Treasured Christmas Brides Read online

  “Yes, ma’am, those—”

  “Tsk. I’d send you back, but there is too much to do here.” The woman thumped her cane against the polished floorboards. “You must get things packed and ready for the movers. Now that you are leaving, the reverend says we will start for my niece’s home in just four days—after Sunday’s church picnic of course.”

  “Leaving?”

  “Get the lunch together, then I believe you should start with the parlor knickknacks.” The old woman sank to a kitchen chair. “Oh, how I ache. I so look forward to settling in Phoenix. Retirement must be a lovely thing. No more ridiculous expectations placed on an old woman…and man.” She sighed.

  “But Mrs. Chiles, about where I am to go in two days…” Charlotte choked on the fear that suddenly rose in her throat. For two years she had relied on the Chileses’ generosity to give her a home in exchange for her work as a housekeeper. She had no means to support herself.

  Raising a frail hand as if shooing a fly, the old woman said, “Oh child, the Lord is blessing you with a ready-made family. Though love escaped you when your dear Oliver was killed, you are going to be comfortably provided for all in perfect timing for our departure.”

  Charlotte’s heart went back to race speed. “Family?”

  “Why, yes. A man with a child is in need of a wife.” She smiled. “And he’s a Monroe. I met his grandmother Aggie back some thirty years ago. What a dear lady.” Mrs. Chiles’s body slumped against the chair as she seemed to tire of the topic. “The man will be here on Friday to take you to the boat.”

  Arctic blue eyes and wavy, dark brown hair rushed to her memory. She covered her warm cheeks with her hands and asked, “Boat?”

  “Girl, must you persist with these one-word questions? Of course a boat. You will be living in Alaska with half the rest of the country who have been struck with gold fever.” Mrs. Chiles rose to her feet, aided by her cane. “I must survey what needs to be done. Oh, so much work remains.”

  Left alone with still more unanswered questions, Charlotte quickly found a chair to drop into. Though she was twenty and without parents, did that give others the right to decide her future?

  This couldn’t be happening. She knew she would need to find a home and a job when the Chileses moved to Arizona, and she had been praying for an answer to her problem. But this didn’t seem natural—marrying a stranger, mothering a motherless child, moving to Alaska.

  Still, what choice did she really have? If Reverend Chiles had approved of the man and the marriage plan, it must be worthy of her trust.

  Four and a half years ago she had promised to marry Oliver McKnight, but could she really be ready to be a wife—and mother—in two days?

  Alaska. It seemed like another world to Charlotte. A place of wild and sensationalized stories. But it was where she was bound with all her worldly possessions stuffed into two large trunks along with new purchases of wool-lined boots and fur-lined gloves.

  She sat on the edge of the berth, happy to have a small sleeping compartment to herself away from the three other women onboard who were rumored to be adventuresses. She could feel the stress along her shoulders, the consequence of the morning’s rushed activities.

  With all the shopping, packing, and goodbyes to be done in two short days, there had been no time for Mr. Monroe to come to dinner and give Charlotte a more clear idea of what to expect from her new home. She still didn’t know if the man’s child was a boy or girl. And worse, she didn’t know exactly when her nuptials would be performed.

  She didn’t know if she’d ever learn to demand answers from her elders. It wasn’t in her upbringing. She just assumed that Reverend Chiles would perform the wedding vows Friday morning when Mr. Monroe came for her.

  He arrived while she finished the breakfast dishes, and her trunks were promptly loaded into his carriage. When Charlotte ventured to ask about the wedding, Mrs. Chiles made her feel like a child.

  “Don’t slow the man down, you have a boat to catch. Mr. Monroe has all the marriage fixings worked out for when you reach Alaska. Don’t you, sir?”

  Mr. Monroe only frowned at the old woman and stepped closer to Charlotte. He towered over her, and she had to look up into his eyes. Eyes the color she could only guess an Alaskan glacier might reflect.

  He cleared his throat. “Miss Vance, please accept this locket as a token of your engagement.”

  As he placed the fine, oval-shaped locket in her hands, she noticed his own hands were rough—not the hands of a high-society gentleman. They were strong hands, testifying to honest work.

  No more was spoken on the subject as goodbyes were said, and Charlotte left the fresh flowers she had gathered for a bouquet in a vase for Mrs. Chiles. Mr. Monroe had remained quiet all during the drive through the long, steep streets to the wharf, and Charlotte had concentrated on keeping her tears behind a dam.

  She fingered the gold locket that hung around her neck. Though heavy and ornate, its beauty charmed her.

  Oh Lord, give me strength to do as Thou wouldst lead. I’ve done as my elders have told me, but, Lord, if I should get off this boat now and fend for myself, I will. I’m scared of the unknown—but mostly of being alone. Oh, dear Father…

  Suddenly Charlotte felt the need to get out of the cramped room and go on deck to view the docks and city. She threw her cape over her shoulders and made her way to the top deck. Rushing to the railing, she clung to it as she felt the small steamer shift and pull away from the dock. She scanned the crowds of people on the wharf who cheered on the Klondike stampeders even as they hurried back to work in preparation for another boatload to leave. A few dozen men lined the Dawson Belle‘s decks to wave back, but the hull of this boat mainly carried supplies to sustain those already living in the northern regions.

  “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable below deck and away from the chill wind off the bay?”

  Charlotte already recognized the deep baritone voice as Mr. Monroe’s. She closed her eyes and tried to relax. This mellow voice would greet her every morning.

  “Miss Vance?”

  Slowly she turned to face him. She couldn’t explain how, but she already liked him. He exuded confidence yet with a bit of bashfulness. “May I ask your name, Mr. Monroe?”

  “My name?”

  “Yes, don’t you think we should be on a first-name basis now?”

  He cleared his throat and leaned against the rail. “Well, it’s Gabriel, but friends just call me Gabe.”

  She liked it and couldn’t stop a grin, but as she looked up into his face, she saw something in his expression. A question? A regret?

  He looked away. “Would you like me to walk you to your room?”

  “No, thank you. Not just yet. Please tell me a little about Alaska.”

  “Well…” He cleared his throat again. “It is large and wild. Majestic mountains tower around the little valley where Dyea sits with only a small opening out to the ocean. It rains a lot.”

  “Is Dyea a large town?”

  “Sure. It’s been fast doubling in size. It’s located just south of Chilkoot Trail, which so many are using to get to the Klondike.”

  “But there is gold in Dyea too, right?” The reports she heard made it sound like gold was all over the ground in Alaska.

  “Nah. You gotta get over the mountains to start looking for gold.” He crossed his long legs, throwing more of his broad weight on the rail. “I’ll be heading there before long myself—after you’re settled, of course.”

  Suddenly it seemed like her lungs couldn’t draw air. “You mean…you are going to leave me in Dyea…alone?”

  He stared at his boots. “Philip will take good care of you. You’ll know that as soon as you meet him. He has a real prosperous store there. In fact, he leases this steamer for hauling his goods.” He smiled at her; though as she kept staring at him, his brows began to pucker.

  “Who is Philip?”

  He drew himself up straight. “What? He’s my brother…younger brother.” H
e began to relax. “I’m sorry if I forgot to give you his name in all the rush and excitement of finding you. I know you’ll like him fine, and everyone can’t help but love his little Sarah.”

  Charlotte swallowed hard against the tightness in her throat and chest. “His daughter?” she whispered.

  “Yes, that’s Sarah.” His tone warmed at the mention of the child. “She just turned two. Her mother died of a fever.”

  She turned back to the rail, clinging to it for support. Lord, it was bad enough that I have no other option than to marry a stranger, but to marry a man I haven’t even set eyes on is …

  Charlotte gazed out at the shrinking harbor. Her heart sank as she knew her destination had been confirmed. She would go to Alaska and become Mr. Philip Monroe’s wife.

  The silence of a woman could be such a deafening noise. What had he said to stifle her questions and dim the light of interest in her eyes?

  Gabe lifted his hand. He wanted to touch her shoulder. He wanted to offer her comfort and reassurance, but…this was his brother’s bride. Right now his feelings weren’t very brotherly.

  She drew him like a moth is drawn to candlelight. It was a crazy sensation. Gabe had had his one true love and watched her be taken from him. He knew Charlotte had also lost her fiancé. Love like that didn’t strike twice.

  He sat down on a nearby crate. The deck had cleared of all but a few men who were smoking together. He gazed at Charlotte’s back, so stiff yet so delicate.

  Gabe swallowed hard and searched for something to say…anything. “Lottie, would you like to sit down?”

  She turned her face toward him. “What did you call me?”

  “I thought since you asked for my first name that I could call you Lottie,” he mumbled.

  “Charlotte is my name.”

  “I know. I just thought Lottie was fitting.” He looked up to gage her mood.

  She sighed and moved to sit beside him. “I’ve never had a nickname. My father always called me Charlotte, and I was always the proper preacher’s daughter.”

  “You don’t think Lottie is a proper name?”

  She gave a laugh as she leaned back against the steamer. “It’s fine.”

  “When did your father die?” he asked, enjoying the relaxed tone the conversation had taken. “About two years ago.”

  “And your fiancé?”

  She turned pain-filled eyes to him. “Four years ago, in Colorado while mining for gold.” A tear suddenly sprang down her cheek, and she dashed her fingertips against it.

  “I’m sorry. I’d…um…offer you a handkerchief, but I don’t carry anything decent for a lady.” Silence cloaked them for a couple of minutes as they gazed at the water around them, then he offered, “I can understand your loss. I lost my fiancée.”

  Charlotte looked at him, and somehow he relished having a connection he could offer to her pain.

  “She died?”

  “Well, no. She…” How could he explain such a painful event? “Aileen’s father and mine did business together. My father has full or part ownership of a lot of businesses in and around San Francisco—even Philip’s business in Dyea. He got the bulk of my grandfather’s wealth that came out of the ‘49 gold rush.”

  Gabe took a focused breath. “Anyway. Aileen’s father got into a tight business situation, and my father initially helped him. But then my father withdrew all his money when the Panic hit, and Aileen’s family went broke. They lost everything, and her father has even been under question of the law. He refused to let us marry and made her marry another wealthy man. Someone who wasn’t Blackie Monroe’s son.”

  He chanced a look at Charlotte. Her blue eyes reflected his pain. Her soft features held understanding and sympathy. It gave him strength to continue.

  “If I make money in the gold fields, I can pay back what my father owes the family…and do it without my father’s money supporting me.”

  She nodded. “It’s not your debt, but I understand.”

  “I can accept now that marriage isn’t for me with the loss of Aileen,” he continued. “Just as you have resigned yourself to marry someone you have never met after losing your love.”

  She stared at him with her mouth agape. Then seeming to shake herself, she closed her mouth and looked away. She pulled her cape closer around her neck.

  Again he felt like he had not worded things right. “Lottie?”

  She shook her head but turned to him. “Do you think God would allow love to be stolen away from us and never give us something to fill the hole?”

  “I don’t know if God gets all that involved in how we feel.”

  “Oh, but if you believe in Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit, you must believe that God wants us to know His love and cares about even the smallest part of our lives. Only through His comfort have I managed my grief over losing Daddy and Oliver.” Her eyes pleaded for Gabe to understand her faith.

  “I believe and all, but…”

  An icy wind whipped around the steamer. This conversation weighed on his soul more than talking about Aileen. It took too much effort to ponder God’s role in his daily life, and he just wasn’t ready to think that deeply about it.

  “Perhaps we should go below deck and get settled in before the lunch hour,” he suggested.

  She gave a resigned nod and rose. He tucked her arm around his. She fit comfortably alongside him. He knew he could get used to her presence. This woman and her role in his life must be handled with care.

  Gabe spent the next several days both trying to avoid the feelings Charlotte sparked in him and reminding himself of why he was taking her to Alaska. A man—his younger brother—needed the comforting presence of a woman, and an adorable little girl needed a mother to hold and love her. Still he was drawn to Charlotte’s company and lured into more talks about relationships with others and God. He didn’t want to think about these things, yet the conversations seemed to come naturally when he was with her.

  For two days he found enough excuses to stay away from her, hoping the time and space would clear his thinking. Then they entered the Inside Passage. The waters were calm, protected by islands to the west. Rocky, forest-covered shorelines stood sentinel on the east. Occasionally she pointed out to him a bald eagle, a sea lion, or a pod of black-and-white killer whales. He took excursions off ship at Victoria, British Columbia, and Mary’s Island.

  One day, though, four kegs of beer fell and broke in the hold, and crates of goods had to be shifted, sorted, cleaned, and dried. He smelled like a brewery, and he couldn’t understand why his brother agreed to supply the foul stuff to numerous saloons.

  Then just north of Fort Wrangell a storm churned up the waters and blew rain and seawater in against the small vessel.

  Chapter 2

  Charlotte lay on her bed trying to keep as still as possible. The steamer tossed back and forth on the waves, up and down, back and forth. With each dip of the boat, the walls of her room seemed to bend closer to her. Her cape and dressing gown swung away from their hooks. Her trunks slid into her small walkway.

  She had never experienced seasickness or claustrophobia before, but the combination of motion, illness, and enclosure tore at her sanity. She threw back the blanket and searched for a means of escape. The room had no window to open, only a glass-covered hole for light, and no storage areas in which to contain the shifting items on every inch of space.

  It seemed to take several minutes for her to pull herself off the bed and secure a footing on the floor. She tried to straighten her skirt and blouse, then reached for her cape. The pitch of the ship hurled her against the door, and she knew she would be sick. As soon as the ship settled again, she threw her door open and stumbled into the passageway. Gripping the handrails, she tugged herself up the stairs to the deck level.

  Water ran everywhere, from sky to deck, from sides to sea. Charlotte shuffled to the railing, and the sight of rolling sea brought her sickness out. She clung to the railing with each pitch of the boat. Then someone slid int
o her back, and his long arms came around her.

  “Lottie, what on earth are you doing out here?” Gabe nearly yelled against her ear.

  He smelled like fermented yeast, and she became sick again. He held her as she recovered. “I’m so sorry you’re sick, but you have to go below. The storm isn’t safe.”

  Only a moan could get past her throat. He pulled her tightly against him and moved them away from the rail. Getting her back to her room took several minutes of zigzagging their path with the roll of the steamer. He not only smelled like a drunk, he walked like one.

  Finally he helped her ease down to the edge of her berth, removed her wet cape, and wrapped her blanket around her. He brought her washbasin to the bed and rearranged some items that had been tossed askew. Then he went to the door. “I’ll come back in an hour or so and check on you.”

  “Nooo,” she whined. “Don’t leave. I…hate to be sick…alone.”

  Slowly she moved her aching head to look at him. He drew his hand across his face and into his wind-tossed hair, seemingly deep in thought. In time, his shoulders relaxed, and a smile tugged at his mouth when he looked at her clinging to the edge of her bunk.

  He tried to help her lie down, but she resisted. “I n–need to sit up.” She tugged at his arms. “Sit down…hold me.”

  He jerked back. She couldn’t look at him. Her head swung like a weighted pendulum. She plucked his arm again, and he eventually settled down beside her.

  “You stink,” she said.

  Sharp laughter filled the small space, and his body shook. “I got caught in a spill—not a binge.” He removed his jacket and tossed it to the far side of the room, sending the majority of the smell with it. Then he leaned back against the cold wall of the steamer and tucked her against his side.

  Gradually she felt herself begin to relax. The heat radiating from him soothed her battered body. She even felt sleep teasing her senses. Perhaps the storm would pass.

  When she awoke, she was alone and cold. The boat had ceased its erratic pitching, and with it, her stomach had settled; but her heart beat a dangerous staccato rhythm of unwarranted emotion. She missed Gabe, missed their conversations. Oh Lord, how can I marry his brother with these feelings warring in me?