The Blizzard Brides Read online

  The Blizzard Brides

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are all products of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblances to persons, organizations, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.

  The book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. All rights are reserved with the exceptions of quotes used in reviews. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage system without express written permission from the author.

  Scriptures quoted from the King James Holy Bible.

  All books titled or quoted in this story belong to their respective authors.

  The Blizzard Brides ©2020 Christine Sterling

  Cover Design by Erin Dameron-Hill Graphics

  https://www.edhprofessionals.com/

  Editing by Carolyn Leggo and Amy Petrowich

  www.christinesterling.com

  1st Ed, 10/2020

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Author’s Note

  Leave a Review

  A Groom For Claire

  A Groom for Celia

  The Blizzard Bride Authors

  Check out Silverpines!

  Read all of Christine’s Books

  About Christine

  The Blizzard Brides

  Welcome to Last Chance, Nebraska!

  When the freak blizzard of 1878 kills most of the men in a small Nebraska town, what does it mean for the surviving women and children?

  Realizing they need to find men of honor to help rebuild, the women place an advertisement in the Matrimonial Times.

  Choosing a husband is more difficult than they thought, when there is an overwhelming response to the ad.

  Will these Blizzard Brides find the second chance at love in a town called Last Chance?

  Join the Blizzard Brides Reader’s Community

  License Note

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  -- Christine Sterling

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  Acknowledgements

  Thank you, every day, to my Lord and living God. I take my next breath at your will.

  I couldn’t do this without the support of my amazing husband, Dan. I love you, sweetheart.

  My why. Why I do what I do. Why I believe we can do anything we set our mind to. My why are my three beautiful daughters, Rebecca, Nora, and Elizabeth.

  I couldn’t do this without my editing team. Thank you to my editor, Carolyn Leggo, and continuity editor, Amy Petrowich for keeping everything straight!

  The lovely covers for this series were designed by the incredible Erin Dameron-Hill.

  My amazing Street Team: Alice Kimes, Amy Petrowich, Ann Ferri, Dolores Howard, Jocelyn Logan, Laura Park, Lauren Sorgaard, Marcia Montoya, Paulette Marshall, Rhonda Myers, Sandra White, Sandy Sorola, Sue Krznaric, Theresa Baer, Zona Fannin who read everything I write and provide feedback and encouragement. I love you ladies.

  Dedication

  Thank you to The Blizzard Bride Authors

  You are truly an amazing group of women and I am proud to call you sisters. I love and appreciate every single one of you!

  www.theblizzardbrides.com

  Swing Low, Sweet Chariot

  By Wallace Willis

  Published under a public domain license

  Swing low, sweet chariot

  Coming for to carry me home

  Swing low, sweet chariot

  Coming for to carry he home x 2

  I looked over Jordan and what did I see

  Coming for to carry he home

  A band of angels coming after me

  Coming for to carry me home

  Swing low, sweet chariot

  Coming for to carry me home

  Swing low, sweet chariot

  Coming for to carry me home

  If you get there before I do

  Coming for to carry me…

  Go Down Moses

  Published under a public domain license

  When Israel was in Egypt’s land,

  Let My people go!

  Oppressed so hard they could not stand,

  Let My people go!

  Refrain:

  Go down, Moses,

  Way down in Egypt’s land;

  Tell old Pharaoh

  To let My people go!

  No more shall they in bondage toil,

  Let My people go!

  Let them come out with Egypt’s spoil,

  Let My people go!

  Oh, let us all from bondage flee,

  Let My people go!

  And let us all in Christ be free,

  Let My people go!

  You need not always weep and mourn,

  Let My people go!

  And wear these slav’ry chains forlorn,

  Let My people go!

  Your foes shall not before you stand,

  Let My people go!

  And you’ll possess fair Canaan’s land,

  Let My people go!

  Chapter One

  Late August, Last Chance, Nebraska

  Heather Barnes lifted her skirt and jumped over the ruts in the road. The deep crevices were from the previous year, when there was enough rain to soften the road and wagons dragged their wheels through the mud. Once the mud dried, the ruts became permanent crevices in the hard dirt. It didn’t help that there wasn’t much rain this year to soften the ground once more and fill in the crevices. Instead, the hot, dry weather they’d suffered through this summer made the road hard as stone.

  What she wouldn’t give for rain once again.

  Last Chance sat right along the North Platte River, but even the river wasn’t enough to keep the crops watered this year. The town received its name from the time when the wagon trains were moving from the east coast to the west. By the time most passengers reached the western side of Nebraska, they were tired, hungry, and unsure if they wanted to continue.

  “Last chance,” the wagon master would cry as they approached the small settlement. Those that didn’t want to continue towards the treacherous Rocky Mountains, stopped at the tiny town along the river, and the name Last Chance, stuck. Now, the town wasn’t so small. There were several hundred people living in the small city, which was surprising since there was no railroad that came through the town.

  The train stop was several miles outside of town. From there, anyone who needed to go to Last Chance, or the small settlements to the south, could take a stage. The stage would cross the North Platte River via ferry and then go past the depot and down Stagecoach Road on its way out of town.

  Heather picked up her pace. She had just been visiting Pastor Collins at the small church on the corner of town. Pastor Collins, it appeared, was in touch with all the local happenings and because of his prattli
ng, she stayed longer than she had intended. Heather wondered if his source of information was Mrs. Purcell, who also seemed to know everything that was going on in town.

  Gossip was not Heather’s purpose for her stop there, however. She had asked Pastor Collins to pay a visit to Widow Green. Mrs. Green lived with her son and daughter-in-law, Charity. Charity Green was six months pregnant with her seventh child. As the town midwife, Heather visited Charity monthly, after which she would have coffee and a snack and listen to the elder Mrs. Green lamenting about her life. It took nearly an hour to gently extract herself from the conversation.

  The only other person Heather knew that liked to sit, sip coffee and talk was Pastor Collins. Of course, he readily complied and in fact, made immediate preparations to do his Christian duty and head to the Green farm. She hoped Charity would still be friends with her after spending several hours with the chatty pastor.

  She glanced at the watch pinned to her blouse. She needed to get to the butcher shop within fifteen minutes if she had any hope of her husband giving her a ride home. Unfortunately, the shop was still all the way across town, near the ferry dock. She should have just enough time to walk the six or seven blocks before her husband, Jackson closed shop and hitched the horses to the buggy.

  She jumped over the next rut.

  “Mrs. Barnes!” she heard her name called. A young girl, no more than eight was standing on the fence surrounding the school. She had a doll in one hand and was waving frantically to get Heather’s attention.

  “Good afternoon, Cecily,” Heather called back, waving to the child. Cecily’s mother had just given birth to her fifth child. There were some large families residing in Last Chance. Heather pushed aside that she hadn’t started her own family yet.

  There is plenty of time, her husband would tell her. Now she was twenty-seven and she often wondered if time was running out.

  Heather spied her best friend, Millie Reed, the schoolteacher approaching the fence. She put her hand up in greeting. “Stop by for coffee this week, Heather,” Millie called, steering Cecily back towards the school.

  “I will.” Heather waved as the children started to file into the one-room schoolhouse. She and Millie had met on the train when they traveled west as mail order brides.

  At that time, the concept of mail order brides was still new, and there wasn’t much information about becoming one, other than pages of advertisements imploring women to leave their homes in the east and move west to marry a stranger, sight unseen.

  Even the fear of being poorly matched, didn’t stop any of the other women that came to Last Chance. Heather felt rather daring, leaving everything behind for the great wild west.

  Both Millie and Heather were fortunate they married good men. Honest men. Some weren’t so lucky. Heather gave a quick thought to Ruby Felton, who lived on the outskirts of town. She gave a little shudder. Mr. Felton was not an amicable man. In fact, Heather was hard pressed to find anything redeemable about Mr. Felton.

  As the number of women coming to town as mail order brides increased and the town grew, Doc Woods was overwhelmed. Heather volunteered and became the town’s first midwife to help prepare the women for birth.

  She worked closely with the doctor, making sure the expecting mothers remained healthy and gave birth without complications. She was proud to say that she only lost one child in her six years as a midwife. The mother was young, and the poor babe was born with its cord around her neck. There was nothing Heather could do except contact Mr. Blanchard, the town undertaker, and arrange for the funeral.

  When they lowered the casket into the ground, she remembered telling Millie that they shouldn’t be allowed to make caskets that small.

  As she rounded the corner onto Main Street, Heather spied Otis Ignatius Graham sleeping on one of the park benches. The smell of corn liquor and perspiration rolled off him in waves. The scent was enough to make a person faint.

  Mrs. Graham must have kicked him out again the night before. It was a weekly occurrence to find Otis somewhere in town sound asleep. He would arrive home besotted, and Mrs. Graham would send him to the barn to sleep it off. Otis was an interesting character. He performed odd jobs in town, mostly to keep a few coins in his pocket for a drink. The only outfit he seemed to own was a well-worn black suit that had seen better days, and a frayed silk top hat. Heather wondered if he had any other clothes.

  He was a fixture around town, insisting that everyone he met call him by his full name, Otis Ignatius Graham, refusing to respond to anything else. Heather held her hand to her nose as she rushed by.

  As she hurried down past the rows of houses, she could hear a commotion on the porch of the mercantile. It appeared that a crowd was gathered around, and they were arguing, quite loudly, over something. The noise traveled down the street as Heather approached. She spied Jackson leaning against one of the wooden posts at the edge of the crowd. He had a piece of straw between his lips and was moving it from side to side.

  Her heart still fluttered every time she looked at him. He was tall with dark hair, a muscular build and a grin that could light up the dark. Not only was he the protector, he took his role as tracker for the town very seriously.

  She walked up and put her hand on his arm. Jackson looked down and grinned.

  “That’s it, boys,” he said, putting one leg over the railing. “I’m done.”

  “So, are you going to do it?” One of the local farmers, Ned Taylor looked at Jackson, expectantly.

  Jackson swung his other leg over the railing and jumped to the ground, his boots landing with a thud on the dirt road. “Yep. I’ll let Red Hawk know.”

  Heather wrinkled her brow. Red Hawk was from the Plains Indian tribe and helped Jackson with keeping the wild animals away from the farms and ranches surrounding Last Chance. There weren’t many that approached the center of town, but a hungry cougar could easily take down several newborn calves in a week. The townspeople relied on Jackson and Red Hawk to not only provide protection, but to provide meat as well.

  Jackson raised cattle and hunted wild game as well. As the cooler weather approached, his butcher shop would offer venison, elk and sometimes even bear.

  “When are we heading out?” one of the men called. Heather didn’t see who asked.

  “Four days. We’ll leave on the night of the full moon. Meet in the park.” Jackson waved, placing his arm around Heather’s shoulder and leading her towards the butcher shop. Giving her a kiss on her forehead, he released her shoulders and took her hand as they walked. “How are all the mommas in Last Chance?”

  “Good. I visited with Charity and her mother-in-law today.”

  “I bet that was a treat,” he laughed. Jackson lifted the hair away from Heather’s ears. “Just want to see if she talked them off.”

  Heather brushed his hand away. “I will have you know that Pastor Collins is going to go out and visit her.”

  “That will be good for both of them.”

  “So, what’s happening on the full moon?”

  “I’m leading a hunt.”

  “A hunt? With all those men?”

  Jackson shrugged his shoulders. “There is barely any food for the storehouse. A lot of men need to feed their families and without those crops, they don’t know how they are going to do it.”

  “You normally only take one or two men. How are you going to do it with that many?”

  “Red Hawk will help. Besides, we aren’t going hunting for elk or bear.”

  “Then what?”

  “Red Hawk told me of a buffalo herd where the plains meet the river. Takes several men to bring down a buffalo herd. If it all goes as planned, there will be enough meat for everyone, and a pretty price on the hides for the guides.”

  “How long do you think you’ll be gone?”

  “It will take us two days to get to the hunting ground. Once we get all the meat cleaned and loaded, I’m thinking we should be home within a week.”

  “I’ll miss you,” Heather said s
oftly.

  Jackson grinned. “Let’s get home and you can spend the next four days telling me how much you’ll miss me.”

  Heather laughed and slid her hand under Jackson’s arm.

  “I can definitely do that.”

  Chapter Two

  Heather stood in the park, shivering in the cool night air. The men were gathered around talking and checking their pack horses before they headed into the dark night. It was just after sundown, but it seemed so much later.

  She watched as Jackson checked the cinch on his horse.

  “I made you sandwiches,” she said, offering him a linen sack. “I put in what’s left of last year’s apples and a hunk of cheese.”

  Jackson took the sack and tied it to the front of his horse. “I have a sack of dried beef as well, so I think I’ll be just fine.”

  Heather looked around the park and she spied Otis sitting at the front of one of the wagons. He had his jug of corn liquor nestled under a blanket next to him. “What’s he doing here?” she asked, pointing to Otis. He was still in his frayed suit and the top hat looked completely out of place in a sea of Stetsons. Pastor Collins was talking to Otis. The words didn’t reach Heather’s ears.

  “His family needs to eat, too,” Jackson replied softly.

  “I sincerely hope you don’t allow him to have a firearm,” Heather snorted.

  Jackson chuckled in the dark. “We won’t. He’s just driving the wagon.”

  Red Hawk came and tapped Jackson on the shoulder. “We are ready.”

  “I’ll be right there,” Jackson said softly. Turning to Heather he took her in his arms and pulled her close. “I’ll miss you, sweetheart,” he whispered, his lips capturing hers.

  Heather slid her arms around his neck and held him tight for a minute, not wanting the kiss to end. She finally broke the kiss and wrapped Jackson in a hug. “I’ll miss you too. Be safe and come home soon.”

  “I always do, Heather.”