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  He read her description with the same bored voice as the others, almost by memory, his eyes scanning the room to see if she sparked an interest in anyone else. Mostly laughter greeted her description.

  Jake was most surprised—and pleased—that an African-American maid had responded. Perhaps God would answer Isaac’s unlikely request after all.

  “They said they’ll get photographs of themselves and asked if we could do the same.” Jake tapped the page. “Not that appearance is everything, but we’re men, after all. We’d like to see what we’re going to get.”

  Laughter filled the room, then died as the men wrote their letters to any of the women who interested them. After that, they had a prayer meeting. That had come to be the most precious part of the budding partnership among them, the time spent in prayer with men of like minds bent on doing God’s will. He and Matt had made sure to select Christian men, but he hadn’t expected to become close to the men who ended up broke like his father, or the newly rich, like Ben Capell, who had lived in a shanty for the last several years. The more often they met, the more he heard of heartache and loneliness and hope that matched his own.

  Letters flew back and forth across the continent for the next few months as the men and women chose their potential spouses and got know each other better. Both sides agreed that the ladies must arrive in Angel Vale before the end September in order to settle in before winter arrived. Jake had contacted three ladies—Becky might not want someone so settled as a merchant, after all. But his initial impressions were quickly verified when she wrote back and the more letters they exchanged. He wanted Becky Patterson, or he didn’t want any of them.

  Becky wrote letters to a couple of other men as well, including his good buddy Matt. Perhaps his newspaper ambitions appealed to her love of learning. “Don’t worry, pal. I know you’ve set your cap for her, and besides, I want someone more my age.” Matt was feeling good these things, as the money began to materialize from his matchmaking business.

  After much prayer, all the men sent proposals of marriage, each one of them choosing a different lady. Fear and trepidation set in as they waited.

  The cross-continent mail time seemed longer than ever when a large packet arrived late in August. The men gathered early in the morning, knowing this could be the week their answers arrived. Jake prayed no one would be disappointed.

  He took his knife from his pocket as slow as molasses flowing uphill and opened the envelope as if he might rip through rare Chinese silk. He peaked inside the thick envelope. “Very interesting.”

  “Give it up, preacher.” That came from Ben Capell, who’d mined a fair sum of gold and was looking to settle down.

  Jake walked behind the register and counted the envelopes in the package. “Good news: everyone has a letter.” Some of them might have said no, but Jake didn’t mention that.

  A bulky envelope probably contained their travel plans. Jake refused to look at it until everyone had seen their personal letters. Would Becky say yes?

  He would wait for a moment of privacy to learn the answer.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Becky sat in the back of the third wagon making its way to Angel Vale, allowing the other women to catch the first glimpse of their new home. She had a fair idea of what she would find, and besides, she could afford to wait. Angel Vale was going to be her home for the next three months, maybe for the rest of her life.

  Not that the scenery didn’t interest her. As they crossed the country, she had filled one journal with observations and sketches. Traveling at the end of summer, they saw the land at its finest, with some of summer’s heat lingering. Jake had warned her Angel Vale could get quite cold during the winter, but not colder than Maine, he suggested. She would learn fast enough.

  What changes she had seen—the tall corn in Ohio and Illinois, the early winter wheat in Nebraska. Accents changed at depots from state to state. Clusters of homes and towns strung farther and farther apart, from the crowded cities of the east to the open plains of the Midwest interspersed with an occasional farmhouse.

  Settlements in Wyoming were the most remote yet. From what Jake said, the state had a population of less than 21,000—little more than a small city. Very different, but so far she liked what she had seen, wide open spaces to explore, a sun that never stopped shining. The people they’d met were all friendly, especially when they learned they were the mail order brides headed to Angel Vale. They called them “Angels,” which Becky found amusing.

  Even if things didn’t work out between Becky and Jake, she had enjoyed the trip of a lifetime. With her uncertainty about marriage, she hoped she wasn’t taking advantage of a wonderful Christian man. He sounded like an ideal man—thoughtful, considerate, a born leader, willing to delegate . . . who accepted her excitement about voting in the next election.

  That was the question. Would he welcome her as his equal partner in all they did, while she respected him as the head of the family? She wouldn’t, couldn’t accept anything less. Not after watching her mother work herself to the ground to meet the needs of the parsonage and the church. When Mama died, Becky stepped into her shoes without complaining. She’d thought the role would be short-lived, planning to marry, but her beau died in an accident at sea.

  In Merville, she was a spinster in a town with far fewer men than ladies. To her, marriage to any of the men she knew would feel like jail. Maybe things would be different in Wyoming—with a man like Jake Underwood.

  Cheers went up from wagon, alerting Becky they were approaching Angel Vale. Becky might have taken a spot at the back of the last wagon, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t nervous at her first glimpse of her intended. Someone as handsome as he was couldn’t be interested in someone like her, with her curly and out-of-control ordinary brown hair. Instead of her usual braid, today she’d worn it in a bun. The small mirror she carried with her told her that had been a mistake, with hairpins falling loose and curls stringing down her neck.

  Phoebe Ross had taken the seat next to Becky. She seemed as uncertain to meet her intended as Becky was. “Do you think I made a mistake, agreeing to marry Alex so quickly? What if we don’t suit?”

  Becky didn’t know what to say. She didn’t understand the rush to marriage, herself, but neither did she condemn it. “Father would say you were as good as married when you agreed to come. He’d mention Rebekah, how she married Isaac when she agreed to return to Canaan with Eliezer. Isaac took her to his tent without a wedding ceremony.”

  As she said the words, panic lines formed on Phoebe’s forehead. Her sermon hadn’t helped at all. Becky tried again. “What I’m trying to say is that God brought you and Alex together. And He knows what He’s doing.”

  Phoebe smiled, reassured. Why couldn’t Becky listen to her own advice and trust God wanted her to marry Jake? She struggled to straighten her hair bun, sticking a few more hairpins to keep them in place when she met Jake.

  Cheers started as soon as they reached the town, getting louder when they stopped in front of Underwood Mercantile, Jake’s store. Becky’s heart jumped. As the wagon cleared, she saw the man she recognized as Jake from his tintype. His hazel eyes danced around his perfect aquiline nose, his chin shaven to a hair, the mustache styled so that it emphasized the cleft in his chin. Of all the men there, he was the only one wearing a suit, looking like a prosperous merchant.

  The men approached the wagon, circling, looking for their intended brides. Some wore smiles, some blushed. She focused on Jake, whose smile was as wide as the Mississippi River, looking as if he had never seen anyone more beautiful in his life. “Miss Becky Patterson?” He waited while the wagon emptied before extending his hand and helping her from the wagon.

  Oh, how strong his grip. How safe he made her feel. “Mr. Jacob Underwood.” His name came out in a breathy sound.

  All Becky’s plans for this first meeting fled in Jake’s presence. Her hopes, her fears, left her speechless in his presence.

  Jake ignored her panic attack. “We
lcome to Angel Vale, Miss Patterson.” He took her ungloved hand in his. “Do you mind if I call you Becky? That’s how I’ve thought of you ever since the first letter, when I hoped that like Rebekah in the Bible, you would agree to come to Wyoming.”

  Becky nodded as her face heated. He’d been thinking of her, specifically, since her first letter?

  “And you may call me Jake. Underwood sounds too much like an undertaker.”

  Oh, that smile. His picture hadn’t captured the smile—too much of sitting still to allow that—but his smile was all Western, not so common among the fishermen of Merville.

  Becky was suddenly very glad to be in Angel Vale.

  * * *

  They finished their introductions. Matt signaled that he was leading the ladies to their lodgings at the old mining mill house, which had been remodeled as a temporary housing for the brides.

  “I confess I would like to swoop you to my office and talk with you for hours, now that we have finally met in person.”

  Becky smiled and touched her hair, as if aware of her travel-weary appearance. She couldn’t know her curly hair had appealed to him in her tintype, as well as the sparkle in her dark eyes that spoke to her intelligence and wide ranging interests. Hopefully the next item on the agenda would ease her evident discomfort.

  “With the multiple weddings today, we thought everyone would appreciate an opportunity to freshen up, and we made preparations for all of you.”

  “Thank you.” Becky smiled. “We did what we could this morning, but the wagon trip undid our morning ministrations.” She touched her hair again, a habit Jake found endearing.

  The couples were walking in the direction of the mill house. The luggage wagon followed them, so the men didn’t have to carry the women’s trunks. Jake was thankful for the time on the short walk to speak with her.

  “I understand the need for the quick weddings, but I for one appreciate having time to anticipate and savor that special day.” Becky’s lips curled as she looked at Jake shyly. “So. We met face-to-face and neither one of us ran away.”

  Jake threw back his head and laughed. “Definitely not. You have made a considerable impression on me in these short few minutes. I’m looking forward to the coming weeks.”

  They had reached the end of the town—all of one block with businesses on both sides. The few houses were scattered around the business district, and the mill house was further away.

  She skittered a little to the side and glanced at him beneath her lashes after she surveyed the mostly empty countryside. Did she see the potential of a town waiting to be shaped into a family community? Or did she see the ghosts of miners, many of them already departed for parts unknown?

  The couples had strung out in a line, each one forming their own circle as they headed for the mill house. It helped to know he and Becky had company in their situation, strangers deciding to marry, wondering about their potential partners. Already the ladies added their colorful presence to the bland town.

  “You’ve made quite an impression on me as well, Jake.” Red burned in Becky’s cheeks as she made that admission. “You are much more than you told me in your letters.” A mischievous smile made him wonder what she had deduced about him.

  Jake’s hands itched to hold hers, but that time would come. “Were you able to bring everything you wanted?” Becky’s letter suggested that while she might not care about a large wardrobe, the loss of each book would be painful.

  “One trunk and a single box of books. We can have fun discussing my choices, which ones I felt I could not live without.”

  Jake nodded. “I’ve read bits and pieces of a lot of books. I’m sure you’ve heard of wagon trains that had to leave heavy items the further they went on the trail. Shakespeare, things like that. But the only book I own is my Bible.” He’d purchased that after he’d finally learned to read, since his father hadn’t bothered to teach him. That fact still made him wince.

  “Of course.” Becky nodded. “My Bible went in my trunk, not with my books.” They had reached the mill house.

  Jake hoped the accommodations would suit Becky; the building crew had given her a larger space, at his request. If her letters were any indication, she would need room to iron out difficulties among the brides. More than the space, he hoped she liked the furnishings. He had special ordered them and hoped she’d like them well enough to move into their home.

  He opened the door and turned on the lantern. “This is your room.”

  She entered and circled slowly, the widening smile on her face telling Jake everything he needed to know. “This is . . . amazing. I never expected anything like this in such a young town.” She continued twirling until she reached the bed—the four-poster frame with a feather down mattress, made for a lifetime together.

  The pleasant jolt Matt had received upon seeing Becky in person went another notch, and his suit suddenly felt hot. He jerked his mind away from that direction. “I hope you can rest after your travels.”

  “I am certain I shall have a heavenly night’s sleep.”

  To Jake’s relief, they left the room to retrieve her luggage. He took his leave so she could prepare for the weddings, which would take place at sundown.

  A part of him wished their wedding was one of them. Christmas was a long time away.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Becky couldn’t believe the room Jake had provided for her. She had been prepared for a camp cot and instead had been given a room nicer than her room at the parsonage—with a bed big enough for a married couple. She sat on the quilt, imagining her head lying on a pillow next to Jake, thoughts that belonged after their marriage. Her face heated as her insides roiled. Forgive me, Lord.

  Instead, she checked the time. If sundown would come at six, she had time. Before she cleaned up for the wedding, she needed to clean up inside.

  She repeated one of her favorite Psalms, Psalm 15, about people who deserved to live in the holy land—the land of new beginnings, which she hoped Wyoming would be for her.

  Lord, who shall abide in thy tabernacle? who shall dwell in thy holy hill? He that walketh uprightly, and worketh righteousness, and speaketh the truth in his heart.

  Admiring Jake’s good looks didn’t qualify. Instead, she should consider his other attributes. From his letters, she could tell he was intelligent, knowledgeable about the Bible, a leader among the men of Angel Vale, and had a sense of humor. They couldn’t tell her if he was patient, generous, supportive of his wife’s needs and desires. She might learn a few things once she scoured his store from stem to stern, but not enough.

  Satisfied and refreshed, Becky had enough time for a thorough sponge bath. Only a soak in a tub would satisfy her desire for cleanliness, but this was pleasant. After she finished, she slipped on the dress she’d set aside for the wedding. Only half an hour remained, not nearly enough time to do much to her hair. With a sigh, she unwound the bun, sprinkled powder through the tresses to cover some of the oil and dirt, and brush out what she could. When she had done as much as possible, she tied it at the back of her head with a black ribbon.

  She was about to leave for the store, where the weddings would take place, when someone knocked at her door. Nelle Pugh stood there in her wedding finery, her face anything but the blooming joy that belonged there. “May I come in?”

  Becky sent a quick prayer heavenward. “Please do.”

  Nelle headed straight for Becky’s bed and sat. “I can tell Riley doesn’t like me. Look at me. I’m barely five feet tall and sometimes men think I’m still a girl. He doesn’t know how hard I’ve worked with Father, how much I have to offer.”

  Poor Nelle. She shouldn’t feel like she had to be a workhorse for the rest of her life. Something had brought the widower Riley and young Nelle together—God, Becky trusted.

  Whatever Becky’s opinion was, only Nelle’s decision mattered. “You’re heading to the church to get married. If Mr. Thornton had changed his mind, he would have told you.”

  “You thin
k so?” Nelle offered a tremulous smile.

  “I know so. He looks like a gentle man. You may have to work hard, but he seems kind.” Becky prayed she was speaking the truth.

  “Thank you. I’ll let you finish getting ready.”

  Becky closed the door behind Nelle with a sigh. With a final check in her mirror, she headed out of her room to the hallway.

  Jake was waiting for her in the main room. He had kept on the same suit as he’d worn earlier—probably his only suit—but he had shaved and waxed his mustache. At her entry, he bowed. “You take my breath away, Becky. I almost wish we were exchanging our vows this evening.”

  Becky’s happiness turned stone cold at his words. From the very beginning, they had agreed to wait for their wedding, perhaps as long as Christmas. She couldn’t bear to marry someone who would pretend to discuss matters with her but decide matters on his own.

  Jake must have sensed her discomfort. “I’m not suggesting we jump in today. I only mean to express my delight in meeting you face-to-face, and I pray that we will find ourselves more and more compatible in the days ahead.”

  His words reassured Becky, tickling in the ways a potential bride wanted to feel. They walked in the direction of the Mercantile. Becky paid a little more attention to the surroundings than she had at their arrival. The store was the largest building on the block, with a saloon across the street and the livery and Angel Vale Eatery nearby.

  In all their correspondence, Jake had never mentioned the saloon. Hard liquor had ruined more than one marriage. She hoped that wasn’t an issue for any of the potential husbands.

  “None of our grooms are customers of that place.” Jake must have noticed her focus.

  “Thank you.” Becky set aside her worries as she entered the store for the first time.