Harvest of Love: Four Historical Romance Novellas

By Doreen Milstead

Finding The Key To Love In The Market Place - A woman has looked after her sick mother for years in Washington DC, but when she comes across a mysterious new booth in the market, she is persuaded to sign up for something that will change her life forever PLUS Finding Work In America - A woman from Liverpool moves to America and to a pre-arranged job. The thing is – she doesn’t find out what the true purpose of the place where she works is until later, when an accident will change her life forever PLUS Irene Jumps From One Life To Another - A prostitute from Liverpool decides to try for a new life in America by becoming a mail order bride to a sheriff in Texas, but both the man who escorts her there and her life when she meets her future husband, are a far cry from what she thought they would be PLUS Jilted In England & Sent To The Rude Rancher In South Dakota - Jilted by her beau, an English woman is sent by her aunt to become the mail order bride of a rancher in South Dakota.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Oct 13, 2017
• ISBN: 9781387293360

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Harvest of Love: Four Historical Romance Novellas

Harvest of Love: Four Historical Romance Novellas

By

Doreen Milstead

Copyright 2017 Susan Hart

Finding The Key To Love In The Market Place

Synopsis: Finding The Key To Love In The Market Place - A woman has looked after her sick mother for years in Washington DC, but when she comes across a mysterious new booth in the market, she is persuaded to sign up for something that will change her life forever.

Margery cried out as a wagon rolled by her, splashing her dress with foul-smelling water.

Sorry, Miss! the driver shouted over his shoulder as his horses trotted on.

It’s all right, she called back, a little half-heartedly. Her dressed was soaked in spots with the muddy stuff, and she still had to endure the market. Mother was getting too fragile to brave this trip, so Margery was just going to have to gather up her pride and keep going.

As she started to move forward, a group of men in suits pushed by, sending her staggering into the very same puddle, positively drenching her shoes and stockings, along with the hem of her dress.

Pardon, one of them said. But we’re to get to the Capitol at once.

Don’t let me stand in your way, Margery said a little sarcastically.

The hurried onward, not catching her tone.

Out of the way, young lady!

An officer of the law astride an enormous horse made Margery leap out of the way, sending her crashing into another pedestrian on the busy thoroughfare.

Watch where you’re going, the man scolded her, before pressing onward.

Margery forced herself to take a deep breath as she ran her hands through her unruly curls. They’d all been pinned back when she’d left the house that morning. Now, she was sure that every single one of them had escaped, springing around her face and trailing down her neck.

There were too many people in this city; too many.

If it were up to Margery, she’d simply turn tail and flee, away from the crush of the crowd, away from the stench of the street, away from the noise of it all. She’d run and run until she didn’t see a single person, there was fresh green grass beneath her feet, and birds sang and flitted around in the blue sky.

The brownish smoke belching up from every building didn’t leave much room for birds or their songs in Washington, D.C.

Margery wished they could move away — somewhere far away, somewhere west of here — but it was impossible. Her father had a job with the U.S. government. It was a good job and afforded them many luxuries, but Margery loathed the city. The streets weren’t paved, and when it rained, the mud that sucked at your boots stank like something dead clawed just beneath the surface. It disgusted her to have to leave the house, as she so often had to do.

Perhaps living out in the country would be good for mother, though. Margery thought it was a valid enough point to bring up with her father, but she knew what he’d say. He’d said it before.

Perhaps we could go out to the country, Margery. Then, where would we buy food to feed ourselves? Where would we get the money to buy the food if I’m not working? And how would your poor mother get the care she so dearly needs?

Margery knew he was right. Her mother did require much care, and she was quite ill. Her father’s job helped fund the army of doctors that their mother had been seeing, as well as the strange-smelling bottles of tinctures and salves and draughts. Many of them made her mother act strangely or sleep all day, and Margery worried about her. So far, none of the doctors had been able to make the woman well.

That meant that much of the household upkeep fell to Margery. She oversaw the chores and the cooking, and was becoming quite adept at preparing meals herself. She also handled all of the errands outside of the house. Many of them were too precious to trust to anyone else. They included fetching her mother’s medicines from the various doctors, visiting the bank to make sure she had enough money to pay for all of the endless treatments, and selecting food and supplies so that she could plan the meals she’d try to coax her mother to eat. Whatever the illness was, it seemed to rob the woman of her appetite.

Margery sighed as she reached the market, knowing that she looked as bad as she smelled. If she didn’t have all of her responsibilities to complete, she’d leave all of this in a heartbeat.

She really would.

She went through the stalls with practiced expertise, selecting only the best fruits and vegetables for the table, putting the ripest and most cheerfully colored in the basket she had on her arm. She had other staples, like rice, potatoes, flour, sugar, and meats delivered to the house from the sellers she liked best.

They all knew and loved her here. She’d been coming to the market since she was fifteen years old.

Now, at twenty-five, Margery had begun wondering about her future. Was she going to stay in the nation’s capital for the rest of her life? Would she continue to run her parents’ household without ever having the knowledge of running her own? She knew that they were selfish, wicked thoughts, and tried to banish them from her mind, but they always flitted back, sneaky and wily and ever-present.

Margery just had to pray harder, that was all.

God, show me what you want me to do, she prayed, on her knees by her bed, every single night. Show me what you have in store for me. If it’s to stay here with my parents, I’ll do so. I’ll do whatever your will for me is. However, please, I’ve wanted something I can’t understand lately. Are you pushing me to seek something new? Give me some sign of your intentions so I can know what to do.

God had, so far, been silent on the matter, but Margery kept at the praying all the same.

She also read the bible often, finding some comforts in its words.

Other verses brought terror upon her.

For anyone who curses his father or his mother shall surely be put to death; he has cursed his father or his mother; his blood is upon him, read a passage in Leviticus. Margery didn’t curse her father or her mother, but she was worried that her secret desires to leave Washington, D.C., were a form of cursing the life they’d given her. They led a good life here. They had two servants who helped greatly around the big house. Other people had much, much less, especially following the war.

Many people were left with nothing at all.

Margery didn’t want to be ungrateful, and she didn’t want to forsake her parents. However, she had to hope that there was something more to her life than this, something she could aspire to.

She hoped that there was even something to hope for.

Another passage that she’d found was even more chilling to her, speaking volumes about her desires for escape.

Behold, everyone who uses proverbs will use this proverb about you: ‘Like mother, like daughter.’

The short verse from Ezekiel filled her with dread. Like mother, like daughter. Her mother was so ill. What if God had the same fate planned for Margery? Like mother, like daughter. If Margery was going to care for her mother for the rest of her life, who would care for Margery if she became ill with her mother’s sickness?

Like mother, like daughter. She was ashamed to admit how much fear it instilled in her, so she didn’t talk about it at all. She focused instead on being the best daughter possible, dutiful and loving at every turn.

With her groceries purchased and the heavier bags already on their way to the house, Margery turned back to brave the streets beyond the marketplace again. It had rained just a few days ago, and the standing water at every corner of every intersection was breeding mosquitos.

She’d be lucky if she only had a dozen welted bites from the monsters by the time she reached home. She already knew that she couldn’t avoid being splashed by the fetid water, or being jostled by people who always seemed to think that their travels were more important than anyone around them.

Margery sighed and steeled herself, prepared to face the music, when she stopped.

She’d never seen one stall before. She went to the market several times a week for this and that, but she’d never noticed this particular vendor. Margery knew everyone and everyone knew her. How was this possible?

Curiosity drove her to the table, which was bare except for a ledger and a fountain pen.

Good afternoon, Miss, the man said brightly. May I help you?

I — I’m not sure that you can, Margery said. What are you selling?

I’m selling nothing, he said with a wide grin. But I am offering services.

I’ve never seen you here before, Margery said.

I’ve just set up today, the man said cheerfully. You may call me Mr. Perkins.

Pleased to meet you, she said automatically, the response ingrained in the very fibers of her being. What is it that you sell — er, your services, I mean? What are they?

I’m part of a company that offers matchmaking services, Mr. Perkins said as if it was the most natural thing in the world. We specialize in cross-country matches.

That sounds fascinating, Margery said, looking around for an escape, but I don’t believe I’ll be requiring your services today.

Just think of it, Mr. Perkins went on, giving no indication that he’d heard or understood Margery’s attempt to leave the conversation. A man and woman from either coast of these great United States, uniting in their love for each other.

How do they love each other? Margery asked, wrinkling her nose and shifting her grocery basket to her other arm. They don’t even know each other.

Love only needs to know another, Mr. Perkins said, holding his finger up. Then, it grows.

Margery wasn’t sure that she understood, or if the man was even speaking clearly. Perhaps he was a little strange, even. It was past time for her to be going.

Once again, Mr. Perkins, it was nice to meet you, she said, her voice polite but firm. I really must be going. I don’t need to be match-made.

You never know when love will be looking for you, he said. "Perhaps your future husband is right here in this city, waiting for someone he doesn’t know exists yet. Or perhaps he’s in the far-flung reaches of Montana — no, Colorado — no, California, away from the city life, breathing in clean air, drinking right from a fresh, bubbling brook.

Margery paused in turning away. Drinking right out of a bubbling brook. She could practically taste the icy cold water, sure that it came down pure from a mountain spring. The thought in the bustle and dirt of Washington, D.C., was strange and foreign, but enough to further pique her curiosity.

How, exactly, does this matchmaking work? she asked, raising an eyebrow.

All you do is put your name and address in my ledger book, Mr. Perkins said, tapping a clean page. I take the information back to my company, and we pair you with someone also looking for love.

But there’s no guarantee, Margery protested. What happens if the two matches don’t love each other? Can you unmake a match?

Mr. Perkins held up his finger again. Love only needs to know another, he began, but Margery waved off the rest of the words.

Yes, yes, yes, she said quickly. And then it grows. You’ve already said that. However, can’t you offer some sort of assurance that the love will happen? Does anyone even sign up for these things?

Plenty of young men and women do, Mr. Perkins said, especially those who are looking for escape.

Margery cut her eyes at the man. What did he know about looking for escape? She’d been trying to escape his company for the past ten minutes. Alternatively, was he — oh. How could he possibly know that she wanted to escape from all of this — her parents, the city, everything? Did he know her somehow? Had he spied on her? Had someone told the man about her situation in passing?

On the other hand, was it just the simple fact that Margery was so miserable here that it was plain on her face, plain in her step, and excruciatingly obvious in her speech?

You’d like to be away from the city, wouldn’t you? Mr. Perkins guessed. You’d like to know what it is to drink from a bubbling brook and not catch any number of terrible diseases like the ones the rivers here carry.

Liking to do something was different from actually doing it, but the man was right. He’d read her face or