Mail Order Brides of El Paso (A Western Romance Book)

By Faye Sonja

Three inspirational stories of women who risked everything for love and traveled thousands of miles to the western frontier.

Part 1: The Governor's Half-Blind Scarred Bride

Meet Tara Whitter who had been born in one eye with a scar running across it, her disability made her inferior…

Part 2: The Rich Man's Orphaned and Pregnant Bride

Meet Daphne Forks who is unwanted, pregnant and widowed who is in search of a better life!

Part 3 The Doctor's Flawed Bride with a Lisp

Meet Lauren Young, who was born with a limp and a lisp, was injured in a hunting trip. She decided that maybe, just maybe, the adventure she so enjoyed was going to be the end of her!

3 parts of heartwarming mail order brides tales of love, romance, and triumph over adversity in one book.

Love on the western frontier was a rare treasure. Follow these inspirational women who risked everything to travel to the untamed West in the hopes of finding love and starting a new family.

If you're a fan of clean western romance, you will love this book.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Faye Sonja
• Release date: Feb 20, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393736226

Faye Sonja

Faye Sonja is a multi-voiced writer who aspires to use different voices in telling her stories, seeing characters coming alive through the multi-faceted writing styles give her great satisfaction. As a young girl, Faye Sonja has been fascinated with stories of the Old West, especially the theme of Mail Order Bride where a woman will find the courage to leave her homeland, take the plunge to seek out the love of her life out there in the unknown land. Such an act requires bravery, such an act requires faith. It takes a woman with strong Christian faith to step out on such a pursuit for her love. It is Faye's desire that readers will once again have the courage to believe in love again from reading her books, to be inspired through the characters in her story who through perseverance, in the face of obstacles, overcame the hurdles using that simple faith and belief of theirs. 

Book preview

PART 1

The Governor’s Half-Blind Scarred Bride

1

*   *   *

Long Island, New York, 1873

The loud church bell that made it impossible for her to sleep sounded out across the way.

Rise and Shine! Nana walked along the halls almost screaming before banging on her door, in particular.

I’m up! she hollered out, just as the door opened.

I thought I told you that you need to be at the diner by six sharp, every morning? Nana glared at her from her doorway, the cold morning air chilling her through the thin nightgown she wore.

But no one shows up until eight, and I only need fifteen minutes or so to get things ready, she said. Her statement was both an apology and an observation, but Nana didn’t care. When it came to her, Nana never cared. Had she still been a child, the old woman would have smacked her across the face, putting a stop to her back talk, but since she was nearly all grown up, that wasn’t going to work anymore.

When I come back this way, you better be out of this house.

Tara didn’t allow her to waste another word; all she needed was a quick bath and she was out the door, without so much as pausing for breakfast. She glared at the doors of her adoptive siblings, who would sleep until nine or ten before arriving at the diner, only to watch her do all the work. For twenty-eight years, this had been her life.

Outside a black carriage waited, the horse that pulled it now growing restless; her hooves clacking the ground impatiently.

Good morning, Ms Whiter, Jeremy, her neighbor’s son smiled at her.

Good morning Mr. Jenks, and how are you in this fine morning? she asked, not particularly interested but courteous nonetheless.

I think I am doing better than you are, he looked with pity at the bags under her eyes that never seemed to go away. You know you can do away with that miserable old bird, he said to her.

I think if I could I would have done so a mighty long time ago.

He looked at her and smiled as he pulled away from the curb. You just have to be a little creative. A small pinch of rat poison, mixed into her dinner will rid you of that burden, he said nonchalantly, as if plotting a murder was a commonly acceptable occurrence.

Jeremy! she exclaimed in surprise. Do not ever say something like that to me again!

I am just saying Ms. Whitter, if one has problems there are many solutions, you just need to take some time to think about it. I have thought about many a killings in my life, and if my old man continues the way he is, he just might be my first victim.

She nearly fell right off of the wagon at the words that came out of his mouth. She has got to get out of this town. And to think Nana always thought that she had something going on with this young man; this very young man who was clearly not right in the head!

She kept quiet for the rest of the journey in fear that he might want to confess his many other planned killings to her, making a vow to never take a ride in his carriage again. No... maybe that wasn’t such a good idea! He might perceive her refusal as spite and plan on her killing too. That was after all, how she was told her parents were killed. First, she had been told that her mother had been thrown from a horse and killed. And while he was helping her, the mare had accidentally killed her father too. She felt there was no truth to the story the moment she heard it. It was not until she was older that Mr. Jones told her that they had been killed out of spite. He refused to tell her much more than that and so she vowed to find out what he was hiding, but Nana had kept her so busy, that she had little time to investigate.

What an awful position she had gone and gotten herself into.

You should get a man far away from here and just go, he proposed another solution. Though she had no interest in finding a man, or trading one horrible situation for another, she had to admit, this suggestion had merits.

I will find it near impossible to find a man from far away if I never leave this place. She voiced a fact that had been a concern of hers for so long. This is why she always saved every penny she could, when she could and she had done so religiously. The days of subsistent living were long gone, so she saved.

You have a lot of foreign customers, so make do with one and leave that wretched house, or I might find myself inclined to do away with the old bird for you.

His words ended as he pulled up to the front of the diner and she stepped down quickly; her one blind eye causing her to stumble, nearly missing the step. She nearly slapped her head against the side of the carriage but caught herself just in time. In any event, she just wanted to be off that carriage, and as he pulled away, he waved his hat to her. As she opened the diner and busied herself with more work than she could handle, she began wishing for nothing but a better life.

It was only a couple minutes after ten in the morning and she had already felt like she had done a full week’s work. Tara looked around the small diner, just off one of the most popular streets in New York, and wondered if she would ever get out of the food service industry. It was becoming more and more evident to her that the hustle and bustle of New York just wasn’t for her. She wanted quaint and off the well-traveled path. It didn’t need to be quiet, because a little noise every now and then was enough to make you understand you are not alone in the world. But it needed to be more than just this...whatever this was, it simply needed to be more.

Tara! Look awake! Mrs. Hudson, the woman whose dinner she had slaved in ever since she was a child, hollered at her. When she was younger, both the diner and Mrs. Hudson held more intrigue than they do now.

She felt like hired help and nothing more. The giggles coming from the other three girls she had grown to call siblings did nothing to calm her unease. They laughed every single time Mrs. Hudson said she was to look awake. Considering she was blind in one eye, they thought it was the most hilarious thing. Tara had gotten used to it and had elected to ignore them half the time, but on days like today when she was feeling a bit down, overworked and unappreciated, it was hard. She got up from the stool in the corner she had been sitting in and walked the floor of the diner. When she had attended to all the customers, eaters and drinkers alike, she went back to her corner perch and just stared out the window. The late morning rain that speckled the sky was a constant around there. It was as if Long Island, New York knew nothing but rain and snow. In the few months that the sun dared to show its face, it was certainly short-lived, as it was quickly replaced with the cool gust of winds rippling through the leaves of the trees and carrying whatever debris littered the streets across the way.

She enjoyed the days when she could lock herself up in her room on the south side of the restaurant. But on days like today, it was nothing but longing and melancholy that wracked her mind. She needed to get out of here.

Howdy! A man called out as he entered the restaurant, seemingly twice the size of the swinging doors that led into the diner. There was a less than enthused response to his hollering, but he didn’t seem to care. He waddled in, a stick helping him move between the chairs that crowded his walking space. He had a pleasant smile on his sunburnt face and his pants were busting at the seams; just about ready to pop around his oversized belly that must have made it impossible for him to see his toes. She thought he looked like he would give the best hugs ever! And as usual, her siblings were hiding in the shadows laughing at anyone who walked in looking the least bit different than they did. They were all over twenty-one and ripe for starting a family of their own, yet here they were acting like children. She took a deep breath and went on to continue her routine.

Good morning Sir, she said with a smile as she walked up to him.

The man tipped the hat on his head at her. She smiled, though it was a common thing in these parts for gentlemen to tip their hats at women, after all it was 1873, and it was still a pleasure when it was actually done. Since the civil rights movement and the slave abolition years before, the societal norms and expectations had somewhat changed. It wasn’t so much so that people didn’t do these things anymore, it was just that more and more were losing their common courtesies.

Howdy ma’am, he said, his southern accent a melody to her ears.

She took her small order book from her apron pocket and prepared to take his order. What can I get you, Sir?

Recommend me something, the man smiled up at her, his teeth a perfect shade of white. You seem to know your way around here so treat me to whatever you think is best.

Tara looked down at him smiling up at her and it made her day. Most customers would flinch at the sight of her eye and quickly look away. She had always wondered what the big deal was about being half blind. Lord knows with the wars more people were coming home with one deficit or the other, a half-blind woman was not that big a deal in her eyes.

It was with the comfort offered by the complete stranger he was that she gladly went about her duties. She first served him the almond pie she had been trying to perfect for years. She had a vague memory of having had almond pie before she was left on the doorsteps of the diner sixteen years before. It was a memory and a fleeting taste that had stuck with her throughout the years. A taste from her memory which she had called home. Now, she tried to recreate it every week to no avail. Nevertheless, it was a customer favorite and so Mrs. Hudson, or Nana, as they all called her, gave her free rein of the kitchen to make as many as she liked.

Mmmm! Lovely! the southerner exclaimed as the pie all but melted in his mouth. Tara smiled joyfully at the appreciation he showed.

Nana wants you around the back, Sheryl her oldest adopted sibling blew up to the table and whispered to her loud enough for the customer to hear. Sheryl would always do this. She had grown up to be Nana’s eldest and her favorite, and it was a card she played well, wanting everybody to know just how much more preferred she was.

Tara smiled at the gentleman and followed the flurry of Sheryl’s long blue dress and the arrogant clicking of her heels along the cobblestone floors towards the back of the diner.

What do you think you are doing? Sheryl asked as soon as they were out of sight and earshot of the customers. The venom in the enunciation of her words was just as potent as the fire of hatred that burned in her eyes.

For a moment, Tara was taken aback by it and a tad confused as to what she had done to warrant the sudden fury of a woman’s scorn. This had been her life for as long as she could remember, and she hated every bit of it.

Where is Nana? she asked Sheryl defiantly, as the woman stared her down.

Sheryl walked to the left of Tara wanting her to have to turn to look at her directly. It was a trick she had fallen for every time as a child. A horrid one. They knew to see anything to her left she had to turn her head that way and they played on it. When she was a child, they would often have her turn to look on her left and then pelt her with food from the right. Now she didn’t make it so easy.

Nana left me in charge, Sheryl said as she stirred the small cauldron on the fire, the steam gracing her face and a small part of Tara wished she would just fall right in. Maybe then her siblings would be kinder to her and people like her. She felt instant guilt at wishing on precious Sheryl’s peril.

Stay in the kitchen! Sheryl ordered, forcing Tara’s guilt to instantly disappear.

Tara complied nonetheless, knowing if she fought the order, her horrid siblings would tattle like the perpetual children they were and she would surely find herself the brunt of Nana’s scolding.

She sat in the corner of the kitchen and looked around at the place that had seemed like her special place. The walls were an untidy splash of beige and old grease stains and the iron counter tops were dinged and cluttered with pots that were rarely even used anymore. Behind her was a moose head skeleton some hunter had dragged in when she was seven, he had scared the living daylights out of her with it. To her right was the stool she had sat on and watched Nana cook for as long as she could remember. To her left was the exit she hoped to walk through soon and never return.

There was better out there for her and she knew she had to find it.

The rest of her evening passed by in the monotonous humdrum of nothingness that had become her life, and when Nana's figure, with frizzy red hair walked through the door, her stomach churned.

Move your arms a bit quicker young lady! Nana hollered at her. The rain is set to be falling all night and I aim to be home before that happens.

Tara stifled the sigh and the urge to point out that she had done all the work and would appreciate a little gratitude. She knew it was not to come and so she mustered the last bit of strength she had and swept a bit faster.

The early night breeze that greeted her as she walked out was like the sweet taste of freedom interrupted only by the beats of the hooves that hauled the carriages up the roadway. She sidestepped a puddle and headed to the back of the market where Mr Jones, the old pastry shopkeeper would be closing up for the day.

He sold the best comfort food in all of New York–lemon cakes. Even when lemons were out of season, he had lemon cakes, and even on his worst day he had a smile for everyone that walked through the door of his tiny shop. And today was no different.

Ahhh, lovely lady Whitter, he called, pulling her in for a hug and kissing her just over her blind eye. When she was younger, she had thought him a tad too touchy, but as she grew she found that was just his way of embracing the world.

Hello Mr Jones, she smiled up at his white face etched with lines that told his story and circled by the few remaining strands of hair on his balding head.

Tired young one? He asked, peering at her over his glasses from where he stood behind his counter, gently placing lemon slices in a bag for her.

As always, but nothing more than a days work.

He looked at her unconvinced, and what he was really inclined to say, went unsaid. He took his time adding a couple other treats to her usual bag while she mulled around the small aisle of his shop. To the back where he sold body scents and a small selection of medicinal goodies, she found a bottle of lavender oil.

Helps one to sleep, Mr Jones said from behind her. And your mind looks like it could use a good rest.

He dropped the bottle in a smaller bag and handed it to her before pinching her cheeks.

Thank you, she whispered knowing he was looking into her soul while she dug for change in her side pocket.

Have you ever thought of getting out of this town? Mr Jones asked as he brushed the money she tried to give him away. She was grateful for what she could save so she didn't make a fuss. She was saving for the same reason he asked the question he’d asked. She needed to hop on a carriage headed for anywhere else, as this town was really wearing her down. She didn't tell him that though, as she suspected he already knew. She gave a more diplomatic answer.

Yes, but where would I go?

It was an honest question. The answer he provided came in the form of a newspaper ad he pointed at.

Take a look at this and see what you think. You are too good for this town. So do yourself a favor, and go marry a nice man with spectacular taste in footwear.

She furrowed her brows in confusion. Footwear?

Mr Jones chuckled and repeated himself. Spectacular footwear. You can tell the character of a man by the footwear he chooses.

She couldn’t help but smile before she looked back at the ad–mail order bride needed in Texas. That sounded far enough away, and though she had heard of such a bride, she had never quite considered becoming one, but now, she was interested in finding out more.

The night was spent in quite a deliberation over what such duties this venture would entail, and when she penned her letter of application, it was with a controlled amount of hope and excitement. She was blind in one eye, and that was something had done her absolutely no good at all, thus far in her life. Add the scar she had on her face as well, and her aesthetic deficits would outrank any other applicants.

She sent her letter anyway. Swirling her prose to woo the pants off the man she was not sure would so much as recognize her existence. Then when she was done, she got down on her knees and prayed. God had never forsaken her through her many years, and she was more than grateful because her position could be worse, but she most certainly didn’t want to stay here. She prayed for the change she so desperately needed.

*   *   *

2

*   *   *

El Paso, Texas, 1873

It had been three long hard months and nothing had changed. For Jonathan Banks, the man who ran most of Texas with an iron fist, earning him his nickname, his wives death had been his turning point in his life. He was still not sure where he was turning to, but most of the people in town, including the man who rivaled him as governor thought he was headed downhill, but not Mr. Banks. As sure as the sun rose every day, he would get past this.

Papa? His four-year-old called to him from the side of the carriage. He had been sitting quietly watching his father muse. Jonathan almost felt guilty that he had often forgotten his son was around. Maybe that made him a bad parent, if so that was really the least of his worries. His estate was of more