Audra, page 1
AUDRA
MAIL-ORDER BRIDES OF SAPPHIRE SPRINGS
Margery Scott
Clover Ridge Press
Copyright © 2019 by Margery Scott
All rights reserved
ISBN: 978-988191-10-2
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
BOOKS BY MARGERY SCOTT
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Chapter 1
Sapphire Springs, Texas
* * *
Neall Gardiner sat astride Apollo, his coal-black stallion, and surveyed the valley.
His valley.
The land was his, from the river that wound its way through the land a few hundred acres behind him to the emerald green grassland that rose into the foothills at the base of the Blue Mountains in the distance.
He smiled. He’d done well, and he was proud of what he’d accomplished in the past six years since his father died. He’d gambled, risked more money than he should have when he’d bought the steers from Abe Littlejohn to start his herd, but it had paid off.
Now, he had a reputation for raising some of the highest quality beef in the state.
He’d bought up the last thousand acres just the year before, and he’d be adding another two thousand or so next month when Abe sold out to him and went to live with his daughter in Austin.
He had the perfect life. Well, almost perfect. That empty, gnawing part of him begged for something more. Something he’d had growing up, but had lost, little by little, ever since his father died. A family.
He’d always figured he’d be married by now, but he’d been so busy with the ranch that time had slipped by without him really even noticing. Now, with his thirtieth birthday approaching, it was past time to find himself a bride.
There were unmarried women in Sapphire Springs. Plenty of them, as a matter of fact, and more than a few who’d be willing to marry him. But how could he know which ones cared about him and which ones were only interested in the financial security and luxury he could offer? After what had happened to his cousin up in Fort Worth—the woman who’d supposedly loved him, had spent every cent he’d had and more, and then ran off with a banker from somewhere in California—Neall was afraid to take the chance the same thing would happen to him. If he lost his ranch because of a woman…
There was one way to be sure the woman he married wanted him and not his money, he thought, turning Apollo in the direction of the ranch house. He flicked the reins, and the stallion set off at a trot across the field. He could marry a woman who didn’t know him, a woman who’d know nothing about him other than what he told her.
He could get himself a mail-order bride.
It had worked for John Weaver, Neall reasoned. After John’s wife died, he’d been left with a diner to run and two little girls to raise with nobody to help him except his aunt. John had sent away for a mail-order bride. He’d married Miranda the day she arrived. They’d had their own issues to deal with, but they’d worked it out and he was a happy man now.
Maybe Neall would be just as lucky. It was a gamble, but he’d never been afraid to take a risk when the reward was worth it.
As he rode closer, the ranch house came into view, large and impressive. He could see his whole family history in the construction of it—the original two-story house his great-grandfather had built when he and his great-grandmother had arrived in Texas from the Scottish lowlands with a dream and a few dollars to buy a parcel of land, the rooms added on when his grandparents had married, the addition his father had built when Neall was a baby.
Neall lived alone in that house now, except for Mrs. Davey, the housekeeper who’d looked after him since he was a boy. They might not be related by blood, but she was the only family he had left.
Apollo stopped at the bottom of the steps leading to the front porch. As Neall dismounted, his foreman, Tucker Gates, opened the front door.
“Afternoon, boss,” Tucker said, coming down the stairs and approaching Neall. “I’ll take Apollo to the barn and rub him down. I’m heading that way anyway.”
“Thanks, Tucker.”
Tucker took the horse’s reins from Neall. “Left some bills on your desk for you to look over,” he said.
“I’ll do that,” Neall replied.
Tucker ran his hand down Apollo’s neck and took a few steps toward the barn before Neall called out to him. “I’m going into town later. Are you expecting any deliveries or need anything at the mercantile?”
“I can send one of the boys—”
“No need,” Neall insisted. He’d never been a man to expect anyone else to do something he wouldn’t do himself, and if he was being completely honest, he enjoyed working alongside his men, getting his hands dirty, feeling his muscles burn from a hard day’s work.
“Got an order at the mercantile if you feel like taking the wagon,” Tucker said.
“I’ll do that.”
Tucker nodded, then continued on his way with Apollo.
Neall climbed the stairs and went into the house, the smell of wood polish filling his nose. Mrs. Davey appeared in the doorway of the small room he used as an office. He’d always loved that room because of the huge windows giving him a view of the river and the cattle grazing in the fields. It used to be a receiving parlor, but he’d taken it over after his mother passed on two years before.
“I’m just finishing cleaning,” she said, the faint Scottish burr she’d never been able to lose creeping into her voice. “’Course it would be a lot easier if you’d keep it tidy.”
“Yes, ma’am, I will,” he replied with a smile. His messiness had been a bone of contention between them since he was a boy. He’d never outgrown it, and she’d finally given up trying to change his ways. Now, it was a shared joke between them. She complained; he agreed to do better.
“I’ve made a decision,” he told her, changing the subject.
“Oh?”
“Yes, and since it’ll affect you, too, I want you to hear it first.”
A worried frown appeared between her brows. She twisted the dust rag between her hands until Neall grinned. “I’m getting married.”
Mrs. Davey’s brows shot up. “What?”
“Yes,” he repeated. “It’s time, don’t you think?”
“Well past time if you ask me,” she responded, a broad smile sweeping across her face. “Might I ask who the lucky woman is?”
His grin widened. “Well…I’m not sure yet, but as soon as I find out, you’ll be the first to know.”
“I’m so sorry, Audra.”
Audra Holt dragged her eyes away from her friend’s guilt-ridden face and lowered her gaze to the sleeping infant cradled in her arms. Luckily, Thomas was only four months old and wasn’t old enough to realize that soon they would be homeless and penniless. “I understand,” she said. “With your own new baby coming, you won’t have room for us.”
She did understand. The house was already bursting at the seams with three adults and four children tripping over each other in two bedrooms, a cramped living area and a kitchen only one person could use at a time.
“I tried to persuade Otto to let you stay,” Birdie said, referring to her husband, “but he thinks it’ll be too crowded. I feel terrible…”
Audra looked up through tears that burned her eyes. She squeezed Birdie’s hand. Birdie, the name she’d always called her best friend, Beatrice, was close to tears herself. “I’ve been planning to find another place for Thomas and me anyway and I didn’t have the heart to tell you, so don’t give it another thought,” she lied.
Birdie’s eyes widened. “You were? Where? And what will you do for work? You don’t know how to read.”
The reminder that she couldn’t read, or write more than her name, made Audra’s stomach clench. Words and numbers on paper were nothing more than squiggled lines to her, and although she’d tried to learn when she was a girl, her teacher had grown so frustrated she’d given up on her. Her parents had taken her out of school when the teacher had told them she was dimwitted and would never amount to anything.
Even Birdie had tried to teach her, but had failed. Birdie had tried to convince her that it wasn’t because Audra couldn’t learn, but that Birdie didn’t have the skills to know how to teach her. Audra was sure her best friend was just trying to be kind.
Audra’s parents had believed the teacher, telling her regularly that she’d better be a good cook and be able to look after a house because she’d never be able to get a husband with her looks or her brain.
She’d found a husband, though. Tom was a fair bit older than she was, and she’d often wondered if he was more interested in her housekeeping skills than anything else, but he’d told her he loved her and sh
Those days were gone, and now she had to look to the future. Where would she ever find employment, even if she could find someone to care for Thomas while she worked? She still had a few dollars from the sale of the farm she’d shared with Tom until…
A lump formed in her throat and a single tear escaped. She brushed it away before Birdie noticed it. No, she would not think about that. She had to focus on the future, not the past. She pasted a smile on her face. “It’ll be fine,” she said as brightly as she could manage. “Now, let me put Thomas down for a nap and I’ll help you prepare supper.”
A few minutes later, Audra came back into the kitchen. “What are you doing?” she asked.
Birdie was sitting at the table, a bowl of string beans at her side, a copy of The Philadelphia Record open in front of her. She pointed to one of the pages, the bean in her hand flapping.
“What is it?” Audra asked.
“Listen to this,” Birdie said. “Twenty-nine-year-old farmer, healthy, average height, weight and appearance—”
“Who are you talking about?”
“The farmer. It’s an advertisement from a farmer in Texas.”
“And?”
“Listen to the rest.” Birdie turned her attention back to the newspaper. “Here it is…searching for a bride 20-30 years old, a hard worker. Don’t have much to offer, but want to share what I do have with the right woman. If interested, please contact Miranda Weaver, Sapphire Springs, Texas.”
“I still don’t see—”
Birdie’s voice rose with excitement. “It’s the perfect solution to your problem. You could become a mail-order bride.”
“A…a what…?” Audra sputtered.
“A mail-order bride,” Birdie repeated. “More and more women are doing it these days.”
“They are?”
Birdie nodded. “Otto was telling me a few weeks ago that two of the women who work in the factory with him signed up with an agency who arranges marriages.”
“I can’t imagine—”
“A matchmaker arranges for a man and a woman to correspond for a while,” Birdie went on, “and if they both agree, the woman travels to where the man lives and they get married and live happily ever after.”
“But why would a woman marry a stranger? Traveling all that way alone…and marrying a stranger seems very risky and possibly dangerous.”
“I suppose it could be, but there are a hundred reasons why a woman might choose to do that. She might need financial security or she might be at an age to have children and have no prospects at home. She might need to escape from a bad situation she’s in…”
Birdie rested her hand on her stomach as she struggled to get to her feet. Once upright, she wrapped her hands around Audra’s. “You know I would never allow Otto to cast you out into the street, but—”
“That’s not necessary. I won’t come between you and Otto. I’ll be gone as soon as possible. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me and Thomas these past few weeks,” Audra said.
“Just think about it,” Birdie prodded. “It could be the answer for you.”
Audra tugged her hands out of Birdie’s grip. “I will,” she said, although she had no intention of even considering such a thing. She’d think of something. She had to. “Now let me check and see if Thomas is asleep yet and I’ll start peeling the potatoes.”
As she gazed down at Thomas in the crib in the small bedroom she shared with him and three of Birdie’s children, she couldn’t help thinking about where they’d go, what they’d do. What kind of future could she give her child?
Maybe she could be a governess, or a cook or a housemaid. Her cakes and pies were the talk of Lincolnville, and if nothing else, she could clean a house.
Still, there was only one house in the entire village that had a housekeeper, so her chances of finding work were highly unlikely.
To go to Philadelphia or one of the larger towns nearby would use up what little money she had, leaving nothing to support herself and Thomas until she found work and a place to live.
She’d seen the painted ladies hanging over the upstairs balcony at the tavern a block away, offering themselves to the men who passed by. What if that was the only option she had? Her stomach roiled at the thought.
She was still mulling over her predicament when she crawled into bed that night. But could she marry a man she didn’t know?
It took less than a week for Audra to realize she really had no choice but to marry a stranger. Every morning, Audra had left Thomas with Birdie while she searched for work.
Every evening, she came home, still unemployed…well, if she didn’t count being offered a job at the Black Bear Pub. She hadn’t even gone inside to ask for work. The owner, Horace Adams, had happened to be outside leaning against a post while he puffed on a cigar. He’d raked his eyes over her as she walked past, making her squirm in her skin.
“Hey, darlin’,” he’d called out. “You looking for work? With that body of yours, I’ve got a lot of customers who’d be happy to pay you well.”
She’d ignored him and hurried away, her heart heavy. What was to become of her and Thomas if she couldn’t find work?
She was running out of time, and she couldn’t impose on Birdie and Otto much longer. Birdie’s child was due within a few weeks.
By the time she reached the small cabin, she’d made the decision. Becoming a mail-order bride was the lesser of two evils, but she needed Birdie’s help.
Later that night, Audra and Birdie sat in front of the fire, the crackling of the wood the only sound in the room. Otto was out at a meeting and the children were asleep. Birdie was darning one of Otto’s shirts, and Audra was unraveling a knitted shawl so she could reuse the yarn.
“Birdie,” Audra said quietly, “I’ve decided to become a mail-order bride.”
Birdie stopped stitching and lowered the shirt to her lap. “Are you sure? What made you change your mind?”
Audra felt the blood rush to her cheeks as she told her friend about her encounter with the saloon owner. “I fear I’ll soon have no other choice but to accept his offer.”
“That’s a big step.”
“It is,” she agreed, “but surely it can’t be worse than the alternative. I have to hope that whoever I marry will be a good man who’ll accept Thomas as his own and give us both a good life. But I need your help. Will you write the letter for me?”
“Of course.” Birdie put her sewing on the small table beside her chair and got up, then crossed to a rolltop desk and took out paper and ink. “Is there anything special you’d like me to say?”
Audra shook her head. “I’m sure whatever you write will be perfect, but please don’t tell him you wrote the letter because I’m too stupid to learn to read or write—”
“Stop that!” Birdie grabbed Audra’s hand and squeezed it affectionately. “You are not stupid! Just because that teacher was too incompetent to teach you to read and write—”
“Please don’t tell him.”
Birdie sighed. “All right,” she said. “I won’t, but you’ll have to tell him eventually. You can’t marry the man and live with him without him finding out.”
“I know. I will, but not yet.”
Birdie dipped her pen into the ink and began to write. A few minutes later, she blew on the paper to dry the ink and set the pen on the table. “There,” she said. “Done. I’ll get an envelope and a stamp and we can take it to the post office tomorrow.”
Tomorrow, Audra repeated to herself. Tomorrow could be the beginning of a wonderful new life. Or a nightmare.
Chapter 2
Neall had never had stomach trouble before, but riding into Sapphire Springs that morning, he’d felt as if a herd of buffalo was stampeding in his gut.
