Elise, p.1
Elise, page 1
ELISE
MAIL-ORDER BRIDES OF SAPPHIRE SPRINGS
MARGERY SCOTT
CLOVER RIDGE PRESS
Copyright © 2021 by Margery Scott
All rights reserved
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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.
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
BOOKS BY MARGERY SCOTT
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Chapter One
The baby was crying. Again!
Jason Porter sat at the kitchen table, too physically exhausted, too emotionally drained to even lift his fork.
He’d had ten minutes of blissful silence and now Beth’s screams filled the house for the fourth time that evening.
He set his fork down beside his plate and dragged himself to his feet. He had to go upstairs and do whatever needed to be done so that his daughter would go back to sleep.
No, he corrected himself, not his daughter. Another man’s daughter, according to the note he’d found on the bureau after his wife, Irene, ran off with his ranch foreman, a man he’d trusted like a brother.
Today, he’d buried Irene, less than two weeks after she’d walked out on him and Beth. She and her lover had died in a town an hour’s drive from Sapphire Springs, and the only person who knew what had happened was Micah Ford, his pastor as well as being a good friend. He intended to keep it that way.
Dragging himself to his feet, he trudged up the stairs to the bedroom. Beth was standing up in her crib, her cheeks flushed, tears staining her face. As soon as she saw him, she stopped crying and reached for him.
Gently, he scooped her into his arms and held her close to his chest, her fine blonde hair tickling his chin.
“Let’s see what’s bothering you and then you have to go back to sleep,” he said softly. “We both need some shuteye.”
Whether Beth understood or not didn’t matter. Jason would take care of this child—the child of his heart—until she no longer needed him.
A few minutes later, Jason kissed Beth’s forehead and put her back in her crib. He turned down the lamp and almost immediately, the baby’s eyes closed.
Jason moved toward the door, but something stopped him from leaving the room. Instead, he slid into the rocking chair beside the crib and watched his daughter’s tiny chest rise and fall with each breath.
How he loved that child! From the moment Beth had opened her eyes, Jason’s heart had overflowed with love. Finding out he wasn’t Beth’s real father hadn’t changed that.
Somehow, though, he’d have to be both father and mother to her, because his heart only had room for his daughter. No woman would ever thaw the ice that had formed around it since Irene’s betrayal.
His throat tightened, his chest constricting with pain and grief. And even anger that he’d never be able to confront Irene and find out why she’d deserted them both. So many questions he’d never have answers to.
“Zut!” Elise Dupont swore as the iron seared her skin.
Her mother’s voice filtered through from the bedroom to the kitchen where she and her older sister were working. “English, Elise. We speak English in America.”
“Oui, Maman,” Elise replied, deliberately speaking in the dialect she’d learned in the small town outside of Paris where she was born. Even though she’d left France five years before, sometimes the French words burst out without her even thinking about it.
Her mother appeared in the doorway, her hands planted on her ample hips.
Elise grinned.
“If your papa were here…” Tears filled her mother’s eyes and her voice shook.
Elise’s smile faded. She didn’t need to hear the rest of her mother’s words. She knew them by heart, having heard them many times in the days following her father’s death. If her father were still alive, they wouldn’t be living in a New York slum, working twelve hours a day every day doing other people’s laundry just to survive.
She gazed out through the grimy window, her father’s voice echoing in her mind. “One day, ma choupette,” he used to tell her when he first arranged for them to travel to America. “One day, we will live in a big house and you will have the pony you’ve been begging for.”
He’d promised them all that when they got to America, they’d have a life of riches and luxury, but he’d died before they reached his promised land.
Instead of wealth, they’d found themselves living in squalor in three small rooms with very little food and even less money. Her mother had been determined that her daughters would be educated so that they’d always be able to support themselves, and had begun taking in laundry.
Still, there had barely been enough money, and Elise knew her mother had even gone without food for herself so that she could provide books and supplies to teach her daughters.
With her three daughters helping after their studies were done for the day, they’d managed to eke out an existence.
Juliette, the oldest of the three, was promised to a bricklayer and was planning to marry before the year was out. Her betrothed lived a few blocks away in a rundown tenement and seemed to spend most of his income at the local tavern. A few times, Elise had seen bruises on her sister’s arms. Juliette had made excuses for them—she’d fallen down the stairs or hit her cheek on a cabinet door—but she’d avoided meeting Elise’s gaze, a sign Elise recognized. Juliette had never been able to look someone in the eye when she was telling a lie.
Yvonne, her middle sister, was a little more than a year older than Elise and was now studying to become a midwife with an elderly woman who lived nearby. Lately, she often stayed at the woman’s home in case they were called on during the night.
For Elise and Juliette, the days were long and filled with washing and ironing, leaving their mother to take care of picking up and delivering to their customers.
That was going to change one day, Elise told herself every night after she said her bedtime prayers. One day, she would have a big house. And space. She’d look out on green fields instead of buildings and look up into a starry sky, not smoke from the factories.
Yes, Papa, she whispered as she draped the shirt over the ironing board and picked up the iron. One day!
“It’s been six months, Jason.” Micah’s voice, although gentle, was stern at the same time. “It’s time to remarry, for your daughter’s sake, if for no other reason.”
The church was empty, the parishioners gone after the Sunday service. Jason hadn’t had the energy—or the heart—to attend church since Irene’s death, so he’d driven into town that morning to talk to Micah, his good friend as well as the town pastor. He’d left Beth with Tillie, Micah’s wife, and waited until everyone had gone home before he went inside.
He was tired. Bone-weary. Looking after Beth as well as trying to keep his ranch going was getting harder and harder every day.
Micah was right. He couldn’t keep imposing on his friends to look after his daughter while he did his chores. He had a dozen ranch hands, but they needed supervision, and he couldn’t very well take Beth with him when he went out to ride the fence lines or rescue cattle who got mired in mud after a storm.
Still, to marry again…
He looked up into Micah’s kind eyes. “It’s too soon. How can I marry again? You know what happened before.” Micah was the only person in town who knew the truth about Irene’s death. Jason had needed someone to confide in, and he’d trusted that whatever he shared with Micah would never leave his lips.
“Beth needs a mother,” Micah said.
Jason knew that, but how could Micah even suggest he find himself another wife after what Irene had done to him? Before he had a chance to point that out, Micah went on. “I realize you’ve been hurt, but you need to put your own misery aside and think of your child. She needs a woman’s touch, a woman’s care.”
“Micah—”
“And by the looks of it, you do, too.”
Ashamed, Jason looked down at the shirt he’d put on that morning. A button was missing, and even though he’d tried to iron the shirt, it was still creased.
“If there’s no one in town you’re interested in marrying, I’m sure Miranda Weaver could find one for you. She seems to have a gift for finding the perfect wife for every man who’s gone to her for help.”
He’d heard about a few men in town bringing brides from back East, but he couldn’t imagine doing such a thing.
“You should think about it,” Micah went on. “Your little one needs a mother, and it wouldn’t hurt you to have some companionship out there on your ranch, too, even if you’re not read
“I will,” he said, although he had no intention of even considering it.
Beth was fussy all the way back to the ranch, struggling to escape Jason’s hold on her while he drove the wagon the two miles back from town.
A few days before, she’d learned how to get around on her own. She didn’t crawl exactly, but bounced on her bottom while she propelled herself with her legs and feet. A smile tugged at his lips. It made him laugh, even though since she’d discovered she could move, every chore inside the house took ten times longer than it had before. If he didn’t keep an eye on her every second, she’d go off bouncing through the house, finding every crumb that had fallen on the floor or trying to pull the tablecloth off the table.
Why hadn’t someone invented a way to keep their babies corralled like they did horses? Even as the thought crossed his mind, he dismissed it. Putting a fence around a baby was a whole different thing. He chuckled at the mental image.
When he got home, he fed Beth her supper, changed her diaper, and put her to bed. With any luck, she’d sleep through the night.
Jason sank into the chair in the parlor, reveling in the silence. How much longer could he cope? Every day was becoming more and more of a struggle. Right now, Beth could only move small distances, but what would happen once she was able to walk? And run? How could he possibly keep an eye on her every minute of the day and still get his ranch chores done?
Micah’s words drifted into his mind. Beth needed a mother, and he needed someone to take over the chores in the house. And, he admitted to himself, a little company would be nice in the evenings once the chores were done.
He’d tried to hire a housekeeper right after Irene died but hadn’t been able to find one. Was it possible now? More and more people had come to settle in Sapphire Springs in the past few weeks now that winter was over. Surely there was a woman in town who’d be willing to help him.
As the room sank into darkness, he made a mental list of every woman he knew who might be suitable—and rejected them all for one reason or another.
But a mail-order bride? Was that really the only solution?
Chapter Two
The mouth-watering aroma of bacon frying met Jason’s nose when he opened the door to The Blue Sapphire, the diner Miranda and John Weaver owned, the next morning.
He’d lain awake most of the night thinking about what Micah had said, and as the sun peeked above the horizon, he’d made his decision.
The bell above the diner door jangled. He stepped inside. What he wouldn’t give to have the time to sit and have breakfast in the diner. But he didn’t. Tillie had offered to look after Beth while he spoke to Miranda and he wouldn’t take advantage of her kindness.
He needed to ask Miranda about finding him a bride, get back to Micah’s house and collect Beth, and then get back to the ranch to start his day’s work as soon as he could.
Miranda was pouring coffee for two cowboys sitting at a table near the back of the diner when he paused inside the entrance. She looked up and gave him a wave.
He waited by the door, and as soon as she was finished, she came toward him. “Good morning, Jason,” she said. “It’s not often we see you here in town this early. There’s a free table over there,” she added, pointing to an empty table in a corner near the kitchen.
“I don’t really need a table,” Jason said.”I came to talk to you but it looks like you’re far too busy—”
“Oh?” Her brows arched. “What do you want to talk to me about?”
“I heard… I mean, Reverend Ford suggested I come to see you about finding me a bride.”
“I see,” Miranda said.
He shook his head. “No…never mind…it’s a bad idea,” he sputtered. “I’m sorry. You’re busy. I shouldn’t waste your time.”
Miranda’s gaze shifted as she scanned the café. Then she turned back to face Jason. “I’m a little busy right now, but why don’t I come out to your place after the breakfast rush is over and we can talk? I’ll explain the process, and if you still think it’s not a good idea, we’ll forget about it. How does that sound?”
Jason thought for a few seconds. Beth needed a mother. He needed to put his own feelings aside and think about her first. It wouldn’t hurt to at least find out what the process was before he completely dismissed the idea. Finally, he nodded. “Okay. I don’t guarantee that you’re not wasting your time coming all the way out to my place, but I’m willing to listen.”
“It’s a lovely day for a ride and your ranch isn’t far,” she replied. “I should be finished here in an hour or so.”
“Hey, Miranda,” a deep voice called out. “When’s my steak and eggs coming?”
Miranda turned her head toward the cowboy. “Be right there.”
“I won’t keep you any longer,” Jason said. “I’ll see you then.”
Just as she’d promised, Miranda knocked on his door a little more than an hour later. He answered, invited her in and offered her coffee, realizing as soon as he did that he shouldn’t have. His coffee tasted like tar. He knew it but for some reason he’d never been able to figure out why he couldn’t make a decent pot.
He almost laughed at the expression on her face as she tried to hide a grimace when she took her first sip. He thought about apologizing, but she spoke before he could.
“First,” she said, “why do you want to marry again?”
“Beth needs a mother.”
“Is that the only reason?”
Jason shook his head. “That’s most of it. I do get lonely sometimes, but I’m not ready for a real marriage. I’m not sure I ever will be.” That was an understatement. He’d never be ready for it again. Irene’s betrayal had almost destroyed him. He couldn’t let himself care for another woman and give her the power to do the same thing.
“You’re still grieving,” Miranda said, “and there’s no timetable for that. You’ll know when you’re ready, and I do think there are many women who are widows and would understand that.”
Jason was tempted to correct her, to admit that grief wasn’t what had turned his heart to ice. Instead, he nodded and kept quiet. If she’d heard the circumstances around Irene’s death, she didn’t mention them.
As she sipped politely on the coffee, Miranda told him about the other marriages she’d arranged and how she’d found the brides. He knew of some of the couples she mentioned, and they seemed happy enough.
“You can change your mind at any time before you send the train ticket,” she told him once she’d explained how she would proceed if he decided to advertise for a bride.
That was reassuring.
“What do you think?” she asked once she was finished explaining. “Do you still think it’s a bad idea?”
He ran his hand through his mop of shaggy blond hair. “Well…since I’d have a choice, assuming more than one woman answered the letter…I suppose I could see if there’s one out there who’d suit me.”
“I think you’re doing the right thing, both for Beth and for you.” She grinned. “If nothing else, you need a woman who can make coffee.”
Elise’s gaze rested on the box of washing powder on the shelf in the small market near their apartment. She counted the coins in her hand. Her mother had told her she could buy something for herself if she had money left over after she bought the items on the list.
If her arithmetic was right, she’d have three pennies left over, not that she planned to spend them. Those pennies would buy something they needed later.
Voices from behind the row of shelves where she stood reached her ears. “Did you hear about Regina Draper? She went to Texas to marry a cowboy there.”
“No!” another voice responded. “How … where did she meet him?”
