looked less manic.

Good morning, sir, she said.

Sending a telegraph today?

No... uh... I'm simply curious about this, she pointed to the 'Western Weddings' sign behind her. This other... thing.

Oh! the man said, clapping his hands together. Wonderful. Wonderful. He practically ran from behind the partition and motioned for her to sit down in a chair as he took a seat at a big wooden desk. You're interested in finding a husband?

Missy cautiously approached the desk. She nodded.

Very good. Very good. The little clerk picked up a quill and pulled out a fresh sheet of paper. There are thousands of rich lonely bachelors out west, just waiting to hear from you. We put everything about you in an advertisement and they send you letters if they like what they read. There are some very wealthy men, who--

I am not interested in money, sir! Missy proclaimed.

No? he looked over his thick glasses. No, of course not. You're interested in finding your one true love, then.

Missy let out a breath. No. I am not interested in that either.

The clerk squinted up at her from behind his glasses. Then what is it, exactly, that you want in a husband?

Missy smiled. She enjoyed hearing that question. Before now, no one had ever thought to ask.

She sat down in a chair in front of the little clerk's big wooden desk, straightened her dress out over her knees, and said, I will only marry a stable, hard-working Christian man, someone who fears God, who is of good moral character, and who has established roots in the community where he lives.

The clerk grinned more convincingly this time, dipped his quill in ink, and began scrawling on his paper. Go on, he said.

"Make certain you include how I am interested in neither financial windfalls, nor romantic overtures, but if I cannot find a good Christian man for a blessed union, then I have full intentions of swearing my oaths to our Lord, Jesus Christ, and joining the sisterhood.

Good, all very good, the clerk said. He stopped writing and asked, Now, is there anything you don't like, some trait or habit like drinking or smoking that you find off-putting?

Missy did not even have to think about that. The one thing I will not tolerate is a cocky man. The last man who sought my hand was cocky. It was his worst character flaw.

So, you want a man who is shy? Maybe someone with a speech impediment, like a stutter?

She knew the clerk was being flippant with her, but she soberly replied, The answer to my prayers, good sir, would be a man who stuttered as he asked me to marry him. That is a humble man.

The clerk accepted this, and wrote down that she desired humility in her mate.

Now, anything else to add? he asked.

Missy thought for a moment. No, sir. I believe that is everything.

Excellent, ma'am. All I need is a little background information. May I ask you some standard questions?

Yes, sir.

What is your full name?

My name is Melissa Mae Barker, but my friends call me Missy. Make sure you add the 'r' in Barker. It is a common mistake.

The clerk finished writing. The 'r' is in place. Now, how old are you, Miss Barker, and when is your next birthday?

I am twenty-one, and shall turn twenty-two on the fifth of June.

Have you ever been married before, ma'am?

Is this a personal question, or will this be in my advertisement?

There is a list of statistical information in every mail order bride's ad. If you prefer not to answer you may choose to leave it blank.

No. I will answer. Yes, I have been married. I am a widow.

I am so sorry for your loss, ma'am. That is tragic, just tragic.

Thank you.

How long have you been a widow, if you don't mind my asking?

Brad died in January, so that would be...

Two months? the clerk said, scowling in disapproval.

No, Missy said. He died the end of January, and it is only the first of March, so I would say it has been closer to six weeks.

The clerk frowned and shook his head. And you are already shopping for a new husband?

Missy took a deep breath and pushed it out her nose, letting her anger out with it. The marriage was... tumultuous, good sir. My husband had some character flaws I could not abide, if you truly must know.

The clerk's disapproving scowl softened.

Will any of this be in the ad? she asked.

He waved his hand in dismissal. No. No, of course not. He leaned forward, and said, Excuse my prying nature, ma'am. I generally prefer to get to know the young ladies before I write their ads. Much of what I ask is for my own information, and you are not obligated to answer. If I ask something too personal, simply tell me you'd rather not answer. Is that acceptable?

It is, sir.

Very well. Now, do you have children from your marriage?

I do not.

Do you want children?

I'd rather not answer, she said.

The clerk sighed. This does go into the statistical section of the add. Would you prefer I leave it blank? A desire to have children is an important matter for some.

No, sir, Missy said. Do not leave it blank. Yes. I suppose I do want children someday, with the right husband, someone who can be a good father.

He wrote that down and looked over the sheet of paper. I just need a few more things. Are you employed, and, if so, where do you work, and do you have any skills, such as sewing or cooking?

I am currently unemployed, but I used to work with 'Tumbleweeds, traveling Carnival and Wild West Extravaganza'.

Oh, how interesting, the clerk said, pushing his glasses up to take a closer look at her. You are a pretty one, that's for sure. Were you a dancing girl?

No, sir. I was a feature act. I am a quick-draw and trick-shooting artist.

The clerk looked stymied. "So, are you an artist or a photographer?

Neither.

You said you draw, and shoot pictures, did you not?

No, sir. I said quick-draw, as in drawing pistols from holsters, and trick shooting, like hitting targets of clay pigeons, or bottles while blindfolded.

You? he asked, looking mystified.

Yes, me.

He smiled. Excuse my shock. You appear so... so ladylike.

Why thank you, sir, Missy said, smirking. I am a lady.

The clerk looked down at the paper. Do you have any skills that are useful, ma'am? Can you cook?

Missy frowned.

At the beginning of August, nearly five months later, Missy went out to the mailbox in front of the house to see if any of her suitors had written. It was a daily chore now, screening letters from prospective husbands.

Terrence Goodell, an old rich rancher and a Christian from California, had written her again. She felt something inside the envelope and opened it. He had sent her a ticket.

She couldn't believe her eyes. It was a cross-country ticket on the Trans-Continental Railroad to Sacramento, California. Missy had told him he was sweet in his letters, and she had returned to him a large sum of money he had mailed her, refusing to take handouts, regardless of her financial difficulties, but she had not expected him to send her a ticket.

There had been no promise of marriage. She had only said she would entertain the thought of going out to California to meet him. Now that she had a ticket in her hand, the prospect of taking that journey filled her with excitement.

Missy ran up the front steps, and burst through the door. Bonnie! she shouted. Bonnie!

What? Bonnie called back to her from the kitchen.

She ran into the kitchen waving her ticket in the air.

I'm going to California!

No! Bonnie screeched, bouncing up and down, acting even more excited than Missy. When are you going? When?

Missy looked at the ticket. Saturday. I'm leaving next Saturday.

Saturday? Oh, my Lord, Bonnie said. She fell on Missy, hugging her hard. Is it the guy with the ranch, the old cowboy?

Yes, Missy said, He sent me the ticket just so I could meet him.

Bonnie stopped bouncing. Are you going to marry him? You said he was old.

Missy shrugged. I don't know. He is such a sweet man, at least in his letters. He is very proper and very sweet. So I suppose I will simply go out to California to meet him, and see exactly what the Lord has planned for me.

Bonnie giggled. You're going to live on a ranch, she said, excitedly, With a real cowboy, Missy. You'll be able to do your trick-shooting as if you were back in the Wild West show again, and you'll be able to ride horses there and wear a cowboy hat. You'll be just like Annie Oakley!

Missy frowned. But Annie Oakley didn't have to marry Buffalo Bill.

Bonnie laughed and poked her in the shoulder. Oh, I bet he's not that old looking. Maybe you'll even fall in love.

I am going there to meet with him, Bonnie, Missy said, stuffing the ticket into her dress pocket, But I do not expect to fall in love. I just want to shoot some guns and ride some horses again, that's all.

After a quick stop at El Dorado Station, about ten minutes later, the train pulled into her stop, Roseville Station. Missy was more nervous than she'd ever been in her life. She looked out the windows for an old man in a cowboy hat waiting on the platform for her, but all she saw were a few families, some railway porters, and a priest.

Missy had already experienced the trip of a lifetime. She had taken trains many times before, mostly with her husband, Brad. They had rode nearly all the railroad lines in the southeast, following the traveling Carnival wherever it went, but this cross country trip had been amazing.

She had slept through the crossing of the Mississippi River in her bunk in the sleeping car. But, after that, from the comfort of the dining car, she had seen the vast plains of the midwest, and she had traversed the Rocky Mountains.

She had chatted with many of the other passengers during the trip, and had enjoyed meeting most of them, except for one cocky man who reminded her of her late husband. Thankfully, he got off the train in Denver. The family she had liked talking to