Caroline's Promise (Valentine Mail Order Bride 5) Read online

  A Sweet and Clean Book Club Story

  VALENTINE MAIL-ORDER BRIDE SERIES

  Caroline’s

  Promise

  Faith Parsons

  Caroline’s Promise, by Faith Parsons

  Copyright 2016 - First electronic publication, February 2016

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distribute via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the author's permission.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely incidental.

  Orphaned at the age of fourteen, Caroline Akiko Holt found refuge in a factory job painting toys – a job that satisfies her artistic side while still putting food on the table. All she wants is to live the American dream, just as her immigrant British father encouraged her to do.

  But the exotic looks she inherited from her Okinawan grandmother mark her as a foreigner, no matter how hard she works or how perfectly she speaks. It's only at her bible study group that she feels accepted.

  As Caroline's bible study friends begin to find husbands of their own as mail-order brides, Caroline fears she will never find a man who loves her for who she is. So when Maxwell Kaspar writes to her through the mail-order bride catalogue, The Matrimonial Times, Caroline is delighted that Max seems to love her for who she is.

  But Max has troubles of his own – troubles so big, they threaten to destroy everything he’s built, including his ranch. Has Caroline finally found a place where she’s accepted as she is – just in time to see it destroyed?

  CAROLINE'S PROMISE is a Valentine Mail-Order Bride Series book. It’s part of a collaboration with the seven authors of the SWEET & CLEAN BOOK CLUB, all women, each of whom write sweet and clean romance, and stories that make you go “aww.”

  The Valentine Mail-Order Bride Series books tell the story of seven young women who attend the same YWCA Bible Study. Will each of them find the love they seek?

  While these books are part of a series, each of them can be read separately as a stand-alone story.

  Don’t miss the other books in the Valentine Mail-Order Bride Series!

  Book 1: Mae’s Choice, by Kate Cambridge

  Book 2: Maddie’s Quest, by Trinity Bellingham

  Book 3: Jewel’s Dream, by Annie Boone

  Book 4: Sarah’s Journey, by Christina Ward

  Book 5: Caroline’s Promise, by Faith Parsons

  Book 6: Eva’s Vision, by Jackie Marie Stephens

  Book 7: Angie’s Hope, by Lorena Dove

  In Faith Parson’s heartwarming clean romance stories, courageous men and their mail-order brides join together to make a new life on the Western frontier.

  Visit the Sweet Clean Book Club Facebook page for links to all the author's pages, or visit http://www.SweetCleanBookClub.com/Facebook

  Want to be notified when the Sweet and Clean Book Club releases a new series? Go to sweetcleanbookclub.com and click on “Yes” in the upper right corner to join our newsletter, or click here.

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  Chapter One

  With a deft flick of her brush, Caroline Holt painted a grim mouth on the wooden toy soldier before her. Just as she finished, the factory whistle blew, signaling the end of shift. She sighed with satisfaction as she straightened and set her brush to soak in turpentine.

  She was going to miss this job. Where else could she get paid to paint? It didn’t matter that she was just decorating children’s toys. It didn’t matter that she painted the same thing over and over again, day after day. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t allowed to vary the design, not even when it looked better than the template she was supposed to follow.

  It didn’t matter that she wasn’t really an artist.

  You can’t be an artist, it isn’t practical, her parents used to say. You won’t be able to support yourself as a painter.

  She sighed as she cleaned her brush in turpentine. She missed her parents something awful. What would they think if they could see her now? Relieved, probably. When they were alive, they’d worried constantly that she wasn’t practical enough to hold down a job. For good reason, too. Prone to daydreaming and flights of fancy, Caroline had nearly been fired twice from the assembly line before the Foreman Abel had given her a chance in this position.

  Now she was one of their best workers. Because they’d let her paint. She’d worked hard to earn her place here, and she was about to give it all up.

  She hoped she was making the right decision.

  “Ms. Holt?”

  Oh no. Not Stuart again. Caroline doubted he was genuinely interested in her. She suspected he was one of those men who were attracted to exotic-looking women. It wasn’t fair, just because her British grandfather had fallen in love while traveling East with Commodore Perry, Caroline would forever be an outsider.

  One of the things she loved about Maxwell is that he’d proposed to her because of her letters, not her looks.

  She pasted on a polite smile before she turned around. “Can I help you, Mr. Evans?”

  “Some of us on the line are heading out to the pub for a pint and dinner. How about you join us?”

  Would he never stop asking? “Thank you, but I have plans.”

  “That’s all I ever hear from you.” He frowned. His brows furrowed over deep-set eyes that always seemed focused on her bodice when he talked to her. “You should come with us, have a good time.”

  “I’m sorry, but my friends are expecting me.”

  “I’m making foreman real soon now.” Stuart took a step closer. “Jimmy heard that the old man’s expanding production next year, and I’m the best man to run the new line. When that happens, I’ll be looking to settle down.”

  “I’m very happy for you.” Caroline tucked her now-clean brush into its case and wiped her hands on her apron. If you’ll excuse me—”

  “You think you’re too good for me? Because you’re pretty for an Oriental?” He loomed over her. “A girl like you can’t afford to be choosy. Lucky for you, I’m a tolerant man.”

  Lucky for me? A tolerant man? Rage surged through her. How dare he? Her parents had come to America looking for a new life, just like Stuart’s Irish family. But Stuart and his ilk never had to put up the kinds of things Caroline did. Like people being surprised that she spoke perfect English, or that she acted like the good Christian girl she was raised to be.

  Through clenched teeth, she ordered, “Get away from me.”

  He smirked.

  Heart in her throat, Caroline retreated, bumping into the worktable behind her. She was suddenly aware of how tall Stuart was, how heavily-muscled his forearms were, how massive his fisted hands. Her breath caught in her throat. She put one hand behind her as if to steady herself on the tabletop, wrapped her fingers around the heavy mug she’d been drinking from earlier.

  She glared at him. “Get out.”

  “And what if I don’t want to?” He licked his lips, leaned even closer, so that they were almost nose to nose. “Maybe I ain’t done talking to you.”

  Caroline swung her arm around, smashing her mug i
nto the side of his head hard enough to make a loud thunk. He reared back, clutching his head and swearing. She sidestepped and bolted for the door.

  A meaty hand closed around her elbow and yanked her around. She barely kept her feet as she slammed into Stuart’s filthy denim-covered chest, face-first. He yanked her head back, forcing her to look him in the eyes. She wanted to slap him, but her arms were trapped against his chest.

  “I just want you give me a chance,” he snarled. “No one ever gives me a chance.”

  “Stuart, that’s enough.” Foreman Abel’s deep voice boomed with authority. “Let her go.”

  Thank goodness. She would have breathed a sigh of relief if Stuart’s hold on her hadn’t been so tight. Foreman Abel had always treated Caroline as if she were just another American.

  “This is personal business, Foreman. We’re both off the clock.” The muscles in Stuart’s arms flexed. Caroline couldn’t help squeaking as the rest of the air was forced out of her lungs.

  What if he dragged her outside the factory, where the foreman had no authority? Would Abel try to rescue her anyway? Or would he leave her in Stuart’s clutches?

  Foreman Abel walked around so she could see him in her peripheral vision. Caroline felt a surge of gratitude. Just the sight of his stern, weathered face made her feel safer.

  “Miss Holt? Do you have personal business with Mr. Evans?”

  Caroline shook her head so hard she felt wobbly. Or maybe it was not being able to breathe that made her giddy.

  Fury flashed across Stuart’s face. She’d just made an enemy.

  Foreman Abel resumed glaring at Stuart. “Let her go, Evans. Or you and I will have personal business.”

  Stuart leaned closer. “This isn’t over.”

  He released her abruptly, giving her a little shove as he moved away from her. She stumbled, nearly fell. The foreman put out a hand to steady her.

  Caroline refused to look up until Stuart was out of the room.

  “Sorry I didn’t notice sooner.” Foreman Abel patted Caroline’s arm. “Only reason he hasn’t been fired, he can put a rocking horse together faster than anyone else in his unit. Every time I report him for chasing after one of the ladies, the boss just tells me to keep an eye on him.”

  “Thank you.” Caroline sighed. “There’s something I need to talk to you about, sir.”

  “I can move Gardner’s bench closer to you, let him know that he needs to keep Evans away from you.”

  “I appreciate that, sir, but it’s not necessary. I…” The words caught in her throat. What if today was her last time holding a brush? It wasn’t practical to expect to keep painting, once she’d committed to her new life.

  “Something wrong?”

  “I resign.” It came out as a whisper. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I resign, sir. I’m leaving.”

  “Because of Evans?”

  “No, sir. Because I’m engaged.”

  “Your fiancé objects to you working?”

  Caroline hesitated. She hadn’t told anyone outside her circle of friends, because she couldn’t bear them trying to talk her out of it. She was perfectly capable of imagining what could go wrong for a mail-order bride. Outlaws. Natives. Diphtheria. She’d be leaving all the comforts of civilization behind.

  But her biggest fear, the one that woke her up in the middle of the night—what if the man she’d agreed to marry was no different than Stuart?

  She’d pored over Maxwell’s letters, looking for signs that he was not who he claimed to be. All she’d found, though, were kind words, curious questions, and glimpses into the life of what seemed to be a hardworking, honest man who wanted to start a family.

  Foreman Abel raised one eyebrow. “Miss Holt? Should I be concerned?”

  “My fiancé is a rancher. I’m leaving for Arizona tomorrow.”

  “A mail-order bride?” He looked aghast. “I could have introduced you to my cousin. Recently widowed, and a decent man. You don’t need to go to the frontier to find a husband.”

  “I’ve been corresponding with him for months.”

  “I know you haven’t visited him because you haven’t asked for a single day off.” A pause. “Have you exchanged photographs?”

  The unstated thought behind the question—that Maxwell would reject her once he saw her—was too much to bear. She’d told her fiancé the story about her grandparents’ romance in the very first letter. How Grandmother Akiko gave up her life as the daughter of a Japanese diplomat to marry a common sailor. How Grandfather William had been court-martialed for striking an officer who’d suggested that Grandmother Akiko was more suited to a life of prostitution than to be the wife of British sailor. How her grandparents had worked their fingers to the bone raising a family in a New World that seemed to have the same prejudices as the Old World.

  Learning that Caroline was one-quarter Japanese hadn’t stopped Maxwell from writing her back.

  Caroline held up one hand. “Please, Mr. Abel.”

  “As you wish.” The foreman sighed. “If you want to come back, you’ll have a job here.”

  “Thank you. For your kindness, and for…” Stopping Stuart. “I’ve enjoyed working here.”

  “If you want to meet my cousin before you go—”

  Caroline smiled, her frustration evaporating. Foreman Abel had been a kind boss, and a fair one. She would miss him. “My train leaves tomorrow.”

  “God be with you, Miss Holt. I pray you know what you’re doing.”

  So do I.

  ῭ ΅

  Caroline couldn’t help looking over her shoulder as she headed for the Metropolitan Museum of Art. This isn’t over, Stuart had said. A shudder ran up her spine. Every time she looked behind her, she half-expected to see him following. Every time she passed an alley, she kept to the far edge of the sidewalk, even though there was no way Stuart could know where she intended to go after work.

  But he wasn’t following her and he didn’t jump out of the alleys she’d passed.

  She smiled and quickened her step as she caught sight of Sarah waving gaily from the museum steps. Eva and Angie stood nearby, arms linked.

  Caroline gathered her skirts and hurried up the steps, nearly out of breath by the time she reached her friends.

  “Sorry,” she panted. “Stuart. Again.”

  Sarah frowned. “I’m glad you’re staying with me tonight.”

  “Me too.” Caroline put on her most carefree smile, not wanting her friends to worry. She withdrew an envelope from her reticule and handed it to Eva. “A letter from Mae. It came yesterday. She sounds so happy.”

  Eva read the letter aloud, and by the time she finished, they all sighed happily as one. Each of them delighted that Mae had found love. And a little bit hopeful that the same would happen to them soon.

  An hour later, Caroline stood before an oil painting on loan from the Musee d’Orsay by a Frenchman named Gaugin. In the foreground, the artist had painted a white horse that somehow radiated exuberance even though its head dangled down between its forelegs. In the background, a naked, brown-skinned figure rode a darker steed. Something compelling about the simple, vibrant image kept her rooted to the spot. It stirred a longing in her that she’d only felt one other time: when reading Maxwell’s letters.

  “Scandalous!” Eva whispered behind Caroline, then giggled.

  “Art’s supposed to be scandalous,” Angie whispered back. “Who’d pay to see it if it wasn’t?”

  “Ooo, look at that one!” Eva moved to the next painting in the exhibit. Angie followed, leaving Caroline and Sarah alone.

  “Are you all right?” Sarah patted Caroline on the back. “You seem…sad.”

  Was it fair of her to express her fear when Sarah might be struggling with doubts about meeting her own husband-to-be?

  “Caroline, what is it?”

  She took a deep breath. “Maybe I should have sent Maxwell a portrait.”

  “You said you wanted him to love you for who you are, not how you
look.”

  “I do. But what if that’s not possible?”

  Sarah took both of Caroline’s hands in her own. “You’re a talented artist and you’re going to be a wonderful mother.”

  Caroline sighed. “I wish I knew what to expect.”

  “You didn’t know what to expect when your parents died. But you found a job and you found friends. You’ll find friends in Arizona, too. And I’ll just be a train ride away. We can visit.”

  "This is different. I didn't have a choice then. Now...I could stay."

  "You want to work at the factory your whole life? Dodging the likes of Stuart until you're a spinster?" Sarah pursed her lips. "Promise me you won't stop painting, Caroline. Promise me you’ll never be ashamed of who you are."

  “I promise.” She wasn’t sure she’d be able to keep that promise. But Sarah always did know exactly what to say to make Caroline feel silly for worrying. And it was time to stop being such a wet blanket. “How about you? Are you ready to meet Wade?”

  Sarah blushed, but before she could speak, Eva and Angie returned.

  “We’re starving,” Angie announced. “Dinner at Mrs. M’s?”

  Caroline’s mouth watered even as her eyes stung with tears. Mae, Maddie and Jewel were already gone. Tomorrow, she and Sarah would take a hansom to the train station and leave for different towns. Eva and Angie would find husbands soon too.

  This could be her last time eating chowder with her friends at their favorite delicatessen.

  Her last time sharing a ham-and-cheese sandwich with Sarah after a visit to the public library to check out another art book.

  Her last time out with the women who had been her closest friends since her parents had died.

  She vowed she would enjoy every moment.