To Love a Stranger
by Colleen Coble
Copyright © 2012 by Colleen Coble
First published in the United States by Barbour 2000
TO LOVE A STRANGER is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidences are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental. The Publisher does not have any control over and does not assume responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 978-1-937515-62-1 (Kindle)
Cover Design by Kim Killion
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Dear Reader,
I’m excited to be able to share my first series with you! This is the 4th book in my Wyoming series. I adore marriage of convenience stories because I love to demonstrate the fact that love is a choice we make every day. Bessie is one of my favorite heroines. Hope you enjoy reading her story!
Drop me a note at
[email protected] and let me know what you think. I love hearing from my readers!
Love, Colleen
For my beloved husband, David Coble, whose many loving qualities serve as a model for all my heroes. I love you, Dave!
Contents
prologue
one
two
three
four
five
six
seven
eight
nine
ten
eleven
twelve
thirteen
fourteen
fifteen
epilogue
prologue
Fort Bridger, Utah Territory, 1868
“You are not going to marry some chit you’ve never set eyes on, Jasper! I don’t care what kind of promise you made.”
Jasper Mendenhall winced at the strident tone in his sister’s voice. Still, he was glad to hear her say his name in any kind of voice. Just a few months ago, he was certain he had no hope of ever seeing her again. Sent to different homes from the orphanage, their reunion had seemed a lost dream. But now at long last they had found each other.
He glanced at his sister. Her face had flushed bright with the intensity of her emotions and nearly matched her red hair. He resisted an urge to tell her to mind her own business. She was just showing sisterly concern, but it still grated a bit. He wasn’t some callow sixteen-year-old youth. “I know her quite well, Jessie,” he said calmly. “We’ve been corresponding for over six months. I appreciate your concern, but I must ask you to stay out of this.”
Clay Cole, Jessica’s husband, put a restraining hand on her arm. “Calm down, sweetheart. It’s not good for the baby for you to get upset.” He guided his wife to a nearby chair. Once she was seated, he turned to Jasper.
“I can’t say I’m in favor of this idea, either. What do you really know about this woman? She could say anything in a letter. What is her name again?”
“Bessie. Bessie Randall. She’s twenty-five and lives in Boston.”
Jessica sniffed in disdain. “Huh! A spinster. She’s probably homely as a fishwife, Jasper.”
Jasper took a picture from the pocket of his uniform jacket. “See for yourself.” He handed the picture to Clay. He glanced at it, then gave it to Jessica.
She stared at it and sniffed again. “All right, she’s beautiful, and that makes it even worse. How can you even contemplate taking a lovely young woman out to the Arizona Territory? She looks refined and gently reared. Have you even told her what kind of conditions she’ll be facing at Fort Bowie? Besides, something must be wrong with her if she’s so beautiful and still unmarried. That pretty face probably hides a shrew.”
Jasper and Clay looked at one another and grinned.
Jessica’s flushed cheeks darkened even more, and she had the grace to look embarrassed. “I can see what you’re thinking. And if it was once true in my case, that just goes to prove what I was saying. Now answer my question. Did you tell her where you were going to be stationed?”
Jasper shifted his gaze from Jessica’s accusing glare. He hadn’t told Bessie everything; he wanted to surprise her. He knew her well enough from her letters to know she craved adventure and would welcome the challenge. But what if Jessica was right? Was it proper to take his beloved to such a wild and untamed place?
“I thought not.” Jessica’s voice held a trace of satisfaction. “Jasper, think about this before you do it.” Her voice softened. “You should wait until you find the right woman. I want you to have what Clay and I have. Don’t settle for second best.” She sent a tender glance toward Clay, and he smiled back just as tenderly.
Jasper wanted what they had, too. And he was certain he and Bessie would have that, given time. He already loved her fire and spirit, the tenderness he found in her letters. He longed for a home and children. “It’s already done, Jessie.”
Clay and Jessica both looked at him sharply. He shrugged and looked away. They might as well hear it all. “She went through a proxy marriage and sent me the papers. I did the same and sent her the marriage lines and tickets last week. She’s my wife, and I expect you to make her welcome when she gets here. I expect her within the month.” He said the last firmly. Jessica could still be a bit of a termagant if she thought someone was taking advantage of her precious family.
Jessica rose to her feet and stared at him. The color drained out of her face. “Jasper, what have you done?”
one
Boston, Massachusetts, 1868
“What are you doing in my room, Bessie?”
Bessie Randall heard Lenore’s shrill voice as though from a great distance. The lines of writing wavered before her eyes, and the hand that held the letter shook violently. This letter couldn’t mean what it said. It just wasn’t possible. She stared at the words again, then closed her eyes briefly before turning to face her sister.
She held out the letter. “Can you tell me what this means, Lenore?”
Lenore’s pale, lovely skin flushed with color. She shifted her gaze guiltily and swallowed hard. “What are you doing going through my things?” Her tone of outrage didn’t ring true. Her blue eyes filled with tears, and she bit her lip.
“Don’t try to change the subject. I was looking for my ostrich fan you borrowed for church last week.” Bessie waved the letter in the air. “And it’s a good thing I did. I would have never known about this. What is the meaning of this?” She desperately hoped there was some explanation other than the obvious.
Lenore gulped. “It’s rather difficult to explain,” she began. She wound a raven lock around her finger and avoided her sister’s gaze.
“I should say so! There seems to be train and stage tickets here with the letter, too. Tickets to Fort Bridger, Utah Territory—in my name.” Bessie gave an incredulous laugh. Dakota Territory! That was the last place she would want to go. She had heard about the Indian uprisings and bloodshed out there.
“If you would just let me explain,” Lenore said with a pleading glance. “It started so innocently.” She took a deep breath, then blurted it all out. “Jasper Mendenhall sent a letter to Marjorie’s agency six months ago. I had just started volunteering there, and it seemed so romantic to help lonely bachelors in the West find mates. Jasper wanted to correspond with a young woman who was interested in marriage. I saw his picture and was quite taken with him.”
Bessie t
ook several deep breaths. It wouldn’t do to get angry. “I knew no good would come of you helping out at that agency. Our cousin never had a lick of sense, and you can be just as bad.”
Lenore colored and bit her lip at the reprimand. “I knew Mother and Father would never allow me to correspond with a man, especially a soldier. . . so I used your name.” She wrung her hands and turned away from her sister’s accusing glare. “I know it was wrong, but it seemed harmless at the time. I intended to break it off. Truly, I did. But it just escalated. He asked me to go through a proxy marriage and join him. It sounded so exciting, Bessie. I didn’t think. I just did it.” She turned back and stared at Bessie with pleading eyes. “You know how I’ve longed for adventure, how I’ve dreamed of going west.”
“But this, Lenore!” Bessie’s heart pounded, and dread congealed her stomach. She didn’t want to think about this tangle or how on earth she was going to get her madcap sister out of this scrap.
Lenore glanced at her sister anxiously. “Since then I met Richard. I want to marry him, not some man I’ve never met.”
Lenore had done some thoughtless things, but this was beyond the pale. To lead a man on like this—and a soldier serving his country, no less! It was despicable. Tears burned in Bessie’s eyes. Would Lenore never learn to think before she leapt into things? “Are you telling me that you married this man? And falsely, too, since you aren’t Bessie Randall.”
Lenore couldn’t meet her gaze. “No, Bessie. It means you are married to Jasper. If you contest it, I–I think I could be arrested for forging your name.”
Bessie gasped. The strength ran from her legs, and she sat on the bed. Taking a deep breath, she looked from her sister back down to the tickets and letter. She drew another shuddering breath. How was she to extricate Lenore and herself from this predicament? “I see,” she said tonelessly. “You didn’t want to marry a man you’ve never met, but you’ve married me to someone I’ve never heard of before today.” She shuddered. “What am I to do?” she whispered. “What can be done?”
“Please don’t tell Mother and Father about this,” Lenore said. “Father said if I got in any more trouble, he would ship me off to Uncle Matthew’s in Rhode Island. I can’t leave now that I’ve met Richard. I intend to marry him.”
Did Lenore ever think of anyone but herself? Bessie loved her younger sister, but this was too much. She didn’t know if she could forgive her this. “How could you, Lenore? How could you bind me to some man I’ve never met?” She scarcely heard her own words, though. Her thoughts raced, trying to uncover a plan, any plan, to unravel this tangle.
Lenore burst into noisy sobs. “You hate me!”
Bessie pressed her fingers between her eyes where the persistent throbbing pulsed. “Oh, do hush, Lenore, and let me think.”
Her sister’s sobs tapered off, but Bessie could still feel her anxious gaze. Lenore turned away finally and began to fuss with her hair. Bessie stared at her sister. She was so lovely. Translucent skin, thick black hair, and a tremulous mouth that drew men like bees to honey.
Bessie paled in comparison. Her own hair was merely mousy brown, and the rest of her features were only echoes of Lenore’s beauty. Lenore had beaus by the dozen, and although already twenty-five, Bessie had yet to receive her first proposal of marriage. And she might never receive one. She wasn’t ugly, she thought. Just ordinary. Quiet and ordinary.
Lenore turned from the looking glass and gave her a coaxing smile. “I know you would like Jasper, Bessie. And you’d make a much better soldier’s wife than I would.” She crossed the room and sat on the bed beside Bessie. “You know Father says I shall not be allowed to marry until you do. What if you never marry? Richard may weary of waiting for me.” She bit her lip, and tears hung on her lashes. “I don’t mean to be cruel, but you’re already twenty-five. Perhaps this is your opportunity.”
And perhaps it was. How picky could he be if he was willing to marry by proxy? Maybe he would not really be expecting a beauty; simply a wife. He was expecting Bessie Randall, and she was Bessie Randall, not Lenore. If she didn’t go, she would be breaking a promise made in her name. Her reputation and honor would be smirched. She supposed the marriage could be annulled or whatever one did in this kind of situation, but she had to be honest with herself. She longed for a husband and children of her own. Lately, she had questioned whether it would ever happen—or if she would die a spinster.
“I shall never marry a nonbeliever, Lenore. What of this Jasper? Have you inquired about his faith?” That was the most important thing. She could deal with other problems, but marriage to a nonbeliever would be intolerable.
Her sister brightened. “Indeed I did, Bessie. Jasper is a fine Christian man. His brother-in-law is a minister at Fort Bridger.” Hope gave a sparkle to her eyes.
A minister’s brother-in-law. It sounded good. Bessie pressed her fingers against the bridge of her nose again. Was this the Lord’s will for her? She couldn’t decide now. “I shall pray about it, Lenore. Say nothing to our parents until I make my decision.” She started toward the door, then hesitated. “Have you a picture of this man? And might I see a letter or two?” Not that his looks were really important, but ill humor often showed in the expression.
“Of course.” Lenore hastened to her dressing table and opened her jewel box. She extracted a photo and a bundle of letters tied with pink ribbon. “He is really a very nice man, Bessie. I think the two of you would deal splendidly together.”
Bessie took the packet of letters and the photograph. “I shall be the judge of that, Lenore,” she said. “Your judgment leaves much to be desired.” She hardened her heart against the hurt expression on her sister’s face and hurried to her own room.
Shutting the door behind her, she opened the balcony door and stepped onto the small porch overlooking the ocean. Settling onto the single chair, she turned her attention first to the photograph. Jasper was not what Bessie would call handsome, but his face was interesting. A nose a bit too large for his face with a hump in the middle as though it had been broken, thick brows, and a square jaw gave his face character. And there seemed to be a bit of humor in his eyes and in the tilt of his lips. The rapid pace of her heart stilled a bit. Character was all-important. She laid the photo on the table, then untied the ribbon on the letters. She began with the oldest.
By the time she was halfway through the letters, she knew she had to go. She could not disappoint this man. She had a heart of love to give, and this man seemed willing to accept a wife with open arms. Besides, the deed was already done. She was bound to this man, and she would see it through. If he chose to put her away once he saw her, that decision would be upon his head. She would go west.
§
Jasper paced the rough boardwalk outside the stage depot. The stage was never on time, and today was no exception. It should have arrived early this morning, and here it was nearly five. His heart pounded at the thought of finally meeting his lovely bride. Her letters had filled him with delight, for she had a fire and passion for life. He flipped the cover from his pocket watch again, then sighed and slipped it back inside his pocket.
Stepping into the street, he looked down the rough trail to the east. Was that a cloud of dust? Shading his eyes with one hand, he squinted. It was the stage. He stepped back onto the boardwalk and slapped the dust from his breeches with his hat. What would Bessie think when she saw him? Would she be disappointed?
The lathered horses stopped in front of him, and the stagecoach driver began to toss luggage from the top of the stage to the numerous waiting hands. Someone opened the stage door, and the passengers began to disembark. A corpulent man with a handlebar mustache climbed out first, while the stage springs groaned in protest at his weight. Next came an older woman with a baby in her arms, followed by a slight young woman in drab brown.
Jasper waited eagerly for several minutes, but no one else came out. He approached the stage door and peered in; two men in black suits were the only occupants. His heart f
ell. She didn’t come! The telegram she had sent had said she would be on this stage. He felt a stab of alarm. Was she all right?
The young woman in brown averted her eyes when he turned back around. She had been staring at him, and the flush on her cheeks told Jasper she was aware of her bad manners. He had to pass her to reach the telegraph office next to the stage depot, and she cleared her throat when he reached her side.
“Excuse me, Sir. Are you—” She raised grave eyes and searched his face. “Are you Jasper Mendenhall?”
He stared down at her. She was a tiny thing, barely five feet tall, and slightly built. She wore a striking hat with an ostrich feather that dangled over one eye, but such an elegant hat looked out of place on such an ordinary woman. A tendril of light brown hair had escaped its pins and straggled against her pale cheek. Her gray eyes were enormous in her pinched face.
How did she know his name? A sense of unease swept over him. “Yes, Ma’am. I’m Jasper Mendenhall. May I assist you in some way?”
Her lips trembled, and her face became even more colorless. She swallowed hard. “I–I’m Bessie. B–Bessie Mendenhall. Your wife.”
Jasper blinked and then the breath left his lungs. This couldn’t be his Bessie! This little mouse of a woman? His Bessie was vibrant with life. She was dark and striking; she wasn’t this little brown wren. Was this some kind of terrible joke?
The young woman saw his shock, and tears flooded her gray eyes. She fished in her reticule but couldn’t seem to find what she was looking for. “I am so sorry,” she whispered. “Have you a handkerchief?”
Dazed, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. He looked her over again, trying to find some resemblance to the photo he carried next to his heart. Perhaps the nose and mouth were similar?
She dabbed her pale cheeks, then straightened slim shoulders and craned her head to look into his face. “Is there someplace more private we can go to discuss this matter?”