Autumn's Angel (7 page)

Epilogue

8 October 1870

Mr. Melvin Hitchcock

Proprietor,
Hitching
Post
Mail-Order Bride Catalogue

Dear Mr. Hitchcock,

A couple of weeks ago Luvena Abbott wrote to you, advising that someone in your employ tampered with the letters she and I exchanged prior to her arrival in Idaho Territory. At that time she requested an advertisement for a prospective husband be placed in your catalogue on her behalf. Please cancel that request. Miss Abbott and I were married this week.

Sir, you should know how very angry I was when we discovered our letters had been altered, hiding the fact that she was the guardian for her nieces and nephew, among other details. The deception seemed a cruel joke since I had specifically stated I did not want a woman with children. And the fact that someone at the Hitching Post paid the fare for Mrs. Birch's three wards was even more surprising.

My wife's niece reminded us that the good Lord wasn't surprised about the changes in our letters. Merry said God knew and brought Luvena and the children to Grand Coeur as part of His plan. Seems that's one way God works. A friend, Reverend Adair, showed me the story of Joseph in the Bible. Lots worse was done to him by his brothers than what happened to us, but in the end he said, “Ye thought evil against me; but God meant it unto good.”

I don't know if evil was the intent behind the altered letters, but God meant it for good. And so, although I don't think your catalogue should make this a common practice, I've got to say thanks for the part you played in giving me this family I now know I was meant to have.

Sincerely,

Mr. Clay Birch

Owner, Grand Coeur Opera House

Grand Coeur, Idaho Territory

Reading Group Guide

1. Merry says that God wasn't surprised by the altered letters. Are you able to trust God, even when circumstances seem so wrong? Can you see that when the enemy means to do evil, God can mean it for good? Share when that has been true in your life.

2. Shannon says that love always involves sacrifice. Do you agree? Why or why not?

3. Luvena reminds Clay that he is a new creation in Christ. What old things has God made new in your life?

An Excerpt from
Winter Wedding Bells

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.

Psalm 23:4
kjv

 Prologue

November 1870

David's ad in The Hitching Post Mail-Order Bride Catalogue:

Prosperous Wyoming widower with two sons needs a wife. I seek neither beauty nor wealth nor education. But must love children, accept ranch life, be willing to work hard.—David

Megan's response to David's ad:

Dear David,

I helped raise my five younger brothers as my mother and father were ill and both died young. I know how to care for children. I am no great beauty, with no money to speak of, so I meet your needs in that way. I have only the barest schooling, but I read well and can cipher. I am a hardworking woman of thirty years. I keep house for others and would love my own home out of the city.

Megan McBride

David's three-page response to Megan:

(Pg 1)

Dear Megan,

I must tell you about myself before you consider meeting me, let alone marrying me. I am, as I said, a prosperous rancher. We will live in comfort in a new house, built snug and tight against Wyoming winters. I have two sons, so your reference to little brothers is encouraging.

My sons are young yet, four and five. They are very lively and bright. There is no school within many miles of my ranch so what education they receive will be at home. You say you have only the barest schooling so I will handle that part of things to the extent I am able and, if you are willing, you can study with us. If you take to learning, perhaps you can stay ahead of Zachary and Benjamin with the goal of assuming responsibility for their education.

(Pg 2)

But here is the part that is hard to speak of, and yet impossible to avoid. I am very ill, Miss McBride. When I say I want a woman who loves children and accepts ranch life and is willing to work hard, it is because there is every chance that within a year of our marriage you will be widowed. If this is not acceptable to you, I understand. You would be one of nearly thirty women who have responded to my letter seeking a mail-order bride, but who never wrote back once they received these details. Something I understand.

If we were to marry, I hope there would be respect between us, but I do not expect affection or any type of marital intimacy. That is not the kind of marriage that would be wise for either of us. I would want no additional children to be left fatherless. And I would have no wish to engage your affections only to be torn from your loving arms. You would be more nurse and mother than wife in this marriage.

(Pg 3)

I have ranch hands so you will not be expected to work outside. But I do want you to understand ranching so I would hope you will allow me to instruct you. There are few enough women in the area that a housekeeper is not possible. The work of running the household and caring for the boys will be hard. If my letter does not discourage you, I would like to meet you. I am in Chicago but wish to return to my mountain home before winter settles in.

I am here with my sons to visit doctors. I have had pneumonia, which has led to declined health. I am just now feeling well enough to travel back to Wyoming and am hoping a likely wife will be found to accompany me.

Please respond if you'd like to meet. If not, I understand and will continue my search.

—David Laramie

Melvin Hitchcock of the
Hitching
Post
Mail-Order Bride Catalogue
looked at the pathetic excuse for a letter that came through his hands and shook his head. All that nonsense about David dying within the next year . . . why, that smacked of a man playing God. Laramie should be ashamed of himself. No woman would ever agree to marry such a pessimist. If he wanted the woman to agree to marry him, the letter needed one small change—Hitchcock threw out page two. Then he sent it on to Megan McBride.

Chapter One

Megan McBride stood shivering outside the Tremont Hotel, buffeted by the cold November wind.

The doorman had refused to let her in. He'd told her to go around back to the servants' entrance. No amount of protest would convince the snooty man that she had any business—other than as a laborer—in their fancy hotel.

But she couldn't very well meet her new husband and his two young laddies if she was in the back of the hotel, now, could she? So here she stood waiting in the cold.

A church bell tolled from nearby, and just then a fine coach drew her attention as it rolled to a stop. The bell's tolling almost seemed like an announcement of the coach's arrival. Like wedding bells. Two little ones scrambled down. The boys were so close in size she'd have thought them twins if David's letter hadn't said they were four and five. Behind them emerged a finely dressed man.

He was a handsome man, and that was no blarney, but he looked gaunt for a fact. He'd spoken of pneumonia in his letter and one look convinced Megan he'd indeed been ill. His skin had an ashen color. A rancher, a man who spent most of his days outdoors, should be tanned even in November. Clothes hung on his tall frame as if he'd lost weight—a lot of it. His hair was well trimmed and his face clean shaven, but it looked to Megan as if all the tidying had been done lately. His face and neck looked scraped raw by a recent shave and haircut.

Sure and it had to be David Laramie—the two lively youngsters being the best clue.

Megan walked forward to meet them. The children, one was at best an inch taller than the other, laughed and shoved each other while the man's searching eyes rested on her and stopped. She'd described herself fairly it seemed, because he nodded in greeting from across the distance of the busy sidewalk.

“Miss McBride?” He removed his hat in a show of good manners and bad sense, since his head would now be cold.

As she opened her mouth, the smaller of the boys shouted in anger, “That's my hat!”

The cry drew Megan's attention in time to see the older boy reel back and fall beneath the wheels of their carriage just as it began to move.

“It's mine now!” The younger boy waved a woolen cap at his big brother and jeered.

“Stop the horses!” Mr. Laramie moved toward the coach quickly as if to dive for the child. “Ben!”

The carriage driver jerked the brake on his rig. “Whoa!”

It had just started rolling. The carriage skidded as the driver fought the reins. One horse reared and jerked the carriage forward. “Whoa!”

“Zachary, I'm gonna get you!” The older brother, almost under the wheels, ignored the danger and tried to dodge his father.

But Mr. Laramie's big hand caught the front of the boy's shirt. He hauled him out from under the heavy carriage.

Megan saw the littler boy, Zachary, run down the sidewalk, still laughing.

He dashed around the back of the carriage and straight into the street. Carriages, wagons, carts, and riders flowed from both directions. Zachary turned toward the rushing traffic. The boy, four years old, cried out in fear, tried to run back, but stumbled to his knees.

A pair of dappled gray draft horses drawing a heavy stagecoach thundered toward him.

The stage driver bellowed in horror as he sawed on the reins.

Megan charged forward, tackled the boy, and wrapped her body around him to protect him from certain death, but her speed forced her away from the sidewalk and its safety. She rolled to the middle of the hectic street.

An iron-shod hoof from one of the grays scraped her back. The blow knocked her out of the way of the stage but farther into the crush of traffic.

Despite the pain, she leapt to her feet. One wild look both directions told her horses came from her left and her right. With no time to get back to the sidewalk, she grabbed the heavy leather harness of the passing horse, pulled herself onto its back, and dragged the lad up with her, sweeping him out of the way of the traffic. Her sore back and the boy's weight kept her from reaching the top of its tall back. She knew nothing of mounting a horse anyway. By the time she had a bit of balance, with her belly draped over the animal, the driver had slowed his team to a halt.

Furious yelling pounded at her. From the driver of the dappled gray horse and from all up and down the street as the traffic snarled.

Hands caught Megan's waist and pulled her from the horse's back. The boy came along with her because she wouldn't let him go. The world seemed to whirl a bit as she was lifted and rushed to the safety of the sidewalk.

Breathlessly, she looked at the man who had her and saw David Laramie, the man she was supposed to marry if this meeting went well. And so far it surely hadn't.

Zachary was torn from her arms.

“Mr. Laramie?” As she spoke, her left shoulder throbbed. She remembered the kick. A glancing blow, saints be praised.

“Zachary, are you all right?” Mr. Laramie dropped to his knees and inspected the boy, who was dirty but unharmed.

The traffic began flowing again.

“Yep, Pa. I'd've been fine if that lady hadn't knocked me down.” The boy glared at her.

Megan didn't let it bother her overly. Zachary was a child and children weren't known for having the best judgment. Sure and raising five rambunctious little brothers had taught her that.

“Hush.” Mr. Laramie gave the boy a fierce hug. In the midst of that show of fatherly love—something Megan knew precious little about—Mr. Laramie's eyes lifted and he gave Megan a look of such gratitude, such understanding of what could have happened, that it almost brought tears to Megan's eyes.

“Are you all right?” he said to her then. “I saw you get kicked.” David coughed and quickly covered his mouth. A deep, painful cough that shook his whole body.

“The kick was a gift from God. It knocked the both of us out of the way of the horse. I'll be fine. Shall we go in?” To give David a moment to get finished with his coughing fit, Megan reached for the older boy's hand with her left arm, checked the motion at the pain that sliced through her, then reached with her right. The tyke, five years old, his da had said in the letter, took it. Megan smiled. She had a knack for getting her way with boys.

David still hung on to Zachary, though he had his head turned aside while he coughed.

“It's sorry I am that I knocked you down, laddie.” She brushed a smudge of grime off the little one's chin. “I got both of us fair covered with dirt. Next time I'll let that horse and stagecoach run right over you to spare us this untidiness.”

Her sharp sass earned her a rueful smile from the boy. Mr. Laramie let him loose and stood. As he gained his feet he staggered slightly, and Megan's hand, her wounded left, shot out and steadied him. The man was still ailing from the pneumonia he'd mentioned in his letter. He clutched at his chest. Megan saw his jaw tighten and his lips go nearly white as if it took everything he had to keep a groan of pain inside. Megan's mother had died of pneumonia and she'd had two little brothers who caught it. Megan knew how deadly it could be and even if a body survived, it took awhile to shake the cough.

Grabbing him helped her ignore her arm. Though sore, she'd used it so she knew it wasn't badly injured. A little pain. Honestly, a lot of pain. But no real damage. Megan knew the difference well enough and she saw that difference in the agony David Laramie was trying to keep to himself.

After a few seconds, David's jaw relaxed. He glanced at the hand she used to steady him. A faint blush painted the man's cheeks and something flashed in his eyes, probably embarrassment for needing help. Megan knew a bit about how boys thought—another knack she'd learned in a hard school by raising her brothers. She'd not had too many dealings with men, but boys were just a younger version of them. And she knew men had their pride.

Megan looked down at the boy she held. She asked, “And can I be trusting you to stay at my side, laddie? No running off? No horseplay?”

The boy nodded as if he was quite terrified to disobey. Megan released the child, took a few moments to dust herself off. She straightened her bonnet, which had been knocked nearly off her head. Then she tidied Zachary with quick, efficient motions. Regaining Ben's hand, she said, “I'm ready to go in then. We can have our visit and decide if we'll be suited to one another, Mr. Laramie.”

“You just saved my son's life,” Mr. Laramie said with grim satisfaction. “I reckon we'll suit just fine. In fact, we'll suit well enough you oughta call me David.”

The story continues in
Winter Wedding Bells
by Mary Connealy