A Bride at Last

© 2015 by Melissa Jagears

Published by Bethany House Publishers

11400 Hampshire Avenue South

Bloomington, Minnesota 55438

www.bethanyhouse.com

Bethany House Publishers is a division of

Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan

www.bakerpublishinggroup.com

Ebook edition created 2015

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

ISBN 978-1-4412-6951-5

Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover design by Dan Pitts

Cover photography by Mike Habermann Photography, LLC

Author represented by Natasha Kern Literary Agency

To my husband, children, mother, and mother-in-law, who helped me carve out enough time to write this story, since a newborn and novel writing don’t go together like peanut butter and jelly.

To my critique partners, Naomi Rawlings and Glenn Haggerty, who have helped me become a better writer over the years and poured hours into helping me with this story. Thank you for sticking with me on this wild journey of authorship amidst the ups and downs of life.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright Page

Dedication

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

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Epilogue

About the Author

Books by Melissa Jagears

Back Ads

Back Cover

Chapter 1

M
ISSOURI
S
EPTEMBER
1885

At the sound of running footsteps, Kate Dawson glanced up from dumping mop water in the alleyway outside the school building.

Anthony Riverton skidded to a halt in front of her, his little chest heaving as he drew in gulps of air.

“Why weren’t you in school today?” She frowned at his tattered clothing. She needed to find him a decent coat before winter.

“Mother’s dying.” Dread strangled his words. “Tonight. I just know it.”

A lump pushed against Kate’s high collar. “She seemed better yesterday.” Lucinda didn’t have many days left, but Kate wasn’t ready for her to leave yet—wasn’t ready to assume responsibility for this boy all on her own. She hadn’t saved enough money, hadn’t figured out where they would live . . .

“She coughed so much last night I couldn’t sleep, and this morning she begged me not to leave.” The nine-year-old
swallowed hard, but his eyes were dry. “Said she’d be the one going. I thought she meant back to the laundry.” His ragged voice barely registered. “And she’s mumbling things about Pa.”

Kate’s breath stopped. “Your pa?”

The boy’s arms hung limp at his sides. “Said he’s coming.”

She shook her head vehemently. “No.”

“Said she wrote him.”

“Wrote him? Whatever for?” She’d helped the two of them escape Anthony’s father years ago—or at least the man Anthony had known as
Pa
. Had Lucy contacted him?

“Let’s go.” Kate leaned the mop against the schoolhouse door. She’d yet to clean Miss Jennings’s classroom or the Widow Larson’s, but a boy needed somebody with him when his mother took her last draught of air.

She sprinted after Anthony, her long-legged stride easily keeping pace with his. They darted down the convoluted streets of Breton, one of the many towns surrounding Independence, Missouri—a sprawling city they could get lost in, and where Richard Fitzgerald could never find them.

Surely Anthony had heard wrong. Lucinda had to have written someone else. She’d told Kate that Richard wasn’t Anthony’s real father months ago, but she hadn’t thought to pry any further. The only other man she knew of in Lucinda’s past was the husband who’d kicked Lucinda out penniless—who’d driven her to Richard. Was he Anthony’s father or was there a third man?

Winding their way between factories and dilapidated apartments only impoverished factory workers would bother to live in, they ran for the boardinghouse where Kate paid for the Rivertons to lodge. The giant structure leaned, and its walls contained more bugs than the building had bricks, but Mrs. Grindall’s was the only affordable place available. Lucinda’s sickness had stolen her ability to work, and the landlord of
the miserable shack they’d once lived in had not been gifted with compassion.

If only Kate could find them someplace better. But as long as she taught in the rundown section of Breton, that would never happen. Not only was the schoolhouse and surrounding neighborhood lacking, but so was the pay.

Lately, Lucinda had bemoaned the baubles and luxurious life she’d left behind so much that Kate had to keep reminding her of how her lover had treated her to snap her out of whining.

As a teacher, Kate wouldn’t be able to provide Anthony with much, but he’d have enough. And most importantly, he’d be loved—which was better than anything Richard could give him.

But what if Richard was on his way to Breton right now? What if he was already here?

The wintery air, like a cold, sharp knife, sliced in and out of her lungs as she breathed deeply with each stride. She sped up to tighten the distance between her and Anthony. Dodging a pile of litter, she darted around the sharp corner into—

“Oof.”

Her shoulder slammed hard into a man in the boardinghouse’s alleyway. She stumbled, arms flailing to save her balance.

“Are you all right, miss?” He reached for her, but she righted herself without his help and shook her head. Good thing she wore sensible boots. Heels would have sent her sprawling.

“I’m fine.” She waved dismissively at him, then ran the last few strides to the steps by the back door. She grabbed the balustrade’s rounded newel, increasing her pivoting speed to gain the steps faster.

Anthony turned the knob and barged through the boardinghouse’s sticky side door, which released a puff of hot air. At least Mrs. Grindall kept the place warm—overly warm, but better than the alternative.

A spooked mouse skittered across the stair landing, and Kate shuddered in the dim light despite the heat. The tiny rodent disappeared into a crevice in the wall.

Even though Anthony’s quick thumping on the staircase probably woke anyone who might have been napping, she didn’t want to annoy any residents, so she slowed. Although, considering the thin, grayish walls, the boarders likely dealt with all kinds of unwanted noises.

Once Anthony’s pounding steps ceased, the boardinghouse seemed eerily quiet. A dog barked outside, a baby cried somewhere down the corridor, pots and pans banged downstairs, and a lady sneezed across the hall, but what she didn’t hear was coughing. . . . Lucinda’s ceaseless lung-emptying hacking.

Anthony stood in front of his room’s closed door, his eyes open with alarm and his lips pressed tight, his nostrils flaring with each frantic inhale.

Kate took a gulp of the hot, stale air and put a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s go in quietly. We don’t want to disturb her sleep.” At least she prayed the lack of coughing meant sleep.

She opened the door. “Lucinda?”

No answer.

The stillness was palpable.

Kate approached the bed. “Are you awake?”
Please, Lord . . .

The woman’s matted blond curls lay limp against her pillow, the purple beneath her eyes darker than Kate remembered.

Lucinda’s eyelids were relaxed despite being half open. Her mouth slack, her body restful. An unusual peacefulness pervaded her face.

With a trembling hand against her mouth, Kate focused on the threadbare, disintegrating quilt covering Lucinda’s chest.

Not even a flutter.

Anthony crept up alongside Kate and pressed against her heavy wool skirt and thick petticoats.

She put her arm around him, and they both watched Lucinda. The clock ticked unmercifully slow.

“She never said it.” His scratchy voice warbled with tears.

“Said what, honey?” His tense muscles tightened as she slowly rubbed his arm from elbow to shoulder.

“That she loved me.” He swallowed audibly. “Do you think she wanted to tell me that while I was gone?”

Warmth flooded Kate’s eyes and throat so quickly she barely kept from crying. She tightened her grip on Anthony’s shoulder. To lie or not? “I don’t know.”

She kissed the top of his head and walked him to the hard chair beside the single drafty window. She sat and tugged him into an embrace, but his body refused to soften. He stared out the window, and she held her tears.

Her heart fractured into painful shards as the quiet seconds ticked by. If only he’d allow himself to cry. . . .

Silas Jonesey rubbed his eyes as he stared up at the front door of the boardinghouse on Morning Glory Street for the seventh time. It wasn’t as if the two-story structure had the stability of the walls of Jericho. He could probably push the building over without circling it once, but his feet had refused to cooperate when he first arrived. So he’d marched around . . . and around. However, his heavy traveling bag wearied his left arm and his boots had started rubbing his heels after several circuitous trips.

It was time to go inside.

Would she forgive him? He set his bag on the sidewalk and rotated his shoulder as he stared at the cracked windows. She’d only written him to ask for money, and no wonder—this boardinghouse was likely the worst building he’d ever seen that hadn’t already collapsed in upon itself. The towns surrounding
Independence had grown a lot since he’d last been in the area. Surely there were a hundred better places for his wife to lodge.

Had she known he grew up near here, only a day’s ride away? Surely not. Independence was one of the largest cities in Missouri, so she’d likely come to this area looking for a job—just a coincidence.

He rubbed his chest pocket, the letter inside his shirt crinkling. She’d asked him to send her money, but he had to apologize in person and plead for a second chance. But if she declined to return to Kansas with him, was he obligated to keep her housed in Missouri? He wasn’t wealthy. This autumn’s rain deficit and summer’s myriad insect infestations had bit into his savings—and that was before he’d bought the train ticket to Independence.