Tyler’s Christmas Bride

  ©2019 by Stella Clark

  All rights reserved. No part of this may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, events or locales is completely coincidental.

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

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  Chapter 1

  Rose Bolles stood kneading bread in her kitchen, a ritual she performed every Tuesday. It wasn’t hard to find store-bought bread in Philadelphia, but spending a day in the kitchen was a sort of retreat for her. She was able to move through the familiar motions, and it comforted her.

  Her hands beat the dough. Over, under, through, throw. Over, under, through, throw. The methodical rhythm made her think of her mother. She thought back to the day she had been told of her future - the one planned for her.

  “Now Rose,” her mother had said that day as she sprinkled the cinnamon on the bread reserved for Sunday’s rolls. “Not every marriage is a fairy tale. It doesn’t mean you can’t be happy.”

  Rose’s seventeen-year old spirit bubbled up inside of her and spilled out of her fingers onto the dough. She threw it down with more force than needed. “Really, Mother? Are you happy?” Rose remembered the way her mother’s soft eyes had looked at her, and she was sure her own were full of fire that day.

  “I have you. That’s all I ever wanted.” She turned back to her bread. “You will be just fine once you adjust your expectations.”

  Rose had kneaded and baked beside her mother in silence the rest of the day. The next weekend, she was married to Nolan Bolles and became mistress of his home. He was rarely there, preferring the poker table at the tavern down the street to the company of his wife, but that suited her just fine. She was treated well, afforded simple luxuries, and had no real complaints. But she did not love her husband. And she knew he didn’t love her.

  Contrary to her mother’s pleas and assumptions, she had not learned to lower her expectations. She held out hope that one day, she would love Nolan. But day after day went by and still, she felt nothing. The entire marriage was a series of perpetual days, each one leaning into the one after, until they all tumbled into a pile that resembled years.

  Now, she was twenty-three years old, still childless (another thorn which stung) and utterly alone. She had learned the hard way that being alone had more to do with how much you wanted to hold someone’s hand than it did with the touch of that hand. Being alone was a way of life for her, a cornerstone upon which her life was now built.

  But baking day brought her solace. She pounded the last of the air out of her dough and separated it into three sections. She rolled the first ball out into a disc, cut it into triangles, and then slathered butter on each triangle and rolled them up, placing them close together on the baking sheet given to her by her mother on her wedding day.

  “The baking will be that which binds you when everything else fails. The way to a man’s heart is his stomach,” she had whispered to her that day.

  Indeed, maybe it was. But Rose’s cooking was never something that bound them, nor was Nolan’s heart one that seemed easily accessible by way of bread. But she knew she had never opened her own heart, so she was not one to judge that of her husband’s.

  He did not love her. But he liked her fine, and they were building a life. Perhaps her mother was right. She should just lower her expectations.

  She placed the rolls in to bake and set a timer. She listened to the ticking of time while she washed the counter.

  ***

  The next morning, she rolled out of bed and walked quietly to the kitchen to make coffee. She was in the middle of grinding the coffee beans when she heard a thud. She ran to the bedroom and found that Nolan had fallen into a heap on the floor.

  “Nolan!” she screamed his name and fell beside him. John, the neighbor, heard her screams from outside and came running in. He felt Nolan’s pulse and paled. “I will go for the doctor.” He turned to Rose. “You stay here.”

  Rose sat by her husband, holding his hand. She wasn’t sure how long she had sat there when John and the doctor came running. Rose stood up to make room for the doctor.

  Dr. Johnston leaned over Nolan and listened to his heart while feeling for a pulse. He sat back on his heels and shook his head. Rose stared at him blankly. “Just like that?” she asked quietly.

  Dr. Johnston nodded. “Unfortunately, this is not all that uncommon. It seems as though he died of a heart attack. There was nothing to be done. I’m sorry, Mrs. Bolles.”

  When she thought back upon this day as an older woman, she would remember many emotions that played upon her as she sat in that cold room that October day. Disbelief. Fear. Trepidation. A touch of sadness. But grief would not be among them. Six years living with a man, and she would not grieve his death. This, perhaps, was sadder than grief itself.

  ***

  Over the next few weeks, she visited her husband’s attorney, his cohorts, and his business partners at the bank. The news was consistent. Her husband was not a man who paid his debts, no matter how much he liked to accrue them.

  She was a widow living in Philadelphia with no way to pay her late husband’s debts. And more than that, the cold was setting in, and she had begun to feel ill.

  She sat on her kitchen floor one day, the one room that still brought her a bit of solace, and cried. She cried for the life she never had and for the one she was now destined to live. She had a month left in this townhome. After that, she would be out on the streets - just in time for the Christmas season. She curled up into a ball and cried until she slept.

  Chapter 2

  Virginia City, Montana was a small, thriving town. It housed a few ranches along its outskirts and the necessary businesses within city limits. There was a city hall, a seamstress shop, a café, a general store, and a few other places instrumental in the running of a community.

  Oakley Wynn owned one of these ranches, which ran along the southern border of Virginia City. He lived there with his wife, Iris, and his sister Carol, whom he had taken in when her husband had left her years ago.

  Carol’s son, Tyler, came to live with them about a year ago, after surviving a mining accident in the nearby town of Silver Spur. The accident, an explosion, left him blind in one eye and with a limp. He moved to Virginia City to help out on the ranch, and was an asset to his uncle. He worked hard and never let his disability get in the way of his work or happiness.

  At least that was his own perception of how things were.

  His mother, Carol, had a different perspective. She watched her son toil day after day, working hard, and saw in his demeanor a drive to prove himself…as if his accident had left him less worthy than he was before.

  It can be said that pride, work, and self-worth are all woven together to make up a man, and when one piece of that tapestry is unraveled, it often takes the others along with it.

  Carol saw that he was allowing his newfound shortcomings to define him, and worried he would never step out again to try anything new or meet new people – namely, a woman with whom to spend his life.

  She was in the General Store one day, when she heard of men placing ads out east for brides.

  “They just place an ad for a lifelong companion?” Carol asked.

  Trudy, whose nephew in Texas had done that very thing, nodded. “The unmarried young women out east are plentiful. And some of them want to come west, but goodness knows they can’t do it alone. Likewise, the men out on the ranches and in the mines could use a womanly companion. Not to mention some help with domestic matters. My nephew, Cody, couldn’t be happier. They are expecting their first baby in May!”

  “How about that.” Carol stated. Her wheels were already turning.

  ***

  Rose walked into her cold kitchen and began to make coffee from the last of the beans she had left. She picked up the paper she had commandeered the day before from a boy who was selling day-old papers at half price and began to scan the advertisement section, looking for some sort of employment.

  She brought her coffee cup to her lips, and froze. Her heart began to race as she began to read a section of the advertisements she had never noticed before.

  Of course, she had heard of men placing ads for brides, but had never known anyone who had actually answered one…nor had she ever actually seen such advertisements herself. Goodness knows, she had never thought she would be in a position to do so.

  But here she was. A blast of cold air came through the cracked window, which she had no money to fix, and she shuddered. Her head ached, and her stomach turned inside of her. She was not well, and the coming winter would only make things worse. She needed good food, a strong home that would keep out the wind and, if she was honest with herself, someone to take care of her – financially and physically. Any job she found in Philadelphia would barely allow her to get by. But to be married again... to go west and sta

rt a new life away from the city…

  The fresh air and open spaces would surely do her some good.

  She looked down at the advertisement and whispered, “A ranch in Montana…” She was hard working and could cook. She could sew a straight seam. Her mind was whirling. She did not think of love, for she had learned that love was not a necessary component to marriage and survival therein.

  Before she could talk herself out of it, she penned a short letter.

  I would like to accept your offer to come west and be married. Please send a telegram with the appropriate instructions.

  She paused. She supposed she should say something now of commitment.

  I am hard-working and promise to fulfill my end of the marriage.

  Yours,

  Rose Bolles.

  She was faithful and hard-working. That was all she had to offer. She hoped it would be enough.

  She rushed out into the rapidly dropping temperatures, and mailed her letter. She noticed the first leaves had begun to turn on the maple outside her home, and felt as though she was watching sand through an hour glass. It wouldn’t be long now. Suddenly, she began to fear that someone else may have answered the ad before she was able. The paper was a couple days old already. She shuddered and prayed she was not too late. She began to walk faster.

  Chapter 3

  Two weeks later, she found herself on a train headed for a new home and a new life. She straightened her hat and stared out the window at the passing landscape.

  October was all but over now, or would be in a few days, and the leaves were dying a slow, beautiful death.

  She felt as though she might be sick at any moment. She had never been on a train before, and it was not sitting well with her. A tall man walked by her as the train lumbered along and hung a Christmas wreath on the wall at the rear of the car. The smell of pinecones and dried oranges reminded her of a Christmas she had spent with extended family when she was a child.

  Her family never celebrated Christmas much growing up, and she had continued the same when she was married herself. They barely hung wreaths in the month of December, and even then, they were not laden with dried oranges.

  “Sir, do you mind if I ask why you are hanging a Christmas wreath when it is not yet November?”

  His eyes danced. “Ma’am, where I come from, to wait for November is to shorten the most beautiful season we have. You have heard the words to a poem, “long lay the world in sin and error pining...?”

  His voice had an unmistakable French accent. “You are from France, then?” she asked.

  “Oui,” he said, bowing to her. “In France, ma’am, or in the village where I was raised, we hang wreaths in October. I bring this tradition to the American railroad.” He tipped his head to her and walked away.

  She pulled her sweater around her and smiled faintly. A wreath in October. She closed her eyes, trying to ignore her motion sickness, and fell asleep to the rhythm of an engine and the passing of time.

  ***

  “Last stop! Virginia City!” The sound of the announcement startled her out of her reverie. She stood up, gathered her things, and headed to the front of the train. There were not many left on it. It seemed as though most of the passengers had gotten off before now. It gave her some comfort to know that she had come as far west as she could.

  She alighted from the train, her chestnut hair in a braid over the left shoulder, and looked around. An older woman was waving to her. Rose looked behind her to see if the woman was waving at someone else. But she was the only one getting off of the train in Virginia City. She approached the older woman, trying not to look as confused as she felt inside.

  “You must be Rose,” the woman said warmly, taking her left hand into both of her older ones. “I am Carol Wynn, Tyler’s mother.”

  Rose nodded. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Wynn.”

  “Please! Call me Carol.” They began to walk together towards the direction of the wagon. Carol helped Rose load her few things into the wagon and took the reins.

  Rose sat and waited patiently for Carol to explain. She didn’t understand why Tyler would not have met her at the train station. He was likely busy at the ranch, Rose thought.

  Carol cleared her throat. “I need to tell you something.”

  Rose waited silently.

  “I placed that ad for Tyler. He doesn’t know you are coming.”

  Rose felt faint. She held onto the wagon box. “I’m sorry?” Surely she had misheard.

  Carol sighed and spoke kindly. “My son is lonely. He won’t admit it to anyone, least of all himself. Men are a prideful species, Rose, which you must know having been married before.”

  Rose tried to make sense of what was happening and was beginning to feel sick again.

  Carol looked at her and saw how pale her face was. She stopped the wagon. “Rose, I’m sorry. Perhaps I should have told you. But then you wouldn’t have come. Do you believe in miracles, Rose?”

  Rose wasn’t sure anymore what she believed. “I’m not sure,” she said.

  “Well, I do,” Carol said firmly. “And I especially believe in miracles around Christmas time. I believe you are an answer to our prayers, a miracle for my son.” She clicked to the horse, and they were off again.

  Rose closed her eyes, trying to ward off the nausea. She just wanted to get to a place that didn’t move, so she would stop feeling sick. She felt like she had been deceived, but what could she do about it now? Get on a train and go back to Philadelphia? For what? For whom?

  She had no one now, except this woman beside her and her son who didn’t even know she was coming. What would he think when his fiancée showed up at his door? One to whom he didn’t even propose?

  She was okay with a loveless marriage. She could get used to being a wife for the sake of mutual convenience – this she was used to. What she could not fathom was being sent back east. She thought of the Frenchman on the train with the wreath. She thought of Carol asking her if she believed in miracles.

  She said a silent prayer. God, if there are indeed miracles, I could use one. Make him kind. Make him keep me.

  Chapter 4

  The ride wasn’t long, and she had barely finished her prayer when they pulled into the ranch. It seemed as though she would be able to walk to town, for which she was grateful.

  Carol took Rose inside and helped her settle into her room. Then she took her into the kitchen to meet Iris.

  “This is my brother’s wife, Iris. This is their ranch, and Tyler and I live here and help out. My husband left me when Tyler was baby, and we have lived with Oakley and Iris ever since.”

  Rose opened her mouth to say how sorry she was about her husband, but Carol waved her off before she had even begun to speak. “No need, Rose. We are better off. Water under the bridge, and a price I paid for marrying a foolish man.”

  “Welcome, Rose,” Iris said, holding out her hand. Rose took it and suddenly felt as though she may faint. She sat down in the kitchen chair behind her.

  Iris was at her side instantly. “You must be exhausted from your journey. Let me help you to your room so you can rest.” Rose nodded and allowed herself to be escorted out of the kitchen and into her bedroom.

  It seemed as though she would be sleeping here alone until Tyler could be informed about his new fate and, Rose supposed, either accept her or not.

  She lay down in the bed that had been made up for her and closed her eyes. She had to admit, she hadn’t been this warm or this comfortable in a long time. The house was solid. The women were welcoming. Her nausea was waning as she snuggled down into the feather pillow.

  Please let him be kind, she prayed again. She had more about which to pray, but was asleep before she could form any more thoughts.

  ***

  She awoke to the smell of a fire burning in the hearth that faced the foot of her bed. She heard someone adjusting the logs and sat up groggily.

  “How long have I been asleep?” she asked.

  “About four hours. Dinner should be ready any minute.” Iris stood up and brushed ash off of her apron. “Tyler is in the kitchen. My sister told him about you.” She smiled at Rose. “I know my sister is rash at times, but her heart is large. She has capacity for much love and only wants the best for her son.”

 

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