MAIL ORDER BRIDE: Brides of Sawyerville - Box Set, Volume 1: Journeys to Sawyerville - Clean and Wholesome Western Romance (Sawyerville Brides Series) Read online

  MAIL ORDER BRIDE: Brides of Sawyerville – Journeys to Sawyerville Boxed Set – Volume 1

  The Sawyerville Bride Series - 4 Box Set

  Book 1: Three Butterflies

  Book 2: Land of the Butterflies

  Book 3: Journey To Sawyerville

  Bonus: Catherine (Mail Order Brides of Oregon

  By

  Debra Samms

  Table of Contents

  Contents

  Book 1: THREE BUTTERFLIES

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Book 2: Place of the Butterflies

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Book 3: Journey to Sawyerville

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Bonus Book 4: Catherine

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Bonus Chapter: Moira

  Chapter One

  A Word From The Author

  Other Books by Debra Samms

  Author Profile: Debra Samms

  Copyright © 2016 by Debra Samms

  Published by Acme Gold Publishing

  Cover Design by www.coversbykaren.com

  This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, locations, events, incidents, and businesses are fictitious or imaginations by the author. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is coincidental.

  All rights are reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means except in the case of brief quotations used in critical reviews.

  Book 1: THREE BUTTERFLIES

  A Sawyerville Brides Story

  CHAPTER ONE

  Franklin, Idaho Territory

  March 13, 1877

  In the darkness of a mid-March night, after some ten days of travel, Molly Bergstrom stepped off the train into the smallest town she'd ever seen. She stood beside the steaming locomotive, trying not to think about how this was the end of the railroad line and she was now faced with traveling five hundred miles across the Idaho wilderness in a wagon train.

  Five hundred miles to meet her new husband, sight unseen.

  "Going to the Frontier House, ma'am?"

  Molly turned around to see the conductor standing a few paces back. "I am. I take it that's it right there, across the street?"

  "Yes, ma'am. Largest building in town. It has five guest rooms, along with a dining room serving breakfast before dawn."

  "Thank you. They're expecting me. If I could just have my trunk, I'll be on my way."

  ***

  When she came downstairs for breakfast the next morning, the sky was still dark and sprinkled with stars. Molly sat down in the small dining room in the front of the house with the other guests. They turned out to be one gentleman who was apparently going south on the departing train, and two other young women.

  Molly smiled at the two women, and they shyly smiled back at her. "Hello," she said. "I'm Margaret Howard Bergstrom of Chillicothe, Ohio. But everybody calls me Molly."

  "And I'm Lydia," said the short, round brunette. "Lydia Mary Smith of Chicago, Illinois."

  "I'm Abigail," said the tall, thin blonde. "Abigail Frances Wright, also of Chicago. We're both nineteen."

  "I'm all of twenty-six, and I'm so happy to meet you both!" said Molly, as the cook came out of the kitchen with a pot of coffee. "But I suppose you're both going back on the train when it leaves today. Are you returning to Chicago?" she asked politely.

  The two girls looked at each other. "No," said Lydia, the brunette. "We arrived two days ago on the train. We're waiting for the supply wagon train north to Fort Lapwai."

  "We're going to the fort as brides for two of the enlisted men there," said Abigail, her delicate complexion blushing pink.

  Molly caught her breath. "Fort Lapwai! I'm going there, too. You said you're both going as brides? You're going there to get married?"

  "Yes, we are," answered Lydia.

  "So – why are you going to Fort Lapwai?" asked Abigail politely. "Are you a teacher, perhaps?"

  Molly grinned at her, unable to hide her excitement. "It's true that I am a schoolteacher," she said, "but that's not why I'm here. I'm going to Fort Lapwai for the same reason you're going. I'm to marry Captain Strong!"

  ***

  A short time later, all three women left the Frontier House. Their traveling trunks and bags were already stacked up on the wooden walkway outside the stone building, and the young women stood enjoying the early spring sunshine while waiting for the supply wagon train to arrive.

  "Oh, look at those mountains! The Bear Mountains, I'm told," said Molly. The three of them looked out across the plain where the town of Franklin sat, and looked up and up at the snow-capped peaks.

  "I'm just happy we got to enjoy one more breakfast cooked in a real kitchen," said Lydia

  "That's right," said Abigail. "It will be weeks until the next time we can do that, won't it?"

  Molly noticed that the blonde girl looked a little tremulous, and smiled at her in an effort to cheer her up. "Oh, I'm sure it will seem like we're there in no time," Molly said. "I'm just so grateful that we can be company for each other on this journey."

  "I'm glad of that, too," said Abigail. "There are so few women out here in the West, anyway. The more, the better."

  "Only four weeks of travel, and then we'll all get to meet our husbands," said Molly.

  "Yes," said Lydia, with a small sigh. "Private Nathan Ross, for me."

  "And Private John Fisher, for me," said Abigail. Then she looked up at Molly. "You said you're marrying a – a captain?"

  "Yes. I am. Captain William Strong."

  "Oh! Then you will be an officer's wife," said Lydia. "Congratulations, Molly. I hope we can still see each other, once we're all at the fort."

  When Molly looked puzzled, Abigail spoke up. "The officers' wives run the social life of the fort, and are quite important. But Lydia and I, if we are fortunate, might be able to work as servants in your home while our husbands are on duty. Then we could see you often!"

  Molly felt a little sho
cked at her first lesson in life on an army post. "There is a hierarchy among the wives? How did you learn so much about it?"

  Lydia and Abigail looked at each other. "Our fiancés mentioned it in their letters. They wanted to be sure we understood such things before we accepted their proposals."

  "Well, then," Molly said. "I will have to make certain that we see each other as often as we like. Whenever we like!"

  The three of them could not help hugging each other, and then they all looked up at the sound of heavy hoofbeats and rattling harness coming down the main street of the town.

  It was the eight covered wagons of the supply train, each of them drawn by a team of mules. Some ten men rode alongside, all of them with pistols at their hips, and each of the wagon drivers had a man beside him with a rifle or shotgun across his lap.

  Abigail was wide-eyed as she watched the wagons go by. "So many guns," she whispered."

  Lydia leaned down to her. "Just to keep us all safe," she said. "It's normal out here."

  "Yes," said Molly, trying to be reassuring. "This is the West. We'd all best get used to seeing such things if we're going to live out here."

  CHAPTER TWO

  By the time the sun was above the horizon, Molly, Lydia, and Abigail had climbed into the third wagon in the line. It was loaded not only with their own trunks and bags but with a shipment of wool blankets for the men at the fort. While waiting for the wagon train to leave, the three girls constructed a comfortable room of sorts atop the stacks of blankets and made warm sleeping spaces for each one of them.

  As they settled in, one of the men driving their wagon – Caleb – led over a big black draft mare and began tying her to the back.

  "Is she an extra wagon horse?" Molly asked. "She looks very big and strong!"

  "Nope. She's going to the fort, too, just like the three of you," said Caleb. "But she's due to foal next month so she's not working right now. Thought you might let her travel along with you three."

  "Of course! What's her name?"

  Caleb shrugged. "Don’t think she has one," he said, pulling the rope tight and then walking away. "Everybody sit down, now. It's time to roll out."

  The three young women sat down on the blankets and held onto the sides of the covered wagon as it jerked forward and then began rumbling along. The air was filled with the shouts of the drivers and the cracking of whips as the horses and mules moved out.

  "Next stop is Boise," said Lydia. "It's the only town of any real size between here and Spalding, up north, where the fort is."

  "That's a long way," said Abigail quietly, her eyes growing wider. "This is the Oregon Trail, isn't it?"

  "It will be," said Molly. "We pick it up just north of here, along the Snake River."

  "Snake River," repeated Abigail. "And such a long way, though the frontier."

  Molly could see the fear in the younger woman's eyes, and changed the topic of conversation. "Caleb told me that our friend there doesn't have a name," she said, nodding towards the big black mare walking along behind their wagon. "What should we call her?"

  Both Lydia and Abigail looked out at the horse. "What do you think, Abby?" said Lydia.

  "Well . . . she has a tiny white crescent on her forehead. It looks like those little spring flowers that grow out here."

  "Oh, yes! Snowdrops," said Lydia. "That's what they are. Snowdrops!"

  "Then that's what we'll call her," said Molly, pleased that they'd been able to get Abigail to think about something else beside the long and frightening trip in front of them.

  ***

  The days passed by as the wagon train followed a fairly well-worn path towards the northwest, staying alongside the winding Snake River. The river often fell away into deep gorges and rapids and only rarely came close to the edge of their road.

  Molly, Abigail, and Lydia soon settled into the routines of preparing food twice a day at the stops and spending the rest of their time in conversation while doing sewing and knitting. Though whenever the weather was not too wet, they did spend at least a part of their day walking alongside the wagon. The sights of the mountains and the rivers and the rocky land with its sparse grass and brush, and few trees, was magnificent in its own way, and they never tired of looking at it.

  At night the covered wagons were parked in a circle. The three women slept comfortably enough on stacks of blankets in the back of their wagon, while men with rifles kept watch and campfires burned to keep away the predators.

  One night, while the wagon train camped not far from the river on an open grassy plain, Molly suddenly woke up.

  "Lydia. What's that noise?"

  Both of the other girls sat up. It sounded like a kind of groaning and huffing – and it seemed to be coming from right outside their wagon.

  Cautiously, Molly peered out of the back of the covered wagon. "Oh . . . oh, no . . . " Quickly she pulled on her boots and got a long coat over her heavy nightgown, and stepped down over the rear door of the wagon.

  Snowdrop lay flat on her side in the grass, still tied to the back of the wagon. Caleb pulled the rope free and shook his head. "Looks like her foal is going to be early," he said.

  "You mean – you mean she's foaling now?" said Lydia, peering wide-eyed at them from up in the wagon.

  "Yep. You ladies can keep an eye on her. I've got a whole lot of other horses and mules to keep watch on."

  "But – " Molly began.

  "Just let nature take its course. Mares do this all the time. When the foal's on the ground, make sure you tie the mare again on the side near the center of the circle. The fires will keep the wolves away." Then Caleb was gone, back to guarding the other livestock.

  The three women got out of the wagon and stood by the mare. Molly shook her head. "I lived on a dairy farm in Ohio, but I only watched at a few difficult calvings – I wouldn't know what to do – "

  Lydia, who was usually so calm and stoic, stood close to Molly and held her friend's arm. "My older sister died in childbirth," she said, her voice shaking. "There was no doctor. No midwife. I don't think anything frightens me more than the thought of having a baby out here."

  Then, to their surprise, Abigail – who tended to be the most shy and timid among them – crouched down beside the mare and then glanced up at her friends. "I don't know anything about horses. I only saw them working in the streets back home. But I did sometimes help the midwives back in the city. This couldn't be too much different – could it?"

  The mare continued to strain and heave, as Abigail watched her closely. "Lydia! Molly! You're going to have to help me. Go and ask the cook for some lard. Hurry!"

  CHAPTER THREE

  Lydia froze. "Help you? Help – bring the baby? The foal?"

  Molly wasted no time grabbing her arm. "Come on. We're going to do as Abigail said and help her."

  They waited impatiently beside one of the campfires while the cook went to get some lard for them. "Molly, please," whispered Lydia. "You take it back to her. I'll be in the wagon."

  She started to walk away, but Molly stopped her. "No, you won't! We need your help. And Lydia, you've got to understand something: You're the bravest of us, but I can see that you've been avoiding this. And you can't do that any longer."

  Lydia hesitated, taking a step towards the wagon. "Molly – please – "

  "No. Listen to me. You've got to break out of this – this cocoon you've been hiding in. We're arriving at the fort in just a few weeks, where you will be a married woman!"

  Just then the cook came back with a cast iron skillet half full of lard. Molly took it before he could speak and she and Lydia hurried back to Abigail and Snowdrop.

  The black mare was still stretched out flat on her side. Abigail took some of the lard from the skillet and rubbed it all over her right hand and arm. Then, to Molly's astonishment, she knelt down, pulled the black tail out of the way, and reached right inside the mare.

  "I think the foal has one front leg bent at the knee, instead of straight out in front of
it. But if I can get hold of the leg – and pull it straight – there!"

  Abigail sat back. And just a few minutes later, the black foal was born easily and lay on the grass beside its mother with its wobbly head up and its big ears flicking back and forth.

  "Abby, I never would have thought it of you! Look at them – they're just fine!"

  "I think so," said Abigail shyly. She looked at the astonished Lydia, and smiled. "Mothers are strong," she said. "That's what I know. And so are their babies. Stronger than you think."

  ***

  The next day, the wagon train continued on its way, and Molly was amazed at how the new foal was able to keep up with his mother as she walked along behind the wagon.

  "What should we name him?" asked Lydia. "His mother is Snowdrop, but that baby doesn't have a white hair on him."

  "Actually," said Molly, "I think he's going to be grey when he grows up. Look again. See the grey hairs on his muzzle? My – I mean, a man I knew in Ohio told me about that."

  "If he's going to be grey, maybe we could call him Snowstorm," said Abigail. "He did make kind of a stormy entrance into the world."

  "He did. I think it's a fine name, Abby. And if anyone should name him, it's you."

  ***

  A few days later, early in the morning, the wagon train arrived at a place called Glenns Ferry. "This is where we finally get across the Snake River," said Caleb. "Not many places where it can be forded, or where a ferry can run. This is one of them."

  Molly, Lydia, and Abigail stood alongside their wagon and looked down on the crossing. "I would never have imagined such a thing," said Molly, and the other two agreed.

  The ferry boat, a large flat wooden barge, waited at the edge of the river. The three women watched as the first of the eight wagons was rolled onto the ferry – mule teams and all – and taken slowly across the water, pulled by a heavy cable which ran through iron wheels on one side of the ferry. One man stood at the rear of the ferry to steer it with a keel.