Jasmine's Journey Read online

  JASMINE’S JOURNEY

  Westward Home and Hearts

  Mail-Order Brides

  Book 12

  Margaret Tanner

  Contents:

  Copyright © 2020 by Margaret Tanner 3

  Blurb 5

  Acknowledgements: 6

  CHAPTER ONE 7

  CHAPTER TWO 14

  CHAPTER THREE 24

  CHAPTER FOUR 36

  CHAPTER FIVE 45

  CHAPTER SIX 50

  CHAPTER SEVEN 60

  CHAPTER EIGHT 68

  CHAPTER NINE 75

  CHAPTER TEN 88

  CHAPTER ELEVEN 94

  CHAPTER TWELVE 101

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN 108

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN 116

  EPILOGUE 120

  Author Links 123

  About the Author: 124

  Other Books by Margaret 125

  JASMINE’S JOURNEY

  Westward Home and Hearts

  Mail-Order Brides

  Book 12

  Copyright © 2020 by Margaret Tanner

  Thank you for downloading this e-book. It remains the copyrighted property of the author and may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed for any commercial or non-commercial use without permission from the author and publisher. Quotes used in reviews are the exception. No alteration of content is allowed. If you enjoy this book, then please encourage your friends to purchase their own copy.

  This story is a work of fiction, and to enhance the story, some literary license has been taken regarding setting and geography. All characters are a figment of the author’s imagination.

  Acknowledgements: Many thanks to my author friends, Susan Horsnell and Cheryl Wright, for all their help and support.

  To my loyal readers: Thank you so much for your support. You can’t know how much I appreciate it.

  Cover Artist: V.McKevitt

  Format: Susan Horsnell

  Blurb

  Eavesdroppers hear no good of themselves, but for Jasmine Dunbar it might save her life.

  Escaping from her evil guardian’s mansion, she has been on the run for weeks. Left behind at a deserted stage depot, she is rescued by Mrs. Mildred Crenshaw who owns a Matrimonial Agency. She suggests that Jasmine should become a mail-order bride.

  To save his ranch, Zane McIvor needs a wife. Having once been on the run himself, he is sympathetic to Jasmine’s plight and agrees to marry her, sight unseen.

  When they meet, will he regret his impulsive offer? Or will it be the best decision he has ever made? And has Jasmine met the man of her dreams, or will it turn out to be a nightmare?

  Series Link:

  https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07ZF6KGYF

  Acknowledgements:

  Many thanks to my author friends, Susan Horsnell and Cheryl Wright, for all their help and support.

  To my loyal readers: Thank you so much for your support. You can’t know how much I appreciate it.

  Cover by Virginia McKevitt – Black Widow Books

  https://www.facebook.com/blackwidowbooks/

  Format – Susan Horsnell

  CHAPTER ONE

  St. Louis, 1876

  “You will do as I say and marry Jasmine.” Esmeralda Johnson’s carefully cultivated upper-class English accent floated through the closed door of the study.

  “Why?” Cedric shot the word at his mother.

  Jasmine could not afford to be caught snooping in Arthur’s study. Frantically, she looked for an escape route. There was none. The door moved and she dived into the large, wooden closet, with the fancy serpent head door handle, and pulled the door shut.

  She had nowhere else to live and would be penniless if Esmeralda took it into her head to banish her from the house before her father’s estate was settled. The woman was mean enough to do it, now that poor Arthur, her father’s partner and friend, had quickly followed him to the grave.

  The two men had come out from England on the same ship many years ago and started up a brewery with the help of a German partner who had then sold his share of the business to them.

  “Mother, I want to marry Sally-Anne.”

  “That little nobody. Thinking she’s better than what she is.”

  “You should talk, mother. I know where you came from, even with all the airs and graces you put on.”

  Jasmine heard a loud slap. “How dare you,” Esmeralda shrilled.

  “What did you do that for?”

  “Because you’re a fool. I’ve cultivated all the right people, insisted you be sent to the best schools and you’re prepared to throw it all away on some big breasted trollop.”

  For a second or two Esmeralda’s voice changed almost to that of a vulgar street woman. She had come out from England as a lowly steerage passenger and tricked Arthur into marrying her, pa had once said. He had always detested the woman and the false history she had created for herself. Jasmine could never understand why a gentle, kind man like Arthur would marry such a witch.

  “Why should I marry Jasmine?”

  “To get her share of the business, to start with.”

  “I didn’t think of that.” He had never been too bright and was nasty as well.

  “There’s more.”

  Jasmine heard the chair squeak as Esmeralda sat down, leaving Cedric to pace up and down the study with his heavy-footed tread. When he stopped right near the closet, she hardly dared to breathe.

  “Do you want to be part of the English aristocracy?”

  “Yes, but not as much as you do, Mother.”

  “Enough of this procrastinating, we’ve got plans to make. You will marry Jasmine and if you can produce a male heir….”

  Jasmine stifled a gasp by shoving her fist in her mouth.

  “We can return to England and be set up for life like the aristocracy, be one of them.”

  “What are you talking about?” Cedric asked, in his plum in the mouth voice.

  “Jasmine’s father was the heir to a large estate and title in England, and he chose to leave it all behind to come out here to this wretched country.”

  “Jasmine will inherit?” She picked up the sudden interest in his voice, the greedy, grasping social climber.

  “Are you stupid or what?” Esmeralda’s voice became a little more strident. “She can’t inherit, but if she produces a male child it can.”

  Jasmine clenched her teeth to stop from screaming. All the strange, unexplained things about her father’s heritage was becoming clear now.

  “That can’t be right,” he said. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

  “Who knows with the English upper class. The property is entailed so only a male heir can inherit.”

  “Well, where will that leave me, if only a brat of mine could inherit?”

  “Who do you think would be his guardian? His father, you fool. Listen to me, I’ve had to dip into the business finances, the brewery is nearly bankrupt.”

  “Why did you do that?”

  “To keep up appearances, of course. Now, we need to organize the wedding before she turns twenty-one and can claim her share of the business, or what’s left of it. I don’t want some lawyer snooping around wondering where her money has gone.”

  Jasmine nearly leapt out of the cupboard to confront them. Arthur should have been her guardian until she came of age, which would be in three months.

  “There’s not a moment to be lost.”

  “I don’t want to be stuck with someone like her, from some uncivilized backwater.”

  “You needn’t be.” The coldness in Esmeralda’s voice chilled her to the bone. “Once she’s borne you a son, we can kill her and be rid of her once and for all. That way we can have all the say in the child’s upbringing. Have all the power.”
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  Just like that they were plotting her death in the same way they would plan a dinner party.

  “Now you see how important it is to marry her. You could be a squire at the very least, maybe something more. Think of the doors it will open. You might be able to marry some rich, titled woman.”

  “And you’d be a Lady?”

  “Of course.”

  Jasmine could not believe what she was hearing. She knew little about the English aristocracy, as her father rarely spoke about his previous life, although he had been high born. He had been an officer in some famous English regiment, and also served with the Union army, during the War Between the States. The only relative he had kept in contact with was his cousin, Henry, who came from a different branch of the family, as he had fallen out with his two older brothers. Other than that, she knew nothing about his life before he came to America.

  Her mother had been American born, but had died a few months before the war ended and pa came home. They had moved from St. Louis to a farm in Virginia that was owned by an army friend of her father. She had loved living there and running free, dressed like a boy, riding, shooting with her father. He had been an excellent swordsman and had instructed her in the art. Maybe learning embroidery might have been more sensible, but far less fun. At least she could cook and perform most other household duties.

  Why was she thinking like this when Cedric and Esmeralda were plotting to kill her? To stop me from toppling out of the closet in a screaming heap on to the study floor. She didn’t want to hear any more of their dastardly plans, yet she had to. Her life depended on it. Just the thought of Cedric’s touch filled her with revulsion.

  “When do I have to marry her?”

  “In two weeks. It will give me just enough time to organize an appropriate wedding befitting our social standing.”

  “Appropriate? Why can’t we get a preacher in to marry us?”

  “And have people think you got her with child?”

  He snickered. “Who cares what they think.”

  “It’s all about appearances. How many times have I told you this?”

  “Most of my life,” he said sulkily.

  “And you still don’t grasp the situation. Appearances are everything.” She banged her hand on the desk. “They always have been and always will be.” The angrier Esmeralda got the more coarse her voice became. Cold, haughty when in control, she spoke with a fake upper-class English accent, now because of her anger, her true upbringing came through.

  “Get one of those lazy maids in here. Oh, forget it, I’ll do it myself. I have a wedding to organize.”

  “I’ve made plans to see Sally-Anne.”

  “Well, make sure you tell her you no longer wish to see her.”

  “But….”

  “In public, that is. Take her for your mistress, if you must.”

  “She wouldn’t agree to that.”

  “Well, end it. Tell her you are marrying Jasmine and that is final. If this marriage doesn’t go ahead, we’re ruined. How would you like to work for your living, like your father?”

  “Running a brewery wouldn’t be so bad.”

  “Working on the wharves would be,” she snapped.

  “What do you mean?”

  Jasmine shoved a fist back into her mouth to stop any sound escaping. She knew what she was about to hear would be ugly.

  “Arthur was not your father.”

  “What? He thought he was.”

  “Yes, he did. I made sure of it. I’m going to the small drawing room, get one of the maids to bring me some tea.” Jasmine was convinced Esmeralda would have swept out of the room like a fully rigged sailing ship.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Jasmine waited until the door clicked shut, then edged the closet door open to make sure they had gone. Two weeks to get herself out of the clutches of this evil pair. The cold bloodedness of their plan was terrifying. She could expect no mercy from either of them, if they discovered she planned to flee.

  On trembling legs, she climbed out of the closet, almost wishing she had suffocated in there. “You can do anything, Jasmine, if you set your mind to it.” Her father’s words echoed in her ears. The shock of his sudden death and her subsequent removal from Virginia to St. Louis had sapped her strength, diluted her determination. Her back was now against the wall and she knew it. Either fight to survive or succumb and lead a life of misery while waiting to be murdered.

  Her head ached with the shocking turn of events. She knew no one in St. Louis. Didn’t even know her way around the place.

  Edging the study door open, she peered around to make sure the coast was clear before darting up the staircase to the sanctuary of her bedroom. No way could she face that villainous pair today. I will have to feign illness.

  She had to have a cup of tea to clear her brain and ease her throbbing head. Pulling on the bell cord she summoned a servant. A few minutes later a young uniformed maid entered the room.

  “You rang, Miss?”

  Yes. Rachael, isn’t it?”

  The girl bobbed her head deferentially. “Yes, Miss.”

  “Would you mind bringing me up a pot of tea and a piece of cake, please?”

  “Yes, Miss.”

  “What’s wrong with your face?” Jasmine pointed to a red mark on the girl’s cheek.

  “Mrs. Johnson slapped me. Oh, I shouldn’t have said that. She’ll dismiss me and I need the work to help my family.” Frightened tears filled the maid’s eyes.

  “I swear I won’t say a word. Make it two pieces of cake, please.”

  The poor girl; Jasmine hated the way Esmeralda always spoke to the servants, but had not realized she physically abused them, as well.

  What kind of person was she, moping around feeling sorry for herself and taking little notice of what was happening around her? She had once heard the kitchen maids complaining about Cedric forcing himself on some of them and had thought it malicious gossip. Now she thought otherwise. He was capable of that and more.

  If only there was someone she could confide in. The authorities, maybe? Who would believe her? Probably have her locked away in an insane asylum. Tell no one about your plans, and trust no one if you value your life, Jasmine Dunbar.

  The maid returned, carrying a tray containing a silver teapot and white, gold rimmed cup, saucer and plate. On a heart shaped silver dish rested two generous portions of cake.

  “Thank you.”

  “Will I pour? Cook said you take your tea black.”

  “I do, and I can pour for myself. Have a piece of cake.”

  “I…I couldn’t.”

  “Yes, you can. I ordered the extra piece for you.”

  The maid hesitated.

  Please, God, never let me be this frightened of people I work for. “It will be our secret.”

  The maid checked the door to make sure it remained closed, picked up the cake and within three gulps it was gone.

  “Do you catch the train to work, Rachael?”

  “No, I walk to save money.”

  “Is there a train station near here?” She hoped it sounded like a casual question.

  “There is one down the end of Armitage Street.”

  “Where’s that? I’m a stranger here and I don’t know my way around.”

  “You turn right down the end of this street, and that’s Armitage Street, Miss.”

  “Thanks. I’ve never ridden on a train before, but I would like to one day.”

  After the maid left, Jasmine poured herself a cup of tea and thoughtfully drank it. If she could catch a train out of St. Louis and disappear, she would be safe. Where to go was the big question. Virginia the first place they would look. It had to be far, far away. She would change her name to – Polly Wilson, simple and easy to remember.

  ***

  Two months Later – Laramie, Wyoming

  Zane McIvor paced up and down the porch at the stage depot, trying to clamp down on the excited anticipation swirling around in the pit of his stomach. Within the
next few minutes, he would be meeting his bride to be, Miss Betsy Raynor, a blue-eyed blonde. Petite and attractive, she had said in the first letter they had exchanged after Mrs. Crenshaw had matched them up.

  His need had become urgent, as the Land Authority people were due to inspect his ranch within the next few weeks. If they were satisfied, the land would finally be his after nearly five years of back breaking toil and sacrifice. Having a wife, according to a couple of other ranchers who had obtained the land through the Homestead Act of 1862, had proven helpful.

  Under normal circumstances, at thirty-four years of age he still had plenty of time to find the right woman to settle down with and raise a family. With the agency people breathing down his neck, he could not afford to wait.

  His land had been covered in trees and he had single handedly cleared a few acres, and with some of the timber had built himself both a house and a large barn. Surely that showed enterprise.

  He squinted into the distance. Was that the stage? Excitement, mingling with trepidation, caused a slight tremor in his hand. His whole future depended on Betsy Raynor.

  He took off his hat and dusted it against his leg, and ran his hands through his hair. He had been to the barber and had it cut, had a shave, and decided he cleaned up quite well. What would Betsy be like? She would not be beautiful, otherwise she would have been snapped up by some other man by now. If she could cook and housekeep, and was not a complete hag, he would be satisfied.

  He sighted the horses as they swung around the wide bend. The last time he had felt this nervous was when he waited for his Colonel’s signal to charge the Confederate troops at Gettysburg.

  The stage pulled up and he stepped forward to be greeted by a woman and two small boys. A grey-haired man stepped off next, leaving a woman, hopefully his Betsy, to alight. He knew it was a woman passenger because of the bonnet she wore.

  He stepped over to help her alight, but the man who had ridden shotgun on the stage beat him to it. “There you are, Ma’am, welcome to Laramie.”