Stephanie Grace Whitson - Sixteen Brides

SIXTEEN
BRIDES

Books by
STEPHANIE GRACE
WHITSON

A Claim of Her Own
Jacobs List
Unbridled Dreams
Watchers on the Hill

Secrets on the Wind (3 books in 1)

Walks the Fire
Soaring Eagle
Red Bird

How to Help a Grieving Friend

STEPHANIE GRACE
WHITSON

SIXTEEN
BRIDES

Sixteen Brides
Copyright 2010
Stephanie Grace Whitson

Cover design by Dan Pitts
Cover illustation by William Graf

Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any meanselectronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwisewithout the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438

Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan.

Printed in the United States of America

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Whitson, Stephanie Grace.

Sixteen brides / Stephanie Grace Whitson.

ISBN 978-0-7642-0513-2 (pbk.)

1. War widowsFiction. 2. Homestead lawNebraskaFiction. 3. Women pioneers Fiction. 4. Frontier and pioneer lifeNebraskaFiction. I. Title.

PS3573.H555S59 2010

813'.54dc22

2009041266

DEDICATED TO

the memory of
Gods extraordinary women
in every place
in every time.

And to my Daniel,
the best creative consultant ever...
mahalo nui loa...
aloha wau ia oe.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

A native of southern Illinois, Stephanie Grace Whitson has lived in Nebraska since 1975. She began what she calls playing with imaginary friends (writing fiction) when, as a result of teaching her four home-schooled children Nebraska history, she was personally encouraged and challenged by the lives of pioneer women in the West.

Since her first novel, Walks the Fire, was published in 1995, Stephanies fiction titles have appeared on the ECPA bestseller list numerous times and been finalists for the Christy Award, the Inspirational Readers Choice Award, and ForeWord Magazines Book of the Year. Her first nonfiction work, How to Help a Grieving Friend: a Candid Guide for Those Who Care, was released in 2005.

In addition to keeping up with her five grown children and two grandchildren, Stephanie enjoys motorcycle trips with her blended family (she was widowed in 2001 and remarried in 2003) and church friends, as well as volunteering at the International Quilt Study Center and Museum in Lincoln, Nebraska. She is currently in graduate school pursuing a Master of Historial Studies degree. Her passionate interests in pioneer womens history, antique quilts, and French, Italian, and Hawaiian language and culture provide endless storytelling possibilities.

Contact information: www.stephaniewhitson.com ; stephanie@stephaniewhitson.com; Stephanie Grace Whitson, P.O. Box 6905, Lincoln, Nebraska 68506.

CONTENTS

A mans heart deviseth his way:
but the Lord directeth his steps.

PROVERBS 16:9

A s the carriage pulled away from Union Station, Caroline Jamison almost panicked and called out to the driver, Wait! Dont go! Ive changed my mind! Take me home! Her heart racing, Caroline forced herself to turn away. St. Louis isnt home. And home doesnt want you. Daddy told you that in his last letter. Still, there were times when she entertained a desperate few minutes of hope. But what if I was standing right there on the veranda. Would he really turn me away? If I told him I was sorry... that he was right... if I begged... what then?

For just a moment the possibility that her father might forget everything and pull her into his arms made Caroline feel almost dizzy with joy. But then she remembered. It had been five years since shed opened that last envelope, and still she could recite the terse few lines of the last letter posted from General Harlan Sanford of Mulberry Plantation.

Daughter.

We received word today. Langdon now joins his two brothers in glory. Your mother has taken to her bed. The idea that anyor allof these deeds of war may have been committed by one their sister calls HUSBAND

The sentence wasnt finished. Caroline still remembered touching the spot where the ink trailed off toward the edge of the paper, a meandering line that wrenched her heart as she pictured Daddy seated at his desk, suddenly overcome by such a deep emotion he couldnt control his own hand.

We are bereft of children now. May God have mercy on your soul.

For a moment, as Caroline stood, frozen motionless by uncertainty here on the brick walkway leading up to Union Station, desperate regret and a renewed sense of just how completely alone she was rose up. Panic nearly swept her away. If she didnt get hold of herself she was going to faint. A few deep breaths would be helpful, but the corset ensuring her eighteen-inch waist wasnt going to allow for that. She closed her eyes in a vain attempt to hold back the tears. You dont dare go home... and you dont dare stay here.

An axle in need of grease squealed as another carriage pulled up to the curb, this one drawn by a perfectly matched team of black geldings. Their coats glistening, their manes plaited with red ribbons, the horses tossed their heads and stamped their great hooves. As the driver called out to calm the team, a coachman hopped down from his perch, but he was too late to open the door for his fare.

One glimpse of the wild-looking man emerging from the polished carriage and Caroline swiped at her tears, snapped open her gold silk parasol, and bent down to pick up her black traveling case. Youll make a scene if you faint right now, and the ladies of Mulberry Plantation never make a scene. The ladies of Mulberry Plantation didnt associate with the kind of men emerging from that carriage, either. Lifting her chin, Caroline headed toward the station lest one of them offer to escort her up the hill. The last thing she needed today was to have to extricate herself from the unwanted attentions of some dandy dressed up like a poor imitation of Wild Bill Hickok.

Wild Bill Hickok indeed. Grateful to be thinking about something besides home, she almost smiled at the memory of Thomas, one of the Jamisons servants, and the ridiculous hat hed sported for weeks after seeing Hickok and Buffalo Bill on stage. A hat just like the ones on the heads of the men climbing out of the newly arrived carriage. Only these men didnt look ridiculous. They looked... dangerous. Caroline peered back at them from beneath the edge of her parasol even as she made her way up the hill. The tall one had a certain appealif a woman liked that kind of man. Caroline did not.

With every step away from the street and toward the station, her doubt and fear receded. She could do this. After all, it was the only thing that made any sense. No one was coming to rescue her. It was time she rescued herself.

Painting walls and hanging pictures dont make a barn into a home, Mama. Ella Barton looked away from her own face in the mirror just long enough to catch her mothers eye. A barn is still a barn. Shaking her head, she untied the new bonnet. Im sorry. I just cant. You were sweet to buy it, but I look ridiculous. She put the stylish bonnet back into the open bandbox sitting atop the dresser. Well return it on the way to the station.