Prologue #2
Josie’s eyes stung. She rubbed her stomach with her thumb.
That innocent child seemed safe within her, but in truth, it wasn’t.
Nothing inside her could be safe. She wasn’t a safe vessel that offered protection.
She was a broken one. Her womb hadn’t saved the other three pregnancies, even when Marcus hit her with knowledge of what it might do.
“You’re not strong enough!” he screamed. Josie was always doing something wrong. She tried to obey him, but it wasn’t enough. A man like him could never be pleased, making survival impossible, not without consequences.
“No, and he wasn’t going to. Seeking refuge with you was my first step, but now . . . I don’t know what to do.”
Aunt Tia wrapped her arm around Josie. Josie sank into her embrace, resting her head on her aunt’s shoulder. Aunt Tia sighed, rubbing the back of Josie’s head. “I’m going to write to Mammy and tell her to keep this matter quiet until we have your problems solved.”
Mammy. Josie’s tears fell faster. Poor Mammy had not been part of this, yet she was caught in the middle, having discovered Josie over Marcus’s lifeless body. No one else knew the truth—only the two of them.
“Send me word when yuh’re safe,” Mammy had whispered before Josie boarded the carriage.
There was no telling what would unfold once the sheriff knew of the death.
Someone who killed a man as important as Marcus wouldn’t be let off too easily.
And with Josie’s immediate disappearance, she would be the prime suspect.
“What do you mean?” Josie asked, wiping her tears. “How can we solve this? I killed my husband.”
“You were defending yourself, Josephine. Think about your child. What would have happened, hm?”
Josie pressed her lips together and shook her head. “The law won’t see it that way, and you know it. I need to get out of here.” Salty tears blurred her vision. “I can’t stay here. Help me, Aunt Tia.”
Aunt Tia’s head moved from side to side, scanning the dimmed room. Her brows rose, setting her sight ahead. She turned to Josie and gripped her hand. “Do you trust me?”
Josie nodded. “Yes.”
Aunt Tia balanced herself on her cane and pulled herself up.
“Wait here.” She wobbled across the room and stopped at the chair beside a corner window.
She turned, holding a folded newspaper. After settling herself on the settee, she opened a section and handed it to Josie. Then Josie’s stomach dropped.
Mail-Order Brides Wanted
Josie nearly choked upon reading the headline. Aunt Tia was up in age, but she wasn’t crazy—at least from what Josie knew of. However, this was the first sign of her mental decline. The old woman couldn’t be serious.
“Aunt Tia? What are you trying to say?”
Aunt Tia bit her lip. “I think you know.”
Josie’s jaw tightened, throwing the newspaper down. “I cannot marry a stranger. You already know what happened last time. Marcus was handpicked by my father. A stranger! I won’t go through that again.”
“Josephine, look at me,” Aunt Tia commanded, scooting closer.
Josie turned her head away, clenching her fists in her lap.
“Josephine, you’re a stubborn girl. Look at your aunt when she’s speaking to you.”
Josie huffed and faced her aunt.
Aunt Tia’s brows furrowed as she pointed to Josie’s flat abdomen.
“Now, that baby of yours is in real danger. If you stay here, he or she will be without a mother and thrown into an orphanage with shame cast upon them. If you marry again and move to the wild country, you will have security and protection. You can’t make it on your own, and you can’t stay here. Make your choice.”
Josie’s gut nearly convulsed.
“You said you trusted me, now keep your word,” Aunt Tia rebuked. “My heart goes out to you, dear, truly. I love you, but you have no other options, none that will keep you and your child together and safe.”
Josie hugged herself, her fingers and arms quivering.
You can’t be seriously considering this idea, Josie.
Are you going to listen to your crazy aunt?
You can’t be that foolish. Josie was finally free, and now she was thrown back in time.
Seven years ago, she had been a foolish girl of sixteen, marrying a man because her father told her to.
Josie couldn’t fight back then, but she could fight now.
But at what cost? She wanted this baby more than anything, and she’d give her life to protect it.
She swallowed a lump in her throat, nodding slightly. “Fine. I’ll listen. Tell me your plan.”
Aunt Tia picked up the discarded paper. “Mail-order brides are common, always have been. There’s a man’s name I stumbled upon the other morning, and his story has stuck with me for some strange reason.
” Aunt Tia placed a hand on her heart, her bottom lip quivering.
“I truly believe God had a hand in leading me to it.”
Straightening her posture, she cleared her throat and lifted the paper closer to her face. “Willow Grove, Montana. Travis Blythe, widower and father of four. He writes, ‘I’m searching for a woman willing to love and raise my children as her own.’”
Josie’s heart sank, leaning back against the sofa.
Those poor dears. She pressed her fingers against her lips, stifling a gasp.
What was happening to her? They were just words on a page—nothing more.
Yet they tugged at something deep inside her.
She couldn’t let the heartfelt advertisement manipulate her emotions.
What if this was just a cruel trick, a way to get a woman to feel sorry for him and then take control of her?
Since the war, she understood men better than before—control and greed were the essence of who they were.
“He’s just a desperate man trying to make a woman feel sorry enough for him to marry him,” Josie spat firmly. “I won’t do it. Find someone else.”
Aunt Tia groaned, lowering the newspaper into her lap.
“Josephine, you are just like your grandmother, judgmental and picky,” she muttered, shaking her head.
With a sigh, she placed a hand over her chest. “However, I understand you. Your father was foolish to marry you off to that monster of a man, but you must learn to trust, not for your sake but for your child’s.
Think about those four children without a mama. Think of your child being fatherless.”
“And would this man want another baby? One from another man?”
Aunt Tia carefully folded the newspaper, her gaze low. “We’ll meet that difficulty when the time comes.”
“Aunt Tia,” Josie chided. “I never said I would.”
Aunt Tia smiled and patted Josie’s hand, unmoved by her skepticism. “Let’s not argue. Sleep on it, my dear. It’s been a long night. Let me escort you to your room.”
Josie stood as her aunt gestured for her to follow.
She held her breath, just like she had earlier when sneaking into the train station and crossing town.
They climbed the stairs in silence, their footsteps light against the worn steps.
On the fourth floor, Aunt Tia unlocked a door and pressed an oil lamp into Josie’s hands.
The sharp scent of kerosene filled her nostrils as the flame flickered in the darkened hallway.
“Stay in here,” Aunt Tia whispered, her voice dropping an octave from its usual feminine tone. “I can’t let my staff see you. The fourth floor has been closed for years due to repairs.”
Josie nodded, her grip tight around the lamp, her other hand wrapped around her forearm. Aunt Tia rose onto her toes and pressed a soft kiss to Josie’s cheek. “I love you, my darling niece.”
Josie blinked back a tear, quickly swiping at her cheek with her hand to wipe away the salty residue. “I love you too, Aunt Tia.”
She stepped inside the room and glanced back at her aunt before closing the door with a soft click.
The small orange flame from the lamp flickered across the walls of the drafty room, enough for Josie to make out the shadowed outlines of furniture.
She surveyed the space, realizing it was less than a fourth the size of her former bedroom.
Still, anywhere felt better than that prison, a place lavishly decorated as if fit for a queen. A captive queen, at that.
In the corner stood a small twin bed beside a modest desk. On the far wall, a window was boarded up with only a narrow crack allowing a sliver of dawn light to seep through—just enough for her to catch a glimpse of the dark outside world.
Josie sighed, setting the lamp on the desk before lying down on the cool bed, letting her tears come.
She gripped the thin sheets in her hands.
Her tears soaked through the fabric and into her skin.
Josie wanted her baby more than anything, and the mere thought of abandoning it nearly shattered her heart.
How could she deny her child a mother—when the only part of herself left behind would be the mark of a murderess who had swung from the gallows?
Perhaps marrying this stranger could be a new beginning, the answer to everything.
Montana was thousands of miles away and secluded.
She could hide out with a new identity. Whoever this man was, his children didn’t deserve to be motherless, just like her child didn’t deserve to be fatherless.
Josie cupped her flat abdomen. She wasn’t too far along, no more than a month if her calculations were correct.
She sighed. Her baby was in danger, and she’d never forgive herself if her stubbornness ruined its chance of a better life.
Josie moved to the small desk, opened the drawer, and found pen and paper. She shifted the oil lamp closer and stared at the blank paper. What could she say to a man she didn’t know? What was his middle name? What color eyes did he have?
She needed to push back the awkwardness. If he didn’t write back, maybe it was the Lord’s will. But Josie had to try—for her baby’s sake. Think about those poor children. Think about your baby. She dipped the pen in ink and began writing.
Dear Sir, she began. Josie thought it would be appreciated to address him in a proper manner rather than Mr. Blythe or whatever his name was.
My name is Josephine . . . Josie paused, letting the ink drop on the empty space.
She shivered, nearly writing her last name.
She was a widow now, but she couldn’t return to that name.
If she was going to leave and marry a stranger, she needed a new identity.
She would choose her maiden name, Callahan.
Josie exhaled and rubbed the crease between her eyes. She would give anything to go back to her sixteen-year-old self, so innocent and naive of the troubles lying ahead, especially in a marriage to a war hero. Josie shook away the thought. She crumbled the paper and began again.
Dear Sir,
My name is Josephine Callahan . . .