Mail Order Mishap: Christian Romance (Kansas Brides Book 1) Read online

  Mail Order Mishap

  Barbara Goss

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All scripture is quoted from the King James Version of the Holy Bible.

  This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this book is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage system without express written permission from the author.

  Copyright © 2016 Barbara Goss

  All Rights Reserved

  Kindle Edition

  Cover design by: Samantha Fury

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Epilogue

  Dedicated to all the authors and readers at Pioneer Hearts for giving me the idea to write a mail order bride book. Enjoy. https://www.facebook.com/groups/pioneerhearts/

  Chapter 1

  Amber Wakefield sat with her sister Margaret in the drawing room reading the Richmond Dispatch. Amber was reading the inside section, while Margaret scanned the front page.

  “Looks like they caught the bandit who held up the bank yesterday, Amber. Heaven forbid! His name was Winfield Wakefield‒” Margaret let out a giggle—“I hope he isn’t a relation.”

  “I hope not, as well,” Amber murmured, as her interest focused elsewhere.

  “Margaret, listen to this anonymous letter written to the newspaper from an unmarried woman of age nineteen, from Chesterfield County, Virginia, who writes, I am one of the many women feeling despair brought on by the war. Has anyone considered the difference in the numbers of males and females? I do not want to become an old maid, yet what are my choices? I am only of moderate beauty and fortune, and my chances of marriage are next to nil. Has anyone a good resolution to this mounting problem?

  “And,” Amber continued, “the newspaper editor answered the letter, Go West young woman, go West. Out west they also have an imbalance, but it appears to be a reversal of the numbers. In California, alone, there are 63% more men than women. The percentage is higher in less populated areas like Wyoming, Oregon, and Kansas. My answer is: go West. Some cities out west are advertising for women because the need is so great.”

  “And what’s wrong with being an old maid?” Margaret asked. “I, however, prefer the term spinster. I don’t mind it at all. I don’t want a husband bossing me around and giving me babies every two years! Aunt Sarah never married and she’s lived a very fulfilling life.”

  Amber hugged herself. “Oh, how I want to be married and have babies. I’ve always wanted to be a mother. Remember how I always used to play with dolls?”

  “Yes, while I was out riding horses and climbing trees. Do you even know the thrill of catching a fish?” Margaret grabbed the newspaper from Amber’s hands. “Don’t read any more or you’ll be moody all evening.”

  “I’d be married by now if my Frank hadn’t gotten himself killed at Fredericksburg. I might even be a mother now, rocking a young’un in my arms at this very moment.”

  “Amber, stop it this instant! Before you know it you'll be crying over his passing all over again. Can’t you just accept the life God has given you?”

  Seeming not to hear the question, she pulled another newspaper out, one she'd hidden in her apron pocket. “There are ways to find a husband. There may not be many eligible men here, in the South, but out west, it’s a different story. You heard the article‒there's a shortage of women. We could go there and be surrounded by handsome cowboys, pining for a wife.”

  Amber shoved a page from the newspaper under Margaret’s nose. “Look at all the ads for single women in the classified section?”

  Margaret frowned as she skimmed the page. “Interesting, but they’re all through an agency. It’s probably a trick to get your money.”

  “No, it says right here at the top, the advertiser paid for the ad, and the woman pays nothing.”

  “Say, this isn’t the Richmond Dispatch, What paper is this?”

  “The Matrimonial News, my friend, Mattie, found it in her sister’s bedroom.” Amber looked at Margaret pleadingly. “Let’s do it! Let’s go out west!”

  Margaret scowled, trying to confiscate the second newspaper as she had the first. “That’s ridiculous! Heaven only knows what you’d get. Give me that paper!”

  Amber held the paper just out of her sister’s reach. “No! I’m going to contact this agency.”

  “As your older sister and the one in charge since Mama died, I say that you will not do something that crazy.”

  “I’m past the age where I need a caretaker, Margaret. I’m twenty-two.”

  “Well, count me out. I have no use for a husband, but if you leave, I’ll also have no use for this huge house all by myself.”

  “Sell it, then.” Amber pouted.

  “The city of Richmond is recovering after being ravaged by war, and I don’t think anyone is buying property, least of all old mansions in need of repairs. Think about it, Amber.”

  “You could invite Aunt Sarah to live here with you. She’s alone, too. Cousin Agatha, as well. They could all move in and help with the expenses.”

  “My!” Margaret exclaimed. “You have this all planned, don’t you? You’ve been thinking about this for some time, haven’t you?”

  “Maybe I have. Aunt Esther has the dowry our parents left for us, and I can take mine with me. You can use yours to fix up the house since you don’t want to marry.”

  “Amber, there are husbands out there that beat their wives, there are womanizers, drunks, rapists and God knows what else. I can’t let you do this!”

  “I’m not going out there blindly. The article says I can contact the agency, and they’ll give my address to whoever wishes it. I can write to the men that respond until I know one of them well enough to make a move.”

  “Good grief! Now you can size up a man by his handwriting?” Margaret stood and marched out of the room, mumbling to herself.

  Amber smiled, as she walked to the desk, took out a clean sheet of paper to respond to the ad.

  Shrugging off her sister’s negative remarks, Amber sealed the letter to the newspaper. Margaret had every right to be protective. She was, after all, her older sister. Their mother had died of a stroke just thirteen months ago, and their father had volunteered to fight for the Confederate army, despite his advanced age, and was killed.

  Margaret and Amber had struggled to keep the old mansion‒situated in the heart of Richmond‒going after the war. Margaret was shrewd and a good manager, so they were able to keep the house going by paying the few slaves that had stayed on. They had aunts and cousins in Richmond who stopped by often, and who were willing to help them out when they needed it.

  Amber put her pen down and rubbed the envelope against her cheek. This letter might be her only hope of escaping spinsterhood. Every day she lived with Margaret in their big house, the more she pictured herself growing old, with no one except Margaret for company. She feared that, one day, friends and neighbors would begin to refer to them as the Wakefield Spinste
rs.

  Weeks later, Amber received several replies from men out west. Some she discarded immediately, and others she put into her “maybe” pile. Most of these were cowboys, miners, or storekeepers. She'd always lived a materialistic life, so those letters were the first to be discarded. Her “maybe” pile was considerably smaller than her discard pile. Finally, when it was evident that no more letters were coming in, she sat down, reread all the letters in her “maybe” pile, and continued to discard until she had only a handful of hopefuls left.

  The first man under consideration was widower named Sylvester, who owned a prosperous ranch in Wyoming. His occupation had landed him a spot in her “maybe” pile. Amber wasn’t too keen on being a rancher’s wife and having to do housework. She’d never lifted a finger as her family had always had servants. She also considered how cold and snowy it got in Wyoming. Despite this, she took her paper and pen out and wrote back to him.

  The second possibility, Henry, had been widowed twice. This struck Amber as odd for a man of his age. He claimed to own a lumberyard in Iowa. His letter was stained with what looked like coffee. Even so, she thought she’d give him a chance and return his letter, as well.

  Charles was another strong candidate, since he lived in Kansas, and owned a hotel. He’d never been married, and he had one brother. He seemed extremely educated‒there wasn't a single misspelled word and perfect grammar to match, which was what had put him on the top of the pile.

  The rest of the “maybes” read pretty much the same as the first three, so she answered them all in turn; six in total.

  When the answering letters came, she grew increasingly disappointed. Sylvester had six children and though she did want to be a mother, she would have preferred to give birth to them herself. Sylvester went into the discard pile.

  Henry’s letter seemed earnest, but his spelling was as terrible as his grammar. He stated his age as forty-two, which she felt was a bit old.

  All the others proved disappointing for one reason or another, as well. Now, she had only to wait for the straggler’s letter; Charles, the hotel owner.

  Two days later, a letter from Charles Turner arrived. His well-written letter struck her as sincere.

  A hotel owner!

  She sat down and began her reply back to him.

  She hesitated to include that she had a dowry in the letter, even though the intention of a dowry was to attract a husband, wasn't it?

  Chapter 2

  Mr. Charles Turner

  Hunter’s Hotel

  Hunter’s Grove, Kansas

  Dear Mr. Turner,

  As you may know, since the war we have a shortage of males here in the South; thus, the necessity of answering your ad. My sister, Margaret, is content to stay in Virginia and become a spinster, but I want a family, and children, especially. It has always been my longing. I would surely consider living in Kansas and being courted by you. I have just started my twenty-second year, and I have lived here all my life. Previously, we had slaves, but they were freed and are now paid servants. My mother died just a year ago. I have several aunts and cousins who live nearby, and I am hoping they will move in and keep Margaret from being alone, should I decide to leave Virginia. I have a fairly large dowry that will help with setting up a household. I do hope to hear from you soon.

  Yours,

  Amber Lou Wakefield

  Miss Amber Lou Wakefield

  144 Grace Street

  Richmond, Virginia

  Dear Miss Wakefield,

  Thank you for responding. I anxiously awaited your letter. As previously mentioned, I own a hotel here, in Hunter’s Grove, and have for several years. I also desire a happy home and children. I keep house for my brother Garrett, and myself, but the hotel cook prepares our meals. I’m in my twenty-fourth year; Garrett is nearing his thirtieth year and claims to be a confirmed bachelor. I own a comfortable home, two horses and have a bit of savings, but my hotel needs extensive renovating, and I hope to do that soon.

  Yours,

  Charles Turner

  Mr. Charles Turner

  Hunter’s Hotel

  Hunter’s Grove, Kansas

  Dear Mr. Turner,

  I also await your letters with anticipation. You write a very eloquent letter.

  Richmond is so different from what it once was before the dratted war. We lost so many brave men. I was betrothed to a man named Frank who was killed at Fredericksburg, and my father was killed at Lexington. It’s all so very sad. I would not feel any remorse in leaving Richmond, had I the opportunity for an adventure elsewhere.

  Yours,

  Amber

  Dear Miss Amber,

  The mail takes a long time to arrive and I am always hungry for your news. If you would like, you could stay with a dear family friend of mine here in Hunter’s Grove, as would be proper, and I could court you appropriately. If you agree, I shall gladly send you a train ticket, post haste. I shall be anxiously awaiting your reply, my dear Amber.

  Yours,

  Charles

  Dear Charles,

  It is always pleasant to hear from you, as well. I would consider coming to Kansas if you send a ticket, but I do have one requirement: I will not consider doing any domestic work. You see, here we have servants, and I am not knowledgeable about domestic duties, nor do I wish to learn. I am hoping it matters little to you since I’m sure you have domestic help in the hotel. I’m sure my dowry will come in handy to renovate the hotel.

  Hope to hear from you soon.

  Yours,

  Amber

  Dear Amber,

  Enclosed you will find a train ticket. My hotel does, indeed, have domestic help. You will not be required to lift a finger around the hotel or our home. As I mentioned, I do all the housekeeping in our home, and I actually enjoy it. I look forward to meeting you soon. I will meet you at the train station.

  Yours,

  Charles

  When Garrett returned from work—to the house he shared with his brother, Charles—he wasn’t surprised to see that his bed made and the home neat and clean. He smiled. Living with an obsessively tidy brother had its advantages.

  Garrett followed his nose into the kitchen‒something sure smelled appetizing. He found Charles there, bent over a pot, stirring it furiously.

  “Beef stew?” Garrett asked.

  “Yep.” Charles moved the pot off the fire. “Straight from the hotel kitchen”

  “Well, it does smell good.” Garrett sat down at his usual seat at the table.

  Charles ladled a huge portion of the stew out for Garrett. The steam was hot enough to make Garrett back away from the bowl.

  “Wow, that’s hot.”

  “We can talk a bit while it cools,” Charles said as he sat down in front of his steaming bowl.

  “Was that Fanny from The Longhorn I saw you with last night?” Charles asked, blowing on his stew.

  “Maybe it was.”

  “Garrett, you really need to find one woman and settle down.”

  Garrett laughed. “Like you did? Besides, who’d want to marry a man who lives in a tiny house behind a shabby hotel with his brother, and doesn’t have more than a small nest egg to his name?”

  Charles gave him a patronizing smile. “You’d have more if you didn’t spend it all on saloon women and drink. I also know you have a rather large nest egg set aside.”

  “I never touch alcohol. I drink seltzer water or juice at the saloons.” Garrett spooned some stew into his mouth and quickly spat it back into the bowl. “Land's sake, that's hot!”

  Garrett continued after gulping down a cup of water, “When Mother died, I swore I’d never marry after seeing her farce of a marriage. Furthermore, you need to think about your own future and stay out of mine.”

  “I sent for a mail order bride,” Charles blurted.

  “What? You’re joking! But you’re—”

  “Look, Garrett, I’ve been running this shabby hotel here, in Hunter’s Grove, for several years. I’m plannin
g on expanding and making the hotel bigger and better, and I don’t have quite enough saved for a complete refurbishing.”

  “Where will you get that kind of money?”

  “My mail order bride has a large dowry.”

  “What? But, you’re—”

  “That doesn’t matter,” Charles cut in.

  “What do you mean it doesn’t matter?”

  “You’ll see‒it will all work out. Eat your stew before it gets cold.”

  Garrett simply shook his head. “What about Clint?”

  “He’ll understand. His job here at the hotel will improve with the new enhancements. As assistant manager, I’ll see to it he gets his own office.”

  Garrett shook his head. “So where did you find this woman?”

  “The Matrimonial News. Sam’s Barbershop had a copy. Hey, maybe you could‒”

  “No!”

  “Why not?”

  “Besides my having nothing to offer a woman, especially after seeing the mess our parents’ made of their marriage. Why would you or I even think about marrying? You're opening up a huge packet of trouble with this idea. Why couldn’t we just spruce this place up a bit? Can of paint, a little spit shine‒”

  “Cowboys are sleeping on the floor, and I have to charge them less when the few beds we have are taken. The cattle drives are bringing in more and more all the time. My hotel's the last one on the Chisholm Trail before Wichita‒we need a bigger and better place.”

  “All right, so you posted an ad in that paper, but how did you know a woman with a large dowry would respond?” Garrett asked.

  “I didn’t, but I received at least twenty replies and she was the only one who came right out and told me she had a dowry in her very first letter. It’s almost like she wants to use it to buy a husband. To be honest, I think she's probably unsightly, making her more desperate.”