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  The Blacksmith’s Reluctant Bride

  Mail Order Brides of Dayton Falls

  (Book Four)

  Cheryl Wright

  The Blacksmith’s Reluctant Bride

  (Book 4 – Mail Order Brides of Dayton Falls)

  Copyright ©2019

  by Cheryl Wright

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book

  Thanks

  Thanks to my very dear friends (and authors), Margaret Tanner and Susan Horsnell for their enduring encouragement and friendship.

  Thanks also to Alan, my husband of over 45 years, who has been a relentless supporter of my writing for many years.

  And last, but by no means least, thank you to all my wonderful readers who encourage me to continue writing these stories. It is such a joy to me knowing so many of you enjoy reading my stories. I love writing them as much as you love reading them.

  Chapter One

  Westlake, Wyoming – 1880

  Amelia Bronson stared down at the two freshly dug graves, tears streaming down her face.

  She held tight to the umbrella that sheltered her from the relentless rain, and stared as water seeped into the two coffin-filled graves.

  She was wet through, but didn’t seem to notice.

  Before the tragedy, she was living a happy carefree life.

  She sobbed quietly.

  At the tender age of twenty, she had lost both her parents in one foul swoop in an accident involving horses and a buggy. She didn’t want to know more.

  Uncle Cyrus, her father’s only other living relative, had moved into the family home since the accident.

  She didn’t know him well, as he’d always distanced himself from the family, after her father and Cyrus had fallen out before she was born.

  No matter, he had inherited everything. She couldn’t believe her father had neglected to update his will when she was born, or at the very least, make some kind of provision for her. But that was Papa, always absent minded and too trusting.

  “Amelia,” Uncle Cyrus shouted from behind her. “It’s time to go.”

  Not that he cared, she was certain of it, but she wanted to spend more time with her parents. All he was interested in was their possessions. And of course, their money.

  She sighed. She didn’t care about having a lot of money, just enough to live on. Now there wasn’t even that, which meant her entire future was at stake.

  “Coming, Uncle,” she said meekly, for her uncle was known for expecting women to be intimidated by men. Or that should be intimidated by him?

  According to Cyrus, women were the weaker of the two sexes; men more dominant and infinitely more important in every way.

  She’d heard him express that opinion herself. She shivered inwardly.

  Amelia had no idea where she would live, or indeed, how she would live. With no income of her own, and no prospects, her future seemed bleak.

  * * *

  Cyrus Bronson sat back and rubbed his belly. It was full, but he wasn’t satisfied.

  His stupid niece had never cooked a meal in her life, and what she’d cooked for supper was disgusting. Barely edible.

  She’d been spoiled by servants. Her mother was no better.

  Why had he let them all go? He wouldn’t have had he realized how useless she was.

  Amelia stood to clear away the supper dishes, and clean up. He watched her every move.

  She might not be good for cooking, but she was ripe for the picking, and he intended to take her as his own.

  Tonight.

  He would wait until she was asleep and would sneak into her room.

  He licked his lips at the prospect.

  Amelia turned back and stared at him. “Was supper to your liking, Uncle,” she asked innocently, misinterpreting his actions.

  He smiled. Not at her words, but at the thought of what he would get later tonight.

  “It was,” he lied, and she turned back to what she was doing.

  Tonight, this fresh young thing would be mine.

  * * *

  Amelia lay on the bed sobbing, as she had done every night since her parents’ demise.

  She couldn’t stay here with Uncle Cyrus – she feared for her future, but she feared him more than anything else.

  He had always been creepy, rubbing himself against her in the most disgusting ways.

  Mother had warned her never to find herself alone with him, but would never say why.

  She’d shrugged it off when she was younger, but since the accident, she’d begun to understand.

  Only now she had no choice. She was living alone with him in her parent’s house. The house that should have been hers.

  By law it was her uncle’s house now, and she couldn’t make him leave.

  She readied herself for bed and climbed in under the covers, knowing her tear-streaked face would be red and blotchy.

  Her eyes fell on the bedroom door, and she quickly jumped out of bed, securing the lock before climbing back in.

  She’d made a habit of locking the door since the day Uncle Cyrus had moved into the mansion. She said a silent prayer of thanks for the day her father had insisted a young girl needed her privacy, and had arranged installation of the lock.

  She soon fell into a deep sleep, but awoke with a start some time later.

  The room was dark, and at first she thought she must have been dreaming.

  She lay snuggled into her pillow and covers, and closed her eyes again.

  The rattle of the door handle shocked her awake again.

  She wasn’t mistaken. Someone was trying to get into her room.

  No, not someone. Uncle Cyrus!

  Mother was right – he was not to be trusted, and this was proof. If she hadn’t remembered to lock her door, what might have happened?

  Her heart pounded as he continued to try and force the lock.

  He now pounded on the door, giving no pretense to his actions, and the entire door rattled, threatening to give in to his persistent hammering.

  She heard expletives come from his mouth as the door refused to give way, then silence.

  Had he given up?

  She breathed a sigh of relief and prepared to sleep again. Until she heard heavy footsteps heading for her room again.

  She should have known. Mother always said he was nothing if not relentless.

  Amelia had to act fast. She couldn’t allow her uncle to force himself on her, as was obviously his intention.

  Having no time to dress, she pulled a thick coat over her nightgown, then quickly pulled a few changes of clothes into her carpetbag.

  She reached into the drawers next to her bed, looking for any coins she could find. Thankfully, there was quite a stash there.

  She threw her bag out first. As she climbed out of her bedroom window and dropped to the ground, she heard the door give way.

  At first there was silence, then she heard a tirade of expletives from her uncle.

  Her quick thinking had saved her.

  Now she had to work out what to do next.

  Chapter Two

  Amelia wandered around town in the dark trying to find Elizabeth’s home.

  Mother and Father had always drummed into her about the unsavory characters who wandered around Westlake after dark.

  She and Elizabeth had been best friends all through school, and had kept in touch since Elizabeth had married.

  With no lantern t
o find her way, Amelia kept as close to the buildings as possible. It had taken a while, but her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, allowing her to see silhouettes ahead of her.

  Her heart pounded as she quickly walked along the silent street. She could see people moving up ahead, and was startled when someone jumped out in front of her.

  “Where are you going, my lovely?” a quiet voice asked through the darkness.

  Heart pounding, she pushed past him and rushed forward.

  A hand snaked out and grabbed her arm. “It’s not safe out here for the likes of you.” It was a woman’s voice this time. “Here, take this lantern. Or better still, I’ll take you to your destination.”

  Amelia stared into her barely-lit face. The woman was much older than herself, perhaps around her mother’s age, and seemed street-wise.

  “I’ll…I’ll be alright,” Amelia said quietly, before a lantern was shoved in her face.

  The woman shook her head. “You won’t. I’ll take you to wherever you are determined to go at this ungodly hour,” she said. “The streets can be dangerous.”

  She wasn’t going to give up, and Amelia had to admit she was frightened. But nowhere near as scared as she had been earlier when Uncle Cyrus had tried to… She wasn’t going to think about it.

  Too late, she already had, and now tears stung the back of her eyes.

  The woman pulled her aside, and sat her on a step in an empty doorway. “I’m Martha,” she said. “What’s your name?”

  Amelia told her, and for some unknown reason felt drawn to the woman sitting next to her. Whether it was because she seemed nurturing, she didn’t know. Or it may have been the woman reminded Amelia of her own dear mother; she wasn’t sure. But she told Martha the whole story, ending on a river of tears.

  “You poor dear,” Martha said, holding Amelia’s hand and hugging her. “I’ll get you safely to your friend’s house. It’s not safe wandering around alone in the dark.”

  Amelia wiped her tears on the back of her coat sleeve, and looked the older woman in the eyes. “You’d do that for me?” she asked. “A complete stranger?”

  Martha pulled her lips into a tight line. “Wish someone had done it for me when I first hit the streets,” she said.

  She stood and pulled Amelia up with her, hooking her arm through the younger woman’s arm.

  “Now tell me your friend’s address and we’ll be off,” she said, holding the lantern out in front.

  They walked for what seemed forever, then she suddenly stopped. “This be it,” she said, pushing Amelia toward the door.

  “I, I can’t. Not at this hour.” Amelia pleaded with her words and her eyes.

  “You can, and you will.” She gave Amelia an almighty shove, looking about for any threats to their safety.

  The younger woman tapped lightly at first, but yielding no results she knocked harder. She could hear male voices in the distance. Soon she was pounding.

  Suddenly the door was wrenched open. A man stood in the doorway wearing nothing but his night gown. For a moment he stared, then shook his head as though trying to clear it.

  “Amelia,” he exclaimed. “What are you doing here at this hour. How did you get here?” He looked more than a little confused.

  “I…” She looked back over her shoulder, but Martha was gone.

  “Elizabeth,” he called. “It’s Amelia.”

  He showed her into the house, closing the door firmly behind them.

  Her friend hugged her tight, and listened as Amelia told her the whole sordid story, including her uncle’s unwanted advances.

  Her eyes filled with tears again, much to her disgust, and her friend put the kettle on the stove.

  “Of course you will stay here with us,” she said gently. “I have an idea that will get you away from Westlake and your uncle, and secure your future – all at the same time.”

  * * *

  Samuel Thomas stirred the beans in the pan, at the same time rescuing the toast he’d almost burned on the fire.

  It was not the first time this week he’d eaten this meal, if you could call it that, and it surely wouldn’t be the last.

  He’d asked around – several of the men in Dayton Falls had taken on a mail order bride.

  Without any eligible women in town, they’d had little choice.

  It was an option he’d strongly resisted, but his resistance was quickly wavering.

  He couldn’t continue to run his blacksmith’s shop and look after himself and his home.

  He pulled out the piece of paper he’d shoved into his pocket earlier in the day when he’d visited the Mercantile.

  Edward Horvard was happily married to his mail order bride, and they had recently welcomed their first baby.

  The barber and the sheriff had both done the same thing. The town was slowly filling up with women and children, which couldn’t be a bad thing.

  Not that he wanted a bride, no siree. He had no need for a wife in the true sense of the word.

  He needed someone who would feed him, clean his house, and wash his clothes. Nothing more, and certainly nothing less.

  As he waited for the beans to heat, he pulled down a clean sheet of paper.

  Blacksmith needs wife to cook and clean.

  He read it back over. That made it sound like he wanted a servant, which he probably did, but he didn’t have to force the issue.

  He screwed up the paper and started over.

  Good Christian man in need of wife. Goes to church each Sunday, and runs a thriving business.

  That sounded much better. If he couldn’t attract a wife with that advertisement, he never would.

  He addressed the envelope and would post it in the morning.

  Pete at the post office was the one who started all this. He took on the first mail order bride, and convinced the other men to do the same.

  Samuel sniffed, then jumped up as his beans began to burn. “Blasted mail order brides,” he snapped, before pouring the burned beans onto his tin plate.

  He stared at the envelope. Would he even bother to post it?

  Chapter Three

  Miss Bethany Wilde of the Westlake Mail Order Bride Agency sat opposite the two young women.

  “It’s highly irregular,” she said, looking them up and down. “Although I do admit to having been in this position before.”

  “I simply cannot wait,” Amelia told her. “If my uncle should discover where I am…” She began to cry and her dear friend Elizabeth, who’d insisted on accompanying her today, comforted her.

  “Your disgusting uncle will not get near you,” Elizabeth said. “Surely you can help out, Miss Wilde?”

  The older woman shuffled papers about on her desk. “Everyone calls me Miss Bethany,” she said absently, staring at a small bundle of papers in her hand.

  “There’s a small town in Montana.” she said. “I’ve sent a few young women there, and it’s worked out beautifully.”

  She handed over two pieces of paper. “These are all I have at the moment – in that town at least. If we had more time…”

  “But we don’t,” Elizabeth interjected. “One of these will have to do.” She reached out and took the letters, handing them to her friend.

  “It’s not much, I know. But Dayton Falls is a lovely little town. Some of the other brides have written to tell me so.” Miss Bethany leaned back in her seat, and placed her intertwined hands on the desk.

  Amelia read over the letters, going between the two. “They’re both in business, according to these letters. It makes it very hard to decide.”

  She turned to Miss Bethany, imploring her to make the choice for her. “I’m sorry, dear, but the decision must be yours.”

  Amelia muttered under her breath. “Well that’s just wonderful,” she said quietly.

  “Really Amelia, just pick one.” When she didn’t, Elizabeth folded the letters in four, then put them behind her back, shuffling them around.

  “Left or right?”

  She hesit
ated, then made her decision. “Left.” Amelia held her breath as her friend opened the letter.

  “It’s the blacksmith.”

  Amelia wasn’t sure how she felt about that. After all she hadn’t been able to decide between him and the shoemaker.

  She shrugged. What difference was it anyway?

  “That’s settled then,” Miss Bethany said cheerfully. “You’ll need to write a letter and introduce yourself.”

  Elizabeth stood quickly. “Goodness me, no,” she said suddenly. “Amelia must leave immediately. If her uncle discovers her staying with my husband and me, goodness knows what might happen.”

  “I must leave tonight,” Amelia said vehemently. She’d never been so forceful in her life, but this was painfully important.

  “Of course, of course.” Miss Bethany scribbled off a note with the details and handed it over. “I will send a telegram to your young man, and let him know you’re coming.”

  The two women stood to leave. “Keep safe,” Miss Bethany told them as she escorted them to the door.

  * * *

  “Blast,” Samuel said as the postmaster handed him the telegram. “I really don’t need this today.”

  “Sorry, Samuel,” Pete said. “But I’m compelled by law to deliver it.”

  Samuel flicked a dirty hand across the front of himself. “I know, and I’m sorry. I didn’t meant to take it out on you.”

  “You mark my word,” Pete said. “You’ll be happy with your bride. I certainly am. I mean, what isn’t there to love? Meals cooked, house cleaned, and all for free. What more could a man ask for?” He waggled his eyebrows, and Samuel laughed out loud.

  “I guess there’s that about it,” he said. “She will be here tomorrow, so I have a bit of time to prepare.”

  “Samuel,” Pete said sharply. “You need to read that telegram again. She’ll be here on the next train. Today.”

  He checked his pocket-watch. “Blast! That’s in a few minutes. I’d better get down there.”

  “I’m sorry, I couldn’t get here earlier,” Pete told him.