Wretched Chastity: The Mail Order Brides of Boot Creek, #1
By Carré White
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Amidst the lawlessness of 1880’s New Mexico, the mayor’s wife, Mrs. Hershey, is determined to find wives for the towns most notorious and eligible bachelors. But little does she realize the magnitude of the challenges that face her, because matching perfect strangers is far more difficult than it looks.
Down on her luck and on her last dime, Chastity Donovan arrives in Boot Creek to marry a miner, but she soon discovers he’s an alcoholic outlaw with a murderous bent. Chastity is now responsible for Enoch’s two children, who have run wild over the years with little schooling. Dismayed, and dejected, Chastity finds her new life is not what she had envisioned.
Lucian Ellison’s train robbing past is about to put him on a collision course with Chastity, after he arrives on Enoch’s doorstep to collect his share in a robbery. One look at Chastity changes everything, because the lovely redhead is in desperate need of rescuing, and he’s just the man to steal her away. But, her new husband might have a thing or two to say about that… and the law as well, as someone is about to hang for his crimes.
Carré White
Carré White is the author of Sonoran Nights, a book that is set in the same small town in Arizona that she grew up in. After marrying, having children, and traveling, she settled in Colorado, enjoying nearly 350 days of sunshine. The Colorado Brides Series, which follow the lives of adventurous frontier women, who traveled west in the 1850's to find love is available now.
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Wretched Chastity - Carré White
Copyright © 2014, 2015 Carré White
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All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this book is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author.
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Description
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Amidst the lawlessness of 1880’s New Mexico, the mayor’s wife, Mrs. Hershey, is determined to find wives for the towns most notorious and eligible bachelors. But little does she realize the magnitude of the challenges that face her, because matching perfect strangers is far more difficult than it looks.
Down on her luck and on her last dime, Chastity Donovan arrives in Boot Creek to marry a miner, but she soon discovers he’s an alcoholic outlaw with a murderous bent. Chastity is now responsible for Enoch’s two children, who have run wild over the years with little schooling. Dismayed, and dejected, Chastity finds her new life is not what she had envisioned.
Lucian Ellison’s train robbing past is about to put him on a collision course with Chastity, after he arrives on Enoch’s doorstep to collect his share in a robbery. One look at Chastity changes everything, because the lovely redhead is in desperate need of rescuing, and he’s just the man to steal her away. But, her new husband might have a thing or two to say about that... and the law as well, as someone is about to hang for his crimes.
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The Mail Order Brides of Boot Creek
Wretched Chastity
Desperate Lola
Shameful Celia
Spoiled Evelyn
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The Carson Brothers of Kansas
A Mail Order Bride for Charlie
A Mail Order Bride for Bronson
A Mail Order Bride for Wyatt
A Mail Order Bride for Grant
Chapter One
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Boot Creek, New Mexico, 1881
The man I was about to marry swayed on his feet. His bleary, red-rimmed eyes roamed over my face, which left me swallowing a lump in my throat the size of Texas. We met no more than two hours ago at the train station in Lamy. I had stepped from the locomotive onto the platform to face my future, and, although being a practical girl and no stranger to misfortune—my husband-to-be had been a grave disappointment.
Marriage isn’t something one enters into lightly,
said the preacher, a tall, thin man with blond hair. Miss Chastity Donovan has agreed to marry Mr. Enoch Larson in the presence of God on this day of March 14, 1881.
His kindly gaze settled on my face, although I glimpsed a flash of sympathy. I’ve the vows you requested, so if you’ll repeat after me.
Having worked at my mother’s boarding house since before I could remember, I had seen my fair share of drunkards. It was rumored that my father had been a gambler and a drunkard, but I had never met him. My mother, Mary Donovan, refused to speak about the past, which I assumed had been rather tumultuous. She had passed away four months ago, after a long battle with consumption.
I discovered the business had fallen into debt, which propelled me to answer a mail order ad in The New York Morning Post. The wife of Mayor Hershey, Mrs. Doris Hershey, sat no more than five feet away in a pew behind us. She had placed the ad, arranging marriages between single ladies and the needy men of Boot Creek. I had been warned about Enoch, as she had hinted that he enjoyed a spot of whiskey, probably more so than most men. That had been an understatement.
I take thee, Chastity Donovan, to be my lawful wedded Wife,
said a deep and scratchy voice that belonged to Enoch Larson. To have and to hold from ... er ... from this day forth.
I listened dispassionately, wanting the ceremony to end as soon as possible. I had spent a week traveling by coach, train, and steamer, and I eagerly wanted to rest my bonnet somewhere safe. From the looks of Enoch Larson, that wish might be impossible. I knew little about him, because he was not able to read or write, leaving that task to Mrs. Hershey. She had acted as intermediary, writing on his behalf, but the correspondence lacked depth and personality. Enoch had been a miner, although he had hinted at a shadier past, a possible connection to outlaws, but he had not elaborated further. I, being desperate to escape New York, had taken a chance. I worried now that I had chosen badly. There was little warmth or kindness in Enoch’s expression; his glazed eyeballs remained fixed—staring at me.
Pastor Nicolas Kinsley glanced my way. You may say your vows now, Chastity.
I had spoken with the preacher before the ceremony, and he had said, I’m not sure how much you know about Mr. Larson, Chastity, but ...
he shifted his feet, you might want to wait a day or so before marrying him. It’s best to take a room in town and then have supper and a nice discussion first. Get to know him better before committing yourself to him forever.
Why would I do that? I’ve come all this way to marry him.
We had been standing in the nave, while Enoch remained outside with his two children.
The pastor glanced furtively towards the door. You seem like a nice young woman—
I’m twenty-eight. I’m not young in the least.
He smiled slightly. Well, you look young.
That was a lie. I had been working most of my life, cooking, cleaning, and toiling away at the boarding house. My hands were callused and work-roughened, the nails unsightly. I felt far older than my age in every respect.
I know he’s a drunkard, if that’s your concern. I rode with him from Lamy. He smells of spirits. I’ve seen his kind before.
A steadying breath entered my lungs. I need to take care of those kids, sir. I’m not afraid of Mr. Larson.
I squared my shoulders, meeting the pastor’s concerned stare. He won’t lift a finger to me, cause I’ll pound him over the head with a frying pan.
I was more than capable of taking care of myself.
His smile had vanished. If you ever need assistance, please know I’ll do whatever I can to help you. You may come to my door at any time. I’ll make sure you’re safe. You seem capable, but some men are ... challenging. Mr. Larson isn’t a friendly fellow. His kids are no better than animals, and any woman who steps into that situation is going to find the going hard.
I appreciated his concern. Thank you, Pastor Kinsley. It’s kind of you to warn me, but not necessary. I smelled trouble on him the moment we met. I know my life will be hard—just as hard and miserable as it’s always been, but I can manage. I’ll take care of those poor, misbegotten kids and try to salvage something of the marriage. I don’t suffer from romantic notions in the least. I’m a realist at heart.
Are you gonna say your vows, woman?
This question brought me back to the present, where I stood before my husband-to-be, who glared sullenly. Yes of course.
We got to git home soon,
he muttered. It’s taken too long at it is.
He turned to the preacher. Just marry us already, will you?
I, Chastity Marie Donovan, take thee, Enoch James Larson, to be my lawful wedded Husband, to have and to hold from this day forward...
I spoke softly, solemnly, and with the knowledge that once I committed myself to this man, my life would either improve or worsen. I prayed things would be better, but I was a pragmatist. I had, in all likelihood, just traded one set of horrible circumstances for another.
Pastor Kinsley forced a smile, while Mrs. Hershey clapped. It was over. I was his wife.
I now pronounce you man and—
Before he had finished the sentence, Enoch grabbed my hand. We’re done! Good riddance!
He dragged me down the aisle, past the astonished expression of Mrs. Hershey. Goin’ home. Send me the bill,
he laughed sardonically, knowing it had cost him nothing to marry me.
I glanced over my shoulder at the preacher and Mrs. Hershey, feeling trepidation and despair rather than happiness. I had just given myself to a stocky, unwashed man, whose breath smelled fetid. Severely lacking in manners, he dragged me out into the stark sunlight, while his children waited in the wagon. He had not allowed them to come inside, and I had to wonder why.
Git in.
He untied the horse from the hitching post.
I clambered into the wagon, sitting next to the little girl, Ella. My nose wrinkled at her smell. Hello, sweetheart.
She lifted her chin to look at me. A filthy bonnet shaded half her face. Hi.
Her brother, Gideon, sat in the back next to several wooden crates. He eyed us warily. He was nearly as filthy as his sister with a stained blue shirt and torn trousers. Are you my mother now?
he asked.
Yes, I am.
Enoch sat high on the wagon seat. After releasing the break, he slapped the horses with the lines. I’ll stop by the mercantile right quick. You’ve got five dollars. Get what you want, woman, but be hasty about it. We won’t be in town for another week.
Stunned by his generosity, I gaped at him.
You gonna say somethin’, or what?
Y-yes. Thank you.
My head jerked back, as the wagon jolted forward.
He spat on the ground. You look better than I thought.
His glossy stare roamed over me, which felt unnerving.
I ... I’m glad you think so.
The wagon pulled away from the church, where Mrs. Hershey and Pastor Kinsley had come to stand on the steps, waving. I waved in return. The brief conversation I’d had with the pastor had left an impression. If, for some reason, the marriage proved intolerable, I could ask for help. Having an innate sense about people, I knew I could trust the preacher. Everything about him told me he was a good, kind man. My welfare was of concern to him, but I had told him the truth. I had always taken care of myself for many years now and I would continue to do so, even under the worst of circumstances.
You Irish?
I glanced at Enoch. My mother was. I told you she immigrated to New York to find a better life.
I was certain I had written about this in my letters. Although I’d had little schooling, my mother made certain I learned how to read and write. Did you not read my letter?
I didn’t read ‘em. Mrs. Hershey read ‘em to me. I might’ve been drunk.
He shrugged, withdrawing a flask from his waistcoat. I like a nip of whiskey every now and then.
I see.
The wagon ambled along a busy thoroughfare, lined with shops and warehouses. Boot Creek was a small town, some ten miles south of Lamy, and surrounded by a barren landscape of tan-colored earth and green shrubs and cactuses. Having lived in humid environments all my life, the dryness had chapped my lips, leaving my mouth parched. I’d drunk lemonade at the station, but nothing since. The bonnet shielded my face from the sun, but the heat seeped through the thin material of my bodice, the high-standing collar ending beneath my chin. It was my best outfit, but I had worn it for days, and it was in need of washing.
What little there was of the town lay before us. The saloon, a bakery, and a laundry occupied one end, while a hotel and a livery were near the center. People, animals, and conveyances filled the streets, as men loitered on the boardwalk, standing in the shade of overhangs. Enoch directed the mare towards the mercantile, which had its doors wide open.
Out you go. You got ten minutes. Then I’m off. Hurry up.
I glanced at Ella. You should come with me.
Her bright blues eyes flashed. Honest? I’d love to!
Sliding from the wooden seat, I reached for her. She was seven-years-old, if I remembered correctly. Come along then.
Her hand felt sticky. She needed a bath desperately, but little could be done about it now. I led her towards the steps, passing several