The Healer’s Mail-Order Bride (Preview)

Chapter One

Chicago, Illinois. June 12, 1876.

Sitting at her family’s dining table, her posture matching the rigidity of the uncomfortable chair she sat in, Josie Prescott silently thanked whichever of her sisters had accidentally left the window open a crack. She couldn’t recall, had it been Hope or Grace who had been charged with cleaning the dining room? Grace had spent much of the afternoon in the kitchen assisting her mother with the meal, so it was likely Hope.

Thank you, Hope, she silently praised her youngest sister. Today I am grateful for your forgetfulness.

The cool breeze that slipped through the open window and tickled the back of her neck. It seemed to whisper in her ear, “Do not forget there is a world out there beyond this house. There is hope, there is freedom, if only you have the courage to find it.”

“Josephine.”

Her father’s acerbic tone dragged her back to the present. Turning to him, she plastered her most angelic smile on her face. She tried to make herself look as though she had been listening to him the whole time. What had he just said?

“Yes, Papa.” 

That was a safe response to almost any comment he’d made. If there was one thing the great Charles Prescott demanded, it was obedience from his daughters. Josie had learned from a young age that her father’s word was law. If she disobeyed him, she was also disobeying the Lord as well. There was no room for rebellion in the Prescott household.

But it seemed her natural tendency toward agreeing with her father was not what he’d required in this instance. He curled each of his fingers around his fork one by one until he was strangling the utensil. The right corner of his upper lip began to twitch, which Josie knew meant a storm was on the horizon.

“If you had been listening to what he’d said,” he sneered at his eldest daughter, “Mr. Ashford asked what your preferred bible verse was. Do him the honor of replying to him.”

Josie’s toes tensed up inside of the demure blue slippers her mother had chosen for her. She didn’t want to look at Mr. Ashford, let alone share with him something as intimate as her choice of bible verse. But she knew what the ramifications would be if she did not do as her father bade her, so she forced herself to gaze upon Mr. Ashford.

Percival Sterling Ashford’s inner ugliness was sadly not matched by his exterior. To many, he appeared good-looking: he was a little shorter than average height, his straight blonde hair was perfectly coiffed, he had steely grey eyes, a beard that looked well-groomed, and he was always impeccably dressed. But Josie could easily see the cracks in his facade: his complexion appeared fair but looked pallid when it was properly lit, his beard hid a despicably weak chin, and his nails were always just a touch too long. She saw right through him.

“I have many,” Josie replied in her most controlled, neutral tone. “Perhaps you could share yours with me, so that I might–”

But she needn’t have worried. She didn’t even have the chance to get through her sentence before Percival jumped at the chance to wax poetic about his choice.

“I’m glad you asked, Miss Prescott. I was hoping you would.” He always spoke a little too loudly. It seemed he had a great deal of difficulty regulating his volume, which didn’t make Josie like him any more. He took a big forkful of potatoes and proceeded to flick little bits of mash around the table from his mouth as he spoke. “I would like to quote Ephesians 5:22. ‘Wives, submit yourselves to your own husbands as you do to the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife as Christ is the head of the church, his body, of which he is the Savior. Now as the church submits to Christ, so also wives should submit to their husbands in everything.”

He grinned at her with cheeks still full of potato and eyes brimming with triumph. It made Josie’s stomach turn to maintain eye contact with him. She couldn’t bear to share a table with that man, how was she supposed to share her life with him? She made herself take a deep breath and looked over at her mother. Surely Mama would offer her a comforting glance.

But Constance Prescott would not look at her. Her mother’s eyes were so glued to her plate that an outsider would have thought she was transfixed by the Brussels sprouts. She quietly took a bite of chicken and did not look up. Josie should have known better. Her mother was not one to ever go against anything a man said.

When she looked to Hope, however, Josie wanted to burst out laughing. Hope’s visage held a bemused look that seemed out of place on such an innocent, serene face. Her thin eyebrows were knitted together, her eyes were wide, and she had paused mid-forkful so that her utensil now dangled from her full lips. When she heard Josie make a miniscule noise, her eyes flicked to her. She yanked the fork out of her mouth and replaced it on her napkin, composing herself as she did. But when she looked back at Josie again, her lips quivered with an unheard laugh.

“I am glad we see eye-to-eye on topics such as this, my boy,” her father said, clapping Percival on the back.

”My boy” might have sounded like too intimate a name for a young man who was not yet his son-in-law, but Percival was the son of Augustus Ashford, her father’s partner at the bank. Percival himself was also a Junior Partner, so they couldn’t have been better acquainted. 

“Which is why,” Charles continued, giving Josie a hard look, “I’m pleased to announce Percival’s engagement to our Josephine!”

All the air went out of Josie’s lungs and the room began to spin. Her father had been teasing this announcement for weeks, but she hadn’t thought he would actually go through with it. She was only twenty-three, after all, she was barely old enough to be married! Well, at least in her own mind.

Josie’s first instinct had been to bolt. It had been that way since she was a child; whenever something happened that made her uncomfortable, Josie had wanted to flee from the situation. Her tendency to flee had gotten her into trouble plenty of times, and she knew if she tried it now, her father’s strong hand wouldn’t let her get far.

A gust of wind burst in through the window and refilled her lungs. Her breath came fast and unsteady, making her feel like she was going to pitch forward and collapse onto the table. What was she going to do? She couldn’t marry this odious man! It would be like hitching herself to a bucking bronco who would beat her into submission.

She looked frantically to Hope and Grace, whose faces mirrored her panicked expression. If Josie tried to escape or rebel, would her father just marry one of them off to Percival? She couldn’t let that happen. She loved her sisters more than anything in the world and never wanted any harm to come to them, especially not because of her. 

Not knowing what else to do, Josie did what she always did in hopeless situations: she closed her eyes and prayed.

Please, Lord, she begged, please send me some guidance. I am at a loss for what to do. I do not believe I am meant to be with this man, but I cannot disobey my father. Send me a sign and guide me toward the correct decision, oh Lord.

When she opened her eyes, everyone at the table was staring at her. She could feel her father’s gaze boring into her, demanding that she proclaim her enthusiasm for her change in situation. She knew Percival was also looking at her and could see the smug look dripping off his lips. The thought of becoming a part of Percival’s property and having to submit to him made Josie want to burst right through the slightly opened window and run as fast as she could from the house. 

Hope and Grace were looking at her with uncertainty. She knew it was a part of her responsibility as their older sister to set a good example in this situation, but what did that look like? Her mother urged her with her eyes to defer to her father’s decision. Josie took a deep breath to give herself another moment to consider how to react. It felt like the rest of her life depended on the decision made in this moment.

When she heard the knock on the front door, Josie let out a sigh of relief. The tension was broken and her father looked toward the front door. He rolled his eyes and turned to his youngest daughter. 

“Hope.”

That was all he had to say. Hope shot out of her chair and ran out of the room. Josie looked down at the lace tablecloth and ran her fingers over the delicate material as she heard Hope open the door. She strained to hear a quiet back and forth between her sister and the person on their stoop, and then the door shut again. 

Who could have been calling on them in the evening like this? They weren’t expecting any visitors other than Mr. Ashford. Perhaps it was someone from town dropping something off for her father? Or it was one of the women from church looking to speak with her mother?

Hope came back to the dining room but stopped in the doorway. She held out her hands with her palms up. Resting there was a letter.

“It’s for Josie,” she said quietly as she began to walk around to the side of the table her sister was on. 

But as she passed her father, he barked at her, “Every piece of mail that enters our household is for me, Hope. Do not forget that. Give it to me.”

Hope shot a frantic look toward Josie. Knowing there was nothing to be done, she gave her head a tiny shake. Hope reluctantly relinquished the letter. Her father turned the letter sideways and ripped it open. Then, he slid the letter out and began reading. 

Josie tried to control herself. Her father ruled their household with an iron fist. He had decided whom she was going to spend the rest of her life with. Now, he was reading a letter addressed to her? He seemed bent and determined to remove all of her autonomy and make her completely submit to his will. She couldn’t tolerate this, but what other choice did she have?

Suddenly, Charles slammed his fist down on the table. All the women jumped and Josie feared for the worst. What could the letter possibly contain that would make him that furious that quickly? She hadn’t written to anyone for goodness knows how long so she wasn’t expecting any reply, she hadn’t sent away for anything, she hadn’t even written to any churches in nearby towns for supplies. What could this be?

“What is it, my darling?” came her mother’s quiet voice from beside her father. She lay a hand delicately on his arm. Josie noticed her mother’s hand was shaking. “If anything has upset you, please tell me. I’ll work to make it right, whatever it is.”

But when he looked up, he did not meet his wife’s gaze. His eyes were blazing with the fury of hell and he was staring right at Josie. Raising the letter in the air, he bellowed at her, “How dare you try to steal my sister’s inheritance out from under me!”

Chapter Two

Providence Ridge, Wyoming Territory. May 29, 1876

Dr. Silas Brooks unwillingly opened his eyes. He’d been having a blissful dream about swimming in a stream on a hot summer’s day. It felt so real that he could feel the cool water running over his body and the warm rays of the sun heating him from the outside in. There were birds chirping in the bower above him, and he had no patients desperately waiting for his help. To his surprise, when he looked to the riverbank, there was a beautiful young woman sitting there watching him. She sat hugging her knees, smiling peacefully at him. Her auburn hair was pinned handsomely behind her head and her striking green eyes were locked onto him. He’d never seen her before in real life, he was certain of that. But she felt so familiar that he was sure if he didn’t know her now, he would eventually.

Silas stretched and groaned as he came back into his body. Although he was only thirty years old, he felt much older. His work as the town doctor kept him on his feet at all hours of the day and night. He rarely slept, ate when he could, and had a hard time taking care of himself. He knew he should be taking the advice he was doling out to his patients and try to be kinder to his body, but he simply didn’t have time to. 

He dressed quickly, throwing on the same well worn attire he’d had on the day before and the day before that: a black three-piece wool suit with leather patches on the elbows and a white shirt. After he’d put it on, he realized he his shirt smelled awful, and that simply wasn’t acceptable. He took off his vest, jacket, and shirt and swapped it for his green dress shirt, as that was the only one he had that was clean. When he’d gotten everything back on, he ran a comb through his straight brown hair. When he looked in the mirror, his grey-blue eyes stared back at him and looked disappointed. He looked tired and rough.

There was a soft knock on the door. Answering it, Silas found his housekeeper, Mrs. Abernathy standing there looking surprised.

“You’re actually here!” she said in a jolly voice. “Well, I’ll eat my hat for that comment I just made to the little miss, then!”

“What are you talking about?” Silas asked. 

Mrs. Abernathy flung the towel she was holding over her shoulder and crossed her arms in front of her. She was an older woman—a friend of his mother’s—and had come to live with him when Emma arrived. She had graying hair, kind eyes, and hugged everyone as though she would never see them again. “I told Emma I’d come see if you were here, but I warned her to be prepared for you to already be gone on your rounds. Did Mrs. Hall’s family not call on you last night?”

Silas shook his head as he snuck past Mrs. Abernathy. “No. I am as surprised as you are. Did you say Emma was already up?”

Mrs. Abernathy followed him down the stairs. “Already up? More like still up. The little darling hardly slept last night. Nightmares got to her again.”

Silas paused at the bottom of the stairs and sighed as he rubbed his temple. “Again?”

Mrs. Abernathy nodded and pointed toward the kitchen. “Emma and breakfast are both in there. I’ve been up with her most of the night, so now that I know you’re here, I’m going to rest my eyes for a little bit.”

Mrs. Abernathy patted him on the shoulder and turned to walk away, but Silas began to panic. “You’re going? What do I… how do I talk to her about… I can’t do this on my own, Dora.”

“Doc,” she said, handing him the towel from her shoulder, “if you can minister to the whole town and fix all that ails them, surely you can talk to an eight-year-old girl about her bad dreams. Go on. It’s not as hard as you think.”

Mrs. Abernathy retreated up the stairs. When he heard her door softly swing shut, he looked upward.

Lord, please help me with her, he prayed silently. She’s such a wonderful little girl, but I am so helpless when it comes to assisting her. I don’t know what she needs. Please guide me toward the right assistance so that I can help her.

When he finished, Silas set off for the kitchen. He was more nervous about talking with Emma about her nightmares than he was about performing an appendectomy on an anxious patient. He could deal with issues going on inside a person’s body. What he struggled with was helping anyone with problems unfolding inside their mind.

When he pushed open the kitchen door, the tiny figure at the kitchen table jumped about a foot in the air. 

“Oh, Emma!” he said, grabbing the door so that it didn’t bang shut. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

When Emma looked up at him, an arrow of grief shot through his abdomen. Emma was the spitting image of his dear sister, Susan. They had the same titian-red hair, apple cheeks, sky blue eyes and little bow mouth. It was still almost impossible for him to grasp that he was never going to see his sister again, but he was going to see her every time he looked at her little girl.

When Silas had come to Providence Ridge to begin his practice, Susan had followed him. She had met Thomas Morrison, the local preacher, and the two were married soon after. Emma had come along about a year later. They were so happy with their little family and Silas was delighted to have them so close. He got to watch Emma grow up and see how his sister blossomed as a mother. He’d never been so happy.

But the wagon accident six months ago had changed everything. Thomas, Susan, and Emma had been travelling back to Providence Ridge after a day trip to nearby Wallace’s Point. Thomas had been requested to give a sermon at the church there, and Susan had brought Emma with her. When they were travelling home, they were hit by another wagon and driven into a tree. Emma was miraculously unscathed, but Susan and Thomas were not as lucky. Since that day, Silas had become Emma’s guardian and brought her to live with him. She hadn’t uttered a single word ever since. 

“Do you…” he hesitated, opening his arms uncertainly, “want a hug?”

Emma shook her head and a wave of relief washed over Silas. He wasn’t one for physical affection, but Mrs. Abernathy had suggested he should try more of it with her. It hadn’t been very successful thus far, but he was willing to keep trying.

“Alright,” he said, crossing his arms simply so that they didn’t continue to hang in the air. “Mrs. Abernathy tells me you had some… dreams last night. Are they still upsetting you?”

Emma stared straight ahead and didn’t say anything. Silas could only imagine what her night terrors must have been like. Although Emma didn’t speak, she communicated a great deal through her drawings, and what she drew was terrifying. 

It was most often about the accident, of course. She often drew jagged lines that looked like broken panels of the carriage. Sometimes she drew crumpled piles of fabric that he shuddered to think came from his sister’s dress. Her most haunting drawing was what looked like pools of blood on the ground. When she created pictures like that, he was truly at a loss for how to help her.

He walked to his office and fetched a piece of paper and a pencil, then returned to the kitchen. Setting the tools in front of her, he said, “Why don’t you tell me about them?”

Now when Emma looked up at him, Silas thought he registered a slight look of gratitude. She hesitantly took the pencil and started drawing. He walked away and put some eggs, bacon, and fresh bread on his plate while she drew, not wanting to rush her. Emma continued scratching away on the paper while he ate his breakfast. It was only when he was taking his last bite of bread that she presented the sheet to him.

He was glad he’d swallowed his food when he looked at the page, otherwise he feared he may have choked. Emma had drawn a beautiful picture of Susan. She sat placidly in the carriage, her hands placed gracefully upon her lap. Her head was turned, and she was smiling so happily that his heart cleft in two and shattered. He felt the tears brimming in his eyes and did not try to hide them from Emma. When he looked over at her, tears were streaming down her cheeks, and when he opened his arms to her this time, she crawled into his lap and sobbed. 

Silas held her so tightly and whispered gentle reassurances into her ear, but it still felt futile. What this little girl needed was not him. She needed a mother.

After breakfast, just before Silas was about to leave on his rounds for the day, Emma trundled off to her room and crawled into bed. It seemed her lack of sleep the night before had gotten to her. Silas followed and tucked her in, but by the time he was kissing her forehead, her eyes were already closed. As he looked at her dainty sleeping form, Silas was overwhelmed with love for her. He wanted to do everything right for her, but he felt as though he was failing her miserably. There was so much missing from his little humdrum life, and Emma was suffering because of it.

Getting down on his knees, Silas closed his eyes and clasped his hands together on the edge of her bed. Oh Lord, please hear me, he began, as he always did. I know that it was my sister and brother-in-law’s time to depart this earth on the day of the accident. However, I feel you have done their daughter a disservice by leaving her with me. I do not know how to be a father and provide for her. She needs so much more than what I can give her. I know you have entrusted me with her for a reason, and for that I am grateful. But if you could please provide me with some guidance as to what more I can do for her, I would very much appreciate that. I trust in everything you do, oh Lord, and everything you have given me. Thank you, amen.

He left his niece slumbering under Mrs. Abernathy’s watch and left to tend to his patients for the day. His first patient was a man named Arthur Shelstrop who was currently residing in the county jail. Arthur was in his sixties and had lived a hard life. He was constantly getting locked up for minor misdemeanors, most of which were the product of one two many drinks. His latest incident involved a stolen horse that had been tied up outside the tavern. They’d caught him two days later in a cave on the outskirts of town. It seemed the old man had injured himself while he was making his great escape with his equine companion and had taken refuge in the cave. If he hadn’t been found and brought to the prison, Silas was certain he’d have perished in that cave.

“I been doing everything you said, Doc,” Arthur said eagerly as he showed him the deep gash on his ankle hat was getting shallower. It had been badly infected when he’d first arrived at the jail, but Silas had been able to put a salve on it that helped. “I ain’t been touchin’ it, even when it itches. And it itches like nobody’s business! But I been keepin’ my hands off it, just like you said.”

Silas chuckled at Arthur’s sincerity and took out a clean bandage to wrap around the wound. “Well done, Arthur, thank you. You’re taking much better care of your leg than a lot of my other patients would. Have you ever thought of becoming a doctor yourself?”

Arthur laughed a deep, belly laugh and put his hands beneath his head. He was lying on the straw mat in his stifling hot cell, looking up at the ceiling while Silas tended to his wound. “No, no, I ain’t that kinda fella. But if you ever need a guy to protect you, you call up old Arthur, you hear? Any man that saves my life deserves me a chance to save his.”

Silas nodded along as he trimmed the bandage and tucked it into place. “I’ll keep that in mind, thank you, Arthur. You keep letting this gash heal and I’ll see you in a few days.”

Arthur sat up and extended his hand for Silas to shake, which he did. “Thanks, Doc. I appreciate ya.”

Silas left the cell as Deputy Jake Martinez locked it back up. The two men walked out of the cell block and back to the reception. Silas took a moment to repack his medical bag as the two men spoke.

“I’m pretty sure I could leave Arthur’s cell unlocked and he’d just stay in there, happy as a clam,” Deputy Martinez said, running his fingers through his black wavy hair and looking back toward the cells. “I think part of the reason why he keeps letting himself get caught by us is because he likes being in here so much. He’s safer in here than he is on the street. He gets consistent meals, he’s treated with respect by me and the other guys, and he doesn’t have to worry about getting beaten to a pulp by the people in town he’s wronged in the past. Part of me hopes he’ll do something that gets him locked away for life, but not bad enough that he’d get hanged for it.”

Silas looked off into the distance thoughtfully. “Is there any crime you can think of that would fit the bill? Maybe we could just frame him for something to keep him safe?”

Both men laughed. “I know we shouldn’t joke about this kind of thing,” Deputy Martinez said, “but it’s the truth. Arthur is better off in here than he is out there. Maybe when Marshal Thompson gets married, we can hire Arthur to replace him.”

“Marshal Thompson is getting married?” Silas asked as he closed his bag. “Since when? I didn’t even know he had a girl.”

Deputy Martinez shook his head. “He doesn’t. Or, rather, he doesn’t yet. He’s put out an advertisement for one of them mail order brides. Seems he didn’t think he could find a good enough woman in town, so he had to ship her in from somewhere else.”

“Is that right?” Silas asked in surprise. “I didn’t think a man like Thompson would go for an out-of-town girl. Especially not one he’s never met before.”

“My thoughts exactly.” 

Deputy Martinez wrote in the prison log of Silas’ visit and paid him for his work. Ordinarily, Silas would have tried to resist payment, but because it was coming from an institution, not a person, he didn’t feel so badly. He wished he could have lived in a world where he didn’t have to get paid for his work. But, as he had to, he accepted the meager payment. 

“Have you found anyone that catches your eye yet, old man?” Deputy Martinez asked him.

His question and the way he asked it made Silas guffaw. Deputy Martinez was only a few years younger than Silas, maybe twenty-five, twenty-six, but they knew each other well enough that this kind of joking was very funny to Silas. 

“I don’t have time for romance. You know that, Jake,” Silas said as he held up his medical bag and pointed to it. 

To punctuate his sentiment, as he hoisted his bag into the air he heard the straps snap and the large leather pouch tumbled to the floor. On the point of impact, the clasp burst open and the floor was soon scattered with scissors, clamps, small bottles of liniment, and everything else he’d managed to shove in there. 

He should have been angry, but the bag had such excellent comedic timing that he burst out laughing. Deputy Martinez followed suit, and then the two men worked together to put everything back in its place in the bag.

As they tucked away the last roll of bandage, Deputy Martinez looked at Silas meaningfully and said, “Well, I guess love will have to wait till you’ve mended your relationship with your doctoring bag first!”

At the end of his long, tiring day, Silas returned home to find Mrs. Abernathy just shuffling off to bed. When she saw him, she stopped and retrieved something from the pocket of her nightgown.

“Oh good, you’re back just in time!” she said as she handed him a piece of paper. “Emma napped well this morning and then she and I had a good day together. She’s back sleeping now, and I hope tonight will prove better for the poor dear. She drew this this afternoon and asked me to give it to you. When I asked her what it was, she wrote…”

The older woman pointed to the title at the top of the drawing. It read, “My Family To Be.” Silas looked down the page and saw three figures: Emma, holding his hand, himself, and a woman holding his hand on the other side. He looked up at Mrs. Abernathy in shock, but she just looked like she’d known this was coming.

“You need more help than what I can provide for you, Silas,” she said softly, rubbing his shoulder. “I can care for Emma and love her, but my love will never replace a mother’s. She needs a mother.” 

Silas should have seen the signs. The Lord had been trying to tell him exactly what Emma needed all day. He’d dreamed of that beautiful girl on the river bank, then Emma had cried for her mother, then Deputy Martinez had asked when he was going to find someone, and now Emma was making her point very clear. 

Silas wasn’t going to ignore the signs any longer. He met Mrs. Abernathy’s gaze once more and nodded with firm resolve. He was going to find a wife.