Brides Of Christmas Volume Three

Brides of Christmas

Volume Three

by

Donna Dalton

Mackenzie Crowne

Silver James

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Seven Swans Bride

COPYRIGHT © 2014 by…

Donna Dalton

Mackenzie Crowne

Silver James

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

Cover Art by Diana Carlile

The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

PO Box 708

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

Publishing History

First Edition, 2015

Print ISBN 978-1-5092-0507-3

Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-0557-8

Twelve Brides of Christmas Series

Published in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Seven Swans Bride by Donna Dalton ___________________1

A Case for Calamity by Mackenzie Crowne _____________83

Faerie Faith by Silver James _________________________171

Seven Swans Bride

by

Donna Dalton

Twelve Brides of Christmas Series

Dedication

I dedicate this story to my critique partner

and best friend, Mary Ann Clark.

Her guidance and candid observations help me to see

the forest through the trees.

She pushes me to be the best I can be,

and I will be forever grateful.

~*~

I would also like to thank the other Donna,

Donna Michaels,

for her help with polishing this story.

I hope we’ll have many more years of fun and adventure

at The Wild Rose Press.

Chapter One

Blue Ridge Mountains, Virginia

December 1867

When she started out that morning, she hadn’t planned to end up in the arms of a stranger.

The train was about an hour from its next scheduled stop when it began jolting and juddering, the wheels screeching as the brake chains worked to pull the iron horse to an unexpected halt. The abrupt motion sent passengers tumbling in all directions. Abigail, returning to her seat from the dining car, ended up on the floor, pinned under a formidable and entirely handsome man, his arms wrapped around her in an awkward hug. The hand beneath her buttocks was particularly disconcerting.

Tried to stop you from falling. His nose was inches away from hers. Didn’t quite manage it. Are you all right?

He had eyes the color of a clear lake. She couldn’t help but notice, given their close proximity. And that his chest was solid as a brick wall. She splayed her fingers wider, the wool of his jacket rough beneath her fingertips.

Miss Whitlock?

She blinked, surprised by the use of her name. Yes?

Are you injured? Did you hurt yourself in the fall?

I’m fine. She managed to draw in a shallow breath. I am having a little trouble breathing, however. If you could, umm, just...

Oh, yes, of course.

He slid his arms from beneath her, rose to his feet, and offered his hand. His grasp was firm and supportive, yet gentle, as if helping a foal to its feet for the first time.

Once upright, she peered at him through the limp strands of her mangled hat feather. He had short-cropped coal black hair and was taller than she had imagined. She barely reached his shoulder. He wore a dark blue uniform adorned with shiny buttons and gold epaulettes. He was U.S. military, and he knew her name.

She pushed aside the crooked feather. How is it you know who I am? We’ve never been introduced.

We’ve been traveling in the same railcar since leaving Richmond. Hard not to overhear names bandied about.

He was probably referring to the conversations she’d had with her travelling companions, Kentucky Congressman Thomas Jones and his wife. Eager to reach Kentucky, she had been too occupied with thoughts of home to notice the other passengers around her.

Abigail, came a harried voice. We saw you fall. Are you all right?

She turned. Thomas and Mary were making their way down the aisle, their round faces furrowed with worry lines. She smiled, relieved. Her companions appeared to be unharmed by the sudden stop—a little rumpled and dusty, but none the worse for the ordeal.

Yes, Thomas. I’m fine. She inclined her head to the officer. Thanks to this gentleman.

Her rescuer extended his hand. Major Evander Holt, sir.

Evander. What an intriguing name. Appropriate for an intriguing man.

Thomas took the major’s hand. Congressman Jones. Thank you for seeing to Abigail. She’s like family to us.

Glad to be of service.

On a nearby seat, a woman rocked back and forth, cuddling her sobbing child and murmuring soft words in an effort to calm him. Further down the aisle, an older gentleman pressed a bloodied handkerchief to his temple, while a woman bent to gather her scattered belongings. Only a handful of passengers had escaped unscathed.

Several of them had their heads craned through the open windows, trying to see what had caused the unexpected stop. Not an easy feat considering gray-green rock walls rose up on either side of the train and blocked much of the view. An hour earlier, the magnificent vista of rolling hills and the train’s upward pitch had signaled their arrival at the foot of the Blue Ridge Mountains in western Virginia. She knew from her initial ride east that this would be the slowest portion of her journey, but she didn’t envision it would be arrested.

The trough in Thomas’ brow deepened. This is absurd. What in thunderation could have warranted such an abrupt stop?

Major Holt retrieved his hat from the floor, knocked off the dust, and slid it on his head. I don’t know, sir. But I aim to find out.

I’ll come with you, Thomas said. I’d like to discover what’s responsible for this stoppage and how long we will be delayed.

So would she. Any interruption in her trip would be disastrous. As the men started down the aisle, she collected her gloves from her satchel and tugged them on. I’m going with Thomas, Mary. I’ll be back shortly.

But, Abigail—

Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. Fine as soon as this train starts moving again, that is.

She moved toward the exit, stepping over luggage and personal effects that had been tossed into the aisle by the braking train. She had to wait for a gentleman to take his seat before continuing. By the time she made it to the breezeway between the railcars, Thomas and Major Holt had disappeared.

A stiff wind wrapped around her, the air so cold it nearly tore her breath away. Winter, it appeared, had a firm grip on the mountain. She pulled her wool cloak tighter and moved onto the debarking stairs.

Her descent stopped at the bottom step. There was a good two foot drop to the ground—and that didn’t look particularly sound. Crushed rocks and pockets of snow littered the narrow expanse between the iron rails and the steep cliff. She’d have to be extra careful else she risked wrenching an ankle.

Turning around so she faced the train, she grasped the railing with one hand, her skirts with the other, and extended her left leg past the bottom step. She slowly eased downward until her foot dug into the rocks below. A little push and a hop and she reached the ground.

She brushed soot from her gloves. There. No need for a man’s help. She was more than capable of taking care of herself.

The rail bed was more precarious than she had imagined. On her first step, she tottered, arms flapping, head bobbing. She managed to right herself and grimaced. Her sister would have collapsed in a laughing fit at the comical sight—most likely likening her to a goose that had gotten into the corn liquor. God bless her, but Penelope had a strange sense of humor.

Arms extended, she angled toward the front of the train. Her slick-soled boots had trouble gripping the rocky, snow-laced terrain. She slipped and slid most of the way. Not to mention the stiff wind that whipped at her skirts and threatened to trip her at the smallest misstep. Even a drunken goose couldn’t have looked so ungainly.

Her breaths coming in short gasps, she finally made it to the front of the train, only to be stopped by a blue wall of chest and arms.

Miss Whitlock, you shouldn’t be out here. I suggest you return to your railcar.

She tilted her head back. The softness cradling the major’s mouth belied his firm tone. Even his piercing gaze held a temperate gleam, a marked contrast to the sharp planes and angles of his face.

He was a most captivating man. The crisp uniform added an aura of strength and protectiveness. Any lady on the hunt for a husband might find him the perfect quarry. But she wasn’t in the market for a husband. She first had to see her sister walk down the aisle—then she might consider marriage. It would take a special man to convince her to give up her freedom.

She squinted against the sunlight framing his head in a bright halo. Why should I go back? What has happened?

There was substantial rockslide up ahead. Bits and dribbles are still falling. It isn’t safe.

A rockslide? She craned her neck to peer around him. Thomas stood with a group of men about fifty yards past the smoke-belching engine. Just beyond the men, a large mound of boulders and soil and uprooted saplings covered the railroad tracks. Her heart fell. Their train was not going anywhere any time soon.

****

Abigail climbed down from the wagon and stretched her complaining limbs. It had been a long and jarring ride from the stranded train to Afton Station. But she wouldn’t let sore muscles and bruised bones stop her. She had to find another way to get home, the quicker the better.

On the other side of the narrow, dirt-packed street, Major Holt directed the arriving wagons like a general on a battlefield. No doubt he was an imposing figure. Her skin tingled at the memory of his strong hands branding her waist as he’d lifted her back onto the railcar steps.

Excuse me, miss.

She broke off her stare and glanced at the driver standing in the wagon bed. Yes?

Would you like me to tote your belongings over to the station house?

She’d insisted on having her luggage retrieved from the train so they would be with her when she found another means of transportation. Hopefully the station clerk would have information on an alternative mode of getting to Kentucky.

Yes, please. She pointed to the veranda stretching across the front of the station house. Just set them next to that bench near the front door. And be careful with that shipping crate. Some of the slats were damaged during the sudden stop. Fortunately the precious cargo inside the crate was unharmed. If anything happened to her sister’s precious gift, her heart would simply shatter.

I’ll be sure to take extra care with it, Miss. I’m glad there was only minor damage and that all the passengers are all right. It could have been much worse.

It certainly could have. We were fortunate someone flagged down the train before it reached the rockslide. We owe that man a huge debt of gratitude. Thomas had told her about the Good Samaritan. She shuddered at the thought of what could have happened had the man not warned the engineer about the danger ahead.

I heard it was Jubal Simpson who done the flagging, the driver said. Not surprising since he scavenges the tracks most every day for stray chunks of coal.

He deserves an entire railcar of coal for his heroism. I shall be certain to tell the station master of Mr. Simpson’s heroic deed.

Lifting her skirts out of the mud, she crossed to the station house and went inside. The tiny potbelly stove in the corner did little to warm the lobby. She could still see the mist from her breaths. But that would change when the room became packed with passengers. They were already pouring in behind her and staking out prime locations.

She spotted Thomas and Mary standing at the counter and headed toward them. Hopefully they were procuring another route home.

As she drew closer, Thomas’ voice rose over the din. Charlottesville? Why that’s a good twenty miles down the mountain.

The station clerk shook his head. I’m sorry Congressman, but that is the best we can do. It’s going to be at least a week, if not more, before we can get a repair crew up here to clear the tracks. Since we don’t have the facilities to house everyone in Afton, all passengers will need to be ferried back to Charlottesville.

No. No. No. That would not do at all. Abigail joined them at the counter. Are there any other means of transportation? I need to get to Kentucky without delay.

The clerk licked his finger and shuffled through a stack of papers until he found what he was looking for. There’s a stagecoach that leaves out of Charlottesville twice a week, but it says here the service has been temporarily halted due to road repairs. Might be a week or more before they are back on schedule. You’d be better off just waiting for the tracks to be cleared.

No she would not. What about in Afton? Are there any conveyances for hire? She glanced out the window. What about those wagons? The thought of enduring another bone-jarring ride made her cringe. But she would bear the pain if it got her home.

The local orchard owners sent them to help transport the stranded passengers. You could speak with one of them about chartering a wagon, but even if they did agree, it would require travelling through Jarman’s Gap. The roads are not so good this time of year. You’d probably run across the same conditions that halted the stage service.

Horse feathers. If it wasn’t for bad luck, she’d have none.

Thomas patted her arm. We’ll just have to accept the inevitable and wait out the delay in Charlottesville. I hear there’s a wonderful hotel all decorated with holiday trimmings. And I understand their Christmas plum pudding is quite delicious.

Christmas was a time for celebrating with family. She would not spend it in a hotel filled with strangers. I cannot stay in Charlottesville, Thomas. Her voice cracked despite her efforts to remain strong. I must get home.

Now, Abigail, you have to be realistic. There is no possible way we can get you home right now.

He was wrong; he had to be. She shook off the sinking feeling of hopelessness and turned back to the ticket clerk. There has to be some way I can get to Louisville. If not by wagon or stagecoach... What about on horseback?

The clerk looked thoughtful and scratched his chin. I suppose that’s a possibility. You could skirt the rockslide and follow the train tracks through the Blue Ridge tunnel. Back trails will take you on to Waynesboro where you could see if a stage is running to Covington. Once in Covington, you could take passage on the C&O to Louisville. Might take three or four days, maybe a week at most, provided you don’t hit any bad weather or other delays.

A week. Not perfect. She’d be cutting it close, but it could work. Who do I see about acquiring a horse?

Mary’s gasp washed over her. Abigail Whitlock, you will do no such thing.

I have to do this, Mary. I must be there for Penelope’s wedding.

We want to attend your sister’s wedding as much as you do. But it’s just not possible. I’m certain Penelope will understand your unanticipated delay.

I promised I would return in time for her wedding. I won’t break my word. She’d rather die than cause her sister any pain. Penelope had been planning this event for nearly a year. Her sister’s heart would be broken if her only sibling wasn’t there to share in the joy.

Throughout their lives, they had always been there for one another, at Mrs. Gresham’s School for Young Ladies, at their coming out parties, and more recently, at their mother’s funeral. She had to be present to witness this monumental event in her sister’s life. She had to.

Abigail, please listen to reason. Mary’s face crinkled like a linen handkerchief that had been bunched into a nervous ball. It’s much too dangerous of an undertaking. There are wolves and mountain cats. Bad weather could blow up out of nowhere. You could be stranded. It gives me the chills just thinking about the dangers.

I appreciate your concern, Mary. But I have to do this, despite the risks. I have no choice.

Stubborn as that mulish father of yours, Thomas huffed. Jedidiah will skin me alive if I allow you to commit such a folly.

She shoved up her chin. My father has no say in what I can or cannot do. This is my decision.

You simply cannot go traipsing off in the mountains by yourself. You’ll need a guide and provisions.

Then I shall get those things. I’m certain I can find someone who knows the mountain and will be willing to escort me.

Thomas heaved a sigh that was more growl than groan. You are determined to do this.

I am.

Then I insist on locating a proper guide. Someone we can trust to see you safely home. He fixed his gaze beyond her, and his fierce expression calmed. And I believe he has just arrived.

Abigail turned to find Major Holt entering the station house. Her stomach did those funny little flips like the Chinese acrobats she’d once seen at a carnival. Travel with Major Holt? Could she do such a thing and not be affected by the striking officer?

Chapter Two

Evander moved into the station house and closed the door behind him. Passengers littered the floor like routed soldiers, some sitting on trunks, others standing in small groups, their