Lottie's True Love (Brides 0f Pelican Rapids Book 1) Read online

  A Mail-Order Bride Story...

  Lottie’s True Love

  ________________________________

  Brides of Pelican Rapids

  Lisa M. Prysock

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Brides of Pelican Rapids | Series Page

  Book Description

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Theme Verse

  Prologue

  Title Page

  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

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Author Note

  Short Civil War Era Glossary

  Author Biography

  Brides of Pelican Rapids

  Series Page

  Lottie’s True Love, Volume 1

  Lisa M. Prysock

  NO PART OF THIS PUBLICATION may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means- electronic, mechanical, digital, photocopy, recording or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the author.

  Lottie’s True Love

  Copyright © 2019 by Lisa M. Prysock

  All rights reserved.

  Cover Design and series emblem by cover artist Evelyne Labelle, Carpe Librum Book Design. Clip art and illustrations used are public domain and illustrations by the author noted by initials LP or by Lisa Prysock, if any. Any internet links, addresses, or contact information in this book are not guaranteed for the life of the book.

  Interior text edited by Rachel Skatvold.

  Proofed by Tina Caudill Conder.

  Author Photo by Alaina Broyles.

  Cover Artist, Evelyne Labelle, Carpe Librum Book Design.

  For information or to contact the publisher or author: Lisa Prysock, 7318 Autumn Bent Way, Crestwood, Kentucky, 40014, USA.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to events or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  This work is cataloged in the Library of Congress.

  Unless paraphrased, otherwise noted or indicated, all Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.

  Lottie’s True Love

  Copyright © 2019 by Lisa M. Prysock

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN:

  ISBN: 9781073671151

  Imprint: Independently published

  Book Description

  Miss Charlotte Kennedy, a southern belle from Georgia, has been waiting for her fiancé, Ryan Hill, to return from the Civil War since it ended three years ago. Nothing is the same since he enlisted, promising to return.

  When her cousin, Kitty Gardner, writes to her about a mail-order bride agency in Ottertail County, Minnesota, Charlotte writes to the proprietress, Miss Ella Milton, hoping she might be able to find her a suitable match. She doesn’t expect her heart to stop aching for Ryan, but moving forward with her life has become more appealing than the devastation of the war.

  The last thing Lottie expects is for Ella Milton to match her to Captain Caleb Brooks, a handsome Yankee hero who sweeps her off her feet right from the start. He doesn’t expect her to be so beautiful, and he certainly doesn’t expect her to turn his life upside-down.

  When Ryan, the handsome young Master of Bally-Belle Plantation, turns up on the scene in Pelican Rapids alive, suffering from a severe case of Soldier’s Heart and searching for his fiancée, Caleb may have to enlist the help of some unlikely company to bring his bride safely home again.

  Adventure, drama, history, humor, and sweet romance leap off the pages in this captivating mail-order bride series. Purchase your copy today and enjoy every moment in this Christian Historical Romance novel.

  Cover

  Dedication

  I was absolutely delighted when the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge and the Duke and Duchess of Sussex announced the births of Prince George, Princess Charlotte, and Prince Louis, followed by their cousin, Archie. I was so busy writing books during the years of their births, I regret not being able to send a letter or card of congratulations to each. Instead, I wrote them an adventure of historical proportions, which I believe they may enjoy reading when they’re a bit older.

  Acknowledgements

  I’d like to thank the Lord for giving me so many wonderful ideas to write about, and I pray for His anointing and blessing on all of my work. Everything I write is for Him and because of the wonderful things He’s done in my life. I just want to share it with the whole world in some beautiful and heartfelt way. Jesus is what this is all about. I sincerely hope readers find Him in my stories.

  I’d also like to thank my wonderful family for putting up with my reclusive behavior when I’m holed up in writing mode. They are a constant support and mainstay for me, and I couldn’t do what I do without them.

  I’d also like to thank my outstanding editor, Rachel, and proofer, Tina, for helping me bring my stories to life and in making them the best they can be, ready to share with the world. Thank you to my beta-readers for helping me launch my books.

  Another thank you goes out to the awesome fellow writers in this series. We learn from each other, cheer each other on, help each other with research, plot holes, and storyline development. I feel so incredibly blessed and humbled to be linked to each of you.

  Thank you to Amazon, many other book retailers, and libraries in the world where I plan and dream of making my books available to the world audience. I’m happy you’ve made a place where we can do this. Writers who’ve gone before us would be amazed at how far the writing industry has come.

  Lisa M. Prysock

  Theme Verse

  But the God of all grace, who hath called us unto His eternal glory by Christ Jesus, after that ye have suffered a while, make you perfect, stablish, strengthen, settle you.

  I Peter 5:10

  Prologue

  1845, Philadelphia, near the corner of

  South 2nd Street and Walnut

  “Hold your hand out.” Walter waited until his brother complied, but William had little patience left for his youngest brother’s antics. Half of him expected Walter to strike his hand like a school master might with a defiant pupil. He was weary, hungry, and aggravated. They all were.

  When he opened his hand, Walter spoke even louder. “And what do you say we do now? We’ve spent almost everything but this, and Wesley and I are famished.” Walter eyed his older brother fiercely and poured the last few coins they possessed into his hands.

  William looked at the few coins in his hand and then at the expression on the face of Wesley, his middle brother, and then Walter again. They were depending on him to come up with something. The journey across the Atlantic had been harrowing, and had they remained in Ireland, they’d likely have starved from the blight on the potato crop.

  Thus far, they’d sent most of what they’d managed to earn back to Cork County, hoping to save the lives
of their parents and other beloved family members. America was their new dream, filling them with hope—the best chance they had. Here, in this city, patriots had banded together and won a nation independence. Philadelphia had been the headquarters for the colonists during the famed Revolutionary War. Surely they’d chosen the right place to begin anew.

  William looked up at the three-story, red brick establishment with white framed windows on the corner. The sign read, City Tavern. In smaller letters beneath, it boasted Colonial fare from the previous century. He smiled and crossed his arms over his chest. “Aye, I’m hungry, too.” He placed his hands on the shoulders of his brothers. “The Good Lord didn’t bring us this far to leave us now. Let’s pray. Then we shall enter the tavern and see how we might play our hand at a little card game or perhaps offer our services in exchange for a meal. Whatever the Lord establishes us to do, rest assured my brothers, He’ll open an opportunity for us.”

  “Why be ye so confident?” Walter asked, a slightly wary tone in his voice.

  “Well, first of all, if you recall, remember that newspaper fella I worked with a fortnight ago?”

  “Aye,” Wesley nodded. “We remember.”

  William continued. “He took me ‘ere for dinner one night and told me this be the same place where Paul Revere visited, George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, and John Adams. Washington even made it the official headquarters for the Continental Army for three days. I ‘ave a good feeling about it, like the Lord above brought us ‘ere for a reason.”

  His brothers shrugged and nodded. Walter spoke up first. “All right. What do we ‘ave to lose? Let’s pray. Mayhap the Lord will work fer us and give us favor.”

  “You pray, William. Yer faith be stronger right now than ours, but we’ll be believin’ with ye.” Wesley closed his eyes and bowed his head, and his brothers followed.

  After William’s prayer, they entered the tavern and seated themselves at a quiet table near the middle of the room. Almost immediately after they were seated, a ruckus occurred at the table beside them when a player was summoned by a servant to leave a card game to tend some matter or other at home.

  This upset the remaining three players who wished to continue the game. The departing gentleman happened to glance over at their table. Seeing William seated nearest him, he tapped him on the shoulder and inquired as to if he would consider taking over his hand. “It’s Boston Whist and you may keep any winnings from my chips if you play your hand well,” he assured him.

  “Boston Whist, eh?” William repeated, eyeing the tall pile of chips the man had already amassed, and then looking at his brothers with one of those knowing smiles. Standing up, he accepted the departing player’s chips and cards. He’d watched his former employer play a few rounds, but long enough he felt he could manage.

  “Order whatever you’d like to eat, brothers,” William instructed.

  While his brothers ate their meal and observed the game silently from the table beside him, he kept playing and winning many of the hands.

  Two hours later, they were still playing the game, and the three gentlemen he played with were in their cups, nearly oblivious to the amount they were losing to William, singing jolly songs between rounds. The player to his right had run out of chips and raised the stakes by throwing in a promissory note for an extra property he owned in the south he said he desired to be rid of, a plantation on the eastern side of Atlanta. They all agreed, the winner of the next three rounds would win the property.

  William kept playing, bidding carefully on each hand in which he knew he could win whatever he bid to take tricks, faithfully observant in order to follow the suit of preference and the color suit. One of the players had become so inebriated, he misdealt the next hand and thus, according to the rules, had to pay a ten chip penalty to the pool. Nonetheless, William and his brothers kept an interested eye on the scrap of paper upon which the plantation owner had vowed to turn over the title to the property, one which he considered—at least in his present state—merely a nuisance. William won two of the next three rounds, and the drunken gentlemen in the tavern pushed the remaining chips and the promissory note across the table to him. Then he shook hands with those present, and the man who’d lost the property agreed to give him the title on the next day if he’d call upon him at eleven o’clock in the morning at his home, a two-story townhouse around the corner. The note was witnessed and signed by all those present, but most importantly, also had the man’s signature.

  He and his brothers would not go to bed hungry tonight, and they could afford to move to a better set of rooms at a nicer establishment than the inn where they currently resided. The Good Lord had smiled upon them. The next morning, he had only one question for the man when he called promptly with his brothers to pick up the title to the property. He was a little nervous. What if the man wasn’t a man of his word?

  “Why do you wish to be rid of the property, Sir?” William asked when he’d been ushered into Clyde Garnet’s study, his brothers waiting in the foyer.

  Clyde placed a thick folder on his desk and sighed, rubbing the right temple of his forehead as he spoke. “Aside from the fact I was in my cups last night and got a bit carried away?” Mr. Garnet chuckled. “Frankly, I married a year ago, and between my wife and I, we now own a country house in Virginia, this townhouse here in Philadelphia, and a country estate in New York. She detests the south, despises Atlanta, and her father plans to leave her his farm in Massachusetts when he dies. She’s his only offspring, so there you have it. It will simply be a headache for me to maintain and manage.”

  “When’s the last time you were there?” William shifted uncomfortably in his seat, hardly believing his ears.

  Clyde fiddled with his extravagant cravat and leaned back in his leather chair behind the massive cherrywood desk. “Maybe three months before our wedding. We have spent all of our first year of married life between residences in New York, Philadelphia, Boston, and Hampton. Take it, son. You’re young and in good health. You look as though you have a good head on your shoulders. You didn’t have a single cup of ale last night. You’ll be a fair property owner.”

  “I appreciate your confidence in me and that ye are a man of your word, Sir,” William Kennedy leaned forward, his Irish brogue evident in every word. “How do we transfer the property into my name legally?”

  “I’m getting to that if you’ll bear with me. You should know there are one-hundred slaves housed in slave quarters on the property who need a kind master. It will produce a good cotton crop if you work hard each year. I have no use for it. Mrs. Garnet, she despises the institution of slavery. We’ve had more arguments than the number of slaves I own—endless discussions. I’m earning enough from these other estates and investments that this has become more trouble to me than ‘tis worth.”

  “I understand, Sir,” William nodded.

  “Oh, I don’t think you do, young man. I receive no less than two or three letters a week about what to do about this slave, or what to do about the kitchen house needing a new chimney, or the slave who tried to run away, or the price of a bale of cotton, how many cows to butcher each year. All this business about needing new plows. Can Lizzy jump the broom with Rupert? It’s one thing after another. There’s a manager at Magnolia Glen I recommend you terminate as soon as you locate another. He can’t seem to make any decisions without pestering me.”

  “Magnolia Glen,” William repeated. “A fine name. How long have you owned the property, Mr. Garnet?”

  “’Tis been in my family a number of years, but our family estate is here in Philadelphia a few miles from here. This property belonged to my mother’s father. She is passed on to glory a few years ago and she’d understand about keeping the peace in my marriage.” Mr. Garnet put on a pair of spectacles. Then he slid the title across the desk, and a thick file containing the names of his slaves. “We’ll have my attorney finalize the title transfer. I’ll sell it to you for a penny just to be rid of the headache.”

  “Ye
s, Sir, thank you, Sir,” William stammered. “Might we call upon him this day?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll send my personal secretary around to see if he’ll meet us here at two o’clock. I don’t suppose you could return at one-thirty?”

  “Aye, I’ll be here.” He could have lunch with his brothers, and then perhaps call upon that sweet girl he saw nearly every day at the little book store her parents owned about two blocks away. Maybe he’d take her a bouquet of flowers. Perhaps he’d ask permission to take her on a walk later that evening.

  He turned to go, then stopped and turned around. “One more question, Sir?”

  “Yes?” Mr. Garnet was already scrawling a note on a piece of paper for his butler to take to the attorney.

  “Is there a house on the property?”

  Mr. Garnet chuckled, stepping around from behind his desk. “There’s a fine house on the property. Hate to see it go, and some nice horses in the barn, even a nice carriage. It’s all yours once my attorney finalizes everything. You won it fairly, um, what did you say your name is? Kennedy?”

  “William Kennedy, Sir, from Cork County, Ireland. I’ve been here three months.” William walked with Mr. Garnet toward the door of his study.

  “William, then. Yes, he’ll have to file the appropriate paperwork in Georgia, of course.” Mr. Garnet opened the door of the study, and then they stepped into the foyer where his brothers waited with expectant looks on their faces.

  William shook hands with the fellow. He now considered him a great benefactor. The Lord had certainly heard their prayers. “Thank you again, Sir. See you at one-thirty.” He could take a coach to Atlanta, then drive his new carriage back to Philadelphia in style to court that sweet Anne girl, if she’d have him.

  Glancing at his brothers, he grinned when the butler appeared to hold the door open for them. William supposed Walter and Wesley could begin by helping him on the plantation until deciding what they’d like to do, but at least he and his brothers had a real chance at income. The first year might be a little rocky, but they’d manage.