A Fresh Start for Christmas Read online

  Book 14 in Spinster-Mail-Order Brides

  Copyright © 2019 Kimberly Grist

  .

  All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the permission of the author.

  ASIN: B081SF6HCK

  Dedication

  To my very own Pastor Nelson, my best friend, love of my life and live-in biblical scholar. And to my friends and family who have both inspired and encouraged me, I am immensely grateful for your love and support

  CONTENTS

  ~o0o~

  Acknowledgments

  Dedication

  Previous Titles in the Series

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Other Books by Kimberly Grist

  Connect with Kimberly

  DISCLAIMER

  Thank you for reading A Fresh Start for Christmas,

  Book 14 in the Spinster Mail-Order Bride Series

  Previous Titles in the Series

  Book 1--A Marshal for Christmas by P. Creeden

  Book 2--A Bride for Christmas by Cheryl Wright

  Book 3--A Husband for Christmas by Margaret Tanner

  Book 4--A Farmer for Christmas by Marisa Masterson

  Book 5--A Family for Christmas by Cheryl Wright

  Book 6--A Shadowed Groom for Christmas by Marisa Masterson

  Book 7--A Vow for Christmas by Linda Carroll-Bradd

  Book 8--A Sheriff for Christmas by P. Creeden

  Book 9--A Groom for Christmas by Cheryl Wright

  Book 10--A Niece for Christmas by Margaret Tanner

  Book 11--A Cowboy for Christmas by Christine Sterling

  Book 12--A Companion for Christmas by Marisa Masterson

  Book 13--An Orphan for Christmas by P. Creeden

  Book 14--A Fresh Start for Christmas by Kimberly Grist

  Book 15--A Miracle for Christmas by Patricia PacJac Carroll

  Book 16--A Mother for Christmas by Christine Sterling

  Book 17--A Home for Christmas by Julia Ridgmont

  Book 18--An Outlaw for Christmas by Susan Horsnell

  Spinster Mail-Order Brides

  Chapter 1

  Counting Stars Orphanage – Collier, Tennessee – Spring 1891

  “What are men to rocks and mountains?”

  ― Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

  The calico curtains fluttered in the morning breeze and ushered in a quick chorus from multiple frogs welcoming a warm spring day. Twenty-eight-year-old teacher, Memphis Rose Griffin, fought the urge to smile at the longing looks from at least four of her younger students. For a moment she was transported back in time as a young girl sitting in this same room.

  Except for the recent whitewashing of the log walls and the transition from benches to double-seated desks, the room was the same. Formerly a surveyor’s cabin, the city delegated it to the orphanage twenty years ago as a school.

  She glanced toward the black-painted wooden wall serving as a chalkboard. Written in neat script was the same lesson her mother taught years ago. The creaking of the door drew her attention to the arrival of her friend and co-teacher, Daisy, who’d arrived at the orphanage fifteen years ago during the yellow fever epidemic. A perpetual optimist, Daisy’s bright smile transformed her small face.

  “Mrs. Shelby asked me to come and relieve you. The pastor’s here and wants to speak with you.” Daisy pushed an escaping auburn curl behind her ear.

  “Does he have anyone with him?” Memphis spoke softly.

  “No, not this time.” Daisy blew out a breath. “As much as I love children, it’s a relief, since we’re protruding at the seams as it is.”

  “I was in the middle of explaining why Washington thought it wouldn’t be a good idea for our flag to be similar to the enemy’s.” Memphis inclined her head toward the various aged students sitting two to a desk.

  Daisy wrinkled her nose toward the writing on the board. The flag of the United States of America. The stripes represent the original thirteen colonies. “You know how much I hate history. Do you mind if we transition to geometry?”

  “There are scraps of paper stacked on my desk.” Memphis’s mouth twitched. “Why not recreate the five and six-point star?”

  “I like the way you think.” Daisy grinned. “You’d best be on your way.”

  ***

  Memphis’s boots made quick taps along the plank floor, then out the door. A blue heron took flight from a group of cattails nestled on the bank of the nearby pond and disappeared in the thicket of willow oaks. She waved both arms to cut through a swarm of mosquitos. As loud as the frogs were last night, you’d think they would have done a better job eliminating these pests.

  Continuing on the clay path, she passed a field where teenage boys were working with a volunteer to prepare the ground for corn and other crops, which helped the orphanage sustain itself.

  “Good Morning, Miss Griffin.” Many of the teens paused from their work in the vegetable garden and waved.

  “Morning, boys.” Memphis placed her hand over her stomach and struggled to catch her breath due to the restraints of her corset. From her viewpoint, the two-story log house, which had been her home since birth, stood proud against the blue sky. She hurried the pace, lifting her skirts to avoid muddying her hems and made the trek to the front door of the building. Originally a two-story dogtrot style, the open hall in the middle was enclosed to increase the square footage.

  Memphis opened the door and passed the large parlor, converted years ago to a nursery for infants and toddlers. Her boots made quick taps across the split log floors into the library, which doubled as the orphanage’s office.

  Reverend Otis Jackson rose from his chair and extended his hand. “Good morning, young lady.”

  “Have a seat, Memphis Rose.” The matron of the orphanage poured an aromatic brew into a china cup. “The pastor brought us a new blend from a friend of his, who produces tea in South Carolina.”

  “What a wonderful treat. Thank you for sharing it with us, Reverend.” Memphis accepted her cup, which now included a spoonful of honey. “Are we celebrating something?”

  The pastor retrieved his handkerchief and wiped his receding hairline. “Mrs. Shelby and I were doing a bit of reminiscing.” His shaggy eyebrows drew together. Then he stared into the distance. “We were discussing how thankful we are that God has brought us through tragedy and met our needs. Imagine a widow with no children of her own blessed to raise so many?” Mrs. Shelby glanced toward a painting of a bearded man, depicting Abraham staring into the starry sky.

  Memphis leaned back in her chair. “It was Mama’s idea to call the orphanage, Counting Stars, wasn’t it?”

  “It was prophetic. As war widows, we thought ourselves limited. I wish your mother could see the newly expanded wing.” The orphanage matron offered a watery smile. A ray of light from the window illuminated her mothe
r’s best friend’s pale complexion and brightened her blond hair mingled with white, giving her an angelic look. “More specifically, we were reminded of the day we met Reverend Jackson after the Union army took control of Memphis.”

  “The commander didn’t know what hit him the day your mother and Mrs. Shelby drove their wagon loaded with orphans into camp and demanded the return of their milk cow.” The pastor chuckled. “Your mother looked like she could deliver at any moment. She wagged her finger, shaming us for taking milk from children and threatened to stand there until the cow was back at the farm.”

  “The army took our chickens and other livestock. They cleaned out our root cellar too. Thank goodness they missed the vegetables still in the ground. The only reason we still owned a horse was the poor nag was barely putting one hoof in front of the other,” Mrs. Shelby huffed. Not for the first time, Memphis noted the worry lines etched in her face.

  “I don’t recall hearing the story before.” Memphis stirred her tea absently. “I can picture Mama standing her ground.”

  “You’re a lot like her. Same blue eyes, although your hair is gold to her red.” Reverend Jackson chuckled. “She possessed the temper to match. Eventually, she got what she wanted.”

  “I was never certain what caused the commander to return the animal. I expected he didn’t want to contend with a woman delivering a baby in his camp.” Mrs. Shelby offered a half-smile.

  “True, but don’t think the wagon full of orphans didn’t affect him. Most of us had children of our own.” The pastor’s voice dropped off.

  “Thankfully, the cow was returned. You were born two days later.” The matron patted Memphis’s arm. “Your mama would be proud of the woman you’ve become. You know I assured her on her death bed you would always have a home with me.”

  “Yes, I remember. And I promised I would take her place as teacher.” Memphis shuffled her feet on the well-worn carpet.

  “You’re an even better teacher than she was if that’s possible.” Reverend Jackson leaned forward. “Mrs. Shelby and I’ve been discussing your role here for quite some time. We don’t think your mother meant for you to take her place indefinitely. She was giving you a purpose to get you through the next few years.”

  “What are you saying?” Memphis clutched the skirt of her faded calico dress.

  “One of our goals is to prepare the children for a life outside the orphanage. We do our best by educating them and teaching basic skills. You know as well as anyone how successful our apprenticeship program has been for the boys.” The pastor placed one hand on his knee.

  “Our problem is how to offer our girls more opportunities.” Mrs. Shelby stared at Memphis over her teacup. “The children are brought up in the same manner you were. They learn to help in the kitchen and to read and write. The girls are taught basic homemaking skills and child-rearing.”

  “You are a wonderful young woman, an excellent teacher and role model. We want to enlist your help to be the first to volunteer in a new venture.” The pastor puffed out his chest.

  “You’re building another orphanage?” Memphis asked.

  “No, dear.” The matron placed her cup on the table. “We’re starting a matchmaking service, and we’d like to begin with you.”

  Chapter 2

  “I am determined that only the deepest love will induce me into matrimony.

  So, I shall end an old maid, and teach your ten children

  to embroider cushions and play their instruments very ill.”

  ― Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

  “Matchmaking?” Memphis straightened and alternated her gaze between Reverend Jackson and the orphanage matron. Both were smiling and nodding as though it was the most natural thing in the world. “As in a mail-order bride?”

  “We don’t like the term. Besides, our strategy doesn’t include anything as uncouth as placing an ad in the paper. We mean to go about this strategically.” Mrs. Shelby settled in her upholstered armchair. “Similar to what people have been doing for generations, introducing people through mutual friends and family. In my day, young couples would congregate at social gatherings, like a dance or a taffy pull.”

  Memphis blew out a breath. “I admit I like the idea of a social gathering. Remember the last time we tried something similar? There were no single men in attendance under the age of fifty.”

  “I met my Missus at church.” The pastor placed his cup on the table and retrieved his Bible. “As stated, the problem is there are few eligible men of marriageable age in these parts. Between the yellow plague epidemic and gold fever, young men are scarce even in the surrounding counties.”

  “We want our girls to meet God-fearing men, who will look at their wives as helpmates and lifelong companions.” The matron opened her locket and stared at the tintype. “Even though our time together was cut short by my husband’s premature death, we experienced a good marriage. I want you to have the same opportunity. Your mother would agree and probably chastise me for not taking action sooner.”

  Reverend Jackson rubbed his chin. “A little over a year ago, Mrs. Shelby and I, along with other volunteers of this fine institution, committed the problem to prayer.” The pastor rose abruptly and began pacing. “A few weeks later, I reread the story of Isaac and how God used a family servant to locate his bride, Rebekah. I soon began corresponding with others of my acquaintance and found they were experiencing similar issues.”

  “I took up my pen, as well.” Mrs. Shelby’s thin cheeks rose with her smile.

  The pastor paused and stared absently at the walls. “Within a few weeks, I received letters from many pastors who serve communities out west. Their problem is the same, yet different.” He took a seat on the velvet settee across from Memphis. “There’s an abundance of men out west but few single women. So, after corresponding back and forth these past few months, together we’ve developed a five-point plan.”

  Memphis studied Reverend Jackson. In his late sixties, his remaining hair was white and cropped close to his head. His deep-set eyes were a steel gray. He’d been like a father to her and a source of encouragement. He had her best interest at heart.

  He removed a folded paper from his Bible. “Point number one, seek God’s will.”

  Memphis let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. Maybe this won’t be too terrible. They want me to pray about God’s will for my life. What if His desire is for me to remain at the orphanage and never marry?

  The pastor waved two fingers. “Point number two, go to the ideal place to find a match God would approve of.”

  “The ideal place?” Memphis blinked.

  “Place and people, we interconnect with pastors, family and friends, who in turn vouch for the character of godly men who are seeking women of the same quality. I’ve heard back from several.” Mrs. Shelby beamed. “My favorite is from my childhood friend, Tennessee.”

  Memphis inclined her head toward the matron of the orphanage. “I enjoy hearing stories about you and your friend, Tennessee Montgomery. I remember Mama teasing that since her name was Georgia, all your best friends were named after cities and states.”

  “True.” Mrs. Shelby’s eyes brightened at the memory. “I’d forgotten. Their names suited them perfectly and I’m a better person for knowing both.”

  “Isn’t Tennessee the woman who stole your sweetheart?” Memphis bit her lip to hide a grin.

  “She didn’t steal him since he was never mine to begin with. I thought I was in love with Michael and tried all sorts of silly things to grab his attention. Much to my despair, he was always sweet on Tennessee. Later, of course, I met Joe.” The matron laughed. “We’ve remained friends and write back and forth often. She has seven children of her own.”

  Reverend Jackson pulled out a stack of envelopes bound together with string. “These are letters forwarded from men recommended by their local churches. We’ve gone through the correspondence and selected a variety we would like you to consider. Afterward, we’ll meet again to
pray about the matter and choose the one you want to begin correspondence with.”

  “I’ve been pleased with the response. Each man has a recommendation from his pastor, as well as another character reference.” Mrs. Shelby's forehead creased. “There’s a sawmill owner who has recently taken custody of his niece and nephew. A farmer who works part-time as the deputy sheriff and a livery stable owner.”

  “My preference is from a young pastor who is shepherding his first church, west of Dallas. There is a cattle rancher and mercantile owner who would be good candidates.” Reverend Jackson pulled on his ear. “It’s your opinion that matters.”

  The matron clapped her hands. “The way I see it, these are the types of men we would invite over for dinner or to a social gathering, providing an opportunity for conversation and fellowship. The difference will be instead of getting to know them in person, you’ll do so through correspondence.”

  Memphis stared at the ceiling. She’d lived here her entire life and was content. Did she have the desire, and even more so, the courage to leave? “You want me to write a letter?”

  “First, we want you to read what the prospective grooms have written, then choose the one you like best. If this works the way we hope, you’ll be the first of many happy unions of H.I.M.M.” Mrs. Shelby’s hazel eyes sparkled. “Which is short for Heaven Inspired Matrimonial Matches.”

  “Exactly.” Reverend Jackson slapped his leg. “Then we’ll move to point number three.”

  Chapter 3

  Carrie Town, Texas - Spring 1891

  “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.”

  ― Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

  Thirty-two-year-old Mike Montgomery pulled the wagon in front of his parents’ Gothic Revival-style house with pointed arches and window shapes. He passed the reins to his younger brother, John-Mark.

  “Best get this over with. Our mother’s up to something. I’ll play along and bring the supplies in the house.”