Grace: Bride of Montana (American Mail-Order Bride 41) Read Online Free PDF

back of a scrap of butcher paper, jotting down everything she needed to do before she left—assuming he chose her. She wasn’t about to write a letter to the man with Shirley looking on.
    The old woman warned Grace that she’d heard Montana had longer winters than Massachusetts, and then scolded her, saying it was about time she replaced her worn-out old coat for one far thicker. So, buy coat headed her list, followed by make a satchel . She didn’t want to waste money on a leather satchel or carpetbag that she’d only use once, but she figured she could fashion one out of burlap sacks.
    Purchase new shoes. The soles of her only pair were worn so thin, she’d added cardboard to the insides.
    Buy material for new clothes . She pursed her lips, wondering if she had time to make more than one new dress before she left. She spared a thought for the sewing machine she’d known so well and sighed at how long clothing would take to stitch by hand.
    Shirley looked up. “Are you serious about this mail-order bride business?”
    Grace nodded. “Will you be all right if I leave you?”
    “I’ll be sorry to see you go. But yes, I’ll be fine. You’ve been a good companion to me these three years, and I’ll miss you.”
    Tears came to Grace’s eyes.
    Shirley shook her finger. “None of that now!” She tapped the ad. “I approve of this Frey Foster of Montana. I’ve always admired big, strapping men. My husband was such a one.” She smiled, as if remembering. “To this day, I miss the protective feel of his strong arms around me.”
    Grace hid a shudder at the idea.
    * * *
    That night while Shirley slept, Grace sat at the table to compose the letter to the stranger whom she hoped to marry in a few weeks. Ever since learning about Victor’s betrayal, her chest had remained tight, and she wanted desperately to cry.
    Grace bit her lip and dipped the quill of her pen into the ink. She scratched out a reply, carefully, so as not to leave any blots. She didn’t have extra paper to spare for a second attempt.

    Dear Mr. Foster,
    My name is Grace Dickinson, and I live in Lawrence, Massachusetts, where I have worked at the Brown Textile Mill for the last three years as a seamstress. Recently, the mill burned down, and we barely escaped with our lives. The owner has no plans to rebuild. After such a frightening occurrence, and having lost my source of income, I have no desire to live in Lawrence any longer and have decided to seek a husband.
    Her vision blurred, and Grace paused to swipe a hand over her eyes before dipping her pen in the ink and continuing to write.
    I have read your list of requirements, and I fit them well. I am five feet-six inches tall, with blonde hair and blue eyes. I have been told I am pretty and poised.
    Although the last line was true in all points, after Victor’s betrayal, Grace wasn’t at all sure her previous composure would return.
    I’m a proficient cook and housekeeper, and, of course, would be able to keep your clothing in fine repair and replace your garments as needed. Addressing your mention of “as our budget allows,” I feel you should know that I am a frugal woman, who is well able to live on a small income. Hopefully, as we both work together for our future, that budget will grow.
    Grace let out a long breath, thinking of the skimping she’d done to save for her marriage to Victor. Now, if Mr. Foster accepted her, that money would go toward a different marriage.
    I appreciate the offer to stay with your friends. Provided we aren’t repulsed by the sight of each other, I would rather marry at once. But I will take you up on the offer of a second bed and time to become better acquainted before intimacy. Thank you for being so understanding.
    Grace dipped her pen into the ink well, wondering how long before she could bear the thought of a man who wasn’t Victor touching her. Forever? Well, if necessary, she’d just have to endure the man’s embrace and everything that