Free ROMANCE: Mail Order Bride: A Sheriff's Bride (A Clean Christian Inspirational Historical Western Romance) (New Adult Short Stories) by Nathan Adams Page B

it.
    She and her father were left to their own devices from an early age. Christina never remembered her mother, who died while Christina was still an infant and barely able to stand on her own two feet, let alone be cognizant of any memories that could prove to be of much emotional value later on. The only item she had that reminded her of her mother was a tattered old black-and-white photograph showing a lovely young woman, who, despite not smiling, appeared warm and affectionate.
    “She was the sweetest person you could ever meet,” her father always said. “Always helped others before helping herself. I guess the good Lord decided to call her upon himself sooner than we’d like him to, but his will must not be questioned,” he’d add sorrowfully. “Now she is waiting for us up there,” he said, pointing up at the skies, “and looking upon us and keeping us safe.” There was always a tinge of melancholy in her father’s voice every time he spoke of her mother.
    Later on, she wondered why he never remarried, but she dared not ask him. She always found it too personal, as if such a question might hurt him, and that was the last thing she’d ever want to do, especially after he had gotten ill. It all started mildly enough, just a simple loss of appetite, fever and chills, and they had all thought that his condition would improve in a few days.
    Unfortunately, although the symptoms did improve, they eventually returned with a vengeance, increasing the existing symptoms in intensity and even adding some new ones, such as nausea, muscle pains and, the most revealing symptom of all, yellow skin.
    “I’m sorry to say, sweet child, that it’s yellow jack.” Christina remembered the words of their doctor upon his second visit. He recommended quarantine, or boarding up the house and putting up a sign on the front door, where she would stay with him. Because it was possibly that she too had contracted the disease, the doctor added that it would be best. Other than that, there was little that could be done to prevent the inevitable.
    What they knew of yellow jack was that once the skin turned yellow, it was just a matter of time. Naturally, there were people who claimed to have survived the dreaded illness and sold what they referred to as miracle cures.
    Christina was desperate. She couldn’t bear losing her father, yet she had no money to pay for those cures that might help her father get better. Going against her own moral standards, she did what she thought was unspeakable and obtained the money necessary for the medications.
    She quarantined herself and cared for her father until his very last dying breath. The cures did not help, but the shame at what she had done had remained. After some time, when her father was given a burial and once she was given a clean bill of health, she was able to go on with her life, though not as before. She was all alone in the world now, with no one to love or anyone to love her back, and with a smirched consciousness that wouldn’t let go of her, even in her dreams. She caught herself subconsciously shying away from the authorities, as if they’d immediately know what she had done because, to them, it was as if it were written on her forehead.
    That morning, like any other, she was trying to forget all her sorrow, at least for a precious few minutes, after which the cold hand of reality would be upon her shoulder once again.
    Then she saw it: the personal advertisement in a section of the newspapers that she would not normally dare look into, but now, there was no shame, nothing left to grasp desperately for, for it was all gone. There was a certain gentleman by the name of Frederick Howard Fitzpatrick, who was in search of a wife and a mother to his two children. The “mail-order bride section,” they called it. He was obviously well-established and well-educated. She could deduce that much from his writing and his eloquence.
    His open letter felt warm, inviting and perhaps a