ALIEN SHIFTER ROMANCE: Alien Tigers - The Complete Series (Alien Invasion Abduction Shapeshifter Romance) (Paranormal Science Fiction Fantasy Anthologies & Short reads) (176 page)

A Mail-Order Bride Western

Book 1

(Can be read as a standalone book)

By: D.D. Boone

Elise and the Lumberjack

Chapter 1

This was the longest wait Elise Anderson had ever had at the Bishop Hill, Illinois, post office. She was expecting a letter from her best friend, Bridget, who lived in New York City. They’d been separated for about three years now, but they’d kept in contact every other week to tell each other about their lives.

The letter Elise expected today was in regard to Bridget’s wedding plans. Elise’s employers, for whom she translated English into Swedish and taught how to speak and read English, had given her permission to attend the wedding. All she needed to know was when she had to leave.

At last, Elise saw the mail courier coming from the southwest, as he did twice a week when he picked up the mail at the Chicago, Rock Island and Pacific Railroad depot in Galesburg, Illinois.  For the former Swedish commune established in 1841, no train station was closer than Galesburg.

Elise pondered how she’d gotten to Bishop Hill. Her parents had immigrated from Småland, Sweden, after their 1848 marriage. Rather than traverse the country to Minnesota, they’d chosen to stay in New York City with their infant daughter, Elise. By the time she was eighteen, they were both deceased, and she needed a job. With her bilingual abilities, she went to Castle Garden, into where many Swedes immigrated. The immigration department didn’t pay a lot there, but they had hired her.

About a year later, she’d met Bridget O’Riley. They’d become friends almost instantly during the O’Riley family’s immigration processing, and Mrs. O’Riley had invited her to live with them once they were settled so she could save some money.  And she did save, for another two years.

Then she aided the Bengtson family with translating when they arrived from Sweden. They were headed to the commune founded by religious leader Eric Janson, and Mr. Bengtson asked her to join them as their personal translator and teacher. Elise accepted the job immediately when he told her how much he was willing to pay her. She had always wanted an adventure, and moving to Illinois would be just that.

Unfortunately, that meant she and Bridget had to say good-bye, and both promised to write regularly.

“Would you come out of that daydream and join the rest of us, Elise?” a young man asked from beside her.

She startled and gazed up at the tall, blond Swede. Her face heated in embarrassment as she said, “I’m sorry, Lars.”

Lars Olson’s baby-blue eyes gleamed with merriment, and he grinned down at her. “You always are. Would you like the mail for the Bengtsons?”

“Is there anything for me?”

“I’m afraid not. Have you and Bridget had a falling out?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” Elise replied as she accepted the mail from him. “She’s probably just busy with wedding preparations.”

“Have you heard that I’m leaving for California next week?”

“No, I haven’t. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I just decided a few days ago. I’m tired of farming and making mail runs. I’m going out there to be a lumberjack.”

“A
lumberjack
,” she repeated in surprise. “Do you have any idea what kind of work that entails? I understand it’s very strenuous.”

“It is,” he said with a wide grin, “but I’ve been preparing for it. I cut trees here every chance I get—never without reason, though. Trees take a long time to grow back.”

Her heart sank to know that he would be leaving soon. So far, he’d been her only suitor, and she was going to miss him, especially that smile. “If this is what you want to do, I wish you well.”

“May I write to you?”

“You’d
better
write to me,” she said cheerfully. “I would feel terribly neglected if you didn’t.”

He winked at her. “I’d better get the rest of the mail into the post office so others can collect theirs. You have a good day. I’ll be by the house to see you tonight. Is that all right?”

“Absolutely.”

As Lars went into the post office, Elise strolled toward the general store. Mrs. Bengtson needed some thread for darning, and Elise had promised to pick it up on the way home. After purchasing the thread, she headed back to the house, her mind deep in thought.

Lars Olson was a nice guy, but she had no real interest in him. No other men wanted to court her, though, so she kept seeing him only to have someone to escort her to parties and dances and such.

Why
didn’t
other men want to court her? she wondered. Her hair was a dark blonde, not the light blonde of so many Swedes. Her eyes were a darker blue, too. She didn’t know why she didn’t have the same type of coloring as so many Scandinavians, but she didn’t. Apparently, men weren’t fond of that because her features, although not beautiful, were attractive. She did have a little bit of a big nose, but it wasn’t huge. So why didn’t men want to court her?

“
Anudder
daydream?” Mrs. Bengtson asked in a thick accent as Elise entered the back door without her normal greeting.

Elise felt the blush coming to her face. It never failed. Whenever someone pointed out that she was daydreaming again, she was embarrassed.

Dropping the letters on the kitchen table, Elise said, “Another daydream. I don’t think I’ll
ever
stop having them.”

“I don’t
tink
so,
eider
.” Mrs. Bengtson picked up the mail and glanced through it. “Stina is
vaiting
for you in
de
parlor. She has
someting
important to tell you.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Bengtson. I’ll go see what it is.”

Chapter 2

Elise entered the parlor and saw Stina Bengtson sitting on the velvet-covered sofa with her feet drawn up beside her, her attention in a book with a Swedish title. Studying her for a few moments, Elise waited while Stina read.

Stina was a beautiful, young woman of nineteen with light blonde hair done up in two braids wrapped around her head, in the traditional Swedish manner. Her eyebrows and even her eyelashes were also pale blonde, almost unnoticeable had her skin not been tanned by the summer sun.

A common name in Sweden, Stina was the equivalent of the Anglican name Christina, which many Swedish had changed to upon arriving in America. Stina, though, had wanted to keep her name as it was.

In a way, Elise was surprised to see Stina alone at the house and not visiting one of her three suitors. Elise sighed. Stina had three young men from whom to choose while she herself had one—one she really wasn’t interested in.

Wandering over to the Victorian sofa with three yellowish-orange cushions, Elise plopped down onto the only one Stina wasn’t using and leaned against the high back.

“Your mother said you wanted to talk to me,” Elise said to open the conversation.

Stina looked up from her book and closed it, marking the spot with her thumb. Her light eyes took on a troubled expression as she replied, “I have heard rumors around town—from
Yohn
mostly.”

Smiling, Elise corrected her surrogate sister. “That’s John. Juh, juh, juh. Not Yuh.”

With a shake of her head, Stina smiled back. “
Juh
-ohn. Any-
wu
-ay, he told me Lars Olson is leaving Bishop Hill.”

“Yes, I know,” Elise replied, chuckling at Stina’s exaggerated pronunciation of anyway. “I was there when Lars brought in the mail, and he told me.”

“You don’t sound upset or angry.”

“I’m not.”

“No? You and Lars have been courting since
ve
got to Bishop Hill.”

“Don’t misunderstand, Stina. I’ll definitely miss him because he’s such a good person, but I was never interested in him as a suitor. I consider him a friend and nothing more.”

This time Stina frowned. “
Vy
not? If you
tink
he’s a good person, you should
vant
him to court you.”

Now was not the time for a pronunciation lesson, Elise decided. Whenever Stina was nervous, anxious or in a hurry, she always reverted to the Swedish pronunciation, and Elise doubted that would ever change.

“In America,” Elise explained, “we don’t have to marry somebody just because they want to marry us. Well, at least, not in most of America. I’ve read that there are still places where arranged marriages happen.”

“Don’t you feel sorry for him? He’s been courting you for a long time. He must expect that you’ll marry him.”

The distressed tone in Stina’s voice surprised Elise. With three suitors, Stina shouldn’t be concerned about Lars’ emotions.

Rising, Elise absently went to the window and looked out to the side yard garden, which was abloom with marigolds, tomatoes, corn, lettuce, and other vegetables. In a way, Stina was right to be concerned about Lars. He had been courting her in the hopes of marriage, and she had done everything that would indicate that she would agree someday. Why? Just because she was desperate for a suitor?

If she still had her mother, she would be able to ask for guidance. Unfortunately, she hadn’t had a mother since she was eleven. At that time, she wasn’t interested in boys. By the time she was fifteen, she had no father to ask, either. The people at the orphanage had no interest in guiding the orphans. The owners only wanted the money they got to take care of all the children, who actually took care of each other.

Now that she had turned twenty-two, she knew nothing and felt awkward asking anybody for help.

“Elise?” Stina asked from her seat on the couch.

“I know. I know,” Elise replied, turning to lean against the wall papered in large blue flowers with a white background. “I was in my own little world again.”

Now that Stina’s nervousness was gone, she reverted to proper pronunciation again. “Don’t you think he wants to marry you?”

“I suppose. Do you think I was teasing him by the way I acted during his courtship? If you do, I certainly didn’t mean to.”

“I know that,” Stina said sympathetically. “You don’t know how to be with men. You should ask
Moder
to help you.”

“I don’t know what your mother could possibly do to help me at my age.”

Stina turned on the sofa and shook her finger in Elise’s direction. “One is never too old to learn. She is learning English, and you can learn about men.”

A knock at the front door startled the pair, and they both shot their eyes to the foyer. Desperate for a reprieve from the conversation, Elise shouted that she would get it a bit louder than she had anticipated.

There stood Lars, his blue eyes sparkling as always. With a grin, he waved an envelope before her and said, “I believe this is what you were looking for.”

“Thank you,” she replied, taking the letter from him. Sure enough it was from Bridget. “Do you want to visit for a while?”

“I wish I could, but I don’t have time. I’ll return this evening.”

“All right.”

Without another word, Lars strode down the steps and off the property before Elise moved to the rocking chair on the wooden porch. Excited about the prospect of returning to New York City for a wedding, she ripped into the envelope and read the letter. Her heart dropped. Bridget wasn’t getting married after all? She had found her fiancé in the bed of another woman and had called off the wedding.

Now what? Elise wondered. She had been looking forward to a trip to New York City to see her friend, but Bridget said that she was not in the mood for visitors yet. Should she postpone her trip, or should she cancel it? A letter to Bridget should answer that question, and she went to her room to write one.

Chapter 3

Elise didn’t realize how much she would miss Lars. He’d been gone for two weeks now, and she was about as lonely as she had been when her father died. With no siblings nor aunts or uncles in the United States, she had gone to an orphanage. Plenty of children lived there, but none her age. There were no prospective parents for a teenage girl, so she had lived her life in relative solitude, despite taking care of younger children. At eighteen, she was forced out of the orphanage.

With a sigh, Elise collapsed onto the porch swing to read another letter from Bridget. Although the wedding had been canceled, Bridget’s missive sounded upbeat. After having some time to put things in perspective, she realized that she was lucky to have found out about her fiancé’s infidelity. She was better, Bridget told her in the letter, but she still wasn’t ready for Elise to come visit.

Disheartened by the news, Elise sat on the porch swing, absently pushing herself back and forth with her feet. It was Friday evening, and Stina and her year-younger sister Karin were off at another party. The younger children were in bed. Elise could have gone to the party, but she didn’t want to attend alone.

“Are you all right, dear?” Mrs. Bengtson asked from the doorway.

“I’m fine,” Elise replied. “I’m just a little lonely with Lars gone. I’ll get over it.”

“You should have gone to the party tonight.” Mrs. Bengtson, Elise had noticed, spent a great deal of time on her sentences, usually avoiding words with letters she had difficulty pronouncing. “You could meet
anudder
man.”

“I’m not ready to meet another man, Mrs. Bengtson. I think I want to wait until I’m done missing Lars. I’m afraid I will expect all men to be like him.”

“He is special—very kind and smart.”

“
Very
smart. He should have gone to school longer. He could have been anything he wanted, even a doctor. I simply don’t understand why he wants to be a lumberjack.”

“I did not
tink
you cared for him as much as it seems,” Mrs. Bengtson said as she joined Elise on the swing.

“He was a good friend, but I wasn’t interested in marriage,” Elise admitted. “That doesn’t mean I don’t miss him, though. He was always available if I wanted a friend, so it’s like part of my family has gone away—again. I’m getting tired of losing loved ones, even if that loved one is just a dear friend.”

Mrs. Bengtson took Elise’s hand in one hand and patted it with the other. “Are you sure you could not marry him?”

Bowing her head, Elise stared at their hands. Mrs. Bengtson was the closest thing she’d ever had to a mother, and maybe confiding in her would help ease her distress.

“I don’t know anymore, Mrs. Bengtson,” Elise admitted. “Before he left, I wasn’t interested in him like that. Now that he’s gone, though, I miss him. Maybe I do love him more than I thought.”

“You should follow him.”

Elise shot her startled gaze to Mrs. Bengtson, and the woman laughed as she patted Elise’s hand again. How could Stina’s mother possibly think that she should follow Lars to California? Lars had never proposed marriage; he had never even indicated that’s why he was seeing her. To follow him without even knowing if he wanted her, to seemed ridiculous, even foolhardy.

“I followed …” Mrs. Bengtson hesitated a moment as though looking for the right word. Then she continued in Swedish. “
min man
… to America.”

“But as you say, he is
your husband
. That’s entirely different than following a suitor who has moved across the country without even giving you a hint of wanting more than a friendship.”

“He
vill
vant
you to
yoin
him. You
vill
see.”

With those words, Mrs. Bengtson rose and bid Elise a
gott natt
as she went into the house. Elise absently responded with her own good night as she toyed with Bridget’s letter.

So Mrs. Bengtson thought she should go after Lars. Was that something she should consider without an invitation from him? He might have already found someone else and might not want her there.

Elise had probably saved enough money to make the trip in the ease of a sleeper car on the train. In fact, she had saved almost every penny she had earned from the Bengtsons. They had provided her room and board, as well as paying her a healthy salary to teach their family English, so the children could go to an American school. She had no reason to spend her money, except on incidentals and a few dresses she had wanted.

The children didn’t need her so much now, and she was getting bored. Yes, she helped around the house and with the cooking, but she had discovered that she loved teaching. Maybe she could set up classes where she taught all newly-arrived Swedes—and there were a lot of them lately. Most of them didn’t understand English, so she could probably earn a little money while doing something she loved.

Before she had time to delve deeply into the idea, however, Elise received a letter from Lars.

My dear Elise,

Life without you is very lonely. I miss you very much. I wanted to ask you to join me here, but I wasn’t sure what conditions would be and didn’t want to burden you.

It is not wonderful here, like in Bishop Hill, but it isn’t terrible, either. Forestville, where I am living, is dry right now, but I understand the rains will come this winter. Here, it doesn’t get very cold, according to the men I’ve spoken with. Nor does it get terribly hot in the summer. I think you would like the weather.

The life of a lumberjack is hard. We work long hours, but I do enjoy the work. And when work is done, we want to enjoy ourselves. There is a saloon here, with the prostitutes that go with it, but I have never been a drinking man. I don’t frequent the saloon.

I’m not the only man in this company town who is lonely. There are very few women here. Some of the men are even trying to find one of those mail-order bride catalogs or newspapers. They are desperate for female companionship. The only women here are already married or prostitutes—and the prostitutes are few for the number of men. Then there are those of us who prefer the company of a lady.

We could also use a translator. Many of these men are from Sweden and don’t understand much English. You would probably make a lot of money teaching them.

Please come to Forestville, Elise. I need you more than I ever imagined I would. And if you can find women who would join you on the journey, please bring them, as well.

That’s one reason for this letter—a kind of mail-order bride letter, I suppose. We want ladies willing to marry us. I hope one of those women will be you.

              Forever yours,

              Lars Olson