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Chapter One
Chicago: September, 1888
Heart pounding, panic threatening to rip a scream from her throat, Amelia Harper ran through the Lake Shore and Michigan South train station in Chicago, barely managing to dart through the crowd of people milling in the great hall. Her skirts clutched in tight fists, her eyes wide with fear, she darted this way and that, trying to get away from the man in the black coat and bowler hat that she had noticed following her. Again. She risked a quick glance over her shoulder and gasped in dismay when she spied him, a tall, broad-shouldered bull of a man whose head rose above those of the crowd, still following.
He wasn’t moving all that fast, and probably didn’t have to. Why should he? She was wearing this silly hat with the two partridge feathers sticking straight up from it, making her a perfect target. If it wasn’t pinned atop her head with so many pins, she would reach up now, yank the blasted thing off, and toss it beneath the dozens upon dozens of feet making their way to or from the platforms.
“No, no, no,” she muttered under her breath. She picked up her pace, practically running now, trying to put more distance between her and the man in black, though what she really longed to do was disappear, to sink into the floor and simply disappear. She knew that such thinking was useless. Afraid that she would not only miss her train, she focused all of her attention on finding the easiest pathway through the crowd and toward the platform number which she sought. Her fear prompted a ringing in her ears, one she heard over the noises of the hall. Voices floated all around her, as did the steady thrum of boots and shoes, the sound of children crying, the dull chugging of locomotive engines, and in the distance, the screech of iron wheels on rails as they neared the station.
She had been dismayed by the massive size of the train station, its exterior walls constructed of limestone, massive trusses spanning the roof, an amazing feat of construction that rebuilt the former train station that had been destroyed in 1871 during the great fire that had obliterated over three square miles of downtown Chicago. Unfortunately, she had little time nor patience to fully appreciate the towers, the walls that rose above, nor the immensity of the car shed portion of the structure itself, which, as she knew from her exhaustion, was hundreds of feet long, iron trusses supporting a galvanized and corrugated iron roof.
She glanced up at the wooden signs hanging over platforms, sought out her own, and there, finally, she caught a glimpse of it. Smoke belched from the chimney atop the locomotive, a huge, black, menacing hulk of metal, its low, deep rumble felt beneath her shoes on the wooden platform. A shrill blast of its whistle prompted many around her to wince and hold their hands to their ears.
A conductor shouted above the cacophony. “All aboard! All aboard for Dubuque! All aboard!”
The conductor’s sharp whistle blast accompanied the deeper, heavier whistle of the train. Then, to her alarm, she saw the locomotive jolt forward, the iron wheels turning and their massive rods slowly pushing forward, propelling the vast monster forward on the tracks. No, she couldn’t miss the train! She had to get away! Murmuring apologies, achieving more than a gasp of dismay and a comment about her rudeness as she passed, Amelia quickly raced forward, wanting to call out to the conductor, to tell him to wait, but not wanting to draw even more attention to herself, especially if she had been fortunate enough to lose track of the man who had followed her here to the train station.
She figured she had maybe thirty feet to go. The conductor was just beginning to turn around and mount the steps up into one of the cars. She felt a surge of terror at the thought of the train leaving the station without her. Daring a quick glance over her shoulder, she nearly groaned with abject despair when she caught sight of the broad-shouldered man in his black coat. She couldn’t see the man’s face, but her worst fears were confirmed. Urgency propelled her forward. She had to escape him!
Just as the train picked up speed, Amelia darted onto the broad wooden platform, away from the crowd milling behind her. She knew that she had just exposed yourself to the man following her, but there was nothing to be done about it now. “Wait!” she screamed. “Wait!”
A train attendant in the second passenger car, also standing on the metal steps that rose to the platform at the front of the car, spied her. He stared at her in dismay and then made a motion for her to hurry. Grabbing a hold of the railing with one hand, he leaned forward and extended the other. With a mixture of outright panic and relief, she tossed her small valise onto the platform and then lunged for the attendant’s hand. His grip was firm, thank goodness, and she was pulled aboard just in time.
One hand pressed over her chest and gasping for breath, the other now reaching for her valise, she turned to give her valise to the attendant who had helped her. “Thank you, sir. Thank you very much!”
The man merely lifted an eyebrow and then gestured to the car. “Better find a seat, miss. We’re going to pick up speed in just a minute. Get your ticket ready.”
She stepped inside the train car, only half full, her small valise held in front of her to avoid banging it on the wooden benches on either side of the aisle. She quickly glanced out the window. She inhaled sharply. There he was, that faceless threat, the man in black, who was now running toward the train, his figure getting smaller as the train moved forward. She heaved a huge sigh of relief as he suddenly stopped, hands on his hips as he watched the train leave the station.
Amelia sought an empty bench seat about halfway down the train car and sank into it, her knees weak with both fear and relief as she leaned back, settled her valise in front of her feet, and then clasped her hands tightly together. Stilling the trembling in her hands didn’t stop the trembling that had started deep in the pit of her stomach and even now prompted a few wild shudders that nearly took her breath away. Her heart pounding, she could only hope and pray that the man in black had been left far behind with no idea where she was heading.
She closed her eyes and shook her head, wanting to believe that she had lost him for good, but knowing that she couldn’t relax, not yet. While the immediate danger had ebbed somewhat, it wasn’t over. She had just a few moments to collect herself before one of the train attendants came down the aisle, verifying tickets. It wasn’t the same man that had helped her onto the train. He extended a hand, and she quickly reached into the small reticule attached to her wrist with a braided cord and retrieved her ticket. He glanced at it, then at her, probably wondering why she breathed so heavily, why the pulse pounded in her throat so steadily. Surely her face was pale, her eyes wide. Did he think her a crazy woman?
He handed back the ticket and moved on. Her hand trembling again, she took the ticket and tucked it back into the reticule. There was nothing she could do now. The train took her westward, gradually picking up speed, spouting whitish gray puffs of smoke that floated past the windows. The city gradually disappeared and the rural landscape of Illinois took its place.
It took a while for her racing heart to slow, or even to once again gain control of her emotions as she stared out the window, amazed at how her life had changed in just a matter of minutes. Seeking some sense of solace, of hope, she finally leaned down and opened her valise, pulling out the crumpled and slightly smudged envelope that sat atop her meager belongings.
Inside the envelope was a small tintype of a man with dark hair, slightly wavy, a lock of it falling over his forehead. He had pleasant features, a strong nose, and square jaw. He looked somber, almost sad, but she couldn’t even begin to imagine what he might’ve been thinking as he sat for the photographer. She stared at the image for several moments, her thumb rubbing over his face, admiring the broad cut of his shoulders. Despite her fears, the chaos and horror and grief she had left behind, she could only hope and pray that she had made the right decision. Then again, what other choice did she have? She had to trust in the Lord. She had sought a way out and He had given it to her, albeit from an unexpected direction.
The man whose image she gazed upon was Caleb Turner, five years older than she after having just celebrated her twentieth birthday just a few months ago. Until a mere few weeks ago, she never even thought of marriage. She had been living happily with her family in Boston. She closed her eyes, an image of her parents appearing in her mind’s eye. She saw her pretty mother’s soft, loving gaze and the smile from her father as they sat around the supper table, her younger brother, sixteen-year-old Simon grinning at her as they sang a happy birthday song for her. That birthday supper had taken place just a week before the tragedy…
Her stomach roiled and then clenched while another shiver trembled through her body at the memory. She turned to the window and squeezed her eyes tightly shut, her chest tight as the waves of grief rolled through her. Breathe, she told herself. Just breathe. Like the doctor had told her over and over in the days that followed the disaster, when waves of panic and grief threatened to overwhelm her.
She opened her eyes, took a deep breath and let it out slowly, easing the tin type back into the envelope. No, don’t think about it. Think about your future. Refuse to be haunted by those moments. Don’t let those fears take over.
After another deep breath, she retrieved the single sheet of paper from the envelope, upon which a manly scroll of ink made everything seem so real once again.
Dear Miss Amelia,
I suppose I should thank you for answering my ad for a mail-order bride, but I also know that a woman taking such drastic measures must have troubles of her own. Your ad stated that you were in urgent need to marry, hence this letter. I feel compelled to tell you that I recently experienced the tragic loss of my fiancée from a devastating illness almost a year ago. I am trying to move beyond my grief and look to the future. I hope that you intend the same. This is a unique experience for me, as I am sure it is for you also. I do hope that we are compatible and that we both once again find happiness in our lives.
I am not sure that this letter will reach you before you leave Boston, but if you are holding it in your hands now and are on your way, rest assured that I understand that any relationship takes time to blossom. I also have a feeling that you are just as uncertain about who I am and what kind of man I am that you are taking such a chance on. I tell you this because I want you to know and I can tell you with all earnestness that we can work out arrangements following your arrival. Until then,
Caleb Turner
Amelia folded the letter and returned it to the envelope, then tucked it into her valise and turned once more to stare out the window. It wasn’t a love letter, far from it. It was honest, brutally honest. Yet she couldn’t help but wonder why a man grieving the loss of his fiancée could so quickly reply to an ad for a mail-order bride. He had grieved her for almost a year and was trying to move forward with his life. She supposed he had loved his fiancée very much. Would she find herself competing with a ghost of the man’s memory? She heaved a sigh, realizing that she would likely find out soon enough.
The landscape passed by without her even noticing much. Lots of farmland, field after field of cornstalks, and leaves of varying shades of green. She eyed the stalks standing tall and filled with cobs, and the yellowish tassels on top of those cobs dancing gently in the passing breeze of the train.
The fall weather was calm for now, the skies a soft blue, with occasional groupings of white clouds sitting overhead, barely moving. The land was relatively flat. The cornfields seemingly went on forever, though occasionally she caught sight of a red barn, a farmhouse, and sometimes even people working in the fields. Doing what, she didn’t know. By the looks of it, those farmers would have had a good harvest. The weather had held and nothing occurred to destroy their hard work and bounty from its sale, like a vicious thunder or hailstorm, or even worse, a tornado.
She had never experienced a tornado before, but living in Boston, she had endured more than a few vicious Atlantic storms and nor’easters, so she was no stranger to bad weather. At the same time, she and her family had lived in a sedate, two-story home fashioned in the Victorian style, tending to the small vegetable garden in the backyard… no! Stop remembering, stop thinking about it! Once more she felt her heart pounding in her chest and placed her hand over it, as if in comfort and protection.
What was she doing? How had this happened? She had never met Caleb Turner, never exchanged more than one letter with him, the reply to the ad and her brief letter to him, informing him that she would leave Boston within the week. Yes, she did place the mail-order bride ad under the greatest of duress, with no other hopes of escaping Boston or what had happened there. Yet still, she now wished she could take it back.
He was a handsome man, and he looked strong and sure of himself. Yet what would he think of her? What if he didn’t like her or she didn’t care for him? She had begun her journey into the unknown, a journey that had begun just weeks ago, when she had experienced a catastrophic event that had changed the direction of her life forever.
She stared numbly out the window, the landscape of fallow farmland interspersed with groves of trees until, finally, the movement of the train lulled her into a state of semi-relaxation. The rhythmic clank clunk of the iron wheels on the tracks and the steady thrum of the mighty locomotive engine soothed her shattered spirits and somehow echoed the beat of her own heart. She would never go back, could never go back to the life she’d had. Would she ever be happy again? Would she ever laugh again? Would she ever feel love blossom in her heart again? How could she? Everything that she had ever loved have been taken from her. Fear had been her constant companion and the memories and nightmares that still haunted her sleep.
Her nerves were stretched so thin that every sudden sound startled her. She didn’t understand any of it, not really, but all she knew was that she had to get far, far away from Boston. Yet so far, her past had chased her all the way to Chicago. Had she managed to escape? Surely she would be able to disappear out west, out on the frontier, away from her home city. After leaving Boston behind, she thought she had escaped. She would never see the people she had grown up with, or the familiar places she once did. She thought she had escaped… until the man showed up in Chicago.
Why? Why was he following her? Was she really being watched or was it a figment of an overwrought imagination? What had happened to her family had been real. Tragically real. Unfortunately, she never found out how the fire had started, but she was beginning to think it had something to do with the man she kept seeing. The man in black. Who might find her important enough to follow, and more importantly, why? She had left Boston without telling anyone her plans, just in case those who sought her out might learn of them. Her heart once again began to thud heavily in her chest, but she forced it down, forced herself to a modicum of calm. The man in black had not managed to catch this train. She had left him behind, and every mile put more distance between her and him.
Even though she tried to push the memory back, and the grief that came along with it, it nevertheless rushed forward into her mind. She no longer saw the fields of corn, but instead a vision filled with the horror of that night, with the sights, sounds, and smells of it that had changed her life forever.
Chapter Two
Amelia
While the steady clacking of the train and its gentle rocking from side to side attempted to lull Amelia into a state of relaxation, it was without success. She had boarded the train in Chicago hours ago and had many hours to travel before reaching Minneapolis. After a two-day journey by train, she would travel by boat northwest on the Missouri river as far as Fort Pierre. Then she would then have to complete the remainder of the journey by stagecoach further west into Dakota Territory. It was a rather complicated journey of stops. After a roughly six-hundred-mile journey from Minneapolis, she would arrive at her destination, along the eastern edge of the Black Hills, not far from the ranch that belonged to her fiancé, Caleb Turner.
Being a voracious reader and the curious sort, Amelia had done some research, alarmed to discover that Caleb’s ranch was not far from a historically and notoriously violent city known as Deadwood. Of course, she had no idea of what the town looked like now, but as of a mere decade ago, the town had been rife with outlaws, gunfights, gambling halls, saloons, and brothels.
Why, a mere fourteen years ago, gold had been discovered in those hills, setting off a gold rush that brought thousands seeking quick riches. From what she had heard from those who remembered reading about it in the newspapers, the town had a very poor reputation, with gunfights breaking out on a nearly daily basis. She recalled a few names, such as Wild Bill Hickok, who came to town also seeking gold, but had been shot down in a saloon just weeks later while playing poker.
Its heyday had passed nearly a decade ago. At the height of the gold rush, nearly twenty-five thousand people had crammed their structures and the populace into a narrow gouge in the Black Hills, not far from Mount Moriah. These days, so she’d read, it wasn’t nearly as populated. Still, it had a reputation, thanks to the likes of men like Wyatt Earp and George Armstrong Custer, who had died on the little Big Horn River a mere twelve years ago at the height of the war with the Lakota Indian tribes and their allies. The Lakota considered the Black Hills a sacred and holy place. Their beloved Paha Sapa, which she had learned, had translated to something close to ‘the heart of everything that is.’
The incident, along with the gradual ending of the Plains Indian wars, had brought the thousands of miners and easy gold seekers into the Black Hills. So yes, in its early days, the town was known for its violence and lawlessness, but gradually, most of the violence had ebbed and the town had grown more civilized. In fact, the town now had a number of incandescent lights with globes that lit the streets at night, and she had read that it even had new electric light service. It seemed impossible, a small, rugged frontier town with the reputation of violence, having the same comforts that electrical lighting brought to her own home back in Boston.
Still, the thought of living two-thousand miles away from the only home she had ever known filled her with a deep sense of discomfort and fear. She was venturing into this untamed land, this wild and often violent land, from a city that had been settled nearly three centuries earlier and was the one of the touchstones that had launched the American Revolution and brought independence to the still growing country. Boston was relatively civilized and law-abiding, but of course, she knew that there were nefarious areas in the city, and it had its own troubles with gangs, had experienced its share of tragedies over the years, including a great fire that had nearly decimated the city’s downtown area when she is barely five years old—
“Sandwiches, pastries, cheese and crackers… sandwiches, pastries, cheese and crackers…”
Amelia turned from the window to find a young woman in a long, drab, gray dress with a white pinafore over it, bearing a tray with a strap that wrapped around her neck. The tray was filled with a variety of delectable offerings for hungry passengers. Her stomach rumbled at the thought of purchasing a sandwich, but then changed her mind. She had little money to spare and would be on this train for two days. She would wait and perhaps buy a sandwich for supper.
The young woman made her way down the aisle, smiling and exchanging her goods for coin, and all Amelia could think was that she might very well have had to resort to such employment if the offer of marriage hadn’t come from Caleb Turner. She had a newly obtained teaching certificate in her valise, but had not been able to find a teaching job in her neighborhood before… no, don’t think about it. She glanced at the woman with no judgement, nor did she begrudge the woman her job, as it was honest employment, though she probably only earned a few pennies for her efforts.
The young woman stopped by Amelia’s bench seat and glanced at her with lifted eyebrows. Amelia was tempted once more and bit her lip in consideration as she gazed at the tray which also bore several red apples. Her stomach rumbled again. “How much is a sandwich?”
“Twenty-five cents,” the woman replied. “Cheese or ham.”
Twenty-five cents was rather dear to Amelia now, and she grimaced, then shook her head.
The young woman, probably close to her age, gazed at her with sympathy, glanced over her shoulder, and then bent down slightly. “An apple is only five pennies,” she whispered.
The woman looked kind, and Amelia knew that she was trying to earn her own livelihood, so finally nodded. She opened her reticule and dug into the bottom of it, seeking and counting out five pennies. Though she felt guilty for spending so extravagantly, she saw the gratitude in the woman’s eyes as they exchanged apple for pennies. Then, with a smile and a nod, the woman moved on.
Alice gripped the firm apple, polishing it on the skirt of her light woolen dress before turning to the window and biting down on it. It was juicy and delicious, just the thing to lift her spirits, but only momentarily. By the time she had finished the apple and set the core down on the seat beside her, her reprieve from the memories that haunted her evaporated. How could they not? She was on a train heading into an unforeseeable future, one filled with risks and fears. With a brief memory of that man in black following her at the train station in Chicago, and despite her attempts not to, she recalled that fateful night…
It was later than usual that evening when she realized her family would be waiting for her to return home for the family supper. She’d gone for a walk in the park down by the waterfront, something that she enjoyed on warm, summer evenings. She’d been transfixed, watching the boats making their way up and down the Charles River. A short distance behind her rose the spire of the Old North Church, and not far south of that was the former house of the metalworker, Paul Revere.
Twilight had faded into nightfall as she hurried along the streets, taking turns that would lead her back home, where she might receive a gentle scolding from her mother for being out so late, unescorted by her brother or a friend. The streets were relatively quiet, most families inside for supper by the time she approached a darkened alley between the bookshop and haberdashery. Just before she stepped into the darkness in front of that alley, she heard two male voices talking. She paused, thinking to cross the street and proceed, when she heard one of them say, “It’s done. They should all be dead now, and the fortune will be yours.”
The words were ominous and filled with seething hatred. Dead? Fortune? Fearing to linger, she quickly crossed the street and hurried home. It was only when she turned her corner and looked ahead that she came to an abrupt halt, her mouth open and eyes wide with dismay. Smoke billowed from the upper and lower floors of her home, reddish-orange flames licking at the windows, reaching ever upward, singing the siding as they sought more fuel. A small crowd had gathered nearby, a line of people forming a bucket brigade that did little to halt the flames and smoke pouring from the windows. She uttered a heart-wrenching cry of despair as she ran forward, barely escaping the pounding hooves of a fire engine racing down the street, drawn by a team of four massive horses.
Her heart in her throat, her terror indescribable, she had rushed toward her home, toward the front door, the sound of the flames cracking and snapping and hissing in her ear. The heat so intense it prompted her to wince and throw an arm up to protect her face. She had been held back by her neighbor, William Hornsby. He had rushed to grab hold of her, wrapped both arms around her to control her wild thrashing. Clasping his hands in front of her at her waist, he lifted her off her feet and moved them away from the house. Her shrieks echoing over the crowd of horrified bystanders.
She jolted upward with a gasp, her chest heaving and her eyes burning with tears rather than the acrid smoke, but she could still smell it in her nose and at the back of her throat. That night, her family had died, her parents and her younger brother, the housemaid and the cook, all trapped inside. She shivered, the memory of that low, gravelly voice saying, ‘They should all be dead now’ echoing over and over again in her mind.
Days after that, her heart broken and grief laying a heavy shroud over her shoulders, Amelia had begun to believe that someone was watching her, following her as she went about making arrangements for her family’s burial. Why had it happened? She recalled the man in the alley mentioning a fortune. While her family owned the house they lived in for decades in nice neighborhood of Boston, she knew her parents weren’t nearly as well off as others supposed. Even though they had done their best to keep up appearances, the family fortune that had been passed down from her great-grandfather was gone. It had whittled down over the years until it all but disappeared during the later years of her grandfather’s life. Unfortunately, her grandfather had been a bit too fond of cards and had lost great amounts of money and property before he passed.
Her father’s careful guardianship of the remainder had allowed them to live well enough, but certainly not at the level that would grant them access to the highest echelons of society. Not that she cared. From what she had seen, they were nothing but snobs anyway. Of course, the truth of the family’s finances was a carefully guarded secret – her father’s singular sin of pride – but the family had been happy and content enough. They had a good home, food on the table, and clothes to wear, even if they weren’t the latest fashion. All that mattered to her was that they were a close, happy family.
Now they were gone.
The unknown cause of the fire disturbed her. Some supposed a candle from the Christmas tree in the front parlor had fallen. Others supposed that someone had knocked over a lamp and the oil had caught fire to the carpet or curtains downstairs, but she didn’t believe that either. When she had gotten to her street and seen the entire house aflame, she didn’t think it possible that the conflagration had been caused by a single lamp. It was still early enough in the evening that her family would be waiting on her for supper. Any of the three of them, indeed all three, would have been able to easily enough stomp out or pour water on any such accident. Shouldn’t they?
Two days after the fire, she had glanced behind her to realize that a man wearing a black coat and a black bowler hat following her. She had seen him several more times since then, the latest at the train station in Chicago. Who was it? Why was he following her? Did it have something to do with the fire? She shook her head. The fire had been raging even before she’d passed the opening to that alley. Even if those men believed she had heard them speaking to one another in the alley that night, she wouldn’t be able to identify them. What did her family do to deserve such a fate? And what, in heaven’s name, did this man think she knew about any of it?
Her heart racing with dread, she could only hope that she had lost the man in Chicago. She was already left with nothing more than memories and ashes. With little money to her name, she had reluctantly placed the ad for a mail-order bride and left everything she knew behind her. Frightened, she closed her eyes and prayed. Why, God, why is this happening to me? Give me strength and courage. For now, I ask for nothing other than to shelter under the shadow of Your wings, to find a few moments of serenity and comfort as I prepare for what lies ahead.
“A Mail-Order Bride’s Blaze of Destiny” is an Amazon Best-Selling novel, check it out here!
Amelia Harper’s journey from Boston to Deadwood is filled with both hope and peril. After losing her family and home in a fire, she hopes and prays for a fresh start, and for the possibility of finding love on the frontier. Answering an ad for a mail-order bride, she never imagines her arrival would stir the dormant heart of Caleb Turner, a man haunted by loss and determined to shield himself from further pain.
Will this unknown town become her new refuge from her haunting past?
Caleb Turner, still grieving the loss of his fiancée, is thrust into an unexpected collision with destiny when his parents respond to a mail-order bride ad on his behalf. Despite his initial resistance and bound by the deceptive machinations of his well-meaning parents, Caleb reluctantly agrees to get to know Amelia. Even though he is still fighting with the shadows of his past, he soon finds himself drawn to the enigmatic Amelia.
Though still unaware of the storm of danger brewing around her…
In the crucible of frontier life, love and loyalty are tested, forging an unbreakable bond between Caleb and Amelia. However, as danger threatens Amelia’s life and those around her, they face numerous challenges and decisions. Can they defy the odds and carve out a future together? Or will the specters of their pasts tear them apart, leaving nothing but shattered dreams in their wake?
“A Mail-Order Bride’s Blaze of Destiny” is a historical western romance novel of approximately 80,000 words. No cheating, no cliffhangers, and a guaranteed happily ever after.
OFFER: A BRAND NEW SERIES AND 2 FREEBIES FOR YOU!
Grab my new series, " Faith and Love on the Frontier", and get 2 FREE novels as a gift! Have a look here!
Hello there, my dear readers! I hope you enjoyed this little sneak peek of my new story. Looking forward to reading your comments!