Mail Order Gold Rush

  Mail Order Gold Rush

  Christian Mail Order Brides Collection

  by

  Montana West

  Published by Global Grafx Press, LLC. © 2015

  All Biblical quotations used in this manuscript are taken from the King James Bible or the English Standard Version of the Bible.

  Copyright © 2015 by Montana West

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including scanning, photocopying, or otherwise without prior written permission of the copyright holder, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

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  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  EPILOGUE

  SECOND HAND HEART

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER ONE

  Mary Richards stood in her kitchen baking. Though the kitchen was spacious, Mary’s pride and joy, the heat from the oven had made the room hot, and sweat stung her eyes. As she reached for the edge of her apron to wipe her plump jolly face, the crash and rattle of the front door being shoved open and then slammed shut again made her look up with a sigh.

  It wearied Mary that such explosions of temper had become the norm for her household, but since her seventeen-year-old daughter, Cora had begun ‘blossoming’ into womanhood, Mary’s home was more of a battlefield than a sanctuary.

  Mary glanced towards the hallway just as Cora charged into the kitchen, her arms rigid at her sides with her fists tightly clasped.

  Yes, a storm was brewing.

  Mary closed her eyes and took a breath before opening them again. This little girl that she had brought into the world sometimes taxed her beyond the patience of a saint, but she loved Cora so much. Mary rubbed the wine colored birthmark on the right side of her forehead. It was a nervous habit from childhood, and one she’d never managed to break.

  Cora Richards caught sight of her mother, and her frown deepened.

  Mary was glad she had finished kneading the dough for the bread, and as she waited for her daughter to let her know what the trouble was, she reached for a wet cotton cloth and covered the dough, letting it alone so it could rise.

  Cora stamped her foot and then shouted in a way that sounded more like a wounded sow than a lady. “I am so angry!”

  Mary nodded. It was futile to speak to Cora while she was raging. Better to let her stomp, rave and blow off steam until the fury ran through her and in the calm that followed, reason could bloom.

  Cora was in a right state this afternoon though. She practically vibrated with fury as paced the floor of the large kitchen. The room was spacious with two large, glass paned windows above the counter. The windows faced out towards the back of the Richards’ farm house. On one side of the kitchen was a large kitchen stove which her husband had bought for her. It had a flat top surface and an oven and the delicious smell of baking bread filled the kitchen, but all this was lost to the girl who was pacing furiously.

  Mary and Cora shared some features like their height, eye color and the color of their hair. However, that was where all similarities ended, because Mary was easy going, agreeable even when she didn’t agree with the things that were going on around her. Mary knew how to compromise and create peace.

  Cora, on the other hand, rushed headlong into everything and could be stubborn to the point of annoyance when she was not getting her own way. Mary likened her to a cross between a mule and a hummingbird, immovable and yet somehow flighty at the same time, with a pixie face that could transform from one emotion to another within seconds.

  Apart from her family, very few people could actually subdue the seventeen year old girl. Most people were quite wary of her because they never knew when her temperament would change.

  Cora paced and complained for another minute or so, clenching and unclenching her fists and finally she ran out of steam and flopped on the floor, another unladylike gesture, her short legs sprawled, and Mary glimpsed the breeches under her long cotton dress.

  No matter how Mary tried to get her only daughter to behave like a lady, the girl was determined to prove that she was just the same as her brothers, without their occasional gentlemanly manners.

  But bringing up the trousers at this time would only make things even worse, so Mary chose to smile instead.

  “Cora dear, what is the matter?” Mary asked. She loved her daughter so much, but the girl exasperated her to no end.

  “Ma, I am going to tar and feather your son, and then skin him alive with my bare hands, and you know what? I will have a big smile on my face as I do it.”

  Mary’s lips twitched but she forced her laughter back down. “You will have to be more specific, since I have two sons.”

  “Your eldest son, Michael.” Cora fumed. “Ever since he joined the militia for Lincoln—“

  “For Ohio.”

  “Yes, yes. But Michael treats me like a helpless child! He’s only a year older than me, and he never saw any fighting.”

  “And thank the Dear Lord for that!” Mary cut in. She had prayed every day that her sons would be spared, and she could only be grateful that her husband had insisted that neither son could volunteer to do more than serve in the militia until they reached their majority. She’d been terrified Henry would run off anyway, though he was a year younger than Cora.

  “But we all made sacrifices for the war! He has no right to treat me this way. It makes me so angry!”

  “Calm down, and tell me what my eldest son has done this time.”

  “He threatened to cut Wilbur Owen’s thumbs off if he spoke to me again? With his bayonet!”

  Mary almost burst with the laughter that was bubbling inside her and she made it come out as a cough instead.

  “Cora, your brother is only looking out for you.”

  “Ma,” Cora scrambled to her feet, “I cannot believe that once again you are taking Michael’s side.”

  “I am not,” Mary approached her daughter cautiously as one would a nervous gelding. She took Cora’s right hand and gently tugged it, leading her to the large kitchen table at the center of the kitchen where the family had most of their breakfasts and lunches. Dinner was a very formal affair in the Richards’ household and that was the only time the dining room was used.

  “Sit, Cora,” Mary pointed at a chair and waited as her daughter sat down and then she sat opposite her. “Michael is protecting your honor so that no man takes advantage of you.”

  “But Ma, I am seventeen years old. Most of my friends have suitors and are getting ready to get married and settle down. I, on the other hand, I have no prospects of finding me a mate. Michael and Henry won’t let anyone speak to me, let alone court me. And none of the eligible young men in church will even talk to me.”

  Mary gave a small laugh, “Cora child, you are exaggerating.”

  “Am I? Am I, Ma?” The tiny girl leaned forward with a fierce glare in her eyes. “Tom Hopkins was told that he would be tied to his horse and flogged. Bernard Hastings was told he would be hanged on the nearest apple tree, Zedekiah Mitchell was threatened that his head would be chopped off and his body
fed to the wild beasts, Jonathan Cooper was told he would be scalped alive, Robinson Sanders and Gilbert Moore were told they would be tied up and handed over to the Comanche or Cherokee Indians to be used in their sacrifices to their gods,” Cora’s small bosom was heaving. “Need I go on?” She demanded, in spite of the fact that her mother was bent over, laughter bubbling from her lips. Her mirth was contagious and soon Cora was giggling.

  “Oh child,” Mary wiped her eyes with the edge of her apron. “You and your brothers will be the death of me yet.”

  “But Ma, how will I ever find me a good suitor when my brothers have scared off all the likely candidates?”

  “Cora, God’s timing is the best and you will meet a good man in due course.”

  Cora shook her head. “Not in this life time.” She sighed. “All my friends are busy sewing clothes for their weddings because they are getting married soon but look at me,” she pouted. “I will probably die an old maid.”

  “Your brothers may be getting all riled up, but all they want is to protect you from evil men who would take advantage of you.”

  “Ma,” Cora protested. “All those men that I have mentioned and who would be good suitors for me are Christians and come from very good families. They are all baptized and take their faith quite seriously and would make wonderful husbands. Besides, how can Michael and Henry know whether a man is good or bad if they do not allow me to even have a conversation with any of them? Now none of the men in church will even greet me, what kind of life is this?”

  “Calm down, child,” Mary stood up. “Go to your room and change into work clothes as I need you to help here in the kitchen. The day is far spent and I have not yet began preparing supper.”

  “Yes, Ma.”

  “I will speak to your brothers Cora, but you also have to understand that they love you and that is why they are very protective of you.”

  Cora’s nod was grudging, but at least the storm had passed. She and Mary spent the afternoon finishing the household chores in cheerful conversation, the sunny disposition of Cora’s girlhood shining through the clouds of her quick temper.

  ***

  Mary always served supper in the large dining room. Walter sat at the head of the table and Mary sat at the hostess’s place. Michael’s place was always on the right, next to his father and Cora sat opposite him. Henry, Mary’s second-born son, sat next to Cora, and the opposite chair was always empty except when they had a visitor.

  Supper in the Richards’ household as usual was a noisy affair, though most of the talking was done by Mary and Henry. They were discussing the merits and demerits of President Andrew Johnson who had been in office for about one year after President Lincoln’s assassination. Mary wasn’t certain how she had raised such a vehement abolitionist, considering Henry had been too young to fight in the war. Perhaps that’s why he stood so staunchly by ideals without understanding the realities behind them.

  “Henry, the man has been in office for not even a year, at least allow him to work before criticizing his every decision,” Mary waved a spoon at her son.

  “Ma, President Johnson doesn’t hold to the same principles as President Lincoln.”

  “Yes, Henry, but now we need to rebuild our country. We cannot do this without some compromise.”

  “’It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us – that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they here gave the last full measure of devotion – that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain – that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom – and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.’ Those are President Lincoln’s principles.” Henry said, leaning forward in his chair. “Lincoln freed all slaves, but Johnson seems to be supporting the southerners who have refused to ratify the Thirteenth Amendment.”

  Mary shook her head at her son. “I do not think Johnson is supporting them, what he is doing is being cautious as he leads a country that has just emerged from a terrible war, Henry. You were not a soldier—“

  “Only because Pa wouldn’t let me volunteer—“

  “You were nine when the war began.”

  “I am aware, and I had a duty to my family.” Henry’s expression was mulish. “But doesn’t Johnson have a duty to Lincoln’s memory?”

  “Give the man a chance, and you will see him honor Lincoln, even if is going about it differently.”

  “Well, I am just glad that there are very strong anti-slavery campaigners in the government and so soon there will be equality and freedom for all,” Henry said, a satisfied look on his face. “Do you know what a newspaper in Jackson, Mississippi wrote?”

  “Enlighten me, great reader,” his mother said with a smile.

  “They said that they must keep the ex-slaves in a position of inferiority, and must pass laws that will make them feel their inferiority.” Henry laughed. “To which The Chicago Tribune fired back and said, and I quote, Ma, ‘We tell the white men of Mississippi that the men of the North will convert the state of Mississippi into a frog pond before they will allow any such laws,’ You see, much as the Civil War was terrible, I believe this is a new beginning for the United States of America.”

  As mother and son argued good naturedly back and forth, Walter Richards ate his supper in silence, smiling from time to time. His wife was a fantastic cook and as he enjoyed his meal of roast chicken, dumplings, tender vegetables and hot bread washed down with milk, only one ear was open to their discussion. His mind was on other things. Much as Walter was a farmer, he was also interested in business and often went to Cleveland which was about fifty miles from their hometown of Akron.

  Walter had spent the day in Cleveland and come away feeling dissatisfied with his life in Ohio. Yes, God had blessed him threefold by allowing him to see all three of his children to live and even thrive through these terrible years of warfare. At the same time, was it enough simply to live?

  While in Cleveland he had met a number of traders who had just returned from the Wild West and who told stories of wealth beyond human comprehension, large tracts of fertile virgin land that would yield a hundred-fold harvest for anyone who cared to farm and opportunities that those who went west would get. And he had believed them because one or two of the men were known to him from youth and had left for the West in the eighteen fifties as poor men but now returned as wealthy men, citing gold and silver as the means by which they had changed their lives.

  Walter sighed inwardly, loathe to draw any attention to himself. His family were doing better than a good number of other families in Akron, many of whom had lost their sons, but Walter that didn’t mean he couldn’t do better. As he listened to his family arguing, he knew that the only way he would get any peace would be to discuss matters with his wife. She was a very bright and knowledgeable woman whose advice had stood him in great stead in the past. He nodded slightly, yes, Mary would help him understand his restlessness and discontentment, and together they would come up with a solution.

  Seated next to her father, Cora noticed that he was distracted and that gave her ample opportunity to glare at Michael who sat opposite her. No one was allowed to make faces at the table but her mother and Henry were so busy with their discussion and her father seemed to be lost in his own thoughts that no one paid attention to her. That is, no one else apart from Michael who pretended a deep interest in the food on his plate. Cora kept trying to catch his eye but he evaded her, his head down. He was half listening to his mother and brother arguing and wished his father would say something, but when he looked at his parent he realized there would be no help from that side.

  Michael was not in any mood to enter into an argument with Cora because he knew that she would not back down until she wore him down. He had worked hard on the farm because his father had been away for the whole day and so he was quite exhausted. If he gave Cora a chance to begin an argument it would become a b
itter exchange of words and he was quite averse to that happening.

  When Cora and their mother rose to carry the dishes back to the kitchen, Michael knew his chance to escape briefly was at hand and he slipped out of the room, only returning when he knew the family were gathered in the sitting room for their evening devotions.

  Henry was leading the devotions today and after a short prayer he led the family in a hymn that they all loved.

  “Rejoice the Lord is King,

  Our God and King adore,

  Ye mortals rise and sing in triumph evermore.

  Lift up your hearts,

  Lift up your voice,

  Rejoice again I say rejoice.”

  The Richards men all had strong, deep voices while Mary was a lower soprano and Cora an alto; their voices blended well together.

  Michael slipped out of the sitting room immediately the final amen, deliberately avoiding his sister, thus adding to her annoyance. She would get him early in the morning as they went to church. He could not avoid her forever.

  Cora stomped to her room and then stopped short when she saw the small package on her bed. She carefully put the lamp she was carrying on her dressing table and then grabbed the package and tore it open, quite impatient to see what it contained.

  She gave a small cry of joy when she saw what the contents of the package were. There was a small note attached to the package.

  “Cora, this is my peace offering. Forgive me please. Your loving brother, Michael.”

  “Oh!” She touched her two gifts lovingly. One was a book that had colored pictures of various animals and plants, the other was a thick white drawing pad. Cora loved to draw and she was good at it. She was determined to become an author for children’s books and would spend all her free time drawing pictures and writing stories to go with her pictures. She used her books whenever she got the chance to teach Sunday School and the children loved her made up stories.

  Her brothers both knew her weak spot and whenever they angered her they made peace by bringing her drawing materials. Just last week Henry had bought her a beautiful paint box with twenty different colors and an easel stand so she could draw while on her feet.