Prologue

IONA, IOWA 1885

Leona rung out the washcloth she’d just dipped in the lukewarm water basin and leaned down to wipe sweat from her mother-in-law’s forehead and neck. It seemed to provide a moment of relief until Mary’s brow furrowed again in obvious discomfort.

Leona didn’t know what else to do. Cholera had swept through the town, and within weeks had taken nearly everything from her: her mother, first, followed quickly by her father-in-law, and then Tony, her betrothed.

Leona held back the ache of tears in her throat. It had been nearly two weeks since she’d sat at Tony’s bedside, gripping his hand and praying desperately as he’d breathed his last, shaky breaths. The small house that usually felt cozy and welcoming with its light wood interior, lacy cream curtains, and rocking chairs that Tony had built with his father now felt suffocating, too small to hold all of the sickness and grief that had unfolded there. Leona was almost glad for the distraction of nursing Mary. She was sure she’d be bedridden with grief otherwise.

Except Mary wasn’t getting better, Leona finally had to admit to herself. She could tell by the bloat of Mary’s face, the gray tinge to her skin, and the fact that she was so weak she couldn’t lift a cup to her lips to drink. Leona tried not to think about it, comforting herself with the repetition of caretaking and prayer. It pained Leona to see Mary’s beautiful blonde hair so matted with sweat, to see her sweet round face distorted, and her usual rosy cheeks so devoid of color. Especially since there seemed to be very little Leona could do to actually change anything about what was happening.

Mary was closer to Leona than Leona’s own mother had been, always warm and generous and loving. If… When Mary succumbed to the sickness, Leona would be entirely alone. While Leona felt like she couldn’t carry any more pain, she knew that this final loss would be the last, devastating straw. Her stomach ached with the possibility of it.

Leona stood to fetch fresh water that would hopefully be cooler, gasping when Mary grabbed her hand to stop her. It was the first time in hours that Mary had shown any real responsiveness. A flutter of hope tickled Leona’s chest as she dropped back down on her stool and gripped Mary’s hand in return, careful not to squeeze too hard.

“Mama?” she asked. She’d taken to calling Mary that within the first few months after she moved into the Downs family home, eager to cultivate a warm and loving relationship with her future mother-in-law. “Do you need something?”

Mary swallowed; Leona picked up the cup of water she’d been keeping fresh and guided it to Mary’s mouth, carefully patting dry any stray dribbles. Then, she tucked the quilt up to Mary’s chin. It was a beautiful quilt, cream and blue and gold, one that Mary’s mother and grandmother had sewed as a wedding gift for Mary. Its top edge was now yellowed with sweat after days of fever.

The quilt was supposed to have been passed down to Leona when she married Tony.

“You take such good care of me, Leona,” Mary said, her voice raspy after days of near silence, and days of tears before that. “And you helped me take such good care of my sweet Tony and beloved Frank.”

Leona hastily wiped away the tear that slid down her cheek. More important than anything else, she needed to be strong for Mary right then, and giving into her grief wasn’t going to help either of them.

“Of course, Mama.” Leona stroked her thumb across Mary’s clammy knuckles. “You know I’d do anything for you.”

“I know,” Mary agreed, eyes filling with tears. “You’re a good girl. And a loving young lady. Which is why I wanted to make sure you were taken care of, too. When I’m no longer here to take care of you.”

A creeping sense of foreboding settled in Leona’s belly, though she wasn’t entirely certain why. “What do you mean?”

“You deserve to be provided for and, hopefully, happy again one day.” Mary paused to catch her breath, and Leona didn’t dare break the silence. “Hear me when I say: I did this because I love you, and I know you wouldn’t do it for yourself.”

Leona’s heart pounded in her chest; this sounded too much like the beginning of a goodbye…

“When Dr. Carlson visited after I first fell ill, after Tony and Frank…” Mary closed her eyes and twisted her lips shut, taking another deep breath before she continued, “Well, I suspected I might not get better, either. You were outside taking care of some of the wash, and I gave him a letter to post.”

“Oh?” Leona asked.

Mary swallowed with some effort. “It was an ad for a bride out west. I made sure to portray you as the good Christian woman that you are and explained a little bit of your circumstances so that folks will know you’re a prize and not a cast-off.”

Mary wanted her to be a mail order bride? Wasn’t it bad enough that Leona was losing everyone she loved without having to traipse across the country and marry a complete stranger? She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. It felt like a betrayal to the memory of Tony, like giving in to this illness and admitting defeat when there was still hope.

In her shock, she tried to pull back a little. “But Mama—Tony just—”

“I know,” Mary said, squeezing Leona’s hand harder. “I know, sweet girl. But he would want you to be taken care of and to be happy. He would be the one to do that if he was still here, but now that he isn’t, he wouldn’t begrudge you this chance.”

Leona didn’t stop the tears or try to wipe them away. She bowed her head over Mary’s hand and cried. “I don’t know if I can do that.” She refrained from saying she wasn’t sure if she even wanted to try.

Mary smiled sadly. “I know, Leona. I’m not going to force you to do anything you truly don’t want to. Just… please promise me that you’ll leave your heart open to it. There’s not much I can do to take care of you now, but this is my last hope to try.”

Mary started coughing, and Leona hurried to place a comforting hand on her shoulder, which was thinner than it should be, bony under Leona’s fingers.

“All right, Mama. I’ll consider it. You just rest now,” Leona said, although she wasn’t sure how she could possibly move on without it feeling like a sharp betrayal to Tony—to the entire Downs family. But if this was what Mary truly wanted, Leona would try.

Hopefully this would be a fool’s errand, anyway. Mary might be just fine, and in years to come they’d laugh about the time Mary had almost signed Leona up to be a mail order bride. There was still time for everything to turn around. All hope wasn’t lost quite yet.

Chapter One

IONA, IOWA 1885

Leona sat at Mary’s kitchen table cutting up fruit to make a pie with, a stack of unopened letters that she kept glancing at sitting near her on the edge of the table. Over the past few days since Mary was laid to rest, Leona had been keeping herself as busy as possible getting the house back into order. She knew the way Mary liked to have her home—tidy, cozy, and always with a warm meal over the fire—and while there was relatively little Leona could do to truly honor Mary, she could at least do that.

So, she’d scrubbed the wooden floors, beat the rugs outside on the line to rid them of any dust and lingering sickness, and kept the few windows open for days to air out all of the linens that were too delicate for a hearty scrub. There was still some knitting by the fireplace that Mary had abandoned when the cholera first struck the household, and Leona sat in the rocking chair each night to work on it.

And if it meant that she didn’t have time to read any of the letters that had arrived in the post from Mary’s ad, so be it. Leona didn’t need them, and she didn’t plan to read a single one, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to throw them away, either.

In some way, it felt like the last bit of maternal care she’d ever receive, and she wanted to hold onto that warm, safe feeling for as long as she could. Besides, a small part of her had to admit to an almost morbid curiosity about what the letters contained.

A knock at the door startled Leona out of her quiet contemplation, and she set down the knife in her hand and hurried to answer it. Mr. Beverly, one of the town’s solicitors, stood at the threshold in his Sunday suit, looking grim and serious. He had a stately mustache and an even statelier nose, and Leona was instantly intimidated by him. She’d seen him around town before, and had met him once or twice, but mostly had very little cause to speak with him.

“Oh, hello, Mr. Beverly. Is there something I can help you with?” Leona cautiously asked.

“Hello, Ms. Johnson. Might I come in? I have some important matters to discuss with you that shouldn’t be put off,” he said in a professional tone.

Leona’s heart plummeted to her stockinged feet. “Of course, please do come in. I have some water heating over the fire; would you like some tea?”

Mr. Beverly declined, so Leona led him to the kitchen table and moved the fruit aside, making room for Mr. Beverly to set his briefcase on the worn wood surface.

“How are you holding up, Ms. Johnson?” Mr. Beverly asked conversationally as he started opening his briefcase.

Leona took a moment to smooth her hands over the table and push back the threat of tears that seemed to spring up any time she thought too closely of all she’d lost. Once they started, it would take ages to get them back under control.

“As well as can be expected, I suppose. Trying to keep everything in order and thanking God for each new day,” she replied, her voice shaking with the attempt to come across as upbeat and positive, betraying her broken heart. Luckily, Mr. Beverly didn’t seem to pay it much mind.

“Good, good.” Mr. Beverly nodded. Then, he pulled a sheaf of papers from his briefcase and spread them out in front of him. “I wish I had some better news for you, Ms. Johnson. But I need to speak with you about both this home and that of your mother’s.”

He shuffled some of the papers around instead of looking at Leona, as if he’d rather be anywhere but here, having this conversation. Leona’s heart sunk.

“Oh?” Leona asked, mostly to buy herself a moment before she heard what was sure to be disastrous news. She’d known that her mother had been struggling to pay for the house—had been for years—but Leona had thought she might be able to take over the payments. Maybe she could take in mending projects and perhaps work at the schoolhouse or the library in town to make ends meet. One look at Mr. Beverly’s face told her these plans weren’t going to come to fruition.

“I’m sorry to be the one to break this to you, but your mother’s home is being taken back by the bank. Your mother was nearly six months behind on payments, and unless you have the means to pay that back in its entirety, the house will be repossessed this Friday.”

Leona blinked at Mr. Beverly. They both knew she didn’t have the means. She felt terrible that her childhood home was being reclaimed by the bank, but she was also cautiously grateful that this was the house that had always felt the most like home to her. It wasn’t ideal, and there would be additional obstacles to overcome, but she could stay here just as well. Maybe Mr. Beverly had opened with the worst news, so he could land a softer blow in the end?

“As far as this house, it has been brought to my attention that Mr. Downs has a distant cousin who stands to inherit the home. He has made contact with me and will be here to take possession of the home in two weeks’ time. I don’t know if he plans to move in or to sell, but it doesn’t seem as though he’s looking for a tenant.”

Leona swallowed and wished she had made tea after all so she could have something to occupy her hands, or so that she could pour the hot liquid all over Mr. Beverly’s papers in defiance. She immediately felt guilty for the thought—the man was just doing his job—but she felt fiercely protective of what she considered to be her family’s home and gutted at the realization of another loss.

“What am I supposed to do?” Leona asked, feeling backed into a corner.

Her mother may not have been particularly nurturing, but before Leona had moved in with the Downs family, she’d still had someone there to guide her and provide for her, tell her what to do. And, once she was part of the Downs family, she’d had more support and guidance and love than she’d known what to do with. She’d never had to figure out such a momentous, life-changing obstacle on her own.

“I’m very sorry, Ms. Johnson. I know this must be overwhelming, especially after all that’s happened in the last month for you. Many other families in town are struggling with similar decisions. Know that you’ll be in my prayers,” he said, sounding sincere and saddened by the news he’d had to impart. He offered her a brief, strained smile before moving to close his briefcase. “In any case, I do have more work to do, so I can’t linger. But I trust you’ll contact me should you have any need?”

“Yes, sir.” Leona knew she should offer some sort of pleasantry, but her thoughts were racing too quickly to allow her to move past her shock and devastation.

Leona absentmindedly led him to the door. The evening sky was darkening, and Leona knew it was time to light candles before the house was swallowed in darkness. However, as soon as the door was closed, she sank to the floor, unable to hold back her tears another moment. The release was almost painful as she hiccupped around a particularly strong sob.

How could this be her life? She hadn’t had the most promising start, with a single mother who had to work multiple jobs to make ends meet, but she’d gotten a second chance with Tony and his family. She couldn’t believe that it had all been taken from her.

What was she going to do? Leona knew she was well and truly desperate now, and that her only saving grace might come in the foresight Mary had had in sending the ad into the paper. No matter how distasteful it might be to Leona, she had precious few options in front of her but to wed.

The thought felt like an unforgiveable betrayal to her beloved Tony, whose grave hadn’t even had a chance to grow over with grass yet. They’d been engaged since they were sixteen and had planned to wed this spring. He’d always been sweet to her, a true gentleman, bringing her trinkets from the market and flowers from the fields surrounding the house at the end of a long day’s work so she’d know she was always on his mind and heart.

She didn’t think she could ever marry someone for love—she would never love again—but for survival, she would. She’d promised Mary as much, and she knew that Mary was right: Tony wouldn’t want her to live destitute and alone out of some misguided sense of loyalty and love. He’d want her to do what she needed to so that she could have a stable life, protection, safety, and a family.

Wiping the tears from her face and collecting her skirts, Leona gathered herself and walked back to the table, pulling the pile of letters to her. They were all sorts of sizes—some with thick, textured papers, others thin and delicate. Some were in envelopes and others were simply folded over and sealed with a bit of tape. Part of her couldn’t believe that there were seven just from the initial batch. She took a deep, shaky breath before sliding her finger under the edge of the first envelope.

She carefully unfolded it, taking in the blocky ink words.

Dear Ms. Johnson,

I saw your ad in the paper and wanted to send a letter with my interest. I have a farm in need of some help; it is just me and my ward (a seventeen-year-old boy my father took in), and we need a woman’s touch in the home.

I do want to be upfront as I don’t want to be unfair to anyone: while this would be a legitimate marriage in the eyes of God and the law, I am not especially interested in romance.

I hope to hear back if this is an arrangement that sounds amenable to you.

Best,

Victor Smith

Leona stared at the letter for a while, the words eventually blurring as tears welled again. It wasn’t what she’d hoped for in her life, but what she’d hoped for she could never have again. And wasn’t this really exactly what she wanted from this? Someone she wouldn’t be leading on with hopes of romance, someone who would provide for her and whose home she could contribute to? An honest life, where she wouldn’t be replacing Tony…

As soon as she had read the other letters—all of which mentioned hope for love—the decision was easy. She got a piece of paper from Mary’s writing desk and with a trembling hand, dipped her pen in ink to begin her reply to Victor Smith.