Free Mail Order Bride Leah: A Sweet Western Historical Romance (Montana Mail Order Brides Series Book 1) by Rose Jenster Page B

could be. Perhaps, she thought sternly, she was jealous of the woman’s golden-haired beauty and was looking for a reason to dislike her.
    Scolding herself for being petty, Leah resolved to try harder to befriend the poor widowed lady the next time they met. She wondered what she could wear to dinner at the mayor’s mansion. She had nary a shirtwaist that would button over her growing stomach. Taking down her sewing basket, she set to work laboriously on the slow job of finishing the loose calico blouse Mrs. Gibson had cut and pinned for her.
    She would dearly love to see the inside of the mayor’s fine home. It was rumored to have a crystal chandelier and china dishes from England. Leah had plenty of money saved from her embroidery work at the dry goods store, but she couldn’t bring herself to part with some of that nest egg just to get finer fabric for her pregnancy blouse.
    Nothing she could afford would hold a candle to the lace and silks Melody Carver was bound to appear in. Plus, Leah would never be as pretty. She was jealous, pure and simple, she told herself. And ever so slightly worried that such a woman might turn every head in the room, including Henry’s.
    When she was certain Melody must have departed the rectory, Leah set out with her sewing things and visited Mrs. Gibson for advice and stitching repair.
    “You’ll look lovely in your calico blouse and a plain skirt. No one expects you to dress like the mayor’s family. I, for one, will be there in the same dress I have worn these three winters past—although I plan to wear the lace collar you tatted for me to smarten it up a bit,” Mrs. Gibson said as she removed a row of crooked stitches from Leah’s sleeve.
    “You’re right. I know it. I just feel—inferior.”
    “She was a dazzling beauty from the time she turned sixteen. The boys gathered around her like, well, flies,” Mrs. Gibson said mischievously. “And you know what flies are attracted to.”
    “Oh, surely she isn’t that bad. She’s just lively, and I am so shy and—I suppose my condition doesn’t help any. I look as though I’ve swallowed a whole Christmas turkey.” Leah tried to smile.
    “I would have said a ham by the shape,” Mrs. Gibson replied teasingly, and Leah did have to smile at the rejoinder.
    They sat companionably and talked over the supposed finery of the mayor’s house, and planned to sit side by side at the dinner the next night. By the time Leah reached home, however, she had a terrible headache. It was all she could do to make a simple soup for Henry’s supper before she went to lie down on their quilt and rest. When he got home, Henry was all concern, but she was so miserable she wanted only to sleep.
    In the hours he was awake without the companionship of his wife, Henry thought of Melody, of all their history together, and how she had broken his heart almost beyond recovery. He had been a very young man when he moved West, and after a few months of doing odd jobs, he got a place at the trading post in Coulson. It was a rough town and lawless, but rumors of the railroad coming through were enough to keep Henry in town. The summer after the Northern Pacific came through, the wealthy banker’s daughter came home from the boarding school she attended in England.
    By some chance, Henry was paid a few coins to fetch her luggage when it arrived by wagon. Upon delivery, he caught a glimpse of Melody—only the smallest glance of a pink silk dress, her milk-and-roses complexion, her fair hair as she passed through the front hall of her parents’ new home in Billings. Her gaze had fallen on him and he took his hat in his hands, gaping at her in worshipful awe.
    “You there, boy. Are those my trunks?” she had demanded imperiously, and he nodded. He would have assented to anything she asked. “Bring them to my room at once,” she ordered.
    With that he was led up a flight of stairs to a delicate bedchamber furnished with a rose-figured carpet and a