A Bold Bride to Forgive His Past (Preview)

Chapter One

“You did what?”

Rebecca’s courage and confidence lagged briefly at the look of dismay and irritation on her father’s face. “I want a real life, Father, one that isn’t quite so, well, predictable.”

Matthias Parker rarely allowed himself visible displays of emotion, but when he did, it was usually a twinkle in his eye or the slightest frown of disappointment. She grew alarmed at his incredulous stare and dropped jaw.

“Predictable?” he asked. “You’re implying that having a home, a roof over your head, enough food on the table for you to eat every day, and enough clothes in your armoire that ensure you have a choice of what you’re going to wear on any certain day is too predictable?”

Rebecca’s eyebrows rose. “No, Father, I didn’t mean that—”

“You should thank the Good Lord, young lady, that you have led the life you have—while so many do without. They eke by, surviving day by day.” He huffed out a breath and shook his head. “That you have two parents who love you, who have loved you and made sure that you’ve been protected from—”

“Father!” Rebecca exclaimed, frustrated with her father’s reaction to her statement. “That’s not what I meant at all! Of course I’m grateful for how I’ve been brought up!” Tears of frustration brimmed in her eyes. She forced them back, heart pounding. “I love you, Father, and I appreciate everything that you and Mother do for me,”  she tried to explain. “I just… I just want to make my own way in life; that’s all.”

“But how could you do such a thing?” her mother, Beatrice, demanded, her tone rife with disbelief. “What in heaven’s name possessed you?”

Although she was twenty-three years of age, Rebecca Clementine Parker experienced another moment of doubt. Had she made the right decision? Of course she had! It was her life after all, wasn’t it? She stiffened her back and lifted her chin to eye her parents, both currently exchanging confused glances.

“Because I want to experience life beyond the limitations of Jasper Flats,” she replied as calmly as she could. Was that a tremble in her voice? She cleared her throat. “I’m perfectly old enough to make my own decisions.” She eyed her father. “At least, that’s what you’ve been encouraging me to do for years now.”

“But Rebecca…”

Her father, the town’s preacher, heaved a loud sigh and gently patted his wife’s arm. “Encouraging you to experience different things in life wasn’t close to suggesting that we were pushing you out of the nest, nor that you go off and marry a man whom you’ve never met.” He glanced at his wife. “We have taught her to be independent, Beatrice.” He turned back to Rebecca. “But I think you might have misunderstood my meaning.”

Rebecca caught the look her mother gave her father, one of frustration mixed with annoyance.

“Matthias, she replied to an ad for a mail ordered bride! She’s never met the man! And to make it even worse, she’s accepted his offer of marriage!” Her voice grew more strident. “Not only that, he lives in Montana Territory! Do you know how far away that is?”

She wanted to believe that her mother’s tone was filled more with concern and fear for her than anger. At least she hoped so.

“I already looked,” Rebecca informed them. “It’s just over fifteen hundred miles.” She knew it was too late to soften the blow but made the attempt anyway. “At least it’s not as far as New York or Massachusetts.”

Both stared at her. Rebecca recognized her mother’s shock but, oddly enough, didn’t find the same look on her father’s face. No, he wasn’t exactly shocked, but she could see the look of disappointment in his gaze. She hadn’t expected that. She frowned. Didn’t he care? Of course he did! She knew her parents loved her. She loved them too. But she needed a change.

“You say that you’ve already responded to the ad and accepted a proposal of marriage?” he asked, his voice calmer now.

Almost as if he knew that no matter what he said, she wouldn’t change her mind. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d been accused of willful stubbornness. “Yes, I—”

“You can’t!” Beatrice objected, her tone horrified.

“She’s made her decision and given her word, Beatrice,” Matthias spoke calmly, patting his wife’s hand once more. He tilted his head, eyes crinkling slightly around the edges as he narrowed them on his daughter. “Rebecca has always yearned for adventure.” He looked up at his wife. “And it’s as plain as the eyes on our faces that no bachelors in our congregation, in Jasper Flats or nearby towns have expressed an interest in courting her.”

“That’s because she’s always been too willful and stubborn—”

“Mother!” Rebecca gasped. “How can you say that?” She shook her head. “Maybe it’s not that I wasn’t suitable to them, but they were unsuitable to me.”

Her mother frowned. “William Kendricks was a perfectly acceptable—”

“William Kendricks told me flat out that he wanted a wife to cook and clean for him, to raise his babies, and to play hostess to his friends as he moved up in his job from bank teller to bank manager. Never mind what I wanted!”

“Well, there was also Adam Meriwether—”

“A man who couldn’t put a complete sentence together if his life depended on it!” She retorted. “And he argued with me that George Washington wrote the Gettysburg Address and not Abraham Lincoln!”

Her mother’s frown deepened. “Rebecca,” she said, speaking calmly though her pulse throbbed in her throat. “Sometimes you can’t be too particular when the pickings are slim.”

Rebecca stared at her mother, shocked. “You can’t be serious.”

“Beatrice,” her father said, tapping his wife’s hand again, then reaching for her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Our daughter has a point. I wasn’t too fond of Kendricks, and we must be honest that Adam Meriwether had no future beyond mucking stalls in the town livery.”

Her mother lowered her forehead into her hand, shaking her head. “What am I to do with you, Rebecca?” She sighed woefully.

“Mother, I’m twenty-three years old. I’m perfectly capable of deciding who I want to marry. You don’t have to pick a husband for me.”

“But to choose a husband out of a mail order bride catalog? What’s gotten into you?”

“We’ve corresponded.”

Her mother finally found her voice and turned to her daughter. “But you can’t, Rebecca. What if he isn’t the kind of man you think he is? What if he didn’t tell the truth in his ad or in a letter?” She frowned. “For that matter, what did his ad say?”

Rebecca inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, knowing she needed to display a mature sense of patience and dignity, though what she wanted to do was stomp her foot on the floor and tell her mother to give her some credit for using her intelligence. “His ad said he’s a thirty-year-old man who owns his own saddle and tack shop in the mountain town of Clearwater Ridge, Montana Territory. That makes him a businessman, doesn’t it? And he’s looking for a wife, but there aren’t many eligible women in his area. He also said that someday he wants a family.”

“But you don’t even know him!” Beatrice exclaimed, stomping a foot on the carpeted floor. She again looked to her husband for help.

Before either could say another word, Rebecca spoke up, striving to maintain a calm tone. “Mother, you’re the one who’s constantly reminding me that I should have been married years ago, that I should have my own home, maybe even a child by now. How—”

“That doesn’t mean that I want you to go gallivanting over a thousand miles away to marry a man you’ve never met!” Again she turned to her husband, seeking support. “Tell her she can’t go, Matthias, it’s too far!”

Heart pounding, regretful about the argument but knowing she had to stand her ground, she turned once more to her father. “You’re the one who raised me to be independent—”

“There’s a large difference between independence and impetuousness, Rebecca,” her mother interrupted.

“Beatrice, dear,” her father said. “Let the child speak.”

Rebecca gave her father a grateful nod and figured the person she needed to convince was her mother, who had long bemoaned the fact that her daughter was close to being labeled a spinster.

“You’ve both taught me the difference between right and wrong and raised me with faith in God and His Son our Lord. You both raised me to believe that life is an adventure, full of both wonders and disappointments.” She paused and gave them a brave smile. She loved them both so dearly. “Please try to understand what I need… I want some excitement in my life, some new experiences beyond those found in Jasper Flats.” She turned to her father. “I know that you would be content to have me live here at home with you forever, Father, but I need to make my own way.” She turned to her mother next. “And how many times have you tried your hand at matchmaking to no avail?”

“Rebecca…”

“It’s true. Even after Adam and William, you didn’t give up! And believe me when I say that no eligible male around here is interested in taking me as his wife.” She again lifted a hand to prevent an interruption. “Don’t think that I don’t know what some people around here say about me. I’m reckless. I’m clumsy. I don’t think things through. But honestly, I just need… I just need—”

“You are a preacher’s daughter,” Beatrice primly reminded her. “This is no way for a young lady of your upbringing to behave. Why, what will people think when they find out what you’ve done?”

Rebecca replied honestly. “I don’t think people really care, Mother.”

“How could you say such a thing? Of course people care! Your father and I have tried to set a good example not only for you, but for our congregation in this town. Your father is one of the most respected men in Jasper Flats, a stalwart preacher who offers a helping hand and literally the coat off his back for anyone who needs help!”

“That’s not what I meant—”

Her father raised a hand for silence. “I try to set good examples,” Matthias nodded. “And your mother is just as respected and admired for her Christian sense of generosity and support.”

“I’m sorry, you misunderstand,” Rebecca mumbled. “I know how people feel about you and Mother. I wasn’t implying that either one of you or your opinions weren’t admired and respected. I was talking about me.” She offered a soft shrug. “You know what I mean.”

She saw another glance pass between her parents. They knew perfectly well what she implied. It wasn’t as if she weren’t liked in town. She knew she was. However, she was also impulsive and yes, maybe a bit reckless, like the time she had climbed up onto a neighbor’s barn roof to fetch a kitten and the ladder slipped and fell, and she couldn’t get down. Or the time several of the leaders of the women’s league at church had driven their buggy into the yard only to find Rebecca, hair and clothes flying askew as she darted through her front yard trying to catch several piglets that had gotten loose from their pen, her laughter vying with the strident squealing of the piglets.

“I’m not like the other young women in town, the ones who are already married,” she said softly. “You didn’t raise me to be a snob—”

“No one said you had to be a snob, dear,” Beatrice said, hurt in her voice.

“No, I know you didn’t, but I’m also not a woman who cares over much if my hair isn’t just so, or if I’ve got a splotch or two of mud on my skirt, or even if I climb on the roof to save a kitten!” She glanced at her father. “You told me that I should be kind and compassionate to all living things, that the things that a person does are more important than what they look like.”

“Yes, I did,” Matthias agreed. “But I also raised you to have common sense.” He, too, heaved a sigh. “You know that your mother and I won’t be able to go with you to meet this man… your fiancé. I have my duties here and so does your mother. But that doesn’t mean we can’t worry about you.” He paused. “I’m not particularly pleased with this plan of yours, but you’re right. You’re of age, and we can’t stop you.”

Her mother spoke once more. “If you get into trouble, who’s going to help you?”

She didn’t have an answer for that.

“Are you sure about this, Rebecca?”

She turned to her father and nodded, although inside, she wasn’t quite as sure as she had been only moments ago. She saw an expression on his face that she didn’t see often. Uncertainty. Maybe even doubt. And she had to admit that there was a chance that Elias McCord hadn’t been completely forthright in his letters to her.

“I have to have faith, don’t I? Isn’t that what you’ve preached every week in church? Having faith in our fellow man, having faith that God was the one who directed one’s decisions in life?” She straightened. “I choose to have faith in my decision. Why else would I have answered that ad? I don’t think I’ve ever even read them before. Tabitha Rillings had the magazine sitting on her kitchen table, and said it was left there by her sister who visited from Dallas a month ago. Perhaps that was God’s will. I wasn’t…” Her voice faded. What was the point in trying to convince them? They didn’t understand.

“You know,” Matthias interrupted, his voice low and rumbly, the way it did when he was very, very serious. “There are some men, and women also, who bend the truth. Some do it on purpose, some don’t even realize it.”

She had rarely seen such a grim expression on his face as he continued.

“There are some men who are quite dishonest and deceitful, who prey on the defenseless and say anything they think a woman wants to hear. It’s especially easy to do so in an ad… or a letter.”

“Father!” Rebecca protested. “You don’t think I know that? You raised me better than that. You raised me to be openhearted and kind, but also cautious and…and I’d like to think that I’m smart enough to notice when someone’s trying to pull the wool over my eyes.”

“Rebecca, dear, it’s just that we’re concerned,” Beatrice said.

Rebecca made another confession. “Well, I don’t think you need to be. We’ve been exchanging letters over the past couple of months, going on three months.” She pressed on before her mother could interrupt, which she would, by the reappearance of her startled expression. “In fact, I have a letter in my pocket right now that I received from him yesterday.”

She pulled the envelope from her pocket and turned it so they could see the writing. “As you can see, he knows how to read and write.”

In fact, Rebecca admired the man’s flowing handwriting. When she read his letters, she tried to imagine what he looked like in order  to match the style of the flowing cursive with the man who wrote them. Was he tall and lean like some of the cowboys around here who herded cattle, or was he softer like her father? She pushed the thought from her mind and continued speaking.

“I’ve been saving the money I earned this past year tutoring. I will buy my own ticket so I won’t be obligated to him if things don’t work out.”

“If they don’t work out?” Beatrice gasped. “Marriage isn’t something to be entered into lightly. The two of you should  at least wait a month or two before making such a commitment.”

She had to admit that neither one of them had broached that subject. “If things don’t work out, I can get a job,” she stated firmly.

“Doing what?” her father asked. “You have no idea what it’s like to live in such a rugged territory. And you said he lives in the mountains?” He shook his head. “We don’t have mountains here, as you know. You might not like it—”

“And I already expressed some concerns to him about my ability to adapt to the mountains and the wilderness that I expect to find upon my arrival. He told me that he can teach me everything I need to know about living up there.”

She decided that she wouldn’t mention that she had taken the marriage proposal itself as a kind of challenge, to herself, in a way, at least a little. She believed that if she didn’t take the chance now to experience life outside of Jasper Flats that she would never make anything of herself. At least anything more than being known as the preacher’s daughter, the spinster, still living with her parents, maybe forever. Steely willed, she lifted her chin once more. “I’ve decided. I’ll be leaving at week’s end.”

She glanced at her mother to find unshed tears shining in her eyes. A lump grew in her throat. Oh, she loved her parents and it would be easy to just stay here and live out her life on their small farm. But there had to be more to life than this. Yes, every few months her father would take her and her mother with him into the steadily growing and thriving city of Dallas fifteen miles to the east.

Her father would visit several former parishioners or some clergy friends there while she and her mother spent a few hours exploring the new stores and shops. She would miss that. She would miss her mother’s hugs and her father’s booming laugh, but this was something she had to do. For herself. For her own future.

“So you believe your young man is being honest with you?”

“Yes, Father,” she nodded. “I will have faith that Mister McCord was being honest in his letters when he wrote that he wanted nothing more than to have a wife and family someday.” She offered a small shrug, not knowing what else to say. She knew it was a risk. She knew she was placing her trust and faith in a complete stranger… but it was also a little exciting, wasn’t it?

Matthias heaved a sigh, squeezed his wife’s hand, and turned back to Rebecca. “I will rely on my own faith that you will be all right and that you will find in Clearwater Ridge and in Mister McCord what you’re looking for, daughter.” He paused and roughly cleared his throat. “But I can’t deny my own concern, and yes, even sadness that you’re going to be leaving us.”

Another surge of warm tears gathered in her eyes. Again she blinked them back even as the lump in her throat grew bigger.

“But I also need to caution you that your wild side, as I like to think of it, might just get you into more trouble than you can handle one of these days. I pray that this is not one of those times.”

“The west is a dangerous place, Rebecca,” her mother added. “I’ve heard stories about rough men, outlaws, and towns filled with saloons and loose women. Not only that, but you have no idea of the hardships you might face living in a frontier town.” She glanced down at her husband and back to her daughter. “There are wild animals, grizzly bears, mountain lions—”

“Mother,” Rebecca gently interrupted. “There are plenty of people still saying that about Texas.” She continued. “Don’t forget about Sam Bass and John Wesley Hardin or—”

“That’s enough, Rebecca. We know things like that happen in Texas, too,” Matthias interrupted. “But what your mother says is true. You’ve grown up sheltered in our home and in this small town. And no, we don’t live in a fancy house or have a lot of money, but a frontier mountain town in Montana Territory might be a far cry from what you’re used to here.”

“I understand that.”

“No, I don’t think you do, not really, although that’s not what I think your mother is most worried about.” He looked up at his wife. “Is it, Beatrice?”

Hand to her throat, her mother exchanged a glance with her husband, then turned once more to Rebecca. “To marry a man that you’ve never met? One you’ve never even spoken to?”

“That practice was common in the past,” Rebecca reminded them. “You told me that you had a friend or two that was married that way.”

Beatrice opened her mouth to argue and quickly clamped it shut.

The remainder of the week passed in a blur. What to take, what to leave behind. She didn’t want to take everything she owned. Why, she had enough clothes, books, and treasures to fill several trunks. She had no idea what Elias’s house looked like nor its size. She shouldn’t assume she would have an armoire big enough to hold her clothes, or a bookcase or… well, a lot of the things that she had grown up with. She decided to only take one trunk and one valise.

Making such decisions, though, was much harder than she had imagined. Her mother helped her make some decisions, but often her tears and soft moans and whispered prayers to God grated on her nerves. Didn’t her mother understand that she was already nervous? Just because she had decided didn’t mean she wasn’t a bit jumpy herself.

Finally, the day came. She had bidden her parents a tear-filled farewell, her mother grasping her so tightly as the stagecoach driver rolled his eyes. Her father had to gently pry her mother’s hands loose from her waist. All the while, Rebecca murmured that everything was going to be all right, that she would write as soon as she arrived. Even so, as she took her place in the stagecoach and sat next to a woman who wore enough perfume to knock over a full-grown cow, she, too, felt a hard knot in her chest as she desperately blinked back her own tears.

*

The journey took longer than she thought, and her sense of adventure and excitement had, if not quickly, subtly faded as she traveled by train, then another stagecoach to her destination.

“Don’t worry, young lady,” the older man sitting on the bench seat across from her said. “We’ll be in Clearwater Ridge before nightfall.”

She glanced at him, their torsos rocking slightly side to side with the movements of the coach, every rut jolting already sore muscles. “You live there?”

“Heaven’s no,” he replied with a smile. “Just doing some business there, then it’s back to civilization for me.”

The middle aged woman sitting next to Rebecca gave a decidedly unladylike snort. “You call Butte civilized?” She turned to Rebecca. “A mining town filled with miners hoping to get rich on copper, brothels on every block, filthy streets—”

“You mistook my meaning, madam,” the older man interrupted. “I never said I lived in Butte. I merely got on the stage there.”

The woman harrumphed and the brief conversation ended.

With every mile Rebecca traveled away from home, she felt a bit more nervous about the man she would meet at the end of her journey. She wondered what Clearwater Ridge looked like. Was it like the way the woman beside her described Butte? Uncivilized? What were the people like where Elias lived? Were they God-fearing folk or just the opposite? Where would she live, and most of all, would she and Elias bond? Still, she had to trust in herself and in God. She would have faith that she was going where she was meant to go, following God’s path toward the new life awaiting her at the end of it.

Yes, he was seven years older than her and obviously experienced living in the mountainous wilderness. She could count on him to show her the way, couldn’t she? Yet with every mile that passed- from Texas through Colorado and Wyoming Territory then into Montana Territory- she couldn’t help but admit that she had begun to feel slightly hesitant and frightened. Well, maybe more than slightly. Every mile brought her closer to a new life, one that might be filled with obstacles or joys. Yet in spite of her anxiety, she couldn’t tamp down a thrilling sense of freedom for her forthcoming adventure. Whatever happened, good or bad, was due to her own decisions.

She had started to keep a journal of her journey, one she struggled to write in every evening while rocking gently in the train car. That grew more difficult when she left the trains and climbed into crowded and smelly stagecoaches, little time at stage depot layovers or quick stops at occasional watering holes in between. Every bone in her body ached from the long days sitting in one stagecoach after another for days on end, a much rockier ride than the train. She had received more than a few strange looks from fellow travelers throughout the journey as they boarded or disembarked. Some women travelers and their companions eyed her, a young woman traveling alone, with disapproval. Some men traveling alone glanced at her with curious and open admiration, sometimes as their gaze swept over her features and her figure. She responded to both with a frown.

The sound of the stagecoach wheels spinning over hard packed dirt, the creak of the rocker springs, and the sound of pounding hooves and rattling trace chains had kept her company, echoing in her ears even as she tried to sleep. Dozing off in the rocking coaches, she heard the occasional crack of the whip as the stagecoach driver shouted at his team of horses. She was tired, hungry, and covered in trail dust that made its way inside the coach. The interior smelled of sweat, tobacco, and most horribly, the lingering scent of women’s perfume that gave her a headache. Soon it would be over.

“Clearwater Ridge!” the driver finally shouted. “Next stop, Clearwater Ridge, one hour!”

Her heart leaped into her throat, and a sense of panic surged through her until she calmed herself. Lord, please be with me as I begin my new life. Please let Elias McCord be a nice man. Please help me to be brave and strong. Please…