“Why do you hate Christmas so much?” she asked.
“Because it’s easier than loving it alone,” he admitted.
Holly never dreamed of escaping her cruel stepfamily to play the role of a “wife” in a stranger’s Christmas scheme. But when a mail-order bride ad promises her the chance to leave her past behind, she agrees. “I don’t need love,” she tells herself, but when a baby shows up on their doorstep, she can’t ignore the pull to create a real family with him…
Clayton has spent years hiding from the world, thinking Christmas will never be a time for joy again. But when his sister announces a Christmas visit, determined to find him a wife, he’s desperate to prove he doesn’t need her meddling in his life. Holly’s arrival throws his life into chaos. “I told you, I don’t celebrate Christmas,” he says, as she hangs another wreath. “Then maybe it’s time you started,” Holly replies…
When the baby’s dangerous grandfather threatens everything, they must decide: will they fight for the family they’ve begun to create, or lose everything in a season of new beginnings?
She came as his wife, though love wasn’t the plan,
A stranger, a partner in a desperate man’s stand.
In the heart of the season, where miracles start,
They’ll find Christmas is more than a day—it’s the heart.
November 15th, 1870
The Childs Home, Waterbury, Connecticut
Afternoon sun filtered through the branches of an old oak tree, casting strange shadows across the backyard. Holly’s knees ached, and she shifted her weight from one to the other as she scrubbed linen in a large wooden basin. Her fingers, red and raw from the harsh soap and cool November air, moved deftly as she scrubbed each piece before wringing it out and rising to clip it onto the line. She worked mindlessly, her body simply going through the motions. The piles of laundry seemed endless. The sun had barely risen above the horizon when she’d started working.
Nearby, Nellie, the family’s maid, hummed softly as she scrubbed a shirt against the other washboard. Her hands worked rhythmically, in time with her tune. With all of her attention on the fabric in her hands, she hadn’t spoken for a while, making Holly feel lonely, despite the company.
Figgy, Holly’s scruffy brown terrier, lay sprawled off to one side, snoozing idly in the sunlight that peeked through the clouds. Every now and then, he lifted his head to sniff the air and to check that Holly was still nearby. Upon spotting her, he’d rest his head back on his paws and let out a small puff of air in satisfaction.
“Someone’s got it easy, haven’t they?” Nellie remarked with a gentle chuckle as Figgy opened his mouth in a long yawn.
Holly managed a faint smile. “At least one of us does,” she replied, glancing affectionately over at the dog. Her smile left her face as quickly as it had appeared, but warmth settled in her heart as she watched her canine best friend.
Nellie’s kind eyes softened. Her wrinkled and weathered face stretched into a wider smile. She looked down at the laundry in her hands and then back up at Holly.
“Holly, dear,” she said, pausing her work. “Is there something on your mind?”
Holly quickly shook her head. The last thing she wanted was to seem like she was trying to shirk her responsibilities. Especially to Nellie.
Nellie sighed. “Holly, I can read your mood like a book. There is no point in trying to hide it. Whatever is the matter?”
Holly’s shoulders slumped. She’d known Nellie for a long time, and she was right. Nellie had always been great with people, and that had always meant that she could determine exactly how someone was feeling. Especially Holly.
“I’m just… feeling a little sorry for myself,” Holly admitted, her voice barely a whisper.
Nellie nodded. A sad smile appeared on her face as she picked up another piece of laundry. “I can understand that,” she said. “You work harder in this house than pretty much anyone else. Every hour of daylight, I see you working. I’m not sure this place deserves it.”
Holly kept her eyes on the laundry in front of her. She did work all hours of the day. She had no other choice. Her hands gripped the wet linen, and she inhaled sharply.
“I guess that’s just how it is,” she said, still not meeting Nellie’s gaze.
“It shouldn’t be,” Nellie said, her voice taking on a strength that hadn’t been there before. “It ain’t right. You’re supposed to be a part of that family, and yet you’re out here working like… like a servant. But you’re not a servant. I get paid for this work. You just… well. You’re family. They should treat you like it.”
Holly had accepted her position with her adopted parents a long time ago. They saw her as different, as separate from them and their children.
“I don’t think I’ve been a part of that family for a long time,” she said. She squeezed the water out of a blouse into the basin, then pushed herself up from the ground. Her knees felt like fire as they straightened, but she pushed the pain aside. Stepping over toward the laundry line, she hung the blouse up. The wind caught in the fabric, making it billow out like a sail.
“You were once, though?” Nellie said, her head tilting to one side.
Holly nodded. Her eyes started to sting with tears, and she sniffled. “Once upon a time.”
“What happened?” Nellie said. “How did you end up with them? I’ve always wondered.”
Holly’s gaze drifted toward the old holly tree that stood at the edge of the yard. Its dark green leaves prickled against the autumn sky.
“They told me that I was left on the doorstep. Under that tree,” she said, her voice trembling and distant. “It was Christmas Eve, and they thought they weren’t able to have any children of their own. They thought I was a gift, sent by fate or by God, or something like that…” She shrugged and shook her head. “They were so happy at first. They took me in, called me Holly—after the tree—and for a while, everything was perfect.” Holly spoke as if she were remembering a tale she’d heard a thousand times, one that had turned sour with time.
“As a young girl, I thought I was so lucky. To have been found by people as kind as them. To have been given the chance to have a real family, even after being abandoned by my real mother…” She paused, and her throat tightened. Swallowing back more tears, she inhaled. “But when they had their own children, it all changed.”
Nellie nodded slowly, her eyes wide as she listened. “I’ve seen how differently they treat you and your sisters.”
“They’re not my sisters,” Holly replied quickly. “Sisters wouldn’t treat each other like this.”
Nellie’s mouth opened as if to say something. Then it swiftly shut again. Holly could feel the sympathy in her gaze. Discomfort settled in Holly’s chest. She tucked a rogue blonde curl behind her ear and shrugged. “Anyway, I do what I can now to stay out of the way. There’s no point in trying to engage with them, in hoping for more. I’m just… well, I try to just be grateful to have a roof over my head.”
Nellie’s auburn brows furrowed, and she stood up from her own basin. Stepping over to Holly, she placed a hand on her shoulder.
“You deserve more than that, child,” she said firmly, her voice thick with emotion.
Before Holly could respond, there was a creak from behind them, and the back door swung open. A tall figure appeared in the doorway, his face all angles. He had thin black hair that barely covered his whole head. He stared out at the two of them, his face stern and creased with irritation. He gestured for Holly to come inside.
“Holly,” he barked. “Inside, now.”
Holly winced at the sharpness in his tone, but she did as she was told. Her father barely bothered to engage with her. She’d learned that when he did want her, she was usually in trouble or he was going to ask something of her that her mother wouldn’t dare. Wiping her hands on her apron, she made her way towards the house. As soon as she moved, Figgy leaped to his feet and yapped happily, chasing her inside.
The three of them stepped into the dimly lit kitchen, but the warm smell of bread baking did very little to soothe the chill that Holly’s father’s voice had stirred within her. There was a pit of dread forming in her stomach, worsening with each second of silence between the two of them. She wanted to know what he wanted. The longer she waited, the worse the tension in her body. He led her through to the dining room. Sitting at the head of the large oak dining table was a man she was relatively familiar with. A client of her father’s: Mr. Jenkins.
Geoff Jenkins was older than her father. Or at least, he looked that way. He was a portly man with thinning gray hair and a beady, unsettling gaze that always lingered on her for too long. He’d been a business associate of her father’s for as long as she could remember. She’d always hated his visits. He went out of his way to sit beside her, to shake her hand hello and goodbye, to place his slimy lips on the back of her hand. He’d ask her about her day, then stare at her lips as she replied. This time, his presence felt even more menacing than usual.
Her father stepped over to the table and took a seat. Clearing his throat, he looked toward her but refused to meet her gaze.
“Holly,” he said, his voice tight. “Mr. Jenkins and I have come to… an arrangement.”
Mr. Jenkin’s face broke into a sly smile. Holly’s heart sank in her chest and an acidic taste filled her mouth. With wide eyes, she flickered her gaze between Mr. Jenkins and her father.
I don’t like the sound of that, she thought.
Mr. Jenkins leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and his chin on his fists. A smug smile curled at the corners of his mouth, and his eyes narrowed. “You’re a fine young woman, Holly. I’ve known you since you were just a little girl. Now, you’re of age. It’s time you settled down. Got out of your parents’ hair.”
Holly’s stomach turned. She looked to her father, desperation in her eyes. He briefly met her gaze, then darted his eyes away.
“Mr. Jenkins has kindly offered to take you as his wife,” he said. “The wedding will be on Christmas day. It’s a good match, Holly. You will be well taken care of, and he has offered a significant sum for your hand.”
Holly stared at the two of them, her mind racing. She couldn’t believe it. Mr. Jenkins was easily three times her age, and she’d heard of his business practices. He was said to be cruel. The thought of being his wife—his possession—filled her with dread. She began to tremble, her fists clenching at her sides.
“No,” she said, her voice quiet.
“What do you mean, no?” her father asked. He glanced to Mr. Jenkins at his side.
“I won’t do it,” she said, her voice trembling, but firm.
Her father’s face darkened. He slammed a hand down on the table, making Figgy jump and yelp. “I’m not sure you understand,” he said. “You don’t have a choice, Holly. We’ve given you food and home for all this time. It’s time you showed us some gratitude and did something for us.”
Holly’s jaw fell open, and she fought back a laugh of disbelief. “Gratitude?” she repeated, her voice rising. “For what? For being treated like a servant? For being cast aside? For being made to sleep in the attic?” She shook her head. “I will not be gifted to some old man like a possession.”
Her father’s eyes narrowed, and she could see the fire in them. “You will marry Mr. Jenkins, or you will find yourself without a roof over your head. Those are your options. Now, I know you’re a little daft, girl, but you’re not this stupid, are you?”
Holly’s breath caught in her throat. Suddenly, everything she had known for years, all settled in. There was no love for her here, no care, no compassion. She was alone.
She swallowed back tears, and without so much as another word, she turned on her heel and rushed out of the kitchen, scooping up Figgy as she went. Her mind went blank as she ran. She didn’t know where she was going, or whether she’d ever come back. She just knew she couldn’t be there, not while Mr. Jenkins was.
She raced out of the back door. The cold autumn air stung her flushed cheeks, but she didn’t stop. Tears began to race down her face, and she wiped them away with the back of her hand. A part of her wondered whether it was finally time to just go. She’d known for a while that she couldn’t stay for much longer. She’d known it was getting worse and worse. She needed to leave, to get away from the people who had taken her childhood from her, who had mistreated her for so long. As she ran, she wondered whether she’d ever go back. She had nothing. She hadn’t even stopped to collect clothing.
Now isn’t the time to make decisions. I just need to get somewhere safe. Then I can stop and think.
Once she was across the property lines, she started to slow. Holding Figgy against her chest, who nuzzled into her neck, she kept going until she was out of breath. Her heart pounded relentlessly in her chest as she approached the center of town. Eventually, when her body could take no more and the streets started to fill with people, she slowed down. Taking a second to catch her breath, she chewed her lower lip.
What am I going to do? I can’t go back. Not ever. But I have nobody. No money. No family. No friends.
Her mind shot back to the day that she’d found Figgy. He’d been completely alone, a puppy abandoned in the cold winter snow. She’d scooped him up, and he’d shivered in her arms. Wrapping her arms around him, she’d carefully carried him all the way home, given him her bed, and fed him until he was warm again. He’d had nobody. He’d been completely alone. But God had brought her to him.
I just have to wait for God to show me what’s next.
She wandered through town, her mind still racing. She still had no plan, and the sun was starting to hang low in the sky. Just ahead, she spotted a sign hanging from a small building that read The Waterbury Chronicle. It was the local newspaper office. A thought struck her. Maybe there was an advertisement in the paper: some position nearby, a job as a governess or a tutor, even a waitress or a maid. Anything that would give her a way out. Without hesitating, she pushed open the door and went inside.
The scent of ink and paper wrapped around her, and the sound of clacking typewriters seemed to echo around the space. Immediately inside the door was a small desk with a thin, short man standing behind it. He looked up from his work, peering at her over his glasses.
“Can I help, miss?” he asked, his tone polite.
“I, um, I’d like to have a look at a paper. At the classifieds.”
The man raised an eyebrow and handed her a folded paper. “Page three.”
Holly nodded and quickly leaned forward to grab the paper from his hand. She stepped aside and opened it, her eyes scanning the page numbers as she flicked through to the right double-page spread. She looked over the page, passing by advertisements for tailors, farm equipment, and boarding houses. But she saw nothing that would give her the escape she so desperately needed.
Then, as she reached the end of the page, a tiny advertisement caught her eye. It read:
Mail-order bride wanted for homestead in Yellow Banks, Illinois. Must be of sound mind and body and willing to work. Inquire with Mr. Clayton Moreau at this address.
Holly’s heart jumped into her throat as she read the ad. A mail-order bride? It wasn’t something she’d ever considered. It felt absurd, to run from one marriage only to jump into another. But in that moment, it also felt like a lifeline. A sign. A way to escape her family and the slimy Mr. Jenkins and the life he wished to condemn her to.
Illinois was a long way away, and she’d heard stories of the West. It’d be a big change, but she couldn’t help but wonder whether a big change was exactly what she needed.
Taking a deep breath, she turned back to the man at the desk. “Excuse me?” she said, her voice a little more sure than the first time she’d spoken to him. “Could I borrow a pen and some paper?” She gave the man a polite smile. “I’d like to write a letter.”
He nodded and handed over the necessary supplies. Placing Figgy down for a moment, she quickly took them and returned to the paper. Without thinking too much more about it, she started to write.
Dear Mr. Moreau,
My name is Holly Childs, and I am writing in response to your advertisement seeking a wife. I have read your request carefully, and I think that I am a good fit for the position. I am a hardworking woman who is very accustomed to running a household. Should you find my application acceptable, I would be honored to travel to Illinois and become your wife. Please let me know how we may proceed.
With respect,
Holly Childs
Staring at the letter in her hands, she realized she had nowhere to send it from. It was all well and good sending a letter off to Illinois, but should Mr. Moreau be interested in hiring her, he had no way to do so. She needed somewhere to stay, at least until she found a way out of town. Holding the folded letter in her hand, she stared down at the newspaper before her.
Her eyes landed on a local advertisement for a boarding house. It was on a large property outside of town, and it was looking for someone to work in exchange for board. Her gaze flickered between the letter in her hand and the advertisement. She thought for a moment. She didn’t have to flee all the way to Illinois and marry a stranger. She could stay in town, at the boarding house. Everything was familiar there. She still knew people; she could still see Nellie.
But her father would find her. If he’d made a monetary arrangement with Mr. Jenkins, he wouldn’t stop until he had her. She needed to go somewhere else. Somewhere he would never look for her.
Send the letter, she told herself. Move away. Take the chance. The boarding house will do for now.
She scrawled down the address on the back of her letter and then handed it to the man at the desk.
“Could you by any chance send this to the address listed?” she asked, a small smile on her face. She had no reason to expect the man to agree, but if he didn’t, she’d have to wait around for much longer. She held her breath, waiting for him to respond.
Fortunately, the man took the note and nodded without so much as looking up from his work. He placed it on his desk and, looking up over his glasses, gave her a brief smile that seemed to say “please leave me to my work.”
So, she did. Letter sent, she turned away from the desk and headed back out the door. As the cold air sent a chill down her spine, she felt, for the first time in a long time, a spark of hope somewhere deep within her. She walked through the town, heading toward the boarding house, Figgy walking alongside her. She found her mind was already drifting westward, toward the unknown life that could be waiting for her in Illinois. Holly didn’t know what the future held, but whatever it was, it had to be better than the life she was leaving behind.
22nd November, 1870
The Moreau Ranch, Yellow Banks, Illinois
A wet and cold mixture of rain and hail fell in heavy, slushy drops onto the hard earth, turning the dirt path leading from the barn into a slippery, dangerous mess. Clayton pulled the brim of his hat lower to keep the icy water from trickling down the back of his neck. His boots splashed with each step as he trudged through the muck. His friend and foreman, Eli, walked a few steps ahead, holding the reins of two horses they’d just brought in from the field.
Clayton couldn’t help but feel that the weather was suitable. It was gray and damp, and the sky had been wiped clean of any joy or life—which was exactly how he felt. He’d been grumpy all day, and no matter how hard he’d tried to keep it from Eli, he knew it hadn’t worked. They’d been walking in silence for too long, which meant that Eli was trying to think of how to address the tension in the air. He really wished he wouldn’t, but he’d known Eli long enough to know that simply wasn’t the kind of man he was.
“You look like you’re about to spit nails,” Eli said, turning to look over his shoulder and slowing his step. His breath puffed out in little clouds as he spoke. “What’s got you so riled up?” He pushed his long dark hair away from his face, slicking it back under his hat.
Clayton shrugged and grunted in response. He wasn’t in the mood for a conversation. He was cold and wet, and he was sure that if he took his attention off his feet for too long, he’d fall straight on his rear.
“Is it the weather?” Eli continued, undeterred by his silence. “Or could it be that your sister wrote you?”
Clayton stiffened. Of course, he knows, he thought. With a sigh, he shook his head.
“She’s coming to visit for Christmas,” he muttered.
Eli chuckled, his bright blue eyes twinkling. “Well, ain’t that a good thing? Family’s supposed to visit on Christmas, y’know?”
“Not my family,” Clayton snapped. “She hasn’t visited in years. Didn’t even ask. Just sent a letter saying she’ll be here at the start of December, and now I’ve got to just drop everything and entertain her and her family.”
Eli shook his head, but the grin remained. “Sounds like typical Linda to me. She’s always done things her way, regardless of whether it was convenient.”
“Exactly,” Clayton huffed, swiping at his face as a fat drop of ice-cold water slid off the brim of his hat.
He could picture his sister already, always prim and proper. He was a brute in comparison, always had been. She’d arrive on his doorstep in her fancy city clothes, her fancy husband on her arm, their gaggle of children all dressed in equal finery—and she’d look at him with disappointment.
“She’s just going to pester me about everything,” he said, half talking to himself. “She always does. She asks why I never visit, why I haven’t settled down yet. Even in her letters, it’s always the same thing: Clayton, why don’t you have a wife yet? Clayton, don’t you want children? Clayton, aren’t you lonely?”
Eli raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. Clayton caught his expression and deepened his frown.
“That’s what this is really about, isn’t it? You don’t want to hear about how you’re still a bachelor.”
Clayton inhaled sharply and grimaced. “It’s not just that,” he finally said. “I may… Well, I may have made it worse.”
Eli turned to look at him, a quizzical expression on his face. “Made things worse?”
Clayton looked down at his muddy shoes and shrugged. He hadn’t thought he’d ever have to admit this to Eli. Or to anyone, for that matter. With a resigned huff, he looked back up at his friend. He felt his cheeks flush.
“Last year, she kept pestering me about marriage again. Letter after letter after letter.” He crossed his arms across his chest. “So, I told her I was married.”
Eli blinked in surprise before bursting out into laughter. “You what?” He shook his head. “You told her you were married? Clayton… you’ve done some foolish stuff, but this has got to be one of the funniest.”
Clayton scowled, though he couldn’t entirely disagree. It had been foolish. It was a moment of impulsivity. He’d just wanted his sister to stop nagging him for once. “It shut her up for a while,” he mumbled.
Eli laughed even louder. “Well, I’m sure she won’t be quiet when she shows up expecting to meet your wife!”
“Yes, that’s my problem,” Clayton said. “I had to do something. So, I went and found someone.”
Eli’s laughter died down, but his ridiculous grin remained as he raised a questioning eyebrow. “What do you mean you ‘found someone’? You can’t just pluck a wife out of thin air.”
No, but I can get a mail-order bride, Clayton thought. And hope that she understands when she gets here.
A pang of guilt radiated across his chest, but he ignored it. He was doing what he had to. Returning his attention to the conversation at hand, he rolled his eyes. “I didn’t pluck anyone out of anywhere. I found a woman who is willing to pretend to be my wife. I’m going to pay her.”
Eli’s jaw dropped. For a moment, Clayton thought he might be too stunned to speak. Then the laughter started up again, even louder than before. “Wait, no, sorry. You’re telling me you’ve hired someone to pretend to be Mrs. Clayton Moreau? Goodness me, I hope this woman knows what she’s getting into.”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’ve done,” Clayton said, ignoring his friend’s laughter. Well, kind of. “She’s on the train from Connecticut as we speak. I’m supposed to pick her up this evening.”
Eli ran a hand through his hair again and shook his head. “Oh, this is rich. You, of all people, paying someone to pretend to be your wife, just to please your sister? I can’t wait to see how this plays out.”
“Listen, Eli, it’s not like I had a lot of options,” Clayton shot back, feeling the familiar knot of anxiety pulling at his gut. The whole plan was absurd, but it was the only thing that he could think of.
Eli managed to stop laughing. “All right, all right,” he said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “So, you’re picking up this woman today. Who is she? What’s her story?”
Clayton nodded. “All right, all right. Her name is Holly. She’s agreed to play the part as long as needed. She’s from Illinois, and it seems like she really needed the opportunity.”
Eli nodded thoughtfully. “Well, you best hope she’s good at acting.”
“She better be,” Clayton replied with a sigh. “Otherwise, Linda is never going to let me live this down.”
“You know I still won’t, right?” Eli said with a small chuckle. “Especially if it all goes wrong.”
Clayton shot him a glare. Eli simply laughed again. “All right, all right, I’ll drop it. Just make sure the girl doesn’t run away with all your cattle!”
Clayton let out a quiet laugh despite himself. “I’m paying her enough as it is. She won’t need no cattle,” he replied.
Eli snorted, and the two of them fell back into comfortable silence. They continued trudging through the slime that was only worsening the longer the sleet continued. Clayton felt a little relieved, having spoken about the bizarre situation he’d managed to get himself into, even if he hadn’t been completely honest. He often tried to keep things to himself, only to find that a problem shared was a problem halved as soon as Eli made him open up. Even this time, sharing just some of what was going on took a weight off of his shoulders.
There was a reason that the two of them had remained friends for so long. Their relationship just made sense. Eli was the goofy, happy-go-lucky character that Clayton, forever a little grumpy, needed. Even though he’d never admit it out loud.
A faint, unfamiliar sound pulled him from his thoughts. It drifted past, carried on the wind, soft, but distinct.
A baby?
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This looks like a good story
An interesting story!!
Looking forward to read the rest. Westerns are my favorite.