Chapter One

Margaret’s eyes darted about the train station as she entered. Her sole possession, a trunk that held all her worldly possessions was being lugged behind the sturdy frame of a young man she had paid a small sun to help her get it to the train. Everything about this made her uneasy, so she continued to look around nervously. There had been a man following her earlier. She knew exactly who he was and why he was there, too. She had been desperate to get out of New York before he came after her. She had failed.

Thanking the young man as he handed off the trunk to a man loading the train with bags, she looked around again. Surely, he wouldn’t try to harm her here in a public place. Then again, these weren’t exactly the kind of men who hesitated if they had a job to do. Their goal was simple, to do their job and get paid for it. There would be no dissuading them if they caught up to her.

A new fear gripped her. She found that now that she was hear, she was hesitant to get on the plane. Wouldn’t she just be trapped if they boarded it, as well? Spotting a rush of last minute passengers, she hurried to get lost in the middle of them where she wouldn’t be so noticeable. Her heart raced wildly as she kept a close watch for her pursuer, all too aware that the crowd around her was dissipating and she was still not concealed on the train.

“Last call! All aboard!” the gentleman at the door of the train called.

Margaret took one long, deep breath and prayed not to be seen as she rushed toward the train. She was almost there, about to step up, when she felt a hand grab her arm and whirl her around. Her heart was beating out of her chest as she found herself face to face with the face of evil. His hair was long, dark and heavily greased into place. There was a long, jagged scar visible on one side of his face.

“Where do you think you are going, Margaret? I’ve been tracking you a long way from London and now, New York. No need trying to run any further.”

She could see his big yellow teeth as he sneered at her. He might have been smiling at his good fortune of catching her, but it was more like a grimace. Now, that he was closer, she could smell his sickly perfumed odor that clung to everything around him and smothered it in stench.

“Let go of me!” she screeched at him, tearing her arm away. He had her, but she wasn’t going to let him take her so easily. Instead, she swung her heavy umbrella at him, connecting solidly right across his face before running onto the train and hurriedly showing her ticket to the man at the door.

“Very good, Madame. Please take any seat in this car only,” he told her.

Margaret nodded and rushed past him in search of a seat that wasn’t easily visible if the man who was after her came aboard. She felt like some sort of fugitive on the run. It wasn’t fair. She should be enjoying herself at debuts and courting eligible London bachelors well suited for her. Instead, she was having to run for her life.

There were shouts as a tussle ensued at the door. It was the boarder and the man. In a matter of moments, two other men came running toward the train, pulling the man away from the door and dragging him away. The boarder climbed inside and locked the doors, looking a bit bewildered. There was little doubt that he was not the first to attempt riding the train without fare, but it most likely didn’t usually result in such a heated confrontation.

Margaret leaned back in her seat, relieved that the man had been at least detained for long enough for her to get away. The more distance she could put behind her and New York, the better. If that meant she had to agree to marry a complete stranger, then so be it.

Her soon-to-be husband was sending people to meet her at the station in Billings who would bring her to him. It would be her lot in life to become the dutiful wife of a stranger. Her father would roll over in his grave! Still, he would know that she had only done what she had to do in order to survive. She tried to tell herself that everything was going to be okay, but she had to say it was a hard thing to believe.

The days seemed to last forever as she traveled across mile after mile of prairies and mountains to her destination. When she finally stepped off the train, she felt like her legs might fold under her. It was a relief to hear someone calling her name after having given false ones to so many along the way, for all the good it had done her.

“That’s me,” she said.

She beamed at him, but he just looked at her without speaking for a moment. Finally, he nodded toward a rough looking wooden wagon in which another woman was already sat.

“My trunk,” she told him, indicating the steamer by her side. He groaned and retrieved it, dragging it toward the wagon and placing it on the back before helping her in, as well.

“Hope we aren’t rushing you too much, ma’am. We’re a bit anxious to get home before night sets in. These roads aren’t the best and I don’t care to be trying to fix a wagon wheel in the dark,” he remarked.

“It’s not a problem. I’m very ready to get to my destination,” she replied.

“We’d best get going then,” he told her.

With that, he hopped up on the seat beside the woman and grabbed hold of the rains, urging what looked to be a much beleaguered horse to move along. Finally, she was headed toward a small area just outside town where she would finally meet her husband to be. She moved her hands downward to smooth out the wrinkles of her skirt and caught her fingernail in a torn piece of the fine material. Great. There was a rip in her dress. She couldn’t arrive looking like a pauper!

She noted the man glancing around at her as she reached for the small tin in which she kept sewing materials. She didn’t even remember ripping it. It must have happened when she had yanked herself away from the man and rushed for the train door. It was truly a shame. She had selected this one for her trip because it was the last one she still had of the finer things she used to own in life. Now, like everything else in her world, it was in tatters. She struggled to repair the damage as the wagon bumped along the trail.

“You could just wait until you get there to fix that, you know,” he told her.

“I’d rather have it in good order when I arrive,” she replied.

“I don’t know why. You ain’t gonna be wearing no fine dress like that one on McCord’s farm, I can tell ya that.”

Margaret looked at him and grimaced. He was a nice enough man and had been kind enough to let her accompany him and his wife to Montana for a very reasonable price negotiated by her future husband, according to the letters she had received, but he lacked any social grace whatsoever. During the few hours in the wagon, he had already been over inquisitive and she had been forced to lie to him repeatedly. It wasn’t something she wanted to do. It just felt like it was a necessity. Still, she was ready to jump out of it and take her chances among the savages.

“I would rather not turn up to meet my new husband with a ripped dress.” She smiled.

“Suit yourself. You’re liable to wind up with that needle through a finger with the way this trail is torn up is all I’m saying,” he replied.

“Oh, Jasper, leave her be. She wants to look good for her fellow. Naught wrong with that,” the woman, who Margaret assumed was his wife, told him.

Jasper shrugged and continued down the trail. The three of them bumped along side by side looking like rag dolls being tossed about. She was sure that any moment would result in hitting a hole that would send them all careening over the side. Margaret was also fairly certain that her backside was going to be black and blue by the time they arrived. Not much to be done about it, so she tried to put the thoughts out of her mind. Holding out her skirt, she resumed trying to repair the rip she had found there.

It seemed like no time had passed before they were arriving in a small farming area outside the main town. It was quite a far cry from her home of London. Margaret’s nerves were on edge as they made their way down a dirt road to a rendezvous point where she would meet her new betrothed. This was not how she perceived her life turning out, becoming a mail order bride for a complete stranger. Not only was he beneath her station, but he was American. Her father would be so disappointed. Still, she had been forced into it by her circumstances and she would have to embrace it.

Margaret’s thoughts drifted back to her time in New York. It had been difficult there. She wasn’t accustomed to work, much less the hard toils she had endured as a tutor, maid, cook, and seamstress. She had accepted pretty much any work offered to afford the meager room she had rented about a local cobbler’s shop.

It had not been a horrible life, but she had found herself always anxious. Every stranger was a potential pitfall – a tie to her former life. Then, a letter from a friend had warned her that people were looking for her. Her concern for her own safety had escalated in such a prominent place as New York, where people routinely arrived on ships from her homeland. It seemed, to her, that danger lurked around each and every corner.

“Perhaps you should get out of here,” Shelley, a young lady she had met and eventually confided in, had told her.

Like Margaret, Shelley was in hiding. She had been married to a wonderful man, someone she had grown up with as a child and pledged herself to forever. When sickness had taken him early, she had been left to fend for herself in a large estate home just outside of London. Her father-in-law, a widower, had made unwelcome advances and, when she had resisted, attempted to force himself on her. It would be his last act of a history of violence against women. Shelley had fled in the wake of her actions, knowing she would hang for his murder. Now, she worked as a nanny for a wealthy minister and his wife.

“Where would I go? All the work is here. I’m not fit for the kind of work available in other places,” Margaret said.

“You’ve never been married, aye? No children? Perhaps even a virgin, I dare say.”

“All true,” Margaret replied, blushing a bit.

“Have you considered marriage?”

“Marriage? Who on earth would marry me? I’m as common as the streets that pave the borough outside. I have nothing to offer as a dowry.”

“There are plenty of men that would marry the likes of ya. Perhaps not the society types that dwell in the city, but out west. There are plenty of men looking for wives out in the west.”

“You mean farmers?”

“Yes, farmers. A lot of them came out west to settle, to own their own land or look for gold, even. Some brought wives with them, but many didn’t and there aren’t a lot of single women of marrying age to be found out on the prairie. They won’t care where you came from. You’re fetching to the eye and you’ve a good strong back and can bear them children. That’s all they care about.”

“That sounds ghastly. What about love?”

“I found love once. You see where it got me, Margaret. You can flit around looking for your prince or you can do what you need to do in order to lead an at least tolerable life away from men that want to kill you.”

Margaret had dismissed the idea as inconceivable, but then she received a dire letter from home. Men had discovered where she had gone and were coming for her. She was running out of time and needed to get out of New York as soon as possible. It was then that she had consulted a marriage broker and begun to correspond with her soon-to-be husband.

After only a few letters, they had made arrangements for her to come out. He was unable to meet her at the station due to commitments on his farm, but had made provisions for her to ride in the Jasper and his wife instead. Margaret was uncertain about the entirety of this situation. Not only was she to marry a complete stranger, but he was a mere farmer and she would be tolling on the farm as his wife. It didn’t sound exactly ideal to her. In fact, she feared that the only reason he was seeking a wife was for the free labor. Her heart beat rapidly as Jasper pulled off to one side of the road and waited.

“Is this it? Is this where we are supposed to meet him?” she asked.

“Aye,” Jasper replied.

Margaret’s heart raced. She smoothed her dress and hair and pinched her cheeks. They had not exchanged photos, so she wasn’t clear even as to what he looked like. She couldn’t imagine ever loving someone she didn’t find attractive, but it was just something she would have to pray about if that was her lot in life. She found herself shaking as she saw a wagon come into sight. Was that him? She was on pins and needles as she waited to see. Sure enough, the wagon pulled up alongside them and a man got out, approaching on her side and extending his hand upward to help her down.

“Hello, Margaret? I’m Angus McCord, your intended,” he offered up in a surprisingly Irish accent.

“Pleased to finally make your acquaintance, Angus,” she replied with a smile.

She had to admit that Angus was quite handsome. He was tall, with wavy black hair and dark features. His shoulders were broad and he appeared to be in excellent health. However, it was hard to miss how weathered his hands and face were from what she would assume were long hours in the field. Once again, she had to consider that she would be doing the same. It would not suit her fair complexion and delicate hands very well at all.

“Well, then. Me and the Missus are going to get going toward the house,” Jasper said from behind her.

She turned to thank you them before they left and then back toward Angus, who had already busied himself collecting her trunk from the wagon. She marveled at how easily he lifted it and sat it in his own.

“Angus, holler at me if you need anything else.” Jasper called back to him as they pulled away.

“I guess you and I will get going to the house then,” Angus told her, waiting by the passenger side of the wagon.

“I’m looking forward to seeing my new home,” Margaret replied, extending her hand for him to help her up.

“Let’s get to it then,” he said, seeming a bit bashful now that they were alone.

They rode in silence back to his farm. Margaret had mixed feelings about this whole thing, but she was going to do what she must to survive. Angus was certainly an attractive man, even if a bit rugged-looking. He seemed nice enough from the little she had seen so far. Her main concern would be what he expected of her on the farm. She had learned to work for a living from her time in New York, but even that type of work wasn’t exactly the back-breaking labor like could be found on a farm.

There was still a part of Margaret that was that little princess waiting on a handsome prince to sweep her off her feet. Not too long ago, she was on the verge of that coming true. She was all set to become one of London’s most sought after socialites. There were already suitors lining up to spend time with her and telling her what a great beauty she was. It had been quite the exciting time in her young life. Life was grand, until her father grew ill. After that, things had rapidly fallen apart.

“Well, here we are,” Angus announced, pulling the wagon to a stop in front of a large farm house that looked like it had seen better days. There was nothing for miles around it but a barn, a shed and acres of land filled with crops and cattle. Margaret’s face fell as she looked over it all. Nothing about this place gave her a warm fuzzy feeling.

“Grand,” Margaret said, wondering how this was supposed to work.

She didn’t want to insult him by asking, but it was entirely inappropriate to stay in the same house before their marriage. Rather than point it out, she decided to wait and see what he had arranged. She watched as he retrieved her trunk and carried it inside for her. He headed toward a curved staircase, carrying it up as if it were nothing.

“Follow me and I will show you your room,” he called back to her.

Margaret mounted the stairs and trailed along behind him, taking note of the disrepair inside the home and the buildup up of dirt and dust. Angus was certainly no housekeeper and obviously didn’t employ one. Her hopes sank even more as she realized she would most likely be toiling equally in the house and on the farm. Any that might have been left were dashed upon entering the bedroom behind him.

“This is my room?” she asked, trying not to sound as disappointed as she felt.

“It will be our room, but for now, it is your room. I will sleep out in the shed tonight and Father Michael will marry us tomorrow at the church in town,” he told her.

“I see,” she replied, trying not to burst into tears. The room was plain with ugly, tattered quilts and discolored sheets. It was apparent from the look on his fact that Angus could see her disdain, though neither said nothing.

“Margaret, I know this place looks rough. I’ve had my hands so full with the farm that I haven’t been able to do much with it. It needs a woman’s touch and it is yours to mold as you see fit,” he told her.

“It looks like a lot of work,” she said a bit woefully.

“It is. It all is. I won’t try to make it sound easy. Come on, I will show you the rest and then we will go downstairs. I will make you some tea and we can talk about things,” he told her.

“Yes. I think we should,” she replied.

She followed him from room to room so that she was familiar with the place. Each was just as dire as the last, but she said nothing. He, too, was quiet, other than providing any necessary information such as the locations of items she might need in each room. She felt a growing sense of despair already. Her room in New York had been small, but it had been clean and well-furnished by its owner. She had been able to afford new comforts here and there. There had also been pretty cushions made from fine fabric she could ill afford, but was able to piece together from scraps left over from customers’ garments. Of course, they had been too bulky for the trip and she had gifted them to Shelley before her departure.

When the tour was done, they went downstairs to the kitchen. Margaret noted that it was also sparse, but unlike the other rooms, it was much cleaner. Either Angus actually cooked or some other woman had been doing so for him. She found that she felt a tiny bit of jealousy at the thought and considered how misplaced that feeling was when she barely knew this man. He told her to sit at the table while he sat a nearby kettle onto the wood burning stove. Within moments, it was whistling with steam so that he could pour them two cups of hot tea.

“This place must be horrible to you,” he said, looking her in the eye and speaking softly.

“I am just not accustomed to being on a working farm,” she replied.

“I know. You said as much in your letters. I have to be honest that I was concerned you might run away when you saw this place. You still might. Ordinarily, I would have selected a bride that was familiar with a farm and built for one,” he said.

It had not escaped Margaret’s notice that he had gazed over her form several times since her arrival, but not in a lecherous way. He had said nothing, but his expression said he was displeased. Most men were more than happy if she were to show them any amount of attention, as they found her to have both a pleasant figure and a pleasant face. Angus McCord didn’t seem to share that affinity for her body, a slender figure eight that she was usually proud to have, but not currently.

“Why didn’t you?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Your letters. There was just something about you that drew me in. I think that you and I will be a good match for marriage. I can teach you about farming and you can teach me about some of the finer things in life. Hardly a fair trade, I know.” He smiled.

“This house is horribly dirty and rundown,” she said.

She immediately regretted it upon seeing his expression fall. He had been smiling at her amicably and now, his eyes were cast downward at the floor. She had made him feel bad and that, made her feel horrible.

“I know. I’ve had the farm to myself for a while. Crops went bad and I had to let my farm hands go, so I’ve had it all to myself this year. I couldn’t get everything done alone and I couldn’t afford to pay anyone to help me,” he said.

“So, you thought you would get a mail order bride to do the work for free?” she said, being forthright with her thoughts, despite her momentary empathy.

“No. Well, yes. I did think that. I thought that we could help each other. You said you wanted to come out west to live and I needed someone to help take care of this place. It seemed like a fair trade,” he admitted.

Margaret considered this for a moment. Perhaps he didn’t realize the full extent of the favor he was doing her with this arrangement, but it was still an agreement she had made with him for mutual benefit. The alternative was to try to make it on her own, a single woman in a man’s land. There were women who were capable of such a thing, but she wasn’t sure she possessed the skills that were needed for such. He seemed nice enough and he was honest, much more honest that she was with him. She sighed deeply before speaking again, “I can understand that. It is just so much work, it seems.”

“You don’t have to get anything done overnight. We can work on the house as we are able. I don’t expect you to do everything. Also, with you helping me in the fields, it will cut the work down for me there and we can work on the house together. I expect us to get this place back in shape together, as man and wife,” he told her earnestly.

“Okay, Angus. We will see what we can do then,” she replied.

The chores still seemed unsurmountable, but it was just something she would have to tackle with a resolve to get it done. If this was going to work, it was definitely something that would take the dedication of both of them. She made a decision that she would do her best to make this more than merely bearable. Who knew, perhaps she might find that she liked it here someday.

“That is all I am asking. Would you like some dinner?” he asked. “I made some ham and biscuits earlier.”

“You cooked them?” Margaret asked with a smile. She had never known a man to cook.

“Yes. I have had to fend for myself out here. Most of the time I just grab some vegetables and jerky, but I decided that you might be hungry when you got here, so I cooked a little bit,” he said bashfully.

“You are a man after my own heart, Angus McCord,” Margaret said.

“I think you might just be the one to take it,” he replied.

They sat looking at one another for a moment. Angus finally broke the spell between them by getting up to retrieve the food and bringing it to the table. She watched as he unwrapped it from the towel in which he had it stored and set it between them.

“Those are the most perfect biscuits I’ve ever seen!” she exclaimed.

“Just wait until you taste them,” he said.

“It’s funny. Until I came here, I had never seen biscuits like these. You know, in London, our biscuits are different – more like hard cookies than these.”

“Same here. I had never seen them, much less made them on my own.”

“I didn’t realize when we were writing that you weren’t American,” she admitted. “You never mentioned that you weren’t from here.”

“I am American. Well, at least I am now. I came here from the Mourne Mountains in Ireland.”

“How does an Irishman end up on a farm in America?”

“Same way a London socialite ends up on one, I suppose. I left Ireland to make a new life for myself.”

“You didn’t enjoy living in Ireland?”

“It’s a long story. One I might tell you someday, but I think that perhaps we should just leave both of our stories in the dust where they’ve come to dwell for now. Don’t you?”

“Yes. I suppose that might be best.”

The conversation moved on to less personal details and things between them immediately settled into comfortable conversation as they ate. Margaret found Angus to be very intelligent and light-hearted, though there was a distinct air of being put upon about him. There was something that told her Angus wasn’t really keen on this farm, either, but was determined to make it work. It made her want to help him accomplish that rather than worrying about the work that was to be done.

“These biscuits are delicious, Angus. I am not sure I can do you justice as a cook if everything you make is this good,” Margaret told him as she finished not one, but two of them. She hadn’t eaten most of the day and was starving, so they really were divine.

“I’ll give you my recipe,” he said with a smile as he stood. “I’ll clean up here. You can get up to your room and settle in. Tomorrow is a big day for us.”

“Thank you, Angus. I will see you in the morning then,” she told him before excusing herself from the table.

“Oh, Margaret?” he called to her as she was halfway up the steps.

“Yes, Angus?” she replied, finding that she was already feeling little flutters of butterflies in her stomach for her soon-to-be husband despite how little she knew of him.

“Don’t ever tell anyone I like to cook. I’ll be ruined.” He laughed.

“It will be our secret,” Margaret replied before turning around to resume her climb up the stairs. She felt a pang of guilt at the mention of secrets. She had a huge one, but she wasn’t ready to tell him just yet. Soon, she promised herself, soon.