Mail Order Melanie Read online

  Mail Order Melanie

  Brides, Widows, and Secret Babies

  Ginny Sterling

  Contents

  Introduction

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Afterword

  Also by Ginny Sterling

  Praise for Ginny Sterling

  What can I say except I absolutely loved this story, I laughed out loud and I shed emotional tears.” – Amazon Reviewer (Remember Home-Lawfully Gifted)

  “This series has quickly become one my favorites. Love the storyline, love the characters, love the back stories and love the sweet romance between each couple.” – Amazon Reviewer (Remember Love)

  “What an amazing start to a new series, Healing Hearts, a clean contemporary and extremely emotional tale. I loved the characters, the angst, and the honest discussions, along with the chemistry and interactions. The people are broken, but with encouragement, friendship, and the added benefit of animals, it is the beginnings for healing.” – Amazon Reviewer (Remember Hope)

  To my husband… my heart

  Ginny Sterling Newsletter

  Introduction

  Melanie Wesson was a widow in a small town that suspected her of disposing of her husband. One poorly timed argument witnessed by the crowd had her dubbed guilty long before she could ever be proven innocent. When she sees an ad in the paper, she jumps at the chance to give her and her unborn child a new chance at life.

  Chance Mitchell lost his wife unexpectedly and was left with an infant to raise on his own. Unsure what was needed to care for a child, how to move past his grief, and burdened with a constant reminder of his loss, he does the unthinkable: he requests a mail order bride.

  Can they look past their sorrows and focus on the blessings before them, and still yet to come?

  Chapter 1

  “Herbert Haversham Wesson! You mealy-mouthed worm!” Melanie shouted angrily, unable to hold back her anger any longer. He was so unsympathetic to her fits of nausea and misery. The sheer volume of vomiting she’d done was destroying the muscles in her stomach and now when she threw up, she was leaking on herself.

  It was mortifying!

  She was now crying, vomiting, and wetting herself like a child. She’d had enough of her husband’s mouth and his attitude; the patronizing publicly was just the last straw. She was miserable and had been violently ill for the last three weeks, barely controlling her nausea, and failing miserably.

  The first month was bliss – but ever since then had been a terror. This was her first pregnancy and at this point, she was considering it as her last. She couldn’t imagine dealing with this level of nausea repeatedly and Mrs. Wickham with her nine children meant that she’d willingly gone through this nightmare at minimum of nine times.

  Unthinkable!

  “Melanie, just calm yourself and relax. Having a fit of the vapors isn’t good for my boy,” he said arrogantly at the church picnic, causing several of the men to laugh at her boisterous husband.

  The men in town loved dealing with Herbert. He was bold, outgoing, friendly with everyone… and extremely set in his ways. He’d swept her off her feet in a whirlwind courtship, marrying her quickly with the promises of a luxurious life. Running a profitable wood mill made him the center of attention. Anyone building, repairing, or passing through town visited the Wesson Mill.

  “It could be a girl,” she snapped, feeling her stomach lurch painfully.

  “Don’t be silly. Wessons don’t have girls first. It’s always a boy, a strong son, to carry on the Wesson name!” he trumpeted, with several men patting him on the back. He was getting a pudgy stomach and his vest was straining at the buttons as he took a large bite of pie.

  She would kill for a slice of pie to stay down.

  Chess pie… her favorite.

  “Eat up, Melanie. You’ve gotta feed my boy,” he crowed merrily. “Get me another slice of pie and get one for yourself, woman. Try to keep it down this time too. The smell is starting to annoy me and I know it’s bothering others.”

  Melanie gaped at him as another wave rolled over her. She had to get away from the pickled eggs sitting on the picnic tables. The vinegar was pungent and strong, the scent carrying on the breeze. She just wanted something mild, easy to eat, and that stayed down so she could stop feeling so wrung out.

  Slapping a large slice of pie on a plate for her husband, she put a small dollop of mashed potatoes on a plate for herself and a teensy slice of pie. If the potatoes stayed down, then maybe she would try the creamy tart pie that she adored. If not, she wasn’t going to try it. She loved it too much to have it come back up.

  “Is that all? My boy needs more than that to be like his papa,” Herbert said arrogantly, grabbing her indelicately before others, making her see red as she dropped her own plate down the front of her dress by accident. If she wasn’t so angry, she would have broken down bawling miserably at that very moment. Instead, she slammed the pie down before him, sending pieces flying everywhere.

  “Maybe my boy will get that feisty temper, eh?”

  “Maybe you’ll just choke on it,” she seethed, feeling hot tears on her cheeks as she saw the lumpy mashed potatoes Pearl had made were clinging to her skirt before landing in the grass at her feet. Picking up her plate from the grass, she walked away to rinse it off at the pump near the front of the church. Walking towards it, she bent over and gave in to the nausea once again. If she got too hungry, too full, or something smelled funny, then she vomited. Wiping her mouth, she straightened up at the shrill scream that split the air.

  “Mr. Wesson!”

  “Somebody help him!”

  “Slap him on the back!”

  “Witchcraft, I tell ya!”

  “You think Melanie put a hex on him?”

  “What?” she whispered, her hand fluttering to her mouth as a scream slipped out. Herbert was clenching at his neck, his face an ungodly hue of purple, as he staggered around. He pointed at her and met her eyes before falling into the grass face first.

  “Grab her!”

  “Who? Melanie?”

  “Yes! She’s killed her husband!”

  “How? She’s clear by the pump?”

  “Poison! She poisoned the man.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Rhys. You can’t poison pie without tasting it.”

  “How do you know? Have you ever been poisoned?”

  “No but Melanie has a heart of gold…”

  “You eat the pie!”

  “I’m not eating it!”

  “Make her eat it if she’s innocent!”

  “Someone go and fetch the sheriff… we don’t cotton to murderers here.”

  “I didn’t murder my husband,” Melanie whispered, horrified as two men surrounded her, dragging her back towards the tables that were now empty as they stood around her husband who laid there unmoving in the grass.

  “Eat the pie!”

  “I’m not eating the food Herbert was eating when he died,” she cried aghast at the idea of it. What was wrong with all of them!

  “That’s because it’s poisoned!”

  “I didn’t poison him. He was my husband and the father of my child.”

  “You can just wait here until the sheriff gets here and rot in jail for what you’ve done.”

  “What have I done? I’ve done nothing.”

  “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

  “I’ve… done… nothing,” she stressed angrily, feeling a wave of nausea overtake her as hysteria was beginning to set in.
They were crowding her, getting closer and closer, making it hard to breathe. Did these people really believe she could have poisoned Herbert? She grew up with them and was raised in this small town, only to have them turn their backs on her.

  “You kilt your husband Melanie Wesson!”

  “I did not and where is your shame? Your empathy towards me?” she cried painfully, laying a heart over her thudding chest. “I’ve lost my husband and you accuse me? My child will never know her father.”

  “Herbert said it was gonna be a boy.”

  “Herbert had no clue…” she snapped through her tears.

  “He had no idea you were out to get him either.”

  “You know what Rhys?” she bit out angrily. “God help you all. I will pray for you to understand that I would never have killed my husband. I might get mad or upset with him, but I would never, ever, have done what you’ve accused me of this day – and he isn’t even cold yet, you… you…” she seethed, her chest heaving angrily.

  Whirling around, Melanie smashed her fist into the slice of pie sitting on her husband’s plate. She sunk her fingers in, picking it up in a slimy, gooey handful and shoving it ungracefully into her mouth as she stood toe-to-toe with Rhys Donovan. She chewed several bites and then realized what she was doing. She was eating the food of a dead man, a man who others claimed that she poisoned, and pregnant with his child.

  She spat it directly into his face. Others backed away in shock and fear, only seconds before the tartness of the pie and the acid in her stomach met. Melanie leaned over and vomited directly on Rhys’ shoes, crossing herself for the burst of pleasure that it gave her.

  “I never poisoned my husband and I’ll bury him as any good, loving wife would do – but mark my words. You will never see me again after this,” she said hotly, shaking her finger in his horrified face.

  She wasn’t sure what she was going to do, but she knew she wouldn’t allow her child to grow up in a town with the taint of murder hanging in the air. Growing up here, she knew that no one ever forgot anything.

  Robert was the nosepicker from long ago.

  Ellen was the crybaby that always got her way.

  Pearl was the poor girl from the huge family that always took hand-me-downs regardless of what it looked like or how worn they were.

  …And now she was the town’s murderess.

  The last few days had been quite eye-opening for Melanie. She’d been shunned, turned away, and refused to be welcomed into buildings. People gave her a wide berth as she walked down the street, as if she was going to put a hex on them. It was so sad that in her time of need, she was being treated like a leper. Her brother-in-law had arrived in town and landed another nugget of information that she hadn’t been expecting.

  The mill was deeded to him in the will.

  Melanie had nothing.

  Herbert had bypassed his own wife and child in lieu of his brother – and with the news of how her husband had passed? The news also came with the notice that he would be occupying the domicile before the end of the month. Her home for the last two years was no longer. Instead of crying, she’d sat there stunned, staring straight ahead. She’d always believed that God didn’t give a person more than they could handle, but his faith in her was a little staggering as of late. Alone, widowed, pregnant, ill all the time, and now homeless, within the span of a week, was a bit much to swallow.

  As she was left there alone sitting at the kitchen table where she’d been snapping green beans, she realized that she needed a plan. Melanie wasn’t one to sit back and simper away. She had a child to think of, to care for, and she needed to make sure the baby was healthy. That meant food, shelter, and caring for herself. She would need a job and knew without a doubt that one would never be found here with the stigma hanging over her.

  Jumping to her feet, she walked over to Herbert’s untouched office and saw several newspapers on his desk. The ledger for the mill was open, and she saw he’d fallen back into his old habits. The debits were written down but the running totals weren’t figured. She wished she was smart enough or clever enough to know how to do the math, but that wasn’t something she’d been taught growing up. She was taught to sew, cook, and maintain a home. If she could do the math, then she could have asked her brother-in-law to keep her on to help with the books. She was terrible at math but could read passably from where her mother had taught her how by candlelight as they read passages in the bible together while sitting in the rocking chair. She’d grown up so poor that marrying Herbert had been a gift.

  Now, that gift was gone.

  She was to blame… and only she could take charge of the situation.

  Picking up a newspaper, she sat down, pouring over the letters and reading for any opportunities that could be found. She swallowed back a lump of dread as she came to the page full of ads. There were obituaries, marriage, and birth announcements – as well as a few employment opportunities here locally. Stunned, she read an ad that caught her eye.

  Mail-Order bride needed immediately in Texas.

  Requirements: Caring heart must like children with no other expectations.

  Cooking and cleaning would be helpful.

  Send word immediately.

  Clenching the newspaper to her chest, she rose to her feet and took several deep breaths, her stomach churning. Could she do this? Could she actually take off for the wilds of Texas and marry a stranger?

  ‘Must like children’ meant that her unborn child would be a part of a family, something she never really had growing up. Melanie had been an only child and knew how lonely it could be sometimes. The idea of being surrounded by children playing, maintaining a hearth and home, or raising her little one with security was definitely tempting.

  She took several steps out into the hallway, grabbing her shawl, before looking around. There was a feminine touch everywhere she looked. She’d made this house into a home. She would be leaving everything behind, everything she knew or recognized, putting all of her eggs into a stranger’s basket.

  Maybe this was a mistake?

  This was a new path being laid before her, but perhaps she didn’t have a choice? she mused, closing her eyes and trusting that this was her new destiny. Whoever this stranger was, he was offering his name and a home. Here, in her hometown, her name was sullied and her home was going to be stripped from her in no time flat. All the signs pointed her in this new direction – and her decision was made. She was going to take this chance of a lifetime and make the best of it.

  Chapter 2

  “Word’s come ‘round, Chance, that your new bride will be here before you know it,” Graw said, rearing back and letting a stream of brown tobacco juice fly as if it was nothing. Graw was a know-it-all drunk that had connections everywhere and seemed to know everything…. with the deepest pockets he’d ever seen on a drunkard!

  Chance winced in disgust.

  You would think that being the barkeep of a saloon he would become numb to some of the atrocious habits that his patrons had. Chance had seen men wager their gun in faro, he’d seen a man walk out plumb naked as a dare, and he’d cleaned more tobacco off the floor than he ever cared to. He’d run off all sorts, and his was one of the few bars in the area that had a strict moral code to it that he enforced.

  No cheating, no stealing, and absolutely no whoring.

  Liquor and alcohol might pay the bills, but that was as far down the sinner’s path as he was willing to go. The bar had been his father’s and grandfather’s before him, so it was only natural that he learned how to help out when he was a boy. He’d had shots of rotgut whisky before he got his first shiner. His papa had taken him out back and propped a rifle on his shoulder, teaching him to shoot, not long after he got his first shiner, he mused, smiling as he polished the glass with a rag.

  Family had been everything… until he had nothing.

  Nothing but the bar… and a child he didn’t know how to care for.

  Losing his wife so soon after having their first child
had left him devastated and unable to cope. He took refuge and solace in his work – neglecting his daughter. It was his neighbor who put him in his place, straightening him out. When Beth had died, he’d carried their daughter to a nearby trusted neighbor and left her there for a few days while he took care of the burial. When Chance returned after shamefully realizing that he’d abandoned his daughter there, he ran over only to be chastised up one side and down the other.

  “Chance Mitchell! Don’t you dare leave your daughter for days on end without a word! I know you’ve lost Beth, but you have someone that needs you desperately,” Rebecca had snapped, wagging a finger in his face angrily. Rebecca was usually quiet and solemn, so for her to be this upset, he knew she must be boiling with rage directed straight at him.

  “We’ve always helped out each other but this is too much. You’ve been gone five straight days with nary a word.”

  “I’ve only been away for three…”

  “Five!” she corrected, interrupting him immediately. “You’ve been gone five days, leaving your newborn daughter here. My milk dried up from my last child and we’ve been feeding her cow’s milk and Mary Chapman was good enough to come over when the poor tyke wouldn’t quit screaming.”

  “Where is she?”

  “What did you name her?”

  “What?”

  “What did you name your daughter?” Rebecca bit out tightly, picking up a wiggling bundle of fabric from a basket. “What’s her name?”

  “I… ah…”