Mail-Order Moriah: A Brides Of Beckham Book (Pearson Grove 1) Read online

  Mail-Order Moriah

  A Bride of Beckham Romance

  Pearson Grove Series

  Book 1

  By

  Caroline Clemmons

  Cover by Skhye Moncrief

  Copyright © 2018 by Caroline Clemmons

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

  Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is purely coincidental.

  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

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Epilogue

  About Caroline Clemmons

  Chapter One

  Pearson Grove, Texas

  November 1884

  Scott Ferguson thought of himself as easy-going and pleasant to everyone. Since his former fiancée, Alexandra Novak, had ended their engagement two weeks ago, he had lost his good humor. His pride was dented. But, not only was his heart intact, it was not even slightly cracked. Lately, however, his patience was exhausted.

  Alexandra’s friends had been making tormenting him their mission. Currently, he forced himself to be polite her two friends, Evelyn Baker and Deborah Taber. As the owner of the town’s mercantile, he depended on good will for business but these two stretched the limits of his self control.

  Evelyn had—deliberately he was certain—turned stacks of clothing into a jumble. With no one to help him man the sales counter, he’d have to straighten those shelves after closing rather than now while customers were constantly in and out of the store.

  He ambled up to the twosome. “Was there something in particular you wanted to see, Miss Baker?”

  The minx had the nerve to drop the shirtwaist she held so that it slid to the floor. He was glad he kept the floor swept even if he didn’t get all the dusting done. “I was looking for something new but these are all too shabby and out of fashion. Come, Deborah, let’s go visit the dressmaker.”

  Deborah sent him a puzzling glance before she followed Evelyn out of the store. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was embarrassed by Evelyn’s behavior.

  Scott hastily picked up the shirtwaist and straightened the others enough to leave them until tonight and returned to the front counter.

  Virgil Witt, who was Scott’s best friend and also the county sheriff, leaned his tall, lanky frame near the cash register. His gaze followed the departure of the two young women.

  The sheriff spoke quietly, “Like Alexandra, those two are troublemakers who think they’re the center of the universe and everyone else is beneath them. You’re lucky to be out of that engagement.”

  “Yeah, but I’m still feeling duped. I have no idea why Alexandra targeted me.”

  “Targeted is right. Man, she pursued you like a cougar does an aging deer.” Virgil studied Scott. “I guess if I were a female I’d think you’re handsome. Since I’m not I think you look like a muddy road.”

  Scott laughed at his friend. “Thanks, that makes me feel a lot better.” But talking to Virgil did boost his mood.

  He accepted Mrs. Paine’s purchase and rang it up then wrapped it for her. He thanked her and she left. For now at least, he and his friend were alone in the store.

  “Since her father owns the bank, wouldn’t you think she’d find out how much money I have?”

  “Maybe she doesn’t understand how much you have to pay for the goods you sell here. Or, that all the farmers paid at fall harvest and you have to carry them until next year. Your cash might look pretty flush if she didn’t take those into account.”

  “You don’t suppose Byron let her see the accounts, do you? That doesn’t sound like him.”

  “Naw, but her daddy probably told her you don’t have a loan on the store because it’s paid for. Maybe she thinks you have money from some other source.”

  Scott ticked off on his fingers. “Not enough to buy a house, hire a housekeeper, hire a cook, and hire at least one person to work here so I could spend more time taking her places. Of course there’d be the expense of the places she wants to visit.”

  Virgil shook his head, a frown on his usually smiling face. “She’s always had money from her father. Probably never occurred to her you wouldn’t take care of her just like her banker daddy.”

  Scott considered himself fortunate to have learned her true disposition before he married her. “You didn’t see her when I told her I wouldn’t… actually couldn’t do those things. I added she would be expected to work in the store with me and that we’d live in my rooms upstairs.”

  Virgil pushed his hat back on his head. “Scary, huh?”

  “Whew, I thought she was going to turn me into a frog.” He shook his head as he recalled the spiteful look she’d given him as her temper spiraled. “She is not pleasant when she doesn’t get her way.”

  “You don’t sound as if your heart is broken.”

  “Aw, you know I never thought I was in love with her, only that we might grow fond of one another over time.” He leaned forward, resting his arms on the counter. “Virgil, I haven’t told anyone else so keep this to yourself. I never actually proposed.”

  His friend’s eyes widened. “You don’t mean it.”

  Scott gave a shrug. “Actually, she assumed we were a couple. Imagine my surprise when, before I knew what happened, I learned I was engaged and the wedding plans were underway.”

  He straightened and gestured at his surroundings. “Now I’m back where I started—single and in need of a wife who’ll help me in the store and be content to live upstairs.”

  “You’re better off this way.” Virgil picked up a copy of the newspaper, which included a new advertisement. The sheriff tapped a finger on the page. “You do need help in here, as well as someone to take care of your home. Why don’t you send for a wife? You know, order a bride to fit your requirements?”

  Scott read the boxed advertisement.

  Do you long for someone to share your life?

  I match brides with grooms. Discretion guaranteed.

  Groom should include 2 references and a

  letter to a prospective bride.

  Write to Harriett Long, 300 Rock Creek Road,

  Beckham Mass.

  “Are you crazy? I could end up with someone who looks like a mile of muddy road. She could be a harpy as bad as Alexandra turned out to be—or worse.”

  Virgil raised his eyebrows as he once more tapped the advertisement. “Or, she could be a nice woman who would help you here in the store, cook your meals, clean your house, warm your bed, and have your children.”

  “That’s a tall order for any woman. Not s
ure any woman I’d want would volunteer for the job.” Scott tucked the newspaper under the counter because there were only a couple of copies left and two customers had entered the store. “Guess I’ll think about it. Where the heck is Beckham, Massachusetts?”

  The sheriff raised his hands in surrender. “You’re asking me? Man, I barely remember where the state of Massachusetts is on a map. I could probably point to Boston but I sure can’t tell you where any of its other towns are.”

  Chapter Two

  Sterling Harbor, Massachusetts

  February 1885

  Moriah Singleton walked toward the shirt factory with her friend Anna O’Brien. Though she looked forward to spring, now a brisk winter wind pulled at her thin wool coat. The weather was much colder than in Southern England where she’d lived until the week after Christmas. She’d set sail for America with great expectations and a tiny amount of money.

  She was grateful for the warm blue woolen scarf her mum had knitted for her. “I’m glad today is payday. I’m grateful to have a job but it’s hard to save with our small salary.”

  Anna glanced at her. “Aye, we’re that lucky to have this place to work, tiring as it is on the body. What a shock for me to struggle to get to America only to find Boston businesses with signs that said ‘No Irish Need Apply’. I was that desperate.”

  “For us poor English immigrants things are not much better. My father said I’d find job opportunities here. I’d hoped to get a job in a shop for I love meeting people. What he didn’t know is that jobs for poor women immigrants were limited to factories or cleaning for others.”

  “How am I going to send money home? My family struggled mightily for the funds to send me to Boston.”

  Moriah wondered how she’d meet her family’s expectations. Already she felt like a failure. “Mine too. Once here, I was supposed to put aside until I could pay my sister Felicity’s fare. At this rate, that will take years. I feel I’ve let her down because I can’t accumulate more and at a faster rate.”

  Anna shuddered. “I hope Mr. Hawkins doesn’t call one of us to his office. He’s a terrible man. I pity his poor wife.”

  “He knows there aren’t many other jobs to be found for us immigrants. And, there are plenty of women waiting to get a position at Sterling Shirt Company. I try to keep my head down and not attract his attention.”

  “Don’t we all? See you at lunch.” Anna stopped at her sewing machine.

  Moriah ambled to her assigned spot and resumed what she had worked on yesterday. She wondered how many shirts she’d made in the two months she’d been employed here. How many hundreds before she could send for Felicity? How many thousands before she found a better position?

  Sewing in a factory was one of the few jobs available for immigrants but the working conditions were poor. Not that job opportunities were any better in her small village back home in England. When she’d set off for America, she’d expected to have more success. She didn’t mind hard work if there was a reward.

  She worked steadily all day with a half hour break for lunch, which she shared with Anna. Around five o’clock, a shadow fell across her. She looked up and discovered Mr. Hawkins leering at her.

  “Miss Singleton, come to my office immediately.” He turned and strutted to the stairs and up to his office.

  Moriah knew what he wanted but she couldn’t submit. The man was no more than a criminal, for he knew how badly each woman here needed her job. She rose slowly. As she walked down the row, most of the women kept their heads down.

  Anna hissed, “What are you going to do?”

  “We’ll soon know.” Moriah battled with her conscience. She pictured her lovely younger sister’s face eagerly awaiting her turn to come to this new land. She recalled the strict moral training her parents had given her.

  What was she to do? Would submitting to that man be so bad? Doing so netted an extra dollar in the woman’s pay packet. She wanted to slap herself for even harboring that thought. The act would also make her a prostitute.

  The stairs were twice as steep now that she had a hard decision weighing her down. She had to grasp the railing to prevent her knees giving way. From her sewing machine, this had appeared a long staircase. Now that she trod the steps toward her lecherous boss, they were not nearly as long as she wished. Stomach roiling, she had to make up her mind quickly as to whether she kept her job or her self-respect.

  Hadn’t she known this day would come? At the top landing, she straightened her spine, took a deep breath, and opened the door to Mr. Hawkins’ office.

  He leered as she came in and loosened his belt. “Close the door behind you then come over here. Raise your skirt and drop your knickers then lean over the desk. I’ll teach you how a real man can make you feel.”

  On the desk was the pay packet with her name on it and a dollar beside it. He presumed too much.

  Moriah stayed near the open door. She’d not give him the chance to get between her and her escape route. She’d heard another woman had made that mistake.

  “There’ll be no need to close the door for there’ll be nothing immoral going on in here. I was hired to sew shirts, which I do very well. You are not entitled to violate me.”

  His face turned red. “I’ve never ‘violated’ any woman. It’s always her choice whether or not she cooperates.”

  She pointed her forefinger at him. “You have violated any woman who is placed in the position of choosing whether she lets you take her body or whether she loses her job.”

  Knowing she’d be fired anyway, she decided to have her say. “Especially those with children can’t afford to turn you away—as well you know. A real man would never put a woman in such a position as you do. Mr. Hawkins, you are a criminal and a despicable bully of the very worst kind.”

  He jutted out his square chin. “I’m a real man, sister, as you’d see if you did as I told you.” His hand was still on the buckle of his unfastened belt. “I ought to take my belt to you.”

  “You’re welcome to try. I have four older cousins who taught me how to deal with cowardly bullies like you.”

  “Coward? Why you piece of trash. You should be grateful you’ve caught my eye. Your kind is not wanted in this country. And, now you’re no longer employed in this company.” He threw her pay packet at her.

  Coins spilled and she bent to pick them up without taking her gaze from him. He came toward her as she finished and she saw his intent. As he aimed his foot for a swift kick, she grabbed the back of his other knee and pulled as she stood.

  He landed on his backside with a whop. “Ow, my hip.” He spewed curses as she left the office.

  Quietly, she closed the door behind her and held her head high as she descended the open stairs. She looked out over the women who sat at each sewing machine. Some of those who’d given into Mr. Hawkins failed to meet her gaze. From most of the women she saw smiles and gestures of approval.

  Her victory was a hollow one. Though her virtue was safe, she had only enough money for a couple of weeks.

  No job.

  No prospects.

  No way to send for her sister.

  Chapter Three

  At the boarding house, most of the other women boarders were factory workers like Moriah had been until a short while ago. Since the factories stopped at six, supper was served at seven to allow women time to arrive. Her coming in early didn’t go unnoticed by the few residents who were already there.

  Bella Dubois worked in a millinery shop, a job Moriah was sure she would have loved. “You’re early, is something wrong?”

  Moriah explained, finishing with, “I doubt my dignity will feed me and pay for my sister to join me.”

  “I know just the thing for you.” Bella pulled a folded piece of newsprint from her purse. “Look at this. I’m going to apply to her if Calvin doesn’t propose soon.”

  Moriah read the first line. “Mail-order bride? Isn’t that awfully risky? What if I ended up with someone like Mr. Hawkins?”

 
Bella pointed at the middle section. “But, you didn’t read all of it. The matchmaker checks the grooms thoroughly. You should at least go talk to her. You can catch the train to Beckham and it’s only a short ride.”

  Moriah thought of her paycheck and the paltry sum she’d hidden in her room. “A gamble that would reduce the small amount of cash I have even further.”

  “You might find the gamble paid off many times. Do yourself a favor and at least talk to her. You can decide after you hear what she says.”

  After mulling over the idea a few seconds, Moriah had to agree. “You’re right. I have to do something because I’m desperate. Without a miracle, I’ll be living on the street in less than a month.”

  ***

  The following morning, Moriah dressed carefully in her only good dress, which was blue to match her eyes. She coiled her red hair at her neck. Her only jewelry was a brooch she pinned to a ribbon at her throat. She wore the brooch from her grandmother with pleasure for the fond memories the cameo evoked. Gran had given it to her the day before she left England.

  Moriah set out on a cold but beautiful day. She was grateful for her old green coat even if it was worn and needed to be replaced. Many women she saw carried a parasol to ward off the sun, but she hadn’t one. Besides, today’s sunshine cheered her as if promising better times to come.

  When she reached the address in an elegant neighborhood she thought there must be a mistake and checked the newsprint. She walked back to the street sign to verify she was on the right lane. Sure enough, she was on Rock Creek Road.

  Instead of an office at number 300, she found a stately brick home with white columns. She was shaking with trepidation when she strode up the walk. Inside her gloves, her hands were clammy as she rang the bell.

  An impressive man answered. He was tall, had dark hair and a regal manner. “Won’t you come in? Have a seat and I’ll tell Mrs. Long you’re here.”

  Moriah barely resisted gawking at her surroundings. She’d known there were homes like this, of course, but never imagined she’d be inside one. She scanned the room.