her new home of Angel Falls came closer and closer.
And so did the reality of meeting the stranger she’d agreed to marry.
“Ma?” Her seven-year-old son fidgeted on the seat beside her, straining to see above the lip of the windowsill to get a better view of the approaching town. “Will Angel Falls be like this one?”
“I don’t know, George. Maybe.” She smiled past her nervousness. Cole Matheson, the man whose advertisement she’d answered, had written of a friendly railroad town lined with shops, one of which was his own.
“Will it be snowy, too?” Those wide baby-blue eyes filled with a child’s hope.
“I reckon so, as your new pa said in his last letter to bundle up, that our first Christmas in Montana Territory was guaranteed to be white.”
“Boy, I sure do wanna go out and play in that.” George sighed wistfully. As the train chugged a little slower, the view of snowy fields, rolling hills and the snow-mantled roofs of homes clustered along the outskirts of town became crisp, no longer blurred. Easy to soak in and dream a little. George let out a sigh of longing that fogged part of the window. He swiped it away with one hand and watched two children building a snowman in their backyard.
Snow had been hard to come by at their home in North Carolina.
“Miles City, next stop!” The conductor’s voice carried above the conversations of passengers in the crowded car, packed with folks traveling to be with family for the holiday.
“Well, that’s me.” Maeve Flanagan turned around in her seat to smile back at Mercy. The small child seated beside her peered out the window, too. “This is as far as we go.”
“Are you nervous? You look nervous. Why, you’re absolutely pale.” Mercy leaned forward and caught her new friend’s hand. They’d met back East when Maeve had boarded the train, a mail-order bride, too. “Take a deep breath.”
“I’m fine. It’s merely last-minute butterflies.” Maeve smiled gently. She was truly striking at nearly six feet tall with beautiful red hair and blue-green eyes. “This is what I’ve been waiting for this entire journey. Meeting Mr. Noah Miller.”
“He’ll be everything you’ve been hoping for, I just know it.” Mercy gave Maeve’s gloved had a squeeze of encouragement. “Our prayers will be answered.”
“We’ve prayed so often on this trip, surely the Good Lord has heard us.” Maeve paused as the train’s brakes squealed, making conversation difficult.
The train jerked to a stop, bouncing them in their seats. With the final jerk, all motion ceased. Her time with Maeve had come to an end, but she knew regardless of where their separate paths led them, they would always be friends. Some journeys bound hearts together, and this was one of them.
“Why, it’s my two mail-order brides.” The conductor, kindly Mr. Blake, paused in the aisle with a sympathetic smile on his round face. He might be a big man and built like on ox, but his heart was bigger. “I’ve been praying for you lovely ladies. Think of the happiness awaiting you. Why, I can’t imagine a thing more romantic. It’s almost like a story, first declaring love with each other through your letters and then finding a deeper love when you meet. It must be all poetry and declarations of the heart, like a fairy tale happening just to you. Not only am I a happily married man, so I know what’s waiting for you, but it’s the Christmas season. Love and happy endings are in the air.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Maeve said gently, as if she wasn’t so sure.
Mercy was even less sure. Love was not the reason she had traveled across the country to wed a stranger. She managed a weak smile.
Mr. Blake was not derailed easily. He pulled something from his pockets. He held up two sprigs of handsome green leaves bearing small white berries. A tiny bow of thin velvet ribbon added a festive touch. He grinned widely. “Think of this gift as a wish and a prayer for your happy marriages. For your first kisses on Christmas Day with your new husbands.”
“It’s mistletoe!” Maeve exclaimed, surprised.
“Oh, thank you.” Mercy accepted hers, touched by his thoughtfulness. She wished to say more but he’d already touched his hand to his cap and moved on to help an elderly lady with her valise at the end of the car.
“Bless you, Mr. Blake.” Maeve quickly pinned her spray of mistletoe to her collar. “I appreciate the thoughtful wish.”
“And you’ll have mine, too.” Mercy gave Maeve a brief hug. “My prayers for you won’t cease.”
“Nor will mine for you.” With that, Maeve grabbed her young daughter’s hand. Little four-year-old Violet was adorable with her dark auburn hair, cherub’s face and violet-blue eyes. She looked up at her mother expectantly. Maeve appeared grim as she stepped into the aisle. “Be happy, my friend.”
“You, too.” She knew how Maeve felt—hollow, knowing that Mr. Blake’s wishes for them could not come true. A business arrangement did not a real marriage make. She hugged Maeve and said goodbye to Violet, and they were gone, traipsing down the aisle.
Lord, please grant her happiness in her new marriage, Mercy prayed. Somehow.
Her stomach clenched as she settled back into her seat. Soon, it would be her turn to step off the train and meet the man she’d agreed to bind her life to. She smoothed George’s flyaway blond hair with her hand. That cowlick always stuck straight up, regardless of what she did. Love for her boy filled her heart.
He was the reason she’d accepted this mail-order situation. Regardless of the type of man Cole Matheson turned out to be, if he was a good father to her son, she would be content. She would endure any disappointments silently and be grateful for a convenient marriage, one without love.
* * *
“Hurry, Pa! We’ll be late for the train.” Amelia’s voice echoed through the dry-goods store, rising above the rustle and din of Christmas customers filling the aisles. The tap of her impatient gait struck like a hammer in uneven raps through the store as she skirted knots of customers and arrowed straight for him. “You promised, Pa. You said you’d keep an eye on the time.”
“It’s been a busy day.” Cole Matheson looked over the top of his reading spectacles, pausing in tallying up Mrs. Lanna Wolf’s purchases. He frowned at his daughter. “I haven’t heard the train whistle. It’s not time yet.”
“It’s four o’clock.” The thirteen-year-old skidded to a stop in front of the counter, her apple cheeks pink from running, her strawberry-blond hair threatening to escape her braids, strands tumbling loose to curl around her face. She looked as if she’d been playing outside with the boys again, with chunks of snow melting in her hair and her blue flannel dress wet in spots. She gestured toward the clock on the wall. “The train’s late and so are you. C’mon, we’ve got to hurry.”
“I have to finish helping Mrs. Wolf,” he said sternly, for all the good it did. Amelia was used to his ways and wasn’t troubled by them. “Now politely apologize to Mrs. Wolf.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am.” Amelia bobbed in a quick curtsy. “But my new mother is coming on the train today, and Pa isn’t nearly as excited about it as I am.”
“Why, this is wonderful
