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  Hope: Bride of New Jersey

  by Amelia C. Adams

  To all those who have ever dreamed of something more and weren’t afraid to go after it.

  ***

  My thanks to my beta readers—Bobbie Sue, Jennifer, Kristen, Mary, Nancy, Tracy H., and Tracy L. You ladies are wonderful! And to my street team—thank you as always for your fantastic support.

  Table of Contents:

  Author’s Note

  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

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  I love a good retelling. My very favorite is Beauty by Robyn McKinley, a retelling of Beauty and the Beast, but I’ve read many others through the years that I just loved.

  When I was asked to participate in the American Mail-order Brides series and saw my cover for Hope, she looked like a Gothic heroine to me, and the idea entered my head to write my own version of Jane Eyre—what if Jane had been a mail-order bride rather than a governess? The idea wouldn’t leave me alone, and I decided I had to give it a try.

  I hope you enjoy my interpretation, and if you do, you might also enjoy the new series I’m launching in the spring called Romance Revisited, some of our greatest literary classics retold as Victorian-era Westerns.

  Chapter One

  Lawrence, Massachusetts

  September 1890

  Hope Middleton pulled her shawl more closely around her shoulders, seeking some relief from the chill that had come over her. With the fire at the Brown Textile Mill the previous week, she’d been left jobless, as had all the other young women now gathered with her in a small park on the banks of the Merrimack River. Roberta McDaniel, their former manager, had called this meeting to discuss what they were going to do now. She cared deeply for the welfare of the girls, and now, as always, she had a plan—she’d been to speak with a matchmaker, and was suggesting that the girls apply to be mail-order brides.

  “I don’t know if I could do that,” Tabitha said, turning to whisper into Hope’s ear. “I’d be scared to death of ending up with a mean man, or someone I couldn’t abide.”

  “I’m not sure that I have any other choice,” Hope replied. A shudder ran through her when she thought about returning to her aunt’s house. She would rather die than admit she had failed to support herself. Roberta was passing out copies of a newspaper called the Grooms’ Gazette—men from all over the country had advertised for wives in that paper. Surely if she married, she wouldn’t end up as miserable as she had been living with her aunt. She worked her way to the front of the crowd, waving hello to her friend Sarah as she caught sight of her, took a few copies of the paper from Roberta, and moved back to the small huddle of her close friends.

  “Are you sure you don’t want one?” she asked Tabitha.

  “I’m sure. I have enough savings to travel to Missouri—my cousin will take me in.”

  Hope had heard stories about that particular cousin, and she hoped Tabitha would be all right. “Trinity? Isabella? Lilly?”

  “I suppose I’ll have a look. My prospects are terrible at the moment,” Trinity said.

  “Father tried to arrange a marriage for me before he decided to bring us to America,” Isabella said, “but the boy had another girl in mind. Without Father …” Her words and gaze drifted off as if thinking of him. Then she spoke again, more decisively now. “Father would have had any suitor investigated.” She reached for the paper and nodded. “That is what I will do.”

  “Sign up to be someone’s wife, not knowing who this person is? I don’t know what to think of the idea.” Lilly frowned at the thought.

  “What will you all do in the meantime while we wait to hear from these men?” Hope asked. She didn’t want to ask that question of herself—she honestly had no idea.

  “I have a little money to get by on. I’d like to leave as soon as possible, though,” Trinity replied.

  “I should be able to leave right away,” Tabitha said. “I’m already packed, and all that remains is to buy my ticket.”

  “There is a family in need of a housemaid,” Isabella said. “But only for one month. Their maid just had a baby, and she will return. The baker’s wife helped me get the job. I am to start tomorrow.”

  “I’ve always talked my way into finding odds and ends jobs, be it cleaning fish or scrubbing laundry, so I know I can continue to scrape by…until I find me a groom to pay my way out of this city,” Lilly said with a sly smile, looking around at their circle.

  Hope nodded. It sounded like each of her dear friends had a plan and knew what they were going to do from here on out. A knot formed in her throat as she looked at them. These were the girls who had seen her through some truly difficult times, and now, the thought of saying good-bye to them was nearly more than she could bear.

  “Hope, you haven’t told us what you’re going to do while you wait to hear back,” Tabitha said.

  “That’s because I don’t know,” Hope replied, forcing a jovial tone into her voice. “I’m about to have a great adventure, I suppose.”

  “I can’t believe we’ll go our separate ways. How will I get on without all of you?” Trinity asked, her eyes wet.

  “Nothing lasts here in America,” Isabella said. “I have not been here a year, and now I must move again a third time. I don’t know what the future holds or what is best, but I pray it will be good and it will last. Adventures can be full of danger, Hope. I will pray for all of us.”

  “I’ll figure it out,” Hope said, waving off their concern. “I appreciate it, I really do, but I’ll be all right.”

  “We’ll help you figure out what to do,” Lilly said as she reached out to touch Hope’s hand.

  “Now, let’s get those letters written and sent. We’ll never get husbands standing around here feeling sorry for ourselves.” With that, Hope picked up her skirts and walked across the grass, praying there would be at least one man in this newspaper who would treat her kindly.

  ***

  After talking with her friends a bit longer about their prospects, Hope returned to her room at the boarding house and draped her shawl over the chair, then pulled out her small coin purse where she had tucked away her meager savings. She poured everything out onto the rickety desk in the corner and counted it. She had just enough money for one more month’s rent and a little food. That was all she possessed in the world.

  The factory had been one of the few places where she’d felt comfortable working. Society seemed to assume that a young woman with no real family must be somewhat less than desirable, and that’s how she had been treated. It did her no good to explain that she had actually been educated at a stringent school and that she spoke French as well as a native. Her skills on the pianoforte were of no consequence at the bakery, and it was certainly of no importance whatsoever to the haberdasher that she could draw and paint. No, they only cared about her family connections, and because she refused to speak of the connections she did have, she wasn’t eligible for any respectable job. Now that the factory was gone, it did seem as though she’d run out of options.

  She pulled out the newspaper and began to peruse the advertisements for herself. It seemed odd, searching for a husband like one might read a seed catalogue. There was one distinct and important difference—if you ordered wheat seed, you’d more than likely harvest a wheat crop. These men could advertise themselves in any way they liked and turn out to be som
ething entirely different. It went the other way, too—the women who responded could just as easily be deceitful. Oh, she wished there was a way to be sure she’d be going into a good situation.

  She read through all the columns on the first page, not seeing anything that seemed like a good fit. Some of these men were very exacting with what they wanted—she wasn’t precisely five feet tall, and she wasn’t blonde, and she couldn’t play the violin. Why would the violin be a requirement for marriage, anyway? With a sigh, she turned the paper over, about to give up on the whole thing, but then she saw one.

  Irascible man seeks young woman of sense and education. Duties will include raising up an eight-year-old child. Location: Newark, New Jersey. Train fare and clothing allowance will be sent. Silly women need not apply.

  Hope smiled. At least this man seemed to be honest. Far too many of the advertisements on the first page had read “nicely featured” or “handsome” or “charming.” If her husband was to have a quick temper, she’d rather know about it up front than discovering it later. She was educated, and she had sense. And while she had been accused of being wicked, no one had ever called her silly.

  She thought about it while she ate her dinner that night, while she readied for bed, and while she stared at the ceiling, trying to sleep. She would have liked to find another job somewhere, but she had already tried—before she came to the factory, she had explored every avenue. There were nothing but dead ends. Becoming a mail-order bride was her last remaining option.

  Early the next morning, while the light was gray outside and the air still held the chill of night, she pulled out a paper and pen.

  Dear Miss Miller,

  I have recently perused your recent edition of The Grooms’ Gazette, and I would like to inquire about the gentleman who resides in Newark, New Jersey. I am nineteen years old. I am well educated and soft spoken. I have no family connections to speak of and would like to establish myself in a new community, as I would enjoy fresh surroundings.

  I have experience teaching children, having spent a year tutoring the younger classes at the girls’ school where I was educated. I am fluent in French, and I am skilled in music as well as in art. Reading has always been a favorite pastime. I am a fair cook, am proficient with laundry and other household tasks, and I can dance.

  Hope paused, tapping the end of her pen on her chin. What more would they want to know about her? What qualified someone to be a good mail-order bride? The advertisement hadn’t said anything whatsoever about her physical appearance, which was one of the things she liked about it, but perhaps she’d better mention something along those lines all the same.

  As to my looks, I am undecided. I have long dark brown hair, and I have been called pretty, but I see no beauty in myself. Instead, I focus on my accomplishments and seek to improve those daily. Perhaps best of all, I am not silly.

  I look forward to hearing from you at your earliest convenience. I would very much like to resolve the matter quickly.

  Sincerely,

  Hope Middleton

  She laid her pen on the desk and blotted her paper, then picked it up and read it over. She’d never felt so awkward about penning a letter. Then again, she’d never written a letter that would so definitively change her life. Marriage wasn’t as simple as choosing a new career. It was far more complex than changing cities, more permanent than any other decision she’d ever made. But knowing this only made her more resolved, and after dressing, she walked down to the post office.

  Roberta had said it could take a month before she’d know anything, and Hope decided that the best thing to do was to keep busy. She inquired after some jobs in the area just to make sure she wasn’t overlooking anything, but just as she’d thought, nothing was available. She counted every penny and spent as frugally as she could, worried that her rent would be due again before she received a reply. The weather grew colder, and she pulled out her extra shawl.

  Then it finally came—the reply from Miss Miller. The envelope was thicker than she had expected, and when she opened it, she found a thin letter and then another folded piece of paper that seemed to be concealing something. She pulled out the letter first.

  Dear Miss Middleton,

  I have received your letter and communicated on your behalf with Mr. Edwards, the gentleman from Newark. He is agreeable to the match and has sent along your train fare and clothing allowance.

  That must be the other item in the envelope. Hope pulled out the second sheet of paper. It was wrapped around several notes. She spread them out like a fan, counting them. She’d never seen so much money—and all of it was for her? It seemed impossible. Shaking her head, she returned to the letter.

  You are to travel to Newark by train as soon as you are able. Please see to your clothing needs before you arrive. The name of the property is Hazelbrook. As you arrive, tell the station master your name and destination, and he’ll see to it that you arrive safely.

  I trust that you will enjoy a long and happy life with Mr. Edwards. Please reply and confirm receipt, and may you have a blessed marriage.

  Elizabeth Miller

  Hope’s breath caught in her chest as she read the letter over again and counted the money. Could this be real? She’d never dreamed such a thing could happen to her, and yet, she was holding the letter, the proof. With her other hand, she dashed away the tears that had arisen. It was time. It was time for her to experience life how it was meant to be lived—with purpose, with companions, and perhaps with love. She would have to see.

  ***

  Early the next morning, Hope bundled up her money in her reticule and headed down to the shops. She’d never purchased more than one or two items at a time before, and they’d always been the simplest things she could find. Now she allowed herself the luxury of three dresses for every day, one for Sunday, two hats, two pairs of shoes, handkerchiefs, gloves, underthings, aprons, and nightclothes. Even after all that, she hadn’t spent half of what she’d been sent. Once she reached New Jersey and had a chance to see what her life would be like, she might spend a little more. Perhaps another work dress or more aprons. With no way to know the full scope of her duties, it was impossible to prepare.

  She came back to her room, exhausted from a full day of shopping, and all but dropped into her chair. As her gaze fell on her pen, her friends immediately came to mind. They had each left, and once she was settled, she’d send them a note to tell them where she was.

  That night, she packed up her things, with the exception of her new dark brown Sunday dress. She would wear it the next day. Her train ride would take her across the state of Connecticut, a place she’d never seen, and the journey would be several hours long. Perhaps by the time she arrived, she’d feel a little calmer.

  Chapter Two

  Newark, New Jersey

  September 1890

  Hope climbed off the train at the Newark station in the dusk of evening and looked around. The place was certainly alive with excitement, people bustling to and fro. She smoothed down the front of her dress and hoped that her hair had stayed somewhat put under her hat. It wouldn’t do at all for her to arrive looking bedraggled. As she stepped up to the ticket window, she felt a drop of rain hit her arm. No, not rain—rain would ruin everything.

  “May I help you, miss?” asked the man behind the glass.

  “Yes. I’ve just arrived, and was told to speak with you about transportation to Hazelbrook. I’m Hope Middleton.”

  “Right you are. If you’ll take a seat on that bench over there, I’ll have a buggy here for you shortly.” He gave a quick nod and stepped away, presumably to fetch the buggy driver.

  Hope sat on the bench as she was told, but felt another drop of rain. If only the skies would hold off for a short time longer.

  A handsome buggy came around the corner from somewhere behind the station, driven by a man who looked older than Father Time himself. The baggage handler from the train hefted Hope’s trunk into the back of the buggy and then gave her a boost
up.

  “Say now, you’re going to Hazelbrook, are you?” the driver asked, his voice little more than a wheeze.

  “That’s right. How far is it?”

  “’Bout two miles. Have you got an umbrella? This rain is bound to start up any minute.”

  “I didn’t think to bring one. I’m sorry.” With all the money she’d been sent, she certainly could have afforded an umbrella. Why hadn’t she considered it?

  He snorted. “No need to apologize to me. You’re the one who’s going to be wishing she chose differently.”

  He flicked the reins on the backside of his dun-colored horse, and they started down the street. After a short time, the clapboard buildings on either side of them fell away to be replaced with trees.

  “So Hazelbrook isn’t within the city itself,” Hope said. Maybe she could learn some things from this driver before they reached her destination.

  “It’s just on the outskirts. Place like that couldn’t fit in the city,” he said with a chuckle.

  What did he mean? Was it so odd that it wouldn’t suit the surroundings?

  “And what do you know about Mr. Edwards?” she asked.

  “I give him rides from time to time. Doesn’t talk to the likes of me much, so I can’t say as that I know much about him at all.”

  “Is he young or old?”

  The driver scratched the bristly hairs on his throat. “Can’t rightly judge. He’s younger than me—that’s about the end of it.”

  Hope stifled a sigh. Everyone was younger than this man, including Methuselah. His answer was hardly helpful.

  She decided to give questioning a rest and sit back to enjoy the ride instead. The farther they got from the city, the quieter it became until the sound of hooves clopping along the dirt road was all she could hear. She would enjoy living someplace so peaceful.

  “Hazelbrook, coming up ahead.” The driver gave the horse another flick with the reins just as sheets of water began to fall from the sky. The drops were so huge, they seemed almost unreal. The roof of the buggy kept most of the water off her, but the wind picked up, blowing moisture into her face. She held her hands over her eyes, trying to shield herself, but it seemed a futile effort. The driver, meanwhile, stayed mostly dry in his waterproof coat, his wide-brimmed hat pulled down to shield his face.